He saw nothing of Dr. Medjora until the Harlem terminus was reached.

Here his man alighted and walked rapidly across the bridge over the river, Barnes following by the footpath on the opposite side, keeping the heavy timbers of the span between them as a screen. But, however careful Dr. Medjora had been to look behind him when leaving the lawyers' offices, he evidently felt secure now, for he cast no anxious glances backward. Thus Barnes shadowed him with comparative ease, several blocks uptown, and then down a cross street, until at last he disappeared in a house surrounded by many large trees.

Barnes stopped at the tumbled-down gate, which, swinging on one hinge, offered little hindrance to one who wished to enter. He looked at the house with curiosity. Old Colonial in architecture, it had evidently once been the summer home of wealthy folks. Now the sashless windows and rotting eaves marked it scarcely more than a habitat for crows or night owls. Wondering why Dr. Medjora should visit such a place, he was suddenly astonished to hear the sound of wheels rapidly approaching. Peeping back, he saw a stylish turn-out coming towards him, and it flashed across his mind that this might be the equipage in which the Doctor had been said to drive in the Park. Not wishing to be seen, he entered the grounds, ran quickly to the house, and admitted himself through a broken-down doorway that led to what had been the kitchen. He had scarcely concealed himself when the carriage stopped, a woman alighted, and walking up to the house, entered by the same door through which the Doctor had pa.s.sed. Barnes was satisfied now that this meeting was pre-arranged, and that it would interest him greatly to overhear the conversation which would occur.

Seeking a means of reaching the upper floor, he soon found a stairway from which several steps were absent, but he readily ascended. At the top, he stopped to listen, and soon heard low voices still farther up.

The staircase in the main hall was in a fair state of preservation, and there was even the remains of an old carpet. Carefully stepping, so as to avoid creaking boards, he soon reached a level from which he could peep into the room at the head of the stairs, and there he saw the two whom he was following. But though he could hear their voices, he could not distinguish their words. To do so he concluded that he must get into the adjoining room, but he could not go farther upstairs without being detected, as the door was open affording the Doctor a clear view of the top of the stairway.

Barnes formed his plan quickly. Reaching up with his hands, he took hold of the bal.u.s.trade which ran along the hallway, and then, dangling in the air, he worked his way slowly from bal.u.s.ter to bal.u.s.ter, until he had pa.s.sed the open doorway, and finally hung opposite the room which he wished to enter. Then he drew himself up, until he could rest a foot upon the floor of the hall, after which he quickly and noiselessly swung himself over and pa.s.sed into the front room. That he succeeded, astonished him, after it had been done, for he could not but recognize that a single rotten bal.u.s.ter would either have precipitated him to the floor below, or at least by the noise of its breaking have attracted the attention of Dr. Medjora, who, be it remembered, was suspected of no less a crime than murder.

Looking about the room in which he then stood, he took little note of the decaying furniture, but went at once to a door which he thought must communicate with the adjoining room. Opening this very gently, he disclosed a narrow pa.s.sageway, from which another door evidently opened into the room beyond. Stealthily he pa.s.sed on, and pressing his ear against a wide crack, was pleased to find that he could easily hear what was said by the two in the next room. The conversation seemed to have reached the very point of greatest interest to him. The woman said:

"I wish to know exactly your connection with this Mabel Sloane."

"So do the police," replied the Doctor, succinctly.

"But I am not the police," came next in petulant tones.

"Exactly! And not being the police you are out of your province, when investigating a matter supposed to be criminal." Barnes learned two things: first that the Doctor would not lose his temper, and therefore would not be likely to betray himself by revealing anything beyond what his companion might already know; and second, that she knew little as to his relation with Mabel Sloane. This was not very promising, yet he still hoped that something might transpire, which would repay all the trouble that he had taken. The woman spoke again quickly.

"Then you are not going to explain this thing to me?"

"Certainly not, since you have not the right to question me."

"I have not the right? I, whom you expect to marry? I have not the right to investigate your relations with other women?"

"Not with one who is dead!"

"Dead or alive, I must know what this Mabel Sloane was to you, or else----" She hesitated.

"Or else?" queried the Doctor, without altering his tone.

"Or else I will not marry you."

"Oh! Yes, you will!" replied the Doctor, with such a tone of certainty that his companion became exasperated and stamped her feet as she replied in anger:

"I will not! I will not! I will not!" Then, as though her a.s.severation had slightly mollified her, she added: "Or if I do----" and, then paused.

"Continue!" exclaimed the Doctor, still calm. "You pause at a most interesting period. Or if you do----"

"Or if I do," wrathfully rejoined the woman--"I'll make your whole life a burden to you!"

"No, my wife that is to be, you will not even do that. Perhaps you might try, but I should not permit you to succeed in any such an undertaking. No, my dear friend, you and I are going to be a model couple, provided----"

"Provided what?"

"That you curb your curiosity as to things that do not concern you."

"But this does concern me."

"As I have intimated already, Mabel Sloane being dead, you can have no interest whatever in knowing what relations existed between us."

"Not even if, as the newspapers claim, she had a child?"

"Not even in that case."

"Well, is there a child?"

"I have told you that it does not concern you."

"Do you deny it?"

"I neither deny it, nor affirm it. You have read the evidence, and may believe it or not as you please."

"Oh! I hate you! I hate you!" She was again enraged. "I wonder why I am such a fool as to marry you?"

"Ah! This time you show curiosity upon a subject which does concern you. Therefore I will enlighten you. You intend to marry me, first, because, in spite of the a.s.sertion just made, you love me. That is to say, you love me as much as you can love any one other than yourself.

Second, you are ambitious to be the wife of a celebrated man. You have been keen enough to recognize that I have genius, and that I will be a great man. Do you follow me?"

"You are the most supreme egotist that I have ever met." The words, meant as a sort of reproach, yet were spoken in tones which betokened admiration.

"Thank you. I see you appreciate me for what I am. All egotists are but men who have more than the average ego, more than ordinary individuality. The supreme egotist, therefore, has most of all. Now, to continue the reasons for our marriage, perhaps you would like to know why I intend to marry you?"

"If your august majesty would condescend so far." The Doctor took no notice of the sneer, but said simply:

"I too have my ambitions, but I need money with which to achieve success. You have money!"

"You dare to tell me that! You are going to marry me for my money!

Never, you demon! Never!"

"I thought you had concluded to be sensible and leave off theatricals.

You look very charming when you are angry, but it prolongs this conversation to dangerous lengths. We may be interrupted at any moment by the police."

"By the police! In heaven's name how?" In a moment she showed a transition from that emotion which spurned him, to that love for him which trembled for his safety. Thus wisely could this crafty physician play upon the feelings of those whom he wished to influence.

"It is very simple. As much as you love me, you love your own comfort more. I asked you to come up here quietly. You came in your carriage, with driver and footman in full livery. Is that your idea of a quiet trip?"

"But I thought----"

"No! You did not think." The Doctor spoke sternly, and the woman was silent, completely awed. "If you had thought for one moment, you would have readily seen that the police are probably watching you, hoping that, through you, they might find me. Fortunately, however, I have thought of the contingency, and am prepared for it. But let us waste no more time. No! Do not speak. Listen, and heed what I have to say. I have decided not to follow your suggestion. You wrote to me advising flight. That was another indiscretion, since your messenger might have been followed. However, I forgave you, for you not only offered to accompany me, but you expressed a willingness to furnish the funds, as an earnest of which I found a thousand dollars in your envelope. A token, you see, of a love more intense than that jealousy which a moment ago whispered to you to abandon me. From this, and other similar circ.u.mstances, I readily deduce that after all you will marry me. But to come to the point. I have consulted a firm of lawyers, and by their advice I shall surrender myself on the day after to-morrow."

"You will surrender to the police?" The woman was thoroughly alarmed.

"They will convict you. They will----ugh!" She shuddered.

"No," said the Doctor more kindly than he had as yet spoken. "Do not be afraid. They will neither convict me, nor hang me. I will stand my trial, and come out of it a freed man."

"But if not? Even innocent men have been convicted."

"Even innocent men! Why do you say even? Do you doubt that I am innocent?"