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I4 r l ’I J Al' U7 l7 11 1-7 NJI7 * * Story of Love, Mystery and Hate, with a By META SIMMINS I
11 11_, VJII 1 L,O V>l JUT jl *' i Thrilling Portrayal of Life Behind Prison Bars ®® Author of "Hushed Up” \- -
FIRST READ THIS:—
JACK RIMINGTON. the hero of the story, and a man with a mysterious se
cret, proposes to and is accepted by
BETTY LUMSDEN, the charming young daughter of
SIR GEORGE LUMSDEN, who, however, is opposed to Jack because of the lat
ter's poverty, but favors
PAUL SAXE, i millionaire, whom Betty lias refused to marry after telling him
that she is engaged to Jack. Betty's sister.
MRS. EDITH BARRINGTON, suddenly returns from France and horrifies
Bette be declaring that her first husband,
EDMOND LEVASSEUR, whom she married secretly when a girl, and whom
she thought dead, has appeared and demands 2.000 pounds ($10,000) in ten
davs' time, or he will tell
ANTHONY BARRINGTON everything Only four davs are left and Mrs. Bar
ringt. n begs Bette to burrow the money from Saxe. Betty is horrified at .
the proposal and refuses, but after a frantic appeal from her sister, con
sents
—Now Go On With the Story
She felt the eyes of the girl behind
the counter in the library pierce her when
she passed through the shop to the box.
•‘OiHM City.” Once the number was given
her nerve steadied a little Her voice
wa< quite normal when, the ordeal nf
getting through over, she spoke Saxe's
name.
’ Yes. Mr Saxe is in But who s speak
ing’ Miss Lumsden" Hold on, will
you?' And then Paul Saxe’s voice: “That
you. Miss Betty? Good morning This is
a very pleasant surprise '
•’ I want to see you. Mr Saxe, i was
dreadfully disappointed to find you gone.
No. it isn't a bit kind of me to say it. 1
•
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The Dinqbat Family stay'Home copyright 1912. National News Associate. jßy Hcwiman
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1 Sherlocko the Monk The Episode of the Fleeing Burglar Copyright. 1912. National News Ass'n. By Gus Mager \ j
[QUICk SHERLOCXO *— JB . HI I \N HATS THE MATTER-I [AymelL, NCW that ibE'RE I an 0 the. I : I.XNATSO, vyill YOU NEVER. LEAfeH TO )
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Mr. Jack :: :: a, '“ r “'"- ;; ;; By Swinnert&n
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want to trespass on your friendship al
ready, to ask yiru a favor.'
“I' is granted already ”
“Oh. no; it's not so easily disposed of as
all that.” She was gaining courage ft
was easier than she could liave imagined
possible to speak witli the barrier of
space between them. I—l'm in trouble.
I want you to lieip me.”
•’l'm sorry to bear that! What is it?
Don't think me brutal, but is it money?”
"Yes” ■
"Well, now, how much? Tell me.”
Ear off and thinking as his voice was,
it seemed to Betty that it had changed
“I can't here,” Betty said, desperately.
IJtUti AIUA.MA LtT-UFUtIA-X A3>U xXJCaVVfe: T iillJA 1, 31 A 1 .31, IHLZ.
' Can I-see you—can't 1 run up? 1 wouldn't
keep you long. It's—lt's very serious."
There was a pause, a confused bussing
of the wires. For a moment the girl
dreaded that Saxe was about to ring off.
"How much is It? No. you must $®H
me. Two thousand pounds! Good Lord
—I beg your pardon, but It Is a fairly
large sum."
"An immense, an Impossible, sum.”
Betty's cheeks were flaming, the hand
that pressed the receiver against her ear
shook.
"No. not that. You shall have it with
pleasure But there are difficulties. I'd
like to see you—indeed. 1 must. Unfor
tunately, I’m going away tomorrow for a
month or so, and today—well, today's
practically impossible, unless”—
"I’m afraid after today it will be use
less .'' Betty said.
“Well Are you there? Yes. Now,
look he>e: It needs pluck, but you have
that. Will you come up to my rooms to
night? I hate to ask yon to do it. I'd
ask no other woman; she’d imagine—
well, you know. But you’re different. I
know this musi be serious; you wouldn’t
have asked me else. Now, it's not pos
sible to see you till late this evening.
Could you come to my rooms here at
Tempest street al>out eleven?"
Betty hesitated. Her first impulse was
to ring off It was an insult—a studied
Insult. A mist swam before her eyes.
It was only mechanically that her hand
held the receiver in place. Then across
the wires came the tinkling voice:
"I guess I know what you're thinking.
Miss Betty. It's natural, but it's far
wide of the mark. Honestly. I want to
help you. but it's not in my power to
see you till then, and 1 suggest Tempest
street because we can talk there quietly
—perhaps I can help you in other ways
than money—and we couldn't do that in
a more public place. I’ve got an excellent
old housekeeper who will assuage the
anxiety of Mrs. Grundy.”
Surely he was to be trusted? And
the matter one of hours now. Beggars
could not be choosers.
"I'll—come," she said.
"Bravo! I'm grateful for your trust in
me—l admire your pluck. "
Betty walked out of the library quick
ly, her face white and set. The young
woman behind the counter who wished
her a civil "Good morning" tossed her
head with quite justifiable indignation.
What was Miss Lumsden that she should
look at her as though she did not exist?
But, indeed, for Betty In that moment she
did not exist.
• • •
Leaning hack in the corner of lhe cab,
Jack Rimlngton examined the letter once
again. It was by the merest fluke that it
had reached him at his lodgings in Chan
dos street. Only that unexpected wire
from Westport that had delayed his de
parture till tomorrow was accountable
for his being in London at all, and there
fore at Mr. Paul Saxe's service.
"And what the deuce does that suave
individual require of me?” he asked him
self. scanning the lines that, in a man's
bold handwriting, set forth as follows:
“88-B Tempest Street. W. C.
"Dear Mr. Rimington: I would esteem
It a favor of the greatest possible kind If
you could call upon me at my rooms In
Tempest street tonight at 11:30. I should
hesitate to ask this, knowing as I do your
engagements at the moment, were not
the matter one of the most urgent impor
tance. not only to yourself, but to the lady
I understand Is to be your wife.
"PAUL SAXE.”
"Hang his impudence!" Jack had said
when he read that. '.‘How much does he
know?" But wild horses would not have
kept him back from Temple street that
night, as no doubt Mr. Saxe probably
knew.
The name of Tempest street recalled
memories to Rimington, but rather shad
owy ones. He was surprised at Mr
Saxe's choice of address. A suite at the
Savoy or some such caravansary seemed
so very much more in the line of that
magnificent personage.
As he turned into the street, his wonder
deepened. It was such an odd neighbor
hood, this, for a man of Saxe’s fastidious
ness to choose to lodge in—this place of
narrow streets and tail, dull houses whose
windows bore a sly, curtained look. There
were flower boxes tn some of the win
dows—boxes filled with common flowers,
nasturtiums and geraniums, that hung
drooping in the heat. Here and there at
the top of one or two of the area steps,
women were standing, who slunk below
as he passed and regarded him furtively
from their doorsteps.
He was one of the least imaginative of
young men; his nerves were in superb
condition; yet, for all that, he was con
scious that there seemed to be about this
still, old street an almost palpable at
mosphere of gloom and depression—
something more—an atmosphere of actual
fear.
No. BS-B was a house, if possible, more
dingy than the rest. The long, unpainted
stucco was peeling from the bricks, and
the uneven stone of the steps looked as
though it had not known water and a
scrubbing brush for a decade. On the
railings a small brass plate bore the name,
"J. J. Fitzstephen.”
The Carrion Crow.
The sight of that discolored plate
brought those vague memories to a dis
tinct coherence. “J J. Fltzstephen.”
Jack Rimington remembered now, with
a sudden straightening of the shoulders
and a hardening of the lips. That was
the euphonious sobriquet of the carrion
crow who had picked poor Toby’s bones
white. For the moment he suspected a
trap. Could the blackguard have got
some inkling or suspicion of what lay in
store for him? Could he be in league with
Saxe, or Saxe with him? Almost before
the thought was definite Rimington dis
missed it. He hated Saxe, mainly, per
haps, because, until a day or two since,
t
he dreaded in him the successful rival;
but he did not believe that of him. Fitz
stephen was a pariah even to his own
class. It was merely a coincidence that
had brought the men to lodge under one
roof. Perhaps, no doubt, in fact, the
house belonged to the money-lender and
he let it out as chambers for bachelors.
The fact that the hall door stood wide
open lent countenance to the idea. Rim
ington entered it and looked for a name
rack on the inner wall instinctively. It
was while he looked, and looked in vain,
that he became aware bewilderingly of
the intricate chorus of ticking clocks.
He wondered if there was a watchmaker's
shop next door, and turned to see, with
a new astonishment, the manner of en
trance hall in which he stood. i
If a man is to be judged by the
he inhabits, what a strange man Saxe
must be! That was Rimington’s first
thought. Then he sickened, remembering
the house was Fitzstephen’s, the usurer.
No doubt these things, singly so valuable
and lovely, so tragically ugly in their hud
dled confusion, were wreckage from halt
a hundred of the homes that he had
ruined.
And as he stood there staring about
him In the economical glimmer of light
to which the solitary gas Jet had been
turned, sharply through the stillness of
the house, whose silence, save for the
tick-tacking of the clocks, seemed to
brood like a tangible presence, came the
sharp shrillness of a frightened woman’s
cry.
To be Continued