Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 55, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 March 1913 — Page 2

SYNOPSIS. Robert Cameron, capitalist, consults Phillip Clyde, newspaper publisher, regarding anonymous threatening letters he has received. The first promises a sample of the writer’s power on a certain day. On that day the head is mysteriously cut from a portrait of Cameron while the latter is In the room. Clyde has a theory that the portrait was mutilated while the room was unoccupied and the head later removed by means at a string, unnoticed by Cameron. Evelyn Grayson, Cameron’s niece, with whom Clyde is in Jove, finds the head of Cameron's portrait nailed to a tree, where it was Had been used as a target.. Clyde, pledges Evelyn to secrecy. Clyde learns that a Chinese boy employed by Philetus Murphy, an artist living nearby, had borrowed a rifle from Cameron’s lodgekeper. Clyde makes an excuse to call on Murphy and is repulsed. He pretends to be Investigating alleged Infractions of the game laws arid speaks of finding the bowl of an opium pipe under the tree where Cameron s portrait was found. The Chinese boy is found dead next morning. While visitin? Cameron In his dressing room a Nell Gwynne mirror is mysteriously shattered. Cameron becomes seriously ill as a result of_the shock. The third letter appears mysteriously on Cameron’s sick bed. It makes direct threats against the life pf Cameron. Clyde tells Cameron the envelope was empty. He tells Evelyn everything and plans to take Cameron on ayacht trip. The yacht picks up a fisherman found drifting helplessly In a boat. He fives the name of Johnson. Cameron disappears from yacht while Clyde 8 earned. A fruitless search Is' made for a motorboat seen by I ll ® .caP*a'nluat.before Cameron disappeared. Johnson is allowed to go after being closely questioned. Evelyn takes the letters to an ex P e F* Chinese literature, whd pronounces them of Chinese origin. Clyde Be ®. k ® as ®l® t ( ? pnt from a Chinese fellow who recommends him to.Ylp Sing, m? 8 * prominent Chinaman in New York The latter promises to seek information or Cameron among his countrymen. CHAPTER XL—Continued. "Mr Clyde,” he said, with no more emotion than he might have exhibited had I told him I wished him to sell for me a Chinese bronze on commission, "Mr. Clyde, I do not see, exactly, why you come to me.” "I came at Mr. Mow’s suggestion, I (explained. “He tells me you know the Chinese of New York as no one else does.” - “The police, I should say, he returned, “know the class you seek better than I. Why not go to the police?” It was not easy to explain to him why I had not gone to the police, for I did not care to reveal all that we feared, and how we dreaded that which police pursuit might precipltat©. “Because," I began, after a moment’s hesitation. "I believe the whole thing is a mistake. I believe that those involved in the plot must sooner or later find out it is a mistake. If the aid of the police Is enlisted, the fact that a mistake has been made will not be any extenuation. My object Is to find the plotters, prove to them that they are in error, promise them Immunity, and recover my friend.” "What yon have told me," said Yup Sing, speaking slowly, “is not enough. If you will tell me everything, I will let you know what I think. You must give the names and the places and the dates.” I did give him the names and the places and the dates. Mow Chee had told me I could rely upon him, implicitly, and I told him all, without reservation. I gave him even the letter, the only one of the three that remained to us —the last letter In which the final threat was made. As I look back on It, now, I cannot understand why I did this. It was the only piece of proof, the only clue left. And yet, when he asked to keep ft for a little, I consented without so much as a demur. I argued, I suppose, that he was a reputable’ merchant, with an established business, and that, therefore, treachery on his part was not to be considered. "And your friend," he said, as he folded the paper, “was never in China?” “Never,” I affirmed., “How do you know?" “He has told me so." It was neither a smile nor a sneer which floated for Just a moment across those sphinx-like features. It was a look of pitying tolerance, a patronizing gleam, merely, from the small, deepset, almond eyes. Ona of England’s greatest actresses, in speaking of the Chinese, has said: ’They look as if they are always thinking, ‘I have lived before you; I shall live after you.’" That was how IJup Sing looked then. But he merely said: “Very well. I will learn what I can." “Soon?” I begged. “Very soon?” He stood up, an Imposing figure in (his purple silk. “Come to me tomorrow evening. Not here, but at the Chinese restaurant on Doyers street. Come at nine (O’clock.” From my pocket I drew out the copy |of the afternoon paper, and pointed to Ithe article about the Celestial and the (mysterious box. "Do you suppose that could have I any bearing on the matter?” I 'jb_ / He adjusted his spectacles and read (the half-column, slowly, from first to “I have that box to my cellar," he said. Tt contains woolen underwear shipped to mo from Lowell, MassajCbusetta.” But I scarcely heard him. for my at-

The SABLE LORCHA

By HORACE HAZELTINE

tention was on the swiftly moving brush of the little Chinese maid, as, deftly handled, it now blocked out with bold black strokes a silhouette upon the piece of rice paper before her—a familiar silhouette of a short, clumsy curved boat with broad lugsail.

CHAPTER XIL “We Were In Peking Together.” At my evening conference with Evelyn Grayson, reviewing the day’s events, I dwelt with some insistence upon the singularity of that episode at Yup Sing’s. “It was impressively significant.” I maintained, “even if it was only a coincidence. Incidentally it convinced me that nothing escaped Mr. Yup’s observation. I had no intention of referring to my discovery. I chose rather to have him think I had not noticed the figure the child was painting. But my choice was not to be gratified. He knew that I had seen and noticed it; and so, to relieve the situation, he frankly directed ”my attention to the symbol, explaining that what I had regarded as mysterious was most commonplace. ‘lt is one of the first things that Chinese babies learn to draw,’ he went on, ‘it is like the pothook and hanger of. the American primary schools. First they draw houses, then ships, then men; and the houses, the ships and the men are all alike, just as are your A’s, your B’s, and your C’s. ’And when signed to a letter,’ I queried, ’what does your ship stand for?’ He shrugged his lean shoulders in a manner almost Gallic. “Who shall say?’ he returned.” “And do you believe the pothook and hanger explanation?” Evelyn asked, pointedly. It was her way to probe at once to the heart of a matter. “I can’t say that I am altogether convinced," I answered, non-commit-tally. “In spite of Mow’s enthusiastic encomium, I was not very favorably Impressed by Yup Sing. His wall of reserve is too high and too thick. It is neither scalable nor penetrable. And yet he stands well, I believe, in the community.” We sat in the music room, where a fire of drift wood wove a woof of green and violet strands through the red warp of the blaze, for the weather had turned chill. Evelyn wore a clinging gown of black panne velvet, with purple orchids at her waist. It had a wonderfully mature effect for one so young as she, but it was not unbecoming. Indeed It effectively accentuated the deep raw gold tints of her hair and added to the transparency of her unwonted pallor. I was marvelling once again over her outwardly brave up-bearing in spite of the constant anxiety of which pallid cheeks were the only\ visible sign, when she said: “I was sure we should hear from Captain MacLeod today.” “He has probably met vlth rough weather," I consoled. “It isn’t child’s play rounding Point Judith tt. this season. you know." “Rough weather or not," she insisted, “he must have reached Gloucester by now. And if he found I eter Johnson, or if he didn’t, he was to telephone, you remember.” “Gloucester 1s something of a place,” I explained, adopting the vernacular. “It includes no less than eight villages and five thousand men are engaged there in the fishing industry. MacLeod can’t be expected to learn in five minutes whether a man named Peter Johnson is one of the five thousand.” "But the whole community would know if one of their number had such an experience as he just passed through.” And for this argument I had no answer ready. Fortunately, however, none was required of me, for at that moment steps were audible crossing the hall, and when our eyes turned downward they encountered the dapper figure of Louis, Cameron's French valet, halting respectfully on the threshold. “Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing, “mais void des lettres qul Jai trouve," And we saw, then, that he carried a tin despatch box. Evelyn directed' him to place it upon the table by which she sat. It seemed that she had not given, over the idea that the letters for which we had searched so diligently on Sunday were somewhere in the house, and bad directed Louis to bring to her anything in the way of writing that he cofild lay his hands upon. He had found the despatch box, he told us, hidden away behind some seldom employed volumes in the library, and thinking it might contain that of which Miss Grayson was in quest, had foced the lock, to discover several carefully-tied packets of letters. I wish I could give even a half adequate idea of the way she thanked Louis. It would add so much to a realizing sense of her sweetness without detracting at all from the envlsagement of her dignity. No one could have heard her “bon garcon” and not have felt impelled to consecrate bis endeavors henceforth and forevermore

to her service. As for Louis his respectful homage and fidelity were almost pagan. I verily believe he would willingly have suffered martyrdom to serve her. As he withdrew we fell avidly upon the contents of the box, yet with small hope of finding what we sought; for the letters it contained were all, apparently, of distant date; letters, for the most part, of a private, personal nature, carefully assorted, and arranged in red-taped or elastic-banded bundles. It was no mere idle curiosity which impelled us to read many of them. We were in a position which may best be described as anomalous. Though Cameron was my dearest friend I knew little of his life prior to our meeting, and Evelyn, his niece and ward, was scarcely less uninformed than myself. In the letters just brought to light there might, we decided. be found some clue of incalculable service in the task now before us. And so we untied the tapes and stripped off the bands and set ourselves to careful painstaking examination. Seldom have I engaged in a labor so deadly uninteresting at one moment and so keenly engrossing at the next. There was correspondence here which meant nothing to us whatever, and there was correspondence which threw a search-light upon portions of Cameron’s career, baring good deeds and follies alike, without discrimination. It was only natural, I suppose, that we should dig up a romance —a gem of luster shining amidst dun, sordid surroundings. Evelyn and I came upon two of its facets, simultaneously, and paused in our work to question its disposal. It seemed to us a holy thing, too .sacred for a strange touch, and, even at the risk of passing over what might prove our one agent of revelation, we folded it away again with a sense of guilt at having dared to lift even the corner of the veil. For a full hour I had scanned one letter after another in absorbed lntentness, but with small profit. Evelyn, across the table, had been quite as busy. ’ Rarely had we Interrupted our employment with exchange of words. But now the writing which-1 held provoked exclamation. “Addison!" I cried, so sharply cuting the silence that the girl started. “Addison! Did you ever hear of him?" She gestured a negative. “Not that I remember,” she qualified. “Why?” “Because we must find him," I declared, a little excitedly, I imagine; for the letter seemed wonderfully important. Instantly she was all alert. “What is it?” she asked, springing up and coming to my side. “What have you found?” “Look!” I commanded, the sheet of paper in one upraised hand, a finger of my other hand pointing to a passage. “Look! In 1903*. your uncle Robert was in Peking; and yet he gave me his word that he had never Visited China.” Resting an arm on my shoulder and bending forward she read for herself: “Just to think! We were in Peking together and neither of us was aware of It until too late! What a foregathering we missed!. Even five minutes’ chat would have been something; but I no sooner saw you, than the crowd on Legation street swallowed you up." “Have you read it all?” “Not to the end," I told her, "Just the beginning and the signature. Come,” I added, “we’ll read it from first to last, together.” It was written from Cairo, and bore date of December 7, 1903. “My dear Cameron,” it began, T am wondering whether ycu are back In New York again. However, you will probably be there for Christmas and therefore this letter will not long await you. We have been making a rather leisurely tour of the east. Arrived here two days ago and shall remain until some time in January.” The writer then gave a general outline of his travels. “You will probably; be surprised to learn that once you and I passed each other as ships in the night, save only that'we did not even speak each other in passing,” he went on. “It was my last day—lndeed my last hour —in northern China. Otherwise I should have made search for you. Just to think! We were in Peking together, and neither ,of us was aware of It until too late. What a foregathering we missed! Even five minutes* chat would have been some-thing;-but I no sooner saw you, than the crowd on Legation street swallowed you up. Half an hour later I was on the train for Tien tsin.” The rest of the letter was rather cftnfusingly personal in its references to mutual friends and Interests. It was signed: “Always with warm regard, Addison." “Do you suppose that is his first name or his last?” Evelyn asked me as we came to it “I refuse to suppose," I returned, smiling. “It’s an even chance. What is more to the point is, how long has Louis been yow uncle’s valet*’

75>Zf, X C &. CO.,

"Several years.” “Several is indefinite. Too indefinite. Too Indefinite. Suppose we have him in here and find out exactly. Possibly he knows Mr. Addison.” When Louis came, however, he knew nothing. He had never heard of a Mr. Addison or of a Nir. Addison Something, in all the three years and eight months of his service with Mr. Cameron. So Evelyn thanked him once more in her own gracious way and we continued our work, directing our efforts especially now to unearthing further Addison-signed letters which might prove enlightening. “Why should Uncle Robert tell you he had never been in China?” Evelyn asked me, looking up suddenly and dropping to her lap the letter she was at that moment examining. "I can’t understand that.” “Nor I,” I admitted. “If I had asked him out of idle curiosity he would have been justified perhaps in misleading me; but he must have known that it was in his interest I made the Inquiry.” For just a moment she sat in silence, her narrowed gaze on the glowing embers in the fireplace. Then she turned to me again. “Do you think, Philip, it was because he had something to hide?” she asked, seriously. “Something he was ashamed of and feared, might become known?” ,"~ Instantly I sprang to my friend’s defense. “No,” I assured her, with emphasis. “No, Evelyn. Whatever his motive was, I am satisfied it had no dishonorable basis. It he told me a deliberate falsehood it was not to spare himself. Possibly—yes, probably, it was to shield others.”

I was perfectly sincere in this, but even had I believed otherwise I should have been tempted to prevarication could I have foreseen my reward. Before I quite realized her purpose Evelyn was out of her chair, had slipped over behind me, and encircling my neck with her arms, had pressed her lips softly to my cheek. "Oh, how glad I am to hear yotf say that! You believe in his bigness—in his nobility, just as I do, don’t you, Philip, dear?” "I’m sure he could never have been guilty of anything dishonorable,” I declared again, imprisoning her hands. But the next moment, hearing steps again crossing the hall, I reluctantly released them. For a third time Louis stood in the doorway. Now he upheld a small redbound book, and his face was beaming. “Voila, mademoiselle!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “Je viens de trouyant ce livre.” It was a book of addresses, and the valet, nervously turning the’ pages, put his finger upon the name of Horatio Addison, M. D., with ; the air of one who had discovered buried treasure. I am inclined to think that we were ourselves almost as demonstratively elated as he, for though we could not be sure that this was Cameron’s correspondent, the odds certainly favored that conclusion; and unless the physician had died or moved away since the entry was made, we were now in possession of his address, which chanced to be an apartment house on Madison avenue, that I knew to be given over entirely to doctors’ offices. This time Evelyn assured Louis that he was not merely a “good boy” but an Incomparable assistant, and the richness of the reward came nigh to totally wrecking his composure, for, as he started to back from the room, I detected unmistakable tears glistening on his lashes. "Louis,” I checked him, with sudden inspiration, “apportez-nous le dlrectoire telepbonie, s’ll vouS plait” And when the book was brought the fact that Dr. Addison’s address had not been changed was promptly established. I was for calling him up, then and there, but Evelyn pointed to the clock and advised patience. It was already after midnight "Tomorrow," She said, in her wise fashion, "you shall call on him, and learn, if possible, how Uncle Robert replied to that letter. There is a difference, you know, Philip, between being in a. place and having some one see you there. No one’s eyes are infallible.” CHAPTER XIII. When Damon Doubted Pythias. Not until I had been passed into an elevator by a dainty young woman in the white habit of a trained nurse, shot up four floors into the hands of another who might have been the first’s twin sister, and ushered by her, to turn, into a severely professionalappearing waiting room, did it occur to me that I was upon an errand Involving the employment of an extraordinary degree of tact. So Imbued had I been with the importance of learning whether Cameron had or had not been in Peking in 1908, that up to this moment I had quite lost

sight of my own position. Now I asked myself, on what .ground was I to make my plea for information? To tell this Dr. Addison the whole story would certainly be inexpedient. To hint even at alarm concerning Cameron might involve the precipitation of that financial disaster he had feared and regarding which he had warned me. Indeed, would not any effort to obtain the facts I desired be likely to arouse suspicion, no matter how delicately made? The more I pondered the situation, sitting there thoughtfully while one after another the patients who had preceded me passed into the physician’s consultation, room, the more beggarly, it seemed to me, became my chances of success. And when, at length, my turn came to enter the presence of my friend’s friend, I was about persuaded that I should very soon be making an ignominipus exit, branded as an impertinently meddling busybody. I have always contended that it was Dr. Addison’s severely professional air which was responsible for my inspiration, for no thought of such a course occurred to me, until standing dumbly hesitant before him, I became conscious that he was making mental Inventory of me with a view to . a diagnosis.. .... . ... . ■ r ’ ■?' The penetration of his gaze impressed me at once. His steel gray eyes were like\ a pair of converging probes; and they were his dominant feature. Aside from them his face was commonplace. “Doctor,” I said, and the sound of my voice was a relief to the strained tension of the moment, “I learned of you through Mr. Cameron—Mr. Robert Cameron, a mutual friend.” I hoped to see his expression brighten at the name, but it did not. If there was any'change whatever it was in the reverse direction. After a second’s deliberation he asked: “You wish to consult me regarding yourself?” On a sudden impulse I answered, "Yes,” though I had neither ache nor pain, and, so far as 1 could judge, was perfectly normal. “I see,” he replied. “Am I right in assuming that your trouble is of a nervous character?” Heaven knows that in spite of my fancied normality there had been sufficient reason in the past few weeks for my nerves to go awry. I confessed that I had been under considerable mental strain. Thereupon, having bade me be seated, he began to ply me with questions with a view to sympathetic revelation. I fear, however, that I gave him meager material upon which to base a conclusion. I slept well, my appetite was excellent. I had observed neither a numbness nor a supersensitiveness in my finger tips, nor a sensation of fulness at the base of the brain. I could not recall any twitching of my muscles, nor any diminution of muscular power. At length, after a brief pause, he inquired: “Will you be good enough to tell me, Mr. Clyde, why you think you require professional attention?” And my inability to answer him, offhand, paradoxical as it may seem, eventually supplied me with an answer at once truthful and convincing. “Because,” I explained gravely, “I find that of late I am losing my power of mental co-ordination." The ardor with which he seized upon this index of my supposed malady was amusing. Instantly he grew obviously and deeply interested. I have since learned that what is known as confusional insanity, a rate condition, usually has its inception in this wise, “without essential emotional disturbance,” if I may quote an authority. At the time, I believe he was suspicious of a developing paresis. What he thought, however, or what he did not,’is aside from the story. I know only that his manner changed abruptly, his object evidently being to gain my full confidence. Whereupon, the bars of reserve lowered between us, I ventured to revert to our so-called “mutual friend.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Faults of the Aeroplane.

Commercially the aeroplane Is useless in its present state. It cannot carry any great weight, it will not stand any extra strain and is unable to fly unless the weather be almost perfect. Automatic stability is still in an imperfect stage, and the motors are not altogether reliable. Last, but not least, it is a very expensive machine, both in its first cost and in the outlay necessary to keep it in proper condition. These faults, as well as many others, must be overcome before we have a practical flying machine. Danger must be eliminated to a greater degree, and to do this it is necessary to produce a machine that will automatically balance itself. A thoroughly reliable motor and a machine capable of standing any extra strain suddenly placed upon ft are other requirements of the future sere plane.—Saint Nicholas.

CModi® «isr OfFAIHM O *“ 3“]| I\r ( V m t f~'~" ■•' VR|iB Li/ /^/ffia ' I ■ | Everybody’s on a diet up to our house, at present; Mother’s awfully dejected, father’s look, is seldom pleasant; We have cut out beef and bacon and a. lot of other stuff; We have turned away from sausage, and our fate is pretty tough. We have had to give up pancakes; su- ■ gar’s banished from the table; Pa and ma are on a diet, so am I, and. sister Mabie; We have turned away from salads and. all kinds of pie and meat. And it’s always very dismal when wa seat ourselves to eat. Every day the cook looks at us with a. kind of solemn pity, And I guess she thinks she’s workin’ f6r * the worst cranks in the city; Mother’s health is simply splendid; sister’s well and so am I; But we’re all compelled to diet—father must, and that is why.

Practical? Well!

“The trouble with you poets,” said the hard-headed business man, “is that you are not practical. You are mere dreamers.” “Practical?” replied the bard; “every time I make a new stanza at the rate of 50 cents a line I know just how far it is going to go in providing the children with new shoes. If that isn’t practical, what do you call being practical?”

It Came In Handy.

“Did you use the medicine I prescribed when I was called in to see> you before?" asked the doctor. "Yes,” the patient replied. “Was there any noticeable result?’* “I should say there was. I killed my neighbor’s bothersome dog with, it, but don’t say anything about it. He has never guessed, and we're still friendly.”

As Things Look to Them.

Pa says that things look very dark. But ma keeps hopeful right along; She says there’s no use feelin’ blue. For right will triumph over wrong. Ma’s got a lot of fine new clo’s, And all her words Are full of cheer; I guess that pa will have to wear The spring suit which he got last year.

There Had.

T suppose,” said the Innocent young thing, “that there have been many times in your life, colonel; when your agony was such that you felt that death would be a welcome relief.” “Yes," replied the grizzled veteran. “I don’t believe I ever met a young mother who didn’t Insist on having me hold her baby.”

Self-Denial.

"Are you making any Lenten sacrifices ?’’ "Yes. The greatest pleasure I have is found in paying my bills and getting out of debt. I’m denying myself that joy at present”

Futile Boast.

"Love me ahd the world is mine,” he said. "What’s the use saying that?” she replied. ‘Tve been loving you for weeks and you haven’t even succeeded in getting a good job.”

Perhaps.

"They say Indian babies never cry.* "Perhaps no Indian woman ever left a baby to be- taken care of for an hour or two by her bachelor brother.’*

Pitiful.

One of the most pitiful things in the world is a man who thinks everybody with whom he has dealings is trying to cheat him.

Pa's Opinion.

"Pa, what is a dilettante F* "One who would like to be, but never quite succeeds."

Assistance!

The man who has nothing but money needs help.