I。THEFACEINTHETARGET
HaroldMarch，therisingreviewerandsocialcritic，waswalkingvigorouslyacrossagreattablelandofmoorsandcommons，thehorizonofwhichwasfringedwiththefar—offwoodsofthefamousestateofTorwoodPark。Hewasagood—lookingyoungmanintweeds，withverypalecurlyhairandpalecleareyes。
Walkinginwindandsunintheverylandscapeofliberty，hewasstillyoungenoughtorememberhispoliticsandnotmerelytrytoforgetthem。ForhiserrandatTorwoodParkwasapoliticalone;itwastheplaceofappointmentnamedbynolessapersonthantheChancelloroftheExchequer，SirHowardHorne，thenintroducinghisso—calledSocialistbudget，andpreparedtoexpounditinaninterviewwithsopromisingapenman。HaroldMarchwasthesortofmanwhoknowseverythingaboutpolitics，andnothingaboutpoliticians。Healsoknewagreatdealaboutart，letters，philosophy，andgeneralculture;aboutalmosteverything，indeed，excepttheworldhewaslivingin。
Abruptly，inthemiddleofthosesunnyandwindyflats，hecameuponasortofcleftalmostnarrowenoughtobecalledacrackintheland。Itwasjustlargeenoughtobethewater—courseforasmallstreamwhichvanishedatintervalsundergreentunnelsofundergrowth，asifinadwarfishforest。
Indeed，hehadanoddfeelingasifhewereagiantlookingoverthevalleyofthepygmies。Whenhedroppedintothehollow，however，theimpressionwaslost;therockybanks，thoughhardlyabovetheheightofacottage，hungoverandhadtheprofileofaprecipice。Ashebegantowanderdownthecourseofthestream，inidlebutromanticcuriosity，andsawthewatershininginshortstripsbetweenthegreatgraybouldersandbushesassoftasgreatgreenmosses，hefellintoquiteanoppositeveinoffantasy。Itwasratherasiftheearthhadopenedandswallowedhimintoasortofunderworldofdreams。Andwhenhebecameconsciousofahumanfiguredarkagainstthesilverstream，sittingonalargeboulderandlookingratherlikealargebird，itwasperhapswithsomeofthepremonition’spropertoamanwhomeetsthestrangestfriendshipofhislife。
Themanwasapparentlyfishing;oratleastwasfixedinafisherman’sattitudewithmorethanafisherman’simmobility。Marchwasabletoexaminethemanalmostasifhehadbeenastatueforsomeminutesbeforethestatuespoke。Hewasatall，fairman，cadaverous，andalittlelackadaisical，withheavyeyelidsandahighbridgednose。Whenhisfacewasshadedwithhiswidewhitehat，hislightmustacheandlithefiguregavehimalookofyouth。
ButthePanamalayonthemossbesidehim;andthespectatorcouldseethathisbrowwasprematurelybald;andthis，combinedwithacertainhollownessabouttheeyes，hadanairofheadworkandevenheadache。Butthemostcuriousthingabouthim，realizedafterashortscrutiny，wasthat，thoughhelookedlikeafisherman，hewasnotfishing。
Hewasholding，insteadofarod，somethingthatmighthavebeenalanding—netwhichsomefishermenuse，butwhichwasmuchmoreliketheordinarytoynetwhichchildrencarry，andwhichtheygenerallyuseindifferentlyforshrimpsorbutterflies。Hewasdippingthisintothewateratintervals，gravelyregardingitsharvestofweedormud，andemptyingitoutagain。
"No，Ihaven’tcaughtanything，"heremarked，calmly，asifansweringanunspokenquery。"WhenI
doIhavetothrowitbackagain;especiallythebigfish。ButsomeofthelittlebeastsinterestmewhenI
get’em。"
"Ascientificinterest，Isuppose？"observedMarch。
"Ofaratheramateurishsort，Ifear，"answeredthestrangefisherman。"Ihaveasortofhobbyaboutwhattheycall’phenomenaofphosphorescence。’Butitwouldberatherawkwardtogoaboutinsocietycryingstinkingfish。"
"Isupposeitwould，"saidMarch，withasmile。
"Ratheroddtoenteradrawing—roomcarryingalargeluminouscod，"continuedthestranger，inhislistlessway。"Howquaintitwould，beifonecouldcarryitaboutlikealantern，orhavelittlespratsforcandles。Someoftheseabeastswouldreallybeveryprettylikelampshades;thebluesea—snailthatglittersalloverlikestarlight;andsomeoftheredstarfishreallyshinelikeredstars。But，naturally，I’mnotlookingforthemhere。"
Marchthoughtofaskinghimwhathewaslookingfor;but，feelingunequaltoatechnicaldiscussionatleastasdeepasthedeep—seafishes，hereturnedtomoreordinarytopics。
"Delightfulsortofholethisis，"hesaid。"Thislittledellandriverhere。It’slikethoseplacesStevensontalksabout，wheresomethingoughttohappen。"
"Iknow，"answeredtheother。"Ithinkit’sbecausetheplaceitself，sotospeak，seemstohappenandnotmerelytoexist。Perhapsthat’swhatoldPicassoandsomeoftheCubistsaretryingtoexpressbyanglesandjaggedlines。Lookatthatwalllikelowcliffsthatjutsforwardjustatrightanglestotheslopeofturfsweepinguptoit。That’slikeasilentcollision。It’slikeabreakerandtheback—washofawave。"
Marchlookedatthelow—browedcragoverhangingthegreenslopeandnodded。Hewasinterestedinamanwhoturnedsoeasilyfromthetechnicalitiesofsciencetothoseofart;andaskedhimifheadmiredthenewangularartists。
"AsIfeelit，theCubistsarenotCubistenough，"
repliedthestranger。"Imeanthey’renotthickenough。Bymakingthingsmathematicaltheymakethemthin。Takethelivinglinesoutofthatlandscape，simplifyittoarightangle，andyouflattenitouttoamerediagramonpaper。Diagramshavetheirownbeauty;butitisofjusttheothersort，Theystandfortheunalterablethings;thecalm，eternal，mathematicalsortoftruths;whatsomebodycallsthe’whiteradianceof’——"
Hestopped，andbeforethenextwordcamesomethinghadhappenedalmosttooquicklyandcompletelytoberealized。Frombehindtheoverhangingrockcameanoiseandrushlikethatofarailwaytrain;andagreatmotorcarappeared。Ittoppedthecrestofcliff，blackagainstthesun，likeabattle—chariotrushingtodestructioninsomewildepic。Marchautomaticallyputouthishandinonefutilegesture，asiftocatchafallingtea—cupinadrawing—room。
Forthefractionofaflashitseemedtoleavetheledgeofrocklikeaflyingship;thentheveryskyseemedtoturnoverlikeawheel，anditlayaruinamidthetallgrassesbelow，alineofgraysmokegoingupslowlyfromitintothesilentair。Alittlelowerthefigureofamanwithgrayhairlaytumbleddownthesteepgreenslope，hislimbslyingallatrandom，andhisfaceturnedaway。
Theeccentricfishermandroppedhisnetandwalkedswiftlytowardthespot，hisnewacquaintancefollowinghim。Astheydrewnearthereseemedasortofmonstrousironyinthefactthatthedeadmachinewasstillthrobbingandthunderingasbusilyasafactory，whilethemanlaysostill。
Hewasunquestionablydead。Thebloodflowedinthegrassfromahopelesslyfatalfractureatthebackoftheskull;buttheface，whichwasturnedtothesun，wasuninjuredandstrangelyarrestinginitself。Itwasoneofthosecasesofastrangefacesounmistakableastofeelfamiliar。Wefeel，somehow，thatweoughttorecognizeit，eventhoughwedonot。
Itwasofthebroad，squaresortwithgreatjaws，almostlikethatofahighlyintellectualape;thewidemouthshutsotightastobetracedbyamereline;thenoseshortwiththesortofnostrilsthatseemtogapewithanappetitefortheair。Theoddestthingaboutthefacewasthatoneoftheeyebrowswascockedupatamuchsharperanglethantheother。Marchthoughthehadneverseenafacesonaturallyaliveasthatdeadone。Anditsuglyenergyseemedallthestrangerforitshaloofhoaryhair。Somepaperslayhalffallenoutofthepocket，andfromamongthemMarchextractedacard—case。Hereadthenameonthecardaloud。
"SirHumphreyTurnbull。I’msureI’veheardthatnamesomewhere。"
Hiscompaniononlygaveasortofalittlesighandwassilentforamoment，asifruminating，thenhemerelysaid，"Thepoorfellowisquitegone，"andaddedsomescientifictermsinwhichhisauditoroncemorefoundhimselfoutofhisdepth。
"Asthingsare，"continuedthesamecuriouslywell—informedperson，"itwillbemorelegalforustoleavethebodyasitisuntilthepoliceareinformed。Infact，Ithinkitwillbewellifnobodyexceptthepoliceisinformed。Don’tbesurprisedifIseemtobekeepingitdarkfromsomeofourneighborsroundhere。"Then，asifpromptedtoregularizehisratherabruptconfidence，hesaid：
"I’vecomedowntoseemycousinatTorwood;mynameisHorneFisher。Mightbeapunonmypotteringabouthere，mightn’tit？"
"IsSirHowardHorneyourcousin？"askedMarch。"I’mgoingtoTorwoodParktoseehimmyself;onlyabouthispublicwork，ofcourse，andthewonderfulstandheismakingforhisprinciples。I
thinkthisBudgetisthegreatestthinginEnglishhistory。Ifitfails，itwillbethemostheroicfailureinEnglishhistory。Areyouanadmirerofyourgreatkinsman，Mr。Fisher？"
"Rather，"saidMr。Fisher。"He’sthebestshotI
know。"
Then，asifsincerelyrepentantofhisnonchalance，headded，withasortofenthusiasm：
"No，butreally，he’saBEAUTIFULshot。"
Asiffiredbyhisownwords，hetookasortofleapattheledgesoftherockabovehim，andscaledthemwithasuddenagilityinstartlingcontrasttohisgenerallassitude。Hehadstoodforsomesecondsontheheadlandabove，withhisaquilineprofileunderthePanamahatrelievedagainsttheskyandpeeringoverthecountrysidebeforehiscompanionhadcollectedhimselfsufficientlytoscrambleupafterhim。
Thelevelabovewasastretchofcommonturfonwhichthetracksofthefatedcarwereplowedplainlyenough;butthebrinkofitwasbrokenaswithrockyteeth;brokenbouldersofallshapesandsizeslayneartheedge;itwasalmostincrediblethatanyonecouldhavedeliberatelydrivenintosuchadeathtrap，especiallyinbroaddaylight。
"Ican’tmakeheadortailofit，"saidMarch。
"Washeblind？Orblinddrunk？"
"Neither，bythelookofhim，"repliedtheother。
"Thenitwassuicide。"
"Itdoesn’tseemacozywayofdoingit，"remarkedthemancalledFisher。"Besides，Idon’tfancypooroldPuggywouldcommitsuicide，somehow。"
"Pooroldwho？"inquiredthewonderingjournalist。，"Didyouknowthisunfortunateman？"
"Nobodyknewhimexactly，"repliedFisher，withsomevagueness。"ButoneKNEWhim，ofcourse。
He’dbeenaterrorinhistime，inParliamentandthecourts，andsoon;especiallyinthatrowaboutthealienswhoweredeportedasundesirables，whenhewantedoneof’emhangedformurder。Hewassosickaboutitthatheretiredfromthebench。Sincethenhemostlymotoredaboutbyhimself;buthewascomingtoTorwood，too，fortheweek—end;andI
don’tseewhyheshoulddeliberatelybreakhisneckalmostattheverydoor。IbelieveHoggs——ImeanmycousinHoward——wascomingdownspeciallytomeethim。"
"TorwoodParkdoesn’tbelongtoyourcousin？"
inquiredMarch。
"No;itusedtobelongtotheWinthrops，youknow，"repliedtheother。"Nowanewman’sgotit;amanfromMontrealnamedJenkins。Hoggscomesfortheshooting;Itoldyouhewasalovelyshot。"
ThisrepeatedeulogyonthegreatsocialstatesmanaffectedHaroldMarchasifsomebodyhaddefinedNapoleonasadistinguishedplayerofnap。Buthehadanotherhalf—formedimpressionstrugglinginthisfloodofunfamiliarthings，andhebroughtittothesurfacebeforeitcouldvanish。
"Jenkins，"herepeated。"Surelyyoudon’tmeanJeffersonJenkins，thesocialreformer？Imeanthemanwho’sfightingforthenewcottage—estatescheme。ItwouldbeasinterestingtomeethimasanyCabinetMinisterintheworld，ifyou’llexcusemysayingso。"
"Yes;Hoggstoldhimitwouldhavetobecottages，"saidFisher。"Hesaidthebreedofcattlehadimprovedtoooften，andpeoplewerebeginningtolaugh。And，ofcourse，youmusthangapeerageontosomething;thoughthepoorchaphasn’tgotityet。
Hullo，here’ssomebodyelse。"
Theyhadstartedwalkinginthetracksofthecar，leavingitbehindtheminthehollow，stillhumminghorriblylikeahugeinsectthathadkilledaman。Thetrackstookthemtothecorneroftheroad，onearmofwhichwentoninthesamelinetowardthedistantgatesofthepark。Itwasclearthatthecarhadbeendrivendownthelongstraightroad，andthen，insteadofturningwiththeroadtotheleft，hadgonestraightonovertheturftoitsdoom。ButitwasnotthisdiscoverythathadrivetedFisher’seye，butsomethingevenmoresolid。Attheangleofthewhiteroadadarkandsolitaryfigurewasstandingalmostasstillasafingerpost。Itwasthatofabigmaninroughshooting—clothes，bareheaded，andwithtousledcurlyhairthatgavehimaratherwildlook。Onanearerapproachthisfirstmorefantasticimpressionfaded;
inafulllightthefiguretookonmoreconventionalcolors，asofanordinarygentlemanwhohappenedtohavecomeoutwithoutahatandwithoutverystudiouslybrushinghishair。Butthemassivestatureremained，andsomethingdeepandevencavernousaboutthesettingoftheeyesredeemed。hisanimalgoodlooksfromthecommonplace。ButMarchhadnotimetostudythemanmoreclosely，for，muchtohisastonishment，hisguidemerelyobserved，"Hullo，Jack！"andwalkedpasthimasifhehadindeedbeenasignpost，andwithoutattemptingtoinformhimofthecatastrophebeyondtherocks。Itwasrelativelyasmallthing，butitwasonlythefirstinastringofsingularanticsonwhichhisnewandeccentricfriendwasleadinghim。
Themantheyhadpassedlookedaftertheminratherasuspiciousfashion，butFishercontinuedserenelyonhiswayalongthestraightroadthatranpastthegatesofthegreatestate。
"That’sJohnBurke，thetraveler，"hecondescendedtoexplain。"Iexpectyou’veheardofhim;shootsbiggameandallthat。SorryIcouldn’tstoptointroduceyou，butIdaresayyou’llmeethimlateron。"
"Iknowhisbook，ofcourse，"saidMarch，withrenewedinterest。"Thatiscertainlyafinepieceofdescription，abouttheirbeingonlyconsciousoftheclosenessoftheelephantwhenthecolossalheadblockedoutthemoon。"
"Yes，youngHalkettwritesjollywell，Ithink。
What？Didn’tyouknowHalkettwroteBurke’sbookforhim？Burkecan’tuseanythingexceptagun;andyoucan’twritewiththat。Oh，he’sgenuineenoughinhisway，youknow，asbraveasalion，oragooddealbraverbyallaccounts。"
"Youseemtoknowallabouthim，"observedMarch，witharatherbewilderedlaugh，"andaboutagoodmanyotherpeople。"
Fisher’sbaldbrowbecameabruptlycorrugated，andacuriousexpressioncameintohiseyes。
"Iknowtoomuch，"hesaid。"That’swhat’sthematterwithme。That’swhat’sthematterwithallofus，andthewholeshow;weknowtoomuch。Toomuchaboutoneanother;toomuchaboutourselves。
That’swhyI’mreallyinterested，justnow，aboutonethingthatIdon’tknow。"
"Andthatis？"inquiredtheother。
"Whythatpoorfellowisdead。"
Theyhadwalkedalongthestraightroadfornearlyamile，conversingatintervalsinthisfashion;andMarchhadasingularsenseofthewholeworldbeingturnedinsideout。Mr。HorneFisherdidnotespeciallyabusehisfriendsandrelativesinfashionablesociety;
ofsomeofthemhespokewithaffection。Buttheyseemedtobeanentirelynewsetofmenandwomen，whohappenedtohavethesamenervesasthemenandwomenmentionedmostofteninthenewspapers。
Yetnofuryofrevoltcouldhaveseemedtohimmoreutterlyrevolutionarythanthiscoldfamiliarity。Itwaslikedaylightontheothersideofstagescenery。
Theyreachedthegreatlodgegatesofthepark，and，toMarch’ssurprise，passedthemandcontinuedalongtheinterminablewhite，straightroad。ButhewashimselftooearlyforhisappointmentwithSirHoward，andwasnotdisinclinedtoseetheendofhisnewfriend’sexperiment，whateveritmightbe。Theyhadlongleftthemoorlandbehindthem，andhalfthewhiteroadwasgrayinthegreatshadowoftheTorwoodpineforests，themselveslikegraybarsshutteredagainstthesunshineandwithin，amidthatclearnoon，manufacturingtheirownmidnight。Soon，however，riftsbegantoappearinthemlikegleamsofcoloredwindows;thetreesthinnedandfellawayastheroadwentforward，showingthewild，irregularcopsesinwhich，asFishersaid，thehouse—partyhadbeenblazingawayallday。
Andabouttwohundredyardsfartherontheycametothefirstturnoftheroad。
AtthecornerstoodasortofdecayedinnwiththedingysignofTheGrapes。Thesignboardwasdarkandindecipherablebynow，andhungblackagainsttheskyandthegraymoorlandbeyond，aboutasinvitingasagallows。Marchremarkedthatitlookedlikeatavernforvinegarinsteadofwine。
"Agoodphrase，"saidFisher，"andsoitwouldbeifyouweresillyenoughtodrinkwineinit。Butthebeerisverygood，andsoisthebrandy。"
Marchfollowedhimtothebarparlorwithsomewonder，andhisdimsenseofrepugnancewasnotdismissedbythefirstsightoftheinnkeeper，whowaswidelydifferentfromthegenialinnkeepersofromance，abonyman，verysilentbehindablackmustache，butwithblack，restlesseyes。Taciturnashewas，theinvestigatorsucceededatlastinextractingascrapofinformationfromhim，bydintoforderingbeerandtalkingtohimpersistentlyandminutelyonthesubjectofmotorcars。Heevidentlyregardedtheinnkeeperasinsomesingularwayanauthorityonmotorcars;asbeingdeepinthesecretsofthemechanism，management，andmismanagementofmotorcars;holdingthemanallthetimewithaglitteringeyeliketheAncientMariner。Outofallthisrathermysteriousconversationtheredidemergeatlastasortofadmissionthatoneparticularmotorcar，ofagivendescription，hadstoppedbeforetheinnaboutanhourbefore，andthatanelderlymanhadalighted，requiringsomemechanicalassistance。
Askedifthevisitorrequiredanyotherassistance，theinnkeepersaidshortlythattheoldgentlemanhadfilledhisflaskandtakenapacketofsandwiches。
Andwiththesewordsthesomewhatinhospitablehosthadwalkedhastilyoutofthebar，andtheyheardhimbangingdoorsinthedarkinterior。
Fisher’swearyeyewanderedroundthedustyanddrearyinnparlorandresteddreamilyonaglasscasecontainingastuffedbird，withagunhungonhooksaboveit，whichseemedtobeitsonlyornament。
"Puggywasahumorist，"heobserved，"atleastinhisownrathergrimstyle。Butitseemsrathertoogrimajokeforamantobuyapacketofsandwicheswhenheisjustgoingtocommitsuicide。"
"Ifyoucometothat，"answeredMarch，"itisn’tveryusualforamantobuyapacketofsandwicheswhenhe’sjustoutsidethedoorofagrandhousehe’sgoingtostopat。"
"No……no，"repeatedFisher，almostmechanically;
andthensuddenlycockedhiseyeathisinterlocutorwithamuchlivelierexpression。
"ByJove！that’sanidea。You’reperfectlyright。
Andthatsuggestsaveryqueeridea，doesn’tit？"
Therewasasilence，andthenMarchstartedwithirrationalnervousnessasthedooroftheinnwasflungopenandanothermanwalkedrapidlytothecounter。Hehadstruckitwithacoinandcalledoutforbrandybeforehesawtheothertwoguests，whoweresittingatabarewoodentableunderthewindow。Whenheturnedaboutwitharatherwildstare，Marchhadyetanotherunexpectedemotion，forhisguidehailedthemanasHoggsandintroducedhimasSirHowardHorne。
Helookedratherolderthanhisboyishportraitsintheillustratedpapers，asisthewayofpoliticians;hisflat，fairhairwastouchedwithgray，buthisfacewasalmostcomicallyround，withaRomannosewhich，whencombinedwithhisquick，brighteyes，raisedavaguereminiscenceofaparrot。Hehadacapratheratthebackofhisheadandagununderhisarm。
HaroldMarchhadimaginedmanythingsabouthismeetingwiththegreatpoliticalreformer，buthehadneverpicturedhimwithagununderhisarm，drinkingbrandyinapublichouse。
"Soyou’restoppingatJink’s，too，"saidFisher。
"EverybodyseemstobeatJink’s。"
"Yes，"repliedtheChancelloroftheExchequer。
"Jollygoodshooting。Atleastallofitthatisn’tJink’sshooting。Ineverknewachapwithsuchgoodshootingthatwassuchabadshot。Mindyou，he’sajollygoodfellowandallthat;Idon’tsayawordagainsthim。Butheneverlearnedtoholdagunwhenhewaspackingporkorwhateverhedid。Theysayheshotthecockadeoffhisownservant’shat;justlikehimtohavecockades，ofcourse。Heshottheweathercockoffhisownridiculousgildedsummerhouse。It’stheonlycockhe’lleverkill，I
shouldthink。Areyoucominguptherenow？"
Fishersaid，rathervaguely，thathewasfollowingsoon，whenhehadfixedsomethingup;andtheChancelloroftheExchequerlefttheinn。Marchfanciedhehadbeenalittleupsetorimpatientwhenhecalledforthebrandy;buthehadtalkedhimselfbackintoasatisfactorystate，ifthetalkhadnotbeenquitewhathisliteraryvisitorhadexpected。Fisher，afewminutesafterward，slowlyledthewayoutofthetavernandstoodinthemiddleoftheroad，lookingdowninthedirectionfromwhichtheyhadtraveled。
Thenhewalkedbackabouttwohundredyardsinthatdirectionandstoodstillagain。
"Ishouldthinkthisisabouttheplace，"hesaid。
"Whatplace？"askedhiscompanion。
"Theplacewherethepoorfellowwaskilled，"saidFisher，sadly。
"Whatdoyoumean？"demandedMarch。
"Hewassmashedupontherocksamileandahalffromhere。"
"No，hewasn’t，"repliedFisher。"Hedidn’tfallontherocksatall。Didn’tyounoticethatheonlyfellontheslopeofsoftgrassunderneath？ButIsawthathehadabulletinhimalready。"
Thenafterapauseheadded：
"Hewasaliveattheinn，buthewasdeadlongbeforehecametotherocks。Sohewasshotashedrovehiscardownthisstripofstraightroad，andIshouldthinksomewhereabouthere。Afterthat，ofcourse，thecarwentstraightonwithnobodytostoporturnit。It’sreallyaverycunningdodgeinitsway;forthebodywouldbefoundfaraway，andmostpeoplewouldsay，asyoudo，thatitwasanaccidenttoamotorist。Themurderermusthavebeenacleverbrute。"
"Butwouldn’ttheshotbeheardattheinnorsomewhere？"askedMarch。
"Itwouldbeheard。Butitwouldnotbenoticed。That，"continuedtheinvestigator，"iswherehewascleveragain。Shootingwasgoingonallovertheplaceallday;verylikelyhetimedhisshotsoastodrownitinanumberofothers。Certainlyhewasafirst—classcriminal。Andhewassomethingelseaswell。"
"Whatdoyoumean？"askedhiscompanion，withacreepypremonitionofsomethingcoming，heknewnotwhy。
"Hewasafirst—classshot，"saidFisher。
Hehadturnedhisbackabruptlyandwaswalkingdownanarrow，grassylane，littlemorethanacarttrack，whichlayoppositetheinnandmarkedtheendofthegreatestateandthebeginningoftheopenmoors。Marchploddedafterhimwiththesameidleperseverance，andfoundhimstaringthroughagapingiantweedsandthornsattheflatfaceofapaintedpaling。Frombehindthepalingrosethegreatgraycolumnsofarowofpoplars，whichfilledtheheavensabovethemwithdark—greenshadowandshookfaintlyinawindwhichhadsunkslowlyintoabreeze。Theafternoonwasalreadydeepeningintoevening，andthetitanicshadowsofthepoplarslengthenedoverathirdofthelandscape。
"Areyouafirst—classcriminal？"askedFisher，inafriendlytone。"I’mafraidI’mnot。ButIthinkIcanmanagetobeasortoffourth—rateburglar。"
Andbeforehiscompanioncouldreplyhehadmanagedtoswinghimselfupandoverthefence;
Marchfollowedwithoutmuchbodilyeffort，butwithconsiderablementaldisturbance。Thepoplarsgrewsocloseagainstthefencethattheyhadsomedifficultyinslippingpastthem，andbeyondthepoplarstheycouldseeonlyahighhedgeoflaurel，greenandlustrousinthelevelsun。Somethinginthislimitationbyaseriesoflivingwallsmadehimfeelasifhewerereallyenteringashatteredhouseinsteadofanopenfield。Itwasasifhecameinbyadisuseddoororwindowandfoundthewayblockedbyfurniture。Whentheyhadcircumventedthelaurelhedge，theycameoutonasortofterraceofturf，whichfellbyonegreensteptoanoblonglawnlikeabowlinggreen。Beyondthiswastheonlybuildinginsight，alowconservatory，whichseemedfarawayfromanywhere，likeaglasscottagestandinginitsownfieldsinfairyland。Fisherknewthatlonelylookoftheoutlyingpartsofagreathousewellenough。Herealizedthatitismoreofasatireonaristocracythanifitwerechokedwithweedsandlitteredwithruins。Foritisnotneglectedandyetitisdeserted;atanyrate，itisdisused。Itisregularlysweptandgarnishedforamasterwhonevercomes。
Lookingoverthelawn，however，hesawoneobjectwhichhehadnotapparentlyexpected。
Itwasasortoftripodsupportingalargediskliketheroundtopofatabletippedsideways，anditwasnotuntiltheyhaddroppedontothelawnandwalkedacrosstolookatitthatMarchrealizedthatitwasatarget。Itwaswornandweatherstained;thegaycolorsofitsconcentricringswerefaded;possiblyithadbeensetupinthosefar—offVictoriandayswhentherewasafashionofarchery。Marchhadoneofhisvaguevisionsofladiesincloudycrinolinesandgentlemeninoutlandishhatsandwhiskersrevisitingthatlostgardenlikeghosts。
Fisher，whowaspeeringmorecloselyatthetarget，startledhimbyanexclamation。
"Hullo！"hesaid。"Somebodyhasbeenpepperingthisthingwithshot，afterall，andquitelately，too。Why，IbelieveoldJink’sbeentryingtoimprovehisbadshootinghere。"
"Yes，anditlooksasifitstillwantedimproving，"answeredMarch，laughing。"Notoneoftheseshotsisanywherenearthebull’s—eye;theyseemjustscatteredaboutinthewildestway。"
"Inthewildestway，"repeatedFisher，stillpeeringintentlyatthetarget。Heseemedmerelytoassent，butMarchfanciedhiseyewasshiningunderitssleepylidandthathestraightenedhisstoopingfigurewithastrangeeffort。
"Excusemeamoment，"hesaid，feelinginhispockets。"IthinkI’vegotsomeofmychemicals;andafterthatwe’llgouptothehouse。"Andhestoopedagainoverthetarget，puttingsomethingwithhisfingerovereachoftheshot—holes，sofarasMarchcouldseemerelyadull—graysmear。
Thentheywentthroughthegatheringtwilightupthelonggreenavenuestothegreathouse。
Hereagain，however，theeccentricinvestigatordidnotenterbythefrontdoor。Hewalkedroundthehouseuntilhefoundawindowopen，and，leapingintoit，introducedhisfriendtowhatappearedtobethegun—room。Rowsoftheregularinstrumentsforbringingdownbirdsstoodagainstthewalls;butacrossatableinthewindowlayoneortwoweaponsofaheavierandmoreformidablepattern。
"HulloItheseareBurke’sbig—gamerifles，"
saidFisher。"Ineverknewhekeptthemhere。"
Heliftedoneofthem，examineditbriefly，andputitdownagain，frowningheavily。Almostashedidsoastrangeyoungmancamehurriedlyintotheroom。Hewasdarkandsturdy，withabumpyforeheadandabulldogjaw，andhespokewithacurtapology。
"IleftMajorBurke’sgunshere，"hesaid，"andhewantsthempackedup。He’sgoingawayto—night。"
Andhecarriedoffthetworifleswithoutcastingaglanceatthestranger;throughtheopenwindowtheycouldseehisshort，darkfigurewalkingawayacrosstheglimmeringgarden。
Fishergotoutofthewindowagainandstoodlookingafterhim。
"That’sHalkett，whomItoldyouabout，"hesaid。"IknewhewasasortofsecretaryandhadtodowithBurke’spapers;butIneverknewhe。hadanythingtodowithhisguns。Buthe’sjustthesortofsilent，sensiblelittledevilwhomightbeverygoodatanything;thesortofmanyouknowforyearsbeforeyoufindhe’sachesschampion。"
Hehadbeguntowalkinthedirectionofthedisappearingsecretary，andtheysooncamewithinsightoftherestofthehouse—partytalkingandlaughingonthelawn。Theycouldseethetallfigureandloosemaneofthelion—hunterdominatingthelittlegroup。
"Bytheway，"observedFisher，"whenweweretalkingaboutBurkeandHalkett，Isaidthatamancouldn’tverywellwritewithagun。
Well，I’mnotsosurenow。Didyoueverhearofanartistsocleverthathecoulddrawwithagun？There’sawonderfulchaplooseabouthere。"
SirHowardhailedFisherandhisfriendthejournalistwithalmostboisterousamiability。ThelatterwaspresentedtoMajorBurkeandMr。
Halkettandalso（bywayofaparenthesis）tohishost，Mr。Jenkins，acommonplacelittlemaninloudtweeds，whomeverybodyelseseemedtotreatwithasortofaffection，asifhewereababy。
TheirrepressibleChancelloroftheExchequerwasstilltalkingaboutthebirdshehadbroughtdown，thebirdsthatBurkeandHalketthadbroughtdown，andthebirdsthatJenkins，theirhost，hadfailedtobringdown。Itseemedtobeasortofsociablemonomania。
"Youandyourbiggame，"heejaculated，aggressively，toBurke。"Why，anybodycouldshootbiggame。Youwanttobeashottoshootsmallgame。"
"Quiteso，"interposedHorneFisher。"Nowifonlyahippopotamuscouldflyupintheairoutofthatbush，oryoupreservedflyingelephantsontheestate，why，then——"
"WhyevenJinkmighthitthatsortofbird，"
criedSirHoward，hilariouslyslappinghishostontheback。"Evenhemighthitahaystackorahippopotamus。"
"Lookhere，youfellows，"saidFisher。"I
wantyoutocomealongwithmeforaminuteandshootatsomethingelse。Notahippopotamus。AnotherkindofqueeranimalI’vefoundontheestate。It’sananimalwiththreelegsandoneeye，andit’sallthecolorsoftherainbow。"
"Whatthedeuceareyoutalkingabout？"
askedBurke。
"Youcomealongandsee，"repliedFisher，cheerfully。
Suchpeopleseldomrejectanythingnonsensical，fortheyarealwaysseekingforsomethingnew。Theygravelyrearmedthemselvesfromthegun—roomandtroopedalongatthetailoftheirguide，SirHowardonlypausing，inasortofecstasy，topointoutthecelebratedgiltsummerhouseonwhichthegiltweathercockstillstoodcrooked。Itwasduskturningtodarkbythetimetheyreachedtheremotegreenbythepoplarsandacceptedthenewandaimlessgameofshootingattheoldmark。
Thelastlightseemedtofadefromthelawn，andthepoplarsagainstthesunsetwerelikegreatplumesuponapurplehearse，whenthefutileprocessionfinallycurvedround，andcameoutinfrontofthetarget。
SirHowardagainslappedhishostontheshoulder，shovinghimplayfullyforwardtotakethefirstshot。Theshoulderandarmhetouchedseemedunnaturallystiffandangular。Mr。
Jenkinswasholdinghisguninanattitudemoreawkwardthananythathissatiricfriendshadseenorexpected。
Atthesameinstantahorriblescreamseemedtocomefromnowhere。Itwassounnaturalandsounsuitedtothescenethatitmighthavebeenmadebysomeinhumanthingflyingonwingsabovethemoreavesdroppinginthedarkwoodsbeyond。ButFisherknewthatithadstartedandstoppedonthepalelipsofJeffersonJenkins，ofMontreal，andnooneatthatmomentcatchingsightofJeffersonJenkins’sfacewouldhavecomplainedthatitwascommonplace。
Thenextmomentatorrentofgutturalbutgood—humoredoathscamefromMajorBurkeasheandthetwoothermensawwhatwasinfrontofthem。Thetargetstoodupinthedimgrasslikeadarkgoblingrinningatthem，anditwasliterallygrinning。Ithadtwoeyeslikestars，andinsimilarlividpointsoflightwerepickedoutthetwoupturnedandopennostrilsandthetwoendsofthewideandtightmouth。
Afewwhitedotsaboveeacheyeindicatedthehoaryeyebrows;andoneofthemranupwardalmosterect。ItwasabrilliantcaricaturedoneinbrightbottedlinesandMarchknewofwhom。Itshoneintheshadowygrass，smearedwithseafireasifoneofthesubmarinemonstershadcrawledintothetwilightgarden;butithadtheheadofadeadman。
"It’sonlyluminouspaint，"saidBurke。"OldFisher’sbeenhavingajokewiththatphosphorescentstuffofhis。"
"SeemstobemeantforoldPuggy"’observedSirHoward。"Hitshimoffverywell。"
Withthattheyalllaughed，exceptJenkins。
Whentheyhadalldone，hemadeanoiselikethefirsteffortofananimaltolaugh，andHorneFishersuddenlystrodeacrosstohimandsaid：
"Mr。Jenkins，Imustspeaktoyouatonceinprivate。"
Itwasbythelittlewatercourseinthemoors，ontheslopeunderthehangingrock，thatMarchmethisnewfriendFisher，byappointment，shortlyaftertheuglyandalmostgrotesquescenethathadbrokenupthegroupinthegarden。
"Itwasamonkey—trickofmine，"observedFisher，gloomily，"puttingphosphorusonthetarget;buttheonlychancetomakehimjumpwastogivehimthehorrorssuddenly。Andwhenhesawthefacehe’dshotatshiningonthetargethepracticedon，alllitupwithaninfernallight，hedidjump。Quiteenoughformyownintellectualsatisfaction。"
"I’mafraidIdon’tquiteunderstandevennow，"saidMarch，"exactlywhathedidorwhyhedidit。"
"Yououghtto，"repliedFisher，withhisratherdrearysmile，"foryougavemethefirstsuggestionyourself。Ohyes，youdid;anditwas。
averyshrewdone。Yousaidamanwouldn’ttakesandwicheswithhimtodineatagreathouse。Itwasquitetrue;andtheinferencewasthat，thoughhewasgoingthere，hedidn’tmeantodinethere。Or，atanyrate，thathemightnotbediningthere。Itoccurredtomeatoncethatheprobablyexpectedthevisittobeunpleasant，orthereceptiondoubtful，orsomethingthatwouldpreventhisacceptinghospitality。
ThenitstruckmethatTurnbullwasaterrortocertainshadycharactersinthepast，andthathehadcomedowntoidentifyanddenounceoneofthem。Thechancesatthestartpointedtothehost——thatis，Jenkins。I’mmorallycertainnowthatJenkinswastheundesirablealienTurnbullwantedtoconvictinanothershooting—affair，butyouseetheshootinggentlemanhadanothershotinhislocker。"
"Butyousaidhewouldhavetobeaverygoodshot，"protestedMarch。
"Jenkinsisaverygoodshot，"saidFisher。
"Averygoodshotwhocanpretendtobeaverybadshot。ShallItellyouthesecondhintIhiton，afteryours，tomakemethinkitwasJenkins？Itwasmycousin’saccountofhisbadshooting。He’dshotacockadeoffahatandaweathercockoffabuilding。Now，infact，amanmustshootverywellindeedtoshootsobadlyasthat。Hemustshootveryneatlytohitthecockadeandnotthehead，oreventhehat。
Iftheshotshadreallygoneatrandom，thechancesareathousandtoonethattheywouldnothavehitsuchprominentandpicturesqueobjects。Theywerechosenbecausetheywereprominentandpicturesqueobjects。Theymakeastorytogotheroundofsociety。Hekeepsthecrookedweathercockinthesummerhousetoperpetuatethestoryofalegend。Andthenhelayinwaitwithhisevileyeandwickedgun，safelyambushedbehindthelegendofhisownincompetence。
"Butthereismorethanthat。Thereisthesummerhouseitself。Imeanthereisthewholething。There’sallthatJenkinsgetschaffedabout，thegildingandthegaudycolorsandallthevulgaritythat’ssupposedtostamphimasanupstart。Now，asamatteroffact，upstartsgenerallydon’tdothis。Godknowsthere’senoughof’eminsociety;andoneknows’emwellenough。Andthisistheverylastthingtheydo。
They’regenerallyonlytookeentoknowtherightthinganddoit;andtheyinstantlyputthemselvesbodyandsoulintothehandsofartdecoratorsandartexperts，whodothewholethingforthem。There’shardlyanothermillionairealivewhohasthemoralcouragetohaveagiltmonogramonachairlikethatoneinthegun—room。Forthatmatter，there’sthenameaswellasthemonogram。NameslikeTompkinsandJenkinsandJinksarefunnywithoutbeingvulgar;Imeantheyarevulgarwithoutbeingcommon。Ifyoupreferit，theyarecommonplacewithoutbeingcommon。TheyarejustthenamestobechosentoLOOKordinary，butthey’rereallyratherextraordinary。DoyouknowmanypeoplecalledTompkins？It’sagooddealrarerthanTalbot。It’sprettymuchthesamewiththecomicclothesoftheparvenu。JenkinsdresseslikeacharacterinPunch。Butthat’sbecauseheisacharacterinPunch。Imeanhe’safictitiouscharacter。He’safabulousanimal。Hedoesn’texist。
"Haveyoueverconsideredwhatitmustbeliketobeamanwhodoesn’texist？Imeantobeamanwithafictitiouscharacterthathehastokeepupattheexpensenotmerelyofpersonaltalents：Tobeanewkindofhypocritehidingatalentinanewkindofnapkin。Thismanhaschosenhishypocrisyveryingeniously;itwasreallyanewone。Asubtlevillainhasdressedupasadashinggentlemanandaworthybusinessmanandaphilanthropistandasaint;buttheloudchecksofacomicallittlecadwerereallyratheranewdisguise。Butthedisguisemustbeveryirksometoamanwhocanreallydothings。
Thisisadexterouslittlecosmopolitanguttersnipewhocandoscoresofthings，notonlyshoot，butdrawandpaint，andprobablyplaythefiddle。
Nowamanlikethatmayfindthehidingofhistalentsuseful;buthecouldneverhelpwantingtousethemwheretheywereuseless。Ifhecandraw，hewilldrawabsent—mindedlyonblottingpaper。IsuspectthisrascalhasoftendrawnpooroldPuggy’sfaceonblottingpaper。Probablyhebegandoingitinblotsasheafterwarddiditindots，orrathershots。Itwasthesamesortofthing;hefoundadisusedtargetinadesertedyardandcouldn’tresistindulginginalittlesecretshooting，likesecretdrinking。Youthoughttheshotsallscatteredandirregular，andsotheywere;butnotaccidental。Notwodistanceswerealike;
butthedifferentpointswereexactlywherehewantedtoputthem。There’snothingneedssuchmathematicalprecisionasawildcaricature。I’vedabbledalittleindrawingmyself，andIassureyouthattoputonedotwhereyouwantitisamarvelwithapenclosetoapieceofpaper。Itwasamiracletodoitacrossagardenwithagun。Butamanwhocanworkthosemiracleswillalwaysitchtoworkthem，ifit’sonlyinthedark。"
AfterapauseMarchobserved，thoughtfully，"Buthecouldn’thavebroughthimdownlikeabirdwithoneofthoselittleguns。"
"No;thatwaswhyIwentintothegun—room，"
repliedFisher。"HediditwithoneofBurke’srifles，andBurkethoughtheknewthesoundofit。That’swhyherushedoutwithoutahat，lookingsowild。Hesawnothingbutacarpassingquickly，whichhefollowedforalittleway，andthenconcludedhe’dmadeamistake。"
Therewasanothersilence，duringwhichFishersatonagreatstoneasmotionlessasontheirfirstmeeting，andwatchedthegrayandsilverrivereddyingpastunderthebushes。ThenMarchsaid，abruptly，"Ofcourseheknowsthetruthnow。"
"NobodyknowsthetruthbutyouandI，"
answeredFisher，withacertainsofteninginhisvoice。"AndIdon’tthinkyouandIwilleverquarrel。"
"Whatdoyoumean？"askedMarch，inanalteredaccent。"Whathaveyoudoneaboutit？"
HorneFishercontinuedtogazesteadilyattheeddyingstream。Atlasthesaid，"Thepolicehaveproveditwasamotoraccident。"
"Butyouknowitwasnot。"
"ItoldyouthatIknowtoomuch，"repliedFisher，withhiseyeontheriver。"Iknowthat，andIknowagreatmanyotherthings。Iknowtheatmosphereandthewaythewholethingworks。Iknowthisfellowhassucceededinmakinghimselfsomethingincurablycommonplaceandcomic。Iknowyoucan’tgetupapersecutionofoldTooleorLittleTich。IfIweretotellHoggsorHalkettthatoldJinkwasanassassin，theywouldalmostdieoflaughterbeforemyeyes。Oh，I
don’tsaytheirlaughter’squiteinnocent，thoughit’sgenuineinitsway。TheywantoldJink，andtheycouldn’tdowithouthim。I
don’tsayI’mquiteinnocent。IlikeHoggs;Idon’twanthimtobedownandout;andhe’dbedoneforifJinkcan’tpayforhiscoronet。Theyweredevilishnearthelineatthelastelection。
Buttheonlyrealobjectiontoitisthatit’simpossible。Nobodywouldbelieveit;it’snotinthepicture。Thecrookedweathercockwouldalwaysturnitintoajoke。"
"Don’tyouthinkthisisinfamous？"askedMarch，quietly。
"Ithinkagoodmanythings，"repliedtheother。"Ifyoupeopleeverhappentoblowthewholetangleofsocietytohellwithdynamite，Idon’tknowthatthehumanracewillbemuchtheworse。Butdon’tbetoohardonmemerelybecauseIknowwhatsocietyis。That’swhyI
moonawaymytimeoverthingslikestinkingfish。"
Therewasapauseashesettledhimselfdownagainbythestream;andthenheadded：
"ItoldyoubeforeIhadtothrowbackthebigfish。"
II。THEVANISHINGPRINCE
Thistalebeginsamongatangleoftalesroundanamethatisatoncerecentandlegendary。ThenameisthatofMichaelO’Neill，popularlycalledPrinceMichael，partlybecauseheclaimeddescentfromancientFenianprinces，andpartlybecausehewascreditedwithaplantomakehimselfprincepresidentofIreland，asthelastNapoleondidofFrance。Hewasundoubtedlyagentlemanofhonorablepedigreeandofmanyaccomplishments，buttwoofhisaccomplishmentsemergedfromalltherest。Hehadatalentforappearingwhenhewasnotwantedandatalentfordisappearingwhenhewaswanted，especiallywhenhewaswantedbythepolice。Itmaybeaddedthathisdisappearancesweremoredangerousthanhisappearances。Inthelatterheseldomwentbeyondthesensational——pastingupseditiousplacards，tearingdownofficialplacards，makingflamboyantspeeches，orunfurlingforbiddenflags。Butinordertoeffecttheformerhewouldsometimesfightforhisfreedomwithstartlingenergy，fromwhichmenweresometimesluckytoescapewithabrokenheadinsteadofabrokenneck。Hismostfamousfeatsofescape，however，wereduetodexterityandnottoviolence。Onacloudlesssummermorninghehadcomedownacountryroadwhitewithdust，and，pausingoutsideafarmhouse，hadtoldthefarmer’sdaughter，withelegantindifference，thatthelocalpolicewereinpursuitofhim。Thegirl’snamewasBridgetRoyce，asomberandevensullentypeofbeauty，andshelookedathimdarkly，asifindoubt，andsaid，"Doyouwantmetohideyou？"
Uponwhichheonlylaughed，leapedlightlyoverthestonewall，andstrodetowardthefarm，merelythrowingoverhisshouldertheremark，"Thankyou，I
havegenerallybeenquitecapableofhidingmyself。"
Inwhichproceedingheactedwithatragicignoranceofthenatureofwomen;andtherefellonhispathinthatsunshineashadowofdoom。