part in keeping it up. But now that he was sick and paralyzed and dying,

and especially since he and I had become friends of a sort, he was

willing to bury the hatchet. So he told all he could--you remember that

he couldn't speak--and he seemed to feel satisfied that I would find the

hint sufficient, that I would be clever enough to solve the puzzle.

"And surely it was a puzzle. My best guess had come a flivver, and I

didn't see how I could go a step further. Perhaps it was silly to attach

so much importance to what the old man had tried to tell me, but I had

an intuition that our future happiness and safety were bound up in those

crumbling leather covers.

"Time went on, and the solution was as far off as ever; at least

apparently. Little Hugh and I had come to Irvington for the winter; it

was close to Christmas, and I had the blues terribly. Just to think of

Christmas and that abyss lying between us! For I knew that you would not

come unless I called, and I could not send for you quite yet. Suppose

that the discovery of the secret should be close at hand; I might need

Chalmers to help out on some difficult scientific point.

"It is always the little things that show the way out. Hilda's weekly

letter had come, and I was reading it eagerly hoping to find some

mention of you. Now Hilda, poor dear! is an awful speller; she never

could learn to visualize words. As I read along I came on a word which

looked odd; then I saw that she had committed the careless

stenographer's error of spelling 'forty' with an u, thus: 'fourty.' Of

course, the pronunciation is the same in either case--and then it was

that I got my _big_ idea. Was it possible that the phonetic sounds in my

series of numbers might fit words of entirely different meaning than

their ordinary equivalents in letters? Let me try.

"1-4-2-4-8. Why, yes, 1 is 'one' and also 'won'; 4 is 'four' and also

'for'; 2 is 'two' and also 'too'--quick! let me get them all down. And

here was the result: Won--for--too--for--ate. You see that, in every

instance, the phonetic sound of the number can be represented exactly by

a word of entirely different meaning. But this peculiar quality in the

series, 1-4-2-4-8, would not be apparent at a casual glance, and the

figures could even be written down for future reference, or sent to a

distant correspondent, without any probability of that inner

significance becoming revealed. Very clever of Fielding Thaneford--that

is if my deductions were really correct!

"The first step was to set down the new key-sentence with the cypher

writing underneath. Here it is; this time using fifteen letters."

W O N F O R T O O F O R A T E

Q W O T T U I J X I S V A Z P

"Applying the decoding rule I got the following in my first six tries:"

T H A N E C

"You can imagine how excited I was. If my theory were correct the next

four letters should be OURT, completing the word 'Thane Court,' Eureka!

it is coming! It is coming! I got both the O and the U.

"From the height of exultation to the depths of despair. For instead of

R in the ninth place, I had to set down an I; and then, in succession:

CDD-FKL. Perfectly impossible! Look at it: THANECOUICDD-FKL, etc.

"And yet the cypher had certainly started to uncode; what could have

thrown me off the track? For I had succeeded in getting 'Thanecou,' and

that unusual combination was significant in the highest degree. What

word could it be but 'Thane Court,' the ancestral home of the

Thanefords? Why the chances were a million to one against my reaching

such a series for--for----"

"Fortuitously," I prompted.

"Yes, that's it; something like the 'fortuitous concourse of atoms' that

the philosophers talk about. I remember the phrase from my school days.

"And yet the mix-up came to spoil everything. For what could any

sensible person make of THANECOUICDD-FKL?

"I tried carrying on the series until my brain was positively dizzy, but

I got nothing except incomprehensible rubbish. And yet I knew that I had

found a real clue; how in the world had I lost it again? I used to work

until I actually went fast to sleep at my desk, but nothing came of it.

It was enough to drive one mad.

"The middle of May I went up to Stockbridge, and of course I carried my

troubles with me. Wherever I looked I seemed to see that tantalizing

key-sentence: Won--for--too--for--ate; it was as bad as the squaring of

the circle. Just some little, insignificant error was keeping me from

the solving of the puzzle, but for the life of me I couldn't put my

finger on it. Honestly now, Hugh, do you think you would have been

clever enough to have figured it out?"

I checked up Betty's "layout" and went over the decoding process with

meticulous care. I got precisely the same result: THANECOU--and then

chaos.

"It beats me," I confessed. "It's enough to make one dotty."

"I dare say that is what Aunt Alice Crew thought of me in her heart of

hearts," laughed Betty, "although she was too polite to say so. And,

really, it was getting on my nerves. I couldn't eat, and a _nuit

blanche_ was no uncommon thing with me. I couldn't get it out of my

head, you understand, that the solving of the problem must be of immense

importance. There _was_ a mystery at the 'Hundred,' and so long as it

remained a mystery there could be no enduring peace or happiness for us.

If you had been willing to sell the 'Hundred' there might have been some

chance of escaping the curse; hadn't poor Eunice said as much in that

weird statement which she left behind her. But you would not consider

the suggestion even."

"I suppose I was pig-headed and altogether in the wrong," I admitted

humbly. "But it all seemed so fantastic and incredible--here in the

twentieth century."

"Granting that the mystery had continued unsolved," said Betty, looking

me straight in the eye. "What then?"

"But you have given me to understand----" I began.

"Never mind that," interrupted my wife. "Even now you don't know the

secret, and I might find it inadvisable to tell you. Admitting the

possibility that the ghost has not been truly laid, would you still

insist upon remaining master of 'Hildebrand Hundred'?"

A vision of those strong, cruel hands, with their black-tufted knuckles,

rose before me, and I shuddered.

"Or would you be willing that Little Hugh should enter upon his

inheritance with this cloud hanging over it?"

"No, I wouldn't," I said soberly. "To be honest, I hadn't thought of it

in that light."

"You see a woman has to consider all these things," rejoined Betty. "But

you have been very patient, Hugh, and the winding up of my yarn won't

take long. The crisis begins with Chalmers' coming to Stockbridge."

"For me, that was the denouement, the end of all things," I said

shamefacedly, and Warriner roared.

"You see, I never suspected even that I was cast for the role of breaker

up of homes," he remarked meditatively. "Betty and I were good friends,

of course, but once you appeared on the sky line I was reduced to

playing gooseberry. Besides, there never had been anyone else than

Hilda for me."

"I'm only trying to explain my conduct," I retorted. "I'm well aware

that nothing can excuse it. Shoot, Betty."

"Of course, Chalmers was coming to Stockbridge," went on Betty, "for the

simple reason that Hilda was visiting me. Nevertheless, I was looking

forward to his arrival, because he had promised to dig up certain data

for me.

"You remember the list of Hildebrand tragedies as given by Eunice; how

Yardley Hildebrand had succeeded his father, Oliver, in 1860, and had

died the following year; then how his younger brother, Randall, had

become master of the 'Hundred,' and had only lived a twelvemonth; and so

on.

"Well, I thought it might be useful to ascertain all these dates

exactly, and, in order to do that, it would be necessary to take

transcripts from the parish register at S. Saviour's. I wrote to

Chalmers, and asked him to look up this information and bring it with

him when he came to Stockbridge. Not only did he do this, but he took

the trouble to type out the complete record, so that all the facts in

the case might lie under the eye. I'll read it."

Betty pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the portfolio lying in her

lap and began:

Yardley Hildebrand, b. March 5, 1806; succeeded his father, Oliver,

1860; d. June 20, 1861.

Randall Hildebrand, b. May 11, 1809; succeeded his brother,

Yardley, 1861; d. June 22, 1862.

Horace Hildebrand, elder son of Randall, b. December 4, 1830;

succeeded his father, 1862; d. June 22, 1865.

Richard Hildebrand, younger son of Randall, b. June 1, 1835;

succeeded his elder brother, 1865; d. June 20, 1918.

Francis Hildebrand Graeme, great-nephew to Richard, b. April 13,

1874; succeeded his great-uncle, 1918; d. June 21, 1919.

Eunice Trevor, b. September 2, 1892; d. June 20, 1920.

"And now we may add a final entry," continued Betty: "John Thaneford,

nephew to Richard, b. July 16, 1892; d. June 22, 1922."

Betty handed me over the list. "Do you notice anything peculiar about

those dates?" she asked.

I read the paper through, and then again. "You have already pointed

out," I began hesitatingly, "that the tenure of 'Hildebrand Hundred' was

for the comparatively brief period of one to three years. Except for

Richard, who held the property for over fifty."

"I don't mean that. Examine the actual dates."

I scanned the record with still greater attention. "Ah!" I exclaimed,

"here _is_ something strange. Everyone of these men, and Eunice, too,

died in June; yes, and on a day of the month that varied between the

twentieth and the twenty-second. Is that what you had in mind?"

"Yes, and it seemed to indicate clearly that those particular three

days, the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second of June----"

"In astronomical parlance, the summer solstice," interrupted Warriner.

"----was the danger period."

"Yes, and then?"

"Your letter came, saying that you had been obliged to enter the library

to look after the window repairs; you added that you would probably have

to go again to finish up the job. As I have already told you, that

letter reached me on Thursday morning, June the twenty-first; Chalmers

and I left at once for New York. On the way down I succeeded in reading

the cypher, and so got Fielding Thaneford's message in full."

"But how in the world----" I began.

"You'll know in good time," cut in Betty. "First, I want you to consider

another of my sources of information. Here it is," and she held up a

small book bound in tattered leather.

"This," continued my wife, "is a diary kept by Horace Hildebrand, who

succeeded to the 'Hundred' in 1862, and died June 22, 1865. The notes

refer chiefly to the weather, a record that many country gentlemen are

fond of keeping for their own amusement. The only period which interests

us is that covering those fatal June days in 1863, 1864, and 1865."

Betty thumbed over the leaves, and stopped at the latter part of June,

1863.

"You see that the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second are

described as overcast and rainy. Now for 1864:

"'June 20, cloudy; June 21, clear. (Note: A total eclipse of the sun

took place to-day, the period of partial and complete darkness lasting

from 10.45 A. M. to 2.10 P. M.); June 22, cloudy.' Finally, we take

1865:

"'June 20, rainy; June twenty-first, heavy rains; June 22, fine and

clear.' This is the last entry in the book as Horace Hildebrand was

found dead later on in that same day.

"Just one more point. What possible hypothesis can we establish to

account for Richard Hildebrand's half century of immunity? Now it

happened that I had questioned Effingham on this very subject before I

left the 'Hundred.' Effingham had lived, as boy and man, on the

Hildebrand estate for over sixty years. Consequently, he knew Marse

Richard, as he called him, very well, and was familiar with his habits

of life.

"According to Effingham, Richard Hildebrand disliked the warm weather,

and always left the 'Hundred' the first of June; he would spend the

summer at the 'Old White,' returning to Maryland toward the end of

September. But in 1918, the last year of his life, he was too feeble to

go away from home. His favorite room was the library, and there he was

found dead the evening of the twentieth of June, 1918. He was supposed

to have died of heart disease; certainly there was no suspicion of foul

play.

"So that was the sum total of my investigations to date," concluded

Betty. "Do you make anything of it?"

"It's beyond me," I confessed frankly. "What is the answer?"

"Only Fielding Thaneford himself can give it," replied Betty. "Here is

his fully decoded statement, and I'll ask Chalmers to read it aloud. As

I said a moment ago, we worked it out together that long day on the

train. When we reached town we had the whole story, and knew what to

expect. Except one thing: Would it be a cloudy day? But it turned out

fair and hot, with only a faint suggestion of thunder in the air. There

was a bad wreck on the Cape Charles route, and anyhow we had missed the

connection for the morning train. So we hired a car, threw away the

speedometer, and made to strike the 'Hundred' by midday. We couldn't

quite do it, but the tide of chance had turned at last, and it didn't

matter. Now go on, Chalmers."

Warriner ruffled the dozen or more sheets of paper between his fingers

and began: