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MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1922
Alias the Lone Wolf
By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
(Copyright, 1921, Intenational Magazine Co.
' HERE TODAY.
, he secret of the most bnl
<,4vice to be disclosed to the
.he .loved? The man all
. w Andrew Duehemin,
. . ,’ bett sent To the south
C L eto avoid plots by revenge
hvviki, was recuperating
rT effect s of a bullet wound
» ™ hv a Paris Apache from
Duehemin had ptevi
]'v e Relied the voting American
’ Evr de Montalais, and her
suspicions were arous
-1 n ( , lt . vt . r question# coneernmg
~v , -ls and veiled warnings
;; J , ht . -Lone Wolf” had been
|,v the Strange party which,
‘7|, t refuge in the chateau front
?r>rni 1* consisted ot Whitaker
his secretary, Phinuit, who
(e,i a- chauffeur, and the Count
,j Countess de l.mgnes.
Oi, thi- night, when the chateau
. .jdeep, the wounded Duehemin
■ t his bedroom and went seeking
hi th- drawing room. His
placed on the table,
~ suddenly blown out and then
moved by unseen hands.
.
GO ON WITH THE STORY.
Duehemin straightened- up sharp- I
and stood quite still, listening. !
, sound . . .
His vision spent itself fruitlessly
ahi t the blackness, which the
ised window draperies rendered
lolute loir for those dull, sardonic
e« of dying embers.
In spite of himself he knew a mo
■nt when flesh crawled and the
ir eenied to stir upon the scalp;
i Duehemin knew he was not
me; there was something else in
■ roor.i with hint, some hing nnme
-, stealthy, silent, sinister.
A hand extended about a foot en
untered the back of an upholstered I
air, which be identified by touch. I
sliming the (hair to be occupying •
usau! position, he need only con- I
me in a line parallel with the line :
it< back to find the entrance-hall ■
about six paces.
Within three he stopped dead, as
paralyzed by sudden instinctive
rcsption of that other presence
ise by.
Whether he had drawn near to it,
ch by inch, or whether it, seeing
m about to make good his escape,
d crept up on him, he could not
y. He only knew that it was
■ within arm’s length, waiting,
prepared, and somehow dead
■ in its animosity.
■ Digging the nails deep into the
■lms of his hands, until the pain ■
■lieved his nervous tension, he ■
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waited once more, one minute, two,
i three. ’
But nothing . . .
Then very slowly he lifted an arm,
and swept it before him right and
! left. At one point of the arc, a
| trifle to hit left, his finger-tips
I brushed Tying. He thought he
\ detected a '• in the darkness, a
stifled sou- wepped forward quick
ly, clawin the air, and caught be
tween his fingers a wisp of some
material, >ike silk, sheer and glace,
a portion *of some garment.
Simultaneously he heard a smoth
ered cry, of anger of alarm, and
the night seemed to split, and be
rent into fragments by a thousand
shooting needles of colored flame.
Smitten brutally on the point of
! the jaw, his head jerked back, he
I reeled and fell against a chair,
i which went to the floor with a muf
i fled crash.
CHAPTER X
A Woman’s Faith.
Duehemin woke up in his bed,
glare of sunlight in his eyes.
He groaned aloud and with
both hands clutched temples that
promised to split with pain that
crashed between them, stroke upon
stroke, like blows of a mighty ham
mer.
i Also, his jaw was stiff, and devel
. oped a protesting ache whenever
I he opened his mouth.
Then Duehemin remembered . . .
He got up hastily and spent sev
eral thrilling minutes under an icy
shower and emerged feeling more on
terms with himself and the world.
The valet-de-chamber brought
with his tray the announcement that-
Madame de Montalais presented her
compliments and would be glad to
see monsieur at his convenience in
teh grand salon. So Duehemin made
short work of his dressing, his cof
fee and roll, and hurried down to
the drawing room.
Her profound reverie disturbed by
i his approach, she rose quickly, ad-
I vancing to meet Duehemin with both
I hands offered in sympathy.
I “My dear friend! You are suffer
i ing—r?”
He met this with a smiling denial,
i “Not now; at first, yes; but since
my bath and coffee, I’m as right as
a trivet. But madame is not
dressed for her journey!”
“No, monsieur. ] have postponed
>t—” a slight pause prefaced one
more word—“indefinitely.”
At this confirmation of the fears
which had been haunting him,
Duehemin nodded slightly.
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THE BICKER FAMILY Sally Makes New Plans —BY SATTERFIELD
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“Yes," she said thoughtfully, when
i Duehemin had explained his pres
ence in the drawing room: “I, too
found it not easy to sleep. But I
heard nothing till that chair
crashed.”
"Tou came down here—alone?”
"But naturally, monsieur.”
I don t believe,” said Duehemin
sincerely, "the World holds a woman
your peer for courage.”
Or curiosity?” she laughed. "At
all events, I found you, but could
do nothing to rouse you. So I called
Jean, and he helped me get you up
stairs again.
M ell, you see ... It was broad
daylight before I noticed that the
screen which stands in front of my
safe was out of place. The safe is
built into the solid wall, you know.
1 got up then, and. found the safe
door an inch or so ajar. Whoever
opened it last night, closed it hasti
ly and neglected to shoot the bolts.”
And your jewels, of course—?”
She pronounced with unbroken
composure: “They have left me noth
ing, monsieur.”
Duehemin groaned and' hung his
head.
‘1 wanted to consult you first,
and . ” She broke off sharply to
ask : "A es, Jean: what is it?”
The footman had entered to bring
her cards, over which Eve de Mom
talais arched her brows.
Show the gentlemen in,, please.”
The servant retired.
’’The lnen f| Om p ar j Sj madame?'”
V es. You will excuse me
She went to meet the men in the
nmldle of the room. Duehemin
turned back to the window and was
grateful for that moment of respite
in which to compose and prepare
himself. Within an hour, he knew,
within a day or so at most, he must
he under arrest, charged with the
theft of the Montalais jewels,
damned by his yesterday as much
as by every turn of circumstantial
evidence . . .
The men whom Jean ushered in
proved to be, outwardly, what
Duehemin had expected: of a class
only too well-known to him, plain
men of the people, unassuming, well
trained and informed, sceptical; not
improbably shrewd hands in the
game of thief-making.
Saluting Madame de Montalais
with calculated ceremony, one act
ing as spokesman offered to present
their credentials.
It is not necessary, messieurs,”
she said. ‘I regret very much to
have inconvenienced you, although
of course it will make no difference
in your bill < but I Have brought
you here to no purpose. The neces
sity for my contemplated journey
no longer exists.”
There were expressions of surprise
to which she put an end with the
words, accompanied by a charming
YHE AMERICUS TIMES RECORDER.
smile; “Frankly, messieurs, 1 have
simply changed my mind.”
There was nothing more to be
said. Openly more than a little mys
tified, the men withdrew.
The smile with which she dis
missed them lingered, delightful and
> enigmatic, as Eve recognized the
j stupefaction with which Duehemin
moved to remonstrate with her.
"Madame!" he cried in a low voice
'of wonder and protest— ‘ why did
you .do that? Why let them go
without telling them—?”
“Possibly that is nty wish, mon
-1 sieur.” He gave a gesture of be
wilderment. “Perhaps,” she contin
ued, meeting his blank stare with
eyes in which amusement gave
place to a lookd almost apologetic
yet utterly kind “perhaps I have
more faith in you ...”
Duehemin bowed his head over
hands so tightly knitted that the
knuckles were white with strain.
“You would not have faith,” he
said in a low voice, “if you knew—”
She interrupted in a gentle voice:
“Are you sure?”
“ —What I must tell you!”
“My friend,’’’ she said “tell me
nothing that would distress you.”
“If you had told those detectives,”
he said- at length, without looking
’up, “you must have known very
soon. ' They must have found me !
•out without too much delay. And '
anybody else guilty when they I
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I FRED I
1 i
2 W. FRED SILLS 2
J Phone 175 SI j
s al
learned that Andre Duehemin, your
guest for three weeks, was only an
alias for Michael Lanyard, otherwise I
the Lone Wolf?”
“But you are wrong, monsieur,”
.-he replied, without the long pause
of surprise he had anticipated. “I
should not have believed you guilty.”
Dumb with wonder, he showed her
a haggard face. And she had for
him. in the agony and the abase
ment of hi- soul, still quivering from
the rack of emotion that alone could
have extorted his confession— she
had for him the half-smile, tender
and compassionate, that it is given
to most men to see but one in a life
time on the lips an in the eyes of the
woman beloved.
“Then .you knew—!”
Since the night those strange i
people were here and tried to make i i
you unhappy with their stupid talk
of the Lone Wolf. I suspected, ! ]
then; and when 1 came to know you I '
better, I felt quite sure ... 1 have I'
faith in you.” ’ j ’
“But why?” : i
She shook her head. “You mustn’t j
ask me that.” i
At the end of a long moment he <
said in a broken voice: “Very well:!’
I won't . . . Not yet awhile . . .!)
But this great gift of faith in me—l j i
can’t accept that without trying
to repay it.”
“If you accept, my friend, you
' repay.”
‘ (Continued in our next issue.)
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PAGE FIVE