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It was an old four-story brownstone house which had been occupied by his father and grandfather before him, and now was the home of Carton, his mother, and his sister. "I'm glad to see you," Carton met us at the door. "This isn't quite as classy a robbery as Langhorne's but it's just as mysterious. Must have happened while the family were at dinner.
The picture presented is as poignantly pathetic as Frederick Walker's Lost Path, or Langhorne's "Child of misery, baptized in tears." That it will ever again be ranked with such may be doubtful, for technique is the first quality demanded of an artist in our day, and Crabbe's technique is too often defective in the extreme.
"Of course," he remarked, "we don't want to come out into the open just yet, but it would be interesting to know what happened down there at Langhorne's. Have you any objection to going down with me and posing as a reporter from the Star?" "None whatever," I returned. We stopped at the laboratory on the campus of the University where Craig still retained his professorship.
"In the mean time we cannot but think that the DISAPPOINTMENT SO GENERALLY EXPRESSED, because Major O'Halloran has returned 'WITHOUT FIRING A SHOT, is somewhat unreasonable, seeing that in his presence the natives DID NOTHING TO WARRANT AN EXTREME MEASURE, and that there were no means of identifying either the robbers of Mr. Inman, or the murderers of Mr. Langhorne's servants.
"Certainly." For a moment Carton was silent. Then it seemed as though the matter of Betty Blackwell brought to mind what he had read in the morning papers. "That robbery of Langhorne's safe was a most peculiar thing, wasn't it?" he meditated. "I suppose you know what Miss Blackwell was?" "Langhorne's stenographer and secretary, of course," I replied quickly. "Yes, I know.
The four lines at the end of the plant Upas are imitated from Dr. Young's Night Thoughts. The line in the episode adjoined to Cassia, "The salt tear mingling with the milk he sips," is from an interesting and humane passage in Langhorne's Justice of Peace. There are probably many others, which, if I could recollect them, should here be acknowledged.
He asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's, called by the unpromising title of The Justice of Peace. I whispered my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who rewarded me with a look and a word, which though of mere civility, I then received with very great pleasure.
A score of questions were on my lips, but I said nothing, although I could not help noticing the strange look on Langhorne's face. It plainly showed that he would like to have known what had taken place during the two or more hours when his office had been unguarded, yet was averse to betraying any such interest.
In spite of Langhorne's reluctance, his assurance had taken Kennedy even up to the point which he wished. He was examining the safe. On the front it showed no evidence of having been "souped" or drilled. There was not a mark on it. Nor, as we learned later from the police, was there any evidence of a finger-print having been left by the burglar. Langhorne now but ill concealed his interest.
"A slippery customer," was Craig's comment when we reached the street outside the office. "By the way, evidently Mrs. I said nothing. Langhorne's manner, self-confident to the point of bravado, had baffled me.
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