Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 243, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 October 1915 — Page 2

The CZAR'S SPY

• • TheTlysfery of a Silent Love

by Chevalier WILLIAM LE QUIUX

AUTHOR CLOSED DOOK,” ETC*

ILLUSTRATIONS C D RHODES cofir7"&rr by rue smart or met**/* co

SYNOPSIS. Gordon Gran Is cellrd upon In Le*hom by Hornby, the yacht Lola'a owner, and dining aboard with him and hts friend. Hylton Chater, accidentally a torn photograph of a young girl. That night the consul’* safe la robbed. The police find that Hornby la a fraud and the Lola'* name a false one. Gregg visits Cant. Jack Du rnford of the marines aboard his vowel. Durnford know*, but will not reveal, the mystery of the Lola. "It oonoerna a woman." In London (trees la trapped nearly to his death by a former servant. Ollnto. Visiting In Dumfries Grass meets Muriel Leith court. Hornby appears and Muriel Introduces him as Martin Woodroffs, her father’s friend. Grass finds that she Is engaged lo Woodruff# Gregg sees a copy of the torn photograph on the Lola and finds that the young girl Is Muriel’s friend. Woodroffs disappears. Gregg discovers the body of a murdered woman In Rannoch wood. The body disappears and in Its place Is found the body of Ollnto. Oregg talks to the polloe but conceals hts own knowledge of the woman. Muriel calls secretly on Gragg and tells him that she Is certain that a woman as well as a man has bean murdered. They search Rannoch wood together, and find the body of the woman Gregg recognises her as Arenlda, OUnto's wife. Gregg tells the police, but when they go to the wood the body has disappeared. In London Oregg meets Ollnto, alive and well. Failing to get any clue from Ollnto. Gregg traces the young girl of the torn photograph. and finds that she is Elma Heath, Rteoe of Baron Oborg. who has token her •p Abo. Finland, and that she holds a secret affecting Woodroffe. On his return lo Rannoch Gregg finds the Lelthcourts ffod after drugging Hylton Chater, who had called there. CHAPTER IX—Continued. “Yes, sir. He called here lo a fly on the day he came out. and at his reguest I took him over the castle. He went Into the library and spent half aa bout in pacing across It, taking measurements and examining the big cupboard in which he was found insensible. It was a strange affair, sir,” added the young woman, “wasn’t It?” “Yeyy.” 1 replied. “The gentleman might have been In there now had I not gone into the library and found a lot of illustrated papers, which I always put In the cupboard to keep the place tidy, thrown oat on to the floor. 1 went to pat them back, but discovered the door locked. The key 1 afterwards found In the grate, where Mr. Leithcourt had evidently thrown it, and on opening the door Imagine the shock 1 had when I found the visitor lying doubled up. I. of course, thought he was dead." “And when he returned here on his recovery, did he question you?” “Oh. yes. He asked about the Lelthcourts. and especially about Miss Muriel. I believe he’s rather sweet on her, by the way he spoke. And really no better or kinder lady ever breathed. I’m sure. We’re all very sorry Indeed for her.” “He came Into this room, I suppose?" “Yes, sir,” she responded, with just • slight hesitation, I thought “This was the room where he stayed the longest There was a photograph In that frame over there,” she added, indicating the frame that had held the picture of Elma Heath, “a portrait of a young lady, which he begged me to give him.” “And you gave it to him?” I cried quickly. “Well—yes. sir. He begged so hard for It saying that it was the portrait of a friend of his.” “And he gave you something handsome for it—eh ?” The young woman, whom I knew could not refuse half-a-sovereign, colored slightly and smiled. “He didn’t tell you who the young lady was, I suppose?” “No, sir. He only said that that was the only photograph that existed, and that she was dead.” “Dead!” 1 gasped, staring at her. “Yes, sir. That was why he was so anxious for the picture.” Elma Heath dead! Could it be true? That sweet-pictured face haunted me as no other face had ever impressed itself upon my memory. It somehow seemed to impel me to endeavor to penetrate the mystery, and yet Hylton Chater had declared that she was dead! I recollected the remarkable letter from Abo, and her own declaration that her end was near. That letter was, she said, the last she should write to her friend. “After he had put the photograph in his pocket, the gentleman made a most minute search in this room,” the domes tic went on. “He consulted his plan, took several measurements, and then Upped on the paneling all along this wail, as though he were searching for some hidden cupboard or hiding place. I looked at the plan, and saw a mark in red ink upon it He was trying to discover that spot, and was greatly disappointed at not being able to do so. He was In here over an hour, and made a most careful search all around.” “And what explanation did he give?** * “He only said, ‘lf I find what I want, Ann, I shall make yon a present of a ten-pound note.’ That naturally made sse anxious.” k “He made no other remark about the young lady’s death?’Vl inquired anxiously. “No. Only he sighed, and looked steadily for a long time at the photograph. I aaw his lips moving, but his words were inaudible.” “You haven’t any idea of the reason why ho oalted span Mr. Leithcourt. I suppose ?“

“Prom what he said, I’ve formed my own conclusions,” was her answer. “And what is your opinion?” “Well, I feel certain that there is, or was, something concealed in this house that he’s very anxious to obUln. He came to demand It of Mr. Leithcourt, but.-what happened in the library we don't know. He, however, believes that Mr. Leithcourt has not taken it* away, and that, whatever It may be, it is still hidden here.” CHAPTER X. I Show My Hand. On my return to London next day I made inquiry at the admiralty and learned that the battleship Bulwark was lying at Palermo, therefore I telegraphed to Jack Durnford, and late the same afternoon his reply came at the Cecil: Due In London twentieth. Dine with me at club that evening.—Jack. The twentieth! That meant nearly a month of Inactivity. In that time I could cross to Abo, make inquiries there, and ascertain, perhaps, if Elma Heath were actually dead as Chater had declared. * Two facts struck me as remarkable: Baron Oberg was said to be Polish, while the dark-bearded proprietor of the restaurant In Westbourne Grove was also of the same nationality. Then I recollected that pretty little enameled cross that Mackenzie had found in Rannoch Wood, and it suddenly occurred to me that it might possibly be the miniature of one of the European orders of chivalry. In the club library at midnight I found a copy of Cappelletti’s Storia degll Ordlni Cavallereschi, the standard work on the subject, and on searching the illustrations I at length discovered a picture of it It was a Russian order — the coveted Order of Saint Anne, bestowed by the czar only upon persons who have rendered eminent services to the state and to the sovereign. One fact was now certain, namely, that the owner of that tiny cross, the small replica of the fine decoration, must be a person of high official standing. The autumn days were dull and rainy, and the streets were muddy and unpleasant, as they always are at the fall of the year. Compelled to remain inactive, I idled in the club with the recollection of that pictured face ever before me—the face of the unfortunate girl who wished her last message to be conveyed to Philip Hornby. ( What, I wondered, was her secret? * What was really her fate? This latter question troubled me until I could bear it no longer. I felt that It was my duty to go to Finland and endeavor to learn something regarding this Baron Oberg and his niece. Duty—the duty of a man who had learned strange facts and knew that a defenseless woman was a called me. Therefore, with my passport properly vised and my papers all in order, I one night left Hull for Stockholm, whence on the following day I took the small steamer which plies across the Gulf of Bothnia to Korpo, and through the intricate channels and among those low-lying islands to the gray lethargic town of Abo. It was not the first occasion on which I had trod Russian soil, and I knew too well the annoyances of the bureaucracy. Finland, however, is perhaps the most severely governed of any of the czar’s dominions. anH t bad my first taste of its stern, relentless officialdom at the moment of landing on the half-deserted quay. In the wooden Passport office the uniformed official, on examining my passport, discovered that at the Russian consulate general they had forgotten to date the vise which had been impressed with a rubber stamp. It was signed by the consul general, but the date was missing, whereupon the man shook his head and handed back the document curtly, saying in Russian, which I understood fairly well, although 1 spoke badly: “This is not in order. It must be returned to London and dated before you can proceed.” “But It is not my fault,” I protested “It Is the fault of the clerk at the consulate general.” “You should have examined it before leaving. You must send it to London, and return to Stockholm by tonight’s boat.” “But this is outrageous!” I cried, as he bad already taken the papers of a passenger behind me and was looking at them with unconcern. “Enough!" he exclaimed, glaring at me. “You will return tonight, or If you choose to stay you will be arrested for landing without a passport.” “I shall not go back!” I declared defiantly. "Your consul general vised my passport, and I claim, under international law, to he allowed to proceed without hindrance.” “The steamer leaves at six o’clock." he remarked without looking up. “If you are in Abo after that remember It will be at your own risk.” “Yes," 1 said menacingly, *1 shall recollect it” And I turned and went out of tha littls wooden office

THE EVENINH REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

Mk o'clock eam«. I hearu the teem siren of the departing boat bound for Sweden, but I was determined to remain there at whatever coat, therefore I returned to the hotel, end at seven dined comfortably in company with a German who had been my fellow-pas-senger across from Stockholm. At eight o’clock, however. Just as we were idling over dessert, two graycoated police officers entered and arrested me on the serious charge of landing without a passport I accompanied them to the police office, where 1 was ushered into the presence of the big, bristly Russian who held the town of Abo in terror, the chief of police. The officials which Russia sends into Finland are selected for their harsh discipline and hibebound bureaucracy, and this human machine In uniform was no exception. Had he been the minister of the interior himself, he could not have been more self-opinionated. “Well?” he snapped, looking up at me as I was placed before him. “Your name is Gor-don Gregg, English, from Stockholm.,,* No passport, and decline to leave even though warned —eh?" “I have a passport” I said firmly, producing it He looked at It, and pointing with his finger, said: "It has no date, and is therefore worthless.” “The fault is not mine, but that of a Russian official. If you wish it to be dated, you may send it to your consulate general in London.” “I shall not,” he cried, glaring at me angrily. "And for your insult to the law, I shall commit you to prison for one month. Perhaps you will then learn Russian manners.” “Oh! so you will commit an Englishman to prison for a month, without trial —eh? That’s very Interesting! Perhaps if you attempt such a thing as that they may have something to say about it In Petersburg.” “You defy me!” “Perhaps you will kindly tell me who you are?” I asked in as quiet a voice as 1 could command. “With pleasure. 1 am Michael Boranski, chief of police of the province of Abo-Blornebourg.” “Ah! Well, Michael Boranskl,” I said, reopening my pocketbook and taking out an open letter, “perhaps you will kindly glance at that It is In Russian, so you can read it” He snatched it from me with 111 grace, but not without curiosity. And then, as .he read the lines, his face changed and he went paler. Raising

“You Will Return Tonight, or Be Arrested for Landing Without a Passport.”

his head, he stood staring at me openmouthed in amazement “I apologize to your excellency!” he gasped, blanched to the lips. "I most humbly apologize. I —l did not know. You told me nothing!” “Perhaps you will now kindly give my passport a proper vise.” In an instant he gave it the proper vise, affixing the stamps. “I trust excellency,” he said, bowing low as he handed it to me, “1 trust that this affair will not trouble you further. I assure you I had no intention of insulting you.” He held the letter I had given him gingerly with trembling fingers. And well he might for it was headed: Minister of the Imperial. Household, Palace of Peterhof. The bearer of this Is one Gordon Francis Gregg, British subject whom It Is Our will and command that he shall be Our guest during his Journey through our dominion. And we hereby command all Governors of Provinces and minor officials to afford him all the facilities he requires and privileges and Immunities as Our guest Beneath was the sprawling signature of the ruler of one hundred and thirty millions of people, that signature that was all-powerful from the Gulf of Bothnia to the Pacific —“Nicholas.* \ The document was the one furnished to me .a, year before when, at the Invitation of the Russian government I had gone on a mission of inquiry into the state of the prisons in order to see. on behalf of the British public, whether things were as black as some writer had painted them. Sight of it had changed the chief of police from a burly bully Into & whining coward, for he saw that he had torn up the passport of a guest of the czar, and the consequence was most serious if I complained. He begged at a« to pardon him. urging all manner

fore me as well as before his two inferiors, who now regarded me with awe. “I will atone for the insult In any way your high excellency desires.” declared the official. ”1 will serve your excellency In any way he may command.” Hla words suggested a brilliant Idea. I had this man In my power; he feared me. “Well,” I said after toms reluctance, “there ts a little matter In which you might be of some assistance. If you will, I will reconsider my decision of complaining to Petersburg.” “And what is that, excellency?” he gasped eagerly. “J desire to know the whereabouts of a young English lady named Elma Heath,” 1 said, and I wrote down the name for him upon a piece of paper. "Age about twenty, and was at school at Chichester, in England. She is a niece of a certain Baron Oberg.” “Baron Oberg!” he repeated, looking at me rather "strangely, I thought. “Yes, aa she ia a foreigner she will be registered in your books. She is somewhere in your province, but where I do not know. Tell me where she is, and I will say nothing more about my passport,” I added. “Then your excellency wishes to see the young lady?” he said reflectively, with the paper In his hand. “Yes.” “In that case, It being commanded by the emperor that I shall serve your excellency, 1 will have immediate inquiries made,” was his answer. “When I discover her whereabouts, I will do myself the pleasure of calling at your excellency’s hotel.” And I left the fellow, very satisfied that I had turned his officiousness and hatred of the English to very good account On the morning of the third day after my arrival at Abo, while sitting on the hotel veranda reading an old copy of the Paris Journal, many portions of which had been “blacked out” by the censor, the chief of police. In his dark green uniform, entered and saluted before me. “Your excellency, may I be permitted to speak with you in private?” "Certainly,” I responded, rising and conducting him to my bedroom, where I closed the door, invited him to a seat, and myself sat upon the edge of the bed. “I have made various inquiries,” be said, “and I think I have found the lady your excellency Is seeking. My information, however, must be furnished to yon in strictest confidence,” he added, “because there are reasons why I should withhold her whereabouts from you." “What do you mean?” I Inquired. “What reasons?” “Well —the lady is living in Finland In secret” “Then she is alive!” I exclaimed quickly. “I thought she was dead.” “To the world she Is dead,” responded Michael Boranskl, stroking his red beard. “For that reason the information I give you must be treated as confidential.” “Why should she be In hiding? She Is guilty of no offense —is she?” The man shrugged his shoulders, but did not reply. “And this Baron Oberg? You tell me nothing of him,” I said with dissatisfaction. “How can I when I know nothing, excellency?” was his response. I felt certain that the fellow was not speaking the truth, for I had noticed his surprise when I had first uttered the mysterious nobleman’s name. “As I have already said, excellency, I am desirous of atoning for my insult, and will serve you in every manner I can. For that reason I had sought news of the young English lady—the Mademoiselle Heath.” “But you have all foreigners registered In you/ books,” I said. "The search was surely not a difficult one. I know your police methods in Russia too well,” I laughed. “I regret that much as I desire, I dare not appear to have any connection with your quest But I will direct you. Indeed, I will give you a person to take you to her. If I could find the man, you might go today. Yet it is a long way, and you would not return before tomorrow.” “The roads are safe, I suppose? I don’t mind driving in the night” The official glanced at the clock, and rising exclaimed: “Very well, I will send for the man. If we find him, then the carriage will be at the eastern end of the quay in two hours.” “At noon. Very welL I shall keep the appointment” “And after seeing her, you will of course keep your promise of secrecy regarding our little misunderstanding?” lie asked anxiously. “I have already given my word,” was the response; and the man bowed and left, much, I think, to the surprise of the hotel proprietor and his staff. It was an unusual thing for such a high official as the chief of police to visit one of their guests in person. If he desired t 6 interview any of them, he commanded them to attend at his office, or they were escorted there by his gray-coated agents. I think I must have waited half an hour on the quay when my attention was suddenly attracted by the rattle of wheels over the stones, and turning I saw an old closed carriage drawn by three horses abreast, with bells upon the harness, approaching me rapidly. When it drew np, the driver, a ■ buriy-looking, fair-headed Finn in a huge sheepskin overcoat, motioned me to enter, urging in broken Russian: “Quickly, excellency—quickly—you most not be sew!** And then the instant I was seated.

ia4 Mon I miM clom the door, Um horses plunged forward and wo woro tearing at fall gallop out of tha town. After Art mile* or so, the driver pulled up and descended to readjust his harness, whereupon I got out and asked him in the beet Russian I could command: •The chief of polios has given you directions?" I asked “His high excellency has told me exactly what to do." was the man's answer, as be took out his huge wooden pipe and filled It “You wish to see the young lady?" “Yes," I answered, “to first see her, and I do not know whether It will be necessary for me to make myself known to her. Where is she?" "Beyond Nystad," was his vague answer with a wave of his big fat hand in the direction of the dark pine forest that stretched before us. "We shall be there about an hour after sundown.” The short day quickly drew to a close, tha sun sank yellow and watery over the towering pines through which we went mile after mile, a dense, interminable forest wherein the wolves lurked in winter, often rendering the road dangerous. When night drew on we changed horses again at a small, dirty posthouse in the forest, at the edge of a lake, and then pushed forward again, although it was already long past the hour at which he had said we should arrive. Time passed slowly In the darkness. I suppose I must have slept, for I was awakened by a light shining into my face and the driver shaking me by the shoulder. When I roused myself he placed his finger mysteriously upon my lips, saying: “Hush, your high nobility, hush! Come with me. But make no noise. If we are discovered, it means death for U8 —death. Come, give me your hand. Slowly. Tread softly. See, here Is the boat. I will get in first We shall not be heard upon the water. So.” And the fellow led me, half-dazed, down to the bank of a broad, dark river which I could not distinguish—he led me to an unknown bourne. (TO BB CONTINUED.)

THOUGHT HIM A PREACHER

American Diplomat Victim of an Amusing Mistake in the Yosemite Valley. Madame Hegermann-Llndencrone, author of the book, “The Sunny Side of Diplomatic Life,” tells of an Incident that happened when she and her husband —then Danish minister to the United States —were traveling in the West They were spending Sunday in the Yosemite valley, when immediately after breakfast a man knocked at their door and with hums and haws said he had been sent to ask Mr. Hegermann-Llndencrone if he woul’d read the prayers and preach a sermon in the drawing-room of the hotel, “it being Sunday and you being a minister.” J. was a little aghast, not exactly understanding, while I was shaking with laughter at the other end of the room, and would not have interfered for worlds for fear of losing a word of the dialogue. “‘I read the gospel!' cried J. “ ‘Yes. sir. You’re a minister, ain’t yer?’ “ ‘Well, yes, 1 am, but not the kind you mean.’ “The little man said, condescendingly; ‘We are not particular as to sqpt. Whether you’re or Methodist, it makes no difference as long as you will preach.’ “J. had difficulty in explaining in his best English that preaching was not a specialty of his."

What Are Snapping Turtles?

Nature and Science for Young Folks, an immensely popular department in St. Nicholas, is Just what its title indicates. In it are gathered many items of interest about the earth and its inhabitants, as well as the inhabitants of water and air. The writer of a description of snapping turtles concludes with the following paragraph: “Considered from a scientific standpoint, the turtle is of some interest, for, although classed with the reptiles, he has many of the attributes of other groups; thus he has a shell like the mollusks, legs like the mamiials, lays eggs like the birds, can live in the water or on the land like certain amphibians, and hibernates in the mud during the cold season as do many of the other cold-blooded creatures. The fact that his flesh is edihle, however, and that ‘turtle soup’ is somewhat of a delicacy, marks his chief claim to distinction yrith many of us.”

Love as an Educator.

iJbve is good for anyone, I think. It's the most educating thing in the world If I could, I should insist on everyone felling in love at least three times under thirty; we should have a lot less stupidity and mistakes in the world. Why, you learn diplomacy, tact, sympathy. how to be really happy—for the time, anyway; practical Insanity, which has done half the great things of the world; poqtry, music, human nature—in fact, love.—’Time o’ Day," by Doris Egerton Jones.

Dreams.

Few people, if any; *le«P without dreaming, and even on the basis of only one dream a night this would mean over seventeen thousand dreams for each person fifty yearn old. Yet few of us can recall even seventeen occasions in which a coming event has been forecasted in a dream. Tbs prophecy that comes tame is rentes* bered because the actoal occurrence brings to memory the concepts ha tha dream; the others are fiMPlhs

THE CLOSED ROAD

By KEITH KENYON.

When Bert Perry closed his desk on Friday night he hadn’t any very distinct idea of where to go, but as hs passed to the elevator and looked at the door of the office that used to bo Jane Tenny’s he decided on a trip to Piney Roads. Jane Tenny had been a public stenographer, but when things had grown dull in Wall street she had given up her business ture and moved off to Piney Roads' to seek her fortune in chickens and fruit farming. It was a six o’clock Saturday evening and Bert decided that his first stop would be at the Piney Roads hotel. “It's a neatly kept little place," thought Bert, as he surveyed the symmetrical rows of hollyhocks on either side of the path, “although it doesn’t seem very large.” Then he sounded his horn for someone to come and take his car, but no one seemed to be stirring and there was no sign of a garage. He sounded, long and impatiently until at last from behind the house appeared an old man in overalls. “There ain’t any garage round here,’’ drawled the man. “You’ll have to take your machine down to the crossing.” “Where is the proprietor?” Bert was getting impatient and, as the old man seemed not to understand, he added, “the man who keeps the place, I mean.” “Oh, now I understand,” drawled the old man, chuckling. “It ain’t a man —it’s a lady. She was back in the orchard picking cherries, and she Bald she had Just stepped in to tidy up a bit and would be out soon. Here she is.” When Bert caught sight of a pink dress and then he recognized Jane — Jane, whose interesting, pale face had grown positively pretty since her sojourn in the country. And how unembarrassed and cordial she was! She really seemed to be glad to see him. * “From the garden I could see it was you,” she said, “and I Just had to take off my sunbonnet. I don’t want you to make fun of my farming.” There followed a few explanations. “No, I am not the proprietor of the hotel,” Jane assured him. “There must be some mistake in the road book. In fact, you are the third tourist today who has come here with that idea. And you really came all the way up here to see me? Why didn’t you let me know?” Just then another car pulled into that driveway, a car of French build that made Bert’s modest roadster look insignificant. J “I say,” called one of its two occupants to the farmer, who was just making his way back to Jhe orchard, “where is the garage of this establishment? We’ll drive right in and you have the proprietor ready to see us when we get back here. We’ve only twenty minutes for dinner.” “That’s the way it’s been all the afternoon,” said Jane, when she had explained to the distinguished-looking tourists that her modest little house made no pretentions at being a hostelry. “That’s a great disappointment," said one of the men. “It promised to be something out of the ordinary in the way of inns. When I saw it I felt certain you’d give us a dinner worth eating. What? Back one road? Thank you.” When Bert returned to the veranda from his room, Jane had solved the mystery. “I’ve been looking at your road book and it says that the way to get to the inn is to turn at the second road after you leave the pike. Well, the county has just closed up the first road and put a row of poplars across it. That accounts for the confusion.” v It was not until after Jane’s delightful little supper, served on the open veranda, that she showed her guest over the place, the orchards and the berry patches, the poultry yard and the neatly kept truck garden. “But the worst of it all is,” she confessed rather dolefully, “it doesn’t pay any better than Wall street.’.’ “Jane, I’ve Just had an inspiration," he said, very solemnly. “You say that you want to make some money. Why, this very afternoon you have had a chance to make more money than we’ve been making in Wall street for a week, or that you can get from your farm for many a day. The inn down the road is no good, I am told, and the owner doesn’t care whether -he has any patrons or not. There are dozens of motorists along here every day who would stop for dinner or luncheon if they knew you had good things to'eat. This road catches an unusually high-class traffic. Think about it, and in the meantime don’t write to the road book people to change the directions/’, ‘lt’s too much of an undertaking for a woman alone. If I had a man to go in with me—” She blushed in spite of herself ,as she realised the full significance of those words.. “Jane," he said. “I’ve been waiting for this chance for more than a year. I’m tired of being a broker. Let’s go into partnership. I'll buy out yonr place here and you go on raising hbllyhocks and wearing becoming pink gowns, and I’ll bloom forth as a country hotelkeeper. How does it strike you, little girl?” T think you would make an ideal boniface,” she laughed bewitch ingly. (Copyright, 1815. by the McOtrs News-