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FREDERIC F. VAN DE WATELR ® WOT
CHAPTER IX—Continued
—ll—
I went on, “you’ll let me
keep my amateur standing, I’ll be
very glad to escort your niece.
Otherwise, as I told you, I’m busy.”
“ ‘Pride goeth before destruc
tion,’ ” Miss Agatha informed me.
“Why don’t you finish it?” I asked.
" ‘And a haughty spirit before a
fall.’ *’
She stared at me for a long mo
ment. Then she nodded.
“Yes,” she told me, “I suppose
you’re right. Will you be here at
eight, David?”
“With pleasure,” I said and, gath
ering up my copy, went back to the
workroom.
If Lyon had not opened the door
of his apartment as I left Miss Aga
tha’s, I should have forgotten him
entirely.
“Hello,” said he. “I’d just about
given you up and was on my way out
for a paper. Come in.”
His flat was bright with lights but
It had a feeling of emptiness. He
explained os he took my hat and
coat that lone and Everett had gone
for a walk.
“He’s a lazy dog,” Lyon said eas
ily; “takes no exercise, whatever,
end of course when there’s a strain,
it simply pulls him all apart. Here
we are.”
He had led me into the living
room and pointed to the trophy
above the mantelpiece. 1 admired it
and with an effort kept from looking
behind the couch where the black
bearded body had lain.
Lyon ran through his collection
with the engaging pride of a child,
taking down sabers, claymores, ra
piers, thrusting them upon me to
swing and balance while he chat
ted of their history and where and
how he acquired them. It was pleas
ant to see a middle-aged man so
openly gleeful.
“Here,” he said at last, his leath
ery face glowing, “are my best be
loveds,” and opened a long rose
wood box.
From chamois casing, he drew
one forth, an epee de combat, and
handed it to me tenderly. It was a
beautiful weapon, a little longer than
the French dueling sword—a full
yard I judged from the etched steel
shell of the guard to the button of
waxed thread that blunted the point,
yet sweetly balanced and easy to
my hand.
“Like it?” Lyon asked artlessly.
“Very much,” I told him. “It
would be a joy to use.”
He looked wistfully about the
room.
“I don’t suppose,” he mused, “that
we could. I say! Let’s shove the
sofa aside and try. Oh come,” he
urged os I hesitated. “Here are
masks”—he lifted them from the
wall—“and we shan’t need gloves.
Indulge an old man whose fencing
days are over, Mallory. Just for a
minute of so. It will be all I can
stand, 1 assure you.”
He had stripped off his jacket as
he talked. His enthusiasm and the
pleading of the sword in my hand
impelled me to follow him. We
thrust the sofa against the wall, put
on our masks, and faced each other.
“En garde,” ha cried in an odd
voice. His blade darted for my
throat. Instinct alone prompted my
parry. He caught my thrust on his
guard and the shell uttered a high
clear note. His riposte grazed my
arm. The fury of his attack startled
me. I shifted so that light fell upon
his weapon. The button that made
mine harmless was missing from his.
The blunt, nail-head point had bro
ken off. The new steel of the frac
ture was a flickering spark before
me,
I cried a w r arning and lowered
my blade. Lyon Ferriter laughed
harshly and lunged.
CHAPTER X
Body, not mind, saved me. The
reflex centers that keep half-forgot
ten training helped my sword to en
gage and delay his. I leaped back
ward barely in time and he had me
in a corner. I could retreat no far
ther.
Our blades bound. There was no
sound but our breathing and the
whisper of steel on steel. In that
odd instant of delay, neither of us
spoke. I knew it was useless to
repeat my warning and he, em
barked on his purpose, had no need
for words. I parried the deadly
spark of that unguarded point. As
tonishment’s half-palsy had van
ished. Understanding came in that
split second, as lightning bares a
landscape.
His face was blurred by the mask
but I could see purpose in the pose
of his body; could feel it in the vigi
lant movement of his blade along
my own. I felt little fear. It was
hard to recognize death in a famil
iar and heretofore safe sport. Shame
was uppermost in my mind, and
shame sired anger.
Thought of my own stupidity row
eled me. By a pose of mystery, by
fatuous hints to Everett and Lyon
1 had asked for this. I had stuck
my neck out. While his brother and
sister found an alibi elsewhere, Lyon
would silence me so deftly that, no
matter what others might suspect,
he would be safe. I wondered what
he thought I knew that made my
murder necessary and then had
time for no further thought.
His sword had felt and tested and
tapped mine. Automatically, I had
re».ponded He f einled now to lift
my guard and followed with a lunge
that I barely turned. He caught
my riposte. For an instant we faced
each other.
A strange calm held me. I had
fathomed his purpose and now I
understood how he would perform
it. He was a trained fencer, strong
er if no quicker than I. He held
his weapon delicately in the French
fashion. He could have run me
through before now, if he had wiped
away his instinctive regard for my
utterly harmless sword. But he could
not—or would not. The zest of con
test had him. Eventually he would
kill me, foully if necessary, but
first he would match his skill against
mine, seeking a fair opening through
which to drive his point.
Steels sibilance broke nov* and
then in the high thin chime of olade
upon resonant shell guard, an inno
cent, mocking sound. I fought care
fully, knowing that my first mis
take would be my last and, in the
fascination of contest, he tolerated
me.
Defense would not serve me. He
could at any minute catch my harm
less blade in his free hand and drive
his own point home. My sole, frag
ile chance lay in a trick. It could
be attempted only once. It must be
tried before the already aching mus
cles of my sword arm grew weary.
The blades engaged and parted
with clicks and brief sharp sigh
ings. The shell guards rang bright
ly. We moved against each other,
“Whatever Is on your mind
will have to be unloaded while
I shave.”
cat-footed, sharp-witted, tight-bod
ied. And I felt myself tiring.
I forced all myself into desperate
assault. My purpose needed the deft
ness of long practice, which I lacked.
Strength it demanded too, and I
doubted if I had enough, but it was
my only chance.
The apparent wildness of my at
tack pleased Lyon. He must have
seen in it the flurry before the end,
and so he contented himself merely
with parrying my weapon, wait
ing until my vain fury should flag.
I thought I heard him chuckle as
he turned aside my thrust. And
then, for a flash, his blade was where
I wanted it. I threw my life into
the trick d’Armhaillac had taught
me. My sword whipped about his
in clumsy imitation of the French
man’s deadly cutover. I heard
him gasp. 1 saw the epee half torn
Horn his hand.
He was quick in recovering, but
I was swifter. I leaped forward to
pass him and, in the leap, brought
my own weapon down like a whip
across the knuckles of his sword
hand.
He grunted. Behind me, I heard
the ringing clatter of the dropped
epee. 1 reached tire table and tore
off the mask with my left hand. My
right gripped the ornate hilt of a
sixteenth-century Italian rapier.
With the long blade ready, I whirled.
Lyon had made no effort to re
trieve his fallen sword. He had tak
en off his mask and was sucking
with a slight frown the hand I had
struck. His calm was more shock
ing than fury. It saved his life for,
at the instant, I should have run
him through right gladly. Lyon
looked up from his injury with a
rueful smile and his words made me
feel that I had reached in dark
ness for a step that was not there.
“Effective,” he said quietly,
“though perhaps not quite ortho
dox.”
He seemed for the first time to
see the long sword in my hand and
lifted his eyebrows. He was still
breathing fast but was quite unruf
fled. I wondered, for a wild in
stant, which one of us was mad. His
dignity, the norma! furnishings of
the room, mocked my recent ter
ror. Yet I kept the rapier ready.
“Entirely unorthodox.” I agreed,
striving to match his self-possession,
“but necessary. And now that we’ve
—enlightened each other, I’ll be go
ing.”
His bewilderment, as I backed
toward the door, gathering up my
outer clothing, made me feel silly.
“I don’t understand,” said Lj -on
slowly.
“Neither,” I told him, “do I.”
With the table between him and
me and the door behind me, I let
| go of the rapier and laying aside
HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL. PERRY, GEORGIA
overcoat and hat, thrust myself into
my jacket. I kept my eyes on him.
His expression was so perfectly as
tonished that it quickened a doubt.
This made me angry at myself and
I snapped:
“You can stop registering purity
of heart. Look at your epee.”
He stared at the weapon on the
floor before him, glanced at me in
something like fright and, bending,
picked it up. He reached out his
left hand and tried the broken point
with his thumb.
“My God!” he said at last.
“Exactly,” I answered.
Color quickened his tanned face.
He looked from me to the weapon
and back again.
“It’s—it’s—why—” he babbled and
then burst out: “Good Lord, Mal
lory, I might have killed you.”
I admired his acting—if acting it
were—-and was ashamed of myself
for even questioning its fraudulence.
I said:
“That was my impression, too.”
“You thought,” he groped, “you
thought that I would—l never looked.
The button must have snapped—it
must be about. Ah!”
He bent down on his side of the
table and rose wifh the little blob of
waxed thread in his hand. It wab
bled on his trembling palm.
“It snapped off,” he said in a
hushed voice. “It must have when
I tried the steel.”
The memory of the weapon, flung
ceilingward by its own resilience,
shook my belief. Lyon rocked it
further now by asking in mixed in
dignation and reproach:
“Why didn’t you tell me, maa?
Am I not in enough trouble without
—that?”
He swore proficiently.
I asked:
“Are you deaf, by any chanter
Or maybe it’s just a bad memory.
I did tell you. Perhaps I should
have stopped to write.”
Lyon looked at me a long min
ute. His question was simple and
dazing as a punch in the jaw.
“Didn’t you know that I was deaf?”
I pulled myself together and
jeered:
“Congratulations on a fast recov
ery.”
He shook his head.
“My boy, I can read lips, but I’m
quite deaf.”
The smile vanished from his lean
face and dim horror succeeded it.
“I heard you call,” he said. His
voice shook a little. “I couldn’t tell
what you were saying. Your face
was masked. I thought—” He broke
off savagely and shrugged,
“What in hell,” he stormed, “do
you care what I think? Or for my
apology? Or for the fact that I’U
never touch sword again? Yotf
thought, you had every right to think
—But why, Mallory, in heaven’i
name, should I want to kill you?”
I didn’t know whether he were
honest or not. I knew that I could
serve myself best by letting him
think I believed him so.
“That question,” I told him, “alse
occurred to me.”
He drew himself together with »
shudder.
“Well,” he said and gave a croolo
ed smile, “you’ve given me some
thing else to think about, anyway.
If the police had found a second
body—l wish there were something
I could do or say or offer as apology
for—”
“Let it go at that,” I broke in. ]
picked up my hat and coat and left.
He made no movement to follow me,
I had a bare hour to change
return to the Paget apartment whe.l
I reached my lodging house. I gal
loped up the stair, thrust open th#
door and paused, staring.
“Hi, accomplice,” said Jerry
Cochrane, “I began to think you’d
moved again.”
He sat beneath the lighted wall
bracket and gave a bland smile. J
was not too hospitable.
“Whatever,” I told him, “is on
your mind will have to be unloaded
while I shave and dress. I’ve got
a date.”
“Oh-ho,” crooned Cochrane, and
looked at me with fake mildness.
“Something more important than
your duty to your paper, for which
every reporter worthy of the nami
would give his life blood?”
“In round numbers, about a thou
sand times as important—to me.”
I told him where I was going
while I stripped off coat, vest ana
shirt. He said mildly:
“For a country lad, you aim higiv
Mister.”
I let that pass.
Cochrane droned:
“I’ve found out something.”
“So what?” I wasn’t encouraging
He blinked and beamed.
“You remember the guy I told you
about, who went gold hunting with
Lyon Ferriter, and never cams
back?”
The question stopped me as ]
turned toward the bureau for my
shaving kit. I nodded.
“Horstman, wasn’t it?”
“The same,” Cochrane droned.
“This Everett Ferriter, the broth
er, does he look like a Heinie?”
“Is this,” I asked, rasped by the
knowledge that he hid something,
“a game of twenty questions? II
so, let’s postpone it. Look like a
Heinie? Of course he doesn’t. He’f
got a phony Oxford accent, a little
waxed mustache, a faintly mauve
manner and a letch for cologne. He
wears a funny expression, haii ha»
teur, half imminent sneeze. He'
no German.”
(TO BE CONTINUED* 1
By VIRGINIA VALE
(Released by Western Newspaper Union.)
JE YOU lived within a ten
mile radius of Priscilla
! Lane’s home you’d be more
■ than likely to encounter her at
one of the neighborhood movie
houses in that vicinity, and to
see her afterward buttonholing
the manager.
The “Four Mothers” star takes
her movie-making very seriously, so
she quizzes the men who make
money by showing movies. “What
do you think of that picture?” “Does
it seem to be drawing?” “Do the
fans here like that star?” That’s
PRISCILLA LANE
the kind of thing Priscilla wants to
know. When she’s working she cov
ers two or three pictures a week;
other times she takes in four or five.
Metro previewed “Flight Com
mand” aboard an airplane in flight
one evening recently; afterward Be
dell Monroe, president of Pennsyl
vania Central Airlines, predicted
that pictures will be shown regularly
on all commercial air lines within
the next few years, as they are on
ocean liners. Robert Taylor stars
in “Flight Command,” a naval avia
tion story.
We’re to have “The Trial of Mary
Dugan” again, with Robert Young
in the leading male role. Remem
ber it when Norma Shearer made it
nine years ago? Laraine Day will
play “Mary Dugan.” (You probably
saw her in “Foreign Correspond
ent.”)
Edward J. Peters, chief engineer
of Paramount’s air conditioning de
partment, has perfected a new type
of ice. He calls it “snow ice,” and
because it lasts almost one-third
longer than ordinary ice and re
quires a third less time to produce,
it may affect the commercial ice
industry.
It was developed because Director
Charles Vidor was shooting a scene
in “New York Town” (Fred Mac-
Murray, Mary Martin and Robert
Preston co-starring); bright set
lights striking ordinary transparent
ice in water made the ice invisible
to the camera. Vidor wanted the
ice to show, to emphasize an im
portant story point. Hence the new
ice.
Hollywood’s biggest variety show
—AI Pearce and His Gang—takes
nine microphones to get their Fri
day broadcasts on the CBS network.
Carl Hoff’s orchestra alone takes
three; Pearce has one, and the rest
of the cast another. Billy Gould gets
a sixth one for his sound effects,
and Wendell Niles has a booth,
equipped with a microphone, of
course, for his closing commercial.
There’s an audience applause mi
crophone, so that we who listen may
know how much those who are pres
ent are enjoying it, and when Bill
Jordan and George Kent present
their two-piano numbers the ninth
mike is added to the engineer’s prob
lems.
Apparently quiz shows are as pop
ular as ever with radio audiences—
two new ones will take to the air
shortly, over the CBS Pacific Net
work. They’re “Don’t Be Personal”
and “Talk Your Way Out of This
One”—studio audiences will partici
pate, and the winners will receive
cash prizes.
Girls who have ambitions to act
on the screen or on the air might
take a tip from Lurene Tuttle; she
never misses a Helen Hayes broad
cast, because she learns so much
from Miss Hayes, and she studies
Bette Davis’ work in pictures—she
says that when she worked with Miss
Davis, the star gave her many valu
able suggestions on the technique of
acting. Now Lurene’s learning still
more from working with John Barry,
more on the Vallee programs.
ODDS AND ENDS
C. “Here Comes the Navy,” made by James
Cagney and Pat O’Brien in 1934, is be
ing re-issued by Warner Brothers.
C , George Burns and Grade Allen have
reneived the pledge they signed a year ago
to support a certain number of youngsters
at Boyslouin, Neb.
C. Donald Crisp ends i six-month vaca
tion with a role in “Winged Victory.”
C. “Kitty Foyle” is the forty-second pic
ture in which Ginger Rogers has been
featured or starred.
C. Guy Kibbee got fee title role in “Scat
tergood Baines” at the request of tin
author,
i
OP?. SEW
4*"" Ruth Wyeth Spears
;<-*o ;a-stitch facing• b - cut
■ OPENING AND TURN
; INSIDE i FACING-CSTITCH-DFOLD-
E-MARK CURVE-F-STITCH-
N 18" H G-TRIM-H-OVERCAST-
V-vYARD CHINTZ- TURN RIGHT SIDE
FACING 5"X15" I OUT AND ADD HANGER]
A RE you planning things that
will sell well at a Fair or
Bazaar? Or is this the season that
you catch up on odds and ends of
sewing for the house? In either
case you will like to stitch up a
bag like this one. Everyone seems
to have a special use for one of
these bags on a hanger. I have
one that I use for laundry when
Igo traveling. Men and boys like
them for closet laundry bags too,
as they are plenty big enough
for shirts. A little girl I know has
a small version of one of these in
which she keeps doll clothes
scraps. I have also seen them
used for everything from dress
patterns to dust rags.
This green and white ivy pat
terned chintz with green facing
makes a good looking bag. Pic
torial chintz will amuse a young
ster—something with animals or
toys or a landscape in the design.
I saw a material the other day
Make Warm Slippers
For the Little Folks
\\T ILL the little tots be proud of
’ ' these warm slippers! They
come in three sizes. You can use
angora or another wool for the
dots that are embroidered on.
• • *
Pattern 2693 contains directions for
making slippers in 2, 4 and 6-year size;
illustrations of them and stitches; mate
rials required; photo of pattern stitch.
Send orders to:
Sewing Circle Needlecraft Dept.
82 Eighth Ave. New York
Enclose 15 cents In coins for Pat
tern No
Name
Address
Contentment
And we shall be made truly
Wise if we be made content; con
tent, too, not only with what we
can understand, but content with
what we do not understand—the
habit of mind which theologians
call—and rightly—faith in God.—
Kingsley.
A CYCLE OF HUMAN BETTERMENT
Advertising gives you new ideas,
/ \ and also makes tlaem available
to you at economical cost. As these
new ideas become more accepted,
prices go down. As prices go down,
more persons enjoy new ideas. It
is a cycle of human betterment, and
it starts with the printed words
of a newspaper advertisement.
JOIN THE CIRCLE READ THE ADS
\ /
I ..
with a pattern showing all kinds
of rope knots. A boy would Kke
that. Each step in making the
bag is shown in the sketch.
• * *
In SEWING Book 3 there are directions
for still another type of bag on a hanger;
also a pocket for the pantry door. This
book contains directions for the spool
shelves: stocking cat; “The rug that grew
up with the family,” and many other of
your favojltes among articles that have
appeared in the paper. Send order to:
MRS. RUTH WYETH SPEARS
Drawer 10
Bedford Hills New York
Enclose 10 cents for Book No. 3.
Name
Address
Insignia of Officers
The insignia of the 12 ranking
officers of the U. S. army are as
follows: Corporal, double chev
ron on arm; Sergeant, triple chev
ron; 2nd Lieut., gold bar on shoul
der; Ist Lieut., silver bar; Cap
tain, two silver bars; Major, gold
oak leaf; Lieut. Col., silver oak
leaf; Colonel, silver eagle; Brig.
Gen., one star; Lieut. Gen., two
stars; Maj. Gen., three stars; Gen
eral, four stars.
Beware Coughs
from common colds
That Hang On
Creomulslon relieves promptly be
cause It goes right to the seat of the
trouble to help loosen and expel
germ laden phlegm, and aid nature
to soothe and heal raw, tender, In
flamed bronchial mucous mem
branes. Tell your druggist to sell you
a bottle of Creomulslon with the un
derstanding you must like the way it
quickly allays the cough or you are
to have your money back.
CREOMULSION
for Coughs, Chest Colds, Bronchitis
Man’s Will
The commander of the forces of
a large State may be carried off,
but the will of even a common
man cannot be taken from him.—
Confucius.
DON’T BE BOSSED
BY YOUR LAXATIVE —RELIEVE
CONSTIPATION THIS MODERN WAY
• When you feel gassy, headachy, logy
due to clogged-up bowels, do as millions
do —take Feen-A-Mint at bedtime. Next
morning thorough, comfortable relief,
helping you start the day full of your
normal energy and pep, feeling like a
million! Feen-A-Mint doesn’t disturb
your night’s rest or interfere with work the
next day. TVy Feen-A-Mint, the chewing
gum laxative, yourself. It tastes good, it’s
handy and economical... a family supply
FEEN-fl-MINTIo*
What Matters
It is not what you have that
matters, it is what you do with
what you have.—Grenfell.
KENT BLADES
Place for Money
A wise man should have money
in his head, but not in his heart.
—Swift.
“PREVENT
many colds from developing
Colds may be prevented—often—by
the early use of Penetro Nose Drops.
Asure provision of “stitch-in-time” aid.
And the large supply costs only, 25c.
PENETRO S° r | e ps
Romance Is Poetry
Romance is the poetry of litera
ture.—Madame Necker.
