The Master of Silence | Page 2

can.
Consequences of vast importance to me and to mankind depend upon
your prompt compliance. I cannot tell you where I am. The bearer will
bring you to me. Follow him and ask no questions. Moreover, be silent,
like him, regarding the subject of this letter. If you can come, procure
passage in the first steamer for New York. My messenger is provided
with funds. Your loving brother, "Revis Lane."
I had often heard my father speak of my uncle Revis, who went to
America almost twenty years before I was born. Now he was my
nearest living relative. No news of him had reached us for many years
before my father died. I was familiar with his handwriting and the
specimen before me was either genuine, or remarkably like it. If
genuine he had evidently not heard of my father's death.
Extraordinary as the message was, the messenger was more so. He sat
peering at me with a strange, half-crazed expression on his face.
"When did you leave my uncle?" I asked.
He sat as if unconscious that I had spoken.
I drew my chair to his side and repeated the words in a loud voice, but
he did not seem to hear me. Evidently the old man could neither hear
nor speak. In a moment he began groping in his pockets, and presently
handed me a card which contained the following words:
"If you can come, tear this card in halves and return the right half to
him."
I examined the card carefully. The words were undoubtedly in my
uncle's handwriting. The back of the card was covered with strange
characters in red ink. I tore the card as directed and handed him the

right half.
He held it up to the light and examined it carefully, then put it away in
a pocket of his waistcoat. The look of pain returned to his face, and he
coughed feebly as if suffering from a severe cold. The hour being late I
intimated by pantomime that I desired him to occupy my bed. He
understood me readily enough and began feebly to remove his clothing,
while I prepared a sofa for myself. He was soon sound asleep, but I lay
awake long after the light was extinguished. He was evidently quite ill,
and I determined to go for a physician at the first appearance of
daylight. As soon as possible I would go with him to my uncle. There
were no ties to detain me, and it was clearly my duty to do so. Perhaps
my uncle was in some great peril. If so, I might be of service to him.
When I arose in the morning my strange lodger seemed to be sleeping
quietly. His face looked pale and ghastly in the light of day. I stepped
close to his bed and, laying my hand upon his brow, was horrified to
discover that he was dead. What was I to do? I sat down to think,
trembling with fright. I must call in a policeman and tell him all I knew
about my strange visitor. No, not all; I must not tell him about the letter,
thought I. My uncle might not wish it to be published to the world. I
ran out upon the street and told the first officer I met how the old man
had rapped at my door during the storm; how I had given him my bed
out of pity, and how I had discovered on awaking in the morning that
he was dead.
That day the body was taken to the morgue. The sum of L100 were
found in his pockets, a part of which gave him a decent burial. But
while he had gone to his long rest, he had sown in my mind the seed of
unrest. I went about my work clinging to the thread of a mystery half
told. Whither would it lead me?
Strange as that messenger had seemed, he was certainly a good man to
carry secrets.
CHAPTER II
The multitude of legs, engaged by the pair in the service of Valentine,

King & Co., were distinguished from each other by a bit of house slang.
I was known as "last legs" among my companions for some time after
my initiation to the warehouse. At first I was inclined to resent the
reduction of my individuality to such a vulgar formula, but as I became
inured to hard tasks the sharpness of this indignity wore away.
There was one pair of legs doing service for the firm whose owner
became my most valued friend and confidant. In his business capacity
he was called "long legs," but his proper name was Philbert Chaffin. He
was a tall, slim boy, with blue eyes and light hair, the son of a