after retiring to his room in the hotel, benton hammerswell found himself in a condition that was almost certain to banish slumber for some time from his eyes. flinging off his coat and removing his collar and necktie, he brought forth from a closet a bottle of whisky and some glasses. having taken a heavy drink, he lighted a fresh cigar and paced the floor of his room.
“blazes take it!” he muttered, “why didn’t grimes wait a day or two longer before coming here? had he done so, he would have had his trip for his pains. confound him, he has set my nerves on edge! he’s the only person who can prove anything serious against me, and as long as he lives i’ll never be wholly safe. of course i may dodge him for a time, but he’s liable to turn up anywhere i go. if i could silence him in the same way i silenced sullivan!”
somehow these words caused to rise before his mental vision a vivid picture of the meeting on high bluff. he saw hop sullivan standing at the edge of the bluff, eagerly tearing open a package that was supposed to contain a thousand dollars in banknotes. he saw the moon dive through a flotilla of clouds and burst forth to shine brightly just as sullivan ripped the package open. again he heard the man’s snarl of disappointment on discovering the contents of that package. then followed the deadly impulse that caused him to leap forward and thrust sullivan over the brink of high bluff with a terrible push.
he saw the doomed wretch whirl over in the air and heard the splash that rose from rapid river as the man’s body struck it. then once more the moon veiled her face in horror behind a heavy cloud.
hammerswell remembered how he had dropped on hands and knees at the edge of the bluff and stared downward into the chasm through which the swirling river hurried toward the falls below. he remembered all too plainly that, as the tiny cloud passed from the face of the moon, he caught a glimpse of a white, ghastly face rising for a moment in the current, saw two helpless hands upflung, and then saw nothing more save the triumphant water that had quenched a human life.
but the memory of what followed was distressing and harassing. when he rose to his feet, muttering his satisfaction over his frightful deed, luke grimes had confronted him on that spot. through it all grimes had been hidden near at hand, where he could hear and see what transpired. grimes was armed with a pistol, and, fearing the man who had destroyed sullivan, he kept it cocked and ready in his hand. hammerswell remembered how he had been compelled to acquiesce to the terms proposed by the engineer. he had maintained his determination to deceive grimes, leading the fellow at last to agree to a scheme by which merriwell was to be put out of baseball. the engineer promised to break dick’s arm.
then came the trip of grimes to fairhaven island and the burning of the naphtha launch on which he crossed from the mainland. his life had been saved by dick and brad buckhart.
on the island the engineer was recognized as the fellow who had once made a vicious attack on young merriwell, and when he attempted to escape the villagers arose in a mob and pursued him. he was captured and dragged beneath a tree, with a noose about his neck and a rope flung over a stout limb.
only by the swift work of dick merriwell and his comrades was grimes saved. he was turned over to an officer and locked up.
on arriving at fairhaven that day hammerswell was informed of all that had taken place, and he lost not a moment in hastening to the lockup.
in a manner never satisfactorily explained, luke grimes escaped from the lockup while benton hammerswell was talking to the guard.
the fugitive was hotly pursued, but made his way out of town to the north, where he was cornered in a swamp and finally found himself stuck fast in the mire.
while grimes was in this helpless condition, hammerswell discovered him and, under pretense of offering assistance, crept nearer, club in hand, to beat down the poor wretch.
but dick merriwell’s ability as a trailer enabled him to follow grimes, and dick reached the spot just in time to baffle hammerswell.
later, grimes had been aided in escaping, and since that day no one in that vicinity, with the exception of benton hammerswell, had seen the fugitive engineer. hammerswell saw him and gave him some money, urging him to hasten away to canada, inducing him to start immediately by promising to send him a thousand dollars, which was to reach him at an address in montreal.
at the time of making this promise the chief rascal had entertained no intention of forwarding the money. thinking grimes was badly frightened and would not dare return after going away, he had felt satisfied he would thus get rid of the fellow.
now here was grimes back again and threatening to make further trouble.
“i am a bad man to crowd!” hammerswell snarled when he had finished thinking this matter over. “how infernally hot it is!”
with this exclamation, he flung wide open one of the windows of his room, which had hitherto been but partly raised.
this window opened onto the flat roof of the hotel veranda. benton sat down near it, smoking a cigar and fanning himself with a fan he had picked up.
“little sleep for me to-night,” he growled. “of course i know i’m not going to be beaten on all my bets to-morrow, still i’m nervous. i have the team to win both those games, with proper pitching. yes, and i have the pitchers to win. they arrived in rockford to-day. no one but myself knows of it. slocum and bretton are a pair to draw to. slocum might be in the american league if he wished to play professional baseball, and he could command his own salary. bretton has a record that makes him well known—too well known. i’ll run both these fellows in under fake names, in order not to let fairhaven know what she’s up against. my team is onto both their pitchers. even merriwell can be batted at times, and the boys will go after him red-hot to-morrow.
“no, it’s impossible that i should lose all my bets, and it’s quite likely i’ll win them all. if rockford defeats seaslope, fairhaven must win both games in order to be tied for first place. it’s hardly possible rockford will lose. being at the head now, she’ll fight fiercely to keep that position. if she wins to-morrow and we take one of the two games from fairhaven, i’ll win all my bets. in order for me to lose, rockford must be defeated and fairhaven must take both games from maplewood. as far as that matter goes, there’s no reason why i shouldn’t roll into bed and sleep like a baby. ah! but it’s impossible for me to sleep that way any more! the time is past when i can sleep straight through the night without my rest being broken. ever since my encounter with sullivan i’ve been troubled by bad dreams.
“when they told me about finding him, when i knew he had been brought back here to maplewood, when i saw the wretched little funeral procession as he was being taken to the grave, it all added to the cursed disturbance that is breaking me up and making me afraid of my own shadow. hang it! i used to have nerve enough. now i awake in the night and seem to see sullivan’s eyes fastened on me! i see his white face in the darkness of my room! i started up last night and saw in yonder corner his arms upflung, just as i saw them last when he went down into the current of rapid river. resting on my elbow, i remained staring at those upheld arms until i found that it was nothing but the legs of my own trousers hanging over the back of a chair. just the same i could not sleep until daylight came creeping in at my window. there’s a nasty feeling troubling me to-night. i am a-quiver all over. i need another drink. i’ll have another drink.”
he rose quickly and poured out a brimming glass of liquor, which he dashed off as if it had been so much water.
“if i get enough of that into my skin i may be able to sleep,” he growled. “got to keep these windows open. don’t like it, but i’d smother with them closed. confound the luck! i’d like to know what became of my revolver! missed it to-day for the first time. if i had it i’d put it under my pillow to-night.”
he searched the room, but did not find the weapon for which he was looking.
after another drink, he finished undressing and slipped on a suit of pajamas. wearing this suit, he sat by the window, his light extinguished, until he had finished his cigar.
once as he sat there, from far, far away in the night there came a low, awesome sound that was not unlike a human cry of pain and horror. it came from the direction of the little village cemetery, and benton hammerswell felt his entire body grow cold. to his excited fancy it seemed that this eerie cry had been sent forth by the spirit of hop sullivan, which could know no rest until sullivan’s murder had been avenged.
although he listened breathlessly for a long time after that, and his cigar went out in his fingers, the sound was not repeated. the night was awesomely still, without even a breath of air stirring.
“just my fool imagination,” he whispered. “another drink and i will get to bed.”
after retiring he turned and twisted for nearly an hour. at last he fell into troubled slumber.
how long he slept he did not know. in the night he was awakened by a horrible sensation, as if he were smothering.
with a choking sound, he started up. somehow he seemed to feel a person near him. he fancied he was not alone in that room.
“who’s there?” he cried.
then, to his unspeakable distress and agitation, a low, hollow voice answered:
“i’m here—i, the spirit of the man you murdered!”
out of the gloom advanced a white, ghostly figure.
uttering a shriek, hammerswell leaped erect. as his feet touched the floor something fluttered over him. instantly he was entangled in the folds of a blanket that had been cast over his head. then a power that seemed something more than human hurled him to the floor.
it was some seconds before the man succeeded in freeing himself from the folds of the blanket. when he finally did so, he sat up and looked around, fully expecting to again behold that ghostly figure.
he seemed to be quite alone.
“is it gone?” he chokingly whispered, fearing that once more it would confront him.
having risen weakly to his feet, he found with shaking fingers the matches and struck one of them. as the flame blazed up, the match fell to the floor. three matches he struck before he succeeded in holding one of them. lifting the blazing match above his head, he stared around into all the corners, but saw nothing of an alarming nature. at last he succeeded in lighting a lamp, and with this in his hand he searched the room.
save for the blanket lying in the middle of the floor, there was no sign of his ghostly visitor.
“but i heard the voice!” he muttered. “i saw the thing! i felt its power! i am a haunted man!”
