Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 266, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 November 1916 — Page 2

UNDER FIRE

By RICHARD PARKER

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'‘synopsis. The chief characters are Ethel Willoughby. Henry Streetman and Capt. Larry Redmond. The minor characters are Sir George Wagstaff of the British admiralty and Charles Brown, a New Tork newspaper - correspondent, bite , a resident of Sir George's household, secretly married to Streetman, a German spy, though she did not know him as such. Captain Redmond, her old lover, returns to England after long absence From him she learns the truth about Streetman; furthermore, that he has betrayed her simply to learn naval secrets The European war breaks out. Ethel prepares to accompany Streetman to Brussels as a German spy in order to nt revenge and serve England. Captain Redmond. Ethel and Charlie Brown turn up at a Belgian inn as the German army comes. ■

Here is a big opportunity for Charlie Brown, the New York newspaper correspondent, to show either a world of good sense or a state of mind bordering on Insanity. The problem is up to him—whether he will stick by his friends, no matter what ocor consider the safety of his own person. There is a big thrill in this installment. It describes the meeting and planning of spies.

CHAPTER Xll—Continued.

Ethel consented to the arrangement. She was immensely relieved that the quick-witted journalist so readily accepted her alias. “Good, good!” their delighted host exclaimed. “Sweet consomme, eh? Boiled chicken, an artichoke, a bit of salad, and some coffee—real American coffee, without chicory, eh, m’sieu?” He was already edging toward the door that led kitchenward, to begin his preparations for a meal that should forever perpetuate his inn in the memories of his two guests. “Great! Sounds immense!” Mr. Brown rejoined with enthusiasm. “Yes, mlsieu—immense! That Is your good American word. ... I shall serve such a dinner as the Lion d’Or never has seen before!” And Henri disappeared in high spirits. After the depressing dullness of the past weeks it was Indeed exhilarating to minister to two appreciative patrons.

By the time Christophe had vanished Ethel Willoughby had quite recovered her self-possession. And when Charlie Brown turned to her with a look of inquiry upon his face she was ready to meet his scrutiny with a stout heart. “You seem surprised—and quite naturally," she said, “at hearing that man call me Madame de Lorde.” “Well, that afternoon I knew you as Miss Willoughby,” he replied. “But I was then Madame de Lorde,” Ethel explained glibly. “You see, Mr. Brown, I’d been married secretly.” “Secretly?” _j “There were reasons—good reasons,” she rejoined. “I could not explain what they were then; nor can I now.”

“Surely—surely!” he acquiesced, for he had not the slightest desire to pry into her private affairs. “But what on earth are you doing in this dead-and-alive spot?” And then, in the next breath, he exclaimed, as a sudden inspiration came to him, “Oh, by George! How dull of me! You’re honeymooning, of course!” “Not exactly!” Ethel replied, just a bit lamely, perhaps. “My husband isn’t here —just now. He had some business in Brussels, but I came on ahead.” She had, Indeed, left Streetman in the Belgian capital. “Shall you be staying long?” she asked Mr. Brown. “No! I’m off in the morning,” he informed her. The informattoh relleved her vastly. She had not relished the thought of having to cons ess to the American that Monsieur de Lorde was no other than his erstwhile acquaintance of the tea party—Henry Streetman. But as a spy in his majesty’s service, Ethel took as easily to subterfuge as a duck to water. She surprised herself often by the readiness with which plausible tales sprang to her lips. “Oh! Then you won’t be able to meet Monsieur de Lorde,” she said with a note of regret. “I don’t expect him till tomorrow.” Charlie Brown murmured his regret at that circumstance. “But what are you doing here?" Ethel asked him then. “Perhaps you've a secret in your past too?” she added gayly. But Mr. Brown could lay claim to bo such romantic excuse. “Oh, I came over looking for a war,” he explained. “And you haven’t found it?” “Nothing like it at all!” he replied. “The day after I saw you I got a straight tip to beat "’it for Belgium. I bought yon one-and-a-half cylinder 1846 bicycle, and I’ve pedaled away for three days, till I feel all legs and back. ,My right name, this minute, is George W. Achewell!” And Charlie Brown sat down by the table upon which Madame de Lorde was resting her trim elbow. "

“Mr. Brown." Ethel said, “you’re not English. I am; but you are an AngloSaxon. and you must sympathize with the allies.” “Sure I do!” was his prompt response. -Then, whatever happens while you’re here,” she continued with an air of great earnestness, “whatever happens, I want you to remember that I am English, and that It is England I serve always. . . . You will believe it?” “Oh, of course I will!” he assured her And immediately a thought came Into Charlie Brown’s head that made him start. “And by the way.” he said, “while I think of it, I want to warn you about that chap I met at tea at your place. Streetman, he called himself. You remember him?” To hide her confusion Ethel rose and moved a few steps away from the table. “Yes, I remember him very well,” she answered.

“I happened that night to get some dope on him.” Charlie went on, in entire innocence of the effect his words had upon her. “He’s what you might call a professional spy—working for the German service now. That’s why be stuck up for them that afternoon; but really he’s a Russian.” “A Russian!” Ethel exclaimed, startled, in spite of herself, by that surprising news. “Yes,” he continued. "He got kicked out of Russia ten years ago for some dirty business. Then he worked for the English against the Boers. They couldn’t stand him either —he's an awful rotter. I don’t know much about him after that. Now he’s with the Germans. . . . You’ll forgive my speaking of this,” he said? “but I thought perhaps as you’re in the admiral’s family, he might be trying to pump you about some of the navy’s secrets.”

“Oh—thank you for telling me!” she exclaimed gratefully. And. somehow, she felt the least bit guilty that she could not be frank with him. “And one thing more—” she added, as he seemed about to leave her, “you won’t speak of meeting me here? You'll promise, won't you, even though I gan’t explain?”

“My dear girl,” be protested, “I’ve been on so many stories, I've interviewed so many people, I’ve seen so much of human nature, that I know _pretty well when to print a story and when to kill it—and I’ll go through for you any way you want me to.” Ethel turned to him impulsively, gratefully. “Thank you—you’re a ' dear!” she told him. And at that moment the French spy —he of the newspaper—returned. And, paying scant heed, apparently, to Ethel and her companion, he sat down at a table, lighted another cigarette, and resumed his intent reading once more. As soon as he caught sight of the stranger Charlie Brown warned Ethel with a quick “Ssh!” “It must be nearly time for dinner,” Madame de Lorde remarked carelessly, as if their conversation bore only upon trivial matters.

“That’s so. And if we’re going to dine together I think I’ll go wash up—or the folks will think I belong here,” Mr. Brown said, glancing down at the wreck of his once immaculate new English suit. “Oh, I almost forgot my vanity bag!” he exclaimed. And he retrieved his paper parcel from the table where he had dropped it. Then he went joyfully to his room.

CHAPTER XIII. Der Tag. Meanwhile Ethel Willoughby, alias Madame de Lorde, strolled aimlessly to the cigar counter and leaned negligently against it. Her feelings were decidedly mixed—compounded of pleasure and uneasiness. As it turned out, she found it agreeable to meet Mr. Brown. It was a distinct relief to be able to talk to someone against whom she was under no necessity of being on her guard. But at the same time, a matter of business had brought her to Courvoisier, and the inn. To be sure, Streetman expected to join her there later. But in the meantime Ethel expected to meet someone else first. Who that person might be she did not know, except that the unknown was a spy in the service of the French. No sooner did he find himself alone with Ethel than the little Frenchman dropped his paper. —“Bonjour, madame!” he said. “I beg your pardon!" Ethel said. “Do not look around—stay where you are!” the stranger told her crisply. All at once it occurred to her that this somewhat inferior-looking individual might be he whom she sought. But she could not be sure? And she ; resolved to bide her time. “Really, sir,” she said, with assumed hauteur. “I beg you to explain thismystery —this —” -“Mystery—”he took-the word out of her mouth —“shall we say rather the mystery of General Jacques,” he corrected her politely “Oh, you are- ”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

*A friend of France! And your password?” He waited for her to jnippiy the mystic word. “Courvolsler!” she said In a low voice. “Good!” he exclaimed with satisfaction. “The other day to General Jacques at the fort you offered your services for France.” he ventured. “Yes!” “He wishes now to take advantage of your offer.” “I am ready.” she answered quietly. He proceeded swiftly to the business in hand. -5" “The Germans will be here tonight, and here the road forks, one turn to tltf. right, the other to the left —you know?”

“It Is important,*the general says, that he should know which road the Germans take —whence comes the attack. . . • You are to inform him by telephone.” “But they will cut the wires,” Ethel objected. “All that they can find,” he agreed. “But last night, while the others slept, we have strung a wire from the fort to—that chimney!” By the merest nod he Indicated the huge fireplace that projected into the room. “Here?” she exclaimed. He bowed.

“I have beneath my coat a telephone.” he continued hurriedly. “If madame will be good enough to change places with me and keep watch, while I connect the Instrument, the affair will be simple." “Of course!” Ethel responded. The Frenchman stole to the fireplace and crept inside the wide opening. And while his head and shoulders vanished momentarily up the chimney he busied himself with his work of attaching the instrument to the dangling wire within. “All is well?” he called In a low voice, as his deft fingers twisted the ends of the wire. “It is done.” the little man declared. He quickly brushed a few clinging particles of soot from his sleeves. “The telephone is In the far corner,” he explained, “beneath some tree branches. It cannot be seen.” “And what am I to do?” she asked.

“At the earliest possible moment after the Germans arrive and you have found out which road they take, call on that instrument. An officer will be waiting every moment from now on. I.bave signaled that the connection is mflde.” “I understand —and you may depend on me,” she promised. And he had already reached the door to take his departure when he came to a sudden halt. “Now may I ask you are Madame de Lorde?” he inquired in his quaint English. “Yes!” “Now it is perhaps best that you be told,” ... he continued. “Before you came a gentleman in the service of your country, a gentleman who met you in Brussels—he ask for you.” Ethel started at his announcement. And she drew,nearer to him.

“Captain Redmond!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Ssh—ssh—madame!” he warned her. “It was he,” be whispered. “Is he here?” she asked eagerly. “He could not wait. He must return to his work,” he enlightened her. “But what was he doing here?” she demanded hr alarm. The little Frenchman waved her to a nearby chair. “Not sjo close, madame!” he begged. She sat down obediently. “What was he doing here?” she asked. “He came to arrange about the telephone.” the fellow told her. “It is his plan.” “His plan! Then he will come back —”

“He could not be certain, madame.” “But he’s alive, and well—” She could hardly wait for his answer. “Yes, madame, quite so.” “Ob. thank God!” Ethel murmured, in a tone of vast thankfulness. Her fellow-spy smiled at that—a happy smile. “I am glad I have told you,” he said. “I had thought perhaps it was an affair of the heart. He had the look. . . . And now, madame, for what you will do permit me to thank you. It is for France.” “And for Larry!” Ethel murmured softly. It was Ethel’s turn to warn him then. For a door , opened. Henry Christophe had returned. -“Good day, m’sieu!” the little man said’cheerfully. And lie departed. “Ah, madame! Dinner is ready!” Christophe announced to Ethel. “And where is the American gentleman?” “I fancy he will be here directly,” she told him. “Ah. good, good! But we must not spoil the chicken,” he jsaid. He had taken especial pains with that chicken. and he wished to be served at just the proper momept. “I say!” Mr. Brown exclaimed. “I just happened to glance ou-bof my window. What’s going on over there?” “Why, nothing, m’sieu!” his host replied happily. “And your dinner is ready. It is delicious, I promise you.” Curiously enough, Mr. Brown’s interest in dinner had suddenly abated. “But something is happening! Look for yourself!”-Jie urged. Henri Christophe went to the door and gazed down the village street. And while he stood there, looking through the shimmering heat-waves that flickered above the cobblestones, Charlie Brown took another, survey of the commotion he had witnessed frdm his room. « “Yes, yes, m’sieu—you are.rlght!’’ Christophe exclaimed presently. “There is a cipud of dust and people are running down that road; some are coming this way.” ... He turned away from the door. And upon his broad

face was an expression aklo tc bewilderment. "What can It mean, m’aieu?" he asked. “It’s the Germans!” Charlie cried in great excitement. “Oh!” Despite the tight rein she tried to keep on herself, that one low cry would come leaping to Ethel’s lips. Half fearful, half Incredulous, Henri Christophe stood stock still and gazed stupidly at the American. “That I cannot believe!” be said at last. But In a moment more he had to believe it. Even little Jeanne knew it She came flying Into the room and flung herself into her father’s arms. , ,

“Mon pere, mon pere! The Germans are doming!” she cried in terror. Her father looked down at her tenderly. “There, there! Do not cry!” Christophe said, trying as best ne could to calm her fears. “They will not hurt you or me.” As for Charlie Brown—he promptly forgot all personal considerations. He became at once the newspaper man, the news-gathering machine. Germans are coming! And I’m in the thick of it! God, what a story!” he exclaimed. It was what he had dreamed of. Henri Christophe put his daughter away from him, as an uneasy thought crept over him. “Go to your room, Jeanne, and stay there till I call you,” he said gently. A confused murmur, as of many voices shouting In the distance, penetrated that still room where they waited. And with every moment that passed it grew louder.

From his post In the window Charlie Brown beheld a column of people sweeping up the road. They were still some distance off. But even through the dust he could see that it was a horde of frightened people, men, women. children. "Where are they from, my friend?” Charlie asked his startled host. “They come from many miles away, I think, m’sleu,” he answered. “I know everyone in this neighborhood; and these are strangers to me.” “Here they • come!” the American said excitedly, as the vanguard of the rabble poured up the street almost to the place where he waited and watched. “You’d better go to your room, Madame de Lorde.” he_told Ethei.

“Yes, perhaps I had,” she admitted. But she still lingered, fascinated by the contagious fear that impelled those peasants onward. A man, disheveled, wild-eyed, thrust his head in at the door of the Lion d’Or. “The Germans are coming!” he warned them. “You’d better get out—they’re coming this way!” he repeat-

“I Have Beneath My Coat a Telephone.”

ed breathlessly. It was plain that he had run far. And immediately he started on again. But Charlie Brown called to him. —“Wait a minute!” “You are sure?” Christophe interposed. The man came inside then. “Sure! Sure! They’re not a mile ahead!” he gasped between great soblike breaths. And already Christophe’s neighbors crowded through the doorway and peered curiously at the feb low. “They came through our town— I saw ’em —I —l, Andre Lemaire. . . . I saw ’em —all graylike—millions of ’em — a nd they’re still coming! There’s no end to them!” “But we have done nothing. They will not hurt us,” the Innkeeper told him innocently. The man turned his piteous eyes upon Christophe upon Christophe, who had not yet learned what was in store for him.

Does It occur to you that Madame De Lorde may be discovered as a spy by the Germans the first time she tries to make a move? There Is a fine piece of graphic descriptive work in the next installment. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

'A "‘Philadelphian is the inventor of a paper bag the tdp of which is reenforced and so cut that it forms a handle.

Life in Modern Athens

ROYAL PALACE AND CONSTITUTION SQUARE

AGAINST a background of crumbling but magnificent marble temples, of maSSlVengque* ducts, of extensive amphitheaters, it is easy to project the ties Of feentiment which bind the life of the Greek of today to that of the classic worthies from whom he claims direct descent, according to a communication addressed to the National Geographic society by GeOrge Higgins Moses, formerly United States ambassador to Greece. Mr. Moses in his graphic picture of the Athens of today and of the modern citizens of the city which reached the pinnacle of its greatness in the days of Pericles, says: “It was with only a slight shock that I learned that the man who brought me my morning coffee at the legation bore the tremendous name of Themistocles. And yet it is difficult to visualize the modern Athenian with those who once walked his streets. “Thinking of Homer, of Praxiteles and of Phidias, one looks for Helen, for Hermes and for Athene; but the only Helen I ever saw in Athens was an American girl, married to a member of the cabinet, and whose golden hair, blue eyes and classic features made her at once the reigning hostess in the city. And it is only in the Islands or deep in the country where the Albanian flood once swept across the Attic plain has never reached, that one finds the facial lineaments and the bodily grace which the ancient sculptor has taught the modern world as being common to all Greeks of classic time. And this survival persists chiefly among the children, because incessant toil and scanty nourishment soon deprive both boys and girls of their native grace and stamp them with the ineradicable marks of a life of labor.

Climate Is Agreeable. “The Attic year is sharply divided climatically into two seasons, the rainy and the dry, the latter beginning late In May and extending to early October, and during which there is no rainfall except a single thunder shower, which comes with great regularity during the second week in August. Outside of Attica climatic conditions are somewhat batter. In the islands along the Gulf of Corinth, and in the Morea there is constant greenery—grass, vines and many trees. But for one who spent, as I did, four summers on and in Athens, it is not easy to learn that hills may have a beauty aside from fnrpata, and that colors, contour and form can lend enchantment to the naked rock. It was long before my New England eyes appreciated the wonderful tints which the Athenian sunset throws upon Lycabettus and Hymettu and that I learned that Athens now, as ever, should be hailed as the ‘violet-crowned city.’ “Personally, I found the Athenian climate agreeable, and I cannot now recall a single day of my stay there when, even in the rainy season, the sun did not shine at least part of the time. Cold winds there were, to be sure, irk winter, blowing down from the snow-capped hills* above the town or blowing., up from the sea at Phaleron; but there were no frosts; the roses bloomed during every month of the year in the legation gardens; oranges ripened in the open air, and we picked our breakfast fruit from the trees outside of the window, while the palm flourishes there as I have seen it nowhere else, not even in the Riviera. The summer heat is easily endurable, despite a well-nigh constant temperature of nearly 100, the absence of rain removing the humidity which makes American midsummer so intolerable. Social Year Is. Divided. “Socially, too, the Athenian year divides itself with the Climate. At the end of the rainy season the court, tjie dlpb matte body and the rich flee away, the latter going, as they say, *to Eu-

rope’; and to take their places there flock to Athens and to the seaside hotels at Phaleron and to villas and resorts at Kephisla-in-the-hills numbers of rich Greeks from Asia Minor and from Egypt; and the whole city reverses the order of its winter life, turning night into day and spending most of the hours between sunset and sunrise out-of-doors. “Athenian houses are built to resist heat. The exterior and interior walls are all of thick stone, and, with tightly closed windows, one stays indoors until the afternoon tea, when the level rays of the setting sun permit adventure. Then one strolls or drives, dines wherever the dinner hour may find him, and invariably out of doors, journeys by tram to Plmleron for the bathing and the music, or seeks the cool garden of the Zappeion to see the “movies,” or goes to Alysslda for dinner and the vaudeville, and never loses caste by returning home as late as two o’clock in the morning. * Athens Dines in the Open. “Everywhere about the town, on the roofs of clubs or hotels, in the gardens or on the terraces of restaurants, beneath the pepper trees of the parks, and even in the streets tables are spread, and I venture to say that more than 100,000 people dine in the open air each night of an Athenian summer. Greek cooking is more oriental than Indigenous. Lamb or kid, with chicken—which has always seemed to me to be the national bird of all Europe — are the principal meats, though from the shores of Eleusls come delicious wild duck, and other game birds are found near by, while pilau, a Turkish dish of rice with chicken’ or lamb, and giaourti, the Bulgarian ferment of milk, are standards in every Hellenic bill of fare. “With the renewal of the rains the brown fields and hillsides quickly clothe themselves in green. The royal family returns from its “cure,” the diplomats come back from leave, the great houses of the city open, and the winter season begins. “Entertaining in Athens travels a Somewhat' narrow circle. State dinners at the palaces, reciprocal entertainments at the legations, few receptions, and still fewer dinners at Greek houses form the backbone of the winter’s enjoyment. Greeks rarely invite a stranger to their board, although among themselves exists a society which the foreign colony knows of chiefly by rumor. “There is much conversation in Athenian salons, and always of a high or* der. In no capital of Europe, I believe, can be found a more cultured society, and In no drawing room that I have known does conversation flow so smoothly and at such a high level. Art, politics and the drama are all 1 well known in Athens, and the Greeks are such accomplished linguists that any foreigner may use his own speech without hesitation. French, of course, is the prevailing foreign tongue, with English pressing it hard for first place.”

A Possibility.

“Strangers in the city need have but little trouble in getting about on the street cars,” we declared. “They run frequently and —’’ “Eh-yah," returned old Festus Pes'ter, “but perhaps some of the strangers do not come to town for the sole purpose of running frequently.’’—Kansas City Star.

She Knew the Game.

Kirs. Willis (at the ball game, as the pitcher and catcher hold a conference) —What are they talking about? Mr. Willis—About what to throw to the next batter. Mrs. Willis —But they aren’t allowed to throw anything to him except ths ball, are they?—Puck.