



Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
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                      THAT AFFAIR AT ELIZABETH

                       BY BURTON E. STEVENSON

    AUTHOR OF "THE MARATHON MYSTERY," "THE HOLLADAY CASE," ETC.


    NEW YORK
    HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
    1907

    COPYRIGHT, 1907,
    BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

    _Published October, 1907_

    THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
    RAHWAY, N. J.




CONTENTS


I. AN URGENT SUMMONS

II. A BRIDE'S VAGARY

III. THE LOVER'S STORY

IV. A STRANGE MESSAGE

V. DEEPER IN THE MAZE

VI. AN ASTONISHING REQUEST

VII. TANGLED THREADS

VIII. THE PATH THROUGH THE GROVE

IX. THE OLD SORROW

X. THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT

XI. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

XII. WORD FROM THE FUGITIVE

XIII. PURSUIT

XIV. RECALLED TO THE FRONT

XV. A BATTLE OF WITS

XVI. THE SECRET OF THE CELLAR

XVII. A TRAGEDY UNFORESEEN

XVIII. A NEW TURN TO THE PUZZLE

XIX. UNDER SUSPICION

XX. AN APPEAL FOR ADVICE

XXI. CROSS-PURPOSES

XXII. LIGHT AT LAST!

XXIII. THE STORY

XXIV. THE SECRET

XXV. THE REVELATION

XXVI. THE RETURN

XXVII. THE CURTAIN LIFTS




THAT AFFAIR AT ELIZABETH




CHAPTER I

An Urgent Summons


"That seems to be all right, Lester," said Mr. Royce, and handed the
papers back to me. "I'll be mighty glad when we get that off our hands."

So, I knew, would the whole force of the office, for the case had been
an unusually irritating one, tangling itself up in the most unexpected
ways, until, with petitions and counter-petitions and answers and
demurrers and what not, we were all heartily tired of it. I slipped the
papers into an envelope and shot them into a pigeon-hole with a sigh of
relief.

"I think that'll end it," I said. "I don't see how there can be any
further delay."

"No," agreed our junior, "neither do I. Are the papers in the Griffin
case ready?"

"Not yet; I doubt if they will be ready before this afternoon."

"Well, they can wait," he said, and glanced at his watch. "I want to
catch the ten-ten for Elizabeth."

"For Elizabeth?"

"Yes. I know it's a mighty awkward time for me to leave, but it's an
engagement I've got to keep. You've heard me speak of Burr Curtiss?"

"Yes," I said; "I seem to remember the name."

"He's been one of my best friends for the past ten years. I met him
first at Yale, and a liking sprang up between us, which grew stronger as
time went on. I played a sort of second fiddle to him, then, for he was
president of the class in his senior year and was voted the most popular
man in it. He came to New York, as soon as he was graduated, and got a
place on the construction staff of the Pennsylvania road. He was
assigned to one of the western divisions, and I didn't see anything of
him for two or three years, but finally he was recalled, and we used to
hobnob at the University Club. Since my marriage, he comes around to
smoke a pipe with me occasionally and talk over old times. He's a social
fellow, likes companionship, and, my wife says, is just the man to make
a woman happy; so when he wrote me a note, two months ago, announcing
his engagement, we were naturally curious concerning the woman in the
case--for his ideals were high--too high, I always told him."

Mr. Royce paused and sat for a moment smiling out the window at the grey
wall of the building opposite.

"I remember it was one evening early last winter," he went on at last,
"that Curtiss happened in and, as we sat smoking together, our talk
somehow turned to women. It was then I learned what an idealist he was.
The woman to win his heart must be accomplished, of course; witty,
knowing the world, and yet unsoiled by it, capable of original thought,
of being her husband's intellectual companion--so much for the mental
side. Physically--well, physically he wanted a Venus de Milo or Helen of
Troy, nothing less. I laughed at him. I pointed out that beautiful women
are seldom intellectual. But he was obdurate. He protested that he would
capitulate on no other terms. I retorted that, in that case, he would
probably remain a bachelor."

"But," I remarked, "it seems to me that this friend of yours is a trifle
egotistical. What has he to offer in exchange for such perfection?"

"Well," said Mr. Royce slowly, "it would be a good bargain on both
sides. Given such a woman, I could fancy her longing for such a man as
Curtiss, just as he would long for her. I've told you something of his
mental calibre--physically, he's the handsomest man I ever saw. And it
seems to me he gets handsomer every year. In our college days, he was
rather too stout, too girlish-looking, but hard work and contact with
the world have rubbed all that away. George!" he added, "the children of
such a pair would be fit for Olympus!"

"And did he find her?" I asked, curious for the rest of the story.

"After I got his note," said my companion, "I hunted him up at his
apartments as soon as I could. He let me in himself, got out his cigars,
and sat down opposite me fairly beaming. I looked him over--I had never
before seen a man who seemed so supremely happy.

"'So,' I asked at last, 'you've found her?'

"'Yes,' he said; 'yes.'

"'The woman you were looking for?'

"'The very woman.'

"'That impossible ideal?'

"'An ideal, yes; but not impossible, since she exists in the flesh and I
have found her.'

"'Well, you're a lucky dog,' I said. 'Tell me about her.'

"So he told me--quite a Laura Jean Libbey story. She was everything, it
seemed, that could be desired in a woman.

"'And beautiful?' I asked him.

"For reply, he brought out a photograph from his desk. I tell you,
Lester, it fairly took my breath away. I felt as though I were looking
at a masterpiece--say Andrea del Sarto's Madonna. And I would as soon
have thought of marrying the one as the other. It was like snatching a
star down out of heaven.

"Curtiss was leaning back in his chair watching me, and he smiled as I
looked up.

"'Well?' he asked.

"I went over and shook hands with him--I couldn't find words to tell him
what I felt.

"'But where has she been?' I demanded. 'How does it happen she was left
for you?'

"'She's been abroad for five or six years,' he explained.

"'That's no answer,' I said. 'Why isn't she a queen, then; or a duchess,
at least?'

"'She's had chances enough, I dare say,' and he smiled at my enthusiasm.
'I agree with you that she's worthy to wear a crown; but then, you see,
she has ideals, too. Perhaps none of the kings she met measured up to
them.'

"'And you did?'

"'She's good enough to think so.'

"I had been idling over the photograph, and my eyes happened to fall
upon some lines written across the back--I didn't know them, then, but
I've looked them up, since:--

          'My days were sunless and my nights were moonless,
    Parched the pleasant April herbage and the lark's heart's outbreak
      tuneless,
    If you loved me not!'

"I tell you, Lester," and there was a little break in our junior's
voice, "I was overwhelmed. You know, love--passion--the real thing the
poets write about--has grown mighty rare in this world. We're too
commercial for it, I suppose; too much given to calculating chances. But
here I was, face to face with it. Well, I was unequal to the
situation--I didn't know what to say, but he helped me.

"'The date hasn't been set, yet,' he said, 'but it will be some time in
June; and the reason I'm telling you all this is that I'm going to ask a
favour of you. It's to be a church wedding and I want you to be best
man. I hope you won't refuse.'

"I was glad of the chance to be of service and told him so," concluded
Mr. Royce, glancing again at his watch and rising hastily. "The
wedding's to be at noon to-day. You see I'm