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VOLUME XLII. FREDERICK RAILROAD Thurniont Division Schedule In Effect October 27. 1912. Leave Frederick Arrive Thurmont. 5 5) a. m *>.25 a- m ‘ 7 15 a. m a - m -9 5) a , 10.0. m. 11.3) a! m. Except Sunday 12.20 p.m. 1.3* pm. Sunday Only 2.15p m. 2.00 p. m. Except Sunday 2.45 p. m. 4.15 p. m 5.05 p. m. 5.20 p. m ■•••• 10 p. m. 6.15 p. m. Except Sunday 7.05 p. m. 830 p. m. Except Sunday 9.20 p. m. 9.55 p. m. Saturday Only 10.45 p. m. Leave Thurmont. Arrive Frederick. 600a. m. Except Sunday 650a. m. 7.30 a. £ \5 a. m. 8.20 a. 9 20 a. m ’ 10 55 a. rn • • m 12.30 p m. Except Sunday 1.20 p. m. 3.05 p. m 348 p m. 5.20 p. 6.06 p. m. 6.30 p. 7.20 p. m. 710 p. m Except Sunday 8.00 p. m. 10.55 p m. Saturday Only 11.40 p.m. Western Maryland R. R. Schedule In Effect October 27, 1912 going west. Leave Leave Arrive Baltimore Thurmont Hagerstown •4 50 A. M. 6.42 A. M. 7.50 A. M. 17.45 “ 1110.15 “ •8 57 “ 10.41 “ 11 55 P. M. •4.15 P.M. 616 P.M. 7.35 “ •9.00 “ 10.48 “ 11-50 going east. Leave Leave Arrive Hagerstown Thurmont Baltimore •4 15 A.M. 5.20 A.M. 7.20 A.M. •6.50 “ 8.10 “ 1020 ‘‘ 112 30 P. M. 3.00 P. M. t1.40 P. M. 2.53 “ 5.14 " •4.05 “ 5.14 “ 701 •Daily IRemains at Thurmont tDaily except Sunday. OVER S YEARS EXPERIENCE Trade Marks Ocsions ‘ Fnt" Copyrights Ac. Anyone •ending n ketrh and description mv aalckly ascertain our opinion free whether an In Tension te probably patent tlons strict!? conllilentlul. HANDBOOK on Patent* aunt free. Oldest auency for Bocurlng patents. Pateuta taken tliruuiih Muun A Co. receive tptciai notice, without charge, iutbo Scientific American, A hMMtoomelr lllntrt*<t wpi-kIT. Dirxeat cir culation of Kny <-ieiiUUe lourn.l. Term*. a year; four munlli., <L Bold byll riewidwiler.. MUNN & Co. 36,Broadwmy - New York Branch Olßce, 62i F Bt, Washington. D. C. TRESPASS NOTICE. Notice is hereby given to all persons not to trespass with dogs, guns, fishing or cutting down of any timber upon my mountain land, home place or the Will hide place, or on any land belonging to me wherever situated, as the Law will be strictly enforced against such person or persons. MRS. CHARLES SHIPLEY. July 16 tf THE OLD RELIABLE MUTUAL INSURANCE CO. OF FREDERICK COUNTY. Organized 1843. Office—46 North 3laiket Street Frederick, Md. A. C. McCardell. 0. C Warehime President. Secretary. SURPLUS $25,000.00 No Premium Notes Required. Insures All Classes of Property against Loss by Fire at Rates 25 per cent, less than Stock Companies charge. A Home Insurance Company for Home Insurers. b. 18 lyr. Freight Service as Usual. The Frederick Railroad Co. begs to in form the general public that its freight service to and from Baltimore, and all other points, reached via Thurmont, has not been interrupted in any manner whatsoever. It is, as it always has been, the quick est and best service to and from all points it reaches, july 13tf It’s A Cure That’s Sure -FOR f RHEUMATISM. GOUT. SCIATICA. AND LUMBAGO N\ hMVf curv'd TlioiiHHiidi mill JONES BREAK/UP AND IT WILL CURE YOU Always in stock at J. HOWARD CASSELL’S, THURMONT, MD. The Catoctin clarion. We TRUTH ABOUT THE CASE The Experiences of M. F. Goron, Ex-Chief of the Paris Detective Police Edited by Albert Keyzer NUMBER NINETY-FOUR Ji (Copyright by J. B, Lippiueult Co.j (Editor's Note.—l made M. Ooron’s ac quaintance toms yeara ago. and was at cnee struck with his extraordinary pow ers of observation, his keen-wittedness, ami his devouring energy In the discharge of his difficult duties. For It must be re membered that the Chief of the Paris De tective Police wields enormous power and Is allowed a certain discretion—except, of course, when a crime has been committed —to save Innocent persons the disgrace of a public scandal. A few months ago I was smoking a pipe In his study, a room hung with trophies— a museum of crime. I saw him take up a thick, leather-bound volume, the pages covered with writing, with here and there portraits and curious-looking drawings. “This Is my diary," he began, but sudden ly stopped when he saw me start. “Yes, It Is my diary,“ he repeated; “but —what’s the trouble?" “Your diary? And you never thought of publishing It?" “No,” he retorted with a smile; “the fact Is, here arc all my Impressions, and certain facts " I did not even know the end of the sen tence; I took up the book and began reading at once; and the more I read the more I marveled. The next morning we commenced work, and this series is the result.—A. K.) BHE BELGIAN Government had demanded the ex tradition of the swindler Karstens, and, for purposes of identification, 1 had asked the peo pie who had deal ings with him to come to my office Among those w'ho called up in me was Charles Vernet, a financier, and, while I listened to the evidence he gave In a clear, concise manner, the conviction stole upon me that I had met him before under different cir cumstances. But where? —when? Al though I have an excellent memory for faces, his features were not fa miliar to me; yet his general appear ance, the way he raised his right hand when he spoke, roused old recollec tions. “Who Is he?’i Inquired the next day of the police commissary In M. Charles Vernet’s district. "Who is he?” repeated my friend, with a touch of surprise In his voice. "My dear Goron. don't you really know Charles Vernet?" “Well, yes, of course I understand he Is a financier, with plenty of money; but I know nothing about him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Look here, Goron, I never know when you are making fun of anybody; but If you put the question to me se riously, let me tell you (hat Charles Vernet Is not only rich, hut bears a good reputation on the Bourse, and Is received everywhere.” “How long has he been In Paris?” “About ten years. He came here with a large fortune made at the Cape, and has doubled It since." "Who Is he?” I again asked myself when 1 went to bed. For days and daya the man’s face seemed to follow me. I mentally pass ed In review the various persons 1 had mot In the course of my career, with out being able to locate him. Yet I felt certain I had seen him when his name was not Charles Vernet. I took out my Journal, looking over the cases with which I had been con nected since I became chief of the detective police. And still no trace of him. I worked my way back to the days when I was assistant to M. Clement, at the Prefecture, and police commis sary In the Pantln Quarter, until I came upon the murder of Moulin, the notary’s clerk, by a fellow called Si mon. And then I paused; for It sud denly dawned upon me that Simon was the man I must have had In my mind when I saw Charles Vernet. Moulin lived In the Rue des Ab besses, and he and Simon were friends. One night a lodger, occupy ing a room below Moulln’s, was awak ened by the noise of a scuffle over head, and, going to the rescue, met a man hurrying past him. Moulin was lying on his bed stabbed to the heart. When Simon was arrested the next day, the lodger recognized him as the man be had seen on the stairs. Si mon, who had already been Implicated In several unpleasant affairs, never admitted his guilt; and, In the ab sence of direct proofs, the Jury brought In a verdict by which he escaped the guillotine, but was sentenced to twen ty years’ penal servitude. 1 Inquired at the Prefecture, where I learned that Simon and a man called Aymard had planned to escape from Cayenne. Aymard bad succeeded In getting away, while Simon, his face battered In and his body covered with wounds, was found In a ditch. His Identity had been disclosed by his Jacket, which bore the number “94.” The report of Straon’ti death did not remove my doubts. But, as In the face of the official statement I could not well apply to the authorities for assistance, I determined to try to solve the problem myself. If my theory was right—that Charle Vernet and Simon were the same person—lt must have been SI mon who placed the telltale Jacket with the number 94 on the body of Aymard, whom, no doubt, he had mur dered to Insure his own safety. This trick bad been performed several THURMONT, FREDERICK COUNTY, MD., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1913. times and, from my recollection of Si mon, he was not the man to shrink from killing his companion. I took all the papers relating to the Simon case with me, and gathered from them an interesting fact. While under remand, Simon —probably to curry favor with the authorities—had denounced a youth named Berger, us having been concerned In a burglary In the Rue des Salnts-Peres, In con nection with which three men had been sentenced to long terms of im prisonment. Berger was arrested, but, as it was proved that he had thus far borne an excellent character, and hud been fooled by his companions, he got off very lightly. 1 had reason to suppose that Ber ger, knowing It was Simon who had betrayed him, would not be sorry to get even with his enemy, and 1 there fore decided to have a talk with him, without, of course, letting him know more than was strictly noce.-sary. In fact, 1 had to be very careful how I went to work. So far, everything was only suppo sition. The official report about Si mon's death might have been true, and my theory about the likeness be tween the two men—the financier and the convict —altogether wrong. In that case a mistake would have proved dis astrous. Twelve years had elapsed since the (rial of Simon, and It was possible that Berger had disappeared. For tunately 1 had a clue. Berger at the time of his arrest, was courting a woman who kept a tobacco-shop In the Latin Quarter, the widow of a man called Samson, for which reason the students hud christened her “Delilah.” When 1 called at the little shop in the Rue Salnt-Andre-des-Arts, I found It had changed hands, and in the place of the buxom Madame Delilah was a thin, good-natured looking little wom an, fond of gossip. 1 bought some cig arettes, and she was soon giving mu the biography of every member of her family. Then I deflected our ta'k to Madame Delilah, whereupon the lady tobacconist looked severe. “Did you know that person?" she asked. “No, no,” I hurriedly replied, “I have only seen her once or twice, when she was engaged to a man—a man —I can’t remember his name.” The lady-tobacconist continued to look severe and, with scorn In her voice, remarked: “Engaged, engaged—who do you think would have engaged himself to Delilah?" "I fancy I heard she was going to marry somebody called Burger or Berger." "Berger, you mean. That Jailbird?" "Tes. What has become of him?" “When he was discharged from prison he took up photography, and migrated to Belleville; but that's sev eral years ago.” In Belleville, the populous quarter, there are several establishments where the Paris workmen celebrate their weddings, and, according to cus tom, have themselves photographed on the Important day. The restaurant of the Saint-Fargeau, at the top of the steep Rue de Belleville, Is the most famous place for this kind of en tertainments. and I decided to go there first. When I reached the es tablishment, at two In the afternoon, several wedding-parties had taken pos slon of the garden, and a pho tographer was busy with his appa ratus, while his assistant arranged the groups. "What is the name of the artist?” I Inquired of the proprietor. “Masson,” he replied. At that moment the assistant passed us to fetch a chair from the house. I stopped him, and asked whether he knew a photographer named Berger. He eyed me curiously. “My name la Berger.” I had reason to congratulate myself on my luck. And, looking at the man, I detected a likeness to his portrait I had seen at the Prefecture. I waited till the rush of work was over, and then beckoned to him. When I told him who I was, he frown ed. “M. Goron,” he exclaimed, “1 hoped this horrible affair was forgotten. I am earning my living honestly. Why am I again to be troubled?" “You have nothing to fear, my good fellow. Your affair, as you call It, is dead and burled. All I ask you Is to call on me. to-morrow morning at half-past ten. I have a question to put to you.” "All right, sir,” he sighed. On my return to the office I sent a note to Charles Vernet, with the re quest to come to me the next morning at eleven, as I wanted some more In formation from him regarding the Bel gian swindler. At half-past ten, punctually, Berger was announced. “Berger,” I began, “you need not look so miserable. I give you my word nobody will hurt you.” He smiled faintly. “I want you to go into the adjoin ing room and wait for me.” A few minutes past eleven Vernet was Introduced. I apologized for trou bling him again, and banded him a A Family Newspaper—lndependent in Politics—Devoted to Literature. Local and General News. ner, In the way he holds himself, re minds me of him. Who is he?” “That Is none of your business. Now, go home and think no more about it. I will give you an introduc tion to on© of my friends who can put a lot of work In your way." Berger’s face brightened. “Thank you, M. Goron; you don't know the struggle I am having.” “You will get on better now. Here Is my card, And —not a word about this interview.” Berger had strengthened my sus picions, and the moment had arrived for the decisive trial. 1 had a difficult part to play, but I felt equal to It. Charles Vernet entertained frequent ly in hls tastefully furnished apart ment In the Rue de la Falsanderie. He also went much Into society, and was a constant guest, at the house of Mad ame S , the well-known sculptor, at whose receptions tho elite of the artistic and literary world congre gated. Madame S , n charming hostess, and one of the most fascinating of women, had often Invited me to these gatherings, but I never found the time to attend them. Now, however, I made up my mind to go to the soiree she was giving at tho end of the month, and I called on my friend, Ca mille L , who, I knew, helped her with them. “Camille,” I said, "I want you to ask ms to luncheon with Madam© 8 , and also to secure me an Invitation to her reception on the 28th." few documents relative to the Kur stens affair. While he was reading them I went to Berger. The small room where I had left him, and to which nobody had access, opened Into my office. In the door was a little hole. “You see that hole?” I asked. “Yes, sir.” “Put your eye to It, and look care fully at the gentleman Inside. When he Is gone I shall call you.” My conversation with Charles Ver net did not last many minutes; and the moment he had left 1 went to Ber ger. He stared at mo like one In a dream. “Well, Berger?” He remained silent for a while, and then shook his head. "Who is he?” he said at last. "That is the very question I wanted to put to you."~ He sat, deep in thought, one hand playing with his hat, turning it me chanically around. “Who Is he, and why did you show him to me?” he asked again. I remained silent. "M. Goron,” ho cried excitedly, “you have awakened In me a feeling I had managed to smother. You know my history. You know how I was drag ged into the affair, and you know the name of the villain who brought the trouble on my head. When I was dis charged from Gaillon I had but one Idea —to he avenged on Simon. And when 1 heard his body had been found In Cayenne, I thought he still might have escaped—he is so artful. Then I looked at every man In the streets, and I fancied 1 saw Simon. At last It became such an obsession that I felt I was growing mad under the strain, and I fought hard against It, until Si mon’s face ceased to haunt me. And, now, to-day. this feeling has returned In all its Intensity. Why?" “Yes —why?” “It Is the sight of the man that did It. He Is not Simon. He looks quite different. Yet, something in hls man ij|| i "Nothing easier," said Camille. Two days later I received an Invi tation to lunch with him and Madame S , at Durand’s. When coffee was served, Camille turned the conversa<- tlon to the soiree. "I suppose,” he said, “you will, as usual, have an ‘All Paris’ assembly, In cluding the financial swells?” “Oh, the financial swells,” laughed Madame S , "ar© always eager to meet celebrities.” And she mentioned the names of her guests. Charles Vernet was among them. “Why don’t you Invite our friend here?” asked Camille. “What is the good?” pouted the lady. "He never comes." “Try him again.” “Very well. M. Goron, will you give me the pleasure of your company?” "It will be an honor to me, mad anie.” Madam© S clapped her hands with joy. “I am much obliged to you, M. Goron. And I want you to contribute your share to the night’s entertain ment. Cannot you tell us something in Lereslliig?” “A lecture?” "Why not? That would he splen did." "I doubt whether It would amuse your guests: but possibly 1 may find something else to suit their jaded pal ates. And. if It is not indiscreet on my part, will you allow mo to bring my young nephew? 11© Is here on a visit.” "By all means; I shall be delight ed.” The eventful evening arrived, and I drove up to Madame S 's with a parcel carefully wrapped in brown paper, which I left down-stairs In charge of one of the servants. As to my nephew, nobody would have guessed that the good-looking, well dressed young man, with the gardenia in Lis buttonhole, was a smart do tectlve In whom 1 placed absolute re liance. When I entered the salons the guests had nearly all arrived. 1 recog nized Ballleron, Luclen March of the Illustration, Alphonse Daudet. Mels sonnler, Puvis de Chavannes, La mourcaux, Francisque Sarcey, Benja min Constant, Sardou, actors and actresses from the leading theaters, famous scientists —a brilliant crowd. There was som© excellent music, and then a longhaired gentleman un folded the mysteries of the cinemato graph—at that time quite a novelty. A professor from the Sorbonne show ed us a new electrometer; and a So cletalre from tho Coraedie-Francals© gave some recitations. I was sitting In a quiet corner, watching Charles Vernet deep In con versation with three or four Stock Ex change men, when Madame came to ward me, both hands extended. “Dear M. Goron,” she cried, "It Is now your turn.” And, taking my arm, she led me to the center of the room. My friend Camill© asked for sllenc© for the hostess, who said: “M. Goron, whom we are all glad to welcome here, has promised to give us some of hls experiences. It Is a sur prise I kept In store for you.” Loud applause followed. A small table with the traditional glass of wa ter was brought for me; the ladles sat In a semicircle, the gentlemen formed the background. "Ladles and gentlemen," I began, when silence was restored, “our charm- ing hostess has told you I would re late sum© of my experiences. I have no such Intention, for the simple rea son that you all know more about them than I do myself. Newspaper reporting has become one of the fine arts, and no sooner Is a crime com mitted than the papers bring the full est details. Nay, the up-to-date Jour nalist seems even to have the gift of prophecy; for many a time I read of burglaries and attempted murders that have not yet occurred. I there fore, thought that instead of giving you narratives offering but little In terest, I would draw your attention to the curious evolution which the de tective’s profession, like everything nowadays, has undergone. "Years ago, the man whose duty It Is to fight the enemies of society had hls own powers to rely upon. Be tween him and the criminal It was skill against skill, art against art. Then came the modern Inventions — railways, steamers, the telegraph, the telephone—and matters grew worse for the detective. Alas! It was the murderers, the forgers, who had the advantage, inasmuch ns they could steal a long march upon Nemesis, and get their accomplices to use the tele graph and the telephone for their benefit. "The question, therefore, was to dis cover a system by which society, and not its foes, would reap the advantage. Ladles and gentlemen, this system has been found, and the man to whom we owe It, and whose name will go down to posterity, Is M. Bertlllon.” I undid the parcel which my "nep hew,” at my request, had brought up stairs. "This box,” I continued, “contains the Instruments used In the anthro- IKimetrical department for the Identi fication of those who, having previ ously fallen Into the bands of the po lice, expect to escape detection by changing their names, or altering, as they think, their appearance.” Having explained to the company the practical working of the system, ami how the little Instruments are ap plied to the bead and fingers, I said: "With your kind permission, I will now conclude with a practical demon stration, which will leave to som© of you a little souvenir of my lecture. As 1 had already the honor to explain, the measurements of the Incriminated person ar© put down on a card, to which hls photograph Is affixed, and thus we possess the infallible means of dicovering, at a moment's notice, the Identity of the person arrested. It is a net through whose meshes noth ing can slip. I have brought some of these cards with me, and shall be happy to take the measurement of any lady or gentlemen, and present them with the card.” I never saw such excitement. Dozens of charming women made a rush for me, and sweet voices cried, “Measure'me, please, M. Goron.” “One moment, ladles,” I called out, "tho mistress of the house first.” Madame S came promptly for ward, and, after I had attended to her and a number of ladles, my “nephew” filling up the cards, I raised my hand. “And now’ the gentlemen!” Sarcey was the first to present him self. Then came Daudet, and other distinguished personages. AH along I had kept my eye on Charles Vernet*who had remained In the background, and now slowly moved toward the door. “M. Vernet,” I srid, “don’t go away. Have your measurements taken." Terms SI.OO in Advance. NO. 47. He hesitated a moment, and then said, with what appeared to me a forced smile: ‘‘No, thank you, I have seen the thing done before.” ‘‘Well, I have set my mind upon measuring you. Ladles," I cried, to a couple of American girls, who had been among the first to be operated upon, "please take him into custody and bring him to me,” Amid shouts of laughter they seized him and pulled him toward the table. This time he scowled. "Is this meant for a Joke?” he re marked. "Of course. It is part of the fun." Either my suspicions were unfound ed, or the man had mavelous self-pos sion. He never moved a muscle while being measured. Others were now pressing forward, but, on the pretext that I had no more cards, I withdrew to the smoking room, whither Vernet had gone, fol lowed by my detective. The latter had given Vernet a prepared card, and had quickly slipped into my hand the one he had just filled up; where upon I went into a corner to compare it with the official document relative to Simon, which I had borrowed from M. Bertillon’s office. A glance was sufficient. The fig ures were identical. It was not Ver net, but Simon, the escaped convict, the murder, who stood there, lighting his cigar, making an appointment with a friend to meet him the next day. The next day! And in five min utes the thunderbolt would have fall en on his head. I went up to him. “Have you said good night to the lady of the house?” I asked. He turned sharply around. ‘‘Monsieur Goron —’’ he began. “Hush! Don’t make a scene. Say good-by to the hostess, and tell her you will have to leave Paris to-mor row on a long Journey. You will be telling the truth. Go.” He did not move. “For the second and last time,” I whispered, “I advise you not to make a scene. It Is not to Charles Vernet 1 am speaking, it is to Simon, the as sassin of Aymard. My ‘nephew’ over yonder is a detective, and I have three more ‘nephews’ down-stairs la case of emergency.” He thougnt a moment. And then — “1 will go with you; but you are making a mistake you will regret.” It was the never-varying reply of the criminal at bay. Yet I could not help admiring the man’s nerve. He shook hands with Madame S and a few more people in a seemingly un concerned manner, and walked down stairs. In the hall, where a servant hand ed him his overcoat, my attendant, at a signal from me, cleverly searched Veruet’s pockets, and withdrew some thing which he handed me. It was a small revolver. “You were right, sir,” he said; "I should not'have thought of that.” At the Prefecture they were as tounded. My prisoner made a plucky stand, and fought desperately against the overwhelming odds; but, finally, like all the other criminals I have seen, he broke down before the piti less Dertillon system. Yes, ho was Simon; but as, accord ing to law, he had to be tried in Cayenne for having escaped, and on suspicion of having murdered Ay rnard, he was at once conveyed to the He de Re to be sent out to the penal settlement. But, despite my warning, the offi cials at the He de Re prison did not keep a careful watch on Simon, for the day before he was to have been put on board the steamer, he managed to strangle himself. Caught at Last. To bring about the victory of good over evil has been assumed to be the especial aim of saints and sages; but savages, it seems, may sometimes be militant in the same cause. In his re cent book, “The White Waterfall,” Mr. James Francis Dwyer relates the story of a missionary who preached to a tribe of blacks in northern Queens land, and told them in simple language of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. The episode of the serpent much ex cited the converts, and when the mis sionary arrived at the blacks’ camp on the following day, the natives had collected half a hundred or more snakes, which they brought out for the good man’s inspection. “But why do you want me to exam ine them?” asked the parson, puzzled. The chief of the tribe winked know ingly. “You tell 'em if old snake here that mak ’em plenty trouble, Mr. Adam,” he said, grinning. “We think ’em you find dat old feller with this lot.”—* Youth’s Companion. Woman on the Firing Line. In one of the recent encounters around Homs, says a Tripoli dispatch, the Italian troops captured In the Turkish lines a European woman who was standing by her wounded horse. She was armed with a rifle and about one hundred cartridges, and when captured refused to give any particulars as to her identity. The woman is being kept a prisoner of war. Mahogany aa Fuel. Rosegood and mahogany are so plentiful in Mexico that some of the copper mines there are timbered with rosewood, while mahogany is used as fuel for the engines. Can You Guess? Mrs. Bacon —Did they have any long speeches at the meeting? Mr. Bacon —Well, two ladies spoke.