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 Topic 2 38

Solution Manual for College Physics, 11th

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Topic 2

Motion in One Dimension

QUICK QUIZZES

2.1 (a) 200 yd (b) 0 (c) 0

2.2 (a) False. The car may be slowing down, so that the direction of its

acceleration is opposite the direction of its velocity.

(b) True. If the velocity is in the direction chosen as negative, a positive

acceleration causes a decrease in speed.

(c) True. For an accelerating particle to stop at all, the velocity and

acceleration must have opposite signs, so that the speed is decreasing.

If this is the case, the particle will eventually come to rest. If the

acceleration remains constant, however, the particle must begin to

move again, opposite to the direction of its original velocity. If the

particle comes to rest and then stays at rest, the acceleration has

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 39

become zero at the moment the motion stops. This is the case for a

braking car—the acceleration is negative and goes to zero as the car

comes to rest.

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 40

2.3 The velocity-vs-time graph (a) has a constant slope, indicating a constant

acceleration, which is represented by the acceleration-vs.-time graph (e).

Graph (b) represents an object whose speed always increases, and does so

at an ever-increasing rate. Thus, the acceleration must be increasing, and

the acceleration-vs-time graph that best indicates this behaviour is (d).

Graph (c) depicts an object which first has a velocity that increases at a

constant rate, which means that the object’s acceleration is constant. The

motion then changes to one at constant speed, indicating that the

acceleration of the object becomes zero. Thus, the best match to this

situation is graph (f).

2.4 Choice (b). According to graph b, there are some instants in time when the

object is simultaneously at two different x-coordinates. This is physically

impossible.

2.5 (a) The blue graph of Figure 2.14b best shows the puck’s position as a

function of time. As seen in Figure 2.14a, the distance the puck has

traveled grows at an increasing rate for approximately three time

intervals, grows at a steady rate for about four time intervals, and

then grows at a diminishing rate for the last two intervals.

(b) The red graph of Figure 2.14c best illustrates the speed (distance

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 41

traveled per time interval) of the puck as a function of time. It shows

the puck gaining speed for approximately three time intervals,

moving at constant speed for about four time intervals, then slowing

to rest during the last two intervals.

(c) The green graph of Figure 2.14d best shows the puck’s acceleration as

a function of time. The puck gains velocity (positive acceleration) for

approximately three time intervals, moves at constant velocity (zero

acceleration) for about four time intervals, and then loses velocity

(negative acceleration) for roughly the last two time intervals.

2.6 Choice (e). The acceleration of the ball remains constant while it is in the

air. The magnitude of its acceleration is the free-fall acceleration, g = 9.80

m/s2.

2.7 Choice (c). As it travels upward, its speed decreases by 9.80 m/s during

each second of its motion. When it reaches the peak of its motion, its

speed becomes zero. As the ball moves downward, its speed increases by

9.80 m/s each second.

2.8 Choices (a) and (f). The first jumper will always be moving with a higher

velocity than the second. Thus, in a given time interval, the first jumper

covers more distance than the second, and the separation distance

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 42

between them increases. At any given instant of time, the velocities of the

jumpers are definitely different, because one had a head start. In a time

interval after this instant, however, each jumper increases his or her

velocity by the same amount, because they have the same acceleration.

Thus, the difference in velocities stays the same.

ANSWERS TO EVEN NUMBERED CONCEPTUAL QUESTIONS

2.2 Yes. The particle may stop at some instant, but still have an acceleration,

as when a ball thrown straight up reaches its maximum height.

2.4 (a) No. They can be used only when the acceleration is constant.

(b) Yes. Zero is a constant.

2.6 (a) In Figure (c), the images are farther apart for each successive time

interval. The object is moving toward the right and speeding up. This

means that the acceleration is positive in Figure (c).

(b) In Figure (a), the first four images show an increasing distance

traveled each time interval and therefore a positive acceleration.

However, after the fourth image, the spacing is decreasing, showing

that the object is now slowing down (or has negative acceleration).

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 43

(c) In Figure (b), the images are equally spaced, showing that the object

moved the same distance in each time interval. Hence, the velocity is

constant in Figure (b).

2.8 (a) At the maximum height, the ball is momentarily at rest (i.e., has zero

velocity). The acceleration remains constant, with magnitude equal to

the free-fall acceleration g and directed downward. Thus, even

though the velocity is momentarily zero, it continues to change, and

the ball will begin to gain speed in the downward direction.

(b) The acceleration of the ball remains constant in magnitude and

direction throughout the ball’s free flight, from the instant it leaves

the hand until the instant just before it strikes the ground. The

acceleration is directed downward and has a magnitude equal to the

freefall acceleration g.

2.10 Once the ball has left the thrower's hand, it is a freely falling body with a

constant, nonzero, acceleration of a = −g. Since the acceleration of the ball

is not zero at any point on its trajectory, choices (a) through (d) are all

false and the correct response is (e).

2.12 The initial velocity of the car is v0 = 0 and the velocity at the time t is v.

The constant acceleration is therefore given by

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 44

v v − v0 v − 0 v
a= = = =
t t t t

and the average velocity of the car is

v=
(v + v0 ) = (v + 0) = v
2 2 2

The distance traveled in time t is x = vt = vt/2. In the special case where

a = 0 (and hence v = v0 = 0), we see that statements (a), (b), (c), and (d) are

all correct. However, in the general case (a ≠ 0, and hence v ≠ 0) only

statements (b) and (c) are true. Statement (e) is not true in either case.

ANSWERS TO EVEN NUMBERED PROBLEMS

2.2 (a) 2  104 mi (b) Δx/2RE = 2.4

2.4 (a) 8.33 yards/s (b) 2.78 yards/s

2.6 (a) 5.00 m/s (b) 1.25 m/s (c) −2.50 m/s

(d) −3.33 m/s (e) 0

2.8 (a) +4.0 m/s (b) −0.50 m/s (c) −1.0 m/s

(d) 0

2.10 (a) 2.3 min (b) 64 mi

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 45

2.12 (a) L/t1 (b) −L/t2 (c) 0

(d) 2L/(t1 + t2)

2.14 (a) 1.3  102 s (b) 13 m

2.16 (a) 37.1 m/s (b) 1.30  10−5 m

2.18 (a) Some data points that can be used to plot the graph are as given

below:

x (m) 5.75 16.0 35.3 68.0 119 192

t (s) 1.00 2.00 3.00 4.00 5.00 6.00

(b) 41.0 m/s, 41.0 m/s, 41.0 m/s

(c) 17.0 m/s, much smaller than the instantaneous velocity at t = 4.00 s

2.20 (a) 2.00 m/s, 5.0 m/s (b) 263 m

2.22 0.391 s

2.24 (i) (a) 0 (b) 1.6 m/s2 (c) 0.80 m/s2

(ii) (a) 0 (b) 1.6 m/s2 (c) 0

2.26 The curves intersect at t = 16.9 s.

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 46

2.28 a = 2.74  105 m/s2 = (2.79  104)g

2.30 (a)

(b) v2f = vi2 + 2a(x) (c) a = (v2f − v2i )/(2 x) (d) 1.25 m/s2

(e) 8.00 s

2.32 (a) 13.5 m (b) 13.5 m (c) 13.5 m

(d) 22.5 m

2.34 (a) 20.0 s

(b) No, it cannot land safely on the 0.800 km runway.

2.36 (a) 5.51 km (b) 20.8 m/s, 41.5 m/s, 20.8 m/s, 38.7 m/s

2.38 (a) 107 m (b) 1.49 m/s2

1
2.40 (a) v=at (b) x = a t2

1 1 1 1
2

1 1
(c) x = a t2 + a t t + a t2

total
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publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 47

1 1 1 1 2 2 2
2 2

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publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 48

2.42 8.9 months

2.44 29.1 s

2.46 1.79 s

2.48 (a) Yes. (b) vtop = 3.69 m/s

→
(c) v downward = 2.39 m/s
→
(d)(d No,  = 3.71 m/s. The two rocks have the same acceleration,
)
v upward

but the rock thrown downward has a higher average speed between

the two levels, and is accelerated over a smaller time interval.

2.50 (a) 21.1 m/s (b) 19.6 m (c) 1.81 m/s, 19.6 m

1
2.52 (a) v =  −v0 − gt = v0 + gt (b) d= gt 2
2

1
(c) v = v0 − gt , d = gt 2
2

2.54 (a) 29.4 m/s (b) 44.1 m

2.56 (a) −202 m/s2 (b) 198 m

2.58 (a) 4.53 s (b) 14.1 m/s

2.60 8.4 m/s

2.62 See Solutions Section for Motion Diagrams.

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publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 49

2.64 (a) v= v + 2gh (b) t = 2v0/g

2.66 (a) 2.45  10−2 m (b) 4.67  10−2 s

2.68 (a) 3.00 s (b) v0,2 = −15.2 m/s

(c) v1 = −31.4 m/s, v2 = −34.8 m/s

2.70 (a) 2.2 s (b) −21 m/s (c) 2.3 s

PROBLEM SOLUTIONS

2.1 We assume that you are approximately 2 m tall and that the nerve

impulse travels at uniform speed. The elapsed time is then

x 2m
t = = = 2  10−2 s = 0.02 s
v 100 m/s

2.2 (a) At constant speed, c = 3  108 m/s, the distance light travels in 0.1 s is

x = c(t ) = (3  108 m/s)(0.1 s)

 1 mi   1 km 
= (3  107 m ) =
 1.609 km   103  2  10 mi
4

(b) Comparing the result of part (a) to the diameter of the Earth, DE, we

find

x x
= =  2.4
(with RE = Earth's radius)
DE 2RE

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publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 50

2.3 Distances traveled between pairs of cities are

Δx1 = v1(Δt1) = (80.0 kmh)(0.500 h) = 40.0 km

Δx2 = v2(Δt2) = (100.0 kmh)(0.200 h) = 20.0 km

Δx3 = v3(Δt3) = (40.0 kmh)(0.750 h) = 30.0 km

Thus, the total distance traveled is Δx = (40.0 + 20.0 + 30.0) km = 90.0 km,

and the elapsed time is Δt = 0.500 h + 0.200 h + 0.750 h + 0.250 h = 1.70 h.

x 90.0 km
(a) v= = = 52.9 km/h
t 1.70 h

(b) Δx = 90.0 km (see above)

2.4 (a) The player runs 100 yards from his own goal line to the opposing

team’s goal line. Then he runs an additional 50 yards back to the fifty-

yard line, all in 18.0 s. Substitute values into the definition of average

speed to find

path length 100 yards + 50 yards

Average speed = =
elapsed time 18.0 s

= 8.33 yards/s

(b) After returning to the fifty-yard line, the player’s displacement is x =

xf − xi = 50.0 yards − 0 yards = 50.0 yards. Substitute values into the

definition of average velocity to find

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 51

x 50.0 yards
v= =
t 18.0 s

= 2.78 yards/s

2.5 (a) Boat A requires 1.0 h to cross the lake and 1.0 h to return, total time

2.0 h. Boat B requires 2.0 h to cross the lake at which time the race is

over. Boat A wins, being 60 km ahead of B when the race ends.

(b) Average velocity is the net displacement of the boat divided by the

total elapsed time. The winning boat is back where it started, its

displacement thus being zero, yielding an average velocity of zero.

2.6 The average velocity over any time interval is

x x f − xi
v= =
t t f − ti

x 10.0 m − 0
(a) v= = = 5.00 m/s
t 2.00 s − 0

x 5.00 m − 0
(b) v = = = 1.25 m/s
t 4.00 s − 0

x 5.00 m − 10.0 m
(c) v= = = −2.50 m/s
t 4.00 s − 2.00 s

x −5.00 m − 5.00 m
(d) v = = = −3.33 m/s
t 7.00 s − 4.00 s

© 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a
publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Topic 2 52

x x2 − x1 0−0
(e) v= = = =
t t2 − t1 8.00 s − 0

2.7 (a)

 1h 
Displacement = x = (8.50 km/h)(35.0 min)  + 130 km = 180 km
 60.0 min 

(b) The total elapsed time is

 1h 
t = (35.0 min + 15.0 min) + 2.00 h = 2.83 h
 60.0 min

x 180 km
so, v= = = 63.6 km
t 2.84 h

2.8 The average velocity over any time interval is

x x f − xi
v= =
t t f − ti

x 4.0 m − 0
(a) v= = = +4.0 m / s
t 1.0 s − 0

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publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The curse of
the Reckaviles
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The curse of the Reckaviles

Author: Walter S. Masterman

Release date: January 5, 2024 [eBook #72629]

Most recently updated: February 20, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: McKinley, Stone & Mackenzie,

1927

Credits: Brian Raiter

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CURSE OF

THE RECKAVILES ***
THE CURSE OF THE
RECKAVILES

by

WALTER S. MASTERMAN
 Contents
Book I. The Curse
I. The “Final”
II. The Coming of the Stranger
III. The End of the Line
IV. At the Castle
V. The Reckavile Horror
VI. Portham-on-Sea
VII. In the Dark Night
VIII. “The Red Cote”
IX. The Mysterious Bungalow
X. In the Churchyard
XI. The Meaning of “The Red Cote”
XII. The Unknown Speaker
XIII. Detained on Suspicion
XIV. A Vision of the Night
Book II. The Reckaviles
I. The Convent School
II. Flight
III. The Marriage
IV. The Divorce and After
V. The Second Marriage
VI. The Blow Falls
VII. A Nameless Wife
VIII. Roy at Oxford
 IX. A Ghost from the Past
X. At the “Black Horse”
XI. Halley Continues the Narrative
XII. The Secret Out
XIII. The Last
Then, very slowly, a face appeared, a vacant dead-looking
face surrounded by a mass of white hair streaked with
yellow.
 Book I.
The Curse
 Chapter I.
The “Final”
The Final for the Hospital Cup was being fought out between Guys
and Barts, and the usual crowd of joyful medicos were making their
way to the ground, dressed in every fantastic garb, ringing bells and
waving hideous ear-splitting rattles. The crowd watched good
humouredly, as here a coster’s cart passed with donkey and “Bill”
and “Liza,” here the ex-Kaiser with carrots behind his ears, and Joan
of Arc and Humpty-Dumpty, and clowns with balloons and Dilly and
Dally, and the rest. The police had seen it all before, and shepherded
them along with firmness and good temper.
The ground was in a state of pandemonium till the whistle blew,
when silence fell on the spectators, as the teams got down to
serious work.
Each was well balanced, but contained particular stars, the
darlings of their supporters; here was Histon the international wing
“three,” who had scored the only try for England in that great tussle
with Ireland, and Blackett the Scottish forward whose name was
terror.
Not least among them was Sefton, now in his last year, who was
in the running for his International Cap, on the left wing, a deadly
straight runner, who might easily win the match if properly fed by his
centre. And so they ran through the names, and weighed the
chances, while thirty young Britons in the pride of perfect fitness
strove for the mastery, as many of them had fought in the Great
War, with a single purpose, to win or perish as became them.
Half time came with no score, and the rattles clattered like
machine guns, and the hooters hooted, and drums beat.
 Then the struggle became fierce and desperate. Time after time
the grand Barts pack went through with a rush, only to be stopped
by the intrepid Jacks, at full back, who hurled himself on the ball
regardless of life and limb, or so it seemed to the more tender of the
crowd.
Time and again a passing movement on the old Welch lines, en
echelon, with perfect timing nearly let the Guys’ “threes” in, but still
the lines were uncrossed. Histon had tried his dangerous drops, and
all but won between the posts, and Sefton with his marvellous pace
had run right through, to be tackled magnificently by Barron the full
back, and so the tide had veered amidst the wildest excitement on
the part of the spectators.
Time was running out, and many a looker-on glanced at his watch
expecting a replay, when Guys’ scrum half “sold the dummy,” and
cross kicked. Sefton’s inside took it superbly, and ran straight. There
was one chance, and young Sefton took it, crossing inside, he took a
pass at full speed, and raced in between the posts, in a scene of wild
shouting and every noise that could be made.
The match was over, and Sefton was carried shoulder high to the
Pavilion, in a never to be forgotten moment of triumph.
A glorious sense of exhilaration filled him. This was a fitting
ending to his career, he hoped later to get his degree, but what was
that compared to having won the cup.
In the dressing room his hand was nearly wrung off, as he got rid
of the mud of the match.
His one regret was that his sister Ena, who had promised to come
to the match, had not put in an appearance, and the thought of this
disturbed him in an unaccountable manner.
As he came from the dressing room, one of the doctors met him,
with a grave face, which gave him a sense of impending disaster,
and drew him into a small side room.
“I am sorry to say, Sefton, I have some very bad news for you.
This telegram came during the match, and we did not like to give it
to you then. I opened it in case I could answer it for you.”
The words were terrible enough when Sefton read them:
 “Come at once Father dying. Ena.”

In the silence of the room, the shouting and cheering outside

could be heard, and a great feeling of bitterness came over Sefton at
the contrast between the happy throng outside, and his own misery.
He wanted to run out and tell them to stop. It was unseemly to
cheer when his father was dying. Then he turned on the doctor
angrily.
“Why did you not give me this at once? I suppose you thought I
would leave the ground. Now I may get there too late.”
The doctor laid his hand on his shoulder kindly.
“No my boy, but there was only ten minutes to go, and knowing
how keen you were on the match, we thought you would rather we
kept it for that short time.”
“Forgive me, the news has upset me. Of course if I had got it then
we should not have won, it was selfish of me.”
“I have a taxi here all ready for you,” said the doctor, and he led
Sefton out by the back way, and put him inside.
“I will tell the others,” he said.
The misery of the journey Sefton never forgot.
He knew his father had been in failing health for some time, but
had not expected any sudden failure.
Sefton’s Mother was dead, and his young sister had only left
school the summer before to look after the house.
It was an ugly bleak house in Finchley that the doctor occupied,
too big and poorly furnished, for he had never made a success of his
practice, being far too much occupied with research. When his wife
had been in full health, he had taken in one or two patients who
were on the borderline of insanity, and treated them himself, but his
wife’s breakdown in health put a stop to this source of income, and
if she had known it, of brilliant discovery.
When Sefton arrived, and had got rid of the taxi, he was met by
Ena, on whose face were marks of tears.
“Oh I am so glad you’ve come, father had been asking for you,
the doctor has just left but is coming back.”
“How is father?” he asked.
 “Bad, very bad I am afraid. He had a heart attack, quite suddenly,
after lunch, and I thought he had died, but he rallied. Of course, I
could not leave him, and wired for you.”
Jack Sefton went straight in to his father. There had never been
much love lost between these two, for the doctor had been
engrossed in some research work, and did not seem to understand
his son, or take any interest in his career except to urge him on to
get qualified. Perhaps he knew his own days were numbered.
He was propped up with pillows and looked ghastly, with a blue
tinge about his face.
“I can’t talk much, Jack,” he said slowly “and I know the next
attack will be the end, but I must have a word with you alone. I am
afraid I have some bad news to tell you, the fact is I have neglected
my business so much lately that the practice has gone to pieces. And
I have been so careless in collecting accounts that I have had to dip
into the little sum I had stored away for you and Ena. I am afraid
there is little left.” He sighed.
A feeling of bitterness came to Jack. “Do you mean that we shall
be penniless,” then he realised what this meant “that I shall have to
leave the hospital without qualifying.”
“I am afraid so, my boy, unless you can borrow …”
“Borrow, who could I borrow from? Why could you not have told
me before?”
“I was afraid to, and I had hoped to have made some money.”
Jack turned away with a movement of impatience.
“Don’t be angry with me now, Jack. I shall not be here much
longer, and I have tried my best. And I have something I must tell
you before I go, come here. It is less strain for me to whisper.”
The doctor spoke earnestly, and Jack bent over him while he told
what had to be said. At intervals, Jack gave him teaspoonfuls of
brandy, for he was weakening. When he had finished he lay back
and closed his eyes. “Better fetch Ena,” he said in a tired voice. Jack
went out quickly and summoned the girl who came in dry-eyed and
anxious. Jack telephoned in haste for the doctor, but before he
arrived the end had come, and Jack and his sister were left to face
the world alone.
 The days that followed were full of wretchedness for the young
people. There was the funeral, and the settling up, when Jack found
that things were worse than even his father had thought. The house
was only rented and this was behind, and there were debts to be
met, even Ena’s last school bill being still unpaid.
Then he went to see the Hospital authorities, who were very kind
as far as sympathy went, but adamant with regard to the future.
Fees were owing already, and it would be impossible for him to go
on for the next two terms to complete, unless payments were made.
They were very sorry but the rules were strict. Perhaps he could find
work, and later come back and complete his course, and so on.
Jack came away in utter dejection, to the house from which most
of the furniture had been removed, and which they had to vacate
the next day with nowhere to go.
The one bright star was Ena, who faced the situation with
splendid bravery, and refused to despair.
When Jack came in, she met him with a cheery smile, and listened
to his story with sympathetic interest.
“You poor boy,” she said, “you must feel it very much, but perhaps
some day in the near future, things may get better, and you will be
able to get qualified.”
Jack felt ashamed of his despair in face of her pluck.
“I have tried everything, but apart from becoming a professional
in the Northern Union, if I was good enough, I can’t see any hope.
How do we stand?”
She knew what he meant, as she it was who had gone through
the accounts, and settled the bills, as soon as the lawyers had done
their part and taken their heavy toll.
“We shan’t have much, dear, about fifty pounds I reckon, perhaps
a little more, couldn’t you possibly manage on that?”
“Impossible, and you have to live as well, remember,” and he
smiled at her. “No, there is only one thing. If I can get away to some
quiet place, I may be able to do something, there is just a chance.
Father told me a secret before he died, and there may be something
in it, or it may be that his brain was weakening, and that he was
imagining things.”
 She looked at him questioningly, but understood he did not wish
to say anything further.
And then the post brought a letter from a school friend of Ena’s,
one of the few with whom she had kept in contact. It was to say
that her parents had a summer bungalow at Portham-on-Sea, which
they did not use in the winter, and that if the Seftons cared to make
use of it they were quite welcome. The key was with the agent, and
so on.
“There,” said Ena gaily, “I told you something would turn up.”
“Where is this Portham, I’ve never heard of it?”
“It’s on the South Coast, my friend has often told me of it, shall
we go there?”
“I suppose so, we haven’t much choice, but I should imagine it’s
pretty bad this weather. We can’t stay here, so had better try.”
“Oh! let’s get away from here,” said Ena, in a voice which showed
how the strain was telling on her.
Jack came round and put his arm round her. “Poor old girl, you
have had a wretched time, and all the worry has come on you; let’s
get out of it.”
There was little to pack, and the same afternoon saw them on
their way to Portham Junction, and as the dreary bungalow town
opened before them, hideous and forbidding, their hearts sank
within them. Even Ena’s spirits were damped, and she clung to Jack
for a moment.
“I’m afraid, I don’t know why,” she said, “but I feel as though we
were going into a black tunnel, ever so deep and long.”
“Never mind, dear,” he said to reassure her “as long as there’s an
opening the other end.”
So Fate plays havoc with our lives.
 Chapter II.
The Coming of the Stranger
Ena Sefton was returning from the local grocer, who carried on a
desperate, and fortuitous existence during the winter months,
hoping to reap a harvest in the summer. The place now was derelict,
like a show when the season has finished, and the few inhabitants
wandered round like the survivors of a plague.
Some of the bungalows had wooden shutters nailed over the
windows to save the glass, and looked like houses of the dead.
Others showed through the uncurtained windows dim suggestions of
deck chairs, and furniture covered with sheets. Pebbles and sand
covered the verandas, and pools of discoloured water stood in the
rutted road.
There was no symmetry or order about the bungalows; some
more pretentious than others, showed marks of distinction, such as
a ship in full sail over the roof, as a wind-vane, or a conservatory
where languid flowers and shrubs waited for the spring. These were
the aristocrats of Bungalow Town. Nestling between two such, would
come a chubby democrat, quite unashamed of his appearance,
made of two railway carriages with a pent roof over them, and a
notice stating that “This Desirable Bungalow” was “to be Let
Furnished.”
In the summer all alike would be crowded with happy people, but
now they were ruinous and depressing.
Ena made her way down the road, stopping now and then as a
fierce blast struck her and a blinding spindrift nearly choked her.
Progress was difficult against the wind bitter with salt and driven
sand, carrying a heavy shopping basket. The stranger almost
collided with her, and drew on one side with apologies. He glanced
at the girl, and then politely asked if he might carry the basket, and
with quiet insistence took it from her.
“The storm is very bad just here between the bungalows,” he said.
“I will come with you for a little way if I may.”
With his cultured tone there was a note of determination, and Ena
was glad of his help, besides being amused at his presumption. He
walked beside her regardless of the pools of water, sheltering her
from the worst of the storm, till they came to her bungalow, which
was all dark and forbidding.
“This is where we live,” she said “but my brother is evidently not
back yet; won’t you come in and wait for the rest of the storm to
blow over, he cannot be long.”
“My name is Halley,” said the man, bowing slightly. “I am staying
here for a short time, but I think I had better get back; I shall have
the wind behind me, you see.”
Ena glanced at him, and noticed in the dim light that he was tall
and fragile-looking.
“Are you afraid of coming in?” she asked with a mocking laugh,
“or is it merely a question of convention?”
“Neither, Miss …” he began.
“Sefton is my name … Ena Sefton, and my brother’s name is Jack.”
Her manner was refreshing and he judged her very young.
“I will certainly do so if you ask me in that way, but an invitation in
these circumstances is often a matter of form, to be refused like a
dinner invitation when one knows there is nothing to eat.”
They both laughed, and Ena opened the door. Her life was so
lonely that she was rather enjoying the chance of talking to one who
was evidently a gentleman.
He carried the basket in for her, helped her light a lamp, and an oil
stove, which had gone out and had been smoking horribly.
“My brother will be back soon, and you must let me make you a
cup of tea. You see there is something to eat from the weight of the
basket.” He saw a merry smile come to her mouth, and a pair of
trusting blue eyes looked into his.
Soon they were sitting over the oil stove, now giving out a
welcome heat, and had started to thaw.
 “I wonder where Jack can have got to?” she said. “He went out
for a walk some time ago.”
Halley thought to himself “And left you to carry the supplies,” but
he left the remark unsaid.
“He has taken lately to these long walks, and I find it rather lonely.
I would like you to see him.”
“I shall be delighted,” answered Halley, amused at her naïve
manner. “I am a stranger here, perhaps the air will do me good.”
She glanced at him, and thought he looked ill, though straight and
very handsome. She imagined he had suffered in health or through
some secret sorrow, and her girlish fancy was already building a
romantic past round him.
The silence was becoming awkward. Outside the rain was
streaming from the roof, and the wind moaned with sullen fury.
“How do you like this place?” she asked, to say something.
“It is quiet, and suits me, but …”
“What?”
He glanced at her. “Well, this horrible murder at the castle has
rather upset things.”
She gave a nervous shudder. “It has upset us all. I get quite
frightened, my brother is out so much, and I sit here and listen to
the wind, and imagine all sorts of things.”
“You poor girl!” he said so gently that it took all the familiarity
from the remark.
“The villagers, what there are of them, declare there is a curse on
the Reckaviles,” she said and shivered.
“You don’t believe that?”
“I don’t know, I went and looked at the castle—it’s a dreary place,
and one can picture anything happening there.”
He glanced at her anxiously, this morbid conversation must stop
before he went: he heartily cursed the brother for leaving this sweet
little creature alone.
“May I smoke?” he asked to change the talk.
“Why, certainly,” she said, and bit her tongue with vexation as she
realised she had nothing to offer, but Halley produced his case.
“You don’t?” he asked offering it to her.
 “No, that’s not one of my vices,” she laughed.
“Do you know I am so glad; I suppose I am old-fashioned, but I
can never get used to girls smoking, especially young girls.”
“I’m twenty-one,” she said bridling.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Sefton, I was not thinking of any special
case.”
She did not know whether to be annoyed or not, so changed the
conversation.
“The wireless set is our only amusement, but I am afraid it is out
of order.”
He walked across and examined it.
“It is a very good set, but there is something wrong. May I have
an examination?”
“It is not ours you know; it belongs to the house, we only have
the use of it while we are here.”
She watched him under the lamplight, his keen alert face and deft
fingers suggested the artist. He fixed the ear phones to his head and
began juggling with screws and wires in skillful manner. Ena watched
him with the fascination a novice always feels for the expert, till the
boiling kettle drew her to her duties with the teapot.
Halley removed the ear phones, and switched on the loud speaker,
when a faint sound of music came forth.
“There is something wrong,” he said, “but I think I can put it right
for you, if you will allow me to come again.”
“Why, certainly, but come and have a cup of tea now.”
They were soon sitting like old friends over the oil stove,
discussing the place, and again she resorted to the gruesome crime
which had fallen on the village—the murder of Lord Reckavile in his
castle. Seeing that she was bent on discussing it he let her have her
way.
“Did you ever see him?” he asked quietly.
“No, you know he very seldom came here. He had only been back
from abroad quite a short time. It is altogether a mystery, but you
know they say there is a curse on the family. No one will go near the
castle now, even in the daytime, and you could not get anyone in
the village to go there at night for any sum of money.”
 “He was stabbed, wasn’t he? I read the bare account of the
inquest.”
“Yes, in the back, and there was no one in the room,” she glanced
uneasily round the lounge, and listened to the breaking of the waves
and the wash of the sea outside.
His anger rose against her brother for leaving her alone, and
though he knew he had no right to presume on her invitation, he
stayed on as long as he possibly could.
At last he rose.
“I must really go,” he said. “I will come round and put your set
right, and perhaps I can see your brother then.”
“Thank you so much. It has been so good of you to keep me
company,” and there was a wistful look in her eyes.
She came with him to the door, and as he opened it a blast of the
storm struck them, making the lamp flare up. Halley reeled against
the door-post with a quick gasp of pain.
“What is the matter?” she asked anxiously.
“Nothing, just a touch of giddiness, an old wound which troubles
me sometimes.”
She watched him down the rough road, bending with the fierce
gale, and came in with a sigh.
Halley was as good as his word. He came the next evening with a
parcel under his arm. All day Ena had been looking forward with
pleasure to seeing him. She had told Jack of the chance meeting,
which news he had received in a surly manner.
“We can’t afford to entertain, you know, Ena, and I don’t like
people seeing our penury.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I thought it would be a man friend for you,
and Mr. Halley does not seem the kind of man who wants
entertaining as you call it.”
“From your description he seems a sort of wandering artist fellow,
and I hate that type. I don’t know that I care to see him much.”
“But Jack, you must. He cannot come here and find you out again,
and he is coming to put the wireless set right. You know you would
like to have it working.”
 “Oh, is he?” said Jack. “Well, I can tell you what is wrong with it, it
wants a new high tension battery, which costs about a sovereign,
and we can’t afford it.”
Ena started—she wondered if Halley had found that out.
“You will come home won’t you, Jack?” she pleaded.
“I don’t know, Ena. I’ll try, but I can’t be certain.”
There was a shifty look in his eyes which she did not like, but he
jumped up abruptly and left her without further discussion.
When Halley came the storm had gone, and the moon was shining
on the water. He had quite a boyish appearance and came in with a
cheerful smile. Ena greeted him with pleasure, but felt a sense of
shame at Jack’s absence again.
“I am sorry to call so late, Miss Sefton,” he said “but I have been
away all day, and I thought there was more chance of seeing your
brother—besides it will be better for the wireless.”
“Jack promised to be in,” she said doubtfully. “He should have
been here before now.”
He placed his parcel on the little table, and undid the wrapper, and
she saw with misgiving what was inside.
“You have not got a new battery?” she asked, and her colour rose.
“Yes, I thought perhaps that was the trouble,” and he proceeded
to fix it.
She was annoyed. It was taking a mean advantage of their
poverty and she resented it, but what could she say? Offer to pay for
it? That would be an insult again. She feared what Jack would say
knowing how sensitive he was on this point.
“You should not have done that,” she said weakly.
“It is nothing, Miss Sefton. It is too good a set to be idle.”
But there was a feeling of restraint between them which he
noticed. The adjustment made, he turned on the switch, and tuned
in. A burst of music filled the room, and conversation was
unnecessary.
The evening was delightful, and he stayed on giving her the best
from the different programmes. At nine-thirty came the news
bulletin, and weather forecast, and after that an announcement. She
caught the words “Portham Junction” and heard Mr. Halley give a
quick intake of breath.
Then came the stony words. “I will repeat.” “Missing from Home,
Frederic Summers, Bank Manager from Tunbridge Wells, since
January 20th. Aged 40. Tall, clean-shaven, dark. Last seen at
Portham Junction carrying a hand-bag. He had gone on a week’s
holiday, and his friends have heard no news of him since that date.”
And then followed the usual request for information.
Ena looked up, and their eyes met.
“It appears to be one of those mysterious disappearances which
baffle the police,” he said in level tones.
“But it’s so near to this place, and coming after the—other thing,”
she said and stopped.
“There’s no need for alarm,” said he “it may be a simple case of
loss of memory, or some natural explanation.”
“Of course, but this place is so lonely, and Jack is out so much.”
“You must tell him, and ask him to come in earlier, but forgive me,
I have no right to talk like that.” He spread out his hands in apology,
and she for a moment was reminded of something not quite English.
There was just a touch of the alien, not menial, but rather belonging
to the Age of Chivalry, which lives on in remote places.
“We must arrange a definite meeting,” he said. “You see, although
this place is small, and quite unconventional, I cannot come here to
see you. You understand that.”
“Of course, you are right. I will tell him when he comes in.”
 Chapter III.
The End of the Line
“I want you to go to Portham-on-Sea, to take up the Reckavile
murder, Fletcher,” said Chief Inspector Sinclair.
Fletcher was a youngster in the Service, with quick restless eyes,
and an alert face; it was a great opportunity for him.
“I thought they would have to call us in, sir,” he said with a smile.
“It’s about time, too,” growled the older man “there’s the deuce of
a fuss over the affair, not that the man was worth much, but he was
a peer of the Realm, and a member of the House of Lords, though I
don’t suppose he ever saw the inside of the building.”
“I thought perhaps you …” began Fletcher.
“Oh, I’ve got too much on hand already,” interrupted the other.
“Besides it will give you a chance, and I know you younger men
think I am getting too old for the work.”
There was a grim smile on the face of the old detective, as he
noticed a guilty blush which Fletcher tried to hide.
“Well, just sit down and I will give you the main facts as they are
known, though you have probably read the newspaper accounts.”
Fletcher nodded.
“Portham itself is a tiny fishing village, and the nearest station is
Portham Junction, about two miles off. In the last few years there
has grown up a bungalow town, about five miles to the west along
the coast. This has been called Portham-on-Sea. Between these two
is a wooded headland, and in these woods is situated Reckavile
Castle. You will be able to see all this on the spot.
“Now for the crime. On January 14th last, Reckavile returned from
one of his periodical journeys abroad. There is no one living at the
castle except an old servant, Giles, and his wife, and most of it is
permanently shut up. The whole place has run to seed, and there is
only a track to the lodge where a gamekeeper of sorts, named
Stevens, lives alone.
“On 20th January, at about 7 p. m. the village constable, John
Brown, called to see Lord Reckavile about some alleged poachers,
who had been hanging about the woods. He thought them poachers
at the time, but in view of what has occurred, they may have had
more sinister intentions. I suppose Giles and Brown stopped
gossiping, and probably drinking the Reckavile beer, and then the
servant went to tell his master.
“You must follow this carefully now. He came running back to
Brown, saying he could get no answer, and that something was
wrong as he heard sounds of quarrelling, though he had admitted no
one to the house. He was white and trembling, and very agitated.
He almost dragged the constable along, and when they reached the
library door, they could distinctly hear two people talking. There
were two doors, an outer one of oak, and an inner one of green
baize. The constable has been thoroughly examined, though he is
not very intelligent, I am afraid. He says they distinctly heard
Reckavile say ‘Never, never, only over my dead body!’ The other
replied ‘I only want justice and my right.’ They seemed to be angry.
There was a confused noise, a sound of a blow, a horrible cry, and
then silence.
“They waited a moment and knocked, but there was no answer;
there was a heavy oak chair in the hall, and with this they battered
down the door. The room was in a state of wild confusion—I use the
constable’s words—the furniture overturned, and splashes of blood
on the floor and chairs.
“Lord Reckavile was lying across the sofa, face downwards, and an
ugly knife was sticking in his ribs. The room was empty, and Brown
stayed there while Giles went for help. There is no doctor nearer
than five miles off, so the gamekeeper rode off to the village to
telephone for the doctor and the police at Ashstead, the nearest
town.
“Outside the house, Giles met a certain Mr. Sefton, who was out
for a walk. While he was not a qualified doctor, I believe he was a
medical student, and Giles thought he might be of some service, so
brought him in. He was able to pronounce the man dead—without a
doubt.
“That is all. Here are the papers containing the account of the
inquest, and of our confidential examinations. The best thing for you
to do is to get on to the spot.”
Fletcher had produced a large pocket book, and taken notes. He
now turned to them and read them through.
“May I ask a question or two, sir?” he said.
“Certainly,” said Sinclair “I should like you to do so, it will show
what you are made of.”
“You say there was no one in the room. Is that absolutely
certain?”
“The constable, as I told you, is rather a stupid person, but he
never left the room after they burst open the door, and it was only a
few minutes after that Giles returned with Sefton.”
“What about means of exit?” said Fletcher scanning his notes.
“A thorough search was made, first by the constable and the
others, and afterwards by Sergeant Andrews from Ashstead. The
windows were securely fastened, and there was no other door, and
no trap doors or secret panels that can be found.”
“The door was locked, where was the key?” asked Fletcher again.
His Chief gave a chuckle. “Good!” he said, “there was no key
found.”
“One last question, sir. What was the weapon?”
“An old dagger, with a thin blade. The waistcoat had been torn
back, and the blade driven in between the ribs from the back, and
had penetrated the heart. It had been cleverly done and seemed to
show a knowledge of anatomy, but we must not jump to
conclusions.”
“This is a tough nut, sir.”
“It is,” said the other grimly. “But before you go, I want to tell you
something of the Reckaviles. It will save you hunting it up. They are
a queer lot. This one was the last of his line, and people who know,
say it is a very good thing. The Reckaviles always said there was a
curse on them, set there by an old witch or something of that sort,
but less charitable folk say there was madness in the family, and
they are probably nearer the truth.
“There was one in the Eighteenth Century who had been a leader
in the Medmenham orgies, and was found stark dead in the Abbey
with no marks on him. There was another who lost everything he
had in one night’s sitting at White’s, and left the room smiling like a
fiend. He retired to a strip of woodland on the South Coast where
Portham now stands, and built himself a ramshackle house. It was
half of rubble and half brick, and he designed it himself, with a
complete disregard to sanitation or comfort. There with what
supplies of brandy he had saved from the wreck of his fortunes, he
drank himself to death in a dignified way, timing his last seizure with
his final bottle and apologising to his wife for the trouble he was
giving.
“The father of the last Reckavile ran away with a draper’s wife,
and then challenged him to fight for the lady. The draper applied for
police protection, and divorce, and got both. Reckavile married the
woman, and was finally drowned when returning from abroad, and
his body was washed ashore near the castle.
“I gather that the family fortunes were at about rock bottom,
when a speculative builder, who chanced that way, saw possibilities
of a bungalow town, on the foreshore, without the irk of a town
council, and interfering inspectors. The last Reckavile found himself
in funds, and wandered abroad. I could tell you much more, some of
it such deeds as can only be hinted at, but this will suffice.”
Fletcher lay back in his chair, lost in thought.
“What a family!” was his comment, but to himself he said “I
wonder why he has told me all this,” and he looked at the shrewd
face of the famous detective, which remained inscrutable.
“And now the last of the line has come to a tragic end,” said
Sinclair musingly “so I suppose the Curse has worked out.”
“Curse?” said the other startled, “you don’t believe in the Curse,
sir, do you?”
Sinclair looked at him.
“Oh, I don’t know, there are many things we are finding out about
now, which our fathers scoffed at,” was his reply.
 Fletcher gathered up the papers and went out on his quest, and
managed to leap into the carriage as the train was moving, nearly
falling over a young girl who was the sole occupant of the
compartment, and hastily apologised.
“I hope I did not hurt you,” he said.
“Not at all,” she answered with a bright smile “but I was afraid you
were going to slip between the carriage and the platform; it’s
dangerous getting into trains like that you know.”
He was amused at the serious fashion in which she rebuked him.
A glance at her showed him that she had a pretty face and a smart
figure, and was neatly but plainly dressed.
On the floor was a letter which she had dropped, and stooping, he
picked it up, and with his quick, trained eyes instinctively read the
name—‘Miss Ena Sefton.’ As he handed it to her, ‘Sefton … Sefton …’
he said to himself. Where had he heard that name? Of course, the
medical student who had been called in to see the dead Lord
Reckavile. It was an uncommon name, and the train was going to
Portham Junction. What a strange coincidence if …
“My name is Fletcher,” he said, for he had no reason to conceal his
identity. “I wonder if by chance you know Portham-on-Sea.”
“Why certainly,” she replied “I live there at present, with my
brother. Are you going there?”
“Yes,” he said “I am staying there a few days. It’s a sort of
bungalow town, isn’t it?”
“You’ll find it terribly dull in the winter. Of course, in the summer
it’s different,” she said.
“Oh, I want to be quiet and have a rest,” he replied. “I am sure I
shall not find it dull,” and he glanced at the girl.
She looked at him with innocent blue eyes. She was evidently not
the sort that takes offence or sees an insult in a man looking at her.
He led the conversation round with practiced skill to the crime, but
her brows clouded over.
“Yes,” she said, “it upset us terribly. It was horrible and you know
the castle itself suggests some dreadful crime. It is so broken down
and uncared for.”
 “I suppose they have no idea in the village as to who the
murderer could be?” he asked.
“All the villagers—what few there are of them in the winter, are
convinced that it had something to do with the Reckavile Curse.”
“You don’t believe that?”
“I don’t know, it was all so mysterious, but my brother laughs at
it; you know he was called in when it occurred. He is almost a
qualified doctor.”
“I saw something about it in the papers,” he said evasively.
“I believe he saw more than the stupid detective did. He told me
nothing, but he hinted at things once or twice.”
Fletcher thought he had better get off dangerous ground for the
present. His companion was charming, and seemed to have no
objection to talking. In a short time he was possessed of all the facts
about the Seftons, and Portham-on-Sea.
It was a queer collection of shanties, dumped down without plan
or method; some were of wood or corrugated iron, some old Army
huts, and others made of railway carriages. They straggled in two
irregular lines along the foreshore, and between them was an
apology for a road.
By the time the train arrived at Portham Junction Fletcher had
received an invitation to call on the Seftons. As he had arranged to
meet the local constable at the castle, he reluctantly parted with his
companion and turned his mind to the grim problem before him.
 Chapter IV.
At the Castle
Fletcher was not one to let the ground get weedy under his feet.
Leaving his bag at the railway station, he made his way on foot to
Reckavile Castle.
It was a wet afternoon, and dusk was coming on when he got
within sight of the building. Traces of flower-beds and garden plants
showed through the tangle of growth, like the ruins of an old
civilisation, giving the place an air of desolation. The castle was a
depressing structure, massive and dim and the wet dripped
ceaselessly from the trees. Time had covered the building in parts
with ivy, and on the rest of the walls green patches of lichen grew
like a disease.
The blind upper windows looked like dead eyes, and in spite of his
cheery nature, Fletcher shuddered as a figure stepped suddenly
from the shadow without noise.
“Who’s that?” said Fletcher in a louder tone than he intended.
“Brown, sir, I suppose you are Mr. Fletcher?”
The latter felt a sense of relief; the constable was a stalwart ex-
guardsman.
“What are you doing out here in the wet?” he asked shaking the
other by the hand.
“To tell the truth, sir, I don’t like the place, and I thought I would
wait here; we cleared the Giles out after the murder, and locked it
up.”
He produced a great key, and led the way to the front door.
It was a massive portal surmounted by carved stone work, now
green and crumbling. The hall was square and lofty, with a great
open fireplace, cheerless and empty. The last light of the dying