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y o 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. 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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 not heat the body. 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