The Spectator., June 02, 1916, Image 3

About The Spectator. (Ozark, Ark.) 1911-1916

Image provided by: Arkansas State Archives

The Million Dollar Mystery
By HAROLD MAC GRATH
Illustrated from Scenes in the Photo Drama of the
Same Name by the Thanhouser Film Company
(Copyright, 1914, by Harold UacGrath}
20
CHAPTER XXII. !
A Night of Adventure.
The federal government agreed to
say nothing, to put. no obstacles in tho
way of the Russian agent, provided he
could abduct his trio without serious
ly clashing with the New York police
authorities. It was a recognized fact
that the iocai police force wanted the
newspaper glory which would attend
tho crushing of the Black Hundred.
It would be an exploit. But their glory
was nil; nor did Servan take his trio
back with him to Russia.
Many strange things happened that
night, tho night of the final adven
ture.
Florence sat in her room reading.
The book was "Oliver Twist,” not the
pleasantest sort of book to read un
der tho existing circumstances. Sev
eral times—she had reached the place
where Fagln overheard Nancy’s con
fession—she fancied she heard doors
closing softly, but credited it to her
imagination. Poor Nancy, who want
ed to bo good but did not find time to
be! Florence possessed a habit fa
miliar to most of us; the need of ap
ples or candy when we are reading.
So she rang the bell for her maid,
intending to ask her to bring up some
apples. She turned to her reading,
presently to break off and strike the
bell again. Where was that maid? She
waited perhaps five minutes, then laid
down the book and began to investi
gate.
mere was not a servant to do tounu
in the entire house! What In the j
world could that mean? Used as she j
was to heartrending suspense, she was
none tho less terrified. Something had
taken tho servants from the house.
From whence was the danger to come
this time? Where was Jones? Why
did he not return as he had promised?
It was long past the hour when he
said he would be back.
She went into the library and picked
up the telephone. She was told that
Mr. Norton was out on an assignment,
but that he would be notified the mo
ment he returned She opened a draw
er in the desk. She touched the au
tomatic, but did not take it up. She
left tho drawer open, however.
Earlier, at the newspaper office that
night, Jim went into the managing ed
itor's office and laid a* bulky manu
script on that gentleman's desk.
"Is this it?"
"It is," said Jim.
"You have captured them?"
"No; but there is a net about them
from which not one shall escape.
There’s the story )f my adventures, of
the adventures of Miss Hargreave and
the butler, Jones. You’ll fiud it ex
citing enough You might just as well
send it up to the composing room. At
midnight I'll telephone the introduc
tion. It’s a scoop. Don't-worry about
that."
The editor riffled the pages.
"A hundred and twelve pages, 300
words to the page; man it's a novel!"
"It'll read like one."
"Sit down for a moment and let me
skim through the first story."
At the end of ten minutes the editor
laid dowu the copy. He opened a draw
er and took out two envelopes. The
bluo one he tore up and dropped into
the waste basket. Norton understood
and smiled. They had meant to dis
f-liiiriTi' him if he fell down. The other
envelope was a fat one.
"Open it," said the editor, smiling a
little to himself.
This envelope contained a check for
$‘.’,500, two round-trip ilrst-cluss tickets
to Liverpool, together with innumer
able continental tickets such as are
Issued to tourists.
"Why two?" asked Jim. innocently.
"Forget it, my boy, forget it. You
ought to know that In this ofllee we
don't employ blind men. The whole
etaff is on. There you are, a fat check
nnd three months' vacation. Go and
get married; and if you return before
the three months are up I'll tire you
myself on general principles."
Jim laughed happily and the two
tnca shook hands. Then Jim went
forth to complete the big assignment.
Five minutes later Florence called him
up to learn that he had gone.
What should she do? Jones had
told her to stay In the house and not j
to k-avo it. But where was he? Why
did he not come? What was the mean- i
Ing of this desertion by the servants?
She wandered about aimleesly, looking
out of windows, imagining forms in
the shadows. Her imagination had
not deceived her; she had heard doors |
close softly.
"Susan. Susan!” she murmured; but ,
ftaean was in the hospital.
"Oliver Twist!” What had possessed ,
ber to start reading that old tale
again'* She should have read some- 1
thing of a light and Joyous character.
After half an hour’s wandering about
the lonely house she returned to the
library, feeling that she would be
saier where both telephone and re
volver were.
And while she sat watting for she
knew not what, her swiftly beating
heart sending the blood into her throat
•o that it almost suffocated her, a man
.turned Into the street and walked
noiselessly toward the Hargrenve
place. He passed a man leaning
against a lamppost, but he never
turned to look at him.
This man, however, threw away his
cigar and hot-footed it to the nearest
pay station. He knew in his soul that
he had just seen the man for whom
they had been hunting all these weary
but strenuous weeks—Stanley Har
greave in the flesh! Half an hour
after his telephone message the chief
of the ltlack Hundred and many lesser
lights were on their way to the house
of mystery. Had they but known!
Now, the man who had created this
tremendous agitation went serenely
on. He proceeded directly and fear
lessly to the front door, produced a
latchkey and entered. He passed
through the hall and reception room
to the library and paused on the
threshold dramatically. Florence
stepped back with, a sharp cry of
alarm. She had heard the hall door
open and close and had taken it for
granted that Jones had entered.
There was a tableau of short dura
tion.
"Don't you know me?" asked the
stranger in a singularly pleasant voice.
Florence had been imposed upon
too many times. She shook her head
defiantly, though her knees shook so
that she was certain that the least
touch would send her over.
‘‘I am your father, child!”
Florence slipped unsteadily behind
the desk and seized the revolver which
lay in the drawer. The man by the
curtains smiled sadly. It was a smile
that caused Florence to waver a bit.
Still she extended her arm.
"You do not believe me?” said the
man, advancing slowly.
"No. 1 have been deceived too many
times, sir. Stay where you are. You
will wait here till my butler returns.
Oh, if I were only sure!” she burst
out suddenly and passionately. "What
proof have you that you are what you
say ?”
He came toward her. holding out his
hands. "This, that you cannot shoot
me. Ah. the damnable wretches!
What have they done to you, my child,
to make you suspicious of every one?
How 1 have watched over you in the
street! I will tell you what only Jones
and the reporter know, that the avia
tor died, that I alone was rescued,
that I gave Norton the live thousand;
that 1 watched the windows of the Rus
sian woman, and overheard nearly ev
ery plot that was hatched in the coun
cil chamber of the Illack Hundred;
I •_——■1 - I—^-1
The Clean Life of the Reporter Told.
that I wa« shot tn the arm while cross
ing the lawn one night. And now we
have the scoundrels just where we
want them. They will be in this house
for me within half an hour, and not
one of them will leave it in freedom.
I am your father, Florence. 1 am
tho lonely father who has spent
the best years of his life away
from you In order to secure your
safety. Can't you feel the truth of ail
this?"
"No, no! Please do not approach
any nearer; stay where you are!”
At that moment the telephone rang.
With the revolver still leveled she
picked up the receiver.
"Hello, hello! Who is it? . .
Oh, Jim, Jim, come at once! 1 am
holding at bay a man who says he is
my father. Hold him where he is, you
say? All right, I will. Come quick!"
"Jim!" murmured the man, still ad
vancing He muat have that revolver.
The poor child might spoil the whole
affair. “So what Jones tells me is
true: that you are going to marry this
reporter chap?"
She did not answer.
“With or without my consent?"
If only he would drop that fearless
smile' she thought. "With or without
anybody's consent," she said.
“What in the world can I say to you
to convince you?" he cried. "The trap
is set; but if Rraine and his men come
and find us like this, good heaven,
child, we are both lost! Come, come!"
"Stay where you are!”
At that moment she heard a sou..d |
at the door. Her gaze roved; and it
was enough for the man. He reached
out and caught her arm. She tried to
tear herself loose.
"My child, in God's name, listen to
reason! They are entering the hall
and they will have us both.”
Suddenly Florence knew. She could
not have told you why; but there was
an appeal in the man’s voice that went
to her heart.
"You are my father!”
"Yes, yes! But you’ve found it out
just a trifle too late, my dear. Quick;
this side of the desk!”
Braine and his men dashed into the
library. Olga entered leisurely.
“Both of them!” yelled Braine ex
ultantly. "Both of them together;
what luck!”
There was a sharp, fierce struggle:
and when it came to an end Har
greave was trussed to a chair.
“Ah. so we meet again, Hargreave!”
said Braine.
Hargreave shrugged. What he
wanted was time.
"A million! We have you. Where
is it, or I’ll twist your heart before
your eyes.”
"Father, forgive me!”
“I understand, my child.”
"Where is it?" Braine seized F'lor !
once by the wrist nnd swung her to
ward him.
"Don't tell him, father; don't mind
me,” said the girl bravely.
Braine, smiling his old evil smile,
drew the girl close. It was the last
time he ever touched her.
"Look!” screamed Olga.
Every one turned, to see .lones' face
peering between the curtains. There
was an ironic smile on the butler’s
lips. The face vanished.
"After him!” cried Braine, releasing
Florence.
"After him!” mimicked a voice from
the hall.
The curtains were thrown back sud
denly. Jones appeared, and Jim and
the Russian agent and a dozen police
men. Tableau!
Hraine was the only man who kept
his head. He tloored Norton, smashed
a window, and leaped out. The blow
dazed Norton, but he was on his feet
almost instantly and followed Hraine
through the window-. Across the lawn
the two sped, with an exchange of
shots which emptied both automatics
but did no damage. Hraine headed
for his auto. He jumped in, only to
be hauled out again by the furious
reporter. A hand-to-hand fight fol
lowed; and the clean life of the re
porter told.
“There, my angeiic friend. I believe
that the game is up. There is one
shot left in this automatic. If you
make any attempt to escape. I'll let
you have it: not to kift but to disable
You and your precious countess will
| sail tomorrow morning for the Baltic,
and from there you will go to the lead
mines.” He dragged his prisoner to
I ward the house.
“Your troubles are over, my child.”
said Hargreave, as ho pressed Flor
ence to his heart.
“And mine have begun," murmured
the countess. "But I have still one
shot.”
The police stood encircling her
Calmly she opened her handbag and
took out her hankderchlef. it was
a thick and heavy silk one. Swiftly
she unscrewed the top of her walking
stick (it will be seen now that the
carrying of it was not an affectation! i,
extracted a vial and threw it violently
to the floor. An overpowering sweet
odor filled the room. Jones, knowing
how deeply versed Hraine was in ori
ental-poisons and narcotics, made a
desperate but futile effort to tear down
a curtain to throw over the liquid: but
even in the effort he felt bis senses
going. The last he was conscious of
was a mocking laugh.
Hut the entrance of Jim. dragging
Hraine after him, shocked all the ban
ter out of the countess. She turned
and rushed madly for the stairs, with
out having the least idea how she was
to manage an escape from the upper
stories. She had thought Hraine free
As she flew up the steps all the past
returned, all her warnings to that stub
born man. This was the end . . .
Russia! The horrors of the cold and
the deadly damps of the mines . . .
lurever:
Jim, still holding the battered con
spirator. watched her flight in amaze
ment. He could not understand—till
he pushed liraine into the library and
the vanishing odor assailed his nos
trils. What these fuwos were he nev
er knew, but they prtwed to be transi
tory. Five minutes Sufficed to bring
all back to their senses. For the while
they forgot Olga.
"This man is mine," said Servan,
nodding toward liraine.
"He's yours without charge," said
Jim.
"I'm an American citizen.” said
Hraine, who, realizing what the fu
ture held, readily preferred a long j
prison term in America to the horrors
of Russian exile.
"Your certificate has been de
stroyed," said Servan, "and the state
department considers your papers void
because you obtained them under false
oaths. You are an undesirable citi
zen; and the republic is happy to learn
that you will be taken off its hands."
"And because," added Norton, "you
have laid too many mines in the black
mailing business, and the government
does not propose to have them made
known to the public through a long
and useless trial. It was a long run,
old top; but right is right. And by
the way, I want you to meet Mr. Jed
son, formerly of Scotland Yard.”
He Indicated Jones, who started.
“Yes," went on the reporter, "I rec- '
ogntzed him long ago."
"It is true," said Hargreave, taking'
Jones’ hand in his own. “Fifteen years
ago I employed him to watch my af
fairs, and very well has he done so.
And to you, you wretch,’’ turning upon
the haggard Braine, “listen: there is
a million, and you have been within
a foot of it a dozen times. It has been
under your very nose. Do you re
member Poe’s ‘Purloined Letter?’ Ha!
Under your very nose, within touch of
your hand! Now, take him away, Mr.
Servan. The police will be satisfied
with the prisoners they have."
So, presently, Hargreave, Jones,
Florence and Jim were alone. That
smile which had revealed to Florence
her father's identity stole over his face
again. He put his hand on Jim's shoul
der and beckoned to Florence.
"Are you really anxious to marry
this young man?”
Florence nodded.
“Well, then, do so. And go to Eu
rope with him on your honeymoon;
and as a wedding present to you both,
for every dollar that he has I will add
a hundred; and when you get tired of
I
The Escape of Countess Olga.
travel you will both come back here to
live. The lilack Hundred has ceased
to exist."
"And now,” said Jones, shaking his
shoulders.
“Well?" said Hargreave.
“My business is done. Still—" Jones
paused.
“Go on," said Hargreave soberly
"Well, the truth is, sir, I've grown
used to you. And if you'll let me play
the butler till the end 1 shall be most
happy.”
“1 was going to suggest it.''
Norton took Florence by the hand
and drew her away.
“Where are you taking me?" she
asked.
“I'm going to take this pretty hand
of yours and put it flat upon $1,000,
000. And if you don't believe it, fol
low me.”
She followed.
THE END.
SPHERE FOR WOMAN DOCTOR
Writer’s Opinion Is That She Has
Properly Taken the Place
That Is Her Right.
They tell us now that we are the
fighting sex. Why have we been so
long? Ardent, beautiful, sweet as a
nut, with nut-brown eyes under lids
like pointed white flames, with her rip
pling wing of hair in the same sweet,
hot tones, with her tall grace and
grave glance and white, expert, sensi
tive hands—the scientist's hands
which take account of a hair—why is
she here—this woman—bending over
her tubes and flasks and microscope
instead of iti a drawing room, with
bowls of white hyacinths at her el
bow? Why, within sixty years after
medicine is open to women, are 10,000
practicing in this country alone? Is it
because we are tired of ignorance in
pity?
If there were no other field for
woman doctors, unmarried mothers
would make a place in the world for
them If there is any psychology of
sex, or sex antagonism, or sisterhood
among women, or any of the other
things wo talk of so gayly in our
search to get at the truth about men
and women, surely it is easier to look
into n woman's eyes than into a man's
when you hear that you are to un
dertake motherhood ouside the plan
society has for this service to it.
”1 am a woman myself and I know
what you bear”—the eyes of the wom
an doctor answer to thooe others
which meet hers in their first startled
i iivtinum. * tic mruu|j\imau.
Early History of Pittsburgh.
The investment of all there was of
Pittsburgh at the time by the victo
rious army of General Forbes was
completed November 25, 1758, the day
following the blowing up of Fort Du
quesne by the French and the flight
of them -and their Indian allies. The
small and scattered forces command
ed by the dying General Forbes, who
had insisted on being brought on for
the celebration of the fall of the fort,
assembled at the "meeting of the wa
ters,” one strong detachment under
General Armstrong having come down
from Kittaning by hasty marching, at
which plnce they had fought a severe
battle with the Indians, the general
being later honored by having the
county named for him of which Kit
taning is the county seat.
War Songs.
King George's troops march well to
the Tipperary song, but is It possible
that the sultan's forces are hiking
along to the tune "Turkey in tho
Straw?"—Cleveland Plain Dealer
mmmm—tmm i~Ti
UNPROFITABLE ACRES FATAL TO SUCCESS
Fir and Cedar Stump Land—Good Soil, Eut Very Expensive to Clear.
(Prepared by the United States Depart
ment of Agriculture.)
"Low-yielding acres, like boarder'
cows, are often fatal to successful
farming," according to J. C. McDowell
of the office of farm management.
United States department of agricul
ture, in the new year book. "Our
farm survey records show that areas
of poorly drained, compact and sour
soils, or soils low in humus, greatly
1 reduce net profits. Sometimes these
records show that os much as 30 per
cent of the entire farm acreage does
not produce enough to pay its way.
"One farm in Wisconsin, on which
records were recently taken, has 40
acres of poorly drained land that in
Its present condition is practically
worthless. Twenty-five dollars per
acre spent in drainage will make this
40-acre tract the equal of any in that
district, and good land is selling there
at $150 per acre. A small portion of
similar land on this farm has already
been tile-drained and is now produc
ing a fair profit on each acre so im
proved. *
"The successful business man al
ways tries to weed out all unprofitable
enterprises and to expand those that
pay a profit. Unprofitable acres can
not always be disposed of as readily
as boarder cows, but usually they can
be Improved until they become profit
bearing. If the income from such land
rannot be increased it is quite possi
ble that the labor spent upon it can
be reduced until the income at least
pays a little more than the cost of
labor.
Itemize Before Purchasing.
"In buying a farm, unprofitable
acres that cannot easily be made prof
itable should ordinarily be considered
as having little or no agricultural
value. They may even be a burden
to their owner, in which case they
have a negative value. A farmer was
about to buy a quarter-section farm
Stony Land—Very Hard to Clear and
Not Worth Much When Cleared.
In the corn belt at $100 per acre. This
appeared to him to be a very reason
able price for a farm in that region,
: until a careful analysis of the proposi
i tion called his attention to the large
] amdunt of waste land on the farm.
’ Actual measurements and careful es
timates furnished the following data:
80 acres rich, sandy loam, not stony,
not rough, gi ntly sloping, well
) drained; actual value $125 per acre,
$125x80 . $10,000
45 acres poor land, sandy, stony,
rough, hilly, probably of little or
no agricultural value; actual
value . 0
l. acres poor pasiure land, wet land
that can be drained, but that can
not he drained at a profit; actual
vnlue $10 per acre; $10X25 . 350
Buildings . 2,450
Total . $12,S00
^ H2.800-MCO- $80.
“These figures gave the farm, includ
ing buildings, a value of $80 per acre,
though a part of it was worth consid
erably more than the average price
per acre asked for the farm. An Item
, ized study of the farm, acre by acre,
and a detailed study of fences, build
ings and other improvements, should
■ always be made before purchasing.
J Such investigation often calls atten
tion to enough unprofitable acres to
■top the sale.
Utilization of Unprofitable Acres.
“To what extent and at what rate
we Bhould attempt to decrease the
number of unprofitable acres depends
largely on the increased demand for
agricultural products. The law of di
minishing returns prevents the re
clamation of waste land until the ris
ing prices or cheaper methods of pro
duction make such action practicable.
Frequently it pays better to spend
time and money in the further Im
provement of acres that are now prof
itable rather than in the reclamation
of less desirable land.
“Much money and valuable time is
lost each year in almost every local*
’ ity in the attempt to put unprofitable
acres on a paying basis. Lack of sat
isfactory agricultural credit forces
many a deserving family to waste time
in trying to get a start on acres that
moneyed men pass by. Misleading ad
vertisements and inflated magazine
articles have lured many a family to
give up a comfortable living in the city
to drag out a miserable existence in
toil and worry on worthless land.
Lack of knowledge of the ^business
side of farming is largely responsible
for loss in the management of unprof
itable acres. The problem of how to
prevent a waste of money, time and
energy in the attempt to develop
worthless land Is worthy of careful
study. At best such waste can only
partially be prevented. The pity of
it is that so much of thi3 loss falls on
those who can least afford to lose.
"Every farmer who owns unprofit
able land should make a detailed ex
amination of his farm, acre by acre, to
detect all unprofitable areas. Next, he
should determine the approximate
cost of making each acre pay its way.
Such study will disclose what and
how much is needed in the way of
manure, commercial fertilizer, drain
age or other preparation, to produce
satisfactory crop yields. This analy
tical study of each portion of the farm
will sometimes call attention to many
acres that cannot be cultivated prof
itably. It is better to leave such land
in permanent pasture, or even to let
it lie idle, than to work it at a loss.
The farm not only furnishes a borne,
but it is a place of business. As such,
each enterprise and acre should re
ceive individual attention, and, so far
as practicable, the entire farm should
be placed on a paying basis.”
ERADICATION OF CORN SMUT
Only Method Is to Cut Off Smutty
Stalks and Burn Them—No
Treatment of Seed.
(By O. M. ALJ.YN, Illinois Experiment
Station.)
There is no treatment of seed corn
for smut. The spores which cause
smut in corn live over from one year
until the next in manure, soil, refusi,
etc. In the summer, under favorab,M ■
conditions these spores which irtay
have wintered in the soil or may h&Wa
been hauled to the field in the manure,*’*'
find lodgment on the tender parts of
the corn plant, usually by the action
of the wind, and start to grow.
Tlio source of the spore is not the
seed corn, therefore, treatment will
do no good. The only method of erad
ication i£ to cut off the smutty stalks
and burn them. This, of course, is im
practical.
FASTENING WIRES TO POST
Difficult Problem Said to Have Been
Successfully Worked Out—Idea
Looks Sensible.
A new way to fasten the wires to
concrete posts is being tried out suc
cessfully, it is claimed. If it works
well a real triumph will have been
Wires Fastened to Poat.
won. for the question of how to futon
wire to concrete posts has been a diffi
cult one.
Tho new device consists of a slot
made at an angle in the post, while
a vertical slit is made to connect with
the outside cut. The wire is placed
in tho slot while loose, and when
tightened cannot get out of the groove.
Tho idea looks sensible.