Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/54

 contained two sheets of perfectly blank paper.

For the moment, the problem was too much for me. I went out and told Harris to notify the local authorities of Uncle Alfred's disappearance, and then to go back to the house and stay there until he heard from us or we heard from him.

"He looked at me owlishly. "What should I do about the hogs?"

"Damn the hogs!" I exclaimed. "What difference does it make to me? Do anything!"

"Even the—the new one?"

"Of course!" If I thought anything, I suppose I thought the man was talking about feeding the brutes.

Annette and I drove back to New York and went directly to Uncle Alfred's town house. The place was closed, shades drawn at all the windows, the front door locked.

There we were. The mystery seemed as complete as our despair.

But within the next few days, our fortunes took a sudden upward turn. I got a much better position than I could have hoped for, and within a short time Annette and I were married.

O FAR as I know, Alfred Fry was never seen again. Although it seems impossible that such a tremendously fat man could vanish like an illusion in a distorting mirror, search has been made for him throughout the world, in vain. If he does not turn up in the time specified by law, his death will be legally presumed, and his considerable estate (which does not include ownership in the North-South Continental Company) will come to me. It seems I am his sole living relative.

I hesitate to speak of the night Annette and I spent at the farmhouse, because as a reasonable, unimaginative man I am not willing to argue the accuracy of my own impressions. We went up to the country shortly after our marriage, and within a month of my uncle's disappearance. The first thing I noticed was that the pens were completely empty, and I asked Harris what had happened to the hogs.

"Oh," he said, "I sent them to market. You'll be getting the check for them."

I said, "If my uncle ever shows up, he'll throw you in jail for it."

Harris grinned at me. "If he ever shows up."

After dinner, Annette, Harris and I talked once again about the mystery of Uncle Alfred. There was little doubt in my mind of what the old devil had planned and I was certain that if I had made the trip to Mexico, I should never have returned. As I said, whatever happened to him, and however it happened, it seemed to me that only the merest, eleventh hour luck had saved my life and spared Annette the most terrible fate. Harris said nothing, but sat staring into the firelight.

The sound woke me from a deep sleep, in the middle of the night—the clatter of hooves on the hardwood floor in the hall outside our door. I waited, listening, while the beast stopped and snuffled along the bottom of the door, as if food were just beyond his reach. Then the clatter began again as the hog started down the hall. I jumped out of bed, and was in the long, straight corridor before the trotting hooves had reached the end. There was nothing to see. As I stared into empty space, I heard Harris call, "Peeeeg!" and it seemed to me that the sound of the sharp hooves on the bare floor appeared to enter Harris' room, but the door neither opened nor closed.

Fortunately, the commotion had not awakened Annette, and I did not wish to frighten her, now. I sat up for the rest of the night, thinking. I shall not say what I thought, nor shall I advance any theories. But when the estate of my uncle Alfred Fry is settled, Harris shall have the farm.