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John Darrow was known in the neighbourhood as a 〃crank〃 on the subject
of croquet。 He had spent many hundreds of dollars on his grounds。 His
wickets were fastened to hard pine planks； and these were then carefully
buried two feet deep。 The surface of the ground； he was wont to descant；
must be of a particular sort of gravel； sifted just so； and rolled to a nicety。
The balls must be of hard rubber； and have just one…eighth inch clearance
in passing through the wickets； with the exception of the two wires
forming the 〃cage；〃 where it was imperative that this clearance should be
reduced to one…sixteenth of an inch … but I need not state more to show
how he came to be considered a 〃crank〃 upon the subject。
It was easy enough to bring Maitland and Darrow together。 〃My
friend is himself much interested in the game； he heard of your superb
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The Darrow Enigma
ground； may he be permitted to examine it closely？〃 Darrow was all
attention。 He would be delighted to show it。 Suppose they make a
practical test of it by playing a game。 This they did and Maitland played
superbly； but he was hardly a match for the old gentleman； who sought to
palliate his defeat by saying： 〃You play an excellent game； sir； but I am a
trifle too much for you on my own ground。 Now； if you can spare the
time； I should like to witness a game between you and my daughter； I
think you will be pretty evenly matched。〃
If he could spare the time！ I laughed outright at the idea。 Why； with
the prospect of meeting Gwen Darrow before him； an absolute unit of
measure； with a snail's pace； would have made good its escape from him。
As it is a trick of poor humanity to refuse when offered the very thing one
has been madly scheming to obtain； I hastened to accept Darrow's
invitation for my friend； and to assure him on my own responsibility； that
time was just then hanging heavily on Maitland's hands。 Well； the game
was played； but Maitland was so unnerved by the girl's presence that he
played execrably； so poorly； indeed； that the always polite Darrow
remarked： 〃You must charge your easy victory； Gwen； to your opponent's
gallantry； not to his lack of skill； for I assure you he gave me a much
harder rub。〃 The young lady cast a quick glance at Maitland； which said
so plainly that she preferred a fair field and no favour that he hastened to
say： 〃Your father puts too high an estimate upon my play。 I did my best
to win； but … but I was a little nervous； I see； however； that you would have
defeated me though I had been in my best form。〃 Gwen gave him one of
those short； searching looks； so peculiarly her own； which seem to read；
with mathematical certainty； one's innermost thoughts； … and the poor
fellow blushed to the tips of his ears。 … But he was no boy； this Maitland；
and betrayed no other sign of the tempest that was raging within him。
His utterance remained as usual； deliberate and incisive； and I thought this
perplexed the young lady。 Before leaving； both Maitland and I were
invited to become parties to a six…handed game to be played the following
week； after the grounds had been redressed with gravel。
Maitland looked forward to this second meeting with Miss Darrow
with an eagerness which made every hour seem interminably long； and he
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The Darrow Enigma
was in such a flutter of expectancy that I was sure if
〃We live 。 。 。 in thoughts； not breaths； In feelings； not in figures on
a dial We should count time by heart…throbs；〃
he must have passed through a period as long as that separating the
Siege of Troy from the 〃late unpleasantness。〃 The afternoon came at last；
however。 The party consisted； besides Darrow and his daughter；
Maitland and myself； of two young gentlemen with whom personally I had
but a slight acquaintance； although I knew them somewhat by reputation。
The younger one； Clinton Browne； is a young artist whose landscapes
were beginning to attract wide attention in Boston； and the elder； Charles
Herne； a Western gentleman of some literary attainments； but
comparatively unknown here in the East。 There is nothing about Mr。
Herne that would challenge more than passing attention。 If you had said
of him； 〃He is well…fleshed； well…groomed； and intellectually well…
thatched；〃 you would have voiced the opinion of most of his
acquaintances。
This somewhat elaborately upholstered old world has a deal of mere
filling of one kind and another； and Mr。 Herne is a part of it。 To be sure；
he leaves the category of excelsior very far behind and approaches very
nearly to the best grade of curled hair； but； in spite of all this； he is simply
a sort of social filling。
Mr。 Browne； on the other hand； is a very different personage。 Of
medium height； closely knit； with the latent activity and grace of the cat
flowing through every movement and even stagnating in his pose； he is a
man that the first casual gaze instantly returns to with sharpened focus。
You have seen gymnasts whose normal movements were slowly
performed springs； just as rust is a slow combustion and fire the same
thing in less time。 Well； Clinton Browne strongly suggested that sort of
athlete。 Add to this a regularly formed； clearly cut； and all…but…beautiful
face； with a pair of wonderfully piercing； albeit somewhat shifty； black
eyes； and one need not marvel that men as well as women stared at him。
I have spoken of his gaze as 〃somewhat shifty；〃 yet am not altogether sure
that in that term I accurately describe it。 What first fastened my attention
was this vague； unfocussed； roving； quasi…introspective vision flashing
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The Darrow Enigma
with panther…like suddenness into a directness that seemed to burn and
pierce one like the thrust of a hot stiletto； His face was clean…shaven； save
for a mere thumb…mark of black hair directly under the centre of his lower
lip。 This Iago…like tab and the almost fierce brilliancy of his concentrated
gaze gave to his countenance at times a sinister； Machiavellian expression
that was irresistible and which； to my thinking； seriously marred an
otherwise fine face。 Of=20course due allowance must be made for the
strong prejudice I have against any form of beard。 However； I'd wager a
box of my best liver…pills against any landscape Browne ever painted； … I
don't care if it's as big as a cyclorama； … that if he had known how
completely Gwen shared my views； … how she disliked the appearance of
bewhiskered men； … that delicately nurtured little imperial would soon
have been reduced