Chapter IX: A Promissory Note

Mr. Mitchel walked into the office of Mr. Barnes one afternoon as the clock struck two.

"Here I am, Mr. Barnes," said he. "Your note asked me to be here at two, sharp. If your clock is right, I have answered your summons to the second."

"You are punctuality itself, Mr. Mitchel. Sit down. I am in a good humor. I flatter myself that I have done a clever thing, and we are going to celebrate. See, there is a cold bottle, and a couple of glasses waiting your arrival."

"You have done something clever, you say? Some bright detective work, I suppose. And you did not honor me this time by consulting me?"

"Oh, well," said the detective, apologetically, "I should not be always bothering you with my affairs. It's business with me, and only amusement with you. When I have a matter of grave importance I like to have your assistance, of course. But this case, though interesting, very interesting, in fact, was really quite simple."

"And you have solved it?"

"Oh, yes; it is completed. Wound it up at noon to-day; ended happily, too. Let me fill your glass, and I'll tell you all about it."

"We will drink to your success. 'All's well that ends well,' you know, and this case you say is ended?"

"Oh, yes; the tale is complete down to the word 'finis.' Let me see, where shall I begin?"

"Why, at the beginning, of course. Where else?"

"Sounds like a reasonable suggestion, yet it is not always so easy to tell just where a story does begin. I often wonder how the romance writers get their stories started. Does a love story, for example, begin with the birth of the lovers, with their meeting, with their love-making, or with their marriage?"

"I am afraid that love stories too often end with the marriage. If yours is a love story, perhaps you may as well begin with the meeting of the lovers. We will take it for granted that they were born."

"So be it. I will transpose events slightly. Here is a document which was forwarded to me by mail, and evidently the sender expected me to receive it before the visit of a man who intended to consult me in a serious case. Oddly enough, the man called before the package reached me. Thus I had his story soonest; but perhaps it will be better for you to read this first, after which you will better comprehend the purpose of my client."

Mr. Mitchel took the type-written pages and read as follows:

"MY DEAR MR. BARNES:--

"Within a few hours after reading this statement you will
receive a visit from a man who will introduce himself as
William Odell, which is not his true name, a circumstance
which, however, is of no consequence. He will ask you to
interpose your reputed skill to save him from fate. I am
ready to admit that you have great skill and experience, but
it will be utterly useless for you to interfere in this
matter, for, as I have said, the man is seeking to escape
from a doom which is his fate. Who ever altered what was
fated to be? We may philosophize a little and ask what it is
that we mean, when we speak of 'fate'? My view is that fate,
so called by men, is naught but the logical and necessary
effect of a cause. Thus if the cause exists, the effect must
follow. So it is with this man, whom we will call Odell. The
cause exists, has existed for a number of years. The time
for the effect is now approaching; he knows this; he knows
that it is fate,--that he cannot escape. Yet, with the hope
of a hopeless man, in his last extremity he will ask you to
turn aside, or at least to defer, this fate. This you cannot
do, and that you may understand the utter futility of
wasting your time, which I presume is valuable, I send you
this statement of the facts. Thus comprehending the
incidents precedent to the present situation, you will
appreciate the inevitable nature of the occurrence which
this miserable man seeks with your aid to set aside."

* * * * *

"I thought you said this was a simple case, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel, interrupting his reading.

"I found it so," replied Mr. Barnes, sipping his wine.

"The writer says that the 'occurrence' was 'inevitable,' yet am I to understand that you prevented it?"

"He thought it to be inevitable. I disagreed with him, and prevented it."

"I hope you have not been over-confident."

"There is no danger. Did I not tell you that the affair ended?"

"So you did. I forgot that. This paper is entertaining. I will read on."

The statement went on as follows:

"I was born and reared and spent all my life in Texas. In fact,
you may consider me a cowboy, though it is long since I have
thrown a lariat, and one would hardly count me a boy now. What a
life do we lead down there on the Texas plains! Miles and miles
of country stretching in easy undulations from the rising-place
to the set of the sun. Day after day in the saddle, till one
imagines himself a part of the animal which he bestrides. How
often in play have I dropped a red bandana, and then picked it
from the grass as I galloped my horse by at top speed!

"One day I was riding along, free from all worldly care, happy,
contented. My horse was going easily, though we had several
miles yet to cover. Glancing carelessly ahead, neither seeking
nor expecting adventure of any kind, I thought I saw, a hundred
yards or more ahead of me, the bright red of a handkerchief in
the grass. A bandana dropped by a cowboy perhaps. With nothing
better to do, I touched my horse's flank, and with instant
response his head was down and we charged the spot. Leaning so
low on one side that I could have touched the ground easily with
my hand, we rapidly neared that bit of color, and I was almost
upon it before I realized that it was something more than a lost
handkerchief,--that it was really a bundle of some sort. Yet in
time I noted this, and therefore exerted enough strength when I
clutched it to lift it firmly from the ground, though the weight
of it astonished me. Swinging myself back upon my horse, I
brought him to a walk, that I might better examine my prize.
Imagine my feelings when I found that the little bundle
contained a thing of life--a baby girl!

"There is no need to extend this part of my tale. How the child
got there I never learned. Whether it was dropped from a wagon
travelling along the trail, or deposited there purposely by one
of those fiends who accept the pleasures of life and shirk its
responsibilities, I do not know. Indeed, at the time I took but
a passing interest in the affair. I had picked up a baby on the
plains. What of it? How could a cowboy like myself be expected
to evince any great interest in a baby? My father was rich, and
I had always been indulged in all things, though always held
rigidly by what I was taught to consider the rules of honor. I
had had a taste of the big world too, for I had been first at a
military academy, and afterwards had graduated from Harvard.
Then I had gone back to Texas, back to the life on horseback in
the open air, the life that I loved best. So you can understand
that women and babies had not yet come into my mind as necessary
adjuncts to life.

"The child was given into the care of the very negro mammy who
had practically reared me, my mother having died when I was yet
a boy. Thus it was not until Juanita--I forget how she got the
name, but so she was called--was twelve, that I began to feel
some personal responsibility in relation to her future. My
father meantime had died, and I was master of the old home, the
ranch and all the stock. Thus there was no lack of money to
carry out whatever plan might seem best. I took counsel with
some women of our town, and the end of it was that Juanita was
sent as far north as Atlanta to boarding-school. Here she
remained until she was sixteen, but she never really enjoyed
herself. A child of the plains almost literally, one might say,
living through her earlier girlhood with little if any
restraint, the duties of the school-room were irksome to her,
and she longed to be back in Texas. This yearning grew upon her
so that at length she began to make references to her feelings
in her letters. I had missed her from about the place more than
I should have imagined possible, and the strong inclination was
to grant her wishes and bring her back; but I knew the value of
education, and felt in duty bound to urge her continuance of her
studies. When first she went, it had been arranged that she
should remain in Atlanta studying for eight years, but finally I
offered as a compromise that she might come home at the end of
six, at which time she would have been eighteen. You may guess
my surprise when one morning on my return from a long ride after
the cattle, I saw a horse dashing swiftly towards me, and when
close enough, recognized Juanita on his back. Breathless she
pulled up beside me, and before I could speak cried out:

"'Now don't say you are going to send me back. Don't say it!
Don't! Don't! Don't! It would break my heart!'

"What could I do? There she was, exuberant in her happiness, all
the wild energy of her animal spirits aroused by the
exhilaration of that liberty for which she had so long yearned.
Of course I thought a good deal, but I said nothing.

"'Watch me!' she exclaimed. 'I haven't forgotten how to ride.
See!'

"Like a flash she was off towards a clump of bushes fifty yards
away. I called after her, fearing that four years of school life
would have left her less of a horsewoman than she imagined. But
she only laughed, and when near the hedge raised her horse with
the skill of an adept and cleared it by a foot.

"During the next two years the whole tenor of my life was
changed. Juanita went with me everywhere. Like myself she lived
in the saddle, and soon she could throw a lariat or round up a
herd of cattle as well as almost any of my men.

"What wonder that I learned to love the girl? Philosophers tell
us that two may meet, exchange glances, and love. Madness! That
is admiration, magnetic attraction, passionate desire,--what you
please,--it is not love. Love may spring from such beginning,
but not in an instant, a day, an hour. Too many have been
wrecked by that delusion, wedding while intoxicated with this
momentary delirium, and awaking later to a realization of a
dread future. For what can be worse misery than to be married
and not mated? No, love thrives on what it feeds on. Daily
companionship, hourly contact breeds a habit in a man's life,
creates a need that can but be filled by the presence of the one
who excites such heart longings. Thus we learn to love our horse
or dog, and the possession of the animal satisfies us. So when
we come to love a woman, to love her with that love which once
born never dies, so, too, possession is the only salve, the only
solution. After two years I realized this, and began to think of
marrying my little one. 'Why not?' I asked myself. True, I was
forty, while she was but eighteen. But I was young in heart,
energy, and vitality. And who had a greater right to possess her
than myself? None. Then a dreadful thought came to me. What if
she did not love me in return? My heart turned cold, but I never
dreamed of coercing her. I would tell her my wish, my hope, and
as she should answer so should it be.

"This was my determination. You will admit that I was honorable.
Having formed my conclusion I sought a favorable moment for its
execution. At this you may wonder. Were we not together daily,
riding side by side, often alone with God and Nature for hours
together? True! But I dreaded a mistake. Should I speak when her
heart was not ready, the answer might blight my life.

"So I waited day after day, no moment seeming more propitious
than another. Yet when I did speak, it was all so simple, that I
wondered at myself for my long anxiety. We had been riding
together for three or four hours, when, reaching a shaded knoll
in which I knew there was a cold spring where we might refresh
ourselves and our horses, we stopped. As she jumped from her
horse, Juanita stood a moment looking back and forth across the
plains, and then, in full enjoyment of the scene, she exclaimed:

"'Isn't it all grand! I could live here forever!'

"My heart leaped, and my tongue moved unbidden:

"'With me?' I cried. 'With me, Juanita?'

"'Why, yes; with you, of course. With whom else?'

"She turned and gazed into my eyes frankly, wondering at my
question, and my hand burned as with a fever as I took hers in
mine, and almost whispered:

"'But with me, little one, as my own? As my very own? As my
little wife, I mean?'

"A dainty blush beautified her cheek, but she did not turn away
her eyes as she answered:

"'Why, yes. As your wife, of course. I have always thought you
meant it should be. Always lately, I mean.'

"So she had understood before I had known myself. She had been
simply waiting, while I had been worrying. I had but to reach
forth my hand and grasp my happiness. Well, I had been an ass
not to know, but at last the joy was mine.

"Be sure there was little further delay. The wedding was simple
yet impressive. Cowboys came from miles around, and one and all
they kissed the bride. We had a feast on the grass, the tables
extending a quarter of a mile, and all were welcome. There were
no cards of invitation; all within fifty miles were my
neighbors, and all neighbors were expected at the cowboy's
wedding. The ceremony was held out in the open air, and five
hundred men stood with bared heads as the worthy father gave me
my treasure and declared her mine before God and them.

"Thus Juanita came to be mine own. First given to me by that
Providence who rules the Universe, when the unguided steps of my
horse carried me to the tiny bundle lying on a boundless plain,
and lastly given to me with her own consent by the worthy man
who united us in the name of the Father of us all. Was she not
mine then, and thenceforward forever? Could any man rightly take
her from me? You shall hear.

"A year passed. A year of happiness such as poets prate of and
ardent men and maids hope for, but rarely realize. Then the
serpent entered my Eden. The tempter came, in the form of this
man who tells you that his name is Odell, but who lies when he
tells you so. He was from the North, and he had a fine form and
a fair face. Fair, I mean, in the sense that it was attractive
to women. He soon had the few young women of our neighborhood
dangling after him, like captured fish on a blade of palmetto. I
saw all this, and, seeing, had no suspicion that with the chance
to choose from so many who were still unclaimed, he would seek
to win my own dear one.

"I cannot dwell on this. Indeed, I never knew the details, only
the finale. The blow came as unsuspected as might an earthquake
in a land where tranquillity had reigned for centuries. I had
been away all day, and for once my wife had not ridden with me.
I had myself bidden her remain at home, because of the intense
heat of an August sun. She had begged to go with me, perhaps
fearing to be left alone. But I knew nothing, suspected nothing
of the ache and terror in her heart. When I got back, it was
already dark, and having been away from Juanita all day, I
called for her at once. The empty echoes of my voice coming back
as the only answer to my cry struck my heart with a chill, and a
nameless, hideous dread seized me. Had anything happened? Was
she ill, or dead? Dead it must be, I thought, or she would have
answered. I wandered through the house; I searched the whole
place; I sprang back upon my horse and rode from house to house
throughout that whole awful night. I discovered nothing. No one
could tell me aught. At daybreak I returned fagged out, with a
vague hope that perhaps I had made some blunder and that she was
still at home. At last, in the room where I kept my accounts and
transacted business, I found a note upon my desk which explained
the horrible truth. Here is a copy of it. Note the hideous
braggadocio. It read:

"'I. O. U. One wife. (Signed) L---- R----.'

"That you may fully appreciate how this taunt stung, I must
remind you that, as I have said, my father had taught me to
follow most rigidly the rules of honor. In transactions
involving even very great sums of money, it was not uncommon
amongst us cattlemen to acknowledge an indebtedness in this
primitive, informal way,--simply writing upon a slip of paper,
perhaps torn from the edge of a newspaper, 'I. O. U.', giving
the amount, and adding the signature. No dates were really
necessary, though sometimes added, because the possession of the
paper proved the debt, the cancellation by payment always
leading to the destruction of the I. O. U.

"Thus this heartless young brute from the North had not only
stolen from me my chief treasure, but he had left behind an
acknowledgment of his debt in that form which was most binding
among us.

"Does it cause you surprise to have me say that I carefully
preserved that bit of paper, and swore to make him meet the
obligation when the day of reckoning might come? This explains
to you that cause, which at the outset I said brings with it a
result which now is, and always has been, inevitable.

"Of course it is certain that had I been able to find my
betrayer while my anger still raged, and my anguish yet at its
most acute point, I would simply have shot the man on sight,
recklessly, thoughtlessly. But I could not get trace of him, and
so had time to think.

"Too late I learned that I had made one dreadful error. I have
told you my views of love, how engendered and how nourished. My
mistake was in thinking that such a love is the necessary rather
than merely the possible result of constant companionship
between congenial spirits. In my own heart the fire of true love
burned only too brightly, but with Juanita, poor child, it was
but the glow reflected from my own inward fires that warmed her
heart. She was happy with me, sharing my life, and when I asked
her to marry me, mistook her calm friendship for what she had
heard called love. Love she had never experienced. When later
the younger man devoted himself to her, she was probably first
merely intoxicated by an overpowering animal magnetism, which
was nothing but passion. But even as I have admitted that this
impulsive desire may drift into the truer, nobler quality of
love, so, later, I found, must have been the case with my
cherished one.

"A full year passed before I had the least idea of the
whereabouts of the elopers. Then one day the mail brought me a
brief, plaintive note from her. All she wrote was, 'Dear one,
forgive me. Juanita.' The date showed that it had been written
on the anniversary of our wedding, and from this I knew that the
day had brought to her remorseful memories of me. But the
envelope bore a postmark, and I knew at last that they were in a
suburb of the great metropolis.

"I started for New York that very night, bent on vengeance. But
one approaches a revengeful deed in a different spirit a year
after the infliction of the wrong, and so by the time I reached
my destination, my mind had attained a judicial attitude, and my
purpose was tempered by the evident wisdom of investigating
before acting. I had little difficulty in finding the nest to
which my bird had flown, and a happy nest it appeared to be. It
seems like yesterday, and the picture is distinct before my
vision. I came cautiously towards the cottage, which was
surrounded by a grassy lawn, and my heart came into my throat
with a choking sensation as suddenly I saw her there, my little
Juanita, lazily swinging in a hammock under a great elm,
singing! Singing so merrily that I could not doubt that she was,
for the moment at least, happy. So, then, she was happy--happy
with him. The thought affected me in a twofold manner. I
resented her happiness for myself, and gloried in it for her own
sake. I did not venture to interrupt her life by intruding
myself into it. I quietly prosecuted my inquiries, and learned
that she was known as his wife, indeed that a regular marriage
had taken place. Thus at least he gave her the apparent
protection of his name. Moreover, I found that he was still kind
to her, and that the two were counted a happy couple.

"Therefore I returned to Texas, and never again set eyes upon my
dear one, in life. But before leaving I perfected arrangements
whereby I might receive regular communications, and so be in the
position to know how it fared with Juanita, and I am bound to
admit that the reports were ever favorable. So far as I know, he
always treated her with loving kindness. In exchange for this,
he must count that he has been left undisturbed by me. On that
score, then, we are quits. But the paper on which he wrote that
infamous I. O. U. remained, and so long as it was in my
possession it was an obligation still to be met.

"Five years elapsed, and then one day suddenly I was summoned by
telegraph. Juanita was ill--was likely to die. I sped North as
fast as the swiftest express train could travel, but I arrived
three hours after her sweet spirit had flown. He did not
recognize me as I mingled with the crowd in the house at the
funeral, and so got a last glimpse of her face. But after the
grave was filled, and the little mound was covered with flowers,
the mound which held all that had stood between him and fate, I
stepped forward and stood where his eyes must meet mine.

"At first he did not recognize me, but presently he knew me, and
the abject terror that came into his face brought to me the
first sensation of pleasure that I had experienced since that
hour in which I had found my home deserted. I stepped back into
the crowd, and I saw him look about eagerly, and pass his hand
across his eyes, as though brushing aside some horrible vision.
But he was soon to learn that it was no spectral fancy, but
myself with whom he had to deal.

"I waited till nightfall and then sought him at his house, and
told him my purpose. I showed him that bit of paper on which he
had scrawled the words 'I. O. U. One wife,' and I told him that
in exacting a settlement we would change the letter 'w' to the
letter 'l.' That for my wife, I would expect his life, in
return. I gave him a respite of a few days, but this he will
explain to you. I know this, for twice have I seen him approach
your offices, and then alter his mind and depart without going
in. But his fate is now so near that by to-morrow, at the
latest, he will no longer have the courage to delay. He will go
to you. He will lie to you. He will endeavor to obtain your aid.
Fool! Of what avail? He cannot escape even if you undertake to
assist him. But after reading the truth, as here written, will
you?"

Mr. Mitchel put down the last page of the statement, and, turning to Mr. Barnes, he said:

"And you say you have thwarted this man's purpose?"

"Yes; absolutely. Of course, that tale of his makes me sympathize with him, but the law does not grant a man the right to murder even when a wife is stolen. Certainly not after the lapse of five years."

"I should think that the author of that document would be a man who would carefully plan whatever scheme he might have decided upon, and if you have really thwarted him, then you have been very clever. Very clever, indeed. How was it?"

"To explain that," replied Mr. Barnes, "I must begin by telling you of the visit of this man who calls himself Odell. You will note that the Texan says that his adversary 'will explain,' etc. Thus he evidently intended his communication to reach me before the visit of my client. But it was otherwise. Mr. Odell, as we must call him, came here two days ago, whereas that communication did not reach me until yesterday morning."

"Did this man Odell tell you the same story as that sent to you by the Texan?"

"Essentially the same, yet differing materially in some of the details. He came into my office in a very nervous, excited frame of mind, and even after I had asked him to be seated and to state his business he seemed half inclined to go away. However, he finally concluded to confide his trouble to me, though he began the conversation in a singular manner.

"'I hardly know,' said he, 'whether you can help me or not. Your business is to detect crimes after they have been committed, is it not?'

"'It is,' said I.

"'I wonder,' said he, 'whether you could prevent a crime?'

"'That would depend much upon the circumstances and the nature of the crime.'

"'Let us say that a murder was contemplated. Do you think you might be able to prevent it?'

"'Do you know who is threatened? Who is the person to be murdered?'

"'Myself.'

"'Yourself? Tell me the circumstances which lead you to believe that such a danger threatens you.'

"'The circumstances are peculiar. I suppose I must tell you the whole miserable story. Well, so be it. Some years ago I went into one of the southern states, it matters not which, and there I met a young girl with whom I fell madly in love. There is nothing out of the common about the story except as regards her guardian. I suppose that is what he would be called. This man was quite a wealthy ranchman, and it seems that he had found the girl when an infant, on the open plains. He took her home, and raised her. Of course he grew fond of her, but the fool forgot that he was twenty years older than herself and fell in love with her. Consequently I knew that it would be useless to ask his consent to our marriage, so we eloped.'"

"That is a different version," interrupted Mr. Mitchel.

"Very different," said Mr. Barnes. "But when I heard it, it was the only version known to me. I asked him how long a time had passed since the elopement, and he replied:

"'Five years. I married the girl of course, and we have been living until recently up the Hudson. A month ago she died, and in grief I followed her body to the grave. The last sod had just been placed on the mound, when looking up I saw the man, the guardian, let us call him, standing glaring at me in a threatening manner. I was startled, and as a moment later he seemingly disappeared, I was inclined to believe that it had been merely a trick of the mind. This seemed not improbable, for if the man harbored any ill-will, why had he not sought me out before?'

"'Perhaps he did not know where to find you,' I suggested.

"'Yes, he did. I know that, because my wife told me that she wrote to him once. But it was not imagination, for that same night he came to my house, and coolly informed me that now that the girl was dead, there was nothing to delay longer his purpose to take my life.'

"'He told you this openly?'

"'He made the announcement as calmly as though he were talking of slaying one of his steers. I don't know why, for I am not a coward, but a terrible fear seized me. I seemed to realize that it would be useless for me to make any resistance; whether he chose to take my life at that moment or later, it seemed to me that I could and would make no effort to save myself. In fact, I imagine I felt like a man in a trance, or it might be in a dream-disturbed sleep wherein, while passing through dreadful experiences, and wishing that some one might arouse me, yet I myself was powerless to awaken.'

"'Perhaps the man had hypnotized you.'

"'Oh, no. I don't make any such nonsensical claim as that. I was simply terrified, that is all,--I who have never known fear before. Worse than all, I have not for an instant since been able to escape from my feeling of helpless terror. He talked to me in the quietest tone of voice. He told me that he had known of my whereabouts all the time, and that he had spared me just so long as the girl was happy; that so long as her happiness depended upon my living, just so long had he permitted me to live. Throughout the interview he spoke of my life as though it belonged to him; just as though, as I said before, I might have been one of his cattle. It was awful.'

"'Did he say when or how he would murder you?'

"'He did worse than that. He did the most diabolical thing that the mind of man could conceive. He explained to me that he considered me in his debt, and that the debt could only be cancelled with my life. And then he had the horrible audacity to ask me to give him a written acknowledgment to that effect.'

"'How? I do not understand.'

"'He drew out a large sheet of paper on which were some written words, and handed me the paper to read. This is what I saw: "On or before the thirtieth day from this date I promise to pay my debt to the holder of this paper."'

"'How very extraordinary!'

"'Extraordinary! Nothing like this has ever occurred in all the world. The man asked me practically to give him a thirty-day note to be paid with my life. Worse than that, I gave it to him.'

"'You gave it to him! What do you mean?'

"'At his dictation I copied those words on a similar sheet that he furnished, and I signed the hellish document. Don't ask me why I did it. I don't know, unless in my terror and despair I thought at the moment only of getting rid of my visitor, and of gaining even the short respite that here seemed held out to me. At all events I wrote the thing, and he folded it carefully and put it in his pocket with a satanic smile. Then he rose to go, but further explained to me that as the note said "on or before" thirty days, he would feel at liberty to conclude the matter at his own pleasure. This doubled the horror of the situation. What he said next, however, seemed to offer a ray of hope, if hope might be sought under such circumstances. He told me that if I could by any means manage to live beyond the limitations of the note, he would return the paper to me to be burned, and in that case I might consider the matter terminated.'

"'Why, then, he did give you one chance of living.'

"'I have tried to make myself think so. But as I have thought it over, sometimes I imagine that there is merely an added deviltry in this,--that he held out this hope only to intensify my sufferings; for total despair might have led me to suicide, thus shortening the period of my mental agony. If this was his purpose, he succeeded only too well. A dozen times I have been on the verge of blowing my brains out to abbreviate the torture, when the thought has come to me that as another day had passed finding me still alive, so might the remaining ones; that I might escape after all. So I have lived and entered another day of torment.'

"'But why have you allowed this affair to so prey upon your mind?'

"'Allowed it? How could I have escaped from it? You do not know the expedients of that fiend. I will tell you a few of the things that have made it impossible for me to forget. In the first place, every morning I have received a postal-card on which would appear some figures,--"30 minus 1 equals 29,"--"30 minus 2 equals 28,"--"30 minus 3 equals 27," and so on. Can you imagine my feelings this morning when the card was placed in my hand on which I found "30 minus 28 equals 2"?'

"'But why have you read these cards?'

"'Why? Why does the bird go to the snake that devours it? The cards have exerted a fascination for me. In my mail I would look first to see if one were there. Finding it, I would read it over and over, though of course I would know in advance the ghoulish calculation that would be there. But this is not all. On the third day I was about to smoke a cigar, when its peculiar shape attracted my attention. I looked at it a long time stupidly, and then broke it in half. Inside I found a slender metal tube, which later I discovered was filled with some horribly explosive preparation. I do not think that any other cigar of that nature has reached me. But, my suspicions once aroused, I began opening my cigars, to make sure, and in this manner, of course, they were rendered useless. Why, I have been suspicious even of cigars offered to me by some of my best friends. The more cordial the presentation, the more certain I have felt that the man might be in the plot against me. So I have been obliged to forego smoking, a great trial, as you may imagine, in such a condition of mind as I have been in, when a sedative would have been so acceptable.'

"'You might have used cigarettes,' suggested the detective.

"'Cigarettes? It seemed so at first. Of course not those ready-made, but I might make them for myself. I made one. Just one! I rolled it, using paper and tobacco that had been in my own room for over a month. When I applied a match the thing sizzled like a firecracker. Whether or not some powder had been dropped into my tobacco, I do not know. Undoubtedly I could have obtained fresh tobacco and fresh paper, and thus have enjoyed the longed-for smoke. But I tell you I have been unable to think these things out. I have been as feeble-minded as any imbecile. For a few days I obtained a little consolation out of liquor, but one night after taking a drink I thought I noticed a sediment in the bottom of the glass. I looked at it closer, and there it was. A whitish powder. Undoubtedly arsenic.'

"'Why not sugar?' said Mr. Barnes.

"'I don't know. That never occurred to me. Perhaps it was. At all events I have not had a drop of anything since, except water. No tea, no coffee, no liquor that might hide a poison. Only clear water, drawn from the hydrant with my own hands, into a cup that I carried about my person, and washed out before every draught. I was determined that he should not poison me except by poisoning the reservoir. This necessitated adopting a plan for eating that would be equally safe. So I have taken to eating at restaurants, a different one for every meal.'

"'You have allowed yourself to become morbid on this subject. I should not be surprised if this man really has no intention of committing this murder, but has taken this means of having revenge, by causing you a month of mental suffering.'

"'I hardly think that. He has made several efforts to kill me already.'

"'In what manner?'

"'Well, twice, in my own house, I was shot at from without. I heard the report of a pistol each time, and a ball passed close to me and entered the wall at my side. After the second attempt I decided to change my place of abode, and took a room at my club. The room had but one window, and that opened on the interior court. I was particular that it should not be exposed to the street. For several days nothing happened; then one night, just as I was putting out my gas, and consequently standing by the window, again I heard a pistol shot, and another bullet whistled past me, all too close. The odd thing was that though I had an immediate investigation made, it is certain that my enemy was not in the building.'

"'In that case, the shot must have come in accidentally. Some one opposite was probably handling his pistol and carelessly touched the trigger, causing the explosion. Naturally, when he found that you had nearly been shot, he chose not to make any explanations.'

"'However that may be, I thought it best to move again. This time I found a room in a hotel, where the only ventilation is from a skylight opening upon the roof. In there at least I have felt safe from intruding bullets. But I am disturbed by the regularity with which those postal-cards come to me. The address has always been changed as I have moved from one place to another.'

"'Evidently your man keeps an eye upon you.'

"'Very evidently, though I have never set eyes upon him since his visit on the night when he made me give him that diabolically conceived promissory note. Now that is the story. Can you do anything for me?'

"'Let me see; according to the calculation on the card that reached you this morning there are still two days of respite?'

"'Not of respite. There is no respite from my torture till the end comes, be that what it may. But there are two days remaining of the thirty.'

"That was the problem, Mr. Mitchel," said Mr. Barnes, "which I was called upon to solve. Bearing in mind that I had not yet received the other man's communication, you will, of course, concede that it was my duty to endeavor to save this man?"

"Undoubtedly. It was your duty to save the man under any circumstances. We should always prevent crime where we can. The question here was rather _how_ you might be able to accomplish this."

"How would you have proceeded, had the case been in your care?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel, laughing. "You cannot be allowed to get my advice after the affair is over. I must come in as principal or spectator. In this instance I am merely a spectator."

"Very well. As you please. My plan, I think, was as ingenious as it was simple. It was evident to me either that we had to deal with a man who did not intend to kill his victim, in which case any course would save him; or else the affair might be serious. If the man really was plotting murder, the affair occupying so long a time was unquestionably premeditated and thoroughly well planned. Whatever the scheme, it was equally obvious that we could not hope to fathom it. The blow, if it should come, would be swift and sure. Consequently but one course lay before us."

"And that was?"

"To remove our man to such a place of safety that the blow, however well conceived, could not by any possibility reach him."

"Ah, well argued! And could you find such a place?"

"Yes. A private room in a safe-deposit vault."

"Not bad. Not half bad. And you did this?"

"Without delay. I explained my purpose to the officers of one of these institutions, and before another hour had passed I had Mr. Odell 'safely deposited,' where none could reach him except myself."

"Of course you supplied him with eatables?"

"Yes, indeed, and liquor and cigars beside. Poor fellow! How he must have enjoyed his cigars! When I visited him yesterday, on opening the door of his room he looked like a spectre in a fog. Now I must further remind you that I put Mr. Odell in this safety-vault before receiving the letter from the Texan, firmly believing at the time that we were taking unnecessary precautions. After reading the Texan's story I altered my mind, becoming convinced that any other course would have been fatal. Indeed so impressed was I with the determination of this man to have Mr. Odell's life, that though I had the intended victim absolutely safe, still I felt it my duty to make assurance doubly sure, by remaining at the vault myself throughout the rest of the final twenty-four hours, which terminated at noon to-day."

"Then you released your prisoner?"

"I did, and a happier man than he you never saw. He stood out in the open air and took a long breath as eagerly as a drunkard drinks his tipple."

"And then what?"

"Why, then we separated. He said he would go to his hotel for a good sleep, for he had little rest in that vault."

"And that, you think, ends the case?"

A quizzical tone in Mr. Mitchel's voice attracted Mr. Barnes's keen sense of hearing, and, slightly disturbed, he said:

"Why, yes. What do you think?"

"I think I would like to go to that man's hotel, and I think we cannot get there too quickly."

"Why, what do you mean? Explain."

"I cannot explain. There is no time. Do not waste another minute, but let us go at once and call on your client."

Mystified, Mr. Barnes jumped up, and the two men hurried out of the building and up Broadway. They had only a few blocks to walk, and were soon in the elevator of the hotel ascending to the top floor where was that room whose only communication with the outer world was a skylight. Reaching the door, Mr. Barnes tried the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked first lightly and then more violently, but there was no response.

"It is useless, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel. "We must break in the door, and I fear we may be too late."

"Too late?" said Mr. Barnes, wonderingly; but without losing more time throwing his weight against the door it yielded and flew in. The two men and the hall-boy entered, and pointing to the floor where lay the body of a man, Mr. Mitchel said:

"See! we are too late."

They lifted the man to the bed, and hastily summoned medical aid, but he was dead. While the hall-boy was gone to call the doctor, Mr. Barnes ruefully said:

"This is incomprehensible to me. After reading that Texan's letter, I was so assured that however vengeful he might be, still he was an honorable man, that I felt positive he would keep his word, and that this man would be safe at the expiration of the note."

"You were entirely right in your estimate of the Texan's character, Mr. Barnes. Your fatal error was in regard to the expiration of the note."

"Why, the thirty days expired at noon to-day."

"Very true. But you have overlooked the usual three days' grace!"

"The devil."

"Just so; the devil,--in this instance the devil being the Texan. Ordinarily the extra three days is an extension demanded by the maker of the note, but in this instance it has been utilized by the deviser of the scheme, who, knowing that his man would be on guard during the thirty days, misled him by a promise of safety thereafter. But he did more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, how has he accomplished his purpose? How has he killed this man up here in a locked room, which has no window through which a bullet might be fired?"

"I do not know; that is another puzzle to be solved."

"I have already solved it. The promissory note is the vehicle of his vengeance,--the means by which the opportunity was obtained, and the means by which the end has been consummated. You will recall that Odell told you that the Texan promised that if he should live beyond the limitation of the note it would be returned so that he might burn it, and he might then consider the matter terminated. These were very suggestive words, and have wrought this man ruin. Evidently soon after he reached this hotel, feeling that at last he had escaped his threatened doom, an envelope was sent up to him, which contained the so-called promissory note. It being too dark in here to read, he lighted his gas. The reception of this paper caused him satisfaction because it seemed to show that his adversary was keeping faith. It had been suggested to him that he might 'burn' the note, and so 'terminate' the affair. Therefore he set fire to the paper, which evidently had been charged with an explosive substance. The explosion not only stunned if it did not kill the man, but it extinguished the gas, leaving the jet open, so that if not destroyed by the explosive he certainly must have been asphyxiated by the escaping gas. Here on the floor is a bit of the paper, and we can still see a few of the words which we know were contained in the promissory note. Then there is the gas turned on, while it is still daylight without. Am I right?"

"Unquestionably," said Mr. Barnes. "What a diabolical scheme from conception to the final act! But suppose that Mr. Odell had not burned that paper? Then the scheme must have failed."

"Not at all. You still overlook the three days of grace, of which but a few hours have yet expired."