Classic Audiobook Collection - Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Derr Biggers ~ Full Audiobook [mystery]

Episode Date: December 26, 2023

Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Derr Biggers audiobook. Genre: mystery When playwright and cynic George Washington Magee accepts a lucrative bet to write an entire play in twenty four hours, he thinks he has found the perfect loophole: seclude himself in a supposedly empty mountain lodge called Baldpate Inn, where the quiet is guaranteed and interruptions are impossible. He arrives with a locked room, a blazing fireplace, and a deadline that will make or break both his pride and his career. But the promise of solitude collapses almost immediately. One by one, strangers arrive at the inn with keys of their own, each insisting they belong there, each carrying secrets that do not fit the harmless hotel legend. As Magee tries to keep writing, he is pulled into a tense, fast moving web of suspicious conversations, missing money, shifting identities, and sudden danger. What begins as a clever writer's challenge turns into a night of escalating stakes where every entrance changes the story and every key suggests another lie. Part locked room puzzle, part theatrical comedy of errors, this classic tale blends suspense and wit while asking how well anyone can know the truth when everyone has a reason to perform. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:25:49) Chapter 02 (00:57:00) Chapter 03 (01:19:31) Chapter 04 (01:41:02) Chapter 05 (02:07:32) Chapter 06 (02:37:49) Chapter 07 (02:58:36) Chapter 08 (03:18:54) Chapter 09 (03:39:21) Chapter 10 (04:05:49) Chapter 11 (04:28:33) Chapter 12 (04:51:14) Chapter 13 (05:13:01) Chapter 14 (05:34:18) Chapter 15 (05:56:30) Chapter 16 (06:14:34) Chapter 17 (06:38:41) Chapter 18 (06:58:02) Chapter 19 (07:14:52) Chapter 20 (07:28:57) Chapter 21 (07:47:22) Chapter 22 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Seven Keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 1 Weep no more, my lady. A young woman was crying bitterly in the waiting room of the railway station in Upper Askewan Falls, New York. A beautiful young woman? That is exactly what Billy McGee wanted to know, as, closing the waiting room door behind him, he stood staring just inside, were the features against which that frail bit of Cambridge was agonizingly

pressed of a pleasing contour, the girl's neatly tailored corduroy suit, and her flippant but charming millinery augured well. Should he step gallantly forward and inquire in sympathetic tones as to the cause of her woe? Should he carry chivalry even to the lengths of upper Askewan Falls? No, Mr. McGee decided he would not. The train that had just roared away into the dusk had not brought him from the region of skyscrapers and derby hats for deeds of night-errantry upstate. Anyhow, the girls' tears were none of his business. A railway station was a natural place for grief. A field of many partings, upon whose floor fell often in torrents the tears of those left behind.

A friend, mayhap a lover, had been whisked off into the night by the relentless 534 local. Why not a lover? surely about such a dainty trim figure as this courtiers hovered his maws about a flame upon a tender intimate sorrow it was not the place of an unknown magee to intrude he put his hand gently upon the latch of the door and yet dim in heartless and cold was the interior of the waiting-room no place surely for a gentleman to leave a lady sorrowful particularly when the lady was so alluring oh beyond question she was most alluring. Mr. McGee stepped softly to the ticket window and made low-voiced inquiry of the man inside. What's she crying about? he asked. A thin, sallow face on the forehead of which a mop of ginger-colored hair lay listlessly was pressed against the bars. Thanks, said the ticket agent. I get asked the same old question so often. One like yours sort of breaks the monotony. Sorry, I can't help you. She's a woman, and the Lord only knows why women cry. And sometimes,

I reckon even he must be a little puzzled. Now, my wife, I think I'll ask her, confided Mr. McGee in a hoarse whisper. Oh, I wouldn't, advised the man behind the bars. It's best to let them alone. They stop quicker if they ain't noticed. But she's in trouble, argued Billy McGee. and saw you be most likely, responded the cynic, if you interfere. No, sirree, take my advice. Shoot old Askewans rapids in a barrel if you want to, but keep away from crying women. The heedless Billy McGee, however, was already moving across the unscrebbed floor with chivalrous intention. The girls' trimmed shoulders no longer heaved so unhappily.

Mr. McGee, approaching, fought himself again in the college yard at duster. dusk, with the great elms sighing overhead, and the fresh young voices of the Glee Club ringing out from the steps of a century-old building. What were the words they sang so many times? Weep no more, my lady, oh, weep no more today. He regretted that he could not make use of them. They had always seemed to him so sad and beautiful. But troubadours, he knew, went out of fashion long before railway stations came in. So his remarks to the young woman were not at all,

Melodious. Can I do anything? A portion of the handkerchief was removed, and an eye which, Mr. McGee noted, was of an admirable blue, peeped out at him. To the gaze of even a solitary eye, Mr. McGee's aspect was decidingly pleasing. Young Williams, who posed at the club as a wit, had once said that Billy McGee came as near to being a magazine artist's idea of the proper hero of a story as any man could, and at the same time retained the respect. an affection of his fellows. Mr. McGee thought he read approval in the lone eye of blue. When the lady spoke, however, he hastily revised his opinion. Yes, she said, you can do something. You can go away. Far, far, far away. Mr. McGee stiffened,

thus chivalry-faired in Upper Askewan Falls in the year 1911. I beg your pardon, he remarked. You seem to be in trouble, and I thought I might possibly be a of some assistance. The girl removed the entire handkerchief. The other eye proved to be the same admirable blue, a blue halfway between the shade of her corduroy suit, and that of the Jackie's costume in the See the World Join the Navy poster that served as background to her woe. I don't mean to be rude, she explained more gently, but I'm crying, you see, and a girl simply can't look attractive when she cries. If I had only been regularly introduced to you and all that, responded Mr. McGee,

I could make a very flattering reply, and a true one, he added to himself, for even in the faint flickering light of the station, he found ample reason for rejoicing that the bit of Cambrick was no longer agonizingly pressed. As yet he had scarcely looked away from her eyes, but he was dimly aware that up above wisp of golden hair peeped impudently from beneath a saucy black hat. He would look at those wisps shortly, he told himself, as soon as he could look away from the eyes, which was not just yet. My grief, said the girl, is utterly silly and womanish.

And I think it would be best to leave me alone with it. Thank you for your interest, and would you mind asking the gentleman who is pressing his face so feverishly against the bars to kindly close his window? certainly replied Mr. McGee. He turned away. As he did so, he collided with a rather excessive lady. She gave the impression of solidity and bulk. Her mouth was hard and knowing.

Mr. McGee felt that she wanted to vote and that she would say as much from time to time. The lady had a glittering eye. She put it to its time-honored use and fixed Mr. McGee with it. I was crying, Mama, the girl explained, and this gentleman inquired if he could be of any service. Mama! Mr. McGee wanted to add his tears to those of the girl.

This frail and lovely damsel in distress owning as her maternal parent a heavy, a necessary person! The older woman also had yellow hair, but it was of the sort that suggests the wide enamel pallor of a drugstore, with a soda fountain fizzing and the bottles of perfume ranged in an odorous row. Mama! Thus rolled the world along. Well, they ain't no use getting all worked up for nothing,

advised the unpleasant parent. Mr. McGee was surprised that in her tone there was no hostility to him, thus belying her looks. Maybe the gentleman can direct us to a good hotel, she added, with a rather stagy smile. I'm a stranger here too, Mr. McGee replied. I'll interview the man over there in the cage.

The gentleman referred to was not cheerful in his replies. There was, he said, Bald Pade Inn. Oh, yes, bald paid in, repeated Billy McGee with interest. Yes, that's a pretty swell place, said the ticket agent. But it ain't open now. It's a summer resort. There ain't no place open now but the commercial house. And I wouldn't recommend no human being there,

especially no lady who was sad before she ever saw it. Mr. McGee explained to the incongruous family pair waiting on the bench. There's only one hotel, he said, and I'm told it's not exactly the place for anyone whose outlook on life is not rosy at the moment. I'm sorry. It will do very well, answered the girl, whatever it is. She smiled at Billy McGee. My outlook on life in Upper Askewan Falls, she said, grows rosier every minute. We must find a cab. She began to gather up her traveling bags, and Mr. McGee hastened to assist.

The three went out on the station platform upon which lay a thin carpet of snowflakes. There, the older woman, in a harsh rasping voice, found fault with Upper Askewan Falls. Its geography, its public spirit, its brand of weather. A dejected cab at the end of the platform stood mourning its lonely lot. In it, Mr. McGee placed the large lady and the bags. Then, while the driver climbed to his seat, he spoke into the invisible ear of the girl. You haven't told me why you cried, he reminded her. She waved her hand toward the wayside village, the lamps of which shone Sarif lay through the snow.

Upper Askewant Falls, she said. Isn't it reason enough? Billy McGee looked, saw a row of gloomy buildings that seemed to list as the wind blew, a blurred sign, liquors and cigars. a street that staggered away into the dark like a man who had lingered too long at the emporium back of the sign. Are you doomed to stay here long, he asked. Come on, Mary, cried a deep voice from the cab. Get in and shut the door. I'm freezing.

It all depends, said the girl. Thank you for being so kind and good night. The door closed with a muffled bang, the cab creaked wearily away, and Mr. McGee turned back to the dim waiting room. Well, what was she crying for? inquired the ticket agent when Mr. McGee stood again at his cell window. She didn't think much of your town, responded McGee. She intimated that it made her heavy of heart.

Hmm. Ain't much of a place, admitted the man, though it ain't the general rule with visitors to burst into tears at the side of it. Yes, upper Askewan is slow, and no mistake. It gets on my nerve something. times. Nothing to do but work, work, work, and then lay down and wait for tomorrow. I used to think maybe someday they'd transfer me to Hooperstown. There's moving pictures and such goings on down there. But the railroad never notices you unless you go wrong. Yes,

sir? Sometimes I want to clear out of this town myself. A natural wanderlust, sympathized Mr. McGee. You said something just now about Bald Pate Inn. Yes, it's a little more lively in summer when that's open, answered the agent. We get a lot of complaints about trunks not coming, from pretty swell people, too. It sort of cheers things. His eye roamed with interest over Mr. McGee's New York attire. But bald-paid in is shut up tight now. This is nothing but an annex to a graveyard in winter. You wasn't thinking of stopping off here, was you? Well, I want to see a man named Elijah Quimby, Mr. McGee replied. Do you know him? Of course. said the yearner of Pastures knew. He's caretaker of the inn. His house is about a mile out,

on the old Miller Road that leads up Bald Paint. Come outside, and I'll tell you how to get there. The two men went out into the whirling snow, and the agent waved a hand indefinitely up at the night. If it was clear, he said, you could see Bald Paint Mountain over yonder, looking down on the falls, sort of keeping an eye on us to make sure we don't get reckless. And halfway up, you'd see Bald Pate in. Black and peaceful and wintry. Just follow this street to the third corner and turn to your left. Elijah lives in a little house back among the trees a mile out. There's a gate. You'll sure hear creaking on a night like this. Billy McGee thanked him and gathering up his two bags walked up Main Street. A drury forbidding building at the first corner bore the sign, Commercial House.

Under the white gaslight in the office window, three born pessimists slouched low in hotel chairs, gazing sourly out at the storm. Weep no more, my lady, oh, weep no more today, hummed Mr. McGee cynically under his breath, and glanced up at the solitary upstairs window that gleamed yellow in the night. At the corner on which stood a little shop that advertised groceries and provisions, he paused. Let me see, he pondered. the lights will be turned off of course candles and a little something for the inner man in case it's the close season for cooks he went inside where a weary old woman served him what sort of candles she inquired with the air of one who had an infinite variety in stock mr mcgee remembered that christmas was near for a christmas tree he explained he asked for two hundred i've only got forty the woman said what's this tree for the orphan's home with the added burden of the package containing his purchases in the tiny store mr mcgee emerged and continued his journey through the stinging snow

upper asca one falls on its way home for supper flitted past him in the silvery darkness he saw in the lighted windows of many of the houses the green wreath of christmas chair finally the houses became infrequent and he struck out on an uneven road that wound upward once he heard a dog's feet faint bark. Then a carriage lurched by him, and a strong voice cursed the roughness of the road. Mr. McGee half smiled to himself as he strode on. Don Quixote, my boy, he muttered, I know how you felt when you moved on the windmills. It was not the were of windmills, but the creek of a gate in the storm that brought Mr. McGee at last to a stop. He walked gladly up the path to Elijah Quimby's door. In answer to Billy McGee's gay knock, a man of a man of a about sixty years appeared. Evidently, he had just finished supper. At the moment, he was engaged in lighting his pipe. He admitted Mr. McGee into the intimacy of the kitchen, and took a number

of calm, judicious puffs on the pipe, before speaking to his visitor. In that interval, the visitor cheerily seized his hand, oblivious to the warm, burnt match that was in it. The match fell to the floor, whereupon the older man cast an anxious glance at the gray-haired woman who stood beside the kitchen stove. My name's McGee, Blithely explained that gentleman, dragging in his bags. And you are Elijah Quimby, of course. How are you? Glad to see you.

His air was that of one who had known this Quimby intimately in many odd corners of the world. The older man did not reply, but regarded Mr. McGee wonderingly through white puffs of smoke. His face was kindly, gentle, ineffectual. He seemed to lack the final punch that send him to me. in over the line to success. This was evident in the way his necktie hung, the way his thin hands fluttered. Yes, he admitted at last. Yes, I'm Quimby. Mr. McGee threw back his coat and sprayed with snow Mrs. Quimby's immaculate floor. I'm McGee, he elucidated again. William

Hallowell McGee, the man Hal Bentley wrote to you about. You got his letter, didn't you? Mr. Quimby removed his pipe and forgot to close the aperture as he stared at him in amazement. Good Lord, he cried. You don't mean you've really come? What better proof could you ask, said Mr. McGee flippantly, than my presence here? Why, stammered Mr. Quimby, we thought it was all a joke. Hal Bentley has his humorous moments, agreed Mr. McGee, but it isn't his habit to fling his jests into upper Ascoon Falls. and really going to mr quimby could get no further yes said mr mcgee brightly slipping into a rocking-chair yes i'm going to spend the next few months at bald-paid inn

mrs quimby who seemed to have settled into a stout little mound of a woman through standing too long in the warm presence of her stove came forward and inspected mr mcgee of all things she murmured it's closed expostulated mr quimby The inn is closed, young fellow. I know it's closed, smiled McGee. That's the very reason I'm going to honor it with my presence. I'm sorry to take you out on a night like this, but I'll have to ask you to lead me up to baldpate. I believe those were Hal Bentley's instructions in the letter. Mr. Quimby towered above Mr. McGee,

a shirt-sleeved statue of honest American manhood. He scowled. Excuse a plain question, young man, he said. But what are you hiding? from. Mrs. Quimby, in the neighborhood of the stove, paused to hear the reply. Billy McGee laughed. I'm not hiding, he said. Didn't Bentley explain? Well, I'll try to, though I'm not sure you'll understand. Sit down, Mr. Quimby. You are not, I take it, the sort of man to follow closely the light and frivolous literature of the day. What's that? inquired Mr.

Quimby. You don't read, it continued Mr. McGee, the sorts of novels that are sold by the pound in the department stores. Now, if you had a daughter, a fluffy daughter, inseparable from a hammock in the summer, she could help me explain. You see, I write those novels. Wild, thrilling tales for the tired businessman's tired wife, shots in the night, chases after fortunes, cupid busy with his arrows all over the place. It's good fun, and I like to do it. There's money in it. Is there? asked Mr. Quimby with a show of interest. Considerable, replied Mr. McGee. But now and then I get along to do something that will make the critics sit up. The real thing, you know. The other day, I picked up a newspaper and found my latest brainchild advertised as

the best fall novel McGee ever wrote. It got on my nerves. I felt like a literary dressmaker, and I could see my public laying down my fall novel and signed for my early spring styles in fiction. I remembered that once upon a time a critic advised me to go away for ten years to some quiet spot and think. I decided to do it. Bald-Paint-in is the quiet spot. You don't mean, gasped Mr. Quimby, that you're going to stay there ten years. Plus you know, said Mr. McGee. Critics exaggerate. Two months will do. They say I am a cheap melodramatic ranter.

They say I don't go deep. say my thinking process is a scream. I'm afraid they're right. Now, I'm going to go up to bald paint in and think. I'm going to get away from melodrama. I'm going to do a novel so fine and literary that Henry Cabot Lodge will come to me with tears in his eyes and ask me to join his bunch of self-made immortals. I'm going to do all this up there at the end, sitting on the mountain, and looking down on this little old world as Jove looked down from Olympus. I don't know who you mean, objected Mr. Quimby. He was a god, a god of the fruit stand men, explained McGee. Picture me, if you can, depressed by the overwhelming success of my latest

brainchild. Picture me meeting Hal Bentley in a 44th Street club and asking him for the location of the lonesomest spot on earth. Hal thought a moment. I've got it, he said. The lonesomest spot that's happened to date is a summer resort in midwinter. It makes Crusoe's Island look like Coney on a warm Sunday afternoon in comparison. The talk flowed on along with other things. Hal told me his father owned bald paid in, and that you were an old friend of his who would be happy for the entire winter over the chance to serve him. He happened to have a key to the place, the key to the big front door, I guess, from the weight of it, and he gave it to me. He also wrote you to look after me, So, here I am.

Mr. Quimby ran his fingers through his white hair. Here I am, repeated Billy McGee, fleeing from the great glitter known as Broadway to do a little rational thinking in the solitudes. It's getting late, and I suggest that we start for bald-paid in at once. This ain't exactly regular, Mr. Quimby protested. No, it ain't what you might call a frequent occurrence.

I'm glad to do anything I can for young Mr. Bentley, I can't help wondering what his father will say, and there's a lot of things you haven't took into consideration. There certainly is, young man, remarked Mrs. Quimby, bustling forward. How are you going to keep warm in that big barn of a place? The suites on the second floor, said Mr. McGee, are, I hear, equip the fireplaces. Mr. Quimby will keep me supplied with fuel from the forest primeval, for which service he will receive $20 a week. And light? asked Mrs. Quimby. for the present candles i have forty in that package later perhaps you can find me an oil lamp oh everything will be provided for well remarked mr quimby looking in a dazed fashion at his wife i reckon i'll have to talk it over with maw

the two retired to the next room and mr mcgee fixed his eyes on a god bless our home motto while he awaited their return presently they reappeared you thinking of eating inquired mrs quimby sarcastically why you stayed up there i certainly was smiled mcgee for the most part i will prepare my own meals from cans and er jars and such pagan sources but now and then you mrs quimby are going to send me something cooked as no other woman in the county can cook it "'I can see it in your eyes. In my poor way, I will try to repay you.' He continued to smile into Mrs. Quimby's broad, cheerful face. Mr. McGee had the type of smile that moves men to part with ten until Saturday, and women to close their eyes and dream of Sir Lancelot. Mrs. Quimby could not long resist. She smiled back, whereupon Billy McGee sprang to his feet,

"'It's all fixed,' he cried. "'We'll get on splendidly, and now, for bald-paid end.' "'Not just yet,' said Mrs. Quimby. "'I ain't one to let anyone go up to Bald Pate Inn unfed. "'I suppose we're sort of responsible for you while you're up here. "'You just set right down and I'll have your supper hot and smoking on the table in no time.' "'Mr. McGee entered into no dispute on this point, "'and for half an hour he was the pleased recipient of advice, philosophy, and food.

"'When he had assured Mrs. Quimby that he had eaten enough to last him the entire two months, he intended spending at the end, Mr. Quimby came in, attired in a huge, before-the-war Ulster, and carrying a lighted lantern. So, you're going to sit up there and write things, he commented. Well, I reckon you'll be left to yourself, all right. I hope so, responded Mr. McGee. I want to be so lonesome I'll sob myself to sleep every night. It's the only road to immortality. Goodbye, Mrs. Quimby. In my fortress on the mountain, I shall expect an occasional culinary message from you. He took her plump hand. This motherly little woman seemed the last link binding him to the world of reality. Goodbye, smiled Mrs. Quimby. Be careful of matches.

Mr. Quimby led the way with a lantern, and presently they stepped out upon the road. The storm had ceased, but it was still very dark. Far below in the valley, twinkled the lights of upper Eskawan Falls. By the way, Quimby, remarked Mr. McGee, Is there a girl in your town who has blue eyes, light hair, and the general air of a queen out shopping? Light hair, repeated Quimby. There's Sally Perry. She teaches in the Methodist Sunday school. No, said Mr. McGee.

My description was poor, I'm afraid. This one I refer to when she weeps gives the general effect of mist on the sea at dawn. The Methodists do not monopolize her. I read books, and I read newspapers, said Mr. Quimby. But a lot of your talk I don't understand. The critics, replied Billy McGee, could explain. My stuff is only for low brows. Lead on, Mr. Quimby.

Mr. Quimby stood for a moment in day's silence. Then he turned, and the yellow of his lantern fell on the dazzling snow ahead. Together, the two climbed Bald Pate Mountain. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate. This is a Librevox recording. Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Susan Umpelby. Seven Keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers

Chapter 2. Enter a lovedorn haberdasher. Bald Pate Inn did not stand tiptoe on the misty mountain top. Instead, it clung with grim determination to the side of Bald Pate, about halfway up, much as a city man clings to the running board of an open streetcar. This was the comparison Mr. McGee made, and even as he made it, he knew that atmospheric conditions rendered it questionable. For an open streetcar suggests summer, and the ballpark. Bald Pate in, as it shouldered darkly into Mr. McGee's ken, suggested winter at its most wintry. about the great black shape that was the inn like arms stretched broad verandas mr mcgee remarked upon them to his companion those porches and balconies and things he said will come in handy in cooling the fevered brow of genius there ain't much fever in this locality the practical quimby assured him especially not in winter silence mr mcgee followed the lantern of quimby over the snow to the broad steps and up to the great front door

there mcgee produced from beneath his coat an impressive key mr quimby made as though to assist but was waved aside this is a ceremony mr mcgee told him some day sunday newspaper stories will be written about it, bald paint in opening its doors to the great American novel. He placed the key in the lock, turned it, and the door swung open. The coldest blast of air Mr. McGee had ever encountered swept out from the dark interior. He shuddered and wrapped his coat closer. He seemed to see the white trail from Dawson City, the sled dogs straggling on with the dwindling provisions, the fat Eskimo guide, begging for gun drops by his side. Phew, he cried. We've discovered another pole.

It's stale air, remarked Quimby. You mean the polar atmosphere, replied McGee. Yes, it is pretty stale. Jack London and Dr. Cook have worked it to death. I mean, said Quimby, this air has been in here alone too long. It's as stale as last week's newspaper. We couldn't heat it with a million fires. We'll have to let in some warm air from outside first. Warm air, hum, remarked Mr. McGee. Well, live and learn. The two stood together in a great bare room.

The rugs had been removed, and such furniture as remained had huddled together, as if for warmth, in the center of the floor. When they stepped forward, the sound of their shoes on the hard wood seemed the boom that should wake the dead. this is the hotel office explained mr quimby at the left of the door was the clerk's desk behind it loomed a great safe and a series of pigeon-holes for the mail of the guests opposite the front door a wide stairway led to a landing half-way up where the stairs were divorced and went to the right and left in search of the floor above mr mcgee surveyed the stairway critically "'A great place,' he remarked, "'to show off the talents of your dressmaker, eh, Quimby? "'Can't you just see the stunning gowns coming down that stair and state "'and the young men below here agitated in their bosoms?'

"'No, I can't,' said Mr. Quimby frankly. "'I can't either to tell the truth,' laughed Billy McGee. "'He turned up his collar. "'It's like picturing a summer girl sitting on an iceberg "'and swinging her open-work hosiery over the edge.' i don't suppose it's necessary to register i'll go right up and select my apartments it was upon a suite of rooms that bore the number seven on their door that mr mcgee's choice fell a large parlor with a fireplace that a few blazing logs would cheer a bedroom whose bed was destitute of all save mattress and springs and a bathroom comprised his kingdom here too all the furniture was piled in the centre of the rooms after quimby had opened the windows he began straightening the furniture about mr mcgee inspected his apartment the windows were all of the low french variety and opened out upon a broad snow-covered balcony which was in reality the roof of the first-floor veranda

on this balcony mcgee stood a moment watching the trees on baldpate wave their black arms in the wind and the lights of upper asco one falls wink knowingly up at him then he came inside and his investigations brought him presently to the tub in the bathroom fine he cried a cold plunge in the morning before the daily struggle for immortality begins he turned the spigot nothing happened "'I reckon,' drawled Mr. Quimby from the bedroom. "'You'll carry your cold plunge up from the well back of the end "'before you plunge into it. "'The water's turned off. "'We can't take chances with busted pipes.' "'Of course,' replied McGee, less blithely.

"'His order was somewhat dampened, a paradox, "'by the failure of the spigot to gush forth a response. "'There's nothing I'd enjoy more "'than carrying eight pails of water upstairs every morning to get up an appetite for what? Oh well, the Lord will provide. If we propose to heat up the great American outdoors, Quimby, I think it's time we had a fire. Mr. Quimby went out without comment and left McGee to light his first candle in the dark. For a time he occupied himself with lighting a few of the 40, and distributing them about the room. Soon Quimby came back with kindling and logs,

and subsequently a noisy fire roared in the grate. again quimby retired and returned with a generous armful of bedding which he threw upon the brass bed in the inner room then he slowly closed and locked the windows after which he came in and looked down with good-natured contempt at mr mcgee who sat in a chair before the fire i wouldn't wander round none he advised you might fall down something or something i have been living in these parts off and on for sixty years and more and nothing like this ever came under my observation before howsome ever i guess it's all right if mr bentley says so I'll come up in the morning and see you down to the train. What train? inquired Mr. McGee. Your train back to New York City, replied Mr. Quimby. Don't try to start back in the night. There ain't no train till morning.

Ha, Quimby, laughed Mr. McGee. You taunt me. You think I won't stick it out, but I'll show you. I tell you I'm hungry for solitude. That's all right, Mr. Quimby responded. you can't make three square meals a day off solitude. I'm desperate, said McGee. Henry Cabot Lodge must come to me, I say, with tears in his eyes.

Ever see the senator that way? No? It isn't going to be an easy job. I must put it over. I must go deep into the hearts of men up here and write what I find. No more shots in the night. Just the adventure of soul and soul. Do you see?

by the way here's twenty dollars your first week's pay as caretaker of a new york quixote what's that asked quimby quixote explained mr mcgee was a spanish lad who was a little confused in his mind and who went about the country putting up at summer resorts in midwinter i'd expect it of a spaniard quimby said be careful of that fire i'll be up in the morning he stowed away the bill mr mcgee had given him. I guess nothing will interfere with your lonesomeness. At least ways, I hope it won't. Good night. Mr. McGee bade the man good night and listened to the thump of his boots and the closing of the great front door. From his windows he watched the caretaker move down the road without looking back, to disappear at last in the white night. Throwing off his greatcoat, Mr. McGee noisily attacked the fire. The blaze flared red on his strong humorous mouth, in a his smiling eyes.

Next, in the flickering half-light of Sweet Seven, he distributed the contents of his traveling bags about. On the table he placed a number of new magazines and a few books. Then Mr. McGee sat down in the big leather chair before the fire and caught his breath. Here he was at last. The wild plan he and Hal Bentley had cooked up in that 44th Street club had actually come to be. Seclusion! McGee had cried. Bermuda, Bintley had suggested. A mixture of sea, hotel clerks, and honeymooners,

the secret for solitude had sneered. Some winter placed down south from Bentley. And a flirtation lurking are in every corner, from McGee. A country town where you don't know anyone. The easiest place in the world to get acquainted. I must be alone, man, alone. Bald paid in. Bentley had cried in his idiom.

Why, Billy? Bald paid in at Christmas. It must be old John H. seclusion himself. Yes, here he was. And here was the solitude he had come to find. Mr. McGee looked nervously about, and the smile died out of his gray eyes. For the first time, misgiving smote him.

Might one not have too much of a good thing? A silence like that of the tomb had descended. He recalled stories of men who went mad from loneliness. What place lonelier than this? The wind howled along the balcony. It rattled the windows. Outside his door lay a great black cave. In summer, gay with men and maids, now, like Crusoe's island before the old man landed. Alone, alone, all, all alone, quoted Mr. McGee. If I can't think here it will be because I'm not equipped with the apparatus. I will. I'll show the gloomy old critics. I wonder what's doing in New York.

New York. Mr. McGee looked at his watch. Eight o'clock. The Great Street was a blaze. The crowds were parading from the restaurants to the theaters. The electric signs were pasting lurid legends on a long-suffering sky. The taxis were spraying throats with gasoline. The traffic cop at Broadway and 42nd Street was madly earning his pay. Mr. McGee got up and walked the floor. New York. Probably the telephone in his rooms was jangling, vainly calling forth to sport with Amarillis in the shade of the rubber trees, Billy McGee. Billy McGee, who sat alone in the silence on Bald Pate Mountain. Few knew of his departure. This was the night of that stupid attempt at theatricals at the plaza. Stupid in itself, but gay, almost giddy, since Helen Faulkner was to be there.

This was the night of the dinner to carry at the club. This was the night of many diverting things. Mr. McGee picked up a magazine. He wondered how they read in the old days by candlelight. He wondered if they would have found his own stories worth the strain on the eyes. And he also wondered if absolute solitude was quite the thing necessary, to the composition of the novel that should forever silence those who sneered at his ability. Absolute solitude! Only the crackle of the fire, the roar of the wind, and the ticking of his watch bore him company. He strode to the window and looked down at the few dim lights that proclaimed the existence of Upper Ascawan Falls. Somewhere down there was the commercial house. Somewhere the girl who had wept so bitterly in that gloomy little waiting room.

She was only three miles away, and the thought cheered Mr. McGee. After all, he was not on a desert island. And yet, he was alone, intensely, almost painfully alone. Alone in a vast moaning house that must be his only home until he could go back to the gay city with his masterpiece. What a masterpiece! As though with a surgeon's knife it would lay bare the hearts of men. No tricks of plot, no...

Mr. McGee paused. For sharply in the silence, the bell of his room telephone rang out. He stood for a moment gazing in wonder, his heart beating swiftly, his eyes upon the instrument on the wall. It was a house phone. He knew that it could only be rung from the switchboard in the hall below. I'm going mad already, he remarked, and took down the receiver. A blur of talk and electric muttering, a click,

and all was still. Mr. McGee opened the door and stepped out into the shadows. He heard a voice below. Noiselessly he crept to the landing and gazed down into the office. A young man sat at the telephone switchboard. Mr. McGee could see in the dim light of a solitary candle that he was a person of rather hilarious raiment. The candle stood on the top of the safe, and the door of the ladder swung open. Sinking down on the steps in the dark, Mr. McGee waited. Hello, the young man was saying. How do you work this thing, anyhow? I've tried every peg but the right one.

Hello! Hello! I want long distance. Royton. 2876 West. Mr. Andy Rudder. Will you get him for me, sister? Another wait, a long one, ensued. The candle sputtered.

The young man fidgeted in his chair. At last he spoke again. Hello? Andy? Is that you, Andy? What's the good word? As quiet as the tomb of Napoleon. Shall I close up shop? Sure. What next? Oh, see here, Andy, I'll die up here.

Did you ever hit a place like this in winter? I can't. I... Oh, well, if he says so. Yes, I could do that. But no longer. I couldn't stand it long. Tell him that. "'Tell him everything's okay. Yes, all right. Well, good night, Andy.'

He turned away from the switchboard, and as he did so, Mr. McGee walked calmly down the stairs toward him. With a cry, the young man ran to the safe, threw a package inside, and swung shut the door. He turned the knob of the safe several times. Then he faced Mr. McGee. The latter saw something glitter in his hand. "'Good evening,' remarked Mr. McGee pleasantly. "'What are you doing here?' cried the youth wildly. "'I live here,' Mr. McGee assured him. "'Won't you come up to my room? "'It's right at the head of the stairs.

"'I have a fire, you know.' "'Back into the young man's lean, hawk-like face "'ckept the assurance that belonged with the gay attire he wore. "'He dropped the revolver into his pocket "'and smiled a sneering smile. "'You gave me a turn,' he said. "'Of course you live here. "'Are any of the other guests about?

And who won the tennis match today? You are facetious. Mr. McGee smiled, too. So much the better. A lively companion is the very sort I should have ordered tonight. Come upstairs. The young man looked suspiciously about, his thin nose seemingly scenting plots.

He nodded and picked up the candle. All right, he said, but I'll have to ask you to go first. You know the way. His right hand sought the pocket into which the revolt, had fallen. You honor my poor and drafty house, said Mr. McGee. This way.

He mounted the stairs. After him followed the youth of flashy habiliments, looking fearfully about him as he went. He seemed surprised that they came to Mr. McGee's room without incident. Inside Mr. McGee drew up an easy chair before the fire and offered his guest a cigar. You must be cold, he said. Sit here.

A bad night's side. stranger, as they remark in stories. You've said it, replied the young man, accepting the cigar. Thanks. He walked through the door leading into the hall and opened it about a foot. I'm afraid, he explained jocosely. We'll get to talking and miss the breakfast bell. He dropped into the chair and lighted his cigar at a candle end. Say, you never can tell, can you? Climbing up old baldpade, I thought to myself, that hotel certainly makes the Sahara Desert look like a cozy corner. And here you are, as snug and

comfortable and at home as if you were in a Harlem flat. You never can tell. And what now? The story of my life? You might relate, Mr. McGee told him, that portion of it that has led you trespassing on a gentleman seeking seclusion at Bald Pade Inn. The stranger looked at Mr. McGee. he had an eye that not only looked but weighed estimated and classified mr mcgee met it smilingly trespassing eh said the young man far be it from me to quarrel with a man who smokes as good cigars as you do but there's something i haven't quite doped out that is who's trespassing me or you my right here said mr mcgee is indisputable it's a big word replied the other but you can tack it to my right here and tell no lie we can't dispute so let's drop the matter with that settled i'm encouraged to pour out the story of why you see me here to-night far from the madding crowd have you a stray tear you'll need it it's a sad touching story concerned with haberdasherie and a trusting heart and a fair woman Fair, but, oh, how false. Proceed, laughed Mr. McGee.

I'm an admirer of the vivid imagination. Don't curb yours, I beg of you. It's all straight, said the other in a hurt tone. Every word true. My name is Joseph Bland. My profession, until love entered my life, was that of Haberdasher, an outfitter. In the city of Royton, 50 miles from here.

I taught the beau brummels of the thoroughfares what was doing in London in the necktie line. I sold them coats with padded shoulders and collars high and awe-inspiring. I was happy, twisting a piece of silk over my hand to show them how it would look on their heaving bosoms, and then she came. Mr. Bland puffed on his cigar. Yes, he said. Arabella sparkled on the horizon of my life. When I have been here in the quiet for about two centuries, maybe I can do justice to her beauty. I won't attempt to describe her now. I loved her, madly. She said, I made a hit with her. I spent on her the prophets of my haberdashery. I whispered, marriage. She didn't scream. I had my wedding necktie picked out from the samples of a drummer

from Troy. He paused and looked at Mr. McGee. Have you ever stood poised on that brink, he asked? Never, replied McGee. But go on. Your story attracts me strangely. From here on, the tear I spoke of, please. There flashed on the scene a man she had known and loved in Jersey City. I said flashed. He did, just that.

A swell dresser, say. He had John Drew beat by two mauve neckties and a purple frock coat. I had a haberdashery back of me. No use. He outdressed me. i saw that arabella's love for me was waning with his shammie-gloved hands that new guy fanned the ancient flame he paused emotion or the smoke of the cigar choked him let's make the short story shorter he said she threw me down in my haberdashery i thought it over i was blue bitter i resolved on a dreadful step in the night i wrote her a letter and carried it down to the box and posted it Life without Arabella, said the letter,

where Shakespeare with Hamlet left out. It hinted at the river, carbolic acid, revolvers. Yes, I posted it, and then, and then, urged Mr. McGee. Mr. Bland felt tenderly of the horseshoe pin in his purple tie. This is just between us, he said.

At that point, the trouble began. It came from my being naturally a very brave man. I could have. died, easy. The brave thing was to live. To go on day after day, devoid of Arabella, say, that took courage. I wanted to try it. I'm a courageous man, as I say. You seem so, Mr. McGee agreed. Lion-hearted, assented Mr. Bland. I determined to show my nerve and live. But there was my letter to Arabella. I feared she wouldn't appreciate my bravery. Women are

dull sometimes. It came to me, maybe she would be heard if I didn't keep my word and die. So I had to disappear. I had a friend mixed up in affairs at Bald Pate. No, I can't give his name. I told him my story. He was impressed by my spirit as you have been. He gave me a key he had, the key to the door opening from the east veranda into the dining room. So I came up here. I came here to be alone, to forgive and forget, to be forgot, and maybe to plan a new haberdashery in distant parts. Was it your wedding necktie, asked Mr. McGee, that you threw into the safe when you saw me coming? No, replied Mr. Blan, sighing deeply. A package of letters written to me by Arabella at various times. I want to forget them. If I kept them on hand, I might

look at them from time to time. My great courage might give way. You might find my body on the stairs. That's why I hid them. Mr. McGee laughed and stretched forth his hand. Believe me, he said. Your touching confidence in me will not be betrayed. I congratulate you on your narrative power. You want my story. Why am I here? I am not sure that it is worthy to follow yours, but it has its good points, as I have thought it out. He went over to the table and picked up a popular novel upon which his gaze had rested while the haberdasher spun his fabric of love and gloom. On the cover was the picture of a very dashing maiden. Do you see that girl, he asked? She is beautiful, is she not? Even Arabella in her most splendid moments could get a few points

from her, I fancy. Perhaps you are not familiar with the important part such a picture plays in the success of a novel today. The truth is, however, that the noble art of fiction writing has come to lean more and more heavily on its illustrators. The mere words that go with the pictures grow less important every day. There are dozens of distinguished novelists in the country at this moment who might be haberdasher's if it weren't for the long, lean, haughty ladies who are scattered tastefully through their works. Mr. Blan stirred uneasily. I can see you are at a loss to know what my search for seclusion and privacy has to do with all this, continued Mr. McGee. I am an artist. For years I have drawn these lovely ladies who make fiction saleable to the masses.

Many a novelist owes his motor car and his country house to my brush. Two months ago, I determined to give up illustration forever and devote my time to painting. I turned my back on the novelists. Can you imagine what happened? My imagination's a little tired. apologize, Mr. Bland. Never mind, I'll tell you. The leading authors whose work I had so long illustrated saw ruin staring them in the face. They came to me on their knees, figuratively. They begged. They pleaded. They hid in the vestibule of my flat. I should say, my studio. They even came up in my dumb waiter, having bribed the janitor. They wouldn't take no for an answer. In order to escape them and their really pitiful pleadings, I had to flee.

I happened to have a friend involved in the management of Bald Pate Inn. I'm not at liberty to give his name. He gave me a key. So here I am. I rely on you to keep my secret. If you perceive a novelist in the distance, lose no time in warning me. Mr. McGee paused, chuckling inwardly. He stood looking down at the Lovelorn Haberdasher.

The latter got to his feet and solemnly took McGee's hand. I, I, oh well, you've got me beat a mile, old man, he said. You don't mean to say, began the hurt McGee. Oh, that's all right, Mr. Blant assured him. I believe every word of it. It's all as real as the haberdashery to me. I'll keep my eye peeled for novelists. What gets me is, when you boil our two fly-by-night stories down,

I've come here to be alone. You want to be alone. We can't be alone here together. One of us must clear out. Nonsense, answered Billy McGee. I'll be glad to have you here. Stay as long as you like. The haberdasher looked Mr. McGee fully in the eye,

and the latter was startled by the hostility he saw in the other's face. The point is, said Mr. Bland, I don't want you here. Why? Maybe because you recall beautiful dames, on book covers, and in that way, Arabella. Maybe. But what's the use? I put it simply. I got to be alone, alone on Bald Pate Mountain. I won't put you out tonight. See, here my friend, cried Mr. McGee. Your grief has turned your head. You won't put me out tonight or tomorrow. I'm here to

stay. You're welcome to do the same if you like, but you stay with me. "'I know you are a man of courage, "'but it would take at least ten men of courage "'to put me out of bald-paid in.' "'They stood eyeing each other for a moment. "'Blan's thin lips twisted into a sneer. "'We'll see,' he said. "'We'll settle all that in the morning.'

"'His tone took on a more friendly aspect. "'I'm going to pick out a downy couch in one of these rooms,' he said, "'and lay me down to sleep. "'Say, I could greet a blanket like a long-lost friend.' Mr. McGee proffered some of the covers that Quimby had given him, and accompanying Mr. Bland to Sweet Ten across the hall. He explained the matter of stale air, and assisted in the opening of windows. The conversation was mostly facetious, and Mr. Blan's last remark concerned the fickleness of woman. With a brisk good-night, Mr. McGee returned to number seven. But he made no move toward the

chilly brass bed in the inner room. Instead, he sat a long, time by the fire. He reflected on the events of his first few hours in that supposedly uninhabited solitude, where he was to be alone with his thoughts. He pondered the way and manner of the flippant young man who posed as a lovelorn haberdasher, and under whose flippancy there was a certain air of hostility. Who was Andy Rudder, down in Reiton? What did the young man mean when he asked if he could close up shop? Who was the he, from whom came the or orders, and most important of all, what was in the package now resting in the great safe? Mr. McGee smiled. Was this the stuff of which solitude was made? He recalled the ludicrous literary

tale he had invented to balance the moving fiction of Arabella, and his smile grew broader. His imagination, at least, was in a healthy state. He looked at his watch, a quarter of twelve. probably they were having supper at the plaza now, and Helen Faulkner was listening to the banalities of young Williams. He settled in his seat to think of Miss Faulkner. He thought of her for ten seconds, then stepped to the window. The moon had risen, and the snowy roofs of Upper Ascawan Falls sparkled in the limelight of the heavens. Under one of those roofs was the girl of the station, weeping no more, he hoped. certainly she had eyes that held even the least susceptible, to which class Mr. McGee prided himself he belonged. He wished he might see her again, might talk to her without interruption from that impossible mama.

Mr. McGee turned back into the room. His fire was but red glowing ashes. He threw off his dressing gown and began to unlace his shoes. There has been too much crude melodrama in my novels, he reflected. It's so easy to run. right, but I'm going to get away from all that up here. I'm going." Mr. McGee paused, with one shoe poised in his hand, for from below came the sharp crack of a pistol, followed by the crash of breaking glass. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Recording by Susan Umpelby Seven Keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers, Chapter 3. Blonds and Suffragettes Mr. McGee had slipped into his dressing gown, seized a candle, and like a boy in the nursery rhyme with one shoe off and one shoe on, ran into the hall. all was silent and dark below. He descended to the landing and stood there,

holding the candle high above his head. It threw a dim light as far as the bottom of the stairs, but quickly lost the battle with the shadows that lay beyond. Hello! the voice of Bland, the Haberdasher, came out of the darkness. The goddess of liberty as I live! What's your next imitation? There seems to be something doing, said Mr. McGee. Mr. Blan came into the light, partially disrobed his revolver in his hand. Somebody trying to get in by the front door, he explained.

I shot at him to scare him away. Probably one of your novelists. Or Arabella, remarked Mr. McGee coming down. No, answered Bland. I distinctly saw a derby hat. With Mr. McGee descended the yellow candlelight, and, brushing aside the shadows of the hotel office, It revealed a mattress lying on the floor close to the clerk's desk, behind which stood the safe.

On the mattress was the betting McGee had presented to the haberdasher, hastily thrown back by the lovelorn one on rising. You prefer to sleep down here, Mr. McGee commented. Near the letters of Arabella, yes, replied Bland. His keen eyes met McGee's. There was a challenge in them. Mr. McGee turned, and the yellow light of the candle flickered wanly over the great front door. Even as he looked at it, the door was pushed open, and a queer figure of a man stood framed against a background of glittering snow. Mr. Blan's arm flew up.

"'Don't shoot!' cried McGee. "'No, please don't,' urged the man in the doorway. A beard, a pair of round-owlish spectacles, and two ridiculous earmuffs, left only a suggestion of face here and there. He closed the door and stepped into the room. I have every right here, I assure you, even though my arrival is somewhat unconventional. See, I have the key. He held up a large brass key that was the counterpart of the one Hal Bentley had bestowed upon Mr. McGee in that club on far off 44th Street. Keys to burn, muttered Mr. Blan sourly. I bear no ill will with regard to the shooting, went on the newcomer.

he took off his derby hat and ruefully regarded a hole through the crown his bald head seemed singularly frank and naked above a face of so many disguises it is only natural that men alone on a mountain should defend themselves from invaders at two in the morning my escape was narrow but there is no ill-will he blinked about him his breath a white cloud in the cold room life young gentleman he remarked setting down his bag and leaning a green umbrella against it has its surprises even at sixty-two last night i was ensconced by my own library fire preparing a paper on the pagan renaissance to-night I am on Bald Pate Mountain with a perforation in my hat. Mr. Blan shivered. I'm going back to bed, he said in disgust. First, said the gentleman with a perforated derby, permit me to introduce myself.

I am Professor Thaddeus Bolton, and I hold the chair of comparative literature in a big Eastern University. Mr. McGee took the mitten hand of the professor. Glad to see you, I'm sure, he said. My name is Mickey. this is mr bland he is impetuous but estimable i trust you will forgive his first salute what's a bullet among gentlemen it seems to me that his explanations may be lengthy and this room is very cold we would do well to go up to my room where there is a fire delighted cried the old man a fire i long to see one let us go to your room by all means mr bland sulkily stalked to his master and secured a gaily colored bed quilt, which he wound about his thin form.

This is positively the last experience meeting I attend tonight, he growled. They ascended to number seven. Mr. McGee piled fresh logs on the fire. Mr. Blan saw to it that the door was not tightly closed. The professor removed, along with other impedimenta, his ear tabs, which were connected by a rubber cord. He waved them like frisky detached ears before him. an old man's weakness he remarked foolish they may seem to you but i assure you i found them useful companions in climbing baldbate mountain at this hour he sat down in the largest chair sweet seven owned and from its depths smiled benignly at the two young men but i am not here to apologize for my apparel am i hardly you are saying to yourselves why is he here yes that is the question that disturbed you what has you What has brought this domesticated college professor scampering from the pagan renaissance to bald-paid in? For answer, I must ask you to go back with me a week's time, and gaze at a picture from the rather

dreary academic kaleidoscope that is my life. I am seated back of a desk on a platform in a bare yellow room. In front of me, tear on tear, sit a hundred young men in various attitudes of inattention. I am trying to tell them something of the ideal. poetry that marked the rebirth of the Saxon genius. They are bored. I, well, gentlemen, in confidence, even the mind of a college professor has been known to wander at times from the subject at hand. And then, I begin to read a poem, a poem descriptive of a woman dead six hundred years and more. Ah, gentlemen, he sat erect on the edge of his great chair. Back of the thick lenses of his spectacles, he had eyes that could still flash. This is not an era of romance,

he said. Our people grub in the dirt for the dollar. Their visions perish. Their souls grow stale. Yet, now and then, at most impotune times, comes the flash that reveals to us the glories that might be. A gentleman of my acquaintance caught a glimpse of perfect happiness while he was in the midst of an effort to corner the pickle market. Another evolved the scale. scheme of a perfect ode to the essential purity of woman in a broadway restaurant so like lightning across the blackest sky our poetic moments come mr bland wrapped his gay quilt more securely about him mr mcguise mild encouragement at the newest raconteur i shall be brief continued professor bolton heaven knows that pedagogic room was no place for visions nor were these athletic young men fit companions for a soul gone giddy. Yet, I lost my head. As I read on, there returned to my heart a glow I had not known in forty years. The bard spoke of her hair. Her yellow locks, crissed like golden wire,

about her shoulders were in loosely shed. And I saw, as in a dream, I can trust you, gentlemen, a girl I supposed I had forever forgot in the mold and dust of my later years. I will not go further into the matter. My wife's hair is black. And reading on, but losing the thread of the poet's eulogy and the golden fabric of my resurrected dream, it came to me to compare that maid I knew in the long ago with the women I know today. Oh, gentlemen, lips made but for smiling fling weighty arguments on the unoffending atmosphere. Eyes made to light with that light that never was by land or sea, blaze instead with what they call the injustice of woman's servitude. White hands, made to find

their way to the hands of some young man in the moonlight, carry banners in the dusty streets. It seemed I saw the blue eyes of that girl of long ago turned sad, rebuking on her sisters of today. As I finished reading, my heart was a whirl. I said to the young men before me, there was a woman, gentlemen, a woman worth a million suffragettes. They applauded. The fire in me died down. Soon I was my old, meek, academic self. The vision had left no trace. I dismissed my class and went home. I found that my wife, she of the black hair, had left my slippers by the library fire. I put them on and plunged into a pamphlet lately published by a distinguished member of a German university faculty. I thought the incident closed forever.

He gazed sorrowfully at the two young men. But, gentlemen, I had not counted on that viper that we nourish in our bosom, the American newspaper. At present, I will not take time to denounce the press. I am preparing an article on the subject for a respectable weekly of select circulation. Suffice it to record what happened. The next day, an evening paper appeared with a huge picture of me on its front page, and the hideous statement that this was the Professor Bolton who had said that one peroxide blonde is worth a million suffragettes. Yes, that was the dreadful version of my remark that was spread broadcast.

Up to the time the story appeared, I had no idea as to what sort of creature the peroxide blonde might be. I protested, of course. I might as well have tried to damn a tidal wave with a table fork. The wrath of the world swept down upon me. I was deluged with telegrams, editorials, letters, denouncing me. Firm-faced females lay in wait for me and waved umbrellas in my eyes. Even my wife turned from me, saying that, she did not ask me to hold her views on the question of suffrage, she thought I might at least refrain

from publicly commending a type of woman found chiefly in musical comedy choruses. I received a note from the president of the university, asking me to be more circumspect in my remarks. Me, Thaddeus Bolton, the most conservative man on earth by instinct! And still the denunciations of me poured in. Still, women's clubs held meetings resolving against me. Still, a steady stream of reporters flowed through my life, urging me to state my views further, to name the ten greatest blondes in history to, Heaven knows what. Yesterday I resolved I could stand it no longer. I determined to go away until the whole thing was forgotten. But they said to me, there is no place on land or sea where the reporters will not find you. I talked the matter over with my old friend John Ben,

"'owner of Bald Pate End, "'and he and his kindness "'gave me the key to this hostelry.' "'The old man paused and passed a silk handkerchief "'over his bald head. "'That, sirs,' he said, "'is my story. "'That is why you see me on Bald Pate Mountain

"'this chill December morning. "'That is why loneliness can have no terrors, "'exile no sorrows for me. "'That is why I bravely faced "'your revolver shots. "'Again let me. repeat, I bear no malice on that score. You have ruined a new derby hat, and the honorarium of professor, even at a leading university, is not such as to permit many purchases in that line,

but I forgive you freely. Even at the cannon's mouth, I would have fled from reputation, to paraphrase the poet. Wisely, Mr. Bolton blinked about him. Mr. Bland was half asleep in his chair, but Mr. McGee was quick with sympathy. he said, you are a much-suffering man. I feel for you. Here I am sure you are safe from reporters, and the yellow journals will soon forget you in their discovery of the next distorted wonder. Briefly, Mr. Blan and myself will outline the tangle of events that brought us to the end. Briefly is right, broken, Blan, and then it's me for that mountainous mattress of mine. I can rattle my story off in short order and give you the fine points tomorrow.

to a short time ago, but Billy McGee interrupted. An idea, magnificently delicious, mirthful, had come to him. Why not? He chuckled inwardly, but his face was most serious. I should like to tell my story first, if you please, he said. The haberdasher grunted. The professor nodded. Mr. McGee looked bland squarely in the eye, strangled the laugh inside him, and began. Up to a short time ago, I was a haberdasher in the city of Royton. My name, let me state, is McGee, William McGee. I fitted the gay shoulder blades of Royton with clothing from the back pages of the magazines, and as for neckties, Mr. Blan's sly eyes had opened wide. He rose to a majestic height, majestic considering the bed quilt. See here, he began. Please don't interrupt,

requested Mr. McGee sweetly. I was, as I have said, a happy, carefree haberdasher. And then she entered my life. Arabella was her name. Ah, Professor, your lady of the yellow locks, crisp-like in golden wire, even she, must never in my presence be compared with Arabella. She, she had a face.

No, a Webster couldn't have found words to describe it. and her heart was true to yours truly. At least, I thought that it was. Mr. McGee rattled on. The haberdasher, his calling and his tragedy, snatched from him by the humorous McGee, retired with sullen face into his bed quilt. Carefully, Mr. McGee led up to the coming of the man from Jersey City. In detail, he laid bare the duel of haberdashery fought in the name of the fair Arabella. As he proceeded, his enthusiasm grew. He added fine, bits that had escaped Mr. Bland. He painted with freehand the picture of tragedy's dark hour, the note hinting at suicide he gave in full. Then he told of how his courage grew again,

of how he put the cowardice of death behind him, resolved to dare all and live. He finished at last, his voice husky with emotion. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced triumphantly at bland. That gentleman was gazing thoughtfully at the blazing logs. You did quite right, commented Professor Bolton, in making up your mind to live. I congratulate you on your common sense. And perhaps, as the years go by, you will realize that had you married your Arabella, you would not have found life all honey and roses. She was fickle, unworthy of you. Soon you will forget. youth, ah, youth, throws off its sorrow like a cloak. A figure not original with me.

And now, the gentleman in the, er, the bed quilt, has he, too, a story? Yes, laughed Mr. McGee. Let's hear now from the gentleman in the bed quilt. Has he too a story? And if so, what is it? He smiled delightedly into the eyes of bland. What would the ex-haberdasher do, shorn of his fiction?

explanation. Would he rise in his wrath and denounce the man who had stolen his arabella? Mr. Blan smiled back. He stood up, and a contingency that had not entered Mr. McGee's mind came to be. Mr. Blan walked calmly to the table and picked up a popular novel that lay thereon. On its cover was the picture of a very beautiful maiden. See that dame? He inquired of the professor. Sort of makes a man sit up and take notice, doesn't she? even the frost-bitten haberdasher here has got to admit that in some way she has this arabella person looking like a faded chromo in your grandmother's parlor on a rainy afternoon ever get any notion professor the way a picture like that boosts a novel in the busy marks of trade no well mr blan continued mr mcgee leaned back overjoyed in his chair here was a man not to be annoyed by the mere filching of his story here was a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man with a man a sense of humor, an opponent worthy of his foe's best efforts. In his role of a haberdasher

overcome with woe, Mr. McGee listened. I used to paint names like that, Bland was saying to the day's professor. He explained how his pictures had enabled many a novelists to eat up the highway in a buzz wagon. As he approached the time when the novelists besieged him, he gave full play to his imagination. One, he said, sought out his apartment in an aeroplane. Say, Professor, he finished, we're in the same boat. Both hiding from riders. A fellow

that spent his life selling neckties, well, he can't exactly appreciate our situation. There's what she might call a bond between you and me. Do you know? I felt drawn to you just after I fired that first shot. That's why I didn't blaze away again.

We're going to be great friends. I can read it in the stars. He took the older man hand feelingly, shook it, and walked away, casting a covert glance of triumph at Mr. McGee. The face of the holder of the crandal chair of comparative literature was a study. He looked first at one young man, then at the other. Again he applied the handkerchief to his shining head. Oh, this is very odd, he said thoughtfully. A man of 62, particularly one who has long lived in the uninspired circle surrounding a university, has not the quick wit of youth. I'm afraid I don't,

but no matter. It's very odd, though. He permitted Mr. McGee to escort him into the hall and to direct his search for a bed that should serve him through the scant remainder of the night. Overcoats and rugs were pressed into service as cover. Mr. Bland blithely assisted. If I see any newspaper reporters, he assured the professor on parting, all damage more than their Irbies. Thank you, replied the old man heartily. You are very kind. Tomorrow we shall become better acquainted. Good night. The two young men came out and stood in the hallway. Mr. McGee spoke in a low tone. Forgive me, he said, for stealing your arabella. Take her and welcome, said Bland. She was beginning to bore me anyhow, and I'm not in your class as an actor.

He came close to McGee. In the dim light of her. that streamed out from number seven, the latter saw the look on his face, and knew that, underneath all, this was a very much worried young man. For God's sakes, cried Blan, tell me who you are, and what you're doing here. In three words, tell me. If I did, said Mr. McGee, you wouldn't believe me. Let such minor manners as the truth wait over till tomorrow. Well, anyhow, Blan said, his foot on the top step, we are sure of one.

thing. We don't trust each other. I've got one parting word for you. Don't try to come downstairs tonight. I've got a gun and I ain't afraid to shoot. He paused. A look of fright passed over his face, for on the floor above they both heard soft footsteps, then a faint click as though a door had been gently closed. This inn, whispered bland, has more keys than a literary club in a prohibition town. And everyone's in use, I guess. Remember, don't try to come downstairs. I've warned you. Or Arabella's cast-off Romeo may be found with a bullet in him yet. I shan't forget what you say, answered Mr. McGee. Shall we look about upstairs? Land shook his head. No, he said. Go in and go to bed. It's the downstairs that concerns me.

Good night. He went swiftly down the steps, leaving Mr. McGee staring wonderingly after him. Like a wraith, he merged with the shadows below. McGee turned slowly and entered number seven. A fantastic film of Frost was on the windows. The inner room was drear and chill. Partially undressing, he lay down on the brass bed and pulled the covers over him. The events of the night danced in giddy a ray before him as he closed his eyes.

With every groan, bald-paid and uttered in the wind, He started up, keen for a new adventure. At length his mind seemed to stand still, and there remained of all that amazing evening's pictures but one, that of a girl in a blue corduroy suit who wept, wept only that her smile might be the more dazzling when it flashed behind the tears. With yellow locks crisp like golden wire, murmured Mr. McGee, and so he fell asleep.

End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of Seven Keys to BaldPate This is a Libervox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Susan Umpelby. Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Dare Biggers, Chapter 4. A professional hermit appears.

Every morning at 8, when slumbers change, had bound Mr. McGee in his New York apartments, he was awakened by a pompous valet named Jeffrey, whom he shared with the other young men in the building. It was Jeffrey's custom to enter, raise the curtains, and speak of the weather in a voice vibrant with feeling, as if of something he had prepared himself and was anxious to have Mr. McGee try. So, when a rattling noise came to his ear on his first morning at Bald Pade Inn, Mr. McGee breathed sleepily from the covers, The morning, Jeffrey. But no cheery voice replied in terms of sun, wind, or rain.

Surprised, Mr. McGee sat up in bed. About him, the maplewood furniture of Sweet Seven stood shivering in the chill of the December morning. Through the door at his left, he caught sight of a white tub into which, he recalled, sadly, not even a Geoffrey could coax a glittering drop. Yes, he was at Bald Pate Inn. He remembered. The climb with the dazed Quimby up the snowy road, the plaint of the lovelorn haberdasher,

the vagaries of the professor with a penchant for blondes, the mysterious click of the door latch on the floor above. And last of all, strange that it should have been last, a girl in blue corduroy, somewhat darker than her eyes, who wept amid the station's gloom. I wonder, reflected Mr. McGee, staring at the very brassy bars at the foot of his bed, what new variations on seclusion the day will bring forth.

Again came the rattling noise that had awakened him. He looked toward the nearest window, and through an unfrosted corner of the pain, he saw the eyes of the newest variation staring at him in wonder. They were dark eyes, and kindly, they spoke a desire to enter. Rising from his warm retreat, Mr. McGee took his shivering way across the uncarpeted floor

and unfastened the window's catch. From the blustery balcony, a plump little man stepped inside. He had a market basket on his arm. His face was a stranger to razors, his hair to shears. He reminded Mr. McGee of the celebrated doctor who came every year to the small town of his boyhood, there to sell a wonderful healing herb to the crowds on the street corner. McGee dived hastily back under the covers. Well, he questioned,

"'So you're the fellow,' remarked the little man in awe. He placed the basket on the floor. It appeared to be filled with bromidic groceries, such as the most subdued householder carries home. "'Which fellow?' asked Mr. McGee. "'The fellow Elijah Quimbley told me about,' explained he of the long brown locks. "'The fellow that's come up to bold-paid in to be alone with his thoughts.' "'You're one of the villagers, I take it,' guessed Mr. McGee.

You're dead wrong. I'm no villager. My instincts are all in the other direction, away from the crowd. I live up near the top of Bald Pate, in a little shack I built myself. My name's Peters, Jake Peters, in the winter. But in the summer when the inns open and the red and white awnings are out, and the band plays in the casino every night, then I'm the hermit of Bald Pate Mountain. I come down here and sell picture postcards of myself to the ladies. Mr. McGee appeared overcome with mirth. A professional hermit by the gods, he cried. Say, I didn't know Bald Pate Mountain was fitted up with all the modern improvements. This is great luck. I'm an amateur at the hermit business.

You'll have to teach me the fine points. Sit down. Just between ourselves, I'm not a regular hermit, said the plump bewhiskered one, sitting gingerly on the edge of a frail chair. Not one of these all for the love of a woman hermits you read about in books. Of course, I have to pretend I am in summer, in order to sell the cards and do my whole duty by the end management. A lot of the women asked me in soft tones about the great disappointment that drove me to old

ballpate, and I give them various answers according to how I feel. Speaking to you as a friend, and considering the fact that it's the dead of winter, I may say there was little or no romance in my life. I married early, and stayed married a long time. I came up here for peace and quiet, and because I felt a man ought to read something besides time tables and tradesmen's bills, and have something over his head besides a first and second mortgage. Back to nature, in other words, remarked Mr. McGee. Yes, sir, back with a rush. I was down to the village this morning for a few groceries, and I stopped off at Quimby's, as I often do. He told me about you. I help him a lot around the

inn, and we arranged I was to stop in and start your fire, and do any other little errands you might want done. I thought we ought to get acquainted, you and me, being as were both literary men after a manner of speaking. No, cried Mr. McGee. Yes, said the hermit of bald pate. I dip into that work a little, now and then. Some of my verses on the joys of solitude have appeared in print, on the postcards I sell to the guests in the summer. But my life work, as you might call it, is a book I've had underway for some time. It's called simply woman. Just that one word, but oh, the meaning in it. That book is going to prove that all the trouble in the world from the beginning of time was caused by females. Not just say so, mind you, prove it. A difficult task I'm

afraid, smiled McGee. Not difficult, long, corrected the hermit. When I started out four years ago, I thought it would just be a case of a chapter on Eve, an honorable mention for Cleopatra and Helen of Troy, and a few more like that. And the thing would be done. But as I got into the subject, I was fairly buried under new evidence. Then Mr. Carnegie came along and gave Upper Ascoon Falls a library. It's wonderful to think the great works that man will be responsible for.

I've dedicated woman to him. Since the new library, I've dug up information about a thousand disasters I never dreamed of before. And I contend that if you go back a ways in any one of them, you'll find the fluffy little lady that started the whole rumpus. So I hunt the woman. I reckon the French would call me the greatest Cherche la Fem in history. A fascinating pursuit, laughed Mr. McGee. I'm glad you've told me about it, and I shall watch the progress of the work with interest.

Although I can't say that I entirely agree with you. Here and there is a woman who more than makes amends for whatever trouble her sisters have caused. One, for instance, with golden hair and eyes that when they weep, your young interrupted the little man, rising. There ain't no use to debate it with you. I might as well try to argue with a storm at sea. Some men keep the illusion to the end of their days, and I hope you're one. I reckon I'll start your fire.

He went into the outer room, and Mr. McGee lay for a few moments listening to his preparations about the fireplace. This was comfort, he thought, and yet something was wrong. Was it the growing feeling of emptiness inside? Undoubtedly, he sat up in bed, and leaned. over, gazed into the hermit's basket. The packages he saw there made his feeling of emptiness the more acute. "'I say, Mr. Peters,' he cried, leaping from bed and running into the outer room, where the hermit was persuading a faint blaze. "'I have an idea. You can cook, can't you?' "'Cook,' repeated the hermit. "'Well, yes, I've had to learn a few things about it,

"'living far from the wrath-skelers the way I do.' "'The very man,' rejoiced Mr. McGee. "'You must stay here and cook for me. For us?' "'Us?' asked the hermit, staring. "'Yes, I forgot to tell you. After Mr. Quimby left me last night, "'two other amateur hermits hove into view. "'One is a haberdasher with a broken heart. "'Woman!' cried the triumphant Peters.

"'Name Arabella,' laughed McGee. "'The other is a college professor "'who made an indiscreet remark about, blondes. You won't mind them, I'm sure. And they may be able to help you a lot with your great work. I don't know what Quimby will say, studied the hermit. I reckon he'll run him out. He's against this thing, afraid of fire. Quimby will come later, Mr. McGee assured him, drawing on a dressing gown. Just now, the idea is a little water in yonder tub and a nice, cheerful breakfast after.

It's going to pay you a lot better than selling postcards to romantic ladies, I promise you. I won't take you away from a work for which the world is panting without more than making it up to you financially. Where do you stand as a coffee maker?

Wait till you taste it, said Peters reassuringly. I'll bring you up some water. He started for the door, but Mr. McGee preceded him. The haberdasher, he explained, sleeps below, and he's a nervous man. He might commit the awful error of shooting the only cook on Bald Pate Mountain. Mr. McGee went out into the hall and called from the depths the figure of bland,

fully attired in his flashy garments and looking tawdry and tired in the morning light. I've been up hours, he remarked. Heard somebody knocking round the kitchen, but I ain't seen any breakfast brought in on a silver tray. My inside feels like the mammoth cave. Mr. McGee introduced the hermit of Bald Pate. "'Pleased to meet you,' said Bland. "'I guess it was you I heard it in the kitchen. So you're going to cater to this select few, are you?' Believe me, you can't get on the job any too soon to suit me.'

Out of a nearby door stepped the black-garde figure of Professor Thaddeus Bolton, and him Mr. McGee included in the presentation ceremonies. After the hermit had disappeared below, burdened with his market basket and the supplies Mr. McGee had brought the night before, the three amateurs at the hermit game gathered by the fire in number seven, and Mr. Blan spoke feelingly. I don't know where you pluck that cook, but believe me, you get a vote of thanks from yours truly. What is he? An advertisement for a hair restorer? He's a hermit, explained McGee, and lives in a shack near the mountain top. Hermits and barbers aren't supposed to mix.

He's also an author, and is writing a book in which he lays all the trouble of the ages at the feet of woman. Please treat him with a respect all these dignified activities demand. A writer, you say, commented Professor Bolton. Let us hope it will not interfere with his cooking abilities. For even I, who am not much given to thought about material things, must admit the presence of a gnawing hunger within. They talked little, being men unfed, while Jake Peters started proceedings in the kitchen, and tramped upstairs with many pails of water.

Mr. McGee requested warm water for shaving, whereupon he was regarded with mingled emotions by his companions. You ain't going to see any skirts up here, Mr. Blan promised him. And Mr. Peters, bringing the water from below, took occasion to point out that shaving was one of man's troubles directly attributable to woman's presence in the world. At length, the hermit summoned them to breakfast, and as they descended the broad stare, the heavenly odor of coffee sent a glow to their hearts. Peters had built a rousing fire in the big fireplace opposite the clerk's desk and the office, and in front of this he had placed a table which held promise of a satisfactory breakfast.

As the three sat down, Mr. Blan spoke. I don't know about you, gentlemen, but I could fall on Mr. Peter's neck and call him blessed. The gentleman thus referred to served them genially. He brought to Mr. McGee, between whom he and himself, he recognized the tie of authorship, a copy of a New York paper that he claimed to get each morning from the station agent, and which helped him greatly, he said, in his eternal search for the woman. As the meal passed, Mr. McGee glanced it through. Twice he looked up from it to study keenly his queer companions at Bald Pade In. Finally, he handed it across the table to the haberdasher.

The dull yellow sun of a winter morning drifted in from the white outdoors. The fire sputtered gaily and the grate. Also, Mr. Peters failing for literature interfered in no way with his talents as cook. The three finished the repast in great good humor, and Mr. McGee handed round cigars. gentlemen he remarked pushing back his chair we find ourselves in a peculiar position three lone men knowing nothing of one another we have sought the solitude of bald-paid in at almost the same moment why last night before you came professor bolton mr bland gave me as his reason for being here the story of arabella which i afterward appropriated as a joke and gave as my own reason i related to mr blund's reason the fiction about the artist and the besieging novelists we swapped stories when you came it was our merry little method of doubting each other's word perhaps it was bad taste at any rate looking at it in the morning light i am inclined to return mr blan's arabella and no questions asked he is again the love-lorn hamberdasher i am inclined to believe implicitly your story that is my proposition no doubts of one another. We are here for whatever reasons we say we are. The professor nodded gravely.

Last night, went on Mr. McGee, there was some talk between Mr. Blan and myself about one of us leaving the inn. Mr. Blan demanded it. I trust he sees the matter differently this morning. I, for one, should be sorry to see him go. I have changed my mind, said Mr. Bland. The look on his thin face was not a pleasant one. Very good, went on Mr. McGee. I see no reason why we should not proceed on friendly terms. Mr. Peters has agreed to cook for us. He can no doubt be persuaded to attend to our other wants. For his services, we shall pay him generously, in view of the circumstances. As for Quimby, I leave you to make your peace with him. I have a letter to Mr. Quimby from my old friend John Bentley, said the professor, which I am sure will win me the caretaker's warm regard.

Mr. McGee looked at Bland. I'll get Andy Rutter on the wire, said that gentleman. Quimby will listen to him, I guess. Maybe, remarked McGee carelessly, who is Rutter? He's manager of the inn when it's open, answered Mr. Bland. He looked suspiciously at McGee. I only know him slightly, he added. Those matters you will arrange for yourselves, Mr. McGee went on.

I shall be very glad of your company if you can fix it to stay. Believe it or not, I forgot. We agreed to believe, didn't we? I am here to do some writing. I'm going up to my room now to do a little work. All I ask of you, gentlemen, is that, as a favor to me, you refrain from shooting at each other while I am gone. You see, I am trying to keep crude melodrama out of my stuff. I am sure, remarked Professor Bolton, that the use of firearms as a means of social diversion between Mr. Blan and myself is unthought of. I hope so, responded McGee.

There, then, the matter rests. We are here. That is all. He hesitated as though in doubt. Then, with a decisive motion, he drew toward him the New York paper. With his eyes on the headlines of the first page, he continued, I shall demand no further explanations, and except for this once, I shall make no reference to this story in the newspaper, to the effect that early yesterday morning, in a laboratory at one of our leading universities,

a young assistant instructor was found dead under peculiar circumstances. He glanced keenly at the bald-headed little man across from him. Nor shall I make conversation of the fact, he added, that the professor of chemistry at the university, a man passed middle age, respected highly in the university circle, is missing. An oppressive silence followed this remark. Mr. Blan's sly eye sought quickly the professor's face. The older man sat staring at his plate. Then he raised his head and the round spectacles were turned full on McGee.

You are very kind, said Professor Bolton evenly. There is another story in this paper, went on Mr. McGee, glancing at the haberdasher, that it seems to me I ought to taboo as table talk at Bald Pade In. It relates that a few days ago the youthful cashier of a bank in a small Pennsylvania town disappeared with $30,000 of the bank's funds. No, he concluded, we are simply here, gentlemen, and I am very glad to let it go at that. Mr. Blan sneered knowingly. I should think you would be, he said.

If you'll turn that paper over, you'll read on the back page that day before yesterday, a lot of expensive paintings in a New York millionaire's house were cut from their frames, and that the young artist who was doing retouching in the house at the time had been just careless enough not to send his address to the police. It's a small matter, of course, and the professor and I will never mention it again. Mr. McGee threw back his head and laughed heartily. We understand one another, it seems, he said. I look forward to pleasant companionship where I had expected solitude.

You will excuse me now. There is the work to which I referred. Ah, here's Peters, he added, as the hermit entered through the dining room door at the side of the stairs. All finished, gentlemen, he asked, coming forward. Now this is solid comfort, ain't it? it. I reckon when you get a few days of this, you'll all become hermits, and build yourself shacks on the mountain. Solid comfort. No woman to make you put on overshoes when you go out, or lecture you about the effects of alcohol on the stomach. Heaven, I call it. Peter, said Mr. McGee,

we have been wondering if you will stay on here and cook for us. We need you. How about it? Well, I'll be glad to help you out, the hermit replied. I guess I can manage to give satisfaction, seeing there ain't no women around. If there was, I wouldn't think of it. Yes, I'll stay and do what I can to boost the hermit life in your estimation. I—he stopped. His eyes were on the dining room door, toward which Mr. McGee's back was turned. The jaw of Peters fell, and his mouth stood wide open. Behind the underbrush of a beard, a very surprised face was discernible. Mr. McGee turned quickly. A few feet inside the door stood the girl of the station, weeping no more,

but radiant with smiles. Back of her was the determined impossible companion of yesterday. Oh, Mama, laughed the girl. We're too late for breakfast. Isn't it a shame? Mr. Blan's lean hands went quickly to adjust his purple tie. Professor Bolton looked every inch the owl as he blinked in dazed fashion at the blue corduroy vision. Gingerly, Mr. Peter set down the plates he had taken from the table, still neglecting his open mouth. Mr. McGee rose from the table and went forward with an outstretched hand. End of Chapter 4.

Chapter 5 of 7 keys to Boltpate. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer. visit librivox dot org recording by lynn thompson seven keys to baldpate by earle dare biggers chapter five the mayor casts a shadow before from tears to smiles said mr mcgee taking the girl's hand what worked the transformation not the commercial house i know for i passed it last evening no hardly the commercial house laughed the girl rather the sunshine of a winter morning, the brisk walk up the mountain, and the sight of the hermit of Baldpate with eyes like saucers,

staring at a little girl who once bought his postal cards. Then you know, Mr. Peters, inquired McGee. Is that his name? You see, I never met him in private life. He was just the hermit when I knew him. I used to come to Baldpate in the summers, and sent his cards back to the folks at home, and dreamed dreams of his love story, when, from my window, I saw the light of his shack at night.

I'm so glad to meet Mr. Peters informally. She held out her hand, but Peters, by long practice wary of women, had burdened himself with breakfast plates, which prevented his clasping it. He muttered, how'd you do? And fled toward the door, narrowly averting what would have proved a serious collision with a large woman on the way.

mr peters meets so few of your sex in winter maggie apologize you must pardon his clumsiness this gentleman he indicated the professor who arose is thaddeus bolton a distinguished member of a certain university faculty who has fled to boldpake to escape the press of america and this is mr bland who hides here from the world the scars of a broken heart but let us not go into details the girl smiled brightly and you she asked william hallowell magee he returned bowing low i have a neat little collection of stories accounting for my presence here from which i shall allow you to choose later not to mention the real one which is simple almost to a fault i am so happy to meet you all said the girl we shall no doubt become very good friends for mamma and i have also come to boldpate in to stay mr bland opened wide his usually narrow eyes and ran his hand thoughtfully over his one day's beard professor bolton blinked his astonishment mr mcgee smiled i for one am delighted to hear it he said my name went on the girl is mary norton may i present my mother mrs norton the older woman adopted what was obviously her society manner once again mr mcgee felt a pang of regret that this should be the parent of a girl so charming i am certainly pleased to meet you all she said in her heavy voice ain't it lovely morning after the storm the sun's almost blinding some explanation put in miss norton quickly is due you if i am to thrust myself thus upon you i am perfectly willing to tell why i am here but the matter mustn't leak out i can trust you i'm sure

mr mcgee drew up chairs and the two women were seated before the fire the bandits of bolpete he remarked flippantly glancing at the two men have their own code of honor and the first rule is never to betray a pal splendid laughed the girl you said i believe that professor bolton was fleeing from the newspapers i am fleeing for the newspapers to attract their attention to lure them into giving me that thing so necessary to a woman in any profession publicity you see i am an actress the name i gave you is not my stage name that perhaps you would know i employ a gentleman to keep me before the public as much as possible it's horrid i know but it means bread and butter to me that gentleman my press agent evolved the present scheme a mysterious disappearance she paused and looked at the others mr mcgee surveyed her narrowly the youthful bloom of her cheek carried to him no story of grease paint her unaffected manner was far from suggesting anything remotely connected with the stage he wondered i am to disappear completely for a time she went on as though the earth had swallowed me will be the good old phrase of the reporters i am to linger here at bold paint in a key to which my press agent has secured for me meanwhile the papers will speak tearfully of me in their headlines at least i hope they will can't you just see them those headlines beautiful actress drops from sight she stopped blushing every woman who gets into print you know is beautiful but it would be no lie in your case dearie put in mrs norton feeling carefully of her atrociously blonde store hair

your mother takes the words from my mouth smiled mr mcgee guard as they will against it the newspapers let the truth crop out occasionally and this will be such an occasion from what part of ireland do you come laughed the girl she seemed somewhat embarrassed by her mother's open admiration well setting all blarney aside such will be the headlines and when the last clue is exhausted and my press agent is the same i come back to appear in a new play a well-known actress of such flippant things is a broadway reputation built we all wish you success i'm sure mr mcgee searched his memory in vain for this actress's name and fame. Could it be possible, he wondered at this late day, that anyone would try for publicity by such an obvious worn-out road? Hardly, the answer was simple. Another fable was being spun from whole cloth beneath the roof of Bolt-Pate Inn.

We have a New York paper here, he went on, but as yet there seems to be no news of your sad disappearance. wouldn't it be the limit if they didn't fall for it queried the older woman fall for it repeated professor bolton not questioningly but with the air of a scientist about to add a new and rare specimen to his alcohol jar she means if they didn't accept my disappearance as legitimate news explained the girl that would be very disappointing but surely there was no harm in making the experiment there are clever lot those newspaper guys sneered mr bland in their own opinion but when you come right down to it every one of em has a nice little collection of gold bricks in his closet i guess you've got them going i hope so thank you smiled the girl you are very kind you are here i understand because of an unfortunate affair of the heart mr bland smoothed back his black oily hair from his forehead and smirked oh now he protested arabella put in mr mcgee was her name the beauties of history and mythology hobbled into oblivion at sight of her i'm quick to forget insisted mr bland that does you no credit i'm sure replied the girl severely. And now, Mama, I think we had better select our rooms. She paused, for Elijah Quimby had come in through the dining-room door and stood gazing at the group before the fire,

his face reflecting what Mr. McGee, the novelist, would not have hesitated a moment in terming mingled emotions. Well, drolled Mr. Quimby, he showed into the room. Mr. McGee, he said, that letter from Mr. Bentley asked me to let you stay at Bowman. paid in there wasn't anything in it about your bringing parties of friends along these are not friends i've brought along explained mcgee there's simply some more amateur hermits who have strolled in from time to time all have their individual latch keys to the hermitage and all i believe have credentials for you to examine mr quimby stared in angry wonder is the world crazy he demanded any one would think it was july the way people at the inn's closed i tell you it ain't running professor bolton rose from his chair so you are quimby he said in a soothing tone i'm glad to meet you at last my old friend john bentley has spoken of you so often i have a letter from him he drew the caretaker to one side and took an envelope from his pocket the two conversed in low tones quickly the girl in the corduroy suit leaned toward mr mcgee she whispered and her tone was troubled stand by me i'm afraid i'll need your help what's the matter inquired mcgee i haven't much of any right here i guess but i had to come but your key i fear my-my press agent stole it

a scornful remark as to the antiquated methods of that mythical publicity promoter rose to mr mcgee's lips but before he spoke he looked into her eyes and the remark was never made for in their wonderful depths he saw worry and fear and unhappiness and he had seen them there amid tears in the station never mind he said very gently i'll see you through quimby was standing over mr bland how about you he asked call up andy rutter and ask about me replied bland in the tone of one who prefers war to peace i work for mr bentley said quimby rutter hasn't any authority here he isn't to be manager next season i understand however the professor wants me to let you stay he says he'll be responsible mr bland looked in open-mouthed astonishment at the unexpected sponsor he had found and you went on quimby to the women why began miss norton absolutely all right said mr mcgee they come from how bentley like myself he's put them in my care i'll answer for their he saw the girl's eyes they spoke her thanks mr quimby shook his head as one in a dream all this is beyond me way beyond he ruminated nothing like it ever happened before that i've heard of i'm going to write all about it to mr bentley and i suppose i got to let you stay till i hear from him i think he ought to come up here if he can the more the merrier said mr mcgee reflecting cheerfully that the Bentley's were in Florida at last accounts.

"'Come, Mama,' said Miss Norton, rising, "'let's go up and pick out a suite. "'There's one I used to have a few years ago. "'You can see the Hermit's shack from the windows. "'By the way, Mr. McGee, will you send Mr. Peters up to us? "'He may be able to help us get settled.' "'Ahem,' muttered Mr. McGee, "'I—I'll have a talk with Peters.

"'To be quite frank, I anticipate trouble. "'You see, the husband's—' hermit of bold-pate doesn't approve of women don't approve of women cried mrs norton her green eyes flashing why not i'd like to know my dear madam responded mr mcgee only echo answers and it but vacuously repeats why not that however is the situation mr peter's loathes the sex i imagine that until to-day he was not particularly happy in the examples of it he encountered why he has even gone so far as to undertake a book attributing all the trouble of the world to woman the idiot cried mrs norton delicious love the girl i shall ask peters to serve you said mcgee i shall appeal to his gallant side but i must proceed gently this is his his first day as our cook, and you know how necessary a good first impression is with a new cook.

I'll appeal to his better nature. Don't do it, cried the girl. Don't emphasize us to him in any way, or he may exercise his writer's cook, and leave. Just ignore us. We'll play at being our own bell-boys. Ignore you? cried Mr. McGee. What Herculean tasks you set!

I'm not equal to that one. He picked up their travelling bags And led the way upstairs I'm something of a bellboy myself When roused he said The girl selected sweet seventeen At the farther end of the corridor From McGee's apartments

It's the very one I used to have years and years ago At least two or three years ago She said Isn't it stupid All the furniture in a heap And cold said Mrs Norton My land I wish I was back by my own own fire i'll make you regret your words mrs norton cried mcgee he threw up the windows pulled off his coat and set to work on the furniture the girl bustled about lightening his work by her smile mrs norton managed to get consistently in the way

when he had the furniture distributed he procured logs and tried his hand at a fire then he stood his black hair dishevelled his hand soiled but his heart very gay before the girl of the station. I hope you don't expect a tip, she said, laughing. I do, he said, coming closer, and speaking in a voice that was not for the ear of the chaperone. I want a tip on this. Do you really act? She looked at him steadily. Once, she said, when I was 16,

I appeared in an amateur play at school. It was my first and last appearance on the stage. Thanks, lady, remarked. Mr. McGee in imitation of the bell-boy he was supposed to be. He sought number seven. There he made himself again presentable, after which he descended to the office. Mr. Bland sat reading the New York paper before the fire. From the little card room and the parlour, the two rooms to the right and left of the hotel's front door, Quimby had brought forth extra chairs. He stood now by the large chair that held Professor Bolton, engaged in conversation with that gentleman.

yes he was saying i lived three years in rutan and five years in new york it took me eight years eight years to realize the truth i heard about it from john bentley the professor said gently he's been pretty kind to me mr bentley has replied quimby when the money was all gone he offered me this job once the quimby's owned most of the land around boldpake mountain it all went in those eight years to think that it took all those years for me to find it out. If I'm not impertinent, Quimby, put in McGee, to find what out? That's what I wanted, the railroad men didn't want, replied Quimby bitterly, and that was the safety of the public. You see, I invented a new rail joint, one that was a great improvement on the old kind. I had sort of an idea when I was doing it, an idea of.

service to the world, you know. God, what a joke. I sold all the Quimby lands and went to Routon, and then to New York to place it. Not one of the railroad men but admitted that it was an improvement, and a big one, and not one but fought like mad to keep me from getting it down where the public would see it. They didn't want the expense of a change. Mr. Quimby looked out at the sunlit stretch of snow. Eight years, he repeated. I fought and pleaded. No, I begged. That was the word. I begged. You'll be surprised to know the names of some of the men who kept me waiting in their private offices and sneered at me over their polished desks. They turned me down, every one. Some of them played me as though I'd been a fish. They referred me to other ends of the same big game, laughing in their

sleeves, I guess, at the knowledge of how hopeless it was. Oh, they made a fine fool of me. You might have put down some of your joints at your own expense, suggested the professor. Didn't I try? cried Quimby. Do you think they'd let me? No, the public might see them, and demand them everywhere. Once I thought I had convinced somebody. It was down in Rooton, the suburban railway. There was a rustle as Mr. Bland, let his paper fall to the floor. Old Henry Thornhill was president of the road. He is yet, I guess,

but young Hayden and a fellow named David Kendrick were running it. Kendrick was on my side. He almost had Hayden. They were going to let me lay a stretch of track with my joints. Then something happened. Maybe you remember. Kendrick disappeared in the night. He's never been seen since.

I do remember. said the professor softly. Hayden turned me down, went on Quimby. The money was all gone, so I came back to Upper Asgawan, caretaker of an inn that overlooks the property my father owned. The property I squandered for a chance to save human lives. It's all like a dream now, those eight years, and it nearly drives me mad sometimes to think that it took me eight years, eight years, to find it out. I'll just straighten the three. things around a bit he moved away and the men sat in silence for a time then the professor spoke very gently poor devil to have had his dream of service and then grow old

on bold paint the two joined mr bland by the fire mr magee had put from his mind all intention of work the maze of events through which he wandered held him bewildered and enthralled he looked at the Haberdasher and the university scholar and asked himself if they were real or if he was still asleep in a room on a side street in New York waiting for the cheery coming of Geoffrey he asked himself still more perplexedly if the creature that came toward him now through the dining room door was real the hairy hermit of bold paint like a figure out of some old print his market basket on his arm again his coat buttoned to the chin. Well, everything's ship-shape in the kitchen, announced the hermit, cheerfully. I couldn't go without seeing to that. I wish you the best of luck, gentlemen, and good-bye. Goodbye, cried the professor. By the gods, he's leaving us, almost wept Mr. Bland. It can't be, said Mr. McGee. It has to be, said the hermit of Bald Pate, solemnly shaking his

head. I'd like to stay with you, and I would have, if they hadn't come, but they are here, and when women come in the door, I fly out of the window, as the saying goes. But Peters, pleaded McGee, you're not going to leave us in the hole like this. Sorry, replied Peters, I can please men, but I can't please women. I tried to please one once, but let the dead pass bury its dead. I live on bold paint in a shack. I live on bold paint in a shack to escape the sex, and it wouldn't be consistent for me to stay here now. I got to go. I hate to, like a dog, but I got to. Peter's, said Mr. McGee, I'm surprised. After giving your word to stay, and who knows,

you may be able to gather valuable data for your book. Stick around. These women won't bother you. I'll make them promise never to ask about the love affair you didn't have. Never even to come near you and we'll pay you beyond the dreams of avarice of a Broadway chef won't we gentlemen the others nodded mr Peters visibly weakened well he began i his eyes were on the stair mr megee also looked in that direction and saw the girl of the station smiling down she no longer wore coat and hat and the absence of the latter revealed a glory of golden hair that became instantly arrival to the sunshine in that drear, bare room. No, Peters, she said, you mustn't go.

We couldn't permit it. Mama and I will go. She continued to smile at the obviously dazzled Peters. Suddenly, he spoke in a determined tone. No, don't do that. I'll stay. Then he turned to McGee, and continued for that gentleman's ear alone. Doggone it, we're all alike.

We resolve and resolve, and then we'll... one of them looks at us and it's all forgot. I had a friend who advertised for a wife, Liseways, he was a friend until he advertised. He got 92 replies, 70 of them from married men advising against the step. I'm cured, he says to me, not for me. Did he keep his word?

No, a week after, he married a widow just to see if what the 70 said was true. I'm mortal. I hang around the buzz saw, if you give me a little money i'll go down to the village and buy the provisions for lunch gleefully mr mcgee started the hermit on his way and then went over to where the girl stood at the foot of the stairs i promised him he told her you'd ask no questions regarding his broken heart it seems he hasn't any that's horrid of him isn't it she smiled every good hermit is equipped with a broken heart i certainly shan't bother him i came down to get some water they went together to the kitchen found a pail and filled it with icy water from the pump at the rear of the inn inside once more mr mcgee remarked thoughtfully who would have guessed a week ago that to-day i would be climbing the broad staircase of a summer hotel carrying a pail of water for a lady fair they paused on the landing

there are more things in heaven and earth horatio smiled the girl than are dreamed of even my novelists mr mcgee started had she recognized him as the mcgee of like fiction it seemed hardly likely they read his books but they rarely remembered his name her face went suddenly grave she came closer i can't help wondering she said which side you were on which side of what asked mcgee why of this she answered waving her hand toward the office below i don't understand objected mr mcgee let's not be silly she replied you know what brought me here i know what brought you there are three sides and only one is honest i hope so very much that you are on that side upon my word began mcgee will it interest you to know she continued i saw the big mare of rudy will it interest you to know she continued i saw the big mare of ruton in the village this morning with him was his shadow lou max let's see you have the first key mr bland the second the professor the third and i had the fourth the mayor has the fifth key of course he'll be here soon the mare gasped mr mcgee really i haven't the slightest idea what you mean i'm here to work very well said the girl coldly if you wish it that way they came to the door of seventeen and she took the pail from mr mcgee's hands thanks where are you going my pretty maid asked mcgee indicating the pail i'll see you at luncheon sir she said responded miss norton and the door of seventeen slammed shut mr mcgee returned to number seven and thoughtfully stirred the fire the tangle of events and the tangle of events

bade fair to swamp him the mayor of rutan he mused as the fifth key what in the name of common sense is going on is too much even for melodramatic me he leaned back in his chair anyhow i like her eyes he said and i shouldn't want to be quoted as disapproving of her hair either i'm on her side whichever it may be end of chapter five Chapter 6 of Seven Keys to Balpaid. This is a Libre Box recording. All Libre Box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Gabby Cowen. Seven Keys to Ball Paid by Earl There Biggers. Chapter 6.

Ghosts of the Summer Crowd I wonder, Miss Norton smiled. up into Mr. McGee's face. If you ever watch the people at a summer hotel get set on their mark for the spring through the dining room door? No, answered McGee. But I have visited the zoo at mealtime. They tell me it is much the same.

A brutal comparison, said the girl. But just the same. I'm sure that the head waiter who opens the door here at Ballpate must feel much the same at the moment as the keeper who proffers the room meat on the end of the pitchfork. He faces such a wild determined mob. The front rank is made up of hard-faced women worn out by veranda gossip. Usually some stiff, old dowager crosses the tape first. I was thinking that perhaps we resemble that crowd in the eyes of Mr. Peters now.

it was past one o'clock and mr maggie with his four mysterious companions stood before the fire in the office each with an eager eye out for the progress of the hermit who was preparing the table beside them through the kindness of quimby the board was resplendent with snowing linen we may seem over eager commenter professor bolton i have no doubt we do it is a is only natural, with nothing to look forward but to the next meal, the human animal attaches a preposterous importance to his feeding. We are in the same case as the summer guests. Are we? Interrupted Mr. McGee. Have we nothing but the next meal to look forward to? I think not. I haven't. I've come to value too highly the capacity for excitement of Boulbate Inn in December. i look forward to startling things i expect before the day is out at least two gold-laced kings an exiled poet and a lord major all armed with keys to bald paid in and stories strange and unconvincing your adventures of the last twenty-four hours remarked the professors smiling wanly have led you to expect too much i have made inquires of queenby

there are aside from his own but seven keys in all the various doors of baldey inn four are here represented it is hardly likely that the other tree will send delegates and if they should you have but a slim chance for kings and poets even baldpade's capacity for excitement you see is limited by the number of little steel keys which open its portals to exiles from the outside world i am reminded of the words of the philosopher well peter's whole top broke in mr bland in robast tones isn't she nearly of the fire now see here said the hermit setting down the arful of dishes with which he had entered the office i can't be hurried i'm all upset as it is i can't cook to please women i don't pretend to i have to take all sorts of precautions with this lunch without meaning to be impolite but just because of a passion for cold facts i may say that women are fault-finding i am sure said miss norton sweetly that i shall consider your luncheon perfect they get more fool-finding as they get older replied mr peters ungallantly glancing at the other woman mrs norton glared meaning me i suppose she rasped well don't worry i ain't going to find anything wrong i ain't asking the impossible responded mr peters i ain't asking you not to find anything wrong i ain't asking you not to find anything wrong i ain't asking you not to find anything wrong I'm just asking you not to mention it when you do.

He retired to the kitchen. Mrs. Norton caressed her puffs lovingly. What that man needs, she said, is a woman's guiding hand. He's lived alone too long. I'd like to have charge of him for a while. Not that I wouldn't be kind, but I'd be firm. If poor Norton was alive today, he testified that I was always kindness itself. but i insisted on his living up to his promises when i was a girl i was mighty popular i had a lot of admirers no one could possibly doubt that mr maggie assured her

then norton came along she went on rewarding maggie with a smile and said he wanted to make me happy so i thought i let him try he was splendid man but there is no denying that in the years we were married he sometimes forgot what he started out to do i always brought him up sharp your great desire i told him is to make me happy i'd keep on the job if i was you and he did to the day of his death a perfectly lovely man though careless in money matters if he hadn't had that failing i couldn't be miss norton her cheeks flushed broke in hurriedly mamma this gentleman can't be all that interested deftly she turned the conversation to generalities mr peters at last seated the winter guest at bold paid in and i'm opened his luncheon with a soup which he claimed to have rest from a can. This news drew from Professor Bolton a learned discourse on the thin aides to the hermit of today. He pictured the seeker for solitude setting out for a desert aisle with canned foods for his body and canned music for his soul.

Robinson Crusoe, he said, should be rewritten, with a can opener in the leading role. Mrs. Norton gave the talk a more practical term by bringing up the topic of domain poisoning. While the conversation drifted on, Mr. Maggie pondered in silence the weird mesh in which he had become involved. What did it all mean? What brought these people to bold-paid Christmas week? His eyes sought the great safe bag of the desk and stayed there a long time. in that safe he was sure lady answered to this preposterous riddle when his thoughts came back to the table he found mr bland eye on him narrowly there was a troubled look on the haverdashers lean face that could never be ascribed to the cruelty of arabella the luncheon over miss norton and her mother prepared to ascend to the rooms mr maggie manoeuvre saw as to meet the girl at the foot of the stairs.

When you come back, he whispered softly, and explain things to a poor hermit who is completely at sea. What things, she asked, what it all means, he whispered, why you wept in the station, what you invented the story of the actress, what you came here to brighten my draft exile. What this whole comedy of Pulpate Ind amounts to, anyhow? I assured you, I am as innocent,

of understanding it, as is the sart of Russia of his golden throne. She only looked at him with unbelieving eyes. You can hardly expect me to credit that, she said. I must go up now and read Mama into the pleasant land of thin, girlish figures that is her afternoon siesta. I may come back and talk to you after a while, but I don't promise to explain. Come back, pleaded Mr. McGee, that is all i ask a tiny boon she smiled i granted she followed the generous figure of the other woman up the stairs and casting back a dazzling smile for the landing disappeared

mr maggie turned to find professor bolton discoursing to mr blant on some aspects of the pagan renaissance mr blan's face was pain that's great stuff professor he said and usually i'd like it but just now i don't seem in the mood somehow could you mind saving it for me till later certainly sighed the professor mr blount slouched into the depths of his chair professor bolton turned his disappointed face ceiling ward laughing mr maggie saw the solitude of number seven after all i'm here to work he told himself alarms and excursions and blue eyes must not turn me from my task let's see what was my task a deep heart searching novel a novel devoid of rabid melodrama it becomes more difficult every minute here at ballpade inn but that should only add more zest to the struggle i devote the next two hours to thought he pulled his chair up before the blazing heart and gazed into the red depths but his thoughts refused to turn to the masterpiece that was to be borne on they roamed to far off broadway they strolled with helen falkner the girl he meant to marry if he ever got around to it a long dignified fifth avenue then joyously he trooped to a far more allureen more more human girl who pressed a bit of cambric to her face in a railway station while a ginger-haired agent peeped through the bars

how ridiculously small that bit of cambric had been to hide so much beauty soon mr maggie's thoughts were climbing valpate mountain there to wander in a mystic maze of ghostly figures which appeared from the shadows holding aloft in triumph gigantic kiss mr meggy had slept but little in the night before the quick december dusk filled number seven when he awoke with the start he remembered that he had asked the girl to come back to the office and berated himself to think that probably she had done so only to find that he was not there hastily straightening his diet and dashing the traces of sleep from his eyes with the eight of cold water, he ran downstairs. The great-bear room was in darkness, save for the faint red of the fire. Before the fireplace sat the girl of the station, her hair gleaming with a new splendor in that light. She looked in mock reprobial at Mr. McGee. For shame, she said, to be late at the Tristan place. A thousand pardons, Mr. McGee replied. I fell asleep and dreamed of the girl who wept in a railway station, and she was so altogether charming, I could not tear myself away.

I fear, she laughed. You are old in the ways of the world. A passion for sleep seems to have seized the hermits. The professor has gone to his room for that purpose, and Mr. Blant, his broken heart for God, slumbers over there. She pointed to the haberdasher inert in a big chair drawn up near the clerk's desk. Only you and I in all the world awake. Pretty lonesome, isn't it? Mr. Maggie glanced over his shoulder at the shadows that crept in on them.

I was finding it very busy when you came, she answered. You see, I have known the inn when it was gay with summer people, and as I sat here by the fire, I pretended. I saw the ghost of a lot of the people I knew fleeting about in the dusk. The rocking chair fleet sailed by. The what? Black flag flying. Decks clear for action.

I saw the rocking chair fleet go by. She smiled faintly. We always call them that, Peter, unkind old women who sat hour after hour on the veranda. And rocked and gossiped and rocked and gossiped and rocked. all the old women in the world seemed to gather at summer hotels and oh the cruel mouths the fleet had just thin lines of mouths i used to look at them and wonder if anyone had ever kissed them the girl's eyes were very large and tender in the firelight and i saw some poor little ghost whipping in a corner she went on a few that the fleet had run down and sunk in the of gossip a little ghost whose mother had not been all she should have been and the fleet found it out and rocked and whispered and she went away and a few who were poor the most terrible of sins to them the fleet showed no mercy and a fine proud girl

mire thornhill who was engaged to a man named kendrick and who never dared to come here again after kendrick suddenly disappeared because of the whisper dishonours the fleet heaped upon his head what wicked women said maggie the wickedest women in the world answered the girl but every summer resort must have its fleet i doubt if any other ever had its admiral though And that makes bold-paid supreme. It's admiral? Yes. He isn't really that. Agy Mayan. Sort of a vice or an assistant.

Or whatever it is. Long ago retired from the Navy. Every summer he comes here and the place revolves about him. It's also funny. I wonder if any other crowd attained such heights of snovishness as that at the summer resort? it's the admiral dizz and the admiral dad from the moment he enters the door nearly every day the manager of vault paid has a new picture of the admiral taken and hangs it here in the hotel i'll show them to you when it's light there is one over there by the desk of the admiral and the manager together and the manager has thrown his arm carelessly over the admiral's shoulder with see how well i know

him written all over his stupid face. Oh, what snuffs they are. And the fleet, asked Mr. McGee, war-ships him. They fish all day for a smile from him. They keep track of his goings and comings, and when he is in the card room playing his silly old game of solitary, they run down their victims in softy tones, so as not to disturb him. What an interesting place! said Mr. McGee. I must visit Paul paid next summer. Shall, shall you be here? It is so amusing, she smiled, ignoring the question.

You'll enjoy it. And it is an old fleet and admiral. There's happiness and romance and whispering on the stairs at night, when the lights are all blazing and the band is playing waltzes in the casino, and somebody is given a dinner in the grill room, and the girls fleet about in the shadows looking too sweet for words. Well, ball-pading is a rather entrancing spot. I remember those nights very often now.

Mr. Maggie leaned closer, the flicker of the firelight on her delicate face. He decided was an excellent effect. I can well believe you do remember them, he said, and it is no effort at all to me to picture. you as one of those who flitted through the shadows, to sweet for words. I can see you harrowing of whispering scenes on the stair. I can see you walking with a dazzled happy man on the mountain in the moonlight. Many men have loved you.

Are you reading my palm? she asked, laughing. No. Your face, answered Mr. McGee. Many men have loved you, for very few men are blind. I am sorry. I was not a man on the stair or on the mountain in the moonlight. Who knows, I might have been the favored one for my single summer of joy. The autumn always came, smiled the girl. It would never have come for me, he answered.

When you believe me when I say that I have no part in this strange drama that is going on at ball-paid? When you credit it when I say that I have no idea why you and the professor and Mr. Blant are here, nor why the Major of Rutan has the fifth key, when you tell me all what it all means? I mustn't, she replied, shaking her head. I can't trust no one, not even you. I mustn't believe that you don't know. It's preposterous. I must say over and over. Even he is simply. Would you pardon me? Flirting, trying to learn what he can learn. I must.

You can't even tell me why you wept in the station? For a simple silly reason, I was afraid. I had taken up a task too big for me by far, taken it off bravely when I was out in the sunlight of Rutan. But when I saw Upper as Kwan falls, and the dark came, and that dingy station, swallowed me up. Something gave way inside me, and I felt I was going to fail.

So I cried, a woman's way. If I were only permitted to help, Mr. Maggie pleaded. No, I must go forward alone. I can't trust no one. Now, perhaps things will change. I hope they will. Listen, said Mr. McGee, I am telling you the truth. perhaps you read a novel called the lost limousine he was resolved to claim its authorship tell her of his real purpose in coming to boltpate and urge her to confiding him regarding the odd happenings at the inn

yes said the girl before he could continue i did read it and it hurt me it was so terribly insincere the man had telling who wrote it but he seemed to say it all a great big Joe? I don't believe in these people myself. I've just created them to make them dance for you. Don't be fooled. It's only a novel. I don't like that sort of thing. I want a writer, really, to mean all he says from the bottom of his heart. Mr. McGee bit his lip. His determination to claim the authorship of The Lost Limousine was quite gone. I want him to make me feel with his people. The girl went on seriously. Perhaps I can explain by telling you of something that happened to me once.

It was while I was at college. There was a blind girl in my class, and one night I went to call on her. I met her in the corridor of her dormitory. Somebody had just brought her back from an evening lecture and left her there. She unlocked her door. and we went in it was pitch dark in the room the first thing i thought of was of light but she-she just sat down and began to talk she had forgot to light the gas the girl paused her eyes very wide and it seemed to mr maggie that she shivered slightly can you imagine it she asked she chatted on quite cheerfully as i remember it and i-i stumbled round and fell into a chair cold and trembling and sick with an awful horror of blindness for the first time in my life

i thought i had imagined before what it was to be blind just by shutting my eyes for a second but as i sat there in the blackness and listened to that girl chatter and realized that it had never occurred to her to light a lamp then for the first time i knew i knew again she stopped and mr maggie looking at her felt what he had never experienced before a thrill at a woman's near presence that's what i ask of a writer she said that he make me feel for his people as i felt for that girl that night am i asking too much it need not to be for one who is enmeshed in tragedy it may be for one whose heart is as glad as a may morning but he must make me feel and he can do that if he doesn't feel himself can he william hallowell magee actually hung his head he can't he confessed softly you're quite right i like you immensely more than i can say and even if you feel you can't trust me i want you to know that i'm on your side in whatever happens at ball paid in you have only to ask and i am your ally thank you she answered i may be very glad to ask i shall be very glad to ask i shall be very glad to ask i shall be very glad to ask i shall be very much remember she rose and moved toward the stairs we had better disperse now the rocking-chair fleet will get us if we don't watch out her small slipper was on the first step of the stair when they heard a door slam shot and the sound of steps on the bare floor of the dining-room then a husky voice called bland mr maggie felt his hand grasped by a much smaller one and before he knew it he had been hurried to the shadows of the landing the fifth key whispered a scared little voice in his ear

and then he felt the faint brushing of finger-tips across his lips a math desired seized him to grasp those fingers and hold them on the lips they had scarcely touched but the impulse was lost in the thrill of seeing the dining-room thrown open and a great bulk of a man crossed the floor of the office and stand beside bland's chair at his side was a thin wave who had not unjustly been termed the measure the measure year of rutan's shadow asleep below the big man how's this for a watch-dog lou right on the job ain't he sneered the thin one mr blount started suddenly from slumber and looked up into the eyes of the newcomers hello cargan he said hello lou for the love of heaven don't shout so the place is full of them full of what asked the major of spotters, maybe, I don't know what they are. There is an old high brow and a fresh young guy and two women. People, gasped the mayor, people here? Sure.

You're asleep, bland? No, I am not, Kargan, cried the haverdasher. Look around for yourself. The inns overrun with them. Kargan leaned weakly against the chair. Well, what do you know about that? he said and they kept telling me ball paid in was the best place say this is one of andy rupert why didn't you get it out and beat it how could i mr blant asked i haven't gotten the combination the safe was left open for me that was the agreement with rudder you might have phoned us not to come remarked lou with an uneasy glance around mr cargan hid the mantelpiece with his huge fist

by heaven no he cried i'll lift it from under their very noses i've done it before i can do it now i don't care who they are they can't touch me they can't touch jim cargan i ain't afraid mr mcgee on the landing whispered into his companion's ear i think i'll go down and greet our guests he felt her grasp his arm suddenly as though in fear but he shook up her hand and the bone earlys ascended to the group below. Good evening, gentlemen, he said suavely. Welcome to Bald Pate. Please don't attempt to explain. We're fed up on explanations now. You have the fifth key, of course.

Welcome to our small but growing circle. The big man advanced threateningly. Mr. McGee saw that his face was very red, his neck very thick, but his mouth, a cute little cupid's ball. that might well have adorned a dainty baby in the park who are you below the major of rutan in a tone meant to be cowering i forget replied mr maggie easily bland who am i to-day the cast-off lover of arabella the fleeing artist or the thief of portraits from a new york millionaire's home really it doesn't matter we shift our stories from time to time as the first of the bald-paid hermits however it is my duty to welcome you which i hereby do the major pointed dramatically to the stair i'll give you fifteen minutes he wrote to pack up and get out i don't want you here understand to cargan's side came the slinking figure of lu max his face was the withered yellow of an old lemon his scarf suggested shop windows on dirty side street

its unpleasant eyes shifted behind a pair of cold-rimmed glasses his attitude was that of the dog who crouches by its master clear out he snarled by no means replied maggie looking the major squarely in the eye i was here first i'm here to stay put me out will you well perhaps after a fight but i'd be back in an hour and with me whatever police operaske and false owns to he saw that the opposing force waved dirt at this i want no trouble gentlemen he went on believe me i shall be happy to have your company to dinner your command that i withdraw is ill-timed not to say ill-natured and impolite let us all forget it the major of ruton turned away and his dog slid into the shadows have i your promise to stay to dinner went on magee no answer came from the trio in the dusk silence gives consent he added gaily you must excuse me while i dress bland will you inform mr peters that we are to have company to dinner handle him gently emphasize the fact that our guests are men he ran up the stairs at the top of the second flight he met the girl and her eyes he thought shone in the dark oh i'm so glad she whispered glad of what asked mr maggie that you are not on their side she answered mr maggie paused at the door of number seven i should say not he remarked whatever it's all about i should say not put on your prettiest gown my lady i have invited the major to dinner end of chapter six recording by gavikawain

chapter seven of seven keys to baldpate this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org seven keys to baldpate Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 7. The mayor begins a vigil. One summer evening, in dim-dead days gone by, an inexperienced headwaiter at Bald Pade Inn had attempted to seat Mrs. J. Sanderson Clark of Pittsburgh at the same table with the unassuming Smiths of Tiffin, Ohio. The remarks of Mrs. Clark, who was at the time busily engaged in trying to found a first family, lingered long in the memory of those who heard them, so long, in fact, that Miss Norton, standing with Mr. McGee at the hotel office, awaiting the signal from Peters that dinner was ready,

could repeat them almost verbatim. Mr. McGee cast a humorous look about. Lucky the manners and customs of the summer folks aren't carried over into the winter, he said, imagine a Mrs. Clark asked to sit at table with the mayor of Routon and his picturesque but somewhat soiled friend Mr. Max. I hope the dinner is a huge success. The girl laughed.

The natural nervousness of a host, she remarked. Don't worry, the hermit and his tins won't fail you. It is not the culinary end that worries me, smiled McGee. It is the repartee and wit. I want the mayor to feel at home. Do you know any good stories ascribed to Congressman Jones of the Ascoon District? together they strolled to a window. The snow had begun to fall again, and the lights of the

little hamlet below showed but dimly through the white blur. "'I want you to know,' said the girl, "'that I trust you now, and when the time comes, as it will soon, tonight, I'm going to ask you to help me. I may ask a rather big thing, and ask you to do it blindly, just trusting in me as I refuse to trust in you.' She stopped and looked very seriously into Mr. McGee's face. I'm mighty glad, he answered in a low tone. From the moment I saw you weeping in the station, I've wanted to be of help to you. The station agent advised me not to interfere. He said to become involved with a weeping woman meant trouble. The fool, as though any trouble. He was right, put in the girl. It probably will mean trouble. As though any storm, finished Mr. McGee,

would not be worth the rainbow of your smile at the end. A very fancy figure, laughed she, but storms aren't nice. There are a few of us, replied McGee, who can be merry through the worst of them because of the rainbow to come. For answer, she flattened her finely mottled nose into shapelessness against the cold pain. Back of them in the candle-lighted room, the motley crew of Bald Pate's winter guests stood about in various attitudes. of waiting. In front of the fire, the holder of the chair of comparative literature quoted poetry

to Mrs. Norton, and probably it never occurred to the old man that the woman to whom he talked was that nightmare of his life, a peroxide blonde. Ten feet away in the flickering half-light, the immense bulk of the mayor of Rutan reposed on the arm of a leather couch, and before him stood his lithe unpleasant companion, Lou Max, side by side, side with Mr. Bland, whose talk of haberdashery was forever stilled. The candles sputtered, the storm angrily rattled the windows. Mr. Peters flitted like a hairy wraith about the table, so the strange game that was being played at Bald Pate Inn followed the example of good digestion and waited on appetite. What Mr. McGee flippantly termed his dinner party was seated at last,

and there began a meal destined to linger long in the memories of those who partook of it. Puzzled beyond words, the host took stock of his guests. Opposite him, at the foot of the table, he could see the lined, tired face of Mrs. Norton, dazed, uncomprehending, a little frightened. At his right, the great red acreage of Cargan's face held defiance and some amusement. Beside it, sneered the cruel face of Max. Beyond that, Mr. Blan's countenance told a story of worry and impotent anger, and on Mr. McGee's left sat the professor, bearded, spectacled, calm, seemingly undisturbed by this queer flurry of events, beside the fair girl of the station who trusted McGee at last. In the next few moments of silence, Mr. McGee compared her delicate features with the coarse-knowing face of the woman at the table's

foot, and inwardly answered, no. Without the genial compliment of talk, the dinner began. Mr. Peters appeared with another variety of his canned soup, whereupon the silence was broken by the gastronomic endeavors of Mr. Max and the mayor. Mr. McGee was reflecting that conversation must be encouraged when Cargan suddenly spoke. I hope I ain't putting you folks out none, he remarked with obvious sarcasm. "'It ain't my habit to drop in unexpected like this, "'but business—'

"'We're delighted, I'm sure,' said Mr. McGee politely. "'I suppose you want to know why I'm here,' the mayor went on. "'Well,' he hesitated, "'it's like this. "'Dear Mr. Cargan,' McGee broke in, "'spa us, I pray, and spare yourself. "'We have had explanations until we are weary. "'We have decided to drop them all together,

and just to take it for granted that, in the words of the song, we're here because we're here. All right, replied Cargan, evidently relieved. That suits me. I'm tired explaining anyhow. There's a bunch of reformers rose up lately in Rutan. Maybe you've heard about them. A lovely bunch. A white necktie and a half portion of brains apiece.

They say they're going to do for me at the next election. Mr. Max laughed harshly. from the vicinity of his soup. They wrote the first joke-book, them people, he said. Well, went on Kargan, there ain't nobody so insignificant and piffling that people won't listen to him when they attack a man in public life.

So I've had to reply to this comic opera bunch, and as I say, I'm about war out explaining. I've had to explain that I never stole the town I used to live in in Indiana, and that I didn't stick up my father with a knife. It gets monotonous. So I'm much obliged to you for passing the explanations up. We won't bother you long, me and Lou. I've got a little business here, and then we'll mosey along. We'll clear out about nine o'clock. "'No,' protested McGee. "'So soon. "'We must make it pleasant for you while you stay.

"'I always hate hosts who talk about their servants. "'I have a friend who bores me to death "'because he has a Jap butler he believes was at Mukden. "'But I think I am justified in calling your attention to ours. "'Mr. Peters, the hermit of Bald Pate Mountain. "'Cooking is merely his avocation. "'He is writing a book.' "'That guy,' remarked Kargan, incredulous.

"'What do you know about that?' asked Mr. Bland. "'It certainly will get a lot of hot advertising if it ever appears. "'It's meant to prove that all the trouble in the world has been caused by woman.' "'The mayor considered. "'He's off. He's nutty, that fellow,' he announced. "'It ain't women that cause all of the trouble.' "'Thank you, Mr. Cargan,' said Miss Norton, smiling. "'Anybody'd know it to look at you, Miss,' replied the mayor,

in his most gallant manner. Then he added hastily, and you, ma'am, with a nod in the other woman's direction. "'I don't know as I got the evidence in my face,' responded Mrs. Norton easily. "'But women don't make no trouble, I know that. I think the man's crazy myself, and I'd tell him so if he wasn't the cook.' She paused, for Peters had entered the room. There was silence while he changed the courses. It's getting, so now you can't say the things to a cook you can to a king, she finished after the hermit had retired. "'Ahem, Mr. Cargan,' put in Professor Bolton,

"'you give it as your opinion that woman is no troublemaker, and I must admit that I agree with your premise in general, although occasionally she may cause a slight annoyance. Undeniably, there is a lot of trouble in the world, to whose efforts do you ascribe it? The mayor ran his thick fingers through his hair. I got you, he said, and I got your answer, too. Who makes the trouble?

Who's made it from the beginning of time? The reformers, Doc, yes, sir. Who was the first reformer? The snake in the Garden of Eden. This hermit guy probably has that affair laid down at woman's door. Not much. Everything was running all right around the garden, and then the snake came along.

It's a 20-to-one shot. He'd just finished a series of articles on The Shame of Eden for a magazine. What do ye mean, he says to the woman, by letting well enough alone. Things are all wrong here. The present administration is running everything into the ground. I can tell you a few things that will open your eyes.

What's that? What you don't know won't hurt you? The old cry, he says. The old cry against such progressives got to fight. he says, "'Wake up, you need a change here. Try this nice red apple, and you'll see things the way I do.' And the woman fell for it.

You know what happened.' "'An original point of view,' said the dazed professor. "'Yes, Doc,' went on Mr. Cargan, evidently on a favorite topic. "'It's the reformers that have caused all the trouble, from that snake down. Things are running smooth, folks all prosperous and satisfied. Then they come along in their gum-shunders. shoes and white neckties, and they knock away at the existing order until the public begins to believe them and gives them a chance to run things. What's the result? The world's in a worse

tangle than ever before. You feel deeply on the subject, Mr. Kargan, remarked McGee. I ought to, the mayor replied. I ain't no writer, but if I was, I'd turn out a book that would drive this whiskered hermit's argument to the wall. Woman, bah, the only way woman make trouble is by falling for the reform gag. Mr. Peters here interrupted with the dessert, and through that course Mr. Cargan elaborated on his theory. He pointed out how, in many states, reform had interrupted the smooth flow of life, set everything a whirl, and cruelly sent the boys, who had always been faithful, out into the cold world seeking the stranger work. While he talked, the eyes of Lou Max looked out at him from behind the incongruous gold-rimmed glasses, with the devotion of the

dog to its master clearly written in them. Mr. McGee had read many articles about this picturesque Kargan, who had fought his way with his fists to the position of practical dictator in the city of Rutin. The story was seldom told, without a mention of his man, Max, Lou Max, who kept the south end of Routin in line for the mayor, and in that low neighborhood of dives and squalor, made Cargins a name to conjure with. Watching him now, Mr. McGee marveled at this cheap creature's evident capacity for loyalty. It was the reformers got Napoleon, the mayor finished. Yes, they sent Napoleon to an island at the end, and him without an equal since the world began. "'Is your—' begging your pardon?

"'Is your history just straight?' "'Dimured Professor Bolton timidly. "'Is it?' frowned Cargan. "'You can bet it is. "'I know Napoleon from the saddle to the grave. "'I ain't an educated man, Doc. "'I can hire all the educated men I want for eighteen dollars a week, "'but I'm up on Bonaparte.'

"'It seems to me,' Miss Norton put in. "'I have heard, did I read it in a paper, that a picture of Napoleon hangs above your desk. They say that you see in your own career a similarity to his. May I ask, is it true? No, miss, replied Kargan. That's a joking story some newspaper guy rode up. It ain't got no more truth in it than most newspaper yarn. No, I ain't no Napoleon. There's lots of differences between us, one in particular. He raised his voice and glared at the company around the table. One in particular. The reformers got Napoleon at the end. But the end is not yet, suggested Mr. McGee, smiling. Mr. Cargan gave him a sudden and interested look.

I ain't worrying, he replied, and don't you, young fellow. Mr. McGee responded that he was not one to indulge in needless worry, and a silence fell upon the group. Peters entered with coffee, and was engaged in pouring it when Mr. Blant started up wildly from the table with an expression of alarm on his face. "'What's that?' he cried. The others looked at him in wonder. "'I heard steps upstairs,' he declared. "'Nonsense,' said Mr. Cargan. "'You're dreaming. This peace and quiet "'has got to you, Bland.' Without replying, Mr. Bland rose and ran up the stair. In his absence, the hermit of Bald Pate, spoke in to McGee's ear. I ain't one to complain, he said.

Living alone as much as I do, I've sort of got out of the habit, having nobody to complain to. But if folks keep coming and coming to this hotel, I've got to resign as cook. Seems as though every few minutes there's a new face at the table, and it's a vital matter to me. Cheer up, Peters, whispered Mr. McGee. There are only two more keys to the inn. there will be a limit to our guests. What I am getting at is, replied Mr. Peters, there's a limit to my endurance. Mr. Bland came downstairs.

His face was very pale as he took his seat, but in reply to Cargan's question, he remarked that he must have been mistaken. It's the wind, I guess, he said. The mayor made facetious comment on Mr. Blan's skittishness, and Mr. Max also indulged in a job. i bore two. These the haberdasher met with a wan smile. So the dinner came to an end, and the guests of Baldpate sat about, while Mr. Peters removed all traces of it from the table. Mr. McGee sought to talk to Miss Norton, but found her nervous and distrait. Has Mr. Bland frightened you, he asked. She shook

her head. I have other things to think of, she replied. Mr. Peters shortly bade the company good-bye for the night, with the warmly expressed hope in Mr. McGee's ear that there would be no further additions to the circle in the near future. When he had started off through the snow for his shack, Mr. Kargan took out his watch. "'You've been pretty kind to us poor wanderers already,' he said. "'I've got one more favor to ask. I come up here to see Mr. Bland. We got some business to transact, and we'd consider it a great kindness if you was to leave us alone here in the office.' mr mcgee hesitated he saw the girl nod her head slightly and moved toward the stairs certainly if you wish he said i hope you won't go without saying good-bye mr cargan that all depends replied the mayor i've enjoyed knowing you one and all good-night the women the professor and mr mcgee moved up the broad stairway on the landing mr mcgee heard the voice of mrs norton somewhere in the darkness ahead i'm worried the professor and mr mcgee moved up the broad stairway on the landing mr mrs norton somewhere in the darkness ahead

i'm worried dearie real worried hush came the girl's voice mr mcgee will meet again soon mr mcgee seized the professor's arm and together they stood in the shadows i don't like the looks of things came blanche hoarse complaint from below what time is it seven-thirty cargan answered a good half-hour yet there was somebody on the second floor when i went up bland I said he continued. I saw him run into one of the rooms and lock the door. I've got charge now, the mayor assured him, don't you worry. There's something doing, this seemed to be Max's voice. There sure is, laughed Kargan. But what do I care? I own young Drayton. I put him where he is. I ain't afraid. Let them gum-shoe round as much as they want to. They can't touch me. Maybe not, said Bland, but Bald-paid

ain't the grand idea it looked at first, is it? It's a hell of an idea, answered Cargan. There wasn't any need of all this folder-all. I told Hayden so. Does that phone ring? No, it'll just flash a light when they want us, Blan told him. Mr. McGee and Professor Bolton continued softly up the stairs, and in answer to the former's invitation,

the old man entered number seven and took a chair by the fire. It is an amazing tangle, he remarked, in which we are involved. I have no idea what your place is in the scheme of things up here, but I assume you grasp what is going on if I do not. I am not so keen of wit as I once was. If you think, answered Mr. McGee, proffering a cigar, that I am in on this little game of who's who, then you are vastly mistaken.

As a matter of fact, I am as much in the dark as you are. The professor smiled. Indeed, he said in a tone that showed his unbelief, indeed. He was deep in discussion of the meters of the poet Chaucer when there came a knock at the door, and Mr. Lou Max's unpleasant head was thrust inside. I've been assigned, he said, to sit up here in the hall and keep an eye out for the ghost-blank heard tramping about,

and being of a sociable nature, I'd like to sit in your doorway if you don't mind. "'By all means,' replied McGee, "'here's a chair. Do you smoke?' "'Thanks.' Mr. Max placed the chair sideways in the doorway of number seven and sat down. From his place he commanded a view of Mr. McGee's apartments

and of the head of the stairs. With his yellow teeth he viciously bit the end of the cigar. "'Don't let me interrupt the conversation, gentlemen,' he pleaded. "'We were speaking,' said the professor calmly, of the versification of Chaucer, Mr. McGee. He continued his discussion in an even voice. Mr. McGee leaned back in his chair and smiled in a pleased way

at the settings of the stage. Mr. Max in a cloud of smoke on guard at his door. The mayor and Mr. Bland, keeping vigil by a telephone switchboard in the office below, watching for a flash of light that should tell them

someone in the outside world wanted to speak to Bald Pade-in. A mysterious figure who flitted about in the dark, a beautiful girl who was going to ask Mr. McGee to do her a service, blindly trusting her. The professor droned on monotonously. Once Mr. McGee interrupted to engage Lou Max in spirited conversation, for through the squares of light outside the windows, he had seen the girl of the station pass hurriedly down the balcony, the snowflakes falling white on her yellow hair. End of Chapter 7.

Chapter 8 of Seven Keys to Bold Paid This is a Libre Box recording. All Libre Box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Gabby Cowen. Seven Keys to Bold Paid by Earl Der Biggers. Chapter 8 Mr. Max tells a tale of suspicion.

An hour passed, Mr. Max admitted, when pressed, that a good cigar suited the soul, and accepted another from Maggie's stock. The professor continued to talk, obviously, it was his favorite diversion. He seemed to be quoting from addresses. Mr. McGee pictured him on a Chautauqua platform, the whitewater pitcher by his side. as he talked mr maggie studied that portion of his delicate scholarly face that the beard left exposed to the world what part had taddeus bolton holder of the crandal chair of comparative literature in this network of odd alarms why was he at baldpade and why was he so little moved by the rapid changes in the makeup of the inn colonel changes that left mr maggie gasping he took them as calmly as he would take his grape-fruit at the breakfast-table only that morning mr maggie by way of experiment had fastened upon him the suspicion of murder and the old man had not flickered an eyelash not the least strange of all the strange figures that floated about boltpate

mr maggie reflected was this man who fiddle now with chaucer while metaphorically roan byrne he could not make it out mr max inserted a loud john into the professor's discourse once i played chess with a german he said and another time i went to a lecture of purifying politics but i never struck anything so monotonous as this job i got now so sorry replied maggie that our company bores you no offense remarked the yellow-faced one i was just thinking as i said here now it all comes of people being suspiciously of one another now i've always held that the world would be a better place if there wasn't no suspicion in it nine times out of ten the suspicion ain't got a leg to stand on if suspicion can be said to have a leg evidently mr max desired the floor graciously professor bolton conceded it to him speaking of suspicion continued the draught little man on the thresholds turning his cigar thoughtfully between his thin lips, reminds me of a case told me by Pueblo Sam a few years ago. In some ways it's real funny and in others it's sad as hell.

Pueblo Sam was cold in them terms because he'd never been west of Sixth Avenue. He was a swell, refined gentleman who lit by his wifts, and he had considerable. A confidence man. suggested Maggie. Something along that order, admitted Mr. Max, but a good sport among his friends. You understand. Well, this case of suspicion Sam tells me about

happened something like this. One scorching hot day in summer, Sam gets aboard the Connie boat, his idea being to put all businesses scarce away from an hour or two and just float calm and peaceful down the bay and cool off so he grabs out a camp-chair and hustles through the crowd up to the top deck beside the pilot's hangout and sits down to get acquainted with the breeze if such there was well he'd be sitting there about ten minutes sam tells me when alone came about the easiest picking that ever got loose from the old homestead i beg your pardon protested professor bolton the ready money the loosened kale the pusses in the garden waiting to be plucked elucidated mr max this guy sam says

was such a perfect roof he just naturally looked past him to see if there was a trail of wisp of hay on the floor for a while sam sits there with a grouch as he thought how hard it was to put business aside and get a little rest now and then, and debating whether being on a vacation as it was, he'd exert himself enough to stretch forth his hand and take whatever money the guy had. While he was arguing the matter with himself, the jays settled the question by coming over and sitting down near him. He's in the city, he tells Sam, to enjoy the moving pictures of the streets, and otherwise forget the trees back home that grow the cherries in the bottom of the cocktail glasses. And believe me, he says to Sam, there ain't none of those confidence men going to get me.

I'm too wise, he says. I'll bet money you are. Sam tells him laughing all over at the fish that was fighting to get into the net. "'Jesirey,' says the last of the Mohicans, "'they can't fool me. "'I can tell them as far away as I can see them, "'and my eyes sets perfect. "'One of them comes up to me in City Hall Park

"'and tries to sell me some mining stock. "'I guess he ain't recovered yet from what I said to him. "'I told you they can't fool Mark Denon,' says the guy. "'Sam told me that at these words, he just leaned back in his seat and stirred at the jay and whistled under his breath. Years ago, it seemed Sam had lived in the town of Reedsboro, Vermont, and run up and down the streets with one suspender and stone bruise, and the kid that had run with him was Mark Denon.

And Sam says he looked at this guy from the woods that was running round crying to high heaven, he needed a guardian. And he sees that sure enough it was a towhead Mark Denon and Sam told me something seemed to bust inside him and he wanted to stretch out his arms and hugged this guy. Mark Denon, shouted Sam, as I live of Redsboro, Vermont. The kid I used to play with under the arc lights, don't you remember me?

But Sam says the guy just looked at him straight in the eye and shot his Joe and says, I suppose you'll be asking after my brother George next. You ain't got any brother George, you idiot, laughs Sam. He told me he was thinking how he'd treat his old friend Mark to a dinner that would go down in history in Rydesporeau. Mark, you old rascal, he says, don't you remember me? don't you remember little Sam Burns that used to play Andy over with you? And that you stole your girl in 1892? Don't you remember the old days in Redsboro?

He was all head up by this time, Sam tells me, and all the old memories came creeping back and he kept thinking he never was so glad to run across anybody in his life. You remember little Sam Burns, don't you? he asks once more. But this guy just looks back into Sam's eye with his own cold as still,

and he says, says he, You're pretty clever, mister. But you don't fool me. No, you don't come any games on Mark Denning. But Mark, says Sam, I swear to you by all that's holy that I'm that kid. I'm Sam Burns.

What proof do you want? Do you remember old Ed Haygood that used to keep the drug store right across from the post office? The guy that never washed his windows. I do. And Miss Hunter that taught the sixth grade school when we went there. A little woman with wash gray eyes and a broken front tooth? And that pretty little girl, Sarah's somebody. Wait a minute, I'll get it.

Or bust. Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah's scum. you used to be so sweet on did you marry her mark and old lave perkins who used to be on hand whenever there was any repairs being made anywhere rheumatism and a cane and a high squeaky voice that he used to exercise giving orders about things that wasn't any of his business why mark i remember them all good lord man says sam do you want any more proof but this country blockhead just looked some up and down and remarks judicious certainly wonderful how you know all these things wonderful but you can't fool me he says you can't fool mark denin mr max paused in his narrative for a moment the sound of voices came up from the office of bald paid in one that of the mayor boomed loudly and angrily, in an evident desire to drown it. Mr. Max went on with spirit.

Well, gentlemen, it got to be a point of honor, as you might say, for Sam to convince that guy. He told me he never wanted anything so much in his life as for Mark Denon to give in. It was a hot afternoon, and he'd come aboard that boat for a rest, but he peeled off. of his collar and started in. He gave Mark Denon the number of bricks in the Methodist Church, as reported in the Ridsboro Citizen at the time it was built. He told him the name of the piece Mark's sister resided at the school entertainment in the spring of 1890.

He bounded on all four sides the lot where the circuses played when they came to Ritzborough. He named every citizen of the town, living or dead, that ever got to be known outside his own family. And he brought children into the world and married them and read the funeral service over them. And still that bonehead from the woods sat there, his mouth opened and says, It is beyond me how you know all that. You knew your girls are sleeker. then I give you credit for But you can't fool me

You ain't Sam Burns Why I went to school with him They was drawing near Connie now Went on Mr. Max And Sam's face was purple And he was dripping with perspiration And rattling of Ritzboro happenings

At the rate of ten a second But that Mark Tenen He sat there and wouldn't bouch from his high horse. So they came off to the pier. Sam almost weeping real tears and pleading like his heart would break. Mark, don't you remember that time we threw little Bill Barnaby into the swimming hole and he couldn't swim a stroke and nearly drowned on us and still getting the stony face

from his old pal. And on the pier this denin held out his hand to Sam, who was a physical wreck, and a broken man by this time, and says, You sure are cute, mister. I'll have a great time telling this in Ritzboro. Once you made one too smart for J.A.? Much a blush for your company, anyhow. And he went away and left Sam leaning against the railing

with no faith in human nature, no more. I hope somebody got to him, says Sam to me, and got to him good, he's the kind that if you work right you can sell stock in a company for starting roof gardens on the tops of pyramids in egypt i trimmed him myself says sam to me but i had in the heart mr max finished and again from below came the sound of voices raised in anger an interesting story mr max commented professor bolton i shall treasure it told with a remarkable feeling for detail added mr maggie in fact it seems to me that only one of the two participants in it could remember all the fine points so well mr max you don't exactly look like mark denning to me therefore if you will pardon the liberty i get you replied max sadly the same old story suspicion suspicion suspicion everywhere it does a lot of harm believe me i couldn't he jumped from his chair and disappeared for the voice of gargan had hailed him from below

mr maggie and the professor with one accord followed hiding in the friendly shadows of the landing once again they heard the loud tones of the major's booming voice and the softer tones of glands how about this bellowed the mayor haydn's squealed fawns too bland not to me whines about the courts i don't know what wrought he's a squealed he didn't found the combination de rat screamed mr max by the lord harry said the mayor i'll have it open anyhow i've earned what is in there fair and i've earned it i'm going to have it max see here cargan put in mr bland keep out of the way you cried cargan and put away that pop-gun before you get hurt i'm going to have what's mine by justice that safe comes open to-night max get your satchel mr maggie and the professor turned and ascended to the second floor in front of number seven they paused and looked into each other's eyes professor bolton shrugged his shoulders. I'm going to bed, he said, and I advise you to do the same. Yes, replied Mr. McGee, but I had no idea what he has said.

As for the old man's advice, he had no intention of taking it, mellow drama, the thing he had come to Bald Padeen to forget forever. Raged through that home of solitude. Men spoke of guns and swore, and threatened. what was it all about and what part could he play in it all he entered number seven and paused in amazement outside one of his windows miss norton stood wrapping on the glass for him to open when he stood facing her at last the window no longer between he saw that her face was very pale and that her chin trembled as it had in the station what is it cried maggie i mustn't come in she answered listen you said you wanted to help me you can do so now i'll explain everything later this is all i need tell you just at present downstairs in the safe there is a package containing two hundred thousand dollars do you hear two hundred thousand i must have that package don't ask me why i came here to get it

I must have it. The combination was to have been phoned to Cargan at eight o'clock. I was hiding outside the window. Something went wrong. They didn't phone it. He's going to open the safe by force. I heard him say so. I couldn't wait to hear more.

I saw him. Who? Asked Mr. McGee. I don't know. A tall black figure hiding outside a window, like myself. The man with one of the other. I suppose. The man Mr. Blan heard walking about

to an eye. I saw him, and I was terribly frightened. It's all right when you know who the other fellow is, but when... It's all so creepy. I was so afraid. So I ran here. The thing to do,

approved Mr. McGee. Don't worry. I'll get the money for you. I'll get it if I have to slay the city administration of Rutan in his tracks. you trust me asked the girl with a little catch in her voice the snow lay white on her hair even in the shadows her eyes suggested eunas skies without knowing who i am or why i must have this money you'll get it for me some people said mr maggie meet all their lives long and pique little tease and never know one another while others just smile at each other across the station waiting room. That's enough.

I'm so glad, whispered the girl. I never dreamt I'd meet anyone like you. Up here. Please, oh, please, be very careful. Neither Cargan nor Maxis's arm. Blanties, I should never forget myself if you were hurt. But you won't be, will you? I may catch cold, laughed Mr. McGee.

Otherwise I'll be perfectly safe. He went into the room and put on a... a gay plate cap, makes me look like Sherlock Holmes, he smiled at the girl framed in the window. When he turned to his door to lock it, he discovered that the key was gone and that it had been locked on the outside. Oh, very well, he said flippantly. He buttoned his coat to the chin, blew out the candles in number seven, and joined the girl

on the balcony. Go to your room, he said gently. your worries are over i'll bring you the golden fleece inside an hour be careful she whispered be very careful mr billy just for that cried maggie gaily i'll get you four hundred thousand dollars he ran to the end of the balcony and dropping softly to the ground was ready for his first experiment in the gentle art of highway robbery Section 8, recorded by Gabby Cowan. Chapter 9 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Seven Keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 9. Melodrama in the Snow The Justly Celebrated Moon that in Summer Months shed so much glamour on the romances of Bald Pate Inn was nowhere in evidence as Mr. McGee crept along the ground close to the veranda. The snow sifted down upon him out of the blackness above. Three feet ahead the world seemed to end. A corking night, he muttered humorously, for my debut in the hold-up business.

He swung up over the rail onto the veranda and walked softly along it until he came to a window opening into the office. Cautiously he peered in. The vast, lonely room was lighted by a single candle. At the foot of the broad stair, he could discern a great bulk, seated on the lowest step, which he correctly took to be the mayor of Routin. Back of the desk, on which stood the candle, Mr. Max's head and shoulders were visible. He was working industriously in the immediate vicinity of the safe door. Occasionally he consulted the small traveling bag that stood on the desk. Many other professions had claimed Mr. Max before his advent into Routen Politics. Evidently, he was putting into operation the training acquired in one of them.

Mr. Bland was nowhere in sight. Shivering with cold and excitement, Mr. McGee leaned against the side of Bald Pate in and waited. Mr. Max worked eagerly, turning frequently to his bag as a physician might, turned to his medicine case. No word was spoken in the office. Minutes passed. The bulk at the foot of the stairs surged restlessly. Mr. Max's operations were mostly hidden by the desk, at which in summer, timid old ladies inquired for their mail. Having time to think, Mr. McGee pictured the horror of those ladies, could they come up to the desk at Bald Pate now? Suddenly Mr. Max ran out into the center of the office. Almost on the instant there was a white puff of smoke and a roar.

The inn seemed about to roll down the mountain after all those years of sticking tight. The mayor looked apprehensively up the stair behind him. Mr. Max ran to the open safe door and came back before the desk with a package in his hand. After examining it hastily, Mr. Kargan placed the loot in his pocket. The greedy eyes of Max followed it for a second. Then he ran over and gathered up his tools. Now they were ready to depart. The mayor lifted the candle from the desk. Its light fell on a big chair by the fire,

and Mr. McGee saw in that chair the figure of Mr. Blan, bound and gagged. Mr. Cargan and his companion paused, and appeared to address triumphant and just in comment in Mr. Blan's direction. Then they buttoned their coats, and, holding aloft the candle, disappeared through the dining-room door. I must have that package. Standing on the balcony of Bald Pate Inn,

her yellow hair white with snow, her eyes shining even in shadow, thus had the lady of this weird drama spoken to Mr. McGee, and gladly he had undertaken the quest. Now he knew the moment had come to act. Max he could quickly dispose of he felt. Cargan would require time and attention.

He hurried round to the front door of the inn, and taking the big key from his pocket, unlocked it as a means of retreat where the men he was about to attack could not follow. Already he heard their muffled steps in the distance. Crossing the veranda, he dropped down into the snow by the side of the great stone steps that led to Bald Pate Inn's chief entrance. He heard Cargan and Max on the veranda just above his head. They were speaking of trains to Rutan. In great good humor, evidently, they started down the steps. Mr. McGee crouched, resolved that he should

spring the moment they reached the ground. They were on the last step. Now! Suddenly, from the other side of the steps, a black figure rose, a fist shot out, and Mr. Max went spinning like a whirling dervish down the snowy path, to land in a heap five feet away. The next instant, the mayor of Bruton and the black figure were locked in terrific conflict. Mr. McGee, astounded by this turn of affairs, could only stand and stare through the dark. For 15 seconds, muttering, slipping, grappling, the two figures waltzed grotesquely about in the falling snow. Then the mayor's feet slid from under him on the treacherous white carpet, and the two went down together. As Mr. McGee swooped down upon them, he saw the hand of the stranger find the mayor's pocket,

and draw from it the package that had been placed there in the office a few moments before. Unfortunately for the demands of the drama in which he had become involved, Mr. McGee had never been an athlete at the university, but he was a young man of average strength and agility, and he had the advantage of landing most unexpectedly on his antagonist. Before that gentleman realized what had happened, McGee had been. wrenched the package from his hand, thrown him back on the prostrate form of the highest official of Rutan, and fled up the steps. Quickly the stranger regained his feet and started in pursuit, but he arrived at the great front door of Bald Pate Inn, just in time to hear the lock click

inside. Safe for the moment behind a locked door, Mr. McGee paused to get his breath. The glory of battle filled his soul. It was not until long afterward that he realized the battle had been a mere scuffle in the dark. He felt his cheeks burn with excitement like a sweet girl graduates, the cheeks of a man who had always prided himself he was the unmoved cynic in any situation. With no thought of Mr. Bland, bound in his uneasy chair, Mr. McGee hurried up the broad staircase of bald pate. Now came the most gorgeous scene of all. A fair-haired lady, a knight she had sent forth to battle, the knight returned. You asked me to bring you. You asked me to bring you this, my lady. Business of surprise and joy on the lady's part, business also perhaps

of adoration for the night. At the right of the stairs lay seventeen and the lady, at the left a supposedly uninhabited land. As Mr. McGee reached the second floor, blithely picturing the scene in which he was to play so satisfactory apart, he paused. For halfway down the corridor to the left, and opened door through a faint light into the hall, and in that light stood a woman he had never seen before. In this order came Mr. McGee's impressions of her, fur-coated, tall, dark, handsome, with the haughty manner of one engaging a chauffeur.

"'I beg your pardon,' she said, "'but are you by any chance, Mr. McGee?' The night leaned weakly against the wall and tried to think. "'I am,' he managed to say. "'I'm so glad I've found you,' replied the girl. "'It seemed to the dazed McGee that her dark eyes were not overly happy. "'I cannot ask you in, I'm afraid. "'I do not know the custom on such an occasion.

"'Does anybody? "'I am alone with my maid. "'Hall Bentley, when I wrote to him for a key to this place, "'told me of your being here, "'and said I was to put myself under your protection.' "'Mr. McGee arranged a bow, "'most of which was lost in the dark. Delighted, I'm sure, he murmured.

I shall try not to impose on you, she went on. The whole affair is so unusual as to be almost absurd. But Mr. Bentley said that you were very kind. He said I might trust you. I am in great trouble. I have come here to get something, and I haven't the least idea how to proceed. I came because I must have it.

So much depends on it. Profetically, Mr. McGee clutched in his pocket. the package for which he had just done battle. "'I may be too late,' the girl's eyes grew wide. "'That would be terribly unfortunate. "'I do not wish you to be injured serving me,' she lowered her voice. "'But if there is any way in which you can help me in,

"'in this difficulty, I can never be grateful enough. "'Downstairs in the safe there is, I believe, "'a package containing a large sum of money.' "'Mr. McGee's hand closed convulsively in his pocket. "'If there is any way possible,' said the girl, "'I must obtain that package. "'I give you my word I have as much right to it "'as anyone who will appear at the inn.

"'The honour and happiness of one who is very dear to me is involved. "'I ask you, made bold as I am by my desperation "'and Hal Bentley's assurances, "'to aid me if you find you can.' "'With the eyes of the man in a dream, "'Mr. McGee looked into the face of the latest comer to Bald Pate. hal bentley is an old friend and a bully chap he said it will be a great pleasure to serve a friend of his he paused congratulating himself that these were words idle words when did you arrive may i ask i believe you were having dinner when i came she answered mr bentley gave me a key to the kitchen door and we found a back stairway there seemed to be a company below i wanted to see only you i repeat said mr magee

I shall be happy to help you if I can. His word to another lady, he reflected, was binding. I suggest that there is no harm in waiting until morning. But I am afraid it was tonight, she began. I understand, McGee replied. The plans went wrong. You may safely let your worries rest until tomorrow. He was on the point of adding something about relying on him, but remembered in time which girl he was addressing. Is there anything I can do? to make you more comfortable? The girl drew the fur coat closer about her shoulders. She suggested to McGee a sheltered, luxurious life. He could see her regaling young men with tea before a fireplace in a beautiful room, insipid tea in thimble-like cups.

"'You are very kind,' she said. I hardly expected to be here the night through. It is rather cold, but I am sure we have rugs and coats enough.' Mr. McGee's duty was clear. "'I'll build you a fire,' he announced. The girl seemed distressed at the thought. "'No, I couldn't let you,' she said. "'I am sure it isn't necessary. "'I will say good-night now.' "'Good-night, if there is anything I can do.'

"'I shall tell you,' she finished, smiling. "'I believe I forgot to give you my name. "'I am Myra Thornhill of Rutan. "'Until, until tomorrow.' "'She went in and closed the door. "'Mr. McGee sat limply down, on the cold stare. All the glory was gone from the scene he had pictured a moment ago. He had the money, yes, the money procured in valiant battle, but at the moment he bore the prize to his lady,

another appeared from the dark to claim it. What should he do? He got up and started for number 17. The girl who waited there was very charming and attractive, but what did he know about her? What did she want with this money? He paused. This other girl, came from Hal Bentley, a friend of friends, and she claimed to have every right to this precious package. What were her exact words? Why not wait until morning? Perhaps in the cold gray dawn he could see more clearly his way through this preposterous tangle. Anyhow, it would be dangerous to give into any woman's keeping just then, a package so earnestly

sought by desperate men. Yes, he would wait until morning. That was the only reasonable course. "'Reasonable? That was the word he used. A knight prating of the reasonable.' "'Mr. McGee unlocked the door of number seven and entered. Lighting his candles and prodding the fire, he composed a note to the waiting girl in seventeen. Everything all right. Sleep peacefully. I am on the job. We'll see you tomorrow. Mr. Billy.' Slipping this message under her door, the ex-night hurried away to avoid an interview and sat down in his chair before the fire.

I must think, he muttered, I must get this thing straight. For an hour he pondered, threshing out as best he could this mysterious game in which he played a leading part, unequipped with a book of rules. He went back to the very beginning, even to the station at Upper Ascoon Falls, where the undeniable charm of the first of these girls had won him completely, He reviewed the arrival of bland and his babble of haberdashery, of Professor Bolton and his weird tale of peroxide blondes and suffragettes, of Miss Norton and her impossible mother, of Kargan, Hater of Reformers, and Lou Max's, foe of suspicion. He thought of the figure in the dark at the foot of the steps that had fought so savagely for the package now in his own pocket, of the girl who had pleaded so convincingly on the balcony for his help,

of the colder, more sophisticated woman, who came with Hal Bentley's authority to ask of him the same favor. Myra Thornhill? He had heard the name, surely, but where? Mr. McGee's thoughts went back to New York. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, whirling about in a queer romance not of his own writing. He who had come to Bald Pate in to get away from mere romancing and look into men's hearts,

a philosopher. He laughed out. loud. Tomorrow is another day, he reflected. I'll solve this whole thing then. They can't go on playing without me. I've got the ball. He took the package from his pocket. Its seals had already been broken. Untying the strings, he began carefully to unwrap the paper, the thick yellow banking manila, and then the oiled inner wrapping. So finally he opened up the solid mass of, what? He looked closer. Chris. beautiful $1,000 bills.

He had never seen a bill of this size before, and here were 200 of them. He wrapped the package up once more, and prepared for bed. Just as he was about to retire, he remembered Mr. Bland, bound and gagged below. He went into the hall with the idea of releasing the unlucky Haberdasher,

but from the office rose the voices of the mayor, Max, and Bland himself. Peace, evidently, had been declared between them. Mr. McGee returned to number seven, locked all the windows, placed the much-sought package beneath his pillow, and after a half-hour of puzzling and tossing, fell asleep. It was still quite dark when he awoke with a start. In the blackness, he could make out a figure standing by the side of his bed. He put his hand quickly beneath the pillow. The package was still there. What do you want? he asked, sitting up in bed. For any,

answer, the intruder sprang through the door and disappeared in the darkness of the outer room. Mr. McGee followed. One of his windows slammed back and forth in the wind. Slipping on a dressing gown and lighting a candle, he made an investigation. The glass above the lock had been broken. Outside, in the snow on the balcony, were recent footprints. Sleepily, Mr. McGee procured the precious package and put it in the pocket of his gown. Then, drawing on his shoes, he added a greatcoat to his equipment, took a candle, and went out onto the balcony. The storm had increased. The snow flurried and blustered. The windows of Bald Pate Inn rattled wildly all about. It was difficult to keep the candle burning in that wind. Mr. McGee followed the footprints along

the east side of the inn to the corner, then along the more sheltered rear, and finally to the west side. On the west was a rather unlovely annex to the main building, which increasing patronage had made necessary. It was connected with the inn by a covered passageway from the second floor balcony. At the entrance to this passageway, the footprints stopped. Entering the dark passageway, Mr. McGee made his way to the door of the annex. He tried it. It was locked, but as he turned away he heard voices on the other side. Mr. McGee had barely enough time to extinguish his candle and slip into the shadows of the corner. The door of the annex opened. A man stepped out into the passageway. He stood there.

The light from a candle held by someone in the doorway whom Mr. McGee could not see fell full upon his face, the bespectacled wise face of Professor Thaddeus Bolton. Better luck next time, said the professor. "'Keep an eye on him,' said the voice from inside. "'If he tries to leave the inn there'll be a big row. "'We must be in on it and win.' "'I imagine,' said Professor Bolton, smiling his academic smile, "'that the inmates of Bald Pate will make tomorrow a rather interesting day for him.'

"'It will be an interesting day for everyone,' answered the voice. "'If I should manage to secure the package by any chance,' the professor went on, I shall undoubtedly need your help in getting away with it. Let us arrange a signal. Should a window of my room be open at any time tomorrow, you will know the money is in my hands.' "'Very good,' replied the other. "'Good night, and good luck.' "'The same to you,' answered Professor Bolton. The door was closed, and the old man moved off down the passageway. After him crept Mr. McGee. He followed the professor to the east balcony and saw him pause at the open window of number seven. There the old man looked slyly about, as though in doubt. He peered into the room, and one foot was across the sill when Mr. McGee came up and touched him on the arm.

Professor Bolton leaped in evident fright out upon the balcony. "'It's—it's a wonderful night,' he said. I was out for a little walk on the balcony, enjoying it. Seeing your open window, I was afraid. The night you speak so highly of,' replied Mr. Mr. McGee, is at your left. You have lost your way. Good night, Professor. He stepped inside and closed the window. Then he pulled down the curtains in both rooms of his suite, and spent some time exploring. Finally he paused before the fireplace, and with the aid of a knife unloosed a brick. Under this he placed the package of money, removing the traces of his act as best he could. Now, he said, standing up, I'm a regular hermit with a buried treasure, as per all hermit

specifications. Tomorrow I am going to hand my treasure to somebody. It's too much for a man who came up here to escape the excitement and melodrama of the world. He looked at his watch. It was past three o'clock. Entering the inner room for the second time that night he sought to sleep. They can't play without me. I've got the ball.

with a smile. And safe in this thought, he closed his eyes and slumbered. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of Seven Keys to Balpat. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Gabby Cowan. Seven keys to ballpate by Earl. their beakers chapter ten the cold gray dawn the gayest night must have a morning after mr maggie awakened to his to find sweet seven wrapped again in its favorite polar atmosphere

filling the door leading to the outer room he beheld the cause of his awakening the mayor of ruton mr cargan regarded him with a cold stilly eye of an Israeli inaction. But when he spoke, he opened the jaws of a cocktail mixer. Well, young fellow, he remarked, it seems to me it was time you got up and faced the responsibilities of the day. First of which, I may mention, is a little talk with me. He stepped into the room, and through the doorway he vacated, Mr. Max came slinking.

The unlovely face of the foe of suspicion was badly bruce, and he looked upon the world with no cheerful eye. Pushing aside one of the frail bedroom chairs, as untrustworthy, the major sat down on the edge of Mr. McGee's bed. It creaked in protest. You just does pretty rough last night in the snow, Cargan went on.

That's why I ain't disposed to go in for kid gloves and diplomacy this morning. It's my experience that when you're dealing with a man who's got a good old Irish name of Maggie, it's best to hit first and debate afterward. I, I just you roughly, Mr. Cargan, said Maggie. No debate, mind you, protested the mayor. Lou and me are making this morning. call to inquire after a little package that went a straight somewhere last night. There's two courses open to you.

Hand over the package or let us take it. I'll give you a tip. The first is the vest. If we have to take it, we might get real rough in our actions. Mr. Max slipped closer to the bed, an ugly look on his face. The major glared fixedly into Maggie's eyes. The knight who fought for fair ladies in the snow lay on his pillow and considered briefly. I get what I go after, remarked Cargan emphatically.

Yes, Sparred McGee, but the real point is skipping what you get after. You've gone after it. You didn't make much of an impression on me last night in that line, Mr. Cargan. I never cared much for humor, replied the mayor. especially at this early hour in the morning. I hate a fresh guy, but in Max, like poison. I'm not fresh, Mr. McGee smiled. I'm stating facts.

You say you've come for that package, all right. But you've come to the wrong room. I haven't got it. The hell you haven't, wrote the Major. Lou, look about a bit. Look about all you like, agreed McGee. You won't find, did Mr. Cargan. I admit that I laid for you last night.

I saw you open the safe according to the latest approved methods, and I saw you come forth with a package of money. But I wasn't rough with you. I might have been, to be frank, but somebody beat me to it. Who? The man with the seventh key, I suppose. The man, bland heard walking about last night when we were at dinner. Don't tell me you didn't see him in that mix-up at the foot of the steps.

Well, I did think there was another guy, the mayor answered, but Lou said I was crazy. Lou does you an injustice. There was another guy, and if you are anxious to recover your precious package, I advise you to wake him up to the responsibilities of the day, not me. The mayor considered, Mr. Max, who had hastily made him. the rounds of the tree rooms, came back with empty hands. Well, said the Major, I might as well admit it. I'm up in the air.

I don't know just as this minute where to get off. But that state of affairs don't last long with me, John Fellow. I will go to the bottom of this before the day is out. Believe me. And if I can't do anything else, I'll take you back to return myself and throw you in jail for robbery. i couldn't do that smiled maggie think of the awful job of explaining to that white necktie crowd how you happen to be dynamiting a safe of bald-paid mountain at midnight oh i guess i can't get around that said the major that money belongs to a friend of mine andy ruiter i happen to go to the inn for a little rest and i grab you dynamite in the safe

i'll keep an eye on you to-day mr magee and let me tell you now that if i catch you or any of the bunch that's with you trying to make a get-away from bald paid there's going to be a war break-out i don't know about the other hermits laughed maggie but personally i expect to be here for several weeks to come hugh is calling here where is the hermit why hasn't he been up to fix my fire yes where is he repeated mr cargan that's what everybody liked to know he hasn't showed up not a sign of breakfast and me as hollow as a reformer's victory his back slid cried maggie the quitter sneer max it's only a quitter would live on the mountain in a shack anyhow you're rather hard on poor old peters remarked maggie but when i think that i have to get up and rest in a refrigerating plant i can't say i blame you if only the fireway lighted he smiled in his most ingratiating smile on his companion by the way mr cargan you're up and rest i read a lot of magazine articles about you and they won and all agreed that you're a good fellow you'll find kindling and paper beside the heart what the mayor's roared seemed to shake the windows young man with a nerve like yours you could whittle the price of a battleship from carnage ay ay he stood for a moment gazing almost in awe at magee then he burst forth into a whole souled laugh i am a good fellow he said i'll show you

he went into the other room and despite the horrified protest of lou max visited himself amid the ashes of the fireplace when he had a blaze on the way mr maggie came shivering from the old other room and held out his hand. Mr. Cargan, he laughed. You're a prince. He noted with interest that the mayor's broad shoes were mighty near $200,000. While Mr. McGee drew on his clothes, the mayor and Max sat thoughtfully before the fire. The former, with his puchy hands folded over the vast expanse where no breakfast reposed. Mr. McGee explained to them that the holder of the sixth key had arrived.

A handsome young lady, he remarked, her name is Myra Thornhill. Old Henry Thornhill's daughter, reflected the mayor. Well, seems I've sort of lost the habit of being surprised now. I tell you, Lou, we're breaking into the Orgy Division up here. While Mr. McGee shaved in ice-cold water, another black mark against the hermit of Bald Pate, he turned over in his mind the events of the night before. The visual in the office, the pleading of the First Lady on the balcony, the battle by the steps, the southern appearance of Miss Thorne Hill, the figure in his room,

the conversation by the annex door, like a moving-pearl. picture film the story of that weird night unrolled itself. The film was not yet at an end. He had given himself the night to think. Soon he would stand before the girl of the station. Soon he must answer her questions. What was he to do with the fortune that lay beneath the feet of the mayor of Rutan at this minute?

He hardly knew. He was ready to descend at last and came into the future. into the parlour of his suite with great coat and hat. In reply to Mr. Carganson asked question, he said, I'm going up to the mountain presently to reason with our striking cook. You ain't going to leave this in, Maggie, said the mayor. Not even to bring back a cook? Come, Mr. Cargan, be reasonable.

You may go with me, if you suspect my motives. They went out into the hall and Mr. Maggie passed down the corridor to the farther end, when he rapped at the door of Miss Stonehill's room. She appeared almost immediately, buried beneath first and wraps. You must be nearly frozen, remarked Mr. McGee, pityingly. You and your maid come down to the office. I want you to meet the other guests. I'll come, she replied.

Mr. McGee, I've a confession to make. I invented the maid. It seemed so horrible, unconventional, and shocking. I couldn't admit that I was alone. That's why I wouldn't let you build a fire for me. Don't worry, smile, Maggie. You'll find we have all the conveniences up here. I'll present you to the chaperon shortly,

and Mrs. Norton, who is here with her daughter. Allow me to introduce Mr. Cargan and Mr. Max. The girl bowed with a rather startled air. and Mr. Cargan mumbled something that had pleasure in it. In the office they found Professor Bolton and Mr. Blan sitting gloomingly before the fireplace. Got the news, Maggie? asked the harbour-dasher. Peters has done a disappearing act. It was evident to Maggie that everybody looked upon Peters as his creature

and laid the hermit scenes at his door. He laughed. i'm going to head a search-party shortly he said don't i detect the odor of coffee in the distance mrs norton remarked professor bolton dolefully has kindly consented to do what she can the girl of the station came through the dining-room door it was evident that she had no share in the general gloom that the hermit's absence cast over balpey her eyes were bright with the glories of mourning on a mountain in their depths there was no room for petty annoyances good morning she said to mr maggie isn't it bracing have you been outside oh i miss thornhill explained maggie miss turnhill has the sixth key you know she came last night without any of us knowing with luke warm smiles the two girls shook hands outwardly the glances they exchanged were nonchallant and casual but somehow mr maggie felt that among the matters they established were social position with cunning guile and tasting dress may i help with the coffee asked miss thornehill only to drink it replied the girl of the station it's all made now you see as if in proof of this mrs norton appeared in the dining-room door with a tray and simontiannusly opened the endless monologue

i don't know what you men will say to this i am sure nothing in the house but some coffee and a few crackers not even any canned soup and i thought from the way things went yesterday he had ten thousand cans of it at the very least but men are all alike what name did you say oh yes miss thornehill pleased to meet you i'm sure excuse my not shaking hands as i was saying men are all alike norton thought if he brought home a roast on saturday night it ought to last the week out she rattled on unheeding her flow of dog the hermit's of bald-paid in swallowed the coffee she offered when the rather unsatisfactory substitute for breakfast was consumed mr maggie rose briskly now he said i'm going to run up the hermit shack and reason with him as best as i can i shall paint in touching colors our sad plight if the man has an atom of decency i walk on the mountain in the morning said miss thornhill quickly splendid i-wonderful putting miss norton i for one can't resist even though i haven't been invited i'm going along she smiled sweetly she had beaten the other girl with the breath of a hair and she knew it new glories shone in her eyes good for you said maggie the evil hour of explanations was at hand surely run up to her own up and get your things. While Miss Norton was gone, Mr. Cargan and Lou Max engaged in earnest

converse near a window, after which Mr. Max pulled on his overcoat. And ain't being invited either, he said, but I reckon I'll go along. I always wanted to see what a hermit lived like when he's really buckled down to the hermit business. And then a walk in the morning has always been my first rule for help. you don't mind to you whom am i asked maggie that i should stand between you and held come along by all means with the blue corduery suite again complete and the saucy hat perched on her blond head miss norton ran down the stairs and received the news that mr max also was entrolled by the possibilities of a walk-up baldpade the tree went out through the front door and found under the snow a hint of the the pad that led to the shack of the post-carl merchant. Will you go ahead? asked Magie of Max.

Sorry, Green Max, but I guess I'll bring up the rear. Suspicion, said Mr. Maggie, shaking his head, has caused a lot of trouble in the world. Remember the cruelty practiced on Pueblo Sam? I do, replied Mr. Max. And it nearly breaks my heart, but there is a little more. matter I forgot to mention last night.

Suspicion is all right in its place. Where's that? Asked Mr. McGee. Mr. Max tapped his narrow chest. Here, he said. So the tree began to climb. Mr. Maggie and the girl ahead, Mr. Max, leering at their heels.

The snow still fell and the picture of the world was painted in grays and whites. At some points, alone. the way to the hermits abode, it had drifted deep, at others the footpath was swept almost bare by the wind. For a time Mr. Max kept so close that the conversation of the two in the lead was necessarily on the common places of the wind and sky and mountain. Covertly, Mr. McGee glanced at the girl striding along by his side. The red flamed in her cheeks, her long lashes were flecked,

with the white of the snow. Her face was such as one as middle-aged men dream of while their fat wives read the evening papers beauty hints at their side. Far beyond the ordinary woman was she desirable and pleasing. Mr. McGee told himself he had been a fool, for he who had fought so valiantly for her heart's desire at the foot of the steps had faltered when the time came to hand her the prize. why what place had caution in the wild scheme of the night before none surely and yet he dulled idiot coward had in the moment of triumph turned cautious full confession he decided was the only way out

mr max was panting alone quite thinfield behind over her shoulder the girl noted this she turned her questioning eyes on magee he felt that his moment had come i don't know how to begin muttered the novelist whose puppets speeches had always been so apt last night you sent me on a sort of quest for the golden fleece i didn't know who had been fleeced or what was the idea but i farth forth as they say i got it for you the eyes of the girl glowed happily she was beaming i'm so glad she said but why why didn't you give it to me last night it would have meant so much if you had that replied mr maggie is what i am coming to very reluctantly did you know any spirit of caution in the fellow who set forth on your quest and dropped over the balcony rail you did not i waited on the porch and saw max dabbed the safe i saw him and cargan come out i waited for them just as i was about to jump on them somebody the man with the seventh key i guessed did it for me there was a scuffle i joined it i emerged with the package everybody seemed so interested in yes said the girl breathlessly and then i started to bring it to you went on maggie glancing over his shoulder at max i was all aglow with romance and battle and all that sort of thing i pictured the thrill of handing you the thing you had asked

i ran upstairs at the head of the stairs i saw her the light died in her eyes reproached entered there yes continued maggie your knight-errant lost his side nerve. He ceased to run on schedule. She too asked me for that package of money. And you gave it to her, said the girl scornfully. Oh no, answered Maggie quickly. Not so bad as that. I simply sat down on the steps and thought. I got cautious. I decided to wait until today. I did wait. He paused. The girl strode on, looking at. straight ahead. Mr. McGee thought of adding that he had felt it might be dangerous to place a package so voraciously desired in her frail hands. He decided he'd better not, on second thought. I know, he said, what do you think? I'm a fine specimen of a man to send on a hunt like that,

a weak, neat, molly cuddled, who passes into a state of coma at a crucial moment. But I'm going to give you that package yet. The girl turned her head. Mr. McGee saw that her eyes were misty with tears. You are playing with me, she said brokenly. I might have known, and I trusted you. You're in the game with the others, and I thought you weren't. I staked my whole chance of success on you.

Now you're making sport of me. You never intended to give me that much. money. You don't intend to now. On my word, cried Maggie, I do intend to give it to you. The minute we get back to the inn, I have it safe in my room. Give it to her, said the girl bitterly. Why don't you give it to her? Oh, the perversity of women. It's you I want to give it to, replied Maggie warmly. I don't know what was the matter with me last night. I was a fool. you don't believe in me i know her face was cold and expressionless and i wanted to believe in you so much she said why did you want to cried maggie why she plodded on through the snow you must believe me he pleaded i don't know what all this is about on my word of honor but i want to give you that money and i will the minute we get back to the end

"'Will you believe then? Will you?' "'I hate you,' said the girl simply. She should not have said that. As far back as he could remember, such a position had disturbed Mr. McGee to wild deeds. He opened his mouth and words flowed forth. What were the words? "'I love you! I love you!

Ever since that moment in the station I have loved you. I love you!' faintly he heard himself saying it over and over by the gods he was proposing inalignantly in words of one syllable as the butcher's boy might have told his love to the second kitchen-maid i love you he continued idiot often mr maggie had thought of the moment when he would tell his love to a woman it was a moment of dim lights music perhaps in the distance two souls caught up in the magic of the moon-lit night a pretty graceful speech from him a sweet gracious surrender from the girl and this instead i love you in heaven's name was he never going to stop saying it i want you to believe bright morning on the mountain a girl in an angry mood at his side a city chaperon on his trail an erring cook ahead good lord he recalled that a fellow novelist whose love scenes were regarded as models by young people suffering the tender passion, had once confessed that he proposed to his wife on a street car,

and was accepted just as the conductor handed him his transfers. Mr. Maggie had been scornful. He could never be in scornful again. By a tremendous effort, he avoided repeating his childish refrain. The girl deliberately stopped. There was nevertheless of sweet gracious surrender in a suffragette hurling a stone through a shopkeeper's window. She eyed Mr. McGee pittingly, and they stood until Mr. Max caught up with them. So that's the Hermes Shack, said Max, indicating the little wooden hut at which they had arrived.

A funny place for a guy to bury himself? I should think he'd get to longing for the white lights and the table. the woods with the red wine. A very unromantic speech, reproved the girl. You should be deeply thrilled at the thought of penetrating the secrets of the hermitage. I am. Are you Mr. McGee? She smiled up at McGee, and he was in that state where he thought that in the blue depths of her eyes he saw the sunny slopes of the islands of the blessed.

I—he caught himself in time. he would not be idiot enough to babble it again he poodle himself together i'm going to make you believe in me he said with a touch of his old jauntiness mr max was knocking with characteristic loudness at the hermit store end of section ten recorded by gavikowan Chapter 11 of Seven Keys to BoldPait This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Lynn Thompson

Seven Keys to Bold Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 11 A Falsehood Under the Palms Make me a willow cabin at your gate. quoted mr. McGee looking at the hermit shack with interest hmm replied miss Norton thus beautiful sentiments frequently fair even at the hands of the most beautiful mr. McGee abandoned his project of completing the speech the door of the hermit's abode opened before mr max's masterful knock and the bearded little man appeared on the threshold he was clad in a purple dressing-gown that suggested suggested some woman had picked it surely no man could have fallen victim to that riot of color come in said the hermit in a tone so colorless it called added attention to the gown miss you have the chair you'll have to be contented with that soapbox davenport gentleman well he stood facing them in the middle of his hermitage with curious eyes they examined its architecture exiled hands had built it of poles and clay

and a reliable brand of roofing. In the largest room where they sat were chairs, a table, and a bookshelf hammered together from stray boards, furniture midway between that in a hut on a desert aisle, and that of a home made happy from the back pages of a woman's magazine. On the wall were various posters that defined the hermit's taste in art as inflammatory, bold, arresting. Through one door of the rear, they caught a glimpse of a time, tiny kitchen. Through another the white covering of a hall-room cot could be seen.

Well, repeated Mr. Peters, I suppose your delegation, so to speak. A cold, unfeeling word, objected Mr. McGee. We have come to plead, began Miss Norton, turning her eyes at their full candle power on the hermit's bearded face. I beg pardon, miss, interrupted Mr. Peters, but it ain't any use, I've thought it all out, in the night watches, as the poet says. I came up here to be alone. I can't be a hermit and a cook too. I can't and be true to myself. No, you'll have to accept my resignation and take effect at once. He sat down on an uncertain chair and regarded them sorrowfully. His long, well-shaped fingers clutched the cord of the purple gown.

It isn't as though we were asking you to give up the hermit business for good, but, argued McGee it's just for a short time maybe only a few days i should think you should welcome the diversion mr Peters shook his head vigorously the brown curls waved flippantly about his shoulders my instincts he replied are away from the crowd i explained that to you when we first met mr McGee any man commented mr max ought to be able to strangle his instincts for a good salary payable in advance "'You come here,' said the hermit with annoyance, "'and you bring with you the sentiments of the outside world. "'The world I have full sworn. "'Don't do it, I ask you.' "'I don't get you,' reflected Mr. Max.

"'No, pal, I don't quite grab this hermit game. "'It ain't human nature, I say. "'Way up here, miles from the little brass rail "'and the sporting extra, "'and other things that make life worth living. "'It's beyond me. I'm not asking your approval, replied the hermit. All I ask is to be let alone.

Let me speak, said Miss Norton. Mr. Peters and I have been friends, you might say, for three years. It was three years ago my awed eyes first fell upon him, selling his postcards at the inn. He was to me then, the true romance, the man to whom the world means nothing without a certain woman at his side. That is what he has a man. meant to all the girls who came to boldpate. He isn't going to shatter my ideal of him.

He isn't going to refuse a lady in distress. You will come for just a little while, won't you, Mr. Peters? But Peter shook his head again. I dislike women as a sex, he said, but I've always been gentle and easy with isolated examples of them. It ain't my style to turn them down. But this is asking too much. I'm sorry, but I got to be. But I got to be. be true to my oath. I got to be a hermit. Maybe, sneered Mr. Max. He's got good reason for being a hermit. Maybe there's brass buttons and blue uniforms mixed up in it. You come from a great world of suspicion, answered the hermit, turning reproving eyes upon him. Your talk is natural. It goes with the life you lead. But it isn't true. And Mr. Max is the last who should insinuate,

rebuked Mr. McGee. Why, only last night he denounced suspicion and bemoaned the fact that there is so much of it in the world. Well, he might, replied the hermit. Suspicion is the keynote of modern life, especially in New York. He drew the purple dressing-gown closer about his plump form. I remember the last time I was in the big town, seeing a crowd of men in the gruel room of the Hoffman house. One of them, long, lean, like an eel, stooped down and whispered in the ear of a little fellow with a diamond horseshoe desecrating his haberdashery and pointing to another man near by no i won't says the man with the diamonds i don't introduce nobody to nobody let every man play his own game i say that's new york that's the essence of the town i introduce nobody to nobody it seems odd remarked mr mcgee to hear you to speak of the time you walked on pavements.

I haven't always been on board Pape Mountain, replied the hermit. Once I, too, paid taxes and wore a derby hat and sat in barber's chairs. Yes, I sat in them in many towns, in many corners of this little round globe. But that's all over now. The three visitors gazed at Mr. Peters

with a new interest. New York, said Mr. Max softly, as a better man might have spoken the name of the girl he loved. It's a great little Christmas tree. The candles are always burning, and the tinsel presents always look good to me. The hermit's eyes strayed far away, down the mountain, and beyond.

New York, said he, and his tone was that in which Max had said the words. A great little Christmas tree it is, with fine presents for the reaching. Sometimes at night here, I see it as it was. was four years ago. I see the candles lit on the Great White Way. I hear the elevated roar, and the newsboys shout, and Diamond Jim Brady applauding at her musical comedy's first night.

New York. Mr. Max rose pompously and pointed a yellow finger at the hermit of Bald Pate Mountain. I got you, he cried in triumph. I'm wise. You want to go back. A half-hearted smile crossed the visible portion of the hermit's face. "'I guess I'm about the poorest liar in the world,' he said. "'I never got away with but one lie in my life, "'and that was only for a little while. "'It was a masterpiece while it lasted, too, "'but it was my only hit as a liar.

"' Usually I fail, as I have failed now. "'I lied when I said I couldn't cook for you, "'because I had to be true to my hermit's oath. "'That isn't the reason.' "'I'm afraid.' "'Affraid?' echoed Mr. McGee. "'Scared,' said Mr. Peters, of temptation. "'Your seventh son of a seventh-son friend here has read my mind.

"'Okay, I want to go back.' "'Not in the summer when the inn blazes like Broadway every evening. "'And I can sit here and listen to the latest comic opera tunes "'come drifting up from the casino, "'and go down and mingle with the Muslim brigade any time I want, "'and see the sympathetic look in their eyes as they buy my postals. "'It ain't then I want. want to go back. It's when fall comes, and the trees on the mountain are bare, and

Quimby locks up the inn, and there's only the wind and me on the mountain. And then I get the fever. I haven't the postcard trade to think of. So I think of Ellen and New York. She's my wife. New York, it's my town. That's why I can't come among you to cook. It'd be leading me into temptation greater than I could stand. I'd hear your talk. and like as not when you went away i'd shave off this beard and burn the manuscript of woman and go down into the marks of trade last night i walked the floor till two i can't stand such temptation mr peters's auditors regarded him in silence he rose and moved towards the kitchen door now you understand how it is he said perhaps you will go and leave me to my baking one minute objected mr mcgee you spoke of one lie your masterpiece we must hear about that yes spin the yarn pow requested mr matt well said the hermit reluctantly if you're quite comfortable it ain't very short please beamed miss norton with a sigh the hermit of bold paint mountain sank upon a most unsocial seat and drew his purple splendour close it was like this he began

Five years ago I worked for a fruit company And business sent me sliding along the edges of strange seas and picture book lands I met little brown men and listened to the soft swish of the banana growing And had an orchestra seat at a revolution or two Don't look for a magazine story about overthrown tyrants or anything like that It's just a quiet little lie I'm speaking of Told on a quiet little afternoon by the sands of a sea as blue as bolt paid in must have been this morning when I didn't show up with breakfast.

Sitting on those yellow sands the afternoon I speak of, wearing carpet slippers made for me by loving, so to speak, hands, I saw Alexander McMahon come along. He was tall and straight and young and free, and I envied him, for even in those days my figure would never have done in a clothing advertisement, owing to the heritage of too many table-dote about the middle. Well, McMahon sat at my side, and little by little, with the sea-washing sad light nearby, I got from him the story of his exile and why.

I don't need to tell you it was woman, I had sent him off for the equator. This one's name was Marie, I think, and she worked at a lunch-counter in Kansas City. From the young man's bill of fair description of her, I gathered that she had cheeks like peaches and cream, and a heart like a lunch-counter donut. which is hard. She cast you off, I asked. She threw me down, said he.

Well, it seems he'd bought a ticket for that loud-coloured country where I met him and come down there to forget. I could buy the ticket, he said, as soon as I learned how to pronounce the name of this town. But I can't forget. I've tried. It's hopeless. And he sat there looking like a man

whose best friend has died, owing him money. i won't go into his emotions mr bland up at the inn is suffering them at the present moment i'm told they're unimportant i'll hurry on to the lie i simply say he was sorrowful and it seemed to me a crime what with the sun so bright and the sea so blue and the world so full of a number of things yes it certainly was a crime and i decided he had to be cheered up at any cost how i thought a while gazing up at the sky and then a little bit of a sky and then he certainly was a crime and i decided he had to be cheered up at any cost how i thought a while gazing up at the sky and then it came to me, the lie, the glorious lie, and I told it. The hermit looked in defiance round the listening circle. You're chuck full of sorrow now, I said to McMahon, but it won't last long, he shook his head. Nonsense, I told him. Look at me. Do you see me doing a heart-bowed down act under the palms? Do you find anything but joy in my face? And he couldn't. The lie unfolding itself in such splendor to me. You, he asked, me, I said. Ten years ago, I was where you are

today. A woman had spoke to me as Mabel or Marie or what was it spoke to you. I could see I had the boy interested. I unfolded my story as it occurred to me at the moment. Yes, said I. Ten years ago, I saw her first. Dancing as a butterfly dances from flower to flower, dancing on the stage. Dancing on the a fairy sprite i loved her worshipped her it could never be there in the dark of the wing she told me so and she shed a tear a sweet tear of sorrow at parting i went to my room i told mcmann with a lot of timetables and steamship books bright red books the colour came off on my eager hands i picked out a country and sailed away like you i thought i could never be happy never even see smile again. Look at me. He looked. I guess my face radiated bliss. The idea was so lovely. He was impressed I could see it. I'm supremely happy, I told him. I am my own master. I wonder where I will. No woman tells me my hour for going out or my hour for coming in. I wonder. For company

I have her picture, as I saw her last, with twinkling feet that never touched earth, as a spirit moves, I go. You can move the memory of a woman in a flash, my boy, but it takes two months to get the real article started. And then, like us not, she's forgot everything of importance. Ever thought of that? You should. You're going to be happy as I am. Study me. Reflect. I waved my carpet slippered feet toward the palms. I had certainly made an impression on Alexander McMahon. As we walked back over the sands and grass-grown sheets to the hotel, his heart got away from that Cupid's lunch counter, and he was almost cheerful. I was gay to the last, but as I parted from him, my own heart sank.

I knew I had to go back to her, and that she would probably give me a scolding about the carpet slippers. I parted from McMahon, with a last word of cheer. Then I went to the ship, to her, my wife. That was the lie you understand. She traveled everywhere with me. She never trusted me. We were due to sail that night and I was glad, for I worried some over what I had done. Suppose my wife and Alexander McMahon should meet. An estimable woman, but large, determined, little suggesting the butterfly of the footlights I married long before. We had a bad session over the carpet slippers.

The boat was ready to sail. When McMahon came aboard, he carried a bag and his face shone. She sent for me, he said. Marie wants me. I got a letter from my brother. I'll blow into Kansas like a cyclone and claim her. I was paralysed. At that minute a large black figure appeared on deck.

It headed for me. Jake, it says. You sat up long enough. go below now mcmahon's face was terrible i saw it was all up i lied mcmann i explained the idea just came to me it fascinated me and i lied she did turn me down there in the wings and she shed that tear i spoke of too but when i was looking over the railroad folders she sent for me i went on the wings of love it was two blocks but i went on the wings of love We've been married twenty years. Forgive me, McMahon. McMahon turned around.

He picked up the bag. I asked where he was going. Ashore, he said, to think. I may go back to Kansas City. I may. But I'll just think of it first. And he climbed into the ship's boat. I never saw him again.

The hermit paused and gazed dreamily into space. That, he said, was my one great lie, my masterpiece. A year afterward, I came up here on the mountains to be a hermit. As a result of it? asked Miss Norton. Yes, answered Mr. Peters. I told the story to a friend. I thought he was a friend. So he was, but married. My wife got to hear of it. So you denied my existence, she said. As a joke, I told her. The joke's on you, she says. That was the end. She went her way, and I went mine. I'd just unanimously gone her way so long.

I was a little dazed at first with my freedom, after fighting for a living alone for a time. I came up here. It's cheap. I get the solitude I need for my book. Not long ago I heard I could go back to her if I apologised. Stick to your guns, advised Mr. Max. I'm trying to, Mr. Peters replied,

but it's lonesome here in winter. and at christmas in particular this dressing-gown was a christmas present from ellen she picked it pretty ain't it you see why i can't come down and cook for you i might get the fever for society and shave and go to brooklyn where she's living with her sister but said mr mcgee we're in an awful fix you've put us there mr peters as a man of honour i appeal to you your sense of fairness must tell you my appeal is just risk it one more day and i'll have a cook sent up from the village just one day there's no danger in that surely you can resist temptation one little day a man of your character miss norton rose and stood before mr peters she fixed him with her eyes eyes into which no man could gaze and go his way unmoved just one tiny day she pleaded mr peter sighed he rose i'm a fool he said i can't help it i'll take chances on another day though nobody knows where it'll lead brooklyn maybe whispered lu max sir mcgee in mock horror the hermit donned his coat attended to a few household duties and led the delegation outside dolefully he locked the door of his shack the four started down the mountain back to bold-pate with our cook said mr mcgee into the girl's ear i know now how caesar felt when he rode through rome with his ex foes festooned about his chariot wheels

mr max again chose the rear triumphantly escorting mr peters as mr mcgee and the girl swung into the lead the former was moved to recur to the topic he had handled so amateurishly a short time before i'll make you believe in me yet he said she did not turn her head the moment we reached the inn he went on i shall come to you with a package of money in my hand then you'll believe i want to help you tell me you'll believe then very likely i shall answered the girl without interest if you really intend to give me that money no one must know about it no one shall know he answered but you and me they walked on in silence then shyly the girl turned her head almost assuredly she was desirable clumsy as had been his declaration mr mcgee resolved to stick to it through eternity i'm sorry i spoke as i did she said will you forgive me forgive you he cried why i and now she interrupted let us talk of other things of ships and shoes and ceiling wax all the topics in the world he replied can lead to but one with me ships asked the girl for honeymoons he suggested shoes in some circles of society i believe they are flung at bridal parties and sealing wax on the license isn't it he queried i'll not try you on cabbage and kings laughed the girl please oh please don't fail me you won't will you her face was serious you see it means so very much to me fail you cried mcgee i'd hardly do that now in ten minutes that package will be in your hands along with my fate my lady i should be so relieved

she turned her face away there was a faint flush in the cheek towards mr mcgee and happy she whispered under her breath then they were at the great front door of baldpate in end of chapter eleven chapter twelve of seven keys to baldpate this is a librebox recording all librebox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librebox recording by gavy kawain seven keys to ball paid by earl der beakers chapter twelve woe in number seven inside before the office fired miss thorne hill read a magazine in the indolent fashion so much affected at ball paid in during the heated term while the major of bruton chatted amiable with the ponderosly coy mrs norton into this circle burst the envoys to the hermitage flushed energetic and snowflake hail to the chef who in triumph advances cried mr he pointed to the door through which mr max was leading the capture mr peters you got him did you rasped mrs norton without the use of anesthetics answered maggie everybody ready for one of mr peter's you got him did you rasped mrs norton without the use of anesthetics answered maggie everybody ready for one of mr peter's inimitable lunches put me down at the head of the list contributed the measure myra turnhill laid down her magazine and fixed her great black eyes upon the radiant girl in court to roy and was a walk in the morning air she asked all you expected all and much more laughed miss norton mischievously regarding the man who had babbled to her of love on the mountain by the way enjoy mr peters while you can he's back for just one day eat drink and be merry for to-morrow the cook leaves as the fellow says supplemented mr max removing his overcoat

how about a quick lunch peters inquired maggie out of what i'd like to know put in mrs norton not a thing in the house to eat just like a man the right place, ma'am, replied Mr. Peters with relish. I got supplies for a couple of days in the kitchen. Well, what's the sense of hiding them? The large lady inquired. It ain't hiding, it's system, explained Mr. Peters. Something women don't understand. He came close to Mr. McGee and whispered low.

You didn't warn me there was another of them. The last on my word of honor, Maggie told him. The last sneer Mr. Peters. There isn't any last up here. And with a sighed long glance at the new eve in his mountain Eden, he turned away to the kitchen. Now, whispered Maggie to Miss Norton, I'll get you that package.

I'll prove that it was for you. I thought and let the mayor of Bruton, watch for our chance. When I see you again, I'll have it in my pocket. You mustn't feel me, she replied. It means so much. Mr. McGee started for the stairs. Between him and them loomed suddenly the great bulk of Mr. Cargan.

His heart menacing eyes looked full into McGee's. I want to speak to you, young fellow, he remarked. And fluttered, said McGee, that you find my kid. company so enchanting. In ten minutes I'll be ready for another interview. You're ready now, answered the mayor, even if you don't know it. His tone was that of one correcting of a child. He took Mr. McGee's arm in a grip which recalled to that gentleman a fact that the mock-raking stories always dwelt on how this cargan had in the old days put away his man in many shady corners of a great city.

Come over here, said Kargan. He led the way to a window. Over his shoulder, Maggie noted the troubled eyes of Miss Norton following. Sit down. I've been trying to dub you out, and I think I've got you. I've seen your kind before. Every few months one of them breezes into Rilton, it spends a whole day talking to a few rats.

I've had to exterminate from politics, and then flies back to New York with a ten-page story of my vicious career, all ready for the linot diapers. Yes, sir, I got you. You write sweet things for the magazines. Think so? inquired McGee. Know it, returned the measure heartily. So you're out after old Jim Cargan's scalp again, are you?

I thought that now. seen stories on the corruption of the courts is so plentiful to let the shame on the city halls alone for a while but well i guess i'm what you guys call good copy big brutal uneducated picturesque you see i read them stories myself how long will the american public stand being ruled by a man like this when it might be authorizing pretty boys with kid gloves to get next to the good things? That's dope. Ain't it? The old top of the reform gang. The Ballyhoo of the bunch that can't let the existing order stand?

Don't worry, I ain't going to get started on that again. But I want to talk to you serious, like a father. There was a young fellow like you once. Like me? Exactly. He was out working on long hours and short pay for the reform gang, and he happened to get whole of something that a man I knew,

a man high up in public office, wanted, and wanted bad. The young fellow was going to get $200 for the article he was writing. My friend offered him $20,000 to call it off. What the young fellow do? Wrote the article, of course, said McGee. Now, no, reproved Gargan. that remark don't fit in with the estimate I've made of you. I think you're a smart boy.

Don't disappoint me. This young fellow I speak of, he was smart, all right. He taught the matter over. He knew the reform bunch through and true, all glory and no pay, serving them. He knew how they chased bubbles and made a lot of noise and never got anywhere in the end. He taught it over, Maggie. the same as you're going to do you run says this lad and added five figures to his roll as easy as we'd add a nickel he had brains that guy and no conscience commented maggie conscience said mr cargan ain't worth much except as an excuse for a man that hasn't made good to give his wife how much did you say you was going to get for this article

mr maggie looked him coolly in the eye if it's even written he said it will be a two hundred thousand dollars story there ain't anything like that in it for you replied the mayor think over what i've told you i'm afraid smiled maggie i'm too busy to think he again crossed the office floor to the stairway before the fire sat the girl off the station her big eyes upon him pleadingly with a reassuring smile in her direction he darted up the stairs and now he thought as he closed and locked the door of number seven behind him for the swag so cargan would give twenty thousand for that little package i don't blame him he opened a window and glanced out along the balcony it was deserted in either direction its snowy floor was in the snowy floor was innocent of footprints. Re-entering number seven, he knelt by the fireplace and dug up the brick under

which lay the package so dear to many hearts on Valpade Mountain. I might have none, he mutter, for the money was gone. He dug up several of the bricks and rummage about beneath them. No

juice. The fat little bundle of bills had flown. Only an ugly hoarse. fool gapped up at him. He sat down. Of course! What a fool he had been to suppose that such treasure

as this would stay long in a hiding place so obvious. He who had made a luxurious living writing tales of the chase of gems and plate and gold had bungled the thing from the first. He could hammer out

on a typewriter, wild plots, and counterplots with a boarding school girl's cupid. busy all over the place, but he could not leave them. Aborting school, Cupid, good lord! He remembered the eyes of the girl in the blue court to Roy,

as they had met his when he turned to the stairs. What could she say now? On this he had gaily stake her fate in him. This was to be the test of his sincerity, the proof of his devotion, and now he must go to her. looking like a fool once more got to her and confessed that again he had failed her his rage blazed forth so they had got to him after all who he thought of the smooth crafty mountain of a man who had detained him a moment ago who bought cargan and max of course they had found his childish hide in place and the money had come home to their eager hands no doubt they were laughing slightly at him now well he would show them yet he got up and walked the floor once he had held them up in the snow and spoiled their little game he would do it again

how when he did not know his soul cried for action of some sort but he was up against a blind alley and he knew it he unlocked the door of number seven to go downstairs to meet the sweet eagerness of the girl who depended on him. To confess himself tricked, it took all the courage he had. Why had it all happened anyhow? Confounded, hadn't he come up here to be alone with his thoughts? But, brighter side, it had given him her, or it would give him her before the last card was played. He shot his teeth tightly, and went down the stairs.

Mr. Blant had added himself. to the group about the fire quickly the eyes of miss norton met maggie's she was trembling with excitement cargan huge red cheery gutting maggie's bat once more all in the eighties man thought maggie i've been figuring said the mayor that was one thing he didn't have to contend with no sir there wasn't any bright young man hunting up old napoleon and knocking his him in the monthly magazines. They didn't go down to Sardinia and pump it out of the neighbors that he started business on borrowed money and that his father drank more than was good for him. They didn't run illustrated articles about the diamonds he wore and moving pictures of him eating soup.

No, I guess not, replied McGee abstractedly. I reckon there was a lot in his reference. wasn't meant for the newspaper, continued Gargan reflectively, and he didn't get there. Knapp was lucky. He had it on the reformers there. They couldn't squash him with the power of the press. Mr. McGee broke away from the major's rehashed history and hurried to Miss Norton. "'You promised yesterday,' he reminded her, to show me the pictures of the Admiral. So I did, she replied, rising quickly. The thing you have spent all this time in ball paid in

and not paid homage to its own particular cock of the walk. She led him to a portrait hanging beside the desk. Behold, she said, the admiral on a sunny day in July. Note the starchy grandeur of him. Even with the thermometer up in the clouds, that's one of the things the rocking chair fled adores in him. Can you imagine the flurry at the approach of all that superiority? Theodore Roosevelt, William Fabersham, and Richard Hardin Davis all rhyming together

couldn't overshadow the admiral for a minute. Mr. McGee gazed at the picture of a pompous little man, whose fierce mustache seemed anxious to make up for the next. the lack of hair on his head. A bold hero at a summer resort, he commented. It seems incredible. Oh, they think he lost his hair fighting for the flag, she laughed. It's winter and snowing, or I shouldn't dare, less majesty.

And over here is the admiral on the veranda, playing its a quarter deck. And here the great portrait, Andrew Rutter, with a profanity. in arm over the admiral's shoulder. The old ladies make their complaints to Mr. Rutter in softer tones after seeing that picture. And these? Asked McGee moving farther from the group by the fire. A precious one. I wonder they leave it here in winter.

This is the admiral as a young man, clipped from a magazine article. Even without the mustache, you see he had a certain marshal bearing. and now he is the ruler of the Queen's Navy, smiled McGee. He looked about, is it possible to see the room where the Admiral plays his famous game? Step softly, she answered. In here, there stands the very table. They went into the small cart room at the right of the entrance to the office, and Mr. McGee quietly closed the door behind them. The time had come. he felt his heart sink well said the girl with an eagerness she could not conceal mr maggie groped for words and found his old friends of the mountain

i love you he cried desperately you must believe i want to help you it looks rather the other way now i'll admit i want you to have that money i don't know who you are nor what this all means but i want you to have it i went upstairs determined to give it to you really the word was at least fifty degrees below the temperature of the card room yes really i won't ask you to believe but i am telling the truth i went to the place where i had faithously hid the money under a brick of my fireplace it was gone how terrible unfortunate yes isn't it mr maggie rejoiced that she took so calm a view of it they searched the room of course and they found the money they're on the top now but i'm going he stopped for he had seen her face she taking a calm view of it no indeed billy mcgit saw that she was furiously widely angry he remembered always having written it down that beautiful women were even more beautiful in anger how he wondered had he fallen into that error please do not bore me she said to her teeth with any further recital of what you are going to do you seem to have a fatal facility in that line your record of accomplishment is pathetically weak and oh what a fool i've been i believed even after last night i believed no she was not going to cry hers was no mood for tears what's said the libertest

there is beauty in the roaring of the gale and the tiger when a lashing of his tail such was the beauty of a woman in anger and nothing to get enthusiastic about thought mr magee i know he said helplessly you're terrible disappointed and i don't blame you but you will find out that you've done me an injustice i am going one thing said she is smiling i smiled that would have caught glass you are going to do i know that you won't fail this time because i shall personally see you through with it you're going to stop making a fool of me tell me pleaded billy maggie tell me who you are what this is all about can't you see em working in the dark you must she threw open the card-room door an english officer she remarked loudly stepping out into the other room thought the admiral the game at least so he said it added so much romance to it in the eyes of the rocking-chair fleet can you see india the hot sun the kipling local color a silent tanned handsome man eternally playing solitary on the porch of the barracks has the barracks a porch roused humiliated baffled mr maggie felt his cheeks burn we shall see what we shall see he muttered why coin the inevitable into a bromide she asked Mr. McGee joined the group by the fire.

Never before in his life had he been so determined on anything as he was now that the package of money should return to his keeping. But how? How traced to this maze of humans the present holder of that precious bundle of collateral? He looked at Mr. Max, sneering his lemon-colored sneer at the major side. At the measure himself, nonchallant, as the admiral being photographed at bland author of the arabella fiction sprawling at east before the fire at the to-tree mrs norton and at mire thornhill who had by her pleading the night before made him ridiculous who of these had the money now who put cargan and mages their faces serene their eyes eagerly on the

preparations for lunch, their plans for living bald-bate in, no doubt, already made. And then Mr. McGee saw coming down the stairs another figure. One he had forgot, Professor Tadeus Bolton, he of the mysterious dialogue by the annex door. On the professor's forehead was a surprising red scratch, and his eyes, no longer hidden by the double convex lenses. stood revealed a washed-out gray in the light of noon a most unfortunate accident explained the old man most distressing i have broken my glasses i'm almost blind without them how'd it happen though asked mr cargan easily i came into unexpected juxtaposition with an open door returned professor bolton stupid of me But I'm always doing it, really. The agility display by Dorsing getting in my path is surprising.

You and Mr. Max can sympathize with each other, said Maggie. I thought for a moment your injuries might have been received in the same cause. Don't worry, Doc. Mr. Blan suited him. We'll all keep a weather eye out for reporters that want to connect you up with the peroxide blunts. The professor turned his infactual gaze on the haberdasher, and there was a startingly ironic smile on his face. I know Mr. Blant, he said, that my safety is your dearest wish. The hermit of Bald Pate announced that the lunch was ready, and with the others Mr. McGee took his place at the table.

Food for thought was also his. The spectacles of Professor Tadeus Bolton were broken. Somewhere in the scheme of things, those smashed lenses must fit. But where? End of Section 12. Recorded by Gabby Cowan. Chapter 13 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate. This is a Libravox recording.

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox 7 keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 13 The Exquisite Mr. Hayden It was past 3 o'clock. The early twilight crept up the mountain, and the shadows began to lengthen in the great bare office of Bald Pade Inn.

In the red flicker of firelight, Mr. McGee sat and pondered. The interval since luncheon had passed lazily. He was no nearer to guessing which of Bald Pate Inn's winter guests, hugged close the precious package. Exasperated, angry, he waited for he knew not what, restless all the while to act, but having not the glimmer of an inspiration as to what his course ought to be. He heard the rustle of skirts on the stair landing, and looked up. Down the broad stairway, so well designed to serve as a shadow window for the sartorial triumphs of Bald Pate's gay summer people, came the tall, handsome girl who had the night before,

set all his plans awry. In the swift-moving atmosphere of the inn, she had hitherto been to Mr. McGee but a puppet of the shadows, a figure more fictitious than real. Now, for the first time, he looked upon her as a flesh and blood girl, noted the red in her olive cheeks, the fire in her dark eyes, and realized that her interest in that package of money might be something more than another queer quirk in the tangle of events. She smiled a friendly smile at McGee and took the chair he offered. One small slipper beat a discreet tattoo on the polished floor of Bald Pate's office. Again she suggested to Billy McGee, a house of wealth and warmth and luxury, a house where Arnold Bennett and the post-impressionists were often discussed, a house the head of which

becomes purple and epiplectic at the mention of Colonel Roosevelt's name. "'Last night, Mr. McGee,' she said, "'I told you frankly why I had come to Bald Pade in. "'You were good enough to say that you would help me if you could. "'The time has come when you can, I think.' "'Yes,' answered McGee, his heart sank. "'What now?' "'I must confess that I spied this morning,' she went on.

"'It was rude of me, perhaps, "'but I think almost anything is excusable under the circumstances, don't you?' I witnessed a scene in the hall above. Mr. McGee, I know who has the $200,000. You know? cried McGee. His heart gave a great bound. At last, and then he stopped. I'm afraid I must ask you not to tell me, he added sadly.

The girl looked at him in wonder. She was of a type common in McGee's world, delicate, finely reared, sensitive. True, in her pride and haughtiness, she suggested the snow-capped heights of the Eternal Hills. But at sight of those feminine heights, Billy McGee had always been one to seize his alpenstock in a more determined grip and climb.

Witness his attentions to the superb Helen Faulkner. He had a moment of faltering. Here was a girl who at least did not doubt him, who ascribed to him the virtues of a gentleman, who was glad to trust in him. Should he transfer his allegiance? No, he could hardly do that now. Now.

You ask me not to tell you, repeated the girl slowly. That demands an explanation, replied Billy McGee. I want you to understand, to be certain, that I would delight to help you if I could. But the fact is that before you came, I gave my word to secure the package you speak of for another woman. I cannot break my promise to her. I see, she answered. Her tone was cool.

"'I'm very sorry,' McGee went on, "'but as a matter of fact I seem to be of very little service to anyone. "'Just now I would give a great deal to have the information you were about to give me. "'But since I could not use it helping you, "'you will readily see that I must not listen. "'I'm sorry.' "'I'm sorry, too,' replied the girl. "'Thank you very much for telling me.

"'Now I must go forward alone.' "'She smiled unhappily. I'm afraid you must, answered Billy McGee. On the stairs appeared the slim figure of the other girl. Her great eyes were wistful, her face was pale. She came toward them through the red firelight. Mr. McGee saw what a fool he had been to waver in his allegiance even for a moment, for he loved her, wanted her surely.

The snow-capped heights were inspiring, but far more companionable is the brook that sparkles in the valley. It's rather dull, isn't it? asked Miss Norton of the Thornhill girl. By the sight of the taller woman, she seemed slight, almost childish. Have you seen the pictures of the Admiral, Miss Thornhill?

Looking at them as our one diversion. I do not care to see them, thank you, Myra Thornhill replied, moving toward the stairs. He is a very dear friend of my father. She passed up and out of sight. Miss Norton turned away from the fire, and Mr. McGee rose hastily to follow. He stood close behind her, gazing down at her golden hair, shimmering in the dark.

"'I've been thinking,' he said lightly, "'what an absolutely ridiculous figure I must be in your eyes, buzzing around and round like a bee in a bottle, and getting nowhere at all. Listen, no one has left the inn. While they stay there's hope. Am I not to have one more chance, a chance to prove to you, you how much I care?" She turned, and even in the dusk, he saw that her eyes were wet. "'Oh, I don't know, I don't know,' she whispered.

"'I'm not angry anymore. I'm just—at sea. I don't know what to think, what to do. Why try any longer? I think I'll go away and give up.' "'You mustn't do that,' urged McGee. They came back into the firelight. Miss Thornhill has just informed me that she knows who has the package. Indeed, said the girl calmly, but her face had flushed. I didn't let her tell me, of course. Why not? Oh, how maddening women could be.

Why not? McGee's tone was hurt, because I couldn't use her information in getting the money for you. Are you still going to get the money for me? Maddening certainly, as a rough-edged, collar. Of. McGee began, but caught himself. No, he would prate no more of going to. I'll not ask you to believe it, he said, until I bring it to you and place it in your hand. She turned her face slowly to his and lifted her blue eyes. I wonder, she said, I wonder. The firelight fell on her lips, her hair, her eyes, and Mr. McGee knew that his selfish back.

bachelorhood was at an end. Hitherto, marriage had been to him the picture drawn by the pathetic exiled master. There are no more pleasant by-paths down which you may wander, but the road lies long and straight and dusty to the grave. What if it were so? With the hand of a girl like this in his, what if the pleasant by-paths of his solitude did bear hereafter the, no thoroughfare sign? Long the road might be, and he would rejoice in its life. length. Dusty, perhaps, but her smile through the dust would make it all worthwhile. He stooped to her. Give me, please, he said, the benefit of the doubt. It was a poor speech compared to what was in his heart, but Billy McGee was rapidly learning that most of the pretty speeches went with puppets

who could not feel. Bland and Max came in from a brisk walk on the veranda, the mayor of Rutan, who had been dozing near the desk, stirred. Great air up here, remarked Mr. Max, rubbing his hands before the fire. Ought to be pumped down into the region of the white lights. It sure would stir things up. It would put out the lights at ten p.m., answered Mr. McGee, and inculcate other wholesome habits of living, disastrous to the restaurant impresarios. Miss Norton rose and ascended the stairs.

Still, the protesting McGee was at her heels. At the head of the stair, she turned. "'You shall have your final chance,' she said. "'The mayor, Max, and Bland are alone in the office. I don't approve of eavesdropping at Bald Pate in the summer. It has spoiled a lot of perfectly adorable engagements. But in winter it's different. Whether you really want to help me or not, I'm sure I don't know.

But if you do, the conversation below now might prove of interest.' I'm sure it would, McGee replied. Well, I have a scheme. Listen, Bald Pate Inn is located in a temperance county. That doesn't mean that people don't drink here. It simply means that there's a lot of mystery and romance connected with the drinking. Sometimes those who follow the God of Chance in the card room late at night grow thirsty. Now it happens that there is a trapdoor in the floor of the card room, up which drinks are frequently passed from the cellar. "'Isn't that exciting? A hotel clerk who became human once in my presence told me all about it.

"'If you went into the cellar and hunted about, you might find that door and climb up into the card-room.' "'A bully idea,' agreed Mr. McGee. "'I'll hurry down there this minute. I'm more grateful than you can guess for this chance, and this time, but you'll see.' He found the back stairs and descended. In the kitchen the hermit got in his path. Mr. McGee, he pleaded, I consider that, in a way, I work for you here. I've got something important to tell you. Just a minute. Sorry, answered McGee, but I can't possibly stop now. In an hour I'll talk to you. Show me the cellar door, and don't mention where I've gone. There's a good fellow. Mr. Peters protested that his need of talk was urgent, but to no avail. McGee hurried to the cellar, and with the aid of a box of matches, found a ladder leading to a door cut in the floor above. He climbed through dust and cobwebs, unfastened the catch, and pushed cautiously upward. In another minute he was standing in the

chill little card-room. Softly he opened the card-room door about a half an inch and put his ear to it. The three men were grouped very close at hand, and he heard Mr. Bland speaking in low tones. I'm talking to you boys as a friend. The show is over. There ain't no use hanging round for the concert. There won't be none. Go home and get some clean collars and a square meal. If you think I'm going to be shook off by any fairy story like that, said the governor of Rutan. You're a child with all a child's touching faith. All right, replied Mr. Bland. I thought I'd pass you the tip, that's all. It ain't nothing to me what you do. But it's all over, and you've lost out. I'm sorry you have.

but I take Hayden's orders. Damn, Hayden, snarled the mayor. It was his idea to make a three-act play out of this thing. He's responsible for this silly trip to Bald Pate. This audience we've been acting for, he let us in for them. I know, said Bland, but you can't deny that Bald Pate in looked like the ideal spot at first, secluded, off the beaten path, you know, and all that. Yes, sneered the mayor.

as secluded as a Sunday school the Sunday before Christmas. Well, who could have guessed it? Went on Mr. Bland. As I say, I don't care what you do. I just passed you the tip. I've got that nice little package of the long green. I've got it where you'll never find it. Yes, sir, it's returned to the loving hands of little Joe Bland

that brought it here first. It ain't going to roam no more. So what's the use of your sticking around? How did you get hold of it? inquired Mr. Lou Max. I had my eye on this little professor person, explained Mr. Bland. This morning, when McGee went up the mountain, I trailed the highbrow to McGee's room. When I busted in, unannounced by the butler, he was making his getaway.

I don't like to talk about what followed. He's an old man, and I sure didn't mean to break his glasses, nor scratch his dome of thought. There's ideas in that dome go back to the time of Anthony J. Chaucer. But he's always talking about that literature chair of his. Why couldn't he stay at home and sit in it? Anyhow, I got the bundle all right, all right. I wonder what the little fossil wants with it. The doc's glasses was broke, said Max, evidently to the mayor of Routin.

Mmm, came Cargan's voice. "'Bland, how much do you make working for this nice kind gentleman, Mr. Hayden. "'Oh, about two thousand a year with pickings,' replied Bland. "'Yes,' went on Mr. Cargan. "'I ain't no Charles Dana Gibson with words. My talk's a little rough and sketchy, I guess. But here's the outline, plain as I can make it. Two thousand a year from Hayden. Twenty thousand in two seconds if you hand that package to me.' "'No,' objected Bland. "'I've been honest, after a fashion. I can't quite stand for that. I'm working for Hayden.

Don't be a fool, sneered Max. Of course, said the mayor, I appreciate your scruples, having had a few in my day myself, though you'd never think so to read the star. But look at it sensible. The money belongs to me. If you was to hand it over, you'd be just doing plain justice. What right has Hayden on his side? I did what was agreed. Do I get my pay? No. Who are you to defeat the end of the of justice this way. That's how you ought to look at it. You give me what's my due, and you put twenty thousand in your pocket by an honest act. Hayden comes, he asks for the bundle, you point to the dynamited safe. You did your best. No, said bland, but his tone was less firm. I can't go

back on Hayden. No, it wouldn't. Twenty thousand, repeated Cargan. Ten years' salary, the way you're going ahead at present. A lot of money for a young man. If I was you, I wouldn't hesitate a minute. Think. What's Hayden ever done for you? He'll throw you down someday the way he's thrown me. I... I don't know, wavered bland. Mr. McGee in the card room knew that Hayden's emissary was tottering on the brink. You could set up in business, whined Mr. Max. Why, if I'd had that much money at your age I'd be a millionaire today. You get the package, suggested the mayor, take twenty thousand out, and slip the rest to me, no questions asked. I guess there ain't nobody mixed up in this affair will go up on the house-tops and shout about it when we get back to Rutan.

Well, began Bland. He was lost. Suddenly the quiet of Balpat Mountain was assailed by a loud pounding at the inn door, and a voice crying, Bland, let me in. There's Hayden now, cried Mr. Bland. It ain't too late, came the mayor's voice. You can do it yet. It ain't too late. Do what, cried Bland in a firm tone. You can't bribe me, Cargan. He raised his voice. Go round to the east door, Mr. Hayden. And then he added to Cargan, that's my answer. I'm going to let him in. "'Let him in,' bellowed the mayor. "'Let the hound in. "'I guess I've got something to say to Mr. Hayden.'

"'There came to McGee's ears, "'the sound of opening doors, "'and of returning footsteps. "'How do you do, Kargan?' said a voice new to Bald Pate. "'Cut the society howdy-dos,' replied the mayor hotly. "'There's a little score to be settled between me and you, Hayden. "'I ain't quite wise to your orchid in the buttonhole ways. "'I don't quite follow the.

them. I ain't been bred in the club you hang around. They blackballed me when I tried to get in. You know that. I'm a rough, rude man. I don't understand your system. When I give my word, I keep it. Has that gown out of style up on the avenue where you live? There are conditions, began Hayden. The hell there are, roared Cargan. A man's words his word, and he keeps it to me, or I know the reason why. You can't come down to the City Hall with any new deal like this. I was to have two hundred thousand. Why didn't I get it?' "'Because,' replied Hayden smoothly, "'the—er little favor you were to grant me in return is to be made useless by the courts.'

"'Can I help that?' the mayor demanded. "'Was there anything about that in the agreement? I did my work. I want my pay. I'll have it, Mr. Hayden.' "'Hadden's voice was cool and even as he spoke to Bland. "'Got the money, Joe?' "'Yes,' Bland answered. "'Where?' "'Well, we'd better wait, hadn't we?' "'Bland's voice was shaky.

"'No, we'll take it and get out,' answered Hayden. "'I want to see you do it,' cried Cargan. "'If you think I've come up here on a pleasure trip, "'I've got a chart and a pointer all ready for your next lesson. "'And let me put you wise, This knobby little idea of yours about Bald Pade-in is the worst ever. This place is as full of people as if the regular summer rates was being charged. The devil it is, cried Hayden.

His voice betrayed a startled annoyance. It hasn't worried me, none, went on the mayor. They can't touch me. I own the prosecutor, and you know it. But it ain't going to do you any good on the avenue if you're seen here with me, is it, Mr. Hayden? "'The more reason,' replied Hayden, "'for getting the money and leaving at once.

"'I'm not afraid of you, Kargan. I'm armed.' "'I ain't,' sneered the mayor. "'But no exquisite from your set with his little air-gun ever scared me. "'You try to get away from here with that bundle, "'and you'll find yourself all tangled up in the worst scrap that ever happened.' "'Where's the money, Joe?' asked Hayden. "'You won't wait,' bland begged. Wait to get my own money, I guess not. Show me where it is.

Remember, put in Cargan, that money is mine, and I don't have any pipe dreams about the law. The law ain't called into things of this sort as a rule. I guess you'd be the last to call it. You'll never get away from here with my money. Mr. McGee opened the card room door farther and saw the figure of the stranger Hayden confronting the mayor. Mr. Cargan's title of exquisite best described him. The newcomer was tall, fair, fastidious in dress and manner. A revolver gleamed in his hand. Joe, he said firmly, take me to that money at once. It's out here, replied Bland. He and Hayden disappeared through the dining room door into the darkness. Cargan and Max followed close behind. Hot with excitement, Mr. McGee slipped from his

place of concealment. A battle fit for the gods was in the air. He must be in the midst of it. Perhaps again in a three-cornered fight, it would be the third party that would emerge victorious. In the darkness of the dining room, he bumped into a limp, clinging figure. It proved to be the hermit of Bald Pate Mountain. "'I got to talk to you, Mr. McGee,' he whispered in a frightened tremolo. "'I got to have a word with you this minute.' "'Not now. cried McGee, pushing him aside. Later. The hermit wildly seized his arm. No, now. There's strange goings on here, Mr. McGee. I got something to tell you about a package of money I found in the kitchen.

Mr. McGee stood very still. Beside him in the darkness, he heard the hermit's excited breathing. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of seven keys to bold paint. This is a little librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org recording by lynn thompson seven keys to boldplate by earl der biggers chapter fourteen the sign of the open window undecided mr mcgee looked toward the kitchen door from behind which came the sound of men's voices then he smiled turned and led mr peters back into the office the hermit of baldpate fairly trembled with news since i broke in on you yesterday morning he said in a low tone as he took a seat on the edge of a chair one thing has followed another so fast that i'm a little daze i can't just get the full meaning of it all you have nothing on me there peters mcgee answered i can't either well went on the hermit as i say through all this downpour of people including women i've hung on to one idea I'm working for you. You give me my wages. You're the boss. That's why I feel I ought to give you what information I got to you. Yes, yes, Mr. Medea agreed impatiently. Go ahead.

Where you find women, Peters continued. There you find things beyond understanding. History? Get to the point. Well, yes. This afternoon I was looking round, through the kitchen, sort of reconnoitering you might say. and finding out what i have to work with for just between us when some of this bunch goes i'll easily be persuaded to come back and cook for you i was hunting round in the big refrigerator with a candle thinking maybe some little token of food had been left over from last summer's rush something in a can that time could not whither nor customs sail as the poet says and anyway up on the top shelf in the darkest corner i found a little package quick peters cried mcgee where is that package now i'm coming to that went on the hermit not to be hurried what struck me first about the thing was it didn't have any dust on it aha i says or were to that effect i opened it what do you think was in it. I don't have to think, I know, said McGee, money. In the name of heaven, Peters, tell me where you've got the thing. Just a minute, Mr. McGee. Let me tell it my way. You're right.

There was money in that package, lots of it, enough to found a university, or buy a woman's gowns for a year. I was examining it, careful-like, when a shadow came in the doorway. I looked up. Who? asked McGee, breathlessly. That little, blinky-eyed Professor Bolton was standing there, most owlish and interested. He came into the refrigerator. That package you have in your hand, Peters, he says, belongs to me. I put it in cold storage so it would keep. I'll take it now. Well, Mr. McGee, I'm a peaceful man. I could have battered that professor into a learning sort of jelly if I'd wanted to. But I'm a great admirer. of Mr. Carnegie on account of the library, and I go in for peace.

I knew it wasn't exactly the thing, but— You gave him the package? That's hardly the way I would put it, Mr. McGee. I made no outcry or resistance when he took it. I'm just the cook, I says, in this house. I ain't the trusted old family retainer that retains its fortunes like a safety deposit vault. So I let go the bundle.

It was weak of me, I know. but I sort of got the habit of giving up money, being married so many years. "'Peter's,' said Mr. McGee, "'I'm sorry your grip was so insecure, "'but I'm mighty glad you came to me with this matter.' "'He told me I wasn't to mention it to anybody,' replied the hermit. "'But, as I say, I sort of look on it, that we were here first, "'and if our guests get to chasing untold wealth up and down the place,

"'we ought to let each other in on it.' correct answered mcgee you are a valuable man peters i want you to know that i appreciate the way you have acted in this affair four shadowy figures tramped in through the dining-room door i should say he continued that the menu you propose for dinner will prove most gratifying what oh yes sir said peters is that all quite smiled maryne unless just a minute this may concern you on my word there's another new face at bolpate he stood up and in the light of the fire met hayden now he saw that the face of the latest comer was schemy and weak and that under a small blond moustache a very cruel mouth sought to hide the stranger gazed at mcgee with an annoyance plainly marked a friend of mine mr er downs mr mrs mcgee muttered bland oh come now smiled mcgee let's tell our real names i heard you greeting your friend a minute ago how are you mr hayden he held out his hand hayden looked him angrily in the eyes who the devil are you he asked do you mean said mcgee that you didn't catch the name it's mcgee william hallowell mcgee i hold a record hereabouts mr hayden i spent nearly an hour at boltpaint in alone you see i was the first of our amiable little party to arrive let me make you welcome are you staying to dinner you must i'm not growled hayden don't believe him mr mcgee sneered the mare he doesn't always say what he means he's going to stay all right

yes you'd better mr hayden advised splined huh delighted i'm sure snapped hayden he strolled over to the wall and in the light of the fire examined a picture nonchalantly the pride of our inn mr mcgee following explained pleasantly the admiral it is within these very walls in summer that he plays his most famous game of solid air hayden wheeled quickly and looked mcgee in the eyes a flush crossed his face, leaving it paler than before. He turned away without speaking. "'Peter's,' said McGee, "'you heard what Mr. Hayden said, "'an extra plate at dinner, please. I must leave you for a moment, gentlemen.' He saw that their eyes followed him, eagerly, full of suspicion, menacing. "'We shall all wait again very shortly.' Hayden slipped quickly between McGee and the stairs. The latter faced him, smilingly,

reflecting as he did so that he could love this man but little who are you said hayden again what is your business here mcgee laughed outright and turned to the other men how unfortunate he said this gentleman does not know the manners and custom of boldpate in winter those are questions mr hayden that we are never impolite enough to ask of one another up here he moved on towards the stairs and reluctantly hayden he moved on towards the stairs and reluctantly hayden got out of his path. I am very happy, he said, that you are to be with us at dinner. It will not take you long to accustom yourself to our ways, I'm sure.

He ran up the stairs and passed through number seven out upon the balcony. Trudging through the snow, he soon sighted the room of Professor Bolton. And as he did so, a little shiver that was not due to atmospheric conditions ran down his spine. For one of the professor's windows stood wide,

open bidding a welcome to the mountain storm peters had spoken the truth once more that tight little right little package was within mr mcgee's ken he stepped through the open window and closed it after him by the table sat professor bolton wrapped in coats and blankets reading by the light of a solitary candle the book was held almost touching his nose a reminder of the spectacle that were gone. As McGee entered, the old man looked up, and a very obvious expression of fright crossed his face. "'Good evening, Professor,' said McGee easily. "'Don't you find it rather cool with the window open?' "'Mr. McGee,' replied the much-rapped gentleman, "'I am that rather disturbing progressive, a fresh air devotee. I feel that God's good air was meant to be breathed, not barricaded from our bodies. Perhaps, suggested McGee, I should have left the window open. The old man regarded him narrowly. I have no wish to be inhospitable, he replied, but if you please—'

Certainly, answered McGee, he threw open the window. The professor held up his book. I was passing the time before dinner with my pleasant old companion, Montaigne. Mr. McGee, have you ever read his essay on liars? said McGee, but I do not blame you for brushing up on it at the present time, Professor. I have come to apologise. Yesterday morning I referred in a rather unpleasant way to a murder in the chemical laboratory at one of our universities. I said that the professor of chemistry was missing.

This morning's paper, which I secured from Mr. Peters, informs me that he has been apprehended. You need not have trouble to tell me, said the old man, he smiled his bleak smile i did you an injustice went on mcgee let us say no more of it pleaded professor bolton mr mcgee walked about the room warily the professor turned so that the other was at no instant at his back he looked so helpless so little so ineffectual that mr mcgee abandoned his first plan of leaping upon him there in the silence by more subtle means than this must his purpose be attained i suppose he said your love of fresh air accounts for the strolls on the balcony at all hours of the night the old man merely blinked at him i mustn't stop maggie continued i just wanted to make my apology that's all it was unjust of me murder that is hardly in your line by the way were you by any chance in my room this morning professor bolton silence pardon me remarked the professor at last if i do not answer in this very essay on on liars montaigne has expressed it so well and how much is a false speech less sociable than silence i am a sociable man

of course smiled mcgee he stood looking down at the frail old scholar before him and considered of what avail a scuffle there in that chill room the package was no doubt safely hidden in a corner he could not quickly find no he must wait and watch good-bye until dinner he said and may you find much in your wise companion's book to justify your conduct he went out through the open window and in another moment stood just outside miss norton's room she put a startled head out at his knock oh it's you she said i can't invite you in you might learn terrible secrets of the dressing-table mamma is bedecking herself for dinner has anything happened throw something over your head juliet smiled mcgee the balcony is waiting for you she was at his side in a moment and they walked briskly along the shadowy white floor i know who has the money said mcgee softly simply through a turn of luck i know i realized that my protestations of what i am going to do have bored you but it looks very much to me as if that package would be in your hands very soon she did not reply and when i have got it and have given it to you if i do he continued what then then she answered i must go away very quickly and no one must know or they will try to stop me and after that The deluge, she laughed without mirth.

Up above them the great trees of Boulbent Mountain waved their black arms constantly, as though sparring with the storm. At the foot of the buried roadway, they could see the lamps of Upper Asgawan Falls. Under those lamps, prosaic citizens were hurrying home with the supper groceries through the night. And not one of those citizens was within miles of guessing that up on the balcony of Bollpate Inn, A young man had seized a young woman's hand And was saying wildly

Beautiful girl, I love you Yes, that was exactly what Billy McGee was doing The girl had turned her face away You've known me just two days She said And if I can care this much in two days he said Think But that's old, isn't it

Sometimes soon I'm going to say to you Whose girl are you And you're going to look up at me with a little heaven the two in your eyes and say i'm billy mcgee's girl so before we go any further i must confess everything i must tell you who this billy mcgee is this man you're going to admit you belong to my dear you read the future glibly she replied are your prophecies true i wonder absolutely some time ago on my soul it was only yesterday i asked if you had read a certain novel called the lost limousine, and you said you had, and that it wasn't sincere. Well, I wrote it. Oh, cried the girl.

Yes, said McGee, and I've done others like it. Oh, yes, my muse has been a Nouveau-Riche lady in a worth gown, my ambition, a big red motor-car. I've been a scramble-a-cent, Mr. Trubodore, beckoning from the bookstores. It was good fun writing those things. and it brought me more money than was good for me. I'm not ashamed of them. They were all right as a beginning in the game. But the other day, I thought an advertisement did the trick.

I turned tired of that sort, and I decided to try the other kind, the real kind. I thought it was an advertisement that did it, but I see now it was because you were just a few days away. Don't tell me, whispered the girl, that you came up here to, to,

of McGee, I came up here to forget, forever, the world's giddy melodrama, the wild chase for money through deserted rooms, shots in the night, cupid in the middle distance. I came here to do literature, if it's in me to do it. The girl leaned limply against the side of Bopéitin. Oh, the irony of it, she cried. I know, he said, it's ridiculous. I think all this is meant just for temperate in. I shall be firm. I'll remember your parable of the blind girl and the lamp that was not lighted.

I'll do the real stuff, so that when you say, as you certainly must someday, I'm Billy McGee's girl, you can say it proudly. I'm sure, she said softly, that if I ever do say it, oh no, I didn't say I would, for he had seized her hands quickly, if I ever do say it, it will certainly be proudly. but now you don't even know my name my right one you don't know what i do nor where i come from nor what i want with this disgusting bundle of money i sort of feel you know that this is the air at boldpate even in the winter time no sooner have the men come than they begin to talk of love to whatever girls they find there on this very balcony down there under the trees and the girls listen for it's in the young it's in the young air, that's all. Then autumn comes and everybody laughs and forgets. May not our autumn come, when I go away? Never, cried McGee, this is no summer hotel affair to me. It is a real in winter and summer love, my dear, in spring and fall, and when you go away, I'm going too, about ten feet behind. Yes, she laughed. They talk that way at Bald Pate, the last weeks of summer. It's

part of the game. They had come to the side of the hotel, on which was the annex, and the girl stopped and pointed. Look, she whispered breathlessly. In a window of the annex had appeared for a moment a flickering yellow light, but only for a moment. I know, said Mr. McGee. There's somebody in there, but that isn't important in comparison. This is no summer affair, dear. Look at the thermometer for proof. I love you. and when you go away I shall follow. And the book? I have found better inspiration than bolt-pate-in.

They walked along for a time in silence. You forget, said the girl, you only know who has the money. I will get it, he answered confidently. Something tells me, I will. Until I do, I am content to say no more. Goodbye, said the girl. She stood in the window of her room, while a harsh voice called,

"'That you, dearie, from inside, and I may add,' she smiled, that in my profession, a following is considered quite desirable. She disappeared, and Mr. McGee, after a few minutes in his room, descended again to the office. In the centre of the room,

Elijah Quimby and Hayden stood face to face. "'What is it, Quimby?' asked McGee. "'I just run up to see how things were going,' quimby replied and i find him here our latest guest smiled mary i was just reminding mr hayden quimby said his teeth set an angry light in his eyes that the last time we met he ordered me from his office i told you mr that the suburban railway once promised to make use of my invention then mr kendrick went away and this man took charge when i came around to the office again he laughed at me when i came the second time he called me a loafer and ordered me out he paused and faced hayden again i've grown bitter here on the mountain he said as i've thought over what you and men like you said to me as i've thought of what might have been and what was yes i've grown pretty bitter time after time i've gone over in my mind that's seen in your office as i've sat here thinking you've come to mean to me all the crowd that made a fool of me you've come to mean to me all the crowd that made a fool of me you've come to mean to me all the crowd that's that said, the public be damned in my ear.

I haven't ever forgot how you ordered me out of your office. Well, asked Hayden. And now, Quimby went on, I find you trespassing in a hotel left in my care. The tables are turned. I ought to show you the door. I ought to put you out. Try it, sneered Hayden.

No, answered Quimby. I ain't going to do it. Maybe it's because I've grown timid, brooding over my failure, and maybe it's because I know who's got the seventh key. Hayden made no reply. No one stirred for a minute, and then Quimby moved away, and then went out through the dining-room door. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of seven keys to Balpaid.

This is a Libre-box recording. All Libre-box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer. Please visit Librebox.org, recording by Gabby Cowan. Seven keys to ball paid by Earl Der Biggers. Chapter 15. Table Talk The seventh key, Mr. Maggie thrilled at the mention of it. So Eliy Quimby knew the identity of the mission of the man who hid in the annex.

Did anyone else? Maggie looked at the broad accruage of the major's. face, at the ancient lemon of mags, at glance, frightened and thoughtful, at Haydn's, concerned but smiling. Did anyone else know? Ah, yes, of course. Down the stairs the professor of comparative literature felt his way to food. Is dinner ready? He asked, peering about.

The candles flickered quickly as they'd fought the stronger shadows. Winter roared at the windows. Somewhere above, a door crashed shot. Close to its final scene drew the drama at ball paid in. Mr. McGee knew it. He could not have told why. The others seemed to know it too. In silence, they waited while the hermit

scurried along his dim way, preparing the meal. In silence, they sat while Miss Norton and her mother descended. once there was a little flurry of interest when miss toronhill and hayden met at the foot of the stairs myra hayden cried in heaven's name what does this mean unfortunately said the girl i know all it means and hayden fell back into the shadows finally the attitude of the hermit suggested that the dinner was ready i guess you might as well sit down he remarked it's all fixed what there is to fix this plate don't need a cook it needs a commissary department peters reproved maggie that's hardly courteous to our guests living alone on the mountain replied the hermit from the dining-room door you get to have such a high regard for the truth you can't put courtesy first you want to but you haven't the heart the winter guests took their places at the table and the second december dinner at ball-paid inn got on their way but not so genially as on the previous night did in progress on the faces of those about him mr maggie noted worry and suspicion now and again menacing cold eyes were turned upon him evidently first in the thoughts of those at the table

was a little package rich in treasure and evidently first in the thoughts of most of them as the probable holder of that package was mr magee himself several times he looked up to find mag's cats like eyes upon him sinister and cruel behind the incongruous gold-drimmed glasses several times he saw haydn's eyes hostile and angry seek his face were desperate, they would stop at nothing. Mr. McGee felt that as the drama drew to its close, they saw him and him alone, between them and their calling desires. Before I came up here to be a hermit, remarked Cargan contemporaneously, with the removal of the soup, which I may say in passing I ain't being able to be, with any success, owing to the popularity of the sport on Balpade Mountain, there was never any candles on the table where I ate. No, sir, I left them to the people up in the avenue, to Mr. Hayden and his kind that liked to work in

dim surroundings. I was always strong for a bright light on my foot. What I am afraid of is that I'll get the habit up here and will be wanting Charlie to set out a silver candle-lab room with my lager. Candles be quite an innovation at Charlis, couldn't they, Lou? Too swell for Charlies, commented Mr. Max, except after closing hours. I've seen them induced there then, but the idea wasn't glory and decoration.

I hope you don't dislike the candles, Mr. Cargan, remarked Miss Norton. They add such a lot to the romance of the affair. Don't you think? I'm terrible thrilled, by all this, the rattling of the windows and the flickering light. Two lines of a poem keep running through my head. My lord, he followed after one who whispered in his ear.

The whipping of the candles and the wind is all I hear. I don't know who the Lord was, nor what he followed, perhaps the seventh key, but the weeping candles and the wind seemed so romantic and so like ballpating tonight. if i had a daughter your age commented cargan not unkindly she'd be at home reading laura jean livae by the fire and not chasing after romance on a mountain that could be the best for her i'm sure replied the girl sweetly for then she wouldn't be likely to find out things about her father that could prove this quieting dearie cried mrs norton no one else spoke but all looked at the mayor he was busily engaged with his foot smiling his amusement mr maggie sought to direct a conversation into less personal channels we hear so much about romance especially since it widely advertised that he said and to every man i ever met it meant something different mr cargan speaking as a broad-minded man of the world what does romance mean to you the major ran his fingers through his graying hair and considered seriously romance he reflected well i ain't much on the talk out of books but here's what i see when you say that word to me

it's a night before the election and i am standing in the front window of the little room on main street where the boys can always find me down the street i hear the snarl and rumble of bands and pretty soon i see the yellow flicker of torches like the flicker of that candle and the bobbin of banners and then the boys march by all the boys pat dorothy and bob larsend and mad sanders all the boys and when they get to my window they have their heads and cheer just a fat old man in that window but they'll go to the pavement with any guy that knocks him they're loyal there for me and so they march by cheering and singing all the voice just for me to see and hear well that that is romance to me power translated mr magee yes sir cried the mayor i know i've got them all the reformers in the world can't spoil my thrill then they are mine i guess old napoleon knew that thrill i guess he was the greatest romancer the world ever knew when he marched over the mountains with his starving bunch and looked back and sewed them in rags and suffering for him well I reckon old Knapp was as close to romance, then as any man ever gets. I wonder, answered Mr. Maggie.

It came to him suddenly that in each person's definition of this intangible thing might lie expose something on both character and calling. At the far end of the table, Mrs. Norton's lying tired face met his gaze. To her he put his question. Well, she answered, and her voice seemed softer than its want. I ain't thought much of that word for a good many years now. When I do, say, I seem to see myself sitting on our porch back home 30 years ago. I've got on a simple little muslin dress, and I'm slender as Elsie Janice,

and the color in my cheeks is, well, it's the soon. sword that Norton likes and my hair, but I am thinking of him of Norton. He's told me he wants to make me happy for life, and I've about decided I'll let him try. I see him coming up our front walk, coming to call on me. Have I mentioned I've got a figure, a real sweet figure, that's about what romance means to me. Jude, dear, asked Miss Norton, gently. That's it, dearie, answered the old woman dreamily, youth. For a time those about the table sat in silence, picturing, no doubt, the slender figure on the steps of that porch long ago. Not without a humorous sort of pity did they

glance occasionally toward the woman whom Norton have begged to make happy. The professor of comparative literature was the first to break the silence. The dictionary remarked academically, could define romance as a species of fictitious writing originally composed in the romance dialect and afterward in prose. But the dictionary is prosaic. It has no soul. Shall I tell you what romance means to me? I will.

I see a man toiling in a dim laboratory where there are strange fires and stranger others. Night and day he experiments the love of his kind in his eyes, a desire to help in his heart. And then the golden moment, the great moment in that quiet dreary cell, the moment of the discovery, a serum, a formula, what not. he gives it to the world and a few of the sick are well again and a few of the sorrowful are glad romance means neither youth nor power to me it means service he bent his dim old eyes on his foot and mr maggie gazed at him with a new wonder odd sentiments these from an old man who robbed fireplaces held up hermits and engaged in midnight conferences by the annex door more than ever maggie was baffled entrolled amused now mr max leered about the table and contributed his unsavory bit funny ain't it he remarked the different things the same word means to a bunch of folks say romance to me and i don't see nothing laboratory i don't see nothing dim i see the brightest life in the world and the best food and somebody may be dancing the latest freak dance in between the tables and an orchestra playing in the distance classy dames all about a taxi clicking at the door and me sending word to the chauffeur let her click till the milk cards rumble i can't pay say that sure is romance to me

mr hyden remarked maggie are we to hear from you hyden hesitated and looked for a moment into the black eyes of myra thornhill my idea has often been contradicted he said keeping his gaze on the girl it may be again but to me the greatest romance in the world is the romance of money-making dollar piling on dollar in the bolts of the man who started with a shoe string and hope and nerve i see him fighting from the first thousand and then i see his pile growing slowly at first faster faster faster until a motor-car brings him to his office and men speak his name with awe in the streets money commented miss thornhill contemptuously what an idea of romance months for a month. I did not expect, replied Hayden, that my definition would pass unchallenged my past experiences. He looked meaningly at the girl, had led me to be prepared for that, but it is my definition. I spoke the truth. You must give me credit for that. I ain't one to blame you, sneer Kargan, for wanting it notice when you do side-step lie. Yes, I certainly.

see here cargan blaze hayden yes you did speak the truth put in miss thornehill hastily you mention one word in your definition it was a desecration to drag it in hope for me romance means only hope and i'm afraid there are pitiful number in the world to whom it means the same we a ain't her from the young woman who started all this fuss over a little word, Mr. Cargarn reminded them. That's right, dearie, said Mrs. Norton. You got to contribute? Yes, I greeted girl, with the locks crisps like a golden wire. I will. But it is hard, once ideas change so rapidly.

A moment ago, if you had said romance to me, I might have doubled of shady corners, of whispering on the stir. of walks down the mountain in the moonlight, or even on the hotel balcony. She smiled gaily at McGee. Perhaps tomorrow, too, the word might mean such rapturous things to me, but tonight, life is surreal and earnest tonight.

Service, Professor Bolton was right. Service is often romance. It made mean the discovery of a serum. It made mean so cruel at the time. think as the blighting of another life's romance. She gazed steadily at the stolid Cargan. It may mean putting an end forever to those picturesque parades, past the window of the little room of Main Street, the room where the boys can always find the major of Rutan. Still, she gazed steadily into Cargan's eyes, and with an amused smile the major gazed back.

You couldn't be so cruel as that, he assured her easily, a nice attractive girl like you. The dinner was at an end, without a word the slight little professor rose from the table and hurriedly ascended the stairs. Mr. McGee watched him disappear and resolved to follow quickly on his heels, but first he paused to give his own version of the word under discussion. Strange, he remarked, that none of you gets the picture. I do. Romance. It is here at your feet in ball-paid in. A man climbs the mountain to be alone with his thoughts,

to forget the melodrama of life, to get away from the swift action of the world, and meditate. He's alone for very near an hour. Then a telephone bell tinkles and a youth rube. out of the dark to prey of a lost arabella and haverdashery. A shot rings out as the immemorial custom with shots, and in comes a professor of comparative literature with a perforation in his derby head. A professional hermit arrives to teach the amateur defiant points of the game.

A charming maid comes in, too late for breakfast, but in plenty of time for work. walks on the balcony in the moonlight the mayor of a municipality condescends to stay for dinner a battle in the snow ensues there is a weird talk of a sum of money more guests arrive dark hints of a seventh key why bless you you need and steer from bold faith in in search of your romance he crossed the floor hastily and put one foot on the lower step of Bolt-Pade's grand stairway. He kept it there. For from the shadows of the landing, Professor Bolton emerged. His blasted there be once more on his head. His overcoat button tied.

His ear moths in place. His travelling bag and green umbrella in tow. What, Professor? cried McGee. You're leaving? Now, truly, the end of the drama had come. come. Mr. Magee felt his heartbeat widely. What was the end to be? What did this calm departure mean? Surely the little man descending the stir was not. Dalian like, trusting himself into these lions

then with the precious package in his possession? Yes, the old man was saying slowly, I am about to live. The decision came suddenly. I am sorry to go. Certainly I have. Certainly I have have enjoyed these chance meetings see here dog said mr bland uneasily feeling of his purple tie you're not going back and let them reporters have another fling at you i fear i must replied the old man my duty calls yes they will hound me i shall hear much of peroxide blones i shall be asked again to name the ten greatest in history a difficult not to say dangerous task but i must face the er music as the vulgar expression goes i bid you good-bye mr bland we part friends i am sure again be comforted by the thought that i do not hold the ruin derby against you even though as i have remarked with unpleasant truth the honorarium of a professor at our university is not large turned to McGee. I regret more than I can say, he continued, parting from you.

My eyes fell upon you first on entering this place. We have had exciting times together. My dear Miss Norton, knowing you has refreshed an old man's heart. I might compare you to another with yellow locks. But I leave that to my younger, eric colleagues. Mr. Cargan, goodbye. My acquaintance with you. i shall always look back on but the measure of ruton max and bland closed in on the old man now look here dog interrupted cargan you're bluffing

do you get me you're trying to put something over i don't want to be rough i like you but i got to get a glimpse at the inside of that satchel and i got to examine your personal make up a bit dear dear smiled professor bolton you don't think i would steal a man in my position absurd look through my poor luggage if you desire you will find nothing but the usual appurtenances of travel he stood dustedly in the middle of the floor and blinked at the group around him mr maggie waited to hear no more it was quite apparent that this wise little man carried a little man carried no package widely sought but ballpitz winter guests quietly and quickly maggie disappeared up the broad stair and tried the professor's door it was locked inside he could hear a window banging back and forth in the storm he ran through number seven and out upon the snow-covered balcony there he bumped full into a shadowy figure hurrying in the opposite direction End of Chapter 15. Recording by Gavi Cowan. Chapter 16 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Seven Keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 16. A Man from the Dark. For fully five seconds, Mr. McGee and the man with whom he had called, collided, stood facing each other on the balcony. The identical moon of the summer romances now hung in the sky, and in its white glare, Bald Pate Mountain glittered like a Christmas card.

Suddenly the wind broke a small branch from one of the nearby trees, and tossed it lightly on the snow beside the two men, as though it were a signal for battle. A lucky chance, said Mr. McGee, you're a man I've been longing to meet, especially since the professor left his window open this afternoon. Indeed, replied the other calmly. May I ask what you want of me? Certainly, Mr. McGee laughed. A little package. I think it's in your pocket at this minute, a package no bigger than a man's hand. The stranger made no reply, but looked quickly about, over his shoulder at the path along which he had come, and then passed Mr. McGee

at the road that led to freedom. I think it's a little. I think it's a little bit of the road that he was a "'It's in your pocket,' repeated Mr. McGee, "'and I'm going to find out.' "'I haven't time to argue with you,' said the holder of the seventh key. His voice was cold, calculating, harsh. "'Get out of my way and let me pass, or—' "'Or what?' asked Billy McGee. He watched the man lunge toward him in the moonlight.

He saw the fist that had the night before been the waterloo of Mr. Max and the mayor start out on a swift true course for his head. quickly he dodged to one side and closed with his opponent. Back and forth through the snow they plowed, panting, grappling, straining. Mr. McGee soon realized that his adversary was no weakling. He was forced to call into play muscles he had not used in what seemed ages, not since he sported of an afternoon in a rather odorous college gymnasium. In moonlight and shadow up and down they reeled, staggered, stumbled, the soul-jarring notes in that picture of bald-pate on a quiet winter's night. You queered the game last time, muttered the stranger, but you'll never queer it again.

Mr. McGee saved his breath. Together they crashed against the side of the inn, together they squirmed away, across the balcony to the railing. Still back and forth, now in the moonlight, now in shadow, wildly they fought. Once Mr. McGee felt his own. his feet slipped from beneath him, but caught himself in time. His strength was going, surely, quickly. Then suddenly his opponent seemed to weaken in his grip. With a supreme effort, McGee forced him down upon the balcony floor, and tumbled on top of him. He felt the chill of the snow under his knees, and its wetness in his cuffs. Now, he cried to himself. The other still struggled desperately, but his struggle was without success. For deftly Billy McGee drew from his

pocket the precious package about which there had been so much debate on Bald Pate Mountain. He clasped it close, rose, and ran. In another second he was inside number seven, and had lighted a candle at the blazing logs. Once more he examined that closely packed little bundle. Once more he found it rich in greenbacks. Assuredly, it was the greatly desired thing, he had fought for the night before. He had it again, and this time, he told himself, he would not lose sight of it, until he had placed it in the hands of the girl of the station. The dark shadow of the man he had just robbed was hovering at his windows. McGee turned hastily to the door. As he did so, it opened, and Hayden entered. He carried a pistol in his hand. His face was

hard, cruel, determined. His usually expressionless eyes, lighted with pleasure as they fell on the package in Mr. McGee's possession. It seems I'm just in time, he said, to prevent highway robbery. You think so? asked McGee. See here, young man, remarked Hayden, glancing nervously over his shoulder. I can't waste any time and talk. Does that money belong to you? No. Well, it does belong to me. I'm going to have it. Don't think I'm afraid to shoot to get it. The law permits a man to on the thief who tries to fleece him.

The law did you say? laughed Billy McGee. I wouldn't drag the law into this if I were you, Mr. Hayden. I'm sure it has no connection with events on Bald Pate Mountain. You would be the last to want its attention to be directed here. I've got this money and I'm going to keep it. Hayden considered a brief moment and then swore under his breath. You're right, he said. I'm not going to shoot.

But there are other. ways, you whippersnapper. He dropped the revolver into his pocket and sprang forward. For the second time within ten minutes, Mr. McGee steadied himself for conflict. But Hayden stopped. Someone had entered the room through the window behind McGee. In the dim light of the single candle, McGee saw Hayden's face go white, his lip twitch, his eyes glaze with horrible surprise. His arms fell limply to his sides. Good God, Kendrick! he cried. The voice of the man with whom Billy McGee had but a moment before, struggled on the

balcony, answered, Yes, Hayden, I'm back. Hayden wet his lips with his tongue. What, what brought you? He asked, his voice trailing off weekly on the last word. What brought me? Suddenly, as from a volcano that had long been cold, fire blazed up in Kendrick's eyes. If a man knew the road from hell back home, what would it need to? to bring him back. Hayden stood with his mouth partly open, almost a grotesque picture of terror he looked in that dim light. Then he spoke in an odd, strained tone, more to himself than to anyone else. I thought you were dead, he said. I told myself you'd never come back. Over and over, in the night, I told myself that, but all the time, I knew, I knew you'd come. A cry, a woman's cry,

sounded from just outside the door of number seven. Into the room came Myra Thornhill. Quickly she crossed and took Kendrick's hands in hers. David! She sobbed. Oh, David, is it a dream? A wonderful dream? Kendrick looked into her eyes, sheepishly at first, then gladly as he saw what was in them. For the light there, under the tears, was such as no man could mistake. McGee saw it. Hayden saw it, too, and his wife. voice was even more lifeless when he spoke. Forgive me, David, he said, I didn't mean.

And then, as he saw that Kendrick did not listen, he turned and walked quietly into the bedroom of No. 7, taking no notice of Kargan and Bland, who, with the other winter guests of Baldpate, now crowded the doorway leading to the hall. Heiden closed the bedroom door. Mr. McGee and the others stood silent, wondering. Their answer came quickly, the sharp cry of a revolver behind that closed door. It was Mr. McGee who went into the bedroom. The moonlight streamed in through the low windows and fell brightly on the bed. Across this, Hayden lay. Mr. McGee made sure. It was not a pleasant thing to make sure of. Then he took the revolver from the hand that still clasped it,

covered the quiet figure on the bed, and stepped back into the outer room. He, He has killed himself, he said in a low voice, closing the bedroom door behind him. There was a moment's frightened hush. Then the voice of Kendrick rang out. Killed himself? I don't understand. Why should he do that? Surely not because, no. He looked questioningly into the white face of the girl at his side. She only shook her head. Killed himself, he repeated, like a man wakened from sleep. I don't understand. on tiptoe the amateur hermits of baldpate descended to the hotel office mr mcgee saw the eyes of the girl of the station upon him wide with doubt and alarm while the others gathered in little groups and talked he took her to one side when does the next train leave for rootin he asked her in two hours at ten-thirty she replied you must be on it he told her with you will go the two hundred thousand dollar package

I have it in my pocket now. She took the news stolidly and made no reply. Are you afraid? asked McGee gently. You mustn't be. No harm can touch you. I shall stay here and see that no one follows. I am not afraid, she replied. Just startled, that's all.

Did he do it because you took this money? Because he was afraid of what would happen? You mean Hayden? McGee said. No, this was. money was not concerned in his death. That is an affair between Kendrick and him. I see, answered the girl slowly. I'm so glad it wasn't the money. I couldn't bear it if it were. May I call your attention, remarked McGee, to the fact that the long reign of I'm going to is

ended, and the rule of I've done it has begun. I've actually got the money. Somehow it doesn't seemed to thrill you the way that I thought it would. But it does, oh, it does, cried the girl. I was upset for a moment. It's glorious news, and with you on guard here, I'm not afraid to carry it away, down the mountain, and to Rutan. I'll be with you in a moment, ready for the journey. She called Mrs. Norton, and the two went rather timidly upstairs together.

Mr. McGee turned to his companions in the room, and mentally called their role. They were all there, the professor, the mayor, Max, Bland, Peters, Miss Thornhill, and the newcomer Kendrick, a man prematurely old, great at the temples, and with a face yellowed by fever. He and the professor were talking earnestly together, and now the old man came and stood before McGee. "'Mr. McGee,' he said seriously, "'I learn from Kendrick that you have in your possession a certain package of money that has been much buffeted about here at Bald Pate.' in. Now I suggest, no, I demand. Pardon me, Professor, Mr. McGee interrupted. I have something to

suggest, even to demand. It is that you and everyone else present select a chair and sit down. I suggest, though I do not demand, that you pick comfortable chairs, for the vigil that you are about to begin will prove a long one. What do you mean? asked the Mayor of Routon, coming militantly to Professor Bolton's side. mcgee did not reply miss norton and her mother came down the stair the former wrapped in a great coat she stood on the bottom step her cheeks flushed her eyes ablaze mr mcgee going to her side reflected that she looked charming and wonderful and wished he had time to admire but he hadn't he took from one pocket the pistol he had removed from the hand of hayden from the other the celebrated package of money i warn you all he said i will shoot any one who makes a move for this bundle miss norton is going to take it away with her she is to catch the ten-thirty train for rutan the train arrives at its destination at twelve much as it pains me to say it no one will leave this room before twelve fifteen "'You crook!' roared Cargan.

Mr. McGee smiled as he put the package in the girl's hand. "'Possibly,' he said, "'but, Mr. Cargan, the blackness of the kettle always has annoyed the pot. "'Do not be afraid,' he added to the girl. "'Every gentleman in this room is to spend the evening with me. "'You will not be annoyed in any way.' "'He looked around the menacing circle. "'Go,' he said, and may the gods of the mountain take care of you.'

the little professor of comparative literature stepped forward and stood pompously before magee one moment he remarked before you steal this money in front of our very eyes i want to inform you who i am and who i represent here there is no time replied magee for light talk on the subject of blondes this is the time said the professor warmly for me to tell you that mr kendrick here and myself represent sent at Bald Pate Inn, the prosecuting attorney of Routon County. We— Cargan, Big, Red, Volcanic interrupted. "'Drayton!' he bellowed. "'Draton sent you here? "'The rat! The pup! Why, I made that kid! I put him where he is. He won't dare touch me.' "'Won't he?' returned Professor Bolton.

"'My dear sir, you are mistaken. Drayton fully intends to prosecute you on the ground that you arranged to pass ordinance number 45, granting the suburban railway the privilege of merging with the civic, in exchange for this bribe of $200,000. "'He won't dare,' cried Cargan. "'I made him.' "'Before election,' said the professor, "'I believe he often insisted to you that he would do his duty as he saw it.' "'Of course he did,' replied Cargan, but that's what they all say.

"'He intends to keep his word.' The mayor of Routin slid into the shadows. To think he'd do this thing to me, he whined, after all I've done for him. As I was saying Mr. McGee, continued the professor, Mr. Kendrick and I came up here to secure this package of money as evidence against Kargan and, the man above. I speak with the voice of the law when I say you must turn this money over to me. For answer, McGee smiled at the girl.

"'You'd better go now,' he said. "'It's a long walk down the mountain.' "'You refuse?' cried the professor. "'Absolutely, don't we, Miss Norton?' said McGee. "'Absolutely,' she repeated bravely. "'Then, sir,' announced the old man crushingly, "'you are little better than a thief, and this girl is your accomplice.' "'So it must look on the face of it,' assented McGee.

"'The girl moved to the big front door, and McGee, with his eyes still on the room, backed away until he stood beside her. He handed her his key. "'I give you,' he said, to the gods of the mountain. But it's only alone. I shall surely want you back. I can't follow ten feet behind as I threatened. It will be ten hours instead. Good night and good luck.' She turned the key in the lock. "'Billy McGee,' she whispered, "'y, yours is a faith beyond understanding.' I shall tell the gods of the mountain that I am to be returned. Good night, you, dear.

She went out quickly, and McGee, locking the door after her, thrust the key into his pocket. For a moment no one stirred. Then Mr. Max leaped up and ran through the flickering light to the nearest window. There was a flash, a report, and Max came back into the firelight, examining a torn trousers leg. I don't mean to kill anybody, explained Mr. McGee, just to wing them. But I'm not an expert. I might shoot higher than I intend,

so I suggest that no one else try a break for it. Mr. McGee, said Miss Thornhill, I don't believe you have the slightest idea who that girl is, nor what she wants with the money. That, he replied, makes it all the more exciting, don't you think? Do you mean, the professor exploded, "'You don't know her? Well, you young fool!' "'It's rather fine of you,' remarked Miss Thornhill. "'It's asinine if it's true,' the professor voiced the other side of it. "'You have said yourself, or at least you claim to have said,' Mr. McGee reminded him. "'One girl like that is worth a million suffragettes.'

"'And can make just as much trouble,' complained Professor Bolton. "'I shall certainly see to it that the hermit's book has an honored place in our college library. Out of the big chair into which he had sung came the wail of the uncomprehending cargan. He's done this thing to me, after all I've done for him. I hope everyone is quite comfortable, remarked McGee, selecting a seat facing the crowd.

It's going to be a long wait, you know. There was no answer. The wind roared lustily at the windows. The firelight flickered redly on the faces of Mr. McGee. Guillaise prisoners. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of 7 Keys to Bald Pate. This is a LibraVox recording.

All Libra Box recordings are in the public domain. Or more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Seven Keys to Bald Pate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 17, The Professor Sums Up. In Upper of Squean Falls, the clock on the old Tower Hall struck nine. Mr. McGee, on guard in Bald Pate's dreary office, counted the strokes. She must be halfway down the mountain now. Perhaps at this very moment she heard Quimby's ancient gate creaking in the wind.

He could almost see her as she tramped along through the snow, the lovely heroine of the most romantic walk of all romantic walks on Bald Pate to date. Halfway to the waiting room where she had wept so bitterly. Halfway to the curious station agent with a mob of ginger hair. Tonight there would be no need of a troubadour to implore, Weep no more, my lady. William Hallowell McGee had removed the cause for tears. It was a long vigil he had begun,

but there was no boredom in it for Billy McGee. He was too great a lover of contrast for that. As he looked around on the ill-assorted group he guarded, he compared them with the happier people of the inn's summer nights about whom the girl had told him. Instead of these surly or sad folks sitting glumly under the pistol of romantic youth, he saw maids garbed in the magic of muslin flit through the shadows. Lights glowed softly, a waltz came up from the casino on the breath of the summer breeze. Under their red and white awnings, youth and joy and love had their day or their night. Hermit was on hand with his post-carded romance. The trees gossiped in whispers on the mountain.

And two, the rocking-chair fleet gossiped in whispers on the veranda, pausing only when the admiral sailed by in his glory. Eagerly it ran down its game. This girl, this Myra Thornhill, he remembered had herself been a victim. After Kendrick disappeared, she had come there no more, for there were ugly rumors of the man who had fled. Mr. McGee saw the girl and her long, absent lover whispering together in the firelight. He wondered if they, too, imagined themselves at Bald Pate in the summer,

if they heard the waltz in the casino, and the laughter of men in the grill room. Ten o'clock, said the town hall pompously. She was at the station now. In the room of her tears she was waiting. Perhaps her only companion the Jackie of the See the World poster, whose garb was but a shade bluer than her eyes. Who was she? What was the bribe money of the suburban railway to her?

Mr. McGee did not know, but he trusted her, and he was glad she had won through him. He saw Professor Bolton walk through the flickering half-light to join Myra Thornhill and Kendrick. It must be half-past by now. Yes, from far below in the valley came the whistle of a train. Now, she was born. "'Forting it. She and the money.

"'Forting it? For where? For what purpose?' Again the train whistled. "'The siege,' remarked Mr. McGee, "'is more than half over, ladies and gentlemen.' The professor of comparative literature approached him and took a chair at his side. "'I want to talk to you, Mr. McGee,' he said. "'A welcome diversion,' assented McGee, "'his eyes still on the room.

"'I have discussed matters with Miss Thornhill.' said the professor in a low voice. She has convinced me that in this affair you have acted from a wholly disinterested point of view. A mistaken idea of chivalry, perhaps. The infatuation of the moment for a pretty face. A thing to which all men with red blood in their veins are susceptible. A pleasant thing that I would be the last to want banished from the world. Miss Thornhill, replied Billy McGee,

has sized up the situation perfectly, except for one rather important detail. It is not the infatuation of the moment, Professor. Say rather that of a lifetime. Ah, yes, the old man returned. Youth, how sure it always is of that. I do not deprecate the feeling. Once long ago, I too had youth in faith. We will not dwell on that, however.

Miss Thornehill assures me that Henry Bentley, the son of my friend John Bentley, esteems you highly. She asserts that you are in every respect, as far as her knowledge goes, an admirable young man. I feel sure that after calm contemplation, you will see that what you have done is very unfortunate. The package of money which, in a giddy moment you have given into a young lady's keeping,

is much desired by authorities as evidence against a very corrupt political ring. I am certain that when you know all the details, you will be glad to return with me to Rootan and do all in your power to help us regain possession of that package. And now the town hall informed Mr. McGee that the hour was eleven. He pictured a train flying like a black shadow through the white night. Was she on it? Safe? Professor Bolton, he said, there couldn't possibly be anyone anywhere more eager than I

to learn all the details of this affair, to hear your real reason for coming to bald-paint in, and to have the peroxide-blonde incident properly classified and given its niche in history. But let me tell you again, "'My action of tonight was no mere madness of the moment. "'I shall stick through it thick and thin. "'Now, about the blondes.'

"'The blondes,' repeated the professor dreamily. "'Ah, yes. "'I must make a small confession of guilt there.' "'I did not come here to escape the results of that indiscreet remark, "'but I really made it, about a year ago. "'Shall I ever forget? "'Hardly. "'The newspapers and my wife won't let me.'

I can never again win a new honor, however dignified, without being referred to in print as the paroxide blonde advocate. The thing has made me furious. However, I did not come to Bald Pate Inn to avoid the results of a lying newspaper story. Though many a time a year ago when I started to leave my house and saw the reporters camped on my doorstep, I longed for the seclusion of some such spot as this. On the night when Mr. Kendrick and I climbed Bald Pate Mountain, I remarked as much to him. And so it occurred to me that if I found any need of explaining my presence here, the blonde incident would do very well. It was only a white lie. A blonde one, corrected Mr. McGee. I forgive you, Professor, and I'm mightily glad the incident really happened, despite the

pain it caused you. For it, in a way, condones my own offense, and it makes you human, too. If to air is human, it does, agreed to be. Professor Bolton, to begin with, I am a member of the Faculty of the University of Bruton, situated, as you no doubt know, in the city of the same name. For a long time, I have taken a quiet interest in our municipal politics. I have been up in arms, linguistic arms, against this odd character Cargan, who came from the slums to rule us with a rod of iron. Everyone knows he is corrupt, that he is wealthy through the sale of privilege, that there is

actually a fixed schedule of prices for favors in the way of city ordinances. I have often denounced him to my friends. Since I have met him, well, it is remarkable, is it not the effect of personality on one's opinions? I expected to face a devil with usual pertinences. Instead, I have found a human rather likable man. I can well understand now why it is that the mob follows him like sheep. However, that is neither here nor there. He is a crook and must be punished, even though I do like him immensely. Mr. McGee smiled over to where the great bulk of Kargan slouched in a chair. He's a bully old scout, he remarked. Even so, replied the professor, his high-handed career of graft and rudent must come to a speedy close. He is of a type

fast vanishing through the awakening public conscience. And his career will end, I assure you. I assured, you, despite the fact that you, Mr. McGee, have seen fit to send our evidence scurrying through the night in the beheads of a chit of a girl. I beg your pardon. I shall continue. Young Drayton, the new county prosecutor, was several years back a favorite pupil of mine. After he left law school, he fell under the spell of the picturesque mayor of Rutan. Kargan liked him, and he rose rapidly. Dresden had no thought of ever turning against his benefactor when he accepted the first favors, but later the open selling of men's souls began to discuss him. When Kargan offered him the place of prosecutor a few months ago, Drayton assured him he would

keep his oath of office. The mayor laughed. Drayton insisted. Cargan had not yet met the man he could not handle. He gave Drayden the place. The old man leaned forward and tapped McGee on the knee. It was in me, remember, he went on, that Drayden confided his resolve to serve the public. I was delighted at the news. A few weeks ago, he informed me his first opportunity was at hand. Through one of the men in his office, he had learned that Hayden, of the suburban electric, was seeking to consolidate that road, which had fallen into partial disrepute under his management during the illness of Thornhill, the president, with the civic. The consolidation would raise the value of the suburban nearly two million dollars at the public's expense. Hayden had

seen Cargan. Cargan had drafted Ordinance No. 4. and informed Hayden that his price for passing it through the council would be the sum you have juggled in your possession on ball-paid mountain two hundred thousand dollars a marriage rifle remarked mcgee sarcastically so cargan made hayden see through long experience in these manners the mayor has become careless he is a thing above the law if not the law himself he would have had no fear in accepting this money on main street at midday he had no fear when he came here and found he was being spied on? But Hayden? There was the difficulty that began the drama of Bald Pate Inn. Hayden had few scruples, but his events tonight have well proved, Mr. McGee. He was a coward at heart. I do not know just why he lies on your bed upstairs at this moment, a suicide. That is a matter between Kendrick and him, and one which Kendrick himself has not yet fathomed. As I say, Hayden was afraid of being caught. Andy Rudder, manager of Bald Pate Inn for the last few summers, is in some way mixed up with a suburban.

It was he who suggested to Hayden that an absolutely secluded spot for passing this large sum of money would be the inn. The idea appealed to Hayden. Kargan tried to laugh him out of it. The mayor did not relish the thought of a visit to Bald Paid Mountain in the dead of winter,

especially as he considered such precautions unnecessary. But Hayden was firm. This spot, he pointed out, was ideal, and the mayor at last laughingly gave in. The sum involved was well worth taking a little trouble, to gain. Professor Bolton paused and blinked his dim old eyes. So the matter was arranged, he continued. Mr. Bland, a clerk in Hayden's employ, was sent up here with the money, which he placed in the safe on the very night of our arrival. The safe had been

left open by Rutter. Blan did not have the combination. He put the package inside, swung shut the door, and awaited the arrival of the mayor. I was present, smiled McGee, at the ceremony you mentioned. Yes? All these plans, as I have said, were known to Drayton. A few nights ago he came to me. He wanted to send an emissary to Bald Pate, a man whom Kargan had never met, one who could perhaps keep up the pretense of being here for some other reason than a connection with the bribe. He asked me to undertake the mission, to see all I could, and if possible, to secure the package of money.

This last seemed hardly likely. At any rate, I was to gather all the evidence I could. I hesitated. My library fire never looked like. so alluring is on that night. Also, I was engaged in some very entertaining researches. I beg your pardon, said Billy McGee. Some very entertaining research work. Yes, reflected McGee slowly. I suppose such things do exist. Go on, please. I had loudly proclaimed my championship of civic virtue, however, and there was a chance to serve Rudin. I acquiesced.

The day I was to start up here, poor Kendrick came back. He, too, had been a student of mine, a friend of both Radon and Hayden. Seven years ago, he and Hayden were running the suburban together under Thornhill's direction. The two young men became mixed up in a rather shady business deal, which was more of Hayden's weaving than Kendricks. Hayden came to Kendricks with a story that they were about to be found out, and suggested that one assumed the blame and go away. I am telling you all this in confidence as a friend of my friends, the Bentley.

and a young man whom I like and trust, despite your momentary madness in the matter of yellow locks, we are all susceptible. Kendrick went. For seven years he stayed away in an impossible tropic town, believing himself sought by the law, for so Hayden wrote him. Not long ago, he discovered that the matter in which he and Hayden had offended had never been disclosed after all. He hurried back to the States, you can imagine his bitterness.

He had been engaged to Myra Thornhill, and the fact that Hayden's, Hayden was also in love with her may have had something to do with his treachery to his friend. McGee's eye strayed to where the two victims of the dead man's falsehood whispered together in the shadows, and he wondered at the calmness with which Kendrick had greeted Hayden in the room above. When Kendrick arrived, Professor Bolt went on, first of all, he consulted his old friend Drayton. Drayton informed him that he had nothing to fear should his misstep be made public, for in reality there was, at this late day, no crime committed in the eyes of him. of the law. He also told Kendrick how matter stood, and of the net he was spreading for Hayden.

He had some fears, he said, about sending a man of my years alone to Bald Pade Inn. Kendrick begged for the chance to come, too. So, without making his return known in Rudin, three nights ago he accompanied me here. Three nights! It seems years. I had secured keys for both of us from John Bentley. As we climbed the mountain, I noticed your light, and we agreed it would be best if we were if only one of us revealed ourselves to the intruders in the inn. So, Kendrick let himself in by a side door while I engaged you and Blay into the office.

He spent the night on the third floor. In the morning, I told the whole affair to Quimby, knowing his interest in both Hayden and Kendrick, and secured for Kendrick the key to the annex. Almost as soon as I arrived, the curtain went up on the melodrama, suggested Mr. McGee. You stated vividly and with truth,

Professor Bolton replied. Night to before last, the ordinance numbered 45 was due to pass the council. It was arranged that when it did, Hayden, through his man Ruder, or personally, would telephone the combination of the safe to the Mayor of Routon. Kargan and Blan sat in the office watching for the flash of light at the telephone switchboard, while you and I were Max's prisoners above. Something went wrong. Hayden heard that the courts would issue an injunction making ordinance number 45 worthless. So, although the council obeyed Kargan's instructions and passed the bill, Still, Hayden refused to give the mayor the combination.

The old man paused and shook his head wonderingly. Then melodrama began in dead earnest, he continued. I have always been a man of peace, and the wild scuffle that claimed me for one of its leading actors for that moment will remain in my memory as long as I live. Kargan dynamited the safe. Kendrick held him up. You held up Kendrick. I peeked through your window and saw you place the package of money under a brick in your fireplace.

"'You? The curtains were down,' interrupted McGee. "'I found a half-inch of open space,' explained the old man. "'Yes, I actually lay on my stomach in the snow and watched you. "'In the morning, for the first time in my life, I committed robbery. "'My punishment was swift and sure. "'Blance whooped down upon me. "'Again this afternoon, I came upon the precious package "'after a long search in the hands of the hermit of Ballpate.

"'I thought we were safe at last when I handed the package to Kendrick in my room tonight. but I had not counted on the wild things that youth like you will do for the love of a designing maid." Twelve o'clock. The Civic Center of Upper Squeaken Falls proclaimed it. Mr. McGee had never been in Routon. He was sorry he hadn't. He had to construct from imagination alone the great Routon station to which the girl and the money must now be hurrying. Where?

The question would not down. Was she, as a professor believed, designing? "'No,' said Mr. McGee, answering aloud his own question. "'You are wrong, sir. "'I do not know just what the motives of Miss Norton were in desiring this money, "'but I will stake my reputation as an honest hold-up man "'that they were perfectly all right.' "'Perhaps,' replied the other, quite unconvinced,

"'but what honest motive could she have? "'I am able to assign her no role in this little drama. "'I have tried. I am able to see no connection between her and the other characters. What? Pardon me, broken McGee. But would you mind telling me why Miss Thornthill came up to Bald Pate to join in the chase for the package? Her motive, replied the professor, does her great credit.

For several years, her father, Henry Thornhill, has been forced through illness to leave the management of the Railways Affairs to his vice-president, Hayden. Late yesterday, the old man heard of this proposed brook. on his sickbed. He was very nearly insane at the thought of the disgrace it would bring upon him. He tried to rise himself and prevent the passing of the package. His daughter, a brave, loyal girl, herself, undertook the task. Then, said Mr. McGee, Miss Thornehill is not distressed at the loss of the most important evidence in the case. I have explained the matter to her, returned Professor Bolton. There is no chance whatever that her father's name will be implicated. Both straightened and myself have the highest regard for his integrity.

The whole affair was arranged when he was too ill to dream of it. His good name will be smirked in no way. The only men involved on the giver's side is dead in the room above. The man we are after now is Cargan. Miss Thornhill has agreed that it is best to prosecute. That eliminates her. Did Miss Thornhill and Kendrick meet for the first time after his exile upstairs in number seven? Mr. McGee wanted to know.

Yes, answered Professor Bolton. In one of his letters long ago, Hayden told Kendrick he was engaged to the girl. It was the last letter Kendrick received from him. There was a pause. The important thing now, the old man went on, is the identity of this girl to whom you have made your princely gift out of the goodness of your young heart. I propose to speak to the woman she has introduced as her mother and elicit what information I can.

He crossed the floor, followed by Mr. McGee, and stood by the woman's chair. She looked up, her eyes heavy with sleep, her appearance more tawdry than ever in the faint light. "'Madam,' remarked the professor, with an air of a judge trying a case, "'your daughter has to-night made her escape from this place with a large sum of money "'earnestly desired by the prosecuting attorney of Ruden County. "'In the name of the law, I command you to tell me her destination, and what she proposes to do with that package of greenbacks. The woman blink stupidly in the dark.

She ain't my daughter, she replied, and Mr. McGee's heart leaped up. I can tell you that much. I keep a boarding house and rootin, and Miss, the girl you speak about, has been my boarder for three years. She brought me up here sort of as a chaperone. Though I don't see as I'm old enough for that yet,

you won't get nothing else out of me, except that she is a perfectly lovely young woman and your money couldn't be safer with the President of the United States. The puzzled professor of comparative literature caressed his bald head thoughtfully. I, er, he remarked. Mr. McGee could have embraced this faded woman for her news. He looked at his watch. It was 1220.

The siege is over, he cried. I shall not attempt to direct your actions any longer. Mr. Peters, will you please go down to the village and bring back Mr. Quimby? And the coroner? "'The coroner!' The mayor of Routon leaped to his feet. "'I don't want to begin on any inquest scene. Come on, Max. Let's get out of here.'

Land stood up. His face was white and worried. His gay plumage no longer set the tone for his mood. "'I think I'll go, too,' he announced, looking hopefully at McGee. "'I'm no longer your jailer,' McGee said. "'Professor, these gentlemen are your witnesses. Do you wish to detain them?' "'See here,' cried the mayor angrily.

"'There ain't no question.' question but that you can find me in Rootin any time you want me. At the little room on Main Street. Anybody can tell you my hours. The door's always open to any reformer that has the nerve to climb the stairs. Look me up there. I'll make it interesting for you. I certainly shall, the professor replied, and very soon. Until then you may go when and where you please. Thanks, sneer the mayor. I'll expect you. I'll be ready. I've had to get ready to answer your kind before. You think you've got me, eh? Well, you're a fool to think that.

As for Drayton, the pup, the yellow-streaked pup, I'll talk to Mr. Drayton when I get back to Rootin. Before you go, Bland, remarked McGee, smiling, I want to ask you about Arabella. Where did you get her? Some of it happened to a friend of mine, the ex-haberdasher answered, a friend that keeps a clothing store.

I got this suit there. I changed the story here and there. He didn't write her no note. though he thought seriously of it, and he didn't run away and hide. The last I seen of him, he was testing the effect of the heart bomb on sale behind the swinging doors. Mr. McGee laughed, but over the long, lean face of land, not the ghost of a smile flitted. He was frightened, through and through. You're a fine bunch, sneered Mr. Max.

Reformers, eh? Well, you'll get what the rest of them always got. We'll tie you up in knots and leave you on the doorstep of some orphan asylum before we're through with you. You. Come on, Lou, said Cargan. Drayton's a smart guy, Doc. Where's his proof? He loped with a bundle of dry goods this young man's taken a fancy to.

And even if he had the money, I've been up against this many a time. You're wasting your talents, Doc. Good night. Come on, boys. The three stamped out through the dining room, and from the window Mr. McGee watched them disappear down the road that stretched to a squeam falls. End of Chapter 17, recording by Todd. Chapter 18 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 18, a red card. mr maryke turned back from the window to the dim interior of the hotel office he who had come to bald-paint inn to court loneliness had never felt so lonely in his life for he had lost sight of her in the great rooten station of his imagination she had slipped from his dreams to go where he could not follow even in thought he felt as he knew this great bare room must feel each fall when the last laugh died away down the mountain and the gloom of winter descended from drab skies.

Selecting a log of the hermit's cutting from the stalk beside the hearth, Mr. McGee tossed it on the fire. There followed a shower of sparks and a flood of red light in the room. Through this light, Kendrick advanced to McGee's side, and the first of the bald-paint hermits saw that the man's face was lined by care, that his eyes were tired even under the new light in them, that his mouth was twisted bitterly. "'Poor devil!' thought McGee.

Kendrick drew up chairs for himself in McGee, and they sat down. Behind them, the bulky Mrs. Norton dozed, dreaming perhaps of her rooting boarding-house, while Miss Thornehill and the professor talked intermittently in low tones. The ranks at Bald Pate were thinning rapidly. Before long the place must settle back with a sigh in the cold, to wait for its first summer girl. "'Mr. McGee,' said Kendrick nervously. You have become involved in an unkind, a tragic story. I do not mean the affair of the bribe.

I refer to the matter between Hayden and myself. Before Peters comes back with the men he went for, I should like to tell you some of the facts of that story. If you had rather not, began McGee, no, replied Kendrick, I prefer that you should know. It was you who took the pistol for us. from his hand. I do not believe that even I can tell you all that was in Hayden's mind when he went into that other room and closed the door.

It seems to me preposterous that a man of his sort should take his life under the circumstances. I feel, somehow, that there is a part of the story even I do not know. But let that be. He bowed his head in his hands. Ever since I came into this room, he went on, the eyes of a pompous little man have been following me about. They have constantly recalled to me the nightmare of my life. You have noticed, no doubt, the pictures of the admiral that decorate these walls?

I have, replied McGee. He gazed curiously at the nearest of the portraits. How persistently this almost mythical starched man wove in and out of the melodrama at Bald Pate Inn. Well, continued Kendrick, The Admiral's eyes haunt me. Perhaps you know that he plays a game, a game of solitaire. I have good reason to remember that game. It is a silly inconsequential game.

You could scarcely believe that it once sent a man to hell. He stopped. I am in the middle of my story, he apologized. Let me go back. Six years ago, I was hardly the man you see now. I was at least 20 years younger. Hayden and I worked together in the office of the suburban railway. We had been close friends at college.

I believed in him and trusted him, although I knew he had certain weaknesses. I was a happy man. I had risen rapidly. I was young, the future was lying golden before me, and I was engaged. The daughter of Henry Thornhill, our employer, the girl you have met here at Ballpate.

had promised to be my wife. Hayden had also been a suitor. But when our engagement was announced, he came to me like a man, and I thought his words were sincere. One day, Hayden told me of a chance we might take, which would make us rich. It was not altogether within the law.

But it was the sort of thing that other men were doing constantly, and Hayden assured me that as he had arranged matters, it was absolutely safe. My great sin is that I agreed we should take the chance. A sin for which I have paid, Mr. McGee, over and over. Again he paused and gazed steadily at the fire. Again McGee noticed the gray at his temples, the aftermath of fever in his cheeks.

We took the chance, he went on. For a time, everything went well. Then, one blustering March night, Hayden came to me and told me we were certain to be caught. Some of his plans had gone awry. I trusted him fully at the time, you understand. He was the man with whom I had sat on the window-seat of my room at college, settling the questions of immortality, and all the other great questions young men settle at such times. I have at this moment, no doubt, that he was,

was quite truthful when he said we were in danger of arrest. We arranged to meet the next night at the Argotts Club and decide on what we should do. We met in the library of the club. Hayden came in to me from the card room adjoining where he had been watching the Admiral dottering over his eternal game. The old man had become a fixture at the club, like Parker down at the door, or the great chandelier in the hall. No one paid any attention to him when he tried to talk to the

the younger men about his game, they fled as from a pestilence. Well, as I say, Hayden came to meet me, and just at that moment the Admiral finished his game and went out. We were alone in the library. Hayden told me he had thought the matter over carefully. There was nothing to do but to clear out of Routin's forever. But why, he argued, should we both go? Why wrecked two lives? It would be far better, he told me, for one to assume the guilt of both and go away. I can see him now. How funny and white his face looked in that half-lighted room.

How his hands trembled. I was far the calmer of the two. I agreed to his plan. Hayden led the way into the room where the Admiral had been playing. We went up to the table over which the green-shaded light still burned. On it lay two decks of cards face up. Hayden picked up the nearest deck and shuffled it nervously. His face, God, it was like the snow out there on the mountain.

Kendrick closed his eyes, and McGee gazed at him in silent pity. He held out the deck, went on the exile softly. He told me to draw. He said if the card was black, he'd clear out. But if it's red, David, he said. Then, why, you got to go. I held my breath and drew. It was a full minute before I dared look at the card of my hand.

Then I turned it over, and it was red. A measly little red two-spot. I don't suppose a man ever realizes all at once what such a moment means. I remembered that I was much cooler than Hayden. It was I who had to brace him up. I even tried to joke with him. But his face was like death. He hardly spoke at all at first, and then suddenly he became horribly talkative.

I left him, talking wildly. I left Routon. I left the girl to whom I was engaged. To break the silence it followed, Mr. McGee leaned forward and stirred the logs. "'I don't want to bore you,' Kendrick said, trying to smile. "'I went to a little town in South America. There was no treaty of extradition there, nor anything else civilized and decent. I smoked cigarettes and drank what passed for rum on the balcony of an impossible hotel,

and otherwise groped about for the path that leads to the devil. After a year I wrote to Hayden. He answered, urging me to stay away. He intimated that the thing we had done was on my shoulders. I was a shame, frightfully unhappy. I didn't dare write to her. I had disgraced her. I asked Hayden about her,

and he wrote back that she was shortly to marry him. After that, I didn't want to come back to Rutan. I wanted most to die. The years crept by on the balcony of that impossible hotel. Six of them. The first and bitter memories. Memories of a red card that danced fiendiously before my eyes when I closed them.

The last and a bitter, biting desire to come back to the world I had left. At last, a few months ago, I wrote to another college friend of mine, Drayton, and told him the whole story. I did not know that he had been elected prosecutor and Rudin. He answered with a kind, pitying letter. And finally, I knew the horrible truth. Nothing had ever happened. The thing that we had done had never been discovered.

Heiden had lied. He had even lied about his engagement to Myra Thornhill. There, he had made a reality out of what was simply his great desire. You can imagine my feelings. Six years in a tomb, a comic opera sort of tomb where silly surf was forever pounding, and the foolish palms kept waving. Six years for nothing. Six years while Hayden, guiltier than I, stayed behind to enjoy the good things of life, to plead for the a girl whose lover he had banished. I lost no time in coming north. Three days ago I entered Dreyden's office. I was ready and willing that the wrong Hayden and I had done should be made public.

Drayton informed me that legally there had been no crime, that Hayden had straightened things out in time, that we had defrauded no one. And he told me that for whatever sin I had committed, he thought I had more than atoned to down there in that town that God forgot. I think I had. He explained to me about the trap he had laid for Hayden up here at Bald Pate Inn. I begged to help. What happened after, you know, as well as I.

Yes, I think I do, agreed Mr. McGee, softly. I have told you the whole story, Kendrick replied, and yet it seems to me that still it is not all told. Why should Hayden have killed himself? He had lied to me, it is true, but life was all. always sweet to him, and it hardly seems to me that he was the sort to die simply because his falsehood was discovered. Was there some other act of cruelty, some side to the story of which we are none of us aware? I wonder, he was silent a moment. Anyhow, I have told you all I know,

he said. Shall I tell it also to the coroner? Or shall we allow Hayden's suicide to pass as the result of his implication in this attempt at bribery. I ask your advice, Mr. McGee. My advice, returned McGee, is that you befuddled no pompous little village doctor with the complications of this unhappy tale. No, let the story be that Hayden killed himself as the toils closed in on him, the toils of the law that punishes the bribe-giver, now and then and occasionally. Mr. Kendrick, you have my deepest sympathy. Is it too much for me to hope? He glanced across the room to where Myra Thornhill sat beside the professor.

That the best of your life is yet to come? That out of the wreck this man made of it, you may yet be happy? Kendrick smiled. You are very kind, he said. Twice we have met and battled in the snow, and I do not hold it against you that both times you were the victor. Life in a tropic town, Mr. McGee, is not exactly a muscle-building experience. Once I might have given the whole proceeding a different turn.

Yes. Miss Thornhill has waited for me, all these years, waited, believing. It is a loyalty of which I cannot speak without, you understand. She knows why I went away, why I stayed away. She is still ready to marry me. I shall go again into the suburban office and try to lift the road from the muck into which it has fallen. Yes, it is not too much for me to hope. And for you and your kindness, that a great happiness is still for me.

believe me i'm glad replied mcgee with youthful enthusiasm holding out his hand i'm sorry i spoiled your little game up here but-i understand smiled kendrick i think none the less of you for what you have done and who knows it may turn out to have been the wisest course after all ah would it mr mcgee walked to the window pondering on the odd tangle of events that had not yet been completely straightened out certainly her eyes were an honest honest blue as well as a beautiful. But who was she? Where was she? The great figure of Mrs. Norton stirred restlessly near at hand. The puffed lids of her eyes opened. Mr. McGee, she said when she had made out his figure by the window. You've been a true friend, as I might say, to a couple of mad females who ought to have been at home by their own firesides. And I'm going to ask one more favor of you. Find out when the next train goes to Rudin. and see that I'm at the station an hour or two before it pulls out?

I'll do that, Mrs. Doorton, smiled McGee. By the way, is Norton the name? Yes, answered the woman. That's my name. Of course, it ain't hers. I can't tell that. No matter, said Mr. McGee, she'll probably change it soon. Can't you tell me something about her? Just a tiny bit of information? Just a picture of where she is now and what she's doing with that small fortune I gave her? where is she now repeated mrs norton she's home and in bed in my second-floor front unless she's gone clear crazy and that's where i wish i was this minute in bed

though it's a question in my mind if i'll ever be able to sleep again what with the uproar and confusion my house is probably in by this time leaving it in charge of a scatter-brained girl norton always used to say if you want a thing done right do it yourself and though he didn't always live up to the sentiment letting me do most things he wanted done right right. There was a lot of truth in his words. I certainly must get back to Routon, just as quick as the railroad will take me. Why did you come? prodded Mr. McGee. Why did you leave your house on this strange mission? The Lord knows, replied the woman. I certainly never intended to. But she begged and pleaded, and the first thing I knew I was on a train. She has winning ways, that girl. Maybe you've noticed. I have, assented Billy McGee. I thought so. No, Mr. McGee, I can't tell you nothing about her. I ain't allowed to. Even you that has been so kind. She made me promise. He'll know soon enough, she kept saying. But I will tell you, as I told you before, there's no occasion to worry about her, unless you was to think that she was held up and murdered with all that money on her, the brave little dear. If you was considering offering yourself for the job of changing her name, Mr. McGee, I say go in and do it. it. It sure is time she settled down and gave up this, this, gave it all up before something

awful happens to her. You won't forget, the very next train, Mr. McGee? The very next, McGee agreed. In through the dining room door stamped Quimby, grave of face, dazed at being roused from sleep, and with him an important little man whose duty it was to investigate at upper ascretion fall such things as it happened that night at Bald Pate. Even from his slumber he rose with the air of a judge and the manner of a Sherlock Holmes. For an hour he asked questions, and in the end he prepared to go in a seemingly satisfied state of mind. Quimby's face was very awed when he came downstairs after a visit to the room above. "'Poor fellow,' he said to McGee, "'I'm sorry, he was so young!' For such as Quimby carry no feud beyond the gates. He went over

and took Kendrick's hand. I never had a chance, he said, to thank you for all you tried to do for me and my invention. And it came to nothing in the end? Kendrick asked. Nothing, Quimby answered. I had to creep back to Bald Pate Mountain, finally, broke and discouraged. I have been here ever since.

All my blueprints, all my models, they're locked away forever in a chest up in the attic. Not forever, Quimby, Kendrick replied. I always did believe in you. your invention. I believe in it still. When I get back into the harness, I'm sure I can do something for you.' Quimby shook his head. He looked to be half asleep. "'It don't seem possible,' he said. "'No. It's all been buried so long. All the hope, all the plans. It doesn't seem possible it could ever come to life again.' "'But it can and it will,' cried Kendrick. "'I'm going to lay a stretch of

track and rudin with your joints. That's all you need. They'll have to use them then. We'll force the civic into it. We can do it, Quimby. We surely can. Quimby rubbed his hand across his eyes. You'll lay a stretch of track, he repeated. That's great news to me, Mr. Kendrick.

I can't thank you now. His voice was husky. I'll come back and take care of him, he said, jerking his head towards room upstairs. I got to go now, this minute. I got to go and tell my wife. I gotta tell her what you've said. End of Chapter 18. Recording by Todd.

Chapter 19 of Seven Keys to Bald Pate. This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Seven Keys to Ballpate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 19. Exuant Omnace. as Shakespeare has it.

At four in the morning, ball-paint in, wrapped in the arms of winter, had all the rare gaiety and charm of a baseball bleachers on Christmas Eve. Looking gloomily out the window, Mr. McGee heard behind him the steps on the stairs and the low cautions of Quimby

and two men he had brought from the village who were carrying something down to the dark carriage that waited outside. He did not look round. It was a picture he wished to avoid. So this was the end. The end of his two and a half days of solitude. The end of his light-hearted exile on Bald Pate Mountain.

He thought of bland, lean and white of face, gay of garb, fleeing through the night, his arabella fiction disowned in the real tragedy that had followed. He thought of Kargan and Max, also fleeing, wrathful, sneering, by bland's side. He thought of Hayden, jolting down the mountain in that black wagon. So it ended. So it ended, most preposterous. end, with William Holloway McGee, madly, desperately, in love. By them, gods in love!

In love with a fair, gay-hearted girl for whom he had fought, and stolen, and snapped his fingers at the law as it blinked at him in the person of Professor Bolton. Billy McGee, the calm, the unsusceptible, who wrote of a popular Cupid, but had always steered clear of his shots. In love with a girl whose name he did not know, whose motive. were mostly in the fog. And he had come up here, to be alone. For the first time in many hours, he thought of New York,

of the fellows at the club, of what they would say when the Jocon news came around that Billy McGee had gone mad on a mountainside. He thought of Helen Faulkner, haughty, unperturbed, bred to hold herself above the swift catastrophes of the world. He could see the arch of her partition eyebrows, the shrug of her exquisite shoulders when young Williams hastened up the avenue, and poured into her ear the merry story. Well, so be it.

He had never cared for her. In her superiority he had found a challenge, and her icy indifference a trap that lured him on to try his hand at winning her. But he had never, for a moment, caught a glimmering of what it was really to care, to care as he cared now for the girl who had gone from him, somewhere, down the mountain.

Quimby dragged into the room, the strain of a rather wild night on Upper Equision in his eyes. Jake Peters asked me to tell you he ain't coming back, he said. Miss Quimby is getting breakfast for you down at our house. You better pack up now and start down, I reckon. Your train goes at half-past six. Mrs. Norton jumped up, proclaiming that she must be aboard that train at any cost.

Miss Thornhill, the professor and Kendrick ascended the stairs, and in a moment McGee followed. He stepped softly into number seven, for the tragedy of the room was still in the air. vague shapes seemed to flit about him as he lighted a candle. They whispered in his ear that this was to have been the scene of achievement, that here he was to have written the book that should have made his place secure. Ah, well, fate had decreed it otherwise. It had set plump in his path the melodrama he had come up to Bald Pate to avoid. Ironic fate, she must be laughing now in the sleeve of her kimono.

Feeling about in the shadows, McGee gathered his things together, put them in his bags, and with the last look at number seven closed the door forever on its many excitements. A shivering group awaited him at the foot of the stair. Mrs. Norton's hat was awed at an angle even the most imaginative milliner could never have approved. The professor looked older than ever. Even Miss Thornhill seemed a little less statuesque and handsome in the dusk. Quimbley led the way to the door, they passed through it, and Mr. McGee locked it after them with the key how Bentley had blithely given him on 44th Street, New York.

So Ball Pate In dropped back into the silence to slumber and to wait. To wait for the magic of muslin, the lint of waltzes, the tinkle of laughter, the rhythm of the rockers of the fleet on its verandas, the formal tread of the admiral's boots across its polished floors, the clink of dimes in the pockets of its bellboys. For a few brief hours, strange figures had replaced the unromantic quimby in its rooms. They had come to talk of money and of love, to plot and scheme, and as they came in the dark and moved most swiftly in the dark, so in the dark they went away,

and Bald Pate's startling winter drama took reluctantly in its final curtain. Down the snowy road, the five followed Quimby's lead. Mr. McGee, picturing in fancy, one who had fled along this path but a short time before, the others busy with many thoughts, not the least of which, was Mrs. Quimby's breakfast. At the door of the kitchen she met them, maternal, concerned, eager to pamper and to serve, just as Mr. McGee remembered her on that night that now seemed so long ago. He smiled down into her eyes, and he had an engaging smile even at 4.30 in the morning. Well, Mrs. Quimby, he cried.

Here is the prodigal, straight from that old husk of an inn. And believe me, he's pretty anxious to sit down to some food, that woman, starter of all the trouble since the world began, had a hand in. Come right in, all of you, chirmed Mrs. Quimby, ushering them into a pleasant odor of cookery. Take off your things and sit down Breakfast's most ready My land I guess you must be pretty nice Starved to death

Quimby told me who was cooking for you And I says to Quimby What? I says That no account woman hater Messing around at a woman's job like that I says Having pity the people at the end I says

Mr. Peters may be able to amuse them With stories of how Cleopatra Wild the way the quiet Egyptian evenings I says And he may be able to throw a little new light On that Helen of Troy Who would object to having it throne if she was alive and the lady i think her but i says when it comes to cooking i guess he stands

about where you do quimby you see quimby's repertoire consists of coffee and soup and sometimes it's hard to tell which he means for which so mr peters has taken you in on the secret of the book he is writing about against your sex remarked billy mrs quimby answered brushing back a wisp of gray hair but he's disgusted in my presence ignoring me at the time you see he comes down here reads his latest chapters to Quimbyo nights, and I caught quite a blot of it on my way between the cook stove and the sink. I ain't no judge of books,

remarked Mrs. Norton from a comfortable rocking chair, but I'll bet that one's the limit. You're right, ma'am, Mrs. Quimby told her. I ain't saying that some of it ain't real pretty worded, but that's just to hide the falsehood underneath. My lamb, the lies there is in that book. You don't need to know much about history to know that Jake Peters has made it over to fit his argument,

and that he ain't made it over so well, what the old seam show here and there, and the place where the parade was is plain as daylight. After ten more minutes of bustle, Mrs. Quimby announced that they could sit down, and they were not slow to accept the invitation. The breakfast she served at the move to Mr. McGee to remark, I want to know where I stand as a judge of character. On the first night I saw Mrs. Quimby. Without tasting a morsel of food cooked by her,

I said she was the best cook in the county. The professor looked up from his griddle cakes. Why limited to the county? he asked. I should say you were too parsimonious in your judgment. Mrs. Quimby, detecting in the old man's word a compliment, flushed an even deeper red as she bent above the stove. Under the benign influence of the food and the woman's cheery personality, the spirits of the crowd rose.

Ball-Paint Inn was in the past. Its doors locked, its seven keys scattered through the dawn. Mrs. Quimby, as she continued to press food upon them, spoke with interest of the events that had come to pass at the inn it so seldom anything really happens around here she said i'd just been hunkering for news of the strange goings on up there and i must say quimby ain't been none too newsy on the subject i threatened to come up and join in the proceedings myself especially when i heard about the book-writing cook providence had sent you "'You would have found us on the porch with outstretched arms,' Mr. McGee assured her. "'It was on Kendrick that Mrs. Quimby showered her attention. "'And when the group rose to seek the station, amid a consultation of watches "'that recalled the commuter who rises at dawn to play tag with a plippant train,

"'Mr. McGee heard her say to the railroad man in a heartfelt aside. "'I don't know as I can ever thank you enough, Mr. Kendrick, "'for putting new hope into Quimby. "'You'll never understand what it means when you've given up "'and your life seems all done and wasted to hear that there's a chance left. Won't I? replied Kendrick warmly. Mrs. Quimby, it will make me a very happy man to give your husband his chance.

The first streaks of dawn were in the sky when the hermits of Bald Pate filed through the gate into the road, waving goodbye to Quimby and his wife who stood in their dooryard for the farewell. Down through the sleepy little Osquishan Falls they paraded, meeting here and there a tired man with a lunch basket in his hand who stepped to one side and frankly stared while the odd procession passed. at the station mr mcgee encountered an old friend he of the mop of ginger-coloured hair the man who had complained of the slowness of the village gazed with wide eyes at mcgee i figured he said that you'd come this way again well i must say you've put a little life into this place if i'd know when i saw you here the other night all the exciting things you had up your sleeve i'd have gone right up to ball-paint with you but i hadn't anything up my sleeve protested mcgee maybe "'Be,' replied the agent, winking,

"'there are some pretty giddy stories going round about the carrying-on up at Bald Pate. Shots fired and strange lights flashing. "'Doggone it, the only thing that's happened here in years and I wasn't in on it. "'I certainly wish you'd put me wise to it.' "'By the way,' inquired McGee, "'did you notice the passengers from here on the 10.30 train last night?' "'Ten-30,' repeated the agent. "'Say, what sort of hours do you think I'd keep?

A man has to get some sleep Even if he does work for a railroad I wasn't here at 10.30 last night Young Cal Hunt was on duty then He's home and in bed now. No help there. Into the night the girl and the 200,000 Had fled together

And Mr. McGee could only wait And wonder as to the meaning of that flight. Two drooping figures entered the station, The mayor and his faithful lieutenant, Max. The dignity of the former had faded like a flower and the same withered simile might have been applied with equal force to the accustomed jauntiness of Lou. Good morning, said Mr. McGee in greeting. Taking an early train too, eh? Have a pleasant night? Young man, replied Kargan. If you've ever put up at a hotel in a town the size of this, called a commercial house,

you know that the last question has just one answer. Man slaughter. I heard a minister once say that all drummers abound for hell. If they are, it'll be a pleasant change for him. Mr. Max delved beneath his overcoat, and brought forth the materials for a cigarette, which he rolled between yellow fingers. If I was a drummer, he said dolefully, one breakfast. Was that what they called it, Jim? One breakfast like we just passed through would drive me into the awful habit of reading one of those here books of drummer's yarns. Sorry, smiled McGee. We had an excellent breakfast at Mrs. Quimby's. "'Really, you should have stayed.' "'By the way, where is bland?'

"'Gut shaky in the knees,' said Kargan, "'afraid of the reformers. "'Ain't had much experience in these things, "'or he'd know he might just as well tremble "'at the approach of a blue-bottle fly. "'We put him on a train going the other direction "'from Rootin early this morning. "'He thinks he better seek his fortune elsewhere.'

"'He leaned in heavy confidence towards McGee. "'Say, young fella,' he whispered, "'put me wise. "'That little slight of it. hand game you worked last night had me dizzy. Where's the coin? Where's the girl? What's the game?

Take the boodle and welcome. It ain't mine, but put me next to what's doing, so I'll know how my installment of this serial story ought to read. Mr. Cargan, replied McGee, you know as much about that girl as I do. She asked me to get her the money. And I did. But what's your place in the game?

A look around in Athens, returned McGee. translated a guy who had bumped in with cyclone and was sitting tight waiting for it to blow over i i took a fancy to her as you might put it she wanted the money i got it for her a pretty fair story my boy the mayor commented absolutely true smiled mcgee what do you think of that for an explanation lou inquired cargan she asked him for the money and he gave it to her mr max leered say a broadway chorus would be pleased to meet you, McGee, he commented. Don't tell any of your chorus friends about me, replied McGee. I might not always prove so complacent. Every man has his moments of falling for romance. Even you probably fell once, and what a fall was there. Can't the romance stop?

Fleeted Max. This chilly railway station wasn't meant for such giddy language? Wasn't it? Mr. McGee looked around at the dingy walls, at the soiled time cards, at the disreputable stove. No place for romance? It was here that he had seen her first, in the dusk,

weeping bitterly over the seemingly hopeless task in which he was destined to serve her. No place for romance? And here had begun his life's romance. The blue blithe sailor stood still at attention in the seal of world poster. McGee winked at him. He knew all about it. He knew. He knew.

He knew how alluring she had looked in the blue corduroy suit. the bit of Camberk pressed agonizingly to her face. Verily, even the sailor of the posters saw the world in all its glories. The agent leaned his face against the bars. You're a train, he called. It's crossing the main street trestle. They filed out onto the platform, Mr. McGee carrying Mrs. Norton's luggage amid her effusive thanks.

On the platform waited a stranger he put for travel. It was Mr. Max, who made the great discovery. Why, the Lord Harry, he cried. It's the hermit. in a ball-paid mountain. And so it was. His beard gone. His hair clumsily hacked. His body garbed in the height of an old and ludicrous fashion. His face set bravely towards the cities once more. Yes, he said. I'll walk the floor thinking it all over. I knew it would happen, and it has. The winters are hard and the sight of you. It was too much. The excitement, the talk. It did it for me,

did it for my oath. So I'm going back to her, back to Brooklyn for Christmas. I'll marry one to you, growled Cargan. Maybe, replied Mr. Peters, very likely if she's feeling that way. I hope so. I ain't given up the hermit job altogether. I'll come back in the summers to my postcard business. There's money in it if it's handled right. But I've spent my last winter on that lonesome hill. As author to author, asked McGee. How about your book? There won't be any mention of that, the hermit predicted. In Brooklyn, I've packed it away.

Maybe I can work on it summers if she doesn't come up here with me and insist on running my hermit business for me. I hope she won't. It would sort of put a crimp in it. But if she wants to, I won't refuse. And maybe the book will never get done. Sometimes as I've sat in my shack at night and read, it's come to me that all the greatest work since the world began

have been those that never got finished. The route and train wore up to them, through the gray morning, and paused impatiently at Upper Squeatian Falls. A board it clamored the hermits, amateur and professional. Mr. McGee, from the platform, waved goodbye to the agent standing for Lorne in the station door. He watched the building until it was only a blur in the dawn. A kindly feeling for it was in his heart. After all, it had been in the waiting room.

End of Chapter 19, recording by Todd. Chapter 20 of Seven Keys to Bold Pate. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Lynne Thompson. Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 20. The Admiral Skane The village of Upper Asgawam Falls gave a correct imitation of snow upon the desert's dusty face and was no more. Bidding a reluctant to beaulch. and goodbye to upstate romance, Mr. McGee entered the solitary day coach, which, with the smoker,

made up the local to Routon. He spent a few moments adjusting Mrs. Norton to her new environment and listened to her voluble expressions of joy in the fact that her boarding-house loomed ahead. Then he started for the smoker. On his way he paused at the seat occupied by the ex-hermit of Bolt-Pate and fixed his eyes on the pale blue necktie Mr. Peters had redirected. for his return to the world of men. Pretty, ain't it? remarked the hermit, seeing whether Mr. McGee's gaze drifted. She picked it. I didn't exactly like it when she first gave it to me, but I see my mistake now.

I'm wearing it home as a sort of white flag of truce, or almost white. Do you know, Mr. McGee, I'm somewhat nervous about what I'll say when I come into her presence again, about my inaugural address, you might put it. What would be your conversation? on such an occasion. If you'd been away from a wife for five years, what would you say when you drifted back? That would depend, replied McGee, on the amount of time she allowed me for my speech. You've hit the nail on the head, replied Mr. Peters, admiringly. She's quick, she's like lightning. She won't give me any time if she can help it. That's why I'd like to have a wonderful speech

already, something that would hold her spellbound and tongue-tied until I finished. It was would take a literary classic to do that. What you want, laughed McGee, is a speech with a punch. Exactly, agreed Mr. Peters. I guess I won't go over to Brooklyn the minute I hit New York. I guess I'll study the lights along the big street and brush elbows with the world a bit before I reveal myself to her. Maybe if I took in a few shows, but don't think I won't go to her,

my mind is made up, and I guess she'll be glad to see me too, in her way. i got to fix it with her though to come back to my postcard trade in the summers i wonder what she'll say to that maybe she could stay at the inn under an assumed name while i was hermitting up at the shack he laughed softly it'd be funny wouldn't it he said her sitting on the verandah watching me sell postcards to the ladies and listening to the various stories of how lost love has blighted my life and so forth yes it'd be real funny only ellen never had much of a sense of humour. That was always her great trouble. If you ever marry Mr. McGee, and I suppose you will, take my advice, marry a sense of humour first, and a woman incidental-like. Mr. McGee promised to bear this council in mind and went forward into the smoking car. Long rows of red plush seats, unoccupied, save for the mayor and Max, greeted his eye. He strolled to where they sat about halfway down the car, and lighted the, and lighted,

an after-breakfast cigar. Max slouched in the unresponsive company of a cigarette, on one side of the car. Across the aisle, the mayor of Routon leaned heavily above a card table, placed between two seats. He was playing solitaire. Mr. McGee wondered whether this was merely a display of bravado against scheming reformers, or whether Mr. Cargan found in it real diversion. Curious, he slid into the place across the table from the mayor. napoleon he remarked lightly whiled away many a dull hour with cards i believe clumsily the mare shuffled the cards he flung them down one by one on the polished surface of the table rudely as though they were reform votes he was counting his thick lips were tightly closed his big hands hovered with unaccustomed uncertainty over the pasteboards quit your kidding he replied i don't believe cards was invented in knapp's day was they it's a shame a fellow can't have a little admiration for a great leader like nap without all you funny boys jollying him about it that boy sure knew how to handle the voters i've read a lot about him and i like his style

you let history alone snarled mr max across the aisle or it'll repeat itself and another guy i know will go to the island if you mean me returned cargan forget it there ain't no st helena in my future he winked it meguer's a little peevish this morning he said had a bad night he busied himself with the cards mr mcgee looked on only half interested then suddenly his interest grew he watched the mare build in two piles he saw that the deck from which he built was thick a weird suspicion shot across his mind tell me is this the admiral's game of solitaire exactly what i was going to ask said a voice mcgee looked up kendrick had come in and stood now above the table his tired eyes were upon it fascinated his lips twitched strangely yes answered the mayor this is the admiral's game you'd hardly expect me to know it would you i don't hang out with the swell clubs where the admiral does they won't have me there but once i took the admiral on a public service board with me one time when i wanted a lot of dignity and no brains pretty bad and he sort of come back by teaching me his game in the long dull hours when we had nothing to do but serve the public the thing gets a hold on you somehow let's see now the spade now the heart kendrick leaned closer his breath came with a noisy quickness that brought the fact of his breathing insistently to mcgee's mind i never knew how it was played he said something told mr mcgee that he ought to rise and drag kendrick away from that table why he did not know still it ought to be done but the looking kendrick's eyes showed clearly that the proverbial wild horses could not do it then tell me how it's played went on kendrick trying to be calm

you must be getting old replied the mayor the admiral told me the young men at his club never took any interest in his game solitaire he says to me is an old man's trade it's a great game mr kendrick a great game repeated mr kendrick yes it's a great game his tone was dull i want to know how it's played he said again the six of clubs reflected the mare throwing down another card say she's going fine now there ain't much to it you use two decks exactly alike shuffle em together the eight of hearts the jack of say that's great you lay the cards down here just as they come like this he paused his huge hand held a giddy paceboard a troubled look was on his face then he smiled happily and went on in triumph and there you build mr kendrick he said the reds and the blacks you build the blacks on the left and the reds on the right do you get me then say what's the matter for kendrick had swayed and almost fallen on the admiral's game the game that had once sent a man to hell go on he said bracing nothing's the matter go on build damn it build the mayor looked at him a moment in surprise then continued now the king he muttered now the ace we're on the home stretch going strong there it's finished it's come outright a great game i tell you he leaned back kendrick's fever yellowed face was like a bronze mask his eyes were fiercely on the table and the two decks of cards that lay there and when you finished he pointed when you finished mr cargan picked up the deck on the left all black he said when the gain comes outright and the other kendrick persisted softly he pointed to the remaining deck

a terrible smile of understanding drew his thin lips taut and the other mr cargan red replied cargan what else could it be all red he picked it up and shuffled through it to prove his point kendrick turned like a red replied cargan red what else could it be all red he picked it up and shuffled through it to prove his point kendrick turned like a drunken man and staggered back down the aisle mcgee rose and hurried after him at the door he turned and the look on his face caused mcgee to shudder you heard he said helplessly my god it's funny isn't it he laughed hysterically and drawing out his handkerchief passed it across his forehead a pleasant thing to think about a pleasant thing to remember professor bolton pushed open the smoker door i thought i'd join you he began why david what is it what's the matter nothing replied kendrick wildly there's nothing the matter let me by please he crossed the swaying platform and disappeared into the other car for a moment the professor and maggie gazed after him and then without a word moved down the car to join cargan and max mcgee's mind was dazed by the tragedy he had witnessed a pleasant thing to think about he did not envy kendrick his thoughts the mayor of rutan had pushed aside the cards and lighted a huge cigar well doc he remarked jocosely house trade sold any new schemes for renovating the world to the upstate i should think this would be sort of an off-season for the reform business peace on earth good-will toward men

that ain't exactly a good advertisement for the reformers is it it's an excellent one replied professor bolton the first essential of goodwill toward men is not to rob and debauch them oh well doc don't let's argue the matter replied cargan easily i ain't in the humor for it anyhow you got your beliefs and i got my beliefs and that ain't no reason why we should not smoke a couple of good cigars together have one thanks sigh reluctantly the old man took a gay-banded Havana from the mayor's huge fist. You're very kind. I suppose it's sort of a blow to you, the mayor went on, that your plans up there on the mountain went all to smash. It ought to teach you a lesson, Doc. There ain't nothing to the reform gag.

The train slowed down at a small yellow station. Mr. McGee peered out the window. Hooper's Town, he read. Routon ten miles. He saw Mr. Max get up and leave the car. not a thing to it duck cargan repeated your bunch has tried to get me before you've shouted from the housetops that you had the goods on me what's always happened your own creatures have acquitted you replied the professor from a cloud of cargan's cigar smoke fair-minded men decided that i hadn't done wrong i tell you dog there's dishonest graft and i'm against that always and there's honest graft the rightful prequisites of a high office that's the trouble with you church politicians you can't see the difference between the two i'm not a church politician protested the professor i'm bitterly opposed to the lilywhite crowd who continually rant against the thing they don't understand i'm practical as practical as you and when

noiselessly mr max slid up to the group and stood silent his eyes wide his yellow face pitiful the fear of a dog about to be whipped in his every feature jim he cried jim you got to get me out of this you got to stand by me why what's the matter lou asked the mayor in surprise matter enough whined max do you know what's happened well i'll tell mr max was thrust aside and replaced by a train newsboy mr mcgee felt that he should always remember that boy his straw-coloured hair his freckled beaming face his lips with their fresh perpetual smile all the morning papers gents proclaimed the boy get the root and star all about the bribery he held up the paper its huge black headlines looked dull and old and soggy but the story they told was new and live and startling the mayor trapped shrilled the headlines attempt to pass big bribe at boldpate inn foiled by star reporter hayden of the suburban commit suicide to avoid disgrace give me the paper boy said the mayor yes a star his voice was even his face unmoved he took the sheet and studied it with an easy smile clinging in fear to his side max read too at length mr cargan spoke looking up at mcgee so he remarked so reporters eh you and your lady friend reporters for this lying sheet the star mr mcgee smiled up from his own copy of the paper not i he answered but my lady friend yes it seems she was just that a star reporter you can call her and tell no lie mr End of Chapter 20.

Chapter 21 of Seven Keys to BoldPate. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Lynn Thompson. Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Dare Biggers. Chapter 21. The mayor is welcomed home.

It was a good story. the story which the mayor, Mac, the professor and McGee read with varying emotions there in the smoking-car. The girl had served her employers well, and Mr. McGee, as he read, felt a thrill of pride in her. Evidently, her employers had felt that same thrill, for in the captions under the pictures, in the headlines, and in a first-page editorial, none of which the girl had written, the star spoke admiringly of its woman reporter who had done a man's work, who had gone to bold pay tin and had brought back a gigantic bribe fund alone and unaided. Indeed, smiled Mr. McGee to himself.

In the editorial on that first page, the triumphant cry of the start arose to shatter its fellows in the heavens. At last, said the editor, the long campaign, which his paper alone of all the routin papers, had waged against a corrupt city administration, was brought to a successful close. the victory was won how had this been accomplished into the star office had come rumours a few days back of the proposed payment of a big bribe at the inn on bold-paid mountain the paper had decided that one of its representatives must be on the ground it had debated long whom to send miss evelyn rose its well-known special writer had got the tipping question she had pleaded to go to the inn the editor considering her sex had sternly refused then gradually he had been brought to see the wisdom of sending a girl rather than a man the sex of the former would put the guilty parties under surveillance off guard so miss rose was despatched to the inn here was her story it convicted cargham beyond a doubt the very money offered as a bribe was now in the hands of the star editor and would be told him to the same time for the star editor and would be told him to him-and-and-the-doubt the very money offered as a bribe was now in the hands of the star editor and would be told turned over to prosecutor drayton at his request all this under the disquieting title prison stripes for the mayor the girl's story told how with one companion she had gone to upper asquoan falls

there was no mention of the station waiting-room nor of the tears shed therein on a certain evening mr mcgee noted she had reached the inn on the morning of the day when the combination was to be phoned bland was already there Shortly after came the mayor and Max. You got to get me out of this, McGee heard Max pleading over Cargan's shoulder. Keep still, replied the mayor, roughly. He was reading his copy of the star with keen interests now. I've done your dirty work for years, whined Max. Who puts on the rubber shoes and sneaks up dark alleys hunting votes among the garbage, while you do the old glory stunt on Main Street?

I do. You got to get me out of this. It may mean jail. I couldn't stand that. I'd die. A horrible parody of a man's real fear was in his face. The mare shook himself as though he would be rid forever of the coward hanging on his arm. Hush up, can't you? he said. I'll see you through. You've got to. Lou Max wailed. Miss Rhodes' story went on to tell how Hayden refused to phone the combination, how the mare and Max dynamited the safe and secured the precious package, only to lose it in another moment,

to a still different contingent at the inn, how Hayden had come of his suicide when he found that his actions were in danger of exposure. A bitter smile for Kendrick in that, reflected McGee. And how finally, through a strange series of accidents, the money came into the hands of the writer for the star. These accidents were not given in detail. an amusing feature of the whole affair said miss evelyn rose was the presence at the inn of mr william hallowell mcgee the new york writer of light fiction who had come there to escape the distractions of a great city and to work in the solitude and who immediately on his arrival became involved in the surprising drama of bold paint i'm an amusing feature reflected mcgee mr mcgee continued miss rose will doubtless be one of the state's chief witnesses

when the case against cargan comes to trial as will also professor thaddeus bolton holder of the crandall chair of comparative literature at ruton university and mr david kendrick formerly of the suburban but who retired six years ago to take up his residence abroad the latter too went to the inn to represent prosecutor drayton and made every effort in their power to secure the package of money from the reporter from the star not knowing her connection with the affair well mr mcgee asked professor bolton laying down the paper which he had been perusing at a distance of about an inch from his nose once again professor laughed mcgee reporters have entered your life the old man sighed it was very kind of her he said not to mention that i was the person who compared blondes of the peroxide variety with suffragettes others will not be so kind the matter will be resurrected and used against me at the trial i'm sure a plucky girl mr mcgee a very plucky girl how times do change when i was young girls of her age was scarcely have thought of venturing forth into the highways on such perilous missions i congratulate you you showed unusual perception. You deserve a great reward. The young lady's favour, let us say. You've got to get me out of this, Max was still telling the mare. For God's sake, cried Cargan. Shut up and let me think. He sat for a moment staring at one place, his face still lacking all emotion, but his eyes

a trifle narrower than before. You haven't got me yet, he cried standing up, by the eternal, I'll fight to the last ditch, and I'll win. I'll show Drayton, he can't play this game on me, I'll show the star, that dirty sheet has hounded me for years, I'll put it out of business, and I'll send the reformers howling into their alleys, sick of the fuss they started themselves. Perhaps, said Professor Bolton, but only after the fight of your life, Cargan. I'm ready for it, said Cargan. I ain't down and out yet, but to think, a woman, a little bit of a girl I could have put in my pocket. It's all a big joke. I'll beat them. I'll show them.

The game's far from played out. I'll win. And if I don't—' He crumbled suddenly into his seat. His eyes on that unpleasant line about prison strikes for the mayor. For an instant it seemed as though his fight was irrevocably lost, and he knew it. Lines of age appeared to creep from out of the fat folds of his face and stand mockingly there. He looked a beaten man. If I don't, he stammered pitifully. Well, they sent him to an island at the end. The reformers got Napoleon at the last. I won't be alone in that. At this unexpected sight of weakness in his hero, Mr. Max set up a renewed babble of fear at his side. The train was in the Routon suburbs now. At a neat little station it slowed down to a stop and a florid policeman entered the

smoking car. Cargan looked up. Hello, Dan, he said. His voice was lifeless. The old time ring was gone. The policeman removed his helmet and shifted it nervously. I thought I'd tell you, Mr. Cargan, he said. I thought I'd warn you. You'd better get off here. There's a big crowd in the station at Routon. They're waiting for you, sir. They've heard you on this. this train this lying newspaper mr cargan it's been telling tales i guess you know about that there's a big mob you better get off here sir and go downtown on a car if the mighty cargan had looked limp and beaten for a moment he looked that way no more he stood up and his head seemed almost to touch the roof of the car over that big patrolman he towered his eyes were cold and hard again his lips curved in the smile of the master and why he bellowed should i get off here tell me that dan well sir replied the embarrassed copper they're ugly there's no telling what they might do it's a bad mob this newspaper has stirred em up ugly are they sneered cargan ever seen the bunch i would go out of my way for dan i meant it all right sir said dan as a friend to a man who's been a friend to me no i never saw you afraid of any bunch yet but this

"'This,' replied Cargan, "'is the same old bunch, "'the same lily-livered crowd "'that I've seen in the street "'since I laid the first paving-stone "'under myself in 91. "'Afraid of them?' "'Hellard walked through an ant-hill

"'as scared as I would through that mob. "'Thanks for telling me, Dan, "'but Jim Cargan won't be in the molly-coddle class "'for a century or two yet.' "'Yes, sir,' said the patrolman, admiringly. "'He hurried out of the car, and the mayor turned to find Lou Max, pale and fearful by his side. What ails you now? he asked.

I'm afraid, cried Max. Did you hear what he said? A mob. I saw a mob once, never a game for me. He tried to smile, to part it off as a pleasant jest, but he had to wet his lips with his tongue before he could go on. Come on, Jim, get off here, don't be a fool. The train began to move. "'Get off yourself, you coward,' sneered Cargan. "'Oh, I know you. It doesn't take much to make your stomach shrink. "'Get off!' "'Max eagerly seized his hat and bag. "'I will, if you don't mind,' he said.

"'See you later at Charlie's.' "'And in a flash of tawdry attire he was gone. "'The mayor of Routon no longer sat limp in his chair. "'A brief moment of seeming surrender was put behind for ever. "'He walked the aisle of the car, fire in his eyes battle in his heart so they're waiting for me eh he said aloud waiting for jim cargan now ain't it nice of them to come and meet their mare mr mcgee and the professor went into the daycoat for their baggage mrs norton motioned to the former well she said you know now i suppose and it didn't do you no harm to wait i sure i'm glad this to do is all over and that child is safe and i hope you'll remember you'll remember what I said, it ain't no work for a woman, no how. What with the shooting and the late hours?

Your words, said Mr. McGee, are engraven on my heart. He proceeded to gather her baggage, with his own, and was thus engaged when Kendrick came up. The shadow of his discovery in the smoking car an hour before still haunted his sunken eyes, but his lips were half smiling, with the new joy of living that had come to him. Mr. McGee, he began, I hardly need mention that the terrible thing which happened in there is between you and me and the man who's dead. No one must know, least of all the girl who is to become my wife. It would embitter her whole life as it has mine. Don't say that, McGee pleaded. You will forget in time, I'm sure, and you may trust me I had forgotten already. And indeed he had, on the instant when his eyes fell, upon the root and star miss thornhill approached her dark smiling eyes on magee kendrick looked at her proudly and spoke suddenly determinedly you're right i will forget she shall help me mr magee said the girl i'm so pleased at the splendid end to your impulsive philanthropy i just knew the adventure couldn't have anything but a happy ending it was so full of youth and faith and and charity or its

synonym. This mustn't be goodbye. You must come and see me. Come and see us. All. I shall be happy to, answered McGee sincerely. It will always be a matter of regret to me that I was not able to serve you, also on Boulpate Mountain. But out of it you came with something more precious than fine gold, and that shall be my consolation. Let it be, smiled Myra Thornhill, as it is surely mine. Goodbye. and good luck whispered mcgee as he took kendrick's hand over his shoulder as he passed to the platform he saw them look into each other's eyes and he felt that the memory of the admiral's game would in time cease to haunt david kendrick a shadow had fallen upon the train the shadow of the huge ruton station in the half-light on the platform mr mcgee encountered the mare of ruton above the lessening roar of the train there sounded ahead of the train that sounded ahead of the of them the voices of men in turmoil and riot mr cargan turned upon mcgee a face as placid and dispassionate as that of one who enters an apple orchard in may the boys he smiled grimly welcoming me home then the train came to a stop And Mr. McGee looked down into a great array of faces,

and heard for the first time the low, unceasing rumble of an angry mob. Afterwards he marvelled at that constant, guttural roar, how it went on and on, humming like a tune, never stopping, disconnected quite from the occasional shrill or heavy voices, that rang out in distinguishable words. The mare looked coolly down into those upturned faces. He listened a moment to the rumble of a thousand, and throats, then he took off his derby, with a satiric politeness.

Glad to see one and all, he cried, and now above the mutterings, angry words could be heard. That's him! That's two hundred thousand dollar cargan. How's the weather on bold paint, and other sarcastic flings? Then a fashion of derisive cat-calls came and went, after which here and there voices spoke of ropes, of tar and feathers. And still the mayor smiled as one for whom the orchard gate swung open in May. A squad of policemen who had entered the car from the rear forced their way out onto the platform. Want us to see you through the crowd, Mr. Cargan? The lieutenant asked.

New hoots and cries ascended to the station rafters. Who pays the police? We do. Who owns them? Cargan. Thus question and answer were bandied back and forth. again a voice demanded in strident tones the ignominious tar and feathers jim cargan had not risen from the slums to be the master of his town without a keen sense of the theatric he ordered the police back into the car and stay there he demanded the lieutenant demurred one look from the mayor sent him scurrying mr gargan took from his pocket a big cigar and calmly lit it some of them guys out there he remarked to McGee, belong to the Sunday school crowd. Pretty actions for them, pillars of the church, howling like beasts. And still, like that of the beast, the mutter of the mob went on, now in an undertone, now louder, and still that voice that had first pled for tar and feathers, pled still,

for feathers and tar. And here a group preferred the rope. And towards them, with a bland smile of a child on his great face, his cigar tilted at one angle, his derby at another, the mare of Rutan walked unflinchingly. The roar became mad, defiant, but Kargan stepped forward boldly. Now he reached the leaders of the mob. He pushed his way in, among them, smiling but determined. They closed in on him. A little man got firmly in his path. He took the little man by the shoulders and stood him aside with some friendly word. And now, he was past ten rows or more of them on his way through and the crowd began to scurry away they scampered like ants clawing as one another's backs to make a path and so finally between

two rows of them the mayor of rutan went his way triumphantly somewhere on the edge of the crowd an admiring voice spoke hello jim the mayor waved his hand the rumble of their voices ceased at last. Jim Cargum was still master of the city. Say what you will, remarked Mr. McGee to the professor as they stood together on the platform of the car. There goes a man. He did not wait to hear the professor's answer, for he saw the girl of the upper Asquhuan station, standing on a baggage truck far to the left of the mob, waved to him over their heads. Eagerly he fought his way to her side. It was a hard fight. The The crowd would not part for him, as it had party for the man who owned the city.

End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of Seven Keys to Baldpaint. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Lynn Thompson. Seven Keys to Boldpate by Earl Dare Biggers. 22. The usual thing.

Hello, Mr. Holdup Man. The girl seized Mr. McGee's prophet hand and leaped down from the truck to his side. Bless the gods of the mountain, said McGee, they have given me back my accomplice, safe and sound. They were black, lonesome gods, she replied, and they kept whispering fearful things in my ear I couldn't understand. I'm glad they didn't keep me. So am I. the crowd surged about them many in it smiled and spoke admiringly to the girl it's great to be acquainted with the heroine of the hour mr mcgee continued i congratulate you you have overthrown an empire of graft it seems alone and unaided she quoted smiling mockingly up into his face absolutely alone and entirely unaided said billy maggie i'll swear to that in court mrs norton panted up to his face absolutely alone and entirely unaided said billy maggie i'll swear to that in court mrs norton panted up to them hello dearie she cried thank heaven your sake have you been up to the house how's sadie getting along i just know everything is topsy-turvy

not at all replied miss rhodes breakfast passed off like clockwork at seven and even mr golden had no complaints to offer dear i must thank you for all you've done for me it was splendid not now objected mrs norton i got to get up to the house now what with christmas only two days away and a lot of shopping to be done i can't linger in this draughty station for thanks i want you to bring mr mcgee right up to the house for lunch i'll have a meal ready that'll show him what suffering must have been going on inside me while i sat still watching that hermit man burlesking the cook business delighted said mary i'll find you a cab he led the way to a row of such vehicles mrs norton and the girl following seems like you're always putting me in a cab remarked the older woman as she climbed inside i don't know what mary and me would have done if it hadn't been for you you're a mighty handy person to have around mr mcgee ain't he dearie she winked openly at mcgee and a delightful one agreed the girl in a matter-of-fact tone mrs norton was driven away up the snowy street as mr mcgee and the girl turned they beheld the hermit of bold paint staring with undisguised exultation at the tall buildings of rutan why it's mr peters the girl cried yes replied mcgee his prediction has come true we and our excitement proved too much for him he's going back to brooklyn and to her I'm so glad, she cried. She stretched out her hand to the helmet.

He took it somewhat embarrassed. Glad to see you, he said. You certainly appear to have stirred things up, miss. But women are good at that, I've always said. Mr. McGee tells me you're going back after all, she broke in. Yes, returned pizzas. I knew it. I told you so.

It was all right in the summer when the bands played, and the warm wind was hermitting on the mountain, too, but in the fall it's always been hard, and I've heard the white lights calling, calling. Why, I've even heard her, heard Ellen. This fall you came, and there was something doing on Bulpate, and I knew that when you went, I'd just naturally have to go too, so I'm going. Splendid, commented the girl. It'll be somewhat delicate, continued the hermit, bursting in on Ellen after all these years. As I told Mr. McGee,

I wish I had an inaugural address, or something like that. I have it, responded Evelyn Rhodes. I'll write a story about you for tomorrow morning's paper, all about how the Christmas spirit has overcome the hermit of Boulbate, and how he's going back to his wife, with his heart filled with love for her. It is filled, isn't it?

Well, yes, agreed Mr. Peters. I reckon you might call it that. And then you can send her a copy of the paper and follow it up in person. A good idea, commented Billy McGee. At first glance, yes, studied Peters, but on the other hand, it would be the death knell of my postcard business, and I'm calculating to go back to bold paint next summer and take it up again. No, I'm afraid I can't let it be generally known

that I've quit living in a shack on the mountain, for love of somebody or other. once more smiled McGee big business muzzles the press not that i ain't obliged to you for the offer added the hermit of course said the girl i understand and i wish you the best of luck along with a merry christmas the same to you replied the hermit heartily miss er miss Rhodes and i will see you again predicted mr McGee next summer at bob peat-in the hermit looked at the girl who told hermit turned her face away i hope it'll turn out that way i'm sure he said i'll let you have a reduction on all postcards just for old time's sake now i must find out about the new york trains he melted into the crowd an odd figure still his garb in a fashion long forgotten his clumsily hacked hair brushing the collar of his ancient coat mcgee and the girl found the check-room and after he had been relieved of the burden of his baggage set out up the main street of ruton it was a typical upstate town deep in the throes of the holiday season the windows of the stores were green with holly the faces of the passers-by reflected the excitements of christmas and of the upheaval in civic politics which were upon them almost together tell me said the girl are you glad at the way it has turned out are you glad i was no lady captain kidd

it has all turned out or is about to turn out beautifully mr mcgee answered you may remember that on the veranda of boldpate inn i spoke of one summer hotel flirtation that was going to prove more than that let me her laugh interrupted you don't even know my name what's the matter with evil in roads suggested mcgee nothing it's a perfectly good name but it isn't mine i just write under it i prefer mary anyhow smiled billy maggie she called you that it's mary mary what you have no idea said he how immaterial that is there came among a throng blocking the sidewalk in front of a tall building of stone the eyes of the throng were on the bulletins it muttered much as they had muttered who gathered at the station the office of the star explained the girl the crowd is looking for new excitement Do you know, for two whole hours this morning we had on exhibition in the window a certain package, a package of money? I think, smiled McGee, I've seen it somewhere. I think you have. Jaden came and took it from us as soon as he heard. But it was the very best proof we could have offered the people. They like to see for themselves. It's a passion with them. We've done for Kargan forever.

"'Cargan says he will fight. "'Of course he will,' she replied. "'But this will prove Napoleon's Waterloo, "'whether or not he is sent to prison, "'and perhaps he can escape that he's very clever. "'His power and rutan is broken. "'He can't possibly win at the next election. "'It comes very soon.

"'I'm so glad. "'For years our editor has been fighting corruption "'in the face of terrible odds and temptations. "'I'm so glad it's over now, "'and the star has won.' "'Through you,' said McGee softly. "'With someone to help,' she smiled, "'I must go upstairs now and find out what new task is set for me.'

Mr. McGee postponed the protests on the tip of his tongue, and, climbing the gloomy stairs that newspapers always affect, they came into the city room of the star. Though the paper had been long on the street, the excitement of the greatest coup of years still lingered in the place. "'Miggie saw the deferential smiles "'that greeted the girl and watched her. "'She made her way to the city editor's desk.

"'In a moment she was back at his side. "'I've got my assignment,' she smiled ruefully. "'They descended to the street. "'It's wonderful,' she went on, "'how curt a city editor can be "'with anyone who pulls off a good story. "'The job I've got now reminds me "'of an old New York reporter

"'who used to work on the star.' With difficulty, they threaded their way through the crowd and moved along beside the green-decked windows. He was the first man sent out by his paper on Park Row on the Spanish War assignment, she went on, and he behaved rather brilliantly, I believe. Well, he came back after the fight was over, all puffed up and important, and they told him the city editor wanted him. They're going to send me to the Philippines, he told me, he thought, as he went into the presence. When the city editor ordered him to rush down to a two-alarm fire in Houston Street, he nearly collapsed. I know how he felt. I feel that way now.

What was it? A one alarm fire? asked McGee. No, she replied. A sweet little story about the Christmas toys. I've done it to death every Christmas for three years. Oh, well, I can do it again. But it'll have to wait until after Mrs. Norton's lunch. She led him into a street where every house was like its neighbor, even to the room's sign in the windows, and up the steps of one she could have recognized only by counting from the corner. They entered the murky and stereotyped atmosphere of a boarding-house hallway, with its inevitable hat-track and the uncollected letters of the homeless, on a table.

Mrs. Norton came brisily forth to meet them. "'Well, Mr. McGee,' she said, "'I certainly am glad you've come.' i'm busy on that lunch now dearie show him into the parlour to wait mr mcgee was shown in the rooming-house parlour seemed to moan dismally as it received him he strolled about and gazed at the objects of art which had at various times a crew to mrs norton's personality a steel engraving called too late which depicted an angry father arriving at a church door to find his eloping daughter in the arms of a stalwart youth with the clergy looking on approvingly another of mr john drew assuming a commanding posture as petruchio in the taming of the shrew some onweed flabby angels riding on the clouds a child of unhealthy pink clasping lovingly to an inflammable dog on the mantle of the mantel a miniature ship, under glass, and some lady statuettes whose toilettes slipped down, down. And on an easel the sad portrait of a gentleman, undoubtedly the late lamented Norton.

His uninteresting nose appeared to turn up at the constant odour of cookery, in which it dwelt. His hair was plastered down over his forehead in a gorgeous, abandoned curve, which has some of the least sophisticated of Mr. John T. McCutcheon's gentleman, effect. Mr. McGee stared round the room and smiled. Was the romance of reality never to resemble the romance of his dreams? Where were the dim lights? Where was the distant waltz? Where was the magic of moonlight, amid which he was some day to have told a beautiful girl of his love? Hardly in Mrs. Norton's parlour.

She came and stood in the doorway, hatless, coatless, smiling. She flooded the place with her beauty. Mr. McGee looked at the flabby angels on the wall, expecting them to hide their faces in shame. But no, they still rode brazenly, their unstable clouds. Come in, he cried. Don't leave me alone here again, please. And tell me, is this the gentleman who took the contract for making Mrs. Norton happy? I, I can't come in, she said blushing. She seemed to wish to avoid him. Yes, that is Mr. Norton.

She came nearer the easel and smiled at the late lamented stonorial crown. I must leave you, just a moment. Billy McGee's heart beat wildly. His breath came fast. He seized her by the hand. You're never going to leave me again, he cried. Don't you know that? I thought you knew.

You're mine. I love you. I love you. It's all I can say, my dearest. Look at me. Look at me, please. It has happened so quickly, she must. Norman. Things can't be true when they happen so quickly.

A woman's logic, said Mr. McGee. It has happened. My beautiful girl, look at me. And then she looked, trembling, flushed, half frightened, half exultant. She lifted her eyes to his. My little girl, he cried down at her. A moment longer she held off, and then limply she surrendered, and Billy McGee held her close in his arms. "'Take care of me,' she whispered. "'I love you so.' Her arm went timidly about his shoulders. "'Do you want to know my name?

"'It's Mary.' "'Mary what?' "'The answer was seemingly of no importance, "'for Mr. McGee's lips were on hers, "'crushing the word at its birth. "'So they stood amid Mrs. Norton's gloomy objects of art, "'and presently she asked, "'How about the book, dear?'

"'But Mr. McGee had forgot. What book? he asked. The novel you went to Bold Pate to write. Don't you remember, dearest? No melodrama, no wild chases, no love. Why, Mr. McGee paused for a moment in the joy of his discovery. Then he came back to the greater joy in his arms. Why, darling, he explained gently. This is it. End of Chapter 22. End of seven keys to Bold Pate. by Earl Dare Beacres