The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1895-05-04
ARTISTS WEIRD TALE
"Who's there!'

"Who's there"
Its I. Will you open the door, or
am / to stand here and freeze to
death?"
There was a nervous fumbling at the
lock "A sharp click as 1t turned, and al
last I was admitted to the studio OF
my friend Collins. I had never before
experienced the slightest difficulty in
entering it, for the latch was free at
all hours, and 1 was in the habit of
dropping around for a smoke and a
chat at any time, sans ceremonie. Be-
sides, it was New Years eve, and there
had been a previous agreement that
together we would smoke the old year
out with some very excellent Turkish
mixture 1 had picked up.
Jayne Collins was an old friend OF
mine. At school he did vile caricatures
OF me In the fly leaves Of his books,
and there had sprung from this inauspi-
elous beginning q lasting intimacy. At
twenty he went to Europe to study art,
and l saw nothing Of him for nearly
seven years. Then he turned up In
Minneapolis and opened a studio, so
that for a year previous to this chilly
New Years v our friendship had
eeen as close as In the old days.
was surprised On entering to find
The apartment cold. There was no fire
In the stove, and the kettle standing on
1t, a particularly Jovial little copper
affair, gave neither sign nor sound.
The punch bowl lay inverted on the
shelf. The effect of all this was par
ticularly depressing, additionally so
perhaps that q widely different scene
had been conjured up in my mind
from past experiences In this very
room-a scene in which the little cop
per Kettle sang right merrily the punch
bowl stood full to the brim with a
special brew, Of which it's owner alone
had the secret, and a cloud Of blue to-
bacco smoke formed the background.
Noting at a glance the unusual condi-
Sions, l turned to Collins for an expla-
nation, and saw he was carefully re-
locking the door. His SEEM
ed c%uriously stealthy. In fact, there
was something so thoroughly odd and
inexplicable in my friends behavior
that l stood watching him for a mo-
ment In silent speculation as to the
cause of 1t. Just as l was about to
voice my bewilderment, he anticipated
me.
Don't talk loudly" he said in an ex-
cited whisper, I'm hiding"
"Hidlng" I exclaimed; from whom,
pray"
Was it possible that he had become
a lunatic? l thought. It was slow and
d~iscouraging for an artist in the north
west, and Collins was very respondent
at times, but so sudden a collapse was
hideous to contemplate.
"ConfOund 1t, man, don't scream!'
ne cried gesticulating wildly in the d.
rection of the door. "I'm hiding from
a pack Of newsgathering devils armed
with innumerable pencils and whole
reams Of paper. So far I have elud-
ed them, but they keep knocking there
the internal ravens! I say, Lennon
he went on, throwing himself astride
a chair and glaring at me over the
back of it. "I'm in the very duce of a
a mess. old chap; compromised ever
lastingly. The thing will be in every
paper on the continent tomorrow
morning."
"Who is the woman'?' I asked, seiz-
ed with a sudden idea.
Woman" he repeated, there's no
woman-or, say--yes, there is. a very
pretty widow-no, confound it she's
not a widow. either. She was this
morning. though. %hut-hang it, man
the whole thing is the vilest muddle
you ever heard of. Why" he exclaim-
ed, starting to his feet and pointing
nervously in the direction of the win
dow, Il left the corpse sitting up in a
black shroud drinking champagne;
the widow, I mean the wife In hyster-
les; the servant in a dead faint. / left
the undertaken cursing under his
breath, and l left myself" he conclud.
ed, with asavage grin, Gin a hack. Oh,
it's a devil of a mess all around"
Crazy as II cockroach wa5 my in.
ward comment. Collins had always
been a little bit high strung given to
fits Of e%xaltation and depression.
While these thoughts flashed through
my mind the subject of them was rap
idly pacing the floor. Approaching a
partly finished Nubian girl. with a wa.
ter jar on her shoulder. he deliberately
kicked a hole in the canvas. "Look
here, Jayne" l said, %"you're overwork.
ed. Get out that whisky of yours
while l light the fire. Wen have a
quiet grog and a smoke, and talk
this thing over sensibly. There's moth
ing like a good, honest pipe when II
mans in a dilemma"
He sat on the very edge of a chair,
with his elbows on his knees and his
head resting in his hands. I was on
my way to the stove with an armful
of wood from the fuel box behind the
screen. when l became conscious of
something that caused me to drop the
bundle of sticks and start back in af-
fright. The kindling material struck
the floor with a crash and Collins rails,
cd his head. There was an apathetic
wonder in his eyes that changed to a
startled expression as his gaze met
mine.
what is that?" I demanded sterniy
pointing to his appraised hands. They
were covered with blood. His cuffs
too. were saturated with il. Extending
his forefingers, with their dark stains,
before him, he examined them for a
moment in grim silence.
"The corpse!' he gasped with a
shudder. "Ah, it was a terrible affair
terrible"
"Good Lord, man! what corpse are
you talking about?" l cried. 1t was
now evident to me that my unfortu-
nate friend had become insane, and in
his crazed condition had committed a
crime. The idea was well borne GU,
by his manner. He shivered like a
man with q swamp fever, trying mean