Lonesome Cove is one of the least frequented stretches on the New England seaboard. From the land side, the sheer hundred-foot drop of Hawkill Cliffs shuts it off. Access by water is denied; denied with a show of menacing teeth, when the sea curls its lips back, amid a swirl of angry currents, from its rocks and reefs, warning boats away. There is no settlement near the cove. The somber repute suggested by its name has served to keep cottagers from building on the wildly beautiful uplands that o

“Would you mind telling me what you are doing on my wall.” “Not in the least,” replied the bearded man, rising buoyantly into full view, and subsiding again with the rhythm of a wave. “Well, what are you doing?” “Taking a little exercise.” By this time, having reached the end of the wall, he turned and came back, making the step with his right leg instead of his left. Sedgwick hurried down-stairs and out into the roadway. The stranger continued his performance silently. At closer inspection it a

“No,” I said without looking up. “Small thanks to you that you didn’t!” My tone silenced her for a moment. Somehow, though, I got the feeling that she was amused more than abashed at my resentment. And her voice was suspiciously meek when she presently spoke again. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?” “No,” I said, busily scraping away at my copperplate. “I’m an archeologist, engaged in exhuming an ancient ruin from a square mile of mud.” She laughed; but in a moment became grave again. “I’m so sorry

“Good morning,” said the artist, and then all but recoiled from the voice that replied, so harsh and raucous it was. “You rise late,” it said. “I hear your opinion on it,” retorted Sedgwick, a bit nettled. “Am I to infer that you have been waiting for me?” “You wouldn’t go far wrong.” “And what can I do for you—before you leave?” said Sedgwick significantly. “Take a little walk with me presently,” said the man in another voice, brushing the hat clear of his face. “Kent!” exclaimed the artist. “W

“Huh?” responded a muffled and abstracted voice behind him. “See here for a moment.” There was neither sound nor movement from the scientist. “An Indian-looking chap outside the window is trying to hypnotize me, or something of the sort.” This information, deemed by its giver to be of no small interest, elicited not the faintest response. Somewhat piqued, the artist turned, to behold his friend stretched on a bench, with face to the ceiling, eyes closed, and heels on the raised end. His lips mov

“Steady!” came Kent’s voice at his elbow. “Mistakes like that are Judge Lynch’s evidence.” “Whah was he the night of the killin’?” cried Gansett Jim. “Ast him. Whah was he?” “Where was you, if it comes to that?” retorted the sheriff, and bit his lip with a scowl. At that betrayal Chester Kent’s eyelids flashed up, and instantly drooped again into somberness. “This hearing is adjourned,” twittered the medical officer. “Burial of the unknown, will take place at once. All are invited.” “Invitation

A stout projection rested on one of the rear wheels. Here stood the proprietor of the vehicle, while behind him in a window were displayed his wares. It was evident that Simon P. Groot followed the romantic career of an itinerant hawker, dealing in that wide range of commodities roughly comprised in the quaint term, “Yankee notions.” Before the merchandizing voice came to the new arrival’s ears as anything more than a confused jumble, Kent was struck with the expansive splendor of the man’s gest

“Maybe we could borrow Len Schlager’s,” suggested the lawyer dryly. Kent received this with a subdued snort. “It is remarkable that the newspapers haven’t sent men down on such a sensational case,” he said. “On the contrary to you, sir,” retorted Bain, “so much fake stuff has come out of Lonesome Cove that the papers discount any news from here.” “All the better. The only thing that worries me more than the stupidity of professional detectives is the shrewdness of trained reporters. At least we

“Not in the least,” answered the other cordially. “I didn’t lose it at all.” “Ah!” The motorist smiled. “When was it lost, then?” Across the monocled face passed a shadow of thoughtful consideration. “About four million years ago, I should judge.” “And you are still looking? I perceive that you are an optimist,” said the elderly man. “Just at present I’m a limnologist.” “Pardon me?” “A limnologist. Limnology is the science of the life found on the banks of small bodies of water. It is a fascinat

“Yes, as you see it now.” “And west one open?” “Nothing has been changed, I tell you, except this.” Sedgwick’s hand, outstretched toward the destroyed portrait, condensed itself involuntarily into a knotty fist. “The lock of the door hasn’t been tampered with,” said Kent. “As for this open window,” he leaned out, looking around, “any man gaining access here must have used a ladder, which is unlikely in broad daylight.” “How about a pass-key for the door?” “There’s a simpler solution nearer at ha

“Old Blair’s,” replied Dennett. “I seen you in it. Known Mr. Blair long?” “He offered me a lift into town, very kindly. He was a stranger to me,” said Kent truthfully, and with intent to deceive. “Who did you say he was?” “Gosh sakes! Don’t you know who Aleck Blair is?” “Blair? Blair?” said Kent innocently. “Is he the author of Blair’s Studies of Neuropterae ?” Elder Dennett snorted. “He’s a millionaire, that’s what he is! Ain’t you read about him in the Fabric Trust investigations?” “Oh, that B

From the far side of the mansion came the sound of a door opening and closing again. Moving quickly along the sumac-fringed course of the creek, Kent made a détour which gave him view of a side entrance, and had barely time to efface himself in the shrubbery when a light wagon, with a spirited horse between the shafts, turned briskly out into the road. Kent, well sheltered, caught one brief sufficient glimpse of the occupant. It was Doctor Breed. The medical officer looked, as always, nerve-bese

“Then he doesn’t use this post-office?” “No. Might use any one of half a dozen. See here.” He drew a county map from a shelf. “Here’s the place. Seven railroad stations on three different roads, within ten miles of it. Annalaka would be way out of his reach.” “Yet Gansett Jim seems to be known here.” “Oh; is it Blair that the Indian works for? I never knew. Closer’n a deaf mute with lockjaw, he is. Well, I expect the reason he comes here occasionally is that it’s the nearest license town. “Do yo

“I had just as lief get tangled in a wire fence as any other kind,” replied the angler with cheery pessimism, whipping his fly into a shaded spot where a trout would surely have been lurking if the entire salmo family hadn’t departed for the Happy Fishing Grounds, several generations back, in consequence of the pernicious activities displayed by an acquisitive sportsman with an outfit of dynamite in sticks. “Suit yerself,” retorted the boy. “You won’t get nothin’, anyhow.” The rumble of a vehicl

Sedgwick brightened at once. “Right-o!” he said. “Get your lamps lighted and I’ll be with you.” “No lights. Ours is a deep, dark, desperate, devilish, dime-novel design.” “Ending, most likely, in the clutch of some night-hawk constable for violation of the highway laws.” “Possibly. We’ve got to chance it. ‘Come into the garden, Maud,’” chanted the scientist. Sedgwick started. “I thought we were going to motor somewhere. What about the garden?” “About the garden? Why, somewhere about the garden t

She did not change her posture. But her lips parted. Her lids drooped and quivered. She was as one in a lovely dream. He stepped toward her and spoke again. “You!” she cried; and her voice breaking from a whisper into a thrill of pure music: “ You! ” There was, in the one syllable, so much of terror that his heart shivered; so much of welcome that his heart leaped; so much of joy that his heart sang. Bending, he pressed his lips on her hands, and felt them tremble beneath his kiss. They were wit

“Nothing, except as a force obstructive to reason.” “But, Chet, I must see her again,” pleaded Sedgwick; “I must—” “Exhibit that tact and delicacy which you displayed at your last meeting,” broke in Kent curtly. “Asking a woman to marry you, on the day of her husband’s burial!” “It wasn’t her husband’s burial.” “She supposed it was.” Sedgwick checked his nervous pacing. “Do you think so? You believe she wasn’t a party to that ghastly fraud?” “Certainly not. She attended the funeral ceremony in g

“Yes. No. It’s a habit,” muttered the caller, releasing his hold and immediately resuming it. “Isn’t it very painful?” “Of course it is,” said he testily; “when I forget to let go in time—as I frequently do.” “As you are doing now,” she suggested. Kent bestowed a final yank upon the dried fount of inspiration, and gave it up as hopeless. “I don’t know exactly how to begin,” he complained. “Then I will help you,” said she, becoming suddenly grave. “You are here to speak to me of some topic, wholl

Kent signed the book and received a broad thin envelope sealed in golden hued wax with the impress of a star, and addressed in typewriting to his own name. “Confound all fools who sign their letters on the outside!” said Kent, scowling at the seal. “What has that planetary lunatic got to say that won’t keep?” What Preston Jax had to say was, first, in the form of a very brief note; secondly, in the shape of a formidable-looking document. The note began “Esteemed sir,” concluded “Yours remorseful

“Now I wonder what that might mean?” mused the day-clerk of the Eyrie, as he read the telegram through for the second time. “Convention in the Room of Mystery, maybe?” To satisfy his curiosity he went up to the room himself. Its white bareness confirmed a suspicion of long standing. “Any man,” he remarked to the scrub woman, “who would pay five a day for a room just to put nothing at all in it, has sure got a kink in his cogs.” Nor did the personnel of the visitors who, in course of the late aft

Instantly the artist came loping down the stairs and had him by the shoulders. “I’ve got a caller up above,” he said after the usual greetings and questionings were over. “Yes? Have you gone in for local society?” “Not exactly local. It’s Alexander Blair.” “Hel-lo!” said Kent in surprise. “What brings him?” “Why, he came down to Hedgerow House to look after certain books and papers, and ran over here to make his amende honorable in form. Chet, I hate being apologized to.” “Of course. Every one d