Arrived at the top of the house, Bertram knocked at the door with the strange lock, and uttering his own name, asked if there was anything he could do here or elsewhere to show his sympathy and desire to be of use in this great and sudden bereavement. There was no immediate reply and he began to fear he would be obliged to retire without seeing his uncle, when the door was slowly opened and Mr. Sylvester came out. Instantly Bertram understood the anxiety of the servant. Not only did Mr. Sylvester’s countenance exhibit the usual traces of grief and horror incident to a sudden and awful calamity, but there were visible upon it the tokens of another and still more unfathomable emotion, a wild and paralyzed look that altered the very contour of his features, and made his face almost like that of a stranger.
“Uncle, what is it?” sprang involuntarily to his lips. But Mr. Sylvester betraying by a sudden backward movement an instinctive desire to escape scrutiny, he bethought himself, and with hasty utterance offered some words of consolation that sounded strangely hollow and superficial in that dim and silent corridor. “Is there nothing I can do for you?” he finally asked.
“Everything is being done,” exclaimed his uncle in a strained and altered voice; “Robert is here.” And a silence fell over the hall, that Bertram dared not break.
“I have help for everything but—” He did not say what, it seemed as if something rose up in his throat that choked him.
“Bertram,” said he at last in a more natural tone, “come with me.”
He led him into an adjoining room and shut the door. It was a room from which the sunshine had not been excluded and it seemed as if they could both breathe more easily.
“Sit down,” said his uncle, pointing to a chair. The young man did so, but Mr. Sylvester remained standing. Then without preamble, “Have you seen her?”
There was no grief in the question, only a quiet respect. Death clothes the most volatile with a garment of awe. Bertram slowly shook his head. “No,” said he, “I came at once upstairs.”
“There is no mark on her white body, save the least little discolored dent here,” continued his uncle, pointing calmly to his temple. “She had one moment of fear while the horses ran, and then—” He gave a quick shudder and advancing towards Bertram, laid his hand on his nephew’s shoulder in such a way as to prevent him from turning his head. “Bertram,” said he, “I have no son. If I were to call upon you to perform a son’s work for me; to obey and ask no questions, would you comply?”
“Can you ask?” sprang from the young man’s lips; “you know that you have only to command for me to be proud to obey. Anything you can require will find me ready.”
The hand on his shoulder weighed heavier. “It seems a strange time to talk about business, Bertram, but necessity knows no law. There is a matter in which you can afford me great assistance if you will undertake to do immediately what I ask.”
“Can you doubt—”
“Hush, it is this. On this paper you will find a name; below it a number of addresses. They are all of places downtown and some of them not very reputable I fear. What I desire is for you to seek out the man whose name you here see, going to these very places after him, beginning with the first, and continuing down the list until you find him. When you come upon him, he will ask you for a card. Give him one on which you will scrawl before his eyes, a circle, so. It is a token which he should instantly understand. If he does, address him with freedom and tell him that your employer—you need make use of no names—re-demands the papers made over to him this morning. If he manifests surprise or is seen to hesitate, tell him your orders are imperative. If he declares ruin will follow, inform him that you are not to be frightened by words; that your employer is as fully aware of the position of affairs as he. Whatever he says, bring the papers.”
Bertram nodded his head and endeavored to rise, but his uncle’s hand rested upon him too heavily.
“He is a small man; you need have no dread of him physically. The sooner you find him and acquit yourself of your task, the better I shall be pleased.” And then the hand lifted.
On his way downstairs Bertram encountered Paula. She was standing in the hall and accosted him with a very trembling tone in her voice. All her questions were in regard to Mr. Sylvester.
“Have you seen him?” she asked. “Does he speak—say anything? No
