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“Texas, I think.
“I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must have an
American origin.
“What then?
“I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque Lone
Star was there in January, ’85, my suspicion became a certainty. I
then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of
London.
“Yes?
“The Lone Star had arrived here last week. I went down to the Albert
Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide
this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired to Gravesend and
learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly
I have no doubt that she is now past the Goodwins and not very far from
the Isle of Wight.
“What will you do, then?
“Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I learn, the
only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are Finns and
Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last
night. I had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. By
the time that their sailing-ship reaches Savannah the mail-boat will
have carried this letter, and the cable will have informed the police
of Savannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a
charge of murder.
There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the
murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which
would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves,
was upon their track. Very long and very severe were the equinoctial
gales that year. We waited long for news of the Lone Star of
Savannah, but none ever reached us. We did at last hear that somewhere
far out in the Atlantic a shattered stern-post of a boat was seen
swinging in the trough of a wave, with the letters “L. S. carved upon
it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate of the Lone
Star.
VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of the
Theological College of St. George’s, was much addicted to opium. The
habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he
was at college; for having read De Quincey’s description of his dreams
and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt
to produce the same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that
the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years
he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and
pity to his friends and relatives. I can see him now, with yellow,
pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a
chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man.
One night—it was in June, ’89—there came a ring to my bell, about the
hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I sat up
in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made
a little face of disappointment.
“A patient! said she. “You’ll have to go out.
I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.
We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon
the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some
dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.
“You will excuse my calling so late, she began, and then, suddenly
losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my
wife’s neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. “Oh, I’m in such trouble!
she cried; “I do so want a little help.
“Why, said my wife, pulling up her veil, “it is Kate Whitney. How you
startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I came straight to you. That was always
the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a
lighthouse.
“It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine and
water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should you
rather that I sent James off to bed?
“Oh, no, no! I want the doctor’s advice and help, too. It’s about Isa.
He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about him!
It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband’s
trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school
companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find.
Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we could bring
him back to her?