One hour later the long lost family plate and jewels of the ancient Harding family had been unearthed. The Thinking Machine and the others stooped over the rotting box which had been brought to the surface and noted the contents. Roughly the value was above two hundred thousand dollars.
"And I think that is all, Miss Harding," said the scientist at last. "It is yours. Load it into your car there and drive home."
"Miss Harding!" Hatch repeated quickly, with a glance at the young woman. "Miss Harding?"
The Thinking Machine turned and squinted at the reporter for a moment. "Didn't you know that the young woman who called on me was not Miss Harding?" he demanded. "It was evident in her every act,-in her failing to explain the broken bracelet; and in the fact that she was left handed. You must have noticed that. Well, this is Miss Harding, and she is right handed."
The girl smiled at Hatch's astonishment.
"Then the other young woman merely impersonated Miss Harding?" he asked at last.
"That is all, and cleverly," replied The Thinking Machine. "She merely wanted me to read the cipher for her. I put her on the track of reading it herself purposely, and she and the persons associated with her are responsible for the excavation over there."
"But who is the other young woman?"
"She is the one who visited Miss Harding, wearing a mask."
"But what is her name?"
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea, Mr. Hatch," responded the little scientist shortly. "We have her to thank, however, for placing a solution of the affair into our hands. Who she is and what she is, is of no real consequence, particularly as Miss Harding has this."
The scientist indicated the box with one small foot, then turned and clambered into the waiting automobile.
PROBLEM OF THE CROSS MARK.
It was an unsolved mystery, apparently a riddle without an answer, in which Watson Richards, the distinguished character actor, happened to play a principal part. The story was told at the Mummers Club one dull afternoon. Richards' listeners were three other actors, a celebrated poet, and a newspaper reporter named Hutchinson Hatch.
"You know there are few men in the profession to-day who really amount to anything who haven't had their hard knocks. Well, my hard times came early, and lasted a long time. So it was just about three years ago to a day that a real crisis came in my affairs. It seemed the end. I had gone one day without food, had bunked in the park that night, and here it was two o'clock in the afternoon of another day. It was dismal enough.
"I was standing on a corner, gazing moodily across the street at the display window of a restaurant, rapidly approaching the don't care stage. Some one came up behind and touched me on the shoulder. I turned listlessly enough, and found myself facing a stranger-a clean cut, well groomed man of some forty years.
" 'Is this Mr. Watson Richards, the character actor?' he asked.
" 'Yes,' I replied.
" 'I have been looking for you everywhere,' he explained briefly. 'I want to engage you to do a part for one performance. Are you at liberty?'
"You chaps know what that meant to me just at that moment. Certainly the words dispelled some unpleasant possibilities I had been considering.
" 'I am at liberty-yes,' I replied. 'Be glad to do it. What sort of part is it?'
" 'An old man,' he informed me. 'Just one performance, you know. Perhaps you'd better come up town with me and see Mr. Hallman right now.'
"I agreed with a readiness which approached eagerness, and he called a passing cab. Hallman was perhaps the manager, or stage manager, I thought. We had driven on for a block in the general direction of up town, my companion chatting pleasantly. Finally he offered me a cigar. I accepted it. I know now that cigar was drugged, because I had hardly taken more than two or three puffs from it when I lost myself completely.
"The next thing I remember distinctly was of stepping out of the cab-I think the stranger assisted me-and going into a house. I don't know where it was-I didn't know then-didn't know even the street. I was dizzy, giddy. And suddenly I stood before a tall, keen faced, clean shaven man. He was Hallman. The stranger introduced me and then left the room. Hallman regarded me keenly for several minutes, and somehow under that scrutiny my dormant faculties were aroused. I had thrown away the cigar at the door.
" 'You play character parts?' Hallman began.
" 'Yes, all the usual things,' I told him. 'I'm rather obscure, but--'
" 'I know,' he interrupted; 'but I have seen your work, and like it. I have been told too that you are remarkably clever at make-up.'
"I think I blushed,-I hope I did, anyway,-I know I nodded. He paused to stare at me for a long time.
" 'For instance,' he went on finally, 'you would have no difficulty at all in making up as a man of seventy-five years?'
" 'Not the slightest,' I answered. 'I have played such parts.'
" 'Yes, yes, I know,' and he seemed a little impatient. 'Well, your make-up is the matter which is most important here. I want you for only one performance; but the make-up must be perfect, you understand.' Again he stopped and stared at me. 'The pay will be one hundred dollars for the one performance.'
"He drew out a drawer of a desk and produced a photograph. He looked at it, then at me, several times, and finally placed it in my hands.
" 'Can you make up to look precisely like that?' he asked quietly.
"I studied the photograph closely. It was that of a man about seventy-five years old, of rather a long cast of features, not unlike the general shape of my own face. He had white hair, and was clean shaven. It was simple enough, with the proper wig, a make-up box, and a mirror.
" 'I can,' I told Hallman.
" 'Would you mind putting on the make-up here now for my inspection?' he inquired.
" 'Certainly not,' I replied. It did not strike me at the moment as unusual. 'But I'll need the wig and paints.'
" 'Here they are,' said Hallman abruptly, and produced them. 'There's a mirror in front of you. Go ahead.'
"I examined the wig and compared it with the photograph. It was as near perfect as I had ever seen. The make-up box was new and the most complete I ever saw. It didn't occur to me until a long time afterward that it had never been used before. So I went to work. Hallman paced up and down nervously behind me. At the end of twenty minutes I turned upon him a face which was so much like the photograph that I might have posed for it. He stared at me in amazement.
" 'By George!' he exclaimed. 'That's it! It's marvelous!' Then he turned and opened the door. 'Come in, Frank,' he called, and the man who had conducted me there entered. Hallman indicated me with a wave of his hand. 'How is it?' he asked.
"Frank, whoever he was, also seemed astonished. Then that passed and a queer expression appeared on his face. You may imagine that I awaited their verdict anxiously.
" 'Perfect-absolutely perfect,' said Frank at last.
" 'Perhaps the only thing,' Hallman mused critically, 'is that it isn't quite pale enough.'
" 'Easily remedied,' I replied, and turned again to the make-up box. A moment later I turned back to the two men. Simple enough, you know-it was one of those pallid, pasty faced make-ups-the old man on the verge of the grave, and all that sort of thing-good deal of pearl powder.
" 'That's it!' the two men exclaimed.
"The man Frank looked at Hallman inquiringly.
" 'Go ahead,' said Hallman, and Frank left the room.
"Hallman went over, closed and locked the door, after which he came back and sat down in front of me, staring at me for a long time in silence. At length he opened an upper drawer of the desk and glanced in. A revolver lay there, right under his hand. I know now he intended that I should see it.