"But, Mr. Hale is all wet and so are you. Your bedding is--now what kind of prank is that? I came up here for a rest. I--"

"Yes, Professor, Mr. Hale is all wet. He's that way frequently, you know."

"Mr. Hale is--why Mr. Hale you look tired, you're caked with mud.

We did not know you were coming."

Hale briefly explained that he had been taking an involuntary lesson in the geography of the New England states and part of Canada; that he had been driving for something more than twenty-four hours. Professor Brierly hospitably insisted that he take a bath and a rest.

Considerably refreshed, Hale awoke in time for luncheon, when he was introduced to the other members of the household, Norah, Matthews' sister and her little boy Thomas, a nut brown youngster of four summers, between whom and Professor Brierly there had grown up a vast friendship. Thomas addressed the old scientist familiarly as "Pop" an appellation that Professor Brierly would have resented fiercely if used by anyone else.

Politeness forbade him from inquiring for whom the vacant chair at the table was standing when there was a crunching of the gravel outside appraising them of the coming of a visitor. The figure of McCall, District Attorney of New York, loomed through the doorway.

They had been conscious for some minutes past of the increasing roar of a small outboard motor which had stopped outside their own, door.

McCall grasped the hand of the newspaperman.

"Well, well, look who's here! A regular family reunion. All that's necessary to make this complete is a murder or two and it would be like old times indeed. What brings the representative of the press here?"

Jimmy briefly told McCall the reason for his visit. McCall nodded and turned to Professor Brierly.

"This is a coincidence, Professor, or, not so much of a coincidence at that. Judge Higginbotham's camp is about two miles down the lake here. I know the judge; my father and the judge's family have spent their summers here for a number of years. Judge Higginbotham heard that you were here and he asked me to tell you that he and the rest of his group would be honored to have you join them on their reunion. This takes place formally tomorrow, July Fourth. Then it is their custom to spend about a week together."

"Swell," glowed Hale, "then you can tell me something about it. I looked in our morgue and couldn't get much. While there are reams and reams written about the individual members of the group, dead and living, there is almost nothing of them as a whole."

McCall's face clouded momentarily, then it cleared. Jimmy's quick eyes noted this momentary disturbance of the District Attorney's placid exterior. His newspaperman's keen mind filed it away.

Professor Brierly was leaning forward showing more than his usual interest. He said:

"I shall be happy, of course, to avail myself of the opportunity to meet face to face such an interesting group of men, men who have had such a large share in making the history of this country, in the Civil War and since. But surely, Mr. McCall, such men do not hold an annual reunion with their Tontine insurance agreement as the sole tie to hold them together. These men must be above such things. What is there, aside from the insurance, that has held this group together for sixty-five years?"

"Oh, so you heard about this Tontine insurance, did you?" asked McCall.

"I told Professor Brierly about it, Mac," stated Jimmy.

"Oh, I see. Well, you're right, Professor. This is not the thing that holds them together." He ground his cigarette stub into a tray and taking out his pipe, began meditatively filling it. He lit it carefully and took a thoughtful puff or two. He continued:

"If you've read your history you will remember that at one time, toward the end of that dreadful struggle, the Civil War, all males, from about the age of sixteen upwards, were either drafted or enlisted on both sides. Boys of fourteen in active combat service were fairly common. Father and sons often fought side by side. What is still more deplorable is the fact that often brothers, and even fathers and sons, fought on opposite sides."

McCall puffed more slowly. He was apparently choosing his words carefully.

"What I want to make clear is that thousands of boys in their teens, as young as thirteen and fourteen, were in active combat service. The conditions at that time, of course, were such that boys matured much earlier than they do now.

"Imagine if you will, Camp Douglas, near Chicago, northern prison for Confederate soldiers, where seven thousand prisoners of war were quartered. Picture several hundred prisoners taken at Fort Donelson, including men from Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, sent to Douglas soon after their capture; shivering in the snow in the center of the parade ground, wearing upon their backs all the colors of the rainbow, ragged garments intended for a much warmer climate, frames all unaccustomed to the rigors of a northern winter. A week before, these men were fighting under the serpent flag of Douglas.

"Understand that if you will. Fiery Southerners, among them boys, to whom restraint was particularly galling. What more natural than an attempted prison break." McCall paused uncertainly and continued: "The jail break failed but the abortive attempt bound the ringleaders even closer together than the common cause they were defending.

"About a year after that came the end of the war. With the a.s.sa.s.sination of Lincoln, there began a period in our history of which none of us can be proud. The d.a.m.nable Reconstruction Act, the 'carpet baggers,' with the years of consequent misery brought to the South, whose sons fought with the same patriotic motives and feelings as those of the North.

"It was then that this little group was born; they numbered originally two hundred and thirty-seven, Southerners most of them, and a few who had fought for the Union. They were sworn to give their lives, if necessary, to prevent corrupt politicians having their way with the South.

"All of these were between seventeen and eighteen years of age.

One of them explained to me since that they did not want older men because they were afraid that such would not take their Quixotic notions seriously enough. Among them was Lorenzo Tonti, direct descendant of the Tonti, of insurance fame. The youngster had been brought to the United States by one of the followers of Garibaldi, the Italian liberator, who spent a few years in New York City about 1852.

"This youngster explained to his comrades the Tontine insurance plan. To boys of that age, fresh from war, this species of gambling seemed very attractive. Thus was born, sixty-five years ago, a group of more than two hundred men."

His audience had been listening to him with keen interest. Each showed it in his own way. To all of them the glamorous background was irresistibly appealing. But Jimmy Hale, the newspaper man, sensed something that did not appear on the surface. He asked challengingly:

"Why were you disturbed, Mac, when I asked you to tell me about it. There is nothing in what you have said that should have caused you any uneasiness."

McCall smiled whimsically.

"Ever the prying newspaperman, eh? There is something I'd rather not tell you, but since you're going to find it out by yourself--trust Jimmy Hale for that--I'd better let you have it first-hand."

"In the attempted jail break I told you of, they were betrayed by one or more of their own men, their own comrades in Douglas prison. The traitors were released and went over to the Union side. This is a phase of their story that none of the men care to talk about.

"The men who failed in the thwarted jail break were later released in an exchange of prisoners and the fortunes of war brought them, as guards to Libby Prison. To that prison there came a group of Union prisoners, among whom there were one or more of the men who had betrayed them.

"They had a peculiar system in Libby Prison at that time. When a group of Union prisoners was brought there, all the members of the group was given one number; they lost their individuality, so far as the prison was concerned, completely."

"One number?" queried Matthews.

"Yes, one number. Just bear that in mind. All the members of the batch of prisoners in question were given the same number. This group was given the number '14.' That is the way they were known to the officers and prison guards.

"Our friends of the Tontine group were never quite certain who had betrayed them. They suspected several men, among them, some of the prisoners who were brought to Libby Prison and given the number '14.' Later they were certain of it. At the end of the war, each one of them received the following communication:

"None of you will enjoy the fruits of your insurance any more than you did the unsuccessful jail break. 14."

"Since that time, during the entire sixty-five years, when misfortune, sickness, accident, loss or death happened to any member of the Tontine group, the surviving members of the group would each receive a sheet of paper, on which was printed in large characters, the number '14,' just that, nothing more."

McCall stopped; his features were drawn and tense. He continued:

"Do you see the dreadful possibilities in this thing? During the past two years, out of seven deaths, _five were reported as suicides_. After each death all the survivors received the terrible blank sheet of paper with the number '14.' These men are not easily scared. They have all gone through a lot and are able to face things.

"But more. You may put it down to the fact that as a prosecutor, I am naturally suspicious. To me, the Tontine insurance agreement presents dreadful possibilities. Each of the survivors has a powerful motive in--" He shook his head somberly.

"What does the fund amount to now, Mr. McCall?" Asked Professor Brierly.

"Several million dollars. Add to that the fact that in the stock market crash of October of last year, those members of the group who had money, lost it. It is a nice philosophical and psychologic speculation as to whether the man who had money and lost it or the man who never had it, will more readily commit murder for it. I tell you, folks, I don't like it. This is out of my jurisdiction as prosecutor. I am going there because I am friendly with several of the survivors. But I don't like it."

"Just what or whom do you suspect, Mac?" breathlessly asked Jimmy.

"I don't know," snapped McCall. The normally calm, collected prosecutor was evidently very much wrought up. "Here is a vendetta, regular Italian or Corsican style that has followed these men for sixty-five years. Of the five suicides during the past two years--who knows that they are really suicides. I--I tell you what," he wiped his brow. "I'll be glad to have Professor Brierly there."

Jimmy looked curiously at McCall. This was a mood so unlike the competent prosecuting officer.

Professor Brierly and Matthews shared Jimmy's wonder. Matthews said:

"You talk like a superst.i.tious woman, Mac. What has happened recently that makes you--"

McCall interrupted: