Hicks Jarou

Chapter I

How would you like to find yourself in a position where you were compelled to accept, as a demonstrated fact, something that your common sense told you couldn’t possibly have hap¬ pened? A bit embarrassing, eh?

Well then, perhaps you can sympathize with the leading citizens of Royalton — the Smart Set of Royalton — as sane a people as can be found in the sanest of Eastern cities — a people who boast that they take nothing for granted — the you’ve-got-to-show-me sort of people.

It happened in 1920, and even today they are obliged to admit that it happened, although all known natural laws were thereby transcended. They hate to talk about it. They usually change the subject whenever anyone, new in Royalton, recalls the pub¬ lished reports that dealt with the situation between the years of 1921 and 1924, and asks them when they last saw Hicks Jarou.

You have guessed that Royalton is not the name of the city where the events you are to read about took place; soon you will understand why a fictitious name must be used. Please remember that this story tells of something that you’ll declare could not have happened, yet which the sanest citizens of Royalton must forever declare did take place. You are warned that even the friendliest ridicule will not be tolerated, when these good people are obliged to admit that it really did.

The very mention of Hicks Jarou causes a decided upheaval in the angry passions of Royalton’s Smart Set, but among scientists he stands at the head of the section devoted to bio¬ logical research.

Royalton is a thriving city with a government of its own and all the extravagances of modern life, yet it is near enough to New York city to speak of itself as “a suburb, really, don’t you know ?” There are few towns of its size that can boast more millionaires. It has a very self-satisfied social set who receive invitations to the most exclusive affairs of New York, Boston and Washington — and some of them have desirable invita¬ tions from Philadelphia. It has the further distinction of having first been tried out by more than one person of dis¬ tinguished appearance who was afterward received in the larger cities and entertained, as members of aristocratic families from other lands would expect to be entertained — quite royally! Do you get the touch of irony in the name, Royalton? One feels rather mean to add — what Royalton never mentions — that usually their aristocratic friends proved to be disappointing. Sometimes they left the larger cities two jumps ahead of an officer.

But everyone in Royalton had declared, as soon as they met him, that Lord Percy Southdown was different. They said he was the real thing. The name we have selected for his appear¬ ance in this story hardly does justice to his distinguished per¬ sonality, but the family whose name he borrowed must not be given any more undesirable publicity, therefore the pseudonym. Lord Percy bore wonderful letters of introduction, but he seldom exhibited them. He didn’t talk much about himself — but somehow there are news items about royalty that always manage to get themselves known. To all intents and purposes he was what Royalton wanted him to be. The Social Set made much of him, and rejoiced that he appeared to feel so much at home among them.

Before many months it became understood that Lord Percy would marry Beatrice Willis, and there were mothers of pretty daughters who were frankly dissatisfied with his choice. It must be added, that they lived to rejoice that he had not chosen one of their daughters, but since that is really not a part of this story, it can be dismissed with this casual reference.

The point is that if Lord Percy Southdown had not asked Beatrice to marry him, and if she had not taken the matter under consideration,—in fact, appeared willing to marry him— it is quite certain that what happened might never have taken place. You see, Franklin Potter wanted Beatrice for himself, and he got busy.

Franklin Potter owned Royalton’s leading paper, which was tottering when he bought it, and was now a power. He had lived in Royalton a year longer than Lord Percy, but he hadn’t become as popular. He believed there was no reason for that except his lack of a title. He was a lawyer as well as a news¬ paper man, and was well read on all the important topics of Jl e day. He had offices in the best building in town, and no

her offices in Royalton were as lavishly furnished. He gave every evidence of having plenty of money. He paid cash for everything he purchased. He had the best rooms in the best hotel. He dressed to perfection. He spent money generously, and entertained as often as he could manage to secure desirable guests. He was better looking than Lord Percy, but not as distinguished in appearance. The only suspicious point in his case, so far as Royalton could say, was that he never mentioned his birthplace or his family, told no one of his earlier years, and allowed no one to know how he happened to have so much money. It had been ascertained that he received a bank draft every month, and that he had no bank account.

Although Franklin Potter’s paper, The Royalton Star, gained in importance after he took it over, he didn’t appear to do much himself, either as editor or manager, both of which offices he held. But he had money enough to hire the best help available, and it soon became apparent that he knew how to choose. His paper alone would have given him a fairly strong position in the social life of Royalton, if only more could have been known about the man himself. An editor who did not do editorial work; a lawyer who did not practice law; why the extravagant suite of offices?

There was something of a sensation when it became known that Franklin Potter considered himself an authority on geneal¬ ogical lore. The study and investigation of genealogies was his hobby. He declared openly that he knew nearly all there was to be known about that most fascinating topic. Royalton’s ladies became quite excited over it. Who knew how many of them might be entitled to a coat of arms—not that it really mattered, of course, only it was interesting—gave them some¬ thing new to think about. They visited Franklin Potter in his beautiful offices, and few of the ladies told their friends they were going.

“Yes,” said Franklin, gravely, “It is a wonderfully inter¬ esting study.”

He finally decided that he might be induced to study the past history of a few families—those whose histories were really interesting—but he gave warning that his prices would be high. On the other hand clients were assured that they would be treated with the greatest sympathy, and absolute secrecy could be depended upon. Franklin Potter soon had more work than he could do.

Lord Percy Southdown was not one of Potter's clients; therefore there could have been no promise of secrecy. Any¬ how, closely following the reports of the engagement of Beatrice Willis to Lord Percy, it became known—or suspected—that once more Royalton had been deceived, and that Lord Percy Southdown was not what they had believed him to be. That was a shock. Leading citizens actually threatened Franklin in sugar-coated and highly civilized speech which really means when reduced to its lowest terms, put up or shut up. Without more ado, in a most businesslike manner, Franklin Potter proved his point concerning his rival. The Royalton Star carried the expose, which was masterly in its presentation, and horribly convincing. Royalton had been fooled again, and almost hated the man who had opened their eyes to their own sickening gullibility. Incidentally, however, Potter had greatly added to his prestige as a genealogist, and could not be ignored. He now knew too much about everybody.

It was expected that Lord Percy would leave town as quickly and as quietly as possible—and he did, but not as expected. He was spectacular to the last. His dead body was found jammed into a sewer not a hundred feet from the hotel where he had lived. It appeared that he had been murdered. His rooms gave no evidence that he had been planning to leave town either quickly or quietly. They were paid for a month in advance.

Lord Percy left a will that had been drawn just a week before Franklin Potter’s terrible discovery that Percy’s father was a mechanic in Yorkshire, before he died—not even an overseer, but that he had worked with his hands. Percy left his property —some ten thousand dollars—to Franklin Potter.

“I may be killed for knowing too much about poor Potter and his benefactor,” he wrote, “and I want to leave what I have to the poorest man I know. I therefore will and bequeath all I have left to Franklin Potter, his heirs and assigns forever, and may Heaven have mercy on his shrunken little soul. With this bequest goes a deeper sympathy for the poor cuss than can possibly be put into words.”

When that will was made public, Franklin Potter turned pale. He quite suddenly looked stricken—like a very old man whose last dollar has been stolen by the friend he had most trusted. He opened his mouth—closed it—opened it—closed it—for all the world like a suffocating fish; and his hands beat the air weakly as he sought for words to express his horror and indignation. If he had quarreled with Percy—perhaps struck him, not expecting to kill him—and then discovered that he had killed a man who only wished to befriend him—in such an event one could imagine that a man might look exactly as Franklin did look when his amused friends sought to con¬ gratulate him on account of his inheritance.

“Not a large sum to be sure,” they murmured—“especially to a man of your resources; still, ten thousand is ten thousand— not to be sneezed at, old boy—not by any manner of means to be sneezed at.”

“But I don’t want that money,” he finally managed to gasp. “I don’t want the damned stuff. I won’t have it. Why in creation should the crazy fool have left it to me! And why his absolutely unfounded insinuations!”

That was a question that rapidly became of general interest. Why had Percy Southdown left all he had to Franklin Potter? To Franklin Potter to whom a sum like that was evidently a mere bagatelle. Whom did he think was Franklin’s benefactor? Why had Percy said he considered Franklin the poorest man he knew? Did he really know anything about Franklin’s past life? Why had he sympathized with him very much as a kindly man would sympathize with a suffering dog? Finally, would he have left his money to Franklin had he known of the exposure that was so soon to be printed in the genealogical department of The Royalton Star? It had been ascertained that the will had been drawn two days before that exposure. Poor Percy’s death had not followed so swiftly that he could not have had time to change his will had he wanted to. He had quite evidently expected to be murdered; who did he think would kill him? Franklin Potter? But in that case would he have left his money to Franklin?

Who was the murderer? Royalton talked of nothing else until after the funeral—which everyone attended. But it was a topic that soon lost interest. Could Society be expected to feel as it would have felt had not Lord—ahem! poor Percy— made his cruel deception the background of a long list of social experiences the mere recollection of which brought goose-flesh on the tender frames of Royalton’s most exclusive set? Most certainly not.

Franklin Potter expressed a desire to devote his life to dis¬ covering the murderer of Percy, and society applauded. Under the circumstances could the man do less? There were one or two private detectives who believed a very pretty case might be worked up against Franklin—but no one sought their services.

So far as this story is concerned Percy's death is not a matter of so much moment, just now, as was the effect of that death on Franklin Potter’s future. To have robbed Percy of his self-assumed title would have been quite sufficient to remove him from the list of suitors accredited to Miss Beatrice Willis.

It was decided that Franklin could gain nothing by also removing the man. He was never openly accused of the murder. No one really believed that he did it, or forgot that he was the only one who had cause for doing it. And yet he was not forced out of the social swim.

Gossips declared that the loss of his title might not have caused Beatrice to break her engagement with Percy. She had never appeared to be as interested in such things as her mother was. They believed she might have liked Percy quite as well if he had had no title at all—a point wherein Franklin Potter did not agree with the gossips. It was, however, quite univer¬ sally conceded that the deception the man had practiced would, of course, have proven absolutely unforgivable. Everyone knew that Beatrice was a stickler for absolute honesty. It was noticed that she shed no tears at Percy’s funeral. It also be¬ came known that she refused to see Franklin Potter when he called on the evening following the funeral, and that she charged the servants to make it quite clear to him that she did not wish him to call again. Later, she declared that she was not interested when told that Franklin had given the Southdown bequest to a charitable institution of which she was one of the sustaining members. She looked incredulous when told of Franklin’s intention to hunt down Percy’s mur¬ derer.

With poor Percy decently buried, Royalton felt that it had done all that could be expected of a town he had so cruelly hoaxed, no matter how much he had made himself beloved.

They agreed, quite magnanimously, that Percy had been popular; that his company had been constantly sought for; that he had been the life of every party, and that his presence had served to add to the aristocratic tone of every event. He would be missed, of course; but they could not be expected to lose any more sleep on his account. They had done very well, indeed, not to damn his memory, as he deserved. Instead they would dismiss him from their minds from that moment.

And then came the morning papers with a story almost too gruesome to be believed.

Old Wash Harris, the negro grave digger employed by Royalton’s very elegant and up-to-date moratorium, chanced to remember that he had left a favorite spade near the new-made grave of Percy Southdown, and went out to the cemetary to get it before someone stole it. He went on his motorcycle, at a moderate rate of speed, enjoying the wonderful moonlight. He returned as if the devil were traveling close behind him, and his complexion was as nearly ashy as a negro’s face ever gets. He was too scared to tell what had frightened him—that is, so as to make himself clearly understood. There was something about a tall thin dark man with hoofs and a tail who was working in his shirt-sleeves beside the grave of Percy Southdown. But Percy was not in his grave. He was sitting up in his coffin, with his chin on his breast. Wash had seen him as plainly as he had even seen anything in his life. No, sah! he had not been drinking. He saw jes’ zactly what he said he had seen. He saw the man take off his cap to wipe the perspiration from his forehead—

“Oh, Wash, Wash! Does the devil perspire?”

“And does he wear a cap ? Perhaps of asbestos ?”

But Wash paid no attention to interruptions. He knew that his eyes could not have deceived him. He knew he was not drunk. He knew that he had seen exactly what he was trying to describe, and that it was enough to have scared almost any other man into fits—but he, himself was not so easily frightened. He admitted that he had shivered all up and down his spine, but he had not fallen in a fit.

The tall man, who looked like the devil, had taken off his cap to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, and Wash saw that he had three eyes. “Yaas, Sah, three eyes! That's how I knowed I was alooking at the devil hisself. Two of the eyes was where a man’s eyes ought to be, and the other was on his forehead, just a little above his nose. Yaas, Sah, and every eye was wide open, shining like fire, and a winking like mad!”

Wash added that he did not stay to see anything else. He had seen enough.

Of course no one believed him. Who could believe a crazy yarn like that ? But—the reporters who rode out to the cemetary hoping to learn what Wash had seen, and perhaps get material for a story, got more than they expected. Percy Southdown’s grave was open and beside it stood the coffin he had so lately occupied—and the coffin was empty.

Clearly a case of grave robbing, said Royalton, quite casually. Distressing, of course. No one likes to think of a relative being cut up by medical students. But this man had no relatives to make the proper fuss about it, and surely no more could be expected of those who had been his friends, considering what he had done to them, than what they had already done for him. They had seen him decently buried, once; why should they be expected to do the job over again! And so the matter was relegated to the background—at least for the time being. Had they only known when next it would be brought to their attention!

Beatrice Willis now became the favored subject of discussion among the more malicious of her friends. Mrs. Willis writhed when she thought what they were probably saying about her beautiful daughter. She knew what could happen to a member of their set who had the undesirable gift of exciting the envy of her associates; she herself had made it happen to others on more than one occasion—and it is true that chickens do have a habit of coming home to roost. Not only was she made un¬ comfortable by the thought of what was being said, but the seeming indifference of Beatrice aroused her indignation. She was not in her daughter’s confidence. She did not know exactly how Beatrice was feeling about the death of the man she had promised to marry, and so she went to the task of making the girl understand the situation with considerably less tact than she would otherwise have employed.

“I supposed it would be barely possible,” she said, ironically, “for you to imagine what is being said about you!”

“Referring to Percy?” asked Beatrice, in a tone of voice that should have warned her mother that she was treading on dangerous ground.

“Referring to Percy,” replied Mrs. Willis, heavily.

Beatrice laughed nervously. “It is a good joke on me, isn’t it, mother?” she replied, in a manner she hoped was quite non¬ chalant. “After capturing the charming young Lord whom all the other girls wanted, and then to find out what he was or wasn’t”—she went off into a peal of mechanical laughter. “And then”—wiping the tears from her eyes—if there were tears—“and then to find myself so suddenly—so very completely minus any cavalier at all—won’t that simply be nuts for the girls? Of course, dear, I can imagine all you are trying to tell me, and a great deal more.”

She was careful not to explain how the situation affected her. She preferred to keep that to herself.

“You seem to find the situation amusing.” Mrs. Willis was indignant.

Beatrice stared, quite as if she were astonished at her mother’s lack of perception. “Why, mother, don’t you? Wouldn’t you be amused if it had happened to any other girl ? Of course you would! I can just hear you saying—well, pretty much what others are saying about me.”

“Our own position is too tragic for me to think of hypothe¬ tical cases.”

“Tragic?”

“As I said. Absolutely tragic.” And then the mother lost her poise—became tearful and pathetic. “Oh, my little girl, you must understand—” she wailed, “you must! I’ve realized it for so long—been so frightened—I did my best, Beatrice— I wanted you to be happy—I hoped you need never know—Oh, my dear, my dear, I don’t know what to do next! I don’t know what is going to become of us now!”

Beatrice was alarmed. Her mother’s face was a picture of despair. She had never seen her look like this—why, as if she were really terribly frightened. Afraid of what?

“Mother,” she exclaimed, “what do you mean? What is the matter? You look so—so odd—not like yourself at all. Are you ill?”

“I am terribly worried. If — if Lord Percy — Percy Southdown—had been what we thought him—and you had married him—”

“Aren’t you glad I didn’t?’ A curious light burned in the girl’s eyes as she asked the question. In her heart crept the hope that perhaps her mother would understand—would sym¬ pathize—

“Of course I am glad—as it has turned out; but I had hoped that—you can’t realize how I had hoped that—that he’d save us—”

“Save us? Save us from what?”

“Absolute ruin. We are in debt—I have no money—I don’t know which way to turn.”

“Aren’t we well-to-do — rich ?”

“We have never been rich. We have lived beyond our means. I had hoped you’d make a good marriage—before we reached the end of our resources—”

“If we had no money why have we been living as if we were able to afford all we have had?”

“Can’t you understand? It was that you might have every opportunity. I was so sure you’d be able to come to the rescue— in time—now don’t get on that expression! You can’t be stubborn, now! You’ve got to understand—and help. If you don’t come to the rescue—”

“I shall look for work this very day.”

“Work!” What could you do in this day of trained efficiency? You don’t know how to work. We have no money to give you the necessary training—and no time. In years you might be able to support yourself; but what about me? What about me, Beatrice? I’ve given everything I have—everything I am—to you. What are you going to do for me ? Have you no thought for me? I do not believe you would deliberately desert your old mother.”

“Desert you—of course not. I’ll help—somehow. I’ll find a way. Don’t shake your head as if you had no faith. What do you want me to do?”

“There is but one thing you can do. You must marry a man who can take the burden off my shoulders—some one who is able to support us both. You must do it soon. I’m breaking. I can’t stand much more. I am putting it cruelly, I know; but you must understand; you must! Our situation is desperate.”

“But mother! Listen! Who am I to marry? Percy is dead—and even if—after the exposure— I could have forgiven him—” her voice broke. Tears were near the surface—but she forced them back.

“Don’t waste time thinking of him. He isn’t worth a thought —not even a condemnatory thought. We can’t consider what might have been, Beatrice, or what we’d prefer. We confront a situation that must be met at once, that is why I want to talk to you about Franklin Potter-”

“Franklin Potter! Never.”

“Why not ? He is respected—”

“You mean he was respected.”

“No one believes Percy knew anything against Franklin. If he had, he would have told what he knew. It was a sneaking trick to hint at something in a will—a will that he knew wouldn’t be read in time for Franklin to get back at him. It was on a par with all the rest that Percy Southdown did to us.”

“Mother, I’d rather you wouldn’t mention Percy—like that.”

“You don’t mean you are going to stand up for him—after all he did to you!”

“I’m not standing up for him, but I don’t care to hear any¬ thing against him.”

“Because you are letting what he said influence you against Franklin Potter.”

“No, I don’t think I am. But some one killed Percy—”

“I don’t believe it. Anyhow, Franklin Potter didn’t do it. Everyone exonerates him. You have no right to make such a horrible charge—”

“Oh, I didn’t really mean it as a charge. I presume Franklin must be innocent since everyone says he is.”

“Franklin Potter is really one of Royalton’s leading citizens. He goes in the best society. He is an authority on subjects that most of our set are too lazy to read about. He has a good financial position—owns a paper that must be making a lot of money—and he is crazy about you.”

“I am not the least bit crazy about him. I have told him never to come here again.”

“What have you against him, omitting that absurd charge that you say yourself is not tenable?”

“Nothing that I can define; but I don’t like him. I feel that he isn’t genuine, somehow. I have felt that way about him since I first met him. I feel that he has a past of which he is too ashamed to speak. I feel that he is not sure about his future—his eyes have a look, sometimes, as if he felt spooks breathing on the back of his neck.”

“All of which may sound smart to you, my dear—but have you said one thing that would be a good and sufficient reason why you should neglect the only opportunity you have to rescue me from certain ruin ? Think it over. Let us no(t talk any more about it now. Fve tried to make you understand our position. Fve done all I can. The matter now rests with you.”

“Fve said Fd never see him again—”

“But / have said nothing of the sort, and I shall let him know that his presence is desired at tea this afternoon/

“This afternoon! Oh, mother, what do you expect of me?” There were tears in her voice.

“Just treat him as if nothing had happened. You can do that much for me, can’t you—at least until you’ve given yourself time to think over what Fve told you?”

“Mother, I may as well confess it—I loved Percy, dearly— dearly—with my whole heart—” again her voice broke, and tears had to be forced back.

“Well, what of it? You can’t possibly love him now.”

“Nor can I love anyone else. I’m not going to let the world know I suffer—but, mother, can’t you understand what I’m going through? I tell you, I loved Perc)'.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I wish we weren’t obliged to consider anyone else for a time. But we must, Beatrice, we must. Remember that I am suffering, too. I am suffering terribly. We can’t bring Percy back. You would not marry him, even he were to rise from the grave this minute. You must forget him, dear, and help your mother, who would give her heart’s blood to help you. And the only way you can help is by making a suitable marriage very soon.”

Chapter II

Afternoon tea was being served in the Willis home. Mrs. Willis understood how to make this simple act of hospitality appear like a real function, and her parlors were usually quite comfortably filled every afternoon between four and six. For a long time she had been able to entertain in no other way, but although her social circle might suspect that, they could not be certain, for none of them had ever gotten close enough to her to dare to question her about her private affairs. But they enjoyed going to her afternoon teas because they could be quite sure of meeting someone there whom they cared to see.

Mr. Willis had been dead twelve years. He was supposed to have left his family well provided for—but all that was known positively was that his widow kept up their beautiful old home and sent Beatrice to an expensive school, where she had been a leader of the girls best worth knowing.

Beatrice had personality and charm. She was good looking but not beautiful, although her dark gray eyes, abundant wavy hair of brightest chestnut hue, and her nearly perfect complexion had often brought her the beauty prize, in school and social events, that really might better have been claimed by more than one of her associates. She was well built, of the athletic type, and she excelled in out of door sports. She was vivacious and magnetic, but not of an emotional nature. She kept her inmost thoughts to herself. It was as easy to think of her marrying without love as to try to picture her dying of a broken heart. She had the reflective order of mind required to think things out in logical sequence, combined with a strength of will to carry out whatever purpose she might finally decide upon. The student of physiognomy would quickly see that she would be more likely to decide upon a course out of the ordinary, if left to her own choice, than one prescribed by custom or con¬ ventionality.