Newspaper Page Text
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A
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
¥
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
It is Dr. Cameron’s Wedding Day. At 8 o’clock
He Is to Marry Genevieve < 1 retorex, a Beau
tiful Society Girl. At 4 o’Clock He Is In
formed His Fiancee Has Disappeared.
Opening Installment
c
MRS. GRETOREX TELLS THE DETECTIVE OF HER DAUGHTER’S DISAPPEARANCE
-
(Copyright, 1913. by Anna Katharine
Green. >
An Unexpected Visitor.
I T was Dr. Cameron’* wedding day.
At 8 o’clock In the evening the cere
mony of marriage between himself
and Genevieve Gretorex was to be per
formed at the house of the bride’s par
ents In St. Nicholas Place. It was now
4 o’clock.
Seated In his office. Dr. Cameron, who,
for a young man. enjoyed a most en
viable reputation as a physician, mused
over his past and built castles for the
future; for his bride was the daughter
of one of the richest and most influen
tial citizens of New York, and to such
ambition as his this fact, Implying, as
it did, valuable connections in the pres
ent and a large and unincumbered for
tune in the future, was one that lent
luster to her beauty and attraction to
their union. Not but what he loved her
—or thought he did—would have loved
her under any circumstances. Was she
not handsome, and in that reserved and
somewhat haughty way he especially
admired? Had she not fine manners and
would she not add increased honor to a
name already well known, and, as he
might add, respected?
Had Her Caprices.
To be sure, she had her caprices, as
a woman so circumstanced had a right
to have, and she esteemed rather than
adored him, as many little events in
their short courtship only too plainly
betrayed. But then he would not have
admired a gushing bride, and, being
what he was, a man of taste and the
son of a man of taste, he found a cer
tain satisfaction in the calm propriety
of a match that united equal inter
ests, without Jeopardizing that calmness
of mind necessary to the successful
practice bf his exacting profession.
There was but one thing troubled him.
Why had she refused to see him for the
last seven days? She was not a woman
of petty Instincts. Indeed, he had some
times suspected her of possessing latent
energies which the round of a fashiona
ble life bad never called forth; and in
her cool and somewhat languid gaz<?
he had caught glimpses now and then
of a spirit that only needed light and
air to expand into something like great
ness.
Why, then, this strange desire for se
clusion at a time when a woman is
usually supposed to desire the support
of her lover's society? Had he dis
pleased her? Not only had his pres
ents been rich, they had been rare
and of an order to gratify her refined
taste. Was she ill? He was her physi
cian as well as lover, and he had not
been notified of any indisposition.
Besides the last time he had been so
fortunate as to be received into her
presence she had seemed well and
looked blooming; more so, indeed, than
he had seen her for some time, and,
though somewhat nervous in manner,
had exhibited an interest in his atten
tions which he had not always observed
in her. It was not a long interview, but
he remembered it well; saw ugatn the
almost timid look with which she greet
ed him, followed by the smile that was
nearly a shock to him—It was so much
warmer and brighter than usual. Then
the few' hurried words— for even that
night site would not see him long—and
the sudden coyness of her attitude as he
took her hand in parting!—he recollect
ed it all. He had not thought of it at
the time, but now it seemed to him that
there had been something strange in
her whole bearing, an Impalpable
change from her former self that he
could not analyze, but which had. nev
ertheless, left its impression upon him.
The kiss he had received, for instance,
had moved him. There had been
warmth in it and her lips had almost re
turned the pressure of his own.
Was She Ill?
This was new in the history of their
courtship and would have argued, per
haps. that she was beginning to recog
nize his appreciation of her if her after
conduct had not given the He to any
such surmise As it was, it rather
seemed to show that she had been in an
unnatural condition—suggestive of In
cipient fever, perhaps. She was 111; and
they were trying to keep It from him!
The butler’s excuses, “Miss Gretorex Is
very much engaged, sir; Mrs. Gretorex’s
regrets, sir, but Miss Gretorex has gone
out on important business." were but
polite subterfuges to blind his eyes to
the real truth. And yet to bis calmer
judgment how untenable was even this
supposition. Had she been sick he
could not have failed to have heard of
it from some quarter. No. she waa not
sick. She was but indulging in a freak
easily to be explained, perhaps, by her
mother's over-exciting code of etiquette,
and. as In a few hours, she was to l^e
his wife and life-long companion, he
would cease to think of it, and only re
member that kiss.
He had reached this point In . his
musing* when they were suddenly In
terrupted. A tap was heard on Ihs
office door
With some irritation he arose. It was
not time for his carriage and he had
expressly ordered that no visitors or pa
tients were to be receiver!. Who could
it he, then? A messenger from Miss
Gretorex? He sprang to the door at
the thought. But before he could touch
the knob, the door opened, and to his
surprise and possible relief there en
tered an unknown man of middle age
and prepossessing appearance, whose
errand seemed to he one of importance,
though his manner was quiet and his
voice startlingly gentle.
A Visitor.
“I hope I am not Intruding.” said he.
‘‘The hoy below told me this was your
wedding day, but he also told me that
the ceremony was not to take place till
8 o’clock this evening, and as my busi
ness is peculiar and demands instant
attention I ventured to come up.”
“That is right,” answered Dr. Cam
eron, feeling an unaccountable attrac
tion toward the man. though he was
not what you would perhaps call a gen
tleman. and had, as the doctor could
not but notice even at this early stage
of their acquaintance, a way of not
meeting your eye when he spoke that
was to say the least, lacking In in
genuousness “Is it as a patient you
come to me?”
‘No,’’ rejoined the stranger, fixing
his glance on the white necktie and
one or two other insignificant articles
which lay on the table near by, with
an air strangely like that of compas
sion. “My business is with *you as a
doctor—that is, partly—but I am not
the patient. I almost wish I were,” he
added, in a troubled tone that awak
ened the other’s interest notwithstand
ing the natural preoccupation of his
thoughts.
“I^et me hear,” returned Dr. Cameron.
"You make my task easy,’’ the stfan-
ger remarked. "And yet.” he went on
In a curter and more business-like tone,
“you may be less willing to listen when
I tell you that I have first a story to
relate which. W’hile not \inlnterestlng
In Itself Is so out of accord with your
present mood that I doubt If y$u will
be able to sit through it with patience.
Yet it is necessary for me to relate it
and necessary for you to hear it, now,
here, and without any interruption.’’
This was alarming; especially as
the speaker did not seem like a man
given to sentimentalities or even to
exaggeration. On the contrary he gave
the Impression of a person accustomed
to weigh his words with studious care,
not allowing a sentence to escape him
without a decided motive.
"Will you tell me your name?” re
quested Dr. Cameron.
The reply cam<t quietly.
“I doubt If you will know it. and I
had rather you had not asked it. But
since it is important above all things
that you should trust me, I will say
\ V. >
\
“It is this note that causes our dilemma,” said Mrs. Gretorex.
that ic Is Gryce. Ebenezer Gryce, and
add that I am a member of the police
force; in short, a detective."
Dr. Cameron felt his apprehensions
vanish. Whatever the other’s errand, it
could not he one that touched him or
his; and this to a man on hi's wedding
day was certainly a comforting thought.
“You undervalue your fame.” he re
plied. “I know r your name well. Can
it be possible you desire my assistance
in a professional way?”
The detective’s gaze, which had been
resting gloomily upon a laughing cherub
on the mantelpiece, shifted, but he did
not respond to the doctor’s smile, and
his manner remained unaltered.
”1 will tell my story,” said he. “It
will be the quickest way to come to an
understanding.”
And without further pause >r prelim
inary. lie began in the following words;
The Dilemma.
“I am getting to be an old man, and
I have my infirmities. But there are
still cases which are given to no one
but me. Among them are those which
involve the honor of persons in a high
station of life.”
Mr. Gryce paused. Dr. Cameron felt
his apprehensions return.
“You see." the» detective slowly re
sumed. “I can keep a secret; that is.
when the life and property of others
are not endangered by my silence. I can
do a detective’s work and keep a de
tective’s counsel, only speaking when
and where necessity requires.”
He paused again. Dr. Cameron moved
uneasily.
“As in this case,” added the other,
gravely.
“This case?" repeated the doctor, Tt >w
thoroughly alarmed. “What case? You
excite me; tell me what you have to
say, at once!”
But the detective was not to he hur
ried.
”1 was, therefore, not at all surprised,”
he proceeded, as if no interruption had
occurred, “when some three days ago I
was requested tu call upon—Mrs. A., let
us say —on business of a strictly confi
dential character. Such summonses come
frequently. Such a summons does not
disturb an officer in the least. I never
theless made haste to show myself ar
Mrs. A.’s house, for Mrs. A., whom you
perhaps know is a woman of some con
sequence, and her husband is a man ot
widespread reputation and influence. 1
found her at home, anxiously awaiting
my appearance. As soon as she saw me
she told me her trouble: ‘Mr. Gryce,’
said she, T am in a great dilemma.
Something has occurred in my family
which may or may not lead to a last
ing dishonor. What I wish from you is
aid to determine whether our fears are
well grounded. If they are not, you
will forget that you were ever called to
this house.’ I bowed. I was already
interested, for I saw that her anxiety
was great, while I could not help being
puzzled over its cause, for she had no
son to disgrace her by his dissipations,
and as for her husband, he was above
reproach. She soon relieved my curios
ity.
“ ’Mr. Gryce,’ said she, ‘I have a
daughter.’
“ ‘Yes,’ I returned, Inwardly startled.
Miss A. and dishonor seemed so wide
apart.
“Our Only Child.”
“ ‘She is our only child,’ the mother
went on. ‘We love her, and have al
ways cherished her, but though it is
not generally known in this house’—and
here the poor lady’s eyes roamed about
her as if she were afraid that her
words would be overheard, ’she has left
us; gone away without acquainting us
where—suddenly, inexplicably, leaving
only the most meager explanation be
hind her, and—and—’
“ ‘But, madam,’ I interrupted, ‘if she
left any explanation—’
"Mrs. A. took a small and crumpled
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By MABEL HERBERT URNER.
I T was the morning of their third day
in Paris that Helen started out to
shop. She had read and heard so
much of the big Parisian bazaars that
she was athrlll with eager expectation.
“Better take in tne Galeries Lafay
ette first.” suggested Warren as they
left the hotel together. “You can take
a bus from there for the Bon Marche.”
“Dear, wouldn’t you have time to go
by the Lafayette with me—it’s only half
past 9.” pleaded Helen, who dreaded
starting out alone.
“All right,” good naturedly, "that’s
not much out of my way. Hurry up—
let’s get this bus.”
It was going to be another hot day.
There was still no relief from the heat
wave that had settled over Paris since
their arrival But as Helen climbed
gleefully to the top of the bus, the
thought of the day in the Paris shops
made her unmindful of the heat.
“There you are ” Warren pointed out
a huge building just ahead. From the
top fluttered white banners and flags let
tered gayiy in red. “Gaierles Lafayette.”
It looked more like a great exposition
building than a store.
But when the\ left the bus. Helen
was astonished to find that all along the
sidewalk in front of the store were
stalls, piled high with the cheapest kind
of merchandise.
She Is Lonely.
There were tables of crockery, kitch
enware. cotton dresses and waists, and
around each was a chattering crowd of
Frenchwomen pulling over the goods.
l-a r gp l ardboani signs—"50 centimes.”
"1 franc,” "2 francs”—were everywhere
“Why. dear, would you think they’d al
low these push-cart peddlers outside a
reputable store 0 Why, it’s like a cheap
market place!”
They re not push-cart peddlers,”
laughed W arren. “This is all part of
the Galeries Lafayette—that's how they
sell their cheap goods Our stores have
bargain basements—here they have
stalls outside the shop. Now I've got
to leave you Don’t overdo it and get
too tireu Better not be on your feet
| too much this hot day.”
| Helen s interest in the scene about
I * ^ er 8 ° on Vanished the momentary feel
ing ui .onepue.-- us Warren disappeared
in the crowd. For some time she stood
on the sidewalk watching the stalls and
the chattering, pushing crowd about
them. Warren was right. I'nquestion-
ably this was part of the store, for
bareheaded French floor-walkers, with
frock coats and twisted mustaches,
walked up and down the sidewalk.
Although Helen had often heard that
the Galeries Lafayette was one of the
best Paris shops, this street sale of goods
made her most skeptical. But when she
entered, she saw that it was really a
very beautiful store. In the center was
a great rotunda under a crystal dome.
An imposing marble staircase with dou
ble escalators led to the upper galleries.
Everywhere was a lavish and seem
ingly haphazard display of goods. It
was all very different from a New York
shop. There seemed no aisles, only a
vast labyrinth of tables piled with goods
in chaotic disorder the most tawdry
heaped carelesly with the most expen
sive. The confusing display of the greaE
quantities of merchandise, the riot of
color, the crowd, the uproar and tumult
were to Helen most bewildering.
Hoping that the upper galleries would
be less crowded and tumultuous. Helen
made her way to the long line of ele
vators. Glancing over the directory of
the floors, she located "Lingerie” and
“Trousseaux.”
French lingerie is a luxury coveted by
every American woman, and as Helen
stepped from the elevator at the third
gallery into what seemed a great ex
hibition of white goods, her heart beat
with expectation.
On every side was a network of tables
and counters heaped with white gar
ments—chemisettes, jupons and robes de
nuites. Over the tables were cards with
"Occasion” or “Grand Occasion,” the
French phrase for bargains.
Almost everything was hand embroid
ered and mostly unlaundered, the blue
penciled tracing of the patterns being
still distinct.
Helen was surprised to find that while
even the cheapest garment, those as
low as six or seven francs, were em
broidered by hand, the garment itself
was made by machinery, the seams
carelessly stitched, and the buttons half
off. She thought of the poor women in
the convents where most of this work is
done. How poorly paid they must be
to embroider such inferior goods!
She looked first for some dainty, low-
necked night dresses wtth short butter
fly sleeves, but she saw only ungainly
garments with high necks and long
sleeves. Was this the much-lauded lin
gerie?
At last, in some glass cases, where the
most expensive models were displayed,
she found some exquisite low-neck
short-sleeved gowns.
“How much? Quel prix?” Helen de
manded of a passing clerk, pointing to
a garment in the case.
The girl opened the case and looked
at the ticket. Helen could not under
stand her. but. stooping over, she read
the ticket herself—90 francs. Eighteen
dollars!
Helen tried to make her understand
with a few words of French, much En
glish and many gestures that she wanted
to see some gowns of that cut. but much
less expensive. The girl touched a loud
gong. wh*% was a signal for an English-'
speaking clerk, and one promptly ap
peared.
“Almost all of our low-neck and short-
sleeved gowns are in the expensive mod
els,” the clerk explained. “But of
course we have some for less than 90
francs Now here is quite a pretty gown
for 35 francs."
Seven dollars! Except for her trous
seau, Helen had never paid $7 for a
nightgown in her life. And she had no
intention of paying it in Paris, where
she had expected to get things ridicu
lously cheap.
Only One Purchase.
“Well. I’ll let the nightgowns go for
the present, hut I’d .like to see some
combinations and skirts
"About what price does madam wish
to pay?" asked the clerk, with lessen
ing cordiality, for she expected Ameri
cans not to object to prices.
“About three or four dollars—fifteen
or twenty francs.”
“They're all out on the tables, mad--
am. We keep only the more expensive
ones in this department.”
“But I could never button these,” ex
claimed Helen, viewing with disfavor the
combinations, which all opened in the
back. “And they’re all too large—1
want 34.”
"You won’t find bust measures in Par
is like you have in America, madam.
We Jiave only three sizes here. You see.
they're marked with tickets—the green
ticket is small, the pink ticket medium
and the yellow ticket larce."
Helen expressed her ag^nishment that
in Paris, where fit and style were sup-
posed to be perfected, they should have
only three sizes instead of the eight—
from 32 to 46—that are carried by every
American store!
The intention to buy enough lingerie
while in Paris to last her for the next
two years was somewhat shaken. And
she finally left the department, having
made just one purchase—a white skirt
with a hand-embroidered flounce. Even
this she could not get the right length.
It would have to be shortened when she
got it home.
From the lingerie, Helen walked down
the broad marble staircase to the gal
lery below. Just at the foot of the
stairs were a dozen or more tables
overburdened with parasols. She had
never seen so many parasols together
in her life. Most of them were brilliant
in coloring and design, vivid reds, bright
greens and startling blues.
Farther on was a gorgeous display of
scarfs—the long chiffon scarfs that the
French women wear with their’evening
gowns. They lay In careless glittering
heaps, shimmering with gold and silver
spangles and iridescent headings.
Helen had thought the hues and fab
rics in the shope at home particularly
loud this year, but they were mild and
subdued compared with the riotous col
oring of everything here.
In spite of the whirring electric fans
the heat was excessive, and before Hel- J
en had explored half the departments
of the Galeries Lafayette she was ex
hausted.
Although she had spent most of the
day there, her purchases were trivial, 1
but she had a fair idea of what a big j
Paris shop was like.
It was good to get back to their j
rooms, to have time to bathe, rest and
dress before Warren came
“Well, how’ did you get along?” was
his greeting when he got in a little after
6. "Buy out all the Paris shops?”
“Not quite. I left a few things in the
Galeries Lafayette! That was the only-
place I went.”
“How did you find things? Cheaper
than at home?”
"Some things are. But, dear, the
styles and colorings are so extreme. Do
you know.” thoughtfully, ”1 really be
lieve I can find the things I want bet
ter in New York.”
“Course you can! Nothing’s more
overrated th in the French styles. They
are made for French women—not for
Americans. And nine-tenths of the
Americans w ho come over here and buy
a lot of truck are blamed sick of their
bargains when they get 'em home."
Scotland Yard Detectives at Once Begin a
Search for the Missing Young Woman. Dr.
Cameron Is Terribly Shocked by the Disap-
appearance of the Lovely Genevieve.
note out of her pocket and handed it
to me.
“ ‘A letter.’ she affirmed, ‘sent through
the mail. And I was in the house when
she left, and would have listened to
any reasonable request she had to make.’
“I had already read the four or five
lines which the letter contained:
“ ‘Dear Mother: I must have rest. I
have gone away for a few days, but shall
be back on the 27th. Don’t worry.
“ ‘Your affectionate .’
“ ‘What is the matter with this?’ I
asked. ‘She says she will be back on
the 27th, and to-day is only the 24th.’
“ ‘Sir,’ was the answer, ‘it is the only
time in our experience when our daugh
ter has left us without first gaining our
permission. Besides, the time is espe
cially inopportune. My daughter’s wed
ding cards are out.’ ”
Mr. Gryce stopped suddenly, for Dr.
Cameron had given an anxious start.
“Ah. that arouses your interest!” re
marked the detective. “Your own wed
ding being so near, I am not surprised.”
It was dryly said, and the doctor at
once reseated himself. He had no wish
to appear unduly moved, but he could
not suppress even' token of emotion,
so he turned his head away from ihe
light. Mr. Gryce let his gaze travel
to a new object before proceeding.
Only One Conclusion.
“This avowal of Mrs. A. put a new
aspect on affairs,’’ said he. “but yet I
saw no reason for the extreme anxiety
displayed. ‘And on what day does she
expect to be married?’ I asked.
“ ‘On the 27th.’
“ ‘But she says she will be back.’
“ ‘That does not comfort me.’
“ ‘You think she will not come.’
“ ‘I have no hope that she will.’
“This acknowledgment was uttered
with emphasis. There seemed to be but
one conclusion to draw.
“ ‘Your daughter wishes to escape
her engagement?”
“The answer was less emphatic than
before. In fact, It expressed doubt.
“ ‘I do not know, sir; my daughter
Is not herself, has not been for some
time. My husband and myself have
both noticed it; but we never antici- j
pated her taking any such extreme ac- i
tion as this. Where has she gone? What
will become of her? How can we face j
the world? How can we tell her lover?’
“ ’Then you think ’
“ ‘That she is laboring under a tem
porary aberration of mind, caused, per
haps. by the excitement of the last few
weeks; that she is not responsible for
her acts; that she may be anywhere,
remote or near, and that we may wait
till the hour set for her marriage is past
without seeing her.’
"To this I could make but one reply:
‘Th^n why not take her lover Into your
confidence, inform him of your fears,
and gain the benefit of His experience
in your search for her?’
A MOTHER’S FEARS.
“The answer will astonish you.
“ ‘Because we are very proud and he
is very proud. To explain our fears we
should be obliged to say much that it
would be humiliating for us to utter
and for Tiim to hear. Besides, we may
overrate the situation. She may come
back: as she says she will and, should
this be the case, you can see for your
self what endless regret would follow
any such confidences as you suggest.’
“ ‘But’—I began.
“ Tt is this note that causes our di
lemma,’ she interposed. ‘With these
lines before me I can not act as if
there were no hope of her returning in
proper time to take her part in the cer
emony. Yet I do not trust these lines,
nor the promise she has made. Why,
I can hardly say; for she has always
been a woman of her word. But she
is not herself, of that I am con
vinced.’
“This repetition of her former asser
tion made it easy for me to inquire
what special o^.nge she had perceived
in her daughter to lead to such a con
clusion. She evidently found it dif
ficult to reply.
“ ‘I can not put it Into words,’ she de
clared. ‘I feel the change.’
“ ‘And how long have you felt it?’
“ 'Not long: since we began active
preparations for her wedding. I think.’
“ ‘And has no one else observed it?’
“ ‘I can not say. I should think her
lover would.’
“Why?’
“ ‘Because it has been in reference to
him she has shown her peculiarities
strongest. For weeks she has received
him only on sufferance and for the last
few days has more than once abso
lutely refused to see him.’
“And what reason did she assign for
this?’
Prepared for Wedding:.
“ ‘Follies. Fatigue, caprice, a letter to
write, a dressmaker to see—anything
that came into her head.’
“ ‘Yet she went on preparing for her
wedding?’
“ ‘Certainly; her cards were out.’
“The tone in which this was said
caused me to reflect. Though affable,
kindly an.! even * philanthropic in her
dealings toward the world at large, Mrs.
A. Is. as every one knows, a woman
who would find it very difficult to in
fringe upon any of the laws of society.
Having seen her daughter pledge her
self to a man of suitable pretensions,
she would consider such a pledge final
if only because she could n»«t face the
talk and scandal that would follow a
rupture. Influenced ly nis idea, I re-
market^:
“ ‘You must be perfectly frank with
me if you want me to help you at this
crisis. Has your daughter, or has she
not, expressed a wish to break her en
gagement?’
i
” ’She asked me once if I thought it j
too late for her to do so. Of course
there was but one reply to this, and 1
she said no more. But,' the poor mother J
continued hastily, ‘that was only a
symptom of flightiness. She has noth
ing against her lover, does not pretend
to have.’
“ ‘Only against marriage?*
“ ‘Only against marriage.’
“ ‘Mrs. A.,’ I now boldly asked, ‘do
you think she loves the man you expect
her to marry?’
“The answer came hesitatingly. ‘She
accepted his attentions with pleasure
when they were first offered.’
“ 'Do you think she loves any other
man?’
The mother shrank back in dismay.
"I am sure she does not. How could
she? There is not another such gen
tleman in our circle of acquaintance.”
“This was flattering to the gentleman,
but not exactly satisfactory to me.
“ 'You know girls sometimes take
strange whims.’
“ ’My daughter is not a girl, she Is a
woman.’
“This silenced me as it would you,
sir, I have no doubt; and seeing the
mother was really sincere in believing
that her daughter’s mind was tempo
rarily affected, I inquired again as to
what she had done or failed to do of
late, and fAund that she had shunned
the society of the members of her fam
ily as well as that of her lover, finding
her sole interest seemingly In the prep
aration of her wardrobe. “To that she
did attend,’ said Mrs. A., 'and it was
the only.thing she did help me in. No
hour was too late for her to see her
dressmaker; no engagement too press
ing for her to receive and fit on any of
the new costumes that kept coming
home. Indeed she showed more than a
bride’s usual Interest in such matters;
ami it is the one reason I have for not
disputing you utterly when you say she
may come back. She will want to see
her dresses.’
A Clew.
“ ‘Then she did not take them with
her?*
“ ‘She took nothing.’
“ ‘What! not a ti*unk?’
“ ‘Nothing; that is, nothing but a lit
tle hand satchel.’
“ 'How do you know this?'
“ ‘We all saw her go out; she was in
shopping costume.’
“ ‘But she had money?*
“ ‘I can not say. Some, no doubt; but
we found a large roll of bills in her
drawer, and her father says it contains
nearly all he had lately given her. I
do not think her pocketbook held more
than five dollars.’
“ ‘This was a point. Either the girl
was going amongst friends, or she was
really touched In her mind. To make
sure that the first supposition was not
true, I asked for a list of the houses
which Miss A. was in the habit of visit
ing. Mrs. A. mentioned some half-
dozen, but added that her daughter’s
most Intimate companion was in Europe
and that she did not think she cared
enough for the others to go to them
at this time.
“ ‘And she positively carried no bag
gage with her?’
“ ’None. I have looked her things
over carefully and find nothing missing.
She did not even wear her diamonds.’
“ ‘And her watch?’
” ’Is left behind.’
To Be Continued To-morrow.
INDIGESTION?
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SHIVA R
GINGER ALE
Drink with meals,
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ly relieved, get
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Wholesome. deli
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Prepared with the
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SHIVAR SPRING, Manufacturers
SHELTON, S. C.
E. L. ADAMS CO., Distributor*, Atlanta.
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BRENAU,
r beautifully illustrated catalog and full information.
Address
c>
Box 16
GAINESVILLE, GA.
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It meets every require
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Vi-Ih.. Virlh. 1-lb. Air TtoM Canto-
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A'Mrpm J. p McDonald n..<i « . .