Oswald Langdon | Page 2

accepts the hazard of a word
in advance.
While the novelist's license has been so used that there is need neither
to resent an innuendo nor to prove an "alibi," yet, substantially, the
incidents narrated occurred within the time stated, and nearly all the
actors are still upon life's "boards."
The conscientious tourist in search of that "beautiful country-seat" and
"wood-fringed lake" is advised to defer his visit. Perhaps the exact
locations are intended to be in doubt. Even that "station" might be hard
to find in an English train schedule.

Geographical accuracy may not be always essential. One noted writer
has told of infatuation for
"An ounce of common, ugly, human dust,"
and declared that--
.... "Places are too much, Or else too little, for immortal man."
The reader of few or of many books may find "reminders" in these
pages. The author hastens to confess echoings from bygone days,
hintings of vagrant fancies, and whimsical reveries wherein appeared
the vague evasive outlines of half-remembered things.
If keeping that harmless old connoisseur of the "image and
superscription," who insisted on positive "rigor mortis," jailed so long
seem heartless, it should be remembered that some wrongs are more
apparent than real.
The antecedents of that mysterious fair-haired "Find" are still in doubt,
but this signifies little. Child-life is always a miracle more inscrutable
than the resurrection of Lazarus.
The hinted fate of Pierre and Paul Lanier may merit some criticism.
Perhaps summary justice should have been meted out; but in view of all
"extenuating circumstances," may not judgment be suspended? Since
"Eternity is so long," and in deference to that "bias for saving," can we
not allow an "appeal unto Cæsar"?
CARSON JAY LEE.
CHAPTER I
THE SCARE AND ARREST
Passing along the street, apparently self-absorbed, there seems little in
this man to attract notice.

Why does the scared newsboy hurry by, thinking of that strange face?
Quickly the agitated countenance assumes a look of dignified
indifference.
A block away the boy resumes his calls:
"All about the murder of a young girl! Body found in the river! Police
on track of the murderer!"
"Poor little fellow!" murmured Oswald. "He gave me such a shock! But
how frightened he seemed when passing, with his innocent yell! How
foolish my scare! What do New York police know or care about a
crime committed in London years ago?"
Curious to read what the city papers say of this homicide, Oswald
retraces his steps, turns a corner, and sees the boy waiting pay from a
pleasant-faced, careful old man, who holds to his purchase while
critically scrutinizing the coin, as if sorry to part with such "image and
superscription" without approved value.
"Be the girl dead and be she drowned sure?"
"She's a goner!" replied the boy.
This emphatic assurance of "rigor mortis" having convinced the old
gentleman that his money will be well invested, the deal is about to be
closed, when, seeing Oswald, little Jack sprints across the street, down
an alley, into the arms of a policeman.
"Pfwhat yez roonin' loike yez a stalin' wagabond pfhwor?" sternly asks
the officer.
"That willanous-lookin' rascal round there is campin' on me trail."
With visions of a kidnaper of small boys fleeing from his wrath,
Michael P. O'Brien drags the terrified Jack out of the alley to the street.
Seeing the old man holding to the paper and looking dazed, upon this
gray-haired malefactor is placed the strong hand of the "statute in such

case made and provided," and he is started toward the police-station,
with the soothing assurance:
"Yez nadn't confiss yez guilt by discriminatin' ividince."
Seeing that matters are badly mixed, Jack sidles away toward the
opposite street-corner. His movement is noted by the policeman at the
exact moment that Jack again sees Oswald. Heedless of loud command
to "Sthop, in the noime of the law," the youthful auctioneer of the
metropolitan press heads at right angles and is soon out of sight.
CHAPTER II
AFTER THE STORM
The day has been fearfully hot. Unconscious of surroundings, every
nerve seemingly relaxed, a young man is riding along the road toward
the station. Passing a wooded strip, there is a blinding flash. With much
effort, Oswald frees himself from the limb of a tree, which in falling
broke the neck of his horse. Bewildered with pain and drenched to the
skin, he is staggering around in the mud, when a light wagon, drawn by
a fine team, comes to a sudden halt at the fallen tree. The driver turns
his conveyance around and assists the soaked victim of the storm to a
seat. Retracing the way to another road, after a roundabout journey they
stop in front of a large mansion surrounded by a grove.
The injured man is assisted to a room. A servant