Evening journal. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1907-1913, 1912-09-07
CHAPTER K.
a Woman of Intuition,

never weighed more heavily ON any
one than. on me that dismal, rainy
Sunday morning, on which | stepped
from the Sibyllas launch to the stone
water steps of Cragholt For two days
we had searched the bays and inlets
from Provineetown- to Plymouth and
from Siasconset to- Providence; guess
toning at every pier and landing
stage; making inquiry In every town
and hamlet; but without thimblefuf
of profit for our pains. AS that black
craft, with dimmed lights and muffled
engines, had eluded our pursuit on
the night OF Cameron's disappearance,
SO for forty-eight hours succeeding
she had baffied our quest. No one
knew her; no one had seen her.
AS for that shaken, frayed, pallid
fisherman, Peter Johnson, ne APP
peared below, rather than above, sus-
picion. II my knowledge of men went
for anything he was too inferior both
mentally and physically to be par
ticipant in any such plot as was here
involved. He seemed to me woefully
weak ard wasted, and with as little
brains as sinew. So, with enough
money for d new mast and sail, we
had put him and his dory ashore at
our first landing, and had forthwith
forgotten him.
Macleod had been inclined to con.
tinue me search, but 4 argued that
my further efforts in THAT direction
would be only waste al ,irna nh
4.
craft we were looking for might have
come from any one of a thousand
places and returned to any one Of a
thousand more. Some more effective,
general and far-reaching steps must
be taken, l held, and taken quickly.
Indeed | felt now that to keep secret
longer the conspiracy, as indicated in
those mystic letters, would be little
short of criminal. The aid of the po-
lice and the press must be invoked at
once, and nothing left undone to trace
the crime to its source.
But my first and most onerous task
was to acquaint Evelyn Grayson with
the facts as l knew them. How I
shrank from that duty is beyond any,
thing | can put into words. | know
1t would have been far easier for me
to have carried her definite news of
her uncles death. What | had to-
tell was horrible in its stark obscurity.
And yet, if l could have foreseen just
what was to follow, l might have
spared myself a goodly share Of dis
tress.
I imagined I knew Evelyn Grayson,
before this. l thought | had sounded
the profundities of her fortitude and
courage on the night that l spread be-
fore her and read with her that third
and last letter. But my fancy did her
an injustice. She was even more of
woman than l dreamed
Recently I CHANGED upon these lines
by Thomas Dunn English, which must
have been inspired by such a one as
she:
So much Is clear,
! Though little dangers they NAV fear
| When greater perils men environ
Then women show a front of iron:
And gentle in their manner, they
DO bold things in a quiet way.
Evelyn Grayson did a bold thing in
Il quiet way that morning. l have not
yet forgotten how marble white she
was, and yet how bravely she came,
with springing step and lifted chin
and fearless eyes. l had waited her
coming in the music room, with its
score Of reminders Of happy evenings
in which he had participated. The
chair he usually chose, in the corner,
near the great bow window against
which the east wind was now driving
the rain in gusty splashes, took on
pathos which moved me to weakness.
The Baudelaire lyric spread open.
PACED upon the music rack of the pi-
ano, stirred memories scarcely less
narrowing. A photograph, an ash
tray, a paper knife, all commonplace
objects of themselves, but so linked
to him by association, became, sud-
denly, instruments Of emotional tor
ture.
In this environment, under these
influences, | rose to meet her, word
less. Yet my expression and attitude
must have spoken loudly enough to
confirm the dread that was in her
heart, for even before she spoke l was
sure that she knew. And then she
had taken my two outstretched hands
in hers and raised her brave eyes to
mine, and low-voiced, but sure and
tremorless, was saying:
Il feared it, Philip. From the very
first, feared it,
And when l told her all, to the
smallest detail, it was as though she
We're the man and I the woman; for
The recital had been for me a very.
painful confession OF my own incom-l
petence, and its conclusion left me
more neryously unstrung than at any
time since the night of the strange
catastrophe. With what heroic forti-
tude she heard the narrative may best
be indicated by the statement that
throughout it all she sat calmly atten-
tive, but unquestioning, and with no
sign of emotion beyond her continued
pallor and a recurrent tensing of her
small white hands. At the end l
leaned forward and with left elbow on