In Jeopardy
it is coming! It is coming! I got both the O and the U.
"From the height of exultation to the depths of despair. For instead of
R in the ninth place, I had to set down an I; and then, in succession:
CDD-FKL. Perfectly impossible! Look at it: THANECOUICDD-FKL, etc.
"And yet the cypher had certainly started to uncode; what could have
thrown me off the track? For I had succeeded in getting 'Thanecou,' and
that unusual combination was significant in the highest degree. What
word could it be but 'Thane Court,' the ancestral home of the
Thanefords? Why the chances were a million to one against my reaching
such a series for--for----"
"Fortuitously," I prompted.
"Yes, that's it; something like the 'fortuitous concourse of atoms' that
the philosophers talk about. I remember the phrase from my school days.
"And yet the mix-up came to spoil everything. For what could any
sensible person make of THANECOUICDD-FKL?
"I tried carrying on the series until my brain was positively dizzy, but
I got nothing except incomprehensible rubbish. And yet I knew that I had
found a real clue; how in the world had I lost it again? I used to work
until I actually went fast to sleep at my desk, but nothing came of it.
It was enough to drive one mad.
"The middle of May I went up to Stockbridge, and of course I carried my
troubles with me. Wherever I looked I seemed to see that tantalizing
key-sentence: Won--for--too--for--ate; it was as bad as the squaring of
the circle. Just some little, insignificant error was keeping me from
the solving of the puzzle, but for the life of me I couldn't put my
finger on it. Honestly now, Hugh, do you think you would have been
clever enough to have figured it out?"
I checked up Betty's "layout" and went over the decoding process with
meticulous care. I got precisely the same result: THANECOU--and then
chaos.
"It beats me," I confessed. "It's enough to make one dotty."
"I dare say that is what Aunt Alice Crew thought of me in her heart of
hearts," laughed Betty, "although she was too polite to say so. And,
really, it was getting on my nerves. I couldn't eat, and a _nuit
blanche_ was no uncommon thing with me. I couldn't get it out of my
head, you understand, that the solving of the problem must be of immense
importance. There _was_ a mystery at the 'Hundred,' and so long as it
remained a mystery there could be no enduring peace or happiness for us.
If you had been willing to sell the 'Hundred' there might have been some
chance of escaping the curse; hadn't poor Eunice said as much in that
weird statement which she left behind her. But you would not consider
the suggestion even."
"I suppose I was pig-headed and altogether in the wrong," I admitted
humbly. "But it all seemed so fantastic and incredible--here in the
twentieth century."
"Granting that the mystery had continued unsolved," said Betty, looking
me straight in the eye. "What then?"
"But you have given me to understand----" I began.
"Never mind that," interrupted my wife. "Even now you don't know the
secret, and I might find it inadvisable to tell you. Admitting the
possibility that the ghost has not been truly laid, would you still
insist upon remaining master of 'Hildebrand Hundred'?"
A vision of those strong, cruel hands, with their black-tufted knuckles,
rose before me, and I shuddered.
"Or would you be willing that Little Hugh should enter upon his
inheritance with this cloud hanging over it?"
"No, I wouldn't," I said soberly. "To be honest, I hadn't thought of it
in that light."
"You see a woman has to consider all these things," rejoined Betty. "But
you have been very patient, Hugh, and the winding up of my yarn won't
take long. The crisis begins with Chalmers' coming to Stockbridge."
"For me, that was the denouement, the end of all things," I said
shamefacedly, and Warriner roared.
"You see, I never suspected even that I was cast for the role of breaker
up of homes," he remarked meditatively. "Betty and I were good friends,
of course, but once you appeared on the sky line I was reduced to
playing gooseberry. Besides, there never had been anyone else than
Hilda for me."
"I'm only trying to explain my conduct," I retorted. "I'm well aware
that nothing can excuse it. Shoot, Betty."
"Of course, Chalmers was coming to Stockbridge," went on Betty, "for the
simple reason that Hilda was visiting me. Nevertheless, I was looking
forward to his arrival, because he had promised to dig up certain data
for me.
"You remember the list of Hildebrand tragedies as given by Eunice; how
Yardley Hildebrand had succeeded his father, Oliver, in 1860, and had
died the following year; then how his younger brother, Randall, had
become master of the 'Hundred,' and had only lived a twelvemonth; and so
on.
"Well, I thought it might be useful to ascertain all these dates
exactly, and, in order to do that, it would be necessary to take
transcripts from the parish register at S. Saviour's. I wrote to
Chalmers, and asked him to look up this information and bring it with
him when he came to Stockbridge. Not only did he do this, but he took
the trouble to type out the complete record, so that all the facts in
the case might lie under the eye. I'll read it."
Betty pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the portfolio lying in her
lap and began:
Yardley Hildebrand, b. March 5, 1806; succeeded his father, Oliver,
1860; d. June 20, 1861.
Randall Hildebrand, b. May 11, 1809; succeeded his brother,
Yardley, 1861; d. June 22, 1862.
Horace Hildebrand, elder son of Randall, b. December 4, 1830;
succeeded his father, 1862; d. June 22, 1865.
Richard Hildebrand, younger son of Randall, b. June 1, 1835;
succeeded his elder brother, 1865; d. June 20, 1918.
Francis Hildebrand Graeme, great-nephew to Richard, b. April 13,
1874; succeeded his great-uncle, 1918; d. June 21, 1919.
Eunice Trevor, b. September 2, 1892; d. June 20, 1920.
"And now we may add a final entry," continued Betty: "John Thaneford,
nephew to Richard, b. July 16, 1892; d. June 22, 1922."
Betty handed me over the list. "Do you notice anything peculiar about
those dates?" she asked.
I read the paper through, and then again. "You have already pointed
out," I began hesitatingly, "that the tenure of 'Hildebrand Hundred' was
for the comparatively brief period of one to three years. Except for
Richard, who held the property for over fifty."
"I don't mean that. Examine the actual dates."
I scanned the record with still greater attention. "Ah!" I exclaimed,
"here _is_ something strange. Everyone of these men, and Eunice, too,
died in June; yes, and on a day of the month that varied between the
twentieth and the twenty-second. Is that what you had in mind?"
"Yes, and it seemed to indicate clearly that those particular three
days, the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second of June----"
"In astronomical parlance, the summer solstice," interrupted Warriner.
"----was the danger period."
"Yes, and then?"
"Your letter came, saying that you had been obliged to enter the library
to look after the window repairs; you added that you would probably have
to go again to finish up the job. As I have already told you, that
letter reached me on Thursday morning, June the twenty-first; Chalmers
and I left at once for New York. On the way down I succeeded in reading
the cypher, and so got Fielding Thaneford's message in full."
"But how in the world----" I began.
"You'll know in good time," cut in Betty. "First, I want you to consider
another of my sources of information. Here it is," and she held up a
small book bound in tattered leather.
"This," continued my wife, "is a diary kept by Horace Hildebrand, who
succeeded to the 'Hundred' in 1862, and died June 22, 1865. The notes
refer chiefly to the weather, a record that many country gentlemen are
fond of keeping for their own amusement. The only period which interests
us is that covering those fatal June days in 1863, 1864, and 1865."
Betty thumbed over the leaves, and stopped at the latter part of June,
1863.
"You see that the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second are
described as overcast and rainy. Now for 1864:
"'June 20, cloudy; June 21, clear. (Note: A total eclipse of the sun
took place to-day, the period of partial and complete darkness lasting
from 10.45 A. M. to 2.10 P. M.); June 22, cloudy.' Finally, we take
1865:
"'June 20, rainy; June twenty-first, heavy rains; June 22, fine and
clear.' This is the last entry in the book as Horace Hildebrand was
found dead later on in that same day.
"Just one more point. What possible hypothesis can we establish to
account for Richard Hildebrand's half century of immunity? Now it
happened that I had questioned Effingham on this very subject before I
left the 'Hundred.' Effingham had lived, as boy and man, on the
Hildebrand estate for over sixty years. Consequently, he knew Marse
Richard, as he called him, very well, and was familiar with his habits
of life.
"According to Effingham, Richard Hildebrand disliked the warm weather,
and always left the 'Hundred' the first of June; he would spend the
summer at the 'Old White,' returning to Maryland toward the end of
September. But in 1918, the last year of his life, he was too feeble to
go away from home. His favorite room was the library, and there he was
found dead the evening of the twentieth of June, 1918. He was supposed
to have died of heart disease; certainly there was no suspicion of foul
play.
"So that was the sum total of my investigations to date," concluded
Betty. "Do you make anything of it?"
"It's beyond me," I confessed frankly. "What is the answer?"
"Only Fielding Thaneford himself can give it," replied Betty. "Here is
his fully decoded statement, and I'll ask Chalmers to read it aloud. As
I said a moment ago, we worked it out together that long day on the
train. When we reached town we had the whole story, and knew what to
expect. Except one thing: Would it be a cloudy day? But it turned out
fair and hot, with only a faint suggestion of thunder in the air. There
was a bad wreck on the Cape Charles route, and anyhow we had missed the
connection for the morning train. So we hired a car, threw away the
speedometer, and made to strike the 'Hundred' by midday. We couldn't
quite do it, but the tide of chance had turned at last, and it didn't
matter. Now go on, Chalmers."
Warriner ruffled the dozen or more sheets of paper between his fingers
and began:
Chapter XXII
_The Grapes of Wrath_
Thane Court, August third, eighteen-ninety-two. Now that a son is
born to me, Fielding Thaneford of King William county, Maryland, it
is fitting that I set down in order the form and measure of my
vengeance upon the traitor Yardley Hildebrand; also upon those who
may come after him until the end of time.
Back in 1854 I was a young man of nine-and-twenty. Yardley
Hildebrand was some twenty years my senior, yet we were close
friends owing to our common interest in scientific studies, he as a
chemist and I as a physicist, specializing in optics. Then Evelyn
Mansfield came and stood between us.
It was his wealth which turned the scale. Not that Evelyn was
mercenary, but financial disaster had overtaken the Mansfields, and
Yardley Hildebrand had promised to play the part of a ministering
angel in rehabilitating the family fortunes, the inexorable
condition being that Evelyn should favor his suit. And I was a
comparatively poor man.
They were married in 1855, she a slip of a girl of barely nineteen
years, and he a mature man of fifty. It is hardly necessary to say