Chapter II

About two-thirds of the thirty-odd miles of Lake Memphremagog lies in Canada, Province of Quebec. The lower third lies in Vermont, with Lentone near its extreme southern tip, Magog at its northern extremity.

A few miles above the international border on its eastern shore nestled the rough, comfortable camp that District Attorney McCall, of New York, had turned over for the use of his friend, Professor Brierly, and the immediate members of his household. These comprised John Matthews, Professor Brierly's adopted son and principal assistant; Matthews' sister, Norah, who had recently lost her husband; her four-year-old son, Thomas, and Professor Brierly's housekeeper, Martha, who had been quite certain that without her capable presence, the old savant would be grossly neglected, suffer and die.

Jimmy Hale had elected to drive. July Fourth of that year falling on a Friday, he had decided to start his vacation, nominally, on the following Monday, July 7, actually, on the morning of July second. He argued logically that it might take several of his vacation days to clean up the story. Hite not offering any objections to this, Jimmy started shortly after midnight, Wednesday morning.

The fates were unkind to him. He ran into a rain storm in Connecticut, which followed him through most of Massachusetts. Shortly after he left Brattleboro, Vermont, behind him, he asked two separate individuals for the shortest road to his destination. Each gave him instructions that varied considerably from the other. He decided to follow the direction of the one who looked most intelligent and became lost.

He crossed the Connecticut River several times. His geography being rather sketchy, he became confused by the fact that he appeared to be in New Hampshire part of the time. Then he got lost in Canada, which feat is fairly easy for the stranger.

It was nearly six o'clock in the morning of July third, when he found the camp, about two miles off the road. He bumped over rutted paths through rough, plowed and unplowed fields several miles before he finally arrived. A friendly fox-terrier puppy fawned on him and friskily led him to a porch.

Jimmy was red-eyed, tired, haggard and in a vicious temper when he reached the camp. He knew it was his destination because, on a wide porch facing the west, he came upon his friend and former schoolmate, John Matthews, snugly rolled in his blankets, sound asleep. Jimmy took this sleep as a personal affront. As if jeering at his own sleeplessness, Matthews emitted a faint snore.

Jimmy cat-footed it down to the lake, scooped up a bucketful of water and went back to Matthews.

The blond young giant awoke sputtering and strangling. Through the haze he saw something that reminded him of his friend Jimmy Hale, red-eyed, dust-covered, grinning at him. He himself was lying in a pool of water. Jimmy was flourishing a bucket and hissing.

"Get up you lazy dog, get up. What you mean sleeping on such--"

This ended in a frightened squawk. Matthews leaped. One long arm grasped Jimmy. Then both hands had him. Jimmy was carried struggling to the homemade wharf. Thence he was flung into the sparkling waters of the lake. When his head emerged Matthews flung a cake of soap at him.

"Here, you need this, you're dirty."

The puppy, thinking this was a good game, yelped and frolicked.

Out of a window above the sleeping porch there popped a bushy white head, a remarkably high wide brow, deeply sunken blue eyes and, as if accentuating the rest of the remarkable features, bushy black eyebrows.

An irascible voice, in clear, crisp accents came down.

"What is this, what is this, what is this abominable disturbance?"

"Oh, nothing, Professor," responded Matthews. "A tramp came around and--"

"A tramp, here?" Just then the dripping form of Jimmy emerged from the water. "What's that? Who is that? Dear me, it looks like Mr. Hale."

The bushy white head disappeared. In a short time, the old man, clad in pajamas of somber hue, appeared at the door.

Matthews was staring at Jimmy in well simulated disbelief and surprise. "By gosh, you're right, Professor. It _does_ look like Hale. Now who would have thought--"

Professor Brierly glared at his young protégé suspiciously. He stared at Hale.

"But, Mr. Hale is all wet and so are you. Your bedding is--now what kind of prank is that? I came up here for a rest. I--"

"Yes, Professor, Mr. Hale is all wet. He's that way frequently, you know."

"Mr. Hale is--why Mr. Hale you look tired, you're caked with mud. We did not know you were coming."

Hale briefly explained that he had been taking an involuntary lesson in the geography of the New England states and part of Canada; that he had been driving for something more than twenty-four hours. Professor Brierly hospitably insisted that he take a bath and a rest.

Considerably refreshed, Hale awoke in time for luncheon, when he was introduced to the other members of the household, Norah, Matthews' sister and her little boy Thomas, a nut brown youngster of four summers, between whom and Professor Brierly there had grown up a vast friendship. Thomas addressed the old scientist familiarly as "Pop" an appellation that Professor Brierly would have resented fiercely if used by anyone else.

Politeness forbade him from inquiring for whom the vacant chair at the table was standing when there was a crunching of the gravel outside appraising them of the coming of a visitor. The figure of McCall, District Attorney of New York, loomed through the doorway. They had been conscious for some minutes past of the increasing roar of a small outboard motor which had stopped outside their own, door.

McCall grasped the hand of the newspaperman.

"Well, well, look who's here! A regular family reunion. All that's necessary to make this complete is a murder or two and it would be like old times indeed. What brings the representative of the press here?"

Jimmy briefly told McCall the reason for his visit. McCall nodded and turned to Professor Brierly.

"This is a coincidence, Professor, or, not so much of a coincidence at that. Judge Higginbotham's camp is about two miles down the lake here. I know the judge; my father and the judge's family have spent their summers here for a number of years. Judge Higginbotham heard that you were here and he asked me to tell you that he and the rest of his group would be honored to have you join them on their reunion. This takes place formally tomorrow, July Fourth. Then it is their custom to spend about a week together."

"Swell," glowed Hale, "then you can tell me something about it. I looked in our morgue and couldn't get much. While there are reams and reams written about the individual members of the group, dead and living, there is almost nothing of them as a whole."

McCall's face clouded momentarily, then it cleared. Jimmy's quick eyes noted this momentary disturbance of the District Attorney's placid exterior. His newspaperman's keen mind filed it away. Professor Brierly was leaning forward showing more than his usual interest. He said:

"I shall be happy, of course, to avail myself of the opportunity to meet face to face such an interesting group of men, men who have had such a large share in making the history of this country, in the Civil War and since. But surely, Mr. McCall, such men do not hold an annual reunion with their Tontine insurance agreement as the sole tie to hold them together. These men must be above such things. What is there, aside from the insurance, that has held this group together for sixty-five years?"

"Oh, so you heard about this Tontine insurance, did you?" asked McCall.

"I told Professor Brierly about it, Mac," stated Jimmy.

"Oh, I see. Well, you're right, Professor. This is not the thing that holds them together." He ground his cigarette stub into a tray and taking out his pipe, began meditatively filling it. He lit it carefully and took a thoughtful puff or two. He continued:

"If you've read your history you will remember that at one time, toward the end of that dreadful struggle, the Civil War, all males, from about the age of sixteen upwards, were either drafted or enlisted on both sides. Boys of fourteen in active combat service were fairly common. Father and sons often fought side by side. What is still more deplorable is the fact that often brothers, and even fathers and sons, fought on opposite sides."

McCall puffed more slowly. He was apparently choosing his words carefully.

"What I want to make clear is that thousands of boys in their teens, as young as thirteen and fourteen, were in active combat service. The conditions at that time, of course, were such that boys matured much earlier than they do now.

"Imagine if you will, Camp Douglas, near Chicago, northern prison for Confederate soldiers, where seven thousand prisoners of war were quartered. Picture several hundred prisoners taken at Fort Donelson, including men from Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, sent to Douglas soon after their capture; shivering in the snow in the center of the parade ground, wearing upon their backs all the colors of the rainbow, ragged garments intended for a much warmer climate, frames all unaccustomed to the rigors of a northern winter. A week before, these men were fighting under the serpent flag of Douglas.

"Understand that if you will. Fiery Southerners, among them boys, to whom restraint was particularly galling. What more natural than an attempted prison break." McCall paused uncertainly and continued: "The jail break failed but the abortive attempt bound the ringleaders even closer together than the common cause they were defending.

"About a year after that came the end of the war. With the assassination of Lincoln, there began a period in our history of which none of us can be proud. The damnable Reconstruction Act, the 'carpet baggers,' with the years of consequent misery brought to the South, whose sons fought with the same patriotic motives and feelings as those of the North.

"It was then that this little group was born; they numbered originally two hundred and thirty-seven, Southerners most of them, and a few who had fought for the Union. They were sworn to give their lives, if necessary, to prevent corrupt politicians having their way with the South.

"All of these were between seventeen and eighteen years of age. One of them explained to me since that they did not want older men because they were afraid that such would not take their Quixotic notions seriously enough. Among them was Lorenzo Tonti, direct descendant of the Tonti, of insurance fame. The youngster had been brought to the United States by one of the followers of Garibaldi, the Italian liberator, who spent a few years in New York City about 1852.

"This youngster explained to his comrades the Tontine insurance plan. To boys of that age, fresh from war, this species of gambling seemed very attractive. Thus was born, sixty-five years ago, a group of more than two hundred men."

His audience had been listening to him with keen interest. Each showed it in his own way. To all of them the glamorous background was irresistibly appealing. But Jimmy Hale, the newspaper man, sensed something that did not appear on the surface. He asked challengingly:

"Why were you disturbed, Mac, when I asked you to tell me about it. There is nothing in what you have said that should have caused you any uneasiness."

McCall smiled whimsically.

"Ever the prying newspaperman, eh? There is something I'd rather not tell you, but since you're going to find it out by yourself--trust Jimmy Hale for that--I'd better let you have it first-hand."

"In the attempted jail break I told you of, they were betrayed by one or more of their own men, their own comrades in Douglas prison. The traitors were released and went over to the Union side. This is a phase of their story that none of the men care to talk about.

"The men who failed in the thwarted jail break were later released in an exchange of prisoners and the fortunes of war brought them, as guards to Libby Prison. To that prison there came a group of Union prisoners, among whom there were one or more of the men who had betrayed them.

"They had a peculiar system in Libby Prison at that time. When a group of Union prisoners was brought there, all the members of the group was given one number; they lost their individuality, so far as the prison was concerned, completely."

"One number?" queried Matthews.

"Yes, one number. Just bear that in mind. All the members of the batch of prisoners in question were given the same number. This group was given the number '14.' That is the way they were known to the officers and prison guards.

"Our friends of the Tontine group were never quite certain who had betrayed them. They suspected several men, among them, some of the prisoners who were brought to Libby Prison and given the number '14.' Later they were certain of it. At the end of the war, each one of them received the following communication:

"None of you will enjoy the fruits of your insurance any more than you did the unsuccessful jail break. 14."

"Since that time, during the entire sixty-five years, when misfortune, sickness, accident, loss or death happened to any member of the Tontine group, the surviving members of the group would each receive a sheet of paper, on which was printed in large characters, the number '14,' just that, nothing more."

McCall stopped; his features were drawn and tense. He continued:

"Do you see the dreadful possibilities in this thing? During the past two years, out of seven deaths, _five were reported as suicides_. After each death all the survivors received the terrible blank sheet of paper with the number '14.' These men are not easily scared. They have all gone through a lot and are able to face things.

"But more. You may put it down to the fact that as a prosecutor, I am naturally suspicious. To me, the Tontine insurance agreement presents dreadful possibilities. Each of the survivors has a powerful motive in--" He shook his head somberly.

"What does the fund amount to now, Mr. McCall?" Asked Professor Brierly.

"Several million dollars. Add to that the fact that in the stock market crash of October of last year, those members of the group who had money, lost it. It is a nice philosophical and psychologic speculation as to whether the man who had money and lost it or the man who never had it, will more readily commit murder for it. I tell you, folks, I don't like it. This is out of my jurisdiction as prosecutor. I am going there because I am friendly with several of the survivors. But I don't like it."

"Just what or whom do you suspect, Mac?" breathlessly asked Jimmy.

"I don't know," snapped McCall. The normally calm, collected prosecutor was evidently very much wrought up. "Here is a vendetta, regular Italian or Corsican style that has followed these men for sixty-five years. Of the five suicides during the past two years--who knows that they are really suicides. I--I tell you what," he wiped his brow. "I'll be glad to have Professor Brierly there."

Jimmy looked curiously at McCall. This was a mood so unlike the competent prosecuting officer.

Professor Brierly and Matthews shared Jimmy's wonder. Matthews said:

"You talk like a superstitious woman, Mac. What has happened recently that makes you--"

McCall interrupted:

"This diabolical '14' has chosen, during the past few years, the reunion of this group to make himself, or themselves, felt. Nothing has happened recently to make me feel this way. But depend on it, the group will have some communication from '14.' These men, remember, are worldly men who are not easily scared, but the thing is getting on their nerves. I can see it and feel it when I talk to them. When do you plan to go there, Jimmy?"

"Guess I'd better go the first thing tomorrow morning," stated Jimmy, seeing that McCall wanted to change the subject. "The earlier I go the sooner this thing will be cleaned up. From what you say, Mac, I'm beginning to think that I'll have more than a feature story."

"All right, I'll come for you tomorrow morning. You could manage for yourself probably, but it may make things easier if I go down there with you."

"That's good of you, Mac. I know some of them but you know how it is--a newspaper man coming for a story."

"Very well, I'm running along. I'll call for you in the morning, Jimmy. And Professor, don't let the representative of the press disturb your rest with his vivid yarns."

"Don't worry, Mr. McCall," drawled Matthews; "if he doesn't behave himself, you'll find him among the missing tomorrow."

Norah took the little boy out to play and the three men, Professor Brierly, Matthews and Jimmy were left at the table. A silence fell on the group after the departure of McCall, each absorbed in his own thoughts. It was apparent to Jimmy that McCall's story had made as profound an impression on the other men as it had on him.

Jimmy looked curiously at Professor Brierly, who was rolling a bread pill under his fingers in a mood of deep abstraction. To Jimmy this gesture was of special significance, because it was one which Professor Brierly disliked. He never did it himself and Jimmy had heard him reprove Matthews for doing it. The newspaper man caught Matthews' glance. Jack was going to make a facetious remark, when the old man murmured as if thinking aloud:

"Seven deaths, _five_ of them suicides. Strange, strange!"

"You suspect, Professor--"

The old man came out of his fit of abstraction with a start. "I suspect nothing. I never suspect without a sufficient basis of fact. I am very much interested in the story McCall told us. It is very, intriguing. An American vendetta! Possible, of course, for we have our Kentucky mountain feuds. McCall's suggestion is an unpleasant one.

"What dread horror does this mysterious '14' impose that will impel five such men out of twenty-one to commit suicide? The alternative is still more dreadful, Hale. In our criminal investigations, we have come across many instances of careless autopsies. We have come across many instances of loosely written reports by medical and other official examiners."

He shook his head and fell silent for a moment. Then he went on: "Think of it. On the one hand, a man, or men whose hate grew and grew for sixty-five years, until it became an obsession or outright mania. On the other hand, a fund of several million dollars."

"You suggest, Professor, you suggest--can death be produced so that it looks like suicide?"

"Of course it can."

"In five cases, Professor, within such a short time?"

"In five cases or five hundred cases, but here, this sort of thing is all right for a highly speculative imaginative newspaper man. Both you and McCall infected me with your--let us go outside and enjoy the sunshine."

For a time that afternoon, Jimmy forgot the conversation at the lunch table. He saw Professor Brierly and Matthews in new surroundings. And the charm of it stole in on him and made him forget temporarily the errand on which he came.

* * * * *

Professor Brierly was watching the movements of a lizard with detached interest when his little friend sat down beside him and began, glumly, pushing his toes in and put of the gentle ripples that lapped the shore.

Beautiful Lake Memphremagog, bisected by the international border, lay before them. On the opposite side a motor launch skirted the shore looking unreal against the dark, impenetrable wooded background. In the middle distance a canoe with two figures in it rose and fell lazily in the gentle swell.

Professor Brierly's deeply sunken, bright blue eyes looked with paternal affection at the little figure at his side. The lips under the tip-tilted nose formed, faintly, a pout. It was unusual for Tommy to sit so long beside "Pop" without asking a thousand questions. One of the reasons Tommy liked Professor Brierly so much was that the latter always answered his questions. And the answers were amplified with tricks that were so fascinating.

The professor's associates would have been amused as was Matthews' and the boy's mother, at the old man's painful efforts to use short words easy of comprehension. Professor Brierly never made the mistake of treating the boy or his questions lightly. He always gave them serious consideration; he always treated the boy with the grave courtesy due an equal.

After the silence had lasted a painfully long time, Professor Brierly asked:

"Anything wrong, Thomas?" The old scientist's concession to the amenities did not extend to calling the youngster "Tom" or "Tommy."

The little chap nodded.

"Yes, Pop, something very wrong, very, VERY wrong."

Professor Brierly's features showed appropriately grave concern. "What is it?"

"Uncle Jack, he--he--won't let me peddle."

"He won't let you what?"

"He won't let me peddle, peddle the boat." He pointed a grubby finger toward the canoe that was tied to the small wharf.

"Oh, you mean, he won't let you paddle the canoe."

"Yes, Pop, he won't let me peddle."

"_Paddle_ is the word, Thomas; say paddle."

"Peddle."

"No, no, Thomas, _paddle_, PADDLE!"

"Peddle."

Any other person but Thomas would have received an outburst of wrath from the old scientist Professor Brierly again demonstrated his deep love for the boy by abandoning the subject of pronunciation and returned to the major issue.

"You say, Thomas, that he won't let you peddle--er--paddle?"

Thomas glumly shook his head.

"But, Thomas, I cannot understand. I saw him teach you to paddle. He made you a small paddle himself."

"Well, he won't let me."

"Did John tell you why?"

"He just won't let me. He says I can't peddle all alone by myself till I c'n swim'n dive real good. I wanna peddle all alone by myself like them." He pointed to two canoes in the distance, each propelled by a lone figure.

"Well, Thomas, can you swim as well as Uncle John?"

"Sure, I c'n swim real good, mebbe not so good as Uncle Jack but-I wanna peddle all alone by myself."

The crunching of the gravel under heavy steps interrupted the two pals. Big, blond, athletic John Matthews was coming down the embankment that led from the rustic sprawling cabin.

"John," said Professor Brierly, gravely, "Thomas here, has a complaint against you."

"Zat so?" A huge hand seized the slack of Thomas's shorts and the boy was heaved up to the muscular shoulder. The two faces were now on the same level and twinkling gray blue eyes were looking into grave brown ones.

"Did you squeal on Uncle Jack, Tommy?"

The brown eyes were looking at him steadily, fearlessly. "I didn't squeal, Uncle Jack, I jes tole Pop"--A grubby hand began rumpling the tousled head. "I tole Pop you won't let me peddle--'n when you learn me to swim'n dive will you let me peddle all alone by myself?"

When Norah rowed out to the forty-two foot launch, two hours later, she witnessed a curious spectacle. As she climbed over the rail she saw her brother standing at the opposite rail holding a long pole, at the end of which there hung out into the water, out of her sight, a strong wash line.

Her brother seemed to be getting vast amusement out of what he was doing. Professor Brierly and Jimmy Hale were standing near by, interested spectators.

Norah stepped around the wheel house, asking:

"What are you doing, Jack?"

She was treated to Jack's good humored grin as he turned to face her.

"I'm fishin', Norah, fishin'. See--"

He heaved up the thick pole. There was a squealing from the hidden end of the rope. Then, to Norah's shocked eyes, there appeared the squirming, wriggling form of her young son trussed up in a harness that held him about his shoulders and thighs and left his arm and legs free.

Norah rushed forward.

"Tommy! Jack!"

Tommy yelled excitedly.

"Oo, mummie, Uncle Jack's learnin' me to swim. Watch. Lemme down, Uncle Jack 'n show Mummie."

"John Matthews," Norah called in her sternest tones, "let Tommy down, this minute. Suppose the rope broke, suppose--"

"Just watch, Norah. He's gettin' to be a reg'lar Weismuller. Ready Tommy."

With a look compounded of maternal love and pride, Norah watched the little form struggle through the water at the end of its odd fishing line.

This was followed by a diving lesson. There was much splashing, squealing and fun. Every time the little form disappeared beneath the water a big form followed it. When the little head appeared above the surface sputtering, the other was near by to be confidently clasped.