Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 306, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 May 1923 — Page 8

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THE HONOR OF M M. LUTARD 'yr BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHETSI X ” ©ooyrigbi. ?92*. b> E. Phillip# Op pen he tm slfcoan* Ar rgt NBA Service. Inc mr

v Vendetta bexan between .Michael Sayers, man of many crimes and aliases. - -and Sir Norman Greyes. once of Scot land Yard. when Sayers beautiful housemaid Janet saved him from Sir Norman in the Brixton affair by shooting dead the officer sent to ariest him. , Janet became Sayers' wife and accomplice. He barely escaped Sir Norman (who knows him as “Stanfield”) after the Leeds bank robbery, and had to liee the country. Sayers himself here begins the story of his next exciting encounter with Greyes. J T was perhaps the greatest surf prise of ray life when the trim,. *"■ benevolent-looking gentleman with rise red ribbon in his buttonhole, who was sharing my seat in the Jardins ■lee fnvalides. suddenly addressed me ;by name. For over a year—ever since, in fact, my escape from the English police in Scotland —I had been engaged in the strenuous task of . founding and cultivating anew Identity. My name was Mr. John D. ( Harmon. I was a retired dry goods dealer from Providence, It. 1.. U. S. A., and I spent most of my time at the Grand Hotel, talking with com pa t- ‘ riots and playing dominoes and bil liards. A trip across the ocean, a few days spent in Providence, and a general knowledge of the structure of American life, had been all the actual ,tr;iining necessary. I had a circle of friends willing to vouch for me, whom I could have increased almost ad lib.: a flossier accepted and pigeonholed by the police; a general appear anee which, thanks to my manner of dressing, my horn rimmed eyeglasses, my short beard and mustache, would have left me unrecognized, even under the scrutiny of the great Sir Nor man Greyes himself. For many months I had not even heard the sound of one of chose names under which I had passed in England. It rarae upon me. the refore, as a thunderclap when my companion, to all appearance a person of the upper and official classes, whom I had noticed many mornings when strolling in the gardens, deliberately went behind the many aliases of which I had made use at different times, and addressed me by my baptismal name. MY MANNER OF DRESSING AND M Y SHORT BEARD AND MUSTACHE LEFT ME UNRECOGNIZED. “A little chilly for April, is it not. Monsieur Michael Sayers? Yet the spring marches well. You perceive that the chestnut bids are already waxy.” I turned a little toward him, my right hand stealing toward my pocket. He bore my scrutiny without flinching. “Permit me to offer you my card,” my companion proceeded, drawing an elegant case from his pocket and ; handing me a thin strip of Ivory pasteboard. I read it carefully. My eyes, however, were watching for ! any movement on his part: “Monsieur Gaston Lefevre—Agent de Compagnie d’Assurances —13, Rue . Scribe.' "That, monsieur,” my companion frankly confessed, “is not my name.” !‘ “Indeed?"- I muttered. “It is an Identity,” he continued, “which I have fixed upon the little world in which t spend the greater part of my time, a name under which I have earned a certain reputation. ’ a certain social standing. But it Is not my own. I was christened Paul and my surname is Gont.” “It was reported.” I said, watching him steadily, “that Paul Gont had joined the secret police of France.

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A flicker of annoyance passed , across my companion's face. “If that were true, monsieur,” he rejoined, “I should by now have become their chief. I address you, believe me, as one master craftsman to another." “Why do you imagine that my name is Michael Sayers?” I asked cautiously. He smiled. "I take a keen interest,” he confided, “in the exploits of my—shall I say fellow-adventurers? —in other countries. I read with much amusement—not unmingled, believe me. sir. with admiration —of your escape from the police in Scotland: and the arrival of Mr. John D. Hannon from Providence here shortly afterward, i lso interested me.' “You have your own secret agents?" “Certainly, monsieur.'* he assented, “but they work for me and not for the law." “You had some reason for making yourself known to me?” I queried. He bowed. “Apart front the pleasure of meetj ing so distinguished a confrere,” he ‘ said, “there is a scheme in which I ' ,un at present interested, in which it : might amuse you to take part.” "I/ct me hear about it," I begged. My companion brushed Ui ash from his trouser-leg and rose to his ' feet. “Let us walk to my office.” he suggested. “We will see whether any fresh business has come in. Afterward we will, if you choose, lunch together at some discreet place." T could not altogether discard my suspicions, for it seemed incredible that this man was reallj the daring criminal whom the police of three countries had sought for many years in vain. We visited a reputable and quietly handsome suite of offices in the Rue Scribe, where my companion conversed for several minutes on varions matters of business with his clerks. Afterward we walked across to the Place Gaillon, where my host selected a lunch with the skill of the born gourmet. He refused to allow me an aperitif but ordered the choicest ;of wine. In the course of our meal he asked me a most surprising question. “Do you hear frequently from your friend Sir Norman Greyes?” “If I heard from him at all," I replied. “I imagine that the situation would be, to say the least of it. precarious. What do you know about him?” My companion smiled. I had a little affair >f the same nature," he confided, “with the sub chief of. the police here. Francois Dumesnil. his name was.” “And tvhere is he now?" I asked. “He disappeared,” was the consid- , ered reply. “A great many people disappear in Paris. It was a battie of wits between us. and I was almost sorry when (he end came. Self pr. s-cr vation.- however, makes strenuous demands upon one sometimes." “Concerning Norman Greyes?” 1 persisted. “Forgive me—r wandered a little front the point. I mentioned Norman Greyes’ name because he is in Paris." “In Paris'” I exclaimed. “He arrived by the Calais train last evening. I fancy that later In the day he may probably stroll into the American bar at the Grand Hotel.” “I take it.” I said slowly, “your suggestion is that Norman Greyes has discovered m whereabouts?’ "I will be perfectly frank,” was my companions prompt avowal. “I do no tknow that. Theres is a distinct, possibility that Norman Greyes has >ome over here in connection witn another affair in which I am Indirectly interested. I have a proposition to make to you. Take a taxicab and drive out to Versailles for the afternoon. On your way back, stop at the Taverne Bertain, near the ArmenonVitle. I will meet you there at 7 celock. I propose a perfectly fair bargain to you. If he is here on your business I will assist you to escape. If he Is interested in the other little matter I spoke of, I shall claim your help.” “It is a bargain.” I promised. "So to our chicken.” my companion murmured, eying with approval the dish which had Just been extended toward him; and we continued our meal. It was about half-past five that afternoon when I dismissed my taxi and seated myself at one of the small tables under the trees outside the Taverne Bertain. I ordered a glass of tea with a slice of lemon; a packet of cigarettes, and settled down to one of my favorite tasks—watching my fellow-creatures. Every variety of the human race was in evidence, riding in every description of carriage. A rabble, I told myself a little contemptuously. Not or.e of them had realized the supreme joy of existence. It wits as though Fate had suddenly decided to deal my philosophy a mortal blow. In a handsome limousine car, traveling slowly in the trail of other vehicles, appeared my enemy Norman Greyes—and by his side Janet, my wife. He wore a light gray suit and a Homburg hat: his long, lean face seemed as somber as ever. Janet was talking while he listened —talking of something, it seemed, more Important than the idle flotsam of the moment. The car passed on. I remained seated in my chair. I do not think that I had turned a hair; yet an icy hand seemed to be gripping my heart. A quietly appointed electric brougham turned in at the entrance to the case, and the man who had introduced himself to me as Gaston Lefevre descended. He was looking very spick and span, dressed with the utmost care, and apparently fresh from the barber s. He approached and seated himself by my side. ”1 will drink absinthe today, Francois.’’ he told the bowing waiter. “See that It Is made as I like it. Come, my friend,” he added as he turned to me again, “throw away your wishy-washy lea and join me.” I shook my head. “Alcohol is not one of the necessities of life with me,” I said. “It stim ulates some, I suppose. It merely depresses me. Tell me what you know about tjie coming of this man Greyes.” “In foe flrw

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

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announced pleasantly, as he helped aimself to one of my cigarets and lit it, “let me reassure you. Greyes is not In Paris on your account.” “And his companion?” (Continued in Our Next Issue) Airplanes For $350 PARIS, -May 4.—Before long you can buy a flivver airplane for $350, predicts M. Baibot, famous French frii-djnnn

OUT OUR WAY—Bv WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY

BREAD ON WATERS BRiNGS BACK GOLD HORNELL., N. Y„ May 4.~Kdward Condon, an Brie Railroad teie,graph operator tuuM. la raaxly to a4.,

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

nflt today the truth of the Biblical promise about “bread cast on the waters.” He has SI,OOO In real cash to prove that is so. Twelve years ago Condon was working as a telegraph operator in San Francisco, Cal. He had an acquaintance with an old man named Michael Griffin, whom he had met only a few times. Griffin was sick and was penniless and wanted to get back to his .boaaa in fitroaAs. Condon bought him.

Wilbur Didn’t Got Very Far

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Groan This In Hie Grandstand

\ y. el'-iW' assexyu mockcKaucS IAM rORCED TO HAKE. \ y\_ \ Torft*E>3 ARE > IUMBUkH? | " AU UUUSUAL REOUE-TT*—■ \ / \ M.VJANS ' HER FOR TWO IAM TO ADDRESS AGAth'ER- UuaO \ TU* OUIY AS l ING TotJtGUT OkiTWE PROCE9S awH m tcv UtkA 1 TUkSG HE CaU F= WAVE OF SELL; OFENGRAVILI3 PA'PER SLiHuiArruk. , GST (U FOR and IvJG STbCKoJ KOHeY I FIND MN'SELF NoTWfIJG IS A AN IUK-WELL-ILiA Li EMRARPASSIKLS POSiTknJJ Ur.?, q r P Hr FREE FoR LHJ OKUuIoMA! k\ AS I WAVE NoTFILiG vHTR J WAVJT \ ALL RGVTH m VVrilOATb ILLUSTRATE MY / FWED 6Y J . > Xf • f i Talk -i relY 011 Your [fril l tomorrow so I Vft 'V. JJ l GEKIEROSnVTO LOAU ME | CAU GO HOuM Ot ' , ' n\ A TJo dollar BILL FOR V TOWN f J ’*Tll * y THE OCCASiOKp J 1 uxe db make ~me AeouoxJi'AiJce or $

a ticket and gave him $lO in cash. Tho whole good Samaritan act cost him about $47. He heard from Griffin only once or twoee after that and the money was never repaid, so he had all but forgotten the incident. Now comes a letter from the firm of attorneys In Omaha, stating chat Condon had been left SI,OOO by the deceased Griffin and that if he would establish his identity at the First N&tional Bank In this olty, the money.

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS —By BLOSSER

OCR BOAKDIXU HOUSE—By AELEKN

which had been forwarded In the forin of a draft, would be turned over to him. Condon offered the proper proof and got the money. Both Get Degree AKKRDEKX. Scotland. May 4. i While St. Clair Henriques received I the degree of doctor of medicine from Aberdeen University, his daughter- and fellow-student, Stella Henriques, reo&lved a baohoior a ctogfaft.

FRIDAY, MAY 4, 1923

-By ALLMAN

-By AL POSEN

Gold Fish, Peri taps LIVERPOOL, May 4. —The trawler Jeria started out on a Ashing trip. When it returned, it sold its catefc for more than SIO,OOO. Young Old blasters MELBOURNE. May 4.—Ahoug* Australia’s a young country, it has its "old masters'’ and will prove it at an exhibition of 250 masterpieces by AusuraUaa arUa* hero,