Rensselaer Journal, Volume 12, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 December 1902 — THE MYSTERY OF COUNT LANDRINOF. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MYSTERY OF COUNT LANDRINOF.

BY FINED WHISHAW

COftßKjKt toast or TW AMESKAN PRfcSS AWdATWC

CHAPTER VIII IDENTIFIED BY PHOTOGRAPH. It was bat a few boars after (be receipt of Percy's first telegram that a second message arrived. Percy now wired that be bad succeeded in discovering "Robinson’s address," which we were not slow to understand was intended to intimate that be bad tracked father or bis doable—whichever it was —to some boose in which he liver ‘ Percy's telegram finished op with the, words "starting back tonight" Bo that in three days we should know all that he bad to tell o& These three days were passed—by me at least—in a condition of suspense and anxiety difficult to be borne. I coo Id settle down to nothing; neither did onr little detective display any marked degree of dignified calm. He was greatly excited, and we spent the time together in playing billiards at borne and discussing at great length and with mnch vain repetition the chances for and against the success of Percy's efforts. Borofsky was, though much excited, quite sanguine and almost confident that for some inexplicable reason my poor father had fied to London without warning mother of his departure and that Percy had accidentally found him there. He would not discuss the question as to why father should have done this. There would be plenty of time for explanations, he said, afterward. The main point now was to make sore that the count was safe and well and to know where to find him at any moment It might not even be necessary to bring him back at once shonld he have good reason to desire to remain away. There might be financial tronbles or a quarrel with the authorities. "Both utterly impossible, Borofsky !" I said. "My father is a rich man, and the authorities from the lowest cbinovnik to the czar respect and esteem him." "My dear young sir," said Borofsky, "neither yon nor I can see in the dark. Rather than grope about and knock his shins against the fnrnitnre the wise man will wait for light, and so will wtfl” We had not mentioned to mother the object of Percy's trip to London. She had naturally concluded that he had business of Ms own to attend to, and was pleased and grateful when he promised her, at parting, that he would not be absent long and wonld return to help me in my discouraging task of finding father so soon as ever he could get away. We met Percy on the afternoon of the third day, and as Borofsky and I tramped the platform of the Warsaw station, awaiting the arrival of his train, I, for one, was in such a state of excitement and expectation that I had not a word to say to my companion by reason of the quaking of my jaws and the rapid beating of my heart, and I fancy Borofsky, though he had so mnch less at stake on the result of Percy’s trip, was not much less agitated than I to hear what he shonld have to tell na Slowly and laboriously the train dragged itself into the station, as Russian trains da There is none of that fine rushing in at full speed and pulling up short at the very platform in the admirable manner of our English engine drivera The poor old Russian engine, a lnmbering, wood burning thing, has had an immense distance to go, you see, and is no doubt so tired that it can scarcely drag itself and its heavy load of carriages into the haven where it would be. However, Percy’s train crawled slowly and mournfully in at last, and out jumped Percy. I could see at once by Jiis radiant face and the pleased smile with which he greeted ns that the dear old fellow had been successful, or believed himself to have succeeded, in his enterprise. I sprang to him and seized his hand. "Well, old man," I murmured, scarcely able for excitement to articulate the words, "what lock?" "The very best, as I sincerely believe I” said Percy, pressing my band very hard. "I found the man, as I telegraphed, and I know where be lives and’’— "Oh, is it father?" I blurted, a sort of black mist seeming to form before my eyes for very intensity of excitement. "Dear old Boris, I firmly believe it is,” said Percy. “I cannot say for certain, but there could hardly be another so like him' that I could be mistaken about. He has no twin brother, has he ?” “Oh, nol" I murmured. "I think it must be he. But why, why"— I did not finish my sentenoe. I believe I burst into tears and was harried into the carriage by Percy and Borofsky. There were not very many people about, the train having been nearly empty. I hope there were few witnesses to my weakness.

Borofsky took tip the conversation in the carriage. “So you think it is really the count ?“ he began. “Tell me, did you get a snap shot 1” “I got three, Percy with pride, “and was not caught at it. Twice, I %aow, he did not even see'or notice me. The third time he looked straight at me and suspected me, I suppose, for he asked what I was doing. £«*»>**,' I said, MfnJebooa mith, you? kind permission. He only grunted and Ptpekeik”

n Howdid helHFEnglißh? T7 T liked. "Rather brokenly—bat that was all be said, so that I cannot judge very well.” "My father speaks perfectly, as yon know," I said. "It is nothing f" exclaimed Borofsky. "He would assume a foreign accent, supposing that be does not wish to be recognized as the count Are the portraits successful?" "The photos are not developed yet **

“TMs is a hand camera," I said, "and I've just taken a snap shot." replied Percy. "We’ll do them together after dinner, or before, if there’s time." The developing of those three plates was an exciting operation. The printing from the negatives next morning wait even more so. The prints represented a man whose dress and general appearance were plebeian and altogether unlike my dear patrician locking old father, bat the face—so far as I could judge of it from a portrait, and that a very small and not overclearly printed one—was my father’s face. There was little or no donbt of it. “Well?” said Borofsky, when I had made a prolonged and silent inspection of each of the three photos. “In a Word, is it the count or is it not?" "Heaven only knows," I murmured. "The clothes and the hat are things that father wonld never think of wearing. ” "Do remember,” said Borofsky, somewhat impatiently, "that if this is your father, he is—for reasons of his own which have nothing to do with us at this point of the investigation—disguised. The main question is not as to the clothes, but the man inside them. Is it yonr father or is it not ? Go by the face. Is this the face of the count or another’s?” "If I mnst judge by the face alone," I said, "I shonld say this is a portrait of my father.” "Good!” exclaimed Borofsky. "And very good I I now propose that we show the portrait to the countess and obtain her confirmation of your opinion. When we have that, I shall know what next to da Mr. Morris, yon have done wonders and are to be congratulated. Speaking personally, yon have no doubt that this man whose portrait yon have taken so cleverly is the very Count Landrinof himself?” "Personally I never felt any doubt about it until Count Boris pointed out that his father wonld never dress himself in this way. which is perfectly true.” "Ah, the clothes again!” said BorofBky. "You will not see that the connt might desire to disguise himself.” "It is so unlike him to do so!" said Percy and I almost in one breath. "Very likely. But is he any more accustomed to disappear suddenly without warning?" continued Borofsky pertinently. "A man who has done the one thing may do the other, both actions being, as yon say, unlike him ordinarily.” There was no answer to this argument so far as my poor dazed brain coaid discern. [to be continued,J