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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 • z —— _._Z-ZZ~"Z z~Z-'~'".~~-.... ; ; "tti*- The Dinqbat Family stay'Home copyright 1912. National News Associate. jßy Hcwiman /\OU Ka)OVJ, mb DingEAtA (ON AV ves) x— ; - I due havf- prettiest v - . \ f uje ll &o up the. Prater liOVtlE-ST MOST UHARMIAg \ C j P'CK OUT A <3OOO COFFEE HOUSE. '£ - ~v / \ WOME-Ai IN THE. Wofcl.s - y ■ I I ENTER AMD ORDER. A PoT OK COFRCeA Vv MSV „Z v AS Uie. sie OUR. COPPEE , 7 ibEHOLb BEFORE OuR. VERY EYES ) , -sZ2. All APOUt/ PASSES TR& WORLDS , . { dsEEUe'Q ■ \ 1 ALL about I GREATEST ARRAY OF-/ w7 'ZsTIN Xou DOAJT) iHQiZ ■) THEAt . \ F=EM| ARAIE-- r~ ~' (OH FEAST OF A \ I T H ‘ J tel \ <U u \ 1/4 A , <- vs) ) - JJ>al You Thrill) ‘“YY MlL> g I j.y - p-ROO w'IFTpZ I ■* fn?® /WLw .AUrr II v '*^ c *** l * 3 “j 9 / NowWe ' SEEtZZmne ofA = IRj] f Mil ToZ~Y fuuH£u=s> " “’Cime Aimt kttCh)m) | t son AE^t"/»t him a E t 'l .:• 4■’ ■' JA AfeV 1 I) HJ „-r ,—_.. ' r */ /V> ■ ■■'■ -■ ——' -- ' . .Ml ill ■■ ■■ »■ ■- .... ■■ - - ■ —■■ , - - ■■ - - ■ ■■ ■ ... ■ - -. , , —— -■ -—— ■ ■ , . „ , . _ 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 ) ‘.A .l iM I R HI AREN'T YOU COMINC. 9 ) , A UA X FRGM YCUR HCUSE ' worked F' NE ! SHE’LL I j O&SERVE ’ COUL&N'T YOU SEE THAT I A I MS-LAR. CHASE . j . "J ilrOP ' 4nd YOVR - Can't SEC \ - Cuess that I I TOUR SUPPOSED BURGLAR, was PUFFikgA |~ ■jf ( B'S ?V Ne 4VCW DCU '—)-JoPM? N fe e ' ' A c ’e-*« although APPARENTLY ) PZ. FJ O > YOU ao, WATSO, 1 ' THIS Running's * r_O THE &ALL GAME • FOR HIS UFE < —- =rr' L ■ (l WANT TO Finish i?!': i hard JOB' r~ 1 H A>. HA'. / ■ ! —-X T ") £- ■ ' (... I th.s FUG . oe , ,J W BB 1 -v ■ S f I t g il r\7 <1 ° :.. sYLIJ V; |gg I < f ■ fooled HIS WIFE \ s r~n iS i PUGUG » I r las well. AS ME t \ I ( Flr7 '■ J / ! . J •BURGLARS’ ■ fd .iiN H h-A I —r -■■ stop thif.fl H 1 2 wMzrWl "Wb Uwfe ; <g| a - ''X-M4V JV-.--- IQ: — v * T... —""' / » Mr. Jack :: :: a, '“ r “'"- ;; ;; By Swinnert&n 11 . /haw. l U? " Z - LET MeY 1 '77 Tn I ■V~-' >-717 HfcVJ 1 . MA\AJ HAW. / HYWjJf’l GOY ( < DYe-THINK \ {C X AX? HAWHAW* f-Z- 7 “'V' SOREYHROAn jgg. A< D<\ I I'M BUMDI7 K. XWSBMkC ’ WHATSIT I YY /- -j— --s - zzZ " WELL.WHAT 7> | u77-r' k't' 0 TOU?> ( Aw. i willy ,<mV didy’send 7o keep z : --sSLJ \ WHET V\Th )r\ /Z-f*: *■' 7/i J / / P Zj. / bl/ k V \ U._ z\>.-„ >7 - , i I 1 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