Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 202, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 August 1912 — THE MAXWELL MYSTERY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MAXWELL MYSTERY

(Copyright, The Frank A Munsey Co.)

CHAPTER I. The House Party. “Peter King, King—Peter King!” With a .telegram on his tray, the bellboy traversed the crowded hotel dining-room, chanting his monotonous refrain, until I managed to make him realize that I owned the above name and persuaded him to hand over the message. It was short and extremely characteristic of the sender. House party. Take afternoon train Saturday. Stay Tuesday. I. G. PHILIP MAXWELL. I was more than willing to take the designated train, and looked forward with satisfaction to a few days of pleasure at Maxwell Hall. Philip had a decided genius for arranging parties of congenial people, and, moreover, the telegram assured me that at Jeaft one of my fellow-guests would prove attractive. For the letters I. G. meant nothing more or less than that Irene Gardiner would’ be there. Though I had met this young woman only twice, she already exerted a fascination over me such as I had never before experienced. As I had hoped, she too, went down to Hamilton on the afternoon train, and the four-hour journey gave me an opportunity to cultivate her acquaintance more informally than at our previous meetings. This pleased me, and yet when we were comfortably settled in our chairs and rushing swiftly through the monotonous and uninteresting landscapes of central and southern New Jersey I was conscious of a distinct feeling of disappointment regarding my fair companion. In the daylight, and on a railroad train, she lost the subtle charm which perhaps had been imparted by the glamour and artificial light of a ballroom; and she looked older and less Ingenuous than I had thought her. - Still she was undoubtedly a beautiful woman, and with a ready, graceful tact she adapted herself to all the exigencies of the situation.

Perhaps’ it would be more nearly true of Irene Gardiher to say that she ■ adapted situations to herself. Without seeming to dictate, she anticipated my wishes and made just such suggestions as I wished to carry out. Within an hour of our leaving New York I found myself enjoying a cigar in the smoker and wondered how I had managed it. When I realized that' I had come there at her advice, and even insistence, I gavp her immediate credit for tactful cleverness—woman’s most admirable trait. After a time I began to feel a strong inclination to return to Miss Gardiner’s society, and with a sudden intuition I felt sure that this was just the result she had intended to bring about, and that she had dismissed me in order that we might not become bored by a long and uninterrupted tete-a-tete. I returned to my chair in the parlor car, and was greeted by a bright smile of welcome. “I’ve been reading a detectjv? story,” she said, as she turned down a leaf and closed the paper covered book she held. “I don’t often affect that style of literature, but the train boy seemed of the opinion that this book was the brigthest gem of modern fiction and that no self-respect-ing citizen could afford to let it go unread.” ' “Don’t scorn detective fiction as a class,” I begged. “It’s none of my favorite lines of light reading. I have read that book, and, though its literary style is open to criticism, it advances a strong and tenable theory of crime.” “I haven’t finished the story,” said. Miss Gardiner, “but I suppose you mean the idea of innocence is only the absence of temptation.” “That is perhaps putting It a little too strongly, but I certainly think that often opportunity creates a sinner.” “It is not a new idea,” said Miss Gardiner thoughtfully. “I believe Goethe said ‘We are all capable of crime—even the best of us.’ And while ’ he would doubtless have admitted exceptions to his rule, he must have thought it applicable to the great majority.” “It’s impossible to tell,’’ I observed, “for, though we often know when a man succumbs to temptation, we cannot know how often he resists it” | “But we can know about ourselves,”

exclaimed Miss Gardiner with a sudden energy. “Honestly, now, if the motive were sufficient and a perfect opportunity presented itself unsought, could you imagine yourself committing a great crime?’* “Oh! I have a vivid imagination,” I replied gaily, “and it isn’t the least trouble to imagine myself cracking a safe or kidnapping a king. But when it came to the point, I doubt if I’d do it, after all. I’d be afraid of the consequences.” “Now you’re flippant. But I’m very much in earnest. I really believe if the motive was strong enough—l mean if It were one of the elemental motives, like love, jealousy or revenge —I could kill a human being without hesitation.Of course, it would be in a moment of frenzy, and I would doubtless regret it afterward and even w’onder at my own deed.” I looked at Miss Gardiner curiously. She certainly was in earnest, yet she gave me the impression of a theorist rather than one speaking from personal conviction. “Let us leave ourselves out of the question,” I said, ‘'and merely admit that crimes have been committed by persons innocent up to the moment when strong temptation and opportunity were present at'the same, time.'*’ “You will 'not be serious,” she retorted, “so we’ll\drop the subject. And now, unless you make yourself very entertaining, I’ll return to my story book and leave you to your own devices.” “That would‘be a crime and you would commit it because you see your opportunity,” I replied, whereupon. Miss Gardiner laughed gaily and abandoned her discussion pf serious theories. I must have proved sufficiently entertaining, for she did not reopen her novel and we chatted pleasantly during the rest of the journey. Philip met me at the train with his automobile. “I say, but you’re late!” he shouted. “We’ve been waiting 20 minutes.” He ’ led the way to his big touring car, as ■ shinily spick and span ‘as a steam lyacht, and bundled us into it “You sit back, Peter,” he directed, “with Mrs. Whiting and Miss Leslie, and I'll take Miss Gardiner with me. We’ll run around the country a bit before we ; go home. | I hadn’t seen Mildred Leslie for sev-. 1 eral years and I was all unprepared

for the change which had transformed the shy schoolgirl into one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She was of the apple-blossom type, and her frivolous and dimpled face was adorably pink and white, with big pansy-blue eyes and a saucy, curved mouth. A riotous fluff of golden hair escaped from her hood and the first glance proved the girl to be a coquette to'her finger-tips. > i j Her sister, Mrs. Whiting, was totally unlike her. She was a» solid, sensible little woman, whose sole occupation in life seemed to be a protracted attempt to keep Mildred in order. “I do love a house party at the Maxwells,” said Mildred, “because the party never stays in the house. There are so many lovely outdoorsy things to do that if it were not. for meals we would never see the inside of the beautiful mansion.” “Why Mr. King, there’s a different picnic arranged for every hour ot the day tomorrow, and you can jftck out whichever ones you like best to go to,” cried Mildred. “I’ve such faith in your taste,” I replied, “that I’ll just follow you and go to the ones you attend.” “I'm .going to send regrets to several of the picnics,” announced Irene Gardiner, “and ramble around the *house. I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard of its glories.” "We’ll get the Davenports and Turners to come over,” said Philip, “and bring their banjos and mandoline, and waHl have a musicale to beat the bank.” , “Oh, how stunning!” cried Irene Gardiner, .for just then we whizzed up the driveway to the Maxwell house, and, “stunning” did not seem to express the effect As we neared the verfihda a cheery voice shouted “Hello!” and Tom Whiting ran down the steps to meet us. The big, good-natured chap was a general favorite, and I cordially returned his hearty greeting. " Miss Miranda Maxwell stood in the doorway. She was Philip’s aunt and, incidentally, was his devoted slave. She and her brother Dudley had lived in the old house for many years, beloved and respected by the townspeople of Hamilton, though deemed, perhaps, a ; shade too quiet and old-fogy for the rising generation. But this was all changed when their nephew Philip came to live with them and filled the house with young life

and new interests. Phil was a good looking chap of 24, and had been an orphan since childhood. It was generally understood that he would eventually inherit the place, together with Dudley Maxwell’s large fortune, and, though not avaraciotis, Philip looked forward to a life of ease and luxury. Though Mr. Maxwell joined but seldom in the young people’s he paid the bills without a murmer and smiled indulgently at his merry-heart-ed nephew. I was a favorite with both the old people, and I fully returned their regard. Mr. Maxwell was k collector in a modest way, and I was always gratified to assist him when I could in his quest or researches. Miss Maxwell had such a kind, motherly heart that I think she was a friend to everybody, but she, too, seemed specially to like me, and so my visits to Hamilton were always pleasant occupations. -- (To be Continued.)