Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 November 1890 — BERENICE ST. CYR. [ARTICLE]

BERENICE ST. CYR.

A Story of Love, Intrigue, 7 and Crime.

BY DWIGHT BALDWIN.

A. CHAPTER XVI. ■ J FAILURE. No'seleSsly Cole Winters glided on to the door of'the room where he had overheard the briet conversation between Berenice St. Cyr and her cruel persecutor. Instinctively he flew to the closet. Once there, however, he realized that it was n foolish hiding place, since if detected he would have absolutely no chance for escaping. He was about to withdraw when he remembered the haven of refuge he had found earlier in the night, when the officers were after him. With this thought, hope revived, and he began gropihg about to get an idea of his surround ngS. The closet, which was quite deep, had a clothes-press with swinging doors on one side, while the other was fitted up with shelves. Cole’s plan was instantly formed; he would imitate his former proceeding. In a moment he had climbed up to what he supposed to be the topmost one. As he crept back, to be as secure as possible from observation, what he had supposed to be the ceiling above him moved at his touch. A hasty examination showed him that it was in reality another shelf similar to the one on which he was lying. By a very slight exertion he raised it higher, and was enabled a moment later to creep past it up into an open space above. Marvel ng at this, he returned the board to its former position and raised his hand. At a height of, perhaps, four feet from the floor it came in contact with the roof of the house. He was in a shallow attic between the ceiling of the upper floor and the slates abvve. Satisfied on this point he produced a match, of which he found quite a supply in the pockets of his borrowed disguise. The faint light thus obtained not only verified his prev.ousiy formed judgment, but revealed something that caused him to ut er an exclamation of pleasure. On a line with the open space by which he had made his escape, and only a few feet away, was a similar opening. This, oar hero reasoned, communicated in a similar manner with the closet in the room where Berenice was confined. In an instant he was planning for the future. He could now communicate with her, and a little later would be able to secure her release. Having reached this encouraging conelusion, he bent forward and listened intently. He heard first a confused noise, then the sound of tramping feet, and lastly well-defined voices. In another moment the speakers had entered the room < ole had just left, and he hud no trouble in recognizing them by their voices. “I tell you he’s escaped!” cried Morris. “Don’t see how he could,” replied Scars. “Have we searched every placq?” “This is the very last room, sir," answered the servant, Luke, “and he ain’t here.” “It’s strange!” muttered Morris, with an oath. “He must have slipped out the front door, sir,” suggested L'uke. “He didn’t have time, and besides we’d have heard him.” “He may have stayed in the vestibule, and unlocked the door after you had run up the stair, and before I got there.” “That’s it! That’s the way it was done! Run down; Luke, and see if there’s anything to indicate it." Cole heard the servant leaving the room. “Now, who is this party who comes here dressed in one of your disguises?” “Oh! That never occurred to me. He’s a reporter.” “For what paper?” “I didn’t notice, though I saw his star.” “You’re a chump, Al Sears!” “I don’t see “And I’m another, so I won’t upbraid you. I never once doubted but what I was talking with you. I’m a bigger dolt than you, for I ought to know your voice bettter than you do his." “Why, I never saw him before!” “Where did he get that outfit?" “At my place—that is, if it’s really mine.” “And that’s where we left Mr. Cole Winters.” “Confusion!" “That’s the size of it! He’s bearded us in our den. I begin to feel a little shaky. There’s no telling what that fellow may do.” “He’s afraid to go to the police, and will try to work the case up on his own account. The next time we get him in our power we’ll ” “Well?” urged Morris. “Kill him! Come to the library where we can talk matters over and determine what to do.” When the sound of their footsteps had died away, Cole struck another match, by the light of which he located and entered the other aperture. “Berenice!” called he, in intense though modified tones. He heard a murmured response, but could distinguish no words. By this time he found that the top of the closet, like the one by way of which he had ascended, was not ceiled, but only closed by a loose board. Whether this had been the result of an oversight on t f he part of the builder or design in the scheming Max Morris, our hero did not stop to consider. In a moment he reached the floor and was groping for the fastening of the door. To his joy it yielded to his touch and opened readily. “Merciful heaven!” In affright our heroine cove ed her face with her hands and staggered back. In his excitement, Cole had forgotten all about his disguise.

”It’« I—Cole Winters!" cried he, resr■uringly. As n s words reached her, Berenice St. Cyr sprang forward and threw herself into the arms of her would-be rescuer. No word of love had passed between the twain, yet each knew the heart of the other. Under ordinary circumstances such a demonstration would have been utterly foreign to her nature, but now, bereaved, persecuted, imprisoned, she saw in our hero her only friend, and gave full rein to the natural impulses of her heart. “You—alive and safe!” said she, wondering, rapturously. “It's I. Pm alive, but anything besides safe!" “But how ” “Never mind, now. The present is our opportunity! While they are consulting below, we will make our escape." Cole turned the gas higher and approached the window. He found it carefully secured, a screw having been put above the lower sash to prevent its being pushed up. With a pocket-knife, which with many other conveniences he had found in his pocket, Cole soon removed this, and threw up the window. Then, lowering the gas again, he opened the outside blinds and looked out. The window was on the side of the house and at least twenty feet from the ground. Having ascertained that the coast was clear, he flew to the bed and seized a sheet which he proceeded to tear into strips. This occupied no longer time than is required to tell of it, and in a minute or two he held in his hands an improvised rope strong enough to support the weight of his lair companion or himself, and of a length sufficient to reach the ground. “Now!” said Cole. “Don’t be afraid! You’ll soon be out of this house and beyond the reach of your enemies." As he spoke he passed the rope around her form and knotted it together under her arms. Then he assisted her to the ledge of the open window. With infinite care ho pushed her forward, and, having braced himself for the task, he began lowering her toward the ground. This proved quite laborious but consumed only a little time. Soon the strain ceased, and looking forth Cole saw, to his great joy, that Berenice had reached the ground in safety and was removing the improvised rope. He lost no time in tying it securely to a steam heater which stood ne r the window, and in a moment was ready to make the deScent. At that instant a cry caused him to look downward. To his utter consternation he saw in the rather indistinct light that the young lady was struggling in the grasp of a powerful man. At that instant an exclamation of m’ngled rage and triumph caused him to look upward. At the window, an open knife in his hand, stood his enemy, Almon Sears. The next instant the blade described a circle in the air and descended. Then bur hero felt himself falling rapidly downward.

CHAPTER XVII.

SPECIAL PROVIDENCE. Here! None of that!” With one loot out of the bed. Cole Winters paused and looked curiously at the speaker. He was a man of small stature, his height being apparently something less than five feet. But what he lacked of the “full proportions” of a man in that regard was amplv compensated lor in the breadth and thickness of his body. His arms, too, were large and muscular, his enormous knotted hands extending fully half way down his legs, which were the only portion of his body that appeared dwarfed. This circumstance, however, gave him a grotesque, almost ludicrous appearance, which brought a smile to the pale lips of our hero. But an instant later an awful flood of dark and bitter memories surged in upon him and fairly swept it from his face. “I-I don’t ” In the midst of a question Cole paused and looked searchingly i round. He found himself in a large room which seemed to contain no furniture except a chair, a stove, an old lounge, a rickety table upon which stood a number of bottles, and the bed, where Cole half Bat, half reclined. The floor was uncarpeted, and the light half excluded from the one window by an old blanket which was tacked across its lower portion. "Ain’t much acquainted hereabouts?” queried the man, whose age seemed to be 50 years at least, as hs seated himself on the chair and assumed a hideous look, which Cole subsequently determined was intended for a smile. “I should say not!” responded the astonished and bewildered young man. “Probably you don’t know me?” For the apparent purpose of aiding our heroin identifying him, the man stood up to the extent that his diminutive legs permitted, and turned his huge face full upon his observer. “Reckon you can call me down now," said he. “I must admit that I cannot.” “Propose to repudiate me, do you?” The short man snapped this out, and flung himself back upon the chair. “Certainly not,” returned the now thoroughly myst fied young man. “The fact is that I don’t " “That’s a fact. That's one on you Jerry Moore! You were a leetle too small to remember me, I guess.” Where Cole had wondered before, he marveled now. Once more he looked at the meager appointments of the room, and i eturned his gaze to the face of the man who half way announced his name to be Jerry Moore. “I don’t understand. You’ll have to explain,” replied he, making an effort to rise to his feet. “None of that! You lie down!” In a m inner tiger-like, both as to quickness and ferocity, the man sprang forward and forced Cole back upon the bed. “I’m in the hands of a lunatic,” thought the latter, who, partly as a matter of policy, but principally from a feeling ot weakness, quietly maintained the position into which he had fallen. For a moment only the evil light shone in the man’s large and expressive eyes. This subsided as suddenly as it had flamed up, and be quietly resumed his seat, “.Lie still and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m your L T ncle Jerry.” “No?” replied our hero, thinking to humor his self-announced relatho.” "You can gamble on it and win. But they don’t know it.” “No?” said Cole again. "I should say not. Do you suppose that they are fools enough to think that old Jerry Moore would make way with his own fleih and blood. They think I’m bad, and I’m a leetle grain worse ’n they think, i ut I wouldn't co that.” This was becoming interesting. Cole Winters felt tbit the mystery surround-

ing him was in the way of being cleared up. “What’s your name?" asked Jerry Moore, suddenly. “I — why you know, Uncle Jerry.” “That won’t interfere with your telling me. Out with it!” “My name is Cole Winters." To the utter astonishment of the speaker the other sprang forward and seized him by the wrists in a vise-like grip. A moment more and he had taken from one of the spacious pockets of his coat a pair of band-cuffs. “Don’t iron mo!" cried Cole in consternation. “I must. You’re getting bad again.. I thought you'd got all over that notion." “What notion?" “That you were that young murderer, who killed old man St. Cyr." “How came I here?" asked Cole, when his companion had returned the handcuffs to his pocket and resumed the chair, which he had drawn close up to the bed. “Now your senses are coming back to you. Lie still and I’ll tell you. Just as you fell out of the window I happened along. I have a grant faculty of happening along when I’m wanted. I’d had my eye on Max Morris for better’n a week and ’lowed that he’d want me soon, ’cause I calculated that something was afoot.” “Well?” said the anxious auditor upon the bed, by way of stirring up the speaker, who had paused in his narative. He said you was a nasty reporter who had got into his house and learned some of his secrets.” “And the young lady?” “I didn’t bother about her. You had struck your head on a rock in falling, and I told Max you were dead." “Did you really think so?" “For a fact. And I near gave the thing awav by laughing." “What thing?" “The soft snap I would have. You see I knew just what Max wanted." “And that was?” “Said Max, ‘I hope he is, and I want you to make sure of it’.” “The scoundrel!” cried Cole. “Oh, you can’t blame him. You had found out secrets of his, he said.” “IVhat did you say?” “I said, ’how much?’ He said, ‘fiftv dollars.’ I said, ‘not enough.’ He said, ‘one hundred.’ I said, ‘good’.” “And then?" “Then I carried you back to the alley and went for my wagon—l’m an expressman when I work—and brought you here.” “Did Morris believe that vou woaldkill me?” “Of course, if you weren’t dead already. He knows me. I’ve worked for him before. ” Cole shuddered. He did not doubt that the man was partly insane, but the cool way in which he talked of murder quite startled him. “On the way,” resumed Moore. “I felt your pulse and found you were alive.” “And so brought me here?” “Vo. I was pointing for the lake shore, above the city. What would I want to bring you here for?” “But when you found I was not dead ” • “I prepared to rectify the mistake. I rolled you over in the wagon and clubbed my whip, which is loaded for just such work. ” “Merciful heaven!" gasped Cole. “That was what saved you—that or Providence, whicb I reckon was the same thing—or, rather, s ived me, for I’d never have slept easy again if I’d killed you." “What happened?” “As I was aiming for you I saw something white that had fallen out of your pocket. There it is. ’’ The dwarf took from an inside pocket and handed our hero a white card. It was the one given him by the city editor who had employed him to work up the St. Cyr murder mystery. It stated that the bearer. Milton Moore, was specially engaged in the St.Cyr matter, which would account for any suspicions movements ou his part. “WhsflMltd you do, then?” asked Cole, as hbJHtmed the card over and over. “I"qsf a match to read it, and then came nigh faintin’ away." “ Why so?” “Why so? Haidn’t I come within an ace of doin’ up little Milton Moore, the only son of my only brother? Wasn’t that enough to give me a turn?" “Quite, Uncle Jerry,” answered our hero, as he fully comprehended the coincidence of names that had saved his life. “Then you don’t bear me a grudge." “Not-in the least.” “I was afraid you would, and made up a story for you. but I’d a h<>ap rather tellthe truth. 1 learned to <jf<hat when I was a boy with ybur father. A strange 'combination it seemed—a man who loved to tell the truth, yet hesitated not to take the life of a fellowcreature. • “HoSfs’ can I bear a grudge?” returned Cole. - *lf you hadn’t happened along, Morris would have killed me.” “Of course he would, Milty; that’s the wav to look at it, ” “Have I bsen delirious?” "Crazy as a loon. Kept calling yourself Cole Winters. That’s why I kept them.” Moore po’nted to a pile of newspapers that lay. in one comer of the room, and had escaped the observation of our hero. “What do you mean?"' “I didn’t know but what the fever would have made you crazy, and wanted the papers to knock the delusions out of you by showing that Cole Winters Was running around loose, but that the police kept a sayin’ that they were sure to get him next day.” “And so I couldn’t be he?" “You’ve called the turn. Look at em while I get you something to eit. You ought to be hungry by this time." Jerry Moore tossed the papers-upon the bed, and begun mending the fire in the diminutive cook-stove. With hands trembling with eagerness, our hero caught them up and began s hurried examination of their contents. But he continued this but a moment. Suddenly he uttered a cry of anguish and sank bick upon the pillow in s fainting condition. His eye had fallen upon the following bold headlines: THE CALUMET MYSTERY! EXCITING SCENE AT THE MORGUE. Positive Identification of the Body o BERENICE ST. CYR! [TO BE CONTINUED.!

In one of the leading locomotive shops there is now building an engine with an enormous driving wheel, nine feet in circumference, which will be fixed in the center, in front of the boiler. Instead of ordinary axles the truck wheels will have bicycle spindles. and experts claim that the large driving wheel will carry along the train, at over ninety miles an hour.