Books by ARTHUR B. REEVE Honora Wilford THE SOUL SCAR A CRAIG KENNEDY SCIENTIFIC MYSTERY NOVEL BY ARTHUR B. REEVE AUTHOR OF "The Treasure Train" "The Adventuress" "The Panama Plot" and other Craig Kennedy Stories HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON The Soul Scar Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America Published May, 1919 THE SOUL SCAR "It's the most perplexing case I've been up against, Kennedy, for a long time." Doctor Leslie, n

"He left this letter—to his wife," persisted Leslie. We read the note. Honora [it began]—Don't think I am a coward to do this, but things cannot go on as they have been going. It is no use. I cannot work it out. This is the only way. So I shall drop out. You will find my will in the safe. Good-by forever. Vail. The peculiarly pungent smell of burning rubber had by this time completely filled the laboratory. It was stifling, sickening. "There—you made me forget that test, with your confounded sui

"In Africa, I see," added Kennedy, who had been examining some striking big-game photographs that hung on a side wall. "Once I was in Africa—yes. But I contracted a fever there. It has left me unable to stand the fatigue I used to stand. However, I'm all right—otherwise—and good for a great many years in this climate—so my doctor tells me." "Doctor Lathrop?" suggested Kennedy, quickly. Shattuck evaded replying. "To what am I indebted for the honor?" he queried, coldly now, still standing and not

I read this and more, but, as I merely skimmed it, I could not say that I understood it. I turned to Kennedy, still abstracted. "Then you really regard the dreams as important?" I asked, all thought of finishing my own article on art abandoned for the present in the fascination of the mysterious possibilities opened up by the Wilford case. "Important?" he repeated. "Immensely so—indispensable, as a matter of fact." I could only stare at him. The mere thought that anything so freakish, so uncontr

"I've already done so once for Doctor Lathrop," she answered, as though trying to avoid it. "Yes," agreed Kennedy, quickly; "but I can hardly expect him to let me see them—professional ethics and all that sort of thing, you know, forbid." "I suppose so," she replied, with a little nervous smile. "Oh, if you really want me to do so, I suppose I can write them out again, of course—write them the best I can recollect." "It would be of great assistance indeed, I can assure you," encouraged Kennedy.

"First of all," he said, "I want to consider that dream of the death of her husband. Just recall for the moment how she told that dream to Leslie." He took the paper in his hand and began reading. "Just listen. 'My most frequent dream is a horrible one. I have dreamed ever so many times that I saw Vail in a terrific struggle. I could not make out who or what it was with which he struggled.' If you remember, it was at this point that she hesitated in writing. Why did she? "'I tried to run to him.

She paused and stopped. "If only what?" "You wouldn't understand," she answered, quickly, shaking her head. To me it seemed as though the implication she wished to convey was the usual specious refuge of the "other woman," when cornered, that it was she, not the wife, who really understood the man in the case. "You see, I don't know Honora Wilford well," encouraged Kennedy. "I can't say that I do understand. I guess that's just it. I thought perhaps you might enlighten me." Vina gave a pretty li

"Tell Mr. Kennedy what you've been doing, Rascon," commanded Doyle in his best gruff manner. Rascon hesitated, but Doyle repeated his command, and in the repetition there was a thinly veiled threat that at once aroused the interest of both of us. What could be the purpose of bringing the stranger to us now? Rascon cleared his throat. "I've been employed by Mr. Wilford," he remarked a bit huskily, "to watch Mrs. Wilford." "What—to trail her?" asked Kennedy with increased interest. "Yes," admitted

I was at once interested. It was exactly the sort of thing I had sought. "No," I confessed. "But I can quite appreciate that an encounter between Honora and Vina would be likely to be spirited—and add to our knowledge of the case. What was it?" Belle Balcom smiled breezily. For, whatever she might say about the smart set, she had been writing their gossip so long that she, too, quite appreciated a choice morsel of scandal. I have noticed that none of my profession ever gets so blasé that a new p

"Are there any other dreams that you have thought of since?" he inquired, pressing his advantage. She passed her hand over her forehead wearily and did not answer immediately. "You look tired," Craig remarked, sympathetically. "Why not rest while we talk?" "Thank you," she murmured. As he spoke, Kennedy had been arranging the pillows on a chaise-longue . When he finished, she sank into them, resting her head, slightly elevated. Having discussed the various phases of the psychanalysis before with

"Not even a finger-print has been left unobscured!" he exclaimed, finally, almost ready in disgust to give it up. "It is shameful—shameful," he muttered. "When will they learn to let things alone until some one comes who knows the scientific importance of little things! If only I could have been first on the job." "There's the typewriter," suggested Leslie, trying to divert attention and smooth things over. "Have you the letter?" asked Craig. Leslie drew it eagerly from his pocket and unfolded i

For almost an hour we remained talking at the table, endeavoring to ingratiate ourselves with the waiter of the place, a rather burly fellow, who seemed to regard us with suspicion as strangers. Yet, as long as we did nothing or asked nothing indiscreet our burly waiter seemed unable to do anything else than tolerate us. I was becoming impatient, when a furtive-looking individual entered from what had formerly been the bar. Brooks winked sidewise at us and I gathered that the new-comer was the r

It was originally a low-ceilinged basement in an old house not far from Washington Square. The upper floors were now "studios." In the former basement, almost a cellar, were three rows of tables extending the length of the place and overrunning out into the little back yard where one dined in summer al fresco . At the far end, on one side, was a little raised platform, and on it was a piano strummed by a blind player. Opposite was the entrance to the kitchen, which was subterranean. Belle and I

"Like Rascon?" Doyle nodded doubtfully. "I don't seem to know him," he remarked, sententiously, though in a tone that was prejudiced. To Doyle all private detective agencies were as the scum of the earth. I know Kennedy made mental note to look the man up, unprejudiced. "What do you know about him?" asked Craig. "Very little—except that from what Celeste said Mrs. Wilford herself must have employed him at one time or another—perhaps even now. I guess that woman knew more about what was going on

"Just another little psychological experiment," Craig explained, trying to gloss it over. "I thought you wouldn't mind." Honora looked at him a moment doubtfully. "Just why are you so interested in studying me, Professor Kennedy?" she asked, pointedly, yet without hostility in her tone. It was a rather difficult question to answer, and I must admit that I could scarcely have met it adequately myself. However, it took more than that to give Kennedy a poser. "Oh," he replied, quickly, with an enga

"What of Doctor Lathrop?" "He seemed to have taken it very calmly. From what I hear, he hasn't even interrupted his practice. He stays there at the Drive address where he has his office. I suppose she has gone to a hotel, or perhaps out of town. I'll find out for you and have her watched, if you want." Kennedy nodded, but did not say anything, and I know Doyle's attitude had not raised that gentleman any higher in Craig's estimation. It all seemed very strange, and, I felt sure, however, well wo

"The finding of that Calabar bean in Shattuck's apartment has puzzled me," I confessed. "I've often wondered whether he ever missed it, whether he knows." "Just what I was thinking about," admitted Kennedy. "On the way down-town I'm going to drop in and see Mrs. Wilford's detective, Chase." "Why, Mr. Jameson, you've beaten me to it—and have you got the story?" I turned in surprise at hearing my name spoken by a woman whom I hadn't noticed. It was Belle Balcom, always enterprising and on the aler

"Why, sir, he's been calling her up again." "Who?" "Mr. Shattuck, I mean." Kennedy merely glanced at me. The virus had begun to work. "What did he say?" asked Kennedy, quickly. "I couldn't just make out what it was about. He wasn't very definite. Said he wanted to see her alone." "And Mrs. Wilford?" "Said she couldn't—that she was afraid—afraid for him, she said. I guess she knows pretty well how we're watching her." "What did Shattuck say to that?" "Well, I should say he was trying to warn her

Kennedy read the news item, then tore off his smock and reached for his hat and coat. "I'll admit that suicide might be taken as a confession, as a general rule," he exclaimed. "But it's not so in this case. Come—we must get over to the hotel. I doubt whether half the story can be known, even by this time. I wish I had been informed of this earlier. However, maybe it won't make any difference." It did not take us many minutes to get down to the fashionable hotel, nor long to get up to the room f

"I had thought the whole thing out before. I knew perfectly what I was there for. The situation—the wide scandal between himself and Vina Lathrop—had become intolerable. As for me, I may as well confess that the growing unhappiness of Mrs. Wilford preyed on my mind—until I was almost mad." I heard Honora take a sharp breath, as though to control her feelings. She was leaning forward now, her cheeks burning, her eyes fixed on the face of the man who was speaking. With every word, I could see her

"From the study of your dreams," he resumed, "as I have already hinted, many other things might have been discovered. One of the next importance to your unconscious feeling toward your husband was shown clearly. It was that you knew that another woman had entered his life." Kennedy glanced from her to Doctor Lathrop, and back to Honora. "Of course, you did not know the whole story—that that woman was merely using your husband as a means to an end. But it would have made no difference if you had.