Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 91, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1912 — Untitled [ARTICLE]

serted. An electric light glowed here and there at long intervals.'; On the thick carpets Racksole’s thinly shod feet made no sound, and he wandered at ease to and fro, rather amused, rather struck by the peculiar sense of might and mystery which had suddenly come over him. He fancied he could hear a thousand snores peacefully descending from the upper realms. * At length he found a staircase, a vdry dark and narrow one, and presently he was on the first floor. He soon discovered that the numbers of the rooms on his floor did not get beyond 70. He encountered another staircase and ascended to the second floor. decorations on the walls he recoffczed this floor as his proper home, and as he strolled through the long corridor, he whistled a low, meditative whistle of satisfaction. He thought he heard a step on the transverse corridor, and instinctively he obliterated himself in a recess which held a service cabinet and a chair. He did hear a step. Peeping cautiously out he perceived, what he had not perceived previously, that a piece of white ribbon had been tied around the handle of the door of one of the bedrooms. i Then a man came around the corner of the transverse corridor, and Racksole drew back. It was Jules —Jules with his hands in his pockets and a slouch hat over his eyes, but in other respects attired as usual. Racksole, at this moment, remembered with a special vividness what Felix Babylon had said to him at

their first interview. He wished he had brought his revolver. He didn’t know why he should feel the desirability of a revolver in a London hotel- of the most unimpeachable fair fame, but he did feel the desirability of such an instrument of attack and defense. After a brief interval the night prowling Jules reappeared, closed the door as softly as he had opened it, removed the ribbon, returned upon his steps and vanished down the transverse corridor. “This is quaint,” said' Racksole, “quaint to a degree!” It occurred to him to look at the number of the room, and he stole toward it. The number of 111, his daughter’s room! He tried to open it, but the door was locked. Rushing to his own room, No. 107, he seized one of a pair of revolvers (the kind that are made for millionaires) and followed after Jules down the transverse corridor. At the end of this corridor was a wihdow; the window being open, and Jules was innocently gazing out of the window. Ten silent strides, and Theodore Racksole was upon him. “One word, my friend,” the millionaire began, carelessly waving the revolver in the air. Jules was indubitably startled, but by an admirable exerqise of self-con-trol ha recovered possession of his faculties in a second. “Sir?” said Jules. “I just want to be informed what you were doing in No. 11l a moment ago.” “I had been requested to go there,” was the calm response, “You are a liar, and not a Very clever one. That is my daughter’s room. Now—out with it, before I decide whether to shoot you or throw you into the street.” . "Excuse me, sir, No. 11l is occupied by a gentleman.” “I advise you that it is a serious error of judgment to contradict me, my friend. Don’t do it again. We will go to the room together, and you shall prove to me that the occupant is a gentleman and not my daughter.” “Impossible, sir,” said JuleS. “Scarcely that," said Racksole, and he took Jules by the sleeve. The millionaire knew for a certainty that Nella occupied No. 111, for he had examined the room with her and himself seen that her trunks and her maid and herself arrived there In safety. “Now open the door,” whispered Racksole whin they reached No. 111. “I must knock.” “That is just what you mustn’t do. Open it No doubt you have your pass key.” (To be continued J