The Phantom of Bogue Holauba | Page 5

stir
of industry, no sign of life, save indeed an old hound lying on the
veranda steps, looking up with great, liquid, sherry-tinted eyes at the
stranger, and, though wheezing a wish to lick his hand, unable to
muster the energy to rise.
After an interval of a few moments Gordon turned within. He felt that
he must forthwith get at the papers and set this little matter in order. He
paused baffled at the door of the parlor, where satin damask and
rosewood furniture, lace curtains and drawn shades, held out no
promise of repositories of business papers. On the opposite side of the
hall was a sitting-room that bore evidence of constant use. Here was a
desk of the old-fashioned kind, with a bookcase as a superstructure, and
a writing-table stood in the centre of the floor, equipped with a number
of drawers which were all locked, as a tentative touch soon told. He had
not concluded its examination when a step and rustle behind him
betokened a sudden entrance.
"Miss Geraldine Norris!" a voice broke upon the air,--a voice that he
had not before heard, and he turned abruptly to greet the lady as she

formally introduced herself.
A veritable Titania she seemed as she swayed in the doorway. She was
a little thing, delicately built, slender yet not thin, with lustrous golden
hair, large, well-opened, dark blue eyes, a complexion daintily white
and roseate,--a fairy-like presence indeed, but with a prosaic,
matter-of-fact manner and a dogmatic pose of laying down the law.
Gordon could never have imagined himself so disconcerted as when
she advanced upon him with the caustic query, "Why did you not ask
Mrs. Keene for her husband's keys? Surely that is simple enough!" She
flung a bunch of keys on a steel ring down upon the table. "Heavens! to
be roused from my well-earned slumbers at daybreak to solve this
problem! 'Hurryf Hurry! Hurry!'" She mimicked Mrs. Keene's urgency,
then broke out laughing.
"Now," she demanded, all unaffected by his mien of surprised and
offended dignity, "do you think yourself equal to the task of fitting
these keys,--or shall I lend you my strong right arm!"
It is to be doubted if Gordon had ever experienced such open ridicule as
when she came smiling up to the table, drawing back the sleeve of her
gown from her delicate dimpled wrist. She wore a white dress, such as
one never sees save in that Southern country, so softly sheer, falling in
such graceful, floating lines, with a deep, plain hem and no touch of
garniture save, perhaps, an edge of old lace on the surplice neck. The
cut of the dress showed a triangular section of her soft white chest and
all the firm modelling of her throat and chin. It was evidently not a new
gown, for a rent in one of the sleeves had been sewed up somewhat too
obviously, anil there was a darn on the shoulder where a rose-bush had
snagged the fabric. A belt of black velvet, with long, floating sash-ends,
was about her waist, and a band of black velvet held in place her
shining hair.
"I am sorry to have been the occasion of disturbing you," he said with
stiff formality, "and I am very much obliged, certainly," he added, as he
took up the keys.

"I may consider myself dismissed from the presence?" she asked
saucily. "Then, I will permit myself a cup of chocolate and a roll, and
be ready for any further commands."
She frisked out of the door, and, frowning heavily, he sat down to the
table and opened the top-drawer, which yielded instantly to the first key
that he selected.
The first paper, too, on which he laid his hand was the will, signed and
witnessed, regularly executed, all its provisions seeming, as he glanced
through it, reasonable and feasible. As he laid it aside, he experienced
the business man's satisfaction with a document duly capable of the
ends desired. Then he opened with a sudden flicker of curiosity a bulky
envelope placed with the will and addressed to himself. He read it
through, the natural interest on his face succeeded by amazement,
increasing gradually to fear, the chill drops starting from every pore. He
had grown ghastly white before he had concluded the perusal, and for a
long time he sat as motionless as if turned to stone.
The September day glowed outside in sumptuous splendor. A glad
wind sprang up and sped afield. Geraldine, her breakfast finished, a
broad hat canted down over her eyes, rushed through the hall as noisily
as a boy, prodded up the old hound, and ran him a race around the
semicircle of the drive. A trained hound he had been in his youth, and
he was