Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 July 1901 — THE IVORY QUEEN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE IVORY QUEEN

A Detective Story Of a Chicago Suburb. The Murder at The Grange and How '« Its Mystery Mae Solved by Darrent the American Lecoq.

BY NORMAN HURST.

[co XT ’UTTED.] “1 have come.” Darrent answered, striving to keep calm in face of the torrent of words with which he was assailed. “I have come for two reasons—the first, to bring you a message from the girl who believes in you still. I come to say mat sue oeneves you innocent, will ever believe you innocent. ” ‘‘Thank God for that!” “That is my first duty, and I have discharged it, and now I have come to help you if I can. ” “Help me! Listen to him—help me! Haven’t you done enough for me already ? Haven’t you put the rope round my neck?'What more can you do, eh?” “Perhaps I can help to take it off again, if you are only reasonable and will answer a few plain questions.” “Well, go ahead. There’s one consolation—things can’t be worse even if you do take down what I say aid use it in evidence against me. It won’t avail now." “Wny, ” calmly asked Darrent, “did you instigate Arthur Ridgeway to * teal that box of chessmen from The Grange and send them to Miss Kingston?” Astray gazed in astonishment at Darrent. It was useless to attempt to deny the fact since Darrent knew it. “Because I believed they were of the utmost value to me. ” “Why?” “Old Marsden had always led me to believe they were. He had always told me that there was some sf-cret connected with them that I must one day know, not in his lifetime, he said, but when he was gone, especially if he ever died suddenly. When we w,ere good friends and used to play chess together in the old days at The Grange, he won’d often say as we set out the men, ‘Don’t forget, Astray, if anything ever happens to me you will find a secret hidden in those pieces, in the ivory queen. ’ ” “The ivory queen?” "The white ivory queen. ‘When I am gone, Astray, and I may go suddenly. One never knows!’ ” “He said that ?” “Yes. Why should I lie now ? ‘When I am gone, you will find a secret in the ivory queen that will explain all that I dare not tell you now. ’ That’s what he said many a time. ” “And ao, after the murder, you got Arthur Ridgeway to impersonate a detective from Chicago and obtain those chessmen for you and then send them to Bideford, where you thougnt they would be safe?” “Yes. ” “And you do not yet know the secret?”

“No. How could I? You tracked me down et once, arrested me in Chicago, and I’ve never been free an instant since. ” "Why did you never mention it at your trial v” * “What good could it have done? It had nothing to do with the jnurder. Leave me, leave me to myself I I’ve sworn to you that I am innocent. What’s the good? You do not believe it. I’ve told the parson here I’m innocent. He does not believe it. All he says is, ‘Repent, repent.' I ain sick of it all I’m condemned, and I’ve got to suffer. For heaven’s sake, leave me in peace until the end comes!’’ And, despite all Darrent’s efforts to get him to talk, Astray Marsden would not open his lips again, would not utter another word, but sat glum and taciturn, staring into space with eyes that saw nothing unless it was the ghastly outlines of a scaffold with a dangling rope. Finding it useless to linger, Darrent left the jail and returned to his own room at the Palace hotel and, having locked the door, took out the two ivory chessmen and carefully examined them. The pawn was cut out of one solid piece of ivory, with the exception of the flat base, which, with a dexterous twist of his strong fingers, Darrent unscrewed. There was no mystery about that, and he laid it on one hUa and niolrori nn ths ivory queen. The little statue stood about three and a half inches high, and the base had a diameter of about an inch and a half and formed a small circular platform upon which the figure stood, the flowing robe reaching to the edge all round. Gripping the base, Darrent twisted it to the right, and the figure unscrewed. revealing a long, narrow cavity, running the whole length of the body, into which, tightly rolled up, a scrap of parchment had been pushed. With the blade of his penknife he carefully withdrew the little scroll, which was about an inch long by two inches wide, and spread it out before him. It was covered with very small writing, and, although the ink was somewhat faded, he made out without much difficulty the following inscription: i When the full moon shines through the center pane of red Kiana lai the top of the library window. ita track along the floor will reach at midnight a knot in the wood. Measure from that knot three feet to the weat and eight feet to the north, which will reach to the wainscot; then measure six feet up the wall to the carved scroll, and pull forward. J. m.

Three times Darrent read the papei through. What could it mean ? What mystery was there hidden behind those dark oak paneled walls in the dreary library at The Grange ? Was there some guilty secret stowed away that old Marsden had hidden all through his life, but had wished when he was dead that Astray should know ? Was there possibly some clew to the real murderer, something that should tell an avenger where to search for old Marsden’s enemy, the deadly enemy that had struck the murderous blow, or was there some concealed wealth lying behind that panel for which Josiah Marsden had been murdered ? If he had been murdered for that wealth, those who had killed him knew where the treasure was hidden and no doubt had stolen it already. It was useless to speculate. He must go to The Grange at once, follow out the instructions of the parchment and see what was the result. “Now,’’said Darrent to himself as alone he entered the library at The Grange. “I’m not going to wait for any hocus pocus of moonlight and midnight. I’m just going for this ornamental scroll work, and if therb’s a bit of it loose I’ll find it and what’s behind it too. ” In the gathering dusk he took a rule from his pocket and measured six feet from the ground on the portion of the wall not covered by the bookcases and found that that was exactly the height of the ornamental scroll work on the paneling. Then, with a portable electric lamp and a large magnifying glass, he Carefully examined the carving. Presently he came to a piece where a join in the wood could be discerned, and, pulling it forward, a panel some eight inches or ten inches long came with it, disclosing a narrow space be-

hind, in which lay a small leather covered volume. Darrent took the book out and pushed back the panel; then, seating himself in one of the corners by the fireplace, proceeded to read: JOSIAH MARSDEN’S DIARY. Paris, Oct. 8, 1871.—Back in my hotel at last, and now I can pause and think of what I have gone through "in this accursed city, Paris, the city of light I Bah I Paris, the city of death I Was it fancy or did each passerby

shun me aa T walked through the deserted streets this morning? Did they see murder in my eye. the coming brand of Cain upon-my forehead? Let me write clearly what has befallen me, so that if it should ever chance that this is read it may speak in my defense. It may show at least that I am not an assassin by choice, but by circumstance. "nv un, aaj nua, u 8 io aiu fate? If there had been a seat at the opera tonight, I should not be what I am now. But the opera is a great success. there was not a seat to be had, and so I strolled until I lost myself in the labyrinth of squalid streets and alleys on the south side of the river. Suddenly i cream broke out upon the night, the •■.ry of a woman, proceeding from a house in darkness, save for an upper story, where a beam of light cut a pathway through the blackness. It would have been well if I had passed on unheeding, but without thinking I rushed to the entrance. It was open, and I sped up the shaky staircase and pushed open a door upon the third floor. Not a light, not a sound. I paused, irresolute, and then felt the cold barrel of a pistol against my temple. A dozen hands held me powerless while my arms were tied to my sides. “Who is it?” I gasped. “Shoot, you fool, shoot!” a man replied, and I “gave myself up for lost. "It is a pig of an, Englishman, ” one growled, and then there arose a subdued mutter of voices in German which I-could not follow. “Why did you come here?” someone asked in, French. “I thought I heard a scream.” ' “You’re a spy!” “Why don’t you shoot instead of talking?” “What’s the good of that? What are we io do with the body?” Once more the consultation was held. Now and again I caught a word in French, but most of the language was in German, with occasionally a sentence in an unknown tongue. Perhaps it was Russian. fM «■ CONTEHUKD.)

With the blade of his penknife he carefully withdrew the little scroll.