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The Cases of Alice Clement
True Stories of the World's Greatest Woman Sleuth
as Told by Herself to Courtney Riley Cooper
The Invisible Clue
(Copyright, by W. <3. Chapman.)
Alice Clement was bound for Eu
rope, mission unknown except to her
self and the watchers of criminals who
•wear the police stars of the city of
Chicago. And, judging from the queer
little smile which Miss Clement gave
me as we walked down Fifth avenue,
after our meeting, it seemed that the
mission was to remain a secret.
“It seems,” I said, "that the occa
sion of your coming to New York
ought to he enough to cause you to
tell a little of it anyway."
She directed one of those flashing,
good humored looks at me.
“Can you remember a time when I
ever told anything of a case before
1 finished it?” she queried.
I was foraed to admit that she was
right. Miss Clement continued:
"Resides,” with a smile, “New York
Isn't so new to me. I made an arrest
here once.”
It was then that a crossing Jam to&K
our attention from things criminal,
and it was not until an hour later,
when seated in the moonlight on the
top deck of a Coney Island boat, that
the conversation drifted back. I had
*sald something about the detective
stories of fiction and the wonderful
doctors who always are finding crim
inals through their scientific investi
gations.
"And yet,” said Miss Clement,
"there's many a story of fiction that
has its counterpart in real life. For
Instance, that New York arrest I spoke
of was an example of what can be
done by science. The up-to-date po
lice departments are not so blind to
new discoveries as you might think.”
As the story started, I could not
help admiring the picture before me,
the white clad figure with its hat
shioiding the face from the pearl-like
flood of the moon, the flash of eyes
now and then as the head turned, the
clasped hands—and on beyond the
rolling sea, gleaming and swirling in
the night light. In the distance the
shore slid past in black, ever changing
shadows. It was a cool night, and the
usual crowd of the boat was absent
Here and there about the deck, how
ever, sat young men and young wom
en conversing In low tones, or sitting
jsl'ent and looking out to the thin line
of the horizon. Far ahead, a light
house flashed its warning. The steam
of the ship's exhaust mixed incongru
ously with the music of the boat or
chestra. I leaned nearer that I might
hear better.
“I can’t say that I ever was really
assigned to a case where murders or
something of the kind have been con
cerned," Miss Clement had begun, “but
It always seems I am just happening
along by accident. This New York
case (I call It that because the case
wur finished here) was one of those
affairs, though not a murder.
“I was walking down State street.
•Chicago, one morning when a-crowd
around a store caused me to stop. The
shattered glass and general wreckage
within told of some kind of accident.
I elbowed my way to the door, and
there met one of the men from the
central office.
“‘What’s happened?’ I inquired.
“ 'Safe blowing,’ was the answer.
"And it was a real one. The yeggman
Who did this job must have thought
he was a Mount Vesuvius. He not j
only tore the store to pieces, but he
tried to do the same thing to himself.’
He pointed to a few spots of blood on
the wall, evidently where the safe
trtower had been knocked by the ex
plosion and cut his head. ‘But just the
same,’ the detective continued, ‘that
didn’t keep him from cleaning the safe
of about 110,000 in money and paper
and getting away. And that’s what
gets me. I can’t for the life of mo
see how he managed to escape.’
■ “A cursory glance on the out
side, however, showed that the
matter of escape had been fair
ly easy. An alley was at the
side of the building, and from there,
by dark routes through an excavation
and an unfinished building, it was easy
to reach Wabash avenue and the rail
road yards beyond. I have never made
It much of a point to spend much ttmo
figuring out by what method a man
has escaped. It doesn’t do much to
ward finding him. I went back into
the store.
“ 'What do you think of it?’ 1 asked
the central office man.
“ ‘lt isn't what you'd call the best
chance in the world,’ was his answer.
"There’s not a thing to hang a clue on.
The only chance we have Is to get
track of some of that negotiable pa
per and trace him that—huh!’
“He had been digging around in the
rubbish near the safe, and pulled forth
a bundle of papers. That clue was
gone. The robber had taken only the
money. I looked around the room.
“ 'At least,’ I said, ‘we can find out
whether he is a negro or a white
man. Lend me your knife.’
"I stepped to the wainscoting and
chipped off a bit of blood-stained wood.
Then I started for a microscopist.
“That night a chance was in my
grasp and I was on a Kansas City
Slyer, bound for Fort Leavenworth,
Kan. And the next afternoon —”
“Why Leavenworth?” I asked. “Had
you found out his name?”
Miss Clement’s smile flashed in the
moonlight.
"Not a trace of it,” was the answer.
"I was depending on a new friend,
Plasmodium Falciparum, to give me
that.”
“Who?”
“You never met,” was the laughing
reply. “But as I said, the next after
noon found me in Fort Leavenworth,
addressing a man in the blue of the
United States army.
“ ‘Yours Is the only regiment in from
the Philippines since when?’ I asked.
“ ‘ln a year,’ was the answer.
“‘Any deserters?’
“ ‘One.’
" ‘May I see the pictures and any
letters that have been intercepted?’
“Of course,” explained Miss Clem
ent, “my credentials had been shown.
The object of my visit was, of course,
as yet a secret, with the exception of
the fact that I was looking for a crim
inal. The letters were shown me. I
hurried away, and by the next day I
was in Oklahoma City. A sample case
of books was under my arm. I found
the house I desired, and knocked at
the door.
“‘ls Miss Sexton in?’ I inquired of
the girl at the door.
“‘I am Miss Sexton,’ came the an
swer.
“ ‘Your name was given me as being
interested in books,’ I said as I edged
past her and into the hali. I did not
stop talking then, but manufactured
the name of a publisher, a scheme of
selling and everything else connected
with book agency. My aim was to get
the girl in a room and alone. I suc
ceeded in my purpose. Then I locked
the door and whirled.
‘“I want that night letter!’ I de
manded.
“The girl blanched.
“ ‘Night letter?' Bhe stammered.
“ ‘From Tom Barton,’ I snapped
back. I had played a ‘hunch’ and I
saw that I had hit the mark. The
woman half rose.
“ ‘I don’t know whom you are talk
ing about,' sho answered.
“ ‘You don't.?’ I questioned, back.
'You know very well who I am talking
about!’ I answered. ‘You know that
he has deserted the United States
army, that he now is a fugitive from
Justice, and that he haß wired you to
join him. Don’t scream or try to get
out of this room,' I warned her.
“ ‘I have a revolver, and I will shoot.
Until I see otherwise, you are under
arrest.' I showed my badge. ‘Now
give me that night letter!’
“The girl, she was hardly more than
that, reeled half way across the par
lor and was leaning against the piano
for support. Her face was ghastly.
Her hands were clasped until the
blood distended the wrist veins like
blue cords. Her breath came in
gasps.
“‘Deserted?’ sho asked vaguely, ‘de
serted? He told me he was on fur
lough of a month. We were going tb
get married, and he got the furlough
for our trip.’
“ ‘lt.wlll be a much longer furlough
than that,’ I answered icily. ‘You are
a good girl, Miss Sexton. I can see
that. My coming here will enable you
to escape a great deal. Ido not desire
to cause you any more notoriety than
is necessary. But I must insist on
your remaining under guard a few days
at a hotel. No one will know the
difference—providing you give me
that night letter. Otherwise, It will
be plain jail—and the papers.’
“A long wait and then the girl, half
staggering, came toward me a few
steps and extended a yellow envelope.
I placed it In my pocketbook and
wordlessly we left the house. In all
my life I never had seen a girl so ab
solutely crushed. There were no
tears. Her grief and surprise were
too deep for that. Only the bloodless
face, the trembling, blue lips, the eyes
which looked almost unseeingly at the
world, told of the girl’s suffering. On
the way to the hotel, where a detec
tive awaited me, I learned her story—
not much of one, that of a stenogra
pher, lonely and young, who had met
a man in uniform and been fascinated.
It wasn’t much to hear, but the sin
cerity of It all, the deadened way In
which It was told, cut into my heart.
“‘And you knew nothing of him?’
I asked.
“ ‘I was lonely,’ was her invariable,
dull answer; ‘he told me lots of
things. I believed them.’
“An hour later I opened the tele
gram, a day message instead of the
night letter I had determined upon
believing it to be. I read:
“ ‘Meet me Newark, N. J., June 10.
Will be married then. Keep thing
secret until afterward. Will tell rea
son when I see you. Tom.’ ”
There came a pause in the narra
tive. Miss Clement spent a moment
in watching the lovelorn actions of a
shop girl and a floorwalker near the
railing of the boat. She smiled in
amused appreciation at the effort of
handholding and then turned her eyes
to watch the blinking of the light
house. The story began again.
“1 went to a telegraph station.
My wires were not to Tom, however,
but to the office In Chicago. And
when, a few days later, I stepped from
the train at Newark, I saw near the
j baggage room the familiar faces of
j two central office men. I looked in
vain for my deserter. He was not in
sight I walked into the station and
began to pace the room. Discour
agement had flashed upon me. 1 had
taken every precaution, yet there had
been chances for failure. I had trust
ed the girl in her story that she was
the oDly one who knew that Tom had
left the fort, in fact, that she was the
only girl in the city who knew him at
all. And in my haste, I had accepted
that story without further investiga
tion. I saw now the mistake that was
possible. Had this girl played to dis
arm me by her expression of deep sor
row? Had there been someone else
who had warned him? Had
“A sudden fear entered my heart
There was only one chance to find out
and that was to learn the possibility
of a telegram having been delivered
to him at the station. I hurried to
the bulletin board to see, if possible,
if the name of Tom —I knew the- last
name would be changed—had been
put there that day. I crossed the
room and then stopped with a shock.
Before me stood out the chalk-marked
words:
“ ‘Agnes Sexton.’
“I rushed to the telegraph desk and
called for the message. Then with
trembling hands I tore open the enve
lope.
“ ‘Have porter show you way to
Gramercy Park, New York,' the mes
sage ran. ‘Will be waiting for you
there at northwest corner at mid
night. Can’t tell reason. Get direc
tions explicitly.’
“It was signed ‘Tom’ as the other
message had been. I reached for a
pencil, scribbled my orders on the
piece of paper, then dropped it at the
feet of one of the central office men
as I hurried past Then I started for
New York.
“The great, mournful chimes of the
two-story clock in the Metropolitan
tower were clanging twelve as I turn
ed from Broadway, down Twentieth
street and into Gramercy Square. The
streets were deserted, except for a
figure huddled against the iron grat
ing of the eighty-year-old park. The
song of time, played in its weird, long
sounding tones, rang out over the
sleepy old park with its doleful mes
sage of
Days and years
Come and go,
Passing on,
Passing on.
"From tenement-lined Third avenue
and its • opening canyons of slum
streets came the drowsy murmur of
late night. An L train clattered along,
Its wheels singing and beating. I
looked far down the street, under the
street light and perceived the waiting
figures of my detectives. It lessened
the bumping of my heart to know
they were ready. I approached the
figure by the grating.
“ ‘ls this Gramercy Park?' I asked,
and with a quick glance Baw that, ac
cording to orders, my men were be
ginning to move forward. The man
had started forward a bit at the right
of me, then had returned to his posi
tion by the fence. I could not see his
face —the important thing. Work was
still beforo me. I repeated my ques
tion.
“ ‘ls this Gramercy Park?’
“ ‘Yes,’ came the curt answer at
last. ,
‘“How do the numbers run?’
“ ‘Around the block.’ The man
kept his face turned from me. I
laughed rather queerly at his answer.
“ 'I don't quite understand,’ I said.
‘l’m a stranger here in New York. I
don’t know anything about the city.
Couldn’t you tell me which way the
numbers run here? Do they run from
east to west or from north to south?’
"It was then that the man turned
from the fence and with an angry
swing of his arm, made a circle of the
park.
“‘They run that way!’ he answered
testily. He looked at me. I saw his
face. I raised an arm. There was a
rush, a short struggle as the cursing,
biting, kicking - man sought to evade
the handcuffs and then Tom Barton
was started to the station.
“But Tom Barton was a different
type of person from his fiancee. He
disregarded every question. He re
fused, even under threats, to answer
anything that was asked of him.
“At last, however, he looked up and
with a sneer admitted what we had
been questioning him to obtain —the
fact that he was a deserter from the
United States army. Then the real
work began.
“ ‘Where did you get that bruise on
your head?’ one of the detectives
asked.
“‘Where do you suppose?* came the
insolent query in response. ‘I got it
working, of course.’
“ ‘Where?’
“ ‘None of your business!’
“‘Don't answer me that way!’ The
detective leaned forward.
“ ‘l'll answer you any way I please,’
came the sneering response. ‘Why
can’t you let a fellow be? You’ve got
your fifty dollars reward for getting
next to a slipaway, now let me alone.
I want to go to sleep.’
“ ‘We want you for something more
than deserting,’ I said. ‘We want you
for cracking a safe In Chicago, and
whether you confess it or not, we’ve
got the goods on you.’
“The prisoner sneered again.
“ ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Prove it. I
ain’t been near Chicago.’
“I smiled happily.
“ ‘Haven’t you?’ I asked. *Very well,
we’ll show that you have. O’Leary,
scratch his wrist there and take a
sample of his blood.’
“The man looked up.
“ 'What are you going to do with
that?’ he asked.
“ ‘Prove our case against you,’ was
' my answer, and he stared at me.
“ ‘What have you got up your
i sleeve?’ he questioned queerly.
i “None of your business. Hold out
I your wrist. Captain, will you send a
"THEY RUN THAT WAY,” HE ANSWERED, TESTILY.
man to the Bertillon room for a glass
microscope slide? I want to put a
drop of this man's blood on it.’
“Barton seemed to squirm in his
chair. My mysterious actions were af
fecting him queerly. For a moment
he remained silent, watching the oper
ation of placing a small drop of blood
on the microscope slide. He seemed
worried. He knew we had some sort
of information regarding which he
knew nothing. He began to ask ques
tions. His caution seemed to leave
him. One little admission came un
guarded from his lips. Another was
added to it. We began to twist his ac
count of his actions. And in an hour
he had confessed everything and was
willing to go back to Chicago without
requisition papers.”
Miss Clement turned and looked
ahead to where a yellowish glare dif
fused the sky.
“We’re getting near Coney, aren’t
we?” she asked.
"Yes,” I answered, “but that doesn’t
interest me at all right now. What I
want to know is how on earth you
found out that the robber of the safe
was a deserter from the army.”
Miss Clement smiled.
“I told you of Plasmodium Falcipar
um, didn't 1?”
“Yes, hut what in the name of Sam
Hill is—well, whatever you said.”
Again a laugh.
"I’ll have to explain it, I guess,” the
pretty little detective said. “When
that spot of blood found in the store
was placed under a microscope it
showed plasmodiuni falciparum, or, in
other words, the Indications of a trop
ical malarial fever, common to the
Philippines. Then, it was a two to
one bet that the person was a soldier
who recently had returned to the coun
try. I looked up the matter and found
that the last regiment to come from
the Philippines was stationed at Fort
I figured he would be
a deserter, in need of money. After
I read the letters that had been Inter
cepted. I was more of this opinion
than ever, for I saw he had been in
tending to get married. You see, his
plan was to desert, get a bunch of
money, then leave the country. But
it didn’t work out”
The lights of Coney flared brighter
than ever. Miss Clement turned to
again watch the tender-hearted shop
girl and the lovelorn floorwalker.
“Silly things, aren’t they?” she
asked.
Progress.
He who has not lived in those years
when an old world is disappearing and
a new one making its way cannot re
alize the tragedy of life, for at such
times the old Is still sufficiently
strong to resist the assault of the
new. and the latter, though growing,
is still not strong enough to anni
hilate that world on the ruins of
which alone it will be able to pros
per. Men are then called upon to
solve insoluble problems and to at
tempt enterprises which are both nec
essary and impossible. There is con
fusion everywhere, In the mind with
in and In the world without. Hate
often separates those who ought to aid
one another, since they are tending
toward the same goal, and sympathy
binds men together who are forced to
do battle with one another.—Ferrero.
Elections Immensely Costly.
Based on the calculations of actual;
expenses in New York city for th®
last election, the entire cost to th.e
country was at least $27,000,000, with
out putting in the cost of campaigns.
Just for the voting in New York, the
total expense was $1,202,175, or a
trifle more than SI.BO for each voter.
For advertising the location of polling
places in newspapers the charge was
$293,000.
Perfect Jewel.
Mistress—You have excellent let
ters of recommendation.
New Cook—Yis mum. Not a fut
will Oi shtep out av an body's house
, until Oi git wan.—Puck..
FLOWERS ADD TO
GLADNESS OF EARTH
“Plant hope and joy will grow.
Every brown bulb I bury in the earth
in the autumn promises fragrance and
beauty. A flower will unfold to add to
the gladness of earth and the festival
of springtide.”
When the speaker had arisen from
his knees where he had been setting
out tulips, his friend, leaning over the
fence watching him remarked:
“You have always been called the
Primrose Man because you are a
magician at getting primroses in your
garden, but if you talk more in that
strain I shall call you the Preacher.”
The Primrose Man only laughed,
and said under his breath so she did
not hear him: “Oh, woman, woman!
When are you satisfied?" Then he
went on out loud as he opened the
gate and invited her in:
“You know, though many men and
women In this village do not, that it
is proper to plant bulbs as long as
the frost has not gripped the ground.
Come in and take stock of what I
have been doing and tell me what you
have done, Dame of the Hollyrocks.”
“I always plant according to rea
sons of my own,” she said, smiling as
she read the labels on his neat wood
en stakes. “I do not expect to be as
successful with bulbs for spring flow
ering as I am with hollyhocks in July.
Hollyhocks grow as lavishly for me
as primroses do for you. Perhaps
because I love them, or Is It because
I take care of them? I never pass
them without digging a bit around
the roots. You know, I believe that
flowers feel encouraged when we pet
them.”
"There Is no doubt about it. Some
day when some one translates the
feeling of flowers, we shall hear a
story worth listening to. Let us make
the most of November sunshine.
When the snow flies, I like to look out
of my window and have a day dream
of the first snow drops, the scillas,
narcissus and hyacinths coming up.
Spring has more than earthly beauty.”
No doubt his pride was justified as
he counted the rows of tulips—the
earliest crowns of gold, the snowy
"L’lmmaculee.” the Due Van Thols,
the Cottage Maid and the Duchess of
Parma —all to be out bright and early
In the spring. Then came the fanciful
parroquets with fringed and corrugat
ed petals, and for later May, a noble
line of the Darwin tulips.
The Hollyhock "Woman agreed that
it was a proud showing. Any one who
took a bulb catalogue and was willing
to buy the lists as they were printed,
could have blossoming bulbs in the
spring so gay that the whole village
would walk that way to look at them.
“I have been, thinking,” she said,
"that most of the gardens all through
our neighborhood look rather melan
choly this autumn. I make a habit of
keeping my plot of earth tidy the
year around. Of course, you do,, too,
because you hire a gardener to work
at it. Just walk around the block
with me, take notes, and then we
shall come back, and I’ll praise your
bulb garden to your heart’s desire.
There is something in the autumn air
that makes one long to walk,”
“Right willingly,” said her compan
ion, brushing the earth from, his hands
and covering his basket with dry as
paragus so that no passer by would
be tempted to help himself. “You
must come back, for you have not
seen my fritillaria imperials.”
“I know what you are trying to tell
me; it is that the reason most crown
imperials—the fritillarlas—do not suc
ceed is because we do not plant them
on their sides, but upright instead. If
every one knew the charm of that
plant, the hanging bells and their
fragrance and the way birds love
them, crown imperials would be as
plenty as crocuses in all the yards.”
The Hollyhock "Woman led the way.
talking briskly, and the neighbors at
home this sunny afternoon peeped
through the curtains at them.
"I do wish those two flower fanciers
would stay at home,” grumbled the
Practical Woman to the Yearling
Bride and her baby. “I am certain
they will walk around by my block,
and if I go home, there I shall find
them looking over my borders wonder
ing why I have not made a fire of the
rubbish littering the yard. Why, every
one knows that the asters and the
golden rod and the French marigolds
have stayed so long this year that
we have been afraid to pull up too
many things. The other morning when
I was up at six to catch the milkman,
I saw the Hollyhock Woman out rak
ing her beds and strewing the dry
leaves over them. She said she al
ways did that before she put on a
mulch. How aggravating these care
ful people are! I have no doubt she
carries a pair of scissors in her
pocket all the time to clip off dead
leaves and twigs.”
“We ought to be thankful some one
sets us an example, don’t you think
so, baby?” said the young wife to her
crowing son, who was trying to reach
the red leaves twined In her hair.
“Good day to you,” said the Prim
rose Man, crossing the street. “Your
lot looks as if it meant an autumn
garden. The bitter-sweet is scarlet,
the mountain ash is hung with berries,
the dog-wood, hop-tree, bush-cranber
ry and snow-berry are full of fruit.”
The little woman smiled happily,
and the baby clapped Its hands, as
she said:
“You encourage me by noticing my
yard. A little praise goes a long way,
so the wiseacres say. Think of the
many months we must stay in the
house and look out of the windows —
and why should our yards look deso
late at any time? The- fruiting
shrubs bring the birds all winter and
look so pretty when the scow hangs
on them.”
“If more people only knew it! It
seems incredible that every one does
not grasp every atom of joy and
pleasure that comes his way. So
much goes to waste, and- life is so
short. Now I must be going; I’ flare
something I want to do before, sun
set.”
The Hollyhock Woman took her
basket on her arm and set off down
the street. Her friends strolled: slow
ly after her. as the Primrose Man had
promised to show the other.B eol
chicum, or fall crocus, in blossom on
the grassy lawn before the window of
a Shut-In Woman who lay an, her
couch looking out at it. '
“What can she be doing?” whisper
ed the Practical Woman, who did not
believe in much flower planting. The
Hollyhock Woman certainly acted
queerly. She was a block ahead on
the hill, across the street, and every
few minutes she would get down on
her knees.
“She Is sticking crocus and daffodil
bulbs in places where she thinks they
ought to grow. It’s her v»ay of sur
prising people,” said the. Primrose
Man.
“Oh, the dear woman,” cried the
Young Wife. “Please ran after her
and make her came home to supper
with me. You must came, too, Mr.
Primrose Man, and let us talk of flow
ers together.”
LENA MAY M’CAULEY.
(Copyright, 1912, by W. G. Chapman.)
Saved by Dog’s Sagacity.
The sagacity of a dog, a bull teirier,
undoubtedly saved the life of its young
master, Gilbert Davey, and his com
panion, Curtis Stroud, who were asleep
in a Sacramento (Cal.) stable which
was destroyed hy Are early the other
morning. Upon being aroused by the
dog, that jumped upon their bed, the
boys found the room full of smoke.
They had no time to save their cloth
ing, but they rushed into the back part
of the stahla and rescued two Of the
three horses in the stalls.