Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 59, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 March 1913 — Page 2

The SABLE HORACE LORCHA

By HORACE HAZELTINE

SYNOPSIS. Robert Cameron, capitalist, consults Philip Clyde, newspaper publisher, regarding anonymous threatening letters he has received. The first promises a sample of the power on a certain dayOn 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 of a string, unnoticed by Cameron, Evelyn Grayson, Cameron’s niece, with whom Clyde Is In love, finds the head of Camerqn's portrait nailed to « tree, where K was hafi been uped as a target Clyde pledges Evelyn toi secrecy. Clyde learns that a Chinese boy employed by Phllatus Murphy, an artist living nearby, had borrowed a rifle from Camerons' lodgekeepr. Clyde makes an excuse to call on Murphy and Is repulsed. He pretends to be Investigating alleged Infractions of the game laws and 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 visiting 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 of Cameron. Clvde tells Cameron the envelope was empty. He tells Evelyn everything and plans to take Cameron on a yacht trip. The yacht picks up a fisherman found drifting helplessly In a boat. He gives the name Of Johnson. Cameron disappears from yacht while Clyde’s back is turned. A fruitless search Is made for a ' motor boat seen bv the captain just before Cameron disappeared. Johnson Is allowed to go after being closely questioned. Evelyn takes the letters to an expert in Ohlreso literature, who pronounces them of Chinese origin. Clyde seeks assistance from a Chinese fellow college student, who recommends him to Yip Sing, most prominent Chinaman In New York. The latter promises to seek Information of Cameron among his countrymen. Among Cameron's letters is found one from one Addison, who speaks Of seeing Cameron In Pekin. Cameron had frequently- deciaren to Clvde that he had never been In China. Clvde calls on Dr. Addison.

CHAPTER Xlllw—Continued. "This Isn’t anything like beriberi, Is it, doctor?” I began. My ideas of the digram* I mentioned were of the hardest character. I knew, however, that it was common in the Orient, and thither I would lead him. "Oh. no, Mr. Clyde,” he answered, suavely enough, now. “Beri-beri is merely the eastern name for multiple neuritis. You haven’t a neuritis or you would know it. I saw a great deal of beri-beri In China and on the Malay peninsula.” “Do I remember to have heard Cameron say he contracted it in the east?” I asked, plunging for a connection. "I don’t recall that Cameron ever had It,” was his response. And then his brow grew thoughtful. “Are you sure he told you that he had; and that he was attacked while in—in Asia?” I noted his hesitation over fixing the place, and wondered. At all events I had arrested his interest. Purposely I adopted a tone of uncertainty. } "N-n-no. I can’t say definitely. But I had an impression that—” And there I paused. When I continued it was with the direct question: “Do you happen to know, doctor, whether Cameron was ever In Peking? It seems to me it was —“ "I do know that he was in Peking," he interrupted, almost savagely. “He was in Peking, in September, 1903. To be exact, he was there on the fourteenth day of that month. I have reason to know it —a particular reason to know it." After all, how easily the information I craved had come to me! And yet I would have been glad to hear the contrary: for Cameron had assured me, in all solemnity, that he had never been In China, and it Jarred upon my oonception of the man’s character to discover that he had tried to deceive me. I could only conclude that his purpose was praiseworthy. But Dr. Addison had not finished. "Tell me!" he was demanding, ea-

gerly. "Tell me! I have excuse for - airtrtpg —Hae h<r ever admitted to you that be was there?" “Now I come to think of it,” I returned, “be hasn’t. But I had the Information from some one, I am pretty sure/' With an effort the physician commanded himself. When he spoke again he was comparatively composed. “Mr. Clyde," he said apologetically, 1 am not given to discussing personal matters with my patients, but the fact that you and Cameron are friends, and the fact that this subject has come up, make it almost imperative, I suppose, that I should explain briefly the feeling I have just exhibited. Five years ago Rob Cameron and I were about as near counterparts of Damon and Pythias as ever existed. While Cameron was in Europe, I had an opportunity to go around the world with a patient. We dawdled a good deal, and, you understand how uncertain correspondence is under those circumstances. I never knew Just where 1 should be at any given time. Consequently, a number of letters were missed by both of us. I was still thinking of Cameron as in England or on the European continent, 1 when lo and behold, I saw him one morning, hurrying along the principal street of the inner city of. Peking. I don't know whether you have ever been there or not, but if you have, you know what that thoroughfare is. It was ail bustle and activity that day, and about as crowded as Broadway at the noon hour, but with muph mpre picturesque and contrasting currents

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of Individuals and vehicles. I was in a carriage, myself, and Cameron was afoot, walking in the opposite direction. As we passed each other, he did not seem to see me, though I called to him loudly. This, however, did not surprise me, for there was an ungodly racket in progress. Instantly. I had the carriage turned about, but before I could overtake him, he was lost in the crowd. I was leaving Peking that afternoon, and so had no chance to look him up. I wrote him afterwards and told him of the incident, and how I regretted having to go away without exchanging at least a word with him. To my amazement he not only denied having been' in Peking, but in the Chinese empire at all. When we met in London, the following spring, and I recalled the,matter, asking why he had refused to admit what I knew to be the truth, he became icily indignant; and that was the beginning of the end. If I had conceded the possibility of mistake on my part, all might have been well, 1 suppose; but there was no such possibility. I had known Cameron for twenty-odd years, and I could not have made an error. I had seen him distinctly, clearly, at midday in the open. It was he beyond all peradventure, and from that time to this I have been unable to conceive why he lied to me, and why he chose to end our friendship rather than admit what was indubitable fact.” His explanation finished, he reached for a pen, and, as he dipped it in the ink. he added: ‘‘l trust you will pardon me, Mr. Clyde. I have detained you.” “You have interested me,” I assured him. “And that more than I can tell you.” Which was quite true; yet I was even more perplexed than interested. To the maze of circumstances there 'was now added another baffling feature. Dr. Addison handed me the prescription he had written. "After meals, and at bedtime,” he directed, with a return to his professional manner. "If you do not find yourself much better at the end of a week, come In again.” On the sidewalk I tore the little square of paper Into bits which the wind carried in a tiny flurry across Madison avenue. CHAPTER XIV 7“

The Dark of Doyers Street. At one o’clock that day, Evelyn Grayson joined me at luncheon at Sherry’s. She had been in no mood to wait any longer than was absolutely necessary for tidings of my visit to Dr. Addison; and, moreover, she had news of Her own which she was anxious to convey to me. I have often wondered why It is that the I-told-you-so passion is inherent in all women. There are those who manage to control it with admirable success finder average circumstances, but soooner or later, even the most courageous battlers against this maternal heritage succumb, and indulge in a sort of disguised orgy of reproach. Evelyn might have told me, for Instance, that Captain MacLeod, after careful investigation, had been unable to discover either hair or hide of Peter Johnson In Gloucester or elsewhere, and stopped there. That is what a man would have done. But, altogether admirable though she was, the eternal feminine was strong within her. Therefore It was incumbent upon her to add: . “it —doesn’t surprise me, Philip. When you told me how you picked that man up, I was confident that he was floating out there in your path just for that very purpose.”

I had no inclination to dispute the point with her. That was the most painful part of it. I knew that she was right—that in putting Peter Johnson adhore, instead of in irons, I had committed an error that might prove irremediable. But why couldn’t she see that I realized it, and was smarting under my own condemnation, and so iiave spared me this added torture of hers? Why? Because she was her mother’s daughter. That is the only answer. .. A* for my interview with "Pythias” Addison, we discussed it in all its phases, without reaching anything like a definite conclusion. Taking everything into consideration the evidence certainly seemed convincing that Cameron, In spite of his denials, had been in China in 1903. And yet we could not reconcile this with that almost fanatical love of truth which we knew to be his. “Couldn’t Dr. Addison have been mistaken?” Evelyn asked. “It Is possible, of course," I answered. “Yet Cameron’s faoe and figure are not of a common type. Besides, I don’t believe in doubles. t I have beard of so-called wonderful likenesses, but I have never seen any that would deceive a friend of twenty years’ standing." A little later she inquired whether the detective engaged to shadow Phi-

T<@tus Murphy had furnished a report. "Yes," I told her, came in my morning’s mail. Murphy is still at Cos Cob. He didn’t leave his bungalow all day yesterday, and he had no callers.” “I’m crazy to know what you learn tonight from Yup Sing,” she went on. eagerly. “Oh, how I do hope it will give us some hint! It seems terrible to think of Uncle Robert in the hands of those unconscionable Chinamen. And, Philip, don’t you think you had better take some one with you? I suppose Mr. Yup is to be trusted, but at the same time, you must remember you are going into the enemy’s camp, and you should be careful.” But I laughed at the notion of taking a body-guard. “I’m to meet him at nine o’clock,” I told her, “in a public restaurant. Besides, there’ll be a crowd of those ‘Seeing New York’ people down there about that time, and Chinatown will be on its best behavior. So never fear, little girl. Do you want me to telephone you when I get uptown? You know I’m going *0 stop tonight at my rooms in the Loyalton.” 1 “Of course I want you to telephone me,” she returned, emphatically. “It shouldn’t take you very long to hear what Mr. Yup has to tell, should it? I shall be expecting you to call me up between ten and half-past, or by eleven at the latest; so don’t dare to go for supper first.” “As if I could think of supper,” I said, looking at her in a way I had, “when I might be hearing your voice!” Could I have foreseen tvhat the night was to bring forth I certainly should have discouraged her waiting for my message. But the power of prevision is given to few ol us, and of those few l am not one. Assuredly T had no misgivings as, after dining at the University club that eVening, I stepped into an electric hansom and gave the driver the address of the Doyers street restaurant. Whatever it may have been in the past, I believed the Chinatown of theipresent to be, outwardly at least, a raasonably law-abiding section of the borough of Manhattan. And was not I that night the guest of one of its mosi honored citizens? What, therefore, had I to fear? On the contrary, as we turned from the Bowery into that little semicircular thoroughfare which is perhaps the mdst characteristic of three principal streets, I was pleasantly interested. This was quite a different place from that which I had visited the afternoon before. Then, a sort of brooding quiet reigned over what was so ordinary as to be scarcely distinctive; for that part of Mott street on which the Yup Sing establishment is located, I have since learned, is merely one of the gates of the real Chinatown,' of which Doyers street is th? heart and center—and which awakens only after nightfall. Now the place was alive and alight. Narrow roadway and still narrower sidewalks were thronged with a combination of denizens and sightseers. Shop fronts and upper windows glowed with varying degrees of brightness. Prom the Chinese theater on the left came a bedlam of inharmonious sounds; the brazen crash of cymbals, the squeaking of raucous stringed instruments, the resounding clangor of a gong. Voices high-pitched and voices guttural, mingled with hoarse and strident laughter, echoed from wall to wall of the street’s encroaching squalid buildings. Before the least unpretentious of all these structures, my hansom Stopped, and as I stepped to the curb I got a glimpse of its banner and lantern strung balcony, giving to the street a touch of color that helped to lift it

into an atmosphere which, If not Oriental, was at least vividly un-Amer-ican. Finding now that I had anticipated my appointment by something like ten minutes I chose to watch further the kaleidoscopic scene without, rather than pass the time whiting at a table within; and to this end took up a position of vantage on the restaurant’s low step. Whether I am more or less keenly observant than the average man I do net know. Probably any one as fascinated by the general soene as was 1, would have noted as closely its Individual elements. lam not sure. But the truth is that in a very few moments I bad acquired a mental photograph of the opposite side of the street, In so far as It came within my direct vision. In other words every detail of the background of the moving picture before me was indelibly printed upon my mind’s retina. There was the playhouse, with its plain, rectangular doorway, unadorned, save by a quartette of rude signs; two above, slanting outward, and one on either side, all announcing “Chinese Theater,” and one giving the current attraction in Chinese characters, with the added notice, “Seats reserved for Americans." To Jhe left of this was a quick lunch restaurant, with white painted bulk window, beneath which

a pair of cellar doors spread invitingly, one of them resting against a conventional American milk can. On the theater’s right was a laundry, dim and evil-looking, two pipe-smoking celestials decorating its low step. And beyond this was opening to a basement, above which, in white Roman lettering on a black ground, I read the legend: “Hip Sing Tong.” Again and again my gaze persisted in returning to this sign and the dimly lighted cavern beneath it. The plaoe held for me the inexpressible, unfathomable ebarm of the mysterious, beside which the heathenish racket of the theater across the way, the sinister aspect of the dismal laundry and its pair of pipe-smoking guardians, even the constantly changing procession of varied types in roadway and on sidewalks, exerted but meager allure. From time to tilde dark, silent figures glided vaguely into View only 'to disappear within this maw of mystery. Once, while I watched, I had seen a figure issue forth to be lost again instantly in the .distant gloom of the curving street. Now, reverting onoe more to this magnet, after a moment’s truancy, my eyes were rewarded by sight of another slowly emerging form, silhouetted nebulously against the dusk. At the head of the steps It paused, uncertainly, and then, instead of gliding swiftly away In the direction of Pell street as did the other, it turned in my direction, passing almost at once into the comparatively glowing radius of the street lamp opposite. I saw then that it was a man, thin to emaciation, round-shouldered, and crooked limbed. Whether some one jostled him, or a voice from the roadway startled him, I don’t know. But for some reason he turned his head suddenly, and the light from the lamp fell full upon a face, stubble-bearded, deep-lined, and repellent, the face not of a Chinaman but of a white man; a face into which I bad looked hut twice, and then but for a brief moment; yet a face as Indelibly fixed In my memory as were the grim fronts of the buildings now behind it —the face of Peter Johnson, the pretended castaway. , ' >

I think I must have had it in mind to pick him up bodily and carry him away with me that I might by inquisitorial torture wring from him a confession. Otherwise I should have adopted a less eager and more subtle method of bringing the miscreant to book than that which I rashly attempted. Before I considered the situation I was across the street and at his heels. My finger tips, indeed, were at his shoulder, jin the fraction of a second I shouldP have had him gripped and have been hustling him through the crowd as my prisoner. But at the instant of seeming success, he eluded me. In some strange way he caught alarm and, shrinking beneath my hand, darted sinuously oft, between this pedestrian and that, with the flashing speed of a. lizard. But, though he escaped my clutch, my eyes were more nimble. With them I followed him until I saw him drop between the cellar doors which gaped beneath the white bulk window of the quick lunch room. And where my eyes went, I went after. Another brief moment find, without thought or heed. I was plunging in pursuit down that short, steep flight of steps—plunging from a lighted, peopled, noisy public street into the collled glookh and grim silence of a low underground basement. And, as misfortune would have it, I must needs catch my heel on the edge of one of the treads, and go sprawling on my hands and knees; while a poignant pain shooting cruelly through my ankle told me that a sprain was added to my mishap. For a minute I lay as I had fallen, prone and motionless; and in that space I realized the foolhardiness of my whole course of action. My very intrepidity had contributed to disaster, Instead of accomplishing a capture I had cast myself, disabled, into the mesh of the enemy.

The Inky darkness and profound silence of the place augmented, of course, my apprehension. In vain /I strained my eyes to distinguish an object, my ears to deteot a sound, yet i knew that the uncanny creature I had followed must be close to me; lurking, possibly, with raised or pointed weapon to mete out my fate once he made sure of. my position. The minute —it could hardly have been more, though, as I think of it. It seemed infinitely prolonged—ended Ik a sound above and behind tne. Yery softly, carefully, some one was closing the cellar doors. Stealthily muffled though it was, the faint creaking of the hinges shattered the spell which held me, and In spite of my tortured ankle, I managed to gain my feet. But by now the illenoe reigned once again and in the engulfing blackness I lost all sense of direction. The suspense of the moment was unendurable. To stand there waiting, not knowing when or from what quar-

ter I should be set open, was Hereof torment so hideous that in sheer desperation I plucked my match box from my pocket, drew forth' a match and struck it to a blaze. As ft flared forth, routing, the shadows in disorderly, if but temporary, retreat, I made quick searching survey of my dungeon. To my amazement I was apparently quite [alone. , Relieved, in a measure at least, I employed another match and still another, hobbling painfully about the grimy, low-ceiled basement, in diligent inspection. My first thoilght was that Johnson was in hiding, and having located me by my own lighted matches, waited nSw only an opportunity to. throw himself upon me from behind. But I very soon discovered that he had fled. Evidently be-had retraoeA his steps up the rude ladder to the street, closing the doors after him to check my further pursuit. The place Into which I had followed him was evidently a Chinese candy manufactory and eake bakery. ,To the right of the entrance were rows of shelves containing jars of what I recognized as sweetmeats peculiar to the celestial. In a large bowl on a rough table or counter was the granulated flour with which these confections are Invariably powdered; and here, too, were boxes of round, jumblelike cakes. I saw now 'that the space upon which I'had fallen was so restricted that I wondered how it was possible for my quarry to have reached the steps and reascended without touching me or at leaßt acquainting me with his movement. And I marveled, too, that twisting my ankle, as I did, I had not plunged at a slant and struck my head upon one or another of the crowding tables and boxes with which the cramped basement was furnished.

My third match disclosed a narrow door in the broad partition at the rear, and fancying that perhaps the elusive Peter Johbson had escaped by that means while I was getting to my feet, I lost no time in seeking to investigate what was beyond. I was somewhat surprised to find the door unfastened. Once open, it revealed a smaller and more crowded room, warm and fetid, into which w;ere packed no less than half a dozen barrels of raw and cooked peanuts, arranged about a low stove on which a peanut-filled cauldron was slowly steaming. Curiously Interesting as all this would have been under ordinary circumstances, I experienced only a surprised relief, for with my Injured ankle I was in no fettle to cope with even the weakest adversary. Indeed, now that this easement was afforded me. my sprain Suddenly asserted itself with renewed exacerbation, sharp twinges of pain shooting to my kne« and demanding instant relief. In front of the low stove ft had noticed a stool, and for this I groped with the eagerness of the drowning man after a straw. To tny Joy I laid hands upon it, and drawing it nearer sank down with a sigh of gratification comparable only to that with which a Marathon victor drops to earth after a hotly-contested race.

Gradually, now that my weight was removed, the pain’ lessened, and a sense of comfort ensued. Contentment enfolded me, which, if I thought of it at all, I attributed, I suppose, to the reaction from the agony which I had just been suffering. I remember thinking that I would rest a few minutes and then’ take my departure as I had entered, for I realized that cellar doors are fastened only from within, and that there could, therefore, be no Impediment to my going when I chose. I distinctly recall that I was conscious of a certain strange incongruity of situation, but could hardly comprehend In Just what the incongruity consisted. I knew only that I felt pleasantly warm and drowsy; and my sprained*ankle had ceased altogether to pain or annoy. And then, I was sailing in an open boat in midocean, and Peter Johnson, in oilskins, sat at the helm, with a saturnine leer on his face, and tugged at brief Intervals, always longer and stronger, upon what seemed to be the sheet, which had become wrapped around my throat and chest and which, by degrees, was crushing my windpipe and longs, bo that my breath tame only in sharp, shuddering, aching gaßpS. OGHTIHUJULI.)

Woman Bank President.

Mrs. Elizabeth Davidson has the distlnctlon of being the only woman bank president In the state of Maine and the fourth In this country. The hank, was founded 19 years ago and for 13 years continued under the same management and In the same small rented room. The first president dying, thV directors elected Mrs. Davidson to take his place. It was such a small matter that they were willing to trust It to a woman. Mrs. Davidson went Into the business with such vim that the deposits increased from hundreds to thousands and tens of thousands. From one rented room the bank quarters Increased steadily, and a 'short time ago it was moved Into a fine new building erected for it. Mrs. Davidson attends every meeting of the directors and keeps in close touch with every detail of the business.

Neatly Caught.

An angler onoe missed hie gold cigarette-case, and, being very much upset about it, but not being quite certain whether it had beenjlost or stolen, resolved not to mention the matter toNl soul —not even to his wife. Two years had passed by when, on hie happening to meet with a piscatorial acquaintance by the riverside, the man astonished him by remarking: “I say, did you find that cigarettecase you lost some time ago?” "No," replied the angler to the more astonished inquirer; "but you 4141*

STORIES of CAMP and WAR

HOOD LOST BIG OPPORTUNITY Commander Accused His Officers and! Men of Cowardice, Learned Under His Predecessor. Much has been said and Written about the retreat of the Fourth and Twenty-third corps from Pulaski to Franklin, more especially the night march from Columbia to and past Spring Hill, November 29, 1864. It' Is often referred to as Hbod’s -lost opportunity. in the early morning of: that day General Cox was in line facing the river, observing the Confederate pretense of crossing, which could not have been done if opposed by even a heavy skirmish line. When it became evident that only a feint was being made, General Wood sent Post’s brigade with some cavalry to reconnoiter up the river, writes Geo. S. Meyers of Company F, One Hundred and First Ohio, of Los Angeles, Cal., in the National Tribune. It was discovered that Hood was crossing troops at Huey’s Mill and moving to the north on a converging road, which touched our line of retreat at Spring Hill. To guard against an attack of from that. quarter Kimball’B division, of which my regiment was a part, was, halted at Rutherford’s creek and faced to the east, where we remained until late afternoon, while Wagner’s division proceeded on to Spring Hill, where, with the assistance of other troops, the advanced Confederate forces were driven back from the main road. At dark General Cox withdrew from Columbus, the wagons having been dispatched in the afternoon. Kimball’s division followed Cox, who was in turn followed by General Wood. Thus when the Confederate troops under Cheatham and Clebunie had arrived in considerable force there was an unbroken line of blue moving along the road, which the Confederate officers declared “was too long to attack with prospect of success." General Cheatham states that in crossing at Huey's Mill the bridge was broken several times, that the entire night waß spent ifi crossing, and that the troops were utterly exhausted thereby, and by the march over a nearly impassable road, with flankers out in expectation of an attack from us; that the troops had been without cooked rations for 24 hours. He also states that the grandiloquent speech Hood claims he made to General Cleburne and himself was not made in his presence.

It is an undisputed fact that Hood went a mile to the Confederate rear qnd went to bed, which would have, been a very unusual proceeding on the part of any army commander at the opening of a battle. The corpß of General Lee, the largest in Hood’s army, was still at Columbia. Not a piece of artillery had been gotten across the river. Hood did not expect a battle during the night; neither did he expect us to march out of the pocket before morning. The night following Ihe first day’s battle of Nashville was spent by us - around a fire, the weather being cold, and blankets we had none. A prisoner or deserter, who through some fault was not sent to the rear, sat through the night at our fire. This man was possessed with more intelligence than the average Confederate soldier. He minutely described the burial of the mutilated bodies in front of our little works at Franklin the morning after that battle, and also told of the hunger and exhausted condition of their men at their arrival near our marching column near Spring kill. He declared that neither oflfcers nor men could have been driven into a fight.

On the morning of the 30th, after having passed the night in sleep, Hood been no battle aqd that our army had made a clean get-away without the loss of a wagon. In his abuse of his leading generals he accused officers and men alike with cowardice brought about by being allowed to fight behind breastworks on the Altanta campaign under his predecessor, Gen. Joseph E. Johnston. With the light we now have as to the condition of the Confederates at the time we passed their glowing campfires on that momentous night of November 29, 1864, we realize that our nervous feeling was not fully warranted. It would be a reflection on the valor of the men composing tha Fourth and Twenty-third corps, tested on many a hard-fought field, to believe they would have allowed themselves to be turned back by a remnant of Hood’s army at Spring Hill.

How He Would Do It.

During the battle of Cold Harbor a perfect hall of shot and shell was pouring Into the position occupied by a Maine regiment Suddenly one ol them was seen to turn tall and run as fast as he could. “Halt you coward, or I’ll put a bullet into you,” roared the colonel “What do you mean by running away like that?** « “Shura.” answered the runner, “peopie do eay that the world is round, so I was going to attack the enemy in the rear."