DETECTIVE STORY MAGAZINE

TWICE A MONTH

Vol. VI [□] Contents for January 5, 1917 [□] No. 1

TWO NOVELETTES

The White Cell Gregory Hay . . . . 19

Li Shoon's Nine Lives . . . H. Irving Hancock 38

TWO SERIALS

His Hand and Seal .... Carolyn Wells .... 1
A Battle for Right .... Douglas Grey .... 98

FIVE SHORT STORIES

Sinking Sands ..... Wilder Anthony .... 32

The Mysterious Highwayman . Sergeant Ryan .... 77

The Return of Red Raven . . Scott Campbell 87
III. — The Absconder.

The Letter in the Mail . . Alfred Plowman .115

The "Snitch" . . . . . Mert E. Smith .... 126

MISCELLANEOUS

Why Radium Is So Valuable . . 18 Jailed After Two Months' Hunt . 86

Famous Scotland Yard Detective Chief Man Who Could Not Remember Crime

Dies 31 Probated 97

Japs Wary of "Death'* Phone Numbers 76 Steals Hair of Sleeping Girl .114

Back in the Toils 76 Under the Lamp 125

Police Course at Harvard . . .86 Suspects Carry Loot .... 128

Headquarters Chat .... The Editor 125

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SINGLE COPIES, lO CENTS

Vol. 6.

JANUARY 5, 1917.

No. 1.

Carolyn Wt

mtdCeal

/ells U

CHAPTER I.

ISABEL CURWOOD.

I

DO think suitors are the worst nui-
sance ever!" declared Grace Cur-
wood, tossing one letter on the
floor as she opened another.
" 'Tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love that
makes the world go round," chanted
Isabel. "Who's your troublesome
adorer?"

"Oh, my adorers aren't troublesome.
It's the one who won't adore who trou-
bles me."

"Oho! The Russian count. Won't
he bow at your pretty feet?"

"No, he bows at yours, and you
i A DS

know it. Oh, Isabel, do let me have
him!"

"Have him ! Indeed, you may. I
don't want him. I'll trade him for your
new spangled scarf."

"But he won't be traded. He wor-
ships the ground you walk on."

Isabel, in front of her toilet mirror,
was tilting a new hat to the exact angle
of reflection, and she pulled out a long
hatpin and pushed it in again, without
speaking.

"I can't see why you dislike him so,"
went on Grace, continuing to skim
through her letters. "Oh, I say, here's
an invitation for the Fords' week-end.
He's sure to be there. There's the

2

Detective Story Magazine

telephone ! Of course it's more of those
bothering suitors. Let me answer it,
Isabel ; it may be the count. Good
morning. Yes, yes. Oh, it's you, Ed?
Yes, Isabel is here. Hold the wire.
It's Ed Stuart," she said, handing the
receiver to her sister. "Such a come-
down, after I hoped it was the count !"

"Worth a hundred counts," said Isa-
bel gayly, as she came over to the tele-
phone.

The Ponsonby, where the Curwood
girls and their mother lived, was one
of New York's newest apartment
houses. It was, therefore, overornate
as to architecture and decoration, but
it was comfortable and luxurious, and
so proved satisfactory to the pleasure-
seeking class that tenanted it.

Though the Curwoods were out of
town at such seasons as fashion de-
creed, just now, in mid-December, they
were at home, for matters of impor-
tance required their presence in the
city. And, too, Mrs. Curwood, a ma-'
tron of fashionable inclinations, was
partial to New York's winter gayeties.

Mrs. Curwood's philosophy, so far
as she had any, was an unbounded will-
ingness to let everybody have his or
her-'own way, and as a result she and
her two daughters did exactly as they
chose in every respect. But, though in-
dividual and self-reliant, the Curwood
girls were not unconventional, and as
they were both pretty and charming,
they were acknowledged social favor-
ites.

Isabel, perhaps because she was the
elder, was inclined to be dictatorial, and
Grace, who adored her sister, amiably
submitted to her dictates. Indeed, the
Russian count, who had recently in-
vaded their social set, was the cause of
Grace's first disagreement with her
sister's opinion.

"Why don't you like him, Isabel?"
she resumed, as her sister turned away
from the telephone, and returned to her

absorbing occupation of discovering the
exact frontage of the plumed hat.

"Of course I don't dislike him," she
said. "You can't dislike anybody that
you never liked, to begin with."

"Don't say clever things ; it doesn't
suit you — especially in that frivolous
hat. If he saw you in that, he'd pro-
pose at once."

"Oh, I don't know," said Isabel care-
lessly, turning well round in her chair,
as she moved a large hand mirror to
and fro before her eyes to get the re-
flected view of the back of her hat.
"Sometimes, Grace, I think, it's you
the count admires, and not me."

"Oh, Isabel, do you really? I wish
I thought so ! But you're so much
handsomer and more attractive than I
am."

"There, there, Gracie ; don't angle for
compliments from me. You get enough
from the men."

"Yes, I do; but not from him. Oh,
Isabel, isn't he grand !"

"He doesn't interest me at all. I've
no use for a Russian count. And I'm
not sure he is a count, though there's
no doubt he's a Russian."

"Of course he's a count, Isabel," said
Mrs. Curwood, coming into the room.
"That is, if you're speaking of Kovroff,
as I suppose you are. How absurd of
you to say such things ! No one doubts
Count KovrofT's title or wealth or
charm."

"All right, mother," said Isabel gayly.
"I grant him all those attractions you
mention, and as many more as you like ;
but all the same, he doesn't appeal to
me.

"No," returned Mrs. Curwood, with
a reproving glance at her elder daugh-
ter; "you care only for Ed Stuart, a
nonentity and a ne'er-do-well. I hate
to see you throw yourself away on
young Stuart. You know as well as
I do that he has no money."

"But I have enough for both,
mother, so why consider that question ?"

His Hand and Seal

3

"But your fortune won't last long,
once Ed Stuart gets hold of it. You
know his proclivities."

"I know what you mean, mother, but
it's merely rumor, and you have no.
right even to mention it."

"I haven't mentioned it," returned
Mrs. Curwood, noting Isabel's indig-
nant expression.

"Pooh, it's an open secret," declared
Grace. "I'll mention it, myself. Ed
Stuart gambles, and everybody knows
it. Why, all he wants is your money."

"Well, he can have it," returned Isa-
bel good-naturedly ; "but first I must
get it myself. Mother, Guardy
Weatherby says he has settled my af-
fairs, and is going to pay me my
money."

"Oh, I suppose that's all right, child,
but why aren't you content to let it go
on as it is, until you're married?"

"Not I. I'm an independent young
woman, and I'm twenty-one years of
age, so Mr. Weatherby's guardianship
is legally at an end, and I am glad of it."

"Perfectly ridiculous for your Uncle
Albert to leave your fortune in Mr.
Weatherby's care, anyway," said her
mother. "He should have made me
your guardian, and fiot to do so was
rude and discourteous."

"Oh, he didn't mean it that way,
mother; but Mr. Weatherby, as a busi-
ness man, is much more capable of tak-
ing care of my money and looking after
it for me. Why, he told me some years
ago that he had invested it so well that
he had nearly doubled it. You couldn't
have done that."

"No, I couldn't. You'll be a rich
girl, Isabel, and that's why I hate to

"Oh, I know what you hate to see,
mother; you needn't tell me. You'll
hate to see me walk up the church aisle
with Mr. Weatherby, and back again
with Mr. Edwin Stuart. But you're
going to see it, all the same, so you
may as well make the best of it."

"Mr. Weatherby doesn't approve of
it an}' more than I do," said Mrs. Cur-
wood, though knowing that the guard-
ian's opinion would have little weight
with her willful daughter.

"I know it, mother, but that only
proves Guardy's poor taste and judg-
ment. He doesn't know Ed very well,
and doesn't appreciate him. Oh, well,
what's the use of being a free and in-
dependent American citizen, if you can't
marry whom you like? I'll guarantee
that after we are married, and Ed is
one of the family, you and Grace will
love him as a son and a brother; just
as I am also positive you never could
make a satisfactory son and brother of
any Russian impostor."

"Count Kovroff is no impostor," said
Grace quietly, "and you know it, Isabel.
For some reason, you're prejudiced
against him, and I know the reason,
too. It's because he knows something
about Ed Stuart that you wish he didn't
know."

"Grace, you're horrid!" exclaimed
Isabel, turning an angry face toward
her sister. "I forbid you to say any-
thing more against the man I'm going
to marry ; and as to that old fake count,
I believe you're in love with him, your-
self."

"I am not!" declared Grace, though
the color rising to her cheeks contra-
dicted her words.

"You are so ! Your blushes prove
it. You're as red as red !"

"There, there, girls, don't quarrel,"
said Mrs. Curwood languidly ; "it's such
bad form, and it isn't a bit becoming."

"And it doesn't do a bit of good,"
supplemented Isabel, as having ad-
justed her hat to her satisfaction, she
picked up her street coat. "Hold this
coat for me, won't you, Gracie? And
don't quarrel any more; and when
Guardy gives me my own check book,
I'll buy you the prettiest necklace you
can pick out on Fifth Avenue."

"Where are you going now, Isabel?

4

Detective Story Magazine

I thought you were going out to
luncheon with Ed."
"I am; why?"

"I don't think this coat is dressy
enough. Why don't you put on some-
thing better?"

"Oh, this is all right; a plain black
tailor-made is always correct. And I'm
going to wear my gray feather boa —
it's so becoming."

"That old thing? It is becoming, but
you've worn it so much I'm tired of
it."

"I like it. And I'm going to get a
lot of new things soon, so I'll only wear
it a few times more. What are you
doing this afternoon, mother?"

"I'm going to a bridge party, and
afterward to Mrs. Malcolm's tea.
Grace will meet me there, and you'll
come, too, won't you, Isabel?"

"Yes, I think so. I'm going to
luncheon with Ed, and then, after that,
I'm going to Madame Laurestine's to
try on some gowns. I shall spend some
time there, but I'll go on to Mrs. Mal-
colm's and meet you both. Say about
six?"

"Yes, or a bit earlier. Good-by,
dearie. Where are you lunching?"

"At Sherry's ; and then Ed will take
me to Madame Laurestine's."

Isabel looked very beautiful as she
bade them a smiling good-by and went
away. Going down in the elevator, she
gave a few admiring touches to her hat,
and noted with satisfaction the mirrored
reflection. She was of a large and
handsome type, and though quite aware
of her own good looks, she was not
vain or conceited. She dressed in
rather better taste than her mother or
sister, and to-day, in her quiet black
cloth costume, large black hat, and light
gray feather boa, she looked correct
and inconspicuous. She took a taxicab
down to the restaurant, and as it came
to a standstill at the marquise, Edwin
Stuart stood at the curb awaiting her.

"It's a great thing, Isabel," he said,

after they were seated at the table he
had selected, "for a woman to wear
her clothes as well as you- do. You
look perfectly well dressed in the plain-
est sort of a rig, and lots of girls don't.
One reason is, you've a good idea of
color."

"Black isn't a color," returned Isabel,
smiling.

"It is for costume purposes. And
that gray boa suits you awfully well.
But I regret to say you'll have to dis-
card it soon."

"Why? It isn't old-fashioned."

"No, but it has seen its best days.
See, it sheds little bits of gray feather
all over your coat. And mine, too,"
he added, as he picked a couple of
wisps of ostrich feather from his sleeve.

"I won't wear it again," said the girl,
smiling. "Grace told me it was passe,
but I'm fond of the thing. It's so soft
and fluffy. Ed, do you know, they're
still throwing that count at my head."

"Are they, dear? Well, so long as
he doesn't reach your heart, it doesn't
matter much. But I won't have you
bothered, Isabel. I'll tell you what:
let's go and get married this very after-
noon."

"Don't be ridiculous ! I don't want to
do anything so foolish."

"I'm not ridiculous, and it isn't fool-
ish. You do want to marry me, don't
you?"

"Yes ; but I want a wedding and a
white veil and an enormous bouquet
and yards of satin train that I can
scarcely drag after me. But I want to
drag it up the aisle to 'Mendelssohn'
and back to 'Lohengrin.' Oh, no, I
don't want any impromptu, justice-of-
the-peace performance — and I don't be-
lieve you do, either. Why did you say
that, Ed?"

"Oh, only because I thought it would
save you further molestations from that
very objectionable count." But the
young man's manner and expression
were not entirely ingenuous. He did

His Hand and Seal

5

not meet his fiancee's direct gaze, but
shifted his glance uneasily about the
room.

"Oh, he doesn't molest me," Isabel
declared. "It's really mother and Grace
who do the molesting."

"Well, marry me, and even they
shan't molest you any more. Isabel,
can't you fix up your white satin and
your Lohengrin soon? I don't want to
wait long, darling."

The girl looked at him. The words
were exactly those of a fond lover to
his promised bride, and yet she missed
something from the tone that she felt
sure ought to have been there. And
again, there was his wandering glance.
Surely an eager bridegroom would look
straight into the eyes of the girl he
loved, with a look that would say even
more than his words.

But she responded lightly: "Non-
sense, boy, we can't be married before
spring, of course. I had thought of
June, but if you're so insistent, I'll think
about April. ' Not May — that's un-
lucky."

"Oh, Isabel, do make it sooner than
April! That's ages away!"

"Indeed, I won't, and I think more
likely it will be June. What has made
you so impatient all at once? And I've
a lot to do before I think about getting
married. I have to take over my for-
tune from Guardy Weatherby, and I
have to learn to be a business woman,
and keep a bank account, and manage
my stocks and bonds, and invest my
surplus income. I'm not going to man-
age my affairs that silly, womanish way
everybody makes game of. I'm going
to learn real business ways, and I shall
take care of my estate as well as any
man could. Mr. Weatherby will teach
me. I've already asked him to, and
he has promised."

"I should think, Isabel, that a mar-
ried woman would expect her husband
to manage her financial affairs."

"That's just where you make a mis-

take, Edwin mine ! That sort of thing
was_ in vogue, I believe, some years ago.
But the woman of to-day, if she has
any money, looks after it herself. So
let's consider that settled before we go
any farther."

"But I don't like the way you've
settled it. I really think, dear, that
you're acting in too independent a
manner."

"I am independent, Ed, and you
know it. You have always known it.
And I'm glad we understand each other.
I'm of age now, and Guardy is going
to give over my estate to me at once.
He is going to teach me to take care
of it, and as I expect to learn rapidly,
that won't take long, and then, after
that, I'll promise you that I will begin
at once to make preparations for our
wedding."

"It doesn't become me, Isabel, to ob-
ject to your plans, but you know how
I detest strong-minded women. I hope
you will at least turn to me' for ad-
vice and assistance when you need it."

"When I need it, Ed, I will."

A short silence followed, which be-
gan to be a trifle embarrassing, and
then Isabel spoke lightly of other sub-
jects, and the question of her financial
affairs was not again referred to.

When they left the restaurant, Stuart
said : "Which way are you going? Shall
we walk for a few blocks?"

"Yes ; I'm going up Fifth Avenue
to Madame Laurestine's, and I'll ask
her what she thinks of an April wed-
ding. Really, she's the most important
personage to be considered in the mat-
ter."

"How absurd you are! Why do
brides think they want such a lot of
toggery?"

"And why do bridegrooms always
voice that very sentiment, no matter
how they express it?"

Stuart laughed. He was a handsome
young fellow, a fair type of New York's
society man. Courteous, • well-man-

6

Detective Story Magazine

nered, and alert, but with an easy-going
effect which was in strong contrast to
Isabel's decision of character.

"Well, of course you want me to be
a conventional bridegroom ; otherwise
you'd marry that erratic and uncertain
count. So come along, my lady, and
I'll take you up to your modiste's, and
then I'm going to the club. But, I say,
Isabel, I'm shy for the moment; could
you let me have a little money for a
few days?"

"Why, of course, Ned, with pleasure.
How much do you want?"

"About five hundred dollars, girlie,
if you have it by you."

Isabel's curved red lips set themselves
in a straight line. "Ned," she said, in
a firm voice, "are you going to gamble
with it?"

Stuart looked at her disapprovingly,
as if to rebuke her bad taste.

"Isabel, you shouldn't say things like
that. In the first place, 'gamble' is not
a word to be used among people of
our set ; and, too, a young girl like you
shouldn't mention such a thing."

Isabel looked him straight in the eyes.
"If I'm going to marry you," she said
slowly, "there is no subject that I may
not mention to you. Especially one so
closely connected with your own repu-
tation."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. I am told there
are rumors of your gambling, and when
you ask me for money, I'm naturally
interested to know if it is for that pur-
pose."

"Your interest seems to me more like
curiosity. No, I take that back. Don't
let us quarrel. Of course the money
isn't for any such purpose, so let me
have it, dearie, won't you ?"

"I haven't that much with me, Ned,
and I don't want to give you such a
large sum, anyway. But I have to go
to the bank to cash a check, and, if you
like, we'll go there first, and I'll give
you a hundred. Won't that do, Ned?"

"No, that won't do, little one; I hope
you can make it a trifle more than that
Let's take a taxicab to the bank."

"Very well," said Isabel.

CHAPTER II.

THE DARK HOUR.

IT was almost half past six that same
evening when Mrs. Curwood and
Grace returned to their apartment in
the Ponsonby.

"There was a telephone message,
ma'am," said a maid, appearing in the
doorway. "Mr. Stuart, ma'am, tele-
phoned that Miss Isabel would go with
him to tea."

"Very well, Jane. Did he say what
time she would be home?"

"No, ma'am, nothing about that."

"She'll be in soon," said Grace. "I
think she was rather clever to go to
tea with Ed, instead of that place we
went to. Now run .along to your room,
motherie, and get a little rest, so you'll
look your best this evening. It'll be
rather a gorgeous dinner, you know."

It was nearly a half hour later when
Grace Curwood, who was lounging on
a couch in her own boudoir, glanced
at her clock and concluded it was time
she began to dress. She pushed the
button of an electric bell, and in a few
minutes her maid appeared.

"I'll wear that blue-and-silver ar-
rangement to-night," she began, sitting
up on the couch and untying the ribbons
of her pretty negligee gown.

But as she rose, she fell back again
to the couch with a startled exclama-
tion. For the room had gone suddenly
dark. There was not a glimmer of
light, and by sudden contrast it was the
very blackness of darkness.

"Good gracious, Marie, what has hap-
pened? Something wrong with the
electrics, of course. They'll flash on
again in a minute."

"Yes, Miss Grace," came Marie's
voice through the darkness ; "just stay

His Hand and Seal

7

still till they light up, or you may fall
over a chair and hurt yourself."

"Oh, I'll stay still," laughed Grace,
cuddling back among the pillows. "The
longer the lights stay out, the better
I'll like it, for it gives me a few mo-
ments' more rest. I wonder if mother
is frightened. Can't you grope your
way to her, Marie, and tell her to keep
still until the lights are right again?"

Marie went away obediently, and
Grace could hear her fumbling her way
to Mrs. Curwood's room.

But even after Marie had made her
way back again, the whole place was
still in total darkness.

"Your mother's all right, Miss
Grace," said the maid. "She has a lit-
tle lamp that she has lighted, and she's
going on with her toilet. She says,
haven't you a candle or something?"

"No, I've no candle and no electric
lamp. But if this darkness keeps up,
they'll send us some sort of lights from
the office, I'm sure. At any rate, I
can't go on dressing until I have a light
of some kind."

Grace made her way to the window
and looked out. The whole near-by
portion of the city was dark. "It's a
district," she said. "I think the electric
light is all portioned out in districts,
and if anything goes wrong, the whole
section is affected. But I never knew
this sort of thing to last so long be-
fore."

Marie went away on a search for
lights of some sort, and when she re-
turned, bringing candles, she said: "It's
a bad lookout, Miss Grace. The janitor
sent a boy up with these candles, and,
though I didn't get all the right of it,
it's a short circuit or something like
that, and the whole house is pitch dark.
And not only that, but the electric ele-
vators won't work. He says the light
and power are both cut off."

"Oh, well, Marie, we must make the
best of it. You can do my hair by
candlelight ; you're such a clever girl,

I'm sure you can. And then by the
time I have to get into that blue gown,
we shall probably have the lights again.
Let's hope so, anyway."

But by the time that Miss Curwood's
beautiful hair had been drawn into the
fashionable shape that was decreed that
winter, light had not yet been restored.
Grace had telephoned to the office, but
had received only a corroboration of
Marie's account. More candles had
been sent up, and the apartment was
now fairly well lighted, though out of
doors it was still dark.

Grace went to her mother's room.
"Shall we go to the dinner?" she said.
"We'll have to walk down eight flights
of stairs here, and up a lot more at
Mrs. Merwin's. The electric elevators
are out of commission, you know. Can-
dles will be all right on the dinner table,
but I hate to ride through the dark
streets, don't you?"

"I don't care anything about the din-
ner, Grace — whether we go or not; but
I'm worried about Isabel. Where do
you suppose she is?"

"Oh, she's all right. She's with Ed
Stuart, you know, and of course he'll
look after her. They probably went to
the Ritz for tea."

"Yes, but they would have left there
long ago. I hope they're not lost in
the darkness."

"Well, they'd be in a taxicab, and by
the lights on the cab the driver could
find his way here, of course."

"Yes, that's just what worries me.
They ought to have been here long ago.
It's almost eight o'clock. What can we
do? I wish you'd call Ed on the tele-
phone."

"What good would that do, for I
know I could not get him? He must
be with Isabel, wherever they are."

As they were talking, the electric
lights flashed on once more, and the
whole place was as light as usual.

"Thank goodness for that!" cried

8

Detective Story Magazine

Grace. "But it must have been a bad
accident to put out the lights so long.
Now we'll have to fly round to get to
the dinner in time, though, of course,
tardiness is excusable in a case like
this."

Mrs. Curwood and Grace returned
from the dinner at half past eleven, only
to learn that Isabel had not yet come
home.

"Has she telephoned?" asked Mrs.
Curwood of Jane, the parlor maid.

"No, ma'am; there has been no mes-
sage."

"It's the craziest thing I ever heard
of," declared Grace. "Isabel is wild
about Ed, but she ought to know better
than to stay out with him as late as
this. Do you suppose they are dining
somewhere ?"

"I don't know. They've no business
to be dining alone together, anyway;
and if it was brought about by that
electrical accident, they surely ought to
be home by this time. I'm very much
annoyed. I've always let Isabel do as
she chose, but she never before did
anything that I could criticize. I don't
know what to do about it."

"I don't see as you can do anything,
mother. We could telephone to Ed
again, but I know we wouldn't find him
at his home or his club, so what's the
use? You don't think they've eloped,
do you?"

"No, of course not. Isabel cares too
much for a showy wedding to do any-
thing like that."

"Well, perhaps they've gone to a the-
ater."

"That's the only plausible thing to
think of. But Isabel isn't dressed for
the theater, and, too, she would have
telephoned if they had done that. They
may have gone somewhere to call and
been persuaded to stay late."

"Well, we can't do anything, so we
may as well go to bed. Of course, Isa-
bel is all right, since she's with Ed, and

when she does come home she'll give
a satisfactory explanation, I know."

"Yes, of course she will. Jane will
have to sit up for her. I'm glad the
lights came up again. Somehow, I feel
sure it was because of that accident
that they stayed away to dinner."

"Well, don't bother about it ; go right
to bed, my pretty little mother, and to-
morrow morning I shall scold Isabel
roundly for the anxiety she has caused
you."

Not long after twelve o'clock the
Curwoods' apartment was dark, save
for its night lights, and both Grace and
her mother slept quietly, without dream-
ing of the missing Isabel. Jane, occu-
pying an easy-chair in the hall, waited
up for the late comer. But as the hours
went by and Jane's vigil was unbroken,
sleep overcame her, and at last her
head sank on her breast, and she, too,
slept.

CHAPTER III.

WHERE IS ISABEL?

IT was a little more than half past six
the next morning when Grace Cur-
wood was awakened by the murmur
of voices. Her drowsy eyes opened
slowly, and then stared at the unusual
spectacle of three women gathered at
her bedside.

They were Jane, Marie, a$d Ellen,
the cook, and all three white faces
looked scared and awe-strnck.

Marie spoke first. "Oh, Miss Grace,"
she said, "Miss Isabel hasn't come
home!"

Grace laughed. "Well, I don't sup-
pose the world will come to an end if
she hasn't. She must have spent the
night at some friend's house."

"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed
Marie, in great relief.

"Of course I think so. Where else
could she be? And did you wake me
up at this unearthly hour to tell me
this? Go away, all of you, and let me
finish my sleep."

His Hand and Seal.

9

It was a couple of hours later when
Mrs. Curwood wakened, and Marie,
bringing her morning tea, told her the
news. She didn't take it as calmly as
Grace had. Rising at once, she slipped
on a kimono and hurried to her daugh-
ter's room.

"Grace," she said, "where is Isabel?"

"Goodness, mother, I don't know. I
haven't hidden her."

"But she didn't come home."

"Then she must have stayed out.
Probably she stayed overnight at Ade-
laide Pierson's."

"Oh, Grace, if she had done that,
she would have telephoned us."

"I should think so; but perhaps the
telephones went out of order when the
lights went out last night."

"But we telephoned."

"Only in the house. Perhaps the dis-
trict was affected. I don't know what
a district is, but it's always affected if
anything goes wrong with the electric-
ity."

"Grace, do be serious. I'm sure
something dreadful has happened to Is-
abel."

"Well, nothing could happen except
that she has eloped with Ed Stuart.
And that isn't so very dreadful, for
she was bound to marry him, anyway."

Mrs. Curwood sighed. "I wish she
would give him up; he's undesirable in
every way. And I'm almost certain
Count Kovroff is interested In Isabel."

"Interested! I should say he was!
But she won't look at him ; shj; sees
nobody but Ed Stuart. Run "along,
mother, and get dressed. Isabel will
turn up, all right. Of course she hasn't
really eloped, and you'll hear from her
soon."

Mrs. Curwood went back to her
room, but Grace's prophecy was not ful-
filled. When ten o'clock came, and no
sign of the girl, even Grace began to
feel anxious.

"I think I'll telephone Ed Stuart,"

she said, "and he'll tell us where she
went last night, after he left her."

"Will he be at his office yet ?"

"I think so; if not, I'll call him up
at his rooms."

Grace succeeded in getting Stuart on
the telephone, but as she talked with
him, her face assumed a bewildered ex-
pression.

"I can't understand it," she said, go-
ing back to her mother. "Ed says he
left Isabel yesterday afternoon at Ma-
dame Laurestine's, and he hasn't seen
her since."

"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Curwood.

"Now, don't get excited, mother; it's
all right, I'm sure. Isabel spent most
of the afternoon trying on gowns, and
then she went to Adelaide's or some-
where, and stayed there all night. At
any rate, she hasn't eloped with Ed."

"But Grace, Mr. Stuart telephoned,
you know, that he was taking Isabel to
tea. Jane said so."

"Why, so she did! I had forgotten
that. Mother, there is something queer
about it all. I'm going to telephone Mr.
Stuart again."

After her second conversation with
the young man, Grace was more mys-
tified than ever.

"He says that he didn't take Isabel
to tea, and that he didn't telephone up
here at all. But he's coming up here
himself, right away. He seems to think
there's something wrong."

"Something wrong! I should say
there was. If he didn't telephone, who
did?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. I'll ask
Jane about it."

But Jane, when summoned and ques-
tioned, could only repeat the message
that had been given her.

"It was a gentleman's ^ voice, "Miss
Grace, and he said: 'Tell Mrs. Cur-
wood that Miss Isabel is going to tea
with me.' And I said: 'Who is this,
please?' And he said: 'Mr. Stuart.'
And then he shut off, quick like."

10

Detective Story Magazine

"Are you sure it was Mr. Stuart's
voice?" asked Grace.

"I'm not sure, Miss Grace. I couldn't
tell his voice over the telephone. But
that's what he said."

"Of course it wasn't Ed Stuart's
voice, if he says he didn't telephone
yesterday," said Mrs. Curwood. "It's
all very strange, Grace."

"It is, indeed, mother. Perhaps she
has eloped with Count Kovroff."

"If that's the case, I'll forgive her
gladly. But that isn't it. Grace, some
accident has happened to Isabel."

"Oh, pshaw, mother! Don't let's
think that until we have to. I'm sure
Isabel's all right, but I can't understand
that telephone message."

"I'm sure it was Ed Stuart that tele-
phoned, though. Who else could it be?
And this morning, for some reason, he
sees fit to deny it. He's a rogue, Grace,
and I wouldn't trust him as far as I
could see him."

"Well, you'll see him soon, mother,
and as we can't do anything in the
meantime, let's stop worrying about it."

Grace went away to her own pursuits,
but the mother's anxiety was not so
easily allayed. Mrs. Curwood was a
frivolous-minded matron, and often
thought more about her own gayeties
and entertainments than about her
daughters' welfare ; but this state of
things was largely because her daugh-
ters' welfare had always been seemingly
assured. Now that there was a pos-
sibility that something untoward had
happened, Mrs. Curwood was as much
troubled and alarmed as if she had
been a mother of the brooding and hov-
ering type. *

After what seemed to her an in-
terminable wait, Stuart arrived.

He came in with his usual debonair
manner, and a quizzical smile played
on his handsome face as he said :
"What's all this about my taking Isabel
to tea? I did ask her, but she refused
my further hospitality. We had lunch

together, you know, and I think she
felt she had seen enough of me for
one day."

"But where did she go after she left
you ?" asked Mrs. Curwood eagerly.

"Why, I left her at Madame Laures-
tine's. She said she was going to be
there most of the afternoon, looking at
some of that lady's newest importa-
tions."

"Yes," said Mrs. Curwood thought-
fully ; "she didn't have a fitting engage-
ment; she just went there to look at
some models. But where did she go
after that?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. I offered
to come back for her and take her to
tea, but she said no, she wanted to go
home early, as she was dining out."

"Then she did intend to go to the
Merwins' dinner, after all !" exclaimed
Grace. "But she seemed to cut out
the Malcolm tea."

"But where is she?" urged Mrs. Cur-
wood. "Mr. Stuart, something must
have happened to her."

"This is the funny part," said Grace.
"We were out at a tea, mother and I,
and when we came home Jane said that
you had telephoned that you were tak-
ing Isabel to tea."

"Why, I didn't do any such thing!"
declared Stuart. "I didn't see Isabel
after three o'clock, and I've no idea
where she went. I didn't telephone.
Your maid must have mistaken the
name."

"That must be it," agreed Grace.
"She said she didn't recognize your
voice, but, then, one wouldn't expect
her to, and she said she's sure that the
gentleman said he was Mr. Stuart."

"What other name sounds like Stu-
art?" inquired the young man thought-
fully. And then he added, with a smile,
"Kovroff doesn't !"

"That's the worst of it," said Grace,
smiling, too. "If it had been Count
Kovroff, mother wouldn't mind a bit.

His Hand and Seal

11

In fact, she's hoping that Isabel has
eloped with him."

"You make a mistake, Mrs. Cur-
wood," said Stuart gravely. "Count
Kovroff is a new man among us, and
I'm by no means sure that his creden-
tials are unimpeachable."

"That's what Isabel says," declared
Grace, "and I know she'd never run
away with him. She hates him. I think
she just went to stay overnight with
one*of the girls, and she never dreamed
we'd be anxious about her."

"Well, I think there is some cause for
anxiety. Why don't you telephone to
some of her friends?"

"Oh, if you and mother are both go-
ing to be anxious, I'll have to do that to
prove my case. I'll call up Adelaide
first."

For the better part of an hour, Grace
was at the telephone. After calling up
various houses where Isabel might be,
she called up unlikely ones, but all with
the same result. No one seemed to
have seen or heard of Isabel Curwood
the afternoon before. And now Grace
herself was not only as anxious as
the other two, but even more so.

"Something has happened," she de-
clared, as she hung up the receiver after
her last futile call. "Something dread-
ful has happened to Isabel. What shall
we do, Mr. Stuart? How can we find
her?"

"Oh, we'll find her. I can't think
anything dreadful has happened. But
it's mighty queer about the telephone
message. I can't think why any one
should have used my name."

"What time did you leave Isabel yes-
terday, at the dressmaker's ?" asked
Mrs. Curwood.

"It was just about three ; a trifle after,
perhaps."

"Did you go right there from
luncheon ?"

"Yes," replied Stuart, but he spoke
after an instant's hesitation.

"Did Isabel seem in good spirits?"
asked Grace.

"Oh, yes, of course. Don't talk as
if you thought she went off to drown
herself ! And how could a girl be other
than in good spirits, when she was go-
ing to look at Paris gowns? And I
may as well tell you, Mrs. Curwood,
that we discussed the date of our wed-
ding day. I persuaded her to consider
April as a good time to get married."

Mrs. Curwood looked displeased.
"You know, Mr. Stuart," she said, "I
have never given my consent to your
engagement to Isabel. Though nowa-
days a parent's consent is not consid-
ered necessary, I believe."

"You believe quite right," said young
StuaTt gayly. "So long as you don't
put any definite obstacle in our way,
we consider ourselves engaged. By
Jove, I wish I had eloped with her
yesterday, and then we'd know where
she is now. But, Mrs. Curwood, there's
no use blinking the fact that something
must have happened. I confess I'm
alarmed, and I think we should set to
work at once to find out where she is."

"But what can we do?" asked the
mother helplessly.

"The first thing to do," said Grace
decidedly, "is to send for Mr. Weath-
erby. If the matter is serious, which I
can't think it is, he's the one to con-
sult."

"Send for him, Grace," said her
mother, "and meantime I'll go and lie
down. I feel faint."

"Now, don't do the despairing act,
mother. Isabel's all right, and you'll
find that Mr. Weatherby will take a
sensible view of it."

Leonard Weatherby arrived shortly,
and was soon in possession of the facts
of Isabel's disappearance. Mr. Weath-
erby was a capable-looking man, and
seemed the very one to whom to turn
in a disagreeable predicament.

He was of the large type often de-
scribed as portly, and his face wore

12

Detective Story Magazine

the imperturbable expression of a man
of the world. His black hair was gray
at the temples, and his large, dark eyes
and olive complexion gave him some-
what the look of an actor. There was
decision of character shown in his
strong, square chin, and, on the whole,
Leonard Weatherby was a man whom
the most casual observer would recog-
nize as a power and a strength.

And, indeed, he seemed so to the
Curwood ladies, and both they and
young Stuart felt a sense of confidence
in his presence.

"Of course the girl's all right," he
said, in his hearty way. "I'm quite sure
she hasn't been abducted, and I trust
no accident has happened. But we must
do all we can to find her. You say you
telephoned to all her girl friends?"

"Yes," replied Grace; "even to those
houses where I am positive she never
would have gone."

"Then," went on Mr. Weatherby
gently, "I can't think of anything else
but to telephone the hospitals. Now,
don't faint," he added, as Mrs. Cur-
wood turned white. "You know, in
case of even a slight accident, if Isabel
had been alone, she might have been
taken to a hospital."

"But in that case they would have
telephoned us !" cried Grace.

"Yes — that is, unless "

"You mean, unless she were uncon-
scious! Oh, Mr. Weatherby, how can
you make such dreadful suggestions?"
And Grace clapped her hands over her
ears.

"I didn't, Grace ; you suggested it
yourself. But surely it can do no harm
to inquire at the hospitals, for if she
isn't there, you'll certainly feel re-
lieved."

"That's true enough ;" and again
Grace went to the telephone. •

But a round-up of the hospitals
brought no news of Isabel Curwood.

"Just as I expected!" exclaimed
Grace, as she returned to the group.

"Of course I'm glad Isabel isn't in the
hospitals, but I wish I knew where she
is. What shall we do next, Mr. Weath-
erby ?"

"I don't see that you can do anything,
except wait for her to come home.
There are dozens of things that might
have happened. Perhaps she met some
friend who took her motoring, and the
• car broke down a long distance from
anywhere. It might easily happen that
they couldn't telephone, and perhaps
they stayed at some farmhouse over-
night, or even camped out under the
stars."

"Why, of course that's it!" declared
Mrs. Curwood, her volatile nature re-
sponding to this happy thought. "Why
didn't we think of that before? Mr.
Weatherby, you're a great comfort!
I'm sure your supposition is right."

"Well, we'll see; and in the mean-
time there's nothing to do but wait."

"I don't agree with you," said Grace,
in her straightforward way. "If she'd
been in a motor accident, and wasn't
killed, Isabel would have let us know
somehow before this."

"Oh, probably not an accident," put
in Mr. Weatherby; "just a burst tire,
or some delay of that sort. Don't take
it so seriously, Grace."

"I didn't at first," returned Grace,
"but now I feel sure that it is serious.
There is no rational or explainable place
that Isabel could be, from which she
couldn't have sent us word. And I
know what I'm going to do. I'm going
to send for Mr. Britton."

"Yes, let us do so," said Air. Weath-
erby, "though I don't know what he
could do more than we can."

"I don't know either, but he's our
lawyer, and when anything like this
happens, he ought to be called in."

"I think so, too," said Mrs. Curwood.
"Of course, Mr. Weatherby, you and
Mr. Stuart and Grace and I are all
deeply concerned for Isabel's welfare,
but perhaps the very depth of our feel-

His Hand and Seal

13

mg makes us less capable of rational
action than an outsider, Mr. Britton is
cool-headed and clear-headed, and as
our family lawyer I think he should be
consulted.

"I agree with you, Mrs. Curwood,"
Mr. Weatherby said, "for I now begin
to fear that it is a serious matter; al-
though, of course, Isabel may come in
at any moment."

"Well, there's no harm done if she
does," said Grace, jumping up and go-
ing once more to the telephone. "I'm
going to call Mr. Britton, anyway."

"Tell him what has happened," said
her mother, " and then he can come
here or not, as he sees fit."

After Grace's conversation with the
lawyer, she came slowly back to her
former seat, with a white, scared face.

"He's very much alarmed," she said,
"and he's coming right up here. He
wants Mr. Weatherby and Mr. Stuart
to stay until he comes."

"Of course we'll stay," declared
Weatherby. "If Britton thinks the
matter serious, it may be so. He's a
fair-minded man, as I recall him. I
don't know him very well."

"I don't know him at all," said Stu-
art, "but if he can find Isabel for us,
he's a good fellow."

But James Britton was about the last
man in the world to whom one would
apply the term "a good fellow" in its
usually accepted significance. Small of
stature, sharp-featured, alert, and ener-
getic, his whole make-up betokened a
hard-headed lawyer of an ascetic tem-
perament. He was a little given, how-
ever, to bustle and fluster, and he en-
tered Airs. Curwood's library with a
quick, nervous step, and delivered him-
self of hasty, flurried greetings.

"What— what's all this about?' Isa-
bel gone? Disappeared? Who saw her
last?"

"So far as we four know, I did,"
replied Stuart, and then he told the
lawyer of his parting with Isabel at

the door of the fashionable modiste's
the afternoon before.

"Did she say how long she would
remain there?" asked Mr. Britton con-
cisely.

"She said she would be there some
time, and afterward would go directly
home. But she didn't say this definitely,
and if she met any friends, at the dress-
maker's or afterward, she might easily
have gone somewhere with them."

"Never mind what she might have
done," the lawyer flung out. "The
question is what she did do."

"That I can't tell you," replied Stu-
art, a trifle annoyed at the lawyer's
brusque manner.

"Then we must find out some other
way. You're the last person that we
know to have seen her, Mr. Stuart. But
we assume that the next one was this
dressmaker you tell of. Let us tele-
phone her at once."

"What a sensible idea!" cried Grace.
"I felt sure, Mr. Britton, you'd know
what to do. I'll call her."

But after Grace had succeeded in
getting Madame Laurestine on the wire,
and had talked with her a moment, she
turned and asked Mr. Britton to speak
to her.

The fussy little lawyer flew to the
telephone, and his short, crisp sentences
brought consternation to the anxious
four who were listening to him.

"Not at all? Are you sure? Yes-
terday — yesterday afternoon. Please
be very certain ; it is most important.
Thank you, that is all."

He turned from the telephone and
announced curtly : "Isabel was not at
Madame Laurestine's at all yesterday
afternoon."

This speech was received with utter
silence on the part of his auditors, for
each of the four was dumfounded. Ed-
win Stuart turned perfectly white, and
Mr. Weatherby looked at him curiously,
his dark eyes narrowing and his square
chin setting itself firmly.

14

Detective Story Magazine

Mrs. Curwood looked both stunned
and bewildered; and it was Grace who
first found voice to exclaim:

"Then what do you mean, Ed Stuart,
by saying that you left her there?"

"But I did," half stammered the
young man, and still Leonard Weath-
erby's dark eyes gazed at him with a
look of unbelief.

CHAPTER IV.

THE APARTMENT IN THE
HAMMERSMITH.

A WELL-DRESSED and quiet-look-
ing lady walked slowly along one
of the streets among the upper Forties.
She had been on several other streets
in her endeavor to find an apartment
that combined all the especial advan-
tages she desired, but never did she
stray very far from Fifth Avenue.

She paused in front of a carved stone
entrance, and, taking in the general
effect of the house at a glance, she gave
an approving little nod. The doors
opened at her approach, and she said
to the hallboy: "Is this the Hammer-
smith ?"

"Yes, madam," responded that rather
ornate personage, in conventional tones.

"I wish to see the janitor. Please
call him."

"Yes, madam." And in a fairly rea-
sonable time the janitor of the Ham-
mersmith appeared.

"You have a vacant apartment, I
believe?" asked Mrs. Dellenbaugh, in
the businesslike manner of one who has
interviewed many janitors regarding
vacant apartments.

"Y-yes, ma'am." And Mrs. Dellen-
baugh stared slightly at the unusual
spectacle of a janitor who was defer-
ential instead of pompous.

"Very well; I wish to see it."

"Yes ; certainly — of course. This
way, madam."

As the elevator rose, Mrs. Dellen-
baugh concluded she had been mistaken

in the janitor's mental attitude, for as
she looked at him longer, she observed
that he bore himself rather with an air
of swaggering bravado.

But Mrs. Dellenbaugh was an experi-
enced house hunter, and accustomed to
all sorts of apartments and all types
of attendants who showed them off.

The elevator stopped at the third
floor, and the janitor preceded Mrs.
Dellenbaugh to the entrance of the va-
cant apartment. The door was not
locked, and he threw it open with a
flourish.

"Very attractive ball," Mrs. Dellen-
baugh murmured, as her quick eyes took
instant note of the white Doric columns
and elaborate doorframes. Together
they went through several rooms, the
lady commenting on details that pleased
her, and the janitor mumbling agree-
ment with her opinions.

At the entrance of one of the' bed-
rooms, the man stepped aside to let
Mrs. Dellenbaugh precede him, when
she gave a gasp and fell back almost
into his arms.

"What's the matter, ma'am?" he said
hastily, as she put both hands over her
eyes and seemed about to faint. "Don't
scream," he added, as, after looking
into the room himself, he led the trem-
bling lady from the door.

"I'm not going to scream," she said,
and, though her voice was faint, she
was evidently regaining her composure
by sheer force of will. "I'm not the
screaming sort ; but — but there's a dead
woman in there!"

Though still trembling, she was
standing now without the man's sup-
port, and perhaps of the two he was
the more shaken.

"Maybe she isn't dead, ma'am," he
whispered, as he cast furtive glances
toward the door, but made no move to
enter.

"Oh, she is! I'm sure she is! But
if she shouldn't be, we must go to her
assistance. Go ahead, and I'll follow."

His Hand and Seal

15

"Oh, please don't make me go in
there, ma'am! I — I'm awful sensitive
about such things. Let us go down-
stairs, and send for somebody, ma'am."

"Coward! What sort of a man are
you? You're in charge of this place,
and it's your duty to investigate this
thing. Come, if you won't go first, I
will. We must see what is the matter
with that poor woman."

Mrs. Dellenbaugh stepped across the
threshold, and as she approached the
quiet figure lying on the floor, her look
of horror turned to one of compassion.

"The poor girl !" she exclaimed.
"What can have happened to her?
What is your name, man?"

"Taylor, ma'am."

"Well, Taylor, don't stand there like
a trembling idiot. • This is an awful
emergency; now do your part, like a
man. This young woman is beautiful
and well to do. She must have come
here because she wanted to end her life,
or it may have been death from illness."

"Are you — are you sure she's dead,
ma'am ?"

"Of course she is. She's stone-cold.
But it isn't our business to say so ; in
fact, we oughtn't even to touch her.
You must send for a doctor at once.
Oh, haven't you any sense at all? Don't
stand there looking perfectly blank ! Go
at once and telephone for some doctor.
Do you know of any?"

"I — I think, ma'am, it will be better
to call the police first. I think that's
what we ought to do."

"Well, I'm glad you've waked up to
the fact that we ought to do something!
I expect you're right. Go and call the
police, then, and go at once."

"And leave you alone with — with
that, ma'am?"

"Yes; I'm not afraid. Of course I
was shocked at first, but I'm not one
of those foolish women who lose their
wits in an emergency. Can't you tele-
phone directly from this apartment,
without going downstairs?"

- "Yes, I'll tell the hallboy, ma'am, to
step out and bring in the policeman on
this beat. Then he can telephone head-
quarters himself."

Taylor went back to the telephone,
which was in the hall, and Mrs. Dellen-
baugh immediately proved that her fem-
inine trait of curiosity was stronger
than her equally feminine attribute of
nerves.

With no effects of fear or horror,
she scrutinized the appearance and be-
longings of the dead girl. She noted
the quiet elegance of her tailored cos-
tume, the "beautiful fashion of her
French hat, and the exquisite correct-
ness of all the minor details of her ap-
parel. With a swift glance at the door,
she hurriedly opened the girl's wrist
bag and glanced over the contents. She
even drew out a visiting card and looked
at it, replacing it just in time to escape
the notice of the returning janitor.

"I've sent for the policeman, ma'am,
and he'll be here soon."

"Very well. Have you any idea,
Taylor, who this can be?"

"No, ma'am, indeed I haven't."

"It isn't any one, then, that lived in
this house?"

"No ; I never saw the lady before.
Did you?"

At this sudden question, Mrs. Dellen-
baugh looked a little embarrassed. "No,
I never did," she replied ; "but one can
see at a glance that she was refined and
well bred. It's very mysterious."

The hallboy came in, followed by a
tall policeman. Both men were very
white, and shuddered at the sight they
faced. Indeed, it seemed strange that
Mrs. Dellenbaugh should show com-
posure and even curiosity when all of
the men present were nervously shaken.

"You, Henry, you go back to the
door," said the janitor gruffly. "There's
no call for you to stay here. And I
say, officer, you don't need me, do you ?"

"Let the hallboy go, Taylor, but you
stay here and answer a few questions.

16

Detective Story Magazine

You can't have a dead girl found in
your house and walk off without a
word. Where did she come from, and
who killed her?"

"Oh, she hasn't been killed, has she?"
exclaimed Mrs. Dellenbaugh.

"Yes, ma'am, she has ; and may I ask
who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Roger Dellenbaugh, and I
came here to look at this apartment,
with a view to renting it. The janitor
brought me up to show me the rooms,
and here we found this girl."

The policeman looked at her in ad-
miration. "Mighty few ladies can tell
a story so brieflike and to the point,"
he commented. "Perhaps you had bet-
ter stay, ma'am, until I can phone the
station house and they get the coroner
here. But I'll guarantee that he won't
keep you long, if that's all you know
about this case."

"That's all; and I'm quite willing to
stay until the coroner comes. I know
nothing of the case, as you call it ; but
I might be able to assist in some way.
Shall you send for the poor girl's
friends ?"

The officer gave her a swift glance.
"How can we, ma'am, when we don't
know who she is ? Do you know ?"

"How could I know?" evaded Mrs.
Dellenbaugh. "I never saw her before,
of that I'm sure."

At that, the policeman seemed to lose
all interest in Mrs. Dellenbaugh's pres-
ence, and devoted his attention to tele-
phoning.

"It's going to be a big case," he re-
marked ; "bigger than anything that's
happened around here for a long time.
You can go downstairs if you like, Tay-
lor, but don't leave the house."

In rather a shorter time than Mrs.
Dellenbaugh had dared to hope, the cor-
oner arrived, and almost simultaneously
Inspector Fox appeared.

It did not .take the coroner long to
learn such facts as were evident, and
after examination of the body he an-

nounced briefly: "The poor lady was
strangled — choked to death — by some
brute. How could it have happened
in this house? Are any of the other
apartments vacant?"

"No," answered Taylor; "all the
others are occupied."

"Here's her name and address," said
Coroner Hills, opening the wrist bag
that Mrs. Dellenbaugh had already in-
vestigated. "At least, we have reason
to suppose that the card in this little
cardcase is hers."

"Who is she?" asked the inspector,
and Hills read: "Miss Curwood. The
Ponsonby."

"That's up on Seventy-second
Street," said Inspector Fox. "Better
telephone up to her people."

"Oh, don't do anything like that!"
exclaimed Mrs. Dellenbaugh. "Think
how it would shock them!"

The inspector looked at her curiously.
"What would you suggest?" he in-
quired, with just a trace of irony in his
tone.

"There must be some other way,"
she said, looking thoughtful. "Why
don't you call up, say, the superintend-
ent of the Ponsonby, and ask him
something about her?"

Inspector Fox's manner changed.
"That's right," he said. "Women al-
ways have more tact than men. It's
an awful business, anyway."

And that was how it happened that
Mr. Merritt, superintendent of the Pon-
sonby apartment house, presented him-
self to the little group assembled in
Mrs. Curwood's drawing-room, just as
they were discussing the advisability of
asking police aid to search for the miss-
ing Isabel.

Not at all liking the duty he had to
perform, Mr. Merritt stood looking
from Mrs. Curwood to her lawyer and
back again. ■ Mr. Weatherby and Ed
Stuart were there also, as they had been
most of the day, but, as usual, it was
Grace who took the initiative.

His Hand and Seal

17

"You've heard something from Isa-
bel; I know you have!" she exclaimed,
and as Mr. Merritt bowed his head in
grave assent she went on: "Something
dreadful has happened to her; I know
it has ! You may as well tell us at
once what it is !"

"Wait a moment!" cried Mr. Weath-
erby, springing to Mrs. Curwood's side.
"If you've anything unpleasant to tell,
tell me or Britton first."

"Yes, indeed," said the lawyer, as,
jumping up, he took Mr. Merritt by
the arm and drew him into the next
room.

Grace, too,, ran to her mother's assist-
ance, and Ed Stuart followed, for at
the first appearance of Mr. Merritt,
Airs. Curwood had felt forebodings of
trouble, and at Grace's words about Isa-
bel she had given a low moan and
fainted away.

Stuart rang for Marie, and as she ap-
peared, with Jane also, Mrs. Curwood
was left to their care and Grace's while
the men gathered in the other room to
hear Mr. Merritt's- story.

He told them that an inspector had
telephoned him from the Hammersmith,
and that there was reason to believe
the dead girl found there was Isabel
Curwood. Also, the inspector requested
that some one come down there imme-
diately to identify the body.

The three men listening were aghast
at this statement, and Lawyer Britton
spoke first :

"It may not be Isabel, you know,
after all. So don't tell the whole story
to Mrs. Curwood and Grace until we
are certain. I suggest that Mr. Stuart
stay here with them, and Mr. Weath-
erby and I will go down to the place
at once, and see for ourselves. Mr.
Weatherby is Isabel's guardian "

"But I am more closely related to
Isabel than that," broke in Edwin Stu-
art impetuously. "Let me go with you,
Mr. Britton, and let Mr. Weatherby
stay with the ladies."

2A DS

"As you like," responded the lawyer.
"What do you say, Weatherby?"

"Whatever you think best, Britton.
If Stuart prefers to go with you; I will
stay in charge of things here. Let us
hope there is some mistake in the mes-
sage- Mr. Merritt received."

"There must be!" cried Stuart. "It
can't be that our Isabel is "

"Of course, the inspector told me
but the merest facts," said Mr. Mer-
rittt, "and he said they based their
knowledge of the girl's identity on a
card found in her cardcase."

"But sometimes ladies have other
ladies' cards with them," suggested
Stuart.

"So they do, my boy," said Mr. Brit-
ton kindly. "Come with me, then, and
we will go at once. We'll telephone
back, Weatherby, whatever we may find
out."

"Telephone to Mr. Merritt, then.
Don't stir up this apartment — that is,
unless you have good news for us. And
I'm afraid Mrs. Curwood is pretty ill.
Perhaps we'd better send for a doctor
for her."

"No," said Grace, coming into the
room; "mother's quite herself now.
Mr. Merritt, tell me what this is about
my sister. Tell me the worst at once.
It is my right to know."

"We're not sure there is any worst,
Grace," said Mr. Weatherby. "There
has been an accident to a young woman,
and while it may be Isabel, yet it may
not. Don't worry, my dear, until you
are sure you have cause to."

The other three men had already left
the apartment, and as Mr. Weatherby
would tell her nothing further of the
report that had been received, Grace
was forced to control her anxiety as
best she could. Mr. Weatherby ad-
vised her, very sensibly, to do all she
could to lessen her mother's fears, and
this had the effect of lightening in a
measure her own terrible anxiety.

18

Detective Story Magazine

Meantime, the two men, in a taxi-
cab, were hastening to their destination.

The hallboy at the Hammersmith di-
rected them, and soon they stood in the
presence of the lifeless remains of Isa-
bel Curwood.

"There is no doubt about it," said
Mr. Britton, as after the briefest of
glances he turned away.

"Doubt ? No, indeed," declared Stu-
art, as he stood gazing at the beautiful,
white face. "What can it mean, Mr.
Britton? Who could have done it?"

"Are you sure it is murder?" asked
the lawyer of Inspector Fox.

"Sure, yes, sir. The girl was stran-
gled, and the marks on her neck show
it. But the coroner says she must be
taken to Bellevue for an autopsy."

Edwin Stuart shuddered at the awful
suggestion, but Mr. Britton said : "Yes,
that must be done, for of course we
must discover who killed her. It seems
incredible that any one could have done
so. That beautiful young girl !"

"But before the body is removed,

sir," said Mr. Hills, "we will have an
inquest."

"Is that necessary?" asked Mr. Brit-
ton.

"I think it would be better to do so
in this case. It probably won't take
long. Six'll be enough for a jury.
Taylor, you can round up that many in
the house, can't you ?"

"Probably, yes, sir."

"Then go ahead. Get six men, and
bring them in here as soon as you can."

The janitor went away, leaving Stu-
art and Britton aghast at the business-
like way in which the affair was carried
on. But the bare fact of Isabel's death
was so appalling that the minor details
of procedure seemed insignificant in
comparison.

In accordance with his promise, Mr.
Britton telephoned to the superintendent
of the Ponsonby, and told him that the
dead girl v/as Isabel beyond all doubt,
and that he must tell Mr. Weatherby,
who would break the news to the Cur-
wood ladies.

To be continued in the next issue of the DETECTIVE STORY
MAGAZINE, out in two weeks, on January 20th.

WHY RADIUM IS SO VALUABLE

/~)NE-SIXTH of the world's output of radium is made within seven miles of
Philadelphia, in a factory at Lansdowne, which is one of six plants of
its kind in the world. It has a capacity for producing three grams of radium a
year. The process by which the metal is made was discovered by Doctor D. H.
Kabakjian, assistant professor of physics in the University of Pennsylvania and
a resident of Lansdowne.

Some idea of the delicacy of the secret chemical processes which the carno-
tite ore undergoes can be gleaned from the output of the factory. Hundreds
of tons of carnotite are used during the course of a year. Twenty-five men
working nine hours a day for a year will produce three grams of pure radium
salt. The market price of pure radium is one hundred thousand dollars a gram
at this time, and the. Lansdowne factory's yearly output is worth three hundred
thousand dollars. A gram is one-twenty-eighth of an ounce.

Radium is sent to all .parts of the world from the factory in Lansdowne.
"We have to be. mighty careful how we ship this material," said Doctor
Kabakjian. "The radium salt is placed in a sealed glass tube like this one,"
and he rolled between his fingers a little glass tube not much larger than a five-
penny nail.

Gregory Ha

1HAD been installed as curate at
Cowleton only about six months
when, after a long day's tramp
over the moors, where I had been
visiting the parishioners, I returned to
my lodgings to find awaiting me a tele-
gram from my old friend Demers, who
was still on the staff of the Morning
Call. The message read:

Come at once. Interesting case on hand.

Demers.

It was Monday evening, and I was
free for the week, so I scribbled a note
to the vicar, replaced my clericals with
a tweed suit, took my automatic pistol
— the one presented to me after the so-
lution of the Silver Bullet case — and
made for the station.

Demers, short, fat, jolly, and busy
as ever, met me at Waterloo, and we
took a cab to Mountjoy Hill, where he
and I had roomed together for nearly
three years. It was late, and Demers
was on an important assignment for
the morning issue, so he soon left me
and I turned in..

The next morning at breakfast,
Demers gave me an outline of his "in-
teresting case," and I found that even
his enthusiasm did not overestimate the
interest of it. We had been boyhood
chums ; we had lived together in Lon-
don after Demers, by his wonderful
work in distancing Scotland Yard in
the solution of the Explosive Pearl
case, had secured his present place on
the Call, and we had traced together the
intricacies of crime in a number of
causes celcbrcs, but none had more

mysterious features than the one which
had now been assigned to him to un-
ravel.

"That's all we have to go on, so far.
But Mr. Ivors is coming at ten, and
he will tell you the whole thing, and
then you will understand it better."
As he spoke, the bell rang, and we
heard Mrs. Gammie letting in a visitor.
We went across the hall to the room
which Demers had fitted up as a chem-
ical laboratory, and it was there that
I first saw Mr. Harrison Ivors. Dem-
ers removed a box of test tubes from
the only chair, and begged his visitor
to be seated. I found a place on a
trunk, and Demers perched on the edge
of the sink. Mr. Ivors was a man of
about forty-five, tall and distinguished
in appearance, naturally of a nervous
temperament, now accentuated by the
evident strain under which he was la-
boring, but with such self-command
that he was able to tell his story with a
straightforward simplicity. His quiet
voice and manner showed him to be a
person of culture, and he gave evidence
of being a man of very strong will.

"Two years ago," he began, "my
eldest son, Gerald, was found dead on
the morning of his fifteenth birthday.
The night before, he had gone to a
party, given by a cousin, in honor of
the event, and his mother and I sup-
posed he had decided to stay all night.
We found afterward that he had made
some excuse to leave his cousin's house
before midnight. In the morning, his
body was found lying at the foot of an

20

Detective Story Magazine

oak tree in my grounds, clothed in a
woman's silk dressing gown, tied about
the waist with a piece of greenish-yel-
low whipcord. There was absolutely,
no sign of a wound or of poison, and
he lay quietly, as though asleep. We
never learned how or why he died.

"Yesterday morning, the tragedy was
repeated in the person of my youngest
son, Jack, and again it was on the
morning of his birthday. I had become
acquainted with the great success Mr.
Demers has had in solving such prob-
lems, and I have put the case in his
hands. I implore you and your friend,
if he will be so good, to help me, and
bring to justice, if there be such a thing
as justice for such diabolical crimes,
the fiend who has murdered my sons.
Expense does not matter, and I give
you a free hand in every way."

Demers sat silent for some minutes.
Presently he washed out a new test
tube, carefully shaped a spatula from
a piece of cedar, and selected a stick
of wax. "Well, perhaps we'd better
take a look over the ground first, Mr.
Ivors, and if you will show us the way,
we will start at once.'"

As we drove through the busy
streets, Demers asked him if Jack had
been found dressed in the same sort
of silk dressing gown as Gerald had
worn, and was answered, "Yes."

The carriage stopped at Mr. Ivors'
gate. The house stood far in from the
street, and was approached by a gravel
walk which wound in and out among
beds of flowers. Along the street was
a high iron fence with a spiked top,
and the sides and back were inclosed
by a stone wall at least eight feet high.
To the left of the entrance gate stood
a group of oaks, and Mr. Ivors was
leading us toward them to point out the
exact spot where his boys had been
laid, but Demers held us back. "Don't
go near there yet," he said; "we'll see
that later." Beyond the oaks was a

splendid tennis court, and in the far
corner a little summerhouse.

We went up the front steps, and Mr.
Ivors let us in. In the hall we met
Mrs. Ivors, a dark-eyed brunette, hand-
some in face and figure, evidently some
years younger than her husband ; and
the daughter, Doris, who, strangely
enough, was very fair and blue-eyed.
She was about seven years old. After
introductions, Mrs. Ivors, who was
obviously quite unstrung, besought
Demers to do his utmost to dispel the
shadow which was so heavy upon them.
Then she burst into tears and left the
room, taking Doris with her.

"Let me see the dressing gown first,"
said Demers, and Ivors brought it from
a closet in the library. It was the whip-
cord that he handed to me, and as I
examined it, something struggled in my
memory. It was a greenish-yellow in
color, like an unripe lemon, and
roughly tanned. It had been cut, seem-
ingly with scissors, from a wider piece.
I felt I had come across similar mate-
rial before, but my memory refused to
make the connection. Demers, mean-
while, was going over the blue silk with
a lens, and he now called to me.

"Don't touch it," he said, "but look
at it. What do you think of it?"

"I think it is about the clumsiest bit
of sewing I ever saw, for one thing,
and the lace around the throat is of
the cheapest, in contrast with such ex-
pensive silk."

"Right. A man made it — a man who
did not dare to have it made by a seam-
stress, for that would provide a clew.
Now, Mr. Ivors, will you pardon us if
we ask. you to leave us alone here with
the body of your son for a little while?"

Mr. Ivors had hardly closed the door
when Demers had the lid pushed back
from the casket which held the remains
of the unfortunate boy, and we looked
upon the face of Jack Ivors, a hand-
some lad, the picture of his father.
The pity of his early and tragic death

The White Cell

21

surged over us both as we looked at
him, and it was some minutes hefore
we could bear to continue. Then Dem-
ers stretched upon the body the dress-
ing gown, to ascertain, as I discovered,
the approximate position on which the
different parts of it would lie.

"Near enough," he said directly.
"Hold my lens, and these," handing me
the test tube and spatula ; and he began
to undress the body. It is not pleasant
work, sometimes, that of an investi-
gator of crime, but it has to be done.
When Demers had bared Jack's legs,
he laid the body tenderly down, took
the magnifying glass, and examined
the knees with extreme care. Presently
he looked up.

"If I were out on your moors at
Cowleton, I would yell for joy like a
maniac," was his characteristic remark.
"Look here." I bent over the coffin.
Demers very cautiously seized the skin
just above the left knee, and, ordering
me to hold the glass so that he could
look through it, he began to press the
skin gently, then more firmly. As I
watched, I saw a thin film, shiny like
the slime of a snail, break suddenly,
and from under it there oozed out in
two places a minute drop of a colorless
sirup. "Yes, I'd yell; I'd yell like a
maniac! I'd yell, I'd yell, I'd yell!"
It was Demers' way to mutter some
silly thing like that when he was
strongly excited. He carefully scraped
the drops from the skin with the cedar
spatula, dropped it in the test tube,
sealed it, and gave it to me. In a few
moments the body was dressed, the
cover replaced, and we were ready to
depart. Mr. Ivors was waiting to show
us out.

"Advertise your house and grounds
for sale, Mr. Ivors," said my friend.
"Put a prominent notice in both the
morning and evening papers that for
personal reasons you must dispose of
the place within a week. You don't
have to accept any of the offers that

may be made, but it will enable me to
carry out my plans."

Mr. Ivors assented, though he did
not relish the extra publicity to which
it would expose his name. As he was
closing the door, my recalcitrant mem-
ory suddenly was in operating order
again, and almost before I knew what
I was saying, I had asked Mr. Ivors:
"Were you ever in Canada?"

The question obviously was unex-
pected. He paused a moment before
replying, "No," that his only trip out
of England had been to India.

Demers and I walked to Paley's
Lane, where he left me. "You can
walk around to Smellie's and leave
that test tube for analysis. I'll be back
for luncheon. Why did you ask Ivors
about Canada?"

"I was trying to remember where I
had seen whipcord like that before. I
suddenly recollected my visit to Que-
bec. The leather is the kind the In-
dians and habitants there call babiche.
They use it for their moccasins and
snowshoes. I wonder how that piece
came over here?"

Three days later, when Ivors' an-
nouncement of the sale of his property
had begun to attract the attention of
realty agents, Demers — who had not
said a word to me about the case in
the meantime; in fact, I had hardly
seen him; there was a big dock strike
at the time — asked me, after we had
lurithed together at Toni's, to go with
him to Melton Road, where Ivors lived.
When we got there, by arrangement,
Mr. Ivors met us and showed us
through the house and then over the
grounds, as he had already that day
conducted three other parties around.
I soon saw the meaning of the ad-
vertisement. Of course, if the house
were for sale, no notice would be taken
of a couple of prying detectives- who
were ostensibly buyers. We had gone
over all the grounds, which were not
very large, and inspected the back wall,

22

Detective Story Magazine

where the only opening was a trades-
men's gate, opening on a lane connect-
ing the two side streets.

As we stood for a moment in the
lane, we heard a man behind the oppo-
site wall, which was back of the house
facing on the next street, parallel to
Melton Road, indulging in an enthu-
siastic and awesome address to the uni-
verse on the general subject of vandal-
ism, fools, and trees. We listened to
the flood of invective, and then Demers,
by a running jump, managed to catch
the top of the wall and draw himself
up where he could see the unknown
orator.

"What's wrong?" he shouted.

The hidden speaker told him with
fervor and profane fluency what was
wrong. "Here I go away to Brest for
ten days, and when I come home I find
some scoundrel has taken the liberty
of coming in and sawing off one of
the biggest branches of my only oak.
Look at it ! What sort of pruning do
you call that? It's a nice-looking tree
now, isn't it? And two years ago I
was away just two days at the Hook,
and again some kindly rascal provided
me with free fuel by cutting off a
branch on the same side. It's a lovely
state of affairs when a man can't grow
a tree in his back garden without his
neighbors interfering with it."

Demers dropped back into the lane,
and I could tell by the gleam in his eye
that he had an idea of a new sort. We
had purposely avoided, till now, ap-
proaching the fatal oaks in Ivors'
grounds, but now Demers led me di-
rectly there and seated himself in the
exact place where the bodies had been
found, asking me to sit near him.

"Now take this newspaper and hold
it up as though you were inspecting a
map — there — a little higher — there, stay
there !" Demers was gazing intently
through a small field glass over the top
of the paper I held. Presently he said :
"Change places with me. You will see

a brick house straight east of here.
Look at the middle upper window and
tell me what you see." I did as he
bade me, but, though I looked at all
the upper windows of the house he had
indicated, I could see nothing but the
blinds tightly drawn down. The blind
in the middle window appeared to have
a round hole cut in it. I told Demers
what I had seen, and he seemed satis-
fied. "And you will notice," he said,
"that our profane neighbor's oak almost
prevented your seeing that middle win-
dow, and that if the branch he is la-
menting had not been cut off, you could
not have seen it at all."

On our way home, we discussed how
a body could be brought into the
grounds over the high walls and fence,
when all three gates — the carriage en-
trance, the front and back gates — were
fastened. Demers was impatient at the
question. "That can easily be settled
afterward. What we're after now is
the man. There's nothing very dif-
ficult in getting through a gate if one
has a little ingenuity. Here is the street
where the house stands which we were
scrutinizing. Here it is — No. 14, I see.
You go up and ask if Mr. Jackson
Byers lives there. I'll go on slowly."

I turned in at No, 14. It was a big
house, standing in very neglected, weed-
infested grounds. I pushed the bell
button repeatedly before the door was
opened by an old man, ugly, unkempt,
and frightened looking.

"Does Mr. Jackson Byers live here?"
I inquired.

The old man pulled out a card on
which was printed : "I am deaf and
dumb. Master is not at home." So
I wrote my question on a slip of paper,
and he replied in the negative. When
I had rejoined Demers and told him
how I had been received, he nodded.

"Evidently 'Master' is never at home
if he has that information printed for
the benefit of all who come to his door.
Therefore, no friends, or perhaps one

The White Cell

23

or two who give a private signal when
they arrive. A deaf-and-dumb serv-
ant, eh? What a man can't hear he
can't tell. We have a clever gentle-
man to deal with, Alton, but we'll see
what can be done. As I went by I
took a look at the house and its sur-
roundings, and I see where we can get
in, and in we go to-night."

We set out from the Mount joy Hill
chambers about eleven o'clock, and
walked till we came to Morning Street.
It was not a well-lighted street at the
best, and No. 14 was as dark as a
cave. We kept in the shadows by the
front wall till we came to the corner
of the grounds, when it was the work
of a moment to leap over the wall, and
we were in the weedy lawn. Luck was
on our side that night. We were mak-
ing for the south side of the house, and
had just reached the corner when we
heard the door open, and in the dim
light of the hall jet we could see the
"Master" stand for a second before
closing the door — a tall, fashionably
dressed gentleman. He descended the
steps, rapidly made his way to the
street, and disappeared.

"Now for it !" whispered Demers.
"Follow me, and quietly."

By the side of the house* was a yew
tree, and Demers said one of the
branches would get us to an upper win-
dow. Up he went, and I followed as
quickly as I could. By our combined
weight we managed to bend the branch
far enough for Demers to insert a
jimmy under the lower window sash.
With a sudden effort, the inner fasten-
ing broke, and the entrance was open.
In another moment we were in the
room, and Demers produced his flash
lamp.

The room was unfurnished and full
of dust. We opened the door into the
corridor. Demers led the way across
the passage, opened a door, and we
were in a room quite as dusty. Near
the window was a chair — "You will

notice there is no dust on it," said
Demers — and in front of the chair a
small telescope was mounted on a tri-
pod, facing a hole, about three inches
in diameter, cut in the blind.

"If it were daylight, do you know
what you would see through that tele-
scope?" asked Demers.

"Mr. Ivors' oaks!"

Closing the door, we went down the
stairs to the next landing. A door was
ajar, and we peeped in. It was a luxu-
riously furnished bedroom, and seemed
to be in actual use. Demers stepped in,
flashing his lamp here and there. Sud-
denly he began to mutter: "I'm sure;
yes, I'm sure ; certainly I'm sure ; surely
I'm certain." It was his queer way of
communing with himself when excited.
He had opened a wardrobe door, and
displayed to me still another blue silk
dressing gown, identical with the others
and with the strip of babiche hanging
beside it. "So there's to be another vic-
tim?" I said.

"Looks like it," growled Demers,
"but we'll try to anticipate that. Now
for the lower floor, though we have
evidence enough now to hang forty
men."

After listening for a few minutes at
the top of the stairway, we started
down. The gas was turned down very
low. On our left, at the bottom, was
an open door. Demers used his flash
lamp just long enough to take a glance
at the windows, all heavily curtained.
"Everything is safe. Here's the gas,
and we'll have a little light." He struck
a match, and we looked around curi-
ously. It was a large, uncarpeted room,
with well-filled bookcases on the walls,
evidently the study of some literary
man. The floor was a bizarre design
in squares and triangles, done in vari-
ous colored hard woods.

By one window, almost behind the
door as it stood ajar, was a small writ-
ing desk with a heavy swivel chair
behind it, and a smaller chair in front.

24

Detective Story Magazine

There was absolutely no other furni-
ture in the room. On the wall directly
facing the swivel chair hung conspicu-
ously the only picture the room con-
tained. It was a portrait by a German
artist, with the title: "Sin." It repre-
sented a luxuriant woman, with pale-
amber face, framed in raven locks — a
young woman whose shining eyes were
touched with a smile at once startled
and sick with longing — while the cold
body of a serpent pressed its heavy
coils round her body. It was a ter-
rible picture; and, a little overcome
by its powerful suggestiveness, I turned
and seated myself in the desk chair.
"Come," said Demers, "we must not
waste time here. The man may be
back any minute."

I started to rise, when suddenly a
part of the floor directly beneath the
picture gave way, and, seemingly actu-
ated by the same impulse, a heavy sheet
of clear glass was projected out from
the firm part of the floor so as to cover
the space, about four feet square, where
the floor had dropped away.

Demers and I sprang forward.
Through the glass we saw a large
chamber built of brick and illuminated
by a strong light which seemed to be
directly beneath the place where we
stood. The walls were circular, and
they and the floor of the cell were
painted a brilliant white.

"Our first business now is to find
how to close this up, so that our pres-
ence here won't be known," said Dem-
ers. "One of us has touched some ac-
tuating mechanism, perhaps stepped on
a cunningly contrived loose board.
Anyway, let me see if this will work."

Demers inserted the edge of the steel
jimmy between the wall and the glass.
The glass moved back easily, and at
the same time the missing square of
the floor began to swing up into its
place. By moving the glass still far-
ther back, we discovered that the pow-
erful illumination of the chamber was

extinguished. We pulled the glass out
again, and once more the light blazed
in the mysterious cell. We could see
that the walls were solid, except that
one brick was missing on the lowest
tier. We were not long left in doubt
as to the purpose of that, for almost
immediately there glided through the
opening a thick, brown snake, with a
peculiarly marked head.

"The gentleman keeps a cobra for a
pet," said Demers.

I watched the horrid creature curi-
ously. It went around the cell two or
three times, raising itself and expand-
ing its hood as though to strike, then
disappeared again through the wall.

Demers pulled back the glass; the
floor came up and caught in place with
a snap, and we arose from our knees.
"Evidently the picture is the bait for
this infernal trap," I suggested. "The
glass enables the owner of the snake
to watch his victim's death, and at the
same time prevents all possibility of
his screams being heard."

"Well," answered Demers, "we've
seen all we need see here; let's get
away upstairs."

We reached the room by whose win-
dow we had entered the house, but de-
cided not to leave till we heard the
master of the house come in, lest we
should run across him as we left the
grounds. Presently we heard him fum-
bling at the front door. In a moment
I was out on the friendly branch of the
tree. Demers followed, letting down
the window carefully as he came. We
made our way safely from the grounds,
and returned to Demers' rooms.

When I awoke next morning, Dem-
ers was standing by my bed, fully
dressed. "I have just been called away
to Guildford," he said. "Sanderson is
going with me, and we will not be back
till to-morrow evening. Unless some-
thing extraordinary turns up, don't
worry about the Ivors case. You might
go down, if you like, and see if Smellie

The White Cell

25

has analyzed that sirup you left him."
And he was off.

I stayed in the chambers all morn-
ing, expecting, or at least hoping, that
Mr. Ivors would come in. I exam-
ined all of Demers' strange souvenirs
of cases he had finished. I opened
nearly every book in the study. I tried
some experiments over the sink, but
Mr. Ivors did not come. I resolved
to spend the afternoon making some
calls, and visit Ivors' house in the eve-
ning. I did so, and about ten o'clock
that night I set out for Melton Road.
As I reached the curb in front of my
own door, a woman's voice hailed me
from a cab. It was Mrs. Ivors who
drew up near me.

"Oh, Mr. Ivors has gone out, and
I am so frightened !"

"Why are you afraid? Where has
he gone?"

"I don't know. Inspector Sander-
son telephoned about six o'clock, ask-
ing him to meet him somewhere, and
saying that he would not only learn
how his boys had died, but see the
author of their deaths as well. Mr.
Ivors left me a note in just those
words, and I am so frightened," she

repeated. "To-morrow is "- And

she stopped.

I thought over the situation. The
telephone message, of course, was a
trap, for Sanderson was in Guildford
with Demers; but she did not know
that, and I began to see that she had
grave reason to be fearful for her hus-
band's safety. The only thing for me
to do was to attempt to prevent the
carrying out of what I now saw was
the last stage of a plot, already fiendish
enough.

Asking her to wait in the cab, I
rushed up to my room, seized my pis-
tol, and rejoined her. As we drove
to her home, I tried to assure her that
her husband was safe, and told her I
thought I should be able to find him
without any difficulty.

"Mrs. Ivors, if you expect to see
your husband alive again, you must not
conceal from me any fact that might
help. You do fear some individual,
do you not?"

"Yes."

"Is it a man or a woman?"
"A man."

"What is his name?" She hesitated,
but I repeated my question firmly.
"Edmund Wynn."

"And this man Wynn has come into
the lives of you or your husband be-
fore? For he knew the exact dates of
the boys' birthdays. Is that true?"

She assented.

"Why do you fear him? Perhaps I
have no right to ask that. But tell
me, do you think he is insane, or has
he some reason which he may consider
a valid one for doing any of your fam-
ily an injury?"

"He may have a reason, but I do
not think he is insane, unless being a
murderer is evidence of insanity."

"What is 'to-morrow?'" At this
question Mrs. Ivors broke down com-
pletely, and I could not learn anything
further.

I had not much heart for my task,
for it was now drawing on to mid-
night and I knew that every moment
lessened my chance of ever seeing
Ivors alive. I concealed my anxiety
while I helped Mrs. Ivors into the
house. The instant that was done, I
was out again and in the street. I ran
down to the corner, made my way at top
speed to the second street back, and
raced for No. 14. Not a constable was
in sight, and I had no time to search
for one, though I did not relish going
alone on such an errand.

No. 14 was the fourth house from
the corner, and as I approached I slack-
ened my pace. It was useless to try
to enter the house except by stealth.
The gate was open. I slipped around
to the side of the house, intending to
climb the tree to the window by which

26

Detective Story Magazine

Demers and I had entered the night
before, but there was a dim light burn-
ing in the room. It would have to be
one of the basement windows.

Unluckily I had forgotten my flash
lamp, but I felt around in the darkness
along the wall of the house, and pres-
ently discovered a narrow window. It
was fastened. I was disheartened and
irritated by the accumulation of de-
lays. Was not Ivors possibly facing
death at that very instant?

I gave the glass a smart stroke with
the butt of my pistol, reached through
and dropped the catch, and crawled in
feet first. I dropped only a few inches,
and found myself on the clay floor of
the cellar. I struck a match to find
my way about. Directly in front there
was the huge brick chamber standing
by itself in the midst of the cave where
I was. It was fitted with a low steel
door with a combination lock like a
safe. It was the door of the white
cell. Where was the cobra? My match
suddenly flickered out, and I stood, not
daring to move, for one step might
bring me square upon its brown body.
Perhaps even now it was creeping upon
me in the darkness. After what seemed
like an hour of agony, I found another
match and looked about.

The floor was bare and clean on all
sides, and I breathed freely again. I
went up to the white cell and examined
it carefully. At one side, opposite the
steel door, was a large iron box, set
close to the brickwork and covered with
a close mesh of wire netting. Lighting
another match, I looked into the box.
The cobra was lying in one corner. At
sight of me, he raised himself and tried
to strike the wires, but they were too
high.

All this had taken but a moment or
two, and now I turned to find the way
of ascent to the floor above. I soon
discovered the steps and started up.

Now had come the most difficult and
dangerous part of my task, and I should

have to observe the most extreme cau-
tion. I took off my boots on the top
step and I pushed open the door very
slowly till I could see a light through
the crack; a little farther, and I could
see the deaf-and-dumb servant sitting
before the kitchen fire. His back was
toward me, so there was no danger of
being seen; but I could not proceed on
my quest without attracting his notice.

By this time my anxiety had become
unbearable. I drew my pistol and
started toward him, but his eyes were
closed and he was asleep. Resolved to
lose no time, I hastily opened two or
three doors which gave into the kitchen,
pantry, back stairs, passage leading to
the front hall. I was for advancing
straight down the front hall to the
study when I heard the tinkling of an
electric bell and at the same time a
green incandescent bulb in the kitchen
began to flash, the flash recurring with
each sound of the bell. It was the
master's device for summoning his
servant. The bell, I suppose, was to
warn himself if visitors came.

I had barely time to open the door
to the back stairs and close it behind
me when the dumb man was aroused
by the flashing of the light, and I could
hear his steps as he went to admit his
master. So Wynn — for I was sure of
my man now — had been out for a walk
while I thought he and Ivors were to-
gether in the ominous house!

Where, then, could Ivors have gone?
And how was I to conceal myself? I
ran softly up the stairs till my eyes
were on a level with the upper corridor
floor, and in the dim light of the hall
I could see the top of the front stair-
way. If Wynn came up those stairs,
instead of entering his study, should I
suddenly confront him, or run the risk
of being discovered ? I was in an awk-
ward predicament. I could, of course,
hear no sound of voices. If there were
any conversation, it was in the sign
language. I heard the servant return-

The White Cell

27

ing to the kitchen. I was still on the
flight of steps, my eyes on a level with
the floor, and I watched the front
stairs, expecting every moment to see
Wynn's head appear. The light was
still on in the lower hall; I should see
him easily enough ; but I was soon con-
vinced that he was not coming up. I
advanced cautiously till I was stand-
ing on the floor, and then made my way
forward till I could see the whole
front stairway. No one was in sight.
I heard the scratch of a match in the
study. What now? I had been so sure
that Ivors was in the house, that now
I knew Wynn was alone, I felt I had no
motive for remaining. It would be
better to slip away quietly and set the
police to find Ivors, if he had not re-
turned.

Catching the scent of tobacco, I de-
cided that Wynn would be quiet for a
while, and I would have a chance to
get out of the house some other way.
I tiptoed along the passage to get to
the second flight of stairs, and was
about to start up when the last flicker
of my match showed me something that
stopped me. Surely that was Ivors'
cane, which had a most uncommon
head carved on it? Another match.
Near the cane, all neatly folded in a
corner, was a suit of clothes. I lifted
the coat, from which dropped three let-
ters, all addressed: "Harrison Ivors,
esquire."

I saw it all now. I had come just
too late. Ivors had come — and gone;
but between his coming and his going,
another frightful crime had been com-
mitted. Ivors was probably lying now
on the grass in his own grounds,
dressed in the mocking, blue silk dress-
ing gown, with his life stilled forever.

For a few moments I was stupefied
with the horror of it all ; then — the
murderer was calmly smoking in the
room below. If I had not proofs
enough now of his guilt, I never should
have. But I must be careful, for I

realized that I had a very dangerous
and cunning man to deal with, one who
would hesitate at nothing to protect
himself. I was now at the top of the
front stairs again. I went down slowly,
and the thick carpet drowned my steps.
Twice I was stopped by hearing a most
peculiar noise from the study, the door
of which was half open. On the bot-
tom step I paused, and heard again the
strange sound which broke the deathly
stillness of the house. I turned down
the hall and crept along the wall till
I was at the edge of the door.

If, as I expected, Wynn was in the
swivel chair \>y the window, his back
would be toward me. Very slowly I
moved forward till I could see part of
the room. No one was in sight. I
stepped just within the door, still keep-
ing behind it. Again that weird sound.
I was now able to look around the edge
of the door, and I saw Wynn sitting at
his desk, his head bowed and hidden
in his hands, and even while I watched,
again a great sob broke from him.

"Where is Mr. Harrison Ivors?" I
had stepped out from behind the door,
and stood confronting him with my
pistol.

At my first word, Wynn bounded
from his chair with a sharp cry and
stood glaring at me. He was a tall
man, with an intellectual cast of coun-
tenance. His hair was slightly gray,
but his fine blue eyes made him appear
almost youthful.

"Who are you? What do you want
here?"

"As I said, I am here in the interest
of Harrison Ivors. I have come here
to find him."

"He is not here. He left the house
over an hour ago." The frightened
look was gone now. Wynn had dropped
into a pleasant, nonchalant manner,
which seemed his natural one, and ad-
dressed me in the friendliest tones pos-
sible.

"He was here, then?"

28

Detective Story Magazine

"I ran across some information
which I thought he desired, in regard
to the death of his sons. Though I live
so near him, I only learned of that
tragedy from the newspapers, for I
go out very little. He spoke of a Mr.
Demers — I suppose you are he — who
was investigating the unfortunate af-
fair. You will be glad to know that
before he left Mr. Ivors learned how
his sons had died. Doubtless he is
awaiting you now at his house."

All this was spoken in a clear, well-
modulated voice, in which there was
no trace of emotion, unless it were
pleasure at having been of service to
a fellow being. And his story was so
obviously probable that I had difficulty
in remembering that, after all, we were
standing directly above the white cell
and its deadly occupant.

"How did you enter, Mr. Demers?
I did not hear the bell. And will you
not put up that pistol? Firearms make
me nervous."

"By the cellar; Mr. Wynn." But I
kept the pistol in my hand. My knowl-
edge of his name seemed to startle him,
and I fancied his hand was approach-
ing one of the drawers of the desk.
"You have a very dangerous serpent in
your cellar." Wynn's hand was rest-
ing on the drawer handle. "A cobra,
isn't it? I have suspected Jack Ivors
came to his death by a cobra bite, and
I think you will have to come "

"Did Mr. Ivors walk from this house,
or was he carried?" Demers stepped
suddenly into the room and shot the
question at Wynn, who was hardly
more startled than I was at his sudden
entry upon the scene.

"He walked, of course, just as he
had come."

"Mr. Wynn, as I heard you called,
it may interest you to know that Mr.
Ivors is dead in precisely the same cir-
cumstances as his two sons."

Wynn stood before us for a moment,
bending forward as a man bends to

shelter his face from a harsh wind.
Presently he recovered himself.

"Will you sit down and let me tell
you about it? I see you know the truth.
I am responsible for the death of Ivors'
sons, and now he has followed the
boys to the hell where he belongs. Let
me tell you my story. No one knows
it now but myself and Mrs. Ivors.
When I come to trial, I shall not open
my lips, let the law do with me what it
will. But I should like to have one
person hear my side of all this tragedy,
that I may be judged aright. All the
world will have its own opinion of
me. Will you listen and judge?"

We assented. There was a pathetic
eagerness in his voice, and I, for one,
could not resist. Besides, I was cu-
rious to know what were his reasons
for his crimes. Was Ivors, after all,
not the man he had seemed, but one
himself so guilty, so treacherous, that
even Wynn's atrocities had a semblance
of justification? It was entirely pos-
sible. Who knows the dark and un-
plumbed depths in the inner spirit, even
of the most guileless and innocent? We
seated ourselves, I taking the swivel
chair and Wynn the other chair, Dem-
ers remarking significantly that he pre-
ferred to stand.

"You caught me weeping. Do not
think that my weakness was due to re-
morse. For five years I have lived for
this night of the eighth of June, and
yet now that it is all over, memories of
other days came over me so powerfully
that I was not quite myself. You will
understand soon.

"Ivors and I were boys together. He
was a couple of years older than I, but
we were inseparable companions, were
in the same form at Eton, and entered
Cambridge the same day. When we
left the university, Ivors married and
entered the army, and seemed likely to
remain there. I did not settle down
for a year or two, and then resolved
to study for the bar. In due course

The White Cell

29

I was admitted, but clients were long
in coming, and I was devilish poor.
With all my poverty and wretched
prospects, in those days I was hopeful
and confident, with a good-natured be-
lief in men and women. The world
was a good old world, after all — you
know the attitude. In the midst of it
all I fell deeply, passionately in love
with Edith Somerville, sister of one of
my fellow barristers, a chap whose
cases were as scarce as mine, only he
had his family behind him, you see.
And Miss Somerville seemed to be as
deeply in love with me as I undoubtedly
was with her. If she had only known
her own heart then ! She was beau-
tiful, attractive with that mysterious
charm that even other women love to
look upon. There was an unclouded
frankness about her brown eyes that
made me believe her a loyal, royal soul.
I did not disguise my poverty. She
hardly knew what the word meant, and
thought it would be jolly fun to try
living on three pounds a week.

"I need not go into the story of our
hardships ; you can know that there
were hardships, and how they would
press on my wife's young life. But
she bore herself bravely, and there was
no complaint. This went on for nearly
two years, and I was beginning to make
better progress in my profession when
one day I received word that an uncle
employed in the Russian secret service
had died and left everything to me. I
should have to leave for St. Peters-
burg at once — that is, as soon as I could
borrow enough to take me there. Where
could I leave my wife meanwhile? Her
own people were in France for the
winter. I thought of Ivors. He had
been invalided home shortly before, and
was living with his two boys at the
home of his widowed sister, for his
wife had died a couple of years before.
It was soon arranged that my wife and
my infant girl, Doris, should stay with
Mrs. Raleigh, and I set out for Russia.

"My windfall proved to be worth
about eight hundred pounds a year, but
I had great difficulty in proving iden-
tity and conforming to a host of legal
refinements that our code knows noth-
ing about; so that it was quite seven
months before I could set out for home.
How my mind pictured the greeting I
should receive, and the pleasure and
relief my little fortune would procure !
I was proud as any king — I was young
then — at the thought that I now had it
in my power to make up in some de-
gree for the privations my wife had
undergone for my sake. When, on the
last day of May, five years ago, I
reached Ivors' house, Mrs. Raleigh met
me at the door and burst into tears.

"'Where are Ethel and Doris?' I
cried. She did not answer me, but gave
me a letter addressed in Ivors' hand,
which read:

"Ethel and I have decided to cut along and
start life somewhere else. Greenway is my
solicitor. There will be no defense. The
sooner you sue, the better. Ivors.

"There was a little note from my
wife :

"Will you forgive your wife? Life has
been too hard, too dull. I can't stand it any
longer. Ethel.

"'When did they leave?*

" 'Yesterday morning.'

"I need not waste your time telling
you about my agony of mind at the
disclosures made to me. I did not
blame Ethel ; I knew Ivors, with his
powerful, magnetic personality and his
abundant means, would have been a
temptation to women more experienced
and with happier prospects than my
poor wife. I did not know what to do.
I had plenty of money in my pockets
now, and resolved to follow them. For
so many weeks I had dwelt on the glad
picture of my home-coming and the
happiness of displaying to my wife the
means of our release from poverty that
somehow the feeling still possessed me
that I must even yet find her and tell

30

Detective Story Magazine

her. It did not take much ingenuity to
discover that they had sailed for India
via Canada. I followed on the next
steamer; and even during the brooding
loneliness of those long days and nights
on board ship, I could not clearly define
to myself what I would say or do when
I confronted my wife. But I wanted
to see her again, and my little child.

"At length, on June 9th, I reached
Quebec, two days behind the Moranic,
on which Ivors had crossed. I searched
the register of guests in two hotels be-
fore I found, at the Hotel Montmor-
enci, the names : 'Henry Ivors, wife,
and child.' The clerk told me the num-
bers of their rooms, but said Mr. Ivors
had stepped out. It was my chance.

"I went up the broad staircase and
found the rooms by the numbers on
the doors. As I stood for a moment,
I heard a low voice sing a lullaby;
Doris was being put to sleep. I pushed
open the door and entered, and was
greeted only with a startled exclama-
tion. My wife was dressed in a blue
silk dressing gown, with a belt of
leather. The girdle was loosely fas-
tened, and fell off. I reached for it
and put it in my pocket — probably you
gentlemen have seen pieces of it. I
crossed the room and looked at my baby
asleep upon the bed — and went out.

"So tumultuous and perplexed had
my emotions been that I did not realize
till long afterward that I had not
spoken a single word to my wife. Dur-
ing the harrowing minutes we were
together, we seemed to understand one
another without the aid of speech. I
followed them during their whole trip.
I was seen only once — at Nagpore,
where my wife caught a glimpse of me.
It was the day I bought my cobras —
there were three, but two have died.

"Gradually, and in a very dull way,
I began to formulate my future. I
closed up the house in which we had
lived after our marriage, and for a
time took chambers. I managed, by

careful saving, to buy this house. One
day I found this picture." And he
pointed to the portrait, wonderful in
its beauty, horrible in its suggestive-
ness, which hung over the fatal cham-
ber. "I bought it, and one day I knelt
here and prayed to all the evil and de-
ceit and murderous lust that is por-
trayed there to sustain me in my pur-
pose of revenge. I have even burned
candles before that seductive image, in
my mad worship."

Wynn's eyes were gleaming now, and
I could notice an insane passion gradu-
ally creeping over him as memory
brought up the past. His flushed face
and twitching hands warned us that he
was becoming dangerously affected by
his recital. Demers and I watched him
narrowly, expecting every moment that
his nervous control would give way,
and we should have to deal with a ma-
niac. Suddenly he arose and stood be-
fore the picture.

"You have encouraged me and up-
held me even until now," he whispered
to it, "and I am thankful and content."
He raised his hands before it as a
suppliant. Intensely responsive to the
whole shocking scene, I leaned for-
ward in the swivel chair, when to my
horror the floor beneath Wynn gave
way and he was precipitated, even as
his victims had been, into the brilliance
of the white cell. The heavy glass
closed over the opening so suddenly
that we scarcely heard his shriek of
terror.

In a moment Demers and I were
prying at the glass to get it open again,
but in some way it had fastened itself
too firmly, and it resisted every effort
to break it. Demers rushed away for
a hammer, and I continued pounding
the glass with the butt of my pistol.
It was of no avail.

I saw a brown head and an agile
body appear upon the floor of the cell.
It raised itself gently and moved its
horrid head back and forth, how and

The White Cell

31

again spreading out the curiously
marked hood in token of growing rage.
Wynn had backed to the wall as far
as possible from his deadly instrument
of vengeance. The snake began to ad-
vance toward him. I could tell by the
contortions of Wynn's face that he was
suffering the tortures of the damned.
Once he screamed, but it came to my
ears only as a whisper. He never
raised his eyes, but his hands were
high above his head. The serpent was
advancing and stopping. Presently it
was within striking distance. Still it
remained as though undecided.

Wynn was absolutely motionless. I
saw his tongue slip across his lips. The
cobra raised itself a little, drew back

its head, and distended its spectacled
hood. Its mouth opened — and it struck.
Wynn still stood as he was, and the
snake struck again, then turned to the
hole whence it had come. Wynn's
arms dropped to his sides, but he re-
mained upright. And when the police
and the coroner arrived, an hour later,
he was still standing in the blazing glare
of the white cell.

I hurriedly explained the circum-
stance to Doctor Smellie.

"Yes," he said, "sometimes when
persons die while at the climax of a
powerful emotion, their muscles retain
the rigor in which they were held. By
the way, Demers, that was cobric acid
you left for me to analyze."

FAMOUS SCOTLAND YARD DETECTIVE CHIEF DIES

A LFRED WARD, chief inspector of Scotland Yard, who made two trips to the
United States to bring back Ignatius Tribich Lincoln, former member of
Parliament and self-confessed German spy, died recently at a hospital in London,
England.

Inspector Ward was one of the best-known police officers of Europe, and
handled some of the greatest cases and investigations of recent years. One of
the most noted was the solving of the theft of the famous seven-hundred-and-
fifty-thousand-dollar pearl necklace, which took place July, 1913.

The investigation of this mystery was one of the most remarkable examples
of detective work on record, and was declared to stamp Inspector Ward as being
the foremost criminal investigator of Europe.

All that Scotland Yard had to guide it were three lumps of French sugar
and a torn scrap of a French newspaper found in the registered packet that
should have contained the necklace.

The thieves, who had hoped to obtain a consignment of cut stones when
they stole the packet, soon found the necklace to be a white elephant on their
hands. They dared not break it, as the pearls were widely known through the
advertisement which described each one, and eventually determined to sell it in
its perfect form.

Two Paris jewel merchants were approached, and through them Inspector
Ward established the connection that led to the arrest of the four thieves and to
their receiving heavy sentences in Old Bailey Court.

^Wilder Anthony

SHERIFF PARKER crooked one
leg around the horn of his saddle
and let his horse drop its head
and graze, while he took tobacco
sack and papers from the pockets of
his open vest and began to twist a ciga-
rette. He had just reached the top
of a high, grassy knoll, and, as he
smoked, his eyes wandered restlessly
over the plain in front of him. Fifty
miles straight ahead the hazy tops of
the Bear Claw Range stood out against
the sky line, and in between the rolling
prairie stretched in a series of brown
waves broken here and there by green
alfalfa fields and shining irrigation
ditches. At irregular intervals, a ranch
house, with its surrounding outbuild-
ings, stood out in the sunlight; and a
score of miles to the horseman's left,
a faint haze of smoke showed where
the thriving little city of Elktooth lay
hidden behind a fringe of hills.

The sheriff wasted no time, how-
ever, in looking toward the city. He
had left there only a short time before,
and his work lay ahead of him, not
behind. For a while he impartially scru-
tinized the entire country ; then his gaze
centered on a small, red house, which
stood near a clump of cottonwoods at
the edge of a little creek, some half
dozen miles away. Despite the distance,
the place was surprisingly distinct in
the hot glare of the midday sun, and
Parker eyed it thoughtfully for many
minutes before he touched his horse's
flanks lightly and rode slowly down the
slope.

As he rode along, silent and inscru-
table as the dun-colored plain itself,
his mind was busy with the errand
which had brought him into that neigh-
borhood. For many days, mounted on
the roan gelding — whose looks belied
his speed and staying qualities — clad in
faded khaki, gray shirt, open black
vest, and high-crowned soft hat pulled
well down over his eyes, he had been
wandering around in a search for clews
which would lead him to the headquar-
ters of a gang of rustlers that had in-
fested the county for months. Gradu-
ally the trail had narrowed until now
the sheriff was on his way to Jim Car-
roll's ranch, his mind settled in the be-
lief that the cattle thieves, whoever they
were, had established their base some-
where in its vicinity. Just what he
would do when he reached the ranch he
had not decided, although it was in his
mind to ask for a night's lodging and
then keep his eyes open for anything
that might turn up.

About half a mile from the ranch,
Parker stopped his horse and gazed
with speculative eyes at the sight which
confronted him. At this point the trail
wound around the base of a tall, dome-
shaped butte, and a dozen yards beyond
the trail — between it and a huge alkali
spring — was a mass of black sand
which moved and billowed in the after-
noon sunlight like the surface of a
restless sea. Barring the sheriff and
his horse, not a sign of life was any-
where apparent, and there was some-
thing uncanny in the sight of the rest-

Sinking Sands

33

less, undulating mass which made both
man and beast shiver slightly as they
watched it.

The place was well known to the
sheriff, as it was to every resident
within a radius of many miles, i People
called it the "Sinking Sand," and in its
time it had sucked down into its bot-
tomless depths many an unwary horse
and range steer, and several humans
who had approached too close to its
treacherous edge. Nearly a quarter of
an acre in extent, it surged ceaselessly,
waiting, always waiting for whatever
might step into its clutches. Shaking
himself together with a little shrug,
the sheriff touched his horse and moved
on. After all, fascinating though it was
in a weird sort of way, the great quick-
sand had nothing to do with his present
mission.

Not a soul was in sight when the
little officer finally rode around the edge
of the cottonwoods and stopped his
horse at the hitching rack in front of
Carroll's house. Dismounting slowly
and stiffly, he climbed the porch steps,
mildly surprised that not even a dog
was on hand to greet him. The door,
was wide open, however, and he paused
on the threshold and rapped sharply
with his knuckles against the jamb.
When he had waited several minutes
without obtaining any response, he
stepped inside and looked around.

Parker found himself in the main
living room of the ranch house — a com-
bination of dining room, office, and
lounging quarters. A long pine table,
still bearing the remains of a meal,
from which a cloud of flies rose up at
the sheriff's entrance, stood in the cen-
ter. There was a battered desk in one
corner, in another lay two saddles and
their equipment, and a telephone was
on the wall opposite the door; but not
a human being was in sight. Crossing
the room, the sheriff entered the kitchen
which, save for a sleeping cat, was

3A DS

empty also; and, satisfied at last that
the dwelling was entirely deserted, he
went out into the yard and approached
the barn.

Here, a score or two of hens were
scattered about over the sun-baked
ground, and a dozen young calves dozed
in a corral. Everything, barring the
absence of any human occupant, seemed
exactly as it should ; but there was a
mournful, brooding silence about the
place that somehow got on Parker's
nerves, though he would have found it
hard to tell just exactly why. It was
not until he stepped inside the gaping
doorway of the barn that the little of-
ficer paused abruptly, and »his inquisi-
tive eyes narrowed slightly behind their
sheltering glasses.

Just inside the door, half a dozen feet
or so from the heels of a three-year-
old saddle colt which stood tied in a
stall, lay the body of a very stout man.
He lay on his back, arms and legs
spread-eagled, and his wide-open eyes
staring straight up at the floor of the
loft above him. He was dressed much
as was the sheriff himself : flannel shirt,
overalls, and vest, and a felt hat lay
a few paces away. Save for a thin
dribble of blood from his nostrils, there
was no sign of violence or injury about
him; but his first quick glance told
Sheriff Parker that Jim Carroll was
dead.

The officer bent over the body and
placed his hand on one naked wrist.
The wrist was cold and rigid, proving
conclusively that death had occurred
several hours before.

Straightening up again, Parker
cocked a calculating eye at the colt,
which had turned as far as its halter
would permit, and was eying him in
the suspicious, wild-eyed manner com-
mon to all young or half-broken range
horses. Judging from the blood at
Carroll's nostrils and the exterior ab-
sence of any wound, it looked very

34

Detective Story Magazine

much as though he might have been
killed by a kick while in the act of
entering the colt's stall. But the little
sheriff seldom jumped at conclusions.

Lifting the body by the shoulders, he
dragged it a few feet; then he gave
vent to a little grunt. His eyes had
just fallen upon a small hole in the
flannel shirt sleeve over the man's up-
per arm, and long acquaintance with
bullet wounds told him what had hap-
pened even before he raised the arm
to find it broken and that the bullet had
passed through it into the body be-
neath. It was beginning to look very
much like a case of murder, after all ;
and the officer's eyes lit up with pro-
fessional interest as he turned them
upon his immediate surroundings.

But the hard-beaten, litter-covered,
earth floor of the barn could tell him
nothing, and, after looking through the
half-empty hayloft, also barren of
clews, he covered the dead man with a
blanket and returned to the house.
Thus far he had been able to discover
nothing beyond the fact that Carroll
had been apparently shot from above —
he deduced this from the downward
course taken by the bullet — by a high-
power gun of about .30 caliber.

A systematic and painstaking search
having thoroughly satisfied hinvthat the
house, both upstairs and down, was ac-
tually deserted, the sheriff sat down at
Carroll's desk and ran through its con-
tents. Several papers taken from the
bottom of a drawer made him open his
eyes and purse his lips thoughtfully;
but there was no direct clew to the
murder or the deserted condition of
the premises, and he finally left the
room and went outside. Here he wan-
dered about until he had poked his
nose into every nook and cranny large
enough to conceal a mouse, but without
any result worthy of note. When he
finally sauntered toward the little grove
of cottonwoods, however, his eyes

brightened and he whistled to him-
self.

Near the edge of the trees, the
ground, slightly damp at this point, was
cut by the footprints of a large-footed
man who seemed to have walked slowly
toward the barn, although the trail was
lost again on the hard clay beyond the
shadow of the grove. A little farther
on, the grass was broken and bent as
though by some heavy weight.

Rolling a cigarette in a thoughtful
way, the sheriff sat down on a con-
venient rock and smoked dreamily for
several minutes ; then he measured sev-
eral of the footprints with a pocket
tape. Finally he returned to the house
and telephoned the coroner of his find,
telling that official that he would await
his arrival, which would be at the end
of about three hours, at the ranch.

By this time the afternoon had
turned into evening and the dusk of
the summer night was beginning to fall,
a dusk that was considerably intensified
by a dark bank of clouds which had
come up from the northeast. There
was the feel of a storm in the air, and
as he smoked and pondered upon what
he had discovered, Parker watched the
scudding clouds and wondered if his
friend the coroner would reach the
ranch before it broke. From some
notes and accounts he had found among
Carroll's papers, the officer was inclined
to think that Jim Carroll had been
mixed up in the cattle stealing, and he
wondered if the murder could be the
result of some quarrel among the
thieves.

One paper especially among those in
the dead man's desk puzzled the sheriff
exceedingly. It was a crude drawing
or map, showing the location of some-
thing that seemed to have been buried ;
and, as he sat thinking over his prob-
lem, Parker took it from his pocket and
spread it on his knee in an attempt to

Sinking Sands

35

fathom its secret before the coroner's
arrival.

For a long time Parker studied the
drawing, trying hard to guess what
"F. R." might mean, and wondering
if the thing was really important, or
only a sketch of some part of Carroll's
ranch. The figures might mean almost
anything, but, taken in conjunction with
the word "dig" and the crooked line
through the center of the map, it looked
very much as though they were meant
to denote distance along some path or
trail. Suddenly the sheriff sprang to
his feet.

"By George !" he exclaimed aloud, in
an excited tone. "That must be it!
The general outline is the same, and
if a man had anything of importance
to bury he could not pick a better spot
than the quicksand, provided, of
course, that there really is a safe path
through it. I've never heard of any,
but Carroll knew the place better than
anybody, and he may have found one.
That 'F. R.,' too, may stand for flat
rock — there's a big one close to the edge
of the sand, I remember. On the whole,
I believe I'll look into it; it may be the
solution of the whole business."

Having arrived at this conclusion,
the sheriff put the map back in his
pocket, and he was of two minds
whether to ride out to the quicksand
right away or wait until daylight the
next morning, when a sudden rising of
the wind decided him. The shower
was coming up quickly; already the
wind was blowing in strong, sharp
puffs, and big drops of rain were pat-

tering on the roof. Hastily closing the
doors and windows, Parker lighted a
lamp and sat down at one end of the
table in the living room to resume his
study of the map, which now seemed to
be his most important clew.

He had been busy at this for some
time when all at once he thought he
heard some one step on the boards of
the porch. For a little he sat still, lis-
tening intently, but aside from the roar
of the wind and the sharp rattle of the
rain, he could detect nothing unusual.
With the thought, however, that the
coroner might be arriving, he got up
and opened the front door. .

By this time it was dark, and as he
stood peering down the road the sheriff
began to doubt if the coroner would get
there at all before morning. At any
rate, there was nothing in sight at the
moment, and he was turning back into
the house when a slight movement at
his left caused him to whirl quickly.
He was not quite quick enough, how-
ever, for before he could protect him-
self in any way, something dark and
heavy was thrown over his head and
shoulders and he was knocked to the
floor. Here, in spite of his violent
struggles, he was held and bound hand
and foot; then he was picked up and
carried into the living room, where he
was dropped on top of the saddles.

A moment later, the dark, blanket--
like thing which enveloped him was
plucked away, and he found himself
gazing into the grinning face of the
tallest man he had ever seen. At least
that was what Parker thought at the
time, although he afterward realised
that the flickering lamplight somewhat
accentuated the man's height. He was
tremendously big, however, big in
every way, and he towered like a giant
in the low-studded room.

"Startled you some, I reckon, eh?"
he remarked, with a throaty chuckle.
"I must say you're a cool hand. Camp-
in' here as comfortable as you please,

36

Detective Story Magazine

after killin' poor Jim. When I found

his corpse in the barn, I thought

But never mind that. What you done
with the money?"

"Money?" Sheriff Parker looked in-
credulously up at his captor. Despite
his natural anger and chagrin at the
easy way he had been captured, he
thought he grasped the situation.
"You've made a mistake, my friend.
I know nothing about any money, and
I didn't kill Carroll— I was investigat-
ing his death when you attacked me."

"That's a likely story," the big man
sneered in an ugly tone. "I've been
watchin' you for some time, partner,
an' I know what you been up to. Jim
Carroll and I was pals, and I aim to
see that you get what's comin' to you
after I locate that cache. Ah!" He
gave vent to the last exclamation as his
roving eyes fell on the map on the table,
and he grabbed it up eagerly.

For several minutes he studied the
paper intently, paying no heed to the
sheriff's attempts at explanation. He
merely laughed and shrugged his shoul-
ders when the prisoner proclaimed his
identity. Finally he turned, and, with-
out a word, stuffed the end of a towel
into the officer's mouth and tied it
there. Thus gagged, the prisoner could
only glare his rage as the big man
folded the map, put it in his pocket,
and left the room.

For a time Parker struggled furi-
ously with his bonds ; but he finally
gave up. His strength was not equal
to the task of breaking them, although
he could make the rope give a little
with each violent heave. Soon the cor-
oner would arrive, and when he did so,
things would be put right. After all,
the big stranger seemed merely to be
laboring under a misapprehension of
the true state of affairs, even though
his questions about the money, and his
delight at finding Carroll's map did
look decidedly odd. The sheriff was
considering the possjbility of the stran-

ger being a member of the rustler gang
when he was aroused by the chugging
of an automobile.

The soft, dirt road, made muddy by
the heavy shower, caused the car to
labor considerably; but it finally came
to a standstill, and soon afterward steps
sounded on the porch outside. Unable
to speak or move, the sheriff could only
wait until the door swung open and the
coroner stepped into the room, giving
vent to a little outcry and a start of
surprise when his eyes fell on the help-
less man in the corner. He was just
springing toward him when a tall figure
loomed up behind and there was a dull
thud. The coroner collapsed in his
tracks.

"Humph! Another one of you, eh?"
The big man stooped over his latest
victim and carefully searched his pock-
ets, bringing to light, among other ar-
ticles, a revolver, which he tossed on a
chair.

"I hope this is the last," he muttered,
as he dragged the senseless man away
from the door. "I^ve got my work
cut out for me as it is, but I can make
it, now the shower is over an' the moon
comin' up. That quicksand was sure
some hidin' place for the loot. I hardly
gave Jim credit for that much brains
— thought I'd find the stuff about the
place here somewheres, after our tussle
in the grove this mornin'. Oh, yes, I
shot him — had to in self-defense — an'
there's no use tryin' to keep up the bluff
any longer. As it is, I'll have the coin
and be plumb gone away before you
or your partner here is able to take
after me."

He turned and strode heavily out of
the room without another word.

Sheriff Parker chewed savagely at
the rag in his mouth. He saw the whole
thing now, and he was mad clear
through. Carroll and the big man had
been partners in the cattle stealing, and
Carroll had hidden the proceeds of
their thievery. Then they had quar-

Sinking Sands

37

reled and Carroll had been killed. Now
the stranger was on his way to the
quicksand to dig up the loot and hide
himself in the hills before any one could
get on his track.

Possessed with but one thought — the
determination of arresting the mur-
derer before he could get clear away,
the sheriff renewed his assault on his
bonds with all the strength he had. As
before, however, his efforts seemed
useless, and he was on the point of
falling back exhausted when his eyes
lighted suddenly.

Lying on the littered table, not far
from the edge, was a long, keen-bladed
carving knife, and if he could reach it,
all might yet be well. Rolling off the
saddles, he managed to hitch himself
along the floor until he could reach one
leg of the table and joggle it violently
by throwing his body against it. At
the end of ten minutes of violent exer-
tion, the knife fell on the floor, and
within five minutes more the officer's
hands were free. When he had untied
his feet, he stooped over the coroner
for an instant, saw that he was only
stunned, and smiled grimly. Then he
caught up the revolver on the chair —
his own weapons had been taken by
the murderer — and hurried out of the
house.

Kneeling in the middle of the heav-
ing, black sand, which - in the faint
moonlight seemed even more repellent
than by day, the murderer was digging
with his bare hands when the sheriff
crept over the top of a little rise and
paused to watch him. He was digging
furiously, feverishly, like a man crazed,
and now and then he cast a swift glance

to right and left, as though afraid that
the hungry sand would rise over the
narrow path on which he knelt and
engulf him. Suddenly he gave vent to
a little cry of delight and reached down
to pull a small bag out of the hole he
had dug. Without pausing to open it,
he turned and began to pick his way
toward solid ground.

Sheriff Parker watched him in si-
lence, having no mind to attempt an
arrest until the man was safely out of
the quicksand, for he felt sure that the
murderer could not escape him now.
For twenty feet or so, pacing in the
methodical manner of one who counts
his steps, the big man zigzagged along
safely enough ; then something seemed
suddenly to go wrong — his right foot,
planted carefully ahead of him, failed
to rise for the next step. For an in-
stant, in a kind of desperate frenzy, the
man tugged at it with all his strength ;
then he gave vent to a wild scream
which the sheriff could never forget.

"It's got me !" he yelled. "The sand
has got me !" And then he began to
struggle madly like a man in a fit.

The sand rose swiftly, and with hor-
rified eyes Sheriff Parker watched it
creep to the murderer's middle and
then to his shoulders. With one last
horrible shriek, the man's head went
under, and the quicksand was calm and
unbroken as before. Still surging, still
waiting for another victim.

Shaking himself together like one
who has just awakened from some ter-
rible dream, Parker retraced his steps
to the ranch, where he found the cor-
oner sitting up and wondering what
had happened to him.

&H.Irrin& Ifancocl

CHAPTER I.

THE HAND OF THE DEAD?

SIX weeks after they were back
from their Colorado adventure,
Donald Carrick, seated in the
carpeted section of Doctor John
Fleming's wonderfully compact labora-
tory, uttered an exclamation of wonder.
As the chemist whirled about, he beheld
Carrick drawing very hard at his pipe
and staring steadily through one of the
windows. "

"What's going on outside, to draw
such an outburst from my calm friend?"
Fleming asked.

"Nothing in the gardenette before
this window," responded Carrick
briefly, continuing to send up great
clouds of pipe smoke.

Fleming, who had started to join his
friend, now turned back to a bench on
which stood a test-tube rack containing
liquid in a dozen test tubes, to which he
had just added as many reagents.

For at least three minutes Carrick
continued looking out of the window,
though he saw no near object. At last,
picking up the newspaper, he resur-
veyed what he had been reading.
"That's strange," he muttered.
"Is it permissible to ask what is so
strange?" Fleming inquired lightly, as
he reached to an upper shelf over the
bench and brought down a two-liter
bottle of tenth-normal acid.

"Why, the Spokane, of the Blue
Stack line, is missing — nine days over-
due, and not sighted anywhere," replied
Carrick. "She's a freighter, last stop
San Jose de Guatemala, bound with
general cargo to San Francisco. I own
a bit of stock in the Blue Stack line."

"I see," said the chemist, nodding.
"Looks, as if she had been lost. How
do you relish a slump in the returns
from and value of your stock?"

"Not particularly pleased over the
prospect," responded the Master
Hound, "though at the moment I was
not thinking of that. Incidentally,
Fleming, the Spokane carried in her
strong room something over two mil-
lion dollars in gold, shipped from South
American banks to meet collections in
San Francisco."

"But if the Spokane was wrecked,"
Fleming argued, the line is hardly re-
sponsible for the value of the money."

"The value of the money, in any
event, will come out of the pockets of
the underwriters at San Francisco," re-
torted Carrick.

"Let's see," mused Doctor Fleming,
clamping to a stand the burette he had
just filled with acid solution, and turn-
ing around, "wasn't the steamship Hal-
cyon, of the Red M line lost about three
weeks ago in the Pacific, with two mil-
lion and a half in gold on board? You
are beginning to see light, I believe,
Fleming," said Carrick.

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

39

"Not the light that is illuminating
or irritating your mind, I fancy," re-
plied the chemist, with a smile. "If the
San Francisco underwriters have to
face a loss of four million and a half
dollars, it must make them peevish. Yet
how does it affect you? You haven't
any funds invested in marine insurance,
have you?"

"Not a penny," Carrick declared
promptly.

"Then- — "

"But see here, Fleming," went on
the Master Hound quickly, "neither
steamship can have been lost in a gale,
for there was no gale along the Pacific
coast at the time either craft was last
seen, nor for many days after. Both
boats are American owned, had no mu-
nitions aboard, so could not have been
blown up by submarines. Besides, none
of the warring nations have submarines
in those waters. It seems highly prob-
able, therefore," that both the Spokane
and the Halcyon foundered in smooth
seas."

"Did neither craft carry wireless?"

"Both did," Carrick went on, his eyes
gleaming. "That makes the mystery all
the more dense. No distress signals
were received anywhere from either
craft."

"But there is" only one class of men
who rob ships and then sink them, de-
stroying their crews," the chemist ob-
jected. "Such men used to be called
pirates, and pirates are extinct in these
days of steam."

"That doesn't mean that a new breed
of pirates couldn't spring up," Donald
Carrick interposed, speaking almost im-
patiently for one of his equable tem-
perament. "In fact, if piracy has been
committed in these two instances, then
we are bound to admit that pirates
exist, or reexist. The point, Fleming,
is right here. For weeks there have
been no other losses in the Pacific, from
Panama up, and the only two vessels
to vanish are, curiously enough, the

only two that carried* notable lots of
gold coin."

"Does the newspaper say anything
that could throw more light on the
double mystery?" the chemist inquired.

"Here's the article," replied the Mas-
ter Hound. "You may read it for your-
self."

Hastily the chemist scanned the
printed paragraphs, then shook his
head, for he ha'd really learned nothing
that his friend had not already told
him.

"If it weren't a flat impossibility,"
Carrick went on musingly, "I should be
tempted to say that the vanishing of the
two ships has "many of the earmarks of
the uncanny work of the dread Li
Shoon. But that can hardly be, since
we saw Li and his satellite, Weng-yu;
leap to death over the edge of that
Colorado precipice. More, we saw their
mangled bodies lying crushed in the
gully below."

"That would be proof enough of the
death of most men," laughed John
Fleming. "But would even such proof
hold good in the case of an archfiend
and a piece of cleverness like our Chi-
nese friend, Li Shoon?"

Once more Donald Carrick picked
up the paper, studying it attentively
through eyes one-quarter closed.

"I could almost swear that Li was
behind this job," he grumbled.

Fleming sprang to answer the tele-
phone, but quickly swung around to
say :

"Telegram for you, Carrick."

The latter moved to the instrument,
listening intently. At last he said
briskly :

"Send that telegram here in writing,
and deliver it as speedily as you can."

Resuming his chair and his pipe, Car-
rick smoked harder than ever, sending
up clouds of smoke, yet uttering no
word. Knowing his friend well, Flem-
ing asked no questions, but continued
letting a drop at a time fall from the

40

Detective Story Magazine

stopcock of the' burette into a flask
underneath.

Within ten minutes Tako, Fleming's
Japanese servant, knocked, then en-
tered, "handing a telegram to the Hound,
then silently withdrawing. Tearing off
the end of the envelope, Carrick read
twice through the message on the yel-
low page.

"See what you think of this, Flem-
ing," he said finally, and the chemist
read :

Your two Chinese fugitives who were
supposed to have leaped over the precipice
several weeks ago, it turns out, did nothing
of the sort. Their supposed remains in
the gulch difficult of access were inspected
closely yesterday. Proved to be only two
stuffed dummies, in Chinese garb, that
were thrown down from cave in face of
cliff near top. The fugitives really jumped
after fastening around their waists con-
cealed ropes tied to roots of big bushes
at edge of cliff. Bushes show marks of
ropes. Signs in cave, which opens into cliff
less than ten feet from top of cliff, show
that four or more men, presumably Chinese,
lived in cave at least two days, then regained
top of cliff and escaped. Nothing has been
heard from any of them. Any instructions?
Do you mean to come out here to take up
clews beginning at cave and gulch?

The telegram was signed by Bowers,
sheriff of the Colorado county in which
was the mountain precipice from which
Carrick and Fleming believed they had
witnessed the suicide of Li Shoon and
Weng-yu.

"I never did a more foolish thing
than not to investigate the two sup-
posed bodies at the bottom of the
gully," remarked Carrick, rather bit-
terly when he saw his chemist friend
lay the sheet down.

"It would have taken hours to have
reached that gully," Doctor John Flem-
ing responded, "and the scene laid out
for us was so real that I do not won-
der that even you, Carrick, were fooled.
Confound Li Shoon! He appears to
possess the nine lives of a cat."

"Li Shoon would make a cat look
foolish by comparison," retorted Car-

rick, more bitterly. "It seems impos-
sible to slay him. I never really thirsted
for any man's blood — not even Li's —
but I am certain that it would not grieve
me greatly if I were to see him cut
into small pieces. Only then could I
feel certain that he had ceased to girdle
this suffering earth with his villainy."

"Are you going to do anything im-
mediately in this matter?" Fleming
asked.

"Nothing more than to think about
it, if you mean the disappearance of
the two treasure ships."

"I have finished this bench work,"
Fleming continued, as he lifted three
racks of test tubes and some other bits
of apparatus and stacked them neatly
at the back of the bench. "So now, if
you do not need me, I thought I would
run up to Sylvia's hotel and chance a
visit. If she is out, I will come right
back."

"What if she has already vanished?"
suggested Carrick, though he smiled,
for he regarded the chance of that as
slight. It was enough, though, to cause
Fleming to turn a bit pale. With a
spring he was at the telephone, calling
up the hotel where Miss Dorrance
lived. He soon heard that young lady's
voice at the wire.

"If I arrive in about fifteen minutes,"
inquired the lover, "do I stand a good
chance of being able to have a little
time with you?"

"An excellent chance,"" la'ughed
Sylvia.

"Ask if I may call with you?" sug-
gested Carrick. Fleming did so, though
he frowned slightly over the request.
Lovers have sometimes been known to
be impatient of the presence of third
parties.

"You are wondering why I wish to
go," Carrick continued, as Fleming
hung up the receiver. "I shall not dally
long, John, but I wish to warn Miss
Dorrance, in my own way, against any
efforts that Li Shoon's emissaries may

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

41

make to lure her once more into cap-
tivity such as she was forced to endure
on two other occasions."

"That will be as well," smiled the
chemist thoughtfully. "Though, after
what I have said to Sylvia on that very
subject, I doubt if she would be likely
to be trapped by anything less than
downright force."

For five minutes Fleming busied him-
self with his toilet. Then, passing his
own inspection in a mirror, he turned
away just as Tako came in to report
that the doctor's motor, which he had
ordered brought round, stood at the
door. Fleming and his friend went out,
the former taking his place at the steer-
ing wheel. Quite punctually to their
appointment, they presented themselves
at the hotel desk to have their names
telephoned up to Miss Dorrance's
rooms. Two minutes later, the callers
were received by the elder and the
younger Miss Dorrance.

"We did not know but that you had
already vanished," smiled Donald Car-
rick. "Unfortunately, we have news
that Li Shoon, though officially dead, is
again at large."

"You cannot mean it !" gasped Sylvia
Dorrance, much of the color fading
from her lovely face.

"It is true," replied Fleming, while
Carrick pleasantly inquired : *v

"Has Li made any effort to get you
away from your hotel again, to some
point at which you might again fall into
his power?"

"No," said Sylvia Dorrance, regain-
ing most of her composure. "On the
contrary, in yesterday afternoon's mail
I received a much pleasanter letter and
one which auntie and I have been won-
dering if we could not accept. It was
from Elsie Duveen, one of my school
chums. She and her mother are at
Citrusville, California, and they have
invited us to spend a few weeks with
them."

"California?" quickly inquired Car-
rick, barely concealing his deep interest.

"Here is the note," said Miss Dor-
rance, rising, going to a desk, and re-
turning with a folded, scented sheet of
paper. "Perhaps you can read Elsie's
horrible scrawl. I used to tell her that
she had never really learned to write."

"And this is her writing — her own
writing?" Carrjck inquired, as he
glanced at the letter.

"There can be no mistaking Elsie's
handwriting," said Miss Dorrance.

"Thank you," said Carrick, passing
back the sheet after having read it
through. "Miss Dorrance, may I ad-
vise you not to think of starting to Cali-
fornia until I am able better to advise
you?"

"Why — what — do you really think?"
asked the young woman, in astonish-
ment.

"Later to-day I shall be able to tell
you just what I think," Donald Carrick
replied, rising. "And when I advise
you, I shall know!"

Most courteously he took leave of
the ladies, next nodding cheerily to
Doctor John Fleming, who, despite the
little that he knew of the Hound's
thoughts, now appeared to be a bit mys-
tified.

As he dropped in the elevator to the
office floor, Carrick said to himself :

"At present I suspect old Li Shoon
of knowing all about the disappearance
of the treasure ships. Inside of two
or three hours I think I shall know posi-
tively whether that yellow scoundrel is
now after the yellow metal of ships on
the Pacific!"

CHAPTER II.

SMOKE FROM THE BLUE STACK.

STOPPING at the office of the man-
ager of the hotel, Carrick said:
"I wish to send a telegram in your
name, and will show it to you in a
moment."

42

Detective Story Magazine

"I know it will be all right," said
his friend the manager.

Seating himself, after the other -had
handed him a pad of blanks, the Hound
penciled this dispatch :

Miss Elsie Duveen, Citrusville, California.

Highly important to know if you recently
sent Miss Sylvia Dorrance an invitation to
visit you in your present home. Kindly
wire answer immediately, collect.

To this Carrick signed the name of
the manager and the name of the hotel.

"Will you- have this sent for me at
once?" asked Carrick, tendering the
money with the telegram.

"With pleasure," responded the man-
ager, after a glance at the sheet.

"Then permit me to telephone it to
the Western Union in your name, and
at the same time I will call up an official
in the company, asking him to see to it
that both telegram and reply travel at
fastest speed west and east."

Within three minutes, Carrick had
secured a pledge that the telegram
would be "rushed" in the livest sense
of the word. The Hound thereupon
turned to his friend the manager.

"When the answer comes, you will
phone me at Fleming's laboratory, won't
you ?" he requested.

"Without fail, Carrick."

Outside, stepping into a taxi, Car-
rick gave the chemist's address, and was
quickly back. Once admitted to the lab-
oratory by Tako, the Hound glanced
down at his pipe,, resting on a table,
then shook his head.

"It may turn out that I need sleep
more," he mused. Removing his coat,
Carrick lay down on the sofa, tossing
a blanket loosely over him, for outside
the winter air nipped in strong contrast
to the uniform warmth of seventy de-
grees within. Sixty seconds after lying
down, the Hound slept, nor opened his
eyes until, nearly two hours later, he
was disturbed by the ringing of the
phone bell.

"Answer to your telegram," pro-

claimed a voice from the hotel, and he
recognized the manager's voice. "This
telegram is signed : 'J. N. Skinner,
caretaker.' The dispatch reads : 'Miss
Duveen and mother now absent for five
weeks on trip to Hawaii ; due to return
in about three weeks.' "

"Thank you, old man," was Carrick's
fervent acknowledgment. "The money
that I left with you paid the charges
both ways? Yes? Thank you. Will
you be good enough to send that reply
up to Miss Dorrance's room, with a
copy of the telegram that I sent in your
name ? Will you kindly explain to Miss
Dorrance that I took the liberty of wir-
ing in your name? And will you kindly
tell Miss Dorrance that, under the cir-
cumstances, I strongly advise against
her taking the California trip? I am
sure that she will understand."

Having adjusted matters to his
satisfaction, Donald Carrick again
stretched himself on the sofa, carefully
covering himself.

"It must never be forgotten," he
murmured to himself, "that Li Shoon
is an adept at forgery, or controls the
services of such an adept. Nor must
it be forgotten that his yellow and
brown crew know well how to secure
specimens of handwriting that are to be
forged. Miss Duveen did not write
the letter that Sylvia Dorrance showed
to me. Li Shoon did write it, or caused
it to be written. Miss Dorrance must
have told him something about Miss
Duveen, or else Li obtained his infor-
mation in other ways. Though twice
the trick has proved futile, Li Shoon
again sought to get Miss Dorrance
where she could be easily taken in un-
der his impelling control, and that in
order to have a strong hold on Fleming
and myself, compelling our remaining
passive. If Li wanted Miss Dorrance
under his power in California, then Li
is also there, or else he used California
as a headquarters. Therefore, consid-
ering all the other facts that I now

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

43

know, one thing is certain : Li Shoon is
behind and responsible for the vanish-
ment of the two treasure ships. Will
another or some more treasure ships
vanish from the surface of the sea?
Yes, unless I can succeed in interfering
in season."

Having reached this conclusion, Don-
ald Carrick closed his eyes. For some-
thing like thirty seconds he remained
awake ; at the end of that brief period
he was sound asleep, to be awakened
only by the abrupt entrance of Doctor
John Fleming, who shook the Hound
brusquely by the shoulder.

"I've heard," said the chemist quietly.
"So Miss Duveen's supposed note was
a forgery, committed or inspired by Li
Shoon in the hope of getting Sylvia
finally in his power. Is there no limit
to the ingenuity of that Chinese devil?"

"Apparently not," yawned Carrick,
sitting up and reaching for his pipe.
"And what I've learned to-day com-
pletes my reasons for knowing that Li
Shoon knows all about the missing
treasure ships."

"A man trained as a chemist," replied
Fleming gravely, "would say that you
have strong reasons for believing that
you know the trend of Li's present ac-
tivities, but that you lacked anything
like logical proof of your suspicions."

"Let it go that way, then," said Car-
rick, smiling indulgently. "However,
Li and his principal men must be at
work on the Pacific coast, or else they
wouldn't desire to lure Miss Dorrance
out there, feeling that for this and the
third time they can really hold her from
rescue, and that her captivity will
still your activities, and, through your
friendship, will also induce me to quit
looking for the yellow rascal's trail.
For it cannot be other than Li Shoon
who has conceived the idea of sending
Miss Dorrance to California on a most
tragic wild-goose chase. Now, my dear
fellow, if your chemically trained mind
can admit that Li Shoon must be in

California, or operating from there,
then you must be ready to concede that
my next destination must also be Cali-
fornia."

"I shall have to grant your reason-
ing," said Fleming. "More especially
as I know you must be right, anyway."

"Ting-a-ling-ling !" called the chemist
to the telephone.

"Carrick? Yes, he's here. I'll call
him to the machine.

Carrick moved over, listened gravely,
then directed quietly :

"Kindly deliver that message to me in
writing with utmost speed. Tell the
messenger to take a taxi and I'll pay
for it."

Turning to the chemist, he asked :
"John, how long will it take you to
get ready to go to San Francisco, or
some other city in California? Yes,
you are to go. Oh, of course, I under-
stand your reluctance to go far away
from Miss Dorrance, but look at it
in another way. The sooner we can
know that sod really holds Li Shoon
down in the bosom of Mother Earth,
the sooner you may feel that Miss Dor-
rance is wholly safe. For Li will try
to get hold of Miss Dorrance every
time that he starts in with any new vil-
lainy. He has an obsession that she is
a hostage who can be used to make us
stay our hands. One of these days Li,
if he secures possession of your sweet-
heart again, will, in an excess of tem-
per, remove her from this earth as a
rebuke to us. So the thought causes
you to look a bit pale? Then you will
surely be glad to go to California with
me. For this time we shall surely get
Li, and we shall just as surely bring him
back to New York. Here he can be
convicted of murder and executed.
Then, and not till then, will Miss Dor-
rance be safe, and may we feel that we
are through with the yellow wretch and
at liberty to pursue happiness in our
several ways. So run along and get
ready. When you wish, phone Miss

44

Detective Story Magazine

Sylvia, of course. Don't forget to tell
her that I am going to call on her within
half an hour, with her cousin, Mr. Law-
rence Semple. You never heard of that
'cousin.' I suppose not. He's in the
criminal-investigation line, and a most
clever and resolute fellow. Now, don't
be jealous, Fleming, even if I am going
to ask him to put up at the same hotel,
be known as Miss Dorrance's cousin,
and escort her about for a while. Sem-
ple is middle-aged, a gentleman, bald-
headed, and has a wife and four chil-
dren. He's a decent and cool fellow,
and after I leave him at the hotel we
may both feel assured as to Miss Syl-
via's safety. Phone her now, if you
wish, Fleming. I'm going out to meet
the taxi."

Nor did Carrick have to wait long
at the door. The message was deliv-
ered. Carrick, after feeing the boy,
carefully read the message before he
stepped inside. Then he returned to
the laboratory, setting fire to the mes-
sage and dropping it in the grate.

"The president of the Blue Stack line
wired, asking you and me to take up the
matter of the disappearance of the Spo-
kane, as the company expects to ship
treasure by other steamers of that line,"
the Hound went on. "You and I are
offered our own fees and all expenses
to take up the matter on the jump. We
can hardly" afford, can we, to decline an
offer so liberal?"

"I can't," Fleming admitted honestly.
"But you ? Humph ! You own more
money now than you will ever spend.
You're going to accept the offer, of
course?"

"I shall wire my acceptance as soon
as I have arranged for the safety of
Miss Sylvia Dorrance. And, by the
way, Fleming, Semple will be only the
outward sign of Miss Sylvia's safety.
He will have such help as he needs. It
will be part of our expense account for
the job that the Blue Stack line will pay.
Why not? I shan't attempt to fool the

Blue Stack people about it. Now, do
you feel like going?"

CHAPTER III.

THE APPARITION OF THE "bUDZIBU."

I -I has learned to keep under cover
well," grumbled the Hound, nearly
a month later.

"It is time he did," agreed Fleming
placidly. "He appears to have nine
lives, but even nine may be lost in time.
Besides, there are no more treasure
ships sailing. The steamship companies
have secretly instructed their masters
not to accept specie shipments."

"They will resume presently," de-
clared Carrick, rather moodily. "There
will be a ship start up the coast with a
whopping treasure as soon as I have
found the slightest clew to Li and his
scheme of operations. It would be
murder and robbery to have treasure
brought up the coast with a practical
certainty that crew, money, and ship
would be lost. But don't think I have
been idle, Fleming."

"I know full well that you haven't
been idle," was the chemist's grave an-
swer. "We've put in breathless days
in San Francisco, and have raked Chi-
natown with a fine-tooth comb. We
have been in Spokane and Seattle';
we've been m Los Angeles, fairly tak-
ing up the carpet of that town, prying
underneath, and now we've been ten
days in San Diego, and they've all been
busy ones."

The two friends sat just inside the
balcony of a parlor in the Del Coronado
Hotel at San Diego. Of the suite, two
of the rooms were chambers. There
was also a dining room and bath. The
balcony overlooked the salt water. Near
the door to the balcony stood a mounted
telescope of unusual power. Two pairs
of strong field glasses rested on a table.

"Li Shoon cannot operate unless on
the sea," Carrick went on reflectively.
"Naturally he would not ship on a treas-

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

45

ure craft itself. Hence he must have
some vessel of his own. That vessel
would have to possess speed, for, on
account of the disturbances in Mexico,
several United States war craft are
sailing up and down the coast. Li or
his lieutenants, if overhauling a treas-
ure ship, would need speed. If, while
the operation of boarding and robbing
was going on, a United States war ves-
sel were to appear, Li would have to
have a good deal of speed in order to
get away from some of our long-range
guns. A craft of from twenty-eight to
thirty knots would be needed, or safety
could not be secured. That would mean
a yacht, for none of the coasting ves-
sels possess such speed. I have had all
the yacht registers examined, and can-
not find the slightest reason to believe
that Li has chartered any craft along
this coast. Where, then, did he get his
vessel ?"

"A submarine, perhaps?" hinted
Fleming.

"There are no private ones," returned
Carrick^ with a shrug of his shoulders.
"True, one could be built, but one could
not be hidden. It would have to put in
somewhere for supplies, and then its
existence, even though it had been
built secretly, would almost surely be
known."

"There are little ports or bays along
the western coast of Mexico where it
could be hidden," Fleming suggested.
"Mexican rebel officials could be bribed
to keep the secret, and could sell sup-
plies at outrageous prices."

"A Mexican rebel official might be
bribed for most things," Carrick re-
turned, "but it would be difficult indeed
in the case of a submarine. The Mex-
icans of all factions are daily looking
for . a possible war with this country.
They have no submarines, but would
sell their souls to own one, for in the
event of our making war upon them,
their coasts would be blockaded. They
would prize a submarine that they could

send out on a mission of sinking block-
ading craft. No, there is hardly a shade
of a chance that Mexican rebels would
protect Li Shoon in running into one
of their smaller bays or harbors, or
even in appearing along the open coast.
Besides, a submarine does not possess
speed enough to make sure of her over-
taking a liner. The chance would be
too much of a hit or miss to please
Li Shoon's longing for sure things.
Fleming, we must find Li's craft in
some above-water craft, and she must
be an unusually swift one- — therefore a
yacht."

The chemist did not argue further.
He knew that his friend was generally
right in his deductions. Instead, the
chemist, rising, sauntered close to the
balcony, while Carrick, lounging back
in his chair, blew smoke lazily toward
the ceiling.

"I wonder if a yacht like that one
could be fast enough?" said Doctor
Fleming, a few minutes later.

Instantly the Master Hound was
upon his feet, snatching up a glass and
gazing intently.

"If that boat's engines match her
lines," cried Carrick eagerly, "she
should be good for thirty knots an hour.
See! She's making for the harbor:
going to put in here. I'll know in a jiffy
what craft she is, and my new friend
at the customhouse will hold his tongue
about my inquiry, too."

Carrick seated himself at the tele-
phone table and called for one of the
officials at the customhouse. A short
conversation ensued, to which Fleming
did not pay much heed, for he was
busy with the field glasses that he had
snatched up.

"Carson will find out as speedily as
possible all about that yacht," Carrick
announced at last. "I shall remain here
until he calls me."

"Do you wish me to motor over to
the harbor?" Fleming inquired.

"No, for if that yacht be really com-

46

Detective Story Magazine

manded by Li Shoon or one of his
lieutenants, what more could you do
than show yourself and perhaps put the
Chinese on their guard?"

So Fleming continued to watch.
Presently he reported that the yacht
had run into the harbor and had moved
as though going to a pier, but obstacles
prevented his seeing either the craft or
her possible berth.

"She went in under good speed. I
noticed that much," the chemist added.

Twenty minutes later, the phone bell
rang. Carrick jotted down the infor-
mation that the yacht was the Budsibu,
of Dutch Sumatran register, with a
Mr. Ronnvald aboard as owner, with a
party of guests. A customs inspector
had reported that he saw no Chinese
in the crew or among the guests. The
yacht had put in for oil fuel and sup-
plies, and would put to sea again as
soon as these had been obtained. The
owner was cruising for pleasure, and
had not decided upon his course or next
port of call.

"That's unusual," Carrick added,
after he had told Fleming the news
he had received. "I'm going to note
that craft a little closer."

Calling the office, Carrick ordered a
car with closed body to be at the hotel
entrance immediately.

"Come along, Fleming," requested
the Hound, after examining his auto-
matic revolver and glancing at a set
of papers that he drew from an inner
pocket.

The car swiftly bore them to a point
from which they could examine the
wharf at which the Budzibu lay. It was
plain that great activity was being dis-
played in the loading of the yacht.

"They're filling the yacht's fuel-oil
tanks with two great hose pipes," Car-
rick explained. "It is altogether suspi-
cious speed. One would expect the
owner and his friends to want a little
time ashore after having been for days
at sea. We'll take a chance or two,

Fleming. Perhaps the yacht won't sail
as early as planned. I'm going to head-
quarters, get some policemen, and go on
board. I have with me a duplicate copy
of the New York warrant for the arrest
of Li Shoon, Weng-yu, and Ming. We
can take two officers with us in this car,
and a whole motor patrol wagonload of
policemen can reach the water front
not far behind."

"And there will have to- be some
lively apologizing done if it proves that
none of our fugitives are on board.".

"I'm a very convincing apologizer,"
said the Hound, smiling. Then he
leaned forward to give the chauffeur
his orders. There was but brief delay
with the police. Two policemen stepped
into the car, and more were ordered
into a patrol motor. Swift time was
made to the water front. Just as the
car turned into the short street leading
to the wharf, Carrick uttered an excla-
mation of rage.

"There is the Budzibu putting out al-
ready !" he announced, pointing. The
yacht was, indeed, making for open
water at a speed of not less than twenty
knots.

Stopping the chauffeur, Carrick
jumped out to confer with the police
lieutenant in the patrol motor. That
lieutenant was a gem in the way of
knowledge of San Diego's water front.
The patrol motor returned, as useless,
but one of the two policemen in the
car took a seat with the chauffeur, while
the lieutenant seated himself beside
Carrick.

Within five minutes, the ocean-going
tug Terence was steaming out of the
harbor at her best speed, fourteen
knots, turning south after the now van-
ishing Budzibu. That police lieutenant
on shore with his two remaining men
had most complete instructions for tele-
graphing. Donald Carrick, in a craft
of half the speed, had begun his chase
— around the world, if need be — of the
Budzibu.

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

47

Yet aboard the Terence, unsuspected
by one even as astute as the Master
Hound, Chinese ears listened atten-
tively to the words that passed between
Donald Carrick and Doctor John Flem-
ing, as they sat in the tiny cabin that
had been turned over to them.

CHAPTER IV.

DEVOTEE OF THE SPORTING CHANCE.

\\/E'RE in the open water now," an-
nounced Carrick, filling his pipe
as he glanced through the cabin win-
dow. "It will be a long chase, my
friend. You didn't hear my instruc-
tions to the police lieutenant, did you?"

"It was needless," replied the chem-
ist, with a wave of his hand. "I knew
that you knew what you were doing,
and you didn't need my help."

"Do you believe that this fourteen-
knot boat can overtake the Budzibu,
with her best speed of twenty-eight
knots ?"

"It can if you say so and plan it,"
replied Fleming, with easy confidence.

"I'm not quite such a fool," replied
Carrick. "The yacht Vulcan, with a
best speed of twenty-nine knots, is two
hundred miles up the coast, and on her
way south. I ordered her, four days
ago, to be fitted and sent to a little bay
twenty miles north of San Diego, that
I might have her at need. I gave Lieu-
tenant Allen a message that the Vul-
can's master will understand. He will
chase this tug, which has wireless of an
amateur order. Some time to-morrow
the Vulcan will overtake lis, and we'll
transfer to the right boat. After that
— the real chase."

"But why didn't you wait for the
arrival of the Vulcan?" Fleming asked
wonderingly.

"Because no one can tell what will
happen to, or on, the Budzibu before
to-morrow," replied Carrick gravely.

"But if you overhaul the strange
yacht at sea, what then?" Fleming

asked. "You have no authority to board
her, and can do so only by courtesy. If
Li Shoon is on board, and in charge,
surely you wouldn't trust much to his
courtesy."

"Events will have to provide for
themselves," was the enigmatic answer,
which caused the listening Chinaman,
English educated though he was, to
hold his breath and wonder.

It was in the wainscoting that the
Chinaman stood hidden. Not only was
his place of secrecy secure, but he had
easy means of leaving that hiding place
to go to any part of the tug. Li Shoon,
knowing that Donald Carrick could al-
ways be counted upon to dog his steps,
had surely left the Master Hound and
his chemist comrade well watched in
New York. So cleverly had the trail-
ing work been done that, though Car-
rick had not once detected any sign of
shadowing, their whole course since
leaving New York had been closely
watched.

And this Chinese member of Li
Shoon's fraternity of evildoers had suc-
ceeded in secreting himself aboard the
Terence because he knew when to ex-
pect the strange Budzibu in port, and
also because the Terence was the fastest
tug at that port. Li Shoon meant to
know whether Carrick was really trail-
ing him. In the event that Carrick
tried to follow in the Terence, plans
had already been laid for sendirig that
tug to the bottom of the ocean !

As he listened, the stolid young Chi-
naman — he did not appear to be past
thirty, and was dressed in white man's
attire of a rough, seagoing sort, looked
puzzled, but soon a wicked grin over-
spread his face.

"It will be rough on me," he mused.
"If this tug transfers her passengers to
the Vulcan, I could not hope to smuggle
myself into the transfer. But Doctor
Li Shoon's orders provide for the al-
ternative of destroying the tug before
help for Carrick can arrive. This tug

48

Detective Story Magazine

will have to go to the bottom, with all
on board, including myself, unless I can
manage to provide myself, unseen, with
a life preserver. No matter ! - My life
does not count as much for the Ui
Kwoon Ah-how as Carrick's does
against it. I can die with our enemies."

The stolid shrug with which that was
said was quite worthy of the traditions
of murderous unselfishness belonging to
the dreaded body, the Ui, Kwoon. Many
yellow members, and some brown —
lascars and Malays — had already sac-
rificed themselves in other treasure-
amassing adventures.

"As I may have to be up a good deal
to-night," Carrick presently proceeded,
"I shall turn in now for forty-one or
forty-two winks. And you, Fleming?"

"I am not sleepy now," returned the
chemist. "I shall take the air on deck."

Doctor John Fleming passed out on
deck, using his sea legs as the Terence
plowed southward against the consid-
erable swell on the water. The Master
Hound was soon asleep. The watching
Chinaman in the wainscoting softly
opened a hitherto invisible panel that
he had constructed three days before.
Through the narrow slit thus made the
Mongol eyes studied the sleeping face
of Carrick.

"Shall I slip into the cabin and stab
him?" pondered the member of the Ui
Kwoon. "But Carrick has the name of
being a light sleeper. I might shoot
him, but the boat is rocking. If I only
wounded him, and could not make good
with a second shot, then my mission
would be defeated. I must not lose my
chance through haste. A few hours'
patience, and then I can condemn all
these Americans to death !"

So the panel closed as noiselessly as
it had opened. Carrick slept on dream-
lessly.

Five minutes later, the panel again
opened. Ling Cheng, devotee of the
sporting chance, had been unable to re-
sist the temptation to bewilder and per-

haps warn his enemies — the enemies of
Ui Kwoon.

In his hand he held a tiny atomizer.
Noiselessly he sent sprays in two or
three directions into the little cabin. As
the panel closed, a subtle, pleasing odor
filled the room — one compounded of
llang-llang and sandalwood.

And now Donald Carrick really
dreamed. Some unanalyzable influence
of that long-unsmelled but not-to-be-
forgotten odor caused him to dream of
that hidden Chinese rendezvous in the
Philippines in which he had, years be-
fore, first come face to face with that
prince of deadly plotters, Doctor Li
Shoon.

But the dream passed, though for a
few seconds the gentleman adventurer
stirred uneasily in his berth. Half an
hour later, the door opened to admit
Doctor John Fleming. The Hound
opened his eyes.

"I say, Carrick, what is this strange,
baffling odor?" demanded the chemist.
"It smells like — let me see! Sandal-
wood, or llang-llang, or — hang it ! —
both of them !"

"I do catch some odor," assented
Donald Carrick, sniffing. "And now it
is plainer."

The next instant his features dis-
played a singular gravity. It was the
nearest thing to terror that any man
had ever seen on the Hound's face.

"I smelled that odor first on a terrible
night," he went on. "It was then the
dominant scent in Li's headquarters,
many thousands of miles from here.
But it must be imagination — here, at
sea, on the Terence."

"If it is," declared Fleming seri-
ously, "then it is odd, isn't it, that your
imagination equally affects me, and I
never smelled this combined, com-
pounded odor before?"

"Yes, the scent is quite unmistak-
able," agreed the Hound, sitting up and
drawing on his shoes. "I cannot ac-
count for it."

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

49

"Is it possible that some of that Chi-
nese crowd can be on board this boat?"
cried Fleming.

Donald Carrick surveyed his friend
with a queerly quizzical smile.

CHAPTER V.

WIRELESS AND WAVE CREST.

AFTERNOON had changed to night.

The two passengers had dined with
Captain Mike Rourke. The early eve-
ning passed. Carrick and his friend
were in the captain's cabin as the tug-
boat plowed along a few miles away
from the coast.

It had been left to the bow watch to
report the unlikely event of sighting the
long-vanished Budsibu.

In a tight little hutch back of the
boat's pilot house, the wireless operator
leaned back in his chair, headpiece ad-
justed on the chance of picking up the
signal "Q — Q — Q" at any hour during
the night.

From somewhere aft on the hurri-
cane deck a figure might have been
sighted, hiding cautiously behind a life-
boat, only his head showing. It was
Ling "Cheng, sometimes the devotee of
the sporting chance, but now neither
taking nor giving foolish chances.

Only the mate in the wheelhouse and
the bow watch were observing the
course or neighborhood of the craft.
These two and the wireless man were
the only ones visibly on duty. The door
of the wireless room hung ajar.

With an evil smile, Ling Cheng
studied the scene. It was one nearly
to his complete liking. By the aid of
a tiny flash light he cautiously read the
position marked by the hands over the
dial of his watch.

"From the course and the time
elapsed since leaving San Diego harbor
I can come very close to giving our po-
sition," he told himself, with a low
chuckle. "And the wireless man need
not be long in the way ! Yet I must

4A DS

be wonderfully careful until after I
have sent my own wireless word !"

After listening intently, Ling moved
forward in the felt-soled shoes he had
donned for this grisly work. His eyes
taking in all that was to be seen, Ling
glided on through the night like an
apparition.

In the wireless room, eyes closed,
ready after the manner of his kind to
open them at the first click through his
headpiece, the operator undeniably
dozed. Larry Dorkins would never
wake again.

There came a swift flash, a burying
of steel through flesh and between ver-
tebrae. The knife was withdrawn, again
plunged and withdrawn. There were
some blots of blood- on the floor, but
that mattered not in Ling Cheng's de-
sign. Picking up the slight body of
the late wireless man, Ling bore it to
the starboard side of the hurricane
deck. The boat was wallowing in a
rough sea. Watching the most favor-
able instant, Ling cast all that was left
of Larry Dorkins far out, so that it
splashed in the sea and was swiftly
astern on the waves.

Then Ling turned, though even his
stolid disposition recoiled when he
heard the incredulous, wrathful bellow
of Captain Mike Rourke as that
doughty master bounded from the top
of the railed deck-house ladder to the
deck.

Not a word was spoken, but the mas-
ter came on warily, without waiting to
summon help. Ling crouched and
waited, gauging his man and judging
that the encounter was one of life and
death. Worse ! Unless Ling came out
victor, there was but scant chance that
he could send his message over the
waters !

So the two faced each other, but
Mike Rourke was not the type of man
to favor delayed action. Warily, yet
with a bound full of latent power, the
tug's master leaped at the Chinaman.

50

Detective Story Magazine

Ling ducked, dodged, then struck with
the knife.

But Rourke, expecting that, was not
to be caught at the other end of the
dagger. Instead, his right fist crashed
against the Chinaman's arm, breaking
it. The dagger dropped to the deck.

"One murddher is enough for ye in
a night !" bellowed Rourke, as he
gripped his man, holding him with one
massive hand by the collar. Like an
eel, Ling Cheng sought to slip out of
that coat, only to find his left arm held
crushingly in one of Rourke's massive
hands.

"It's not gettin' away ye'll be doing !"
uttered the master grimly, shaking the
prisoner as if he would empty him.
"Watch below, there ! Bow watchman !
Is that you ? Send Donovan to the foot
of the laddher!"

In a trice Donovan, a deck hand,
scarcely less powerful looking than
Rourke himself, reached the foot of
the ladder and hailed.

"Here I am, wid a lad I want ye to
take hold av," roared Captain Rourke,
appearing with his captive. "His right
forearm is broken, but break his head
as well, Donovan, av he thries to give
ye the slip. Even av he does give ye
the slip, let it be nowhere but over-
board !"

With that, and steadying himself ex-
pertly despite the lurches of the wal-
lowing tug, Mike Rourke passed the
yellow man down to Donovan, who
reached up to take the human offering;

"I dunno where this yellow ape came
from," announced Rourke, "but he
killed Dorkins, I misthrust, an' threw
him overboard. Hould him, Donovan !"

Then, still awake to all his duties
as master, Rourke ran to the wheel-
house, where he gave orders to make
a short turn and put about over the
foam-indicated course as closely as pos-
sible. In another instant the bow
watchman's hoarse tones tumbled all
hands on deck.

Carrick and Doctor Fleming, barely
in their cabin, noted the abrupt chang-
ing of the course, accompanied by the
noise of swift orders.

"Something out of the ordinary has
happened," remarked Carrick, bound-
ing up and opening the door. He and
the chemist were soon on the deck. The
first very tangible object on which their
gaze lighted, as displayed under a deck
light, was the now rather crumpled fig-
ure of Ling Cheng in the relentless grip
of Donovan.

"How did this man get aboard?" de-
manded Carrick, indicating the pris-
oner.

"Ask the captain — he don't know,"
retorted the deck hand. "Naythur do
I. But this yellow snake threw Dor-
kins, the wireless man, overboard.
We're putting around to foind him av
it can be done."

Then a white glare shot over the
waters ahead. The Terence's search-
light was being employed in the task
of keeping as close as possible to the
widening and gradually vanishing track
of white foam left by the tug's propel-
lers.

"Don't let that scoundrel slip away,"
urged Carrick, and 'strode forward.

Long, keen, and earnest was the
quest, for Mike Rourke believed that
Larry Dorkins might be still alive and
swimming more or less feebly. Rourke
was no man to abandon another. He
was a finely competent master of his
seafaring trade, and bawled his orders
from the bow to the wheelhouse. Yet
presently even a' man of Rourke's re-
source and resolve was forced to give
up the quest. If Dorkins' body still
floated, it had been impossible to pick
up a glimpse of it on the crest of any
white-capped wave or in the darker
shadows of the trough of the sea. With
a gulp, and a tear in either eye. Cap-
tain Rourke was at last compelled to
give the order to put about and follow
the course. Yet for a full three miles

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

51

on the resumed southerly course that
searchlight was kept playing over the
waters ahead.

"D'ye see how I. can do anny
more av me duty?" Rourke demanded
hoarsely at last.

"You have done your full duty, cap-
tain," Donald Carrick assured the tug's
master.

"Then it's time to find out what we
can be learning from that — begging
your pardon, sir-r! — that dhirty hay-
then scoundhrel. I've bro-oken his
ar-rm, but I'll be breaking his hear-rt
av he doesn't begin tellin' all about him-
self and his dhirty wor-rk!"

CHAPTER VI.

STRANGER OR PIRATE?

IT was time to devote some attention
to Ling Cheng, for the members of
the crew were giving him an unwelcome
amount of consideration. Donovan was
doing his best to keep his grip on the
captive, and at the same time to fight
off four angry deck hands who ap-
peared bent on at least a partial lynch-
ing of the unpopular Mongol.

"Captain," shouted Donovan, "I'll be
glad whin ye're relievin' me," came
hoarsely from the temporary captor.
"It's not much longer I'll be able to
hould on to the pig-tailed reprobate."

"Avast there, lads !" bellowed
Rourke, striding down the deck. "Shove
off there, will ye? If it's anny wan
to be killin' the yellow lowlife, I'll be
doin' it mesilf. 'Twas I that caught
him red-handed!"

Elbowing his way through, Captain
Rourke grabbed hold of Ling, nodding
to Donovan to step aside.

"Drown the heathen !" demanded the
crew angrily.

"I'm not blamin' ye, lads," retorted
Captain Mike Rourke, "an* maybe we'll
soon be doin' that very thing. It'll all
depind on the way the scoundhrel talks

up an' tells what he knows. Come along
wid ye, chink !"

Into the dining room Rourke dragged
Ling Cheng, that being the largest room
available for an inquisition. Having
hurled the yellow man inside and beck-
oned Carrick and Fleming to follow
him, Rourke carefully locked the door,
dropping the key into his own pocket.
w "Now, stand up, me lad, an' let me
frisk ye," ordered the tug's master,
forcing Ling to stand in the middle of
the room away from the tables folded
against the walls. Rourke ran his hands
up and down ovej the Chinaman's
clothing, without finding any weapons.
Ling had left a revolver in his hiding
place in the wainscoting.

"Ye've no fightin' tools on ye,"
Rourke conceded at last. "Now, ye
yellow disgrace, talk up for yersilf.
What can ye say?"

• Ling Cheng shook his head, as though
to convey that he did not understand.

"Ye can talk some English, all right,
I'll be bound," Rourke roared at him.
"Now, will ye make a good thry, or do
ye prefer some av this?"

"This" was the burly fist that the
master shook under the assassin's nose.

"I'm beggin yer pardon, gintlemin,"
Rourke continued, glancing at his pas-
sengers, "but this is a black-hear-rted
murtherer, an' he killed wan av me
crew. So, av he won't condescind to
talk, thin the least I can do will be to
trim his face for him."

"Go ahead," said Carrick, who did
not see the necessity for applying the
rules of ordinary humanity to one of
Li Shoon's aids.

"Now will ye talk? Last call!"
warned Rourke.

But the Chinaman again shook his
head, whereupon Rourke let fly with
his fist, hurling Ling across the room,
the Chinaman folding up into a heap
on the floor. After him sprang the
tug's master, picking up the wretch and
administering to him a shaking that

52

Detective Story Magazine

threatened to dismember the wretched
victim. This course was punctuated
with blows that must have left welts.

"Now, thin, what's your name, your
josh-house name, mind ye!" bellowed
Rourke.

"Ling Cheng," came rather promptly.

'Good enough !" vouchsafed Rourke.
"Now, ye've shown that ye know Eng-
lish, So be quick with yer other answers.
How did you come to be on this boat?"

"No savee," replied Ling, trying to
look perplexed.

"Ye'll savee all right whin I'm
through wid ye," retorted Rourke, ad-
ministering more of thje recent treat-
ment. Ling must have ached from
head to foot when Rourke hurled him
to a sitting posture in a chair. "Now,
thin, tell me how ye came aboard this
boat !"

"Me stow awhile," chattered Ling.
"Stowed away, ye mean? All right!
Why did ye do it?"
"No savee."

Smash! Whack! Ling suffered from
the course in chastisement. When
Rourke's question was repeated insist-
ently, he at length answered :

"Me think you go mebbe Mexico side.
Me want get there — no pay fare."

"And was that why ye murthered me
wireless man?" demanded Rourke.

Again Ling Cheng was troubled by a
fit of silence. Nor could Rourke's fistic
persuasion induce him to talk.

"Ye'd better be tellin' me," the tug's
master warned the yellow assassin.
"Av ye don't, I may decide to let me
crew in here. Av I do, they will get
something out av ye, av it's only yer
life."

But Ling persisted in remaining sul-
lenly silent. Rourke was too big-
hearted, possessed too large a sense of
fair play to go beyond a certain point
in manhandling even a Chinese assassin.

"Bad luck to ye, thin, for an obstinate
haythen!" growled the tug's master.

"Av ye won't talk at all, thin we'll l'ave
it to the American courts to take it out
av ye wid the electhric chair. Ye'll get
that, all right, as soon as I return wid
ye to the States and hand ye over to the
law. In the meantime, 'tis no chance
ye'll have to betther yersilf wid not
speakin'. Ye've shown that ye can un-
dherstand English, and ye'll do no eat-
ing, nor drink anny wather, until ye've
loosed up the joints av yer tongue. So
now I'll be takin' ye to a room that ye'll
find to be as stout a brig as iver aven a
decent American sailor was iver locked
up in. Come on wid ye !"

Gripping Ling's collar, Rourke led
him to the door, unlocked it, and
stepped with his prisoner out on to deck
to face the wrathful, waiting crew.

R-r-rip ! Swift as a flash, the seem-
ingly cowed Ling Cheng tore out of
his jacket. "Away from the captain he
bounded, diving between two deck
hands.

"Gr-r-rab him!" bellowed Mike
Rourke.

But all hands reached the rail too
late. Leaping up there, Ling, without
an instant's hesitation, dove into the
sea. He sank, as though his body had
been drawn in under the craft's hull.

All in one breath, Rourke gave the
order to turn and put about. In a wide
arc the tug obeyed her helm. Back
over the course went the tug, and again
the searchlight was brought into play.
But the quest was in vain, and Rourke
at last felt forced to give the order to
go about and resume the course.

"Av he'd only done the last thrick
first," grumbled Mike Rourke, "I'd still
be havin' Larry Dorkins wid us in the
wireless room."

"Have you any other man fitted to
do the wireless work?" Carrick in-
quired.

"Not a one," rejoined Rourke. "'Twas
that quick ye called me into ser-rvice
the day that I had no time to get

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

53

hold of me other wireless man, Jim
Shea."

"Then I must get up to the wireless
room," Carrick went on. "There must
be some one listening for signals, or
the master of the Vulcan would deem
himself on the wrong course, and per-
haps turn aside."

Fleming, with Rourke, accompanied
Carrick to the wireless room, where the
three men gazed solemnly at the blood-
stains on the floor; but Carrick, his
work of the night on his mind, sat
down, adjusting the headpiece that had
been so rudely wrenched from the head
of Dorkins.

Not during the next hour was there
a call, such as he listened for. At last
Carrick, bending forward over the key,
tested the apparatus. Though weak, it
responded to the test.

"Q— Q — Q" signaled the Hound into
the air. He waited, but no response
came.

"The current doesn't drive far
enough for the Vulcan to pick us up, I
imagine," he commented to the chemist.

"Or else, perhaps, Li Shoon has
agents on that yacht, as he had aboard
this craft," Fleming suggested solemnly.

"It doesn't seem possible, and yet it
may be the case," Carrick assented,
after a few moments' thought. "If the
Vulcan is done for, then so is our quest
for the present, anyway, for she was
the one and only boat of the right speed
that I could find for our task."

It was after one in the morning, and
Rourke had turned in, when the voice
of the bow watch reached the ears of
the friends in the wireless room as he
hailed :

"Strange craft five points off the port
bow, sir. Seems to be making off from
the Mex shore, sir. Thought I saw
her use her searchlight for a single,
short flash, but it's dead just now."

Fleming bounded outside. Carrick,
laying aside his headpiece, followed
quickly. Both edged around to the port

side of the wheelhouse, to find the sec-
ond mate, who had turned the wheel
over to a man, sweeping the shoreward
horizon with a night glass.

"Can you make out anything?" Car-
rick asked.

"Yes, sir; there's a craft there. I
can make out masts, but no hull. She
must be under power, but I can't make
out any smoke cloud."

"An oil burner, then?" hinted the
Hound.

"Must be, sir. I'm wondering if I'd
better call the captain."

"Do you think the stranger is travel-
ing full speed?" demanded Carrick.

"Too far away to be certain, sir, but
I should say she was."

"Then you would better call Cap-
tain Rourke," advised Donald Carrick
quietly, while to Fleming he added, in
an undertone: "If it's the Budsib.u,
then perhaps Ling succeeded in signal-
ing her before fate overtook him, and
she's trying to overhaul us."

" 'Trying' to overhaul us ?" retorted
the chemist. "She won't have to try.
That greyhound can't fail to overtake
this slab-hulled sea cripple! If she
overhauls us, it will be a trip to the
bottom for us !"

"What did you say, sir?" inquired
the second mate.

"My friend was just saying," replied
Carrick calmly, "that it will be a very
excellent idea to call Captain Rourke
and to tell him that I'm afraid we're
running into more trouble than he'd
be willing to believe."

"Anything more than that, sir?" per-
sisted the watch officer.

"Isn't that enough?" demanded the
Master Hound. "How strong a mes-
sage does it take to call your captain
from his bunk in the middle of the
night? If that doesn't rout him out,
just whisper the word, 'Pirates!' But
hurry, my friend! Davy Jones is wait-
ing for us at the bottom of the ocean !"

54

Detective Story Magazine

CHAPTER VII.

SUSPICION AND THE SEARCHLIGHT.

r^APTAIN MIKE ROURKE was
speedily on deck.

"What's this I'm hearin' about a
pirate?" he demanded, as he picked up
a pair of glasses and stood at the open
port window of the wheelhouse.

"That craft over yonder," Carrick
answered quietly.

"A pirate, eh?" remarked Captain
Mike, taking a long look through the
glass. "Don't ye call that inthresting,
sir-r?"

There was no hurry in his voice or
manner. On the contrary, it was plain
that he by no means discredited the in-
formation that had been offered him.

The strange craft, the Budzibu, or
whatever she was, remained for several
minutes at about the same angle on
the port bow. She was making much
faster time than the Terence could do,
and was plainly moving to intercept the
tug.

"Would ye be afther likin' me to
change the course?" asked Captain
Rourke.

-"What would be the use?" ques-
tioned Carrick. "That craft can over-
take us, and changing the course would
be interpreted as conscious flight on our
part."

Nearer and nearer dashed the over-
taking yacht. Her hull was now
plainly visible.

"It's the Budzibu, an' no mistake,"
commented Captain Rourke, now out
on the deck behind the wheelhouse, as
he studied the stranger. "I mar-rked
her well whin she came into por-rt."

"I'm going to get out of sight before
she plays the searchlight on us," de-
clared Carrick. "I might be recog-
nized, if that yacht is bossed by the
man who I think controls her move-
ments."

"What shall I say, av we're hailed?"
demanded Mike Rourke.

Carrick gave the master some gen-
eral instructions.

"And on the way you handle the
matter, captain," finished the Master
Hound, "will probably depend the
safety of your craft and of all on
board."

"I'll do me best to bring ye through
safely, sir-r," promised the tug's mas-
ter. "It'll not be my fault av ye and
yer friend come to har-rm."

"I'm not thinking of myself, nor of
my friend," replied the Master Hound
gravely. "Fleming and I took these
chances deliberately. I shall be sorry
if I am the means of bringing you and
your men to grief."

"It won't be the fir-rst time that anny
av us has faced throuble," rejoined
Rourke. "And, av we get through wid
this, it won't be the last time we'll face
throuble, ayther, I'm thinking. But I
thank ye for the thought av us, sir-r."

Carrick and Fleming slipped into the
wheelhouse, where, away from the win-
dows, they could slip out of sight at
need.

Ten minutes later, with the yacht not
more than a mile and a half distant,
the broad, white band of her search-
light shot across the sky, then dropped
full across the Terence.

"Shall I return the compliment by
givin' her a glimpse av our own light?"
queried the master, standing near the
wheelhouse window.

"It could do no good," Carrick an-
swered.

Presently Rourke reported :

"She's overhauling us right fast,
sir-r, an' there goes her whistle to sig-
nal us that she'd like us to lay to for
a hail."

"It would look strange if you didn't
oblige," the Hound answered.

So bells jangled in the tug's engine
room, and by degrees the Terence
slowed down, running under reducing
headway and then rolling on the waves.

"Ahoy, tug!" came the hail through

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

55

a megaphone, as the yacht, also barely
moving, rounded in as close as was
safe. The voice from the yacht, though
hailing in English, betrayed more than
a trace of foreign accent. "Where are
you headed, tug? What business?"

"Me own business, sure !" Rourke
bawled back, in a seemingly good-hu-
mored voice, his lips to a megaphone.

"Have you any objection to answer-
ing us candidly?" came the demand.

"Surely not, since ye're askin' us in
a civil way," Rourke returned. "The
Red M two-stacker Pearl City is in some
throuble wid her propeller shaft, and
we're undher or-rders to proceed down
the coast and stand by. Maybe we'll be
r-reaching her be daylight, or an hour
later."

"We didn't hear any wireless signals
from the Pearl City," remarked the
voice from the yacht suspiciously.

"Then I'm glad ye didn't, av ye're in
the same business as mesilf," retorted
Rourke, a grin in his voice. "I'm want-
ing the Pearl City job all to myself.
But ye're a gintleman's yacht, aren't
ye?"

"Yes."

"Then ye'll not be thryin' to take
the job from me, for I want it, and
ye've more speed."

"You know well enough that this is
a pleasure yacht," came gruffly from
the Budzibu.

"I've the best av reasons for knovvin'
it," Rourke retorted, good-humoredly.
"You tould me so yersilf."

"I think I'll send a boat aboard of
you," continued the voice from the
yacht.

"Are ye in disthress?" queried
Rourke.

"We are not."

"Thin ye'll sind no boat aboar-rd av
us," declared Captain Mike. "Be yer
own confession ye're no mon-o'-war,
and ye'll put on none av the airs av
wan."

"Rourke is handling it well," Carrick

whispered in, "but the Budzibu is
plainly suspicious. There are six life
preservers in this wheelhouse, Fleming.
Keep your eye on one of them if we're
sunk."

"I'd sooner go to the bottom at once
than prolong the agony," the chemist
answered.

"Cap', sir," almost whispered the
second mate, "there's a searchlight
roaming the sky to the south of us."

Rourke wheeled, saw the distant flash
of the new light, and took his cue.

"Ye'll have to be excusin' me, cap-
tain," Rourke bawled through the meg-
aphone. "Av I'm not mistaken, that's
our customer looking for us now to
the south 'ard av here. Good-by, and
thanks for the talk. Full speed ahead,
Mr. Riley, as soon as the engine is
turnin' well."

Instantly the second mate rang for
half speed, the engine room respond-
ing. From ;the Budzibu there was no
further hail, though two men could be
made out as they stood, enveloped in
caps and long coats, beside the yacht's
officer on the bridge.

Within three minutes, at the latest,
we ought to know whether we are go-
ing to be safe for the present," Car-
rick declared, as Captain Rourke, turn-
ing his back to the yacht, leaned in
over the window sill.

Second Mate Riley, leaving the wheel
in the hands of a deck hand, was now
busy uncovering the tug's searchlight.

"Better signal and ask what ship is
to the south of us," suggested Donald
Carrick, and Rourke gave the order.

"Sometimes Heaven is good to
liars !" ejaculated Riley, as the unseen
stranger answered with her flash light
in the code. "That craft is really the
Pearl City."

" 'Twas likely she would be," as-
sented Mike Rourke. "Whin I lied to
save me boat and its people, I gave the
name av a steamer I knew was comin'
up the coast, or was due to."

56

Detective Story Magazine

A bare quarter of a mile away, and
still holding to the tug at reduced speed,
the Budzibu seemed to watch as though
her controlling spirits felt that their
worst suspicions were about to be real-
ized.

"How'd she be sinkin' us, av she
thried it?" Rourke asked suddenly,
after a glance over his shoulder.

"Probably she carries, concealed, a
quick-firing cannon or two," Carrick
replied. "She may even have a tor-
pedo tube, though I would doubt that,
for a tube is not easily concealed when
making port."

Again the yacht's searchlight lay
broadly across the tug.

"She'll not give up thinkin' bad av
us," muttered Rourke.

"It'll be all r-right, sir-r, av she does
nothing more than thinkin'," ventured
the man at ithe wheel.

"But if she fires on us," suggested
Rourke, "surely the noise av her guns'll
be heard by the Pearl City." _

"It wouldn't bother the scoundrels on
that yacht to sink the Pearl City as
well," Carrick answered.

"Thin I don't see much hope for us,"
Rourke growled. "For the boss av
that yacht, 'tis plain, doesn't like the
looks av us at all. See the way the sea
terrier hangs at our heels."

Taking off his cap, and at infinite
pains to expose only the top of his
head, Carrick glanced swiftly out be-
tween Rourke's broad body and the
window frame.

"She's undoubtedly going astern to
rake us," declared the Master Hound
gravely. "The Budzibu must mount
her gun or guns forward."

CHAPTER VIII.
danger's haunting look.

IZEEPING just about a quarter of a
mile astern the yacht followed
along. The tug did not deviate from
its course, nor was any one allowed to

be visible on the Terence aft, for that
would have looked as though the mas-
ter of the tug believed the Budzibu to
be dangerous.

None the less, Carrick, Fleming, and
Captain Rourke had gone below. They
now watched the yacht through the
ports of the darkened after cabin.

"Li Shoon may decide to follow us
along until he learns whether the Pearl
City really needs your help," said Car-
rick, after a while. "If he finds that he
has been fooled, Li will then not hesi-
tate to sink both the tug and the liner."

"Why should he be such a murdher-
ing scoundhrel ?" asked Rourke.

"He's an international criminal,"
Carrick replied, rather evasively. "He's
already wanted on a wholly provable
charge of murder, so that nothing he
can do would bring him to any worse
punishment. He's playing a game for
big stakes, and will stop at no number
of murders to advance his game or to
save his own skin."

"Thin maybe he's wor-rking for the
dir-rty Mexicans?" suggested Mike
Rourke, but Carrick did not answer.

"I believe the yacht is falling astern,"
cried Doctor Fleming presently.

"She is losing a bit of her speed,"
Rourke confirmed..

Though the trio watched with night
glasses, they could not at first make out
the game. After a little the yacht was
half a mile astern, presently a mile,
then a mile and a half.

"Now she's turning in toward the
coast," declared Carrick finally, where-
at Rourke bounded forward to use his
glass.

"Unless that craft is playing a game
to fool us, thin she has given up the
chase," the master of the tug an-
nounced.

Ten minutes later the trio ascended
to the hurricane deck. In the darkness
the Budsibu had vanished. It seemed
good to be out in the open air once
more. For a few moments that thought

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

57

dominated over the realization that the
tug had not been foully sunk.

"I wouldn't care to know that gin-
tleman, the wan ye call Lou Shine,"
said Rourke grimly. "Be all ye say
about him, he must have a bad con-
science."

"The best and brightest conscience
that you ever saw," Carrick reversed.
"He has never given it the slightest use
since he was born."

Presently the hull of the Pearl City
was sighted. The two craft passed
with hearty steam signals. At this mo-
ment Carrick was sweeping the coast-
ward horizon for any sign of the lurk-
ing presence of the Budzibu, but that
evil craft was not to be seen.

"I hope the Budzibu will try to run
us down when we are once safe on the
Vulcan," Carrick confided to his
friend.

"Ah, then the Vulcan is armed?"

"When we are aboard of her we shall
be more nearly on equal terms," was
the Hound's response. "And the Vul-
can is a knot faster than the Sumatran
boat, I believe."

"May the Vulcan travel faster than
she ever did before !" uttered Doctor
Fleming fervently. "It doesn't seem
so bad to be shot at on dry land, but
looking out over this inky waste of
salt water, I can't help feeling that I'd
rather not be called upon to sink be-
neath the surface and remain under.
It doesn't appeal to me as my choice
of deaths."

"What is death?" mocked Carrick
lightly. "Merely the end of the strug-
gle — the wind-up of the fight. The
only man who is afraid of death is the
one who realizes that he hasn't played
the best possible part in the fight."

"I believe," said the chemist gravely,
"that I prefer tobacco to the abstruse-
ness of philosophy."

The night being fine, though dark,
the two friends remained up on the
hurricane deck with their pipes until

nearly two in the morning. It was now
in the first mate's watch. Captain
Mike Rourke had long ago gone back
to his repose. A stern watch, as well
as the one at the bow, had been set.

It was nearly nine in the morning
when Fleming opened his eyes. The
Hound was still asleep, though he
opened his eyes as the chemist slid from
the upper berth to the floor.

"I'm going out to see if the Vulcan
is in sight," stated the chemist.

"You needn't have spoiled your sleep
for that," yawned Carrick behind his
hand. "I left orders that we were to
be wakened at the first sign of the
Vulcan."

But Fleming hastily completed his
dressing and toilet, and stepped out on
deck. Though there was a breeze, the
weather was noticeably warmer, for the
Terence was now well down the Mexi-
can coast and the sun shone with
greater brightness. Nowhere on the
horizon did a sail, spar, or smokestack
appear.

"Good morning, doctor," came
Rourke's hearty greeting. "D'ye know,
I'm all over the nightmare feelin' av the
night."

"It didn't last long," said the chem-
ist, laughing. "You went to sleep as
fast as you could."

" 'Twas bad while it lasted," ^de-
clared the skipper gravely. "I've been
on the salt wather a good manny years,
but niver did I hear of a scoundhrel as
bad as the wan your friend is playin'
hide and seek wid."

"If we encounter him out here, it
won't be our first meeting face to face,"
replied Doctor Fleming.

"Is it so, now?" asked Rourke, with
lively interest. "Wud ye mind tellin'
me a bit about the rapscallion?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Carrick wouldn't like
me to be too talkative."

"Don't you read the newspapers,
captain?" demanded the voice of the
Master Hound, as he came up behind

58

Detective Story Magazine

them. "Some months ago there was
plenty in the New York newspapers
about Li Shoon, the yellow criminal
who murdered a few New York mil-
lionaires after getting their property
deeded to him."

"Now, I did read about that fel-
low," cried Rourke. "But I thought he
wint to the electric chair."

"No, he escaped, and has been at
large ever since," Carrick went on.
"That is all I wish to say at present."

"A foremasthead showing in our
wake, sir !" hailed the stern watch, in
a bawling voice. The trio turned hast-
ily. Glasses were brought into play.

"It's the foremast of a yacht, all
right," cried Fleming gleefully.

"Yis, but 'tis wondherfully like the
rig av the Budzibu," said Mike Rourke
tensely. "Oh, well," with a shrug of
his shoulders, "av she is coming up
again, it won't seem as bad and dir-rty
as it did in the night."

"If it is the Budzibu, then she evi-
dently discovered that we had no busi-
ness with the Pearl City, and she has
been scouring the water for us ever
since," advanced Donald Carrick. "Of
course, she has sighted us by this time,
for she must carry a foremast look-
out."

More and more of the foremast of
the pursuing craft came into sight
Presently the top of the hull began to
appear over the curve of the horizon.
■ "I'd in joy bein' proved a bad
guesser," asserted Captain Mike
Rourke. "But I must say that the craft
yondher has all the look av bein' the
Budzibu an' no other !"

CHAPTER IX.

SEEKING THE TRAIL IN "OLD MEX."

''THE trio had retired to the after
cabin, using the portholes once
more. A messenger had been stationed
to hasten any order to the watch officer
in the wheelhouse.

Line after line of the other craft
came into sight, every new glimpse con-
firming the suspicion that the stranger
was the Sumatran yacht.

"If our suspicions are right," an-
nounced Carrick, in a steady voice, "no
man now on this boat has more than a
half an hour of life left."

"I've said me prayers already," re-
torted Rourke, "so I have a free hand
for me duties. But I'm sorry for the
boys undher me."

Fleming said nothing, though he
puffed his pipe with a slight accelera-
tion of speed.

"Maybe we're three fools," hinted
Mike Rourke, two minutes later. "Av
me memory is wor-rkin', the Su-
mathran boat had her deck rails painted
white. "This craft has shinin' brass
rails."

"That much disguise would be quite
within the bounds of Li's strategy,"
Carrick answered. "Don't be too san-
guine just yet, captain."

"A wireless question to the craft
astern might settle the question," pro-
posed Fleming.

"And that wireless would be picked
up by the Budzibu if she's anywhere
within a hundred miles or so," Carrick
retorted, shaking his head. "The Vul-
can had especial orders to use no wire-
less for fear it might be picked up by
the enemy.

A mile nearer came the pursuing
craft, then shook out a line of signal
flags from the foremast.

"We're a pack av fools, I believe,"
uttered Rourke. "That craft wants to
know av we're the Terence, an' av we
are, she suggests that we lay to for the
transfer av two passengers."

"It must be the Vulcan, then !" cried
Fleming.

"Whether it is, or not, we may as well
go out on deck," decided Carrick.
"Even if it is Li Shoon's private navy,
we'd go to the bottom soon, anyway."

Acting on his own judgment, Rourke

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

59

ran to the wheelhouse, where he gave
orders for half speed, nCxt a full stop.
Onward swept the yacht in their wake,
veering to port as she came close, and
stopping her own engines within hail-
ing distance. The name plate on her
wheelhouse had been obscured.

"Ahoy, Terence!" came a mega-
phoned voice from the yacht's bridge.
"This is the Vulcan! Have you pas-
sengers for us ?"

"Two av thim," answered Rourke
gleefully. "An' mighty glad we are to
know that ye're the Vulcan."

From the yacht a boat was lowered,
manned by a mate and four men.
Rourke was now busy in picking out
other details in which this yacht dif-
fered from the Sumatran craft.

"Aven at that, though," declared
Captain Mike, "the two boats are so
much alike I'd swear they were built
in the same yard at the same time."

"Come into the cabin a moment, cap-
tain," Carrick requested. Having the
skipper behind a closed door, the
Hound produced a bulging roll of bank
notes.

"You'll find here, captain, the stipu-
lated hire for the number of hours;
also a hundred dollars for each of the
mates and the chief engineer, and fifty
dollars for each other member of the
crew. They are to receive the money
with the distinct understanding that not
one of them lisps a syllable of what has
taken place on this trip before sixty
days from this time."

"They'll keep silent, I'll go bail," re-
plied Rourke, "though I'm sorry ye
thought me min had to be paid to hould
their tongues."

"And here is a souvenir of two hun-
dred for yourself, captain," Carrick
went on, adding more bills to the pile.

At first Rourke stoutly resisted, but
Carrick could be a diplomat, and in the
end prevailed.

By this time the boat was alongside.
Carrick and Fleming slipped over the

side. Amid cheers from the tug's crew
the boat slipped away. A few minutes
later the Hound and the chemist sig-
naled Rourke from the starboard rail
of the Vulcan.

" 'Twas their own boat, thin," mut-
tered Rourke. "Good luck to thim —
the best. Misther Scanlon, the course
is straight back to San Diego."

Amid a din of whistles the two craft
parted company, the Vulcan skimming
speedily south.

Carrick had, indeed, found himself
among friends. Captain Mulford was
a bluff, hearty skipper. His two mates,
Gray and Kerrigan, were keen-looking
young men. The Vulcan, a narrow-
built craft of some eight hundred tons,
was sure to roll in any kind of heavy
sea, but her social and sleeping cabins
were provided with every kind of com-
fort and many luxuries. Officers and
crew were nattily uniformed after the
naval pattern.

"This boat is in the United States
naval reserve," Mulford declared
proudly. "We try to keep up the best
traditions on this craft. But there is
one bit of information you may be able
to give me, Mr. Carrick. Though my
crew is large, and though I never car-
ried more than two mates before, just
as we were ready to sail the agent sent
aboard a third mate and five more sea-
men. Mr. Olney is 'the new third
mate's name. I believe he's sleeping
now. He can sleep all the time for that
matter, for the instructions that came
with this Olney chap were that he was
not to stand watch, but was to observe
and learn all he wished to learn. Did
ever a skipper have a queerer mate sent
to him?"

"I- cannot give you any information
about Olney," replied Carrick gravely,
and appeared to dismiss the matter
from his mind. As~ soon as Fleming
found a chance he whispered to his
friend :

"Donald, do you suppose that Olney

60

Detective Story Magazine

and his men represent any kind of
treachery that is to be sprung later?"

"Drop the idea," counseled the
Hound. "The agent through whom the
charter was made is not the kind to be
imposed upon. Whatever Olney's mis-
sion aboard may be, rest assured that
it's an honorable one, and that the ship-
ping agent knew what he was doing."

"I don't see a sign of a gun on board,
either," Fleming continued. "If the
Budsibu carries 'em, and we get at
close quarters, what then?"

"In any event, Fleming, I believe that
the Vulcan will prove able to take care
of herself."

Further confidential conversation
was cut short by the steward's call to
table, where Captain Mulford joined
them. The Vulcan's skipper was anx-
ious to have his further sailing instruc-
tions in full.

"How far will your wireless reach?"
asked Carrick.

"All the way to Vancouver, if need
be," was the proud response.

"Then be- good enough to have this
signal flashed," requested Carrick,
writing on a notebook page the letters:
"B-B-B-F-H-G-P."

"And then " insinuated Mulford.

"That will be all," declared the Mas-
ter Hound.

"That signal is being watched for in
San Francisco," Carrick confided, in
an undertone, as Captain Mulford
turned to hand the message, with
orders, to one of the table stewards,
who ran out with the slip of paper. "It
will tell all that I wish to say, and will
start our campaign."

After luncheon Third Officer Olney
appeared on deck, and was presented to
the passengers by Second Officer Ker-
rigan. Fleming tried hard to make up
his mind whether he liked Olney, who
had an extremely sleepy look. The
chemist could not disabuse himself of
the idea that Mr. Olney was not nearly
as sleepy as he looked.

The afternoon passed without inci-
dent. Fleming, noticed that two men
were kept in the crow's nest and that
both were vigilant in examining every
visible part of the sea to the circled
horizon. The Vulcan, at nearly full
speed, was out of sight of the Mexican
coast, the course being as nearly due
south as the outlines of the invisible
coast permitted. Yet, with all her
speed, the yacht, burning oil under her
boilers, did not leave a trail of smoke
behind. There was little rattle of ma-
chinery, but a good deal of rolling in
the rather brisk sea.

For three days the Vulcan continued
in a generally southerly direction. In
that time more than a dozen north-
bound and four southbound steamships
were passed. Each was asked, by sig-
nal, whether another yacht, much re-
sembling the Vulcan, had been sighted.

At first there was no news. Then
some vague news came. The fourth
of the southbound steamers flew several
signaled messages in response to the
questions that Carrick caused Captain
Mulford to ask. Then both craft lay
to. A boat was lowered, and, at the
Hound's request, Third Officer Olney
was put in charge. Carrick descended
the side gangway, stepping into the
boat. Fleming, not having been in-
vited, remained on the Vulcan's spar
deck, smoking his pipe placidly.

In three-quarters of an hour Carrick
could be seen coming down over the
steamship's side.

"We're too far south," he reported to
Captain Mulford, on coming on board.
"Put in to Mattanegua Bay, which you
ought to reach in the hours of dark to-
morrow evening. Do not approach un-
til well after dark, and I will have
further instructions ready an hour
south of Mattanegua."

On an altered course sailed the Vul-
can, but Fleming felt well pleased. He
was satisfied that the Hound was work-
ing on definite knowledge.

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

61

At nine o'clock the next evening
Captain Mulford called Donald Car-
rick to the bridge for a conference.
The coast of Mexico was now just
vaguely in sight off the starboard quar-
ter. At reduced speed the yacht pro-
ceeded. At a quarter of ten, when she
lay to, the Vulcan was not more than
half a mile from the shore. Low,
sloping hills rose from the beach. Seen
through the night glasses, these slopes
were covered with short, dense growths
of what looked like scrub oak.

No sooner had the Vulcan lain to
than a boat was lowered, Kerrigan be-
ing this time in charge.

"Look to your weapon," muttered
Carrick. "Take two extra magazine
loads with you and a full box of car-
tridges."

"I have them on me," Fleming an-
swered.

"Then we'll get into the boat."

While they were being pulled toward
the shore, Carrick continued to talk in
an undertone.

"Never much of a port, Mattanegua
Bay is now closed to commerce," he
said. "The town around the bay is
headquarters for some two thousand
Mexican rebel troops. Calvoras, their
commander, is a typical Mexican rebel
— arrogant, cruel, .unreasoning, and
densely ignorant, but he is a power
among his men. The Budzibu was seen
to enter the bay, and doubtless is still
there. Our task on shore is to find out
all we can about the Budzibu and Li
Shoon, without running into the rebels
or bandits — call them which you pre-
fer. We are landing three miles below
the bay."

CHAPTER X.

A HINT OF THE TRUTH.

pAUSING only long enough to see
the boat pushed off to return to
the Vulcan, Donald Carrick turned his
back on the water to inspect the jungle
ahead of him. Then he tugged at Flem-

ing's sleeve, leading the chemist not
more than a hundred feet into the
jungle. Now the Hound sat down as
comfortably as though at his journey's
end.

"What's the idea?" queried Fleming,
in a whisper, seating himself beside his
friend.

"Both the Vulcan and the landing of
the small boat may have been observed
by Calvoras' lookouts, though I hope
not," was the Hound's response. ' "If
they have seen us, and we do not ppes-
ently appear, these same lookouts will
come down to the shore to investigate.
Then we shall know that we have been
observed."

After that the Master Hound was
silent. It was so dark where they hid
that the chemist, unable to see his
friend's face clearly, wondered if Car-
rick dozed.

At length the boat reached the yacht,
which soon after stood out to sea. The
Vulcan was not running with lights to-
night, and Fleming could hardly be
sure of what he did see. Yet the mov-
ing of a shadowy mass told him that
the yacht had left them behind.

Not until some time after did Car-
rick, after listening with his ear to the
ground, rise and whisper:

"Evidently our coming was not ob-
served. We will start on our way."

Owing to the tangled masses of
shrubbery and low forest through
which they moved, Donald Carrick was
forced to take his course from such
glimpses of the stars as he obtained.
Both trod softly K taking pains not to
tread on crackling brush in the under-
growth.

"In the matter of poisonous snakes,
which are reported to abound here,"
whispered the Hound, during one of
their brief halts, "you must trust en-
tirely to luck. We could not see a
snake in time to avoid it."

It seemed to Fleming as though they
had walked for many hours, when Car-

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Detective Story Magazine

rick suddenly brought him up short
with a grip of his nearer arm. The
Hound pointed ahead to a glow on the
ground, distant some two hundred
yards. As the two friends stood there,
observing, they saw several figures flit
to and fro past the dying camp fire.
Fleming soon guessed that there were
at least a dozen men near the fire. Car-
rick, from other signs that he detected,
judged that there were from fifty to
sixty men ahead ; probably an entire
company of Mexican rebel soldiers.

A low hum of voices came to them.
At last the Hound began moving for-
ward, a cautious single step at a time.
Minutes passed ere the friends again
made a halt, this time within plain eye
range and audible distance from the
little groups in the clearing. As both
Carrick and his friend spoke Spanish,
they were able to comprehend the
words that reached them in the Mexi-
can jargon.

"With the three thousand new rifles,
and all the cases of cartridges, my cap-
tain, our general, Calvoras, will doubt-
less soon begin recruiting and increase
his army."

"It is even so, Lieutenant Calderas,"
replied the captain. "And then, when
our general's new and mighty friend
brings still more rifles, Calvoras will
take the field, openly, and we shall
sweep across Mexico. Our general has
promised me that I shall soon be a
colonel, and you, lieutenant, will doubt-
less become a major."

Lieutenant Calderas, a youth of not
more than twenty-three, stroked his in-
cipient mustache with an air of mili-
tary pride.

"How many rifles are to come next
time, Captain Bustanobo?"

"Our great and good friend prom-
ises not less than four thousand. He
will even try to get six thousand, but
he informs our general that he is
obliged to buy with great care, through
many agents and in small lots, that he

may not excite suspicion. Within a
few months we shall doubtless have
fifty thousand rifles, and that, with the
valor that our men exhibit, will be
plenty to make Calvoras president of
Mexico. Me? I shall doubtless be a
general of division by that time. But,
lieutenant, have you seen to it that a
close watch is kept?"

"I have been on the alert, my cap-
tain. I will call Sergeant Penumbra,
and he shall tell you what he is doing.
Pass word for Sergeant Penumbra."

The name was- uttered in tones loud
enough to be heard at a distance. Soon
a little, brown man came running up,
though he rubbed his eyes as he came.

"Sergeant," demanded the lieutenant,
"you have kept vigilant watch over the
water ?"

"My men have done so, excellent
lieutenant. Always two have remained
standing since dark begun, their eyes
turned out on the se.a. They have seen
no ship of any kind."

"It is well, sergeant," declared the
lieutenant. "Faithfully serve the new
republic of Calvoras, and you shall be
rewarded. You may become a lieu-
tenant, like myself, if you detect the
coming of such a ship and report it in
time. Think what it will mean to be
a gentleman in the new and glorious
republic."

"Never doubt my alertness, my lieu-
tenant," begged Sergeant Penumbra, sa-
luting and retiring when he received the
signal.

"When a Mexican knows that an
enemy is near, he is a marvel of watch-
fulness," whispered Carrick in Flem-
ing's ear. "But sometimes the Mexican
soldier is found napping on his post.
That sergeant and his men have surely
been making up some arrears in sleep."

"May the whole command here sleep
forever !" was the doctor's pious wish.

Farther on a group of half a dozen
soldiers played cards, almost silently,
by the light of a second fire. Many

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

63

men of the command, wrapped in their
tattered rags, were now sound asleep
under the stars.

"There is little to be feared from this
sleepy lot," asserted the Hound.
"Come, we will move around them and
on toward Mattanegua. We must
learn if the Budzibn is at anchor in the
bay. We already have a fairly good
idea of how Li Shoon, if he be here,
has managed to gain asylum in this
pirate's nest of a closed port. He is
spending a part of his wicked plun-
derings in bringing in munitions of war
to Calvoras. It is a clever way of
gaining the hiding place and protection
that he needs !"

With infinite care the Hound picked
his way around the camp, under the
deep shade of the trees. But on the
northern side of the camp the two
Americans, despite their stealth, made
slight sounds that reached the ears of
two Mexican sentries. This brown
pair, after listening for an instant,
slipped silently, on their bare feet, be-
hind two tree trunks. Carrick and
Fleming passed between the trees. Just
another instant, and rifle, butts de-
scended on their heads. Both men
pitched forward to the earth, half-
stunned.

"Alerta! Al numero sierte!" bawled
both sentries at once. It was their
way of summoning help for post No.
7/ Two rifle bolts clicked ominously,
and two rifle muzzles were pressed
against the two dismayed captives.

In the camp, confused murmurs fol-
lowed. Half a dozen soldiers ran up
at once. Others could be heard fol-
lowing. With instant death as their
portion in case of resistance, Carrick
and Fleming wisely made no effort to
draw their automatics. Had they been
on their feet, they would have opened
vigorous fire, then taken to their heels.

"Ah, we have prisoners, and Ameri-
canos, at that !" cried Captain Busta-
nobo, turning the' rays of a lantern on

the captives. "These must be they, for
whom we were told to watch."

"That is hardly likely, my captain,
since they did not come by ship," in-
terposed Lieutenant Calderas gravely.
"But, none the less, they are Ameri-
canos, and our brave general loves that
breed so well that he sends them imme-
diately to heaven !"

"Guard the prisoners, and kill them
if they attempt to escape," ordered Cap-
tain Bustanobo briskly.

"You are taking a lot of trouble to
be sure of securing two unarmed men,"
scoffed Carrick, in Spanish.

"Search them !" commanded Busta-
nobo. A dozen eager hands were
stretched forth at once, as though the
soldiers hoped to discover real loot.
Of course, the automatics and extra
magazines, as well as the cartridges,
were speedily brought to light.

"Lieutenant," cried Bustanobo joy-
ously, "you and I have long craved just
such excellent revolvers. They are
ours now. And men who lied to us
about being unarmed will prove no
more truthful in anything. I shall ask
them no questions, but will take them
at once to our brave general. Lieu-
tenant, you will take command of the
camp, and you will keep as close look-
out as before against the coming of the
expected ship. Sergeant, take a guard
of ten men, and stand ready to shoot the
prisoners at any sign pf a wish to
escape ! March !"

Forward the little procession went.
What Carrick and Fleming may have
said, under their breaths, does not mat-
ter much. Through a seemingly endless
jungle they finally arrived upon the
semblance of a road, which became
somewhat better as the party came
within sight of the lights of the little
port of Mattanegua. Now the arrest
party passed a few outpost guards
at frequent intervals. Then down
through a street the captors marched
their prisoners, halting before a large,

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Detective Story Magazine

two-story white building, before which
stood at least a dozen armed guards.
These saluted Bustanobo's party, per-
mitting them to enter an oblong court-
yard within. Bustanobo passed in
through a guarded door, but soon reap-
peared, to say:

"The prisoners will follow me!"

Under his guidance, Carrick and his
friend were led into a corridor and
through the second door to the right.
In that room stood two young officers,
while a man of fifty-five, seated at a
table, with a bottle and wineglasses at
his elbow, turned to scowl at the pris-
oners.

"Welcome, my most excellent
friends !" exclaimed an unctuous voice,
and Li Shoon, in richest Chinese garb,
appeared in a doorway.

CHAPTER XI.

CALVORAS TAKES THE HELM.

UOW?" demanded General Calvoras,
in a somewhat thick voice. "Then
these are the two Americans whom you
hoped to catch, Doctor Li?"

"The very pair !" cried the interna-
tional criminal joyously. "They are the
two American secret-service agents
from whom you have most to fear.
They have penetrated the secret of your
source of supply in munitions of war.
General, you will know what to do with
them?"

"I shall have them shot within sixty
seconds !" exclaimed Calvoras wrath-
fully. "Captain Bustanobo, you have
heard my pleasure ?"

"It shall be done at once, my general,
as you say," assented the captain.

"I beg you to let them remain for a
moment," pleaded Li Shoon, in sweet-
est Spanish. "Carrick! Fleming! You
are balm against the soreness of my
eyes. In my darkest moments I knew
that this time would come. It was
promised me by Hop How, my sooth-

sayer. I shall reward him for this
prophecy, which has come true."

Beginning with his address to the
hapless prisoners, Li had dropped into
English. He now continued:

"You two should have known that
you could not long hope to baffle me.
You had your brief triumphs, yet they
lasted but moments, after all. And
now all the score is settled."

"Li," spoke Carrick steadily, "you
can send me to death, but I can take
you with us. Your yacht is under the
guns of these miscreants. In seven
words I can inform this make-believe
general that your yacht contains, hid-
den away carefully, yet discoverable,
millions in gold coin that you have
stolen from ships that you have after-
ward sunk. This braggart bogus sol-
dier will forgive you your villainies, all
except the fact of your concealing from
him the enormous stores of gold coin
that you have on the Budsibu. When
he hears of the gold he will kill you
either before or after he has seized the
gold, for which he will hunt like a rat
on the scent of grain. Unless you can
save us, Li, you are done for as surely
as we are. Think ! Are your wits
quick? Can you save our hides and
your own?"

"Do you think I'm fool enough to
carry the coin on the yacht?" taunted
Li. "That would be more stupid than
to smoke in a powder mill."

Calvoras, after listening in a stupid,
noncomprehending way, drained an-
other glass of wine, then rose heavily to
his feet, breaking in in Spanish :

"I understand, Doctor Li Shoon, that
you are talking over old grudges. Let
it be so. I will leave you alone for a
while. Then I will send my file of sol-
diers to see that these scoundrelly
Americanos are taken out and shot. A
quick shooting, Doctor Li, always saves
bother."

The door closed, and the three were
alone. Had Carrick wished, he could

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

65

have sprung upon this odious China-
man and killed him with his own hands.
Li was an outlaw, without rights before
man, but the Hound's mind was work-
ing fast along other lines.

As if he realized his own danger, Li
glided to another door, clapping his
hands smartly. In came a dozen Chi-
nese, led by Ming, executioner to the
Ui Kwoon Ah-how.

"Amuse these gentlemen," said Li, in
English, but the gesture was enough,
acconlpanying their leader's evil smile.
At a guttural word from Ming, the yel-
low assistants seized upon both Ameri-
cans. Immediately there began a series
of horrible arm twisting and straining
of joints. Fleming had the hardest
work of his life in keeping his groans
back. He felt like yelling hysterically.
Great drops ^of cold sweat stood out
all over his forehead, his cheeks, his
entire body. Carrick's face was more
immobile; he looked almost calm under
the fiendish torture, though his soul
writhed under every wrench. But Car-
rick's was the more imperturbable na-
ture. Besides, he had had years of ex-
perience in the Oriental world.

At a word from Ming, the torture
stopped. At another word three of the
Chinese left the room, soon returning
with implements of torture that made
the comprehending Carrick shudder
visibly.

"Ah ! You know what is coming,"
said Li Shoon, smiling sweetly. "I al-
ways strive to give the best of my
hospitality. And, after these machines,
I have others that provide even more
amusement. Oh, we shall have a rare
night of it! When it is all over, then
General Calvoras may send his firing
squad in with the dessert, if he then
thinks it worth while!"

Yet even as Ming superintended the
sorting and preparation of the torture
machines a heavy tread sounded at the
door. In strode a Mexican captain,

SA ds

in heavy boots, followed by a sergeant
and eight barefooted privates, all
armed with rifles.

"It is by General Calvoras' orders
that I take these prisoners from you,
doctor," he said, with a courteous bow.
"They are to be shot at once \"

"But I am not through," Li protested
shrilly.

"That I regret to hear, but you will
understand that I can only obey my
general's orders," said the captain cour-
teously. "Sergeant, take the prisoners !
March !"

Quivering with rage at being so
coolly deprived of his prized prey, Li
Shoon moved swiftly from the room.
The sergeant and his squad, surround-
ing Fleming and Carrick, marched them
out of the building, through the court-
yard, and up the principal thoroughfare
of Mattanegua.

"Shooting is a welcome relief from
what was to hive been offered us,"
muttered Carrick. "I have had many
meetings with Li, but never saw him
in such a fiendish mood as he was to-
night."

He will probably have the orders re-
voked," suggested Fleming. "A mes-
senger with altered orders is likely to
overtake us at any moment."

As he spoke, the chemist tried to
glance backward down the poorly
lighted street, but a soldier jabbed him
with a bayonet, forcing him to keep his
eyes ahead. As the squad moved
along, Mexican rebels and the popu-
lace smoked indolently in the streets,
hardly turning their heads to gaze after
such a familiar scene as an execution
party.

Past the town and out into the woods
the Mexican captain marched his party.
At last he halted in a grove of tall trees.

"You will be tied, each to a tree
trunk, gentlemen," he announced, "and
four men will hold rifles against each
of your chests. Death should be in-

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Detective Story Magazine

stantaneous and painless. Will you. :
pray, or have you anything that you
wish to say before you die?"

. CHAPTER XIL

UNDER THE SHOWER OF GOLD.

I HAVE a few courteous words, cap-
tain, that I would like to say to you
and your men," Carrick replied gravely.

"Courteous words to executioners
are rare, gentlemen," said the rebel cap-
tain, fondling his mustache.

"What I wish to say," Carrick went
on, "is that I appreciate the fact that
you are soldiers. Therefore, you must
obey your orders, and I bear you no
ill will. I have one request to make,
and that is that you take full pains to
make our deaths instantaneous. I am
going to reward you for doing it, for I
have gifts that our first captors over-
looked. I have with me twelve hun-
dred dollars in American gold, worth
nearly twenty-eight hundred dollars in
Mexican silver, and worth more than
a shipload of your paper currency. I
propose, captain, that this gold shall go
to you and your soldiers."

As he spoke, Carrick fumbled dex-
terously with his clothing. In a- twin-
kling, then, he brought forth his money
belt. His nimble fingers ran along the
catches over the pockets, opening them.

"Some of this money is in coin and
some in American gold notes, which
are as good as gold coin at any bank
in the world. Captain, I propose to
give your men a merry scramble for
it !"

As he spoke, Carrick swiftly took
hold of the belt by one end, twirled
it, and hurled it far into the bushes.

As the belt flew, a golden shower of
coins could" be heard dropping to the
earth. Gold notes fluttered against the
faces of some of the soldiers, as, with
stifled cries, they raced after the for-
tune. Nor could even the captain resist
the lure. These Mexicans had been too

Jpng without real money and on scant
food.

"We've about seven seconds !" whis-
pered Carrick, striking Fleming's arm.
"Follow me like a streak."

But Fleming dallied for at least four
of the precious seven seconds. He had
noted that several of the soldiers had
dropped their rifles to join in the hot
scramble after the money. Like a
hawk the chemist pounced upon the
three nearest rifles and also a ban-
dolier of cartridges that one of the sol-
diers had carried on his arm. Then
the doctor fled.

"Good work and a happy thought!"
panted Carrick, as he relieved Fleming
of two of the rifles. "Now we can
at least die fighting!"

But the fugitives were out of sight
ere the Mexican rebel captain realized
he was a victim of trickery. While still
searching nervously for coins or notes,
he called to his men to look after the
prisoners. Each eager soldier, how-
ever, left obedience to be rendered by
his fellows. When the captain finally,
by the use of many curses, brought his
soldiers to their senses, the captives had
long vanished, and leaving not so much
as a guiding sound.

Again the Master Hound had to have
recourse to the stars, when he could
espy them through the thick treetops.
He took a generally northerly course
through the thick forest, in which there
was not a trace of a path to be found.

Behind them two rifle volleys crack-
led out. Fleming halted for a moment
to chuckle noiselessly.

"I know our Mexican neighbors well
enough to know what is happening and
will happen," he whispered to Fleming.
"The captain and his men have fired
that they may be able to back up the
tale they are going to tell of the execu-
tion. They will even lay out two
mounds, then go back and report that
we are dead. But they will search that

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

67

forest until no more money can be
found. Captain and men will hold
their tongues as to what really hap-
pened, for they possess a secret that
would hang them all."

More deliberately, now, the Hound
led the way through the forest, listen-
ing all the time. When he halted again
it was to say:

"Fleming, the snatching of these
rifles and the cartridges was a stroke
of genius ! At the worst, we fear no
one now, for we can go down giving as
good as we get."

It was soon plain that to the north
of Mattanegua, at least where the for-
est ran, that no rebel outposts had been
stationed. Carrick, after half an hour
of flight, walked with less caution until
he heard the noise of an automobile
moving slowly somewhere to the south-
east of them. He halted to listen.

"There must be a road parallel with
our course," Fleming whispered. "That
car is coming our way, and seems likely
to pass us within a stone's throw."

Getting his bearings, Carrick led the
way forward once more, shaping his
course so as to approach gradually the
road that he believed to lie to the east
of them.

"It's a poor enough road, judging by
the car's noise," Fleming whispered, as
the car passed them, to the eastward,
going north. "I wonder who can have
a car over here."

A minute later the car stopped. Car-
rick, though he did not halt, moved
with greater stealth, an example that
the chemist at once imitated. Soon
they heard the murmur of voices, dead
ahead. And next the unctuous tones
of Doctor Li Shoon came to them. The
wretch was talking in English, pre-
sumably that no passing Mexican
should understand. Li preferred, when
useful, the modern tongues to Chinese.

"I brought you here, Weng," Li was
explaining, as the Americans drew

near, "that there might be no danger
of Calvoras knowing what I have to
say. Though they apparently under-
stand only Spanish, I am always suspi-
cious that some of the general's officers
may know too much English for our
good. While I do not expect to die, I
am always aware that fate may be
about to press the cup to my lips. I
have good news — wonderful ! We now
have four and a half million dollars in
gold coin. You know where it is hid-
den."

"Yet I could not go to it," objected
Weng-yu.

"I am coming to that," Li went on,
with a wave of his hands. "But the
news ! You know that Sing Yen just
came ashore from the yacht with a
wireless telegram for me. It was sent
from San Francisco, in our Chinese
code that not a soul in the world could
read outside of the Ui Kwoon Ah-how.
And that code message — it is exhilarat-
ing. Barely more than a hundred miles
to the south of here the steamer Sea
King is proceeding slowly north against
difficulties with her machinery. She
has wirelessed San Diego for aid,
though she can keep slowly under way
unless a further break occurs in her
machinery. And the San Francisco
newspapers express grave concern, for
the Sea King carries in her strong room
the sum of eight million dollars in gold !
Think of it, Weng !"

"Truly, the thought is enough to
drive one out of his mind !" quivered
Weng-yu. "That, with four and a half
millions already hidden, is one-fourth
of the whole sum needed to launch the
Ui Kwoon Ah-how on its glorious work
of subduing all of Asia to Chinese
rule !"

"We would have had the entire fifty
millions ere this, had it not been for
that dog of a Carrick and his hardly
less dangerous friend, Fleming," ut-
tered Li bitterly. "The gods of our an-

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Detective Story Magazine

cestors be praised that both of the med-
dlesome Americans now sleep in their
last beds ! By to-morrow forenoon,
Weng, that eight millions should be
ours, and all traces of our work lost
under the waves. The Sea King carries
fifty passengers, as well, but what are
fifty more lives when the glory of Ui
Kwoon Ah-how thrills our hearts?"

"Nothing whatever," declared Weng-
yu, snapping his fingers. "I would kill
all on the American continent to see
the Ui Kwoon triumph !"

There was a third in the group —
Ming. But that Mongol stood by in
grave silence. His were only the deeds
of blood ; not his to use his brain but
his hideous tools.

"Yet the gods of our ancestors may
call me before my work is done as I
would see it," Li Shoon continued mus-
ingly. "I have had that thought, for,
though I have boasted of possessing
nine lives, the number may be nearly
run. Therefore,- Weng, I am giving
you, now, to be hidden securely, a copy
of my map showing where the four
millions and a half in gold are hidden.
You have seen the spot, but have not
followed the navigating map closely.
You know the little bay when you see
it, six miles below Cape Marca on the
coast of Lower California. You know
as well the three trees whose trunks
form a triangle. Yet you could not
reach the spot again, with surety, with-
out this map. If the gods put the cup
to my lips, then you will go there and
get the hidden gold, as well as that
which is to be taken from the Sea King
to-morrow. You know what is to be
done with it. You know, also, that you
are to succeed me as head of the Ui
Kwoon."

Weng-yu stretched forth his hand to
receive the precious paper. Before his
fingers could - close upon it, it was
snatched away by Donald Carrick, who
sprang from behind a tree.

CHAPTER XIII.

"MEXICO IS ONE HUGE TRAP !"

T^HE gods have sent your spirit back
to torment me !" gasped Li Shoon.
For an instant Li's face was as near
pallid as a Chinaman's may be.

But the click of a bolt as Fleming
cocked one of the rifles and stood back
to cover the yellow trio, was accom-
panied by the chemist's jeering retort:

"Spirits don't use rifles; at least, I
never heard of a case."

Having tucked away the map, Car-
rick, too, presented the muzzle of a rifle
for the inspection of the momentarily
baffled ones.

"But you two were shot!" protested
Li, his voice still a bit shaky. It was
difficult, indeed, for him to overcome
his belief that the Hound and the chem-
ist had been duly executed.

"We came to life again," said Car-
rick briefly. "We came back long
enough to have our reckoning with you.
Doctor Li, of course you are aware that
you are an outlawed man, and, there-
fore, any man's lawful prey."

"In America, perhaps, but not around
Mattanegua," Li retorted mockingly.
He had found his nerve again, though
neither he nor his companions ventured
to dash against rifles held by men whom
they knew to be full of resolution.

"Mexican rebel law could have no
terrors for me," declared the Hound
coolly. "Doctor Li, have you any rea-
sons to offer why I should not kill
you?"

"Only that you do not dare kill me,"
mocked Li Shoon. "A single shot, and
you will bring down upon you the sol-
diers — my friends. I will make you a
proposition. Give me back the map
and I will let you go."

"A wonderful favor !" exclaimed the
Master Hound, with biting irony. "You
will let us go — where? We are hun-
dreds of miles from our own country,
and all the Mexicans for scores of

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

69

miles obey Calvoras. Wherever we go,
if discovered, we are killed. It would
take us weeks, even if not caught, to
walk to our own country and safety."

"Is it as bad as that?" queried Li,
with huge satisfaction. "You did not
follow me by sea, but came overland?
Then, truly, you may as well drop your
rifles and ride back with us to Mat-
tanegua. You can only be shot to
death ; therefore, why not be done with
it?"

"Fleming, step back about six paces
and cover these wretches !" commanded
Carrick calmly. "If one of them stirs,
kill him. Do not mind the noise of the
shot. And, for preference, kill Li
Shoon."

"To do so will afford me great pleas-
ure," replied the chemist coolly.

Carrick darted east to the road.
There, at the edge, he found the car.
Moreover, in the tool kit he found a
file and a monkey wrench. For a brief
time he filed industriously against the
steering rod of the motor car. Then,
adjusting the wrench tightly to the rod,
he snapped it.

"That is all," announced Carrick,
coming back to where his friend held
the yellow trio at bay. "Li, you and
your friends will walk back to Mat-
tanegua. Whoever attempts to follow
us will be killed. By daylight, if we
have good fortune, we can be a dozen
miles from here, and farther in the
jungle. Doctor Li, in the patter of this
country, adios !"

At a run, Carrick and his friend dis-
appeared, going northeast. After some
three minutes of running, Carrick
halted, abruptly throwing himself to the
earth, where he listened with his ear
against the ground, while Fleming
peered behind him into the depths of
the forest, through which they had
come.

"I do not believe we are being fol-
lowed," the Hound whispered, in his
friend's ear. Now, we will see if we

can find the spot on the coast for which
we should aim."

For Carrick, in landing, had given
orders that the Vulcan should attempt
to pick them up at a point some miles
north of Mattanegua, instead of south
-of it.

Shaping his course once more by the
stars, Carrick trudged on ahead, Flem-
ing following some dozen feet to the
rear. The latter carried two of the
three rifles. Carrick wore the bandolier
of reserve cartridges.

Despite the season, it was almost
stiflingly hot in here among the trees.
Both men were bathed in perspiration
by the time they reached the coast, at
the point for which the Hound had
aimed.

"This cannot be the place," Carrick
murmured. "We are too far south,
probably by at least two miles. Come
in under the trees again. It would not
do to walk on the beach."

So they continued on, for nearly an
hour more. Then, through the trees,
they beheld a little bay lighted only by
the stars.

"There is our place," Carrick mur-
mured. "We will go down to the edge
of the trees and wait. If you are as
footsore as I am the rest will be wel-
come to you." - j

"Welcome, indeed," murmured
Fleming.

Still in the lead, Carrick had not
more than emerged from under the
trees when half a dozen Mexican rebel
soldiers leaped to their feet, aiming
their rifles.

"Para! QuiSn vivef" (Halt! Who
goes there?) came the sharp hail.

"Company, halt!" called Carrick de-
liberately. Doctor Fleming, just in
time, called: "Company, halt!"

Fleming made noise enough with his
own feet to give some idea of men halt-
ing under the trees. From the beach
he was invisible.

"Put down your guns, my men!"

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Detective Story Magazine

ordered Carrick confidently. "You are
outnumbered by an American naval
party. You do not wish to be wiped
out? Then attempt no resistance.
Obey my orders and your lives shall be
spared."

As the rebel 'soldiers hesitated, Car-
rick motioned impatiently, frowning, as
though he could not credit such stub-
bornness.

"If you do not at once drop your
rifles, my men will fire and sweep you
from the earth !" he cried angrily, still
in Spanish. "Have none of you men
families or sweethearts, that you would
throw your lives away? Down with
your rifles ! On the ground ! Now,
march away from your pieces, hands
up! That is right. Halt!"

Sheer bluff had won. Cowed, the
Mexicans had obeyed. They now stood
with the nearest a hundred feet distant
from his rifle.

"Lieutenant !" hailed Carrick sharply.

"Aye, aye, sir!" from the chemist.

"Send the sergeant down here to bind
these men."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Then, as the chemist appeared, Car-
rick added:

"You can tie their wrists behind them
with their own sashes, and leave ends
sufficient to tie them to the trunks of
small trees.

Doctor Fleming accomplished that
with a speed born of some knowledge
of the art of tying. He soon had the
men tightly lashed.

"Now, march!" commanded Carrick,
leading the way, while Fleming, with
rifle at the ready, brought up the rear.
Fully six hundred feet up the wooded
slope the men were led, then lashed to
trees.

"It will be of equal value to gag these
men," Carrick declared, so the gagging
was accomplished by cutting pieces
from the men's clothes and stuffing into
their mouths, the tying being done with
knotted strips cut from their jackets.

Patiently as dumb animals these men
submitted, preferring the humiliation to
the loss of their lives.

"One doesn't feel pleasant about de-
spoiling these poverty-stricken fellows
of their only clothing," murmured Car-
rick in English. "Fleming, have you
any gold pieces?"

"A few," admitted the chemist. -

"Then slip one into the trousers
pocket of each prisoner," Carrick
begged, next adding in Spanish his apol-
ogies to the men, and informing them
that the gold was to be used in provid-
ing themselves with whole clothing.

The task ended, Carrick, striking and
shading a match, glanced at his watch.

"It lacks but two hours of daylight,"
he announced. "If we are to escape,
after all, we have but little time in
which to do it."

Down the slope they ran, but soon
slowed down, going on tiptoe, as they
heard some body of men moving
through the forest.

"Li must have got back and given
the alarm !" whispered Carrick. "If so,
and if this be a searching or relief
party, and our gagged friends are
found, then all we can do is to die
game."

Dropping to the ground, moving the
three rifles before them, and placing
the bandolier so that either could reach
for reserve cartridges, the Master*
Hound and the chemist awaited devel-
opments.

Up in the forest above could be^heard,
not very plainly, the sounds made by
moving bare feet through the under-
growth.

"They're halting now," whispered
Carrick. "If they try to communicate
with the missing outpost at this point,
guess what is going to become of us."

"I never bet on sure things," Doctor
Fleming replied grimly.

"Picture to yourself how the tied and
gagged soldiers are struggling to free
themselves that they may give the alarm

Li Shoon's Nine Lives 71

at once. Arid they know the direction
that we took !"

"Mexico is one huge trap!" sighed
the doctor. "Easy to get into, but hard
to get out!"

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SEA TRAGEDY STAGED.

HPHE movements of the prowling party
changed in direction. Twenty min-
utes later some thirty rebel soldiers, led
by a young lieutenant, came out on the
beach from a point to the northward.
They marched down, halting on about
the spot where the two Americans had
captured the rebel outpost. With them
was a figure more portly than is com-
mon in Mexico.

"You said there was an outpost here,"
hinted the voice of Li Shoon.

"They were posted here before dark,"
replied the lieutenant. "But they are
new men, not veteran soldiers. It is
plain that the rascals, finding it near-
ing daylight, decided that their duty
was done. They have returned to Mat-
tanegua, or else they have stolen into
the woods to sleep."

The discarded half dozen rifles and
bandoliers would have given a hint to
the searchers, but fortunately Fleming,
some minutes before, had crawled out
and brought these things to the spot
occupied by Carrick and himself. The
two friends now listened and watched
breathlessly, ready for any clash that
might come.

"We are wasting time," said the lieu-
tenant indolently. "Your Americano
fugitives are making fast time through
the forest, while we linger here.
March !"

Away drilled the column, Li Shoon,
despite his size, keeping tirelessly with
them.

"There will be no more searchers here
now," proclaimed Carrick, with a sigh
of relief. "We must leave Li to attend
to his affairs and give all our attention

to our own. You might stay here,
though, with the arsenal."

Exploring an inside pocket, Carrick,
on the beach, brought forth a small
electric flash light. Forming a shield-
ing cone with his hands, the Hound
flashed the light seaward just seven
times. He waited a few seconds, then
flashed the light seven more times.

After that he seated himself on the
sands. Ten minutes went by ere he
could discern any answer to his signals.
Then something merely dark and vague
appeared on the water beyond. That
something came nearer and nearer, re-
solving itself into a swift launch, pro-
pelled by a noiseless petroleum engine.
It glided in like a thing of mystery to
where Carrick stood on the beach wav-
ing his arms. Some forty feet from the
shore it lay to on account of shallow
water.

"Who's in charge?" hailed Carrick,
in a hoarse whisper.

"Kerrigan, sir. Are you ready?"

"More than ready !" came the
Hound's heartfelt answer.

Over from the launch sprang two
barefooted sailors, their trousers rolled
up for wading.

"Take these rifles and bandoliers
first," • whispered Carrick. "They are
souvenirs the doctor and I have been
collecting to-night."

With Fleming's help the sailors car-
ried the rifles and bandoliers to the
launch. Then back they came, lifting
the two adventurers and bearing them,
dry shod, to seats at the stern of the
launch. As the two sailors sprang in,
the launch turned and put silently out
to sea.

"And now," observed the Hound,
producing pipe and pouch, "I propose
to enjoy a smoke."

The doctor preferred to roll a ciga-
rette. They lit up with shielded
matches, keeping their faces turned
westward that the glows might not at-
tract attention from shore.

72

Detective Story Magazine

"Straight out for five miles," directed
the Hound. "Then return to ship."

That was done. In a little more than
an hour Carrick and Doctor Fleming
found themselves ascending the side
gangway of the Vulcan, while Captain
Mulford stood on deck to receive them.
The yacht lay in a little indentation of
the coast line some miles south of Mat-
tanegua. She had a single anchor out,
at a spot where a curving, projecting,
wooded arm of land served to shield
her from direct observation from the
sea.

"If you've no immediate instructions,
sir, will you 'be good enough to come
into my cabin ?" requested Captain Mul-
ford. By the time the two friends had
seated themselves there the skipper
handed Carrick a sheet of paper on
which were written a lot of gibberishy
words.

"What's this?" smiled Carrick, as he
read : " 'Quong king lee sing chui mien

"That's a Chinese wireless, isn't it?"
asked Captain Mulford. "Our operator
took it down some time after you went
ashore."

"It was intended for the operator
on the Budsibu," laughed the Hound,
"and he received it, as I happened to
hear. This wireless was sent from San
Francisco probably, and I was behind
its being sent. These words have a
Chinese formation, but they're code, not
straight Chinese. This code messags
informed Li that the Sea King, par-
tially disabled, is coming up the coast,
needing help, and the further informa-
tion that she carries eight million in
gold in her strong room. But the gold
isn't there. The captain of the Sea
King has his own orders, furnished in
the navy code, and knows just what
he is to do. Li Shoon will attempt
to board him this coming morning, and
we shall be at hand also."

After looking at his watch, Carrick
exchanged a few words with the Vul-

can's wireless man, next with a cabin
steward on duty. Then he and Fleming
went to their own cabin, where they lay
down in their berths without removing
more than coats and shoes.

At a few minutes after eight the
wireless man knocked on the door.
Springing up, the Hound threw the
door open.

"The Sea King is wirelessing San
Diego that her machinery is becoming
more and more useless, sir, and to rush
a tug to her," the operator reported.
"Here is the message as I took it down."

"How far south is the Sea King?"
Carrick asked, glancing at the paper.

"Twelve miles to the south'ard, sir,
and making not more lhan four miles
an hour."

"Has the Budzibu gone south yet?"

"She's not been sighted, sir, and must
be still in Mattanegua Bay."

"There's time to spare, then," said
Carrick to his friend, and hastened out
to find Captain Mulford and give direc-
tions. On shore, in the top of one
of the tallest trees on the projecting
arm of land that hid the Vulcan, a quar-
termaster and a sailor kept vigilant
watch.

His conference with Captain Mulford
finished, Carrick returned to his cabin,
selecting changes of clothing from the
baggage he had brought on board. Then
he hastened to one of the baths, the
doctor to another.

Half an hour later, as they were
dressing in their cabin, Carrick heard
hurried steps on the deck overhead, fol-
lowed by sounds of hoisting a launch
that had been waiting tc bring the quar-
termaster and sailor back.

"The Budsibu has started south," said
the Hound. "You may depend upon
that."

Once on deck, however, they learned
that Li Shoon's pirate craft had only
appeared outside of Mattanegua Bay.
The launch had returned to shore with
Mr. Olney, third officer, who went to

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

73

the edge of the land. It was an hour
later when he reappeared, signaling for
the launch. Olney came on board, re-
porting :

"The Budzibu is now steaming south
at about eight miles an hour."

At a nod from Carrick the launch
was once more hoisted on board. A
machinist stood by the donkey engine,
ready to begin hoisting the anchor as
soon as the signal should be given. Just
the barest glimpse of the Sumatran
yacht was had after a while. Then
she passed wholly out of sight. Car-
rick and Fleming now took up their
post at the door of the wireless room.

Another age passed ere the operator
turned to say:

"Message flying."

His pencil traveled over the paper
as he listened. At last he leaned side-
ways to hand Carrick this message
taken from the air:

The master of the Sea King will lie to and
prepare to receive a boarding party. He will
keep all passengers and all but two of his
crew between decks.

"The message came very weakly, sir,"
reported the operator to the flushed,
frowning Hound.

"That's because Li Shoon doesn't
want the message to travel far enough
to attract any attention," Carrick an-
swered.

Again the operator's pencil touched
paper. He handed over the sheet, com-
menting :

"Evidently the reply from the Sea
King."

This message read tersely :
Why the devil should I lie to for boarders?
"The Sea King's master will soon
learn," was Carrick's grim word.
The answer flashed back :

Because we carry cannon, which you will
see our crew uncovering. If you don't lie
to immediately we shall be obliged to sink
you, with your crew and passengers. If you
have any regard for the lives intrusted to
you, you will obey at once. You are deal-
ing with Mexicans, who will spare or de-

stroy you, as you merit. Will you obey, or
shall we open a fire that will send you to
the bottom in five minutes?

Back from the master of the Sea
King came the response :

Don't fire ! Have women and children on
board. Will put crew and passengers be-
low hatches and await boarding party.

Running forward, Carrick called to
Captain Mulford:

"Time to get the anchor up, sir, and
be under way at once. Full speed south,
and straight to the Budzibu."

In a wonderfully short time the Vul-
can was under way, passing out of the
little inlet and out upon the broad
waters of the Pacific.

"See if there are any more messages,
Fleming," called the Hound, but the
chemist swiftly returned with a negative
answer.

Racing like a deer, the Vulcan was
destined to come up within effective
distance within twelve minutes. And
now an unexpected thing happened, for,
at a nod from Carrick, Mr. Olney
stepped forward with a letter which he
handed Captain Mulford. That skipper
read and was astounded.

"It's all right, Mr. Olney," he ex-
claimed, glancing up from the letter.
"This order informs me that yeu're
Ensign Qlney, United States Navy, and
that the five seamen you brought aboard
are United States navy seamen. Fur-
ther, that when you decide to take com-
mand of this craft temporarily, I am to
take your orders until the crisis is over.
Go ahead, sir. I shall be up on the
bridge, prepared to cary out any order
I may receive from you."

Under Olney's crisp orders the for-
ward-hatch was thrown open, and tackle
swung onto a 4.7 inch naval gun that
all on, board knew was there, for the
track had been laid on the deck days
before. With precision the gun was
swung upward and laid on the track.
Olney's five naval seamen, aided by the
yacht's sailors, pushed the gun to posi-

74

Detective, Story Magazine

tion over the port bow. All was made
secure, the breech opened, and a shell
rammed home. With closed breech
once more, Olney stood by with field
glass, while a naval gunner took obser-
vations through the sights.

"Three points to starboard, sir!" Ol-
ney shouted to the bridge. Afterward
he added: "And now, sir, stand in
more toward shore."

Every minute brought the Vulcan
closer to the spot where the Budzibu
lay to, while, half a mile to the south-
west of her, the Sea King lay, motion-
less, on the waters. Two-thirds of the
way from the Sumatran yacht to the
liner, two launches rode the water.
They contained a total of some fifty
men, lascars and Chinese, as it after-
ward proved. Carrick and Fleming
could realize the way the Sea King's
decks would run blood to the scuppers
if once this piratical crew got foothold
on board.

So far the Vulcan ha"d approached
without discovery, so intent were all of
Li Shoon's men on the eight-million-
dollar prey that they believe the Sea
King to be.

But now a man in one of the launches
caught sight of the racing rescuing
Vulcan, and stood up in the launch, sig-
naling violently to the Budzibu. .

CHAPTER XV.

TREASURE-TROVE.

A NAVAL battle between us and the
Sumatran !" cried Doctor Fleming,
athrill with the pepperish prospect.

Boom ! sounded the Vulcan's gun. A
few seconds later the watchers saw
the shell strike one of the Budzibu's
launches. There was a cloud of smoke,
a geyser of salt water. Then the launch
vanished, blown to atoms, while her late
crew struggled in the water.

Boom! That shot struck fifty feet
astern of the second launch, doing no
harm. Wincing, Ensign Olney fired a

third shell. The second launch, after
a few seconds, had followed the first.

"Go in to rescue the men, pirates
though they are!" Olney shouted to-
ward the bridge. At the same time the
ensign kept his gaze toward the Bud-
zibu, for he could see that she mounted
two nine-pounder guns forward, and an
effective shell from either of these
would be enough to sink the unarmored
Vulcan.

Carrick, at the port rail, a little be-
hind the gunners, held glasses to his
eyes, as did Fleming. On the deck for-
ward they' could make out both Li
Shoon and Weng-yu — could even read
the astounded expressions on their yel-
low faces. Ten feet behind them stood
Ming.

And then the all-but-incredible thing
happened. The Budzibu, as though re-
alizing the hopelessness of conflict
against the Vulcan's 4.7, swung around,
her bow away from the gallant intru-
der, as though declining conflict.

"It's strange that one of Li Shoon's
temper should prefer capture!" gasped
the Hound.

"Maybe he doesn't," hinted the chem-
ist.

"Butt he has pointed his guns away
from us."

"Watch him ! Doctor Li is a man of
deadly resource."

Apparently Ensign Olney's suspi-
cions, too, had been aroused, for he
abandoned his humane purpose of res-
cuing the launches' crews, and ordered
another change in the Vulcan's course.

"What can Li Shoon do?" Carrick
wondered, as he saw the 4.7 trained on
the Sumatran yacht.

"He won't keep us guessing long,"
Fleming ventured, nor did his guess go
astray.

A minute of inaction passed — a min-
ute of the kind that lives ever afterward
in men's minds. Then a tremendous,
half-muffled roar shook the air.
Through the forward deck of the

Li Shoon's Nine Lives

75

Budzibu belched a crater of flame and
smoke. Pitching like a living thing in
the death throe, the Budzibu began set-
tling by the head. '

"Run in as close as you dare, sir, to
rescue survivors!" shouted Ensign Ol-
ney.

Ahead forged the Vulcan, yet before
she arrived the Budzibu had vanished
from sight under the waters.

"Not even my gun could have worked
half the havoc of that internal explo-
sion," gasped Olney, turning to Carrick.
Your Chinese prince of crime must
have given thorough thought to mining
a ship like that."

While the Sea King still lay to, the
Vulcan searched in vain for trace of a
single survivor, either from the Budzibu
or her two launches. The destruction
had been complete. Li's pirates, know-
ing well their fate at the law's hands,
if caught, had preferred to drown. All
the mystery of master and owner, of
the yacht's strange charter, had gone
down with the Budzibu.

"Li Shoon has at last given up, by
his own hand, his ninth and last life!"
uttered Donald Carrick solemnly.

When all chance of saving survivors
had been given up, the Vulcan ran over
alongside the Sea King, lying to at a
s.afe interval, to be greeted with tumul-
tuous cheers from the liner.

"I want to tell you, Captain Bick-
ford, that you did your part in a mag-
nificent manner !" Donald Carrick
shouted through a megaphone to the
Sea King's skipper. "You will find
yourself well, though not sufficiently re-
warded by the Blue Stack Company
when you reach Frisco. You will now,
of course, proceed on your way under
the speed you prefer."

With another interchange of cheers,
and much blowing of whistles, the Sea
King, which really carried no gold at all
in her strong room, and which had
acted under secret naval instructions,

altered to a course farther offshore and
proceeded on her homeward way.

The Vulcan kept somewhat inshore,
going at full speed until she overhauled
a Mexican coastwise fishing smack a
few miles north of Mattanegua. To
the master of that little craft Carrick
shouted information as to where the
half dozen soldiers of Calvoras' rebel
outpost would be found tied to the
trees.

From there a nearly record run was
made to the spot indicated on Li
Shoon's map. Between the aid fur-
nished by that document, and what he
had overheard in the talk between Li
and Weng-yu, Carrick was occupied but
a few hours in finding an artificial cave,
wonderfully constructed and concealed,
in which was found, intact, the hoard
of four and a half million dollars taken
from the Halcyon and the Spokane.
This, money was transferred to the
Vulcan, and started on the way to its
rightful owners in San Francisco.

In San Francisco the ever-active re-
porters got wind of enough of the story
so that the rest of it was given out at
the Blue Stack line offices. Over the
United States and the world flashed the
news that Doctor Li's ninth and last life
had been offered up and canceled by Li
himself.

Carrick and Fleming did not linger in
the city of the Golden Gate. After set-
tling their financial affairs with the Blue
Stack Company, they hastened East.

On the day of his arrival in New
York, Doctor John Fleming was joy-
fully able to confide to his friend his
hour-new marriage to Miss Sylvia Dor-
rance.

"I shall not again have to fear for
her safety in connection with Doctor
Li," Fleming declared, with a heartfelt
sigh.

"For any other human being's tragic
death I might feel sorrow," Donald Car-
rick answered. "Li Shoon's death, un-

76

Detective Story Magazine

der even more terrible circumstances,
can only fill me with entire satisfaction."

"Will the Ui Kwoon Ah-how live
after this ?" inquired the doctor.

"It may," replied the Master Hound,

"but it will bt confined to China. Only
the evil genius of a Li Shoon could
make the Ui Kwoon a world-wide men-
ace, and there is but one Doctor Li born
in a thousand years !"

JAPS WARY OF "DEATH" PHONE NUMBERS

IT is interesting to find science and superstition locking horns in connection with
telephones in Japan. It is not strange to find convenience "cutting a figure"
in the choice of numbers of instruments. A single-figure phone sells in Tokyo
for from eight hundred to one thousand yen — three hundred and ninety to four
hundred and ninety dollars per year. The luckiest number, in the estima-
tion of business men, is eight, because the character for it spreads downward
and suggests the idea of gathering in prosperity. No. 753 is also a lucky num-
ber, because children are presented at Shinto shrines on their third, fifth, and
seventh birthdays. Indeed, odd numbers are lucky. Three-figure numbers are
not objectionable, if they are easy to remember, like 123 or 555. The most un-
lucky numbers are 42 and 49; because the former may be pronounced "shini,"
which means "to die," and the latter may be pronounced "shiku," which means
"death" and "suffering." Therefore, it is said that these numbers are avoided
by individuals, and are generally taken by government officers, schools, police
stations, and other invincible institutions.

Another interesting point, not of superstition, but of convenience, rather of
inconvenience, is the fact that numbers are not abbreviated as in America, but
are always given in full. But the Japanese will doubtless before long see the
time-saving elements in saying "one, two, three, four," instead of saying "one
thousand two hundred and thirty-four." As yet they are not in a great hurry..

BACK IN THE TOILS

RAPTURED as he was preparing to enter the home of George P. Royster, in
Sacramento, California, John Adams has been identified as a professional
burglar, who has already served three different sentences for robbery. Since
1895 he has spent practically all of the time behind prison bars.

When taken before Max P. Fisher, identification expert, Adams was recog-
nized at a glance as the burglar who was captured in Sacramento in 191 1 by De-
tectives Ryan and Kramer, and Policeman Koening, after he had burglarized the
home of City Commissioner Gus Turner. For that offense he was sentenced to
serve five years in Folsom.

He was released from Folsom prison in July, 1915, and the following month
was arrested in the State of Nevada, and sentenced to serve one and one-half
years for burglary. He had just been out of the Carson City prison eighteen
days when captured. His first offense, of which Fisher has records, was com-
mitted in San Francisco in 1895, and he was sentenced to serve twenty years in
San Quentin. This term was later reduced.

^ Sergeant Ryan

THE inspector in charge of the de-
tective bureau at police head-
quarters was talking to half a
dozen reporters; and at the
same time was exchanging a dress coat
for one of dark blue, which was not
part of a uniform, though suggestive
of it.

"I don't know any more about this
case than you do," he was saying. "I'd
been to a theater, and was eating sup-
per afterward, when I got word of it.
The report that came to me was that
a man named Prescott Carroll had been
arrested for the murder of Oliver
Brundage — 'Ollie' Brundage; you all
know him."

The reporters nodded. The name
and fame of Ollie Brundage were quite
familiar to them. He was a young man
of good family, a bachelor and club-
man, who managed to move in. the
highest society without any visible
means of support. They also knew
Carroll, who had gone out of journal-
ism into literature eight or ten years
before, and had won a certain measure
of recognition.

"The arrest was made by a patrol-
man and Detective Hines of my staff,"
continued the inspector. "It seems
that Carroll knocked Brundage down
with a sand club or something of that
kind, and was going through his pock-
ets. It was on West Seventy-eighth

Street, just opposite the new church.
The prisoner was taken to the station
house, but I sent word to have him
brought down here. Brundage's body
is at the station now. That's all I
know."

The reporters exchanged glances.
Then one of them asked: "What's this
about a millionaire's pocketbook being
found in Carroll's pocket?"

"I heard a rumor to that effect," said
the inspector, "but I'm not prepared
to answer any questions."

"Isn't it a fact," queried one of the
reporters, "that there have been a good
many holdups in the neighborhood,
and that your man Hines was up there
on that account?"

"There have been some wild stories
in the newspapers," the inspector be-
gan, but checked himself as he per-
ceived a lieutenant entering by a door
upon the left. The lieutenant executed
a sort of military salute, and departed
without having opened his mouth.

"You boys will have to get out of
here now," said the inspector. "I'll see
you later." '

The reporters filed out like so many
pallbearers. Every one of them looked
at his watch, though there was a clock
in plain sight on the wall. -It was half
past one in the morning, and minutes
were precious.

No one remained in the room except

78

Detective Story Magazine

the chief and a man in a dark-gray
suit who sat against the wall opposite
the door where the lieutenant had ap-
peared.

"You know him, tarter, don't you?"
asked the inspector.

"Three years ago," replied the de-
tective, "I knew him as a brilliant and
promising fellow; but he passed out
of my sight."

"Writer, eh? I've read one of his
stories. It was good, too. Why the
devil should he have done this thing?"

Carter answered only with a gesture.
The inspector glanced quickly toward
the door; then, leaning forward in his
chair, with his right elbow on the desk
and his open hand against the side of
his face, he waited in the shadow.

The brim of Carter's hat was nearly
level with his eyes, and as the principal
source of light was a cluster of lamps
against the wall and almost directly
over his head, his countenance was
scarcely visible.

The door at the left swung open, and
two officers appeared with the prisoner
between them. They paused an instant,
so that the man seemed to come alone
into the white glare of light and the
oppressive silence.

He was tall and of a strong frame,
but excessively thin. He had wavy,
dark-brown hair, a high forehead pain-
fully wrinkled above the bridge of the
nose; pale-blue eyes, with that faded
look one sees in the eyes of tired
women; a light mustache, and a well-
molded but rather weak chin, with a
dimple in it. He wore a shabby, black
overcoat above what seemed to be ex-
pensive and fashionable evening dress.

Carter, who remembered Prescott
Carroll as he had been, was shocked at
the change in him. He seemed to have
lived a dozen years between twenty-nine
and thirty-two.

There was a straight-backed wooden
chair, which, standing alone in the mid-
dle of the big and bare room, had a

singular effect of isolation. Carroll
looked at it, perceived that it was for
him, and sat down with a shudder.

At that moment Hines, the headquar-
ters man who had assisted in the arrest,
appeared at the door. The inspector
beckoned to him, and he came for-
ward; while Carter, crossing the room,
whispered to one of the policemen who
immediately went out.

"Well?" said the inspector, address-
ing Hines.

"At ten minutes past twelve," re-
sponded the officer, "I was going west
along Seventy-eighth Street toward
Berkeley Avenue. There is an apart-
ment house on the southeast corner,
with an alley behind it which runs half-
way down the block and then turns to
the avenue. There's an iron fence with
a gate on each end.

"Close by this fence, where there isn't
much light, I saw this man stooping
over a body that lay on the sidewalk. I
ran up, and at the same time Patrol-
man Bruce came from the direction of
the avenue. We had the man between
us, and when he saw that he surren-
dered. He seemed to be dazed, and we
couldn't get him to say anything to us.

"I recognized the man on the ground
as Oliver Brundage. He was alive
then, but unconscious. He,died before
the ambulance came. There was no
weapon. Brundage was killed by strik-
ing his head in falling. We had the
body taken to the station house, and
took this man there. He talked to him-
self on the way. He said, 'Don't
worry; don't worry. I'll be all right.
It's the best thing that could have hap-
pened.' He admitted having killed
Brundage, but that is all we could get
out of him."

The inspector turned to Carroll and
asked him whether he had anything to
say, warning him, in accordance with
the law, that whatever he said could be
used against him on the trial.

He remained silent for perhaps half

The Mysterious Highwayman

79

a minute, during which interval Hines
laid upon the inspector's desk a pack-
age containing all that had been taken
from the prisoner when he was
searched at the station house.

"Denial is useless," said Carroll at
last. "I was taken in the act."

His manner was indefinably strange.
If one may attempt description, it was
more like an invalid's than a criminal's.
This man of cultured mind and deli-
cately sensitive nature seemed to feel
neither remorse nor shame. There was
evidence of considerable anxiety, but
this state was repeatedly interrupted by
involuntary outbursts of reassurance,
almost of satisfaction.

"What was your motive?" asked the
inspector.

"Robbery!" replied the prisoner
cheerfully. "I was driven to it by pov-
erty."

The inspector looked hastily at Car-
ter, who returned the glance meaningly.
Both men perceived that the prisoner's
answer was a lie, and that it covered
a mystery. This case which, on a cas-
ual view seemed so clear, being the
arrest of a highway robber beside the
body of his victim, became at once to
these experienced men a problem for
close and rigid investigation.

"I thought you were successful in
your profession?" said the inspector.

"I might have been," was the reply,
"but I had bad luck and many burdens.
There were people dependent upon me.
I never worry about myself. I sup-
pose nobody does. It was about
others."

He became excited as he spoke, and
his self-control slipped away. It was
obvious that he did not mean to tell his
story, but that it told itself, just as the
first words he had uttered in that room
had overridden his will.

It appeared that he had been married
five years before, and that his wife had
almost immediately begun to lose her
sight, as the result of a malady rare

and little understood. Gradually, with
that steady deliberation which nature
commands, and human torturers vainly
strive to imitate, the shadows had
closed around her. Carroll had beg-
gared himself with doctors; he had be-
come a borrower under the pressure of
a need that could not be postponed.
His friends had turned from him, and
some of them, for the. sake of the spite
that grows out of money, had raised
up other enemies when their own
power to injure him had seemed in-
adequate.

Meanwhile, his strength had de-
clined, and his imagination, too much
occupied with images of his own in-
creasing sorrow, had ceased to suggest
the pictures which his art required. His
earnings had decreased as his needs
grew. He had labored under that
enormous disadvantage of visible mis-
fortune; he had become the lame wolf
which the pack rends.

Throughout the latter part of this
wretched period his sister and his
brother's widow with two children had
been dependent upon him. His wife,
at last, had gone to a private hospital
where the charges' were excessive and
the benefits few.

The wonder was that the man had
not gone mad, laboring with a brain so
clogged with miserable thoughts. Yet
he did not seem to be insane, though
surely on the brink of it.

Neither Carter nor the inspector in-
terrupted Carroll's recital which he
himself finally broke off with an ex-
clamation of despair.

"You see I can't help telling this,"
he said; "though, upon my soul, I did
not mean to do it."

The inspector glanced at Carter, and
touched his forehead, unperceived by
Carroll. The detective made a nega-
tive sign.

"Let us see what we have here," said
the inspector, opening the packet which
Hines had brought.

80

Detective Story Magazine

It contained a few trifles separately
wrapped up, because they were obvi-
ously the prisoner's, and the things that
he was supposed to have taken from
Brundage. The latter consisted of a
handkerchief, some letters, a cigarette
case, a cardcase, and several keys.
Another . handkerchief — a woman's —
and small coin to the value of sixty-
four cents were marked as having been
found in Brundage's pockets by the
police.

"Then you got no money at all ?" said
the inspector.

"I got a pocketbook," replied Car-
roll, with hesitation.

"Do you mean to say that you got
this from Brundage?" demanded the
inspector, holding up the wallet.

'^Certainly," answered Carroll, but he
did not meet the eye of the questioner.

"Do you know whose pocketbook it
is?"

"They told me at the station house,"
said Carroll faintly, "that it was Stan-
ton Ripley's."

Stanton Ripley was a young man
about town, possessed of great wealth,
and a barnful of wild oats. The
pocketbook bore his initials, and the
crest of his family in gold and enamel.
It was a plain, light Russia leather
book, of the sort that folds in the mid-
dle with one large compartment on each
side. Carter received it from the
chief's hand, and discovered that it
contained three thousand and ten dol-
lars — one one-thousand-dollar bill ; four
of five hundred dollars and two of five
dollars, all new.

"They found this in the prisoner's
coat-tail pocket," said the chief. "Were
you aware," he continued, addressing
Carroll, "that this was in Brundage's
possession when you attacked him?"

Carroll pondered upon this question.

"I couldn't know that," he said at
last, in a faint voice.

Carter observed that he had taken
hold of the sides of his chair, as if to

keep from falling out of it, and that a
bluish pallor had overspread his face.

"Is there anything I can do for you ?"
asked the detective kindly.

"Could I have something to eat?"
said the prisoner, in an embarrassed
tone. "Of course, if it's too much trou-
ble "

"I have already sent out for some
supper for you," replied Carter, look-
ing closely at him. "It occurred to me
that you might like it. I wonder it
hasn't come before this."

Carroll expressed his gratitude, and
while he was doing so, a policeman en-
tered with several packages. The de-
tective drew up a small table, and set
forth a bottle of milk and a loaf of
bread, at sight of which the prisoner's
eyes shone. Behind him the policeman
was opening a box from which he took
a steak and potatoes on a wooden plate,
and a knife and fork. He held up
the knife, and looked inquiringly at
Carter, who nodded ; and the utensils
were laid upon the table.

The prisoner ate well. Many times
he spoke aloud in praise of the food,
clearly not meaning to do so, for he al-
ways checked himself with shame.

"Now," he said at last, "I feel first-
rate. Heavens !"

The exclamation came suddenly.
Carroll half rose, and then sank back.
He passed his hand across his forehead
which had become wet in an instant.

"My wife and my sisters !" he cried.
"How shall I tell them?"

"I am afraid that the newspapers
will anticipate you, unless you tele-
graph," said Carter.

He took a pad of blanks and a pen-
cil from the inspector's desk, and laid
them before Carroll, who, after many
attempts, wrote this message:

Be prepared for very bad news ; yet all
for the best. Don't try to understand.
Don't come here. Will send money.

He puzzled a long time over the last
sentence, but finally let it stand. The

The Mysterious Highwayman

81

message was addressed to his sister,
Miss Hilda Carroll, in a small town in
Massachusetts. At the bottom he wrote
a request to repeat the -telegram to his
wife, in care of the physician in charge
of the hospital where she then was.

Carter gave the telegram, with money
for its transmission, to one of the po-
licemen who went out with it immedi-
ately. The inspector, meanwhile, was
answering a call upon the telephone
that stood on his desk. He received
a long report, at the close of which he
ordered that the prisoner should be
taken into an adjoining room.

"Nick," he said, as soon as they were
alone, "I've just got word from the
man who was sent to Ripley's rooms
when the pocketbook was found upon
Carroll. Ripley has just come home
with, a bad wound in the head. He
seems to have been wandering around
the streets, dazed, for quite a long time.
He was at his club until about eleven
o'clock, when he started out for a walk.
On Fifth Avenue, alongside the park,
about Sixty-third Street, he saw a man
step out from behind a tree. As he
turned to face the fellow, he got a rap
on the left side of the head, and the
next thing he remembers, he was on
the other side of the park way up by
Eighty-first Street, and it was more
than two hours later.

"Where he had been in the mean-
time he doesn't know. His pocketbook
was gone, and his watch. Nothing else
was taken. He says he probably could
not identify his assailant, though the
man looked familiar. He knew Carroll
very well ; they were in college together.
He lent him some money, a year or
more ago; then they had a falling-out,
and he hasn't seen Carroll since. He
doesn't think it was Carroll who as-
saulted him. What do you make out
of this ?"

"Well, it seems somewhat extraordi-
nary," said the detective, "that a man
on the verge of starvation should not

6A ds

have used one of those five-dollar bills
to buy a meal. It occurs to me that we
haven't found Ripley's watch; and I
am also puzzled to know why a man
who had made a haul of three thousand
dollars should take the desperate
chance of assaulting Brundage, who is
well known never to have any money."

"Perhaps Carroll didn't know him,"
suggested the inspector.

"It's as bad one way as another,"
replied the detective. "He wouldn't
have risked three thousand dollars and
his liberty on the chance of what might
be in a stranger's pockets. However,
we might ask him about it."

Carroll was brought back into the
room, and was informed of what had
been learned about Ripley. He made
a strong effort to cover his emotions,
but Carter was of the opinion that, for
some mysterious reason, the prisoner
was not only surprised but pleased.

"It is true," he said. "I did not take
the pocketbook from Brundage. I took
it from Ripley."

"Where?" demanded the inspector,
who had not mentioned the place desig-
nated by Ripley.

"In Central Park," was the reply. "I
followed him from his club."

At this point the prisoner showed his
first disinclination to answer questions ;
yet he consented to hear a few from
Carter, and this exchange resulted :

"Were you acquainted with Brun-
dage ?"

"I knew him by sight and by reputa-
tion."

"When did you first see him this eve-
ning?"

"When he turned out of the avenue
into Seventy-eighth Street."
"Did you recognize him?"
"Yes."

"Did you speak to him before attack-
ing him?"
"No."

"Where did you get that dress suit?"
"Ripley gave it to me, a year and a

82

Detective Story Magazine

half ago, when he got me to go to a
dinner at a club."

"Do you mean that he bought it for
you?"

"No; it was his. He had just had it
made. It was one of his freaks to give
it to me."

"What is that stain ?"

It was a reddish mark as if from a
blow with a rusty iron bar, and it ex-
tended across the back of the overcoat
about the waistline. The garment was
lying on a chair. Carroll looked at the
stain with mild surprise, and said he
did not know what it was.

"Your dress coat was torn in the
struggle with Brundage, I suppose,"
said the detective, indicating a ripped
seam at the back of the left shoulder,
and some further damage, here and
there.

Carroll nodded.

"You had your overcoat on when
you were arrested, didn't you ?"

"Yes; I just slipped it on, after the
— the struggle."

"Why didn't you run through the
alley when you saw the policemen com-
ing?"

"I didn't know there was any gate in
the fence," replied the prisoner.

This closed the examination, and
Carroll was consigned to a cell.

"It is a singular coincidence," said
the detective, "that I happen to be very
familiar with the spot where this arrest
was made. I waited there some hours,
on a recent evening. The gate in the
fence could not be overlooked by any
one, and just within it there is a rusty
iron bar extending from the gatepost
to the side of the house. From the
appearance of the mark on Carroll's
coat I should say that he had leaned
against that bar. I came very near do-
ing it myself. So Carroll had a neat
way of escape, and did not take it."

The inspector drummed with his fin-
gers upon his desk, and gently whistled
a little tune.

"For a case that opens with a con-
fession," said he, at last, "this is a
beautiful muddle. To begin with, the
man is such a purposeless liar "

"I would hardly say that," rejoined
Carter. "He knows what he is about.
A liar he certainly is — one of the most
perverse and incalculable that I ever
encountered — but his statements help to
clear the view. Obviously, he is will-
ing to say anything which will tend to
show that he attacked Brundage for the
purpose of robbing him.

"Now, of course this crime was not
robbery, though Carroll tried to give
that color to it, and on a hasty inspira-
tion, too, or he would not have com-
mitted the absurdity of taking the man's
handkerchief, to say nothing about this
rubbish of cigarette and cardcases."

"You mean that he killed Brundage
for some other reason?" asked the in-
spector.

"Did you observe the weather?" re-
joined Carter, with a smile. "It has
been snowing a little, and the pave-
ments are a mess. Carroll's coat shows
a considerable struggle, and by all the -
evidence, the two men must have fallen
to the ground, one gripping the other's
throat. It was then that Brundage's
head struck the projection of the iron
fence, but the assailant could not imme-
diately have known the result. With-
out doubt, they rolled there together in
the dirt. Yet there isn't a mark on
Carroll's knees."

"That's so, but the elbow and left
sleeve of his coat are soiled : not the
overcoat; he'd taken that off."

"It is all very singular," said the de-
tective. "I am being gradually led to-
ward a remarkable conclusion ; but I
am not ready to talk about it yet. I
suggest that we put the whole thing off
till to-morrow."

"The case is in your hands," said
the inspector, "if you will be kind
enough to take charge of it."

On the following day the detective

The Mysteriou

called upon Stanton Ripley at his
rooms, which have sometimes been
mentioned in print as the most luxuri-
ous bachelor apartments in New York.
Ripley was under a doctor's care, but
had almost ceased to require it. He
had a contusion on the left side of his
head behind the ear; but was suffering
principally from mental strain, the re-
sult of his adventure of the previous
night.

It was necessary to avoid exciting
him, and the detective proceeded with
the utmost caution. Ripley declared
positively that his assailant was not
Carroll; and after an hour of shrewd
questioning, he admitted his belief that
it was Brundage. Then he seemed to
regret having made the statement, and
he concluded by asserting his ignorance
of the highwayman's identity.

It became necessary, therefore, to
trace Brundage's movements on the
previous evening, and this proved to be
easy. From nine o'clock until a few
minutes before his death, Brundage had
been in the apartments of a young
widow, a Mrs. Haskell, who lived with
her mother and sister in that building
on Berkeley Avenue, behind which ran
the alley that has been referred to.
There had been three other guests, a
man and two women, and Brundage
had put them into a cab just before
going to meet his fate. It had undoubt-
edly been his intention to walk across
to his home, which was on Central
Park, West.

This negatived any idea that Carroll
could have found Ripley's pocketbook
in Brundage's pocket. But where had
he obtained it, since Ripley was sure
that he was not the robber ? And what
motive could have induced Carroll to
play his singular part in this affair?

A study of the locality could not fail
to raise the presumption that Carroll
had been lying in wait for Brundage.
The spot was well chosen. Yet Carroll
was unknown to the Haskells, and

Highwayman 83

could hardly have had any means of
knowing where Brundage would spend
the evening. Indeed, all the evidence
that Carter could collect seemed to
show that Carroll and Brundage had
no common interest, and no possible
ground for animosity.

There were rumors of ill feeling be-
tween Ripley and Brundage on account
of the fascinating Mrs. Haskell, at
whose home both were frequent visi-
tors; but even upon the wild supposi-
tion that Ripley had been sufficiently
jealous to employ Carroll as his bravo,
he would hardly have paid him with his
watch and pocketbook. Nor would
Carroll have collected his price with the
aid of a sand club.

The newspapers saw in Carroll a
mysterious highwayman. They exag-
gerated one or two small robberies in
the neighborhood into a great list of
desperate crimes, and the young author
was pictured as one of the famous de-
generates of the age. But the real puz-
zles of the case remained unanswered.
Nobody could account for Carroll's re-
tention of that pocketbook; for his
senseless risk in attacking Brundage
while carrying so great a plunder from
another crime ; for his failure to take
an easy chance of escape.

In the evening, Carter called at head-
quarters; and found Carroll's sister, his
sister-in-law, and the latter's two chil-
dren. The women had come to the
city with a vague idea that their pres-
ence was required, and without enough
money to take them back again. They
and the children were in tears, and the
scene was intensely distressing. It be-
came positively harrowing when the
inspector yielded to their entreaties,
and summoned the prisoner from his
cell.

Somewhat to Carter's surprise, the
man was greatly improved in appear-
ance. His bearing was marked by a
sad serenity. He beheld the tears and
accepted the reproaches of the women

84

Detective Story Magazine

with perfect composure, and it was
only when they spoke of their imme-
diate need of money that he showed any
considerable anxiety. He referred
them to a lawyer whom he had retained
during the day, saying that he would
probably assist them. Otherwise he
said nothing to them except vaguely
reassuring words ; and though they said
that they would come again on the fol-
lowing day — a suggestion which the in-
spector did not see fit to contradict —
Carroll bade them farewell with an air
of finality.

When the prisoner had been re-
moved, Carter inquired about his law-
yer, and learned that a corporation
attorney, practically unknown in crim-
inal courts, had been retained. Car-
roll had given the name and address,
and the attorney had been summoned.

"To the best of my judgment," said
the inspector, "he had never seen the
prisoner before. Carroll was ar-
raigned, and waived examination — as
you know, of course."

During the evening, Carter obtained
a bit of evidence not altogether unim-
portant. It appeared that when Ripley
left his club on the night of the crime,
a man answering Carroll's description,
who had been loitering for more than
an hour in the neighborhood, had fol-
lowed him. Two cabmen were the wit-
nesses on this point, and they were per-
fectly confident; but they said that
Ripley had gone up Fifty-ninth Street,
instead of Fifth Avenue. Carter called
upon Ripley in regard to this contradic-
tion, and was informed that the young
man had walked a_ little way up Fifty-
ninth Street, but had returned. He had
not seen Carroll following him.

About noon the next day Carter
called upon the inspector, who began
conversation by stating that he had
been devoting a good deal of thought to
the Brundage case.

"And you have evolved a theory,"

said the detective, with a smile. "Shall
I tell you what it is?"

The inspector shut one eye and scru-
tinized Carter closely out of the other.

"Go ahead, confound you !" he said.
"You'll tell me what it is, and then
you'll show me why it isn't good for
anything."

"On the contrary," replied the detec-
tive, "it is very near the truth. In fact,
there can hardly be two theories of this
affair. I happen to know that one of
your men compared the stain on Car-
roll's overcoat with the iron bar I spoke
of — as to height from the ground, gen-
eral appearance, et cetera. The conclu-
sion that Carroll knew about the gate,
and the way of escape through the alley
is thus verified. Why didn't he run?
The obvious explanation is that he re-
mained to cover the retreat of some
one else."

"Precisely," said the inspector. "If
the snow hadn't melted so soon we
would have found tracks."

"You believe," continued Carter,
"that this young man, in his half-crazy
desperation, had formed an alliance
with some thug; that it was the thug
who attacked Ripley ; that the ease with
which Ripley was disposed of, sent
them both upon a mad career of depre-
dation, with the intent of doing one
big night's work and then quitting the
town."

"Well, something of that sort," ad-
mitted the inspector.

"Then it is the pal who has engaged
this lawyer, and has supplied Carroll's
relatives with money "

"Have they got some ?"

"Plenty," replied the detective, "and
they have gone back to Massachusetts.
And I can tell you something more
agreeable. Two of the leading medical
experts of this city have 'taken an in-
terest' in Mrs. Carroll — who. by the
way, is a very charming woman, whose
needs, but never her importunities, have

The Mysterious Highwayman

85

burdened our friend, for she is different
from the others."

"You have seen her?"

"Yes ; this forenoon. She does not
yet know of her husband's misfortune.
It was deemed unwise to tell her. But
— would you believe it? — those experts
who were so much interested by the
accounts of her case published yester-
day in connection with this affair, tell
me that she has a good chance of re-
covery; that the treatment hitherto has
been all wrong, and that she may fully
regain her sight."

"Well, I'm glad of that," said the
inspector.

"The experts are great men," said
Carter, "but they are not philanthro-
pists ; they are sure of their money. By
the way, have you seen Carroll to-
day ?"

"Yes, and the change in him is won-
derful. Upon my word, he has gained
pounds of flesh, and he looks positively
handsome."

"His mind is relieved," responded
Carter. "You remember that he never
worries about himself. That is the
truest word he spoke to us. Worry for
others has driven him half crazy — ■
money worry — and now that it is over,
he sees the electric chair before him,
and is cheerful.

"I was near forgetting," he con-
tinued, after a brief pause, "that I have
recovered Ripley's watch. Some of my
men searched the west side of the park
from Seventy-seventh street north-
ward, this morning, and they found it
where some one had thrown it ovet the
wall. A portrait on the inside of the
case, at the back, has been scratched
with a knife; but the job was done in
the dark, and the face is still recogniz-
able. It was Mrs. Haskell's."

"Why in blazes "

"My friend, it is as clear as a bell.
Match it with my discovery that Car-
roll's coat showed every mark of the
fight with Brundage, in which, singu-

larly enough, his nether garments seem
not to have shared."

"Do you mean that he changed coats
with the real assailant?" gasped the in-
spector.

"Beyond a doubt."

The inspector sprang up and seized
his hat from the rack on the wall.

"Let's go down to the Tombs," he
said. "Carroll is there."

In a private room of the famous
prison — the prisoner in the Brundage
murder case, ied from his cell he knew
not why, found the inspector and the
detective waiting for him.

"Mr. Carroll," said Carter kindly,
"the cat is out of the bag."

The prisoner^tarted violently, and
his face flushed.

"You were in desperate straits," the
detective continued; "you knew not
where to turn for help. You had quar-
reled with Ripley, who once had be-
friended you, and yet, in your emer-
gency you could think of no one else.
You dressed as well as you could, in
the suit that he had given you, and yet
when you came to the club, your shabby
overcoat kept you from asking for the
man you wished to see. When he came
out, you followed him, hesitating to
speak. For miles along the streets, in
the winter night, you kept him in sight,
while he, with a foolish burden of jeal-
ousy on his mind, did not see you.

"At the corner of Berkeley Avenue
and Seventy-eighth Street, he stopped.
Presently he turned back, and you
stepped within the iron gate to let him
pass. Then Brundage appeared. Be-
fore you realized what was happening,
the sharp struggle was over. Ripley
had gratified his jealousy far more fully
than he had planned to do. Brundage
lay dead on the sidewalk, and Ripley,
bending over him, groaned in agony.

"A sudden, grotesque, and terrible
thought leaped into your mind — to ex-
change burdens with Ripley, to take
his deadly sin, and give him your care,

86

Detective Story Magazine

that would rest so lightly upon this
Croesus. With what insane relief he
accepted your offer ; what promises he
made in those few thrilling moments,
we can readily imagine.

"He had taken off his overcoat that
he might be the more free to punish
his rival. His clothes showed the
struggle. As your two suits were iden-
tical, the change of coats was a natural
suggestion. The purse with the money
was forgotten ; but Ripley, after he had
escaped through .the alley, remembered
it, and his story of robbery was the
only invention that could meet the situ-
ation. The rest comes naturally, in-
cluding your queer lawyer whom Rip-
ley recommended."

"Curse you !" cried Carroll, leaping
to his feet. "You have ruined me."

"In return, let me promise my help,"
said Carter. "I pity you, driven mad
by care as you have been. There is no
reason in the world why you cannot
bear your burdens when you have had
rest, with an easy mind. I can prom-
ise it to you."

Carroll sank back into a chair, and
began to weep hysterically.

The inspector viewed him with pro-
fessional self-control, yet with some
signs of sympathy.

"Shall I send a man for Ripley?" he
whispered.

"I have attended to that," responded
the detective. "He is on his way to
headquarters by this time."

"Manslaughter, "I suppose," muttered
the inspector. "I'll bet a hat that he
doesn't get over five years."

POLICE COURSE XT HARVARD

JJARVARD UNIVERSITY is to extend its instruction to' police officers. It
became known recently that plans for a course in the duties of officers were
well under way.

Raymond B. Fosdick, of New York, regarded as an expert in some branches
of police methods, has been invited to become the first instructor. His teaching,
which will be in day and night classes to allow members of all police shifts to
participate, will deal largely with the matter of organization, the keeping of
station-house records, identification systems, and, to some extent, with psychology
as it relates to the interrogation of persons arrested.

The police of Cambridge will form the first class, Harvard having decided
to inaugurate the course at the suggestion of Mayor W. D. Rockwood. Accord-
ing to Professor William B. Munro, this course, which he termed an experiment,
will be the first of its kind conducted under university auspices in this country.

JAILED AFTER TWO MONTHS' HUNT

R two months the police of Detroit recently searched for four men who held
up the pay car of the Burroughs Adding Machine Company and escaped with
thirty thousand dollars. One of the men wanted by the police was James Walton,
twenty-three years old.

Walton is now in the Detroit jail, having been arrested in Dallas, Texas.
According to the police, he confessed that he fired the shot that wounded one
of the guards accompanying the paymaster. He is said, to have implicated his
brother. The Dallas police found four hundred dollars in bills in Walton's
room, and a pass book showing he had about five hundred on deposit in a Dallas
bank.

ULTme Absconder

Scott Campbell

pants, or presumably so, as was true
of a highly polished brass sign on the
corridor door:

RELIANCE DETECTIVE BUREAU,
Henry Dale, Manager.

The entire interior had a correspond-
ing veneer of probity and eminent
respectability. There was another roll-
top desk in the main office. A large
safe occupied one corner. A case of
law books stood against one of the
walls. A handsome leather-top table
was laden with reference books and
publications bearing upon the business.
A costly Persian drugget covered most
of the floor. A door to the right led
into a finely furnished private office.
One to the left opened into a rear room,
in which were other equipments and
several less expensive desks, ostensibly
those of men employed as private de-
tectives by this bureau of secret crim-
inal investigation.

"What blind could be more ef-
fective ?" % Ravenswood had forcibly
argued when advocating the audacious
project. "What field could be more
broad and rich with possibilities?
Where could safer headquarters be
found? What police official, not ex-
cluding Joe Glidden himself, would
even dream of such a subterfuge, or of

I'LL hand it to him. Mark me,
Paddy, I'll hand him a good one."
Ravenswood's voice had a sinister
ring, his eyes a threatening glint.
"If Glidden is called on, or butts into
the case, I'll woolly-eye that infernal
dick to a standstill, and hand him a
jolt he'll long remember. Paste that
in your hat, Paddy, for reference."

"Faith, it listens good to me, Dickie,
all right," Nolan vouchsafed dryly.
"But can it be done so easy?"

"As easy, Paddy, as a railroad com-
pany can grant a rebate."

"Some easy!" - Drogan grinned
broadly. "Some easy, Dickie, for fair."

"But will there be enough in the
job?" Nolan questioned, more seri-
ously. "Will it pay, Dickie, for the
cost and the risk? This ■ swell lay-
out has taken a good bit of our capital.
Our store of birdseed is running low.
Red Ravens fly high, mind you, and we
must figure to get in right."

Ravenswood gazed at both from a
swivel chair at his large roll-top desk.
It stood in a handsomely furnished
room on the second floor of an office
building on Broadway. Two wide,
plate-glass windows overlooked a side
street. Both were emblazoned with
large, gold-leaf letters, stating the re-
cently established business of the occu-

88

Detective Story Magazine

seeking in such an environment and
seeming vocation a flock of thieving
Red Ravens?"

Ravenswood was right. The very
audacity of it rendered it reliable. Nor
would lynx-eyed Joe Glidden, even,
have recognized in Henry Dale, the
directing genius of the artful enter-
prise, with his gray-streaked hair, his
flowing mustache, and drooping im-
perial, the versatile and resourceful
knave by whom he had been repeatedly
outwitted and was so anxious to appre-
hend.

"Pay, Paddy, indeed! The game is
well worth the candle," Ravenswood
replied, with assurance, drawing up in
his chair. "I have looked over the en-
tire ground. I have covered every foot
of it. Osgood has been the bank mes-
senger for seven years. He's as honest
as the day is long. But custom dulls
the sense of responsibility and the edge
of caution, Paddy, and of that we can
take advantage."

"But suppose, Dickie "

"Suppose nothing!" Ravenswood in-
terrupted. "I am not building on sup-
positions, Paddy, but upon reasonable
certainties. Osgood's habits are very
regular. His round of collections does
not vary materially after a big day in
the stock market. He covers nearly the
same ground. When he arrives at the
Waite Building, where he invariably
calls on Sage & . Slocum, the bond
brokers, the leather bag he carries
chained to his wrist always contains
from fifty to eighty thousand in cash,
bonds, and negotiable securities. That
surely warrants taking chances."

"Long chances, Dickie," Nolan
readily admitted. "There's no denying
that."

"We'll take them, then, Paddy."

"But what about his trailer, Butler,
who is always close behind him, with
his hands on a ready gun in each side
pocket? We must figure on getting
him, Dickie, as well as Osgood."

"Sure thing." Drogan appeared a bit
doubtful. "Get him, Dickie, is right,
and get him first, or his canisters will
start barking right off the reel."

"How can that be done?" Nolan
questioned. "It's not easy to down two
such chesty blokes, one with a brace
of gats, and get away with the coin in
broad daylight. Outside of that,
Dickie, it looks easy."

"I have it perfectly planned," re-
plied Ravenswood confidently.

"Say how, then. Out with it."

"To begin with, Paddy, there now is
a vacant office adjoining those occu-
pied by Sage & Slocum. It is directly
back of the two private rooms of the
firm, and the door must be passed by
any one going there from the elevator
or stairway."

"Faith, that's clear in my coco,"
Nolan nodded. "What more?"

"That vacant office must be rented.
We must establish two of our red birds
there, as if in legitimate business. That
done — stop a bit !" Ravenswood broke
off abruptly, with a glance toward the
rear door. "Call Fallon, Murdock,
Badger, and Billy Green. All hands
will be needed in this job. I will state
my plans to all, therefore, and show
you how we can pick this plum with-
out even scratching a finger. Slip the
catch lock, Paddy, and bar out in-
truders."

Two men,, both of rugged and reso-
lute aspect, were walking briskly up
Broad Street one morning a week later,
one about fifteen feet behind the other.
They were approaching the heart of the
financial district.

Edgar Osgood, in advance, was the
trusty messenger of the Fidelity Na-
tional Bank. He carried a strong
leather satchel, closed with a strap and
fastened to his left arm with a steel
chain, concealed by his sleeve and cuff.
The other, trailing him constantly, was
one of the bank detectives, David But-

The Return of Red Raven

89

ler, the messenger's bodyguard, or con-
voy, so to speak, with vigilant eyes and
his hands gripping, as Paddy Nolan had
said, a ready gun in each side pocket.

None of the throng of men in busy
Broad Street appeared to have any in-
terest in them. As Osgood was ap-
proaching a corner, nevertheless, which
he turned almost daily to go to the
Waite Building, a Red Raven in an
opposite doorway signaled to Murdock
and Badger, then waiting in the side
street.

Guided by these signals, both men
arrived at the corner just in time to
pass Osgood when he turned it and
strode on toward Broadway. Upon
rounding the corner, however, which
Butler was at that moment approach-
ing, they pretended to resume a bitter
altercation, coming quickly to ugly
oaths and vicious blows, when directly
in front of the bank detective.

Butler stopped short, suspecting
nothing, but naturally impelled to in-
x;- 1 "?re. He thrust Badger aside, cry-
':~ig sharply, as he separated the two
men :

"Cut that ! This is no place for a
fight."

"Cut what?" Badger retorted, con-
fronting him. "What are you butting
in about?"

"You'll learn what for, you ruffian,
unless "

The threat on Butler's lips was never
completed. He turned upon Badger
while speaking, when, as quick as a
flash, Murdock seized the opportunity
and dropped him with a blow from one
side, a blow that would have felled an
ox. Then, while the few startled ob-
servers near by stood aghast, for the
brutal deed was done in a dozen sec-
onds, Murdock and Badger ran across
Broad Street and entered a motor car,
driven by Fallon, and in a moment they
were speeding north, safe from imme-
diate pursuit.

Butler was lying on the sidewalk,

senseless, blood flowing from his nose
and ears. A crowd quickly gathered.
Two policemen appeared upon the
scene. A physician forced his way
through the throng. None knew the
stricken man. The physician exam-
ined him hastily, then ordered his re-
moval to the nearest hospital. The
ambulance came and departed. The
crowd dispersed, and the street re-
sumed its customary appearance — and
the first move in the knavish game was
successfully made.

Ravenswood was right. Custom
dulls the edge of caution. For, in the
meantime, without a backward glance
in search of the man supposed to be
following him, and without having
heard the brief disturbance around the
corner, Osgood proceeded quickly to
the Waite Building, where he ran up
the stairs to the second floor and ap-
proached a suite of offices in the end
corridor.

As he came nearer, he noticed a
mason's tools and a pail of cement on
the floor. At the same moment, too,
a man in a long linen coat, with a pen
over his ear, appeared at the open door
of — the recently rented office.

"Ah, it is you, Mr. Osgood!" Ra-
venswood could be very suave and im-
pressive on such an occasion. "This
way in, sir, if you please."

"That way?" Osgood paused in-
voluntarily.

"Sage & Slocum are enlarging their
quarters so as to include this office.
Their doors are temporarily blocked by
the workmen's stagings. You can en-
ter this way, however, and "

"Yes, yes, certainly."

Osgood suspected nothing. He
walked blindly into the- trap. He fol-
lowed Ravenswood into the office, just
as a supposed clerk, Paddy Nolan, was
rising from his seat at a desk. At the
same moment, too, he heard the door
be"hind him closed noisily and the sharp

90

Detective Story Magazine

click of the lock — but he saw and heard
no more.

Drogan, darting frorh behind the
door, felled him with a single blow of
a sandbag.

Ravenswood caught him when he
fell, placing him quietly on the floor,
and saying, as calmly as if no desperate
deed had been done:

"Bring in those tools, Paddy, and the
pail of cement. Our web has caught
the fly. The rest should be easy."

"Like breaking straws, Dickie." No-
lan laughed audibly. "Pipe the leather
bag. Stuffed like a holiday bird. It
has the golden goose skun a mile.
Faith, Dickie, it's like money sent from
home."

II.

Detective Glidden spread both of his
muscular hands on his broad knees and
gazed grimly at the venerable cashier
of the Fidelity National Bank, in
whose private office he was seated about
an hour after the two crimes were com-
mitted. He very soon had become, as
Ravenswood had anticipated, an active
and aggressive figure in the case, the
result of an urgent appeal to. police
headquarters, and he now wore a look
that challenged opposition.

"An absconder! That's what your
man Osgood is, Mr. Harvey, in spite
of your faith in the fellow," he was
forcibly insisting. "The circumstances
admit of no other conclusion. There's
nothing else to it. I know what's what,
all right, in a case of this kind."

"But it seems incredible, Mr. Glid-
den, utterly incredible." Mr. Harvey
shook his head doubtfully. "Osgood
has been in our employ for a dozen
years. I have known him ever since
he first "

"Since the Lord made little apples,
perhaps, but that has no weight with
me. I can size up a job of this kind,
Mr. Harvey, with half an eye."

"But our bank detective, Butler, also
is "

"Oh, I've talked with Butler," Glid-
den cut in gruffly. "He's down and out
with a broken head. Luckily, however,
his mind was clear and he told me just
what came off in Broad Street. There
was nothing to it."

"Do you meant that the fight "

"That was a frame-up, nothing else,"
Glidden again interrupted. "It was
pulled off only to detain Butler and give
one of the ruffians a chance to down
him. Then both of them bolted and
got away in a waiting motor car, as I
have learned from several observers.
All this speaks for itself. The whole
infernal job had been carefully
planned."

"Planned by Osgood?" Mr. Harvey
anxiously questioned. "Is that what
you think?"

"Think be hanged! I know it was."
Glidden was nothing if not positive.
"Osgood took that way to elude Butler.
That had to be done before he could
bolt. He hired those two ruffians o
turn the trick, while he pretended to-
be hurrying on to the Waite Building.
That, Butler states, is wher.e he was
heading. But did he go there? Not
by a long chalk. I have telephoned to
Sage & Slocum. The bare fact that
Osgood did not call on them clinches
the case against him."

"Unless he was waylaid, and the vic-
tim of foul play," Harvey suggested.

"Nonsense !" Glidden growled. "It
was only half a block to the Waite
Building. The street was alive with
people. He could not have been way-
laid. That's out of the question."

"Well, you may be right. Still "

"I know I'm right. Take it from
me, Mr. Harvey, Osgood was the only
man back of any foul play. He has
absconded. There's nothing else to it
— save to run him down and recover
his plunder."

"You may be right, Mr. Glidden, but

The Return of Red Raven

91

it seems utterly incredible," Mr. Har-
vey repeated, wringing his hands. "I
could not have believed it. I had abso-
lute faith in Osgood."

"Too much faith, far too much."
Glidden arose abruptly. "Osgood has
taken advantage of it, as hundreds have
done under like conditions. But don't
you be down in the mouth. He'll be
some slick, mark me, if he can slip
through my fingers. I have set the
wheels in motion. He'll be nabbed in
some quarter within twenty-four hours.
How much did he get away with ?"

"About sixty thousand dollars, as
near as I now can tell. Chiefly in bonds
and negotiable securities."

"We'll recover them, take* it from
me." Glidden jammed on his hat.
"We'll get him. I'll be off with Arm-
strong, now, and try to pick up his trail.
He may have been seen near the Waite
Building. I want a word with Sage
& Slocum, too, as he is known to have
been heading for their office. You'll
hear from me later. Now, Jack, we'll
be off."

Glidden did not wait for an answer.
Followed by Armstrong, who had been
assisting him in the investigations al-
ready hurriedly made, he strode out of
the bank and entered a waiting taxi-
cab, gruffly giving the chauffeur his
directions. He had not a shadow of
doubt. Uncertainty was foreign to
Glidden's nature. He felt sure he was
right, sure he had sized up the case
correctly, and sure that he soon would
be hot on the trail of the supposed ab-
sconder. All this seemed to be entirely
warranted, moreover, when he entered
the Waite Building and talked with the
superintendent, whom he chanced to
meet on the stairway.

"One moment," said he, stopping
him. "You're the man, I judge, who
looks after this building."

"I am, sir. Martin Ready by name,
sir," he replied.

"Do you know a bank messenger who

frequently comes here, named Os-
good?"

"Faith, sir, I do," Ready nodded.
"I've known him for years by sight."

"Seen him lately?"

"He was here to-day, sir, along about
noon."

"He was, eh?" Glidden's grim eyes
lighted. "Where did you see him?"

"Turning in the end corridor, sir, on
the second floor. He was going to Sage
& Slocum's office, sir, I think. He often
goes there."

"Do you know that he went there?"

"No, sir. I only saw him heading
that way."

"How did he look? Did he appear
excited, or in haste?"

"Well, he seemed in a bit of a hurry,
sir, but not more than common. He
always walks brisklike."

"Did he have the leather satchel he
usually carries?"

"He did, sir. I can swear to that."

"You did not see him leave the build-
ing?"

"I did not." Ready shook his head.
"He left by the other door, mebbe,
which leads into the court at the end
of the building. He often goes that
way."

"I see." Glidden's brows knit closer.
"That's, all, Ready. He went through
this building, Armstrong, only to avoid
observation and don a disguise. I see
his game. It's a safe bet that his own
mother would not have known him
when he went out through the end
corridor."

"Not from a side of leather," Arm-
strong agreed, while they moved on up
the stairs. "He aimed to break off his
trail right here, Joe, hoping to mystify
the police, or lead them to think he was
killed and robbed somewhere in the
building."

"Mystify be hanged!" Glidden
growled derisively. "He can't blind
me. I'm not to be fooled in a case of
this kind. I'll trace the thieving rat,

92

Detective Story Magazine

Armstrong, in spite of all he can do.
This way to Sage & Slocum's office.
We'll stop there for a moment only,
then head out through the end court.
There's the stairway yonder. We'll
find some one, believe me, who saw him
leaving and can tip us to his disguise."

Glidden found both bond brokers in
their main office, but they could only
repeat what they already had told him
by telephone, that they had been ex-
pecting Osgood with a quantity of
bonds, but that he had not delivered
them, nor been seen that day by any of
their clerks.

"He was seen in the adjoining cor-
ridor, nevertheless, within five minutes
after Butler was assaulted," Glidden
confidently informed them. "I know
one man who saw him, and there may
be others. If so, I want to find them."

"Try the new tenants in the next of-
fice," Mr. Sage advised. "They may
have seen him."

"New tenants?" Glidden snapped
like a hungry trout at the possibility
suggested. "How long have they been
there ?"

"Less than a week."

"Do you know them, or anything
about them?"

"Only that two men are occupying
the office."

"What's their business?"

"I cannot say, not having inquired."
Sage smiled expressively as he spoke.
"They have not appeared to be doing
much."

"Haven't, eh?" Glidden swung
around with a growl. "I'll mighty soon
find out. Go with me, Jack — but not
you two gentlemen," he quickly added,
when both brokers were about to fol-
low him. "We'll look after this busi-
ness. You attend to your own."

"By Jove, Joe, there may be some-
thing in it," said Armstrong, as both
returned to the corridor. "New ten-
ants, right here and at just this time,
may be more than a coincidence."

"That's the very point," replied Glid-
den, striding to the office door. "It
warrants suspicion, at least."

He tried the door and found it
locked. Gazing through the keyhole, he
could see a cheap chair and an ordinary
flat desk, much defaced and entirely
destitute of writing materials, a fact
which instantly increased his suspicions.
Starting up, he jerked out a ring of
keys, saying, with bulldog determina-
tion :

"We'll go in there. It looks leery
to me, Armstrong, and not on the level.
I'll bet my roll against a bean pod —
ah, this key will open it."

Glidden opened the door while speak-
ing and stepped into the deserted office.
The pail of cement was on the floor,
in one corner. Near by was a trowel
and a few small tools. A plaid, woolen
suit, somewhat worn, hung over the
back of a chair. Upon seeing it, Glid-
den vented a wolfish snarl and cried
exultantly :

"I was right, by thunder, as right aS
a rivet. That's the very suit Osgood
is said to have worn. Harvey men-
tioned it when describing the rascal.
We're hot on his trail, Jack, .all right,
as sure as there's skin on a lemon.
But it's no lemon for me, Armstrong,
not this time. You can bet on that."
, "But what do you make of all this ?"
Armstrong questioned perplexedly', gaz-
ing around. "Why was this office
rented ? Who are the tenants ? What's
this stuff in the pail? It looks like
cement."

Glidden did not reply immediately.
He caught up the plaid suit and hur-
riedly searched the pockets, finding
them empty. He then drew oYit the
desk drawers, glancing into each and
violently closing it. All were as empty
as a drum. Next he strode to the win-
dow and looked down on the narrow
court, then out to the near street.

"Hang it, Armstrong, it's as plain as
twice two !" he cried, turning back. "It

The Return of Red Raven

93

clinches my theory. No business has
been done here, bar knavery. There's
not a pen, pencil, or scrap of paper in
the desk. It was picked up second-
hand and brought here, along with the
rest of these traps, only for a blind.
Osgood was one of the tenants, per-
haps, coming here at times in disguise,
or possibly the two ruffians he had hired
to down Butler this morning. That's
dead open and shut."

"You think that this office was
rented, then "

"Only to provide Osgood with an
immediate, temporary refuge," Glidden
plunged on, interrupting. "One in
which he could change his clothes, and
so disguise himself as to preclude rec-
ognition and prevent being traced.
There's nothing else to it — nothing,
Armstrong, absolutely nothing."

"By gracious, Joe, I think you're
right." Armstrong always had faith
in Glidden's theories. "There cer-
tainly seems to be nothing else to it."

"Seems be hanged ! It's a copper-
riveted cinch," Glidden declared, glanc-
ing at the tools and cement on the floor.
"Those things cut no ice. They were
brought here only to suggest a legiti-
mate business. The birds have flown,
Armstrong, and we must get after
them. We waste time in searching an
empty nest. Come on. Go with me
while the "going is good. There's a
fellow outside, I think, who can hand
us something."

Glidden had caught sight of him
from the window. He was in nearly
the same place and position, too, when
Glidden hurried down the end stair-
way and emerged into the narrow
court, now feeling doubly sure that he
was hot on the trail of the absconder.

His immediate quest, however, was
a miserably clad man who was lean-
ing against one corner of the entrance
to the court, selling an occasional lead
pencil to passing pedestrians. He was
a pitiable-looking fellow. His hair and

beard were unkempt. His garments
were soiled and in rags. His eyes were
protected with blue spectacles, denot-
ing that they had in some way been
injured.

Glidden approached him and took a
pencil, giving him half a dollar.

"That's near enough," he said
gruffly. "Have a good time with it.
I reckon there's not too much coming
your way. How long have you been
standing here, my man ?"

The blue glasses, turned squarely
upon the detective, seemed to light up
with a look of surprise. The man
chuckled audibly, eagerly pocketing the
coin, while he replied huskily :

"Thankee, sir ! I've been right here
all day. I'm here every day. It's
where I pick up" a living."

"Seen any men come out this way
from the Waite Building?" questioned
Glidden tersely.

"Only two, sir. Not many come
this way. I wouldn't have known of
them, sir, bar hearing them talking in
the court, where they waited a minute
for a taxi. They didn't see me. I
was just around the corner."

"What were they saying?"

"One was telling about a swell lodg-
ing house, where he'd got a room for
the other, and where he could hang out
safely, the landlady not being wise to
something. I don't know what he
meant. They talked so low I only
heard a little."

"I see." Glidden's eyes were glow-
ing exultantly. "Do you know either
man."

"I don't, sir, and that was all I
heard."

"Was one of them carrying a leather
bag?"

"He was, sir, the one with whis-
kers." ■

"Whiskers, eh?" Glidden laughed
grimly, with a significant glance at
Armstrong. "That does settle it. Did
he leave in the taxi?"

94

Detective Story Magazine

"He did, sir, and the other walked
up the street. That's all I can tell you
— bar one thing."

"What's that, my man? Out with
it."

"I know the taxi driver by sight."

"Fine! Come across."

"He's a tall man, with broad shoul-
ders and a big, black mustache. You
might find him .near the Imperial. I've
often seen him waiting there to pick
up a passenger."

Glidden lingered to hear no more.
He felt, in fact, that he had learned
all that the pencil vender could tell
him. He had swallowed it as easily
as a Concord grape. He drew Arm-
strong away, crying exultantly, while
he hurried him up the street:

"Hand us something was right. It
was a cinch that he must have seen
Osgood, if he fled through the court,
as I suspected. We'll get him, Arm-
strong, all right. There'll be nothing
to it, now, if we can round up the taxi
driver."

"That should be no great task."

"No task at all." Glidden was aglow
with confidence. "It will be some
feather in our bonnets, all the same,
if we snap bracelets on Osgood before
sunset. We're hot on his trail, all
right ; hot on his trail and going some,
Jack ; going some. We^ll soon get
him."

It was seven o'clock, nevertheless,
when GJidden, after impatiently watch-
ing in the locality mentioned, saw in
Forty-second Street a taxicab driven
by a powerful man of the description
given him by the pencil vender. Hail-
ing him to the sidewalk, Glidden dis-
played his badge and asked gruffly:

"Did you have a passenger about
one o'clock to-day, a man with a beard
and carrying a leather bag?"

"I sure did, sir," the driver quickly
admitted, leaning out. "I got him on
a telephone call."

"Where?"

"Down near the Waite Building. He
was talking with another man near
the end court."

"Do you know either of them?"

"Nothing doing. I never saw them."

"Where did you take the man with
a bag?"

"To a house in Columbus Avenue.
I'm not sure, but I think it's quite a
bang-up lodging house. I heard the
man ask for the landlady."

"Do you remember the house? Can
you take us to it?" questioned Glidden,
as Armstrong approached.

"Sure, sir, I can," said the cabman.
"Dead easy."

"Do so, then, but-stop on the oppo-
site side, and a few doors away. Get
me?"

"Bet you! I'm no bonehead."

"Tumble in, Jack." Glidden pushed
Armstrong into the cab. "We've got
our man. We've got him, Armstrong,
as sure as death and taxes. By
Heaven, this was good work, Jack,
though I say it, who shouldn't. We've
got him, all right."

It was half past seven when the
taxicab stopped nearly opposite a
block of handsome brownstone dwell-
ings. The detectives sprang out, and
the cabman turned and said:

"It's the second house in the block.
The name on the door is — Barnard."

Glidden gazed over at the house, not-
ing that the vestibule and hall were
brightly lighted, though all of the front
rooms were in darkness.

"Wait here, cabby," he said gruffly.
"We have a crook to take to head-
quarters. Bring two policemen, Jack,
and station them at the front and back
door. We'll make dead sure of him.
You'd better enter with me."

Five minutes passed.

A burly policeman then was guard-
ing each door.

Glidden mounted the front steps and
rang the bell.

The Return of Red Raven

95

III.

"It's worth it, Paddy, worth every
copper of it." Ravenswood gazed at
Nolan from a luxurious armchair in
the handsomely furnished library.
"Think what this infernal dick has
done to me and my brood of precious
red birds. He's due for a jolt. I told
you I'd hand him one. Mark me,
Paddy, I will make Joe Glidden the
laughingstock of headquarters."

"Faith, Dickie, that sure is worth
something," Nolan thoughtfully al-
lowed. "But three hundred dollars for
the use of this crib "

"It's worth it, Paddy," Ravenswood
insisted. "I have a leaning, you know,
toward luxury and refinement. I
wanted attractive quarters "in which to-
turn the trick. That will add to Glid-
den's chagrin and cut him the deeper.
Wait until the force learns, Paddy, that
the absconder he was running down
was handed to him by the very crooks
who did the job. Take it from me,
he'll never hear the last of it."

"He'll beef some, Dickie, all right."
Nolan grinned broadly. "But you took
a long chance in bringing Osgood. here.
We could have left him where we
downed him, and got safely away with
our plunder. He might have squealed
on the way."

"A man doesn't squeal, Paddy, who
knows he will be instantly silenced with
a blade of steel. He had no alternative
but death. What matters, now, since
the safe in our detective bureau, our
unsuspected headquarters, contains the
plunder?"

"But suppose "

"What need?" Ravenswood cut in
again. "There is no contingency on
which I have not figured. I had the
job itself perfectly planned ; I have
not provided less carefully for the
sequence."

"Sure, Dickie, there's no denying
that," Nolan admitted admiringly.

"It was a foregone conclusion,"
Ravenswood went on, "that Glidden
would be called into the case, that he
would immediately suspect Osgood,
that he would visit Sage & Slocum,
that he would learn of the new tenants
in the next office, that he at once would
suspect them, and — but, bah ! why re-
view it? I provided him with a soft
trail, Paddy, so soft that I knew he
would follow it."

"He sure has, Dickie, if "

"There are none, Paddy. His every
move has been reported by telephone.
Our Red Ravens have not been idle.
It is nearly half an hour since he en-
tered the taxicab. He already may be
— but have a look. Slip into the front
room, Paddy, and have another look."

Nolan darted back of a portiere and
disappeared.

Ravenswood arose and laid aside the
cigar he was smoking. He bore no
likeness to Henry Dale, of the auda-
cious detective bureau which he was
planning to turn to vast advantage,
nor did he resemble any personage pre-
viously assumed. His fine figure was
nearly enveloped in a handsome smok-
ing gown, from the side pocket of
which, while he paused near the table,
he drew a revolver, which he briefly
examined. He was doing so when
Nolan hurriedly reappeared, saying, a
bit excitedly :

"They're here, Dickie. The taxi is
waiting across the avenue. Glidden
has just crossed over. He "

Ravenswood silenced him with a
gesture, pointing again to the front
room. '

"Wait there, in the darkness," he di-
rected calmly. "Have things ready for
me."

"Trust me for that."

"It will take me only a few minutes
to hand him what's coming to him. If
he ventures to "

Ravenswood broke off abruptly. The
doorbell was ringing noisily. He

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Detective 'Story Magazine

waved Nolan away, drew his smoking
gown around him, replacing the re-
volver in the pocket, and then he walked
out deliberately through the brightly
lighted hall. There was a subtle gleam
deep down in his fine eyes, however,
when he opened the door and saw Glid-
den and Armstrong in the vestibule,
and a burly policeman at the base of
the steps.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said
suavely. "Why "

; 'Where's the landlady?" Glidden
bluntly interrupted, stepping into the
hall.

"Wait!" Ravenswood opposed him
haughtily. "You have not been in-
vited to enter. Mrs. Barnard is absent.
I am her husband, however, and will
attend to any matter concerning her."

There was a look in the eyes of the
Red Raven that briefly quelled Glid-
den, even, for he drew back a little
and said, more courteously :

"Her husband, eh? You will do as
well, then. We are from headquarters.
My name Js Glidden."

"Glidden? Detective Glidden?"

"The same."

"I have heard of you," said Ra-
venswood, with subtle dryness, brows
drooping. "But why do you come here
in this way ? This is a reputable house.
1 can see 'no occasion for "

"Oh, we've got nothing on your
house, Mr. Barnard, or on your
estimable wife," Glidden again cut in,
quite gruffly. "You're all right, no
doubt, but you have been imposed on."

"Imposed on? How so?"

"You have a lodger here who is a
crook, an absconder. We want him,
and will do you and your house a serv-
ice in taking him."

"A crook !" Ravenswood appeared
greatly shocked. "Impossible! We
have only one stranger here."

"Came to-day, didn't he?"

"Why, yes, he "

"He's the one." Glidden drew Arm-

strong in and_ closed the door. "He
still is here, isn't he?"

"Why, yes, the man is in his room.
But "

"Show us the way. We'll do the
rest. He "

"One moment !" Ravenswood barred
the way to the stairs, protesting firmly,
with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
"You detectives may be mistaken. I
suppose it is possible that even you,
Detective Glidden, may be mistaken."

"Maybe, but not this time," Glidden
growled impatiently. "We have a
cinch case against him. Come, come,
Mr. Barnard, show us to his room."

"Well, if I must." Ravenswood
yielded with seeming reluctance. "But
let there be no disturbance, no violence,

"There won't be," Glidden cut in.
"We'll take him as quietly as a baby
takes a bottle. Get a move on."

"This way, then, but please be quiet.
The house will be ruined, gentlemen,
if this leaks out."

"We'll choke that off, also. It's
enough for us to get our man."

"This way, then. He has our best
back room. The door is ajar, I see,
and I think he is reading. Yes — see
for yourselves !"

Ravenswood opened the door while
speaking. Neither detective saw that
the key was on the outside. The large,
square room was brightly lighted.
Above the top of a large armchair,
near the fireplace, well across the room,
the back of which was turned squarely
toward the door, could be seen the top
of a man's head — that of the victim-
ized bank messenger, then deeply
drugged and wholly insensible.

Ignorant of the last, of course, both
detectives rushed into the room to seize
him — when Ravenswood's voice rang
out like a trumpet:

"Stop! All hands up — or there'll be
a dead dick here!"

Both detectives had caught sight of

The Return of Red Raven

97

the senseless man, and both swung
around as if electrified. Then their
hands went into the air.

Ravenswood stood erect on the
threshold, his disguise gone, one hand
on the partly closed door, the other
covering both officers with his re-
volver . He laughed derisively, and a
half-choked roar broke from Glidden.

"Good Heaven!" he cried. "It's
Ravenswood — that Red Raven leader !"

"Right!" Ravenswood's voice had a
vicious snap. "I've not forgotten,
Glidden, that day on the aviation field.
Here's where I hand you one. You
see that even you, Glidden, may blun-
der and be mistaken. Is this what you
call a cinch case?"

"Blast you "

"Oh, there's nothing in that!" Ra-
venswood laughed scornfully. "There's
your man, your absconder, Glidden —
but the Red Ravens did the job, and
have their plunder. The Broad Street
fighters were Red Ravens. The pencil
vender was another. The taxi driver
is another. You see, Glidden, I fixed

a soft trail for you — and you fell for
it. I'll make sure that the force and
the press learn all about it. Come and
get us, Glidden. You know how to
catch a bird. Put salt on his tail."

Ravenswood did not linger longer.
He closed the door with the last and
quickly turned the key, then darted
down the hall stairs. He heard what
he was expecting — the crash of both
detectives against the door, and then
the bang of a revolver, and the splin-
tering of one of the panels. He ran
down to the front door and called to
the policeman.

"Glidden wants you up there. He's
in a fight with three crooks in the back
room."

The policeman rushed in and tore
up the stairs at top speed.

Ravenswood turned to the parlor
door and threw off his smoking gown.

"Now, Paddy, my coat and hat," he
said quickly. "This way out, lad, and
lively to the taxi. Fallon will whisk
us to cover. Glidden has his man —
but we have the sixty thousand."

MAN WHO COULD NOT REMEMBER CRIME PROBATED

^THOUGH Edward Burke pleaded guilty of burglary at Sacramento, Cali-
fornia, recently, he will not go to prison for his offense. Instead he will be

sent to an institution where he will be treated for the affliction which is believed to

have brought him within the shadow of penitentiary walls.

Burke was convicted of having burglarized the room of Florence Adamson

last August. Policemen caught him as he emerged from the room with a

revolver in his hand. He made no effort at resistance.

It was claimed that Burke committed the crime while his mind was a blank.

He steadily professed to have had no recollection of the occurrence. Character

witnesses came to his defense. Testimony was submitted, showing that on

several other occasions he had lost all memory of prior events.

Upon recommendation of the probation officer, Burke was placed on six

years'/ probation by Superior Judge Malcolm Glenn. He also is to be sent to an

institution for the treatment of inebriates.
7A DS

Douglas Grey

CHAPTER XXXII.

MURDER WILL OUT.

WHEN Thomas Jarvis, with a
grim expression on his tightly
closed lips, came into the
room, there was a look of
curiosity on the faces of both Louden
Powers and Andrew Lampton.

The man who had been called
Howard Milmarsh was the only person
in the large circle about the massive
mahogany table who seemed not to be
interested. He was sitting opposite
Thorndyke Flint, his head bent for-
ward, so that his chin almost rested on
his chest, and his eyes fixed vacantly
upon the table.

"Now that we are all here, you may
go," said Flint, dismissing the two men-
servants.

"Don't we have anything to drink?"
asked Louden Powers. "Or is this to
be a dry session ?"

"We won't drink," replied- Flint.
"But I don't think it will be so very
dry. We shall see."

Flint did not say anything more until
Dobbs and Kelly had withdrawn. Then
he made a motion to his assistatft, Jud-
son, who locked the door and handed
the key to his chief.

"Now, Mr. Jarvis, we'll hear you
first," announced Flint. "Wfiat are you
here for?"

"I'm here to take possession of my

property," replied Jarvis. "I have had
my attorney go through all the neces-
sary legal forms, and I demand that you
all leave this house forthwith."

Louden Powers and Andrew Lamp-
ton laughed aloud, and even Judson and
Ray Norton indulged in a quiet smile.

"I don't think there is anything to be
said about that, Mr. Jarvis, except to
inform you that Howard Milmarsh is
here, and that therefore your claim is
nothing at all. Your attorney should
have known that."

* "I'm my own attorney!" snapped
Jarvis. "I have been a lawyer long
enough to know my rights."

"Your knowledge of law may be
fairly good — very good," returned the
detective. "But the action of law must
be based on sound facts, and it seems as
if you have overlooked them. I tell you
that Howard Milmarsh is here to claim
his inheritance."

"You mean that man at the table?"
barked Jarvis. "He is not Howard
Milmarsh."

"You're wrong," interposed Louden
Powers. "That's just who he is."

Billings had been gazing curiously at
the man Powers pointed to, and who
still sat with bent head, taking no part
in the proceedings, and seeming hardly
to know that he was there.

Thorndyke Flint Understood what
was passing in the big truckman's mind.

"There are things that seem to you

A Battle for Right

99

contradictory, Billings," said Flint, as
their eyes met for a moment. "I will
explain to you later. You will find that
I told you the truth."

Bonesy Billings shook his head in an
embarrassed way, as he answered
hastily :

"I hadn't no thought of nothing else,
Mr. Flint. But I saw that gentleman
over there, and I didn't know what it
meant."

"Now, that is all I have to say," in-
terrupted Jarvis. "This is my house,
and I should like to have it to myself.
In the absence of any other legal heir,
I am the owner. The property passes
all to me, as next of kin. My son
would have inherited it had he lived.
But he died."

"He was killed !" suddenly thundered
Flint. "He was struck down by a
champagne bottle. There are witnesses
to prove it. I have one of them in this
room "

"Now, Flint!" interrupted Captain
Brown, jumping to his feet. "You have
kept that quiet all these years. Why
should "

"I'll tell you why, Captain Brown,"
broke in the detective. "There is an
effort on the part of Thomas Jarvis to
rob the owner of this property of his_
rights, and I am obliged to say what I
do, in the interests of justice."

"Justice?"

It was Louden Powers and Andrew
Lampton who uttered this word in uni-
son in an apprehensive tone. There
seemed to be something about it that
grated on their sensibilities.

Thomas Jarvis was sitting stiff in his
chair, his eyes fixed upon Flint's face,
while he tried to mumble some protest.

"I intended to keep this a secret to
the end, because I have always felt that
the slayer of Richard Jarvis had great
provocation, and doubtless was carried
away by the excitement of the moment
to do a deed that he has been remorse-
ful for ever since."

"Didn't it come out at the time?"
asked Bonesy Billings. "Murders don't
often get away from the police in these
days."

"You're right, Billings. I don't sup-
pose this would have been hushed up if
a person who — who has some influence
had not prevented all the facts becom-
ing known."

"I'd let it go at that, if I were you,
Flint," pleaded Captain Brown, his usu-
ally bronzed face a grayish white.
"There's no sense in raking up such a
thing as this."

"Yes, there is," rejoined Flint. "Jar-
vis here has challenged me, and I will
take it up. He claims this property
is "

"It is mine," put in Jarvis doggedly.
"Because your son is dead?"
"Yes."

"And when you knew that Howard
Milmarsh had run away from this part
of the country, you figured that he
never would dare return, and that your
son Richard would be the heir."

"You can say what you like. The
property is mine," growled Jarvis, as
if determined to stick to one idea."

"If your son Richard were to die, it
would leave you the next of kin, so far
as legal forms go. Therefore, it might
be to your interest if Richard were to
be put out of the world. He was not
really your son, you know, but your
stepson."

"How did you know that?" de-
manded Jarvis, half rising. "It isn't
true, anyhow." '

"Oh, yes, it is. I can prove it, if
necessary," was the detective's answer.
"You knew that Howard Milmarsh the
elder was in poor health. You had
learned that his doctor gave him only
a few more months of life, and pre-
dicted that he would die suddenly. All
that was part of your knowledge."

"I don't care to stay here any longer,"
abruptly declared Thomas Jarvis, rising
to his feet. "I will go. But there will

100

Detective Story Magazine

be proper officers here during the day to
eject the rascals who are trying to steal
my estate. Good morning!"

But the door was locked and the key
in Thorndyke Flint's pocket.

"Better sit down till I have finished
speaking," he advised coolly. "I do not
intend to let you leave this room until
I am ready."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell the rest of my story, and
then you can answer your own ques-
tion. You will know what I mean."

"Rot!"

Thomas Jarvis resumed his seat and
stared at the detective. Those about the
table observed that he seemed to have
grown very much older in the last min-
ute or two. His eyes had become dull,
his jaw sagged, and he did not appear
to be as truculent as he had been when
he came into the room.

"The truth is," went on Flint, "that
you killed your son Richard in a quar-
rel, in the Old Pike Inn "

"Flint !" protested Captain Brown.
"This will ruin my house !"

"You knocked him down with a
champagne bottle, as he came toward
you to strike you. He fell flat, with his
head against the corner of the iron
fender. But the blow against the
fender was a trifle. It glanced and
hardly cut the skin. The stroke that
killed him was delivered by the cham-
pagne bottle in your hand!"

Bonesy Billings, Captain Brown,
Louden Powers, and Lampton were all
on their feet, in their excitement. The
man who was supposed to be Howard
Milmarsh and Thomas Jarvis were the
only persons who remained in their
chairs. Judson and Ray Norton had
both arisen, as if to prevent any demon-
stration by Powers or Lampton.

"Sit down !" commanded Flint.
"There is nothing to be done. The
man who killed Richard Jarvis cannot
escape."

The others dropped -into their seats

again. The two erooks showed more
terror than had been in their faces since
first they knew Flint was in the house.
If this shrewd, deep-seeing detective
could wind the toils so easily about
Thomas Jarvis for a crime committed
years ago, why would he not put them
in cells for offenses of yesterday, as it
were ?

Both Louden Powers and Andrew
Lampton were uneasy. It is true that
the latter had practically a promise of
safety if he delivered T. Burton Potter
into the hands of the detective. But he
was not prepared to produce Potter ex-
cept as a last resort to keep himself out
of prison.

As for Louden Powers, he was a bold
scoundrel, and he intended to make a
desperate fight to get away if he found
Flint and his men closing in on him.
Only, he wished he were not locked in
a room like this, with the odds in num-
bers against him.

"There's Flint and his two men," he
mused. "Captain Brown, I guess, and
that big Billings. That would be five
against one — for I don't suppose I could
count on that weak-kneed Lampton.
He has some sort of pull on the detec-
tive. I wouldn't mind betting he's a
'squealer.' "

"Now, Mr. Jarvis," continued Flint.
"You have forced me to take this ac-
tion. If you had not attempted to cash
in your crime, I should have been in-
clined to let it- rest in the oblivion to
which you thought it consigned. The
fact that you have compelled me to re-
mind you of it, in the presence of these
witnesses, emphasizes the world-old
truth that 'murder will out.' What have
you to say ?"

There was no answer. Thomas Jar-
vis' gaze was fixed on the opposite wall,
and he had slumped curiously down in
his large armchair.

"Look here, Flint," broke in Captain
Brown again. "You don't have to drag
me into this."

A Battle for Right

101

"You were a witness," replied Flint
coldly. "As a good citizen, your duty
is to tell the truth — if you are asked."

It has been remarked already that
Captain Brown was a business man.
He thought more of the Old Pike Inn
and its reputation than anything else
on earth probably. He groaned at
Flint's suggestion.

"Chief !" suddenly shouted Judson.

He and Norton rushed to Thomas
Jarvis simultaneously. But they were
not in time to prevent his slipping to
the floor.

Half a minute later, as Flint, on one
knee by the side of the prostrate man,
with a finger on the stilled pulse, looked
up and said solemnly :

"You need not worry about being
called on to testify, Captain Brown.
The matter will never come up."

"Is he dead?"

The response of the detective was to
reverently cover the face of Thomas
Jarvis with his own handkerchief.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

STILL HUNTING.

(~\F course, Thomas Jarvis never was a
real factor in this matter," re-
marked Flint, fifteen minutes later,
when all that was mortal of Jarvis had
been removed to another room. "But
we will go into the claims of that young
man who has . been sitting silently at the
other side of the table from the begin-
ning of the. conference, and who "

The detective broke off. The chair
occupied by the man who had been de-
clared by Louden Powers and Andrew
Lampton to be Howard Milmarsh was
empty, and he was not in the room !

Norton and Judson had both helped
remove" the body of Thomas Jarvis, and
no one had taken any notice of the
young man. He had been sitting there
when everybody else went out, watch-
ing the disposal of the still form on a
large sofa in the library.

They were just returning, with Flint
in the lead, and speaking as he came,
when he saw that the alleged Howard
Milmarsh had disappeared.

There was a search all about the
house and grounds which lasted for an
hour or more. At the end of that time,
when not a trace of the missing man
could be found, Flint decided that there
was nothing more to be done there,
and he told Judson and Norton pri-
vately that he was going back to New
York.

Louden Powers and Andrew Lamp-
ton had both taken an active part in the
hunt. They were loud in their pro-
testations that he was the real heir, and
that somebody must have spirited him
away in the interests of enemies.

"What do you mean by enemies?"
asked Flint quietly, when the whole
party were again assembled in the
dining room. "Do you mean that per-
sons who believe him to be actually
Howard Milmarsh have hidden him so
that they can bring a spurious one in
to take possession ?"

"You guess well," grinned Louden
Powers.

"Mind I don't guess a little too well
for your peace of mind, Powers," was
Flint's rejoinder. "This estate has not
been settled yet. Besides, those people
waiting at the station for Billings might
come up here again and hold you per-
sonally responsible for the fraud of
Paradise City. They count you partly
in the swindle, as you know."

Powers sniffed scornfully, and
lighted a cigarette, to show how much
at his ease he was. Andrew Lampton
was discreetly silent. He had not the
bravado of his companion.

"The crowd has gone back," an-
nounced Ray Norton, who had been at
the telephone. "They got tired of wait-
ing for Bonesy, and they took that train
which went out an hour ago. It's lucky
for these two guys that they didn't come
back. The station agent tells me they

102

Detective Story Magazine

was as hot as fresh tamales. If it
hadn't been a three-mile walk, some of
'em was coming back to lick the pair
of 'em, just for luck."

"Gone, eh?" exclaimed Bonesy Bil-
lings.

"It is just as well," put in Flint.
"Come over here, Billings. I want to
talk to you."

The result of a minute or two of pri-
vate converse between the detective and
Billings was that the big truckman
smiled grimly and stood by the door of
the dining room, to indicate that he was
ready to obey orders at once.

"You see, Judson," explained Flint to
his principal assistant, "I want you to
come back with me to New York, and
it would be asking too much of Norton
to guard those two men alone."

"He could do it, all right," returned
Judson. "I don't think they would get
away if Ray wanted to hold them. Be-
sides, there are menservants in the
.house."

"I don't depend on servants, Judson
— especially when they are new and
have no personal interest in the place
in which they are employed. You re-
member we heard two of them talking
about their situation when they did not
suspect that they were overheard.

"When we were behind that big pic-
ture?"

"Yes. So I've engaged .Billings to
stay here and act as a sort of sergeant
at arms while we are away. He and
Norton together will insure Louden
Powers and Andrew Lampton being
here when we return."

"What are we going to do about
Howard Milmarsh ?" broke in Louden
Powers, who had been wondering what
the detective was talking about, but
could not very well inquire. "I think
I'd better go down to New York and
look around."

"Where would you look ?"

"In places where he generally hangs
out. There's a lot of joints where you

could find him 'most any time, and
I "

"I never knew Howard Milmarsh to
hang about in New York," interrupted
Flint. "I think you have somebody
else in mind."

"Who?" demanded Powers defiantly.

"T. Burton Potter, for instance."

"I'm talking about Howard Mil-
marsh."

"Well, we will let you remain in the
house here, while I look for Howard
Milmarsh. I'm quite as anxious as you
are to find him," was Flint's reply.
"Come on, Judson !"

"You want Andrew Lampton and me
to stay here?" asked Powers, with a
suspicious inflection. "That's some-
thing different from what you've been
giving us. You were handing it to us
that we had no business in this house."

"You have business in it now, Lou-
den, because I believe you may help
to solve the problem of the missing heir.
Captain Brown, you will take us down
to the station, won't you? My car has
gone back to New York."

"I'll take you down with pleasure,"
was the prompt response of the man-
ager of the Old Pike Inn.

Captain Brown was so relieved to
know that he would not be called on as
a witness to prove that Thomas Jarvis
killed his son, that he was willing to
do anything for anybody.

"I'll go with you if you like," volun-
teered Lampton. "Even if I can't find
Howard Milmarsh, I might get my
hands on T. Burton Potter. You re-
member you wanted me to find him."

"I did want you to do that," admit-
ted Flint. "But not now. I'm in hopes
that I can find him myself. Even if I
don't, it won't make much difference as
things have turned out. You remain
here with Louden Powers. Billings, you
know what to do. You too, Ray!"

Thorndyke Flin^ and Judson swung
out of the dining room, with Captain
Brown. No sooner were they outside

A Battle for Right

103

than the door closed, and they heard a
key click in the lock.

"Ray Norton and Billings are not
taking any chances," observed Judson,
smiling.

"That is the only way to deal with
men of that stripe, Judson. Captain,
if we hurry, we can make that two train
for New York."

They just made the train, and, as
Flint and his assistant sat silently side
by side, while the train rushed toward
the metropolis, each was occupied with
his own thoughts.

"Where shall be go first?" asked
Judson, as they left the train at the
Grand Central and walked through the
lofty concourse to Forty-second Street.
"Home, I suppose?"

"Yes. We'll go there and see what
mail there is, and if anything special
calls for attention. Then we'll visit the
Universal Hospital."

"What do you suppose has become
of that fellow who vanished from the
house up there this morning — the man
who called himself Howard Mil-
marsh ?"

"That I don't know. And I don't
much care, at present. But I should
like to correct you in one little par-
ticular, Judson. It is Louden Powers
and Andrew Lampton who have been
calling him Howard Milmarsh. You
did not hear him say much about it."

"That's true," assented Judson reflec-
tively. "Here's a taxi. I called him
up just now."

"There's an old man and a young lady
waiting for you in the library, sir," said
the butler, as they went into Flint's
quiet house. "I told them I didn't know
when you would be back, but they said
they would wait half an hour, anyhow.
Perhaps by that time you might be
home. They've been in the library an
hour already. I was up there ten min-
utes ago."

"They must want to see me rather
badly," was Flint's comment, as he ran

lightly up the stairs. "Did they give
you their names?"

"No, sir. They said they would tell
you when they saw you?"

"Very well !"

Flint opened the door of his library.
As he stepped inside, he knew who his
visitors were.

"Why, it's the young lady who was
in the fire that night," he exclaimed, in
a tone of warm welcome. "Miss Sil-
vius, isn't it?"

"Yes. And this is my father. If it
hadn't been for you, we couldn't be here
now. We wanted to see you so much,
Mr. Flint. I didn't know till to-day
who it was that got us out of that fear-
ful fire. I have not seen Mr. Gordon —
I mean Mr. Milmarsh — since."

Flint shook hands with Bessie Silvius
and her father, and then introduced
Judson, who thought the girl wonder-
fully pretty, and showed it in his face.

"I — I — wanted to thank you for what
you did, Mr. Flint," faltered the girl.
"And also — to ask if you knew where
Mr. Milmarsh is."

"I know where he is," replied Flint
gravely.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE GIRL IN THE CASE.

\17ILL you take me to him?" asked
the girl, with a blush. Then she
went on, in a more resolute tone, and as
if she knew she had nothing of which to
be ashamed:' "He has asked me to
marry him, Mr. Flint."
"Ah !"

"Yes, that's what I told him," she
continued innocently. "I said it could
never be."

"I didn't say anything," smiled the
detective.

"I know you didn't. At least, you
only said 'Ah !' But I know what you
meant, and I agree with you."

"I wish you would explain, Miss Sil-
vius."

"You mean that he is a multimil-

104

Detective Story Magazine

lionaire, if he chooses to claim his own.
If I were to marry him, people might
say he was throwing himself away on
a poor girl."

"I don't think it would matter what
people might say."

"It would matter a great deal to me,"
she interrupted, with decision. I am
getting a living by teaching music. My
father teaches the violin. We both play
when we get a chance. And — -and —
sometimes the places we play at are not
at all — at all nice."

"Poor girl !"' murmured Flint, below
his breath. Then, aloud : "We all have
to do things we don't like sometimes,
Miss Silvius. I can assure you, know-
ing Howard Milmarsh as well as I do,
that if he asked you to marry him,
he will insist on your doing it — pro-
vided, of course, that you care for
him."

"I do," burst out the girl involun-
tarily. Then she blushed again. "I did
not mean to say that. I've told him I
shall never marry, and I intend to keep
my word."

"No doubt. Girls always intend to
keep their word when they make a rash
assertion of that kind," said Flint, with
a laugh. "You say you haven't seen
him since the night of the fire?"

"No. We were all so much excited,
and my poor father, who had rheuma-
tism, was in such a dangerous state,
that I was only too glad that some of
the neighbors took us in and cared for
us. When I came to myself, and could
make inquiries about Mr. Gordon, no
one knew where he was. I couldn't
find any one who remembered seeing
him after he came down the ladder, ex-
cept that a policeman said he was hurt."

"I took him away in my motor car,"
said Flint quietly.

"You did? And is he well? Can
you take me to him? Is he here, in
your house?"

"Not at present. But what made you
think of coming here to-day ? Why did

you connect me with the disappearance
of this — er — Mr. Gordon ?"

"The same policeman who told me he
was taken away in a motor car saw me
on the street this morning. We have al-
ways been on speaking terms since the
fire. He said to-day he had heard that
the motor car in which Mr. Gordon —
as everybody called him where he lived
— was taken away belonged to the de-
tective, Thorndyke Flint."

"Yes?"

"It was not difficult to find your ad-
dress. So my father and I came down
to try to see you. I was so disap-
pointed when your man said you were
away. We had come a long way, and I
was determined to see you if I could.
So we said we would wait."

"You have been here more than an
hour?"

"Yes, but we didn't mind waiting, so
long as you are here at last. We should
have waited another hour, and more
than that. And if we had not seen you
to-day, we should have been here again
to-morrow."

"That's true, sir," added Roscoe Sil-
vius, who had hardly spoken. "I can't
say all I should like, but I don't think I
need speak my gratitude. You surely
must know. Why, Mr. Flint, you
plucked me out of the very jaws of a
horrible death !"

"I'm very glad I happened to be
there," returned Flint earnestly. "At
such a time as that any man would have
done what I did. Mr. — er — Gordon
was as active as I was."

"Yes, but he couldn't have done it
alone, although I saw that he would
have given his life to save us. Then
there is the young man over there at the
other side of the room — Mr. Judson.
I remember how he helped to get my
father down that ladder when it was
breaking in the middle. I wish I could
say something to him that would seem
only partly adequate."

"Don't say anything, Miss Silvius,"

A Battle for Right

105

put in Judson, blushing like a girl him-
self. "It was the chief who did it.
I only helped him a little. And — and — it
was all in my day's work. Nothing to
talk about !"

"Well, now, Mr. Flint, will you take
me to him?" asked the girl, going back
to her former request.

"I should hardly like to do that with-
out first seeing him," answered the de-
tective kindly. "You see "

"He is still ill? Isn't that it, Mr.
Flint?"

There was an agony of anxiety in
her voice that caused it to tremble as
she looked eagerly into his face.

"Yes, he is ill," admitted Flint. "I
am going to see him at the hospital." .

"Is — is he very bad?"

"I don't know. I do not think so.
The last time I saw him, some days
ago, he was up and dressed. The trou-
ble is with his mind. The shock of the
injuries he suffered at the fire still af-
fects him. I hope — and expect — it will
soon pass away."

"I wish I could see him."

"In intend that you shall — but not
just now."

"When?"

"Let me see. It is now four o'clock.
I will go to the hospital. You may have
an opportunity this evening. I cannot
promise, but it may be so. Will you re-
main here until I get back. You . have
spent over an hour in this room," he
added, smiling. "You won't mind an-
other half hour or so, I'm sure."

"How kind you are !" she murmured.

"Not at all. As Judson says, it is
all in my day's work."

"Judson brought a bundle of maga-
zines to her, and placed a chair for her
at the big table, with another for her
father.

Flint smiled inwardly as he noted the
assiduous attentions of his assistant.
Bessie Silvius was a pretty girl.

With a cheerful nod of farewell to
Bessie and her father, and another for

Judson, the detective went out, picked
up a taxi at the next corner, and sped
away to the Universal Hospital.

He knew his way about the big build-
ing, and did not require anybody to
show him how to reach the private room
he had engaged for Howard Milmarsh.
It was on the fourth floor, and there
was good elevator service. In fact,
there were two passenger elevators, be-
sides others for taking patients, on cots,
from one floor to another, and for other
hospital uses.

Most of the doctors and nurses knew
him, and he had to stop and speak to
several of them before he was allowed
to enter the elevator and tell the attend-
ant to put him off on "the fourth."

As he walked down the long corridor
on his way to the room, he met the
nurse who was in charge of Howard
Milmarsh at night.

"How is he, Miss Jordan?" asked
Flint.

"He had a good night, Mr. Flint.
But I haven't seen him since seven this
morning."

"His mind?"

"I fancy it is better. He seems to re-
member things a little. I feel sure he
will quite recover in time."

This nurse had had long experience,
comparatively. She was nearly thirty
years of age, and was considered one
of the most competent of her profession
in the hospital. When she said a pa-
tient was better, there was reason to be-
lieve she was right.

"I'm glad to hear it, Miss Jordan.
Were you going to see him now ?"

"Yes. I don't go on till seven. But
as I am in the hospital, I'll go in, of
course, to see my patient. I am deeply
interested in the case. It is a sad one,
it seems to me, for I hear that he is a
very wealthy man."

Miss Jordan looked inquiringly at
Flint. But if she expected to receive
any information from him as to How-
ard Milmarsh's private affairs, she was

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Detective Story Magazine

disappointed. The detective was not
given to idle gossip.

The young man was known in the
hospital as Robert Gordon. If he had
been entered in the name of Howard
Milmarsh, there would have been alto-
gether too much curiosity about him, in
Flint's opinion.

The two reached the door of the pri-
vate room, and Miss Jordan tapped at
the door.

It was opened quickly, and Flint saw
that there were three doctors and as
many nurses standing between him and
the bed, and all were talking with more
excitement than is usual in a sick
chamber.

"Is anything the matter?" demanded
Flint.

"He's gone!" replied one of the doc-
tors, with a jerk. "The patient has left
the hospital, and we are questioning
Miss Sawyer, the day nurse, to find out
how it happened."

"Gone?" echoed Flint sharply. "Do
you mean he ran away without any-
body knowing he had done so?"

"No, no, Mr. Flint. Not so bad as
that. Such a thing could not happen in
a well-managed institution like the Uni-
versal Hospital. But he went for a
stroll about the building, and on the
lawn, and slipped out of the front door
without anybody in the office on the
main floor noticing him. That is the
report."

"Oh, that's the report, is it?" ob-
served Flint dryly.

CHAPTER XXXV.

GETTING TO A FOCUS.

T~)0 you mean that he was allowed to
go walking about the hospital by
himself, so that he could slip away un-
noticed?"

It was Flint asking the question, and
he was seated in the room from which
Howard Milmarsh had vanished, talk-
ing to the day nurse, Miss Sawyer,

while the night nurse, Miss Jordan,
listened.

"I did not say that," replied Miss
Sawyer. "His brother was here."
"His brother?"

"Yes. He was the very picture of
Mr. Gordon — except that he was not
pale, from staying indoors, like the pa-
tient. In everything else they were so
much alike that you knew they were
twins."

"Oh, you knew it?"

"Yes. You could tell it from their
remarkable resemblance to each other.
Besides, the other Mr. Gordon said they
were twins."

"Had you ever seen the visiting
brother before?"

"No."

"He had never paid a visit to the pa-
tient till to-day? Did he explain why
that was?"

"Yes. He said he had been away
from New York for a long time — in the
West. He had heard of his brother
being >sick, and had come to the hos-
pital as soon as he arrived in the city."

"And then— what?"

"He talked to Air. Gordon for a little
while, trying to make him understand.
He spoke of being in the West, and
mentioned a place he called Maple."

"Well?"

Mr. Gordon appeared to recognize
that name, for he smiled and said some-
thing that sounded like a girl's name."

"What name?"

"Bessie or Letty or Nelly. I could
not be sure what it was, for he does not
talk plainly, you know. He never has
had complete control of his tongue since
he came here."

"Was that all you noticed when they
were talking? Was there any other
word that seemed to penetrate to his
brain ?"

"Not that I saw. They talked for
about fifteen minutes. Then Mr. Gor-
don, as he said his name was — the vis-
itor — proposed that he should walk his

A Battle for Right

107

brother about the hospital and out to
the garden at the back."

"And you let him do it?"

"Yes. It seemed reasonable that they
should like to be together, after so long
a parting. Reasonable for the visitor,
that is. The patient did not make any
sign one way or the other. Beyond a
half smile, as if he were pleased when
the name of the girl was on his tongue ;
he was just as he always is."

"It might have been better if you'd
gone along, too, Miss Sawyer," re-
marked the detective. "You would then
have seen them when they went out of
the front door. The patient had his
hat, I suppose?"

"Yes^ He wore his usual clothing,
hat and all. There was nothing in his
appearance different from hundreds of
men you may see on Broadway or Fifth
Avenue at any time. I wish I had gone
with them. But I argued that he would
be quite safe with his twin brother,
and his absence gave me an opportunity
to look after little things about the room
which are difficult to attend to when he
is there."

Flint saw the nurse's point of view,
and resolved not to make a complaint at
the office, as he might easily have done.
Instead, he walked out, stepped into his
waiting taxicab, and hastened home.

He told exactly what he had found
at the hospital, leaving it to Judson to
make any comments that occurred to
him.

The girl and her father simply looked
bewildered. They did not feel that any
harm had been done by the patient leav-
ing the hospital with his twin brother.
Indeed, Bessie smiled, as if pleased that
he was well enough to go out.

"You know who the twin brother is,
of course, chief ?"' observed Judson.

"It is not hard to guess."

"What is the game ?"

"That we must find out."

"When?"

"Now."

"Where are you going to do it?"

"The Milmarsh residence, it appears
to me," replied Flint.

"Milmarsh, did you say?" asked the
girl. "Do you suppose he has gone
there?"

"It seems probable."

"So it does," assented Bessie Silvius.
"Oh, Mr. Flint! Perhaps he is quite
well — recovered his memory and every-
thing ! Well, if he has, that is all I
want to know. It is all I have a right
to know. We'll go now, my father and
I. You won't mind my coming again —
to-morrow, or the next day — to hear
how he is, will you?"

The pitiful appeal in her tones would
have touched a much harder heart than
the detective's. He walked close to her
and took one of her hands in his.

"Miss Silvius, I hope you will not
have to wait until to-morrow to hear
how Mr. — Mr. Gordon is. I was about
to ask if you would go with us to Mil-
marsh."

"Milmarsh?"

"That is the name of the little place
where the residence of the Milmarshes
is up on the hill. There is not much else
there besides the Old Pike Inn and a
cluster of small stores to supply the
country homes around. We shall take a
train in three-quarters of an hour."

"It will get us up there in less than
an hour," added- Judson. "It's an ex-
press. The chief has that train schedule
down fine. He never has to look at a
time-table."

"Meanwhile, I will have the house-
keeper give us a meal of some kind.
She is a wonder at preparing a tasty
luncheon or supper at short notice."

"I don't think I'm hungry," protested
the girl.

"I know better," contradicted Flint,
smiling as he saw that Judson was al-
ready at the house telephone, giving di-
rections to the housekeeper. "And your
father needs something, too. You
wouldn't deprive him of the refresh-

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Detective Story Magazine

ment he needs, I am sure, even if you
were to refuse it for yourself."

Thus chatting, to prevent Bessie Sil-
vius objecting further, Flint led the way
into the dining room, where, in a won-
derfully short space of time, there were
tea, coffee, cold meat, cake, pie, and
other articles of food, set forth in appe-
tizing array.

Roscoe Silvius evidently was hungry.
The old gentleman attacked everything
set before him, and praised each dish as
it reached him. Bessie also was hun-
gry, although she was not so ravenous
as her father, while Flint and Judson
disposed of their food in the business-
like manner of sensible men, who did
not know when they would get a meal
again, and were determined to make the
most of the one they had.

The taxi that was to take them to the
Grand Central was at the door when
they went downstairs, and they were
comfortably seated in a parlor car two
minutes before the time for the train to
pull out.

"It all seems so wonderful," declared
Bessie, smiling, as she settled down in
the comfortable, roomy chair, and
looked along the car. "This morning I
had no thought of finding him again in
this world. Now, in the evening, I am
on my way to see him."

"You are almost too optimistic, I'm
afraid," said Flint, with a smile. "We
may not find him at Milmarsh. Only, I
think that he may be there. I have
reasons of my own for believing so,
but they may all turn out fallacious.
There goes the train."

In less than an hour they were in a
motor car, hired at the station, and on
their way up to the Milmarsh mansion.

"Hello 1 What's all the fuss on the
porch ?" exclaimed Judson. "Look,
chief ! It isn't the poor people that
were fooled on Paradise City there
again, is it?"

"I see Billings moving about very

actively," said Flint.- "Hurry, driver!
Let's get there!"

The chauffeur put on more power
and sent his machine along at a head-
long pace, which brought it up in front
of the porch at the main door with a
rush.

"What is it?" shouted Flint, at Ray
Norton, who was by the side of the big
truckman.

"The guy they called Howard Mil-
marsh is back again," was the reply
hurled back by Norton.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

WHERE THEY FOUND HIM.

pLINT jumped out of the car, leav-
ing to Judson the congenial task of
helping out Bessie Silvius, and bolted
into the house.
"Where is he?"

"In the dining room, locked in with
the others," reported Billings coolly.
"As soon as he came snooping up, I
shoved him in with Louden Powers and
Lampton, and let them have it out
between them. Then I came out, to
see who it was coming up the road in
an automobile. It was you. The other
guy came only just a little while ago."

"You mean the man you have in the
dining room?"

"Yes. He said he walked up from
the station, talking to another fellow
who was with him, when suddenly he
missed him."

"Who?"

"The other guy he was talking to."

"Do you mean to say that he allowed
a man to get away from him while they
were actually talking, and didn't see
where he'd gone?"

"That's what he told told us."

"I don't believe it, for one," put in
Judson

"Unless this mug in the dining room
is daffy. Then it might have hap-
pened," suggested Norton. "Who is he,
anyhow ?"

A Battle for Right

109

Flint did not stop to answer, although
he could have done it. He went over
to Bessie Silvius, and asked her to wait
in the drawing-room with her father,
for a little time, while he straightened
out a little misunderstanding that had
occurred.

"But, Mr. Flint, is that Mr. Gordon
in the dining room? I mean, the man
they say came walking up the road with
somebody else? Or was it he who sud-
denly left the other ?"

"I shall have to go into the dining
room to see the man before I can an-
swer that question."

He directed Judson to stay in the
drawing-room with Bessie and her fa-
ther. It was a mission that Judson un-
dertook with cheerfulness. Flint saw
him leading Bessie and Roscoe Silvius
to the drawing-room with Chester-
fieldian politeness, and did not trouble
any further about him.

Billings opened the door of the dining
room with the key he had in his pocket,
and Flint went in.

He saw just about what he expected.
Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton
each had a cigar going, and between
them, still slumped down in his chair,
as if he never had moved, was the in-
dividual who had been put forward as
the real heir of the stupendous Mil-
marsh estate.

Flint went to this man and shook him
until he looked up vacantly.

"Where is he?" demanded Flint.

"I don't know. I was bringing him
here, because you wanted him. But he
wouldn't come the whole distance, and
it was no fault of mine. I guess he is
somewhere about the grounds."

"Why didn't you search for him, in-
stead of coming up to the house?"

"Because I believed he'd come here.
It is what anybody would have believed.
But as soon as I came up to the porch,
some of these fellows of yours saw me
and dragged me into this room."

The speaker was not exactly stupid.

He seemed to be rather dazed by a rapid
surge of events. That was the way
Flint regarded him, and doubtless he
was right. He bent over and whispered
in the man's ear.

The result was a brightening up, and
a much firmer tone of voice, as he said-
aloud :

"Of course, I'll go with you, and I
reckon I can find him, too. But you
will have to keep these two men off
me," pointing to Powers and Lampton.
"They feel that things are slipping away
from them, and they will kill me if they
have a chance."

"That is quite probable," murmured
the detective inaudibly.

Flint led the cowed man out of the
room, and saw that Norton followed.
He turned to his young assistant and
told him not to let anybody out of the
house till they returned.

Once in the open air, Flint's com-
panion seemed to become a different
man. His step was springy, and when
they came to a fence separating them
from a part of the grounds that was full
of high grass and tangled shrubbery, he
vaulted over it as lightly and cleanly as
Flint himself. His voice was almost
firm, as he said :

"I saw him looking over here as we
came up the road, and once I heard
him mutter something about the west
meadow. He seemed to know that part
of the estate, although I did not hear
him say anything else."

"The west meadow," repeated Flint.
"Yes, I think I know where that is."

They walked for some little distance
through the bushes and grass, until
Flint stopped and pointed to what was
evidently a recent trail.

"See ! Somebody has walked through
this high grass and made a deep, wide
furrow. We shan't have much trouble
in finding him now, I think."

Perhaps Flint was surprised to find
that the trail ended at the stone founda-
tion wall of the house, at the back,

110

Detective Story Magazine

where the cover of the tunnel that used
to be part of the 'underground railway'
was made to look like the surrounding
stones. This tunnel has already been
described.

"Get in there !" commanded Flint.
• This man was not inclined to obey.
He seemed to fear it meant getting him
at a disadvantage — perhaps locking him
up in some dungeon from which he
might never emerge save to go into a
regular prison.

But Flint was not in a mood to be
held back by anybody — least of all by
one whom he felt had no right to con-
sideration.

So the man went down the chute, just
as Judson had, not so long before, and
Flint followed him.

There is no necessity to tell bit by bit
how they went along the secret corridor
which finally 'brought them to the back
of the large picture in the dining room,
where Flint and his assistant had
listened to the conversation of the con-
spirators — one of whom was now actu-
ally in the corridor himself.

Suddenly a man sprang out of the
blackness and seized Flint by the throat,
forcing him backward and almost to his
knees.

It was only for an instant that the de-
tective was held at a disadvantage. He
hurled his assailant away, and, bringing
out his pocket flash, saw the man who
had come with him lying on the floor in
the narrow space, while facing him,
with wild, vengeful eyes, was the sick
man from the Universal Hospital!

It was evident that the escaped pa-
tient did not recognize either Flint or
the other man, and equally certain that
he regarded them both as enemies.

Even as the detective watched, he
could see the long fingers, lean and
clawlike from long illness, twitching to
get at his throat, while the madman's
jeet shuffled slightly, as if preparing for
a sudden spring.

Flint took the initiative. Telling the

man on the floor to get up and lend a
hand, he threw one arm around the
strange creature who had found his way
in some mysterious way to this secret
corridor, and seized his wrist from be-
hind. By this wrestling trick, the de-
tective had both the hands of his cap-
tive firmly held.

"Hold him for a moment!" he com-
manded the other man, who had arisen
by this time. "Poor fellow ! He is too
weak to resist <much. Had you any no-
tion where he was ?"

"How could I have?" was the re-
joinder, in an injured tone. "I never
was in this hole before. Where are we,
anyhow ?"

"I'll show you," replied Flint.

He felt along the wall until his finger
touched a small knob.

The next moment a panel turned open
silently, and they were looking through
a doorway some four feet wide, down
into the dining room, where sat the men
they had left there half an hour before.

A shriek of horror burst from An-
drew Lampton. But Louden Powers
only smiled derisively. He had an iron
nerve, and nothing could surprise him
very much. He had always known
there were secret passages about this
strange old house, although he never
had found them for himself.

The appearance of the two ghostly
personages in the bedchamber on that
night had confirmed what he had heard
about the hidden places in the house.
So it did not seem so very extraordinary
that Flint should suddenly show himself
in the wall, by two of the large pic-
tures.

At first only Flint was visible to the
people in the dining room. But, as Flint
stepped forth upon a chair, and thus
to the floor, he led the escaped sick man
from the hospital, while following him
was the person the two conspirators had
declared to be Howard Milmarsh.

"What, chief ?" shouted Ray Norton,
in delight. "Did you get him?"

A Battle for Right

111

"By hooky " roared Bonesy Billings.
"There's two of 'em! They look just
alike! Now I know how you told the
truth, Mr. Flint, while it looked like —
like the other thing."

The detective only nodded, as he put
a large chair for the pale-faced invalid,
and forced him into it gently.

The belligerence had gone from the
face of the newcomer. He seemed to be
wondering — that was all.

The most peculiar thing in the whole
affair was that the man who had been
set forth as the real owner of the Mil-
marsh estate, and who had appeared so
dazed and in such terror of Powers and
Lampton, now held up his head and
actually smiled, as if a great weight
had been lifted from his shoulders.

Louden Powers scowled at him, but
he replied only by a stare of defiance.

"That mug is going to give the whole
snap away," muttered Andrew Lamp-
ton, in the ear of his fellow conspirator.

"I'll kill him if he does," whispered
back Louden Powers.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE RIGHTFUL HEIR.

DRING in that young lady and her
father, with Judson," ordered the
detective, as he swung the secret panel
shut and nodded to Ray Norton.

"Gi' me the key, Bonesy."

Billings unlocked the door, and, while
Ray was absent, he stood guard. Not
that it was needed, for nobody made an
attempt to get out.

"Here they are, chief !" cried Ray,
as he came in with the three persons he
had been sent for.

The girl would have run to the sick
man as soon as she saw him, and it
could be seen that a cry of recognition
was ready to spring from her lips.

"Not yet !" warned Flint. "Patience
for a just a moment !"

She nodded obediently and sank into

the chair Judson set for her. Her fa-
ther, bewildered, was already seated.

"Now, gentlemen," went on the de-
tective, "in the first place, I will ask
this man, who has been posing as How-
ard Milmarsh, what his name really is."

"What is the use of my saying?"
grumbled the man he addressed. "You
know it, and, of course, these other fel-
lows do." He pointed to Louden Pow-
ers and Andrew Lampton. "They
thought it was a slick game, and that
we could get away with the bluff. I
knew we couldn't."

"You could, if you'd had any nerve,"
snarled Louden Powers. "But you
never could see a thing through. You
are all right at the beginning. But you
haven't the pluck to stay with a thing
to the end. You're like a wet fire-
cracker. There's a whiz and a puff,
and you're done! You make me sick,
T. Burton Potter!"

Potter smiled. He did not care what
was said, now that the truth had come
out.

"Then, if this guy's name is Potter,

the other one must be " began

Bonesy Billings.

Flint held up a hand to silence him.
Then he whispered to Bessie Silvius.

"Yes, Mr. Flint," she answered aloud.
"I believe he'll know me. I'll try
him."

She stepped over to the man who had
spent so long a time in the Universal
Hospital, and laid a hand on his arm.
He started and looked at her.

"Bob !" she whispered. "Don't you
know me?"

It was very difficult for him to draw
his senses together, but it could be seen
that her voice had touched a responsive
chord in his being. He held out his
hand to her.

As she took it, he murmured
brokenly :

"Bob Gordon? Yes, that is what
they call me. But— but — it isn't quite
right. How is it — Bessie?"

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Detective Story Magazine

She laughed half hysterically.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Flint? He
knows me ! He called jne by my name !
He is coming to himself!"

The detective shook his head doubt-
fully. He was willing to admit that re-
membering the girl's name was a good
sign, but it was not enough.

"Let me try," he said.

Touching the young man on the
shoulder, he bent over and whispered
sharply in his ear:

"Howard Milmarsh !"

There was a slight movement. But
it could not be said that the name had
brought him to his senses. He slumped
down in his chair again, and in a weary
voice murmured : "Bessie!"

"The only thing he can think of," re-
marked Judson. "He's a lucky man."

"I don't see where the luck comes in,
if he's off his nut," rejoined Ray Nor-
ton.

Bonesy Billings, Judson, and Ray
Norton were all gathered about him,
each one watching for some other in-
dications of returning intelligence be-
sides that contained in the single word,
"Bessie!" 1

It was this moment of which Louden
Powers took advantage. With a sign
to Lampton, Louden crept toward the
door.

But Flint was on the alert, even
though so deeply engaged.

"Not yet, Louden !" he shouted, as
he rushed forward to cut off the ras-
cal's escape.

"Get back !" roared Powers. "You'd
better, if you don't want to get this."

He had picked up a heavy, cut-glass
water bottle from the table, and was
swinging it around his head.

Flint dashed at him, and Louden let
the bottle go with all his force.

The detective ducked, and the bottle
went past.

A shriek from Bessie Silvius made
him turn quickly.

Howard Milmarsh — the real one —

was lying back in his chair, and a thin,
red stream trickled over his forehead.

"Get that fellow!" shouted Flint,
over his shoulder, as he rushed to the
wounded man crumpled up in the big
armchair.

"I've got him, all right," replied
Bonesy Billings.

Billings had backheeled Louden
Powers just as he got to the door, and
now was kneeling _on the chest of the
discomfited scoundrel.

Lampton, scared, was in his chair.
He had jumped up when Louden tried
to get away. Then, seeing that the at-
tempt would fail, he prudently resumed
his seat in a hurry.

Flint was examining the wound, put-
ting his handkerchief to it and noting
at the same time that the sufferer was
talking rapidly.

"It just caught him with a glancing
stroke," announced the detective. "It
jarred him, but that is all. It is not
serious. Just enough of a concussion

He stopped and looked around him,
with a hopeful look in his keen, dark
eyes.

"What's this?" the wounded man was
saying, in a natural, though weak,
voice. "Are we off the roof? Is the
fire still burning? We didn't go
through, did we? Where's Bessie?"

"Here I am! Here I am!" she an-
swered eagerly.

He took her hand and stared into
her face. Then he smiled. This time
it was with as much intelligence as her
own.

"Mr. Flint! Mr. Flint!" she
screamed.
"Yes?"

"He has got back his senses ! Look
at him !"

"Do you know who you are?" asked
Flint, close to him.

"Howard Milmarsh to you, Mr.
Flint. Howard Milmarsh ! What is
the use of my saying my name is any-

A Battle for Right

113

thing else? You know me. I don't
care who knows it now, anyhow. I
had determined to give myself up. I
killed Richard Jarvis."

"No, you didn't. You're mistaken.
You did not kill him," declared the de-
tective emphatically. "You, will take
my word, won J t you?"

"Take your word, Mr. Flint? Of
course I will — I must! But are you
sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I can prove
it."

"Then is Richard Jarvis alive?"

"No. But he died by an accident —
after he had quite recovered from the
blow you gave him. It was only a
knock-out. He came to in a few min-
utes. You were scared unnecessarily.
Now you will come into your own."

"But — my father? Ah, yes! I know!
My poor father!"

Tears — real, comforting, natural
tears — flowed from his eyes. They
would have proved, if there had been
nothing else, that Howard Milmarsh
was again himself, and that he was pre-
pared to face whatever might be his
fate.

Flint turned away, to see what
Bonesy was doing to the prostrate, curs-
ing Louden Powers.

"Take him away, Billings. Lock him
up in a cellar, till the police come."

As Bonesy Billings promptly obeyed,
by yanking Louden Powers to his feet
as if he had been a sack of oats, An-
drew Lampton exclaimed, in a terrified
tone :

"Police? Have you sent for the po-
lice?"

Flint waited till Louden Powers was
out of the room. Then he went close
to Lampton, and spoke to him quietly:

"Look here, Lampton, I promised
that if you brought T. Burton Potter to
me, I would do something for you. I
will keep my word by giving you half
an hour's start of the police. Get out!
I'd advise you to get over the Canadian

8Ads

border as soon as you can do it. Don't
ever show up in New York again. If
you do, I won!t answer for the conse-
quences. Understand ?"

Andrew Lampton did understand.
He was out of the house almost before
the detective had finished speaking.

"Are you going to bring any charge
against me?" whimpered T. Burton
Potter. "Or may I go ?"

"I know you are a crook, Potter. But
in this case I recognize that you were
led into mischief by stronger wills than
your own. Your attempt to defraud
Howard Milmarsh of his rights would
mean, perhaps, ten years in Sing Sing
if the charge were pressed. But you
helped me to find the right man at last,
and I believe you are really sorry for
what you have done."

"Yes. And- "

"Get out of this house," interrupted
Flint. "The same advice I gave to
Andrew Lampton applied to you. Lose
no time in jumping over the line into
Canada. You may escape that way.
It is your own lookout. Go, and may
you lead a better life in future."

"I will!" returned T. Burton Potter
earnestly. "I have had such a scare
this time that I'm through with crook-
edness for all time."

"I hope that's true."

"You bet it's true," insisted Potter,
as he hurried from the room.

"It seems to me that you're letting
all the crooks get away, chief," pro-
tested^Judson mildly. "I . think both
Potter and Lampton ought to have been
handed over to the police, with
Powers."

"Strictly speaking, according to the
law, I suppose they should," conceded
Flint. "But I have to consider How-
ard Milmarsh. He has recovered his
senses, it is true — thanks to that bottle
over there — but it will be some time be-
fore it will be safe to put him through
another mental strain."

"I guess you're right."

114

Detective Story Magazine

"Of course he's right," put in Ray
Norton. "He's always right. It seems
to me that you had a lot of nerve to tell
him he wasn't."

"That will do," interposed Flint,
smiling. "I can't afford to have my
two men — both of them the most loyal
lieutenants a man could have — arguing
over me."

''But he said " blurted out Nor-
ton.

"I know what he said, and he was
right, in a way. But there are circum-
stances that make it desirable that How-
ard Milmarsh should take possession
of his estate with as little fuss as pos-
sible. I promised his father that I
would see he was allowed to do so, and
that's what I have to do."

It was three months after that excit-
ing night at the great Milmarsh man-
sion on the hill. Another night of an
exciting nature may be mentioned. The
excitement this time was of a much
more pleasant nature, however. The

wedding of Howard Milmarsh and
Bessie Silvius had just taken place.

Thorndyke Flint, Judson, and Norton
were all there, together with Billings —
who wore evening clothes, for the first
and only time in his life. Judson had
been the best man at the ceremony, and
a niece of Captain Brown's was the
bridesmaid.

Among the guests were all the peo-
ple who had been swindled over the
Paradise City land project. They had
all got back their money, with a large
bonus to each person in addition, and
now were there to cheer the finest man
who ever had lived in that part of the
country, in their opinion, Howard Mil-
marsh.

"That's all right, so far as it goes,"
remarked Ray Norton to Judson, sotto
voce, "but where would Howard Mil-
marsh have been to-day if it were not
for the chief?"

"That's so," agreed Judson. "How-
ard is like all of us. He has to take off
his hat to Thorndyke Flint."

THE END.

STEALS HAIR OF SLEEPING GIRL

A "JACK THE CLIPPER" is at work in Port Chester, New York. Twice
within a week young women have had their hair cut off. The latest victim

is Miss Isabelle Knowlton, of Bryan's Hill. While she was asleep, two long

braids were clipped from her head.

The girl is seventeen. Before retiring, she arranged her hair in two long

braids. When she awoke next morning, she found her hair had been shorn close

to her head.

The screen had been removed from a window in her room and was lying on
the floor. The "clipper" evidently entered her room from the porch roof.

Valerie Melko, a sixteen-year-old miss, had her long hair cut off^ while
attending a street carnival. She did not know it until one of her friends told her.

Ml _

& Alfred Plowman

IT was Saturday morning, and the
hands on the dial of the great clock
in the main banking room of the
Third National stood at half past
eleven.

Before the windows of each of the
three paying tellers was a long line of
impatient customers, cashiers of com-
mercial firms, paymasters of factories,
and the usual miscellany of the week-
end. Some had checks in their hands
which they fingered nervously ; some
shifted restlessly from foot to foot; all
kept glancing impatiently down the
line, half angry when a customer de-
layed a teller for a moment more than
seemed necessary.

The line before the window of teller
No. i was unusually troublesome.
Teller No. i, as the brass sign in the
window announced, was Mr. Haskell,
a micldle-aged man with thinnish light
hair on the top of his head, which
made his forehead seem very high. He
had watery blue eyes, a fair complex-
ion, and when he was nervous or ex-
cited the blood would mount from his
throat to the high wall of his forehead,
seeming to lose itself under the thin
strands of his carefully parted hair.

Mr. Haskell was a bachelor, had been
with the bank for many years, and was
head paying teller. Because the other
tellers worked under him, he occupied
cage No. i ; and because cage No. i
was nearest to the door, Mr. Haskell

handled more customers than any of
the other tellers.

On this Saturday morning the line
before window No. i was so trouble-
some that even such an experienced
teller as Mr. Haskell was to be excused
for becoming peevish. The next man
in line stepped up and pushed a check
under the bars. "Good morning! Five
hundred in twenty-dollar gold pieces,"

Mr. Haskell grunted and looked up.
The man was paymaster of a large hat
factory. "Confound it! Everybody
wants what I haven't got ! Won't
twenty-dollar bills do?"

"No. The directors voted tokens of
appreciation to the old employees. My
special instructions were to pay it in
gold." .

Mr. Haskell glanced at his stack of
gold pieces. I haven't got it here. I'll
have to go down to the vault." The
line moved angrily. "Confound it all !
Look at the string — and almost
twelve!" He picked up his bunch of
keys, and turned around — paused — then
threw the keys upon a desk in the cor-
ner of the cage, where a young man sat,
listing checks on an adding machine.
"Go down to my vault, Moore, and
bring up that sack of gold lying on the
floor just inside the door."

He turned to the window again.
"Step aside, please ; he'll be back in a
moment." The next man in line moved
up and laughed. Mr. Haskell looked

116

Detective Story Magazine

at him, saw that his eyes were directed
to the corner of the cage, and glanced
around. The assistant teller sat at his
desk, immovable, his hand poised over
the keyboard of the machine, his eyes
fixed on the bunch of keys. "Looks
like he's hypnotized," said the man.

"Well, well, get busy, Moore!" or-
dered Mr. Haskell sharply.

"Yes, sir — yes, sir !" And the young
man sprang up, a frightened look on
his white face. Mr. Haskell eyed him
a moment, undecided, then turned re-
luctantly to the window again.

The young man pressed back the
spring lock on the door in the rear of
the cage, and passed out. He threaded
his way through the maze of book-
keepers' desks, the bunch of keys
clasped in his hand, his eyes fixed
straight before him. He knew now
that he would do it — knew that he had
always thought of doing it — knew that
he had only been waiting a favorable
moment. The plan which had been
lurking in the hidden chambers of his
mind sprang into sudden birth, and he
was powerless before the strong temp-
tation.

He passed down the steps to the
basement, where the vaults were lo-
cated. As he approached, the bunch
of keys swinging from his hand, the
watchman rolled back the iron gate, and
admitted him to the vault room. Be-
fore him was an immense cavern, with
the great door of many tons thrown
wide open. He stepped inside — into the
money vault — into the very heart of
the bank.

The vault was divided into compart-
ments, each a miniature vault in itself,
guarded by a steel door which closed
with lock and key. In some were kept
the reserve funds of the bank — cur-
rency and securities. There was a com-
partment, also, for each of the tellers,
and the first one on his right was Mr.
Haskell's. He inserted the key into
the lock', and threw open the door.

When he had done this he was com-
pletely shielded from outside observa-
tion, as the door of the subvault ex-
tended more than halfway across the
main entrance.

As he stood there, packages of money
stacked high on the shelves — money in
sacks — bills, gold, silver — the very air
freighted with its odor — as he stood
thus, a dizziness seized upon him. Im-
pulse — that destroyer of multitudes of
men — laid its hot hand upon his reason.
He fought against it — hesitated —
yielded.

With eager, trembling fingers, he un-
buttoned his office coat, then his vest,
then his shirt. He tightened the belt
around his waist, reached up to the
topmost shelf, and from the farthest
corner took a bundle of bills. The top
one was for fifty dollars, and upon the
bands which held the package together
was stamped two thousand dollars. He
slipped the bundle inside his shirt, and
reached up again, then again and again,
until he had seven packages pressed
close against his body.

Afraid that more might bulk too
large and arouse suspicion, he quickly
buttoned his shirt and vest and coat,
ran his hands over himself to feel that
the bundles lay flat and even, and
stooped to pick up the sack of gold.

In that moment of stooping, a light-
ning flash of reason illumined the mad-
ness of his act. Outraged conscience
sprang up in arms. He saw himself
a malefactor, the hand of society
against him, branded a felon by the law,
lashed by the scourge of his own guilt.
He straightened up, and began to tear
open his coat; then he heard voices
without the vault.

"I say, Tom, did you see Moore
down here?"

"Yes ; he's inside the vault," replied
the watchman.

Footsteps approached. Moore hastily
buttoned his coat, and reached for the
sack of gold. The head of an office

The Letter in the Mail

117

boy appeared in the doorway, "Say,
Moore, old Haskell's about to have a fit
upstairs. He sent me to look for you,"
said the boy, with a grin,

Moore did not answer. He closed
the door, locked it, and, with the bag
of money in his hand, he left the vault.
Fate had intervened. One mad mo-
ment had changed the course of his life.

At the rattling of the cage door, Mr.
Haskell stepped- back and released the
lock. "It took you a long time!" he
grumbled, taking the sack and keys
from the young man's hand.

Moore muttered something about
"stopped to get a drink of water," and,
taking his seat at the desk, resumed his
operations on the adding machine.

Soon the hands on the great clock
touched twelve, and the official -banking
day was over. The last few stragglers
were served. Mr. Haskell hung out
the tin sign bearing the word "Closed"
before his window, and began to Count
his cash. Moore worked steadily away
on the machine. The other tellers, their
currency counted, turned out the lights
in their cages, and carried their trays
of money down to their compartments
in the vault. One by one the clerks
and bookkeepers, through with the
day's work, left the building.

Presently Mr. Haskell stepped back
and looked down the line of darkened
cages. "All gone, eh ? Great Scott, this
was a beastly day! I'm glad to-
morrow's Sunday. About through,
Moore?"

"Just finished," answered the assist-
ant, clearing the machine.

"Good! Help me carry this stuff
down to the vault. I've got to hurry.
Got an engagement for two o'clock."

Moore picked up several sacks of
money, and waited while Mr. Haskell
turned out the light in the cage. They
passed out into the deserted banking
room.

"All right, Mr. Wade," said Mr.

Haskell, as they passed the cashier's
desk.

The three of them — Moore first with
the bags of money, then Haskell carry-
ing the tray of bills, last the cashier —
descended to the vault room.

The trying moment had ^ come.
Moore hardly breathed with suppressed
excitement. Haskell thrust the key into
the lock of his compartment, and threw
open the door. He placed his tray upon
a shelf, then turned and took the sacks
from Moore. These he put beside the
tray. He stepped back, shut the door,
and locked it. As they passed out of
the vault, Moore drew a long breath,
and wiped the sweat from his face.

The cashier was setting the time
locks. "Forty-three and one-half hours,
Mr. Haskell," he said, working on the
dials.

"Right!"

The watchman swung the ponderous
door into place. The cashier laid hold
on the wheel and turned it. There was
a clicking of bolts, a falling of levers
into place, and Moore knew that until
half past eight Monday morning his
secret was safe.

He wished the others "Good night"
in a strange, unnatural voice. His lips
were so dry that they cracked as he
parted them to speak. He went up-
stairs to the lockers, put on his hat and
coat, and five minutes later was on the
street.

As he ( passed down the crowded
sidewalk he was conscious of a curi-
ous sense of elation which mingled
strangely with the hateful torture of
his thoughts. Did he not have pressed
warm and close against his body what
all this hurrying throng was striving
for? Money — money! Truly it was
money made the world go round. He
had it — it was his — a fortune — thou-
sands of dollars. Power was his.
Freedom was his. Could he keep them ?
He smiled grimly at the thought.

His plan began to shape itself in his

118

Detective Story Magazine

mind. He would take a train to Phila-
delphia in order to baffle pursuit, and
at once embark for South America. By
midnight he would be miles out on the
Atlantic. With forty hours' start, he
should be able to elude the hue and cry.
He stepped into a cigar store and tele-
phoned the railroad ticket office. A
train left for Philadelphia at four
o'clock. He had no time to lose.

He boarded a street car, and in
twenty minutes dismounted at his cor-
ner. He walked halfway up the block,
ran quickly up a flight of stone steps to
the door, and thrust his key into the
lock. As he opened the door he was
met by the dank, musty smell peculiar
to boarding houses of the second class.

He glanced down the empty hall,
then, softly closing the door, he tip-
toed to the stairway, and cautiously as-
cended to the second floor.

Safely in his own room, he locked
the door, and, taking a cigarette box
from his pocket, placed the last ciga-
rette it held between his lips, and threw
the empty box into a corner.

For a moment he stood puffing rap-
idly, his face pale and nervously twitch-
ing, his hand trembling as he took the
cigarette from his feverish lips. At
last he unbuttoned his shirt and took
the money, package by package, from
its hiding place, throwing it upon a
small center table.

When he had taken it all out, he
sank down upon a chair and stared at it.

And so it was for this — this handful
of faded and dirty bills — that he had
bartered his honor, his peace of mind,
his quietude of soul ? For this he had
become an outcast, a wanderer upon
the face of the earth ! Who for all this
wealth would give him back the right
to walk with honest men? How now/
could he look upon the world and say
that it was good? All was black and
murky, discolored by the guilt upon his
soul. He laughed aloud discordantly,

and rocked his body to and fro in an
agony of vain remorse.

If only the boy had stayed away one
little moment longer! If only one of
the other clerks had been sent for the

gold! If only Cursed, cursed fate

that had conspired to undo him !

Once he thought of taking the money
back and confessing. Xo, that was im-
possible. The irrevocableness of his act
sickened him. How could he erase
from men's minds the knowledge of his
guilt ? Would they not rather pity him
as a weak fool, too cowardly to carry
out the thievery he had devised?

And the others — clerks, bookkeepers,
tellers, Mr. Haskell, honest men all,
poor, hard-working, struggling along on
meager salaries, heads of .families all —
all — upon all would fall the shadow of
his guilt. Mistrust would light upon
all.

Once before a clerk had stolen, and
had been detected. It took six months
to dissipate the vague suspicion which
hovered over the bank.

Philip jerked upright in his seat, and
seized a pad of paper which lay upon
the table. He would do what he could
in reparation. So far as lay within his
power, he would make amends. Hav-
ing no pen and ink, he took a lead pen-
cil from his pocket and wrote:

Mr. Haskell : This letter will not be de-
livered to you before nine o'clock Monday
morning, and by that time I will be out of
reach. God help me, I cannot tell why I
have done what I have done. It was a mo-
ment of madness. Already I repent and am
miserable. I write you this, not in a spirit
of bravado, but merely so that no innocent
party shall suffer. I have no accomplices
— no one else is guilty — I am alone. I hope
that no one else will be implicated. I as-
sume all responsibility. Thank you for past
kindnesses. Philip Moore.

He put the note in an envelope, which
he addressed to Haskell, care City
Bank.

He sealed the letter, feeling a warm
glow of charity and good will run

The Letter in the Mail

119

through him at the act of justice he
had done. At least, he would bear the
consequences of his wrongdoing. He
felt almost heroic. His crime had been
dignified. With returning ease of mind
came thoughts of escape. He dragged
a battered suit case from beneath the
bed. Into this he packed the money,
then filled the case with clothes from
his trunk.

This done, he searched his pockets
for a cigarette, then remembered that
he had used the last one. He glanced
at his watch. It was two o'clock. To
idle away an hour or more without the
solace of tobacco was impossible. He
arose from his chair, and, picking up
the letter, left the room, locking the
door after him.

He dropped the letter into the mail
box on the corner; then, as the lid fell
with a clang, thought that he might just
as well have waited until later. How-
ever, it did not matter — the bank's mail
was not delivered until Monday morn-
ing. He purchased four packages of
cigarettes from the corner druggist, and
returned to his room. All was as he
had left it.

He busied himself going through his
trunk, seeing if there was anything else
he cared to take, and burned a few let-
ters. He moved about leisurely, taking
a mental farewell of the cheap little
room and its contents. He took a five-
dollar bill from his pocket, and put it
on the dresser for the landlady, then
remembered that he would need money
for his railroad and steamship tickets.
It would not do to be always unpacking
his bag.

Undoing the fastenings of the suit
case, and, reaching under the clothing,
he drew out a bundle of bills. He
slipped ten or twelve bills from beneath
the bands, and then — with mouth agape
and starting eyeballs— stood looking at
what he held. He dropped the pack-
age, and, in an ecstasy of madness, tore
open the other bundles. All were the

same. They were dummies. Some one
had been before him. The top and the
bottom bill of each package were genu-
ine — all between were worthless.

He sank down upon the bed, and for
a long time he sat staring straight be-
fore him, his mind a wild jumble of
unmanageable thoughts. What did it
mean? Who had done it? What was
he to do with this secret he had stum-
bled on? Flight was impossible now
that he had practically no money.
Should he go back to the bank on Mon-
day morning and resume his duties as
usual? And then there flashed across
his mind the remembrance of the letter
he had posted.

With the thought he leaped to his
feet in an agony of fear. He had con-
victed himself of a crime of which,
though guilty in intention, he was al-
most guiltless of execution. The room
swirled around him, and he was near
to fainting; and then out of his mad-
ness came the way of escape. He
would go to Mr. Haskell, confess all,
and throw himself upon the teller's
mercy. No other course was possible.
There was nothing else to do.

In feverish haste, he crammed the
bundles into the suit case, locked it, and
thrust it beneath the bed. He left the
roonvlocking the door after him, and
almost ran to the corner drug store.

Moore was so nervous that he could
hardly find the number in the telephone
directory of the hotel where Mr. Has-
kell lived. It seemed an age before
the operator gave him the connection.
He was told by the clerk that Mr. Has-
kell was not in his room.

He remembered that the teller had
spoken of an engagement for the after-
noon. He left the drug store, and wan-
dered up arid down the street. In a
half hour he tried again, with the same
result. He kept on telephoning every
half hour, but it was almost eight
o'clock when he got Mr. Haskell on the
wire.

120

Detective Story Magazine

"Hello, Mr. Haskell ! This is Moore.
I must see you at once — but it is most
important; it's about the bank. I will
come to your rooms — all right; I'll be
there in twenty minutes."

Hanging up the receiver, he wiped
the sweat from his forehead. A clerk
was watching him curiously, but he
paid no attention to him, and hastily
left the store.

He boarded a street car, and stood
on the rear platform, trying to think
how he should word what he had to
say. Mr. Haskell was a bachelor, with
apartments at the Buckingham Hotel.
He had told Philip over the telephone
that he had an engagement for the
evening, and the young man was in a
turmoil of anxiety lest the teller leave
his rooms before he could get to him.

At last he reached the hotel, and was
shown to Mr. Haskell's rooms by a bell
boy. He knocked upon the door with
a hand that shook until his knuckles
rattled against the panel.

At the word to enter, he opened the
door and stepped into the room. He
was in a magnificently furnished li-
brary, or study, lined with books and
pictures. The furniture was heavy and
luxurious. In the center of the room
stood a massive table, on which was an
electrolier, whose colored globe threw
the recesses of the room into shadow.
Just beyond the table stood Mr. Has-
kell, in evening dress, a lighted match
held to the cigar between his lips.
Philip closed the door and crossed the
room.

"Hello, Moore! What the deuce
brings you here at this time of night?
You'll have to make your visit short.
I'm just going out."

Philip placed his hat upon the table,
and, coming around, stood before his
superior. "I'm sorry, Mr. Haskell, but
I'm afraid that what I have to tell you
will spoil your evening's pleasure. It's
about the bank."

"Well, go on."

"Mr. Haskell, I've been a clerk at the
Third National five years. I've always
been honest, but lately something has
been the matter with me. At first I
had great hopes for the future, but
advancement was slow — very slow. I
didn't seem to attract much attention.
I began to get discontented, and my life
seemed gray and monotonous. Then
there was the money — money every-
where. When a man gets to feeling
like I did, he must watch himself all
the time when there is money around.

"I can't tell you how I came to do
it. I've been afraid of it for a long
time. Several times I was on the point
of giving up my position because I
couldn't trust myself. I lost my head
to-day, and did it."

"Did what?" asked Haskell, in a
harsh voice.

"Stole. I had been thinking about it
for six months — thinking that I would
until I came to believe that I must. I
tried to put the thought away from me,
but I couldn't. The harder I tried to
get it out of my mind the more I
thought of it. By trying to reason
myself into being an honest man, I
badgered myself into being a thief.
I'm sick — that's what I am — brain
sick."

"Here's the deuce to pay !" ejaculated
Haskell, pushing forward a couple of
chairs. "Sit down. Why do you tell
me this? How much have you taken?"

"Next to nothing," replied Philip, sit-
ting down on the edge of the chair,
and boring one hand nervously into the
other. "You remember when you sent
me down for that bag of gold this
morning?"

"Yes; go ahead."

"While I was in the vault I took
seven bundles of bills from your com-
partment, and put them inside my
shirt."

"Good Heavens!" Haskell leaned
forward in his seat, the blood rushing
up his face in waves, his eyes blazing.

The Letter in the Mail

121

"From where did you take this

money ?"

"From your reserve currency on the
top shelf," answered Philip, watching
the other in amazement.

Haskell leaped to his feet and paced
the room, cursing under his breath,
puffing furiously at his cigar. Philip
watched him — astonished at the other's
passion.

"Well, go ahead !" burst out Haskell,
after a turn or two. "Don't sit there
like a graven image ! What next ? Did
virtue triumph in the end?"

"No, sir, I'm sorry to say it didn't.
I went home, fully resolved to take a
steamer to-night and leave the country.
When I got home I happened to open
one of the bundles ; then I opened them
all. Mr. Haskell, some one has been
tampering with your reserve funds. I
had seven bundles of old Confederate
bills. Only the top and bottom bills
were genuine."

Haskell took out his handkerchief
and wiped his face. "Good heavens,
Moore, this is dreadful! Whom do
you suspect?"

"Mr. Haskell, you don't know how
glad I am to hear you say that. You
believe what I am telling you?" asked
Philip eagerly.

"Of course I believe you. If you
were not speaking the truth you
wouldn't be here. Why should I not
believe you?"

Philip drew a long breath. "Thanks
for your confidence. It makes the rest
easy. I am sure you will help me."

"Why — what do you mean ?"

"Before I discovered that the pack-
ages were dummies, I mailed a letter to
you, confessing to the robbery and free-
ing any one else of suspicion."

"You — you did what?"

"Mailed you a confession. I didn't
want any one else to bear the blame.
The letter will be delivered to you
Monday morning. I came here to-night

to ask you to give it back to me — un-
opened."

"The letter is in the mails now ?"

"Yes, sir."

For fully a minute Haskell stood be-
fore Philip, staring into his face; then
he turned away, put his cigar into his
mouth, and, finding that it had burned
out, lighted a fresh one. He walked up
and down the room a few times ; finally
he came up to Philip, and, in slow, even
words, said : "Moore, I am the man
who tampered with the reserves."

"You !" cried Philip, staggering
back.

"Yes, I. Do you think that no one
ever steals except a professional thug
and a half-starved forty-dollar-a -month
clerk ? I've lost money in speculation —
all I had. Then I tried to get it back
— with other people's money — like the
fool I am ! I fixed up the dummy pack-
ages, and stole from the reserve funds.
I lost again, and stole more. I've lived
in a hell for the past three months.
Every time a teller asked me for money
I thought I was discovered. Every
time a bank examiner entered the door
I broke into a cold sweat. At every
meeting of the directors I had to half
fill myself with whisky to brace myself
for the shock I thought was coming.
I've been walking the plank, and ex-
pected every moment to come to the
end. Heavens ! It's awful, awful, I
tell you !" The words rushed from his
lips in a torrent, tripping over each
other. He paced the room, carried
away with excitement.

Philip stared at him, speechless.

Haskell came quickly toward him,
talking rapidly : "But that's all over
now, Moore. We'll fix it — fix it so that
we both get what we want. You —
money. Me — peace."

They stood close together, staring
each into the other's pale face. "Don't
you see?" breathed Haskell. "I'll give
you a thousand dollars to-night. You
can catch a steamer in an hour. Mon-

122

Detective Story Magazine

day I'll express you nine thousand dol-
lars to Paris. I'll take the money from
the reserves. I've stolen so much now
that a few thousand more will make
no difference. I'll find excuses for your
absence — lull suspicion — delay investi-
gation. When you are safely out of
reach I'll bring out your confession.
Then we'll laugh at them, Moore — you
in Paris — I here — safe — in peace !" He
sank down into a chair, and covered
his face with his hands, his body shaken
by a paroxysm of hysterical sobs.

Philip watched the bowed figure,

striving to comprehend. At last

"I'll not do it !" he burst out passion-
ately. "I'll not do it!"

Haskell lowered his hands and looked
blankly up. "Not do it !" Then, spring-
ing to his feet: "Why, you fool,
weren't you going to steal the money ?"

"Yes; but I didn't get away with it,
and I'm glad of it. Do you think I
want to change places with you? Did
the money make you happy? Look at
what you are now — a wreck, a liar, a
thief, and a coward — yes, a coward.
You want to shift the responsibility for
what you have done to another. Bah!
I'm a hundred times better man than
you are. I accepted the consequences
of my wrong ; I even wrote a letter pro-
claiming myself the thief. I didn't
shirk. I was willing to pay for what
I had done."

"Curse your heroics! Will you do
as I say?"

"No — once and for all — no !"

Haskell looked steadily at him for a
moment; then, going to the' door, he
locked it, and put the key into his
pocket. Coming back to the table, he
pulled open a drawer, and took out a
revolver. "By Heaven, you will,
though !" he said, with a snarl. "You'll
take the money, and leave town to-
night, or else to-morrow morning you'll
be in jail."

"What do you mean?" stammered
Philip, starting back.

"Simply that I'll have you arrested
for stealing from the bank. Have you
forgotten the confession you mailed
me?"

"You wouldn't use that against me!"
cried Philip wildly. "Why, I'll tell the
truth ! I'll tell them what you have
told me to-night."

"That for what you'll tell them!"
jeered Haskell, snapping his fingers.
"Do you think they'll listen to you?"
What is your word against mine,
backed up by your written confession?
I'll send you to the penitentiary for ten
years."

"Let me out of here!" panted Philip,
losing all self-control. "Let me out of
here! I'll go to the postal authorities.
I'll beg them to give me back the letter.
You shan't have it."

"I will have it !" said Haskell coldly.
"Now, sit down, and don't make a fool
of yourself. Will you leave the city if
I give you the money?"

"No— a thousand times !"

'All right — now, listen to me. I'm
going to keep you here all night. I
have a lock box at the post office in
which all my personal mail, even if it
is addressed to me in care of the bank,
is placed. I rented it to receive my
numerous communications from bucket
shops and stockbrokers. It would never
do to have such mail coming to the
bank. I had no idea it would serve
me such a good turn as it has to-day.
Early to-morrow morning I will send
a bell boy down for the mail. When
your confession is in my hands I'll give
you one last chance to decide. If you
refuse my offer, I'll have you arrested,
and accuse you of the theft as certain
as that my name is Wilbur Haskell.
Now, that's all. There is no use argu-
ing about this thing. Go into my bed-
room if you like, and lie down. I'll
sit up and watch. If you prefer to keep
me company, all right."

He took off his dress coat, and, put-
ting on a lounging robe which lay on

The Letter in the Mail

123

a chair, he dropped the revolver into
the capacious pocket of the gown. He
brought cigars, cigarettes, and a decan-
ter of brandy from a cellarette, and
placed them upon the table. "Sit down,
Moore; we might as well be com-
fortable. We have a long wait before
us." He drew a chair to the table, and
poured out liquor for them both.

Philip sank down into a seat, his face
white and agonized. "Mr. Haskell —
please — please don't make me do this
thing! Look at me! I'm not a thief.
Think of the temptation, think of the
gray sameness of my life ! Give me
another chance !"

Haskell slowly placed his glass upon
the table. "What's the use, Moore?
You would do it again. You talk about
the sameness of your life. What about
mine? You couldn't stand it for five
years; I've been up against it for
twenty. I tell you, it would get you
again — a man can't fight it down for-
ever. Now, what's the use of sitting
there hugging up to your misery like a
sick kitten to a hot brick? Here are
your friends, my boy — make the most
of them." He tapped his fingers on the
decanter, then rattled the loose silver in
his pocket. His manner and speech
chilled Philip to the heart.

The hours dragged wearily into the
past. Few noises came up from the
street. Passing footsteps ce'ased to echo
in the corridor. In the brooding
silence the two men sat, Philip rousing
himself now and then to make a plea
for mercy, plunging back again into a
sea of trouble at the cold, heartless
reply to his appeal, struggling vainly in
the net which enmeshed him. Haskell,
sure of his power, watched his victim,
now sneering, now snarling, now
amused, now half angry. Then would
come a long term of silence, broken only
by the scratching of a match or the
tinkle of a glass.

The east began to redden. Presently
a beam of sunlight flashed into the

room and put the electric light to
shame. Haskell pushed back his chair
and arose. "At last the day is herel"
He went to the window, and, raising it
a little, stood drawing the crisp air into
his lungs with thrown-out chest.

Philip watched him, his face gray
and drawn from the long strain. "Mr.
Haskell," he asked, "do you still intend
to do as you said you would?"

Haskell closed the window, and, com-
ing to the table, turned out the electro-
lier. "I most assuredly do. Have you
made up your mind ?"

Philip did not answer, and after a
moment's silence Haskell pressed a call
for a bell boy. He came back to the
table, and removed the decanter and
glasses, whistling softly.

At a knock on the door, he took the
key from his pocket, and opened the
door a little way. "Oh, it's you, is it,
Peter? I want you to bring me up
some coffee and some sandwiches — any
kind will do. Bring two cups and sau-
cers, and come back here yourself."

In a few moments the boy returned
with a coffee percolator and some sand-
wiches upon a tray. Haskell opened
the door for him, and he brought the
things forward to the table.

"Now, Peter," said Haskell, standing
before the boy, with his hands in his
pockets and a smile on his lips, "I
want you to do something for me. Here
is some money and a key. Take a taxi-
cab, and go down to the post office.
The key is for lock box No. 68. Open
the box, and bring the mail here. You
may keep the change. Hurry, now !"

When the boy had left the room
Haskell started toward the door as if
to lock it, then turned around, with a
laugh. "No need to keep you under
lock and key, eh, Moore? I guess you
■are just as anxious to stay as I am to
have you." He went to the percolator,
and drew two cups of coffee. "There's
something will make things look
brighter, Moore. Help yourself to

124

Detective Story Magazine

sugar and cream." He took up a sand-
wich, and began to eat.

"Mr. Haskell," said Philip, with dry
lips, pushing aside the cup, "this is a
dreadful thing you are about to do. Do
you realize that, either way, you are
ruining my life?"

"Oh, come now; I'm only obeying
the first law of nature. You don't sup-
pose I am anxious to change all this"
— waving his hand — "for a striped suit
and a four-by-eight cell ? You wouldn't,
either. I wish you would take my
advice and my — or, rather, the bank's —
money, and make tracks for Europe.
You've helped me out of a mess, and I
appreciate it. I'm not a bad sort; I'm
mighty sorry for you. But as long as
it must be one of us, why, naturally
I'd rather it would be you than me."

"But why me ?" asked Philip bitterly.
"Why dpn't you play the man, and pay
for it yourself? I haven't done you
any wrong."

"Well, console yourself with the
thought that it is often the innocent
who suffer. I'm not going to argue my
actions on moral grounds. I'm satisfied
with results as they are." He lighted
a cigarette, and sipped his coffee.

Philip arose, and began to pace the
floor. " As he neared the door he heard
a step in the corridor, then a knock.
Instantly he called out: "Is that you,
Peter?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many letters have you ?"
"Three, sir."

"One addressed in pencil — the stamp
upside down?"
"Yes, sir."

"Remember that letter!"

He turned around, and faced Has-
kell. The teller was on his feet, his
revolver leveled at Philip.

"Get away from that door !" Haskell
snarled under his breath.

Philip's face was white, and the hand
of death seemed on his heart. He did
not move.

"Get away from that door, or I'll
kill you !"

"You wouldn't dare! They'd know
the letter wasn't in your hands."

Haskell's face was fearfully dis-
torted. His eyes seemed starting from
his head. He had the appearance of a
man completely unnerved. The crisis
had taken him off his guard.

Philip backed slowly toward the
door, keeping his eyes fixed on the
spasmodically working face of Haskell.
It was horrible — the sight of this man
trying to work himself up to the point
of killing another man.

"You don't dare shoot!" Philip
spoke in a whisper, forcing the thought
rather than the words across the space
which separated them. "You don't
dare ! You're a coward — that's what
you„are. You're afraid of blood — red'
blood. You're a coward — a coward !"
His hand slid along the door and found
the knob.

"You haven't got the nerve to shoot !
It's an awful thing to kill a man. You
see the death watch — the little door —
the chair." He turned the doorknob
slowly. "And then you're a coward —
don't forget — a coward !" He waited.

"My God, you're right! I can't!"
The cry was wrung from Haskell's
agonized lips. "I can't — I can't!" He
turned suddenly and rushed toward the
bedroom, stumbled blindly, cursing in-
coherently, the revolver clutched tightly
in his hand.

Philip jerked open the door, and,
seizing the startled bell boy, pulled him
into the room. "Get the police — quick !
Something — something dreadful will
happen !"

He grasped the letters from the boy's
hand, then pushed him toward the door.

Suddenly a shot, rang out from the
inner room, followed by a groan and
the crash of a heavy fall. Then silence.
Philip stared into the blanched face of
the boy. A wreath of blue smoke
floated through the bedroom doorway.

ONLY to the hosts of new readers that have become Detective Story
Magazine fans during the past eight or nine months — and it gives us
pleasure to take you into our confidence and tell you that the ranks of our
admirers and friends have increased many, many thousands in that time — will it
be necessary to introduce Rodger Cartwright, who wrote such novelettes as
"Crossed Wires," "Sealed Lips," "Told in Crimson," and "Marked Cards."

These novelettes were printed in the earlier issues of the magazine, and
helped vastly to give it the firm foundation upon which it has grown so rapidly
into a great and flourishing publication. In the next issue,

INCOG

BY ROGER CARTWRIGHT

is the novelette. It tells of a murder, the perpetrator of which, with the aid of
accomplices, hides all the clews so adroitly that the case is of a particularly unique
character. Intensely dramatic, filled with vivid and startling climaxes, pulsing
with human interest, this story cannot fail to make a lasting impresssion upon
the most blase reader of mystery and detective stories.

THE SEA FOX

BY DOUGLAS GREY

is a powerful novel of stupendous international import, which begins in serial
form in the next issue. A submarine plays an important part in the action of
the story. This timely feature is but one of many that threaten complications
between the United States and European powers. Do not fail to order your next
issue in advance, so that you will be sure to get it, and thus not miss the open-
ing chapters of Douglas Grey's latest and best work.

Among the short stories are : "The Financier's Memorandum," by Sergeant
Ryan; "At I lis Own Game," Scott Campbell's next Red Raven story; "The Mad-
ness of Matilda," by William H. Kofoed ; "A Dead Man's Money," by Narena
Brooks Easterling; and "The Thousand-dollar Thumb," by George Bruce
Marquis.

Austin E. McNeill, a police reporter in San Francisco, has interviewed the
head of the police department of the City of the Golden Gate for the readers
of the Detective Story Magazine. The article, "Chief White, of the San Fran-
cisco Police," appears in the next issue.

UNDER THE LAMP

Lack (jf space prevented us from getting a puzzle in the last issue, but here
is one that you can sharpen your wits on. Go to it now, lay your solution aside

126

Detective Story Magazine

in a safe place, and compare it with the correct answer that will be printed in
the next issue of the magazine, out in two weeks, on January 20th.

CIPHER-MESSAGE CRYPTOGRAM.

Two "gentlemen" crooks successfully carried out a robbery of big propor-
tions, and, for several months, continued to live in the neighborhood of the scene
of their "job," without apparently arousing the slightest suspicion. One of the
crooks, Jim, had a close friend, Dugan, with whom he spent a good part of his
spare time. One night when Jim was dining with Dugan at the Mammoth Restau-
rant in one of our largest cities, a page brought him a small, white envelope.
Excusing himself, he proceeded to examine the contents. A moment later he
glared, wild-eyed, at Dugan, muttered a brusque apology for a hasty departure,
and bolted from the room. Dugan sprang forward, to intercept him, but was
too late. In his haste Jim dropped the message he had just received. Upon
examining it, Dugan found it to be a cipher message, which, when translated,
proved to be cause enough for a crook's hasty departure from that immediate
locality. What was in the note?

8 5 2 o— 8 *o 4 2 o— h ! a 9 6 1 is 3—3 'o 2 9 1—5 4—1 7 2 o—
7 1— 2 0 *4 '3— 4 J a 2 i '3 h— U 1 3— 5 4— 9— 2 2 1 o H 1 i— 1 o J i 9 1
15 1 2— 2 o 7— 2 4 6 9 2 e 1 s— 1 t 7 ] o— 9 1 3— 2 e 1 s— 2 o 7
1 5 2 U 2 o— 9 2 o— 2 e 5 3 1 5 2 ' 4 2 o— 2 2 » 8 9 2 o—
5 2 o— 2 o 7— 2 o U ^—7 h 3— 9 1 2 7 *e 2 o—

h 7 ] e 6—^0 9 *i—

The "Snitch"

By Mert E. Smith

THROUGH that mysterious sub-
terranean news channel that
links every big penitentiary with
the rendezvous of crooks in the
outside world, a message had come to
a man who had long since lost his iden-
tity in the number, "7774."

The message was brief, but it spoke
volumes to the convict. It had come
from a pal, a former companion in the
old days, who had shared in many a
job that had required finely sand-
papered finger tips to insure mastery
over the tumblers of a safe.

Convict No. 7774 had come to num-
ber the days when good behavior would
end a five-year sentence in less than

four. He had planned and resolved, as
many men before him down aeons of
time, to allow no act or influence to
deviate him from a life of honesty. But
the message changed him. It set an-
other purpose ; made the days seem ages
longer than before, although the man
could count the nearness of liberation
on one hand.

The day of his release came — -a day
with a dull-drab sky overhead, a day
that enveloped his being in the purpose
at hand.

Creeping stealthily along a passage-
way that admitted no light save that
which came through a barred window

The "Snitch

127

in a door at its end, Quong Wong, a
fence for crooks, and keeper of an
opium den, listened until a signal for
entrance had been repeated with unmis-
takable distinction. Only until then
did the Oriental approach near the door
and open it slightly to scrutinize the
features of his nocturnal visitor.

"It's me, Quong," a voice whispered,
"Jimmy Dolan — don't you know me?"

The Oriental continued to stare. He
knew the face only too well, but if he
recognized the man, he gave no indica-
tion.

"Come on, Quong; let me in. You
know me. I come your place all the
time — long time ago — you remember —
got arrested here — sent to San Quentin.
Remember ?"

After a moment, the Oriental asked:
"You in trouble?"

"No — no trouble, Quong. Why you
ask?"

The Oriental did not answer. He
drew back and allowed the white man
to enter. The visitor strode down the
passageway with a quick, nervous step.
At the other end he admitted himself to
a dimly lighted room, where a row of
bunks on each side gave it the unmistak-
able identity of an opium den. The
Oriental followed quickly behind him.

"Where's the gang, Quong?" asked
the man.

"All gone," was the reply. Then,
after a pause: "Police-a-man come,
raid. Slim, him get catched; the kid,
too."

The name "kid" smote upon the
white man, and if the Oriental had
noticed he would have seen his eyes
narrow.

"What'd they get the kid for?"

"Police-a-man say break safe."
He lies — some one snitched !" And
the white man's attitude for the mo-
ment was menacing. Quickly he recov-
ered himself.

"Who stooled?" he persisted, and his

eyes bored through the Oriental until
the slant-eyed heathen had to shift his
gaze.

"No understand." The Oriental has
fortified himself behind two English
words which furnish an impenetrable
barrier for further questioning when
the wily yellow race chooses to evade
cross-examination.

The white man shifted on his feet.
"Come on, Quong, get the layout; I
haven't had a smoke in ages. Quit a
five-year sentence this morning, cut to
three and a half."

The Oriental went to a closet arid re-
turned with a large tray and a thick
pipe. The white man took off his coat
and prepared to smoke. The Oriental
watched the man's every move — all but
one. Had his eyes remained on the
white man, he would have seen a quick
substitution of the opium to a harm-
less, hard substance, with the same pun-
gent smell as the deadly drug, that went
into the pipe instead. The white man
stretched himself on a lower bunk, and,
drawing deeply on the pipe, dropped off
into the apparent lethargy that the juice
of the poppy brings to its slaves.

Satisfying himself that his visitor had
gone to the land of dreams, the Ori-
ental stole quietly from the room. If
he had turned, he would have caught
the white man's eyes following his
movements. Half an hour elapsed.
The white man never moved. Then
the Oriental came back into the room.
A figure followed him closely, but
neither spoke.

"Him same dead," the Oriental said,
after a silence, before which the new-
comer had gone to the side of the sleep-
ing man and raised an eyelid. "Him
no smoke four years — sleep much now,"
the Chinaman continued.

"All right, Quong," the man spoke
for the first time, "keep an eye on that
bird and let me know every time he
comes here. We don't want him now,
but you can never tell. He's only out

128

Detective Story Magazine

a day. Give him time. He'll go back
to a moral certainty. Thanks to you,
Quong, his pal has a home in Folsom
for a bit that'll keep him out of mischief
for fifteen years. Clever job, Quong.
Without the tip we'd never've got hirh.
This bird ought to be at Folsom with
him. Quong" — and the man started
toward the door — "you've sent more
crooks to the pen than the whole de-
partment. Might drop in later when
this bird comes to. Want to break the
news that the kid has gone on a long
journey." Glancing back in the direc-
tion of the man who lay sleeping, he
passed through the door.

An hour later, Detective Jos Goss, of
the San Francisco Chinatown squad,
rapped a signal on a door of a house
in Wakeley Alley. There was no re-
sponse. Then he tried the door and
found it open. Groping his' way along
a passageway, he stumbled over a body.
Stooping, he took an electric flash light
from his pocket, and the first thing its

bright rays disclosed was a pool of
blood; then the still, white face of
Quong Wong.

The detective didn't stop to notify
the morgue — there was more important
business at hand. In twenty minutes a
police net had been spread throughout
the city for Jimmy Dolan, ex-convict,
and, until that same morning, known
as convict No. 7774.

It was almost dawn when Goss was
summoned to the city hospital. At the
door of the accident ward, he was met
by a plain-clothes man.

"We got him, Goss, but he put up an
awful fight. The doc says he's done
for — light'll go out any minute now."

Stepping over to the bedside of the
wounded man, Goss bent over bim.
Dolan opened his eyes when the detec-
tive spoke to him.

"You're going to die, bo. Why did
you do it?"

"I should worry," the dying man
gasped, "for I got that dirty yellow
snitch."

SUSPECTS CARRY LOOT

/"^HARGED with burglary, S. L. Cox and J. F. Hastin, alleged safe blowers, are
^ in the jail at Yreka, California. The men are alleged to have attempted to
blow open the post-office safe at Bray. The safe door was partly blown open,
but the burglars were unable to take anything from the safe.

The men are said to have stolen a car near Bend, Oregon, and then to have
crossed the line into California. Later they went to Bray, where the safe
cracking was attempted. Sheriff Howard got on the wanted men's tracks,
tracing them on the Ball Mountain Road and into Shasta Valley. He wired
ahead to all points.

Finally the fugitives' automobile got out of repair at Castella, and one of the
sheriff's deputies captured Cox there. Hastin escaped, but was later caught in
Redding and returned to Yreka.

Much loot was found on the prisoners. They carried watches and jewelry,
shoes and shirts, and also nitroglycerin, fuse, and caps.

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or

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I Street

[ and No.

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of Course you want la not In this list, write It beiow.

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■Jewel

Burlington

( The Master Timepiece")

A

Month

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19th Street and Marshall Boulevard
Dept. 1 83 1 — Chicago, Illinois

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I9th Street end Marshall Boulevard
Dept. 1831 — Chicago. Illinois

Address—