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I Ar Hfe mh s% .,s,v ^.s ?v A HORACE HAZELTINE 8YNOP8I8. *.£?, rL. Cameron, capitalist, consults JPniiip Clyde, newspaper publisher, re garding anonymous threatening, tetters he nasrecelved. The first promises a sample or the writer's power on a certain day. on that day the head Is mysteriously cut from a portrait of Cameron while the lat J£r to 'n the room. Clyde has a theory that the portrait was mutilated while the room was unoccupied and the head later removed by means of a string, unnoticed by Cameron. Evelyn Grayson, Cameron's niece, with whom Clyde Is In love, finds the head of Cameron's portrait nailed to a tree, where it was had been used as a target. CHAPTER III—(Continued), "There are two ways of looking at It," I replied, my eyes fixed on the canvas and its perforations. "At first glance it does seem spiteful but then there Is a chance that it is not icono clasm, after all. It may be, you know, just the reverse. I have not infre quently seen portraits that were so unjust to the originals that they fair ly cried out for destruction." "But thiB is not one like that," she retorted. "This seems to me a very good portrait. I am sure Uncle Rob ert must have looked exactly like it, ten years ago." "Alas, we do not all see with the same eyes," I assured her, smiling. "The destroyer may have looked on it as a caricature, not having your cul tured taste in art." I held it off at arm's length, and after regarding It critically for a moment between half closed lids, I continued, "Do you think you could point out the Identical tree to which it was nailed?" "I could try," was her answer. "Is it far?" "Not very. A mile, from here, pos sibly. Over the ridge." "Near anything in particular?" "Near the trail which leads up from the trout stream to the entrance drive not far 'from the Lodged" "When will you take me there?" I asked. For just an instant she hesitated. "We might go now," she replied, "if it weren't that I am expecting Oelia Ainslee for luncheon. Suppose we say five o'clock. You can meet me at the Lodge. It's a short wfelk from there." "Pine!" I approved, thrusting the portrait head beneath my arm and taking possession of both her white gloved hands. Slender and shapely hands, yet wonderfully capable. "Good-by!" she cried, laughing. "Take care of my uncle!" with a glance towards her punctured find. "Good-by!" I returned, releasing her. "Tour uncle shall have my most faithful concern." The real significance of the words she, of course, did not comprehend. But as 1 stood watching her until a turn in the path enfolded her from my sight, their efcho, ringing in my ears, impressed me with their preg nancy. Her uncle was evidently the focal point of a crafty and vengeful conspiracy, the seriousness of which I had been foolishly endeavoring to minimize and as such he was in need, not only of my concern, but of all the loyal, energetic, and efficient aid of which I was capable. CHAPTER IV. The Chinese 8ervant. Four o'clock found me rapping at the door of Cragholt Lodge. Consid ering that it was built thirty-five years ago by one of the Townsbury family who probably read Rng»«h novels but had never been nearer to England than Coney Island, it pos sessed a surprising piuturesqueness due in large part to its covering of dark English ivy. I had anticipated my appointment with Evelyn by a full hour for I wished to question old Romney, the lodge keeper and the questions /'not for milady's ear, we*-** were He opened to me promptly, in per son, this odd, rugged old man, with Ms seamed' brow and great shock of iron-gray hair and beard. He was in his shirt sleeves, but on seeing me he reached for his coat, which hung on a peg beside the door. "Never mind the coat, Romney," I said, "don't make yourself uncom fortable on my account. It's a warm afternoon." "It is warmish, sir," he assented but despite my protest he was thrust Ji Ing his arm into the coat sleeves. "It's b$eh an uncommon hot 8eptem '*1 ber. Won't you* step inside, sir?" He Jtoiew his place too Weill 'to indl caite any surprise at miy- visit yet I .••M felt he must be curious over an event ^so.unmm*lj "I hive an Inquiry or two to make, Romney," I told him, as, accepting $ bis suggestion, I stepped into his 5} cosy, old-fashioned sitting room. "I -if heard some shooting over this way this morning, aqd I'm been wonder ing whether the gam* laws weren't being broken." 1 He plaoed a cushioned rocking* dbair forme.and I sat down. "H&ir you hear that, too/ Mr. cix**:r' he asked, brightsnin*. aszim ^4 leaned against the low sill of one of list? »the daintily curtained windows. 'Twas about ten o'clock, sir a little vi trimmin' on the hedge outside, sir, •f when them same shots set me a-thinkln' that very thing. An' right away, sir, I says to myself, says I, 'It's that Chink what just went up to the house to borrow a rifle.'" "That Chink?" I repeated, puzzled. "Yes, sir. Yellow Chinese boy, sir. He works for Mr. Murphy, the artist, what has the bungalow, down on the shore near Cos Cob. About half an hour before that he comes by here on his way up to the house. 'What's wantin'?' I asks. 'Mistle Mulfy,' he says, 'wantee bollow lifle, shootee weasel, stealee chickee.' 'All right,' I tells him, and away he goes. So, you see, sir, when I hears the shots I thinks right away that Mr. Murphy's Chink is tryin' his 'hollowed lifle' on some of Mr. Cameron's pheasants, maybe. But 16 minutes later, along comes John again, with an innocent grin on his face, the rifle over his shoulder, and his hands empty as air. Well, to be sure, I stops him, sir. 'You been shootln' in the woods?' I asks. 'No shootee,' he grins back. 'Me no shootee.' Then, sir, I swears at him, good and hearty, and calls him what he is. But all he can say is, 'No lie me no shootee.' Then I asks him if he didn't hear a gun go off. 'Gun?' he says, as if he didn't know what gun meant 'Lifle,' I ex plains. 'Yes, yes,' says he, 'me hear lifle shootee. Not my lifle.' 'Whose lifle?' I asks blm. 'Man with lifle, up load,' he says, pointing back. An', that was all I could get out of him, sir." I should have been amused, I sup pose, by old Romney's recital. It was certainly very graphic, and his imitation of the Chinaman was his trionically artistic—I fear the stage missed a comedian of merit when Romney took to lodge-keeping—but at the first mention of the oriental, I had pricked my ears, and throughout the narration my mind was busy with those strangely worded letters of Cameron's and those still stranger blots which looked one way like a Chinese junk and the other way like a coolie in a straw helmet. The pos sibility of a connection, especially in view of the rifle and the perforated painting, seemed to me the reverse of remote. And yet I could hardly rec oncile the notion of this apparently ignorant Mongolian being in any wise interested in bringing disaster upon a person so far removed from him in every way as was Cameron much less in evolving 'or taking part In such a crafty plot as everything we had thus far learned of it indicated this to be. My questioning of Romney shed very little new light on the subject. He had seen the Chinaman pass the Lodge on several occasions he had rarely entered the grounds, however. I tried to ascertain what his "rarely" meant, and1 finally got him to say that in the past six months, "John," as he called him, had visited Cragholt, on one pretext or another, possibly three or four times. Rut Romney's memory for dates was exceedingly feeble. He could not recollect whether one of those times was on or about the twenty-first of August. He was equal ly at a loss concerning the fourteenth of August and the fourteenth of Sep tember. "What do you know of this artist, Murphy, who employs John?" I asked. "Not much, sir," was bis answer. "They do say as he is rather eccen tric, sir. He and the Chink lives alone there in the bungalow, summer and winter. He's a big red-headed and bearded fellow, sir. I did hear a story as to him gettin' into a fight up at Garrison's hotel in Greenwich village, and nearly klllin' three young water men near as big as himself." "Has he lived here long?" "Goln' on two years, now, sir." "He paints and sells pictures. I sup pose?" "Maybe, sir. I never sees any, though. But they calls him an artist. sir.4' I determined to visit Murphy on the pretext of purchasing some of his work, and In this manner learn, if possible, something more of his ce lestial servitor. "Of course you didn't see any one else with a rifle, today?" I asked, in conclusion. "The 'man with lifle up load' didn't materialize?" "No,' sir. Not another soul, sir. I asked some of the boys—them as has charge of the deer in the preserve, over the way the shoiotln' sounded. But they hadn't seen n6 one, either, sir. Though they: did hear the. shots." I thanked Romney for his interest —he knew I was one of tbe state game wardens—and admonished him to keep bis own counsel as to my visit, leaving the Impression with him that I wished to round up the culprit, and feared if my activity In the mat* tar were scented my prey would be piit ouhia guard sad thus escape *r S J' after, maybe. 1 wa» doin* a bit of and to occupy the time I entered the fat pheasants." \3? f, _L» 4 tj ^4^ .5\J •^srf-.vs^j Vtf, cr V/ ft** It still tacked twenty muutea of the hour of my appointment with Evelyn when I issued from the Lodge, ,7MI, ••?:!. &H£ .* *v* v- .» CQPY/?tctr, /9/jt, a s/rcjLi//?c & ca wide gateway between the great stone pillars with their, heraldic shields, and sauntered leisurely along the smooth macadam drive, bordered by sentinel elms. My thoughts were busy with the new line of conjecture which Romney had unconsciously opened' up for me. I wondered whether by any possibil ity this eccentric painter, Murphy, could be personally involved. Was Cameron acquainted with him? Had they ever quarrelled? From what Romney had told me of the affair at Garrison's the artist was evidently of a bellicose disposition. He had come here two years ago. Cameron had owned Cragholt less than a year. Perhaps at the time he was preparing the mansion for occupancy he had offended the too sensitive Murphy, who—I was letting my Imagination run free—may have wished to take a hand at the new decoration. It would probably be well for me to see Cameron before seeing the artist. The involutions of my hypothetical train led me, I fear, into many monstrous ly preposterous conceits yet, as sub sequent events proved, the cogitation in which I indulged on that afternoon walk was not wholly Idle. Although the working out was along lines which I was then far from foresee ing, it was curious, in looking back, to observe how very closely, collater ally, even at that stage, I came to the truth. In the midst of my revery, the rhythm of horse's hoofs on the drive awoke me to time and place. And as I raised my eyes, I 6aw, still some distance away, but bearing down upon me at a swift single-foot, the girlish figure of Evelyn Grayson, in white waist and gray habit, mounted on Prince Charley, a buckskin cayuse, which for saddle purposes she pre ferred to all the thoroughbreds in the Cameron stables. "Am I late?" she cried, reining the wiry little animal to a stand beside me. "Celia Ainslee just left. She was expecting the Lentilhons to stop for her In their motor boat, but they broke down and were delayed, and Instead of coming at three o'clock, it was half-past four before they land ed." "I fancy you are just on the min ute," was my response, as I consult ed my timepiece. "But I'm still a mile from the Lodge," she argued. "And all the nearer to the trail," I condoned. "It must be somewhere about here, isn't It?" "You've passed it. It's just beyond that next bend." And she pointed over my shoulder. "Why didn't you bring a groom with you to hold your steed?" I asked, smiling. "You don't expect to ride Prince Charley into the forest fast nesses, do you?" "I could," she answered, promptly. "I will, if you dare me. He can pick his way like a cat. But it isn't nec essary. He'll stand forever, the dear thing, if I drop the bridle rein over his head." My preference was to have her on foot at my side, and so I did not dare her. And thus it chanced that we left the homely little animal standing with drooping head and dangling rein on the shadowed side of the drive way, and went off together down the narrow, slow-descending trail, the girl in the lead. The slanting sunlight, shooting its golden arrows in intermittent volleys through the tree tops, made target of her hair, as we passed, scoring bril liant flashes of burnished bronze. Her hat, a broad-brimmed sailor of coarse straw, was but a poor shield for that shimmering, tawny coll which lay low on her neck, and the darting rays had their will with it. I have never before or since seen hair just like Evelyn Grayson's. There was such a wealth of it, and its color was so elu sive. Under dim lights it seemed a prosaic brown, but with small encour agement it changed to a light fawn, streaked with lustrous topaz strands which in the sun's blaze became a dazzling bronze glory. "I'm pretty sure can find the tree," she asserted, as she swung along! with that free, lissome stride which I loved. "It is ail old, dead chestnut, a great giant of the woods. Imposing even in death and It stands only a half-dozen yards off the trail. I was looking for ferns, or 1 never in the world should have come npon it. How do ytfu imagine that thing ever got away off here? And who could have stuck it up on that dead tree trunk?" "That is precisely what I should like to find out," was my reply. "It seems very mysterious to me. About what time was it, when you discov ered it?" "Just before I met you." v- "Had you heard any shooting in the WoodB, before that?" "Shooting?" she queried, apparent ly surprised "No. Was some one shooting?" "I understood so. Poaching, I imagine. After soihe of Cameron's "But It's out of season," she de clared, promptly. "That makes small difference with a poacher." Her belief in her ability to lead me to the tree of which we were in quest was not unfounded. Twice she psiused and peered in between the gray trunks which grew close to our path once she took a step off the trail, bending in keen-eyed search of cer tain familiar landmarks. These were the only interruptions to what was otherwise a straight march to tne goal. When, at length, we reached It, she identified it beyond question, and I had little difficulty in finding the nail from which the piece of" canvas had been suspended. It was one of thin wire, with very small head, driven Into the tree at a distance of about four and a half feet from the ground. Just beneath it I found four scatter ing bullet holes, with the bullets too deeply embedded to be extracted with so poor a tool as a pocket knife. From this it was evident that the shots had been fired at comparative ly short range, as Indeed they must have been, seeing that the trees here grew so thickly as to make impossi ble any very extended1 line of sight upon the target. Somewhat to Evelyn's perplexity I began making a careful inspection ot the ground, not only about the tree, but as far away from it as the range of vision extended. "What are you looking for?" she demanded, with a show of concern, and, I thought, a little peevishly. "Footprints," I answered laughing. "Behold the American- Sherlock!" "Have you found any?" "Only Cinderella's," and that put her in good humor. But I found something of much more importance than the indenta tions of shoe soles. I found it very near the foot of the tree, just below where the painting had hung. It was half hidden by underbrush, and at first I mistook it for a stone. Unob served by Evelyn, I slipped it into my pocket. "After all," I said to her, "there's not very much to be learned here, is there?" CHAPTER V. Pound Dead. My motor boat, which had been running swiftly and smoothly, with the least possible clamor from the ex haust, suddenly missed a stroke and then, after a succession of choking sobs, ceased all effort, and gradually losing headway, drifted idly with the tide. "Well done, Jerry," I whispered from my seat in the stern to the cap able young Irishman who was bend ing over the motor—whispered, be cause, as all the world knows, the water is a sounding board, and I had no intention of permitting any one on shore to hear my words of ap proval. To all appearances the motor had broken down, and we were voyagers in distress. "The tide's settin' In," murmured Jerry. "Unless I miss me guess, it'll land us on his beach inside o* five minutes, sir." The slender scallop of a new moon had set an hour before, but the night was luminously clear, and the stars blazed with an almost southern efful gence. There was very little breeze and the waters of the Mianus were scarcely rippled. The air was chill, however, though now and then there came to us a warm breath from the fields which all day long had lain bak ing in the fervent sunshine. Along the shore to our left we caught the glint of lights from the summer cot tages. To Jerry Rooney every inch of the little bay and river was familiar. Each light was for him a landmark and so, as much by intuition as care ful calculation, he had clogged the engine at a point whence, taking tide and current into consideration, we might count upon drifting to the water end of Artist Murphy's lawn. As we drew nearer and he stealth ily pointed out to me the location, I was able to descry a little grove of trees, black in the starlight, making a horizontal barrier across the limit ed enclosure, and hiding, like a rope portiere, the bungaloW from the riv er. Through this no lights penetrated, and I began to doubt that, after all my pains, 1 should find at home the object of their taking. A catboat, with sail wrinkling in the uncertain breeze, glided by us, al most too near for comfort, and we caught a sentence, two sentences, in fact, from the conversation of tbe occupants: "Nobody knows him," in clear, ring ing masculine tones and, "He's handsome, if he is surly," in a wom an's voice. The sailors' broad collars were de vised so that the powder or tar on the wearer's queues should not come off on tbe blouse. In the old days every sailor wore bis hair in a queue and either had the queue powdered or held together by tar. This was not good for the blouse or Jacket underneath. So detachable broad collars were add ed. Sailors stopped wearing queues a «entury ago. But they still wear the wide collar. When Lord Nelson died the British navy went Into mourning for blm. Sailors put broad black rib bons on their caps and black ribbons lelr blouses. And the ribbons re "vvVv ,.f?v^yvv:.-:?.-',.,,v'..•:/v-v. -.. When Every Sailor Wore a Queue 0 $ W wondered If they were speaking of Murphy. My telephone inquiry of Cameron and subsequent questioning of the men about my place had proved to me that both observations .would apply. No one seemed to know very much of this brawny, sandy giant, in Bpite of his two year's resi dence in the neighborhood. Now the shore's shadow was en gulfing us, and the next moment, with a gentle swish of waters, we felt the boat's bottom grate on the pebbly beach. There was a landing a short distance further up—a spindling wooden pier—and to this Jerry, knee deep in the black water, turned the boat and made it fast. The prospect which confronted us as we walked shoreward over the creiking planks was about as hos pitable as the grim walls of a prison. The tree barrier rose stark and for bidding a dozen yards away. Be tween it and the river was a com bination of pebbles, sand, high grass, and ragged overgrown lawn, faintly visible in the starlight. On nearer approach, however, we found an open ing In the curtain of trees, a veritable valley of shadow, through which we passed to a strip of neglected sward and a squat, unpainted weather-beat en cottage of a single story, with vine-screened verandah. And int.what seemed to us the very center of the house front, there shone a tiny glowing point of red fire, We had not come altogether in vain. By all the odds of chance, it was a safe conclusion that Murphy, in propria persona, was behind that lighted end of a cigar. Then we saw the point move, describing a half circle, and si multaneously a voice rang out—a deep, sonorous voice, but of churlish intonation: "What do you want here?" I suppose he expected me to come to a sudden halt, but I was then only a few steps distant from the veran dah, and as I answered him, I cov ered that distance. "My motqr boat ran out of gaso lene," I said, "and drifted to your beach. I was in hopes we might bor row enough to get us home." I saw him now, dimly, in the shad owed recess. He was seated facing me, a creature of great bulk, with huge head and ponderous shoulders. "I don't keep gasolene," was his gruff response. "I thought—" I began, but his next utterance drowned my words. "I say I don't keep it," he reiter ated, in louder tones. "Isn't that plain?" "Oh, quite. You have neither gaso lene nor good manners." I saw him rise, a massive tower, dwarfing his surroundings, and take a step forward to the edge of his porch. "This is my house and my castle," he flung at me, savagely, "and I won't stand for trespassers. If you two don't want to be flung off my proper ty, it would be advisable for you to make haste in going." My laugh was not calculated to salve his ill humor, yet I think he must have gathered from it that I was not to be terrorized by either his size or his threats. "Your name's Murphy, I think," I ventured, calmly, not moving an inch. But he made no response. a Mine is Clyde^ -y ylj'VV /.-3 ,.t Jerry, quick to obey, disappeared on the instant around the corner of the bungalow, and Murphy, after a pretended dash forward, halted on the lower porch step. "See here!" he demanded, cum brously. "What's all this, anyhow? You come here after gasolene, os tensibly, and then declare you're game wardens after a law-defying, Chinese poacher." (TO BE CONTINUED.) main to this day, not only on the uni forms of British sailors, but on those of other navies as well. The broad "bell shaped" ends of sailors' trouser legs were thus shaped so that the wearer might more easily turn his trousers up above his knees when he had to swab the decks. Deck swab* bing was a hateful and supposedly de grading task. Hence the sailors called their enemies "swabs" as a term of contempt More than one man has failed In life simply because be persisted in navtog tive- uM caw- hw»§» Tunnel Made by Overflow ef MullMp Roek Discharged by Mount Mnima Ken. Hilo, Hawaii.—A short distance from the town of Hilb, the capital of Hawaii, which is the largest island o{ the Hawaiian archipelago, is a won* derful lava tunnel, called by the na tives the Cave of Kaumanu. Through this tunnel, which has an average width of 20 feet, flowed the stream of molten rock discharged from tit Mauna Kea, which, hard by, rears it self to a height of 13,000 feet. It is likely that the torrent originated high up the mountain, and, as the surface of the lava grew cold, the molten stream sped on beneath, to emerge lower down as a fiery geyser, spread ing ruin on all sides. To reach Kaumanu the traveler leaves the town by the main roada Entrance to Cave of Kaumanu From the Sea. pays the London Field. Three miles but beds of lava begin to be encoun tered on every hand. It is 30 years since the flow ceased, and vegeta tion is now beginning to cover the area of destruction. The route fol lows the edge of the lava beds for a distance of about 20 minutes' walk, and then turns across the scattered array of hummocks to where, a hun dred yards further on, is the entrance to the cave or tunnel. The view from this point is extensive and varied. There is the blue expanse of the Pa cific, perhaps dotted with vessels ma king for the harbor, or Japanese "pow er" sampans returning from a night's' fishing. The smoke to the right as cends from Kilauea's mighty crater, and the scene is completed leftwards by the snow-capped summit of Mauna Kea. Eut the special object of the trip is to see what lies below. The storekeeper who lives near will sup ply rough-and-ready torches for five cents each, and no farther outfit is really required for the trip under ground, though there are some dain ty mortals who bring a suit of over alls. The torches are joints of bam boo filled with oil, in which is a prim itive wick, and they prove most effec- The I am one of the state game wardens.1| "I'm not interested in who are," he growled. "But I'm interested in learning what your Chinaman was shooting this morning, over on the Cameron place." "Then find out," was his courteous retort. "I'm sure I shant tell you." "Maybe the Chinaman will be more obliging," I suggested, and turning to Jerry, who had stood in silence, ail the while, a few steps behind me, I said: "Look around at the back, my lad, and if you can find Mr. Murphy's man fetch him here." you But. before I had quite finished, the big man in the shadow of the veran dah was storming: "He'll stop just where he is. If he dares to come another step nearer this bouse, I'll throw the pair of you over the hedge, neck and crop. Do you hear me?" "And if you dare to, interfere with I an officer or his deputy in the dis charge of his duty, the authorities will settle with you," was my calm re joinder. "Trot ahead, Jerry! His bark's worse than his bite." I opening to the tunnel is 1 shrouded by a thicket of scrub. A wooden ladder leads down to the floor, a distance of perhaps 25 feet. Rows of diminutive stalactites hang from the roof, glittering in their youth, for they are hardly more than 20 years old and in the formative stage. The sides of the passage are smooth and sometimes damp, but the floor is scored and rough. A distance of three miles can be covered with the help of the torch, but care is needed where the tree roots thrust themselves through the roof of the tunnel. The presence of these pendant roots indicates that the surface of the lava bed is only a few feet above, and judicious blasting would usefully provide another en trance near the beautiful Rainbow Falls. In places crawling has to be resorted to, but a few strokes of a pickax would doubtless remove the necessity for even stooping. OFFICER KEEPS SELF WARM Policeman Covers Standing Place Order to Avoid Cold In Winter. In St. Louis.—Patrolman R. O. Ely, a member of the traffic squad in East St. LouiB, is taking no chances on get ting cold feet in winter. On the spot where he has to stand in order to di rect passing vehicles, there is an iron manhole. The iron plate made an Ideal place from which to signal In summer, but with the cold weather tbe, sheet of iron became ccld, so did the' patrolman's feet So he has made at his own expense a rubber and fiber jacket, and has obtained permission to cover the manhole with the non conductor of cold. CATHOLIC WOMEN TO BUILD Neat They Plan to Erect a Church University at Washington—To Be Finished in a Year. Washington.—Catholic women of the United States have banded tojgetber tor the erection of a church at the Cath olic university. The movement was undertaken when tbe necessity fOr a church building at the university was discovered and tbe women ^demtees refused to 'permit men to contribute tbe tend.: They will furnish Hw moneys *nd al*9 bave a voice 1m /-tti' style of building to be erected* The: structure will confor^n architecture in vogue at tbe sity and it is expected that the bui}& tns: will be completed within j«atv «yi