Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 580 — page 2: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

as * 4 o y oP Ne eee * , 2 thirty years of age. Of full medium height, he was well proportioned, and carried himself with motions of ease and grace. His limbs were large and well formed, bespeaking activity, streugth and endurance. He was clad in a neat business suit of dark material, wore a black soft felt bat, and carried a light cane. He was good- looking, having clear-cut features, a full and rounded face, and a complexion of a healthful, brownish tint. His face was clean-shaved, his hair and brows were black, and his eyes, of the same color, were keen and flashing. This young man was Preotiss Kinworth, gen- ernlly supposed to be the son of Howard Kin- worth, the head of the detective firm, but, in truth, only an adopted son, Ne was one of the foremost detectives of the day, having won dis- tinction by bringing many difficult cases to a successful termination, and was popularly known on the force as “ Lightning Flash,” so quick did he strike and when least expected to doso. It was also indicative of bis adroitness with the re- volver and handcuffs, On entering the car he took a paper from his pocket and proceeded to read, remaining ap- parently absorbed until the car had gone quite a distance, Presently he looked out, folded the paper leisurely and returned it to his pocket, anda few minutes later alighted. He was not in one of the most aristocratic quarters of the city. Taking a card from his pocket the young de- tective glanced at 1t, and going on for a little distance be presently stopped before the retain- ing-wall of a rather pretty wooden cottage, Unlike the residences of Murray Hill in New York, the houses of ‘‘ Nob” Hill, and in fact al- most all the residences of San Francisco, are of wood. There are two explanations of this. One is that wooden buildings afford greater security against earthquakes, and the other, the superior warmth and dryness of wood in a moist, cool climate, The basement stories of many, however, are of stone, Entering the gate or grated archway of the retaining-wall, he sprung lightly up a flight of stone steps under a vine-covered arbor to the piazza, His ring was answered by a bright-looking Irish girl. ‘*Ts Mrs. Milburn at home?” he inquired. ‘** Yes, sir,” was the answer, ‘* Please to hand my card to her,” he directed, taking one from a dainty case as he spoke and presenting it. The girl took the card and disappeared, re- turning in a few moments and inviting him to enter, when she conducted him to a little sitting- room in the rear of the parlors. This room was richly but plainly furnished, as the detective saw in a brief glance around. He sat down, and inashort time the door opened and a lady entered. She was about fifty years of age, asone would have guessed, and was attired in semi-mourning. She was something under. the medium heigbt, and rather slerder, retaining much of a grace and beauty that clearly bad been hers in earlier ears. Her face was fair, but sorrowful, and er hair was white, quite in contrast with her bright black eyes. j The detective rose and bowed respectfully. ‘*Mr. Prentiss Kinworth?” the lady interro- ated, with a glance at his card, which she had in ber hand, “That is my name,” the detective acknowl- edged, ** Please sit down.” They both took seats, and the lady went on: * { presume you are aware of the nature of the communication which I sent to your father, Mr. Kinworth, are you not?” ‘*l am, madam,” was the answer ‘*T requested him to send one of his best men to me; one who would give me his whole service for some time, and who, if necessary, would cross the continent in my employ.” . ‘* Bxactly.” ‘You area much younger man than I ex- pected to see, sir, but of course you are equal to the emergency, or you would not have been sent. Inquiring for a detective, my lawver directed me to the office of Howard Kinworth, with the assurance that none better was to be found in the city. Are you a member of the firm?” ** Yes, madam,” ‘““Very well. Now let us come at once to business, The nature of the work which [ re- quire of you may be something a little out of the usual line, but it is such as requires a person of special ability to perform, 1 want you to lift a vail of mystery which hangs over the first half of my life. Do you think you can do that?” “Well, madam, that is a rather difficult ques- tion to answer,” was the detective’s response “considering that I am entirely in the dark. 1 must be told the story of your life, and the na- ture of the mystery to which you refer.” ““T see that my question was premature, Give me your attention and I will lay the facts before you. In the first place I will relate the story of what [ now call the second half of Py life, not trusting to my faulty memory, t stating only such things as can be proven. Are you ready to hear me?” - ~ Shadowin o a Shadow. oe “Tam paying close attention to every word you say, madam,” the detective assured. | ‘** Twenty-six years ago,” the lady started to | narrate, “‘[ was brought to San Francisco and putin the private insane asylum kept by Duc- tor Hubbler. I was parily insane, and was broken dows in bealth,h My name was given as Mrs, Abington, a widow, native of Chicago, age twenty-three, The person who placed me there stated that be was my brother, He told the story that the recent death of my husband and children had sbatterel my reason. He paid in advance for one year’s care and treat- ment, told the doctor that be would visit me during the year, went away, and was never heard from again. ‘*What I have stated are facts which the records of Doctor Hubbler’s establishment have supplied, ‘[ bad not beenin the asylum Jong when it was found that I could play tbe piano well, and I was allowed to play whenever I desired to do so, When the year was up, and my brother had not been heard from, I was allowed to re- main in the establishmeut on condition that I would teach music to the doctor’s little girls and play for the amusement of the other pa- tients. was gradually improving, though my memory was gone. I remained in the asylum two years longer, and at the end of that time was pronounced perfectly well and sound in mind, and dismissed, ‘**] sought employment as a teacher of music, and found an engagement in the home of Mr, Morgan Milburn. His wife was an invalid, and 1 was given the entire charge of their little daughter. In three years Mrs. Milburn died, and two vears later Mr, Milburn married me. At that time Mr, Milburn tried to learn some- thing about my past, but he failed utterly. Two years ago Mr. Milburn died, as you know, of course. We had been married fifteen years at the time of his death. We bad no children, ** Such is the history of what, as I have said, I call the second half of my life. Now, as I have also said, what I require of you is to solve the mystery of the first half; that is, to complete the record of the past back to the time of my birth. Do you think you can do it?” “Tf vou bave told me all that you are able to tell, madam,” the detective responded, ‘* it looks like a formidable task. But I am willing to un- dertake it. Will vou permit me to ask some questions?” ** Ask as many as you like; it is your business to do so,” ‘Why have you hinted that perhaps J shall be required to cross the continent in connection with this case?” ‘* Ab! I see that you have the points well in mind, I will answer that question presently.” “Very well, Now, at the time when Mr, Milburn started to investigate the matter, seven- teen years ago or thereabouts, you say he failed utterly.” . ss es,” ‘** Did he employ a detective?” ‘*T think that he did not,” **Do you know what course he did take?” ‘*] believe that he engaged some lawyer in Chicago to search for my supposed brother, the Henry Mancred I have mentioned—” ‘** Pardon me,” the detective interrupted, ‘* but this is the first time that you have mentioned that name.” “I fully intended doing so, That was the —e given by the person who placed me in the asylum.” ‘ParJon the interruption; I simply wanted to have a clear understanding of the point.” “Quite right. Well, the lawyer could find no trace of him, nor of my former husband under the name of Abington. Nothing whatever was to be learned.” ‘‘Tt isa mystery, truly. But, let me hear the rest of your story. You have led me to believe that you bave more to tell.” “You are right, I have more to tell,” said the lady, ‘‘ but it will not be as a connected story.” ‘*That matters little, madam, You started by saying that you would relate first the story of the second half of your life, not trusting to your faulty memory for anything. Now let me bear what your ‘faulty memory’ has to reveal,” ‘*T will, for it may be helpful to you. I can tell] you more now than I was able to tell Mr. Milburn seventeen years ago.” The lady paused in her narration and became thoughtful. CHAPTER II, PHANTOMS OF THE PAST, PRENTISS KINWORTH was much interested in the story to which he had attentively listened. It was, as the lady had predicted that it might be, a case a little out of the usual line. But he was none the less ready to undertake it. Just bere it may not be out of place to men- tion that the late Morgan Milburn had been one of San Francisco’s millionaires, and that his widow was immensely rich; he having divided oot ah sand equally between her and his daugh- rrr a i vs j .. — s P 6 i. ae. After a thoughtful pause of some moments’ duration, Mrs, Milburn presently resumed. ‘*] hardly know how to begin, now,” she ob- served. ‘* During the past three, four or five years My memory has seemed to be on the very point of returning, yet has never done so, How shall I make clear just whatI mean? Did you ever dream that you were dreaming, and seem — A < re — i a _ - — — to have a double existence for the time being? You remember well your dream, perhaps, but what was it that you dreamt you dreamed? Or, better still, have you ever forgotten for a time a very familiar word? You kuow the meaning of the word well enough; you know the use you would make of it; you can mention balf a dozen synony'nes, it may be; but the word itself foils your effort to grasp it. Just so the first balf of my life baffles me whenever I try to recall it. Can you understand my meaning from so poor an attempt at setting it forth in words?” ‘*T understand you perfectly, madam,” the de- tective answered, ‘‘ Tbe first half of your life is as it were ina fog. At times you can just catch the outline of some object which you think is familiar to you, but the moment you attempt to get a nearer view of it, the fog settles down and it is shut out from sight completely.” ‘That is it exactly, sir. You have described it well, It is of those shadowy outlines in a mental fog that I will now speak. Had you not better make notes as I go along?” ‘* Yes, I will do so;” and Kinworth produced a note-book and pencil. ‘First of all 1 will answer a question which ou asked a few minutes ago, and which I said would answer presently, You asked why I had intimated that perhaps you would be re- uired to cross the continent in connection with this case. It is because everything in the past seems to center at New York, Why this is so, I cannot tell, for I cannot brivg myself to be- lieve that I have ever been there, I can form no idea of what New York is like.” “May I ask whether there is any particular place of which you have a recollection?” the detective interrupted, ‘*Only such places as I bave visited during this second half of my life,” was the reply. **Go on with your recital.” . “One of the most distinct of those recurring outlines in the fog,” the lady resumed, “if you will allow me to employ the figure you have used, is a name, That name is Whitford. Where I have heard it, and whether it is asso- ciated with a person or whether a place, I do not know, There the mental fog frustrates me. Then there isa kind, fatherly face that occa- sionally comes up before me in dim outline, It is the face of an elderly man whose hair is snow white. Whose it is 1 cannot remember, but am sure that I bave know that person in the past, Again, I see for a moment a familiar room; and, asin a dream within a dream, I am there, and for one brief instant, almost like the lightning’s flash, that is my real life and this second half becomes the shadowy part. Do you follow me?” ‘*T do; please to go on.” ‘*In that very brief moment of time I seem to catch a glimpse of my former married life, I have a child in my arms. I am very sad. My husband seems just to have left the rooin. There is a middle-aged woman with me. There is— Ah!” . There had been for a moment a far-away look in the lady’s eyes. as the detective, who was watching her closely, had noted, but it suddenly vanished as with the exclamation she seemed to start out of what had been a momentary reverie, ** You have just experienced one of the very memory-flashes of which you were speaking,” Kinworth asserted. ‘You are right,” the lady admitted. ‘‘ The very scene of which I was speaking came sud- denly up before me, but it was gone as suddenly the instant that I tried to put my mind so fully upon it. Ob, it is so tryi g, so trying;” and she passed her hand across ber forehead wearily, “And you saw nothing new this time?” the detective interrogated. ‘‘No, nothing. I bave had the same ex rience—the same vision—hundreds of times be fore. Iam permitted to see just so much, but that is all.” ‘‘Then have you told me all there is to tell of that experience?” ‘Of that particular scene, yes; but there are other vague memories which come up occasion- ally. Everything, as I have said, seems to draw to a focal point at New York. Are you ac- quainted with thatcity” |. . **T am quite at home there, madam.” ‘*Good. Now please to remember that I have not been there during the second half of my life. Ido not know that I have ever been there. As L.said before, I can form no idea of what New York is like, This being so, let me set forth as well as I can a mental picture of acertain street that holds a place in my mind as a dim recoHec- tion, and tell mo, then, whether there is anything like it in New York.” ** Proceed.” “The street is narrow. both sides, There are man seems to run slightly up-hill. There are offices on of them, The street I am coming up toward the end of it, and there isaconstant GOMIEE - ——_