In Jeopardy

by Van Tassel Sutphen

While it is true that the signal came to me from John Thaneford it is not necessary to jump to the conclusion that he had a hand in bringing about Francis Graeme's death, either as principal or accessory. He did know that it was about to happen, but nothing more; I say this upon my own responsibility, and to the best of my knowledge and belief. You will give me credence in this matter, realizing that I owe little of love to the Thaneford name.

Yet I will try and be just to John Thaneford, for, brute though he be, I do believe that he loved me after his fashion; yes, and would have made me his wife had not his heart been turned against me by his father—may the soul of Fielding Thaneford dwell in darkness for evermore!

Let us premise that the elder Thaneford was jealous of me and of my influence over John. The old man was determined that some day his son should be lord of "Hildebrand Hundred," and if John should marry Betty Graeme his object would be automatically attained. And so Fielding Thaneford did the devil's work, and I was cast out; the very fact that I had given to John Thaneford all that a woman has to give was subtly twisted against me; my very sacrifice was plain proof of my unworthiness to be an honorable man's wife. Do you wonder now that I had no love for Fielding Thaneford. You, Hugh Hildebrand, surprised me one day while I was taking the afternoon relief for Miss Davenport. Before that particular occasion I had been content with inventing purely material means for disturbing the sick man's repose. I used to throw his medicine out of the window, under his very eyes, and then force him to go through the solemn mockery of swallowing doses of plain water. Or, on a warm, damp day, when the flies were particularly troublesome, I would put a saucer containing treacle close by his pillow, and then sit, comfortably fanning myself, on the opposite side of the room. Horrible! you say, but I tell you that Fielding Thaneford was a devil; I was only anticipating by a little space his doom of eternal torment.

And then, on the particular day of which we were speaking, I discovered how cruelly mere eyes could sting and burn. And so I sat and looked at Fielding Thaneford, and laughed to see him writhe like a beetle impaled upon a pin. But you came in and spoiled my amusement.

There isn't much more for me to say or tell, nor am I very sure how much time is left me in which to make my final warning clear. Whatever was the nature of Fielding Thaneford's secret he has taken it with him to the grave. So far as I know, he said nothing more definite to his son John than that he should possess his soul in patience, and then all things should come to him. But he also intimated plainly that he had foreseen how Yardley, and Randall, and Horace, and Richard Hildebrand should die; and it was at his suggestion that John Thaneford sat that day at the observation point on Sugar Loaf, and waited for death to come to Francis Graeme.

Hypothetically, that death was due to natural causes—hypothetically! Or possibly there was someone who entered that postern-door before I did, and struck a foul blow—possibly! Or perhaps, John Thaneford, from his safe retreat on Sugar Loaf, may have been able to direct some hitherto unknown form of lethal attack—a tiny shell charged with a poison gas of instantaneous deadliness, or a devouring blast from a flame-thrower of unexampled precision—perhaps!

But, frankly, none of these hypotheses appear to me to be tenable; the mystery does not lie so plainly on the surface. Moreover, I believe that the heart of the Terror continues to beat in this very place, the library of "Hildebrand Hundred," where I am sitting. Something is in this room, something that is eternally menacing and eternally patient. It may be in one year and it may be in three and fifty years that it chooses to strike, but strike it surely will and no art or cunning will avail to avert the blow. Yes, there is something here, the something for which I myself am waiting. But search as you will, you shall not find the Terror; you must await its coming as I am doing. Fielding Thaneford has gone to his own place, but his works of darkness remain behind him.

There is just one more thing that I might tell you, but I shall not do it—you would then seek to compromise the situation, and that I will not have. I put my own wits to work and so was able to lift one corner of the veil; that is why I wait so confidently to-day for that which will surely come.

And so I leave you but the one door to safety—the abandonment of the "Hundred" to John Thaneford, the same "Black Jack" Thaneford who once loved me and who finally cast me off. This is the last thing I can do for him—for him whom I both hate and love to the death. Why? Ask any woman——

The MS. had ended as abruptly as it had begun. I took the sheets from Betty's hand, arranged them in order, and put the bundle in my pocket. "I don't think we had better discuss this any further to-night," I said decisively.