"Well, what do you know about that!" exclaimed Gray, half glad and half

scared at the sight. "One for me, and one for F. S. Here, Anita, take Mr.

Stone's to him, while I eat up mine."

"I won't do it! I want to see what's in yours, first," and Anita stood by

Gray's side to look over his shoulder.

"All right, then," and they read together:

Dear Gray:

I couldn't help it. You see, I was so frightened at what you all said,

that I didn't know what to do. I came over to New York, with a vague

idea of asking Mr. Price to help me. I stayed with Ethel all night, and

somehow things seemed to look so black, I couldn't think of anything

but to go to Carr. I went down to the steamer office to see about

changing my tickets for an earlier date, or something, and I found the

_Catalonia_ sailed to-day. I'm scratching this off to go back by the

pilot. I had about two hours to get ready, so I bought a trunk and some

clothes, went to the bank and got a letter of credit, and here I am. I

don't know yet whether I'm glad or sorry to be here. But I know I could

not stand it at Garden Steps another minute, with you and Anita both

against me! Mr. Stone doesn't believe I did it, but he is doubtful of

being able to prove my innocence, so I'm going to Carr, and you can

address me in his care. He's my nearest relative, and it's right for me

to go there. I cabled him from New York to expect me, and to meet me at

Alexandria. I'd write more, but it's most time for the pilot to go, and

I want to send a word to Mr. Stone. Of course, you will look after all

my bills and affairs till further notice.

Pauline.

"Good Lord!" said Gray, "Think of that poor child going off like that,

because she thought you and I were against her!"

"Well, aren't you?" asked Anita, an angry gleam in her eyes.

"No! never!" shouted Gray. "If Pauline is guilty a thousand times, I'm

not against her! I'm _for_ her, Anita, for her, first, last and all the

time! Come on, now, let's take Mr. Stone his letter."

They found Stone in the boudoir, the room where the ghastly crime had

been committed. He spent many hours here of late; it seemed necessary for

the furthering of his theory, and yet, whenever any one was admitted to

his presence there, he was found sitting staring at the room and its

furnishings, as if waiting for the inanimate objects to speak.

"A letter? From Miss Stuart?" he said, eagerly. "I hoped for one, by the

pilot."

He opened it, and after a glance handed it over to Haviland.

It said, only:

My dear Mr. Stone:

Thank you for your belief in me, and forgive me for running away. And,

please,--oh, I beg of you, _please_ drop the case entirely. Your

further investigation and discovery can only bring sorrow and anguish

to my already distracted soul. I have no time to write more, but assume

that I have put forth any or every argument that could persuade you,

and at once cease all effort to learn who is responsible for the death

of my aunt.

Sincerely yours,

Pauline Stuart.

XX

IN THE BOUDOIR

Apparently, Fleming Stone paid little attention to this letter from

Pauline. Really, every word engraved itself on his heart, as he read the

lines, and when he gave the paper to Gray Haviland, it was only because

he knew he would never need to refresh his memory as to the message

Pauline had sent him.

Stone also read the letter she had written to Gray, and his deep eyes

clouded with pain at some of the lines. But he returned it to Haviland

without comment, and then courteously dismissed the pair.

"He's bothered to death," said Gray, as they went downstairs.

"So'm I," responded Anita. "But nobody cares about me, it's all

Pauline,--whether she's a----"

"Let up on that, 'Nita!" and Gray spoke warningly. "Don't you call

Pauline names in my hearing!"

Anita, pouting, flounced away to her own room.

Fleming Stone remained in Miss Lucy Carrington's boudoir. He sat on a

window-seat, and looked out across the wide gardens and the innumerable

steps. There was not much snow now. Merely great wind-swept stretches,

dotted with evergreen trees, and the carved stone of the terrace railings

and balustrades.

Long, Stone mused over Pauline's letter. For a time, he gave himself up

to thoughts of her in which consideration of crime had no part. He knew

he loved her, loved her with all the strength and power of his great

nature; with all the affection and devotion of his big heart; and with

all the passion and adoration of his deep soul. He knew she was not

averse to him. Knew almost, with his marvelous power of knowledge, that

she cared for him, but he knew, too, that if he let his mind dwell on

such alluring thoughts or visions, he could not work. And work, he must.

Ay, work as he had never before, with an incentive he had never had

before. And Fleming Stone's mind was troubled to know whether this love

for Pauline would help or hinder this work he must do. And he resolved,

with all his mighty will-power, that it should help, that he would

control this surging emotion, so new to him, and would force it to aid

and assist his efforts, and to triumph over all doubts or obstacles.

Again he concentrated his whole mentality on the room and its contents.

He swore to wrest from the silent witnesses the story of the crime. This

was not his usual method of procedure. On the contrary, he almost

invariably learned his points from questioning people, from observing

suspects, or quizzing witnesses. But, he realized the difference in

essence between this case and any other in which he had ever engaged. He

had no more questions to ask. He knew all any one could or would tell

him. He knew all the facts, all the theories, all the evidence, all the

testimony. And none of it was worth a picayune to him, except negatively.

This case must be, and should be, solved by the application of his

highest mental powers, by the most intense thought and, doubtless, by

most brilliant and clever deduction from hints not facts, from ideas, not

visible clues. To work, then! To the work that _must_ bring success!

Leaving the window-seat, Stone walked round the room, and finally drew up

in front of the mirror the easy chair in which Miss Carrington had sat

when she received the blow given by Bates. Whether she had sat here while

taking the poison, no one knew. If Stone's theory was right, she had not.

By referring to the photographs taken of Miss Carrington after her death,

Stone was able to reconstruct the scene correctly.

He placed the easy chair just as it had been when she sat in it. He

assumed the position she showed in the photographs, and gazed at himself

in the mirror, as she must necessarily have done.

Slowly, he went over that conversation reported by Anita Frayne. Never,

for a moment, had he doubted the truth of that report. He was sure Miss

Carrington had really said all the things Anita repeated, and the clear

and indubitable explanation of those remarks would mean, he was sure, the

solution of the mystery.

By way of interviewing his silent witnesses, he endeavored to

reconstruct, in thought, Miss Carrington's movements that night. Pauline

and Anita had left her, all three of them angry, at a little after

twelve. Later, Estelle had left her,--that was about quarter to one. Then

she had on her embroidered robe and some jewels. She was not then sitting

at the dressing-table. Nor had she then, presumably, taken the poison.

For the doctors insisted that she had swallowed the poison very near the

hour of one, but after it rather than before, and had placed the hour of

her death at two. So, Stone reasoned, Miss Carrington must have taken

that aconite at pretty nearly the very time Anita heard her talking. It

seemed to Stone incredible that there could have been a person present to

whom Miss Carrington could have addressed those remarks, and who could

have given or allowed her to take the deadly draught.

The idea that Pauline could have been this person was not among Fleming

Stone's catalogue of possibilities.

Moreover, the fact of the one voice strongly impressed him. Another

voice, however low, must have at some point of the conversation risen to

an audible sound to a listener with normal hearing. Also, Anita had

asserted that the speeches of Miss Carrington did sound as if addressed

to different persons. It was not likely there were two or more intruders

or visitors there at once, and slowly but surely Fleming Stone decided,

once for all, that Miss Carrington was alone in that room at that time.

This meant, not exactly soliloquy, the mode of address contradicted that,

but it meant, to him, at least, that she was addressing some inanimate

object or objects as if they were sentient.

His task was to discover those objects. His first thought was, as he sat

in the easy chair before the mirror, that the lady had spoken to her own

reflection. But the speeches, of which he had a memorandum, precluded

this hypothesis. She would not say to herself "You are so fond of

pearls," or "You have a beautiful face."

Abandoning that supposition, Stone methodically searched for something

that might have been addressed.

Clearly,--that is, if he were on the right track,--the words "Henri, you

are the mark I aim at!" could have been spoken to the Count's glove,

which she held in her hand. In the same vein, assuming that the glove, to

her, represented the Count himself, might have been said the speech about

the ten thousand dollars, and the remark that he loved pearls.

Accepting these possibilities as facts, Stone went on to discover more.

His method was to repeat to himself her very words and strive to see or

sense something to which they might have been addressed.

"You have the most beautiful face I ever saw," he quoted softly and then,

scanning the room, went on: "I only wish mine were as beautiful."

His eyes lighted on the picture of Cleopatra, which hung above the mirror

of the dressing-table.

"That's it!" he cried, with instant conviction. "She looked at that

beautiful face and then in the mirror, at her plain features, and she

involuntarily cried out for the beauty denied her! Poor woman, to live

all her lonely, hungry life, surfeited with wealth yet unable to buy the

fairness she craved!"

Not doubting for an instant the truth of his conclusion, Stone checked

off that speech and passed on to the next on his list. If he could

account for them all, he would be sure Lucy Carrington met her death

alone, and therefore by her own hand. Of course, she did not knowingly

poison herself, but if persuaded that the prepared draught was some

innocent remedy--oh, well, that was aside the point for the moment.

But, quoting the phrase, "To-morrow I shall be forever free from this

curse of a plain face,--to-morrow these jewels may all be yours,"--even

his ingenuity could suggest no meaning but a foreknowledge of approaching

death. What else could free her from her hated lack of beauty? What but

death could transfer her fortune of jewels to another? Of course it might

be that marriage with her would give the jewels to Count Charlier, but

the two speeches were consecutive, and the implication was all toward the

fate that was even then almost upon her.

The remark about ten thousand dollars was unimportant, as she had

recently willed that sum to five different people, and the reference to a

change in her will that should cut out Pauline might have been merely a

burst of temper. At any rate, Stone ascribed little importance to it

then. He felt that he had learned enough to assume positively that Miss

Carrington was not talking to a human being when Anita Frayne heard her

voice. Then, he conjectured, as the maid was free of all suspicion on the

poisoning matter, and as the two girls had left the room at a little

after twelve, the weight of evidence was in favor of the poison being

self-administered, no matter for what reason or intent. Granting this,

there must be some trace of the container of the aconite, before it was

placed in the glass. This must be found. If not, it proved its removal by

some one, either before or after the poisoning actually occurred.

Eagerly, almost feverishly, Stone searched. Exhaustive search had long

ago been made, but again he went over all the possible places. The ornate

waste-basket beneath the dressing-table still held its store of dainty

rubbish. This had been ordered to remain undestroyed. Stone knew the

contents by heart, but in hope of an overlooked clue, he again turned the

contents out on a towel. Some clippings of ribbon, a discarded satin

flower, two or three used "powder-leaves," a couple of hairpins and a

torn letter were the principal items of the familiar lot. Nothing that

gave the least enlightenment.

Stone got up and wandered around. What had that poison been in before it

was put in that glass?

The ever-recurring thought that some one might have brought it to the

boudoir after preparing it elsewhere, he would not recognize. A sort of

sixth sense convinced him that if he kept on looking he must find that

clue.

He went into the bedroom. The beautiful appointments, replicas of Marie

Antoinette's, seemed to mock at his quest. "We know," they seemed to

laugh at him, "we know all about it, but we will never tell!"

Untouched since Estelle's deft hand had turned back its silken coverlets,

the bed seemed waiting for some fair occupant. With a sigh at the pathos

of it, Stone suppressed an involuntary thought of the incongruity of that

gilded, lace-draped nest, and its pitifully unbeautiful owner. There was

a profusion of embroidered pillows, and across the satin puff lay a

fairy-like night-robe of gossamer texture, and coquettish ribbons. A

peignoir of pink crêpe lay beside it, and on the floor a pair of brocade

_mules_ waited in vain for feet that would never again slip into their

furred linings.

There was nothing helpful here, and with a sigh Stone went on to the

bath-room. Fit for a princess, the shining white and gleaming silver

showed careful readiness. Embroidered towels, delicate soaps and perfumes

were in place--all showed preparation, not use.

"If I were searching traces of Estelle, now," groaned Stone,

despairingly, to himself, "I could find thousands. But Miss Carrington

didn't come in here at all. But, whoever rinsed that glass did!" The

thought caused Stone to start with eagerness. It was the fact of the

glass being out of line with the other appointments of the wash-stand

that had first attracted his attention to it. After the test, the glass

had been returned to its place, now in strict position between a silver

cup and a flask of violet water.

"Spoon in it," mused Stone. "Shows carelessness on the part of whoever

put it there. Don't believe a spoon was in a glass, generally, in this

celestial bath-room. If----"

His ruminations were cut short by a shock of surprise. Under the

wash-stand was a small waste-basket. Had this been overlooked by the

searchers? Not surprising, for thorough search had not been made in

bedroom or bath-room, as in the room where death had taken place.

Stone mechanically looked over the contents of the little basket. There

was only a scant handful of papers. But carefully spreading a towel on

the floor he turned the basket upside down. Tremblingly he fingered the

papers. The first was the wrapper that had contained a cake of French

soap. At a glance, Stone saw the corresponding soap in its silver dish.

Estelle had doubtless placed it there, casting away its paper.

But among the scraps was another paper--two more. They were,--they surely

_were_ in creases like the folds of a powder paper!

With lightest touch, Stone unfolded them. There was one, about four

inches square, that had been folded as if to contain a powder. This was

white, and of a texture like writing paper. The other was of a paraffin

paper, exactly the same size and shape, and in similar creases. Also

there was a bunchy ball of tin-foil, that, when smoothed out, proved to

be of identical shape and size with the other two.

There was no room for doubt. These were unquestionably the wrappers of

the aconitine! Stone detected on the inside of the paraffin paper traces

of the powder itself, and knew that a test would prove his discovery a

true find.

Now, then, where did he stand? To his own mind, what he had found proved

that Miss Carrington had herself gone to her bath-room, opened the

powder, thrown the papers carelessly in the basket, and then, mixing the

stuff with water, had taken it then and there and rinsed the glass and

set it back on the shelf. It was all natural and plausible.

But, he well knew, others would say that, remembering her detestation of

medicaments, Miss Lucy Carrington never did such a thing. Also, they

would say, some one else, some one of whom Miss Lucy felt no fear, had

mixed the draught, and had administered it, by means of some yet

undiscovered but plausible misrepresentation.

And only too well he knew whose name would be associated with the deed!

Heavy of heart, he returned to the boudoir and sat in the easy chair,

before the mirror.

New thoughts came surging. It was sure, now, that Miss Carrington took

the aconitine in a glass of water, in her own apartments,--one of

them,--and took it, if not knowingly or willingly, at least without any

great objection or disturbance. Clinging to his theory that she was

alone, Stone visualized her taking the draught by herself. Assume for the

moment, an intended headache cure,--but no! If she took the aconitine

alone and voluntarily, she knew it was poison, for she said "To-morrow I

shall be freed forever from this homely face."

Did it all come back, then, to suicide? No, not with that glad face, that

happy smile, that joyful look of anticipation. A suffering invalid,

longing for death, might thus welcome a happy release, but not

life-loving Lucy Carrington.

It was too bewildering, too inexplicable. Again and again Stone scanned

the powder papers. They told nothing more than that they were the powder

papers. That was positive, but what did it prove? To whom did it point?

Frowning, Stone studied his own face in the mirror before him.

Desperately, he repeated again all the sentences on Anita's list.

At one of them he paused, even in the act of repetition.

He stared blankly into his own mirrored eyes, a dawning light beginning

to flame back at him. Then, a little wildly, he glanced around,--up,

down, and back to his almost frenzied, reflected face.

"Oh!" he muttered, through his clinched teeth, for Stone was not a man

given to strong expletives, "it is! I've got it at last! The powder, the

pearls,--the snake! My Heavens! the _snake_! Oh, Pauline, my love, my

love--but who? who? Have I discovered this thing only to lead back to

her? I _won't_ have it so! I am on the right track at last, and I'll

follow it to the end--the end, but it shall _not_ lead, I _know_ it will

not--to my heart's idol, my beautiful Pauline!"

XXI

FLEMING STONE'S THEORY

Alone in the library, Fleming Stone and Detective Hardy were in counsel.

"I'm going to show you this thing as I see it, Mr. Hardy," said Stone. "I

frankly admit it's all theory, I haven't a particle of human testimony to

back it, but it seems to me the _only_ solution that will fit all points

of the mystery. And I shall ask you to consider it confidential for the

present, until I can corroborate it by unmistakable proofs."

Hardy nodded assent, his eyes fixed on the speaker in a sort of

fascination.

This young detective had not been at all idle of late, but his work had

amounted to nothing definite, and though he was himself convinced that

Pauline Stuart was responsible for her aunt's death, he seldom exploited

that view before Stone, having learned that it was an unwelcome subject.

"Here's the theory in a very small nutshell," said Stone, "but remember,

you're not to mention it to any one until I give you permission. Miss

Lucy Carrington took that powder, thinking it a drug that would make her

beautiful."

"A charm? a philter?" Hardy's eyes seemed to bulge in his excitement.

"I'm not sure whether it was a fake magic affair, say, from a clairvoyant

or fortune-teller, or whether it was a plain swindle from a beauty doctor

or something of that sort. You know such people play on the credulity of

rich patrons and get enormous sums and a promise of secrecy for a

so-called beauty producer."

"But why would the beauty doctor or the clairvoyant person give a patient

poison?"

"They didn't. They gave a harmless powder, and some evil-minded person

added the aconite, secretly, knowing of the beauty scheme."

"Who did it?"

"That's yet to be discovered, but it will be easier if we can trace the

one who sold her the nostrum. Now, listen while I reconstruct the scene.

Miss Carrington, having dismissed her maid, goes to her bath-room, and

takes the powder dissolved in water. These powder papers, which I found

in her bath-room waste-basket, carry out that idea."

Hardy stared at the papers, but did not interrupt the speaker.

"Then, joyfully waiting the effect of the charm, she sits in front of the

mirror to watch her features become beautiful. This is why she said to

her own reflection, 'To-morrow I shall be freed forever from this homely

face!' She gazed at the picture of Cleopatra above her dressing-table,

and said 'Yours is the most beautiful face I have ever seen. I wish mine

were as beautiful.' The remarks concerning Count Charlier were addressed

to the glove which she held in her hand, a sentimental part of the whole

performance."

"Mighty interesting, Mr. Stone, but pretty fantastic, so far."

Fleming Stone gave his slow, grave smile, that always betokened a surety

of his own statements. "Wait a bit, Hardy, before you condemn this

notion. I haven't finished yet. Now Cleopatra figures pretty strongly in

this scheme. Look at these photographs taken after death. They show the

lady exactly as she looked when she sat there. See, she is gazing at the

picture of Cleopatra, too intently to be merely a casual glance. And,

what do you think of this? She gazed at Cleopatra, and, holding the

Count's glove, her mind and heart full of the Count, who would adore her

when she achieved this looked-for beauty, she said, 'You are the Mark I

aim at!' meaning, as Cleopatra had her Mark Antony, she, Lucy Carrington,

aimed at the Mark of her choice,--the Count."

"If that's true, Mr. Stone, you are the wizard of the ages! How did you

dope it out? What----"

"Now, wait a minute. This isn't the pipe dream you think it. But listen

while I tell the rest in my own way."

"Listen! I should think I would! Go on."

"You know, these fakers give out these charms with all sorts of fool

directions to impress the duped customer. As I say, I'm not sure yet

whether it was a professional of the clairvoyant type, or a regular

beauty doctor. But in either case, I've no doubt that Miss Carrington

paid him enough to compensate for giving up his practice and leaving for

parts unknown. For after the charm failed to work, of course she would

expose the fraud."

"But the poison----"

"Never mind that for the moment, Mr. Hardy. Surely, if we can discover

for certain how and why the dose was taken, it will go far to help us

trace the criminal who added the deadly element to the powder. Now,

continuing the Cleopatra idea, I am sure that the clever

clairvoyante,--we'll assume that's what she was,----"

"She?"

"Merely to designate this faker person. Somehow I seem to see her as one

of those crystal-gazing, frowsy-headed kimonoed females, who prey on the

credulity of rich and foolish women,--well, let's call her that for the

present, this clever clairvoyante somehow conceived the idea of offering

to make Miss Carrington as beautiful as Cleopatra. Perhaps she had been

here to see Miss Carrington on the subject, and that beautiful picture of

Cleopatra put it into her head. But, assuming something of this sort,

assume further that she directed Miss Carrington to robe herself, in a

general way, like the queen in the picture. Note the pearls! Wouldn't

this explain Miss Carrington's getting her pearls from the bank for this

occasion? And wouldn't it explain her speech, 'You love pearls,' as being

addressed to Cleopatra, to whom she was talking!"

"Go on, Mr. Stone! _Go_ on!"

"I will go on! Wouldn't that explain, as nothing else on this green earth

can, the purchase of a paper snake by the woman who feared and abhorred

the reptiles! Supposing the fool clairvoyante had told her that to become

like Cleopatra she must have a semblance of a snake at her throat, as

Cleopatra had the asp!"

"Good Heavens!"

"I tell you, Mr. Hardy, nothing else would account for that snake! And

any one of these things might seem the result of a lunatic imagination by

itself, but taken all together, the theory holds water! Why think of the

Oriental scarf, the embroidered robe, the mass of jewels in addition to

the significant pearls, and the scarabs! All point to the type of

Cleopatra. If there had been a picture on the wall, say, of Helen of

Troy, and Miss Carrington had been rigged up in a Greek costume, with a

fillet in her hair, and sandals on her feet,--or if the picture had shown

the Goddess of Liberty, and we had found Miss Carrington draped in an

American flag, could any one have denied the significance? There can be

no doubt,--no doubt in this world, Hardy, that the costume, the jewels

and the snake all point to a connection with the picture of Cleopatra,

and if so, what other connection is possible than the one I've blocked

out? Answer me that! And, finally, the speech to the Count, whose glove

she fondled, 'You are the Mark I aim at.' A pleasantry of wording

inevitably suggested by the thought of the man Cleopatra charmed and the

man Miss Carrington desired to charm. And a play on words too, not at all

unnatural to her, for I'm told she was both witty and clever in

conversation."

"Mr. Stone, I am carried away by your arguments. I can't deny their

plausibility, but I am bewildered. How did you fathom this remarkable

plan?"

"Simply because there is no other plan that will fit the facts. I believe

Miss Carrington did say all those things Miss Frayne relates. I believe

she was alone in the room when she said them. Therefore, they must have

had some meaning, and the meanings I have just ascribed to them must be

the true ones."

"They must be----"

"And I will further satisfy you that they are. Here is a memorandum I

found in Miss Carrington's desk. It is, as you see, a list of items. Read

it."

Hardy's eyes stared more widely than ever as he read:

Green and gold boudoir robe.

Jewels, especially pearls.

Scarabs.

Scarf.

Snake.

Something belonging to H.

"Now, that," and Fleming Stone spoke in low, even tones, without a hint

of boasting or pride in his achievement, "is a list in Miss Carrington's

own writing, and is undeniably a list of things to be worn on the

occasion which she hoped would mean a delightful change to the beauty she

so desired to be, but which, instead, was a change to the cold stillness

of death. I found that, after reaching my own conclusions about the

Cleopatra business. If I had found it before, I would have known it must

refer to her costume, but I couldn't have gleaned from it the conclusions

I had already come to. Now, Hardy, are you convinced?"

"I am, Mr. Stone. And I am also puzzled. From all this knowledge, we

start fresh, as it were, and we----"

"Wait a minute, Hardy. Let's go slowly. Now, here are two ways to look at

this thing. I told you about the clairvoyante first, because that first

came to my mind as the inevitable explanation. But, suppose, instead of a

professional clairvoyante or beauty doctor, some friend or--" Stone set

his teeth, but went on steadily, "or some one in the household, planned

all this scheme, and pretended to get a powder that would accomplish this

transformation, gave it to the unsuspecting lady to take by herself, and

in reality this powder was the aconite."

Hardy jumped. "Then Miss Stuart----" he began.

"Ah," and Stone's face was white and his voice like cutting steel, "_Why_

Miss Stuart? Why not Miss Frayne, who listened at the door? Why not

Estelle, who knew all her mistress' secrets? Why not Haviland, who is

openly enjoying his present responsible position as man of affairs? Why

not Count Charlier, whose crafty cunning shows on his face? Of course,

_also_, why not Miss Stuart, but why _necessarily_ Miss Stuart?"

"Well, she has run away, you know----"

"So she has, because of unjust and unfounded suspicions! When clues point

directly to her, I shall admit them, but when they may equally well point

to half a dozen others, I shall patiently investigate them and learn the

truth. Now, I ask of you, Hardy, as man to man, _not_ to favor Miss

Stuart unduly, but to give her a fair show, and remember her lonely

position and her timid nature."

Hardy looked furtively at Fleming Stone, whose eyes were downcast and

fastened on some papers he was holding.

"Count on me, Mr. Stone. I am at your orders. I subscribe to your

theories, and I will do exactly what you tell me, and no more or less."

"Good, Hardy, and thank you. Now, look at these papers. They are the ones

that contained the fatal powder. See, this paraffin one was inside; then

one of tin-foil, then one of rather heavy writing-paper."

"That doesn't look altogether like a clairvoyante's work."

"Why not? It does to me. They are mighty careful to do up their goods in

an elaborate manner to impress their customers. But, mind you, I don't

for a moment suspect this clairvoyante individual of intended murder.

Either the aconite was added to the parcel from the clairvoyante, or the

whole affair was concocted by the murderer and under pretense of its

having come from the clairvoyante."

"H'm," Hardy was clearly beyond his depth.

"So," went on Stone, "we must deduce what we can from these papers. What

do you see peculiar about them?"

"Just plain little old nothing," Hardy declared after a good scrutiny. "I

see, as you remarked, three papers, folded similarly, and of nearly the

same size. What do you see?"

"Not much more," confessed Stone, gazing discontentedly at the papers.

"And yet, there must be something to notice. Here's one point. These

papers, if tampered with, I mean if anything was added to their contents,

were manipulated very carefully. You know how difficult it is to unfold

and refold a powder-paper without making it look messy. These, I would be

willing to assert, have never been refolded, or, as I say, if they were,

it was done very carefully."

"That isn't much of a clue," and Hardy smiled.

"It may be," returned Stone. "It at least indicates a possible

elimination of the clairvoyante and an indication of the murderer

preparing the powder alone. At any rate, Hardy, I've told you all this in

order to ask your help. Will you go and see what you can round up in the

way of the clairvoyante of our dreams? Go to all you can find in New York

City. That is the prominent ones. Get a line on beauty doctors, and

generally look up this sort of thing. And keep it all under your hat."

"All right, Mr. Stone," and Hardy was off at once.

Fleming Stone put away the papers, and sat for more than an hour in a

brown study. It must be admitted that a photograph of Pauline Stuart,

which stood on a near-by table, held his eyes much of the time. And his

gaze, as it rested on the lovely face, was now tender and now sad.

At last he rang for a servant. To the footman who replied, he made a

request that a chamber-maid be sent to him.

The girl came, wondering.

"Mary?" said Fleming Stone, inquiringly.

"Jane, sir," returned the maid, quietly.

"Good," said Stone. "You have intelligence, Jane, as shown by your calm

rejoinder. Now, I want you to go to the various bedrooms or

dressing-rooms of all the members of the family and of all the servants,

and bring me all the manicure scissors you can find. I assume that some

of the servants might possibly have them?"

"Yes, sir, some of them."

"Very well. Get all you can possibly find, and be very, _very_ careful to

remember which ones are whose. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go. If anybody questions you, say Mr. Stone ordered it."

Jane returned with many pairs of the kind of scissors asked for by the

Detective. Absorbedly, Stone took them from her, and one by one he used

them to snip at a sheet of paper from the library desk.

At each test, he asked Jane whose the scissors were, and sometimes he

wrote the name beside the cut and sometimes not. One pair in especial

seemed to interest him. "Whose are these?" he asked.

"Those, sir, I took from Miss Carrington's dressing-table." Jane gave a

slight shudder as if at the recollection of the tragedy of that table.

"But these are of a different patterned handle from the rest of that

dressing-table's silver."

"I don't know, sir, as to that. They were there and I brought them."

"Very well, Jane. Take them all back to their places. Mind now, don't mix

them."

"No, sir. Thank you, sir."

A strange excitement seemed to seize upon Fleming Stone. Abruptly he left

the room, and, flinging on his overcoat in the hall, he snatched his hat

and went away, almost on a run. His steps took him to the garage and in a

few moments he was in a swift little runabout being driven to the

sanatorium where Estelle was still staying.

After a call there, he hurried to Police Headquarters. Thence, after a

rather long call, to a telegraph office, to one or two shops and then

back to Garden Steps.

Here he put several servants at work for him, packing his effects and

such matters, then summoning Gray Haviland to the library, he said; "I'm

sailing for Egypt this afternoon. May I ask you to make no further

investigations till my return?"

"Egypt!" gasped Gray. "Good Heavens, man! what for?"

"In the interest of my work for you," returned Stone, gravely.

"Rubbish! You're chasing Pauline! We'll never see either of you again!"

Fleming Stone smiled. "I do love her, Haviland, I make no denial of that

fact. And I do hate to have her alone in a strange land. So, if I can be

of any help to her, an ocean or two to cross shall not keep me from her."

"And your detective work?"

"Will not suffer by my absence. I've been to the Police and to the

District Attorney and they approve my plans as I've outlined them so far.

The rest must wait my return."

"Ah, and when will you be back?"

"I don't know exactly, but I will keep you informed of my whereabouts.

Say good-by to Miss Frayne for me, and please excuse me now, as I've

heaps to do. By the way, where is that record of Miss Carrington's song

that I have heard of? Play it for me, will you?"

"Thought you were in such a hurry!" laughed Haviland, but granted the

request.

"Wonderful!" commented the Detective, as he heard it on the phonograph.

"It is a perfectly-made record. If you don't mind, I'll take possession

of it."

"All right," said Gray, carelessly, and in another half hour Fleming

Stone was on his way to the pier where the _Macedonia_ was making ready

to sail.

XXII

PAULINE IN CAIRO

On the first of March, about mid-afternoon, the _Catalonia_ steamed into

the harbor of Alexandria. Pauline, at the rail, watched the clearing

outlines of mosques and minarets, as the beautiful city became visible.

It was a glistening, dazzling strip, between the deep blue of the sea and

the azure of the sky, and, breathless with delight, she gazed at the

shining sunlit picture.

Then the Arab pilot came aboard, and soon Pauline found herself in a

shore-boat, swiftly making for the quay. She knew Loria would meet her at

Alexandria, she had had a telegram at Naples to that effect, and she

thrilled with pleasure at thought of seeing wonderful Egypt with him.

Landing, she was bewildered by the crowd of strange-looking people,

natives, tourists, officials and porters, all shouting, running and

getting in each other's way. Luggage was everywhere, and the game seemed

to be to present any piece of it to anybody except the owner. Pauline

fell to laughing at the antics of a black man robed in white and a brown

man robed in yellow fighting for possession of a small portmanteau, while

its timid and bewildered owner desperately hung on to it herself.

Three or four Arabs gathered round Pauline herself, each asserting his

claim to all the virtues of a perfect dragoman. In more or less

intelligible English, each insisted he had been sent to her personally by

Effendi This or That, of marvelous wealth and power. Greatly interested,

she listened to their arguments, until, encouraged, they became so

insistent that she was frightened. Seeing this, they waxed threatening,

even belligerent, in their determination to be engaged, and just as one

laid his brown, long fingers on her arm, and she drew back in a panic of

fear, she saw Carr Loria's smiling face coming to her through the crowd.

With a wave of his hand and a few short commands, he sent the bothersome

Arabs flying, and greeted Pauline with affectionate enthusiasm.

"Polly, dear! but I'm glad to see you! Have you had a good trip? But such

questions must wait a bit. Where are your checks? Do you see your boxes?"

"There's only one, and some hand things. Here is----"

"All right," and Loria took the little sheaf of papers she produced from

her handbag. "Ahri, look after these."

A tall Arab glided to Loria's side, and took the checks. "Ahri is my

dragoman and body-servant and general factotum," said Loria, by way of

introduction. "This lady, Ahri, is my cousin, Miss Stuart. Her word is

law."

"Yes, Mr. Loria. Miss Stoort is queen of all."

The man made a salaam of obeisance and turned away to look after the

luggage.

"He's a wonder, that Ahri," said Carrington Loria, looking after the

retreating Arab. "But be very haughty with him, Polly. He presumes upon

the least encouragement. Treat him like the dust under your feet, and

he'll adore you."

"That's easy enough," and Pauline smiled. "I'm scared to death of these

brown and black men. But your servant is so grand of costume."

"Yes, he's a very high-class affair. Handsome chap and fond of dress. But

he's invaluable to me. Speaks almost perfect English, and knows

everything there is to know,--and then some. Knows, too, everybody who

has ever been in Cairo or ever thought of coming here. And he possesses

the proud distinction of being the only dragoman here-abouts who hasn't a

letter of recommendation from Hichens. You haven't that, have you, Ahri?"

for the Arab had just reappeared.

A marvelous set of white teeth gleamed in the sunlight, as the response

came quickly: "I had one, Mr. Loria, but I sold it. They are of use to

others; Ahri needs none." His self-conceit was superb, and he spoke with

the air of a prince. But warned by Loria, Pauline gave him no answering

smile, rather a patronizing nod, and Ahri's respect for the newcomer went

up several points.

"Come along, girlie," commanded Carrington and he took Pauline's arm as

he hurried her to the boat-train.

Watchful Ahri showed them to the compartment he had secured for them, and

soon they were on their way to Cairo.

"Now, tell me everything," said Carr Loria, as they sat alone. "This is a

three-hour trip and I want to know the whole story. Just think, Pauline,

I've had only a few letters, and they were--well,--they were almost

contradictory in some ways. So tell me all, from the beginning."

Pauline did, and by the time they reached Cairo, Loria knew as much as

she of the death of their aunt and the subsequent search for the

murderer.

"Wasn't it strange," he mused, "that that Bates person should go in to

kill her, the very night somebody else had the same intention?"

"Well, but, Carr, Bates didn't start out to kill her, you know; he went

to steal the jewels, and he knew they were all in the house that night,

because Estelle told him so. Now, of course, whoever gave her the poison,

must have known it too----"

"Oh, I don't know. Why didn't somebody want to put her out of the way to

get a bequest? Not necessarily the Count gentleman, but maybe one of the

servants. Maybe that Estelle? Didn't she receive a legacy in Aunt Lucy's

will?"

"Yes, but nobody has thought of suspecting her."

"Don't see why not. I thought of her first clip. I don't think that Stone

paragon amounts to much. Hey, what are you blushing about? Sits the wind

in that quarter?"

"Don't tease me, Carr. I _do_ like him better than any man I ever saw,

but----"

"And so you ran away and left him! Out with it, Polly. Tell your old

Uncle Dudley the story of your life!"

"There's nothing to tell, Carr, about Mr. Stone. But I came to you,

because some people suspect me,--_ME_--of--of killing Aunt Lucy----"

"Pauline! They don't! Who suspects you?"

"All the police people, and Gray and Anita Frayne,----"

"They do! You poor little girl! I'm glad you came to me. I'll take care

of you. But, Polly, whom do _you_ suspect? Honest, now, who is in your

mind?"

"I don't know, Carr. I can't seem to think. But when they fastened it on

me, I was so frightened, I just flew. Why, just think, every one at

Garden Steps was suspicious of me! I could see it even in the servants'

eyes. I couldn't stand it, and I was afraid----"

"Yes, dear, go on,----"

"Well, I was afraid Mr. Stone would think so, and I couldn't bear that,

so I just ran off on impulse. I regretted it lots of times on the trip

over,--and then at other times I was glad I came. Are you glad?"

"Sure, Polly. I wanted you to stick to your plan of coming over, you

know. Yes, I'm glad you're here. Now, we'll soon be in Cairo, and you'll

love it,--all the strange sights and experiences. You'll live at

Shepheard's for the present. I've engaged a chaperon for you."

"How thoughtful you are, Carr."

"Oh, of course, a beautiful young woman can't live alone in Cairo, and

also of course, you couldn't live with me. So, Mrs. MacDonald will look

after you, but she won't in any way bother you. Whenever you need a

duenna, she'll be right at your elbow, and when you don't want her about,

she is self-effacing. You'll like her, too, she's not half-bad as a

companion."

At Cairo, Ahri handed them from the train. Again Polly was impressed with

the Arab's dignified bearing and rich costume. His long galabeah, shaped

like a well-fitting bathrobe, was of white corded silk, exquisitely

embroidered. Collarless, it gave glimpses of other silken vestments, and

over it he wore a correct English topcoat, short and velvet-trimmed. From

his tarbush to his English shoes and silk hose, he was perfectly garbed

and groomed, while the scarab ring on his little finger was the only bit

of jewelry visible.

"That's nothing," laughed Loria, following her glance. "Wait till you see

him in all the glory of his burnoose and other contraptions. Here, Ahri,

take this duffel, too. And, now, Polly-pops, you'll see Cairo."

The ride to the hotel was like a moving picture in color. The street

crowds were rushing by, a flare of bright-hued raiment and dark-skinned

faces. Everywhere, baubles were for sale. Street vendors carried them on

their heads, in their arms, or thrust them forth with eager hands.

Post-cards, jewelry, scarfs, and fans. Fly-whisks with dangling beads.

Embroideries, carved ivories, brasses, sweetmeats, fruits and newspapers,

all were successively and collectively offered for immediate, almost

compulsory sale.

"And I want to buy every one!" declared Pauline, entranced at the sight

of the catch-penny toys.

"All in good time, honey. To-morrow, Ahri shall take you to the bazaars,

with or without Mrs. MacDonald, as you choose, and you can get a bushel

of foolishness if you want to. Everybody has to cure that first mad

desire to buy rubbish, by yielding to it. You soon get enough."

"Then I may go alone with Ahri to the shops?"

"Yes, anywhere, by daylight, except to social affairs. There, or to any

in-door entertainment, you must take her. But she'll know all these

things. Abide always by her decision."

"But won't you be with me, Carr? You speak as if I will be much without

you."

"I'm awfully busy, Pauline; I'll tell you all about it this evening. Then

you'll understand. Here we are at Shepheard's. Did you ever see such a

horde of freaks?"

It was just about dusk. The last rays of the Egyptian sunset were

lingering, as if for Pauline to get one glimpse of the picture by their

rainbow lights. Many were at tea on the broad Terrace; the scarlet-coated

band crashed their brasses; and Pauline entered the hotel, her whole

being responding to the strange thrill that Cairo gives even to the most

phlegmatic visitor or jaded tourist.

Later, at dinner, she met Mrs. MacDonald, a correct, tactful and

diplomatic widow, who looked forward with pleasure to the chaperonage of

the beautiful girl to whom she was introduced.

At Loria's advice, Pauline had put on evening dress; and she made a

striking picture, in black tulle, devoid of all jewelry or ornament save

a breast-knot of purple orchids her cousin had sent to her rooms.

At dinner, conversation was general, and the trio was made a quartet by

the addition of an English friend of Loria's whom he ran across in the

hotel lobby. Later, after they had had their coffee in the great hall,

Mrs. MacDonald and the Englishman strolled away and the cousins were left

alone.

"How beautiful you have grown, Pauline," Carr said, his eyes resting on

her piquant face, crowned with its mass of soft, dark hair.

"Speak for yourself, John," she returned smiling up into the handsome,

sunburned face of the man who scrutinized her. "You have acquired not

only a becoming tan, but a new air of distinction."

"Glad you think so, girlie. Thanks a whole lot. How do you like the

MacDonald?"

"Very much so far. She won't try to boss me, will she?"

"Not unless you make it necessary; but you must remember that English

etiquette obtains in Cairo, and you mustn't try to be unconventional,

except as Mrs. MacDonald approves."

"Oh, I won't disgrace you, Carr, I've common sense, I hope. Now tell me

about yourself."

"I'm deep in a new project, Polly, a wonderful one. It's an enormous

undertaking, but I shall put it through all right."

"What is it? Excavation?"

"In a way. But here's the story. Mind, now, it's a dead secret. Don't

mention it to Mrs. Mac. I trust you with it, but it must go no further.

Well, in a word, I've come into possession of an old papyrus, that tells

of a treasure----"

"Oh, Carr, are you a treasure-seeker?"

"Now, wait till I tell you. This papyrus is authentic, and it's nothing

more nor less than an account of a great hoard of jewels and gold sunk,

purposely, by an old Egyptian king to save them from seizure. You

wouldn't understand all the reasons that prove this is a true bill, but

it is, and so you must take my word for it. All right. The old duffer saw

fit to sink this stuff in the Nile, at a certain spot, designated in this

papyrus thing, and all I've got to do is to dig her up, and there you

are!"

Carr Loria's face lighted up with the enthusiasm of the true

archæologist, and Pauline caught the spirit, too, as she exclaimed, "How

splendid! How do you get down to it,--if it's under the Nile?"

"It's a big scheme, Polly!" and Loria's eyes sparkled. "I've got to have

a coffer-dam, an enormous one,--and, oh, and a whole lot of

paraphernalia, and it will cost like fury, but the end justifies the

expense,--and then, think of the glory of it!"

"Have you got a right to do all this? Can anybody dig wherever he likes

in Egypt?"

"No, you little goose! But I've managed all that part. I won't tell even

you about it, but I've--well, I've fixed it up. Now, listen here,

Pollypops, you're to tell just simply _nobody_ a word of all this,--not

one, littlest, leastest mite of a word! See?"

"All right, Carr, of course I won't tell, if you say not to. But will you

be away from us? Out of Cairo?"

"Off and on. I'll be back and forth, you know. This place is up the Nile

a bit, and, of course, I have to be there much of the time. But you'll be

all right. I know heaps of people, jolly sort, too, and Mrs. Mac will

take you round, and you'll have the time of your sweet young life!"

"I'm sure I shall. But, Carr, have you forgotten all about America, and

Aunt Lucy and--and Fleming Stone?"

"No, Pauline, I haven't forgotten those things. But, I own up, aside from

the awful circumstances, I'm not terribly wrought up over Aunt Lucy's

death. Poor old thing, she wasn't so awfully happy, you know, and Lord

knows, she didn't make anybody else happy. Then, too, you must realize

that as I wasn't there, through the dreadful time, as you were, I can't

feel the same thrill and horror of it. In fact, I try to forget it all I

can, as I can't do anybody any good by mulling over it. So, if you want

to please me, old girl, you'll refer to it as little as you can."

"But don't you care who killed her? Don't you want to find out the

murderer and bring him to justice?"

"I want that done, Polly, but _I_ don't want to do it. That's why I put

it all in Haviland's hands; that's why I didn't want to go to America,

unless, as I told you at first, unless _you_ needed me. I can't pay

proper attention to my work here if I have any such worriment as that on

my shoulders. And I tell you, Pauline, this chance that has come to me is

the chance of a lifetime, the chance of a century! It means fortune, fame

and glory for me. It means--oh Pauline, it means _everything_!"

"All right, Carr, I won't interfere in anyway with your work. I'll do as

you tell me, but--but if they continue to suspect me,----"

"Suspect you! My _dear_ girl! Let 'em try it! I'll see to that! Don't you

fear. If anything bothers you, just leave it to me! Ah, here come our

truants. Now, Polly, for my sake, leave all those subjects for the

present, and be your own dear entertaining self."

And Pauline granted his request, and was so attractive and charming that

the Englishman straightway fell over head and heels in love and Mrs.

MacDonald was torn between throes of admiration and envy.

XXIII

TWO WILLS

For a few days Loria staid in Cairo, and devoted all his time to the

amusement and entertainment of Pauline. Together they visited the Sphinx

and the Great Pyramids. Together they made trips to Old Cairo and to the

Ostrich Farm. Together they saw the Little Petrified Forest. But the

immediate sights of Cairo, the tombs, mosques and bazaars, Loria told

her, she could visit with Mrs. MacDonald or with their dragoman, after he

and Ahri had gone on their trip up the Nile.

Pauline was happy. At Carr's request she had endeavored to put out of her

mind the horrors she had been through. Frightened at the suspicions

directed toward herself, fearing that she could not successfully combat

them,--and, for another reason,--she had fled to Egypt, and her cousin's

protection. This other reason she had almost dismissed from her mind, and

she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the novelty and interest of her

present situation.

After their sight-seeing each day, they returned for tea on the Terrace

at Shepheard's or went to Ghezireh Palace for it, or to the house of some

friend. Dinner was always a pleasant affair, and they had frequent guests

and were often invited out.

As Pauline was wearing mourning, no large social affairs were attended,

and under Mrs. MacDonald's guidance the girl pursued her happy way.

Nearly a week after Pauline's arrival, Loria told her that the next day

he must leave her, and go up the Nile to attend to his work there. They

were in the sitting room of Pauline's pleasant suite at the hotel, and

Mrs. MacDonald promised to cherish most carefully her charge in Loria's

absence.

"How long shall you be away, Carr?" asked Pauline.

"It's uncertain, Polly. Perhaps only a few days this time, perhaps a

week. I'll be back and forth, you know, and you're bound to find enough

to interest you. Keep me advised of any news from America. You can always

reach me by mail or wire, or telephone if need be. And, here's another

matter, Pauline. You know, this work I'm up against is more or less

dangerous."

"Dangerous, how?"

"Well, there's blasting and danger of cave-ins and such matters,--but

don't feel alarmed, I'll probably come through all right. Only, I want to

make my will, so if anything should happen, you'll be my heir without any

fuss about it."

"Oh, don't talk about such things, Carr. You frighten me."

"Nonsense, don't take it like that. Now, see here. You know my way. Touch

and go is my motto. So, I've asked a lawyer chap to come here to-night

and fix up things. Suppose you make your will, too. Then it will seem

more like a business matter, and not as if either of us expects to die

soon. Who's your heir to be, Polly?"

"Why, I don't know, I've never thought about it."

"But you ought to. You see, now you're _some_ heiress, and it isn't right

not to have a will made,--on general principles. To be sure, you may

marry,----"

"Oh, I don't think I ever will, Carr!"

"Nonsense, Pollypops, of course you will. But you must take your time and

select a good chappie. Now, how does this strike you? Jeffries, my

lawyer, is coming here, right away. Suppose we each make a will, leaving

all our worldly goods to each other. Then, later, when you decide on your

life mate, you can change and rearrange as you like."

"But I haven't any fortune yet. Aunt Lucy's estate isn't all settled, is

it?"

"No matter about that. It will be, in course of time. I have every

confidence in Haviland, he's as honest a chap as ever breathed. He'll fix

up all our interests over there, in apple-pie order and don't you forget

it! Humor me in this thing, Polly, and believe I know more of business

affairs than you do, and it's best to do as I say."

Pauline was easily persuaded, and as the arrangement was conceded to be

merely temporary, she agreed. Jeffries came. The two wills were drawn,

signed and witnessed, all in correct form. Loria, in his, bequeathed to

Pauline all he might die possessed of, and except for a few charities and

minor bequests, Pauline left her fortune to Carr. The business was soon

over, and Loria took both documents, saying he would put them in his Safe

Deposit box for the present, as Pauline had no place for valuable papers.

The next day, Loria, accompanied by the invaluable Ahri, went away to the

site of his projected enterprise. This affair was conducted with such

strict secrecy that even the location was not known to many. Actual work

had not yet been begun, but negotiations and preparations of vast

importance were being made, and secret conclaves were held by those most

interested. Pauline had been emphatically adjured to give not the least

hint to any one whatever of the project, and she had promised faithfully

to obey Carr's injunctions.

The next afternoon, a telegram from Fleming Stone announced his arrival

at Alexandria and his immediate appearance in Cairo.

Addressed to her, in Loria's care, Pauline received it duly, for her mail

was brought to her at Shepheard's, and Carr's forwarded to him wherever

he might be. She had had a cable from Haviland, but no American letters

had yet reached her. Stone, having sailed just a week after Pauline's

departure from New York, was arriving eight days after her own advent at

Cairo.

The girl's first emotion was of joy. The thought of seeing Stone again,

eclipsed all other thoughts.

"Oh, Mrs. Mac!" she cried, clasping that somewhat rotund matron round the

waist and leading her an enforced dance. "Mr. Stone is coming! Will be

here for tea! Oh, I _am_ so glad!"

But her second thoughts were more disturbing. _Why_ was he coming? What

were his suspicions? Could he be tracking her down? Though Fleming Stone

had never said a word of love to her, Pauline knew, by her own heart's

'detective instinct,' that he _cared_. But, his sense of duty might make

it necessary to follow where the trail of suspicion led, even at cost of

his own affections. Then, too, could he suspect?--But Pauline's

irrepressible joy at thought of seeing him left her little time or wish

to indulge in gloomy forebodings.

Singing, she ran off to dress for Stone's reception.

"Which is prettier?" she asked of Mrs. Mac, holding up an embroidered

white crêpe, of Cairo construction, and a black net gown, brought from

New York.

"Wear the white, Miss Stuart. It's most becoming to you."

It was, and when arrayed in the lovely, soft, clinging affair, with a

cluster of tiny white rose-buds at her belt, Pauline's unusually pink

cheeks and her scarlet flower of a mouth gave all the color necessary.

Her beautiful hair, piled in a crown atop her little head, was held by a

carved ivory comb, and beneath their half-drooped lashes her great eyes

shone like stars.

For the Terrace, she donned a large white hat, with black ostrich plumes,

and flinging a white cape edged with black fur over her arm, she

descended to meet her guest.

Though little given to emotional demonstration, Fleming Stone caught his

breath with a quick gasp at sight of her, and advanced with outstretched

hands and a smile of a sort no one had ever before seen on that always

calm face.

"How do you do?" she said, smiling; for, though thrilled herself, she

remembered the unfailing curiosity of the Terrace crowds.

But Stone, having taken her two hands in his, stood looking at her as if

he intended to pursue that occupation for the rest of his natural life.

"Sit down," she said, laughing a little nervously under his gaze; "this

is our table. Will you have tea?"

"Tea, of course," and at last Fleming Stone took himself in hand and

behaved like a reasonable citizen. "And how are you? And your cousin,

where is he?"

"Mr. Loria is out of Cairo just now," and Pauline turned to give the

waiter his order. "But we are three, as I am under most strict

surveillance--" she paused, realizing what that phrase meant to a

detective! "Of a perfect dragon of a chaperon," she continued bravely,

trying to control her quivering lip. "Here she comes now."

The appearance and introduction of Mrs. MacDonald gave Pauline time to

regain her poise, and a glance of pathetic appeal to Stone made him take

up the burden of conversation for a few moments. And then, with the

arrival of the tea, the chat became gayer, and, of course, impersonal.

The Englishman, Pitts, appeared, indeed, he inevitably appeared when

Pauline was on the Terrace, and joined the group without invitation.

It was not Fleming Stone's first visit to Egypt, and he noted with

interest the changes, and looked with gladness on things unchanged, as

the kaleidoscopic scene whirled about him.

Later, they all went up to Pauline's sitting room, and viewed the street

pageant from second-story windows.

And then, Mrs. MacDonald, after a short and losing battle between her

conventions and her kind-heartedness, insisted that Mr. Pitts must take

her across the street to buy some imperatively necessary writing-paper.

Outwardly courteous but inwardly of a rampageous unwillingness, Mr. Pitts

acquiesced in her scheme, and Fleming Stone politely closed the door

behind them.

He turned, to see Pauline looking at him, with a gaze, frightened,

but,--yes, surely,--welcoming, and not waiting to analyze the intent of

the gaze more deeply, Stone took a chance, and in another instant, held

her in his arms so closely that the intent of her glance was of little

importance to anybody.

"Pauline!" he breathed, "how I love you! My darling,--mine! No, no, don't

speak----" and he laid his finger tips on her parted lips, "Just look at

me, and so--tell me----"

The wonderful eyes raised themselves to his, and Stone's phenomenal

insight was not necessary for him to read the message they held.

"You do love me!" he whispered: "oh, my little girl!" and after a long,

silent embrace, he cried jubilantly: "Now tell me! Now tell me in words,

in words, Pauline, that you do!"

Unhesitatingly, without shyness, Pauline, radiant-faced, whispered, "I

love you, dear," and the vibrant tones filled the simple words to the

brim of assurance.

Though it seemed to them but a moment, it was some time later that Mrs.

MacDonald's tap sounded on the door.

"Come," cried Pauline, springing away from Stone's side, while he

sauntered to the window. "Oh, Mrs. MacDonald, you must know it at once!

Mr. Stone is my fiancé!"

Mrs. Mac was duly surprised and delighted, and, after congratulations,

sent Stone away to dress for dinner, and endeavored to calm down her

emotional charge.

Later that evening, Stone and Pauline sat in the hall watching the

people. Almost as much alone as on a desert island, they conversed in low

tones, and Stone, between expressions of adoration, told her of his

theory of the beauty charm.

With paling face, Pauline listened. "Who?" she whispered. "Who? Do you

suspect anybody?"

"You don't know of your aunt ever having consulted any beauty doctor or

any such person?"

"Oh, no! I'm sure she never did. Never!"

"And you don't know of any one who would give her poison, under pretense

of its being a charm or beautifier?"

"Oh, don't! Don't ask me!" and, with a face white as ashes, Pauline rose

from her chair. "You must excuse me, Mr. Stone. I am ill,--I don't feel

well--. Really I must beg to be excused."

Almost before he realized what she was doing, Pauline had left him,

glided to the elevator, and he heard the door of the cage clang to, even

as he followed her.

"Poor child!" he said to himself, "poor dear little girl!" and going in

quest of Mrs. MacDonald, he asked her to go to Pauline.

"You will perhaps find her greatly disturbed," he said, "but I assure you

it is nothing that can be avoided or remedied. Please, Mrs. MacDonald,

just try to comfort and cheer her, without asking the cause of her

sadness."

After a straightforward look into Stone's eyes, which was as frankly

returned, Mrs. MacDonald nodded her head and hastened away.

As Stone had predicted she found Pauline sobbing hysterically.

"What is it, dear?" she queried, "tell Mrs. Mac. Or, if you'd rather not,

at least tell me what I can do for you. Don't, don't cry so!"

But no words could she get from the sobbing girl, except an insistent

demand for a telegraph blank. This was provided, and Pauline wrote a

message to Carr Loria telling him that Fleming Stone had come to Cairo.

This she ordered despatched at once. Then she begged Mrs. MacDonald to

leave her, as she wished to go to bed and try to forget her troubles in

sleep.

Meantime, Fleming Stone left the hotel and proceeded straight to Carr

Loria's rooms. He expressed surprise when the janitor informed him of Mr.

Loria's absence.

"Well, never mind," he said: "he'll be back in a few days. But I'll just

go in and write a note and leave it on his desk for him."

The janitor hesitated, but after a transference of some coin of the realm

was effected, he cheerfully unlocked the door and Stone found himself in

Loria's apartment. It was a comfortable place, even luxurious, in a

mannish way, and the Detective looked about with interest. As he had

proposed, he went to the writing table and taking a sheet of paper from

the rack, wrote a short note. But instead of leaving it, he put it in his

pocket, saying to the watchful janitor that perhaps it would be better to

mail it. Then, he stepped into Loria's bedroom, but so quickly did he

step out again, that the janitor hadn't time to reprove or forbid him.

"All right," he said, as he started to leave. "When Mr. Loria returns you

can tell him I called."

This permission went far to allay the janitor's fears that he had been

indiscreet; for Carr Loria was not a man who brooked interference with

his affairs or belongings.

XXIV

CONFESSION

Carr Loria was at Heluan when he received Pauline's telegram. For a few

moments he studied it, and then going to a hotel office, he possessed

himself of a telegram blank which he proceeded to write on, by the use of

a type-writer near-by.

With a preoccupied look on his face, as if thinking deeply, he called

Ahri and gave him a long and careful list of directions.

And it was in pursuance of these directions that the Arab presented

himself at Shepheard's at ten o'clock in the morning and asked for Miss

Stuart.

"What is it, Ahri?" asked Pauline, as she received the dragoman in her

sitting room.

"Miss Stoort," and the Arab was deeply respectful, "Mr. Loria begs that

you go with me to Sakkara to visit the Pyramids and Necropolis."

"Now?" said Pauline, in surprise.

"Yes, my lady. Mr. Loria will himself meet you at the station. Will you

start at once, please?"

"But I am expecting a caller--Mr. Stone,----"

"Pardon, but Mr. Loria said if you hesitated for any reason, to implore

you to go with me quickly, and he will explain all."

Pauline paled a little, but she said, simply, "Very well, Ahri, I will go

at once."

Escorted by the silent, majestic-mannered Arab, Pauline was taken through

the crowded streets to the station, and they boarded a train just as it

was leaving.

"We did get the train, Miss Stoort," said Ahri, with his sad smile, "Mr.

Loria would be greatly mad if we had missed it. Yes."

Pauline nodded at him, her thoughts full of the spoiled day, which she

had hoped to spend with Stone.

Yet she longed to see Carr, she wanted to tell him what Mr. Stone had

said about the beauty charm and----

"You said Mr. Loria would meet us at the station, Ahri; you put me on the

train so quickly I had no chance to speak. Where is he?"

"Not the Cairo station, my lady. The station at Bedrashein."

"Where is that?"

"Where we are going. We alight there to see the ruins of Memphis and the

Pyramids of Sakkara."

Pauline looked puzzled, but said no more and sat silently wrapped in her

own thoughts, now of Stone, now of Carr, and again of herself.

At Bedrashein, they left the train. Pauline looked anxiously around but

saw nothing of her cousin.

"I do not see him," said Ahri, gravely, meeting her inquiring glance;

"but I obey his orders. He said, if he be not here, we go to the desert

to meet him."

"To the desert? How? Where?"

"This way. Here are our carts." Ahri led the way to where two sand-carts

stood waiting, evidently for them. They were a little like English

dog-carts and drawn by desert horses.

"You take that one, Miss Stoort, and I this," directed Ahri, standing

with outstretched hand, like a commanding officer.

Bewildered but knowing the responsibility of Carr's servant, Pauline got

into the cart he indicated. She did not at all like the looks of the

gaunt black Moor who drove her, but thought best to say nothing. She had

learned never to show fear of the native servants, and she held her head

high, and gave the driver only a haughty stare. Ahri, after she was

arranged for, sprang into the other cart, and they set off.

The road was through the village, through palm groves, past large

expanses of water, and at last through desert wastes, among foot-hills

that quickly cut off the view of the road just traversed.

Pauline's cart was ahead of the other, and looking back she could not see

the other one, in which Ahri rode.

A strange feeling began to creep into her heart. Covertly she glanced at

her driver. The hard bony face was not turned her way, but she had an

uncanny sense that the man was grinning at her. Sternly she bade him stop

and wait for the other cart.

"No Ingleese," he rejoined, with a dogged expression on his ugly

countenance.

"I command you," and Pauline laid hold of his arm, "I insist that you

stop!"

"No Ingleese," he repeated, and now he gave her a distinctly impudent

look and spurred the horse to faster pace.

Pauline considered. She was frightened beyond words to express, but she

knew she must not show fear. Haughtily she held her proud little head

aloft, and tried to think what was best to do. Something was wrong, that

she knew, but whether it was Ahri who was at fault, or this dreadful man

beside her, or--or,--she stifled back the thought of Loria.

He would save her, she knew he would, cried her worried brain, but in her

heart was black doubt. All the unadmitted fears she had known of late,

all the repressed suspicions, all the insistent doubts, these came

flocking, clamoring for recognition.

On they went,--where they might be she had no idea. Nothing could be seen

but the never-ending hills, not high, but of sufficient height to cut off

all view of anything but their sandy slopes. Miles and miles they

traversed. The sun was under a cloud, and Pauline had no knowledge of the

direction they were taking. But from the man's grim, stony face, and

cruel eyes, she knew she was in dreadful, even desperate danger.

Courageously, she insisted over and over that they stop. The reply was

only a shaken head and a reassertion that English was an unknown tongue.

This Pauline knew to be a lie, from his intelligent expression at her

words. At last, desperately trying to control her trembling hands, she

offered her purse, if he would stop.

To her surprise, he consented, and jerked his horse to a stand-still.

Pauline handed over the purse, and the driver got out of the cart,

indicating by gestures that she should also alight, and rest herself.

The cart was small, and the ride had been uncomfortable, so after a

moment's thought Pauline jumped out. She reasoned that the man having her

money, had no desire to prolong the trip, and in a moment they would go

back to Bedrashein. Often had she heard of these robberies, and she felt

that, cupidity satisfied, she had little to fear.

But no sooner was she on the ground, than the Moor sprang again into his

cart, and whipping up his horse, sped away across the desert sand and in

a minute rounded a hill and was out of sight.

Pauline looked after him an instant, and then, realizing to the uttermost

what it meant,--that she was abandoned to her fate in a trackless

desert,--fell in a little heap on the sands and fainted away.

It was about eleven o'clock on the morning of that same day, that Carr

Loria went to Shepheard's Hotel and asked for Fleming Stone.

The two men met, and eyed each other appraisingly. There was no light

chat, each was of serious face and in grave mood.

Loria spoke first, after the short greeting. "I have a telegram from my

cousin, Miss Stuart," he said, drawing a paper from his pocket. "I know

why you are here, Mr. Stone, and I think best to show you this. Frankly,

I am glad of it."

Stone took the message, and read:

I have run away again. I am afraid of F. S. Don't try to find me, I am

all right, and I will communicate with you after he goes back to U. S.

I positively will not make my whereabouts known as long as he is in

Cairo. Don't worry.

Polly.

"We may as well be honest with one another," Loria went on. "I gather,

from your presence here, that you know my cousin is guilty of the death

of her aunt; but you _don't_ know, you _can't_ know, what that poor girl

had to put up with. I can't blame her, that in a moment of,--really of

temporary insanity,--she let herself be tempted----"

"I'm sorry to cut short this interview, Mr. Loria," said Stone, in his

quiet way, "but, truly, I've a most important engagement just now. If I

could see you, say this evening, and talk these things over by

ourselves----"

"Surely, Mr. Stone. I must return to my work to-morrow, but I'll see you

to-night. Will you come to my place?"

"Yes, I will. About nine?"

"Nine it is," and Loria swung away, as Fleming Stone turned and hastened

into the hotel.

Straight to Mrs. MacDonald he went and asked where Pauline was.

"She went to visit Memphis and Sakkara with her cousin," said the smiling

chaperon. "That is, she went with her cousin's dragoman, and Mr. Loria

met them at Bedrashein."

"Oh, _did he_! Now listen, Mrs. MacDonald. Miss Stuart is in danger. I am

sure of this. I am going to her aid, but I may not----" Stone choked, "I

may not succeed soon. Tell me of this dragoman. What does he look like?"

Graphically, Mrs. MacDonald described the statuesque Ahri, and almost

before she stopped speaking, Stone was flying along the corridor, down

the stairs, and out at the door.

He caught a train to Bedrashein, and the first person he bumped into at

the little station was Ahri himself waiting for the train to Cairo.

Fleming Stone went straight to the point. "Look here, Ahri," he said to

the astonished Arab, who had never seen him before, "what have you done

with Miss Stuart?"

For once the phlegmatic Arab was caught off his guard.

"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I have not seen her to-day."

"Don't lie to me," and Stone gave him a look that cowed him. "Now listen.

You're in Mr. Loria's pay. All right. He paid you well for the job you've

just done. Now, I'll pay you twice,--three times as well to undo it.

Moreover, I'll inform you straight that you'll never work for Mr. Loria

again. He's a villain, a wicked man. Take my advice, Ahri, give him up

and come over to me. By so doing, you'll not only escape punishment for

your work to-day, but get a fresh start toward a good position. I don't

believe you're a bad man at heart, Ahri. At least, I don't believe you'll

continue to be if you're better paid to be good."

Stone was right about this, and the talk ended in another expedition of

two sand-carts into the desert. Ahri in one, with a native driver, Stone

alone in the other, driving himself. Ahri's cart was driven by the same

Moor that had driven Pauline only two or three hours before. Stone

followed them, the wicked driver easily bought over to betray the place

where he had left Pauline.

And there they found her.

Crouched at the base of a small hill, worn out by weeping and despair,

racked by fright and terror, she had fallen into a fitful slumber from

sheer exhaustion. Jumping from his cart, Stone waved the others back and

went to her. On her face were traces of tears. Her gloves and

handkerchief were torn in strips by her agonized frenzies. Her shoulders

were huddled as if in frantic fear, and her face was drawn and pinched

with anguish. But in spite of all this, Stone thought he had never seen

her look so beautiful. Stepping nearer he lifted her to her feet, and

unheeding the observers, he clasped her closely in his arms, and

whispered endearing words.

Pauline, her eyes still closed, murmured, "it's only a dream. I must not

wake, I _must_ not!"

"No dream, darling," said the strong, glad voice in her ear. "Does this

seem like a dream?" and his lips met hers in a long, close kiss.

Then her eyes opened, wondering, and lest she should faint from very joy,

Stone carried her to the cart and placed her in it. Jumping in beside

her, he ordered the other cart to lead and they started back.

Neither Pauline nor Stone ever forgot that ride. At first, she was

content to ask no questions, happy in his nearness and her own rescue

from an awful fate. But, later, she inquired about Loria.

"You must know the truth soon, dearest," said Stone, gently, "so I'll

tell you, in part now. Your cousin is a wicked man, Pauline, and you must

grasp this fact before I go on."

"Carr wicked?" and Pauline paled and trembled as if struck with a sudden

blow.

"Yes, it was his hand, his will, that sent you to be lost in the desert.

He showed me a false telegram, saying you had run away from me!"

"What? oh, I can't believe it!"

"Well, don't try now," and Stone smiled at her. "It's all I can do to

manage this fiery steed without trying to tell you unbelievable things at

the same time. Let me tell you something more easy of credulity."

Pauline's smile was permission, and Stone had no difficulty in convincing

her of certain self-evident truths.

By the time the trio reached Cairo, Ahri was as staunch a follower and as

true a slave of Fleming Stone as he had been of Carrington Loria. At

Stone's direction he returned to his former master, for the present, and

gave no hint of the later development of the kidnapping scheme.

"All went off as planned?" said Loria, secure in his servant's fidelity.

"Yes, master," answered the devoted trusty, and Loria said no more on the

subject.

That evening when Fleming Stone went to Carr Loria's rooms, he was

accompanied by Pauline and the Englishman, Pitts.

Loria started at sight of his cousin, but quickly recovered his poise and

jauntily asked her where she had come from.

"No place like Cairo, for me," she replied in the same light tone, and

they all sat down in Loria's den.

"More company than I expected," he said, as he bustled about, seating

them. "Ahri, another chair."

Ahri obeyed the request, and then softly left the room.

"Mr. Loria," said Stone, directly, "there is no use wasting words, we are

here to accuse you of the murder of your aunt and the attempted murder of

your cousin."

Carr Loria's face blanched, but he tried to put on a bold front.

"What do you mean by this nonsense? Is it a joke?"

"By no means; I have all the proofs of your crimes and I ask you if you

will confess here, or to the Police?"

"Friend Pitts, I believe, is connected with the Police," and Loria

laughed grimly.

"Yes, he is. Have you anything to say?"

"Only to deny your accusations. Except that it's too absurd even to deny

such foolish talk. What do you mean anyway?"

"That you poisoned Miss Lucy Carrington, wilfully and purposely, by

sending her a dose of powdered aconite, under the pretense of its being a

beauty charm that would bring fairness and youth to her plain face."

Carr Loria's jaw dropped. He looked at Stone as if at something

supernatural. "W--what?" he stammered.

"You did it to get her money, _now_, to go on with your work in the bed

of the Nile. Then, in order to get your cousin's share of the fortune,

you sent her away to die in the desert, having first induced her to will

you her money."

"Ha, ha," laughed Loria, feebly. "Poor joke, Stone, pretty poor joke, I

say! Murdered my own aunt! Not much I didn't!"

"Carr Loria, listen!" Impressively Stone held up his finger, to adjure

silence, and at the same time he bent on Loria a glance of accusation

that made him cringe. But, fascinated, he stared into Stone's eyes, and

in the death-like silence came a voice,--the voice of Lucy

Carrington,--in a burst of ringing laughter! Loria's eyes seemed to start

from his head, and the sweat gathered in great drops on his forehead, as

the voice of his aunt spoke: "This song is one of Carr's favorites," they

heard, distinctly. "I'll sing it for him."

Then, in Miss Lucy's high, clear notes, came the song, "Oh, Believe Me If

All Those Endearing Young Charms."

Before the last strains came, Loria was raving like a maniac. He had

never heard of the phonograph records of his aunt's songs, for they had

meant to surprise him with them on his next trip home.

"Have mercy!" he cried: "stop her! Oh, my God! what does it all mean?"

"Confess," ordered Fleming Stone.

"I will confess! I do confess! I did send her the powder, just as you

say. I wrote her to dress up like Cleopatra, and put on her pearls, and

scarabs, and fasten an asp, a paper one, at her throat, and take the

stuff, and it would cause Cleopatra's beauty to come to her. I told her

to hold in her hand something belonging to the man she loved. It was a

great scheme,--a fine scheme,----" Loria was babbling insanely now. "I

don't see how any one ever found it out. I was so careful! I made her

promise to burn all my notes and letters about it, before I would send

the powder. _Who_ suspected it? I planned everything so carefully--_so_

carefully--Made her promise to burn everything,--everything--letters of

instruction, powder-papers, everything must be burned, I

said--everything,--and she said, yes, Carr, everything. Over and over I

wrote it. Told her that if she left anything unburnt the charm wouldn't

work, and it didn't. Ha, ha," with a demoniac chuckle, "it didn't!"

"Take me away, I can't stand it," moaned Pauline.

Again there was a silence. The phonograph had ceased; Loria sat, with his

head fallen forward on his hands, at his table. He was still, and Stone

wondered if he were alive. Then, suddenly, he lifted his head, and cried

out.

"Yes, I did it because I was crazy, _wild_ over my Nile scheme. Ah, that

wonderful work! It will never be done now. When I heard Stone was here I

knew it was all up. I planned to lose Polly for a time,--not forever, no,

_not_ forever--I would have found her some day,--some day,--all dead, in

the desert, all dead----"

Pauline fainted and Stone flew to her side. But in a moment she revived,

and he begged her to go home. She consented, and Ahri, dependable now,

took her to the hotel.

Fleming Stone and Mr. Pitts attempted to get Loria to calm down and talk

more coherently. Shortly he did so. He gave a full account of all the

details of his crime, and though he denied the intention of leaving

Pauline to die in the desert, his word was not believed by the two

listeners.

Finally, he rose and walked across the room. "You see," he said, a little

wearily, but quite sane, now, "I've a bad streak in me. My father was a

Spaniard and he killed his own uncle. The Loria line is a series of

criminals. Aunt Lucy never knew this, for my parents lived always abroad.

But blood will tell. And my father, after he killed my uncle, followed it

up by taking his own life,--like this,----"

Though Stone caught the gesture and sprang to prevent it, Loria was too

quick for him. He had snatched a dagger from the table, and plunged it

into his heart.

Both men leaped at him, but it was all over in an instant. Carr Loria had

himself dealt the punishment for his crimes.

"Perhaps it's as well," said Stone, musingly. "A trial, and all that,

would have been awful for his cousin, and the family connections. Now the

matter can be disposed of with far less notoriety and publicity."

"Yes," agreed Pitts.

Fleming Stone waited till morning to tell Pauline of her cousin's death.

She was wide-eyed and pathetically sad, but composed.

"It is all so dreadful," she said, "but, Fleming, I knew it before I left

New York. I didn't _know_ it, exactly, but I felt sure it must be so, and

I had to come here to see. Then I found Carr so gay and light-hearted I

thought I must be mistaken, and I was glad, too. Then when you came, I

couldn't make up my mind whether you suspected Carr, or whether----"

"Whether I came only to see you," supplied Stone. "It was both, dear."

"What made you think of Carr, in the first place?"

"Because there was no real evidence against any one else, though the

police were making things dangerous for you, my little girl." Stone held

her close, as if even yet there might be a hint of danger. "And I made

Miss Frayne confess that she didn't really see you leave your aunt's room

that night, though she did honestly think that you were in there, and

your aunt was talking to you. Nor you didn't see her actually leaving the

room, did you?"

"I only saw her with her hand on the door-knob. That was my first glimpse

of her, and I thought she was coming out."

"No; she thought of going in to apologize for her hasty temper. But,

hearing a voice, she paused, and so thrilling was the talk she overheard,

she waited there some minutes."

"And then, you thought of Carr?"

"I sized up all the people who had motive, and Loria was surely in that

category. And then I found the powder-papers. Dear, those would have gone

sorely against you if any one else had discovered them. I resolved to

wrest the secret from those papers, and I did!"

"You did? How?"

"By studying them for hours; with magnifying glasses, and without. I

found at last a clue,--a possible clue,--in the fact that the edges of

the papers had been cut with the curved blades of a pair of manicure

scissors. I had Jane bring me all the manicure scissors in the

house,--thank Heaven, _your_ scissors didn't come within a mile of

fitting the edges! You see, the papers were faintly scalloped on every

edge. They _must_ have been cut by the little curved blades, and rarely

do two pairs of manicure scissors make the same scallop. The great

discovery was that Miss Lucy's own scissors did fit them! This, dearest,

would have pointed to you in the eyes of these determined police, for you

had access to your aunt's toilet appointments."

"So did Anita or anybody in the house!"

"Yes, but the police were hot on your track, and ready to bend any hint

your way. Oh, thank God, that I could and did save you! Well, I further

noticed that these scissors of Miss Carrington's were of a different

pattern from the brushes and mirrors of her set. I went to Estelle, and

she told me that the last time Carr Loria was at home he took a great

fancy to his aunt's scissors and asked her to give them to him. She did,

and when she tried to get another pair with that especial shaped blade,

she could do so only by taking a different patterned handle! Do you

wonder that I came straight over here?"

"No," and the lovely eyes beamed with admiration of Stone's cleverness,

as well as with affection.

"Then, last night, I went to Loria's rooms, and found not only the

scissors, that fitted exactly the scalloped papers, but found that the

outside powder wrapper is undoubtedly a piece of his own writing-paper.

It is the same color and texture. Moreover, as he confessed it all, there

is no further room for doubt. Another hint I had was when I found some of

Loria's letters in your aunt's desk. Not their contents, they were just

such as any affectionate nephew might write his aunt, but the

chirography. You know the letter from him that you showed me, was

typewritten, and I judged nothing from it. But his handwriting,--I have

studied the science,--gave evidence of criminal traits, and I felt sure

then I was on the right track. I brought the phonograph record to

frighten him into confession, and it did. Ahri started it, in the next

room, at my signal."

"I might have known you would do it. When I came here, you know, I wrote

and asked you to drop the case. I feared your investigations would lead

to Carr."

"It had to be a question of his guilt or yours," returned Stone gravely.

"You don't know, darling, how near you were to arrest! Let's not think of

it ever again. I'll engage to keep your dear mind occupied with pleasant

thoughts all the rest of our life. You don't want to stay in Cairo, do

you? Shall we try Algiers for a honeymoon spot? Or, if you don't want

Africa at all, how about Greece, or over to Algeciras? Whither away, my

Heart's Dearest?"

"Whither? Together, then what matter whither?" said Pauline, her eyes

full of a love deep enough to drown the sorrows that had filled the past

weeks.

"Together always," he responded, holding her to him; "always, my

Pauline."

_CAROLYN WELLS'_

_Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone, the great American

Detective, displays his remarkable ingenuity for unravelling mysteries_

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