On the same afternoon that Carlos had so nearly betrayed himself to Florence Darley by his wild outburst, and shortly after his departure, Geoffrey Haywood called at Elm Grove.

He was just in time to be invited to remain at tea, and he accepted the invitation.

He observed that Florence did not appear to be entirely calm, that her mind was agitated, but on this he made no remark.

It was not until after tea, when they were seated in the drawing-room, that he entered into serious conversation with her.

“Florence,” he said, “there are certain business affairs that must be talked over at some time, and this occasion seems to me a favorable one to open the subject.”

“Yes,” was her simple rejoinder.

“The time for the distinct settlement of some matters is near at hand, the period mentioned in the notice to creditors to put in their claims having nearly arrived. Thanks to Colonel Conrad’s admirable business management, the creditors are few, and their claims are small. The amount of property, after all settlements are made, will be about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, besides Elm Grove. You are aware that, by the terms of the will, fifty thousand dollars are left to sundry charitable and educational institutions; the homestead here is left to you unconditionally, and that the balance is left to me in trust for my own use, with the exception of an annual income of three thousand dollars to be paid to you. But if you marry, one-half of the fortune is to be made over to you, intact and unconditionally, while the other half is mine. If you do not marry, the before-mentioned terms remain in force during your life.”

“Yes, I understand all that,” said Florence.

“You will continue to live here at Elm Grove?”

“I suppose so. The place is dear to me. About it are associated all the pleasant remembrances of my life. Yes, Ishall remain here.”

“Pleasant memories do indeed cluster around it, Florence—pleasant to me, as well as to you. Iloved my uncle, and shall always revere his memory. But this is not all. It is in this house that Ihave met and known one who has answered my ideal of all that is pure and lovely, who has won me often from busy care, and filled my soul with higher aspirations. Need Isay that it is yourself, dear Florence, of whom Iam speaking?”

“You compliment me undeservedly, Uncle Geoffrey,” said Florence, with a pained, confused look. It was her habit to call him uncle, though he was in fact not related to her. “Yet Iought to be gratified in having won your good opinion.”

“Good opinion!” he repeated. “It is more than that, far more. My uncle had plans which are not mentioned in his will, Florence—plans which are very near my own heart. Their fulfillment is dearer to me than all other earthly objects. The estate, you know, is divided between us, but it may be kept intact, as Colonel Conrad left it, by the carrying out of what Ihave alluded to. You must know what Iam speaking of.”

Florence bowed her head, but made no reply.

“But do not think,” he continued, “that it is solely on account of my uncle’s wishes, or owing to any considerations concerning the property, that Ipress the subject, for Ilove you, Florence, with all the strength of my soul, and Iam going to ask you to become my wife.”

“Uncle Geoffrey,” said Florence, turning to him calmly, “Iesteem you, Iappreciate your friendship and all your kindnesses. Iam aware that the dearest friend Iever had, he who was a father to me, held you in high regard and implicit confidence. But Ihave not that feeling toward you that a wife should have—Ido not wish to marry you.”

There were simplicity and earnestness in her tone and manner that cut keenly into the schemer’s soul. But he was as sedate and unruffled as ever, save a slight manifestation of fervor as befitted the occasion.

“I beg that you will not answer in that way, Florence,” he said. “If you cannot say yes to-night, take time to consider the matter. If your heart does not warm toward me now, at least give me time to prove my love and earnestness. Ihave long had an interest in you. My regard has scarcely been second to that of Colonel Conrad. Your welfare has been my desire; all my plans seem inseparably bound up in your happiness and interests.”

“Oh, I hope not, Uncle Geoffrey! We are not suited to each other. Ihave no love for you of the kind you mention.”

“Again I say,” he exclaimed, “do not be too abrupt. Let me cherish the hope that Imay yet win you, for Ihave counted much on your companionship through life. As Isaid before, it is my dearest purpose. Besides, all considerations of policy or interest are in favor of it, and there is no doubt but that it was a wish of Colonel Conrad’s.”

“It might have been,” said Florence, meditatively, “but Ido not believe he would have had me marry against my will; Iam sure he would not. Would you?”

“N-n-no, Florence, but I would so guide your will that it might incline to me, and not leave me desolate. Iwould, by gentle persuasion, show the depth and strength of my love, and win yours in return. But Iwill not urge you to-night. Isimply wish you to remember how Ifeel, and to think of me as kindly as possible.”

“I always think kindly of you,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, but no more of this to-night. Isee you would prefer not to pursue the subject. Ihave been thinking about some plans for altering the house—that would make it more pleasant for you.”

“Altering the house?” said Florence, in surprise.

“Yes. The south parlor is small, and if the partition between it and the room on the west were taken away, it would make a fine large apartment.”

“The room on the west? Why, that was the study of Colonel Conrad!”

“Certainly—the room where he was killed. The associations connected with it are so awful, that the change would, Ishould think, be acceptable to you.”

He spoke slowly, and scrutinized her face as if to mark her reception of the suggestion.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “no change in that room would be acceptable to me. Ishall let it remain just as dear Colonel Conrad left it.”

“The value of the house would be greatly enhanced,” argued Haywood.

“That is no inducement,” answered Florence. “It is not my wish to have a thing disturbed. There is that wonderful clock, and that curious little set of book-shelves fastened to the wall. They are both his handiwork, and both would have to be torn away.”

“And so you cherish his memory by such trifles, do you? Well, Iwill not comment on your taste, neither will Ipress the matter. But Ihope you will think it over.”

“I do not understand why you should be so urgent about it, Uncle Geoffrey. If there is any particular reason——”

“No,” he interrupted, quickly, “there is no particular reason. Iam not urgent about it. Ionly suggested it out of regard for your own interests.”

“Thank you,” she replied, quietly.

“Now that we are talking about the room,” said Haywood, “Iam reminded that Ihave a little writing that ought to be done this evening. Perhaps you would not object to my doing it in there.”

“Certainly not,” she exclaimed. “Occupy it as long as you wish for that purpose. You will find pen, ink, and stationery in the drawer of the table.”

“You will not mind my shutting myself up, away from you?”

“Oh, no. Mabel Cummings is to spend the night with me. She will be here soon.”

“I will excuse myself, then.”

“Very well.”

Geoffrey Haywood went into the study of the late Colonel Conrad, and, after lighting a student’s lamp that stood on the table, closed the door and locked it.

He took some paper from the drawer, dated and addressed a letter, and wrote a few lines.

Then he paused in his work, meditated for a few moments, and looked cautiously around him. Stepping to the window, he drew the curtain a little closer, and then he hung his handkerchief on the knob of the door, so that it covered the keyhole.

Having taken these precautions, he proceeded to the case of book-shelves on the east wall of the room, a few feet from the tall old clock. He removed the books one by one, making no noise in the operation, and then examined the shelves minutely.

The fixture consisted of a thick hard-wood board, sunk in the plaster, and secured to the wall in some manner which he could not determine, for neither nail nor screw-head was visible. Near the outward edges were upright projecting pieces, to which the shelves were fastened. The whole was, perhaps, four feet square, and the shelves and their supports were six or eight inches wide. All was strong and solidly built, and firmly fixed in place. He pushed it, and pulled it, and pressed it on all sides, and from many directions, but it was immovable.

He finally paused, and contemplated the shelves with more vexation on his face than any one had ever seen exhibited there. But he was alone, and there was no necessity for concealing his feelings.

“Behind the book-shelves,” he muttered, “is the place, but how to remove them is the mystery. Yet it must be done. Every risk must be avoided. The secret may be discovered by accident; the house may change hands and undergo repairs. Athousand things may happen. Oh, for the few words that lie between safety and possible ruin! Ihave read the paper over and over, and cannot form the slightest conception of its conclusion. But Iwill triumph! Yes, guard the secret as closely as you will, Carlos Conrad, Iwill accomplish my end in spite of you!”

He again gave himself up to a profound reverie, and then, as if having decided on a plan of action, quickly replaced the books, and unlocked the door. Having done this, he pulled a bell-knob.

Barker answered the summons.

“Bring me a glass of water, if you please, Barker,” said Haywood, looking up from his writing, which he had resumed before Barker entered.

The errand was performed, and, having set the glass of water on the table, Barker was about to withdraw.

“Wait a moment,” said Haywood. “Shut the door—turn the key—that’s it. Iwant to talk with you.”

Barker held himself in readiness to listen.

“You earned two hundred dollars once, Barker, very easily. And, by the way, Isuppose you have kept perfectly silent regarding the event that Irequested you not to mention.”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“That is well. Now I want you to serve me again, and Iwill pay you satisfactorily.”

“Is it a similar service, sir?”

“No, quite a different one. But it must be kept secret—in fact, more secret than the other.”

“That couldn’t be, sir.”

“All right. I think I can trust you. For reasons of my own, which you will not care to have explained, Iwish to remove these book-shelves from the wall.”

“Does Miss Florence——”

“Miss Florence must know nothing of it. The shelves must be removed and replaced in such a manner as to leave no trace of their having been disturbed.”

“That might be a difficult job, sir.”

“There is no doubt of it. But that does not lessen the necessity for doing it. You can see that they are very strong and firmly put up, and it will require considerable ingenuity and labor to take them down. Iwant you to help me.”

“Now, sir?”

“No—to-morrow night. I will bring the requisite tools.”

“How can we work so as to be unobserved?”

“I will come at midnight—for my presence in the house must not be known—and you must let me in at the window here.”

“I don’t exactly like the job, sir.”

“Nor I. But it must be done. Iwill pay you another two hundred dollars for your help; and if we succeed, and the result is what Ihope for, you shall have five hundred more.”

“All right, sir; you can count on me. You’re a sharp one, Mr.Haywood.”

“Never mind that. But, Barker, if you ever find life dull here, and wish for a change, let me know, and Iwill give you a berth where you can make plenty of money and enjoy yourself hugely.”

“I’m your man, sir.”

“At present I want you to help me here. In the future I’ll do something handsome for you. But remember the importance of the most profound secrecy.”

Barker placed his hand expressively over his mouth.

“To-morrow night, recollect, unless you get word from me that the job will have to be postponed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Barker withdrew, and Haywood soon after took his departure. Passing through the hall, he bowed to Florence Darley and Mabel Cummings, who were chatting in the drawing-room, and bade them good-night.

Then he left the house, and, walking toward Dalton in the darkness of the night, he thought, exultingly:

“In twenty-four hours from to-morrow morning all the documents will be destroyed—the letters from Anthony to William Conrad, the evidence against me, the will—all that can in any way interfere with my plans! And Florence—yes, she shall marry me; I’ll have her by some means, whether fair or foul.”

The next day he was about his business as usual, with nothing in his manner to indicate the anxiety with which he anticipated the coming night’s work.

Toward evening a note was handed him, the bearer departing as soon as he had delivered it. Haywood was in his store, and he immediately went into his private office and read the note. Its contents disturbed him strangely. He knit his brow, hesitated for a moment, and then wrote these words on a slip of paper:

“Not to-night.”

Inclosing the slip in an envelope, he dispatched a messenger to Elm Grove, with instructions to hand it to Barker.

Something had interrupted his plans.

The remaining few hours of the day he passed mostly in his private office, being evidently in too agitated a frame of mind to appear before his fellow-beings.

Late in the evening he was in the street, bent on some urgent errand. It was cold, rainy, and pitch-dark, and most people had sought the shelter of their homes. But Haywood regarded not the weather. He plunged into the gloom and the damp dreariness, indifferent as to the discomfort and exposure.

Yet he was not the only one out that night.

Doctor Davison had waited at the depot for his brother, and the two had proceeded to the hotel together, where lay Carlos Conrad on his sick-bed.

“He is a pretty sick man,” said Doctor Davison, as they ascended the stairs that led to the invalid’s room. “Step softly now, for if he is sleeping he must not be awakened.”

Treading on tiptoe, and opening the door silently, they entered the apartment where the patient had been left a few hours before under the influence of an opiate.

But as they approached the bed the physician and his brother halted in amazement. They looked at one another in mute, helpless surprise, for the bed was empty!

Carlos Conrad was gone!