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Three Men and a Maid
By P. G. WODEHOUSE
Copyright by George H. Doran Cos.
CHAPTER XVl—Continued.
—l7
So concentrated was Sam on his pri
vate vendetta with the clock that no
ordinary happening would have had the
newer to distract him. What occurred
, KUV was by no means ordinary, and It
distracted him like an electric shock.
As he sat on the floor, passing a ten
der hand over the egg-shaped bump
which had already begun to manifest
itself beneath his hair, something cold
nn,! wet touched his face, and para
ivzed him so completely both physl
illy and mentally that he did nc'
, 1)0 ve a muscle but just congealed
where he sat into a solid block of ice.
He felt vaguely that this was the end.
llis heart stopped beating and he sim
ply could not imagine it ever starting
;igrain, and, if your heart refuses to
heat, what hope is there for you?
M this moment something heavy
nn( | solid struck him in the chest, roll
ing him over. Something gurgled asth
matically in the darkness. Something
began to lick his eyes, ears and chin
in a sort of ecstasy: and, clutching
out, he found his arms full of totally
unexpected bulldog.
‘•(let out!” whispered Sam tensely,
recovering his faculties with a jerk.
“Go away!”
Smith took the opportunity of his
lips having opened to lick the roof of
his mouth. Smith's attitude in the
matter was that providence in its all
seeing wisdom had sent him a human
being at a moment when lie had reluc
tanli.v been compelled to reconcile him
self to a total absence of such indis
pensable adjuncts to a good time, and
that now the revels might commence.
He had just trotted downstairs in
rather a disconsolate frame of mind
after waiting with no result in front
o( Webster’s bedroom door, and it was
a real treat to meet a man, especially
one seated in such a jolly and sociable
manner on the floor. He welcomed
Shim like a long-lost friend.
between Smith and the humans who
provided him with dog-biscuits and oc
(asionally with sweet cakes there had
always existed a state of misunder
standing which no words could remove.
The position of the humans was quite
clear. They had elected Smith to his
present position on a straight watch
dog ticket. They expected him to be
one of those dogs who rouse the house
and save the spoons. They looked to
Inm to pin burglars by the leg and
hold on till the police arrived. Smith
simply could not grasp such an atti
tude of mind. lie regarded Windles
not as a private house but as a social
club, and was utterly unable to see
any difference between the human be
ings lie knew and the strangers who
dropped in for a late chat after the
place was locked up. lie had no in
tention of biting Sam. The idea never
entered bis head. At the present mo
ment what lie felt about Sam was
that he was one of the best fellows lie
had ever met and that he loved him
like a brother.
Sam, in his unnerved state, could
not bring himself to share these
amiable sentiments. He was thinking
bitterly that Webster might have had
tiie intelligence to warn him of bull
dugs on the premises. It was just the
sort of wooden-headed thing fellows j
did, forgetting facts like that. lie j
scrambled stiffly to his feet and tried j
!o pierce tiie darkness that hemmed
Idm in. lie ignored Smith, who snuf
fled sportively about his ankles, and
made for the slightly less black ob
long which he took to be the door
loading into the hall. lie moved wor
ry. but not warily enough to prevent
Idm cannoning into and almost upset
ting a small table with a vase on it.
The table rocked and the vase jumped,
■ nd the first hit of luck that had come
to Sam that night was when he
reached out at a venture and caught
It just as it was about to bound onto
the carpet.
He stood there, shaking. The nar
.owness of the escape turned him
f "'!d. If he had been an instant later,
here would have been a crash loud
enough to wake a dozen sleepihg
houses. This sort of tiling could not
go on. He must have light. It might
“ a risk; there might lie a chance of
somebody upstairs seeing it and com
ing down to investigate; but it was a
risk that must lie taken. He declined
b> go on stumbling about in tills dirk
mo-s miy longer. He groped bis way
with infinite care to the door, on the
‘!l adjoining which, he presumed,
(he electric light switch would be.
It was nearly ten years since he had
ist been inside Windles, and it never
occurred to him that in tills progres
sive age even a woman like his Aunt
Adeline, of whom he could believe al
most anything, would still be using
•mi:cs and oil-lamps as a means of
r lamination. His only doubt was
whether the switch was where It was
’’ most houses, near the door.
it is odd to reflect that, as his
searching fingers touched the knob, a
feeling of relief came to
* nmol Marlowe. This misguided
young man actually felt at that mo
ment that his troubles were over. lie
positively smiled as lie placed a thumb
on the knob and shoved.
lie shoved strongly and sharply, and
instantaneously there leaped at him
out of the darkness a blare of music
which appeared to his disordered
mind quite solid. It seemed to wrap
itself round him. It was all over the
place. In a single instant the world
had become one vast bellow of Tosti’s
“Good-by.”
How long he stood there, frozen, he
did not know; nor can one say how
long he would have stood there had
nothing further come to Invite his no
tice elsewhere. Ilut. suddenly, drown
ing even the impromptu concert, there
came from somewhere upstairs the
roar of a gun, and, when he heard
that,- Sam’s rigid limbs relaxed and a
violent activity descended upon him.
He bounded out into the hall, looking
to right and to left for a hiding-place.
One of (he suits of armor which iiad
been familia.’ to him in his boyhood
loomed up i \ front of him, and with
the sight came the recollection of how,
when a mere child on his first visit to
Windles. playing hide and seek with
Ins cousin, Eustace, lie had concealed
himself inside this very suit and had
not only baffled Eustace through a
long summer evening but had wound
up by almost scaring him into a de
cline ly booing at him through the
vizor of (he helmet. Happy days, hap
py days! 110 leaped at the suit of
armor. The helmet was a tight (it,
but he managed to get his head into
it at last, and the body of the thing
was quite roomy.
“Thank heaven!” said Sam.
He was not comfortable, hut comfort
just then was not his primary need.
Smith, the bulldog, well satisfied
with the way things had happened,
sat down, wheezing slightly, to await
developments.
Episode Four.
lie had not long to wait. In a few
minuted (lie hall had filled up nicely.
There was Mr. Mortimer in his shirt
sleeves. Mr. Bennett In his pajamas
find a dressing-gown, Mrs. Ilignett in n
traveling costume, Jane Hubbard with
her elephant-gun, and Billie in a din
ner dress. Smith welcomed them all
impartially.
Somebody lit a lamp, and Mrs. Hig
nett stared speechlessly at the mob.
“Mr. Bennett! Mr. Mortimer!”
“Mrs. Ilignett! What are you doing
here?”
Mrs. Ilignett drew herseif up .stiffly.
“What an odd question, Mr. Morti
mer! lam in my own house!”
“But you rented it to me for the
summer. At least, your son did.”
“Eustace let you Windles for the
summer!” said Mrs. Ilignett, incred
ulously.
“Let us talk nil that over cozily to
morrow,” she said. “The point now is
that there are burglars in the house.”
“Burglars!” cried Mr. Bennett
aghast. “I thought it was you playing
that infernal instrument, Mortimer.”
“What on earth should 1 play it for
at this time of night?” said Mr. Morti
mer irritably.
It appeared only too evident that the
two old friends were again on the
verge of one of their distressing fall
ings-out; but Jane Hubbard intervened
once more. This practical-minded girl
disliked the introducing of side-issues
into the conversation. She was there
to talk about burglars, and she In
tended to do so.
“For goodness’ sake stop it!” she
said, almost petulantly for one usually
so superior to emotion. “There’ll he
lots of time for quarreling tomorrow,
just now we’ve got to catch
these . .
“I’m not quarreling,” said Mr. Ben
nett.
“Yes, you are,” said Mr. Mortimer.
“I’m not!
“You are!”
“Don’t argue!"
“I’m not arguing!"
“You are!” ,
i “I'm not!
Jane Hubbard had practically every;
noble quality which a woman can pos-,
sess, with the exception of patience.
A patient woman would have stood by,
shrinking from interrupting tiie dia
logue. Jane Hubbard’s robuster course
was to raise the elephant-gun, point it
at the front door, and puli the trigger.
“I thought that would stop you,”
she said complacently, as the echoes
died away and Mr. Bennett had fin
ished leaping into the air. She in
serted a fresh cartridge, and sloped
arms. “Now, tiie question is . . ."
“You made me Ifite my tongue!
said Mr. Bennett, deeply aggrieved.
-Serves you right!” said Jane plac
idly. “Now, the question is, have
the fellows got away or are they hid
ing somewhere in the house? I think
they’re still in the house."
“The police!" exclaimed Mr. Ben
nett. forgetting ids lacerated tongue
;! nd his other grievances. “Wa must
summon the police!"
“Obviouslv!” said Mrs. Hlgnett. with
! drawing her fascinated gaze from the
rncmd Hole in the front door, the
| cost of repairing which she had been
THE DANIELSVILLE MONITOR, DANIELSVILLE, GEORGIA.
mentally assessing. “We must send
for the police af once.”
“We don’t really, need them, you
know,” said Jane. “If you’ll all go to
bed and juot leave me to potter round
with my gum . . .”
“And blow the whole house to
pieces!” said Mrs. Hignett tartly.
She lmd begun to revise lier original
estimate of tills girl. To her, Windles
was sacred, and anyone who went
about shooting holes in it forfeited her
esteem.
“Shall I go for the police?” said
Billie. “I could bring them back in
ten minutes in tho car.”
“Certainly not I” said Mr. Bennett.
“My daughter gadding about all over
the countryside in an automobile at
this time of night!”
“If you think I ought not to go alone,
I could take Bream."
“Where is Bream?” said Mr. Morti
mer.
The odd fact that Bream was not
among those present suddenly present
ed itself to the company.
“Where can he he?" said Billie.
Jane Hubbard laughed the whole
some, Indulgent laugh of one who Is
broad-minded enough to see the hu
mor of the situation even when the
joke is at her expense.
“What a silly girl I am!” she said.
“I do believe that was Bream 1 shot
at upstairs. llow foolish of me mak
ing a mistake like that!”
“You shot my only son!” cried Mr.
Mortimer.
“I zhot at him,” said Jane. “M.v
belief is that 1 missed him. Though
how 1 came to do it bents me. I don’t
suppose I’ve missed a sitter like that
since I was a child in the nursery.
Of course,” she proceeded, looking on
(lie reasonable side, “the visibility
wasn’t good, and I fired from the hip,
hut it’s no use saying I oughtn’t at
least to have winged him, because I
ought." She shook her head with a
touch of self-reproach. “I shall be
chaffed about this if ft conies out,”
she said regretfully.
“The poor boy must he In Ills room,”
said Mr. Mortimer.
“Under the bed, If you ask me,”
said Jane, blowing on tiie barrel of
her gun and polishing it with the side
of her hand. “He’s all right! Leave
him alone, and tiie housemaid will
sweep him up in tiie morning.”
“Oh, he can’t be!” cried Billie, re
volted.
A girl of high spirit, it seemed to
tier repellent that the man she was
engaged to marry should be displaying
such a craven \ttff. •At'tlKlrftYMffrn t
she despised anahated Bream Morti
mer. I think she was wrong, mind
you. It is not my place to criticize tbo
little group of people whose simple an
nals I am relating—my position Is
merely that of a reporter; hut person
ally I think highly of Bream’s sturdy
common-sense. If somebody loosed
off an elephant-gun at me in a dark
corridor, I would climb onto tiie roof
and pull it up after me. Still, rightly
or wrongly, that was how Billie felt;
and It Hashed across her mind that
Samuel Marlowe, scoundrel though lie
was, would not have behaved like this.
And for a moment a certain wistful
ness added itself to the varied emo
tions then engaging her mind.
“I’ll go and look, if you like,” said
Jane agreeably. “You amuse your
selves somehow till I come buck.”
She ran easily up the stairs, three at
a time..- Mr. Mortimer turned to Mr.
Bennett.
“It's all very well your saying Wll
helniina mustn’t go, hut. if she doesn’t
how can we get tiie police? Tiie house
isn’t on the ’phone, und--nobody else
can drive tiie car.”
“That’s true,” said Mr. Bennett,
wavering.
“I’m going,” said Billie resolutely.
It occurred to her, as it has occurred
to so many women before-her, how help
less men are in a crisis. Tiie tem
porary withdrawal of Jane Hubbard
had had tiie effect which the removal
of a rudder lias on a boat. “Its the
only tiling to do. I shall he back in
no time.”
She stepped firmly to the coat-rack,
and began to put on her motoring
cloak. And Just then Jane Hubbard
came downstairs, shepherding before
her a pale and glassy-eyed Bream.
“Bight under the bed," she an
nounced cheerfully, “making n noise
like a piece of fluff in order to deceive
burglars,"
Billie cast a scornful look at tier
fiance. Absolutely unjustified, in my
opinion, but nevertheless she cost It.
But it laid no effect at all. Terror
bad stunned Bream Mortimer’s percep
tions. His was what the doctors call
a penumbra! mental condition.
“Bream,” said Billie, “I'want you
to come In the car with me to fetch
the police.
"All right,” said Bream.
“Get your coat.”
"Ail right.” said Bream.
"And cap.”
“All right,” said Bream.
He followed Billie in a docile man
ner out through the front door, and
they made tln-ir way to the garage at
the back of the house, both silent. The
only difference between their respec
tive silences "a* that Billie’s was
thoughtful, while Bream’s was Just
the silence of a man who has un
hitched his brain and Is getting along
as well as lie can without it.
In Hia hall they had left, Jane Hub
hard once more took command of af
fairs.
“Web. that’s something done,” she
said, scratching Smith’s broad bnck
with the muzzle of herweapon. “Some
thing accomplished, something done,
has earned a night's repose. Not that
we're going to get it yet. I think those
fellows are hiding somewhere, and we
ought to search the house and rout
them out. It’s a pity, Smithy, but
you’re about as much practical use
in a situation like this as a cold In the
head. You’re a good cake-hound, but
as a watch-dog you don't finish In the
first ten."
“The first thing to do,” continued
Jane, “is to go through the ground
floor rooms . . .” She paused to
strike a match against the suit ar
mor neares 1 to iier, a proceeding
which elicited a sharp cry of protest
from Mrs. llignett, and lit n cigarette.
“I'll go first, as I’ve got a gun . . .
She blew a cloud of smoke. “1 shall
want somebody with me to carry a
light, and . .
“Tehoo!”
“What?” said Jane.
“I didn’t speak,” said Mr. Mortimer.
“Who am I to speak?” he went on
bitterly. "Who am 1 that it should
be supposed that I have anything
sensible to suggest?"
“Somebody spoke,” said Jane.
“I . . .”
“A ch oo!”
“Do you feel a draught, Mr. Ben
nett?" cried Jane sharply, wheeling
round on him.
“There Is a draught,” began Mr.
Bennett.
"Well, finish sneezing and I’ll go on.”
“I didn’t sneeze!”
“Somebody sneezed."
“It seemed to coine from Just be
hind you,” said Mrs. llignett nerv
ously.
“It couldn’t have come from Just
behind me,” said Jane, “because there
isn’t anything behind me from which
It could have . . .” She stopped
suddenly, in her eyes tiie light of un
derstanding, on tier face the set ex
pression which was wont lo come to It
on the eve of action. “Oli!” she said
in a different voice, a voice which was
cold and tense and sinister. “Oh, 1
seel" She raised her gun, and placed
a muscular forefinger on the trigger.
“Come out of that!” she said. “Come
out of that suit of armor and let’s
have a look at you!’’
“I can explain everything," said a
muffled voice,through- (h vior~r* n*
holm** _ "I efin —achoo.” The smoke
of the cigarette tickled Sam’s nostrils
again, and he suspended his remarks.
“I shall count three," said Jane
Hubbard. “One—two—"
“I’m coining! I’m coming!" snld
Sam petulantly.
“You’d better!” said Jane.
“I can't get this dashed helmet off!”
“If you don’t come quick, I’ll blow
It off."
Sam stepped out into tiie hall, a
picturesque figure which combined tiie
costumes of two widely separated cen
turies. Modern as far as the neck, he
slipped hack at that point to the Mid
dle ages.
“Hands up!” commanded Jane Hub
hard.
“My hands are up!" retorted Sam
querulously, as he wrenched at his un
becoming head-wear.
"Never mind trying to raise yoif
hat,” said Jane. “If you’ve lost tin
combination, we’ll dispense with th
formalities. What we’re anxious to
hear is what you’re doing In the house
at this time of night, and who your
pals are. Come along, my lad, make
a clean breast of it and perhaps you'll
get off easier. Are you a gang?”
“Do I look like a gang?”
“If you ask me what you loot
like . . •"
“My name is Marlowe . . . Stun 114
Marlowe . . .”
“Alias what?”
“Alias nothing! I say my name Is
Samuel Marlowe . . .”
An explosive roar burst from Mr.
Bennett.
“Tiie scoundrel! I know him! 1
forbade him the house, and . .
“And by what right did you forbid
people my house, Mr. Bennett?” said
Mrs. Ilignett with acerbity.
“I’ve rented the house, Mortimer and
! rented it from your son ..”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Jane Hubbard.
“Never mind about that. So you know
this fellow, de you?"
“I don’t know him!”
“You snld you did.”
“I refuse to know him!’’ went on
Mr. Bennett. “I won’t know him! I
decline to have anything to do with
him *”
“But you Identify Idm?”
“If he says he’s Samuel Marlowe,”
assented Mr. Bennelt grudgingly, “I
suppose lie Is. I can’t Imagine anybody
saying lie was Samuel Marlowe if lie
didn’t know it could he proved against
him."
“Are you my nephew, Samuel?" said
j Mrs. Hlgnett.
“Yes.” said Sam.
“Well, wlint are you doing In my
! house?”
“Tt’s my house," said Mr. Bennett,
; “for tiie summer, Henry Mortimer’s
j and mine. Isn’t that right. Henry?”
! "Dead right,” said Mr. Mortimer.
<TO PJS CONTINUED.!
ASK MOTORISTS TO
PAY FOR HIGHWAYS
(By ROY I>. CHAPIN, Chairman Hl*hway*
Committee, National Automobile Chamber
of Commerce.)
Highway engineers of the United
States have carried their task forward
to a point where the public can now
obtain a visual demonstration of re
sults in every state In the Union. At
tho end of 1918 there were 12.5 miles
of completed federal aid projects in
the country. Since then projects
amounting to 29,772 miles have been
completed, 15,318 miles are under con
struction, and an additional (1,000
miles have been approved for con
struction.
Virtually all of this work has been
done on those main highways which
constitute the selected federal aid
system of 7 per cent of the highways
of the country, and yet the funds' so
expended from both federal and state
sources are less than one-lmlf of an
nual expenditures made for rural high
way purposes.
The other funds have been expend
ed, first, under state jurisdiction on
the secondary roads, and, second, un
der county and local supervision, on
the county and purely local roads.
The net result Is that as we swing
into 1924 there are approximately
480,000 mi'es of highways In the
United States on which there has
been some degree of improvement
from those of sand-clay up to tho
heaviest and most durable roads
known to modern engineering. The
total mileage of all types of roads In
the country Is 2,041,294.
This achievement, which gives us a
mileage of Improved roads almost
four times ns.great as all of the roads
in the United Kingdom, has been at
tained Just In time to take rare of
the swelling army of motor car drivers
and it will be only by a continuation
of the present program for the next
ten years that we can finally arrive
at a completed system approximating
the needs of highway traffic.
The principal problem to the stu
dent of highway transport is that of
now hu under!uHtnß nt <*rt azp Is to
be financed, requiring as it does, and
will for a decade, an annual appropria
tion of at least $1,000,000,000 from na
tional, stale and local sources.
The answer has been obtained, In
part, through conferences between offi
cials of (lie American Association of
State Highway Officials, the National
Automobile Chamber of Commerce,
the Investment Bankers of America
and the bureau of public roads.
'Hie chief points were that nil who
benefit from highway construction
should join in paying for thorn, that
maintenance of tiie Interstate and
state systems Is Justifiably chargeable
against the motor user, that highway
expenditures should lie based upon
budgets and should not lie out of line
with other public needs, and Thnrtty
that depending upon the comparative
stage of the highway program, long
form bond issues should be voted to
provide for Immediate construction of
the principal systems which must In
evitably cost (lie public less to build
and maintain than to go without.
Records Give Wisconsin
Longest Concrete Road
Where are the longest continuous
stretches of concrete roads?
A recent search of highway records
gives Wisconsin the honor with fi-I
miles. The contestants are from every
section of the country and show how
the good-roads movement is being car
ried out.
Miles
Wisconsin —Troy Center through Mil
waukee county to Fond du I/ae..-93
Minnesota—Anoka to lir-lle Prairie..S3
lowa —Charles City to Algeria ?#
California—Yuba City to Chtco o
Delaware — Lewes to Dover r >o
California—Chico to Red Bluff
Minnesota Duluth to Kveleth 54
California —Westmoreland to 1ndi0..54
Florida —Jacksonville to Lake City.. 43
Colorado —Denver to (Ireelay M
Arizona —Phoenix to Buckeye 33
California. —Kdom to Banning 30
Maine —Portland to Lewiston 23
Miles of Paved Streets
in American Cities Big
[f tlie paved streets of 200 leading
American cities —which In the first na
tional census of city paving ever made
In this country have reported officially
their paving yardages last year to the
Asphalt association in New York
were merged In a single great high
way' eighteen feet wide that highway
would more than twice encircle the
globe. The survey, the results of
which have 'Just been announced,
shows that, with an average
eighteen feet of width, there are 50.-
1174.8 miles of paved streets in Amer
ican Cities of 10,000 or more popula
tiim. This mileage by far exceeds that
of almost every other country in the
world.