THE TELEGRAM, TAHLEQUAH, OKLA.
1
try ANNA. KATHARINE GREEN
AUTHOR OP "THE LEAVENWORTH CASE
"THE FILIGUEE BAUTtHEHOUSE OFTOCWmSPERING PINES
ILLUSTRATIONS IVY
CHARLES/W. ROSSER
ign ss gsgffSAj'gg1 
SYNOPSIS.
murmured In
monotonous
George Anderson and wife see a 1
fv.urkahle looking man come out of the
Clermont hotel, look around furtively,
wash his hands In the snow and pass on.
Commotion attracts them to the Clermont,
where it is found that the beautiful Miss
Edith Challoner has fallen dead. Ander-
son describes the man he saw wash his
hands in the snow. The hotel manager
declares him to be Orlando Brotherson.
Physicians find that Miss Challoner was
stabbed and not shot, which seems to
clear Biothcrson of suspicion. Gryee. an
aged detective, and Sweetwater, his as-
sistant. take tip the case. Mr. Challoner
tells of a batch of letters found In Wis
daughter's desk, signed "O. B." All are
love letters except ' ne. which shows that
the writer was displeased. This letter
was signed by Orlando Brotherson. And-
erson goes with Sweetwater to identify
Brotherson, who Is found in a tenement
under the name of Dunn. He is an In-
ventor. Brotherson t'*lls the coroner Miss
Challoner repulsed him with scorn when
he offered her his love. Sweetwater re-
calls the mystery of the murder of a
washerwoman in which some details were
similar to the Challoner affair. Chal-
loner admits his daughter was deeply In-
terested, If not in love with Brotherson.
Sweetwater gets lodgings in the same
building with Brotherson. He watches
the Inventor at work at night and is de-
tected by the latter. The d«*tectlv^ moves
to a r^om adjoining Hrotherso. He
boH s r ie in the wall to spy on Broth-
erson. e visits him and assists the in-
ventor his work. A girl sent by Sweet-
water \*ith Edith Challoner's letters Is
ordered out by Brotherson. He declares
the letters were not written by him.
Sweetwater is unmasked by Brotherson,
who derlares he recognized him at once.
The discovery is made that the letters
flgned "O. B." were written by two
different men Sweetwater goes to Derby
In search of the second "O. B.," whom he
experts to locate through one Doris Scott
mentioned in the letters. 81ie Is found
acting as nurse for Oswald Brotherson.
•who Ts critically sick and rails the name
of Edith in his delirium. Sweetwater
oomes across a peculiar hut In the woods.
He sees a load of boxes marked "O.
Brotherson." taken Into the hut under
the supervision of Doris Scott.
4
CHAPTER XXVIII—Continued.
"I cannot tell; 1 do not know," Bald
ehe. "Nobody knows, not even the
doctor, what effect the news we dread
to give him will have upon Mr. Broth-
erson. You will have to wait—we all
shall have to watt the results of that
revelation. It cannot be kept from
him much longer."
"You have had much to carry for
one so young," was Mr. Challoner's
sympathetic remark. "You must let
me h?lp you when that awful moment
comes. I am at the hotel and shall
,itay there till Mr. Brotherson is
pronounced quite well. I have no
other duty now in life but to sustain
him through his trouble and then,
with what aid he can give, search out
and find the cause of my daughter's
death which 1 will never admit with-
out the fullest proof, to have been
one of suicide."
Doris trembled.
"It was not suicide," she declared,
vehemently. "I have always felt sure
that It was not; but today I know."
Her hand fell clenched on her breast
and her eyes gleamed strangely. Mr,
Challoner was himself greatly Btartled
"I've not told any one," she went
on, os he stopped short in the road,
in his anxiety to understand her. "But
I will tell you. Only, not here, not
with all these people driving past;
most of whom know me. Come to the
house later—this evening, after Mr.
Brotherson's room Is closed for the
night. I have a little sitting-room on
the other side of the hall where we
can talk without being heard. Would
you object to doing that?"
"No, not at all," he assured her.
"Expect me at eight. Will that be too
early?"
"No, no. Oh, how those people
stared! Let us hasten back or they
may connect your name with what we
want kept secret."
He smiled at her fears, but gave In
to her humor; he would see her soon
again and possibly learn something
which would amply repay him, both
for his trouble and his patience.
But when evening came and she
turn/*l to face him in that little sit-
ting-. oom where he had quietly fol-
lowed her, he was conscious of a
change In her manner which forbade
these high hopes.
"I don't know what you will think
of me," she ventured at last, motion-
ing to a chair but not sitting herself.
"You have had time to think over
what I said and probably expect some-
thing real—something you could tell
people. But it isn't like that. It's a
feeling—a belief. I'm so sure—"
"Sure of what, Miss Scott?"
She gave a glance at the door be-
fore stepping up nearer. He had not
taken the chair she proffered.
"Sure that I have seen the face of
the man who murdered her. It was in
a dream," she whlsperingly complet-
ed, her great eyes misty with awe.
"A dream, Miss Scott?" He tried to
hide his disappointment
"Yes; I knew that it would sound
foolish to you; It sounds foolish to me.
But listen, sir. Listen to what I have
to tell and then you can Judge. I was
very much agitated yesterday. I had
to write a letter at Mr. Brotherson's
dictation—a letter to her. You can
understand my horror and the effort
1 made to hide my emotion. I was
quite unnerved. I could not sleep till
morning, and then—and then—I saw
—I hope I can describe It."
Grasping at a nearby c ialr, she
leaned on it for support, closing her
eyes to all but that inner vision. A
breathless moment followed, then she
strained
ones:
"I see It again—Just as I saw it in
the early morning—but even more
plainly, If that is possible. A hall
(I should call it a hall, though 1 don't
remember seeing any place like it be-
fore), with a little staircase at the
side, up which there comes a man,
who stops Just at the top and looks
lr'antly my way. There is fierceness
in his face- i look which means no
good to an> ,ody—and as his hand
goes to his overcoat pocket, drawing
out something which I cannot de-
scribe, but which he handles as if it
were a pistol, I feel a horrible fear,
and—and—" The child was stagger-
ing, and the hand which was free had
sought her heart where It lay
clenched, the knuckles Bhowing white
in the dirrf light
Mr. Challoner watched her with di-
lated eyes, the spell under which she
spoke falling in some degree upon
him. Had she finished? Was this all?
No; she is speaking again, but very
low, almost in a whisper.
"There is music—a crash—but \
plainly see his other hand approach
the object he is holding. He takes
something from the end—the object is
pointed my way—I am looking into
Into—what? I do not know. I can-
not^even see him now. The space
where he stood Is empty. Everything
fades, and I wake with a loud cry in
my ears and a sense of death here."
She had lifted her hand and struck at
her heart, opening her eyes as she did
Yet it was not I who had been
shot," she added Boftly.
Mr. Challoner shuddered. This was
like the reopening of his daughter's
grave. But he had entered upon the
scene with a full appreciation of the
ordeal awaiting him and he did not
lose his calmness, or the control of
b1' ighient.
1'seated, Miss Scott," he entreat-
ed, taking a chair himsnlf. "You have
described the spot and some of the
circumstances of my daughter's death
as accurately as if you had been there.
But you have doubtless read a full ac-
count of those details in the papers;
possibly seen pictures which would
make the place quite real to you. The
mind is a strange storehouse. We do
not always know what lies hidden
within it."
"That's true," she admitted. "But
the man! I had never seen the man,
or any picture of him, and his face
was clearest of all. I should know It
if 1 saw it anywhere. It is imprinted
on my memory as plainly as yours
Oh, I hope never to see that man!"
Leaning toward her that he might
get her full attention, he waited till
her eyes met then quietly asked:
"Have you ever named this man to
yourself?"
She started and dropped her eyes.
"I do not dare to," said she.
"Why?"
"Because I've read in the papers
"But my daughter wa3 not shot. She
died from a stab."
Doris' lovely face, with its tender
lines and girlish curves, took on a
strange look of conviction which deep-
ened, rather than melted under his in-
dulgent, but penetrating gaze.
"I know that you think so—but my
dream says no. I saw this object, y It
was pointed directly towards me—
above all, I saw his face. It was tha
face of one whose finger Is on the trig
ger and. who means jdeath; and I be-
lieve my dream."
Well, It was useless to reason furth-
er. Gentle In all else, she was im-
movable so far as this idea was con-
cerned and, seeing this, he let the
matter go and prepared to take his
leave.
She seemed to be quite ready for
this. Anxiety about her patient had
regained its place in her mind, and
her ?!ancc sped constantly toward the
door. Taking her hand in his, he said
some kind words, then crossed to the
door and opened it. Instantly her fin-
ger flew to her lips and, obedient to
Its silent injunction, he took up his
hat In silence, and was proceeding
down the hall, when the bell rang,
startling them both and causing him
to step quickly back.
"Who is it?" she asked. "Father's
in and visitors seldom come so late.
"Shall I see?"
She nodded, looking strangely trou-
bled as the door swung open, reveal-
ing the tall, strong figure of a man
facing them from the porch.
"A stranger," formed itself upon her
Hps, and she was moving forward,
when the man suddenly stepped into
the glare of the light, and she stopped,
with a murmur of dismay which
pierced Mr. Challoner's heart and
prepared him for the words which
now fell shudderingly from her lips.
It is he! It is he! I said that I
should know him wherever 1 saw
him." Then with a quiet turn towards
the intruder, "Oh, why, why, did you
come here!"
lately. His last letter was a cheerful I •'
r
It Is He!"
"It Is Hei
that the man who stood there had the
same hame aB—"
"Tell mo. Miss Scott."
"As Mr. Brotherson's brother."
"But you do not think it was his
brother?"
"I do not know."
"You've never seen his brother?"
Never."
Nor his picture?"
No, Mr. Brotherson has none."
Aren't they friends? Does he nev-
er mention Orlando?"
"Very, very rarely. But I've no
reason to think they are not on good
terms. I know they correspond."
"Miss Scott?"
"Yes, Mr. Challoner."
"You must not rely too much upon
your dream."
Her eyes flashed to his and then fell
again.
"Dreams are not revelations; they
are the reproduction of what already
lies hidden in the mind. I can prove
that your draam Is such."
"How?" She looked startled.
"You speak of seeing something be-
ing leveled at you which made you
think of a pistol."
"Yei. I was looking directly Into It
CHAPTER XXIX.
Do You Know My Brother?
Her hands were thrust out to repel,
her features were fixed; her beauty
something wonderful. Orlando Broth-
erson, thus met, stared for a moment
at the vision before him, then slowly
and with effort withdrawing his gaze,
ho sought the face of Mr. Challoner
with the first sign of open disturb-
ance that gentleman had ever seen In
him. ,
"Am I in Oswald Brotherson's
house?" he asked. "I was directed
here. But possibly there may be
some mistake?"
It is here he lives," Bald she, mov-
ing back automatically till she stood
again by the threshold of the small
room In which she had received Mr.
Challoner. "Do you wish to Bee him
tonight? If bo, 1 fear It is impossible.
He has been very 111 and iB not al-
lowed to receive visits from
strangers."
"I am not a stranger," announced
the newcomer, with a smil| few could
see unmoved, It ofTered such a con-
trast to his stern and dominating fig-
ure. "I thought I heard some words
of recognition which would prove your
know, dge of that fact."
She did not answer. Her lips had
parted, but her thought or at least the
expression of her thought hung sus-
pended In the terror of this meeting
for which she was not at all prepared.
He seemed to note this terror, wheth-
er or not he understood its cause, and
smiled again, as he added;
"Mr. Brotherson must have spoken
of his brother Orlando. I am he, Miss
Scott. Will you let me come In now?"
Her eyes sought those of Mr. Chal-
loner, who quietly nodded. Immedi-
ately she stepped from before the door
which her figure had guarded and,
motioning him to enter, she begged
Mr. Challoner, with an imploring look,
to sustain her in the Interview she
saw before her. He had no deBire for
this encounter, especially as Mr.
Brotherson's glance in his direction
had been anything but conciliatory.
He was quite convinced that nothing
was to be gained by it, but he could
not resist her appeal, and followed
them Into the little room whoso lim-
ited dimensions made the tall Orlando
look bigger and stronger and more
lordly in his self-confidence than ever.
I am sorry It is so late," she began,
contemplating his intrusive figure
with forced composure. "We have to
be very quiet in the evenings so as
not to disturb your brother's first
sleep which is of great importance to
him."
"Then I'm not to see him tonight?"
"I pray ycu to wait. He's—he's beeij
a very sick man."
"Dangerously so?"
"Yes."
Orlando continued to regard her
with a peculiar awakening gaze, show
lng, Mr. Challoner thought, more In-
terest in her than In his brother, and
when he spoke It was mechanically
and as If in sole obedience to the pro-
prieties of the occasion.
"I did not know he was 111 till very
one, and I supposed that all was right
till chance revealed the truth. I came
on at once. I was intending to come
anyway. I have business here, as you
probably know, Miss Scott."
She shook her head. "I know very
little about business," said she.
"My brother has not told you why
he expected me?"
"He has not even told me that he
expected you."
"No?" The word was highly ex-
pressive; there was surprise in It and
a touch of wonder, but more than all.
satlBfactlop. "Oswald was always
close-mouthed," he declared. "It's a
good fault; I'm obliged to the boy "
These last words were uttered with
a lightness which imposed upon his
two highly agitated heaj-ers, causing
Mr. Challoner to frown and Doris to
shrink back in indignation at the man
who could Indulge in a sportive sug-
gestion in presence of such fears, If
not of such memories, as the situation
evoked.
"The hour is late for further con-
versation. I have a room at the hotel
and will return to it at once. In the
morning I hope to see my brother"
He wes going, Doris not knowing
what to 'ay, Mr. Challoner not desir-
ous of detaining him, when there
came the sound of a little tinkle from
the other etde of the hall, blanching
the young girl's cheeks and causing
Orlando Brotherson's brows to rise
in peculiar satisfaction.
"My brother?" he asked.
"Yes," came in faltering reply. "lie
has heard our voices; 1 must go to
him."
"Say that Orlando wishes him a
good night," smiled her heart's enemy
with a botf of infinite grace.
She shuddereu, and was hastening
tr the worn when her glance fell
oi, "~ier. He was pale and
lookt , disturbed. The pros-
pect o. oeing left alone with a man
whom Bhe had herself denounced to
him as his daughter's murderer, might
prove a tax to his strength to which
she had no right to subject him. Paus-
ing with an appealing air, she made
him a Blight gesture which he at once
understood.
"I will accompany you Into the
hall." said he. "Then if anything is
wrong, you have but to speak my
name."
But Orlando Brotherson, displeased
by this move, took a step which
brought him between the two.
"You ian hear her from here if she
chances to Bpeak. Thero's a point to
be settled between us before either of
us leave this house, and this oppor-
tunity is as good as another. Go to
my brother, Miss Scott; we will await
your return.
A flash from the proud banker's
eye; but no demur, rather a geBture of
consent. Doris, with a look of deep
anxiety, sped away, and the two men
stood face to face.
"Mr. Challoner, do you know my
brother?"
"I have never seen htm."
"Do you know him? Doer, he know
you ?"
"Not at all. We are strangers."
It was said honestly. They did not
know each other. Mr. Challoner was
quite correct in his statement.
Men sometimes correspond who do
not know each other. You knew that
a Brotherson lived here?1'
"Yes."
"And hoped to learn something
about me—"
"No; my Interest was solely with
your brother."
"With my brother? With Oswald?
Whnt Interest can you have In him
apart from me? Oswald is—"
Suddenly a thought came—an unim-
aginable one; one with power to
blanch even his hardy cheek and
shako a soul unassailable by all Bmall
emotions.
"Oswald Brotherson!" he repeated;
adding in unintelligible tones to him-
self—"0. B. The name initials! They
are following up these initials. Poor
Oswald!" Then aloud: "It hardly be-
comes me, perhaps, to question your
motives in this attempt at making my
brother's acquaintance. I think I can
guess them; but your labor will be
wasted. Oswald's interests do not ex-
tend beyond this town; they hardly
extend to me. We are strangers, al-
most. You will learn nothing from
him on the subject which naturally
engrosses you."
Mr. Challoner simply bowed. "I do
not feel called upon," said he, "to ex-
plain my reasons for wishing to know
your brother. I will simply satisfy you
upon a point which may well rous^
your curiosity. You remember that—
that my daughter's last act was the
writing of a letter to a little protegee
of hers. Miss Scott was that protegee.
In seeking her, I came upon him. Do
you reouire me to say tnoro on this
subject. Wait till I have seej Mr. Os
wald Brotherson and then perhaps I
can do so."
Receiving no answer to this, Mr,
Challoner turned again to tho man
who was the object of his deepest sus-
picions, to find him still in the daze
of that unimaginable thought, battling
with it scoffing at It, succumbing to
. 1 jit without e word. Mr. Chal-
ner was wltho to this strug-
gle, but the n:'.„at of it and the mys-
tery of it, drove him In extreme aglta-
tatlon from the room. Though proof
was lucking, though p' of might never
come, nothing could t* alter Ills be-
lief from this moment jn that Doris
was right in her estimate of this man's
guilt, however unsubstantial her rea-
soning might appear.
How far he might have been carried
by tills new conviction; whether he
would have left the house without see-
ing Doris again or exchanging another
word with tho man whose very pres-
ence trifled him, he had no opportun-
ity to show, for before he had taken
another step, he encountered the hur-
rying figure of Doris, who was return-
ing to her guests with an air of
marked relief.
He does not know that you are
here," she whispered to Mr. Challoner.
as she passed him. Then, as she again
confronted Orlando who hastened to
dismiss his trouble at her approach,
she said quite gaily: "Mr. Brotherson
heard your voloe. and Is glad to know
that you're here. He bade me give
you this key and say that you would
have found things In better shape if
he had been In condition to superin-
tend "ie removal of the boxes to the
place he had prepared for you before
he became 111. I was the one to do
that," she added, controlling her aver
sion with manifest effort. "When Mi.
Hrotherson came to himself he asked
if I had heard about any large boxes
having arrived at the station shipped
to his name. I said that several 'O-
tlceB of such had come to the house
At which he requested me to see that
they were carried at once to the
strange looking shed he had put up
for him in the woods. 1 thought that
they were for him, and I saw to the
thing myself. Two or three others
have come since and been taken to
the same place. 1 think you will find
nothing broken or disturbed; Mr.
Brotherson's wishes are usually re-
spected."
"That Is fortunate for me," was the
courteous reply.
But Orlando Brotherson was not
himself, not at all himself as he bowed
a formal adieu and withdrew past the
drawn-up sentinel-like figure of Mr.
Challoner, without a motion on his
part or on the part of that gentleman
to lighten an exit which hud some-
thing in it of doom and dread presage.
CHAPTER XXX.
Chaos.
It is not difficult to understand Mr.
Challoner's feelings or even those of
Doris at the moment of Mr. Brother-
son's departure. But why this change
In Brotherson himself? Why this
sense of something new and terrible
rising between him and the suddenly
beclouded future? Let us follow him
to his lonely hotel room and see If we
can solve the puzzle.
But first, does he understand hlB
"What Do You Wish to Ask?"
own trouble? He does not seem to.
For when, his hat thrown aside, he
stops, erect and frowning under the
flaring gas Jet he had no recollection
or lighting, his first act was to lift his
hand to his head In a gesture of sur-
prising helplessness for him, while
snatches of broken sentences fell from
his lips among which could be heard:
"What has come to me? Undone In
an hour! Doubly undone! First by
a face and then by this thought which
surely the devils have whispered to
me. Mr. Challoner and Oswald! What
Is the link between them? Great Gtd!
what Is the link? Not myself? Who
then or what?"
Flinging himself into a chair, he
buried his face In his hands. There
were two demons to tight the first In
the guise of an angel. Doris! Un-
known yesterday, unknown an hour
ago; but now! Had there aver been
a (jay—an hour—when she had not
been as the very throb of his heart,
the light of his eyes, and the crown of
all Imaginable blisses?
This was no passing admiration of
youth fo  captivating woman. This
was not even the love he had given
to Edith Challoner.   i '"t know
himself. There was nuiutiig In his
whole history to give him an under-
stand!.-.? of such feelings as these.
He, Orlando Brotherson, had never
thought much of love. Science had
been his mistress; ambition his lode-
star. Miss Challoner had roused—
well, his pride. He could see that
now. The might of this new emotion
made plain many things he had passed
by as useless, puerile, unworthy of ft
man of mental caliber and might. He
hud never loved Edith Challoner at
uny moment of their acquaintance-
ship, though he had been sincere In
thinking that he did. Doriu' beauty,
the hour he had Just passed with her.
had undeceived him.
Did he hail the experience? It was
not likely to bring him *Joy. This
young girl whose image floated In
light before his eyes, would never love
him. She loved his brother. He had
heard their names mentioned together
before ho had been In town an hour.
Oswald, the cleverest man, Doris, the
most beautiful girl in western Penn-
sylvania.
He had accepted the gossip then;
he had not seen her and It all seemed
very natural—hardly worth a mo-
ment's thought. But now—
And here, the other demon sprang
erect and grappled with him before
he first one had let go his hold. Os-
wald and Challoner! There Is more
than Fate's caprice in Challoner'B in-
terest in a man he never saw. Had b^
found the connecting link? Had it
been—could It have been Edith? The
preposterous is sometimes true;
could It be true in this case?
He recalled the letters read to him
as hers in that room of his in Brook-
lyn. He had hardly noted them then,
he was so sure of their being for-
geries, gotten up by the police to mis-
lead him. Could they have been Dal.
the effusions of her mind, the breath-
ings of her heart, directed to an ac-
tual O. li, and that O. B.. his brother?
Oswald had been cast, Oswald bad
even been In the Berkshlres before
himself. Oswald— Why it was Os-
wald who had suggested that ho
should go there—go where she still
was. Why this second coincidence, if
there were no tie—If the Challonera
and Oswald were as far apart as they
seemed and as conventionalities would
naturally place them. Oswald was a
sentimentalist, but very reserved
about his sentimentalities. If these
suppositions were true, ho had had a
sentimentalist's motive for what he
did. As Orlando realized this, he rose
from his seat, aghast at tho possibili-
ties confronting him from tills line of
thought. Should he contemplate them?
Risk his reason by dwelling on a sup-
position which might have no foun^v
Hon In fact? No His brain was too
full—his purposes too Important for
anv unnecessary strain to be put upon
his iucultles. No thinking! Investigat-
ing first. Mr. Challoner should be
able to settle this question. He would
see him. Even at this late hour he
odght to be able to find him in one of
the rooms below; and, by the force of
an irresistible demand, learn In a mo-
ment whether he had to do with it
mere chimera of his own overwrought
fancy, or with a fact which would call
into play all the resources of an hith-
erto unconquered and undaunted na-
ture.
There was a wood-fire burning in
the sitting-room that night, and around
It was grouped a number of men with
their papers and pipes. Mr. Brother-
son, entering, naturally looked that
way for the man he was In search of,
and was disappointed not to flnd him
there; but on casting his glanqes else-
where, he was relieved to see him
standing in one of the windows over-
looking the street. His back was to
the room and he seemed to be lost in a
tit of abstraction.
Orlando was. as I have said, an extra-
ordinary specimen of manly vigor in
body and in mind, and his presence in
any company always attracted atten-
tion and roused, if it never satisfied,
curiosity. Conversation accordingly
ceased as he strode up to Mr. Challon-
er's side, so that his words were quite
Audible as he addressed Chat gentle-
man with a somewhat curt;
"You see me again, Mr. Challoner^
May I beg of you a few minutes'
further conversation? I will not de-
tain you long."
The gray head turned, and the masy
eyes watching showed surprise at the
expression of dislike and repulsion
with which this New York gentleman
met the request thus emphatically
urged. But his answer was courteous
enough. If Mr. Brotherson knew a
place where they would ba l«;ft undis-
turbed, he would listen to him If he
would be very brief.
For reply, the other pointed to a
■mall room quite uuoccupled -vhich
opened out of the one In which they
then stood. Mr. Challoner bowed and
In another moment the door closed up-
on them, to the Infinite disappoint-
ment of the men about the hearth.
"What do you wish to ask?"  l 
Mr. Challoner's Immediate inquiry.
ITO BE CONTINUED.)