Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 February 1916 — with thoughtful puckers about his somber eyes. [ARTICLE]

with thoughtful puckers about his somber eyes.

“If you ask me,” he replied, “I should like to know what wasn’t difficult connected with the telephone system in this country! Why, you don’t have aniysteifa. and that's all there is to it. But it’s not at that end they’ll put the salt on their man.” “Which end will it be, then?” “The river end. That hit, or cap. Do you see what the gardener says about the man who ran out bareheaded? If he went and left his hat or his cap behind him, that should be enough in the long run. It’s the verjj. worst thing you can leave. Ever hear of Franz Muller?"

Cazalet had not heard of that important notoriety, nor did his ignorance appear to trouble him at all, hut it was becoming more and more clear that Toye took an almost unhealthy Interest In the theory and practise of violent crime.

"Franz Muller,” he continued, "left his hat behind him, only that and nothing more, but it brought him to the gallows even though he got over to the other gtdenßfgt. He made thy mistake of taking a slow steamer, and that’s just about the one mistake they

never did make at Scotland Yard. Give them a nice, long, plain-sailing sternchase and they get there by bedtime — wireless or no wireless!” But Cazalet was in no mind to discuss other crimes, old or new; and he closed the digression by asserting somewhat roundly that neither hat nor cap had been left behind in the only case that Interested him. “Don’t be too sure,” said Toye. "Even Scotland Yard doesn’t show all its hand at once, in the first inquiry that comes along. They don’t give out any description of the man that ran away, but you bet It’s being circulated around every police office In the United Kingdom.” Cazalet said they would give It out fast enough if they had it to give. By the way, he was surprised to see that

the head gardener was the same who had been at Uplands In his father’s time; he must be getting an old man, and no doubt shakier on points of detail than he would be likely to admit Cazalet instanced the alleged bearing of the gong as in Itself an unconvincing statement. It was well over a hundred yards frog the gales to the house, and there were no windows to open in the hall where the gong would be rung. "I’ve dreamed of the old spot so often,” he said at length. "I’m not thinking of the night before last—l meant in the bush —and now to think of a thing like this happening, there, in the old governor’s den, of all places!’’ “Seems like a kind of poetic Justice,” said Hilton Toye. “It does. It is!” cried Cazalet, fetching moist yet fiery eyes in from the fields. “I said to you the other night that Henry Craven never was a white man, and I won’t unsay It now. Nobody may ever know what he’s done to bring this upon him. But those who really knew the man, and suffered for it, can guess the kind of thing!” “Exactly," murmured Toye, as though he had Just said as much himself. His dark eyes twinkled with deliberation and debate. “How long is it, by the way, that they gave that clerk and friend of yours?” A keen look pressed the startling question; at least, it startled Cazalet. “You mean Scruton? What on earth made you think of him?" ’Talking of those who suffered for being the dead man’s friends, I guess,” said Toye. “Was it fourteen years?” “That was it”

“But I guess fourteen doesn’t mean fourteen, ordinarily, if a prisoner behaves himself?” “A little more than ten.” “Then Scruton may be out now?” “Just." Toye nodded with detestable aplomb. “That gives you something to chew on,” said he. "Of course, I don’t say he’s our man —" "I should think you didn’t!” cried Cazalet, white to the lips with sudden fury. (TO BE CONTINUED.)