She is a woman notable for eyes Bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem Like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light Shows spectrally almost in squares and circles.

Her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh, A feaster and a liver, thinks and plans Of money, how to get it. And this husband Whom she divorced last summer went away, And left her to get on as best she could.

All legal matters settled, we went driving-- This story can be skipped.

Last night we dined, Afterward went to her apartment. First She told me at the dinner that her niece Named Elenor Murray died some days ago.

I sensed what she was after--here's the point:-- She followed up the theme when we returned To her apartment, where we quarreled. You see I would not do her bidding, left her mad, In silent wrath after some bitter words.

I managed her divorce as I have said, Then I stepped in as lover, months had pa.s.sed.

When Elenor Murray came here to New York, I met her at the apartment of the aunt Whose name is Margery Camp. Before, she said Her niece was here, was happy and in love But sorrowful for leaving, just the talk That has no meaning till you see the subject Or afterwards, perhaps; it pa.s.ses in One ear and out the other. Then at last One afternoon I met this Elenor Murray When I go up to call on Margery Camp.

The staging of the matter is like this: The niece looks f.a.gged, is sitting on the couch, Has loosed her collar for her throat to feel The air about it, for the day is hot.

And Margery Camp goes out, brings in a pitcher Of absinthe c.o.c.ktails, so we drink. I sit, Begin to study what is done, and look This Elenor Murray over, get the thought That somehow Margery Camp has taken Elenor In her control for something, has begun To use her, manage her, is coiling her With dominant will or cunning. Then I look, See Margery Camp observing Elenor Murray, Who drinks the absinthe, and in Margery's eyes I see these parallelograms of light Just like a vase of crockery, there she stands, Her face like ivory, and laughs and shows Her marvelous teeth, smooths with her shapely hands The skirt upon her hips. Somehow I feel She is a soul who watches pa.s.sion work.

Then Elenor Murray rouses, gets her spirits Out of the absinthe, rises and exclaims: "I'm better now;" and Margery Camp speaks up, Poor child, in intonation like a doll That speaks from reeds of steel, no sympathy Or meaning in the words. The interview Seems spooky to me, cold and sinister.

We drink again and then we drink again.

And what with her fatigue and lowered spirits, This Elenor Murray drifts in talk and mood With so much drink. At last this Margery Camp Says suddenly: "You'll have to help my niece, There is a matter you must manage for her, We've talked it over; in a day or two Before she goes away, we'll come to you."

I took them out to dinner, after dinner Drove Margery Camp to her apartment, then Went down with Elenor Murray to her place.

Then in a day or two, one afternoon Margery Camp and Elenor Murray came Here to my office with a bundle, which This Margery Camp was carrying, rather large.

And Margery Camp was bright and keen as winter.

But Elenor Murray seemed a little dull, Abstracted as of drink, or thought perhaps.

After the greeting and preliminaries, Margery said to Elenor: "Better tell What we have come for, get it done and go."

Then Elenor Murray said: "Here are some letters, I've tied them in this package, and I wish To put them in a safety box, give you One key and keep the other, leave with you A sealed instruction, which, in case I die, While over-seas, you may break open, read And follow, if you will." She handed me A writing signed by her which merely read What I have told you--here it is--you see: "When legal proof is furnished I am dead, Break open the sealed letter which will give Instruction for you." So I took the trust, Went with these women to a vault and placed The letters in the box, gave her a key, Kept one myself. They left. At dinner time I joined them, saw more evidence of the will Of Margery Camp controlling Elenor's.

Which seemed in part an older woman's power Against a younger woman's, and in part Something less innocent. We ate and drank, I took them to their places as before, And didn't see this Elenor again.

But now last night when I see Margery She says at once, "My niece is dead;" goes on To say, no other than herself has care Or interest in her, was estranged from father, And mother too, herself the closest heart In all the world, and therefore she must look After the memory of the niece, and adds: "She came to you through me, I picked you out To do this business." So she went along With this and that, advancing and retreating To catch me, bind me. Well, I saw her game, Sat non-committal, sipping wine, but keeping The wits she hoped I'd lose, as I could see.

After the dinner we went to her place And there she said these letters might contain Something to smudge the memory of her niece, She wished she had insisted on the plan Of having one of the keys, the sealed instruction Made out and left with her; being her aunt, The closest heart in the world to Elenor Murray, That would have been the right way. But she said Her niece was willful and secretive, too, Not over wise, but now that she was dead It was her duty to reform the plan, Do what was best, and take control herself.

So working to the point by devious ways She said at last: "You must give me the key, The sealed instruction: I'll go to the box, And get the letters, do with them as Elenor Directed in the letter; for I think, Cannot believe it different, that my niece Has left these letters with me, so directs In that sealed letter." "Then if that be true, Why give the key to me, the letter?--no This is a trust, a lawyer would betray, A sacred trust to do what you request."

I saw her growing angry. Then I added: "I have no proof your niece is dead:" "My word Is good enough," she answered, "we are friends, You are my lover, as I thought; my word Should be sufficient." And she kept at me Until I said: "I can't give you the key, And if I did they would not let you in, You are not registered as a deputy To use the key." She did not understand, Did not believe me, but she tacked about, And said: "You can do this, take me along When you go to the vault and open the box, And break the letter open which she gave."

I only answered: "If I find your niece Has given these letters to you, you shall have The letters, but I think the letters go Back to the writer, and if that's the case, I'll send them to the writer."

Here at last She lost control, took off her mask and stormed: "We'll see about it. You will scarcely care To have the matter aired in court. I'll see A lawyer, bring a suit and try it out, And see if I, the aunt, am not ent.i.tled To have my niece's letters and effects, Whatever's in the package. I am tired And cannot see you longer. Take five days To think the matter over. If you come And do what I request, no suit, but if You still refuse, the courts can settle it."

And so I left her.

In a day or two I read of Elenor Murray's death. It seems The coroner investigates her death.

She died mysteriously. Well, then I break The sealed instruction, look! I am to send The package to Jane Fisher, in Chicago.

We know, of course, Jane Fisher did not write The letters, that the letters are a man's.

What is the inference? Why, that Elenor Murray Pretended to comply, obey her aunt, Yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish The aunt or me to know who wrote the letters.

Feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt, Yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt Beyond her finding out, if I observe The trust imposed, keep hands of Margery Camp From getting at the letters.

Now two things: Suppose the writer of the letters killed This Elenor Murray, is somehow involved In Elenor Murray's death? If that's the case, Should not these letters reach the coroner?

To help enforce the law is higher trust Than doing what a client has commanded.

And secondly, if Margery Camp should sue, My wife will learn the secret, bring divorce.

Three days remain before the woman's threat Is ripe to execute. Think over this.

We'll talk again--I really need advice....

So Hunter told the coroner. Then resumed The matter was a simple thing: I said To telegraph the coroner. You are right: Those letters give a clue perhaps, your trust Is first to see the law enforced. And yet I saw he was confused and drinking too, For fear his wife would learn of Margery Camp.

I added, for that matter open the box, Take out the letters, find who wrote them, send A telegram to the coroner giving the name Of the writer of the letters. Well, he nodded, Seemed to consent to anything I said.

And Hunter left me, leaving me in doubt What he would do. And what is next? Next day He's in the hospital and has pneumonia.

I take a cab to see him, but I find He is too sick to see, is out of mind.

In three days he is dead. His wife comes in And tells me worry killed him--knows the truth About this Margery Camp, oh, so she said.

Had sent a lawyer to her husband asking For certain letters of an Elenor Murray.

And that her husband stood between the fire Of some exposure by this Margery Camp, Or suffering these letters to be used By Margery Camp against the writer for A bit of money. This was Mrs. Hunter's Interpretation. Well, the fact is clear That Hunter feared this Margery Camp--was scared About his wife who in some way had learned just at this time of Margery Camp--I think Was called up, written to. Between it all Poor Hunter's worry, far too fast a life, He broke and died. And now you know it all.

I've learned no client enters at your door And nothing casual happens in the day That may not change your life, or bring you death.

And Hunter in a liaison with Margery Is brought within the scope of Elenor's Life and takes his mortal hurt and dies.

So much for riffles in New York. We turn Back to LeRoy and see the riffles there, See all of them together. Loveridge Chase Receives a letter from a New York friend, A secret service man who trails and spies On Henry Baker, knows about the letters, And writes to Loveridge Chase and says to him: "That Elenor Murray dying near LeRoy Left letters in New York. I trailed the aunt Of Elenor Murray, Margery Camp. Also A lawyer, Henry Baker, who controls A box with letters left by Elenor Murray-- So for the story. Why not join with me And get these letters? There is money in it, Perhaps, who knows? I work for Mrs. Hunter-- She wants the letters placed where they belong, And wants the man who killed this Elenor Murray Punished as he should be. Go see the coroner And get the work of bringing back the letters."

And Chase came to the coroner and spoke:

LOVERIDGE CHASE

Here is the secret of the death of Elenor, From what I learn of her, from what I know In living, knowing women, I am clear About this Elenor Murray. Give me power To get the letters, power to give a bond To indemnify the company, for you know Letters belong to him who writes the letters; And if the company is given bond It will surrender them, and then you'll know What man she loved, this Gregory Wenner or Some other man, and if some other man, Whether he caused her death.

The coroner And Loveridge Chase sat in the coroner's office And talked the matter over. And the coroner, Who knew this Loveridge Chase, was wondering Why Loveridge Chase had taken up the work Of secret service, followed it, and asked, "How did you come to give your brains to this, Who could do other things?" And Loveridge said: "A woman made me, I went round the world As jackie once, was brought into this world By a mother good and wise, but took from her, My father, someone, sense of chivalry Too n.o.ble for this world, a pity too, Abused too much by women. I came back, Was hired in a bank; had I gone on By this time had been up in banking circles, But something happened. You can guess, I think It was a woman, was my wife Leone.

It matters nothing here, except I knew This Elenor Murray through my wife. These two Were schoolmates, even chums. I'll get these letters If you commission me. The fact is this: I think this Elenor Murray and Leone Were kindred spirits, and it does me good Now that I'm living thus without a wife To ferret out this matter of Elenor Murray, Perhaps this way, or somewhere on the way, Find news of my Leone; what life she lives, And where she is. I'm curious still, you see."

Then Coroner Merival, who had not heard Of Elenor Murray's letters in New York Before this talk of Loveridge Chase, who heard This story and a.n.a.lysis of Leone Mixed in with other talk, and got a light On Elenor Murray, said: "I know your work, Know you as well, have confidence in you, Make ready to go, and bring the letters back."

And on the day that Loveridge Chase departs To get the letters in New York, Bernard, A veteran of Belleau, married that day To Amy Whidden, on a lofty dune At Millers, Indiana, with his bride-- Long quiet, tells her something of the war.

These soldiers cannot speak what they have lived.

But Elenor Murray helps him; for the talk Of Elenor Murray runs the rounds, so many Stations whence the talk is sent:--the men Or women who had known her, came in touch Somehow with her. These newly wedded two Go out to see blue water, yellow sand, And watch the white caps pat the sky, and hear The intermittent whispers of the waves.

And here Bernard, the soldier, tells his bride Of Elenor Murray and their days at Nice:

AT NICE

Dear, let me tell you, safe beside you now, Your hand in mine, here from this peak of sand, Under this pine tree, where the wild grapes spill Their fragrance on the lake breeze, from that oak Half buried in the sand, devoured by sand-- The water of the lake is just as blue As the sea is there at Nice, the caps as white As foam around Mont Boron, Cap Ferrat.

Here let me tell you things you do not know, I could not write, repeat what well you know, How love of you sustained me, never changed, But through a love was brighter, flame of the torch I bore for you in battle, as an incense Cast in a flame awakes the deeper essence Of fire and makes it mount.

And I am here-- Here now with you at last--the war is over-- I have this aching side, these languid mornings, And pray for that old strength which never knew Fatigue or pain--but I am here with you, You are my bride now, I have earned you, dear.

I fought the fight, endured the endless days When rain fell, days of absence, and the days Of danger when my only prayer was this: Give me, O G.o.d, to see you once again.

This is the deepest rapture, tragedy Of this our life, beyond our minds to fathom, A thing to stand in awe of, touch in reverence, That we--we mortals, find in one another Such source of ecstasy, of pain. My love, I lay there in the hospital so weak, Flopping my hands upon the coverlet, And praying G.o.d to live. In such an hour To be away from you! There are no words To speak the weary hours of fear and thought, In such an absence, facing death, perhaps, A burial in France, with thoughts of you, Mourning some years, perhaps, healed partly then And wedded to another; then at last Myself forgot, or nearly so, and life Taking you on with duties, house and children; And my poor self forgotten, gone to dust, Wasted along the soil of France.

Thank G.o.d, I'm here with you--it's real, all this is true: The roar of the water, sand-hills, infinite sky, The gulls, the distant smoke, the smell of grapes, The haze of amethyst behind us there, In those ravines of stunted oak and pine.

All this is real. This is America.

The very air we find from coast to coast, The sensible air for lungs seems freer here.

I had no sooner landed in New York Than my arms said stretch out, there's room to stretch.

I walked along the streets so happy, light Of heart and heard the newsboys, shop-girls talk: "O, what a cheese he is," or "beat it now"-- I can't describe the thrill I had to hear This loose abandoned slang spilled all around, Like coppers soiled from handling, but so real, And having power to purchase memories Of what I loved and lost awhile, my land!

Well, then I wanted roast-beef, corn on cob, And had them in an hour at early lunch.

I telegraphed you, gave New York a day, And came to you. We are together now, We do not dream, do we? We are together After the war, to live our lives and grow And make of love, experience, life more rich.

That's what you say to me--it shall be so.