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Design Patterns by Tutorials
Notice of Rights
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Notice of Liability
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Trademarks
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their own respective owners.
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Design Patterns by Tutorials
Dedications
"For my girls. I love you very much."
— Joshua Greene
— Jay Strawn
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Design Patterns by Tutorials
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Design Patterns by Tutorials
Aaron Douglas is a tech editor for this book. He was that kid
taking apart the mechanical and electrical appliances at five years
of age to see how they worked. He never grew out of that core
interest - to know how things work. He took an early interest in
computer programming, figuring out how to get past security to be
able to play games on his dad's computer. He's still that feisty nerd,
but at least now he gets paid to do it. Aaron works for Automattic
(WordPress.com, WooCommerce, SimpleNote) as a Mobile Maker/
Lead primarily on the WooCommerce mobile apps. Find Aaron on
Twitter as @astralbodies or at his blog at aaron.blog.
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Design Patterns by Tutorials
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L Book License
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B Book Source Code &
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Design Patterns by Tutorials Book Source Code & Forums
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A About the Cover
Coral reefs contain some of the most amazing, colorful and diverse ecosystems on
Earth. Although coral reefs make up just a tiny fragment of the ocean’s underwater
area, they support over 25% of known marine life. It’s rather difficult to
underestimate the value that coral reefs add to the diversity and sustainability of our
oceans.
Although reefs are highly structured, they have many variants and perform a variety
of functions. More than just pretty “rocks”, coral reefs are truly the foundation of
their surrounding ecosystems. In that way, you could consider them the “design
patterns” of the ocean!
Unfortunately, coral reefs are in dramatic decline around the world. Potentially 90%
of known coral reefs may be in serious danger in as little as ten years. Various
organizations are actively working to find ways to mitigate the issues caused from
pollution, overfishing and physical damage done to reefs. For more information,
check out the following great resources:
• https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coral_reef_protection
• https://coral.org/
raywenderlich.com 17
I Introduction
Design Patterns: Elements of Reusable, Object-Oriented Software, the first book to ever
describe design patterns, inspired the revolutionary idea of reusable, template
solutions to common software development problems. Design patterns aren’t specific
to a particular situation, but rather, they are solutions you can adapt and use in
countless projects.
Why should software design be hard? We’ve done everything we can to make it easy
and understandable, so anyone can learn it.
2. Make this book useful for both beginning and advanced developers.
We think we’ve done it! The only requirements for reading this book are a basic
understanding of Swift and iOS development.
If you’ve worked through our classic beginner books — the Swift Apprentice https://
store.raywenderlich.com/products/swift-apprentice and the iOS Apprentice https://
store.raywenderlich.com/products/ios-apprentice — or have similar development
experience, you’re ready to read this book.
raywenderlich.com 18
Design Patterns by Tutorials Introduction
And if you’re an advanced developer, we also have a lot of great advanced design
patterns for you as well!
As you work through this book, you’ll progress from beginning topics to more
advanced concepts.
You’ll also learn how to read and use class diagrams in this section. This will make it
much easier for you to learn design patterns, so it’s important to go over this first to
get the most out of the book.
These patterns work well in combinations, so all of the chapters in this section walk
you through building a single tutorial project from the ground up.
Many of these patterns work well together, but not all. You’ll create two projects in
this section as you explore these intermediate patterns.
raywenderlich.com 19
Design Patterns by Tutorials Introduction
Chapter structure
Each design pattern chapter in Sections II through IV follow a similar structure:
• What is it?
This section gives a class diagram and explains the design pattern.
This section describes the design pattern’s strengths and provides examples where
the design pattern works well.
• Playground example
This section shows you how to use the design pattern within a playground
example. This isn’t meant to be a complete project, but rather, it’s a standalone
example to teach you the basics of the design pattern.
• Tutorial project
This section guides you through using the design pattern in a tutorial app.
• Key points
This section provides a summary of what you learned and key points to remember
for the chapter.
raywenderlich.com 20
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Section I: Hello, Design
Patterns!
This is a high-level introduction to what design patterns are, why they're important,
and how they will help you.
You'll also learn how to read and use class diagrams in this section. This will make it
much easier for you to learn design patterns, so it’s important to go over this first to
get the most out of the book.
raywenderlich.com 21
1 Chapter 1: What are
Design Patterns?
By Joshua Greene
“Feared by newcomers. Loved by architects. Read the inside story about design
patterns. The truth may surprise you!”
Did you know design patterns can make you a better developer? “Of course,” you say
— you are reading this book, after all!
Did you know design patterns can help you make more money? It’s true. You can save
time, work less and ultimately create more great things by using design patterns
correctly.
And did you know design patterns can help you fight vampires? OK, maybe not —
design patterns aren’t silver bullets, after all.
raywenderlich.com 22
Design Patterns by Tutorials Chapter 1: What are Design Patterns?
However, design patterns are incredibly useful, no matter what language or platform
you develop for, and every developer should absolutely know about them. They
should also know how and when to apply them. That's what you're going to learn in
this book!
A real-world example
The introduction told you that design patterns are reusable, template solutions to
common development problems. Design patterns aren’t concrete implementations,
but rather, serve as starting points for writing code. They describe generic solutions
to problems that experienced developers have encountered many times before.
What does this mean exactly...? Consider this non-development, real-world scenario:
You’re the proud owner of a gardening company, and your business is really, er,
blooming. You’ve only done a few small projects up to now - a tree planted here and
a few flowers there. However, you just landed a big client who wants several dozen
trees and flowers planted on their property.
Your standard procedure has been for your employees to carry each flower or tree
sapling into place individually. Once each has been temporarily placed, your
customer inspects and approves the arrangement before you plant everything in the
ground.
You’re worried it’s going to take forever to carry each flower and tree into place for
this large project. And you even need a few people to carry some of the bigger trees.
While you could hire lots of temporary employees, you wouldn’t make a profit on the
job. There’s got to be a better way!
You decide to ask other gardeners what they do, and you find out they use
wheelbarrows and carts. What a great idea! You tell your employees to use a cart to
move multiple flowers at the same time and a wheelbarrow to move the heavy trees.
In the meantime, you use a lounge chair chair to watch your workers go to it... isn’t
management great?
So now you know all about design patterns! Wait, you need more details? Okay, let’s
break it down...
raywenderlich.com 23
Design Patterns by Tutorials Chapter 1: What are Design Patterns?
Example explanation
The “design pattern” here is the use of wheelbarrows and carts. These are common,
best practice tools in gardening. Similarly, software design patterns form a set of best
practices in development. You could have chosen not to use wheelbarrows and carts,
but akin to avoiding software design patterns, you assume more risk by making the
project more time- and labor-intensive.
Back to the point of “asking other gardeners what they do.” Most design patterns
have been around for a long time — having started life in the 1970s and 1980s — and
they continue to work well to this day.
This longevity is partly due to the fact their use has been validated in many projects
over the decades, but it’s also because they aren’t concrete solutions.
In the gardening scenario, you decided that carts will be used to move flowers and
wheelbarrows will be used to move trees. These are implementation details: you could
have used carts to move both flowers and trees, only used wheelbarrows, or any other
combination that made the job easier.
Design patterns are generic, go-to solutions for solving common problems, like using
wheelbarrows and carts. They are starting points for concrete implementations, like
using carts for flowers and wheelbarrows for trees.
Make sense? Great! It's now time to leave the garden behind and head back to the
world of software design patterns.
1. Structural design pattern: Describes how objects are composed and combined
to form larger structures. Examples of structural design patterns include Model-
View-Controller (MVC), Model-View-ViewModel (MVVM) and Facade.
raywenderlich.com 24
Design Patterns by Tutorials Chapter 1: What are Design Patterns?
You may be wondering if knowing a design pattern’s type really matters. Well,
yes...and no.
It’s not useful to memorize all patterns by type. Most developers don’t do this.
However, if you’re not sure whether a particular pattern will work, it’s sometimes
useful to consider other patterns of the same type. You just might find one that
works better for your particular problem.
If you'd like to learn more about iOS architectural patterns, check out
Advanced iOS App Architecture (http://bit.ly/ios-app-arch).
raywenderlich.com 25
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
"The trouble is with Lorraine himself, I think," Carstairs remarked. "It
isn't that he hasn't the nerve, but that he hasn't the determination,
the stability, the something essential in the man who does. I fancy
he has changed his mind on the subject of what to do in this matter
as often as he has changed his clothes. He is a queer compound—
none other like him."
"And yet he is a mighty attractive fellow at times," Smithers
observed.—"It wasn't until this Amherst affair that he revealed
anything particularly vacillating."
"He never before had occasion to reveal it," Devonshire explained.
"The trial came—and he wasn't equal to it. Some of us might not be
equal to it either, if we were in similar case. It's a mighty difficult
case, my friends. Moreover, Lorraine has done the decent thing now
—he is anxious for a reconciliation."
"It's decent, after a fashion," Smithers agreed—"it would be
decenter if he first followed your notion and beat up Amherst—beat
him until he couldn't walk; half killing would be about right, to my
mind."
"This is all very well by way of discussion but what by way of
prophecy?" said Carstairs. "I'll lay a bottle of wine that Lorraine
doesn't do a damn thing."
"So will I," Smithers agreed. "That is why Amherst has the courage
to come back. He despises the man he has wronged."
"He may be fooled," said Devonshire.
"I trust he will be," Carstairs remarked—"but I doubt mightily."
"You hear what they are saying, Pendleton?" Cameron asked, with a
jerk of his head toward the other table.
"I hear," said Pendleton. "Have you seen Lorraine today?"
"No—only talked with him over the telephone."
"He hasn't heard of Amherst's return?"
"He didn't mention it."
"The evening papers will likely have it."
"I suppose so—I didn't know of it until I came up here—where it's
the event of the day."
"You can't much blame them—knowing all the circumstances and the
parties as club-mates do."
"What do you think Lorraine will do—anything?" asked Cameron.
Pendleton carefully knocked the ashes from his cigarette and studied
the bare coal a moment.
"I think," said he slowly, "that it would be just as well for Amherst to
keep out of Lorraine's way."
"You do?" said Cameron quietly. "Why?"
"Because Lorraine seems to have become possessed of two ideas—
and like all weak men he is becoming obsessed by them. One idea is
to effect a reconciliation with Stephanie; the other is to be revenged
on Amherst. I have tried to persuade him that if he would do
Stephanie a service, he must do Amherst no physical hurt—it would
simply revive the scandal and react upon her, and probably
terminate any chance he has to have her return to him."
"What chance has he?" Cameron asked. "None, to my mind."
"Not the slightest in the world, to my mind either," Pendleton replied.
"But the question now is, I think, which idea will prevail:—the hope
of reconciliation with Stephanie, or vengeance on Amherst. I admit I
won't even attempt to predict. It will depend on the circumstances
of the moment."
"With the chances in favor of violence," said Cameron instantly. "I
fear it—I've feared it ever since Stephanie's return. Why the devil
does Lorraine do everything too late?"
"It is the nature of the animal, I suppose. Some men seem to do
everything backward."
"What do you say to both of us going to see him after dinner, and—
well, trying what we can do? He may listen to us."
"If you wish I'll go—but I've given him my views on it once to-day;
and while he seemed to agree, I know it was only half-heartedly.
However, it will do no harm for you to go.—Amherst's return may
have set him wild. Lorraine at his worst is a crazy irresponsible—and
I'm rather inclined to look for the worst."
"Very good!" said Cameron. "Now about this miserable Porshinger
affair. We——"
"The Porshinger affair is easy," Pendleton interrupted. "Mrs.
Postlewaite has cleared that up beautifully—and Stephanie also."
"What!" exclaimed Cameron, "Mrs. Postlewaite?"
Pendleton nodded.
"Mrs. Postlewaite and Mrs. Porterfield were witnesses of Porshinger's
assault on Stephanie," he replied—and he told the story.
When it was finished, Cameron's face wore a most satisfied smile.
"It is the end of Porshinger!"—he laughed, "he is busted for good.
The case will never come to trial. Stephanie is completely vindicated
by Mrs. Postlewaite's story. She need never think of him again. She
has been a bit foolish in her conduct toward him, but that is only a
passing matter, and will be lost in the general satisfaction at his
complete discomfiture. What a fool he was—to risk his social life on
a single throw!"
"He didn't imagine he was risking it," Pendleton rejoined. "He
thought that she was dazzled by his money and quite ready to be
his. The fellow is simply drunk with his financial success. He thinks
anything is within his reach; that it is simply a matter of price, and
he has the price. As between him and Amherst there is mighty little
choice. Amherst is a seducer; Porshinger is a purchaser who trades
on the other's crime to procure a victim."
"The truth is, Lorraine would be justified in killing both," Cameron
declared.
"I think that I should start with Porshinger," said Pendleton—"to me
he is the more contemptible and the more criminal. To try to drag a
woman down after she has made a mistake, and is endeavoring to
make amends for the past! Such a man is a monster."
"You're right!" said Cameron, "right as gospel! And yet Lorraine may
not—because in Amherst's case he dallied too long, and in
Porshinger's, the law would view it as absolutely unjustifiable."
"Oh, surely!" Pendleton responded, "I know that you're not
recommending violence—just stating what, to my mind as well as to
yours, the circumstances warrant."
"I wanted to discuss Lorraine's case with you, but it isn't necessary
now," Cameron remarked. "Porshinger will be only too glad if it is
dropped. Lorraine can't object, for Stephanie is cleared of Dolittle's
nasty story."
"Our trouble, it seems, isn't any longer with Porshinger, but with
Amherst and Lorraine—either to keep them apart or to persuade the
latter to be sensible," Pendleton observed. "I confess that, if it were
not for Stephanie, I wouldn't meddle in the affair. They might go
their own gait. I'm disgusted with Lorraine."
"I don't blame you," the other nodded. "But, you see, Lorraine is a
client of mine and I've always been fond of him, though naturally I
don't approve of his course with Stephanie."
"You can go to him this evening—I shall refrain," Pendleton decided.
"If you need me for anything, I'll be at the Mourrailles'. For heaven's
sake! don't tell him—he may veer around and get notions as to me.
—Let us have dinner. Shall I order, or do you want anything in
particular?"
"Only a pint of Sparkling Burgundy—anything will do for the rest,"
Cameron answered. Then he raised his hand for the captain of the
waiters. "Will you please have Mr. Lorraine telephoned at his
apartments that I'll be in to see him on an important matter at eight
o'clock this evening."
XXII
THE SILVER CANDLESTICK
Stephanie dressed with more than usual care that evening. It was
the first time in two years that she had really wanted to dress for
anyone—to look her best as a woman.
The gown she chose—after much deliberation—was black,
unrelieved by any color and made severely plain; against it the dead
white of her arms and shoulders shone like ivory. She stood a
moment looking in her mirror; then she took from her jewel-case a
sapphire necklace—smiled at it in recollection—and clasped it about
her slender throat. They were the only jewels she wore—even her
rings were laid aside. She wondered if he would notice the sapphires
—and the absence of all other ornaments. It had been his wedding
gift, and he might have forgotten—yet she would wear it on the
chance that he would remark it and remember. She might not permit
him any liberties, but she would grant him the privilege of
inferences.
She laughed softly to herself—and ran her fingers caressingly over
the jewels. His wedding gift! The only one, of all the hundreds, that
she cared for now—the only one that did not suggest to her the
memories of the past—of her mistake in choosing—of her broken
vows—her hideous experience. But his sapphires brought only the
joy of living—the hope that some day, by some means, her freedom
would be won and she would be permitted to yield herself and all
she had to him. For she realized now—as she had long known,
indeed—that he was the only man she cared for—the only man who
cared for her and had cared through all the horrible past.
She took one last look in the mirror—at the tall, slender figure in the
clinging black gown; the lovely neck and arms and shoulders; the
flawless face with its proud, cold beauty, that to-night was warm
with tenderness; the glorious hair piled high on the aristocratic head
like a gleaming crown of gold—and then went slowly down the
stairway, as joyous as though she were to be married to Pendleton
that very night.
All through dinner—which she had alone, Mrs. Mourraille being
absent—she thought of Montague. Not hopelessly as heretofore, but
with a satisfied anticipation of present property. She did not attempt
to analyze it—indeed, she was quite aware it did not admit of
analysis; it was the intuitive knowledge that comes at rare intervals
to women—never to men.
Near the end of the meal, the desk 'phone in the living-room rang.
The butler answered it. In a moment he returned.
"Mr. Pendleton wants to know, madam, if you will be at home at a
quarter to nine this evening?" he said.
"Say to Mr. Pendleton that I shall be here and very glad to see him!"
Stephanie replied.
The man went to deliver the message.
"Montague is impatient," she reflected, "though, as I never before
knew him to be impatient, he must have a very good reason for
coming a quarter of an hour earlier.... Yet why did he telephone at
all—why didn't he just come?—Tompkins, was that all Mr. Pendleton
said?"
"Yes, madam!" Tompkins answered, "but, if you please, it wasn't Mr.
Pendleton himself; leastwise, I didn't recognize his voice."
She nodded in answer and finished her ice.
"I'll have coffee on the piazza," she said, and arose.
As she did so, the ship's clock in the hallway chimed one bell.
"Half after eight!" she thought. "Fifteen minutes more until I see
him. I'm as nervously anticipatory as a débutante about to receive
her first proposal. What is the matter with me! I'm actually
becoming afraid to meet him—to meet an old friend—the best friend
a woman ever had!"
She laughed to herself, and sat down where, from the electric light
at the corner, she could see his car draw up at the curb.
Tompkins brought her coffee, served it, and was dismissed. She
drank two cups eagerly—to steady her nerves—then poured a third,
and sipped it slowly.... Presently the butler came out to deliver a
telephone message from Miss Chamberlain; when she turned again,
she was just in time to catch sight of a man coming up the walk and
almost at the steps.
She sprang up and glided quickly into the house. She wanted to
meet Pendleton in the brightness of the living-room rather than in
the subdued light of the piazza. She wanted him to have the benefit
of the first impression. She was quite aware of her exquisite
loveliness—more alluring to-night than ever before. And of the
sapphires—his sapphires alone adorning her. She flung herself in an
easy chair, crossed her silken knees with fetching abandon and
caught up a magazine.
There was no ring at the bell, however—and she waited, impatiently.
He should have rung—should be in the hall-way now—and yet
Tompkins was not even come front! It was very strange!—Possibly
he had gone around to the piazza, thinking that she might be there.
She half turned—one hand on the chair arm, the other on her knee
—and glanced toward the piazza door.
There came a step—and a smile of happiest greeting sprang to her
face—to be chilled the next instant into frigidity.
"You!" she exclaimed indignantly.—"You!"
Garrett Amherst bowed low.
He was a trifle over the medium height and slender, with black hair
just turning gray, and a face that women would call handsome, but
that men would call effeminate because too flawless. The eyes had a
peculiarly cynical expression about the corners, and the clean-
shaven lips, while firm set and classic, were full and red.
"Yes, I!" he answered, and the voice was wondrously low and
musical. "I am fortunate indeed to find you alone, Stephanie."
"I cannot say as much, Mr. Amherst!" she scorned.
He laughed lightly. "Time was when you were more than glad when
I found you alone."
She glided swiftly toward the bell—but he was before her and
blocked the way.
"Don't!" he said gently. "Consider—and don't. You may call—yes, you
may even ring for the servants—and what, think you, will be the
inference with me—me alone with you here—by appointment?"
"My servants never infer what it is impossible for them to believe!"
she spurned. "They know I left you in disgust with myself and
loathing for you—you unspeakable poltroon."
He put out his hand as though to stay her.
"You misunderstand, Stephanie dear," he said softly. "I've not come
to reproach you, nor to find fault, nor to cast up the few unpleasant
things in an exquisite past. I've come——" he took a step toward her
—"I've come, dearest, to beseech you to forgive—to come back to
me—to let me make amends." He held out his arms. "You're the only
woman in the world for me—I know it now—I knew it as soon as
you had left me. I've come clear from India to tell you—to take you
away with me. Won't you come, dearest, won't you come?"
"You would dare!" she exclaimed tensely. "You would——"
"I would dare the gates of hell for you, sweetheart!—to hold you
once again in my arms, to pillow your dear head upon my shoulder,
to bury my face in your ruddy tresses, to have you——"
"What folly—what silly folly!" she interrupted. "I am no longer your
paramour, thank God! I am trying to be an honest woman—to regain
the place I lost by reason of your seductions and false tongue. Do
you think I would forfeit it again even though I loved you to
distraction?"
"You do love me, Stephanie—you——"
"I loathe you!—your honeyed words and pretty beauty that once led
me astray are now simply reminders of your abominations, and the
proofs of your depravity.—I ask you to leave the house at once, Mr.
Amherst."
"You mean it?" he whispered. "You actually mean it?"
"I do mean it," she replied. "It may be difficult for such as you to
comprehend—but I mean it. Now go."
He looked her in the eyes a moment, then he humbly bowed his
head.
"I will go," he said contritely. "I will go——"
Suddenly he leaped forward—and his arms closed around her,
pinioning her hands to her sides.
"But I will kiss you another time before I go—and maybe I shall——"
She fought him silently—unwilling even for the servants to see her in
this man's embrace. She evaded his every attempt at her lips—she
struggled—she buried her hair in his face—she felt his breath on her
neck—she was carried slowly across the room—her hair burst free
and fell in waves around her, enveloping her face and shielding it
somewhat from his attempts.
"You siren!" he panted. "You siren!"
"You devil!" she gasped. "You worse than devil!—Loose me! I tell
you—loose me!"
"I'll loose you," he breathed,—"I'll loose you—when I've had—my
——"
He raised her in his arms and bore her toward a couch—crushing her
to him in a mad ecstasy that left her well-nigh senseless.
She felt herself strike the couch—felt herself flung upon it—tried to
cry out and could not! With a final desperate effort that exhausted
her last atom of strength, she strove to thrust him from her.
But he only laughed—and shifted his hold.
"Not yet, sweetheart!" he panted.—"Not yet——"
She closed her eyes in helplessness and sickening fear. It was
useless—she could not——
Then she felt Amherst's grip on her torn loose. She opened her eyes
—to see him and Harry Lorraine grappled in furious fight.
She struggled up—and watched—fascinated and silent; forgetting
either to summon help or to flee.
Round the room the men reeled, locked in each other's arms—
staggering against chairs and tables—hurling them aside—
overturning them—crushing the bric-a-brac under foot. They were
down and up, and down and up—they rolled over and over, fighting
without method—Lorraine striking wildly in the fury of insane rage,
which gave him strength but deprived him of the power of thought.
Amherst—taken unaware and weakened by his unhallowed passion,
but with a trifle more deliberation in his manner, prevented the other
from doing him serious harm.... Both had been cut by the broken
ornaments or by corners of the furniture. Neither man spoke.
Lorraine's face was set in the fury of hate—Amherst's in the fury of
desperation. Lorraine was venting the pent up wrongs of months of
brooding—Amherst was fighting for his life! he had no doubt of the
other's intent to kill. He was trying to get away—to break his
assailant's hold.... But through it all Lorraine managed some way,
somehow, to keep his hold—and slowly to work his hands toward
Amherst's throat—one of them was already there. Amherst made a
frantic effort to unloose it. They staggered down the room—swept a
cabinet bare of antiques—swayed a moment back and forth—then
went down, Amherst underneath.
As they writhed on the floor amid the fallen débris, Lorraine's hand
touched a heavy, silver candlestick.—He seized it by the stem—there
was a flash—and with all the strength of his insane fury, he brought
it down on his enemy's head.
Amherst's arms relaxed—his eyes closed and the blood gushed forth.
Again the candlestick rose, and fell; this time squarely on the temple
—and with crunch of metal on bone, the fresh spurt of blood,
Amherst's body crumpled into an inert mass.
Once more Lorraine's arm went up——
"Don't hit him again!" said Pendleton quietly—yet sharp as the crack
of a whip. "You are striking a dead man, Lorraine."
The candlestick slipped from Lorraine's fingers and he staggered up
—the frenzied look on his face slowly faded into one of unrelenting
comprehension.
"Yes!" said he, glancing down unmoved at Amherst's body. "He is
dead—damn him! I'm glad I killed him! The beast!—— Thank God! I
came in time, dear," he exclaimed, turning to Stephanie.
But Stephanie had fainted.
Lorraine sprang toward her—to be brought up by Pendleton's quick
command:
"Let her alone for a moment—she has only fainted—and tell me how
this happened."
Lorraine, suddenly weak, collapsed on a chair.
"Never mind—I'll get some brandy——"
"No—I'm all right," Lorraine said huskily.—"It is well for you to hear
before she wakes.—I was restless after dinner. I didn't wait for
Cameron; I went for a walk, leaving word for him to remain until I
returned. I don't know how long I walked, but presently I was aware
that I was before Stephanie's home.—The lights were burning—the
shades were drawn. I went in on the piazza, with no purpose,
nothing but a desire to see her—you understand? As I passed this
window, I noticed the door to the enclosed piazza was ajar.—I
pushed it open and entered. I heard a queer sound in this room, like
persons in a struggle. I dashed across—and saw—saw Stephanie
flung upon that couch, and Amherst bending over her. For an instant
I was paralyzed! I saw Stephanie try to force him back; heard him
laugh in triumph and say something. Then action came to me and I
hurled myself upon him. We fought all over the room—you can see
how we fought—he to get loose, I to get a grip on his throat and
choke the life out of him. I must have had the strength of a demon,
for Amherst, I think, is the stronger man. How often we fell, I do not
know—sometimes he was under, sometimes I was. And all the while,
'Kill him! Kill him!' was ringing in my ears.... We went down again, I
on top.—My hand touched the candlestick—I grasped it and struck.—
I would be striking him yet if you had not stopped me." He got up
slowly, his face unnaturally flushed.—"I'll go to the police station and
give myself up. Let the carrion lie where he is until the officers
come. You look to Stephanie—it's better——"
He staggered, put his hands to his head, swayed a moment, then
pitched forward to the floor, and lay quiet.
"Good God!" cried Pendleton.
Springing to Lorraine's side, he tore open his waistcoat and placed a
hand over his heart—no beat responded. He listened!—It was silent.
Lorraine was dead.
He looked at Stephanie—she was still insensible. What should he do?
Two dead men, an unconscious woman, and himself! What was best
for her?
An instant he thought.—Then he strode across, and was gathering
her in his arms to bear her from the room when she opened her
eyes.
She gave a gasp—saw who held her—the startled look vanished—
and she smiled.
"Montague!" she said weakly. "Montague! How did you get here—
how——"
She caught sight of the two forms on the floor—stared—then
shuddered in sudden remembrance.
"Dead!—Both dead!" she whispered. "Let me down, dear—I'm not
——"
"You must come away," he said, putting her down but keeping his
arm around her. "This is no place for you, sweetheart."
She suffered his arm to remain, and stood looking at Lorraine—
Amherst she had recoiled from in horror!
"They killed each other?" she questioned faintly.
"No—Lorraine killed Amherst—and then was stricken either by
apoplexy or a heart attack—the victim of his own frenzied emotions."
"I see!" she whispered.—"I see!"
"Come outside, dear—you need air, and I must summon a physician
and the police."
"Can't we do—anything for Harry?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"At least, we can put him on the couch."
"It is wiser not."
"Must we let him lie on the floor?"
"Since he is dead, it is best not to disturb anything until the police
come," he replied—and slowly led her from the room.
As he did so, steps crossed the piazza and the entrance bell rang.
"They must not enter, Montague!" Stephanie exclaimed—"they must
not enter!"—She sank on a chair.—"Go—tell Tompkins I am not at
home to anyone!"
He met the butler at the rear of the hall.
"Mrs. Lorraine is not at home—whoever it is must be sent away," he
directed.
"Yes, Mr. Pendleton!" the man bowed.
Passing the doorway to the living-room, Tompkins glanced in—and
straightway his immobility of countenance vanished. He stopped,
staring—terror and amazement blended on his face.
"The door, sir, the door!" said Pendleton sharply.
"Yes, sir—yes, sir!" the butler answered—and sprang to obey.
"Is Mr. Pendleton here?" came Cameron's voice.
"No, sir; Mr.——" Tompkins began—when Pendleton cut him short.
"Come in, Cameron," said he, "you're just the man I want."
"Lorraine didn't keep his appointment with me," explained Cameron,
as he entered. "And——"
"Lorraine is here!" Pendleton answered, drawing the other over to
the living-room door.
"Good God!" was Cameron's amazed cry.—"Lorraine! and who is the
other?—Amherst! Amherst! Dead!—what does it mean?"
"They both are dead," said Pendleton. "Lorraine killed Amherst with
yonder candlestick—and then, a moment after, was stricken by
apoplexy or a heart attack."
"You were here?" Cameron marvelled.
"I came in just as Amherst received the fatal blow.—Lorraine was
explaining how it all happened when he himself was seized and died
instantly."
"And Stephanie?"
Pendleton turned sharply to the butler, who was standing open-
mouthed behind them, and said:—
"Tompkins, call up Dr. Hubbard at once and ask him to come over
immediately."
He waited until the man had gone and the door was closed behind
him—then he lowered his voice.
"Stephanie was here through it all—she had fainted on the couch."
"Where is she now?"
"In the piazza-room!"
"How much does she know?"
"Everything."
"Who else knows it?"
"No one."
"Not even Tompkins?"
"Not even Tompkins. He and the other servants were at dinner—
their dining-room is in the rear downstairs."
"You are positive? They," with an expressive gesture toward the
floor, "must have made considerable noise."
"If you had seen Tompkins' face when he came to answer your ring,
you would not doubt," Pendleton replied.
"Then why bring Stephanie into the affair? Let her know nothing—let
her be upstairs—anywhere—so long as she isn't on this floor.—How
did you enter?" he asked suddenly.
"Through the piazza-room."
"Are you prepared to take the risk of being—implicated—to relieve
Stephanie?" Cameron asked.
"I understand," Pendleton answered. "I am willing to take the risk."
"And Stephanie can—if the extremity arise," Cameron went on, "tell
the facts and relieve you. We may have to confide in the front office,
but I think even that will not be necessary. Fix up the story with her
while I notify the police. I'll use the upstairs telephone."
"What do you want me to tell?" asked Stephanie, entering the hall
from the dining-room door.
She had regained her composure—and save for a slight flush on her
cheeks she appeared as calm and self-contained as ever.
"We want to save you the painful experience of having to relate
what happened—there," Pendleton replied, with a slight motion
toward the living-room. "You can say that you were upstairs asleep—
lying down after dinner—that you heard nothing of the fight until
something aroused you and you descended to find Cameron and me
here, and the——"
"How will you account for your presence?" she interrupted.
"By the truth—that I came to call, entered the house by the piazza
and the living-room just as Lorraine delivered the fatal blow,
Lorraine's explanation of the deed, and his own sudden death."
Slowly she shook her head.
"Do you think the police will believe it?" she asked.
"Certainly—why should they doubt it?" he answered.
"Do you think the public will believe it?"
"Of course!—And what have the public to do with it anyway?"
"They might ask, both the police and the public—and the police will
have to ask if the public demands to know—what you had to do with
the killing? Your friendship to me in the past; your—devotion in the
present; my—love, they will say, for you; the coincidence of
Lorraine's and Amherst's visits, coupled with your own, and that you
survive while they died—all, all will make most startling inferences,
don't you think, Montague?"
"Not in the least, dear!" he smiled, though he knew she spoke the
truth—at least so far as the public was concerned. To it there would
always be something unexplained about the tragedy; something that
either he or Stephanie could have made plain—and would not. "My
reputation and standing in the community, and the reputation of my
family before me, is sufficient answer to such inferences," he added.
Again she shook her head.
"No man's reputation should be taxed—where murder has been
done and self-interest can be imputed—when the truth can be told
by an eye-witness," she decided. "I shall have to speak eventually,
so it is much the wiser to speak at once—to delay will only breed
doubt of my tale. I shall tell the story, dear."
"No—you shall——"
"Yes, dear; I shall tell the story."
It was final. Even Pendleton realized it.
"Am I worth it, little woman?" he asked.
"It is I who am not worthy," she replied—"I never have been worthy
of your—love."
He held out his arms.
"Sweetheart!" he cried.
She went to him, with an adorable smile and a sigh of supreme
content.
"If you wish it, dearest," she whispered, "if you wish it—after a little
time."
Finis
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