CHAPTER XII.

A PRESENT FOR SAN JUAN.

The steamer _Spangled Star_, very lame, with only one engine working,

and with her propeller finding it difficult to urge her along on a

straight course, came into San Juan harbor, wabbling toward her wharf.

Before she got in altogether, she stopped, for she was hardly

manageable at intervals, and a motor boat put out from the shore and

hailed her.

In the boat were Nick Carter and his two assistants, with Captain

Douglas and Paul Clayton.

The police uniform of Douglas was enough to make the captain of the

steamer lower a sea ladder right away. He might not have done it for

one in citizen’s clothes--which was the reason Nick Carter had insisted

on Douglas putting on his blue and brass, gold badge and all, to

impress the commander.

Nick wasted no time when once he got on deck. Taking the skipper aside,

he asked if Jabez Portersham was aboard.

“You bet he is. Of course, he is acting governor of Porto Rico, and I

couldn’t help taking him as a passenger, even though it made us nearly

half an hour late in getting away. I believe he’s hoodooed us, too,

for I never had my machinery break down before. We’d had our engines

inspected, and there was no need for them to throw off. Yet, here’s

our sta’boa’d engine gone so far it’ll be only good for the junk pile,

and----”

“Where’s Mr. Portersham’s cabin?” interrupted Nick, when he saw that

the irate captain was likely to keep on airing his woes indefinitely.

“Can we see him?”

The skipper glanced at Douglas inquiringly. An almost imperceptible

nod reassured him, and he pointed to a doorway which led to the deck

cabins--the most expensive on the vessel.

“Look out, chief!” whispered Patsy. “He may be waiting for us. You

don’t want to run right into a gun before you know it.”

“I don’t think he would dare to shoot just now,” smiled Nick. “When he

is cornered, Rayne knows enough to give in. He depends on his cunning

to escape later.”

“That may be all so,” admitted Patsy grudgingly. “But you’d better let

me go first. If he plugs me, it won’t matter, because I ain’t of any

importance. It’s different with you. If he got you, where would we find

another to take your place. So----”

Patsy was surging ahead, to go into the narrow corridor, without

waiting for permission.

Nick caught him by the shoulder and swung him aside, with playful

sternness.

“You rat!” he laughed. “Get out! I’m going in myself. You and Chick

keep watch on deck. You never know what Rayne will do. Get out of the

way!”

The detective had got into the corridor, and had his eye on the door of

the stateroom that had been pointed out to him as Portersham’s, when

he was startled by a loud shout from Patsy, echoed by Chick and Paul

Clayton.

He understood at once that the disturbance had been caused by some act

of Rayne’s, but he did not know what it was.

It would not be safe for him to go out of the corridor now, leaving a

free route for Rayne to liberty.

“They may have seen him at a window,” he muttered. “Anyhow, he can’t

get away so long as we have him on the ship.”

The door of the stateroom was locked. But Nick Carter had anticipated

that, and already had his jackknife in his hand.

One jab and a turn of the wrist, and open came the stateroom door.

There were two rooms and a bath, it will be remembered, but only one

door led to the corridor. The others communicated with each other.

Nick ran into the first room. It was empty!

He hurried to the next. To his surprise, that was unoccupied, too!

He looked into the diminutive bathroom, which was the last of the

three. But he was not astonished to see that no one was in there.

“Chief!” bellowed Patsy, outside.

“By all the gods!” exclaimed Nick Carter. “He’s trying to trick us,

after all.”

The window of the middle room was wide open, with the curtains flapping

idly in the opening.

It was not a large window, but a man not too stout, and who was fairly

active, could get through.

This was apparent to the detective at a glance. The next moment he had

gone through headfirst, falling on the deck in a heap.

It was rather an uncomfortable proceeding, and he bumped his head so

that it rang again. But it was the quickest way to get out, and Nick

Carter did not mind a crack on the head when on the heels of a slippery

criminal.

He was on his feet in an instant, and looking around to see what the

situation might be.

He heard Chick and Patsy both shouting on the other side of the vessel,

and could distinguish the sound of running feet. Then he saw Captain

Douglas holding out his arms, as if to stop somebody at the forward end

of the deck, while the commander of the steamer indulged himself in

picturesque profanity, because, as he declared, they were making a fool

of his ship.

“Hey, chief!” bellowed Patsy.

“What is it?” responded Nick.

“Catch him when he comes around!” came from Chick.

“Stop, or I’ll plug you!” roared Captain Douglas at somebody.

It was just as this threat emanated from the chief of police that a man

came tearing across the deck, in the shadow of the smokestacks, and

made a leap for the gangway, where the ladder hung.

The ladder was a perfectly straight one, the sort of things to be

negotiated only by a nimble person, whose head was cool and level.

But John Garrison Rayne was both nimble and unterrified.

He gave one glance at the ladder, saw that the motor boat was made fast

to it at the bottom, and over he went!

He was not quick enough to elude Nick Carter, however.

The detective surmised what he intended to do before he did it.

So it came about that, when Rayne was nearly at the bottom of the

ladder, the detective had already begun to climb down, and was three or

four rungs on his way.

Rayne feverishly began to untie the painter.

“Ha! ha!” he shouted, with laughter that had a touch of hysteria in it.

“Fooled you again, Carter!”

“Not yet, my friend!” was the detective’s rejoinder. “Look out! I’m

coming!”

“If you do you’ll drop into the water!”

Rayne had the boat loose by this time. Then, turning the engine over,

he got it to moving as he took the wheel to steer toward the shore.

Again the rascal laughed loudly, while Chick and Patsy, on the deck

above, screamed warnings to their chief.

“Look out!” begged Patsy. “Better let him go than you tumble into the

sea. Don’t take the chance!”

“That’s so. Keep back!” added Chick.

Paul Clayton and Douglas were both standing near the side of the ship,

looking over.

The former did not speak, while the chief of police contented himself

with pointing his revolver at John Garrison Rayne, in the motor boat,

and threatening to fill him so full of lead that he would weigh a ton.

It was just now that Nick Carter took the chance which his assistants

pleaded so hard with him not to attempt.

He saw that there was a considerable width of open water between him

and the motor boat. On the other hand, he was far enough up the ladder

to be able to make a considerable broad jump.

The thought of this scoundrel getting away, now that he was so nearly

caught, maddened him. So, judging his distance carefully, he leaped out

from the ladder with all the power he could summon.

It was a risky performance. But luck reënforced judgment, and the

detective came plump down into the waist of the little craft,

immediately behind Rayne, who stood at the wheel, with his feet far

down in the well.

The motor boat rocked dangerously from the concussion when Nick Carter

dropped. Before it could quite recover, it was caught in a cross sea

that tested it a little more.

Only the most skillful manipulation by Rayne prevented it capsizing.

Nick gave him just time to get the boat on an even keel. Then he fell

upon the rascal with both hands!

A rough and tumble in a motor boat is necessarily full of risk. It is

always likely to end in a ducking for both combatants.

How Nick Carter and John Garrison Rayne escaped this unpleasantness is

not to be explained. Only the fact can be stated.

Perhaps it was because Nick Carter was so dexterous in putting on the

handcuffs when the Apache was not looking.

At all events, in less than two minutes, after a hard fight, John

Garrison Rayne lay in the bottom of the dinky little craft, handcuffed,

and with the detective sitting on him.

The boat was steered back to the ship, and the others came aboard.

“See if he has got the jewelry, Chick,” ordered Nick Carter. “I’ll hold

him.”

“Get back there, Chick!” commanded Patsy, grinning. “I’m the boy that

can frisk him.”

“Here’s two bags,” announced Chick, as he brought them forth from the

rascal’s inside pockets.

“Let Mr. Clayton look at them and see what’s inside.”

The bags were given to Clayton, and while he went hastily through their

contents and saw that they made up a large part of the Stephen Reed

booty, including the sultan’s pearls, Patsy found the flat packing

inside Rayne’s shirt.

“That about makes the tally,” said Clayton. “How can I ever thank you,

Mr. Carter?” he added, with something like a sob.

“Nonsense,” was Nick Carter’s reply. “It was all in the day’s work. Now

that we’ve got the jewelry, we’ll watch it closer than we did before.”

“When are we going to New York?” asked Patsy.

“As soon as we can get a ship to take us,” said Nick earnestly.

“What are you going to do with this fellow?” asked Captain Douglas,

stirring John Garrison Rayne with his foot. “Do you want to take him to

New York to answer to this charge of stealing the jewelry, or will you

leave him in San Juan, to be put through in our criminal courts?”

“You can have him,” laughed Nick Carter.

THE END.

“The Clew of the White Collar; or, Nick Carter on a Twisted Trail,”

will be the title of the long, complete story which you will find in

the next issue, No. 144, of the NICK CARTER STORIES, out June 12th. In

the forthcoming story you will read of the further adventures of the

famous detective with the clever John Garrison Rayne.

Where’s the Commandant?

By C. C. WADDELL.

(This interesting story was commenced in No. 140 of NICK CARTER

STORIES. Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or

the publishers.)

CHAPTER XII.

IN THE ATTIC.

There is little to be gained, however, from regrets over lost

opportunities, and Meredith, as befitted the daughter of an officer

rated one of the most resourceful in the service, turned very speedily

from that bootless pursuit to consider what advantage she still might

glean from the information which had come her way.

One point she settled without delay; she would not hold to her

intention of leaving the roof she was under immediately after

breakfast. On the other hand--distasteful as the experience might

prove--she would remain until she had successfully ferreted out the

true cause of all the mystery which seemed to envelop the place and its

occupants. Heedless of her obligations as a guest, she would watch with

unremitting vigilance every move of her host and hostess.

A higher law than that of hospitality now demanded her allegiance; for,

convinced that Mrs. Schilder was concerned in the colonel’s abduction,

or at least friendly to the abductors, she was prepared to cast off all

restraints, and stand solely on the principle. “All is fair in war.”

Also she realized that she must communicate her discoveries promptly

to Grail. The intelligence might very readily dovetail in with what he

already had, and aid him materially in his task.

Therefore, as soon as the morning had sufficiently advanced to make

her appearance seem natural to any servants who might be about, she

arose, and, leaving Mrs. Schilder still soundly asleep, hastened to

her own room, with the idea of dressing, and proceeding to the nearest

telephone station. There were telephones in the house, of course, but

she did not care to use any of them at the risk of being overheard.

On arriving at the chamber she had left in such panic the night before,

she looked vainly about for the frock she had taken off, which, owing

to the haste of her departure from Chicago, was the only one she had

brought with her.

Hurriedly she rang the bell to summon Marie, and institute inquiries.

“Pardon, ma’mselle.” The maid shrugged her shoulders. “Ze skirt

had rubbed against ze w’eel of ze motor, and was in a condition

deplorable--all covered wiz grease and dust down ze side. I took ze

liberty, ma’mselle, to have eet sent to ze cleanair’s, and eet weel

not be back before twelve o’clock. Naturally, I did not anticipate zat

ma’mselle would arise so early.”

Meredith gave a gasp. She herself had not noticed that the dress was

soiled on removing it, although she was fair enough to admit that in

her preoccupation at that time she might have overlooked even more

serious damage. Still, that was not the point. Was she to be held

prisoner for any such absurd cause until noon?

“But I wish to go out, Marie,” she expostulated, “now, at once! You

must get me something to wear.”

The girl again shrugged helplessly. “Pardon once more, ma’mselle,

but Madame Schildair’s figure is so tall and slendair zat I fear eet

would be impossible for ma’mselle to wear any of her gowns. Her waist

ees only twenty-two inch, w’ereas ma’mselle”--she cast a calculating

glance--“must be fully twenty-six.”

“Then get me something of yours,” it was on Meredith’s lips to demand;

“something of somebody’s, if even only a raincoat to cover me with.”

But she checked herself in time. It would not do to attach too much

importance to her errand; already Marie was beginning to eye her

curiously.

“Very well, then,” she said carelessly. “I suppose I shall simply have

to wait. Fortunately, it does not make any especial difference.”

After all, the thought had struck her, there would be very little risk

in telephoning from the house, provided she used the main instrument

in the library downstairs, and saw to it that all the extensions were

switched off.

But when, with this project in view, she repaired to the library, she

found, to her disgust, that Schilder was ensconced there, going over

some papers, and she had to fabricate a hasty and rather feeble excuse

to account for her intrusion.

Moreover, a second visit, a half hour later, found him still there; and

when a third trip revealed him seemingly anchored to his chair, and she

ventured to inquire, in a casual way, what time he usually departed for

business, he informed her, rather shortly, that he was not going to the

office that morning. He had matters to attend to at home.

A messenger call box in the hall seemed to offer her recourse, and,

grasping at the suggestion, she gave the handle a twist which almost

jerked it off; then hastened to her room to write a note to Grail.

But, with the note finished, the slow minutes passed without any

response to her ring, until it seemed certain that even the most

tortoiselike messenger ought to have arrived, and she started an

investigation, only to learn that the boy had come and been sent away

again, since she had failed to apprise the man at the door of having

sent in a call.

Swallowing her chagrin as best she could, she gave another twist to

the knob, and this time not only gave notice of her action, but seated

herself at the window to watch for the messenger.

Presently a blue-uniformed boy hove in sight down the street, and

turned his bicycle into the drive leading up to the door. Meredith,

note in hand, lost no time in getting downstairs; but it was only to

see the servant on guard turning back from the entrance.

“Boy hasn’t showed up yet, ma’am,” he assured her unfalteringly.

“Wonderful how long them little rascals does take sometimes to get

around.”

Meredith realized now, with a sick feeling, what she had begun to

suspect for an hour or more past--that she was being deliberately

thwarted and baffled in her attempts to communicate with Grail,

probably under instructions from Mrs. Schilder herself.

The incident of the dress, the palpable falsehood in regard to the

coming of the messenger boy; more than all, the constant if unobtrusive

surveillance exercised by Marie, all assured her that she was making no

mistake. Now that she came to think of it, she could not recall a time

that morning when the maid, with her sly, watchful eyes, had not been

hovering close at hand, apparently absorbed in her duties, yet always

in a position to note everything that Meredith might do.

Did it mean, then, that she was to be cut off from all intercourse with

the outside world? If she should assert herself, and insist on using

the telephone, would the polite evasions and lies she had hitherto met

change to harsher and more restrictive measures?

For a moment she was tempted to put the matter to the test; then, with

more sober second thought, she decided to wait. To provoke a scene at

this juncture, or to display any undue eagerness to get away, would be

but to disclose her hand to Mrs. Schilder. It was not by force, but by

craft, and a pretense of innocence, that she must undermine her wily

antagonist. She must match her wits against those of the other woman

and overcome.

Suddenly, like a flash of inspiration, there came to her mind the

recollection of the wireless telephone apparatus which her father had

once rigged up for experimental purposes in the attic of this very

house. The colonel had become very friendly with Otto Schilder, and,

being an enthusiastic electrician, had suggested the installation

of the wireless apparatus, with which they might hold experimental

conversations, and had forthwith secured the instruments and arranged

them in the Schilders’ attic. Meredith was not especially interested in

such experiments, but she had often seen her father use the apparatus

at the fort, and believed she could manage it in such an emergency.

The door leading up to the attic from the third floor was unlocked,

but how to escape the sharp espionage of Marie presented a difficulty,

and after vainly trying a number of ruses, she almost despaired of

accomplishing it, until at last, about noon, hope was revived by the

ringing of a bell summoning Marie to her mistress.

The maid who took her place on guard, a stupid sort of girl, Meredith

had little difficulty in disposing of; then, the coast clear at last,

she hurried to the floor above.

The place, lighted only from above by small skylights, stretched away,

dim and shadowy, into the recesses and corners under the eaves. There

were boxes and packing cases all around, behind which anything might

be lurking. The silence, too, was a little fearsome; the only sound to

break the stillness was the buzzing of a fly.

Meredith did not falter long, however, but turned to the business

before her, and, lightly threading her way between the boxes, reached

the table, with its black cabinet on top, and the wires running up to

the mast on the roof.

Instrument, table and all were covered with the dust of long disuse,

but when she had slipped the receiver on over her ears, and had touched

a knob or two on the box, she was delighted to find that the instrument

had lost none of its efficiency.

CHAPTER XIII.

WIRELESS TALK.

At first, a mere jumble of indistinguishable sounds greeted her,

punctuated by the sharp crack-crack from two amateur wireless

telegraphers holding conversation across her field of hearing; but soon

she had remedied all that, and had her apparatus tuned down to the wave

lengths of the instrument at the post.

“Hello, there!” she broke in heedlessly on some practice work being

given a couple of recruits by a sergeant instructor. “This is

important,” she said, as the sergeant advised her, rather brusquely,

not to “butt in.” “I wish to speak to Adjutant Grail at once!”

“And who are you?” the sergeant demanded, still truculent over the

interruption.

“Miss Vedant!”

“Oh!” The voice, borne on the wings of the air, was now smooth and soft

as oil. “Excuse me, miss, for speaking as I did. I mistook you for one

of those amateurs that’s always bothering around. I’m sorry, miss, but

Captain Grail ain’t at the post just now.”

“Do you know where he is, then? Or could you get hold of him for me?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea where he is, ma’am.” The sergeant’s stiff

tone seemed also to indicate that neither did he care. Evidently he was

of the party to whom Grail’s very name had become hateful.

Recollecting, however, to whom he was talking, he added, less

churlishly: “The adjutant, ma’am, as I understand it, hasn’t been on

the reservation since seven o’clock last night, and he left no word

where he was going.”

“Nor when to expect him back?”

“Nor when to expect him back,” the sergeant echoed, a trifle cynically,

for it was a matter of general belief at the barracks that Grail,

unable to face the charges against him, had skipped out. Still, it was

not for him to voice any such rumor to the colonel’s daughter, and he

inquired diplomatically: “In case he does come in, ma’am, is there any

message you wish to leave for him?”

“No; I guess not.” She hesitated. “No. I will try to call him up later

in the day.”

Bitterly disappointed at the failure, and doubtful whether another

opportunity would be granted her to reach the attic, she leaned her

head in her two hands over the table, and tried to decide what to do.

Might it not be better, now that she was here, to remain beside the

instrument until she could effect communication with Grail, rather

than to risk the very dubious chances of again eluding the vigilance

belowstairs? But she shook her head. Her absence, once discovered,

and with the certainty that she could not have left the house in

dishabille, they would never rest until they had ransacked the place

from cellar to roof. Her retreat could not fail to be discovered,

unless she were able to hide from the prying eyes of the searchers.

The suggestion drew her glance to a closet or compartment at one side

of the attic, which, sheathed with iron, and having a combination lock

on the door, had been fitted up as a sort of strong room. She had heard

it spoken of, and remembered hearing that it was now in disuse and

unlocked.

It was the very place. No one would ever dream of her being secreted

inside, and she would be almost as safe from discovery as in a

burglar-proof vault; yet there was a window at one side to give her

light and air, and she could be just as comfortable there as in the

wider spaces of the attic outside.

She stepped quickly to the door, but as she paused to fumble with the

latch there reached her from within a faint sound of rustling and

scratching.

Rats! The idea of opening that door, or seeking refuge in the strong

room, died abruptly. With a timorous gasp, she fled down the attic

steps as fast as her feet could carry her.

Fortunately, there was no one on the third floor to witness her

breathless exit, and, recovering somewhat from her panic, she managed

to close the attic door and regain her own room without detection.

Hardly was she safe, however, before Marie made her appearance, looking

distinctly worried and upset.

“Where has ma’mselle been?” she demanded, almost crossly. “I have been

looking everywhere for her to serve her ze luncheon.”

“I?” Meredith found it hard work not to pant. “Oh, I have just been

strolling about the house. By the way, Marie,” deftly turning the

subject, “has not that frock of mine come back from the cleaner’s yet?”

Marie was apologetic. The “pig of a cleaner” had deceived her

outrageously; she had just sent over for the frock, only to be informed

that it would not be finished until four o’clock.

“Oh, well, it really makes no difference,” Meredith assured her

carelessly. “Since I have given up the idea of going out to-day.

Indeed, I think I shall try to take a long nap this afternoon. I did

not sleep at all well last night.”

With this plausible excuse, she managed to throw the sentinel maid

off guard, and, as Mrs. Schilder went out in the automobile, was

able to effect two more trips to the attic undiscovered, although,

unfortunately, without result. Each time she was informed that Captain

Grail had not yet returned to the post.

So the long afternoon wore away fruitlessly, and with the passing of

the hours passed also that feeling of buoyancy which Meredith had

experienced in the morning, and which, no doubt, was largely due to the

excitement of finding herself actively involved in the game.

Now, with the reaction, she was growing dispirited and apprehensive

once more. Nothing seemed to have been accomplished. Her father’s

whereabouts still continued a mystery; and, in addition, she now

began to worry over Grail’s protracted absence. What if something had

happened to him, too? Indeed, was it not almost certain that something

must have happened to him?

Darker and darker grew her misgivings as she gave rein to her

imagination, until, when Mrs. Schilder at last came in, she found the

poor girl a picture of disconsolate woe.

“Is there no news?” Meredith raised her wan face in piteous question.

Even from this deceitful source she might gather something in the way

of a glance or expression.

But Mrs. Schilder’s countenance revealed nothing.

“I am sorry,” she said, “but the investigation seems to have come to a

standstill. Every clew has been carefully worked out, the officers tell

me, but to absolutely no avail. However,” she dropped her gloved hand

on Meredith’s shoulder, “you must not let that discourage you, my dear.

No news is always good news, remember; and no one concerned is lacking

in activity in any direction. Mr. Schilder, indeed, is so deeply

concerned that he has invited all the officers of the post to meet him

here to-night and discuss what measures shall next be undertaken, and

he says that unless they can show him a reasonable promise of success

he will report the disappearance to the civil authorities.

“He told me to tell you of this conference, my dear,” she went on, “and

ask you if you did not want to be present; although I told him that I

hardly deemed it wise, since theories and conjectures are sure to be

advanced which cannot help but be harrowing to you.”

“No.” Meredith’s tremors ceased with the offer of a change of action.

Major Appleby might be bombastic, and Lieutenant Hemingway a fool, but

surely there was some one among the officers--blunt old Dobbs, the

surgeon, maybe--to whom she could whisper her suspicions.

“No,” she repeated, with decision, “there can be nothing said to cause

me more apprehension than the possibilities I have already pictured to

myself. Thank Mr. Schilder for me, please, and tell him that I shall

certainly attend the conference.”

First, however, she determined to call up Grail once more; then, if

she failed to find him at the fort, she would be satisfied that some

calamity had befallen him, and that both for his sake and her father’s

she would have to resort to another ally.

Accordingly, an opportunity arising for her to slip away just as Major

Appleby and his associates commenced to arrive, she stole once more to

the attic.

Confronted by the darkness and the possibility of scampering rats, she

halted for a moment, strongly tempted to turn and flee; then, nerving

herself to the effort, although still quaking with trepidation, she

dashed up the steps and over toward the wireless instrument.

Halfway across the space, her wild rush was abruptly stayed, and she

came to her knees, a stifled shriek of terror on her lips.

She had stumbled over the body of a man, bound and gagged, lying

directly in her path.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MARKED NAMES.

As Grail turned back into his quarters, after seeing Meredith off, that

night of her arrival from Chicago, his face had fallen into lines of

troubled solicitude, and he gave an ominous shake of the head, for it

was idle to deny that the startling news concerning Sasaku had filled

him with the gravest sort of misgivings. Indicating that this was no

ordinary game of hide and seek, such as the gumshoe men of the various

powers are accustomed to play with each other, but a sinister intrigue,

prepared to balk at nothing to gain its ends, it raised a serious

question as to the possible fate which had befallen the colonel.

Hurriedly summoning his “striker,” he sent him out for a copy of the

extra _Herald_ containing an account of the murder; then, when the

paper had arrived, he devoted himself to a careful perusal and analysis

of the details.

There was really but little to be gleaned. The body of the Japanese

had been found on the stairs of a rooming house for laboring men, down

near the river front, and, as Grail noted, not more than a block or two

away from the Dolliver Foundry. Struck evidently from behind, by an

unexpected knife thrust, as he was starting to go out, he had lurched

forward, clutching at the banister, then sagged down lifeless on the

third step from the top, his straw hat rolling on down the flight, and,

by exciting the curiosity of a lodger on the floor below, leading,

later on, to a discovery of the dead man.

Life had not been extinct more than half an hour when he was found,

it was stated, and thus the time of the murder was definitely fixed

at about two o’clock in the afternoon; yet, although a number of the

occupants of the place had been in their rooms at that hour, no one

could be unearthed who had heard any outcry or sound of altercation.

Indeed, there seemed an utter lack of any clew to indicate the motive

or perpetrator of the crime. The door of the house was usually

left open, all kinds of people coming and going at will; so it was

assumed that the murderer must have entered deliberately, gained the

third floor, then laid in wait in the dark hallway until Sasaku, all

unsuspecting, came out. That the assassin did not belong in the house

seemed certain, from the fact that the Japanese was an utter stranger

in the place, having only engaged his room the afternoon before, and

being, so far as could be learned, unacquainted with any of the other

tenants. Besides, all those at home at the time of the affair were able

to account satisfactorily for their movements.

Some significance, at first, was attached to the circumstance that the

door of the room directly across the corridor from Sasaku’s was found

ajar, whereas the man to whom the room belonged, a foundry worker by

the name of Marice Matschka, was known to be very circumspect about

keeping his door locked, and one of the fourth-floor lodgers, who

had come in at noon, asserted that when he passed by the door had

undoubtedly been closed.

Matschka, however, was able to prove conclusively that he himself had

not been back to the place since leaving for work at six o’clock that

morning, and also stoutly denied having given up his key, or sent any

one else there. He was confident, he said, that he had locked the door

behind him, as usual, that morning, but, of course, might be mistaken,

and in that case it would have been an easy matter for the unlatched

portal to have swung open in the draft.

There was, moreover, no reason to believe that he had known the

Japanese, or could have harbored ill will against him for any cause, so

this line of investigation was very speedily abandoned.

In short, the case was a puzzle, looked at from any angle. Sasaku’s

scanty effects, consisting chiefly of his clothes, a few letters, and a

notebook containing a few names and addresses, offered nothing in the

way of a clew; nor did his history, so far as it could be traced out,

disclose the existence of any enemies. He had been an affable, friendly

sort of a little chap, generally well liked. Finally, it was plain

that robbery was not the cause, since a diamond ring, a gold watch and

chain, and some fifty dollars in his pocket, had been left untouched.

The police, all at sea for an adequate motive, had to fall back on the

fantastic theory that he had been the victim of some sort of Oriental

vendetta at the hands of his own countrymen; and, with great pretense

at secret knowledge, made significant allusions to oath-bound clans and

mysterious brotherhoods.

Grail had just about completed his reading of the newspaper narrative,

digesting carefully not only what appeared, but also what lay between

the lines, when Sergeant Cato entered and saluted him.

The sergeant was dusty and perspiring from what had evidently been an

arduous day, but his beaming expression showed that his efforts had not

been in vain.

“You’ve found out what I wanted, eh?” Grail glanced up eagerly.

“I think I’ve got it all, sir.”

“Good!” The adjutant nodded toward a chair, and extended a cigar. “Sit

down and make yourself comfortable, sergeant, and let’s have the story

as quickly as possible. I would tell you to go and get something to

eat first, but things have been happening since you’ve been away that

make haste imperative.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry, sir,” Cato assured him. “This beats a meal any

old time”--puffing luxuriously at the perfecto--“and, besides, I had a

sandwich over at Sunset Bluffs.”

“Sunset Bluffs, eh? Then you _did_ have time to look up the motor-boat

business for me?”

“Sure, sir. It came in yesterday morning, just as you said, billed to

Otto Schilder, and was taken out on his order late yesterday afternoon

by Mike Flannery, a truckman over there on the other side of the river.”

“And you talked to Flannery, of course?”

“No.” Cato shook his head. “He was out with his wagon. But I did

better, sir. I had a chin with Flannery’s kid, a boy about ten years

old.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, sir. He and I took in a moving-picture show together”--the

sergeant grinned--“and before it was over I guess he had told enough to

earn him the licking of his life, if the old man should ever find it

out. His father, it seems, intended to haul the boat out to the lake

last night, but just as he was getting ready to start out a stranger

came around to engage him for an immediate moving job. A big, dark-eyed

man, the boy said he was, who gave the name of Dabney, and seemed to be

in a great hurry.”

“A big, dark-eyed man, who gave the name of Dabney,” Grail echoed. “Go

on!”

“Well sir, Flannery, seeing a chance to squeeze in some extra money,

took him up, and, leaving the boat there in his stable yard, went off

with his truck and horses, expecting to be back and start for the lake

about one o’clock, Dabney telling him that his job wouldn’t take more

than that long. What with one thing and another, though, he didn’t get

back until the six-o’clock whistles were blowing, and then, according

to the kid, he sure turned the air blue. Somebody had borrowed the

motor boat during his absence, for a joy ride--his yard is only a

stone’s throw from the river--and it was a sight to look at, all

covered with river mud and grease, and dripping wet inside and out. He

was in an awful sweat for fear Schilder would find out about it, and he

worked like a nailer for over two hours, cleaning it up and polishing

the brasswork, before he dared set out with it for the lake. Funny

thing, though,” Cato concluded, “he doesn’t suspect this man Dabney in

the matter at all. He blames a gang of young roughs who live in the

neighborhood.”

Grail smiled. “As you infer, sergeant, it was Dabney, all right,” he

said. “He had need for a swift boat on the river last night, and he

didn’t want the hiring of one to be traced to him. Consequently, he

adopted this rather elaborate ruse to get hold of the one in Flannery’s

care. Dabney, although passing himself off as an Englishman, and

ostensibly conducting a real-estate office, is, I may as well tell you,

the man tipped off to me by Sasaku as a Russian spy, and the leader of

the operations to which Colonel Vedant has fallen victim.”

“Then you think,” Cato inquired quickly, “that the colonel was carried

off in this motor boat?”

“Assuredly,” Grail answered, and briefly explained his theory of

the seizure, and the employment of the electric crane to convey the

prisoner and his captors outside of the inclosure.

“The next thing, of course,” he concluded, “was to get their man away

as quickly and quietly as possible, and, naturally, the river suggested

itself as the most convenient avenue.”

“That sounds plausible enough.” Cato thoughtfully scratched his head.

“But what gets me, captain, is how did they know so much about the

motor boat, and just how to get hold of it? Is this Dabney-ovitch, or

whatever his real name is, a pal of Mr. Schilder’s?”

“No,” the adjutant admitted. “On the other hand, I think he has taken

especial pains to avoid meeting Schilder, or coming under his eye.

But”--he hesitated slightly--“the point you raise offers no difficulty.

Take my word for it, sergeant, there was a way for Dabney to find out

with absolute certainty anything he wanted.”

“And now,” he broke off, rather abruptly, “tell me what you discovered

in regard to the cigarette?”

“Oh, that was easy.” Cato’s brows cleared. “I scored a bull’s-eye the

second place I went into. It’s a little tobacco and stationery shop

down on Third Street, and the old fellow who runs it is one of the

talkative kind. He said he’d laid in a stock of these cigarettes for

four customers of his who get their newspapers there every morning, and

who live at a rooming house just around the corner. Here, I have the

names.” He produced a card on which he had jotted a memorandum. “Miller

Vance----”

“Ah!” Grail interrupted sharply. “The man who operated the crane. I had

a very strong suspicion that he was Russian, for all his alias, and the

American twist he had managed to acquire to his tongue. However, that

is not especially important. Go on, sergeant.”

“I, Pepernik, Louis Minowsky,” read Cato, “and Maurice Matschka.”

“Maurice Matschka!” The officer sprang to his feet. “That is a link

worth looking into,” he muttered. “Come on!” He caught up his hat, and

gave a quick nod of the head toward Cato. “I am going to the city hall.”

Arriving at the municipal building, and proceeding to police

headquarters, he was directed, on inquiry, to a certain Detective

Krause, as having the case of the murdered Japanese in charge.

“What makes all you people out at the fort so interested in this

affair, anyhow?” the detective asked, with a curious glance at Grail.

“Major Appleby and Lieutenant Hemingway was over here before supper,

and I told them all there was to know. The best I can do for you,

captain, is just to go over the same ground.”

“Of course,” Grail assented, with a smile. “Still you know how it is,

Mr. Krause; every one wants to hear a story at firsthand; and, as I

was, perhaps, better acquainted with poor Sasaku than any of the other

officers at the mess, there is just a possibility that I may be able to

throw some light on the tragedy.”

As a matter of fact, the detective required very little urging. He had

come to such an absolute halt in the investigation that he was only too

willing to repeat the story to any one who offered even the faintest

show of providing a solution.

His recital, though, if somewhat more diffuse, was practically the same

as that which Grail had already read in the newspaper. He presented

nothing new in the way of any material details.

“H’m!” The adjutant thoughtfully stroked his chin at the completion of

the narrative. “There would be no objection, I suppose, to letting me

examine the notebook which you say was found on Sasaku?”

“Certainly not, sir.” He stepped away to get it, adding, as he returned

and handed it over: “You won’t find anything there to help you,

captain. We’ve been over it already with a fine-tooth comb, and it

seems nothing but a list of names and people he’d met; some of them in

the city directory, and some not.”

Grail, however, evidently preferred to decide this point for himself;

for slowly and painstakingly he ran over the pages, scrutinizing each

entry carefully before he passed on to the next.

The detective, fidgeting at what he manifestly regarded as wasted

time, presently excused himself, on the plea of wanting to do some

telephoning, and sauntered off, and, with his going, Grail turned

back a couple of pages to point out significantly to Cato the name of

Dabney, with a little, almost indistinguishable mark set opposite it.

No further discovery was elicited until they reached the last page;

then Grail gave a sudden start, as he read, with the same cabalistic

mark against it, the name of Rezonoff.

“Rezonoff!” he muttered, with a frown of grave foreboding. “That can

only be Count Boris Rezonoff, captain in the imperial engineers!”

Cato, gathering from his tone that something was seriously wrong, edged

up closer.

“Is it bad, sir?” he whispered.

Grail vouchsafed no answer, but stood silent a moment, the look of

apprehension growing on his face; then snapped open his watch and

glanced at the time.

“Too early, by far,” he commented, under his breath. “I shall have to

wait at least two hours yet.”

Meanwhile, Cato, glancing over his shoulder, had been reading down the

page of the notebook, and now he gave a quick exclamation.

“There’s another name with that same mark against it,” he breathed

excitedly. “Don’t you see it! Down there at the bottom, underneath your

thumb!”

But Grail, as though recalled to himself, sharply closed the book.

“Oh, that one is of no consequence,” he insisted; yet he knew that it

was, for he had already noted the name with the telltale check opposite.

In Sasaku’s stiff, angular handwriting was set down: “Mrs. Otto

Schilder!”

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE NEGRO AND THE HORSE.

There is a time for everything, and the secret of success in life lies

in doing things at just the right minute.

A veterinary surgeon had occasion to instruct a colored stableman how

to administer medicine to an ailing horse. He was to get a common tin

tube--a bean blower--put a dose of the medicine in it, insert one end

of the tube into the horse’s mouth, and blow vigorously into the other

end, and so force the medicine down the horse’s throat.

Half an hour afterward, the colored man appeared at the surgeon’s

office, looking very much out of sorts.

“What is the matter?” inquired the doctor, with some concern.

“Why, boss, dat hoss, he--he blew fust!”

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Story of “Scotty” Hero of Zinc Fields.

Picture a man who has been badly bent at times--aye, even broke unto

the last jitney--one who has tasted the bitter things of life along

with the sweet, one who has seen a fortune swept away in a twinkling,

only to be regained after a long, persistent struggle. Picture a good

loser, who has lost more than most men will ever earn, and who pins

his faith in the mining industry to such an extent that he laughs at

failure and hangs on like a bulldog until he succeeds, and you have a

mind’s-eye view of J. M. Short, the best known operator in the mining

district near Joplin, Mo.--the “Scotty” of the zinc fields.

Thirty-two years ago Short was working for $1.25 a per day at Galena,

Kan., and a few years later moved to Joplin, landing here with the

price of one ham sandwich. He worked for low wages until he had saved

enough to buy a prospect drill, and decided to look for ore on his own

responsibility.

His first few holes were blanks; the cost of sinking them was heavy,

considering Short’s limited finances. For a time it looked as though

he was destined to go back to wages. However, he hung on until almost

his last penny was gone; then luck smiled on him, and he made his

first strike. He had been watching the drill clippings for so long

and finding only barren pieces of rock that he could hardly believe

the truth when at last the sand bucket brought up a quantity of

yellow-looking dirt, rich in zinc ore.

Short sold this “prospect” for $5,000 cash, and immediately invested

the whole amount in what was known as the Bunker Hill Mine, which

netted him $65,000 in eighteen months, part of which--$3,000--he

reinvested in the Sacagawea Zinc Company, from which he profited,

inside of three months, to the tune of $17,000 more. A year later Short

again became “dead broke” on another mining venture, and again went to

work for wages.

Depriving himself of all luxuries and many necessities, he continued

to work for wages until he had saved up $1,800, when he determined

to again “try his hand.” One day, during an extremely dry summer, he

was driving by a piece of land where the Sitting Bull Mine was later

developed. He noticed a man sinking a hole to get water at a point

where a spring had once been. The land was low and boggy and the digger

was taking out shale and soapstone. The formation looked good to Short,

and he at once procured a forty-acre lease from the owner. With $1,800,

his sole capital, Short drilled the ground, discovered a rich run of

ore, and put down a shaft to the 185-foot level. The owner of the land

put up the capital for building a $15,000 mill. Ninety days later Short

had paid for the mill, had $10,000 in the bank to his credit, and had

a vast body of ore blocked out which netted him more than $100,000 in

profits in the next few months.

Almost immediately he secured another lease and opened up what is known

as the Pocahontas Mine, from which he cleared another $100,000. Then

followed in quick succession the Geronimo and the Waneta-Pearl. Short

is now interested in, if not the entire owner of, more than a dozen

valuable properties, so that, with the sudden jump in price of zinc

concentrates from thirty-five to seventy-five dollars per ton, this

Scotty of the zinc mines has but faint idea of what he is really worth.

Talk is Cheap.

A retired United States army officer says the European war is “a

horrible slaughter, which should be halted by some neutral power.” The

neutral power that attempted to halt it forcibly would simply increase

the slaughter and add its own blood to the crimson tide.

Canada Spends Millions on Ports.

Canada is making extensive improvements in her seaports. At Halifax

work is under way which will cost $10,000,000, while at St. John,

New Brunswick, $8,000,000 is being spent. Levis, opposite Quebec, is

building the largest dry dock in America. Much work is also being done

at the Pacific coast ports.

Finds Petrified Snake in Rock.

While blasting some limestone rocks in the side of Stone Mountain, near

Big Laurel, Va., the workmen found a petrified snake imbedded in the

rocks. The snake was coiled as if making ready to spring at something,

and is believed to have been a copperhead.

Failures.

Commercial failures in the United States last year were 8,344.

Cossacks Rescue Little Girl.

A little incident, told in Danish newspapers which have arrived in

Chicago, shows that the Cossacks are not as cruel as they are sometimes

depicted. Recently while advancing against a detachment of Turks, a

company of Cossacks found a little girl, two years old, who had been

deserted by her parents in their precipitate flight. They brought the

little one to the headquarters of the regiment, where she received food

and was made comfortable in every way.

In the Greek Catholic Church in the village of Bardus the little

foundling was baptized according to the orthodox ritual. The commander

of the regiment and Princess Gelovana, wife of a member of the Duma,

served as godparents of the child. The little girl received the name

of Alexandre Donshaga, after the regiment known as Don Cossacks. The

officers promised to contribute monthly toward the maintenance and

education of this little “daughter of the regiment.”

Girl in Soldier’s Uniform.

People in the vicinity of Cooke’s Church, on Queen Street, in Toronto,

at two-thirty in the afternoon were left wondering whether the Germans

had landed in the city in such large numbers that the military

authorities had found it necessary to mobilize a regiment of the fair

sex to aid the soldiers in driving them back.

The cause of the sensation was a pretty young lady named Clara Philip,

who, by the terms of a wager she had made with a lady friend, had to

walk down Mutual Street from Shuter to Queen Street dressed in full

soldier’s uniform, for a box of chocolates.

The young lady with curly hair peeping out under the service cap,

looked bewitching in the uniform, although it was somewhat too large

for her, and despite the fact that the heavy army boots were dispensed

with for her own dainty pair of “threes.”

“It certainly did feel funny walking down the street with some of the

people turning up their noses at me and others convulsed in laughter,

but I was determined to win the bet, and did,” said Miss Philip, after

her sensational parade.

“Oh, it was funny. On the way along I had the pleasure of saluting

a ‘brother’ soldier, who with much grace returned the salute, and a

little farther along a ‘guardian of the law’ discreetly turned and

walked in the opposite direction. That is the way I became richer by a

large box of chocolates.”

Sings as Surgeons Operate.

Zouave Besson, a French trooper, while undergoing an operation at the

Grand Palais, in Paris, a hospital for the last three months, lustily

sang the “Marseillaise” from the beginning to the end, weakening

slightly toward the close of the last stanza.

This patriotic demonstration is a contradiction of the proverb that

a good man will swear while he is under the influence of chloroform.

After the operation Besson’s nurse told him of his patriotism in

singing the national anthem.

He replied: “When I was just going on I realized that I was singing the

‘Marseillaise,’ and brought all my will power to bear to sing it to the

end.” He recovered nicely.

Death of a Spy.

Death to all spies is the military rule. One of the most dramatic of

the many minor tragedies of the war was seen at Lassigny recently,

when a captive in a black gown, to all appearances a nun, was suddenly

led before a firing squad and shot down at the officer’s command. The

startled onlookers learned that the squad’s victim was a daring young

lieutenant in the German army who had got inside the French lines by

donning a nun’s attire. So good was his disguise that he had gone for a

considerable distance and probably had obtained much information that

would have proved valuable had he escaped.

Had the spy been a woman, the penalty would have been the same. Such is

the law of war. Many women spies have been caught and executed.

Oldest Veteran in Southwest Section.

Probably the oldest, and surely the most noted Confederate veteran now

living in the Southwest is Doctor Thomas E. Berry, of Oklahoma City,

Okla., a typical “Kentucky colonel,” who is now eighty-three years old.

He walks as straight as a young Indian, has never used intoxicating

beverages or tobacco and has never suffered from fever or other

sickness, and during his long and eventful career he has been soldier,

globe trotter, author, duelist, physician, and surgeon.

In the Civil War he served with the Confederate generals, Morgan and

Forest, was captured twelve times by the Yankees, and escaped that many

times from their prisons. He received twenty-two bullet wounds and

several saber cuts during the four years of fighting, and since the

close of the war has fought six duels in foreign lands.

Doctor Berry served under Joe Shelby in Mexico and helped to organize

the French army in Algeria. He rendered valuable service to King

Menelik in Abyssinia and sojourned for a while in Constantinople,

where, like many others, he swam across the Bosporus. He received

several decorations from foreign rulers, but never wears them in this

“land of the free.”

In a recent chat with a friend Doctor Berry said:

“My father and grandfather admonished me to never forgive or forget

an insult; never offer the left cheek after having been slapped on my

right cheek. They also requested me to always keep the Berry escutcheon

untarnished; never be a craven nor a coward.”

The doctor comes from a wealthy family that owned large areas of land

near Perryville, Ky., but the Civil War made them comparatively poor.

The doctor wrote a book entitled “Four Years With Generals Forest and

Morgan.” He is now writing a book about his foreign military service.

He has also made several valuable discoveries in materia medica and

surgery while practicing medicine forty years. Some of them are very

original and should not be allowed to perish with the doctor’s death.

Doctor Berry, though one of the best physicians and surgeons, quit

practicing four years ago. He is an inveterate reader and has read

2,000 books. He also enjoys newspapers and magazines. It is needless to

say that the doctor’s personal appearance and courteous manners denote

him to be a gentleman and scholar. He belongs to no religious sect, but

is what he terms a “practical Christian.” He will no doubt be as brave

when Death calls him as he always has been during his long life. The

doctor is optimistic, however, and says he will probably live to be a

centenarian.

Some Facts You May Not Know.

The highest speed ever attained by man on the face of the earth is one

mile in 25.2 seconds, equivalent to 142.85 miles an hour, according

to the _Railway Age Gazette_. It was in an automobile run by Teddy

Tetzlaff on the level salt beds at Salduro, Utah, 112 miles west of

Salt Lake City. The best speed ever made on rails was with an electric

car between Berlin and Zossen, Germany, 130.5 miles an hour.

Birds, in the construction of their nests, almost without exception

avoid bright-colored materials, which might possibly lead to the

discovery of their place of abode by an enemy.

Apple wood, used almost exclusively for saw handles, also furnishes the

material for many so-called brierwood pipes.

On a peace footing the Portuguese army consists of 32,000 men. When

fully mobilized, the army should have 105,000 first-line troops and

145,000 of the second to put into the field.

In Germany, one man in 213 goes to college; in Scotland, one in 520; in

the United States, one in 2,000, and in England, one in 5,000.

Damage to American crops by insects yearly amounts to $580,000,000.

There are fewer suicides among miners than among any other class of

workmen.

A booby is not merely a human dunce, but is a Bahama bird, which is

so spiritless that when attacked by other birds it fails to fight and

gives up the fish it has caught without resistance.

Drawings of human beings and animals in ancient caves in France are

regarded as proof that man was right-handed as far back as in the stone

age.

Taking Precautions.

A rosy-cheeked youngster, dressed in his best clothes, entered the

village post office and carefully laid a huge slice of iced cake on the

counter.

“With my sister’s, the bride’s, compliments, and will you please eat as

much as you can,” he said.

The postmistress smiled delightedly.

“How very kind of the bride to remember me!” she cried. “Did she know

of my weakness for wedding cake?”

“She did,” answered the youngster coldly, “and she thought she’d

send over a bite of it this afternoon just to take the edge off your

appetite before she posted any boxes off to her friends.”

Kitchner’s Caustic Comment.

A story is going the rounds about what Lord Kitchener, the British war

secretary, said the other day after he had inspected some defense works

on the east coast of England. It is short and sweet.

The war minister motored from point to point, walked over the ground,

but never said a word all afternoon until the moment he was leaving for

London. Then he opened his grim mouth.

“Those trenches of yours,” he said, “wouldn’t keep out the Salvation

Army.”

Many Wolves in Texas.

The people of Texas destroyed 98,600 wolves and wild cats--including

fifty-three panthers and twenty-two leopards--between September 1,

1912, and March, 1914, according to the State comptroller. But there

are many thousands more of these wild beasts still alive, a serious

menace to the rapidly growing industry of sheep and Angora-goat raising.

Bandit Starr is Second Robin Hood.

Is Henry Starr, of Lawton, Okla., the bandit chief, another Robin Hood?

Does he, while engaged in robbing banks, keep in mind the hardships

of the poor, as did the picturesque highwayman and poacher of early

England? If only a part of the stories told of Starr are true, he might

be called the “Robin Hood of Oklahoma,” although just now he is in

Lincoln County Jail at Chandler, suffering from a broken leg, and with

a long prison term pretty thoroughly mapped out for him. But here is

what some of his admirers say he did:

“These things are of no value to me, but I’d hate it if the farmers

had them to pay,” and with that remark Henry Starr, the bandit leader

who, with his band of desperadoes, robbed two banks at Stroud and was

shot down and captured by eighteen-year-old Paul Curry, once threw a

heavy bundle of mortgages and notes, with a stone tied to them, into

California Creek in Northern Oklahoma, and they were never recovered.

Starr and his men had taken the bank’s papers when they rifled the bank

at Caney, Kan., several years ago, and he said he took them just so the

farmers would not have them to pay.

This incident in Starr’s bandit career was told by a long-time resident

of the Cherokee country. He has known Starr for a number of years, has

played poker with him frequently, and he insists that Starr is really

one of the kindliest of men. After the Kansas robbery the Starr gang

rode into northern Oklahoma and hid for some time, and it was at this

time that the mortgages and notes were destroyed. The total value of

the papers was perhaps never known, but a man who saw them declares the

bundle was a foot thick.

It was following this same robbery, too, that Starr made one of his

most spectacular get-aways. He and two men rode into an isolated

community during the night and concealed themselves in a big stone

barn, which was on the edge of a small valley with hills not far

distant and almost surrounding it. Starr and his men slept until late

in the day and then played pitch and shot craps for the small change

they had obtained at the bank. They would shoot for a handful of the

small silver, dimes and quarters, without any attempt being made to

ascertain the amount.

The whereabouts of Starr and his two companions became known to the

county sheriff, who, with a posse of twenty or thirty men, went to the

barn with the intention of capturing the trio. The members of the posse

were stationed on the hills surrounding the barn, and they thought it

would be impossible for the outlaws to escape. When Starr was notified

of the presence of the officers, he went into the barnyard and motioned

to the sheriff, whom he knew, to confer with him. When the sheriff rode

into the yard, Starr shook hands with him as though he was glad to meet

an old friend, and then said:

“I am going to leave here at five o’clock; there are three of us. If

you do not want your men hurt, you had better get them out of the way,

for when we start we are going through your lines. Tell your men that

for me.”

The sheriff returned to his men, called them together, and told them

what Starr had said; within five minutes there was not a man other than

the sheriff left within rifle distance of Henry Starr. That evening at

five, as he had announced, Starr and his men rode quietly, and without

being molested, away from the barn and toward the Osage Hills.

That Starr’s wife was the original of a photograph, “The Cherokee

Milkmaid,” which was published worldwide several years ago, is the

statement of Representative Walter R. Eaton, of Muskogee and Oilton.

Eaton was engaged at that time in promoting the town site of Porum,

and was going through the country in that vicinity with a photographer

getting pictures to advertise that section.

Late one evening Eaton and the photographer drove by the home of Mrs.

Starr, Henry’s mother, at a time when a very pretty young woman was

milking a cow in the barnyard. The entire scene was one that would make

a beautiful picture, and the two men finally persuaded the young woman

to pose for several pictures.

“We got one fine picture,” said Eaton, “which we labeled ‘The Cherokee

Milkmaid.’ It attracted instant attention because of its artistic

merits and was published widely throughout the United States in both

newspapers and magazines. It was about a year afterward that this

young woman married Henry Starr.” Eaton says the young woman was a

school-teacher at the time and was boarding at the Starr home.

Boy Hero Saves Five Lives.

The heroism of Aaron S. Ashbrook, twelve years old, saved the lives

of his mother, his grandmother, two sisters, and his uncle, George

Ashbrook, when they were trapped in the second story of their burning

home in Cynthiana, Ky.

Escape was cut off by means of the stairway, and the little fellow

leaped from the second-story window, and, running to a barn, secured

a ladder, which he placed to the window, and the inmates of the house

escaped without injury, with the exception of Mrs. Mary Gray, the

aged mother of Mrs. Ashbrook, who fell from the ladder and was badly

injured. The house was totally destroyed.

Town of 4,000; No Post Office.

Although boasting of a population of almost 4,000, and with mail

business sufficient, it is said, to justify free delivery, Oilton,

Okla., the recent metropolis of the Cushing oil field, has no post

office. Residents have chipped in and employed men to sort the mail,

while some concerns have employed their own carriers.

Two months ago Oilton was an alfalfa field. To-day it is one of the

fastest-growing towns in the country. It is the southern terminus of

the recently completed Oil Belt Terminal Railroad.

It is a great sight when the mail comes in. If it is not raining, the

mail is sorted out in piles on the ground. Usually the entire populace

stands around watching the assorting of the mail.

The post office department has been requested to designate a post

office at Oilton.

Builds Town Near His Farm.

Because he raised 150,000 bushels of wheat in 1914 and needed a place

to market it without a haul of ten miles, Ben Foster, a large land

owner, of Colby, Kan., built a town of his own. He constructed an

elevator, a coal and lumber yard, and some houses to go with it. The

town was named Breton.

Boy Flags and Saves a Train.

An attempt to wreck an east-bound Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad passenger

train, near Eastbrook, W. Va., was frustrated by a boy, who flagged the

train in time to prevent it from running into an obstruction placed on

the track. A pile of ties had been placed on the track at the end of a

curve. Railroad police are investigating.

Boston Has Giant Lobster.

The great-great-grandfather of all lobsters--according to Mike

O’Donnell, who is an authority on such matters--has arrived in Boston,

Mass. It is on exhibition in a stall in the Quincy Market.

The lobster, which in its natural state weighed thirty-three pounds

and one ounce, measures forty-two inches from the tip of its tail to

the end of its giant claws, the body alone measuring twenty-three and

one-half inches. Since arriving here the lobster has been boiled, the

meat removed, and the shell painted so that it now looks much the same

as it did when it left the waters of Newfoundland.

This giant lobster, the biggest one ever seen here, according to some

authorities, and one of the biggest on record, was caught off Grand

Manan by a fisherman named John Moses.

Buy-a-Pig Movement, Latest.

Isn’t it about time to buy a pig? This is no joke. One of the causes of

the high cost of living is in the fact that society is growing faster

than the farmers. There is no more profitable animal than a pig. He

improves the dressing and gives the gardener a valuable asset to begin

the season with. He stands in the doorway to keep the wolf away through

the winter. And the social part of it is no small item. The pig is the

most social of animals, especially when he is hungry, and a good pig

has a continuous appetite. It is no disgrace for any one to raise a

pig--not even a school-teacher. Buy a pig and get your name on the roll

of honor.

Motor Saw for Felling Trees.

In attempting to develop an electrically operated device for bucking

and felling trees, a lumber company in Marshfield, Ore., constructed a

portable motor-driven chain saw, which will cut through a two-foot log

in less than a minute, declares the _Electrical World_. The cutting

element consists of a motor-driven saw-toothed chain traveling around

the peripheries of two pulleys, one at each end of the frame. The

motor is connected direct to one of the pulleys and is supplied with

electricity through a flexible cord. The apparatus weighs only eighty

pounds complete.

Left Home on Freight; Back in Limousine.

To celebrate the anniversary of forty years ago, when he jumped a

freight at the old Delanco, N. J., station and beat his way in a

side-door palace car to a near-by metropolis in search of a chance to

make good, which he thought his home had denied him, a former Delanco

boy came back a day or two ago in a limousine to call on old friends

and renew the friendships of school-days.

The boy was John Cahill, who is now chief counsel of the American Bell

Telephone Company, with offices in New York, London, and Paris.

Is Given Fullest Penalty.

Judge Maxwell sentenced Merton C. Pierce, of Canton, Pa., to three

months in jail and a fine of $500 and costs of prosecution, for

furnishing liquor to a person of known intemperate habits. Pierce

pleaded guilty to supplying liquor to a man who could not buy for

himself.

“Oh, that the law was more severe in such cases,” said Judge Maxwell.

“I have the utmost contempt for a man who will buy liquor for a man who

is forbidden to buy it himself, and would like to send you to jail for

a longer period, but the law does not allow. However, I will give you

the fullest penalty, and that will keep you behind the bars for at

least six months,” said the judge, in passing sentence.

Another Canton man has been arrested on the same charge, but will fight

the case.

This Cow is Strong for Twins.

James Billingsley, a farmer residing near Axtell, Kan., has a Red

Polled cow that has made a record in raising calves. The animal, though

only eight years old, has given birth to eight calves, four of which

were born within a period of thirteen months. A year ago she gave birth

to twins, and recently she gave birth to a set of twins.

The cow is a fine milker, and all of her calves have brought prices as

high as fifty dollars a head.

Lone Hunter’s Tragic End.

“Have been torn up by a brown bear. No chance to get out. Good-by.”

Mortally wounded, and with his right arm incapacitated, King Thurman,

a lone hunter and trapper on Chickaloon Flats, Alaska, crawled to his

cabin, printed the above note with his left hand, and then shot himself

with his rifle.

This was the story that was read by the hunters who found Thurman’s

body in his cabin two weeks ago and reported the tragedy to the

authorities at Seward, Alaska.

Twin Brothers Marry Sisters.

Ashland, Pa., had a novel wedding, when Lewis and James Baglin, twin

brothers, were married to Ruth and Ada Maurer, sisters, by Reverend M.

H. Jones.

Refuses to Quit on Pension.

Thomas Strong, of Pine Meadow, Conn., who has been a trackman on the

New York, New Haven & Hartford Railroad for more than forty years, and

is nearly eighty years old, has refused to be retired on a pension,

saying he wants to die in harness. He says he wouldn’t know what to do

with himself if he quit work.

Mustn’t “Cuss” by Wireless.

Radio operators in the United States can’t cuss each other out or use

profanity or indecent language of any kind “in the air.”

A few days ago an operator in the commercial station in Massachusetts

ended up a message with a word that shocked the inspector in the

government station at Boston, where it was picked up. The department of

commerce has sent the offending operator a strong letter of reprimand,

warning him to be careful of his language in the air in the future or

he would lose his license.

Cat’s Cradle Cost One Hundred Dollars.

Louis Newman, of Bayonne, N. J., owns a cat which is the possessor of a

litter of five kittens which Newman values at twenty dollars a piece,

despite their being decidedly common cats, of the back-fence variety.

Two weeks ago Newman left his safe open and later missed a roll of

bills, containing one hundred dollars. Chief Michael S. Reilly, of the

Bayonne police, and the entire detective force examined the premises

and found them clewless.

Newman solved the mystery himself. In the woodshed at the rear of his

home, at 73 West Twenty-sixth Street, he heard a cat’s voice, and spied

Spondulix, the household pet, in a box with five kittens. Newman picked

one up and at the same time caught sight of something green at the

bottom of the box. He investigated and found four ten-dollar bills, two

twenties, two fives, and some twos.

The mother cat, in seeking for something with which to line her cradle,

had appropriated the money from the safe.

Hog Without Food or Water.

That a hog can live fifty-five days without food or water has been

proven. Burch Dowell, of Cookville, Tenn., one of Putnam County’s

prosperous farmers, states that he has a Duroc hog that lived for

fifty-five days without either food or water, in a deep gully into

which it had fallen and became entangled in the dense undergrowth,

rendering its escape impossible.

The hog was accidentally discovered a few days ago by Dowell, who

extricated it from its helpless predicament. It had lost 175 pounds

in weight, but was still alive, and bids fair to rapidly recover its

former vigor.

Oldest Writing is of War on Locusts.

A number of ancient Sumerian tablets recording the deeds of the

Babylonians thousands of years ago have just been deciphered by

George A. Barton, at the University of Pennsylvania museum. One of

these tablets, which tells how a farmer rid his field of locusts and

caterpillars, is dated 4,000 B. C., and is the oldest piece of writing

extant, according to an announcement to-night by officials of the

museum. The farmer, Doctor Barton’s translation says, called in a

necromancer, who “broke a jar, cut open a sacrifice, a word of cursing

he repeated, and the locusts and caterpillars fled.” For this service

he received a tall palm tree.

Death in Electric Wringer.

Miss Margaret McConnell, aged thirty, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. David L.

McConnell, of Washington, Pa., a society girl and active in church and

charitable work, met a horrible death while investigating the mechanism

of an electric clothes wringer that had been installed in the home that

morning.

A long scarf the girl had thrown about her head caught in the wringer

and she was strangled before her mother, who was standing close by,

could shut off the current or go to her assistance.

Mrs. McConnell, too late, made frantic efforts to save the life of her

daughter. Unsuccessful, she summoned aid and then collapsed.

Pleads for Aged “Boy” Drug Fiend.

Pleading for her sixty-year-old “boy,” who, she says, will die if he is

not permitted to obtain the drugs denied him by the Harrison antidrug

bill, an eighty-one-year-old Colorado woman has written a pitiful

letter to Doctor B. R. Reese, of the Federal internal revenue division

of the treasury department. She addressed her letter to President

Wilson, but Secretary Tumulty sent it to Doctor Reese, whose office is

the clearing house of such correspondence.

Much as the appeal of the old Colorado woman moved the officials, no

exception will be made in that case. There is no intention on the part

of the internal revenue division to issue blanket permits to obtain

drugs for individual cases.

Cheer Their Boy Soldiers.

Paris was enlivened early this week by gay crowds of conscripts of the

1916 class parading the streets to the strains of the “Marseillaise”

and other patriotic songs previous to departing to join their regiments

in the center and the south of France.

These nineteen-year-old recruits compare favorably with those of

previous levies, and they showed the better effect of physical training

in preparation for their service in the army.

All appeared to be full of confidence, and they departed without a sign

of reluctance or regret.

Wet and Dry Vote for Alaska.

The Alaska Senate passed a bill submitting territorial prohibition

to the voters at the November election in 1916. The bill has already

passed the House. If the voters approve prohibition, it will become

effective January 1, 1918.

Missouri Town Gets a Bomb.

The glass in almost every alley window in a half block in the business

section of Excelsior Springs, Mo., was broken when what is believed to

have been a stick of dynamite was thrown into the alley. One arrest has

been made.

A number of people narrowly escaped injury.

The explosion is believed to be the outgrowth of ill feeling engendered

at the local-option election here, January 18.

Kills Big She-wolf and All Her Young.

General Putnam, of early-day fame, who crawled into a hole and

dispatched a ferocious “painter” therein, has a rival at Worland, near

Gillette, Wyo., in the person of Henry Schumacher, who recently tracked

a monster she-wolf to her den, and, with six-shooter in hand, crawled

in after her.

He had only proceeded a few feet when the wolf sprang for him, but

Henry was quick with his gun, as usual, placing several bullets in her

head before she could reach him.

Eight pups, about a month old, were found at the end of the den.

Schumacher killed them all, but, small as they were, they put up a

stiff fight, repeatedly biting him before he succeeded in killing them

all. Bounty to the amount of one hundred and fifty-five dollars was

collected on the old wolf and her young.

Girl Was Dumb and Now Talks.

Miss Helen Dodge, eighteen years old, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. H. G.

Dodge, of Lestershire, N. Y., born deaf and dumb, will deliver an oral

oration at her graduation from the Malone State Institution for the

Deaf and Dumb in June.

Miss Dodge’s case is considered one of the most remarkable in

the history of teaching the deaf and dumb. She was placed in the

institution when only four years old, and has been a student there ever

since.

Her teacher soon discovered that she was unusually intelligent and

began experimenting in an effort to teach her to speak. Her vocal

chords were found to be in normal condition, and before she was seven

years old she had been taught to make sounds which were intelligible.

She now speaks as distinctly and with as much expression as a person

with the normal faculty of hearing, and it is declared that hers is the

first case of the kind in this or any other institution.

Educates Herself to Free Husband.

Fired with the ambition to become a lawyer, that she may some day

obtain the freedom of her husband, who is serving a life sentence for

the murder of Charles Reuter, a Tulsa, Okla., lawyer, Mrs. Mamie Baker,

dividing her time between household duties and public school, has

advanced from the lowest grammar grades to the high school in less than

two years. Mrs. Baker is a Bohemian, and unfamiliarity with the English

language has been an additional drawback to her.

When she completes high school, it is her aim to enter a law office.

She insists she will be a practising attorney in three years.

Mrs. Baker does not seek to obtain the freedom of her husband that she

may again live with him, but to take the stain of crime from her name.

She has always insisted her husband is innocent of murder.

Horse Stops Fast Express.

An engineer on a fast express on the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad received

a signal to stop his train near Defiance, Ohio. It was an emergency

signal, so the train was stopped as quickly as possible.

The conductor, amazed at the sudden stop, ran to the engine and reached

it just as the engineer was preparing to go back to the train to

ascertain the trouble. Both were dismayed when told no person had given

the signal.

An investigation of the express car, however, revealed that a horse had

the signal cord in its mouth and was pulling it with all its might.

Forgets He’s in Prison as He Hears Fifes Play.

A fife-and-drum corps visited the State Penitentiary, at Joliet, Ill.,

to give the prisoners a treat.

The 1,500 convicts pushed back their plates when the corps marched down

the aisle of the big dining hall to the stirring tune of “Marching

Through Georgia.”

A grizzled old man seated at one of the benches rose and followed,

keeping step with the players. He was Thomas McNally, a life convict

from Chicago, who for twenty-five years has been “No. 3,692.”

“I am an old soldier--fought in the Civil War,” he mumbled in apology

when the music stopped. “I forgot where I was.”

An appeal for McNally’s pardon is pending. It is supported by the judge

before whom he was tried and twenty lawyers who believe he is innocent.

SONG POEMS WANTED for publication.

You may write a big song hit! Experience unnecessary. Publication

guaranteed if acceptable. Send us your verses or melodies today. Write

for free valuable booklet.

MARKS-GOLDSMITH CO. [Dept. 70] WASHINGTON, D.C.

The Nick Carter Stories

ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS

When it comes to detective stories worth while, the =Nick Carter

Stories= contain the only ones that should be considered. They are not

overdrawn tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of

the finest minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is

familiar all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be

read in twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe

test of time so well as those contained in the =Nick Carter Stories=.

It proves conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list

of some of the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer

order them, or they will be sent direct by the publishers to any

address upon receipt of the price in money or postage stamps.

704--Written in Red.

707--Rogues of the Air.

709--The Bolt from the Blue.

710--The Stockbridge Affair.

711--A Secret from the Past.

712--Playing the Last Hand.

713--A Slick Article.

714--The Taxicab Riddle.

717--The Master Rogue’s Alibi.

719--The Dead Letter.

720--The Allerton Millions.

728--The Mummy’s Head.

729--The Statue Clue.

730--The Torn Card.

731--Under Desperation’s Spur.

732--The Connecting Link.

733--The Abduction Syndicate.

736--The Toils of a Siren.

738--A Plot Within a Plot.

739--The Dead Accomplice.

741--The Green Scarab.

746--The Secret Entrance.

747--The Cavern Mystery.

748--The Disappearing Fortune.

749--A Voice from the Past.

752--The Spider’s Web.

753--The Man With a Crutch.

754--The Rajah’s Regalia.

755--Saved from Death.

756--The Man Inside.

757--Out for Vengeance.

758--The Poisons of Exili.

759--The Antique Vial.

760--The House of Slumber.

761--A Double Identity.

762--“The Mocker’s” Stratagem.

763--The Man that Came Back.

764--The Tracks in the Snow.

765--The Babbington Case.

766--The Masters of Millions.

767--The Blue Stain.

768--The Lost Clew.

770--The Turn of a Card.

771--A Message in the Dust.

772--A Royal Flush.

774--The Great Buddha Beryl.

775--The Vanishing Heiress.

776--The Unfinished Letter.

777--A Difficult Trail.

782--A Woman’s Stratagem.

783--The Cliff Castle Affair.

784--A Prisoner of the Tomb.

785--A Resourceful Foe.

789--The Great Hotel Tragedies.

795--Zanoni, the Transfigured.

796--The Lure of Gold.

797--The Man With a Chest.

798--A Shadowed Life.

799--The Secret Agent.

800--A Plot for a Crown.

801--The Red Button.

802--Up Against It.

803--The Gold Certificate.

804--Jack Wise’s Hurry Call.

805--Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase.

807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement.

808--The Kregoff Necklace.

810--The Copper Cylinder.

811--Nick Carter and the Nihilists.

812--Nick Carter and the Convict Gang.

813--Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor.

814--The Triangled Coin.

815--Ninety-nine--and One.

816--Coin Number 77.

NEW SERIES

NICK CARTER STORIES

1--The Man from Nowhere.

2--The Face at the Window.

3--A Fight for a Million.

4--Nick Carter’s Land Office.

5--Nick Carter and the Professor.

6--Nick Carter as a Mill Hand.

7--A Single Clew.

8--The Emerald Snake.

9--The Currie Outfit.

10--Nick Carter and the Kidnaped Heiress.

11--Nick Carter Strikes Oil.

12--Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure.

13--A Mystery of the Highway.

14--The Silent Passenger.

15--Jack Dreen’s Secret.

16--Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case.

17--Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves.

18--Nick Carter’s Auto Chase.

19--The Corrigan Inheritance.

20--The Keen Eye of Denton.

21--The Spider’s Parlor.

22--Nick Carter’s Quick Guess.

23--Nick Carter and the Murderess.

24--Nick Carter and the Pay Car.

25--The Stolen Antique.

26--The Crook League.

27--An English Cracksman.

28--Nick Carter’s Still Hunt.

29--Nick Carter’s Electric Shock.

30--Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess.

31--The Purple Spot.

32--The Stolen Groom.

33--The Inverted Cross.

34--Nick Carter and Keno McCall.

35--Nick Carter’s Death Trap.

36--Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle.

37--The Man Outside.

38--The Death Chamber.

39--The Wind and the Wire.

40--Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase.

41--Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend.

42--The Queen of the Seven.

43--Crossed Wires.

44--A Crimson Clew.

45--The Third Man.

46--The Sign of the Dagger.

47--The Devil Worshipers.

48--The Cross of Daggers.

49--At Risk of Life.

50--The Deeper Game.

51--The Code Message.

52--The Last of the Seven.

53--Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful.

54--The Secret Order of Associated Crooks.

55--The Golden Hair Clew.

56--Back From the Dead.

57--Through Dark Ways.

58--When Aces Were Trumps.

59--The Gambler’s Last Hand.

60--The Murder at Linden Fells.

61--A Game for Millions.

62--Under Cover.

63--The Last Call.

64--Mercedes Danton’s Double.

65--The Millionaire’s Nemesis.

66--A Princess of the Underworld.

67--The Crook’s Blind.

68--The Fatal Hour.

69--Blood Money.

70--A Queen of Her Kind.

71--Isabel Benton’s Trump Card.

72--A Princess of Hades.

73--A Prince of Plotters.

74--The Crook’s Double.

75--For Life and Honor.

76--A Compact With Dazaar.

77--In the Shadow of Dazaar.

78--The Crime of a Money King.

79--Birds of Prey.

80--The Unknown Dead.

81--The Severed Hand.

82--The Terrible Game of Millions.

83--A Dead Man’s Power.

84--The Secrets of an Old House.

85--The Wolf Within.

86--The Yellow Coupon.

87--In the Toils.

88--The Stolen Radium.

89--A Crime in Paradise.

90--Behind Prison Bars.

91--The Blind Man’s Daughter.

92--On the Brink of Ruin.

93--Letter of Fire.

94--The $100,000 Kiss.

95--Outlaws of the Militia.

96--The Opium-Runners.

97--In Record Time.

98--The Wag-Nuk Clew.

99--The Middle Link.

100--The Crystal Maze.

101--A New Serpent in Eden.

102--The Auburn Sensation.

103--A Dying Chance.

104--The Gargoni Girdle.

105--Twice in Jeopardy.

106--The Ghost Launch.

107--Up in the Air.

108--The Girl Prisoner.

109--The Red Plague.

110--The Arson Trust.

111--The King of the Firebugs.

112--“Lifter’s” of the Lofts.

113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves.

114--The Death Plot.

115--The Evil Formula.

116--The Blue Button.

117--The Deadly Parallel.

118--The Vivisectionists.

119--The Stolen Brain.

120--An Uncanny Revenge.

121--The Call of Death.

122--The Suicide.

123--Half a Million Ransom.

124--The Girl Kidnaper.

125--The Pirate Yacht.

126--The Crime of the White Hand.

127--Found in the Jungle.

128--Six Men in a Loop.

129--The Jewels of Wat Chang.

130--The Crime in the Tower.

131--The Fatal Message.

132--Broken Bars.

133--Won by Magic.

134--The Secret of Shangore.

135--Straight to the Goal.

136--The Man They Held Back.

Dated April 24th, 1915.

137--The Seal of Gijon.

Dated May 1st, 1915.

138--The Traitors of the Tropics.

Dated May 8th, 1915.

139--The Pressing Peril.

Dated May 15th, 1915.

140--The Melting-Pot.

=PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.= If you want any back numbers of our

weeklies and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be

obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as

money.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY

Transcriber’s Notes:

Minor errors and omissions in punctuation have been fixed, otherwise

spelling and punctuation has been left in original condition, except

for the below

Page 3: “Dawton” changed to “Lawton”

Page 12: “the jewelry slolen” changed to “the jewelry stolen”

Page 19: “messenger on the steamer” changed to “passenger on the

steamer”

Page 26: “Mr. Kruse” changed to “Mr. Krause”

Page 27: “detachments of Turks” changed to “detachment of Turks”

Page 27: “brought the little ones” changed to “brought the little one”

Page 27: “milita authorities” changed to “military authorities”

Page 28: “Some Facts You May Not Nnow” changed to “Some Facts You May

Not Know”

Page 31: “Twin Brothers Marry Sisiers” changed to “Twin Brothers Marry

Sisters”

Page 31: “ended up a mesage” changed to “ended up a message”