THE WEIRD PICTURE By JOHN R. CARLING Author of "The Shadow of the Czar," "The Viking's Skull," etc. Illustrated by Cyrus Cuneo Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1905 Copyright, 1905 , By Little, Brown, and Company . —— All rights reserved. Published May, 1905. Printers S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston , U. S. A....

" Belgrave Square , November 28th . " Dear Frank ,—Surely you are not going to spend a third Christmas at Heidelberg! We want you with us in good old England. My marriage with Daphne is fixed for Christmas Day, and I shall not regard the ceremony as valid unless you are my best man. So come— come — COME ! No time to say more. You can guess how busy I am. Write or wire by return.— Yours, " George. " Such was the letter received by me, Frank Willard, student in Odenwald College, Heidelberg, on the

Completely mystified, I stood motionless for a few moments. I was certain that my brother had entered the house. Perhaps, despite the old man's assertion as to the door having been closed and locked, he had really left it ajar, and George, perceiving this, had, in a fit of desperation, seized the occasion to enter and hide, resolving to remain there till I had taken my departure. He might even now be stealing a look from one of the windows to see whether the coast were clear. I looked at the tim

The snow was lying thick upon the streets, and as I noticed the driver's difficulty in keeping his horse up, and in getting the vehicle along, I wondered how it would fare with the wedding carriages if the storm should continue. At last we reached my destination, and running up the steps I found myself being warmly greeted by my uncle, whose beaming face showed that nothing had as yet occurred to mar the happiness of the day. "This is a pleasure, Frank," he said heartily. "I was beginning to thi

From Belgrave Square the walk to and from St. Cyprian's ordinarily takes about fifteen minutes. Allowing, say, another ten on account of the snowy weather, and it will be seen that the valet should have returned with George after the lapse of twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five minutes passed, however, thirty, thirty-five, and yet George and the valet failed to put in an appearance—a circumstance that caused the guests to look at each other in wonder. "What can detain them?" muttered my uncle. "If

Night was just fading from the Alpine heights that girdle the quaint old town of Rivoli in the canton of Ticino. Two men, issuing from the entrance of a châlet perched like an eagle's nest on the jutting crag of a mountain far above the valley, paused to admire the grandeur of the scene. These persons were my uncle and myself, and we had risen at this early hour in order to witness that most beautiful of sights in Switzerland, sunrise. From the terrace of the châlet we watched the dim Alpine pan

My uncle took Angelo's arm and led the way down the mountain path, leaving me to follow with Daphne. For some little time we walked in silence, and then she led me to the subject that was uppermost in my mind. "What is the matter, Frank? You have not been yourself this morning." Her statement was correct; I had not been myself. Jealousy had wrought a change in my character, causing me to act and speak in a way that, upon consideration, I admit to have been the reverse of amiable. "It seems to me

We did not return immediately to the châlet, but spent the rest of the day in exploring the antiquities of Rivoli. Daphne, from her resemblance to the cathedral Madonna, drew attention wherever she went. She frequently expressed her annoyance at the staring to which she was exposed, especially when she learned from some semi-audible remarks that she was regarded as the artist's future bride! For my own part, I was secretly delighted at all this, knowing that with the increase of her displeasure

The morning dawned more soft and lovely than the preceding one: a boon to the good people of Rivoli, for it was a gala-day with them. Daphne, my uncle and myself rose with the break of day, and at an early hour we were standing in the market-place watching the worshippers throng into the cathedral. Be it far from me to attempt to describe the various ornaments and robes displayed by the dames of Rivoli on this festal occasion: the silver chains and rich headdresses, the dainty cloaks and embroid

On our return from the cathedral I spent the early portion of the morning in writing letters to some college friends at Heidelberg, not forgetting at the same time to send to my uncle's butler telling him to procure another copy of the Standard of the date July 2nd, and to forward it to Rivoli. My uncle, occupying himself with the files of the newspaper in question, was deep in the mazes of politics, and favoured Daphne now and then with extracts from the oratory of statesmen out of office, to t

On entering the house I found my uncle looking over a packet of letters that his valet had just brought from Rivoli. Daphne was cutting open the envelopes with a paper knife. No one would have thought from her quiet demeanour that she had just been the recipient of a passionate love appeal. "How well women can conceal these things," I thought, dropping despondently into a chair. "Oh, papa, here is an envelope with a seal as big as a florin. Who is it from?" Daphne's curiosity gave her no time to

We had not expected to see Sir Hugh Wyville until the following Christmas, which we were to spend as his guests in Cornwall. It chanced, however, that he too was taking a Continental tour, and joined our Rhine steamer at Cologne. He was delighted to see his old schoolfellow, my uncle, and arm in arm with him paced the deck in friendly converse, talking of the old days at Eton. Daphne's beauty made a great impression upon the Baronet, and he inquired the reason of the sad look on her face, a look

On descending next morning to the drawing-room, I found Angelo there before me, the idol of a crowd of æsthetic young ladies who adored art (and especially the artist) without understanding much about either. He was exhibiting to their admiring gaze the contents of his portfolio and unless my eyesight deceived me, it was the identical portfolio he had displayed to me on that memorable wedding morning. It had been my intention to question the artist on that singular utterance of his when he first

The company departed for the village church; and the Baronet, my uncle, and myself, aided by the servants, whose zeal had been stimulated by the promise of a liberal reward to whomsoever should discover the picture, proceeded to search the length and breadth and depth of the Abbey. Every room, including the bedrooms of the guests, was subjected to a careful inspection; places the most unlikely to be selected as the hiding-place of the famous chef-d'œuvre were examined by keen eyes, but all in va

Taking up a lighted candle and the keys both of the tower and of the picture gallery, I directed my steps towards the latter place. It was situated at some distance from the library, and, the house being new to me, I had some difficulty in finding it. In the distance the sound of jovial carols told me that in the servants' quarters due homage was being paid to the spirit of the season. Floating faintly along the corridors came the snatches of a refrain— I hummed over a few bars myself as I made

I believe it is not an uncommon thing for a sentinel to slumber at his post, and wake to find himself still in a standing posture. To the ordinary mortal, however, this would certainly be a novel experience. Judge, then, of my surprise, on returning to a state of consciousness, to discover that I was on my feet in an erect position with my back against what seemed to be a stone pillar. It is not quite correct to define my attitude as "erect:" leaning forward would more aptly describe it. My bala