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— — wo o ooooooo o oooooooooooooooe i By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM i k »ooo o coo c >ccoooe>c »ociaew o oo c i i a o raco ooo oo o co oooooooooooocx>o itK x>oo oo oooQ 000 9 00 0 c »cK»o cn oo o oooooc o o o ooo oo ooooooo « 1 Copyright by Little. Brow« and Company -MY CONGRATULATIONS" SYNOPSIS.—Francis Ledsam dé tends Oliver Hlldltch. a business man. In a murder case and suc ceeds In getting him oft. only to be told by bis wife that Hlldltch Is an arch-crlmlnal. Ledsam. din ing with hla best friend. Andrew Wllmore. meets Hlldltch and his wife and is Invited to dine with them at their home. At dinner with the Bildliches. Oliver shows Led sam how he killed his victim and says his own death the same way would make hla wife supremely happy. Returning home, Ledsam renalvps a phone call from Mar garet Hlldltch saying Oliver has been murdered. Ledsam gets the set Oliver's death. He admits to coroner to down as suicide. Wllmore that he has developed s keen Interest In Margaret. He meets her father. Sir Timothy Brast. the evil shepherd, who telle him a crime will be com mitted before they leave the cafe. A murder Is committed. Ledsam determines to solve the mystery. He meets Margaret CHAPTER VII—Continued. "I am not at all sure," she said in differently. "that it would not be very much better for you if he did." "1 cannot admit that," he answered, smiling. "I think that our paths in life are too far apart for either of us to in fluence the other. You don't share bis tastes, do you 7" "Which ones?" she asked, after a moment's alienee. "Well, boxing for one," he replied. "They tell me that he is the greatest living patron of the ring, both here gnd in America." "I have never been to a fight in my life," she confessed. "I hop# that I never may." "1 can't go so far as that." he de clared, "but boxing Isn't altogether one of my Lobbies. Can't we leave your father and bis tastes alone for the present? 1 would rather talk about— ourselves. Tell me what yon care about most in life?" "Nothing," she answered listlessly. "But that la only a phase," he per sisted. "You bave had terrible trials. I know, and they must have affected your outlook on life, but you are still young, and while one is young life is always worth having." "I thought so once," she assented. "1 don't now." "But there must be—there will be compensations," he assured her. "I know that Just now you are suffering from the reaction—after all you have gone through. The memory of ' that will pass." "The memory of what I have gone through will never pass," she an swered.--—. There was a moment's Intense lence, a silence pregnant with remi niscent drama. "Please look at me," be begged, little abruptly. She turned her bead in some sur prise. Francis was almost handsome in the clear spring sunlight, his face alight with animation, bis deep-set gray eyes full of amused yet anxious * { h w 'C % i f *?n Your Way You Have Been Kind to Me," She Admitted. Even as she appreciated solicitude, these things and became dimly con aclons oMiii eager Interest, her per turbation seemed to grow. "Well?" she ventured. "Do I look like a person who knew what be was talking shoot?" be asked. "On the whole. I should say that you did." the admitted. "Very well, then," be went on cheer fully. "believe am when I aay that the shadow which dep r e s se s you ell the time now will pass 1 aay this con •dently," he added, hla voice soften ing. "because I hope to be allowed to kelp Haven't yon gu es s ed that I am very glad indeed t* eaa you again 7" They tad pen ta C through Lane down# peerage and were In the quiet "But yon must not talk to me like that !" she expostulated. "Why not?" he demanded. "We have met under strange and untoward cir cumstances. but are you so very dif ferent from other women? Will you not accept my friendship?" It Is Impossible," she replied. 'May I be allowed to call on you?" he went on doggedly. ■ "I do not receive visitor»," she an swered. "1 am sorry," be said, "but I cannot accept my dismissal like this. 1 shall appeal to your father. However much be may dislike me, be has at least #ommon sense." She looked at him with a touch of the old horror in her coldly question ing eyes. y "In your way yon have been kind to me." she admitted. "Let me In return give you a word of advice. Let me beg you to have nothing whatever to do with my father. In friendship or In enmity. Either might be equally dis astrous. Either, in the long run, is likely to cost you dear." *Tf that is your opinion of your fa ther, why do you live with him?" he asked. She had become entirely callous again. Her smile, with its mocking quality, reminded him for a moment of the roan whom they were discussing. "Because I am a luxury and com fort-loving parasite," she answered de liberately, "because my father gladly pays my accounts at Lucille and Worth and Reviile, because 1 have never learned to do without things. And please remember this. My father, so far as 1 am concerned, has no faults. He Is a generous and courte ous companion. Nevertheless, No. *0 b, Curzon street is no place for people who desire to lead normal lives." And with that she was gone. Her gesture of dismissal was so complete and final that be bad no courage for further argument. He had lost her ol-_ most as soon as he bad found her. CHAPTER VIII Four men were discussing tbe ver dict at the adjourned inquest upon Victor Bidlake, at Soto's American bar about a fortnight later. They were Robert Fairfax, a young actor in mu sical comedy, Peter Jacks, a cinema producer, Gerald Morse, a dress de signer. and Sidney Voss, a musical composer and librettist, all habitues of tbe place and members of tbe little circle toward which the dead man bad seemed, during the last few weeks of his life, to have become attracted. At the table a short distance away, Fran cis Ledsam was seated with a cocktail and a dish of almonds before him. He seemed to be studying an evening pa per and to be taking but the scantiest notice of the conversation at the bar. "It Just shows," Peter Jacks de clared. "that crime la the easiest game th Tfte world. Given a reasonable amount of intelligence, and a murder er's business is about as simple aa a sandwlchman's." 'The police," Gerald Morse, a pale faced anemic-looking youth, declared, "rely upon two things, circumstantial evidence and motive. In the present case there Is no circumstantial evi dence, and as to motive, poor old Vic tor was too big a fool to have an enemy in the world." Sidney Voss, who was up for the Sheridan club and had once been there, glanced respectfully across at Francis. "You ought to know something about crime and criminals, Mr. Ledsam," he said. "Have you any theory about the affair?" Francis set down the glass from which be had been drinking, and, fold ing up the evening paper, laid It by the side of him. "As a matter of fact," he answered calmly, "I have." The few words, simply spoken, yet in their way charged with menace, thrilled through the Uttie room. Fair fax swung round upon bis stool, a tali, aggressive-looking youth whose good looks were half eaten up with dissi pation. His eyes were nnnstnraliy bright, tbe cloudy remains in his glaM indicated absinthe. "Listen yon fellows!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Francis Ledsam, the great crim inal barrister. Is going to solve the mystery of poor old Victor's death for us!" The three other young men all turned around from the bar. Their eyes and whole attention seemed rivet ed upon Francis. No one seemed to notice the newcomer who passed quiet ly to a chair in tbe background, al though be was a person of some note and interest to all of them. Imper turbable and Immaculate as ever, Sir Timothy Brast smiled amiably upon tbe little gathering, summoned a wait er and ordered a dry martini. T can scarcely promise to do that," Francis said slowly, bis eyes resting for a second or two upon each of tbe foor faces. "Exact solutions are a lit tle out of my line. I think I can prom ise to give you a shock, though. If you're strong enough to stand IL" Thera was another of thooe curious ly charged silence*. Tbe bartender peoeed with the cocktail-shaker Mill began to heal aerv ously upon the counter with bis | knuckles. -We can stand anything bnt ras- 1 pense," he declared. "Get on with | your shock-giving." "I believe that the person responai-1 ble for the death of Victor Bidlake la in this room at the present moment," J Francis declared. 1 Again the silence, curious, tense and dramatic. Little Jimmy, the bartender, who hfed leaned forward to listen. stood with his month slightly open and the cocktail-shaker which was In hla hand leaking drops upon the counter, The first conscious impulse of every body seemed to be to «glance auspl clously around the room. The four young men at the bar, Jimmy and one waiter, Francis and Sir Timothy Brast. were Its only occupants. "I say, you know, that's a bit thick. Isn't ItT" Sidney Voss stammered at I last. "I wasn't In the place at all, 11 was in Manchester, but it's a bit rough | on these other chaps, Victor's pals." "I was dining at the Cafe Royal»" I Jacks declared, loudly. Morse drew a little breath. "Every one knows that I was at Brighton," he muttered. "I went home directly the bar here closed," Jimmy said. In a still dased tone. "I heard nothing about it till the next morning." "Alibis by the bushel." Fairfax laughed harshly. "As for me. I was doing my show—every one knows that. I was never in the place at ail." "The murder was not committed in the place," Francis commented calmly. Fairfax slid off his stool. A spot of color blazed In his pale cheeks, the glass which he was holding snapped in his fingers. He seemed suddenly possessed. - "1 say, what the h—I are you get ting at?" he cried. "Are you accusing me—or any of us—Victor's pals?" "I accuse no one," Francis replied, unperturbed. "You Invited a state ment from me and I made It." Sir Timothy Brast rose from his place and made hi* way to the end of the counter, next to Fairfax and nearest Francis. He addressed the former. There was an inscrutable l smile upon his lips, his manner was reassuring. "Young gentleman." he begged. I "pray do not disturb yourself. I will answer for It that neither you nor any of your friends are the objects of Mr. Ledsam's suspicion. Without a doubt, it la I to whom bis somewhat bold | statement refers.' They all stared at him, Immersed In . another crisis, bereft of speech. He tapped a cigarette upon the counter and lit it Fairfax, whose glass had Just been refilled by toe bartender, was still ghastly pale, shaking with nerv ousnesa and breathing hoarsely. Francis, tense and alert in his chair, watched the speaker, but said noth Ton see," Sir Timothy continued, addressing himself to the four young men at the bar, "I happen to have two special aversions In life. One is sweet champagne and the other am ateur detectlves-their «tories, their method« and everything about them. I chanced to sit upstairs In the res taurant, within hearing of Mr. Ledsam and hta friend Mr. Wllmore, the novel 1st, the other night, and I heard Mr. Ledsam, very mnch to my chagrin, announce his Intention of abandoning a career in which he has. If he will allow me to aay «o.''-wlth a courte ous bow to Francis—"attained con slderabie distinction, to indulge in the moth-eaten, flamboyant and melodra mstic antics of the lesser Sherlock Holmes. I fear that I could not resist the opportunity of joking him about bia new avocation." j ___, . . ,, i i ok i ^ "ET? 1 ?. to S' ^ ed Into the room and sobsided Into a chair near Francis. ._,_,. . „ T moved my place, therefore." Sir Timothy continued "and I whispered D „ Mr , h "' S** TtJZJSnt planning to be the giant crime-detect or of the world, I was by ambition the archcriminal—or words to that effect. And to give emphasis to my words, I wound up by prophesying a crime in the immediate vicinity of the place wlthln a few hours." "A somewhat significant prophecy. under the circumstances" Francis re marked. reaching out for a dish of Mlted almond, and drawing them to wards him Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders deprecatlngly. T will confess," he admitted, "that I bad not in my mind an affair of sucb dimensions. My harmless re mark, however, has produced eatac'ys mlc effects. The conversation to which I refer took place on the night of young Bidlake'. monier, and Mr. Led sam. with my somewhat. I ranfess, bombastic words in hta memory, has pitched upon me as the bloodthirsty murderer '' "Hold on for a moment. Mr." Peter Jacks begged, wiping tbe perspiration from his forehead. "We've got to have another drif k «Mc k. Poor old Bobby here looks a nocked all of s heap, and .Pm Had of jumpy myself TouU join «a. at tT "I thank you," was the courteous reply. T do set as • rate indulge to ing. the extent of more than one cocktail exceptional case. To continue, then." he went on, after the glasses had been weeks, experienced the ceaseless and lynx-eyed watch of Mr. Ledsam and presumably his myrmidons. I do not know whether you are ail acquainted with my name, but in case you are not. let me Introduce myself. I am Sir Timothy Brast, chairman, as 1 dare soy you know, of the United Transvaal Gold Mines, chairman, also of two of the principal hospitals In .London, vice president of the Society "for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani mais, a patron of sport In many forms, a traveler In many countries, and a re clplent of the honor of knighthood from his majesty. In recognition of my aerv 1res for various philanthropic works. These facts, however, have availed me nothing now that the bungling amateur investigator Into crime has pointed the aervants and neighbors have alike been but 1 will recognise the present as an filled, "1 have, during the last few finger of suspicion towards me My II ! re t. - l j j At -| Truat That I Have Succeeded In Setting Thsss Young Gentlemen's Mind* at Ease." Plagued to death with cunning ques Uo,w «• *o "7 Me and habits. 1 have been watched in the streets afid watched in my harmless amusements. My simple life faasbeen peered into from every perspective and direction. In short, I am suspect. Mr. Ledsam's ter , rtf y' n « «tateraent a few minutes ago WM directed towards me and me only." T» 1 *™ w * re "urmurs of sympathy f™" 1 the four 7° un * «"«• who «« h ,n h,a own . faab,on ap Pl ared dertv * consolation from 81r Timothy's frank I " d aomewhat_ caustic statement. Fran ^ w, '° had listened unmoved to this words, «lanced towards the door ** b,I | d whlch dark 5 * urea " eemed t0 •» . I. Thata " h ™V° "*• 8,r T, £ oth * 7 ; he P 0 '"* 1 *' Tor the present, yes," was the « uarde d reply. I trust that I have " M *** ded ■*«"»* th "* y° un « « en ' U *®t n * " lnd " _ "There Is one of them," Francis said m ' nd " ot * V * D ao « t ' ,ln « w j orda /°| ,ld ll * ht * n ' . , «hoplend had1 riaen unobtrusively to H * f bl> band " ud< K ny ° n Ymlrfu's shoulder and wWspMed in hi. ear - Falr *«* ««er hi. first start f**"* 1 f 00 * * n °"« h ' He . Btretc **i out band towards the glass which as b * had " ot touched, covered it with "• fln « er * tor *and drained It» contents. The gently sarcastic «mile left Sir Timothy's lips. His eye ^s ™t a frown, hi. eye. * * ■ , . ... . "What Is the meaning of this?" be ._ . . pollcen)an In pIaln clothea bad ad . from the door. The manager ID the background. Shoplend .. I , 11 means, he announced, that 1 ?™* J nat Basted Mr. Robert Fairfax M™® " a charge of wlllfu murder. There hi a way »» through the kltch IT' Take his other arm Holmes. No ^' ««»»*"*"• « Pl »«• were a few bewildered ex clamaflons-then a dramatic hush. S'«**« "ad fallen forward onhls stool, He seemed to have relapsed into a comatose state. Every scrap of color was drained from his sallow cheeks, bt * *7** were covered with a film and b * waa breathing heavily. The detec tlve snatched up the glass from which **• 7 oung man had been drinking, and ■ Inelt •* "I Mm drop a tablet in Jus n.n. hf nJI **• tb * dl « e,tIoD P ,,U he uaea sometime* Bbopland and the poi ceman placed their bands underneath the armpits of theonconscious rasn _ "»«'• «one. sir. 'be former whls ***& *° Francis. Well tiy and get him to th* station If we can. • 0 0 0 0 0 0 The greatest tragedies in tbe world, provided they happen to other people, have singularly little effect upon the «Menais of our own Uvea There was ~ certainly not a soul In Soto's that night who did not know that Bobby Fairfax bad been arrested in the bar below for the murder of Victor Bidlake, had taken poison and died on the way to the police station. Yet the same num ber of dinners were ordered and eaten, the same quantity of wlno drunk. The management considered that they had shown marvelous deli cacy of feeling by restraining the or chestra from their usual musical gyro nasties until after the service of din ner. Conversation. In consequence* busted louder than ever. One specula tlon In particular absorbed the atten tlon of every single person in the room —why had Bobby Fairfax, at the smith of a very successful career, risked the gallows and actually ac cepted death for the soke of killing Victor Bidlake, a young man with whom, so far as anybody knew, he had no cause of quarrel whatever? There were many theories, many peo ple who knew the real facts and whispered them into a neighbor's ear, only to have them contradicted a few moments later. Yet. curiously enough, the two men who knew most about it were the two most silent men in the room, for each was dining alone. Francis, who had remained only In the hope that something of the sort might happen, was conaojous of a queer sense of excitement when, with the I service of coffee, Sir llmothy, glass I In hand, moved up from a table lower down and with à word of apology took the vacant place by his aide. It was what he had desired, and yet he felt | a thrill almost of fear at Sir Timothy's murmured words. He felt that he was in the company of one who, if not nn enemy, at any rats bad no friendly feeling towards him. "My congratulations, Mr. Ledsam," Sir Timothy said quietly. "You ap pear to have started your career with a success." "Only a partial one," Frnncia ac knowledged, "and as a matter of fact I deny that I have started In any new | career. It was easy enough to make j use of a fluke and direct the intelli gence of others toward* the right per son. but when the real significance of the thing still eludes you, one can scarcely claim a triumph." Sir Timothy gently knocked the ash from the very fine cigar which he was smoking. "Still, your groundwork was good," he observed. Francis shrugged his shoulders. "That," he admitted, "was due to chance." _—— —"Shall we exchan»* note«?" Sir Tim othy suggested gently. "It might be interesting." "As you will," Francis assented, "There Is no particular secret In the way I stumbled upon the truth. I was I dining here that night, a* yon know, with Andrew Wllmore, and while he was ordering the dinner and talking j to some frtenda, I went down to the American bar to have a cocktail. Miss Daisy Hyslop and Fairfax were Mat ed there alone and talking confidential ly. Fairfax was Insisting that Mias J Hyslop should do something which j puzzled her. She conMnted reluctant- I ly, nnd Fairfax then hurried off to the J theater. * Later on. Misa HySlop and the unfortunate young man occupied table close to ours, and I happened to notice that she made a point of lenv-1 Ing the restaurant at « particular time. While they were welting in the vest! bule she grew very impatient. I was} standing behind them and I saw her glance at the clock Just before she in sisted upon her companion's going out himself to look for a taxicab. Ergo, one inquires at Fairfax's theater. For that exact three-quarters of an hour he is off the stage. At that point my Interest in the matter ceases. Scotland Yard was quite capable of the regt," •'Disappointing." Sir Timothy mur mured. "I thought at first that yon were over-modest. I find that I was mistaken. It was chance alone which set you on the right track." "Well, there is my story, at any rate," Francia declared. "With how much of your knowledge of the affair are you going to indulge me?*' Sir Timothy slowly revolved Us brandy glass. "Well," he said, "I will tell yon this. The two young men concerned, Bid lake and Fairfax, were both guests of mine recently at my country housa They had discovered for one another s very fierce and reasonable antipathy. With that recurrence to primitivism with which I have always been a hearty sympathizer, they agreed. In stead of going round their little world making sneering remarks about each other, to fight it out." "At your suggestion, I presume7" Francis Interposed. "Precisely," Sir Timothy assented. "I recommended that courM. and I offered them facilities for bringing the matter to a crisis. The fight. Indeed, was to have come off the day after the unfortunate episode which anticipated ✓ ft." "Do yhu mean to tell me that you knew—" Francis began. Sir Timothy checked him quietly bnt effectively. "Will you dins with me at Hatch End tonightf (TO BB CONTIMUBD.) First U. 8. Magazine. A publication called tbe American Magazine, was issued in colonial times by Andrew Bradford, a printer, and a business rival of Franklin. It was edited by John Webbe. Tbe first num ber appeared In Philadelphia. Feb ruary 1A 1714. Franklin's periodical, the General Magasine, appeared three days later, short lived, the American Magasine lasting only twe niuabara and Fntafc Uns for atx. . ' Both publications were I |f rtUtvcs that stilly jwWag after hearty cailag. Chew U after every meal It «tlaiilaiss appetite at« alia iltestlea. 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