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GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS-PAGE 3
j - PROLOGUE, -
1 This fascinating romance of
focicly life, polities and ike un
derworld, this problem of the
ninety-sight pearls, this tragedy
jOf ihs missing state treasurer and
k* beautiful daughter's search for
jAftn, holds the reader's interest
’from the very first chapter to the
•■fast and gives the author a high
\place among the creators of
mystery fiction.
CBM
.ijiSltilw't
CHAPTER I.
Sentiment and Clews.
I N my criminal work anything that
wears skirls is a lady until the
law proves her otherwise. From
, the frayed and slovenly petticoats
of the wonvin who owns a poultry
stand in the market u'ud who has
grown wealthy by .selling chickens at
twelve ounces to the pound or the silk
sweep of Mamie Xraey, whose dia
monds have been stolen down on the
avenue or the staidly respectable black
•and middle aged skirt of the clieui
whose husband has found an ufBnit.v
partial to laces and fripperies und has
run off with her—ail the wearers are
ladies and as such announced by
> Hawes. In fact, he carries It to ex
cess. He speaks of his wash lady,
with a husband who is an ash mer
chant, and he announced one. day in
some excitement that the lady who had
just gone out had appropriated all the
loose change out of the pocket of bis
•overcoat.
. So when Hawes announced a Indy
3 took my feet off my desk, put down
the brief X had been rending and rose
perfunctorily. With my first glance
at my visitor, however, I threw away
my cigar and, 1 have heard sinefe. set
tled in.v tie. That this client was dif
ferent was borne In on nie at once, by
the way she entered the room. She
had poise in spite of embarrassment,
and her face whem she raised her veil
was white, refined and young.
"1 did not send in my name,” she
said when she saw me glancipg down
for the card Hawes usually puts on
my table, "it was advice I wanted,
and I—I did not think the name would
matter.”
She was more composed, I think.
When she found me considerably older
than herself. I saw her looking fur
tively at the graying places over my
•ears. I am only thirty-five, as far as
that goes, but my family, although it
‘keeps its hair, turns gray early—a
business asset, but a social handicap.
"Won’t you sit down!" I asked, push
ing out a chair so that she would face
the light while I remained in shadow.
Every doctor and every lawyer knows
that trick. Only too often the raising
•of.a woman’s veil in my office reveals
the ravages of tears or rouge or dis
sipation. My new client turned fear
lessly to the window an unllned face,
with a clear skin, healthily pale. From
jwhere I sat her profile was beautiful.
“I hardly know how to begin,” she
said, “but suppose”—slowly—"suppose
that a man, a well known man, should
leave home without warning, v.ot tak
ing any clothes except those be wore
and saying he wns coming home to
dinner, and he—he"—
j. “How long has he been gone?”
j "Ten days."
I “i should think it ought to be looked
Into," 1 said decisively and got up.
Somehow l couldn't sit quietly. A
lawyer, who is worth anything is al
ways a partisan. I suppose, and 1 nev
er hear of a man deserting his wife
that I am not indignant, the virtuous
scorn of the unmnrried man perhaps.
"But you will have to tell me more!
than that Did this gentleman have
any bad habits—Unit is, did he—er—
drink?”
"Not to excess. He played bridge for
money, but I believe he was rather
lucky.” /
“Married, T suppose?” X asked casu
ally.
“He had been. His wife died when
I”— She stopped and bit her lip. Then
It'was not her husband, after all. Odd-
»ly enough.-t|ie ,suu came out mst at
that moment, spilling a pool of sun
light at bei feet.':
“It is my father.” she said simply.
1 was absurdly relieved.
“He would have papers to Identify
him?”
“His pockets were always full of en
velopes and things like that.”
•••Don't you think I ought to know his.
nnme?’’ I asked. “It need not he
• known outside of the office, and this'Is
a sort of confessional anyhow, or
worse."
I “My nnme is Fleming. Margery
O*"*-*"*'
6&X
White Cat
Cf /rltf . 1 7 ' n oy Bobbs*
Mg. oo.
No wonder she had wished to conceal
the identity of the missing man. So
Allan Fleming was lost! A good many
highly respectable citizens would hope
that he might never be found. Flem
ing, state treasurer, delightful compan
ion. polished gentleman and successful
politician of the criminal type. Out
side in the corridor the office boy wns
singing .under his breath. “Oh, once
there was a miller," he sang, “who
lived in a mill.” It brought to my
mind the reform meeting a year be
fore, where for a few hours we had
blown the feeble spark of. protest
ugainst machine domination to a flame.
We had sung a song to that very tune,
and with this white faced girl across
from me its words came back with re
volting truth.
Oh, once there was a capitol
That sat oh a hill t *
As It's too big to steal away
It’s probably there still.
The rlns’s hand In the treasury
And Fleming with a sack.
They take It out in wagon loads
And never bring It back.
“j>am more than sorry." I said. 1
was too. Whatever be may have.been,
he was her father. “After all, there
may be a dozen simple explanations,
and there are exigencies in .politics”—'
“I hate politics!" she broke in sud
denly. “When I read of women want
ing to—to vote and all that i wonder
if they know what it means to have to
be polite to dreadful people, people who
have even been convicts and all that.
Why, our last butler had been a prize
fighter!” She sat upright with her
• hands on the arms of the chair. “That
is another thing, too, Mr. Knox. The
day after father went away. Carter,
our butler, left. He was not there that
evening to serve dinner, but—be came
back late that night and got into the
bouse, using his key to the servants'
entrance. Ho slept there, the maids
said, but he was gone before the serv
ants were up, and we have not seen'
him since."
“Your father has not been ill, has
he? X mean recently.”
“I cannot think of nnythlag except
that be had a tooth pulled.” She was
quick to resent my smile.
"You have not noticed any mental
symptoms—any lack of memory?”
Her eyes filled.
“He forgot my birthday two weeks
ago,” she said. “It was the first one
he had ever forgotten in nineteen of
them.”
Nineteen! Nineteen from thirty-five
leaves sixteen!
“What X meant was this," I explain,
ed. “People sometimes have sudden
and unaccountable lapses of memory
and at those times they are apt to
stray away from home. Has your fa
ther been worried‘lately?” ,
“He has not been himself-nt all. He
has been irritable even to me and ter
rible to the servants. Only to Carter—
he was never ugly to Carter.”
“You have no brothers or sisters?"
"None. I came to you”— there she
. stopped.
“Please tell me how you happened to
come to me," I urged.
“I didn’t know where to go,” silo con
fessed, “so I took the telephone direc
tory. the classified part under ‘Attor
neys,’, and, after I shut m.v eyes, I put
my finger haphazard on the page, it
pointed to your name.
I am afraid I flushed at this, but in
a moyient I laughed.
"We will take it as an omen," I said,
"and 1 will do all that 1 can. But I
am not a detective, Miss Fleming.
Don’t you think we ought to have
;Fleming,” she said after u second’s one?”
Ihcsitation, “and my father, Allan Flem
ing, is the man. Oh, Mr. Knox, wbnt
are wo .going to do? He has been goue
tfor BM>jg tfcan.n week!” —
“Not the police!” She shuddered.
“Suppose you tell me what happened
the day your father loft and how be
went axyay. Tell me the tittle things,
tsa’J-
In t<M f.r»
ttva on Slat
lust tbs tv
• cook. Gw
butler
dace,” ah* begun, “we
ith avenue. There ere
f us end the servants—
lusemalds. a laundress, s
chauffeur. My father
spends m. a of hie time at the capital,
and tu the Inst two years since my old
governess went back to Germany at
those times 1 usually go to mother's
sisters at Bellwood, Miss Letitla and
Miss Jane Maitland."
I nodded. I knew the Maitland la
dies well. I bad drawn four different
wills for Miss Letitia In tho last year.
“My father went away on the 10th
of May. Ho g6t up from breakfast,
picked up bis hat and walked out of
the house. He was irritated at a let
ter he bad read.
‘‘He took the letter with him. He did
not come home that night, and I went
to the office the next morning. The
stenographer said he had not been
there. He is not at Plattsburg be
cause , they bnve been trying to call
him from there on the long distance
telephone every day.”
Inf spite of her candid face I was
sure she was holding something back.
"Why don’t you tell .me everything?"
X asked.
She flushed. Then she opened her
pocketbook aud gave me a slip of
rough paper. On it In cureless figures
wns the number "eleven twenty-two."
That was all.
“X was afraid you would thiuk It
silly,” she said. "It was such a mean
ingless thing.. You see, the second
night after father left 1 was nervous
and could not, sleep. I expected him
home at any time, and 1 kept listening
for his step downstairs. About 3
o’clock I wns sure 1 beard some one
In the room below mine. I felt re
lieved, for I thought he had come
back. But I did not hear the door
into his bedroom close, and finnlly I
slipped along the ball to his room. I
had a queer feeling before 1 turned ou
the light that there was some one
standing close to me. But the room
was empty and the hall too."
“And the paper?”
“The paper had been pinned to n
pillow on tbe bed. When I saw the
pin I was startled. I rang for Annie,
the second housemaid, who is also n
sort of personal maid of mine. It wns
half past 3 o’clock when Annie came
down. I took her Into father’s room
and showed her the paper. She was
sure It was not there when she folded
back the bedclothes for tho night at 9
o’clock."
“Eleven twenty-two,” I repeated.
“Twice eleven- Is twenty-two. But
that Isn’t very enlightening."
"No,” she admitted. “I thought It
might be a telephone number, and 1
called up nil the eleven twenty-twos
In the city. Annie said Carter bnd
come back, and she went to waken
him, but, although his door was lock
ed Inside, be did not answer. Annie
and I switched on all the lights on the
lower floor from the top of the stairs.
Then we went down together and
looked aroiind. Every window and
door was locked,, but In father’s study,
on the first floor, two drawers of h!s
desk were standing open. And in the
library, tbe little-compartment In my
writing table where I keep my house
money, had been broken open and tbe
money taken.”
"Nothing else was gone?”
“Nothing. The silver on the side
board In the dining room, plenty of
valuable things In the cabinet In the
drawing room—nothing wap disturbed."
“It might have been Carter.” 1 re
flected. "Did be know where you
kept your house money?"
“It Is possible, but I hardly think so.
Besides. If be was going to dteal there
J
were so muny more valuable things In
the house. My mother’s Jewels ns
well us my own were In my dressing
room, and tho door was not locked.”
"They were not disturbed?"
She hesitated.
“They hnd been disturbed,” she ad
mitted. “My graudmother left each
of her children some unstrung pearls.
They were a hobby with her. Aunt
Jane and Aunt Letitla never had theirs
strung, but my mother’s were made
Into different things, all old fashioned.
1 left them locked In a drawer in my
sitting room, whets 1 have atwaya
kept them. The following morning tho
drawer was unlocked and partly open,
but nothing was missing.”
“All your Jswelry was there?”
"All but one ring, which 1 rarely re
move from my flager.” I followed
her eyes. Under her glove was the
outline of a ring, a solitaire stone.
"It does not sonnd like an ordinary
burglary,” I reflected. “Nineteen from
thirty-five leaves sixteen, according to
my mental process, although I know
men who could make the difference
nothing."
I believe she thought I was a little
mad.
“We must find him, Mr. Knox," she
insisted as she got up. “If you know
of a detective that yon can trust please
get him. But you can understand that
tbe unexplnlned absence of the state
treasurer must be kept secret 1 am
sure he is being kept nway. You don’t
know what enemies ho has—men like
Mr. Schwartz, who have no scruples,
do principle.’’
“Schwartz!" I repented in surprise.
Henry Schwartz wns the boss of his
party in the stnte. the man of whom
one of his adversaries bad said, with
the distinct npproval of tbe voting
public, that he wns so low in the scale
of humanity that it would require a
special dispensation of henven to rnlse
him to the level of total degradation.
But be and Fleming were generally
supposed to be captain and first mute
of the pirate craft that passed with
us for the ship of stnte.
“Mr. Schwartz and my father are
allies politically," the girl explained,
with heightened color, "but they are not
friends. My father Is u gentleman."
The Inference I allowed to pnss nn-
noticed, and as if she feared she bad
said too much the' girl rose. When
she left a few minutes later it was
with the promise that she would close
the Monmouth avenue house and go to
her aunts at Bellwood at once. For
myself, I pledged a thorough senryh
for her father and began it by watch
ing the scarlet wing on her hut
through the top of' the elevator cage
until it had descended out of sight.
CHAPTER II.
Uneasy Apprehensions.
I AM afraid it wns a queer hodge
podge of clews und sentiment that
I poured out to. Hunter, the de
tective, when be came up Into
that afternoon.
“They’re rotten clear through." Hun-
tef reflected. “This administration is
worse than the last, and it was n
peach. There have been more suicides
than I could count on my two hands
in the Inst ten years. I warn you—
you’d be better out of this mess."
“What do you think about the elev
en twenty-two?" I asked.
“It might be that many dollars or
the time a train starts, or it might be
the eleventh and the twenty-second
letters of the nlphabet—k-v."
“K-v!” I repeated. “Why that would
be the I.atin cave—beware."
Hunter smiled cheerfully.
“You’d better stick to the low, Mr.
Iinox," he said from the door. "We
don’t use X.ntln In the detective busi
ness."
Plattsburg wns not the name of the
capital, but. It will do for this story.
The stnte doesn’t matter either. We
will say that my borne city is Man
chester. I live with my married broth
er. his wife und two boys. Fred is
older than 1 um and he is an excep
tional brother. On tbe day he came
home from. his wedding trip I went
down with my traps on a hansom in
accordance wltbn prearranged sched
ule. Fred and Edith met me inside the
door.
“Herd’s yoUr latchkey. Jack," Fred
said as he shook hands. “Only one
stipulation—remember we .nre strnn-,
gers in the vicinity and try to get
home before the neighbors are up. ; We
have our reputations to thiuk of."
“Tliere Is no hour for breakfast."
Edith said us she kissed me. "You
have a bath of your own and don’t
smoke In the drawing room.”
Fred was always a lucky devil. •
1 had been tlierq now for six years.
I had helped to rnlse two young Knox
es—bully youngsters, too (the oldest
one could uso boxing gloves when he
was four)—and the finest collie pup in.
our end of the state. ‘ I wanted to raise
other things. The boys likdd puts, but
Edith dlclu’t care for animals. ,
On the day that Margery Fleming
came to me about her father I went
liorfle in a state pf mixed emotion.
Dinner was not a quiet meal. I'reil
and I talked politics generally, and as
Fred was on' one side and I on the oth
er there always was an argument oii:
“What about Fleming?" 1 asked at
lust when Fred had declared that in
.jjjiggc days of cojruption no jitter
"Bad egg,” ho said, Jnbblug his pota
to as if it hnd been a politician, “mul
thorp’s no way to improve a bad egg
except to hold your npse. That’s wbud
tho public is doing—holding It’s nose."
“Hasn’t ho a daughter!’’. X asked
casually.
"Yos-a lovely girl, too," Edith net-
souted. “It is his only redeeming qual
ity-”
“Fleming Is n razcal. daughter or no
daughter,” Fred persisted. “Ever since
be hnd bis gang got poor Butler Into
trouble and then left him to kill him
self as the only way oat I have felt
that there was something coming to ad
of them—Hansen, Schwarts and the
rest I saw Fleming on the etreet to
day."
“Whatr 1 exclaimed, almost Jump
Ing out of my chair.
Fred surveyed me quizzically.
’“Hasn’t be a daughter?’ ” be quot
ed. “Yes, 1 bow him, Jack, this very
day in an unromnntio four wheeler,
and be was swearing at a policeman."
"Where was It?"
"Chestnut and Union. His cab bad
been struck by a car and badly dam
aged, but, the gentleman refused to gel
but No doubt you could get tbo de
tails from the corner man.”
“Look here, Fred," I said earnestly
“Keep that to yourself, will you? And
you too, Edith? It’s a queer story,and
I’ll tell you some time.”
As we left the dining room Edith put
her band on my shoulder.
“Don’t get mixed up with those peo
pie, Jack," she advised. “Mnrgery’s n
dear girl, but her father practically
killed nenry Butler, and Henry Butler
married my cousin."
“You needn’t make it.a family af
fair,’’ I protested. “I have only seen
the girl once."
But Edith smiled. “I know what X
know," she said. "How extravagant
of you to send Bobby that enormous
hobby borsel”
“The boy has to lenrn to rido some
time. In four years be can have a
pony, and I’m going to see that he has
It. He’ll bo eight by that time."
Edith laughed.'
"In four years!” she said. “Why, la
foyr years you’ll be forty. Jack! And
It’s a mighty unattractive man who
gets past forty without being sought
and won by some woman. You’ll bo
buying"—
“1 will be thirty-nine,” I 'said, with
dignity, “and If I marry—If 1 do—It
xVill be‘some girl who turns and runs
the otber way every time she sees uie."
“The oldest trick In the box,"-Edith
scoffed. “What’s that thing Fred's al
ways quoting: ’A woman is like a
shadow; follow her, she files; fly from
her, spe follows.’ ”
"Upon my word I" 1 said Indignantly.
“And you are a woman!"
“I’m different," she retorted, “I’m
only a wife and mother.”
• In the library Fred got up from his
desk and gathered, up his papers. “X
1
i Saw Him Put a Leg Over the Low
Fence.
cuu’t think with you two whispering
there," he said. “I’m going to the
den."
As he slammed the door into his
workroom Edith picked up her skirts
and scuttled after him.
“How dare you run away like that?"
she called. “You promised me”— The
door closed behind her.
1 went over nud spoke through the
panels.
“ ’Follow her, she files; fly from her.
sbe follows'.’ Oh, wife and mother!"
1 called.
"For heaven’s sake, Edith!" Fred’s
voice rose irritably. , “If you and .Tack
are going to talk all evening go and
sit on his knee and let me alone. The
way you two (lift under my nose is a
scandaL Do you hoar that, jack!"
“Goo'd night, Edith." X called. “I
have loft you a kiss on the upper left
band panel of the door. And X- want
to ask you one more question. What
if 1 fly from the woman and she
doesn't follow?" j’
(Continued on page 2) |i