Newspaper Page Text
THE QEOR.QIAM’S MAGAZINE PAGE
“The Gates of Silence”
A STORY OF LOVE. MYSTERY AND HATE. WITH A THRILLING POR
TRAYAL OF LIFE BEHIND PRISON BARS.
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
“Then you can clear yourself?” There
was a passionate eagerness in Mrs. Bar
rington’s voice.
Levasseur smiled at her evilly. Un
consciously she found herself contrasting
him with her husband. Had she ever,
indeed. fSassionately admired this man
with the clear cut, sensual features, that
brutal heaviness in the set of lips and
daw?
“No, I can not clear myself. I was in
the house the night of the murder. The
police have actual proof.” His smile
, deepened. “Figure to yourself, my dear
Edith—a murder was committed, a gem
was stolen and the English police arrest
a man with proof positive In his pocket.
A Lake of Blood—delicious and Kidd
like name—was stolen, and In the arrest
ed man’s possession was found a Lake of
Blood, the most exquisitely perfect replica
possible. Warranted to fetch quite ten
francs at any second-hand dealer’s in
Europe.”
“False? Do, you mean tliat the stone
found upon you was an imitation? - ’
“The most admirable counterfeit. Isn’t
it delicious? Eafth, the whole scheme
was a masterpiece—no one had ever
planned such a coup—not a Gaboriau or a
Du Boisgobey in their most inspired
flight! And that it should all be in vain!
The paltry spite of it! All brought to
naught by some bungling brute of a mur
derer who knifed the old ruffian out of
sheer silly revenge or some such paltry
motive.”
Edith sat like a woman turned to
stone.
“But I don’t understand?’ she said,
stupidly enough. “It seems to me that
i&’ou must be able to clear yourself by a
|word.”
“You were always singularly lacking
in intelligence.’’ he said brutally. “I can
rot clear myself by a word, nor by ten
thousand words. I know that. Only one
thing can clear me.” lie leaned across
the table, his sneering face very near her
own. “You can help me. Will you—or
am I, like another Samson, to bring down
the ruins of the house in my fall?’’
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
To her intense horror and shame, she
began to shiver violently. “How can 1
help you? If it is impossible for you to
clear yourself, how can I help you?’’
He flung himself back impatiently in
his chair. “Eh bien, but yon are dull!”
he cried.
—W—>**■■>«»■» ar- ■» . w 4 w- - tw. . .
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"I admit it. What is that you wish me
to do?”
“Solnethlng perfectly easy. Find the
real murderer.”
She looked at him with fascinated ter
rified eyes, and in that moment he looked
such a thing of evil that at once all
doubts she had had of his guilt were dis
sipated.
She leaned toward him suddenly. "You
are the man.” she said.
A Forced Silence.
Levasseur laughed, not a whit taken
aback.
"Excellently dramatic, but a trifle
archaic, my dear Mrs. Barrington. No, I
am not the man—nor, unfortunately, can
I tell you his name. It all sounds so mad.
But. candidly, I should consider anybody
a fool who believer! it. It’s a fact, nev
ertheless—l know the man who did the
murder, but I can not speak. The fact
is, that since—for a certain number of
months —I have thrown in lot with a
gang of—what you would ‘"ffh I thieves—
most excellent, light-hearted craftsmen,
geniuses in their way—when, from one
thing and another, Paris became a trifle
tropical—we decided to try London. In
London here, the brother of our chief
carries on a very magnificent ” He
broke off abruptly and laughed, with a
very' evident sense of enjoyment. 'But 1
may not tell tales. Not, dear Edith, from
any mistaken idea of honor, but merely
because the exigencies of the rule demand
it. To split on a pal’ and save myself
would be merely to escape the hangman's
noose to fall by the edict of our society,
so I am tongue-tied. Oh, I recognize it
sounds incredible. That is why I have to
call upon you. my fr.iend "
Eor a moment Mrs. Barripgton won
dered if the man were mad. But there
was a ring of sincerity in his voice, a
certain suggestion of fear and despair in
his bold eyes that drove the thought from
her. Nothing was impossible in this
world —that was the experience life had
taught her. Another woman might have
been less ready to believe the man's as
tounding story, but she knew Paris —the
seamy side of it —through Anthony Bar
rington's eyes.
"I can not help you,” she said, with
an almost childish fatility. "If you can
not tell lite name of the murderer, how
can 1 discover him? it is so like you to
set me to make ropes of sand, to fling
me into a pit with sheer, polished walls
and bid me climb out of it.”
"Edith, if you help me. 1 give you my
word I shall never molest you again.”
A Threat.
"Oh. don't moc-k me.” She stood up.
The interview had lasted too long already;
every moment she dreaded lest some one
would come. She had all a woman's ig
norant terror of the dealings of the law.
Levasseur stood up beside her and
aught her fiercely by the arms, staring
into her face with angry, compelling
“You would leave me to die like a rat
In a trap?” he hissed. “You think that I
will be dead —that the world will forget—
that I shall be afraid to speak! Ah, you
do not know me—or you have forgotten.
The world will hear much, very much. I
wilt make your name a thing of Infamy
throughout the length and breadth of
England. The man you call your husband
will not dare to raise his head. Your
child will be branded.”
She shuddered in. his grip and he re
' leased her. so that she staggered back
, wards.
j “You must do your worst," she said,
"for I can do nothing "
i "You can bring th r.ght man to jus
tice.” he repeated. “You have money and
I influence- set me free and you are free
also.” He cast an ugly word in her teeth.
“Woman, don't you see that but for you I
wouldn’t be here? If you had sent me
'he money you promised I would not
have been in Tempest street that
night."
Edith Barrington turned on him. her
eyes alight with the fierce courage of a
creature brought to bay.
“I was as helpless then as I am now,"
she cried. “I had no money. I have no
money now. 1 have no means of find
ing the murderer —"
He interrupted her with a singular
catch in his throat.
"No?” he murmured, very distinctly.
“Perhaps not. But what of your sister
Betty--what of her. eh*"'
The Veil Is Lifted.
.Jack Rimington read his aunts s let
ter through for the second time; then,
folding it with mechanical neatness,
laid it on the table beside his plate. Mrs.
Ames, the landlady, bringing in the
breakfast tray at that moment was star
tled into words at the sight of his face.
“My! you do look fagged out. sir.” she
said, with the unction that drops from
the lips of women of a certain type at the
very thought of illness or misfortune.
“No bad noos, I hope?”
“No unexpectedly bad news." Ritping
ton said. "My uncle, who is always
something of an invalid, is somewhat
worse.”
“And you'll be going down to see the
old gentleman. 1 should suppose?” the
old body hastened to say. “And a good
thing, too. It’s fair! ybeat me why a
young gentleman like you should keep
himself mewed and moped up in -London
at this time of the year.”
To Be Continued Tomorrow
“THE HAIRS OF YOUR HEAD
ARE NUMBERED”
There is a great deal of truth in the
old saying.
Roots die, vitality gives out. The hair
begins to turn grey.
This is particularly unfortunate as we are
all living in an age when to LOOK young
means to fill the YOUNG and IMPORTANT
positions. Old fogies go to the background.
If you should begin to chalk down every
day of your life, the exact number of hairs
that turn grey, you would be surprised and
soon learn that ‘‘The Grey Hairs of Pre
mature Old Age” come on very quickly,
if you neglect them.
Begin to count, and Use
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& Freaks of Fashion
THE TELESCOPE PARASOL—SOME THING NEW, PRETTY AND USEFUL
By OLIVETTE.
WHEN will the stout woman cotne
into her own again?
Eveiything is made for the
thin woman. Skirts, which were to
have been wider, so fashion authorities
in Paris Informed us, are becoming
even more contracted, all new articles
of furniture are designed for the slight
persons, and here comes an umbrella
that will make the stout woman look
positively grotesque by comparison, for
it is the last word in attenuated struc
ture. It is the telescope umbrella.
An ingenious device allows it to be
pulled out into a long, tightly rolled
walking stick or pushed back into one
of the Empress Eugenie umbrellas of
white silk lined in rose color.
A Smart Adjunct.
It is another of those fanciful acces
sories which make the up-to-date
woman look smart while helping to
raise the average cost of living.
If you can't afford this passing freak
in the way of sun shades, go to the
nearest Japanese store and buv a paper
umbrella. I hen you will be following
in the fashionable footsteps of society
women in Newport, who affect these
sunshades with plain white frocks for
morning and with the all-prevailing
white serge suit in the afternoon. Only
please remember that the paper parasol
is sufficiently variegated in color and
weeds a white or dull-toned frock to set
It off. If it’s carried with some of our
vivid colored frocks it looks too much
like a conflagration.
No costume seems quite complete
nowadays without the tiny corsage
bouquet of flowers; .lever imitations
rather than the real thing. The old
fashioned bouquet has a paper frill and
is made of odd little blossoms that
ought to grow In old-time gardens.
This novelty has brought forward a
great number of clever women who.
with cleft fingers, muslins and paints,
make these tiny' bunches of flowers,
which sell at prices more substantial
than one would think.
This is the best season to think about
next autumn's wardrobe, as it is the
great time of bargains.
White materials are going for a
Advice to the
Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
LOOKS LIKE A PEACEFUL DISSO
LUTION.
Dear Miss Eairfax:
I am 20 and met a young man last
May and I loved him; but my love is
fading away because he has bad habits
and likes dancing very much. I do not
like to go to dances with him. When I
do not go with him he does not call
on me. M. G.
You say that your love is fading
away? Then why do you object when
he doesn't call on you? It seems to inc
your troubles are reaching a painless
dissolution.
I would not call dancing a bad habit
unless it is indulged in to excess. But
if he has bad habits more serious that's
a different story.
Let the affair terminate, which it
seems about to do.
IT CERTAINLY SHOULD.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am eighteen and for the past six
months have been going out with a
young man three years my senior. Re
cently I have heard of his past, which
is not very much to his credit. Ought
this make any difference with me, as I
love him. but my parents object?
L. M. S.
Usually, 1 urge that no heed be paid
to gossip, unless that gossip is well
founded. But the opposition of your
parents to the young man indicates
there must be some foundation to the
stories you have heard against him. Let
their wishes control you; that Is always
the safest, and particularly so in this
Instance.
TELL HER SO.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am eighteen and in love with a.girl
of the same age. 1 was introduced to
another girl and the former girl is un
der the impression that I love the latter
giri. Kindly advise me what to do to
clear up this matter, as I dearly love
the former girl. H. H. B.
Tell her so. If she doubts you, prove
your love. You can do this by being
devoted to her and ignoring the other
girl.
A Literary Refusal.
Yes, when I proposed to that liter
ary girl she used one of those editorial
forms. Said a rejection did not 'nec
essarily imply a lack nf merit.' etc.”
"You seem hopeful.”
"No wonder. The form concluded by
saying: 'And although compelled to
reject your present efforts, would be
pleased to hear from you again.’”
Q
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Furs go right along up in prices
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dog days pussy’s fur isn't so valuable
and all other furs are cheaper, too. So
now's the time to buy.
A Bargain.
The other day 1 saw a summer bar
gain—a lawn dress bought ready
made for a little more than a dollar.
The clever girl who bought it had add
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and yoke and she had embroidered it
in cross-stiteh besides, making a really
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One of the new ideas in sashes is
silk, with two wide loops, but no ends.
The belt fastens in the back and the
bow is put on at a decided slant, also
in the back.
A new fichu is made of three rows
of fine muslin with scalloped edges,
finished off with a narrow Igce edging.
A large bouquet of violets in natural
shades was embroidered on the front
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ribbon belt which went with it. This
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The latest thing in collars shows
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Daysey Mayme and Her Folks
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
ALTHOUGH Daysey Mayme Apple
ton does not know her A B C’s
better than she knows The
Wrongs of Her Sex. she can not truth
fully say that she hates all the men.
She finds that in the last ten years
she has loved fully fifty of that de
tested sex. and that because of disap
pointment in gaining their love she
has sighed regularly for the cold thumb.
Because of this perpetual softening
of a heart that Justice to her sex de
mands should be adamantine, she has
been accused of being lukewarm in
demanding the ballot.
“It is not so bad to be a woman,"
she said in her defense.
“If a woman will go about it right
she can get what she wants from the
men without throwing rocks at them.
"There’s my father, Lysander John
Appleton. Kin Commissioner General
of the United States! He eats what
we set out for him. He puts on the
clothes we buy and lay put for him.
, "He reads the magazines we choose
to take. He may make decisions in his
capacity as Kin Commissioner General
that startle the world with their dar
ing, bbt my mother and 1 promptlj'
overrule him In kin decisions at home.
"He votes the way we decide. In his
untamed (which is the unmarried)
state, he had convictions of his own.
He has none now of wjiich we disap
prove.
"He roars because of the freak styles
In women’s millinery and dress, and
pays the bills for whatever clothes we
choose to buy.
"He derides the fashion of false hair,
and in his capacity as Kin Commis
sioner Genera! has decided thqt rights
of hospitality may be denied a woman
kin who wears any, yet I pride my-
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Bridge Work, $4.00
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self 1 wear more jute than any woman
I know, and he pays the bills.
"The women give lectures at which
men are roasted, and my father buys
tickets to hear himself abused.
"When away from home he gives
elephantine roars against the practice
of using face paint and powder, but
these elephantine roars become as faint
as mouse squeals when he sits oppo
site the faces of his wife and daughter
at home
"He writes articles and gives lec
tures on the pernicious effects of wear
ing t>. corset, illustrated with pictures
of feminine forms wasting away like
an hour-glass, and here Daysey Mayme
began to giggle. "All men approve.”
she went on—then tee-hee-hee, another
giggle, "and some day, this is all they
will get for their protest:
"In the centuries to come, when this
country has long been buried, and it is
forgotten that we ever existed, some
new race will spring up, and”—her gig
gle became a scream at the possibility
of it—“archaeologists will dig into the
ground for relics of the race of today,
just as archaeologists these days dig
for traces of people of a former exist
ence. And they will dig into ash piles,"
here her mirth almost overcame her,
"and how will they explain the corset
they find there?
“They will decide, after looking it
over solemnly and wisely.” she said,
with a conviction savoring of the
sweetness of revenge, “that it is An
Article of Wearing Apparel of Prehis
toric MAN!
"And that is all the men will ever
get out of this fight they are making
on the corset! Oh. it is not so bad to
be a woman!"
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