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Their Married Life
By MABEL HERBERT URNER.
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written
“B'
jUT if your appointment isn’t
until two—we ll be bark be
fore then,” pleaded Helen.
“You know I wouldn’t go alone!
Dear, do come!”
“Not on your life* I can see all I
want of Paris without sitting humped
up on one of those 'rubber-neck
wagons'.”
“Oh, I know you can—and you
know Paris so well already. But I’ve
never been here before, and I'd get
so much from this trip.’’
“Yes, and be bellowed at by that
guy with the horn!’’
“No—no, we’d sit way back on the
last seat and you could tell me about
the places. I'm sure you know as
much as any of hese guides.”
To this artfu attery of his knowl
edge of Paris \N arren was not imper
vious. Helen saw her advantage and
pressed it.
“Look, dear, look at all the places
they go to,” turning over the pink
leaflet which gave a long list of the
“points of interest” visited. ‘‘And
it's so hot this morning—we wouldn’t
walk around much anyway."
They were now at the American
Express Company, where War *n had
stopped to cash some checks and get
his mail. While he was at the cash
ier's widow Helen had picked up one
of the "Touring Paris” leaflets and
found that a car left from there at
10:30, returning about one.
But it took all of Helen’s powers of
persuasion before Warren at length
grumblingly bought the tickets.
Eight francs each, “Including All
Expenses, Admission Fees, etc.,” ac
cording to the pink leaflet, in which
the advantages of the trip were glow
ingly sqt forth.
As it was now twenty minutes after
ten. they had but a few moments to
wait. When they went out to take
the car they found only two others
in the party. Instead of the big
“rubber-neck wagon" a regular tour
ing car was to be used, and the guide
took his seat by the chauffeur with
out the offensive "horn.”
“You see it isn’t at all like a sight
seeing car,” exclaimed Helen joyful
ly, settling herself in the back seat
which they had alone.
“Umph, this isn’t so had," admitted
Warren reluctantly. “If that fellow
don’t talk us to death.”
But the guide sensed that his reg
ular memorized harangue would not
be appreciated by this small party,
so his comments were only occasion
al and brief.
Another Couple.
The other couple were English, evi
dently 0,1 their wedding trip, for. the
young woman’s light gray gown, hat.
gloves and parasol were all new and
most bride-like. Her husband, whom
Helen thought most insipid with his
small blond mustache, was more in- |
tent on shielding her from the sun
with the new gray silk parasol than
on seeing Paris.
As this was Tour No. 1—of the
“Blast Side,” they were soon whirled
down past the Louvre, aorosrt the
Seine to the Latin quarter.
The Boulevard Montparnasse, of
which Helen had so often read, was
most disappointing, for it was wide,
modern and prosperous looking—very
unlike the shabby artist section she ;
had pictured.
• But a little later they turned into ;
a section that was as yet "unim
proved.” with o;;aint. narrow streets ■
and curious old shops.
“The Rue St. Jacques,” exclaimed
Helen, reading the name on a lamp
post. "Oh, Isn’t this the street Ral- '
zao and Zola wrote so much about?
Dear, don’t you remember the dens of
the underworld they pictured here?”
The rambling cobblestone street,
not uhlfke an illustration from a Bal
zac novel, was in some place- so nar
row that the street venders had to
push their carts up on the sidewalk
to let them bass
“Just below here on the left,” the
guide pointed down the street, “you
will see a butcher shop with a
gilded horse’s head. At that shop they
sell only horse meat. By the law
they must have that red awning and
the horse’s head over the door.
They’re many shops of this kind in
the poorer sections of Paris.”
“Oh, how awful,” murmured Helen,
who had heard that the poor of Paris
ate horse meat, but had never
thought it true.
Warren Complains.
The chauffeur slowed up as they
passed the dingy little shop with its
gilded horse’s bend glittering in the
sun. But inside it was so dark that
Helen caught only a glimpse of the
sawdust floor and a carcass hanging
by the door.
Was it some old cab horse whose
driver had beaten and starved It past
usefulness that had been taken out
and killed, and now its poor old body
hung up there to be sold by the
pound ?
Helen had a sudden feeling of re
vulsion and hatred for all things
French. From her flrst day in Paris
her heart had ached for the wretched-
looking, overworked cab horses. And
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I was this the fate still in store for
I them?
j “Now, for heaven’s sake, don’t start
• harping on that!” growled Warren at
j Helen’s fierce denunciation. "If they
I eat horse meat over here—they eat
! it, that’s all. What good will your
I tearing the ulr do?"
They passed many points of inter
est, which Helen looked at unseeing
ly before she could wrest her mind
from the picture of the dingy shop
with its strange awning and gilded ^
horse’s head.
At the Palace de Justice they all
left the car and the guide look them
.through the Conciergerie, the famous;
prison of the French Revolution.
"Nice, cheerful place," commented t
Warren when they entered the dun
geon of Marie Antoinette, a dark,
damp cell without llgnt or air.
Equally black and grewsome were j
the cells in which Robespierre and I
Madame de Barry had been imprls- j
oned before their execution. Outside ,
in the courtyard was the eite of the
I guillotine. Helen paused to read a
small tablet which marked the place,
j "Through this court passed all
the victims of the Reign of Ter
ror. Every day were lined up |
the carts which brought the con-
I demned to the scaffold. No spot
in the world has witnessed such
terrible tragedies."
Helen glanced around the now
j peaceful sun-lit courtyard with its
crumbling moss-grown fountain. It
! was hard to picture this as the scene |
of such frightful carnage.
They crossed the courtyard and !
found the car waiting at the other
entrance. PTom there it was only a j
short ride to Notre Dame, where they
spent half an hour wandering through i
vaulted aisles, impressive with their j
wonderful stained-glass windows and
carved images.
In the sacristy they were shown j
some ancient relies, the Crown of
Thorns, a nail from The Cross, the I
coronation mantle of Napoleon I, the
blood-stained robe of Thomas a
Becket, and the crucifix clasped by
Louis XVI as he was guillotined.
Worse and Worse.
"A cheerful itinerary they’ve laid
out for us,” grumbled Warren as they
again climbed Into the car. “So far
we’ve seen only horrors. But I guess
that’s what the rubber-neokers want.”
The car next drew up before the
impressive gates of the Pere-Lachaiso
Cemetery—the most famous In Paris.
"For the love of Mike! If they’re
not going to take us through a grave
yard now!"
But inside ns they strolled through
the graveled drives, even Warren was
impressed with the beauty of the j
place. The great archway of willows. !
the gleaming white monuments, the |
banks of flowers—and the atmosphere
of peace and quiet about it all.
But the matter of fact "commer- |
cialized” information of the guide;
grated here more than anywhere else. !
"Oh. come, let’s break away from j
this* fellow and roam around by our- |
selves,” suggested Warren. Then j
turning to the guide, "How long do
you spend here?”
"About twenty minutes, sir.”
“All right, we’ll meet you at the
gate in twenty minutes.”
They started down a winding
gravel path, pausing every now and
then to read the llnese on some con
spicuous monument. It was strangely
interesting to come acrosa such names
as Chopin. Rossini, Daudet, Moliere,
Fontaine, Balzac and Rose Bonheur.
But to Helen even more interesting
than the names was the strange
character of the monuments them
selves. Many were built in the form
of vaults with grated iron doors
through which could be seen the ob
jects within.
There was usually h little altar, or
perhaps only a stone shelf, on which
was a crucifix. candles. artificial
flowers, wreaths and images Some
times a piece of yellowed, mildewed
lace covered the altar, and there was
often a stone bench on which to kneel.
In a few vaults there were fresh flow
ers, showing almost daily visits, but
In many the dust and cobwebs showed
thev had not been entered for years.
When they finally got back to the
gate the others were waiting in the
car. This was their last stop, and
they were now whirled back to the
American Express Company.
“Now, wasn’t it worth while com
ing?" asked Helen, eagerly. "Think
of all the things we saw—that we’d
probably not have s-een any other
way.”
“Yes, we saw enough horrors to las*t
for some time,” grunted Warren.
"This whole route was mapped out to
satisfy the tourist’s morbid curiosity.
Nine people out of ten would rather
see the blood-stained robe of some
poor devil, than view a masterpiece of
art.”
"Rut. dear, some of It was very in-
| tere‘ting." protested Helen.
"Interesting?* Well, if you're inter.
| * sted in grewsome relies, all right,
i But when I take a morning off for an
j outing -I’d choose something a little
; more enlivening than dungeons and
graveyards."
(Copyright, 1913, by Anna Katharine
Green.)
What Has Gone Before.
It is the wedding day of Dr. Wal
ter Cameron. He is to ho married
at 8 o'clock that evening to Gene
vieve Gretorex a beautiful society
girl At 4 o’clock Dr Cameron is
called upon in his office by Kben-
ezer Gryce, a member of the Scot
land Yard detective force. He as
tounds Dr. Cameron by telling him
that Miss Gretorex has been missing
for several days. Gryce says that
the girl's mother requested his serv
ices in the hunt for her daughter,
and showed him a note in which Miss
Gretorex declared she would be back
in time for the ceremony. Gryce as
tounds Dr. Cameron by declaring he
tracked Miss Gretorex to an obscure
London hotel, where he found her
registered under the name of Mildred
Farley. They drive to the hotel and
peer through curtains into Room No.
153, where they see Miss Gretorex
kneeling before a fire weeping and
burning up some letters. They go
downstairs greatly mystified. Gryce
makes some Inquiries and learns that
three hours before the girl was vis
ited by a man, who, when he '.eft the
hotel, notified the management that
he would return at 9 o'clock with a
clergyman who was going to marry
them. Dr. Cameron excitedly de
mands that Gryce tell him the name
of this man. The detective hands him
a card inscribed with this name—
"Dr. Julius Molesworth.”
Now go on with the story.
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
T
The British Museum in London has
now between 3.500,00 and 4,000,000
books, and is growing at the rate of
50,000 volumes a year. The catalogue
contains 4 000.000 entries, and there
are 46 miles of bookshelves.
The heart of a vegetarian is said
to beta, on an average. 58 to the
minute: that of the „ieat eater 72
This represents a difference of' 20*"-
000 beats in l!4 hours.
There is a spot in America which
is solely inhabited bv millionaires.
This is Jekvl Island, which belongs
to a club composed of the million
aires of New York. Boston and Phila
delphia.
The depth of water affects tin
speed of steamers very conslderabb
the vessels moving more slowly in
shallow than in deep watt i
In Russia people must marry be
fore reaching the age of 8 or not
at all; and may marry only fly,
times.
The longest plant In the world is
a species of subtropical seaweed,
which grows to 600 feet in length.
France makes near 26 000,000 pairs
of gloves yearly, and of these 18,000.
! 000 pairs are exported.
A thousand tons of soot settles
monthly yithin the 118 square miles
of London.
Mrs. Gretorex.
HEY were in the street. Dr. Oam-
■>n, whom this last blow had
seemingly dazed, stood on the ho
tel steps looking in a vague way about
him, like one made suddenly homeless;
while the detective with his hand on
his arm endeavored to make him un
derstand the necessity of haste. ,
“Haste? Why should I hasten?” asked
he, at last struck by the w T ord. "I have
no engagements. They will scarcely
miss the bridegroom if the bride was ab
sent.”
"Possibly not. But that absence
must be accounted for. That is my
duty perhaps, but you have one, too, I
think, sir."
“Here. Possibly."
“No, I don’t think you can do anything
here. But you might try. The lady is
alone, and—”
"I can not,’’ interrupted the other,
with a look of irrepri . ible repugnance.
'‘Neither my love nor my complaisance
is sufficient for such humiliation.”
He Did Not Reply.
And he started away toward the car
riage.
Mr. Gryce followed him, saw him en
ter. and stepped into the vehicle him
self.
"To the nearest elevated station," he
shouted to the driver. "And quick! We
have lost ten minutes by this unexpected
discovery,” he explained, in apologetic
tones, to the doctor, "and must make
them up at our own inconvenience.”
The doctor aid not reply; apathy had
succeeded disgust.
Mr. Gryce went on talking.
“I am in no position to suggest your
duty to you, oir, but 1 will just lay
before you one or two conclusions that
have come to me in the last five min
utes. Will you listen?”
"I have nothing else to do,” dryly re
marked the physician.
“Very well, then. Some time ago
Miss Gretorex engaged herself to you.
She seemed happy; then some trouble
came into her life, we do not know
what, but we can sufely connect it with
this Molesworth, and she wished to
break her engaement. But her mother,
to whom she mentioned her desire,
thought it too late for her to do so;
and driven by some unknown necessity
of the situation, she quitted home three
days before her contemplated marriage,
leaving behind her, you must remember,
a distinct promise to return in time to
fulfill her part in the contract.
Wedding Day Arrives.
"The wedding day arrives and she de
lays her return unaccountably; but the
wedding day is not over, and when I
saw her at 2 o’clock there were £et six
hours before her. Did she Intend at
that time to keep her word? We do not
know; but her face was cheerful, even
expectant: the face indeed of a woman
who is looking forward to immediate
marriage with a man worthy of her and
whom she not only loves but respects
But a visitor comes. She has a long
talk with him. and the result is a dis
tinct change in her hearing and expres
sion, which seems to argue a distinct
change in her plans. We still hear that
she is going to be married, but the name
of her bridegroom is a new one and
the place of her bridal the very room
which at present is only a witness of
her despair. What is the conclusion?
There may be many, but the one that
has suggested itself to me is this: That
in her secret heart Miss Gretorex loves
the man she has seemingly tied from,
and that in this new and unexpected
union she is making a sacrifice to some
fancied duty. If this is so—*—’’
“She is lost to me as much as if she
gloried m her duplicity,” broke in the
doctor coldly.
The detective slowly shook his head.
"You do not love her,” his gesture
seemed to say.
But his words betrayed no such con
viction.
"She is courting a wretched fate,” he
declared. "A marriage perpetrated in
this manner and under circumstances so
near to scandalous, will not only de
stroy her in her own esteem, but sever
&1 connection her her kindred and
friends who hav» hitnerto made up her
world. She is lost if it is allowed to
take place. Her mother must stop it
j since you do not feel yourself equal to
the task. And to the mother we
hasten.”
I Dr. Cameron's look of gloom did not
lighten.
To Save His Name.
“You are right," he assented. “Let
Mrs. Gretorex be told of her daughter’s
: position as soon as possible. But why
| need I go w ith you?”
j ‘ To save your good name intact. You
jar** expected to be on band to marry
*Miss Gretorex at 8 o'clock. If she is
c
THE DETECTIVE HEARS OF THE STRANGE VISITOR
urm*—*'**‘-* w * w ' Af *'' ‘
i|^ .'j
‘He was a peculiar looking person,” answered the clerk.
too ill to many your society will con
fine itself to commiserating y.®ur disap
pointment. But »r you are noT there—”
He stopped, tor the doctor’s whole
manner had changed.
"Shall we not go by the elevated
road?” asked Mr. Gryce in his quiet
way.
“Certainly, certainly,” came from the
doctor in ringing tones strangely in con
trast to his late apathetic ones; “any
thing to get there in time. Who knows
but my honor may at least be saved.”
And the voice which gave the orders
to the coachman now was his, and it
was his foot that flrst touched the pave
ment and his form that led the way up
the stairs to the elevated road.
They were fortunate in catching a
train immediately, and once upon it,
both breathed easier. Twenty-five min
utes certainly would suffice to * carry
them to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth
street, fifteen minutes more take them
across tow r n, and fifteen minutes addi
tional see them at the house. Fifty-
five minutes and they had an hour and
forty minutes. That Is, an hour and
forty minutes before 8 o’clock. But
Mrs. Gretorex had to be informed of
her daughter’s critical position and got
down to the hotel by 9. Could it be
done? The calm face of the detective
asserted his confidence that it could.
But there are accidents that upset all
our calculations. Just as they w r ere
congratulating themselves upon the
good time they were making, the cars
gave a sudden Jerk and came to a
standstill. Instantly all the ladies in the
car rose, and next moment the gentle
men, for they had just left a station
and w’ere yet some distance from an
other.
“A breakdown!” exclaimed the doctor.
“In the middle of the block!” added
his companion.
Very Impressive.
Yet they did not believe their own
words, and it w r as some minutes before
they fully realized that the engine had
really given out, and that they were
virtually prisoners, and liable to stay
where they were for half an hour at
least. When they did, and had calcu
lated the possibilities of escape and
found none, for like ail such accidents
it had taken place in the highest por
tion of the road, they turned from each
other with an irrepressible expression of
dismay. For even if they succeeded in
reselling the house by 8 o’clock, the
half-hour now being lost made the' ex
pectation of getting Mrs. Gretorex down
to the hotel in time to stay her daugh
ter’s marriage no longer within the pos
sibilities. Her fate was then decided,
and by a power higher than their own.
The thought affected the doctor deeply,
for he knew', or thought he knew,
enough of Dr. Molesworth, to foresee
anything but happiness for her in an al
liance with him. Even if he were a
man of her world, which he was not,
he had characteristics of disposition
that would try the meekest woman; and
she was a decidedly haughty one, with
memories behind her that would make a
life of constant concession intolerable.
In the blank of the dull window out
of which he looked he perceived her
image, tied with all her accomplish
ments and lady-like proclivities, to this
brusque, stern. self-contained man,
whose ambition was as hard as his pov
erty and whose will was allied to some
thing narrow and constrained, rather
than to what was br
,d and helpful.
The result was pity. the pit) that
is akin to love, for love he could not
have now or ever again for this woman.
The shock she had given his pride had
killed its very germs in his heart. Even
if he could bring himself to believe in
the detective’s plausible explanation of
her conduct and find in her very incon
sistencies the evidence of a hidden and
baffled affection for himself, his feel
ing must still remain one of pity alone.
The fact that he saw' her face as never
before; that its least line struck him
with a sense of beauty that had some
times been lacking in his contempla
tion of her did not go far to dispel this
conviction. Misfortune while separating
them had emphasized her figure in his
etyes, and thought she was his no more,
he could not but marvel over the fate
that had come between him and one
whom he now saw could easily have
been his ideal of what was personally
fascinating and attractive. The Gene
vieve he had seen at his last interview—
not the one he had seen to-day—was
beautiful, and. pitiable as it w'as to
consider, had show r n signs of that feel
ing attributed to her by his companion.
He Flushed.
He flushed as he remembered it and
rigorously turned away his thoughts.
But they had taken deep root, and
though he rose from his seat and
walked the length of the train, talked
to the engineer and interested himself
in one or two passengers whose coun
tenances betrayed apprehension, he could
not escape them, nor substitute with
any other vision the picture of her face
as it looked to him on that one night.
He saw' it in the clouded skies as he
glanced out, in the blaze of the fire as
he peered Into the furnace, finally in
the abstracted visage of his old seat
and sat down again by the detective's
side. Do what he would—and his pride
impelled him to make every effort pos
sible—the shy. almost beseeching glance
so new to those proud eyes, the bright,
alluring smile, even the turn of her
form as she looked hack on leaving him,
would recur to his memory with a pho
tographic distinctness that effectually
blotted out the wild dishevelled woman
of whom he had had that hateful and
stolen glimpse through the curtains.
Had it not been for the hurried beating
of his heart, the fierce, almost unbear
able irritation of his nerves worn to ex
asperation by these lingering moments
of enforced w’aiting, he could almost
have imagined that the events and rev
elations of the day had been a dream,
and that he was going forward with
warmth in his heart and hope in his
soul to a marriage that promised love
and honor. As it was, no clinging and
persistent vision of her or any other
woman could blot out the shameful fact
that he was on his way to anything but
a happy bridal scene; that instead of
honor he should meet mortification, and
in place of love, defeat and possible re
greet.
Mr. Gryce-t-who, In the wisdom of his
old age, never chafed at what was un
avoidable—had nothing to say during
this time of inaction. Possibly ho had
taken the opportunity to study up some
other case, possibly he thought silence
more discreet than speech; at all events,
he made no effort to break it, and the
minutes went by. and the seemingly in
terminable half-hour came to an end
without a w’ord having been uttered be
tween them. But with the flrst onward
movement of the car both roused and
Mr. Gryce spoke.
© © The Manicure Lady © ©
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
u r Y
HERE was a Gypsy poet up
to our house last night,”
said the Manicure Lady.
“Brother Wilfred dug him up at one
of them little camps the Gypsies have.
He heard this young poet singing
some lines that he had wrote himself,
and when he asked the rest of the
Gypsies who wrote the lines, they
told him the kid wrote them himself.
So Wilfred, who is the original fail
guy, brought him up to the house last
night and treated him as if he was
the prince of the world. The old gent
liked him about as much as he likes
soft stuff to drink, and told Ma out
in the kitchen that he was getting
too old to listen to foreign poetry.
I wrote down some of the lines. 1
couldn’t make no sense out of them,
but maybe you can. This is one of
the songs the boy says he wrote:
“ 7 am of Romany,
Of Romany am /.
I flutter through thin gray world
Like a butterfly.
The clouds that form
Before the storm
Are firmer fixed than I.
For I am a gypsy boy
And the globe is my gypsy toy. 9
“Was he drinking anything?” asked
the Head Barber.
“No, he was just as nice and sober
as he could be,” said the Manicure
Lady. “The only drinking that was
done was by the old gent, who w’ent
out and sat convenient to the side
board after he had heard that one
poem. Wilfred said that the poetry
was divine, and he ought to know
more about it than you and me, but
maybe it’s because I don’t understand
them Gypsies. They are queer people,
ain’t they, George?”
"They certainly are queer people,”
agreed the Head Barber. “I went to
cne of their camps once to have my
fortune told, and a right handsome
young Gypsy girl told me that I was
destined to be a great man. If she
meant in size she wasn’t far off, but
that’s the only kind of greatness that
ever came to me. She also told me
that when I grew up I was going to
be handsome, but that didn’t strike
me so queer, as all the folks at home
said I was a handsome bo>* and would
be a handsome man. Nothing she told
me has come true. I didn’t win great
ness, and one look at my map would
prove to anybody that she was a bum
prophet about looks.”
"You ain’t so awful homely,” said
the Manicure Lady. “If your eyes
was a little bigger and your ears was
smaller, you would compare kind of
favorable with most of the young men
that comes in here and has their nails
did. And, besides, George, if she had
said that you would grow up to have
one of the nicest dispositions of any
gent which I have ever saw', she
would have called the turn. But get
ting back to our Gypsy poet, Wilfred
was so stuck on his musical lines that
he wanted the kid to stay all night,
and I guess he would have stayed
only the old gent put the crusher on
that proposition.”
“Maybe the Gypsy stole them lines
he said was his,” suggested the Head
Barber.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said the
Manicure Lady. “He stole a box of
cigars and some of the old gent’s
stickpins before he went away.”
The hooting of a motor-bus was"
heard as a passenger and railway por
ter wore talking.
“Oh, dear me,” said the passenger,
"the sound of those motor home
makes me go queer all over.”
“Why?” asked the porter.
hy,” was the reply, “a motor
driver ran away with my wife.” t
“Ah,” said the porter, "and it upsets
you to think of it?”
“No. it's not that,” replied the dls- **
tressed one. “I am afraid he might be
bringing her back.”
* * •
When a local train pulled up at the
Scottish junction where passengers
change for Kirriemuir, a porter put
his head in the window of the com
partments and asked:
“Anyone here for Kirriemuir?”
There was no response, and pres
ently the train moved on.
Then an old Scotswoman remarked,
triumphantly;
“A’m for Kirriemuir, but I w'ouldna
tell that inqueesitive idiot so when he
peered in!”
* * *
Officer—I was struck very much by
your ignorance in drill this after
noon. Why, confound you, you don’t
even know w'here your front is!
Recruit—Yes, I do, sir. It’s gone to
the wash wdth my shirt.
• * *
knock twice at our door.”
She—I sent a quarter to a young
woman for a recipe to make me look
young.
He—What did you get?
She—A card saying, “Always asso-
| ciate with w'omen twenty years older
than yourself.”
• * *
Gentleman—What do you mean by
putting your hand in my pocket?
Light-Fingered Bill—Excuse me,
sir; I’m so absent-minded. I used to
have a pair of trousers exactly like
yours.
“Thirty-five minutes lost! That’s
bad! But if the fates are propitious we
may succeed in our intentions yet.
Come to the door and don’t stop for
any courtesies. Seconds are of impor
tance now.”
And seconds were made use of. Old
as Mr. Gryce was,* he showed that when
hurry was demanded not even his pro
verbial rheumatism stood in the way.
As soon as the cars stopped at One
Hundred and Twenty-fifth street they
w'ere out of them, and, sighting a car
approaching them on the cable road,
ran, caught it and were on their way
across towm before some of their fellow
passengers had reached the bottom of
the elevated stairs.
There was no delay this time; St.
Nicholas avenue was reached at a quar
ter to 8, and as they had but a few min
utes’ walk before them, they stepped
out with a decision that was almost
hopeful. Suddenly a carriage rolled by
them.
“Good God!” exclaimed Dr. Cameron,
“a guest going to the wedding!”
Another carriage and another; the
street seemed alive with them.
“Why didn’t I think of this?” mut
tered the doctor, feeling the cold sweat
breaking out over him.
“Did you expect anything else?”
asked the detective. “The parents,
hoping for her return up to the last,
naturally could take no measures to
warn their guests. You will even see
an awning up, you may be sure.”
“ ’Tis horrible!” came from his com
panion, with bitter emphasis; and at
the corner of St. Nicholas place he al
most stopped as if he felt himself un
able to proceed. But the detective’s
firm figure passing hurriedly on, he re
covered from his momentary weakness
and followed him.
“Hark!” He Cried.
Meanwhile the stream of carriages
kept up. and presently they could hear
the slamming of doors as their occu
pants alighted. Something in the sound,
in the general aspect of things, seemed
to move the doctor strangely.
“Hark!” cried he. clutching at the de
tective’s arm to stop him. “There is no
confusion, no delay; the guests go in
and are received. And look! Lights—
lights from basement to garret! What
does it mean? Do those wretched
parents still hope that she will come?”
For answer. Mr. Gryce drew him hur
riedly on.
“Don’t stop for anything,” he cried.
"Forget your wrongs, your fears, your
hopes even. Be a machine; we have
work to do.” Then with a sudden
change of tone. "You must not be seen
by these people, and you must see the
hostess, and Immediately. How are we
going to do it? Is there a basement
door?”
“Yes, but the side door is better. If
we are met it will cause less remark.
I am expected at the side door.”
To De Continued To-morrow.
Eat This Food During Summer
Be careful what you eat during
hot weather. What you need
is food that nourishes but does
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Faust Spaghetti fits right into
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former—but contains practi
cally no fat, therefore cannot
heat the body.
SPAGHETTI
3
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It is easily prepared—it makes a
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Faust Spaghetti put up in air-tight,
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