Naturally my attention was attracted to your announcement that you wanted a typewritist to accompany you to the West Indies for the winter.

I wrote as modest and taking an answer as I knew how and the fact that it proved most attractive to you out of a hundred you received justified my judgment. The next thing was to hold you fast, when you came to see me, and here again I flatter myself that I evinced the right sort of talent. I sized you up at the start for what you were--a good-natured, easily-led gentleman of means, who would answer very well for my purpose.

Now, see how I proceeded: To have accepted your offer at once would have been to awaken your suspicions. I knew better than that, and I played what is technically known as a waiting game. As I look back on our primary interviews and correspondence I do not see a wrong step on my part. I wrote you that I could be seen "only between the hours of two and four," to give you the impression that I was no ordinary girl who would go anywhere, or with any one, and whom you could lead with a thread.

You were to come at my hours; I knew you would like that. You came, but it was I who saw and conquered. You told me at once that you had engaged berths for two on the Madiana. This showed that you were not likely to back out, but I did not take your word alone. I had a friend verifying your statement at Cook's office within an hour after you left my room.

Had I told you that I would go, that afternoon, you would have had a chance to think it over and perhaps to change your mind. It is the fleeing bird that attracts the attention of the hunter. You gave me the name of "David Camwell, Lambs Club," which before I slept that night I had turned into Donald Camran, from a list of members which I was easily able to procure. I learned that Donald Camran was rich; that he was considered erratic; that he answered your description in personal appearance; and that he had been, as you said, recently ill.

The next time you adopt a false name do not use your own initials.

Nine-tenths of the people who do this slip up on that banana peel.

When you left my room, that first afternoon, I was as certain you would return as that the sun would rise on the following day. The chapters of the "novel" you afterwards dictated to me prove how entirely accurate I was in my estimates. I take much pride, also, in the second letter I sent you, for I covered my "fly" with attractive colors to dazzle your eye and meet every point likely to arise in your mind. My card was to convince you that I was the very proper young lady I professed to be. To do this without acting the silly prude was a task fit only for such thoroughly trained hands as mine. Next I spoke of the matter of compensation, to convince you that I was really a working girl and not a mere adventurer. You had plenty of means and the price of my weekly stipend was not likely to alarm you.

As it would really be necessary for me to have considerable money to make a suitable appearance I gently hinted something in relation to that matter, leaving it, however, to your own judgment what should be done. I believe I may claim that in the composition of that letter I showed decided talent. At any rate it accomplished its purpose.

When your answer came I knew that I was going. I would not have paid five dollars to be a.s.sured of that. But when you returned to me I still had to pretend a little doubt--not too much, that would have spoiled everything. I left it to you to say whether, after all, you really wanted me to take the journey, doing it in a way that alarmed your fears lest you were going to lose me. I had to keep "the scent warm," as the saying is. The rushing way in which you bought my trunks and sent me the first installment of cash would have removed my doubts, had any remained.

I then thought I might as well get clothed while I was about it and sent the third letter, which we may call "Exhibit C." In that I appealed to the chivalrous part of your nature, arousing your sympathies, and yet without putting myself for one instant in the role of a mendicant.

"If I am to go I am unwilling to disgrace you"--that was all there was to it.

Again I was justified by the result. You came as soon as I would let you--I had "gone out of town over New Years," you remember, and you showered another lot of bankbills on my head.

Now here is just where a less experienced person would have made her mistake. Seeing how easily you could be induced to disgorge, she would have hinted at expenditures that would have caused a revolt even in your generous brain. I came late on purpose that Tuesday morning (I had only been a couple of blocks away) in order to work up the fever that I knew was latent in you. I suggested that you go to the shops, knowing that you would grasp at the chance to occupy so close a position to me as the cab would afford. At Altman's I pretended to be shocked at some of the prices, so that you would p.r.o.nounce them the extremity of cheapness.

(How could you do anything else?) And I hinted bashfully at the question of jewelry, knowing that you would send me all I could reasonably expect, as you did the next day.

Then I went to dine with you in a private room, primarily because I was nearly starved to death, secondarily because I knew it would fasten you to me the closer. I put on that awful blue veil to give you the impression that I had never done such a thing before, when as a matter of fact the waiter who served us knows my face as well as he does his mother's, if he has one. He knew enough to conceal that fact, however, as I am certain, from previous experience, every waiter in that house would have done.

Now we come to one of the fine points. You did not forget to mention in your description of that evening how I refused to have the door of our _cabinet particulaire_ locked, which you were kind enough to ascribe to maidenly modesty on my part. The fact is, ever since I was imprisoned three years ago for two months, awaiting trial for one of my schemes that went awry, the thought of a turned key on any room I occupy drives me into fits. In that at least I was honest. The scare you gave me in proposing to lock that door took away my appet.i.te to such an extent that I ate, as you have recorded, very sparingly of the excellent dinner.

You may remember that I showed similar trepidation at St. Thomas, when you suggested that Mr. Eggert might lock the door of my bedroom. It was enough like a jail with the high fence around the grounds, and I never felt quite easy till we had left the place. I really did not take one good breath there, so vivid is my recollection of the horrible days when high walls and locked doors meant imprisonment.

I don't suppose I shall explain everything you will wish to know, but I shall do my best. The next thing that occurs to me is that I refused to allow you to register my name on the Madiana's pa.s.senger list as "Miss May." As this was merely a _nom de guerre_ you will wonder why I objected to its going into print. The fact is that my husband--yes, I am married, and by a minister of the church, too--did not like to have me take that journey without going with me on the boat, while I was sure it was much better for him to remain away. He has no jealousy, as you will immediately imagine--he knows me too well to be guilty of such a senseless thing. I love him with all my soul; and I can take care of myself, if it comes to that, against the persuasions or the force of any living man.

He merely wanted to be with me, just as you would want to be with your wife, if you had one and loved her. I knew he was not always a safe companion in a game of this kind, that he had a quick temper and was lacking in judgment in any case where I was concerned; and I told him plainly that this was my affair, that I should manage it alone, if at all, and I should not tell him where you and I were going.

As he knew your name, having made the inquiries at your club, he would have a double chance to discover us if he saw mine anywhere in print, and "Miss May" was a t.i.tle he knew I had once before a.s.sumed. So I got you to change it to "Carney" in hopes to throw him off the track. He proved too shrewd for me, however, as you will agree when I mention that he travelled on the steamer with us under the name of "Edgerly."

I may as well tell you at this point that the "cruel employer" to whom I alluded so often was a creature of my imagination, and that all the typewriting I have ever done has been for my own profit and amus.e.m.e.nt in schemes like the present one.

If you had recorded me as "Miss Camwell" I meant to work another racket on you. I expected to inst.i.tute a suit for breach of promise on my return, not one to be taken to court, but only to use as a lever to pry a few thousands out of your pocket; I would have done this if you had not, contrary to all precedent, made me an honorable offer of your hand, which spoiled my plan in an unforeseen manner. It was with this in view that I went to your rooms several times before we sailed. It is always handy to have evidence ready in a case of this kind and hallboys are excellent witnesses if wanted.

Don't you think I am a lovely girl, now? And aren't you sorry I am not free to wed. What a charming wife I would make for a man like you!

Well, to resume, I played what I thought a good card by saying that I should only accept the things you paid for as "the costuming of my part"

and return them to you when the show was over. It didn't cost anything to say that and I knew you never would accept them. The little screed that I left on the typewriter at your room was not a bad stroke, either.

I flatter myself it was a fair piece of English composition, and although it contained not a word of truth, it answered just as well. It made you think of me with more respect than if you had supposed me a mere waif of the streets.

You wondered--didn't you?--why I went to my cabin on the steamer and remained there for part of two days after it started. Perhaps you can guess the reason now. I had seen my husband on deck and not being anxious to meet him any sooner than could be helped I kept out of his way. Before I did come up I received a note from him, by one of the stewards, detailing the course he intended to adopt, which was simply to act as if he had never seen or heard of me in his life. I could not help a slight uneasiness, though, at his presence, for he is not always as shrewd as a husband of mine should be. I was rather displeased that he had come in spite of my advice; and I felt afraid that he would hamper my movements even if he did not destroy my plans.

What made me suspect that man Wesson I do not know, unless it was instinct. The moment I set my eyes upon him I put him down for an enemy.

I wrote a few lines to my husband, telling him to watch, but he answered that my suspicions were groundless, another proof how much clearer are my intuitions than his. Wesson was always prying around. I had some conversations on deck with him when you left me alone, but could come to no positive conclusion except that I wished he was somewhere on sh.o.r.e.

I didn't really guess what he was up to until we had landed at St.

Thomas.

CHAPTER XXV.

"WITH HIS WIFE, OF COURSE."

I leave the reader to imagine my feelings, [it is Camran writing now] as I read these lines, if he can. To describe them is more than I am able to do. Suffice it to say that I read on and on, like one fascinated, and there was no sign of the collapse I might have expected from the dreadful revelations. The catastrophe was too immense to be met in any ordinary way.

You will now need no confession of mine [continued this strange MS.] to inform you who purloined Miss Howes' bracelet and your shirtstud. Who stole my own jewelry might be a harder riddle, so I will make haste to say that I did that also. It was the easiest way to prevent suspicion falling on my head, though it can hardly be said to have been entirely successful, as Mr. Howes never had the least doubt of my guilt. I knew that from the first, by the freezing manner he immediately adopted toward me and the chilling way in which his "niece," or friend, as she afterwards proved, used me until I left the boat. I ought to say here that common thefts are not in my line, and that I regret having been drawn into the commission of these acts. My husband urged the deed upon me, and rather than let him run the risk of doing it himself--which he threatened--I yielded to his importunities. He had embarked with very little ready money, on account of recent ill luck at the faro table, and dreaded being stranded in some foreign port without enough to complete his voyage. I was, as you know, powerless to aid him much in any other way.

You will naturally inquire why, if this is true, my husband returned to you the money he won at cards, taking your check instead. He did so because I insisted upon it. I told him, at the rate he was going, we should be high and dry on the reefs before we got back to America. There was little sense in killing a goose (I meant you, my dear Donald) that was likely to lay golden eggs for a long time if properly tended.

Wesson worried you at Eggert's, didn't he? Well, he worried me a great deal more. I had an instinctive fear of him and was at my wits' end to give a reason. I knew also that my husband was waiting for me at St.

Croix and wished to consult him in regard to several matters. I wished to get away from Eggert, the two or three fainting fits I had there were simulated for the purpose of inducing you to cut your stay as short as possible.

I wanted you to make the proposal to leave and at last succeeded. I let you kiss the ends of my fingers; and sometimes I pretended to reciprocate your affection, though I could hardly keep from laughing in my sleeve. Do you remember the time you bathed my forehead with cologne?

I could hardly control my risibles at the pathetic figure you made. Oh!

It was really too amusing. I took the sea bath every morning, not because I cared for it, but in order to awake your fancies and bind you tighter to my triumphal car. The lovely, silly things you said to me!

Now, about that book: I saw it long before you did and tried to think of some plan to keep it out of your way. You might notice the similarity in features Between Miss ---- and myself, if you were allowed to pore over its pages. I had another fear, too, even stronger, for I believe I could have convinced you that the resemblance was merely accidental: I dreaded Wesson's sharp eyes if once they got hold of that volume. So it was I--not he, of course--that put the book out of the way, and it was only by my carelessness that he afterwards got his hands on it.

I had ceased to have the slightest fear of you; of course, I never had any for myself--I mean, there was nothing about you to endanger the wifely duty I owed to my dear, unhappy husband. You could be handled as easily as a kitten, by touching your sentimental side. Do you recall looking in at my screen door and seeing me in the att.i.tude of prayer?

Why, I had posed in that position, night after night, waiting for you to come! When I asked you to enter, a little later, I knew as well as that I breathed what your answer would be. There never was another man so easy to control.

Then there was the letter I received from my dear friend Helen. All arranged for, copied from one I had left with her--before I sailed--just on purpose for you. I forced that card on you as nicely as any conjurer could have done it, didn't I? And my answer--which you entered my room and read--(excuse me while I go behind the door and smile) that was cooked up for your eyes in the same way. I didn't know that you would go into the room, although I hoped so, but if you hadn't you would have been given the letter to mail, with the unsealed envelope turned so as to attract your attention, and you never would have been able to resist a peep, never. How did you like my description of your beauty? The blonde mustache, the "hazel eyes," the "engaging countenance?" If I had been as silly as that letter indicated, it would not have taken a very gay Lothario to accomplish his designs on me.

Your reiterated offers of marriage convinced me that I could pull that string whenever I was ready. That I have not pulled it is due to the "weak yielding" of which I spoke at the beginning of this letter.

Professionally, I repeat, it was an error. I could have got a nice little pot out of you if I had kept along that line.

But I am not the only member of my "firm" who has weak moments. My husband could not keep himself quiet in that hotel at St. Croix, when everything depended on his remaining out of sight. He had to stand in the sitting room and listen to your protestations of affection, until I was frightened out of my wits, for I know what an excitable fellow he is.

It is one thing to have your wife let another man make love to her--for a legitimate purpose--and quite another to overhear the burning declarations. I had to play the fainting gag again, in order to send you after water, and--do the best I could--my husband would not run when he heard your returning step. I was in mortal fear that he would kill you and only by the best diplomacy of which I was mistress did I send him away.

Even then he had not finished. I went into your room at midnight, do you recollect? to keep him from entering there. Not altogether to save you from injury--though I would have done that, too--but for fear of the legal entanglements into which his rashness might bring him.

And in the morning you sent me that sweet letter of apology! Whenever I get the blues I shall only have to take that out and read it. It was so funny!

I am afraid you are getting tired of this story, but you might as well have it all. It will cure your complaint called "love," that you have had so severely, if anything will, and that ought to be one comfort.