Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 100, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 April 1916 — AVERAGE JONES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AVERAGE JONES

BY SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS

ME EMS

Mr. A. V, R. E. Jones—Average Jones, his friends called him—was tired of spending his dead uncle's millions in New York and doing nothing more, and craved to take part in the dynamic activities of life. At the suggestion of the owner of an important and decent newspaper, he ooened offices in Astor court ana went in for fol-, lowing up queer advertisements and tracing down fraudulent advertisers. There were few places, Average Jones held, where human nature in the rough can be studied to better advantage than in the stifling tunnels of the subway or the close-packed sardine boxes of the metropolitan surface lines. It was in pursuance of this theory that he encountered the Westerner, on a Third avenue car. By custom, Average Jones picked out the most interesting or unusual human being in any assembly where he found himself, for study and analysis. This man was peculiar in that he alone was not perspiring in the sodden August humidity. The clear-browned skin and the rangy strength of the figure gave him a certain distinction. He held in his sinewy hands a doubly folded newspaper. Presently it slipped from his hold to the seat beside him. He stared at the window opposite with harassed and unseeing eyes. Abruptly he rose and went out on the platform. Average Jones picked up the paper. In the middle of the column to which it was folded was a marked advertisement: / ARE YOU IN AN EMBARRASSING position? Anything, anywhere, any time, regardless of nature or location. Everybody's friend. Consultation at all hours. Suite 152, Owl Building, Brooklyn. The car was nearing Brooklyn bridge. Average Jones saw his man drop lightly off. He followed and at the bridge entrance caught him up. "You’ve left your paper,” said he. The stranger whirled quickly. "Right,” he said. "Thanks. Perhaps you can tell me where the Owl building is.”

"Iwouldn’t consult witheverybody’s friend over in the Owl building.’’ “Why?” “Er —because —er —If I may speak plainly,” drawled Average Jones, "I wouldn’t risk a woman’s name with a gang of blackmailers.” “You’ve got your nerve,” retorted the stranger. The keen eyes, flattening almost to slits, fixed on the impassive face of the other. “Well, I’ll go you,” he decided, after a moment. His glance swept the range of vision and settled upon a rathskeller sign. "Come over there where we can talk.” They crossed the grilling roadway, and, being wise in the heat, ordered “soft” drinks. • “Now,” said the stranger, “you’ve declared in on my game. Make good. What’s your Interest?” “None, personally. I like your looks, that’s all," replied the other frankly. “And I don’t like to see you run that spider’s web.” “You know them?” “Twice in the last year I’ve made ’em change their place of business.” “But you don’t know me. And you spoke of —of a woman.’’ “I’ve been studying you on the car,” explained Average Jones. “You’re hard as nails; yet your nerves are on edge. On your watch you’ve got a solitaire diamond ring, until you can find a place to put it. It’s a fair inference that there’s been an obstruction In the course of true love. Unless I’m mistaken, you, being a newly come to town, were going to take your case to those man-eating sharks. At a venture I’d say you were a mining man from down around the Ray-Kelvin copper district in Arizona. That peculiar, translucent copper silicate In your scarf pin comes from those mines.” . “The Blue Fire? I wish It had stayed there, all of it! Anything else?” “Yes,” returned Average Jones, warming to the game. “You’re an eastern college man, I think, from your Phi Beta Kappa key.” “Hamilton, ’B9. Name, Kirby.” A gleam of pleasure appeared in Average Jones’ keen eyes. “That’s rather a coincidence,” he said. “Two of us from the Old Hill. I’m Jones of •04. Had a cousin in your class, Carl Van Reypen.” They plunged into the intimate community of interest which Is the peculiar heritage and asset of the small, close-knit old college. Presently, however, Kirby’s forehead wrinkled again. He sat silent, communing with himself. At length he lifted his head like one who has taken a resolution. “You made a good guess at a wornan in the case,’’ he aald. “And you call this a coincidence? She’d say it was a case of intuition. She's very strong on intuition and superstition generally ” There was a mixture of tenderness and bitterness in his tone. “Chance brought that advertisement

to her eyes. A hatpin she’d dropped stuck through it, or something of the sort. Enough for her. Nothing would do byt that I should chase over to see the Owl building bunch. At that, maybe lier hunch was right. It’s brought me up against you. Perhaps you can help me. What are you? A sort of detective?” "Only on the side.” Average Jones drew a card from his pocket, and tendered it: A. JONES, AD-VISOR Advice Upon All Matters Connected With Advertising. Astor Court Temple. 2 to 5 P. M. “Ad-Visor, eh?” repeated the other. "Well, there’s going to be an advertisement in the Evening Truth today, by me. Here’s a proof of it.” Average Jones took the slip and read it.” LOST—NECKLACE OF CURIOUS BLUE stones from Hotel Denton, night of August 6. Reward greater than value of stones for return to hotel. No questions asked. "Reward greater than value of stones,” commented Average Jones. “There’s a sentimental Interest-then?” "Will you take the case?” returned Kirby abruptly. "At least I’ll look into it,” replied Average Jones. Across a luncheon table, at the quiet, old-fashioned Hotel Denton, Kirby unburdened himself. “You know all that’s necessary about me. The—the other party in the matter is Mrs. Hale. She’s a young widow. We’ve been engaged for six months; were to be married in a fortnight. Now she insists on a postponement. That’s where I want your help.” Average Jones moved uneasily in his chair. “Really, Mr. Kirby, lovers’ quarrels aren’t, in my line.” “There’s been no quarrel. It’s only her superstition that’s caused this trouble. One can’t blame her; her father and mother were both killed in an accident after some sort of ‘ghostly warning.’ The first thing I gave her, after our engagement, was a necklace of these stones” —he tapped his scarfpin—“that I’d selected, one by one, myself. They’re beautiful, as you see, but they’re not particularly valuable; only semi-precious. The devil of it is that they’re the subject of an Indian legend. The Indians and Mexicans call them ‘blue fires,’ and say they have the power to bind and loose in love. Edna has been out in that country, and she fairly soaked in all that nonsense. To make it worse, when I sent them to her I wrote that —that —" a dull red surged up under the tan skin —“that as long as the fire in the stones burned blue for her my heart would be all hers. Now the necklace is gone. You can imagine the effect on a woman of that temperament. And you can see the result.” He pointed with a face of misery to the solitaire on his watch chain. "Details,” said Average Jones crisply. “She’s here at this hotel. Has a small suite on the third floor. Came down from her home in central New York to meet my mother, whom she had never seen. Mother’s here, too, on the same floor. Night before last Mrs. Hale thought she heard a noise in her outer room. She made a looksee, but found nothing. In the morning when she got up, about ten (she’s a late riser), the necklace was gone from the stand in her sitting room.” “Anything else taken?” "That’s the strange part of it. Her purse, with over a hundred dollars in it, which lay under the necklace, wasn’t touched.”

•‘Any other thefts in the hotel?” “Not that I can discover. But one of the guests on the same floor with Mrs. Hale saw a fellow acting queerly that same night. There he sits, yonder, at that table. I’ll ask him to come over.” The guest, an elderly man, already interested in the case, was willing enough to tell all he knew. “I was awakened by some one fumbling at my door and making a clinking noise,” he explained. “I opened my door. * A man was fussing at the keyhole of the room opposite. He was very clumsy. I said: ‘ls that your room?’ He didn’t even look at me. In a moment he started down the hallway. He walked very fast, and I could hear him muttering to himself. He seemed to be carrying something in front of him with both hands. It was his keys, I suppose. Anyway I could hear it clink. At the end of the hall he stopped, turned to the door at the left and fumbled at the keyhole for quite a while. I could hear his keys clink again. This time, I suppose, he had the right room, for he unlocked it and went in. I listened for fifteen or twenty minutes. There was nothing further.” Average Jones looked at Kirby with lifted brows of inquiry. Kirby nodded, indicating that the end room was Mrs. Hales’. “How was the man dressed?” asked Average Jones. ~ “Grayish dressing gown and bed slippers. He was tall and bad gray hair.” “Many thanks. Now, Mr. Kirby, will you take me to see Mrs. Hale?” The young widow received them in her sitting room. She was of the slender, big-eyed, sensitive type of womanhood, her piquant face marred by the evidences of sleeplessness and tears. To Average Jones she gave her confidence at once. People usually did. “I felt sure the advertisement would bring us help,” she said wistfully. “Now, I feel surer than ever.” “Faith helps the worst case,” said the young man, smiling. “Mr. Kirby tells me that the intruder awakened you”. „ ,

■Yes; and I’m a very heavy sleeper. Still I can’t say positively that anything definite roused me; it was rather an impression of someone's being about. I came out of my bedroom and looked around the outer room, but there was nobody there.” "You didn’t think to look for the necklace r’ . “No," she said with a little gasp; “if I only had!” "And—er —you didn’t happen to hear any clinking noise, did you?” "No." “Are you sure your door was locked?” “Certain. As soon as I missed the necklace I looked at the catch.” “Sometimes these locks don't work.” Slipping the catch back. Average Jones pressed the lever down. There was a click, but the ward failed to slip. At the second attempt the lock worked. But repeated trials proved that more than half the time the door did not lock. “So,” observed Average Jones, “I think we may dismiss the key theory.” As he spoke Average Jones disappeared through the window. When he returned, after five minutes, he held tn his hand some scrapings of the rusted iron which formed the balcony railing. "You’re a mining man, Mr. Kirby,” he said. "Would you say that assayed anything?” Kirby examined, the glinting particles. “Gold,” he said decisively. "Ah, then the necklace rubbed with some violence against the railing. Now, Mrs. Hale, how long were you awake?” "Ten or fifteen minutes. I remember that a continuous rattling of wagons below kept up for a little while. And I heard one of the drivers call out something about taking the air.” “Er —really!” Average Jones became suddenly absorbed in his seal ring. He turned it around five accurate times and turned it back an equal number of revolutions. "Did he —er — get any answer?” “Not that I heard.” The young man pondered, then drew a chair up to Mrs. Hale’s escritoire,

and, with an abrupt "excuse me,” helped himself to pen, ink and paper. “There!” he said, after five minutes’ work. “That’ll do for a starter.. You see,” he added, handing the product of his toil to Mrs. Hale, “this street happens to be a regular crosstown route for milk vans. Hence this.” Mrs. Hale read: “MILK DRIVERS, ATTENTION: DELaware Central mid-town route. Who talked to man outside hotel early morning of August 1? Twenty dollars to right man. Apply personally to Jones, Ad-Visor. Astor Court Temple, New York." “For the.coming issue of the MilkDealers’ Journal,” explained its author. “Now, Mr. Kirby, I want you to find out for me—Mrs. Hale can help you, since she has known the hotel people for years—the names of all those who gave up rooms on this floor, or the floors above or below, yesterday morning, and ask whether they are known to the hotel people." “You think the thief is still In the hotel?” cried Mrs. Hale. Average Jones shook his head. He was still shaking his head when he left the hotel. It took three days for the milk-jour-nal advertisement to work. On the afternoon of August 10, a lank, huskyvoiced teamster called at the office of the Ad-Visor and was passed in ahead of the waiting line. "I’m after that twenty,'* he declared. “Earn it,” said Average Jones with equal brevity. “Hotel Denton. Guy on the third floor balcony." “Right soi far.” “Leanin’ on the rail as if he was sick. I give him a hello. ‘Takin’ a nip of night air, Bill?’ I says. He didn’t say nothin’.” “Did he do anything?" “Kinder fanned himself an’ jerked his head back over his shoulder. Meanin’ it was too hot to sleep inside, I reckon. It sure was hot! ” • . “Fanned himself? How?" “Like this.’* The visitor raised his hands awkwardly, cupped them, and drew them toward his face. “Er—with both hands?"

“Yep.” “Did you mo him go In?” "Nope." "Here's your twenty,” said Average Jones. "You’re long on sense and Short on words. I wish there were more like you.” “Thanks. Thanks again,” said the teamster, and went out. Meantime Kirby had sent his list of the guests who had given up their rooms on August 7. Armed with the list, Average Jones went to the Hotel Denton and spent a busy morning. “I’ve had a little talk with the hotel servants,” said he to Kirby, when the latter called to make inquiries. “Mr. Henry M. Gillespie of Locke, N. Y., had room 168. It’s on the same floor with Mrs. Hale’s suite, at the farther end of the hall. He had only one piece of luggage, a suitcase marked H. M. G. That information I got from the porter. He left his room in perfect order except for one thing: one of the knobs on the headboard of the oldfashioned bed was broken off short. He didn’t mention the matter to the hotel people.” “What do you make of that?" "It was a stout knob. Only a considerable effort of strength exerted in a peculiar way would have broken it as it was broken. There was something unusual going cn in room 168, all right.” “Then you think Henry M. Gillespie of Locke, N. Y., is our man?” “No,” said Average Jones. The Westerner’s square jaw fell. “Why not?” "Because there’s no such person as Henry M. Gillespie of Locke, N. Y. I’ve just sent there and found out.” Three stones of the fire-blue necklace returned on the current of advertised appeal. One was brought in by the night bartender of a “sporting” club. He had bought it from a man who had picked it up in a gutter; just where, the finder couldn’t remember. For the second a South Brooklyn pawnbroker demanded (and received) an exorbitant reward. A florist in Greenwich, Conn., contributed the last. With that patient attention to detail which is the A. B. C. of detective work, Average Jones traced

down these apparently incongruous wanderings of the stones and then followed them all back to Mrs. Hale’s fire-escape. The bartender’s stone offered no difficulties. The setting which the pawnbroker brought in had been found on the city refuse heap by a scavenger. It had fallen through a grating into the hotel cellar, and had been swept out with the rubbish to go to the municipal “dump.” The apparent mystery of the florist was lucid when Jones found that the hotel exchanged its shop-worn plants with the Greenwich Floral company. His roaming eye, keen for every detail, had noticed a row of tubbed azaleas within the ground inclosure of the Denton. Thus it was apparent that the three jewels had been stripped from the necklace by forcible contact with the iron rail of the fire-escape at the point where Average Jones had found the “color” of precious metal. The stones were identified by Kirby, from a peculiarity in the setting, as the end three, nearest the clasp at the back; a point which Jones carefully noted. But there the trail ended. No more fireblue stones came in. For three weeks Average Jones issued advertisements like commands. The advertisements would, perhaps, have struck the formal-minded Kirby as evidences of a wavering intellect. Indeed, they present a curious and incongruous appearance upon the page of Average Jones’ scrapbook, where they now mark a successful conclusion. *■ The first reads as follows: OH, YOU HOTEL MEN! COME through with the dope on H. M. Q._ What’s he done to your place? Put a stamp on It and we’ll swap dates on his past performances. A. Jones, Astor Court temple. New York City. This was spread abroad through the medium of Mine Host’s Weekly and other organs of the hotel trade. what later date: WANTED-SLIPPERY SAMS. HUMAN Eels. Fetter Kings, etc. Liberal reward to artist who sold second-hand props to amateur, with instructions for use. Send full details, time and place to A Jones, A#tor Court Temple, New York City.

Variety, the Clipper and the Billboard scattered the appeal broadcast throughout “the profession.” Thousands read it, and one answered it. And within a few days after receiving that answer Jones wired to Kirby: Probably found. Bring Mrs. Hale tomornlng at IL Answer. A. JONES. Some minutes before the hour the pair were at Average Jones’ office. Kirby fairly pranced with impatience while they were kept waiting in a side room. The only other occupant was a man with a large black dress-suit case, who sat at the window in a clump of dejection. He raised bis head for a moment when they were summoned and let it sag down again as they left. Average Jones greeted his guests cordially. “I haven’t got the necklace and I haven’t got the thief,” he announced ; "but I think I’ve got the man who’s got the necklace.” "Did the thief hand it over to him?” demanded Kirby. “You are deluding yourself with a name, Kirby. You’ve got your mind fixed on the name ‘thief,’ and the idea of theft. If I had gone off on that tack I shouldn’t have the interesting privilege of introducing to you Mr. Harvey M. Greene.” The man from the outer room entered and nervously acknowledged his introduction to the others. "Mr. Greene,” explained Jones, "has kindly consented to help clear up the events of the night of August 6 at the Hotel Denton and”—he paused for a moment and shifted his gaze to the newcomer’s narrow shoes —“and —er — the loss of —er—Mrs. Hale’s jeweled necklace.” The boots retracted sharply, as under the impulse of some sudden emotion; startled surprise, for example. "What?” cried Greene, in obvious amazement. "I don’t know anything about a necklace.” A twinkle of satisfaction appeared at the corners of Average Jones’ eyes. "That also is possible,” he admitted. "If you’ll permit the form of an examination, When you came to the Hotel Denton on August 6, did you carry the same suitcase you now have with you, and similarly packed?” "Ye-es. As nearly as possible.” "Thank you. You were registered under the name of Henry M. Gillespie and you left the hotel quite early on the following morning?” “Yes.”

"Your business compels you to travel a great deal. Do you often register under an alias?” “Yes,” returned the other, his face twitching. “Btfi not always. In a large'city and a strange hotel, for example, you’d take any name which would correspond to the initials, H. M. G., on your dress-suit case. But in a small town where you were known, you’d be obliged to register under your real name of Harvey M. Greene. It was that necessity which enabled me to find you." “I’d like to know how you did it,” said the other gloomily. “Here’s a bedpost, exactly like the one in room 168, occupied by Mr. Greene at the Denton. Kirby, you’re a powerful man. Can you break that knob off with both hands?” Jones asked. “Probably, if I could get a hold. But there isn’t surface enough for a good hold." "No, there isn’t. But now.” Jones colled a rope around the post and handed the end to Kirby. He pulled sharply. The knob snapped and rolled on the floor. "Q. E. D.,” said Kirby. “But it doesn’t mean anything to me.” “Doesn’t it? Let me recall some other evidence. The guest who saw Mr. Greene in the hallway thought he was carrying something in both hands. The milk driver who hailed him on the balcony noticed that he gestured awkwardly with both hands. In what circumstances would a man use both hands for action normally performed with one?” “Physical weakness,” suggested Mrs. Hale. “Rather a shrewd suggestion. But no weakling broke off that bedpost in Henry M. Gillespie’s room. I assumed the theory that the phenomena of that night were symptomatic rather than Therefore, I set out to find iriwhat other places the mysterious H. M. G. had performed.” "How did you know my initials were H. M. G.?" asked Mr. Greene. “The porter at the Denton had seen them on ‘Henry M. Gillespie’s’ suitcase. So I sent out a loudly printed call to all hotel clerks for information about a troublesome H. M. G.” He handed the “Oh, You Hotel Men” advertisement to the little group. “Plenty of replies came. You have, if I may say it without offense, Mr. Greene, an unfortunate reputation among hotel proprietors. Small wonder that you use an alias! From the Hotel Carpathla in Boston I got a response more valuable than I bad dared to hope. An H. M. G. guest—H. Morton Garson of Plllston, Pa. (Mr. Greene nodded) —had wrecked his room and left behind him this souvenir.”

Leaning over, Jones pulled, clinking from the scrap basket, a a fine steel chain. It was pndless and some twelve feet in total length, and had two small loops, about a foot apart. Mrs. Hale and Kirby stared at it in speechless surprise. “Yes, that is mine,” said Mr. Greene with composure. “I left it because it .had' ceased to be serviceable to me.” “Ahl That’s very interesting,” said Average Jones with a keen glance. “Of course when I examined it and found no locks, I guessed that it wga a trick chain, and that there were invisible springs in the wrist loops.”*

"But why should anytoe chain Mr. Greene to his bed with a trick chain?** questioned Mrs. Hale, whose mind had been wo-king swiftly. "He chained himself,” explained Jones, “for excellent reasons. Aa there is no regular trade in these things, I figured that he probably bought it from some juggler whose performance had given him the idea. So,” continued Jones, producing a specimen of his advertisements tn the theatrical publications, "I set out to find what professional had sold a ‘prop’ to an amateur. 1 found the sale had been made at Barsfield, 0., late in November of last year, by a ‘Slippery Sam,’ termed ‘The Elusive Edwardes.’ On November 28 of last year Mr. Harvey M. Greene of Richmond, Va., was registered at the principal, in fact, the only decent hotel at Barsfield. I wrote to him and here he is.” "Yes; but where is my necklace?” cried Mrs. Hale. "On my word of honor, madam, I know nothing of your necklace," asserted Greene, with a painful contraction of his features. "If this gentleman can throw any more light—” “I tnink I can,” said Average Jones. “Do yow remember of that night’s events after you broke off the bedpost and left youT room —the meeting with a guest who questioned you in the hall, for example?” "Nothing. Not a thing until I awoke and found myself on the fire-escape.” "Awoke?" cried Kirby. “Were you asleep all the time?” “Certainly. I’m a confirmed sleepwalker of the worst type. That’s why I go under an alias. That’s why I got the trick handcuff chain and chained myself up with It, until I found it drove me fighting crazy in my sleep when I couldn’t break away. That’s why I slept in my dressing gown that night at the Denton. There was a red light in the hall outside, and any light, particularly a colored one, is likely to set me going. I probably dreamed I was escaping from a locomotive —that’s a common delusion of mine—and sought refuge in the first door that was open.” “Walt a minute,” said Average Jones. "You —er —say that you are—er—peculiarly susceptible to er—♦ colored light.” "Yes.” "Mrs. Hale, was the table on which the necklace lay in line with any light outside?" "I think probably with the direct ray of an electric globe shining through the farther window.” “Then, Mr. Greene,” said Average Jonhs, "the glint of the fire-blue stones undoubtedly caught your eye. You seized on the necklace and carried it out on the fire-escape balcony, where the cool air or the milk-driver’s hall awakened you. Have you no recollection of seeing such a thing?” "Not the faintest, unhappily.” —“Then he must have dropped it to the ground below,” said Kirby. “I don’t think so," controverted Jones slowly. "Mr. Greene must have been clinging to it tenaciously when it swung and caught against the railing, stripping off the three end stones. If the whole necklace had dropped it would have broken up fine, and more than three stones would have returned to us in reply to the advertisements. And in that case, too, the chances against the end stones alone returning, out of all the thirty-six, are too unlikely to be considered. No, the fire-blue necklace never fell to the ground.” "It certainly didn’t remain on the balcony,” said Kirby. "It would have been discovered there." “Quite so,” assented Average Jones. "We’re getting at it by the' process of exclusion. The necklace didn’t falL It didn’t stay. Therefore?”—he looked inquiringly at Mrs. Hale. "It returned,” she said quickly. "With Mr. Greene,” added Average Jades'. “I tell you,” cried that gentleman vehemently. "I haven’t set eyes on the wretched thing.” “Agreed,” returned Average Jones; "which doesn’t at all affect the point I wish to make. You may recall. Mr. Greene, that in my message I Mfcefi you to pack your suitcase exarti> *• it was when you left the hotel 3 on the morning of August 7.’’ "I’ve done so with the exception »< the conjurer’s chain, of course. 1 ' "Including the dressing gown yua had on, that night, I assume. you worn it since?" "No. It bung in my closet unxil yesterday, when I folded it to pack. You see, I—-I’ve had to give up the road on account of my unhappy failing.” “Then permit me.” Average Jones stooped, to the dresMUit case, drew out the garment and thrust his hand into its one pocket He turned to Mrs. Hale. “Would you—er—mind— er—leaning over a bit?” he said. She bent her dainty head, then gave a startled cry of delight as the young man, with a swift motion, looped over her shoulders a chain of living blue fires which gleamed and glinted m the sunlight. "They were there all the time,” sho exclaimed; "and you knew it” "Guessed it,” he corrected, “by figuring out that they couldn’t well he elsewhere —unless on the untenabo hypothesis that our friend, Mr. Greeivi here, was a thief." “Which only goes to prove,” said Kirby soberly, “that evidence may be a mighty HeeeptTv® accuset.”"™'* “Which only goes to prove,” amend ed Average Jones, “that there’s no fire, even the bluest without traceatl* smoke.” K (Copyright by thq Bobbs-MerrUl Co * - pany.)