The Socialist press., 1915-09-18


 been of the incident in the wood, in- cluding the finding of the bullet pierced piece of canvas. Every thing, save only that Evelyn was the discoverer of the portrait remnant which I thought best under the cir cunstances to keep secret-was told to him in detail, and with all the cir cumstantiality necessary to an intel ligent discussion of even the minutest point.
 My description of Murphy elicited from him recollection. He remem- bered having seen the man once. It was on the Fourth of July. Evelyn and Mrs. Lancaster. Cameron's house. keeper. had accompanied Cameron to what is called "The Port of Missing Men," resort for motorists, on the summit of Titicus mountain. They had lunched there and were returning by route which took them over a succession of execrable roads, but through some of the most glorious scenery in the whole state of Con- necticut. For a while they had been following stream, willow-girt, that went babbling down over a rocky bed which at intervals broke the waters into series of falls and cascades. At the foot of one of these they had stopped the car and alighted for a better view, and 30 had come upon the unexpected.
 Seated upon great powder, his easel planted between the stones of headed, red-bearded Colossus, in a soiled suit of khaki and a monstrous straw hat such as Is worn by harvest ing farmers. Cameron told me that all three of them made bold to peep >ver the painters shoulder at his work, and then, though it was of the most mediocre quality, to shower him with laudatory and congratulatory phrases.
 T can fancy how he thanked you, . I broke in. smiling. "I suppose he said something very rude."
 He said nothing at all. He simply stopped painting. and turning. fixed his eyes upon me. It was as if he saw no other one of us. He seemed to be making a careful appraisement of my every feature. After mo- ment 1t grew embarrassing, and though I did not resent it--feeling rather that we, ourselves, had been in the wrong-I very speedily wi&h- drew. To my surprise he rose from his stone seat; and. palette and brush in hand, followed us up the little acclivity to the road, watching in silence, until we got back into our car, and wheeled away"
 Did you gather from his inspection that he recognized you, or thought he recognized you?" I asked
 q gathered only that he meant to be insufferably rude," was Cameron's answer.
 And you have never seen him since?"
 Never"
 He has evidently seen you. He spoke of the Russian wolf-hounds that go about with you"
 Cameron made no response.
 Well" added, in tone meant to be reassuring, '1 think We need have little fear of continuance of this singular method of annoyance. Though We cant trace 1t directly to Murphy and his unfortunate Mongoli- an, I thoroughly believe that one or the other was responsible. With the Chinaman dead and Murphy in Jail, the persecution will cease. The threat contained in the second letter will never be executed. See if I'm not right"
 My hope of putting Cameron at ease, however, was not rewarded. He continued to exhibit signs of an al- most constant apprehension. There was, indeed, sympathy-stirring pathcs about the nervous disquiet of this man. usually so impenetrably self-contalned. And at moments, in spite of me, a suspicion gripped and held that he had not been entirely frank; that somewhere in his past there was something unrevealed which might serve as clue, if not an explanation. to the present. But these doubts of him were always transitory.
 The twenty-first of September fell that year on Monday. My office de- manded my presence, but I arranged affairs as well as possible by tele- phone and devoted the entire day to Cameron. When I told him I meant to do this he protested, pretending that he was quite without foreboding; while the unconscious tapping of his