Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 February 1913 — Page 2

The SABLE LORCHA

By HORACE HAZELTINE

.ll—l CHAPTERL The Vanishing Portrait. Evelyn Grayson, meeting me on the •Id Boston Post Road, between Greenwich and Stamford, gave me a message from her uncle. That la the logical beginning of this story; though to make everything quite clear from file start it may be better to hark back a few months, to the day on which Evelyn Grayson and I first met. Then, as now, we were each driving oar own car; she. & great sixty horsepower machine, all glistening pale yellow, and I, a compact- six-cylinder raoer, of dull dusty gray. But we were not on any such broad, roomy thoroughfare as the Boston Post Road. On the contrary we were short-cutting through a narrow, rough lane, beset by stone walls and interrupted at intervals by a series of sharp and treacherous angles. I know I shall never forget the momentary impression I received. Out of the golden sunlight, it seemed to me, there had emerged suddenly a tableau of Queen Tltania on a topaz throne—the fairest Queen Titania imagiation ever conjured—and I, in my mad, panting speed was about to crash into the gauzy fabric of that dream creation and rend it with brutal, torturing onrush of relentless, hard-driven nickel steel. I take no credit to myself for what I did. Volition was absent. My hands acted on an impulse above and beyond all tardy mental guidance. For just a flashing instant the gray nose of my car rose before me, as in strenuous assault it mounted half way to the coping of the roadside wall. I felt my seat dart away from beneath me, was conscious of my body in swift, unsupported aerial flight, and then —but it Is idle to attempt to set down the conglomerate sensations of that small fraction of a second. When I regained consciousness, Queen Titania was kneeling in the dust of the lane beside me —a very distressed and anxious Queen Titania, with wide, startled eyes, and quiveringly sympathetic lips—and about us were a half dozen or more of the vicinal country folk. ' Between that meeting in mid-May and thiß meeting on the old Boston Post Road in mid-September, there had been others, of course; for Queen Titania, whose every-day name, as I have said, was Evelyn Grayson, was the niece and ward of my nearest neighbor, Mr. Robert Cameron, a gentleman recently come to reside on ■what for a century and more had been known as the old Townsbury Estate, extending for quite a mile along the Connecticut shore of Long Island Sound in the neighborhood of Greenwich. The intervening four months had witnessed the gradual growth of as near an approach to intimacy between Cameron and myself as was possible considering the manner of man that Cameron was. By which statement I mean to imply naught to my neighbor's discredit. He was in all respects admirable—a gentleman of education and culture, widely traveled, of exalted ideals and noble principles to which he gave rigid adherence. But—l was about to qualify this by describing him as reserved and taciturn. I fear, though, to'give a wrong impression. He was scarcely that. There were moments, however, when he was unresponsive, and he was never demonstrative. He had more poise than any man I know. He allowed you to see just so much of him, and no more. At times be was almost stubbornly reticent. And yet, in spite of these qualities, which appeared to be cultivated rather than inherent, he gave repeated evidenoe of a nature at once so simple and kindly and sympathetic as to command both confidence and affection. To the progress of my Intimacy with Evelyn there had been no such temperamental impediment. She was fearlessly outspoken, with a frankness born of unspoiled innooence; barely six weeks having elapsed between her graduation from the tiny French convent of Salnte Bar be near Paris and our perilous encounter in that contracted, treacherous, yet blessed little -Connecticut lane. And she possessed, moreover, a multiplicity of additional charms, both of person and disposition —charms too numerous Indeed to enumerate, and far too sacred to tflscues. From which it may rightly be inferred that we -understood each other, Evelyn and I, and that we were already considerably beyond the state or condition of mere formal acquaintanceship. It was no Queen Titania who now «ame gliding to a stand beside me on the broa/1, level, well-oiled highway, under a double row of arching elms. It was no gossamer fairy, but Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, with creamy skin and red lips and a lilting melody of voloe: - •; “What bo. Sir Philip! We are well met!" And then she told me that her Uncle Robert had telephoned for me, leaving a my man, bidding ms corns to him at my earliest leisure.

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come for dinner?” she ndd.. ed; and her eyes gave accent to her words. “But you?” I queried; for her cai* was headed in the opposite direction “I am going alone to Norton. 1 have a hamper in the tonneau for that poor O’Malley family. I shall be back In time. We dine at half-past seven, you know. You’ll come?” “Of course I’ll come,’’ I answered her. I think she mußt have heard more in my voice than the simple words,, for her lids drooped, for just a breath, and the color flamed sudden below her lowered lasbes. But, after all, I saw very little of her that evening. It is true that she sat on my right at table, plquantly, youthfully beautiful in the softly tinted light which filtered through the pfnk and silver filigree candle-shades, but the atmosphere of the dinner was tinged by a vague, unreasoning constraint as from some ominously brood-x ing yet undefinable influence which overhung the three of us. And when the coffee and liqueurs were served, employing some slender pretext for her going, she bade us good-night, and left us, not to return. In Justice to Cameron, I must add that he appeared least affected by—and certainly in no wise responsible for—the pervading infestivity. He had been, indeed, rather less demure than was often his wont, chatting with almost gayety concerning Evelyn’s new role of Lady Bountiful and of her Norton beneficiaries. As for the subject upon which he desired to consult me, it had not been so much as mentioned; so in looking back, it seems impossible that matters of which neither Evelyn nor I was at the time Informed could have exerted an effect, save through Cameron’s undetected, subconscious inducement —' Even after his niece had withdrawn, Cameron continued for a time and public, rather than personal, Import. He spoke, I remember, of a series of articles on “The Commercial Resources of the United States,” the publication of which had just begun In The Week, of which I am owner and editor; and though I fancied at first that It might be in thiß connection he wished to consult me, I very soon discerned that he was merely using a statement contained therein as a text for certain views of his own on the conservation and development of the country’s timber supply. Meanwhile my curiosity grew keener. It was natural, I suppose, that I should fancy Evelyn involved in some way. In fact I then attributed the depression during dinner to her knowledge of what her uncle and guardian purposed to say to me. ““likewise I found In this conception the reason for her sudden and unusual desertion." Hitherto when I had dined here Evelyn had remained with us while we smoked our cigarettes, leading us at length to the music room, where for a glad half-hour the rich melody of her youthful sweet contralto voice mingled In pleasing harmony with her own piano accompaniment. And while I vainly made effort to Imagine wherein I might have laid myself open to the disapproval of this most punctilious of guardians-—for I expected nothing less than a studiously polite reference to some shortcoming of which I had been unwittingly guilty—l momentarily lost track of my host’s discourse. Emerging from my abstraction it was with a measure of relief that I heard him saying: “I think you told me once, Clyde, that you rather prided yourself on your ability to get a line on one’s character from his handwriting. That’s why I telephoned for you this afternoon. I have received an anonymous letter.” He was leaning forward, a little constrainedly, his left hand gripping the arm of his chair, the fingers of his right hand toying with the Btem of his gold-rimmed Bohemian liqueur glass. “An anonymous letter!” I repeated, with a deprecatory smile. “Anonymous letters should be burned and forgotten. Surely you’re not bothering about the writer?” I wish I could put before you an exact reproduction of Cameron’B face as 1 then saw it; those rugged outlines, the heritage of Scottish ancestry, softened and refined by a brilliant intellectuality; the sturdy chin and square jaw; the heavy underllp meeting the upper in scaroely perceptible curve; the broad, homely nose; the small, but alert, gray eyes, shining through the round lenses of his spectacles; the high, broad, sloping, white brow and the receding border of dark brown, slightly grizzled hair. That, superficially, was the face. But I saw more than that. In the visage of one naturally brave I saw a battle waged behind a mask —a battle between courage and fear; and I saw fear win. Then the mask became opaque once more, and Cameron, giving me Bmile for smile, replying. “There are anonymous letters and anonymous letters. Ordinarily your method Is the one I should pursue. In-

deed. I may say that wben* ahout A month or so ago, 1 received a communication of that character, I did almost precisely what you now advise. Certainly I followed one-half of. your prescription—l forgot the letter; though, for lack of fire in the dog days, I did not burn it, but thrust it into a drawer with an accumulation of advertising circulars.” My apprehension lest Evelyn and I were personally affected had been by now quite dissipated. It was perfectly apparent to me that Cameron alone was involved; yet my anxiety was none the less eager. Already my sympathy and co-operation were enlisted. I could only hope that he had mentally exaggerated the gravity of the situation, yet my judgment of him was that hisynclination would be to err in the opposite direction. - “And now something has happened to recall it to your memory?” “Something happened very shortly after its receipt,” he replied; “Something very puzzling. But in spite of that, I was inclined to treat the matter as a bit of clever chicanery, devised for. the purpose, probably, of extortion. As such, I again put it from my thoughts; but today 1 received a second letter, and I admit I am interested. The affair has features which make it, indeed, uncommonly perplexing.” I fear my imagination was sluggish. Although; in spite of his dissemblance, I saw that he was strangely moved by these happenings, I could fancy no very terrifying concomitants of the rather commohplace facts he had narrated. For anonymous letters I had ever held scant respect. An ambushed enemy, I argued, is admittedly a coward. And so I was In danger of growing Impatient “When -the second letter came,” be continued, bringing his left hand forward to join his right on the dazzling whtte grcnmd of tlie table's damask, *T searched among the circulars for the first, and found it. I want you to see them both. The writing is very curious—l have never Been anything Just like It —and the signature, If I may call it that, is still more singular. On the first letter, I took It for a blot. But on the second letter occurs the same black blur or smudge of identical outline.” Of course I thought of the Black Hand. It was the natural corollary, seeing that the newspapers had been giving us a surfeit of Black Hand threats and Black Hand outrages. But, somehow, I did not dare to voice it To have suggested anything so ordinary to Cameron in his present mood would*have been to offer him offense. And when, at the next moment, he drew from an inner pocket of his evening coat two thin, wax-like sheets of paper and passed them ,to me, I was glad that I had kept silence. For the were no rough, rude scrawls of an illiterate Mafia or Camorra. In phraseology as well as in penmanship .they were impressively unique. “If you don’t mind,” Cameron was saying, “you might read them aloud.” He rose and switched on a group of electric wall lights at my back, and I marked for the hundredth time his physique—his, towering height, his powerful shoulders, his leanness of hip and sturdy straightness of limb. He did not look the forty years to which he confessed.

One of the long French windows which gave upon the terrace stood ajar, and before resuming. his seat Cameron paused to close it, dropping over it the looped curtains of silver gray velvet that matched the walls. In the succeeding moment the room was ghostly silent; and then, breaking against the stillness, was the sound of my voice, reading: “That which you have wrought shall in turn be wrought upon you. Take warning therefore of what shall happen on the seventh day hence. As sun follows sun, so follows all that Is decreed. The ways of our God are many. On the righteous he showers blessings; on the evil pours misery." That was the first letter. The seoond began with the same sentence: “That which you have wrought shall in turn be wrought upon you.” But there, though the similarity of tenor continued, the verbal identity ceased. It went on: "Once more, as earnest of what is decreed, there will be shown unto you a symbol of our power. Precaution cannot avail. Fine words and a smiling countenance make not virtue.” And beneath each letter was the strange silhouette which Cameron had mentioned. most meager Idea of the emotional influence which these two brief communications exerted. They seemed to breathe a grim spirit of implacable Nemes|s far in exoeas of anything to be found In the euphemism of the written words. When I had finished the reading of them aloud, Cameron, leaning far back in bis chair, sat silently thoughtful, his eyes narrowed behind bis glasses, but fixed apparently npon the lights

BeTiind me. And so, reluctant to interrupt his reverie, I started to read them through again slowly, this time tcT myself, fixing each sentence indelibly in mind aB I proceeded. But before I had quite come to the end, my Companion was speaking. “Well?” he said. And the light cheeriness of his tone was not only In marked contrast with his grave absorption of a moment before, but in Jarring discord with my own present mood. “Well? What do you make of. them?” My annoyance found voice in my response. “Cameron," I begged, “for God’s sake be Berious. This doesn't seem to me exactly a matter to be merry over. I don’t'want to alarm you, but somehow I feel that these—■” and I shook the crackling, wax-like sheets, “that these cannot be utterly ignored.” “But t£ey are anonymous,” he retorted, not unjustly. "Anonymous letters should be burned and forgotten.” “There are anonymous letters and anoqymous letters,” I gave him back, in turn. “These are of an unusually convincing character. Besides, they —” And then I paused. I wished to tell him of that elusive encompassment of sinister portent which had so impressed me; of that malign foreboding beyond anything: warranted by the words; but I stumbled in the effort at expression. “Besides,” I started again, and ended lamely, “I don’t like the look and the feel of them.” And now he was as serious aB I could wish. “Ah!” he cried, leaning forward again and reaching for the letters. “You have experienced It, too! And you can’t explain it, any more than I? It is something that grips you when you read, like an Icy hand, hard as steel. In a glove of velvet It’s alwaya betweea lines, reaching ©at, and nothing you can do will stay It. I thought at first I imagined it, but the oftener I have read, the more I have felt its clutch. The letters of themselves are nothing. What do you suppose I care for veiled threats of that sort? I’m big enough to take care of myself, Clyde. I’ve met peril in about every possible guise, in every part of the world, and I’ve never really known fear. But this —this is different. And the worst of it is, I don’t know why. I can’t for the life of me make out what it is I’m afraid of.” He had gone very pale, and his strong, capable hands, which toyed with the two letters, quivered and twitched in excess of nervous tension. Then, with a finger pointing to the ink-stain at the bottom of one of the sheets, he asked: “What does that look like to you?” I took the letter from him, and scrutinizing the rude figure with concentrated attention for a moment, ventured the suggestion that It somewhat resembled a boat. “A one-masted vessel, squarerigged,” he added, In elucidation. “Exactly.” “Now turn It upside down.” I did so. “Now what do you see?” “The head of a man wearing a helmet." The resemblance was very marked. “A straw helmet, apparently,” he amplified, “such as is worn in the Orient. And yet the profile is not that of an Oriental. Now, look at your vessel again." And once more I reversed the sheet of paper.

"Can it be a Chinese Junk?” I asked. "It might be a sailing proa or banca," he returned, “such as they use in the South Pacific. But whatever it la, I can’t understand what it has to do with me or I with it” I waq still studying the black daub, when he said: “But you haven’t told me about the handwriting. What can you read of the character df the writer?” “Nothing,” I answered, promptly. "It is curious penmanship, as you say —heavy and regular and upright, with some strangely formed letters; especially the f’s and tbs p’s; but It tella me nothing." "But I thought—” he began. “That I boasted? 80 I did. When one writes as one habitually writes it is very easy. These letters, however, are not In the writer’s ordinary hand. Tbe writing is as artificial as though you, for example, had printed a note In Roman characters. Were they addressed in the same hand?” “Precisely.” "What wae the post mark?" “They bore no post-mark. That is another strange circumstance. Yet they were with my mail. Hfiw they came there I have been unable to ascertain. Tbe people at the post office naturally deny that they delivered anything unstamped, as these were; and Barrie, the lad who fetches the letters, has no recollection of these Nor has Checkabeedy, who sortp the mall here at the house. But each of them lay beside ray plate at break-’ fast —tbe first on tbe fourteenth of August; the second, this morning, tbe fourteenth of September."

"And they were not delivered hr messenger?” “So far as I can learn, no.” “It is very odd,” J commented, with feeble banality. I took the letters from his hands once more, and held them in turn between my vision and the candle-light, hoping, perchance, to discover a wa-ter-mark in the paper. But I was not' rewarded. “You examined the envelopes carefully, I presume?” was my query as 1 returned the sheets to the table. "More than carefully," he answered. "But you shall see them, if you like. I found no trace of any identifying mark.” Thus far he had made no further mention of the “puzzling happening" which followed the receipt of the first letter, and in the Interest provoked by the letters themselves I had foreborne to question him ; but now as the words “seventh day hence” fell again “under my eye, standing out, as it were, from the rest of the script which lay upturned on the table before me, I was conscious of a stimulated concern, and so made Inquiry. “I wish you would tell me, first, whether anything really did occur on the seventh day." “I was coming to that," he replied; but it seemed to ms that—prompt though his response was, there was a shade of reluctance In his manner. Then he rose, abruptly, and saying: “Suppose we go into my Btudy, Clyde,” led the way from the dining room, across the great, imposing, grained and fretted hall to that comparatively small mahogany and green symphony wherein he was wont to spend most of his indoor hours. It was always a rather gloomy room at night, with its high dark celling, Its heavy and voluminous olive tapestry hangings, wholly out of keeping, it seemed to me, with the season —and lta shaded llghts#conflned to the vicinity of the massive polished, and gilt-ornamented writing table of the period of the First Empire. And it impressed me now, in conjunction with Cameron’s promrevelation, as more than ever grim and awesome. I remember helping myself to a cigar from the humidor which stood on the antique cabinet in the corner near the door. I was in the act of lighting it when Cameron spoke. “I want you to sit in this chair,” he said, indicating one of sumptuous upholstery which stood beside the writing table, facing the low, long bookcases lining the opposite wall. I did as he bade me, while he remained standing. “Do you, by any chance,” he asked, ‘.‘remember a portrait which hung above the book-shelveß?” “T"fTOelHhgrecr'nvefyweßrrrwaßa painting of himself, done some years back.,. But now my gaze sought It In vain. -• “Certainly,” I answered. “It hung these,” pointing. "Quite right. Now I want you to observe the shelf-top. You see how crowded it is.”

It was Indeed crowded. Bronze busts and statuettes; yachting and golf trophies In silver; framed photographs; a score of odds and ends, souvenirs gathered the world over. There was scarcely an inch of space unoccupied. I had frequently observed this plethora of ornament and resented it. It gave to that part of the room the semblance of a curiosity shop. When I had nodded my assent, he went on: “On the afternoon of Friday, AugUßl twenty-first, seven days after the reoelpt of that first letter, I was sitting where you are sitting nbw. I was reading, and deeply Interested. I had put the letter, afl I told you, entirely out of my mind. I had forgotten it, absolutely. That seventh-day business I had regarded—ls I regarded It at all —as Idle vaporing. That this was the afternoon of the seventh day did not occur to me until afterwards. I recall ‘ that I paused In reading to ponder a paragraph that was not quite clear to me, aud that while In contemplation I fixed my eyes upon that portrait. I remember that, because it struck me, then, that the flesh tints of the face had grown muddy and that the thing would be better for a cleaning. I recall, too, that at that moment, the little clock, yonder, struck three. I resumed my reading; but presently, another statement demanding cogitation, I lowered my book, and once more my eyes rested on the portrait. But not on the muddy flesh tints, because —” he paused and leaned forward, towards me, speaking with impressive emphasis. "Because,” he repeated, "thers were no flesh tints there. Because there was no head nor face there!" I sat up suddenly, open-mouthed, speechless. Only my wide eyes made question. "Cut from the canvas,” he went on, in lowered voice, "clean and sharp from crown to collar. And the hands of the clock pointed to twelve minutes p&Bt three.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Reindeer in Alaska Increase.

From 1892 tb 1902 the United Suites bureau of education introduced 1.28 Q European reindeer into Alaska at a time when the natives were threatened with starvation. At the present time these herds have increased to a total of 33,629 head. Their meat is in great demand by both whites and natives, and their skins supply tbe best winter clothing. It is expected that the exportation of reindeer meat will soon become an Important industry. Above all, the reindeer has proved a most efficient civilizing agency. The success of the Alaskan reindeer enterprise Induced Dr. Wilfred Grenfell. In 1908, to Import 306 reindeer from Lapland Into Labrador, wnere they have now increased to about 1,200, a great boon to the natives. Last year the Canadlas government bought 60 of Dr. Grea fell’s herd for Introduction Into nortk era Canada. -

HAD REMNANT OF HONESTY

Admitted Thief Returned Borrowed: Money, Though He Couidn’t Tell > Why He Did So. "Here is the dollar’l borrowed from you today,” said a shabby Individual, tendering the money to a fellow lodger in a Bowery hotel. “I slimmed a bookmaker three times this afternoon.” "Flimmed?” "In one pocket I carried A. number of one dollar bills each crumpled up by Itself. When a circus visitor bought candy he sometimes tendered a ten dollar bill ifi payment. Quickly crumpling the hill I would thrust It into my pocket where I kept the ones. Then I would hastily thrust a ‘“I can’t change it now, old man, see me after the show! “To distract the victim’s attention I would always thrust an extra supply of candy into his pocket. Invariably he would disappear, thinking be had the best of the bargain, whereas he had paid Just $9 for a few cents worth of candy, as the bill thrust into his hand was one which I had substituted for his ten. "But my long career as a flimflamTfler spoilecTme for air honest endeavor. I have lately earned a precarious livelihood by placing bets with bookmakers who pay commission of ten per cent, on all business brought to them. "When I have a five dollar bet to place 1 never hand It over In one bill, but always convert it into ones. Two of these I keep. The other three by a simple trick I fold in the middle and by a sleight of hand movement cause the bookmaker to believe he is receiving $6, because six ends are displayed to him. "In this manner I realized $6 this afternoon in addition to the ten per cent, commission of the bookmaker on sls which I caused him to think he received. In other words, inx total earnings for the day are/$7.50, and you must admit this is pretty good for a has been.” “But, my good man,” gasped the lender, “if you make your living dishonestly in this manner, why have you chosen to keep faith with me by returning the dollar you borrowed?” “I don’t quite understand it myself,” admitted the flimflammer. “I only know that I feel disgraced if I work for money honestly.”—New York Herald.

What Quieted Him.

It was the first time that ffohn Willie, aged four, had ever faced the Since he had begun, to take, a live interest in things. "Now, my little dear,” said the protographer, "if you’ll just keep still & moment we shall soon have a pleasant picture.” But nothing on earth would induce John Willie to keep still. “If you’ll just go outside, madam,’* the artist said, after he had tried for half an hour, “I think I can manage It all right.” John Willie’s mother went out, for she, too, was tired of the strain. And, behold! Five minutes later the photographer smilingly assured her that all was well. As for John Willie, he was as meek as a lamb. Only when they reached home did his mother attempt to discover the reason. “Mfivver,” John Willie explained, “he looked ter’ble at me, and said: 'Now, then, you ugly little beast, If you don’t keep your twisting carcass still, I’ll skin you alive!” That’s why; I kept quiet.”—Exchange.

Asiatic Creeds.

Few people realize the growth of Asiatic cults and religions in America. It is stated on apparently good authority that this country now holds 15,000 sun worshipers, and an equal number of Buddhists. Probably ten times aB many persons have covered the Oriental basis of their new creed with a veneer of western Christianity. The number of dabblers in the "mystic” cults of India now among us cannot be guessed. There is no cause for alarm at this growth of Orientalism. Neither is it a thing to be proud of. Mysticism, sensualism, lethargy—these In varying proportions are woven in the texture of every Asiatic creed that la seeking converts here. These creeds -do not and cannot fit the busy life of our land today, and for that very reason they will make no dangerous progress in this land. The growth of pagan Orientalism In America Is remarkable, but, after all, It touches only the fringe of our population. <

Thought He Had Them.

In the days of the continuous at the Olympic an occasional professional visitor was a clown with an educated pig. He ÜBed to take the pig out with hjifn when he had finished his act and had him harnessed up like a trick pooch with a collar, Bhoulder straps and a leading string. In this way the grunter trotted along the street at just his master’s gait Out of the hotel across the way came a man who had been hitting 'er up for a week, during which time he had remained up all night and had slept all day. It was his first venture out In a strong light, and it made him blink. Along came the clown andv his mate. Joe Morgan rubbed his eyes and halted the vaudeville actor. “Tell me,” he asked earnestly, “is that a dog or a pig l" "Why, It’s a pig, you rummy,” was the answer. “What's the matter with you!” “Thank heaven!” exclaimed Joe Morgan fervently; "it’s a pig! it’s a pig!’’—Chicago Post