Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 2, Indianapolis, Marion County, 14 May 1923 — Page 8

8

THE WINDS S OF DEATH Ji Jjf* BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM i. " Copyright, 1922, toy E. Phillips Oppenheim Arrgt. N’EA Service. Inc. yfaj

BEGIN HERE TODAY Vendetta beeins between MICHAEL SAYERS, noted criminal, and SIR NORMAN GREYES. once of Scotland Yard, when Sayers' beautiful houeemanl. JANET, saves him from Sir Norman by shooting dead an officer sent to arrest him. Janet becomes Sayers' wife and able accomplice. In many exploits Miuhael escapes arrest by taking desperate chances. YVhile Sir Norman is living at his country h use. Gteyes Manor, be is shot at from ambush and narrowly escapes death. After a series id suspicious “accidents." Greyes is convinced that his enemy, Sayers, is again in England. The police appeal to Sir'Norman to help run to earth his arch enemy, whom they believe is working at the head of a dangerous gang. NOW GO ON WITH STOIiY Sir Norman Continues 4 4 T'jELRSON'ALLY,” vas the coni’'* fident reply. “I don’t think "*■ there Is the slightest doubt but that he is the man who passed at different times as Thomas Pugsley, James Stanfield and originally Michael Sayers. He has vanished from the face.of the earth, so far as New York police have ascertained; but they obtained possession of an uncompleted letter which he must have been typing at the time of the raid. The first page he probably destroyed or took with him. The second page refers to you. Here is a copy.” Rimmington withdrew from his pocktotbook a lialfsheet of paper and passed it to me. I read it slowly, word for word: Things here have come to their natural end. The last fortnight has been productive, but there is danger In any further prosecution of our energies. There is only one man who stands in the way of my return to London. You know well of whom I speak. I wait day by day for your news of him, and hope to hear of no more blunders. See that the woman you know of, too, Is carefully watched. She may be as loyal as she seems, but there are moments when I have my doubts. If N. G. can be disposed of

I READ THE HALFSHEET OF PAPER. READ IT SLOWLY. WORD FOR WORD. “INTERESTING,” I REMARKED. “Interesting.” I remarked, "very! To whom was the letter addressed?” “To a firm of leather-brokers in Permondsey,” Rimmington replied, "and It was written on the notepaper of a firm of hide-brokers in New York.” “The letter is from our friend, right enough,” I decided. “There have been two attempts upon my life within the last two days, and I have just sent away a secretary who was keeping a careful note of my doings." We talked for an hour or inore. and arrived without difficulty at a mutual understanding. Rimmington undertook to send a good man down from Scotland Yard to make inquiries In the neighborhood, and lie promised also to trace my late secretary’s antecedents through the office from which she

Mrs. Starr Tells of Her Experience With Tanlac

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MRS. L. E. STARR Mrs. Lillie E. Starr, residing near Lenexa, Kansas, is another of the thousands who have learned 4 he value of Tanlac as a “spring tonic." “This spring.” said Mrs. Starr, "I felt that I needed a tonic, for my appetite had lost its usual keenness, indigestion was giving me a great deal of trouble, and if l ventured out on a shopping trip, or at any other exertion. I soon found myself fagged out. I could rest but little day or night for nervousness and (tains. “Well, Tanlac got me to eating again, built me up ten pounds In weight and now I feel so healthy and happy I go about my work singing. T will always have a warm corner in my heart for Tanlac. -^ Tanlac is for sale by all good druggists. Accept no substitute. Over 37 million bottles sold. Tanlac Vegetable Pills are Nature's own remedy for .constipation. For sale everywhere.—Adv.

had come. In the meantime he begged me to return to London with him. The suggestion was not at first altogether attractive to me. ‘‘l don’t like being driven away from my own home,” I grumbled. ‘‘Besides, there will be nothing for me to do in London at this time of the year.” “Greyes,” he said earnestly, “listen to me: You can play golf round London and get on with your book. You are far safer there than you would be In an unprotected neighborhood like this. But apart from that altogether we want you up there. This wave of crime In New York has ceased. Paris, too, is quieter. The chief Is profoundly impressed with the belief that it is because operations are being transferred to London.” “When do you want me to come?” I asked. “Back with me tonight,” ho answered promptly.

I had told Rimmington of all the material things which had happened to me down at Greyes Maror, but I had not spoken of that curious sense of impending evil which had clouded [ my days, and the prescience of which had been so remarkably verified. We were scarcely crossing the first stretch of Exmoor, however, when the memory of it came back to me. and with the memory of an overpowering return of the feeling itself. I filled a pipe, stretched myself out In a corner of the car and set myself to fight this grim ogre of fear. It was no easy matter, however. All through the night I was haunted with fancies. The gorse-bushes on the moors seemed like crouching men, the whistle from a distant iallway station a warning of Impending danger. In a small village before we arrived at Taunton, a man stood in the open doorway of his house, looking out at the night. He scanned us as we passed and turned away. Through the uncurtained window of his sitting room I saw a telephone on his tahle. At Wiveliscoir.be. a man with a motorcycle stood silent as we passed. He leaned forward as though to see the number of our car. In ten minutes he raced past us, his powerful engine making the night hideous witu its unsllenced explosions. Across Salisbury Plain, as we drew near Stonehenge, a cruelly cold wind was blowing. We drank from a flask which I had brought, and wrapped ourselves up a little closer. At som>crossroads, high up in the bleakest part, another car was waiting, its lights out, its appearance sinister. We passed It, however, at fifty miles an hour, and the man who was Its sole occupant scarcely looked at us. We passed through Amesbury, up the long rise to Andover, through Basingstoke, and settled down Into a j steady fifty miles an hour along wonj derful roads. The moon was paling | now. and there were signs of dawn; ! right ahead of us was a thin streak ! of silver in the clouds, slowly changi ing to a dull purple. Before we had i realized It, we were in the outskirts of London, our pace gradually reduced, hut still racing through the sombre twilight. At Isleworth. .iust as we had passed under the railway arch, I felt the ; brakes suddenly applied and thrust my head out of the window. We. had come almost to a standstill, stopped by a stalwart pojiceman who, notebook in hand, had been talking to the occupant of a touring car drawn up by the side of the road. He came up to the open window. “Are you gentlemen going througn to London?” he inquired. “We are.” I told him. “What can we do for you?” The words had scarcely left my lips when I knew that we were In a trap. I realized it just in time to save my life. I struck with all my force at the ugly little black revolver which was thrust almost into my face. There was a report, a sharp j pain at the top of my shoulder, and I the revolver Itself slipped from the | man’s crushed fingers. I was within an ace of having him by the throat, but he just eluded me. The touring car was now passing us slowly, and he leaped into it, leaving his helmet lying in the road. A third man. who seemed to rise up from underneath our car, tore along and jumped in behind, and they shot forward, traveling at a most astonishing pace. Rimmington shouted to our chauffeur through the tube with the idea of pursuing them. We started forward with a series of horrible bumps, and came almost immediately to a standstill. I sprang out. Both our hack tires had been stabbed, through with some sharp instrument. In the distance, the other car had rounded the comer, and with screaming siren, was racing away for London. # * * •lanet Takes Ip the Story: It was toward Ihe middle of October when I heard from my husband for the first time In many months. For a long time my luck had been atrocious. I lost the greater part of the money paid me for the recovery of ! Mrs. Trwnperton-Smith’s diamonds, by an Investment in a small millinery business which I discovered, too late, to already moribund. I had lost post after post for the same maddening reason. My looks had suffered J through privation, and my shabby j clothes were unbecoming enough; but if I had been Helen of Troy herself, I could scarcely have evoked more proposals of the sort which must bring to an end ordinary relations between employer and employe. My good resolutions began to weaken. I had almost made up my mind to appeal for help in quarters which necessarily have meant the end of my more jor less honest life, when one morn- ! ing a young man who looked like a j bank clerk was ushered shamelessly by my landlady into my bed-sitting-room. I was folding up a coat which 1 was going to take to the pawnbroker. I was not in a. very pleasant frame of mind, and I was furious with my landlady. “What do you want?” T asked cold- | ]y. “This is not a room in which T can receive visitors.” “My visit is one of business, mad am." he answered. “Are you Mrs. Janet Stanfield?” “I am generally known by that name,” I replied. He opened his pocketbfct and counted out £2OO in bank

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

/that FEELS LIKE a A GOOD BYE, MRS. DUFF A /OH THANKS BUT t DON'T^)I f C VOU'VE TOLD THAT FELLOW A / GOOD CLUB, WILBUR.-K GLAD TO HAVE MET '-s f THINK IT'S* BAD ENOUGH / T| ( THAT I WAS NOT A GOOD { You OUGHT To HIT / GOING To You - HOPE TO SEE J OH, ITS I FOR. THAT - y ( COOK! I KNOW You HAVEI 'EM A MILE WITH / ' T OUT YOU AGAIN SOMETIME /BEGINNING TO ~ ( DON'T TRY TO DENY IT- ? it- y 7 Some day next storm-you'd Like To \ \ he never, would have. / \ WEEK AND SEE \ BETTER. STAY /I HAVE YOU STAY ) = L, SAhP THAT IF YOU HADN'T & V=dJ 7 - ' H:.J she HOES. I — l l .HP H,. E TS.S HIM ...H-

f L_, / " z 7 BRiNiG "THAT DOGr \ * j MERE.-ILL “TtACH J /GOIIY MA ,VA CA nt\ JIHI \ MIM “ ro IN | TeaCw A DOPG- NCrrtW ) '■/ppj j / Amo track upmmj with a stick . gosh, \ Y/yyfy, / \ Clean FIOORS v \ Didn va know THaT? j vvT'///' w,s MoOC *v )ya gotta splain J '////'/'/, VY/ FELT! , -ThinaGS TO UM JOS' C Mm yx T ljy——uKtTwi-iwuT DEtPuJ?\ ' /y/ tP o A p|v/ vsM Y HE OMDERSTAhS / ii^'/////// S everThim r sat t&'im. \st=. ' > -ri T$ V YOU LEAvS'IM -r ME MA U—- • vJ Rvn ,I! i A LANGrUAG-E OF OWN. V ■■Ki <zw>ire /

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MGH -KEK - I HCAJK YOO - &UT l SAY, YOU'UG HVCKSViue - COhCM TOO(? rOAMe •

■ PAP^^V- 1 ■ \ TEA COPFEE := Tj3fijTT? VCARPENTER WORK ■ . B 1 HAD HIS ANNUAL HAIR TODAY AND H IS OWAI MORSE" DiDNTKNow H/M

the table. I watched him spellbound. “With the compliments of the bank manager," be Raid as he took up his hat and turned away. “Who sent the notes?” I called out. after him. “What bank is it from?” “The bank of faith, hope and charity,” he answered with a smile. Good morning!” He was gone before I could get out so much as word. I took up the notes gjwfm I had done my

OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

THE OLD DOME TOWN—By STANLEY

best to live without my husband's help ever since certain news as to his doings In America had reached me. For some reason which I did not myself altogether understand, I had, I thought, cut myself off from any association with him and his friends. Yet in my present straits my attempt at Independence seemed hopeless. The money was a necessity to me. I paid my landlady and made her a present of my dilapidated wardrobe.

THE lADJAAAFOLIS TIMES

I possessed the art of knowing how and where to buy things, and before lunch time that day I was installed in a small flat In Albemarle Street, wearing clothes which were in keeping with my surroundings and with an evening dress and cloak In reserve. My neck and throat and fingers were bare, for I had seen nothing of my jewelry since our ill-omened adventure In Paris. (Continued In Our Next Issue)

Doris Talks

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“Fur She Lived Down In Our Valley”

' say! - -tellthat \ NoTso vast oN~ra' Y /bntu' waY, ne'igvlbor/X ,[* windmill maTop trigger mVrien-d! \ -tHaY beagle UoUlTd HOOPLE., FF L CATcU j TV!' MAJOR USES A OF YOLIRS \9klT A y another one or U\s 1 silver cup thatHe Wod r lUllarV aT e\v intU' CHINESE BU'ZTARDS ON A RIFLE RANGE, FOR \ HORNING FOR A WEEK OVER NMV GARDEN A MUG-= IF <k'\ vioW HE RASED ME OUT AGAIN, I'M going VON OWE a GRoWLto OF SW DREAMS WlTd / To PLAY a GUU / TH' MATOR OVER HIS 'UIS I/V ON 'EM I® / CHICKELIS, VJUV, GO SOME r- ’ --T dump Him’ but keep /\Ji Tv His meat;* j ' y CUICKBKIs 5CRA~~rcv4 UP A

RENT IS SOURCE OF SILL INCOME CHICAGO, Mayy 14. —The best calculations available seem to Indicate that rent has probably never been

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

the source of more than 9 to 10 per cent of the Individual Income of the American people. City dwellers who pay from 17 to 26 per cent of their total earnings for shelter, and business renters on fancy thoroughfares may find it hard to believe this, but a great part of the people of America live in the cheap rental areas of the country or small towns. The larger part of the Nation's manufacturing Is done on cheap

MONDAY, MAY 14, il)2d

-By ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN

sites. Rent apparently does not enter Into the price of the major crops, which nave a world market. It would have been better for many people If they had feared to deal with the land. It looks easy, the number of acres is constant, population grow* in a. geometrical ratio. All you have to do is to buy land and it will make you rich. May be. A couple of million land poor and mortgage ridden Americans don't think so.