Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 145, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 June 1911 — Page 2

Under the Rose

the Core-Boo* o/ Inspector FINNEY 5 VALENTINE, hvtttigator Extraordinary

■■■■■■■■■ O you think that dime ✓ novel fiction is unhealthy for the Juvenile J mind,” queried Finney g Valentine. "You are ■■■■■■■ right, of course, scarcedjk ly a week passes that GrJl we do not read in tho papers of some young y-S ster, or youngsters, (Mp' who fall into the hands > of the law while enV y/g deavoring to duplicate r 1 11* the feats of a bandit hero, as portrayed by tti® blood-and-thunder

writers. But you might go a step further, and assert that there are adults who are prone to fall under the same influence, and not be making an error." ’■Why?” asked the listener, scenting a possible story. "Because the readers of that class of fiction are not by any means confined to the rising generation," replied the ex-inspector. “You may think it odd. but I am personally acquainted with a prominent member of the New York bar who seeks relaxation from his legal problems by devouring all the cheap detective stories he can get his hands on. Much on the same principle, I suppose, that a tired business man takes in a light musical comedy after he has completed his labors of the day. But the lawyer’s ease doesn't exactly illustrate my point. A man with a well-balanced min# and trained intellect would only see the absurd side of the melodramatic hero’s exploits. But there are plenty of men who read such stuff and are not only entertained thereby, but take it pretty seriously. Also, here and there a reader of dime noyels may find a fairly Ingenious plot which, divested of its fireworks and trimming, might contain a hint of how to accomplish a certain crime that could be successfully worked out. The mere suggestion would be enough, provided that it suited the reader's desire or alm." "For instance?” queried the listener in a half-mocking, half-skeptical tone which was purposely intended to goad the former chief into unlocking some particular episode in his vast experience. Doubtless so shrewd a student of mankind as Finney Valentine was not fooled for a minute by such a transparent ruse, since he smiled inscrutably and knowingly. 1 L ‘ There was once a criminal event tn my experience which illustrates my point to a hair.” he explained. Pressing a button on his desk, after consulting his indexed case-book, “Bring me file No. 82,” he said to the attendant who answered the buzser. Meanwhile he smoked meditatively aa though mentally going back to some thrilling happening in his varied career. In three minutes the required file was placed at his elbow. Taking out a sheaf of papers, newspaper cuttings, and photographs, he riffled them momentarily between his supple fingers, nodded satisfactorily, replaced them in their place, lighted a fresh long and black Panatella, and began the following story, which shall be given here in his own words: Within a hundred miles of the Bowery, In Connecticut and Massachusetts, you may run across little villages and rural settlements that are almost as primitive and old-fashioned as they were in Revolutionary days. There’s where you find the "abandoned farms" that one hears so much about nowadays; they have been “abandoned” mostly by the younger generation; the old folks held on till death and the grave claimed them, then the cleared fields ran to weeds, the stone fences fell down, the apple „ orchards died for lack of tending, and * the farmhouses and barns gradually fell to pieces. But here and there enough young blood remains to keep up the village or town life, and the soil, instead of being worn out, as we’ve been led to suppose, yields Just as good a living as ever, while the hardy people go on living their sturdy lives, marrying and giving in marriage, as though trolley-lines and automobiles had never been invented. Just such a place was the Connec- . ttcut village of Pisgah, about twenty miles north of Stamford, among the j hills bordering the Housatonic Valley. Everybody In Pisgah was prosperous in a plain God-fearing way; the town had no poor; there was a Congregational church, a Union school, the usual stores, and one or two canning factories. thriving farms of perhaps a couple of hundred acres eacETadjoined each other, owned respectively by men named Valley and Merrill. Tom ▼alley, a youngster of , about twentysix, an orphan, worked one of these .Cams; the sole heiress to the other was a charming girl of twenty-four named Ruth Merrill. It was the most natural thing In the world for the young people to fail in love, marry, and thus unite the twin properties Into one—and that’s Exactly what hapseveral suitors, but Tom Valley eventually proved to be the lucky man.

CAT’S EYE

By FREDERIC REDDALE

(Copyright by W. O. Chapman)

Local gossip said that Mark Henniker, another landowner, had been his hottest rival. Well, Tom and Ruth were married. Remember, it was a primitive little community. After the ceremony at the minister's house the young couple drove home to the Valley homestead —such a thing as a wedding-tour would have been thought a wicked and useless extravagance. Besides, it was haying time, and Tom couldn’t be spared. There was a wedding supper for the immediate relatives, and before the meal was well ended a large crowd of the villagers and neighboring farm folks arrived outside the house to give the bride and groom a genuine old-fashioned "Shlvaree.” There were all sorts of an uproar—beating of tin pans, blowing of horns,' ringing of cowbells, shouting, laughter, and even firing of guns and pistols. Of course the young couple had to show themselves, and at their appearance the tumult and the shouting broke out worse than ever. It was a cloudless night with the moon at the full, and as Tom and Ruth stood arm in arm on. the wide porch they were in clear view. Suddenly there was a volley of firearms, and Ruth Valley was seen to fall backward in her husband’s arms. At first it was thought she had fainted from the excitement, but in a few moments the bridegroom’s affrighted shouts ap prised those nearest that the newlywedded* wife had been shot! Some miscreant in the crowd had deliberately “drawn a bead” on her breast! At least —for I must not get ahead too fast —that's what became apparent afterward. In the initial confusion it was thought that the shooting must have been an accident —some cheerful idiot in the crowd on the lawn, who “didn’t know it was loaded,” had pulled the trigger and unknowingly aped the fatal bullet. But when I got on the caso the facts already discovered put a totally different complexion on the matter, and I speedily decided that Ruth Valley’s death was a case of deliberate murder. There had been an inquest, of course, by the county physician, and that gave me the hint. The missile proved to be a soft-nosed steel bullet fired from a Krag army rifle. And here was a remarkable fact: the soft lead nose of the bullet had 'flattened and spread itself against the girl’s corset steel; when examined it looked for all the world like a cat’s eye, even to the coloring of the pupil! It was the steel cone of the bullet that had caused death, that having penetrated the heart. The poor child probably never knew what hit her. Naturally my first task was to search for someone who owned a Krag army rifle—a rare weapon In a rural community—this person also being an excellent marksman. -The finding of a man who united these two characteristics, I told myself, would be tantamount to spotting the murderer. But here I ran upon the first snag. The owner of the Krag was soon found in the person of George Gerrish, a veteran of the Spanish war, who bad returned from Montauk the previous autmun. Gerrish not only proved a complete alibi, but strenuously denied having loaned his Krag to anyone. Yet when I told him my errand, and together we had examined the gun, he unhesitatingly declared that it had been recently discharged and that one shell was missing from the. full clip which it had previously contained. Gerrish explained that, living alone as he did, he thought it no harm to keep the gun loaded. However, he readily Identified the steel cone which had killed Ruth Valley, and told me of several similar instances of the queer shapes sometimes taken by the "mushrooming” of the soft-nose bullet. Also he agreed with me that some one. knowing he was away from home, might have “borrowed” the Krag on the fatal night, though he was equally frank to say that he had observed no indications that his house had been feloniously entered during his absence. And until my call he had not noticed that the weapon had been moved from . its accustomed place on a couple of staples over his eld brick fireplace. Swearing him to silence, and to the locking away of the Incriminating weapon until I might call for it, my next task was to look for a good marksman and a man with a motive for the killing. To this end I went through the male residents of the neighborhood with a fine toothcomb with the idea, first, of eliminating the sheep from the goats. An told, there were not more than half a dozen names worth considering. Some of these had been among Ruth Merrill's suitors, but all, with one exception, seemed to have tgken the result philosophically and gone about their business. This exception was Mark Henniker, who had been overheard to boast that Tom Valley wouldn’t long have the girl, even after she had promised to marry him. Those who heard him make this threat thought he referred to thh well known frail state of her health. But

the subsequent event put the remark in a different light to me. But a more important fact was that Henniker bore the reputation of being a crack shot with either rifle or pistol. In the hunting field, after rabbits or birds, he was never known to miss, said local gossip; while at the annual “turkey shoots” Mark invariably carried off first prise. Lastly, he had been seen on the outskirts of the crowd op the night of the “shlvaree,” though no one could remember noticing him after the alarm bad been given. This latter fact, *of course, counted for nothing. In the confusion any one might have been missed or not counted. However, I made it my business to visit and interview Mr. Mark Henniker. He lived on and owned a tenacre farm with his widowed mother. I found him in the hay lot driving a tedder. Taking my stand by the stone fence which separated the field from the highroad I waited until a lorg turn brought him alongside. To bit! I was merely » "city feller,” and you can bet I appeared as green as they make ’em concerning farming. I never saw the farmer yet who wouldn’t “spell a bit” for a yarn with a stranger, and Mark Henniker was ho exception. “He “Whoa’ed” to his team and got down from the iron saddle to talk. I found him a tall, gangling typical Connecticut Yankee of about thirty, sandy-haired, freckle-

faced, his yellow beard and moustache stained with tobacco juice, which he chewed incessantly with working jaws, spitting nervously between sentences. His eyes were of a shifty blue, set-dangerously close together, which infallible mark of a treacherous nature perhaps set me against him, though I never allowed personal prejudices to affect my judgment ' , Well, we “gammed,” to use a whaling term, about the weather, the crops, and farming in that particular locality. I mentioned two or three names of families in Pisgah with whom I was already acquainted, allowing him to suppose that I was a “twoweeker from York.” By degrees we got quite chummy, to which end a couple of my cigars helped not a little, though I hated to see him chew viciously on a good Panatelia until the end was a frayed pulp. Gradually and quite naturally I led the way around to the recent tragedy, saying: “That was a bad job over at the Valley farm the other day." “Ya-as, ya-as,” drawled Henniker noncommittally, spitting among the weeds. “Were you among those present?" I inquired casually. “Ya-as, ya-as, I was thar,” he admitted, but volunteered no more. "Queer sort of an accident, though,” 1 remarked, a little more pointedly. “Ya-as, ya-as,” came the laxy answer. “Must 'a' been an accident, aa y’ say ” “There was some promiscuous firing of guns and pistols. I’ve been told?" I ventured in the effort to draw him out, and pefhaps get him to admit that he himself had been armed. “Ya-as,. ya-as," he drawled for the fourth time, as one weary of the topic, and mounting his tedder; “some feller forgot t’ draw his load, I guess’ Gid dan!" And with a “So long, mister!”

flung over his shoulder the team and the machine moved off on their lon® circuit of the “madder” Well, I had drawn a blank so far as any definite result was concerned, but like a good many men in my business lama firm believer in first impression, and I “had a hunch," as the slang «hrase goes, that Mark Henniker had red that fatal shot from George Ger--rish’s Krag. But how to connect the" snaky miscreant with the crime was a totally different proposition. For a week longer I pursued my investigation in Pisgah. The only result was a remark made by an old Irishwomanhamed Biddy Mullaly, who inhabited a little shack and eked out a living by doing chores for the neighborlbg farmers’ wives and raising chickens and pigs on the side. Stopping to chat with her one day, I found her an inveterate gossip, and when we touched on the Valley murder the old crone made no bones about speaking her mind. She knew all the antecedent facts —how Tom Valley had “bested" Mark Henniker, bad cess V him. “Oh, but that Henniker lad was a crool one,” she ended, “and poor lltfle Ruthle better be dead in her coffin than married to th’ varmint, rest her sowl!” At this mention of my suspect’s name I was all alert, you may be sure. “Do you think—-7”. I was beginning, when Mrs. Mullaly broke in, looking at me shrewdly and nodding her gray head sagely:

“I wouldn’t put it .past him!” she averred; then, as though fearing that she had said too much she shut up tight as a clam. Of course it was only an old woman’s gossip, you’ll say, and no evidence at all, but the sentiment so eloquently expressed chimed so exactly with my own private belief that I was more confirmed therein than ever. That night I resolved on a bold move and rather desperate one—to arrest Mark Henniker on suspicion and thus perhaps terrify him into a confession. Next morning I swore out a warrant before the local ‘squire and went with the Pisgah constable to serve it We found our man in the barn and clapped a pair of handcuffs on him first thing. Then I read the warrant, in which I charged him circumstantially and categorically with having threatened Tom and Ruth; with having plotted to rob the husband of his newly made wife; with breaking into George Genish’s house and stealing the Krag; and finally with having drawn a bead on the girt from, where he stood in the outskirts of the crowd during the confusion of the “shivaree” and the promiscuous shooting in the air around him. Finally, in the most dramatic manner I could summon, which bad more than once scared a criminal into confession, I opened my hand, ing: "Here’s the bullet which sent the poor girl to her death; and you are the man who fired the shot! Better make a clean .breast of the matter if you want to save your dirty neck!" Wen, sir, the effect was electrical. I think that cat's eye effect I told you about, and which I didn’t forget to point out. scared him most. The skunk collapsed right there like a busted bag of oats. He fell on his knees and confessed the whole plot, which was just as I had outlined it in my mind. The thought that his carefully covered

tracks were so completely exposed thoroughly unnerved him, reminding me of Eugene Aram in the poem. “Now comes my point, to which I*vo been leading up all along,” said Finney Valentine in triumphant conclusion. “We toted Mark Henniker off to the lockup. When there we searched him carefully, and in a greasy old wallet I came across a folded page torn from -w dime novel entitled ‘Black Dan’s Revenge, or the Sharpshooter’s Threat.' It told how the villain of the tale shot at the hero’s sweetheart under almost identically the same conditions that Henniker had take advantage of to get even with Valley.- In the story the girl was only slightly wounded, but I suppose Henniker saw where he could Improve on that It seems strangb that he should have kept the printed record, but it is likely that he deemed It safe from every one’s eyes except -his own, and perhaps found a certain amount of satisfaction In gloating over it and thinking how clever he had been to adapt the plot to his own benefit “It goes to show how big a-part timely ‘suggestion plays in staging a crime. Henniker only needed the hint, and when it was furnished, acted upon it. So you see the fiery ten-cent fiction is capable of kindling an unhealthy glow in more matured minds than those of the juniors to which it Is supposed to appeal solely. You may argue that Henniker’s was an exceptional and isolated case, but I dare say

there have been other instances. At all events there can be no doubt that it was the blood-and-thunder literature which planted the hellish idea in-the brooding brain of that cool and hardheaded Connecticut hayseed.”

Big Trout.

Among the biggest trout captured within recent history pride of place belongs to the monster of Loch Stennes, which weighed 29 pounds and was caught on a hand line in 1889. It was one of those big trout which have taken to salt or partially salt water ("slob” or estuarine trout), and the fine cast of it made by Mr. Malloch and now in the Fly Fishers* dub shows that salt water agreed with it. Another big trout was caught in Lough Ennel in 1894. This weighed and took a spoon bait - The Irish lakes have yielded several fish of 15 pounds or more in recent years. A trout of 21 pounds was caught in Lodi Rannoch in 1904 by a young lady, and In the same year a youthful angler of ten got one in the Test at Broadlands which weighed 10 pounds. The largest trout caught in the southern streams of late, however. was the 18-pounder from the New river, which fell a victim to a lobworm in 1908. The record Thames trout was caught in 1880 and weighed 16 pounds 15 ounces. —From the Journal of the Salmon and Trout Association. T . . - -

Talk Wears on the Brain.

Dr. Sarafan! of Italy sounds a wise note of warning against folks ruining their nervous systems by talking too much. True as gospel, Darwin says if it were not for man's talking parts, he could get along with one-half the brain be now uses. This alone ought to show how much of man’s nervous machinery is set going when Mr. Mau Irito.

TO MAKE GOOD CAKE

SOME RULES THAT SIMPLY MUST BE OBSERVED. Proper Temperature of Oven One of the Most Important Points—Disif erent Confections Require Varying Degrees of Heat. First attention should be given to the oven, making sure that the fire is not too hot, and will remain even until the baking is done. Unless you have control of your fire do not attempt to bake cake. . , Loaf requires less heat than thin cakes. If the <oven is too hot at first or is- suddenly cooled while the cake is baking the cake will be heavy. Loaf cake should bake as long again as thin cake. Divide the time of baking Into quarters. The first quarter should show a rising, with the. edges higher than the center; the second a continued even rising, with a slight brown tint; the third a deeper brown, and the last a shrinking and settling. If your cake rises and cracks in ,the center you are using too much "flour; when it browns before rising, the oven is too hot. How to Put Butter Cake Mixture Together—Cream the butter with hand or a large spoon, add sugar and cream again until very light When the* proportion of butter is small, it may be put in with the eggs and. sugar. Beat the yolks until light yellow, add to butter and sugar and beat again. Add flavoring and then a little milk, then a little flour, a little milk again, and so on until the milk and flour are. all Used, and beat vigorously until jrour mixture is smooth. Add lastly the beaten whites. Fruit should be added last, and fruit cake mixtures should be a little stiffer with flour. Sponge Cake Mixtures —Beat the yolks until they are a light yellow and creamy and slowly beat in the sugar. Add flavoring and liquid and beat again. Beat the whites until stiff and fold it without beating. Add flour lastly with as little stirring as pos- , sible, as it makes the cake tough. Always follow these directions and cake failures will never be known. ■

ALL AROUND the HOUSE

Turpentine will remove tar from any kind of fdbrlc. Tq remove iron rust from white goods moisten spot, cover with cream of tartar, put in a basin of Water, simmer gently for an hour. Rinse and dry. ' -ri/' _ To. clean linoleum, place some fresh skim milk in a basin, and with a clean cloth dipped in the milk, wipe over the floor, and the linoleum will look as good as new. To effectually clean a dirty bottle, half fill the bottle with slack coal, add just enough water to cover, and shake vigorously. Then empty out, and rinse in several waters. Sweep your carpets thoroughly to remove all dust and dirt. After an hour slightly dampen a broom, and again sweep over the whole surface. In this way an old carpet will look clean and fresh, however faded it may be. Glass is an ideal shelling for a kitchen closet, as'it can be kept clean so easily. If this is too costly paint the shelves white and give a coat of enamel. This Is easily scrubbed, and does away with the necessity of papers. The walls of a kitchen quickly look dingy and for this reason should be painted or have a washable paper. When gray with soot dust with a soft brush covered with cheesecloth, then wipe with a cloth wet in cold water. Hot water has a yellowish effect

Strawberry Puffs.

Cream puffs and eclairs, filled with crushed and sweetened strawberries instead of the usual cream, are delicious. Into a granite saucepan put one cup of water or milk, one-half cup butter (scant measure) and boll. Then add one cup flour, stirring continually, and cook two minutes By this time it should be smooth and velvety. Remove from fire and, when cool, beat in four eggs, one at a time. Beat ten to twenty minutes, then drop by spoonfuls upon buttered tins and bake in a hot oven for 20 minutes. While still warm coat with strawberry icing made by adding strawwberry juice to a cup of powdered or confectioner's sugar to make a fine icing. When cold cut open and fill with crushed and sweetened strawberries.

An Expert in Pepper.

Fashion is fickle In table service as well as in other things. The dinner table of today 1s not what It was a few years ago. Odd little novelties for the table have crept in recently. One of the newest is small cruet frames for each guest, and of different kinds. Cayenne, Nepaul, Ajl (from Peru), Hungarian, paprika and Chile powder are used so that each guest may flavor his food to his taste. The really up-to-date person nowadays pretends to be an expert !n pepper.

Molasses Cookies.

Two and one-half cups sugar; two cups molasses, one tablespoon ginger, one tablespoon cloves, one tablespoon cinnamon. Let this come to a boil. When cool stir in four eggs and one tablespoon soda, and flour enough to roll out next day. Moderate oven.