Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 208, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 September 1913 — INITIALS ONLY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

INITIALS ONLY

ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

AUTHOR OP “TOE LEAVENWORTH CASE” Vhe raiGccebaiTthehouse orthewmsperinomrf ILLUSTRATIONS I>Y CHARLES ,W. ROSSER

BYNOPBIB. George Anderson and wife see & remarkable looking man come out of the Clermont hotel, look around furtively, wash his hands-to the snow and pass on. Commotion attracts them to the Clermont, where it is found that the beautiful Miss Edith Challoner has fallen dead. Anderson describes the man he saw wash his hands In the snow. The hotel manager declares him to be Orlando Brotherson. Physicians find that Miss Challoner was stabbed and not shot, which seems to' clear Brotherson of suspicion. Gryce, an aged detective, and Sweetwater, his assistant, take up the case. They believe Mias Challoner stabbed herself. A paper cutter found near the scene of tragedy is believed to be the weapon used. Mr. Challonei- tells of a batch of letters found in Ms daughter’s desk, signed “O. B.” All are love letters except one which shows that the writer was displeased. This letter was signed by Orlando Brotherson. Anderson goes with Sweetwater to identify Brotherson, who is to address a meeting of anarchists. CHAPTER VIII.—-Continued.' Bat before an answer could be shouted back, this man was drawn, fiercely inside, and the scramble was renewed, amid which George heard Sweetwater’s whisper at his ear: “It’s the police. The chief has got ahead of me. Was that the man we’re after—the one who shouted down?’’ “No. Neither was he the speaker. The voices are very different” “We want the speaker. If the boys get him/we’re all right; but if they don’t —wait, I must make the matter sure.” I '■( And with ' a bound he vaulted through the window, whistling in a peculiar way. George, thus ieft quite alone, had the pleasure of seeing his sole protector mix with the boys, as he called them, and ultimately prowd In with them through the door which had finally been opened for their admittance. Then came a wait, and then the quiet re-appearance of the detective alohp and in no very amiable mood. “Well?” inquired George, somewhat breathlessly. “Do you want me? They don't seem to be coming out.” “No; they’ve gone the other way. It was a red hot anarchist meeting, and no mistake. They have arrested one of the speakers, but the other escaped. How, we have not yet found out; but I think there’s a way out somewhere by which he got the start of us. He was the man I wanted you to see. Bad luck, Mr. Anderson, but I’ih not at the end of my resources. If you’ll have patience with me and, accompany me a little further, I promise you shat I’ll only risk one more failure. Will you be so good, sir?” CHAPTER IX. The Incident pf the Partly Lifted Shade. The twp took a car which eventually brought them into one of the oldest quarters of the Borough of Brooklyn. The sleet which had stung their faces in the streets of New York had been left behind them somewhere on the bridge, but the chill was not gone from the air, and George felt greatly relieved when Sweetwater paused in the middle of a long block before a lofty tenement house of mean appearance. and signified that here they were to stop, and that from now on, mum was to be their watchword t What kind of haunts were these for the cultured gentleman who spent his evenings at the Clermont? A tenement—such a tenement as this —meant home —home for himself or for those he counted his friends, and such a supposition seemed inconceivable to my poor husband, with the memory of the gorgeous parlors of the Clermont In his mind. “An adventure! certainly an adventure!” flashed through poor George’s mind, as he peered, in great curiosity down the long hall before him, into a dismal rear, opening into a still more dismal court. Should he be expected to penetrate into those dark, ill-smelling recesses, or would he be led up the long flights of naked Btklrs, so feebly illuminated that they gave the impression of extending indefinitely into dimmer and dimmer heights of decay and desolation? Sweetwater seemed to decide for the rear, for leaving George, he stepped down the hall into the court beyond, where George could see him casting inquiring glances up at the walls above him. Another tenement, similar to the one whose rear end he was contemplating, towered behind, bat he paid no attention to that. He was satisfied with the look he had given and came quickly back, Joining George at the foot of the staircase, up which he silently led the way. It was a rude, none-too-well-cared-for building, but It seemed respectable enough and very quiet, considering the mass of people it accommodated. One flight—two flights—three—and then George's guide stopped, and, looking back at him, made a gesture. It appeared to be one ot caution, but when the two came together at the top of the Staircase, Sweetwater spoke quite naturally as be pointed out a door In their rear: “That's the room. We’ll keep a sharp watoh and when any man, no matter what his dress or appearance, •Mas* up these stairs and turns that

way,'give him a sharp look. You understand?” “Yes; but—” “Ohrhe hasn't come in yet I took pains to find that out You saw me go Into the court and look up. That was to see if his window was lighted. Well, It wasn’t” V George felt non-plussed. “But surely,” said he, “the gentleman named Brotherson doesn’t live here." “The Inventor does.” “Oh!” "And —but I will explain later." The suppressed excitement contained in these words made George stare. Indeed, he had been wondering for some time at thu manner of the detective, which showed a curious mixture of several opposing emotions. Now, the fellow was actually In a tremble of hope or Impatience—and, not content with listening, he peered every few minutes down the well of the staircase, and when he was not doing that, tramped from end to end of the narrow passage-way separating the head of the stairs from the door he had pointed out, like one to whom irfin%tes were hours. But when, after some half hour of this tedium and suspense, there rose from below the faint clatter of ascending footsteps, he remembered his meek companion and beckoning him to one side, began a studied conversation with him, showing him a note-book In which he had written such phrases as these: Dofi’t look up till he is fairly In range with the light. There’s nothing to fear; he doesn’t know either of us. If it is a face you have seen before —if It is the one we are expecting to see, pull your necktie straight. It’s a little on one side. The plan they were waiting for was no further up than the Becond floor, hut Instinctively George’s hand had flown to hiß necktie, and he was only stopped from its premature re-ar-rangement by a warning look from j “Not unless you know him,” whispered the detective. Suddenly the steps below paused, and George heard Sweetwater draw in his breath hi Irrepressible dismay. But they were immediately resumed, and presently the head and shoulders of a workingman of uncommon proportions appeared in sight on the stairway. s George cast him a keen look, and his hand rose doubtfully to his neck and then fell back again. The approaching man svas tall, very well-pro-portioned and easy of. carriage; but the face—such of it as could be seeb between his cap and the high collar he had pulled up about his ears, conveyed no exact impression to George’s mind, and he did not dare to give the signal Sweetwater expected from him. “You’re not sure?” he now heard, oddly interpolated in the stream of half-whispered talk with which the

other endeavored to carry off the situation. George shook his head. He could not rid himself of the old impression he had formed of the man In the snow. “Mr. Dunn, a word with you,” suddenly spoke up Sweetwater, to the man who had just passed them. “That’s your name, isn’t it?" "Yes, that is my name,” was the quiet response, in a voice which was at once rich and resonant. "Who arq you who wish to speak to me at so late an JjourT” -•> "Well, we are —you know what," smiled the ready detective, advancing half-way to greet him. “We’re not members of the Associated Brotherhood, but poselbly have hopes of being so. At all events, we should like to talk the matter over, if, ae you say, It’s not too late." "I have nothing to do with the club— ’’ . - "But you spoke before it” - “Yes.” • - "Then you can give us some sort

of an Idea how we are to apply for membership." Mr. Dunn met the concentrated gaze of his two evidently unwelcome visitors with a frankness which dashed George’s confidence in himself, hut made little visible impression upon his daring, companion. "I should rather see you at another time,” said he. “But— ’’ his hesitation was Inappreciable save to the nicest ear—“if you will allow me to be brief* I will tell you what I know—which is very little.” Sweetwater was greatly taken aback. AH he had Rooked for, as he wqs careful to tell my husband later, was a sufficiently prolonged conversation to enable George to mark and study the workings of the face he was not yet sure of. Nor did the detective feel quite eaßy at the readiness of his reception; nor any too well pleased to accept the invitation which his man now gave them to enter his room. ) ' The room, like many others in these old-fashioned tenements, had a jog just where the door was, so that on entering they had to take several steps before they could get a full glimpse of its four walls. When they did, both showed surprise. i The man who lived here was not only a student, as was evinced by a long wall full of books, but he was an art-lover, a musician, an inventor and an athlete. So much could be learned from the most cursory glance. A more careful one picked up other facts fully as startling and impressive. The bookß were choice; the Invention to all appearance a practical one; the art of a high order and the music, such as was In view, of a character of which the nicest taste need not be ashamed. George began to feel quite conscious of the Intrusion of which they had been guilty, and was amazed at the ease with which the detective carried in the presence of such manifestations of culture and good, hard work. He was trying to recall the exact appearance of the figure he had seen stooping in the snowy street two nights before, when he found himself staring at the occupant of the room, who had taken up his stand before them and was regarding them while they were regarding the room. He had thrown aside his hat and rid himself of his overcoat, and the fearlessness of his aspect seemed to daunt the hitherto dauntless Sweetwater, who, for the first time in his life, perhaps, hunted In vain for words with which to start conversation. “You seem to have forgotten your errand,” came in quiet, if not good-na-tured, sarcasm from their 'patiently waiting host. fl “It’s the room,” muttered Sweetwater, with an attempt at his old-time ease which was not as fully successful as usual. “What an all-fired genius you must be. I never saw the like. And in a tenement house too! You ought to be in one of those big new studio buildings in New York where artists be and everything you see Is beautiful. You’d appreciate It, you would.” The detective started, George started, at the gleam which answered him from a very uncommon eye. It was a temporary flash, however, and quickly veiled, and the tone In which this Dunn now spoke was anything but an encouraging one. “I thought you were desirous of joining a socialistic fraternity,” said he; “a true aspirant for such honors don’t care for beautiful things unless all can have them. I prefer my tenement How Is It with you. friends?” Sweetwater found some sort of a reply, though the thing which this man now did must have startled him, as It certainly did George. They were so grouped that a table quite full of anomalous objects stood at the back of their host, and consequently quite beyond their own reach. As • Sweetwater began to speak, he whom he had addressed by the hame of Dunn, drew a pistol from his breast pocket and laid it down barrel towards them on this table top. Then he looked up courteously enough, and listened till Sweetwater was done. A very handsome man, but one not to he trifled with in the slightest degree. Both recognized this fact, and George, for one, began to edge towards the door. "Now I feel easier,” remarked the giant, swelling oat his chest. He was unusually tall, as well as unusually muscular. “I never like to carry arms; but sometimes it is unavoidable. Damn it, what hands 1” He was looking at his own, which certainly, showed soil. “Will you pardon me?” he pleasantly stepping towards a washstand and plunging his hands into the basin. “I cannot think with dirt on me like that Humph, hey! did you Speak?” . He turned quickly On George who had certainly uttered an ejaculation, bat receiving no reply, went on with his task, completing it with a care and a disregard of their presence which showed him up in still another light Bi/t even his hardihood showed shock, when, upon turning round with • brisk, “Now I’m ready to talk.” he

encountered again the clear eye of Sweetwater. For, in the person of this none too welcome intruder, he saw a very different man from the one upon whim he hod just turned his back with so little ceremony; and there appeared to be no good reason for the change. He had not noted in his preoccupation, how George, at sight of his stooping figure, had made a sudden significant movement, and if hq had, the pulling of a necktie straight, would have meant nothing to him. But to Sweetwater it meant everything, and it was in the tone of one fully at ease wjth himself that he now dryly remarked: “Mr. Brotherson, If you Teel quite clean, and If you have sufficiently warmed yourself, I would suggest that we start out )at once, unless, you prefer to have me share this room with you till the morning.” There was silence. Mr. Dunn thus addressed attempted no answer; not for a full minute. The two men were measuring each other—George \ felt that he did not count at all —and they were quite too much occupied with this task to heed the passage of time. "Brotherson?” repeated their host, after the silence had lasted to th« breaking-point. “Why do you call me that?” “Because It Is your name.” “You called me Dunu a minute ago." “That is true." “Why Dunn If Brotherson Is my name ?’’ “Because you spoke under the name of Dunn at the meeting tonight, and if I don’t mistake, that Is the name by which you are known here.” “And you? By what name are you known?” “It is late to ask, isn’t it? But I’m willing to speak it now, and I might not have been so a little earlier in our conversation. I am Detective Sweetwater of the New York Department of Police, and my errand here Is a very simple one. Some letters signed by you have been found among the papers of the lady whose mysterious death at the hotel Clermont is just now occupying the attention of the New York authorities. If you have any information to give which will in any way explain that death, your presence will be welcome at Coroner Heath’s office in New York. If you have not, your presence will still he welcome. At all events, I was told to bring you. You will be on hand to accompany me in the morning, I am quite sure, pardoning the unconventional means I have taken to make sure of my man?” The humor with which this was said seemed to rob It of anything like attack, and Mr. Brotherson, as we shall hereafter call him, smiled with an odd acceptance of the same, as he responded: v • "I will go before the police certainly. I haven’t much to tell, but what I have is at their service. It will not help you, but I have no secrets. What are you doing?” He bounded /towards Sweetwater, who had simply stepped to the window, lifted the shade and looked across at the opposing tenement. "I wanted to see if it was still snowing,” exclaimed the detective, with a smile, which seemed to strike the other like a blow. “If it was a liberty, please pardon it” Mr. Brotherson drew back. The cold air of self-possession which he now assumed, presented such a contrast to the unwarranted heat of the moment before that George wondered greatly over it, and later, when he recapitulated to me the whole story of thiß night, It was this Incident of the lifted shade, together with the emotion it had caused, whioh he acknowledged as being for him the most Inexplicable event of the evening and one he was most anxious to hear explained. . ■- CHAPTER X. A Difference of Opinion. At an early hour the next morning, Sweetwater stood before the coroner’s desk, urging a plea he feared to hear refused. He wished to be present at the interview soon to he held with Mr. Brotherson, and he had no good reason to advance why such a privilege should be allotted luim. The coroner, who had had some little experience with this man, surveyed him with a smile less forbidding than the poor fellow expected. "You seem to lay great store by it," said he; “if you want to sort those papers over there, yon may.” “Thank you. I don’t understand the job, but I promise yon not to increase the confusion. If I do; if I rattle the leaves too loudly, it will mean, ’Press him further on this exact point,’ hat I doubt if I rattle them, sir. No such luck.” The last three words were uttered sotto voce, bnt the coroner heard him, and followed his ungainly figure with a glance of some curiosity, as he settled himself at the desk on the other side of the room. i

“Is the man—” he began, but at this moment the man entered, and Dr. Heath forgot the young detective, in his interest in the new arrival. “Mr. Brotherson, I believe,” said he, as he motioned his visitor to sit. “That is my name, sir." “Orlando Brotherson?” “The same, sir.” "I’m glad we have made no mistake,” smiled the doctor. “Mr. Brotherson, I have sent for you under the supposition that you were a friend of the unhappy lady lately dead at the Hotel Clermont.” "Miss Challoner?” _ • “Certainly; Miss Challoner." “I knew the lady. But —” here the speaker’s eye took on a look as questioning as that 0f his interlocutor — “but In a way so devoid of all publicity that I cannot hut feel surprised that the fact Bhould be known.” At this, the listening Sweetwater hoped" that Dr. , Heath would ignore the suggestion thus-conveyed and decline the explanation it apparently demanded. But the impression made by the gentleman’s good looks had been too strong for this coroner’s proverbial caution, and, handing over the slip of a note which had been found among Miss Challoner’s effects by her' father, he quietly asked: “Do you recognize the signature?” “Yes, It is mine.” “Do you remember thq words of this note,"Mr. Brotherson?” "Hardly. I recollect its tenor, but not the exact words.” \ "Read them.” “Excuse me, I had rather not. I am aware that they were bitter and should be the cause of great regret. I was angry when I wrote them.” “That is evident. But the cause of your anger Is not sp clear, Mr. Brotherson. Miss Challoner was a wojnan of lofty character, or such was the universal opinion of her 'friends.' What could she have done to a gentleman like yourself to draw forth such a tirade?” “You ask that?” "I am obliged to. There Is mystery surrounding her death —the kind of mystery which demands perfect frankness on the part of all who were near her on that evening, or whose relations to her were in any way peculiar. You acknowledge that your friendship was of such a guarded nature that it surprised you greatly to hear It recognized. Yet you could write her a letter of this nature. Why?” "Because—” the word came glibly; but the next one was long in following. “Etecause,” he repeated, letting the fire of some strong feeling disturb for a moment, his dignified reserve, “I offered myself to Miss Challoner, and she dismissed me with great disdain." “Ah! and so you thought a threat was due her?” £ 1 “A threat?” “These words contain a threat, do they not?” “They may. I was hardly master of myself at the time. I may have ex-

flatter myself so far. You overrate my Influence with the lady you name.” "You believe, then, that she was sincere in her rejection of your addresses?" “I have never allowed myself to think otherwise. I have seen no reason why I should. The suggestion you would convey by such a question is hardly welcome, now. I pray you to be careful in your judgment of such a woman’s impulses. They often spring from sources not to be sound- < ed even by her dearest fiends." Meantime, the coroner had collected his thoughts. With an apology for the extremely personal nature of his inquiry, he asked Mr. Brotherson If he would object to giving him some further details of his acquaintanceship with Miss Challoner; where he first met her and under what .circumstances their friendship had developed. “Not at all,” was the ready reply. “I have nothing to conceal in the matter. I only wish that her father were present that he might listen to the. recital of my acquaintanceship with his daughter. He might possibly un-« derstand her better and regard with more leniency the presumption Into which I was led by my Ignorance of the pride inherent ip great families.” “Your wish can very easily be gratified.” returned the official, pressing an electric button on his desk; “Mr. Challoner is in the adjoining, room.” Then,- as the door communicating with room he had mentioned swung ajar and stood so, Dr. Heath added, without apparent consciousness of the dramatic character of this episode, “You will not need to raise yow voice beyond its natural pitch. He can hear perfectly from where he sits.” “I first met Miss Challoner In the Berkshires,” he began, after a moment of quiet listening for any possible sound from the other room. “I had been on the tramp, and had stopped at one of the great hotels for a seven days’ rest. The panorUma of beauty spread out before me on every side was sufficient In Itself for my enjoyment, and might have continued so to the end ? If my attention had not been very forcibly I drawn on ono memorable morning to a young lady— Miss Challoner —by the very earnest look she gave me as 1 was crossing the office from one verandah to another. It was an overwhelming blush which could not have sprung from any slight embarrassment, and, though 11 hate the pretensions of those egotists; who see in a woman’s smile than it by- right conveys, I could not help being moved by this display off feeling in one so gifted with every grace and attribute of the perfect woman. With less caution than I usually display, I approached the desk where she had been standing and, meeting the eyeß of the clerk, asked the young lady’s name. He gave It, and waited for me to express the surprise he expected It to evoke." But I felt none and, showed none. Other feelingß had seized me. I had heard of this gracious woman from many sources, in my life among the suffering masses of New York, apd now that I had sedn her and found her to be not only my Ideal of personal loneliness but. seemingly approachable and not uninterested in myself, I allowed my fancy to soar and my heart to become touched. A fact which the clerk now confided to me naturally deepened the Impression. Miss Challoner had seen my name in the guest-book and asked to have me pointed out to her. Perhaps she had heard my name spoken in the same quartet where I had heard hers. We have never exchanged confidences on the subject, and I cannot say. I can only give yout my reason for the interest I felt in, Miss Challoner and why I forgot, to the glamour of this episode, the aimsand purposes of a not unambitious, life and the distance which the world and the So-called aristocratic class-, put betweep' a woman of her wealth, and standing and a simple worker likemyself. "I must be pardoned. She had upon me once, and she smiled again. Days' before we were formally presented, I caught her softened look: turned my way, as we passed each other In hail or corridor. We were, friends, or so it appeared to me., be--fore ever a word passed between us.-, and when fortune favored us and we, were duly introduced, our minds met to a strange sympathy which made, this one interview a memorable one-, to me. Unhappily, aa I then considered it, this was my last day at thehotel, and our conversation, interrupted frequently by passing acquaintances, was never resumed. I ex-, changed a few words with her by way of goodby but nothing more. I came to New York, and she remained In, Lenox. A month after and she too. came to New York” “This goodby—do you remember it? The exaot language, f mean?" (TO BBS CONTINUED.) Don’t worry about what the otherfellow is going to do. Let your supe--1 rior activities worry him.

pressed myself in an unfortunate manner.” “Read the words, Mr. Brotherson. I really mist insist that you do so.” There was no hesitancy now- Rising, he leaned over the table and read the few words the other had. spread out for his perusal. Then he slowly rose to his full height, as he answered, with some slight display of compunction: "I remember it perfectly now. It Is not a letter to be proud of. I hope—” < "Pray finish, Mr. Brotherson.” "That you are not seeking to establish a connection between this letter and her violent death V "Letters of this sort are often very mischievous, Mr. Brotherson. The harshness with which this is written might easily rouse emotions of a most unhappy nature to the breast of a woman as sensitive as Miss Challoner.” -- "Pardon me, Dr. Heath; I cannot

George Cast Him a Keen Look.

“What Are You Doing?"