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know I sent for you?”

 

“No, sir. He was quite busy with his books and papers.”

 

“Humph! We can never be sure of him.”

 

“I suppose that is correct, sir.”

 

“Well, you and Morgan are a fine pair, I must say!

I thought he had some sense, and that you’d see to it

that he didn’t make a mess of this thing. He’s in bed

now with a hole in his arm and you’ve got to go on

alone.”

 

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Pickering.”

 

“Don’t call me by name, you idiot. We’re not advertising

our business from the housetops.”

 

“Certainly not,” replied Bates humbly.

 

The blood was roaring through my head, and my

hands were clenched as I stood there listening to this

colloquy.

 

Pickering’s voice was—and is—unmistakable. There

was always a purring softness in it. He used to remind

me at school of a sleek, complacent cat, and I hate cats

with particular loathing.

 

“Is Morgan lying or not when he says he shot himself

accidentally?” demanded Pickering petulantly.

 

“I only know what I heard from the gardener here at

the school. You’ll understand, I hope, that I can’t be

seen going to Morgan’s house.”

 

“Of course not. But he says you haven’t played fair

with him, that you even attacked him a few days after

Glenarm came.”

 

“Yes, and he hit me over the head with a club. It

was his indiscretion, sir. He wanted to go through the

library in broad daylight, and it wasn’t any use, anyhow.

There’s nothing there.”

 

“But I don’t like the looks of this shooting. Morgan’s

sick and out of his head. But a fellow like Morgan

isn’t likely to shoot himself accidentally, and now

that it’s done the work’s stopped and the time is running

on. What do you think Glenarm suspects?”

 

“I can’t tell, sir, but mighty little, I should say. The

shot through the window the first night he was here

seemed to shake him a trifle, but he’s quite settled down

now, I should say, sir.”

 

“He probably doesn’t spend much time on this side

of the fence—doesn’t haunt the chapel, I fancy?”

 

“Lord, no, sir! I hardly suspect the young gentleman

of being a praying man.”

 

“You haven’t seen him prowling about analyzing the

architecture—”

 

“Not a bit of it, sir. He hasn’t, I should say, what

his revered grandfather called the analytical mind.”

 

Hearing yourself discussed in this frank fashion by

your own servant is, I suppose, a wholesome thing for

the spirit. The man who stands behind your chair may

acquire, in time, some special knowledge of your mental

processes by a diligent study of the back of your

head. But I was not half so angry with these conspirators

as with myself, for ever having entertained a single

generous thought toward Bates. It was, however, consoling

to know that Morgan was lying to Pickering, and

that my own exploits in the house were unknown to the

executor.

 

Pickering stamped his feet upon the paved porch

floor in a way that I remembered of old. It marked a

conclusion, and preluded serious statements.

 

“Now, Bates,” he said, with a ring of authority and

speaking in a louder key than he had yet used, “it’s

your duty under all the circumstances to help discover

the hidden assets of the estate. We’ve got to pluck the

mystery from that architectural monster over there, and

the time for doing it is short enough. Mr. Glenarm was

a rich man. To my own knowledge he had a couple of

millions, and he couldn’t have spent it all on that house.

He reduced his bank account to a few thousand dollars

and swept out his safety-vault boxes with a broom before

his last trip into Vermont. He didn’t die with the

stuff in his clothes, did he?”

 

“Lord bless me, no, sir! There was little enough

cash to bury him, with you out of the country and me

alone with him.”

 

“He was a crank and I suppose he got a lot of satisfaction

out of concealing his money. But this hunt for it

isn’t funny. I supposed, of course, we’d dig it up before

Glenarm got here or I shouldn’t have been in such

a hurry to send for him. But it’s over there somewhere,

or in the grounds. There must he a plan of the house

that would help. I’ll give you a thousand dollars the

day you wire me you have found any sort of clue.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“I don’t want thanks, I want the money or securities

or whatever it is. I’ve got to go back to my car now,

and you’d better skip home. You needn’t tell your

young master that I’ve been here.”

 

I was trying hard to believe, as I stood there with

clenched hands outside the chapel porch, that Arthur

Pickering’s name was written in the list of directors of

one of the greatest trust companies in America, and

that he belonged to the most exclusive clubs in New

York. I had run out for a walk with only an inverness

over my dinner-jacket, and I was thoroughly chilled by

the cold mist. I was experiencing, too, an inner cold as

I reflected upon the greed and perfidy of man.

 

“Keep an eye on Morgan,” said Pickering.

 

“Certainly, sir.”

 

“And be careful what you write or wire.”

 

“I’ll mind those points, sir. But I’d suggest, if you

please, sir—”

 

“Well?” demanded Pickering impatiently.

 

“That you should call at the house. It would look

rather strange to the young gentleman if you’d come

here and not see him.”

 

“I haven’t the slightest errand with him. And besides,

I haven’t time. If he learns that I’ve been here

you may say that my business was with Sister Theresa

and that I regretted very much not having an opportunity

to call on him.”

 

The irony of this was not lost on Bates, who chuckled

softly. He came out into the open and turned away toward

the Glenarm gate. Pickering passed me, so near

that I might have put out my hand and touched him,

and in a moment I heard the carriage drive off rapidly

toward the village.

 

I heard Bates running home over the snow and listened

to the clatter of the village hack as it bore Pickering

back to Annandale.

 

Then out of the depths of the chapel porch—out of

the depths of time and space, it seemed, so dazed I stood

—some one came swiftly toward me, some one, light of

foot like a woman, ran down the walk a little way into

the fog and paused.

 

An exclamation broke from me.

 

“Eavesdropping for two!”—it was the voice of Olivia.

“I’d take pretty good care of myself if I were you,

Squire Glenarm. Good night!”

 

“Good-by!” I faltered, as she sped away into the mist

toward the school.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GIRL IN GRAY

 

My first thought was to find the crypt door and return

through the tunnel before Bates reached the house.

The chapel was open, and by lighting matches I found

my way to the map and panel. I slipped through and

closed the opening; then ran through the passage with

gratitude for the generous builder who had given it a

clear floor and an ample roof. In my haste I miscalculated

its length and pitched into the steps under the

trap at a speed that sent me sprawling. In a moment

more I had jammed the trap into place and was running

up the cellar steps, breathless, with my cap

smashed down over my eyes.

 

I heard Bates at the rear of the house and knew I had

won the race by a scratch. There was but a moment in

which to throw my coat and cap under the divan, slap

the dust from my clothes and seat myself at the great

table, where the candles blazed tranquilly.

 

Bates’ step was as steady as ever—there was not the

slightest hint of excitement in it—as he came and stood

within the door.

 

“Beg pardon, Mr. Glenarm, did you wish anything,

sir?”

 

“Oh, no, thank you, Bates.”

 

“I had stepped down to the village, sir, to speak to

the grocer. The eggs he sent this morning were not

quite up to the mark. I have warned him not to send

any of the storage article to this house.”

 

“That’s right, Bates.” I folded my arms to hide my

hands, which were black from contact with the passage,

and faced my man servant. My respect for his rascally

powers had increased immensely since he gave me my

coffee. A contest with so clever a rogue was worth

while.

 

“I’m grateful for your good care of me, Bates. I had

expected to perish of discomfort out here, but you are

treating me like a lord.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. I do what I can, sir.”

 

He brought fresh candles for the table candelabra,

going about with his accustomed noiseless step. I felt

a cold chill creep down my spine as he passed behind

me on these errands. His transition from the r��le of

conspirator to that of my flawless servant was almost

too abrupt.

 

I dismissed him as quickly as possible, and listened

to his step through the halls as he went about locking

the doors. This was a regular incident, but I was aware

to-night that he exercised what seemed to me a particular

care in settling the bolts. The locking-up process

had rather bored me before; to-night the snapping of

bolts was particularly trying.

 

When I heard Bates climbing to his own quarters I

quietly went the rounds on my own account and found

everything as tight as a drum.

 

In the cellar I took occasion to roll some barrels of

cement into the end of the corridor, to cover and block

the trap door. Bates had no manner of business in that

part of the house, as the heating apparatus was under

the kitchen and accessible by an independent stairway.

I had no immediate use for the hidden passage to the

chapel—and I did not intend that my enemies should

avail themselves of it. Morgan, at least, knew of it and,

while he was not likely to trouble me at once, I had resolved

to guard every point in our pleasant game.

 

I was tired enough to sleep when I went to my room,

and after an eventless night, woke to a clear day and

keener air.

 

“I’m going to take a little run into the village, Bates,”

I remarked at breakfast.

 

“Very good, sir. The weather’s quite cleared.”

 

“If any one should call I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He turned his impenetrable face toward me as I rose.

There was, of course, no chance whatever that any one

would call to see me; the Reverend Paul Stoddard was

the only human being, except Bates, Morgan and the

man who brought up my baggage, who had crossed the

threshold since my arrival.

 

I really had an errand in the village. I wished to

visit the hardware store and buy some cartridges, but

Pickering’s presence in the community was a disturbing

factor in my mind. I wished to get sight of him—

to meet him, if possible, and see how a man, whose

schemes were so deep, looked in the light of day.

 

As I left the grounds and gained the highway Stoddard

fell in with me.

 

“Well, Mr. Glenarm, I’m glad to see you abroad so

early. With that library of yours the temptation must

be strong to

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