About this time the market where they bought provisions notified Haworth that it could not extend further credit because of unpaid bills. Following shortly, a grocery establishment did the same thing. And Haworth, having no idea what to do about it, as it appeared on investigation that he had very little money left—certainly not enough to pay what was owing—turned the matter over to the old woman, asking her please to attend to it in whatever way she thought best. This she forthwith did by opening accounts elsewhere. This would carry them along for a time at least, and after that “we’ll see.” Put that in quotes, because it was Mrs. Temple’s philosophy to do what she could at the time, and as to the future, “we’ll see.”

Where this old woman came from or when she came, no one seemed to know. Haworth himself hadn’t the faintest idea. She spoke very seldom and never about herself. Where she lived was also in the nature of a mystery. Of course it could have been solved if anyone cared to follow her, but no one did. And no one noticed it, either, when she began coming in twice a week instead of once as formerly. Nobody had asked her to, and she said nothing to anyone about an increase in wages.

Haworth and Edith Findlay were now making little or no effort to conceal the fact from Augustus—or for that matter from anyone—that they were together for the greater part of the time. They were in every way so utterly and completely taken up with each other that nothing else appeared to them of the slightest consequence. They talked and read together, and took long tramps in woods and fields and along country roads.

Findlay usually got home from his work about half-past five or six, often in plenty of time to see the two come in from an afternoon’s tramp, or to find them working in the old flower garden together, or something like that. And it was entirely open to observation—when anyone was there to observe it—that in the evening they were by themselves somewhere, reading together or engaged over chess or cribbage.

While all this, as I’ve said, could be seen without effort, Augustus had all the appearance of being unaware of it. But he had seen and heard enough in the course of a week or so, to rouse his most malignant passions. Without appearing to do so, he was watching every move they made.

When he first began work at the yards, Findlay had felt too tired on getting home at the end of the day, to go back to town again after dinner—or even to nearer places—for alcoholic consolation. This resulted in a much clearer mind than was normal with him. And once his overpowering suspicion was awakened the thought of drinking never crossed his mind.

As he became more and more aroused, at the same time gaining a stronger perception of the situation and harboring a more desperate desire to trap them, a scheme by which he could do so came into his mind, and he set to work to put it into practice. The first move was his failure to appear for dinner, which had not occurred since he got the job at the freight yards. Late that night he came in loaded—or apparently so. One would have supposed, if not too close an investigator, that the fellow was in a hopeless state of intoxication. And so, notwithstanding that his imitation of himself as a roistering inebriate was far from being a perfect one, it succeeded with the two people for whose benefit (and ultimate undoing) he was giving the performance; for, unfortunately, neither of them was in the mood to criticize it. He was enabled, therefore, eventually to stagger into his room with the impression successfully conveyed that he was drunk and disorderly to the furthest limit. Once there, and from the moment of his violently slamming shut the door, his vigil began.

He had tools with which to open the door should anyone lock him in, and the key was purposely left on the outside as a further blind. It was the fourth time that he set this trap before it closed on its victims.

Shortly before nine o’clock of the morning following the springing of the trap, Mr. Augustus Findlay drove up to the front portico of the mansion in a taxi, and with two small and exceedingly moderate-priced trunks set in front beside the driver. He’d gone out early and bought them at a place in Roslindale where they kept almost everything. The chauffeur lent a hand in taking them into the house, and about an hour later renewed the loan in bringing them out again.

Edith came slowly down the great stairway, pulling on her gloves. She wore the long fur coat that Haworth had given her; indeed, everything she had on came from him. She didn’t raise her eyes as she descended, seeming to be occupied with her gloves. The veil which was pulled down over her face failed to hide the paleness of it, which glimmered through like a small white cloud.

Haworth was standing back against the wall near the foot of the stairs, with the look of death upon him. It wasn’t so much the mortuary pallor of his countenance as the strained fixity of his staring yet unseeing eyes. He had gone to her room while Augustus was getting the taxi, and found it locked.

“Open the door! Open it quick!” he’d called to her in a half whisper as he knocked lightly, for to create a disturbance would defeat what he had made up his mind to do.

“Oh, I can’t!” she answered, coming as near to him as possible. “He’s taken away the key!”

Haworth turned and ran down the two flights of stairs to the basement, and was back in a moment with a heavy iron bar.

“Darling, are you there?”

“Oh yes—I’m right here—as near as I can get!”

“Well, stand away—stand away from the door. I’m going to break it in!”

“No no!—Please don’t! Oh wait Michael!”

“Get back by the window! You’re coming with me!”

“Stop! Michael—stop! You’ll hurt me! I’m close to the door—right against it! Listen to me, dear—it’ll only make it worse! Yes, it will—whatever you do! He could stop us. There’d be police and, oh! reporters—and everything! I’m sure there would.”

Her low voice reached him clearly as she stood close against the door.

“What can we do?” he got out, hoarsely.

“Nothing now—nothing, dear, just now! I must go with him and you mustn’t do anything! Afterward, when it all quiets down, we’ll find some way!” This poor child was the wise and cool one through it all. Haworth was demented with the hurt of it and his helplessness.

“Don’t let him find you here!” she went on. “Let him have his way. Don’t say anything! Good-by, darling. I’ll be—I’ll be loving you always—always—and oh, so much!”

Haworth tried to speak, but couldn’t. After a time he moved slowly away.

And now she was coming down the stairs, buttoning one of her gloves and with her white face showing through the veil. He knew that she passed close to him and felt the thrill of her nearness. Then came the terrifying consciousness that she was going away from him. After that she was gone.

Findlay, waiting outside, saw her seated in the taxi; then he entered the house. Seeing Haworth near the stairway, he walked down the hall and got out between his teeth with a peculiar low-voiced malevolence: “You dirty loafer! You —— —— ——! Sometime—yes, by God! I’m going to get even with you.” Having delivered himself of which, he strode through the front door. A moment later the taxicab could be heard driving away.