Chapter XII

_Safe Find, Safe Bind_

Let me now pass over some six months concerning which there are no

events of particular moment to be recorded--I mean in connection with

the tragedy.

Late in December Betty and I were married very quietly-at S. Saviour's

Church, Bob Mercer coming down to assist in the ceremony. During the

summer and autumn I had been absent almost continuously in Philadelphia,

engaged in winding up the trusteeship which had formed the bulk of my

professional work. Of course, I had already come to a full understanding

with my dear girl, and it was quite natural that she should continue to

live on at the "Hundred," the only home that she had ever known. The

presence of Mrs. Anthony preserved the convenances; and, after long

cogitation, I had formally requested Eunice Trevor to stay on, in her

old capacity of paid companion to Betty. Perhaps it was an unwise

decision, but let me briefly recapitulate the influencing

circumstances. Here they are:

Eunice was Betty's first cousin, and the two girls had been brought up

together, almost from infancy. Moreover, they were friendly, if not

precisely intimate. Eunice was absolutely penniless, and I could not

send her away, even with provision for her financial future, without a

full explanation to Betty. Now whatever my surmises and suspicions there

was no direct evidence that Francis Graeme's death had been due to

violence; he was resting quietly in S. Saviour's churchyard, and Betty's

sorrow ought not to be reawakened except for grave cause. Whatever part

Eunice Trevor had taken in the tragedy--always assuming that there had

been a tragedy--must have been a consequent of her unfortunate

entanglement with John Thaneford; and God knows she had been punished

for her fault through the irremediable wound to her affections. I could

not believe, moreover, that she had been an active participant in any

crime, overt or covert. Circumstances might have made her a confidante,

even a tool, but she had not been an actual accessory to Francis

Graeme's death, either before or after the event. So much by way of

simple justice to the girl.

In the second place, the chapter of incidents seemed to have closed with

the acquittal of Dave Campion and the disappearance of John Thaneford.

No word of any kind had come from the latter, and his whereabouts

remained entirely unknown; it was a fair presumption that he never would

reappear to trouble us. His financial affairs were hopelessly involved,

and "Thane Court" itself was to be sold at public auction in February in

order to satisfy the demands of the creditors.

And finally, while the young woman's conduct had been indiscreet, if not

absolutely disloyal, her lesson had been an exceedingly bitter one, and

it was charitable to assume that it had been taken to heart. After my

marriage to Betty in December it would be time enough to consider making

other arrangements. Yes, my decision was taken, and now it was necessary

to communicate it to Eunice herself.

Miss Trevor listened to my proposal in stony silence, but in the first

flush of my new happiness I could easily overlook even a direct

ungraciousness. Mrs. Anthony was old and a semi-invalid; Betty would

have her cousin's companionship during my long continued absence North,

and that was enough. The upshot of our conference was that Miss Trevor

agreed to stay on at the "Hundred." She admitted that the arrangement

would be convenient, as the school position for which she had applied

would not be available until the following September.

"Then it is settled," I concluded, with as much cordiality as I could

put into my voice. "I'm trusting Betty in your hands; you'll take good

care of her."

"Yes, Mr. Hildebrand, I can certainly promise to do that," she began;

then she broke off and looked away as though regretting that she had

said even that much.

"That's all I want," I said, "and I'm glad we understand each other." I

made a half motion to offer my hand, but she did not appear to notice

the gesture, and we parted. Again I felt a twinge of disquietude, but

the affair had been decided, and it was too late to reopen the

discussion. A strange creature was Eunice Trevor, but I believe even now

that she did love Betty Graeme. If only she had never looked into John

Thaneford's baleful black eyes!

As I have said before, my marriage to Betty took place in the last part

of December. We went to Aiken for the honeymoon, intending to be back at

the "Hundred" for the Christmas holidays. But we had been gone only

four days when we were recalled by Mrs. Anthony's fatal attack of

pneumonia. She died on December the twenty-third, and the holly wreaths

and mistletoe remained unhung for our first Christmas in the old

homestead, while the festivities of the season had to be confined to the

servants' hall and the quarters. But we had Chalmers Warriner and Doctor

Marcy in for dinner, and in my heart of hearts I was not sorry that the

big, county family functions had to be postponed indefinitely. I am a

quiet person, and I best enjoy my happiness when there is no one to look

on. A selfish attitude perhaps, but I try to pay my debts to humanity in

other ways. Generally Betty sees to it that I do so.

In February "Thane Court" was sold at auction, and I bought it in. The

property marched with that of the "Hundred," and being so well rid of

one objectionable neighbor I had no mind to run any chances. Moreover,

the land was of excellent quality, impoverished, it is true, by want of

care and scientific cropping, but still capable of revival under

reasonable management. I had bid it in for a price far under its real

value, and I could easily get a tenant in case I concluded not to farm

it myself. The house was old and in poor condition, and I determined to

pull it down in the spring.

But I was spared the trouble, for one windy night in March I was

awakened by the light pressure of Betty's hand on my shoulder. "There is

a big fire over in the west," she said excitedly, "and I think it must

be 'Thane Court.'"

I scrambled into some clothes, summoned all the men within reach, and

made the best of my way to the scene of the conflagration, rather more

than a mile distant.

Betty was right. "Thane Court" was on fire, and it was evident, at a

glance, that the house was doomed. Buckets and handpumps were useless,

and long before the fire apparatus from Calverton could cover the ten

miles of rutted, frozen roads the edifice had been reduced to a smoking

ruin.

It was three or four days later before we could venture to explore the

smouldering debris. The furniture and other interior fittings were old

and of no great value; all, of course, had been totally destroyed. The

only thing left intact was a small safe, which I was informed, had stood

in the room used by the elder Thaneford as an office. Now John Thaneford

had not appeared at the sale, nor had he taken any steps to protect what

interests he still retained in the estate. Everything in and about

"Thane Court" had become my legal property, and so I had no hesitation

in ordering the safe taken over to the "Hundred," it being my intention

to open it and examine the contents. Of course any personal property

would belong to John Thaneford, and I was quite sure of my own good

faith in the matter. It might be impossible to locate the missing owner

for some time to come, but we could cross that bridge when we came to

it.

The safe was of comparatively modern workmanship, and seemed to have

suffered no damage from its ordeal by fire. It was equipped with the

usual numbered dial lock, and, naturally, I did not possess the

combination. I could have sent for a safe expert from Baltimore, but the

expense would have been considerable. Or mechanics from Calverton could

have forced an opening by means of the oxygen flame, but so violent a

procedure would have destroyed the safe itself, and I was not quite

certain that I had the right to take such drastic action. True, John

Thaneford had abandoned his property, and everything had been sold

without reserve; nevertheless, I wanted to be sure of my ground before

going further.

The safe had been thoroughly cleansed, and now stood temporarily under

the principal staircase. I never passed it without an inquiring glance;

somehow Betty and I could not resist the temptation of speculating about

it; we were as curious as children, ever intent upon discovering what

secrets it might hold. But how to find the key to the mystery?

And then one evening Betty had a brilliant idea. "Do you remember," she

asked, "a series of numbers that I got from Mr. Thaneford the day he

died?"

"Of course." I pulled out my note-book, and read the formula aloud:

"1-4-2-4-8."

"He certainly wanted to tell me something," persisted Betty. "Why

shouldn't it have been the very combination we are looking for?"

"Easy enough to find out," I answered. I went over to the safe, knelt

down and took hold of the knob. Betty stood at my elbow, the note-book

in her hand. "Ready?" she asked. "The numbers are: 1-4-2-4-8."

I turned the knob, counting the clicks as they passed. The door yielded

and swung open.

Not much of a find after all--nothing but a leather-bound book

resembling a diary in appearance. One of the covers had been slightly

scorched by the intense heat, but the MS. seemed to be in excellent

condition. I opened the book, scanned two or three lines, and looked up

at Betty, who was leaning over my shoulder.

"Why it's just a jumble of letters!" she exclaimed in poignant

disappointment. "I can't read a word of it; what does it mean?"

"Undoubtedly written in cypher," I replied. We looked at one another and

laughed. Here indeed was an anti-climax.