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TUESDAY. MARCH 24.
f GAe DAY OF
April »© D»ye
14
PROLOGUE.
"It breaks the speed limit to
mithereens."
That’s a candid opinion about
his story. There may have
jeen swifter tales, but not re
cently. It’s an aeroplane of a
yarn, moving so fast that you
lose your breath while you fol
low it. But you don’t need any
breath, anyway, because you
forget about respiration with
your eyes on reading of this
kind.
Every man has his day of
days. Yours may have come
\nd you may be swimming in
he full tide of fortune. If so,
ead how P. Sybarite found
tis. If your own ship is still
jp the offing, you will enjoy
yarning how the little spunky
headed bookkeeper won a
prtune and an heiress, foiled
a l his enemies and had some
0 . the most amazing adven
tures ever penned—all in less
tjiie than it takes the hour
tj f nd to round the clock dial
JJice. '
Continued from Yesterday)
Sidestepping a wild swing, he plant
ed a left full on the nose of the nearer
assailant and knocked him back ward
over a sprawling chair. Then turning
attention to the other, he was barely
in time to duck an uppercut and out of
the corners of Ids eyes caught the glint
of brass knuckles on the fist tbnt fail
ed to land.
Infuriated, he closed In. sent a stng
gering to the thug's heart and a
murderous right to his chin, so that lie
reeled and fell as if shot, while P. Syb
arite with a hound caught the boy by
the arm again and whirled him out
through the doorway into the hall.
"Hurry!" he panted. "We’ve one
chance In ten thousand."
Beyond doubt they had barely that.
Hardened though they were to scenes
of violence, the clients of the dive hnd
stilled In apprehension the moment
November lifted his voice in anger,
while P. Sybarite’s first overtly offen
sive move had struck them all dumb In
terror. Red November was one who
had shot down Ills man In cold blood
on the steps of the criminal court
building and had escaped scot free un
der the convenient fiction of “suspend
ed sentence.” In blind panic like that
of sheep, they rose as one in uproar
and surged toward the outer doors.
November himself, struggling up
from beneath the table, was caught
and swept on willy-nilly In the front
rank of the stampede. In a thought he
found himself wedged tight In a press
clogging the door. Before his enraged
vision P. Sybarite was wluning away
with the boy.
Maddened, the gang leader managed
to free his right arm and send a hap
hazard shot after them.
Only the instinctive recoil cf those
about him deflected his aim.
The report was one with a shock of
shattered plate glass. The soft nosed
bnllet, splashing upon the glazed up
per half of the door, caused the entire
pane to collapse and disappear with
the quickness of magic.
Halting. P- Sybarite wheeled and
dropped a hand to the pocket wherein
rested Mrs. Inche's automatic.
"Get that door open!” he cried to the
boy. “I’ve got a taxi waiting”—
His words were drowned out by the
thunderous detonations set up by a
second shot in that constricted space.
With a thick sob the boy reeled and
swung against the wall as sharply as
though he had been struck with n
sledgehammer.
Whimpering with rage. P. Sybarite
tugged at the weapon, buj; It stuck fast,
entangling In the lining of his coot
pocket.
Most happily before he could get it
In evidence the door was thrust sharp
ly In. and through It with a rush ma
terialized that most rare of metropoll
tan phenomena —the policeman on the
spot.
"What’Aall this?”
"Robbery.” P. Sybarite replied, mas
tering with difficulty a giggle of hys
terical relief, “robbery and attempted
murder! Arrest that man —Red No
vember —with the gun In his hand.
With an inarticulate roar, the patrol
man swung on toward the gangster,
and P. Svbarite plucked the boy by the
sleeve and drew him quickly to the
sidewalk.
Bv the never to be forgotten grace
of kismet his taxicab was precisely
where he had left It the chauffeur on
the seat
"Quick.”’ he ordered the reeling boy.
"Into that cab unless you want to be
treated by a Rellevtie sawbones, held
as a witness besides. Are you badly
hurt?"
DAYS
By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
V
C*p>right. Kill. b> the Frank A. Muniey Co
"Not badly.” gasped the hoy. “Shot
through the shoulder—can wnlt for
treatment—must keep out of the pa
pers’—
“Right!” P. Sybarite .lerked open
thf door, and his charge stumbled into
the cab. "Drive anywhere—like sin!"
he told the chauffeur. “Tell you where
to stop when we get clear of this
mess!"
CHAPTER IX.
Beelzebub.
"* »Off is it?” P. Sybarite asked
solicitously of the boy hud
1 M died In Ills corner of the
cab.
“Aches." replied the other between
his teeth.
“Where am I to take you?”
“Home—the Monastery—Forty-third
street.”
"Bachelor apartments?"
“Yes; 1 herd by my lonesome."
“Praises he!” muttered P. Sybarite,
relieved. And while he was about It
he took time briefly to offer up thunk*
that the shook of his wound seemed to
have sobered the boy completely.
Opening the door, he craned his neck
out to establish communication with
the ear of the chauffeur, to whom lie
repented tile address, adding an ndmo
nltion to avoid the Xlonnstery until
certain he had shaken off pursuit, if
any. and dodged back.
"No better. I presume?” I*. Sybarite
Inquired.
"Not so's you'd notice It.” the boy re
tnrned bravely. "Where are we?”
P. Sybarite took observations.
“F<»rt.v-s<*venth. near Sixth avenue.”
he reported. “How did you get into
this mess?”
•‘.lnst by way of being a natural born
ass.”
“Oh, well! If it comes to that, I ad
mit It's none of my business”—
"The deuce it isn't! After all you've
dene for me! Good Lord. man, where
would I be”—
"Sleeping the sleep of the doped ir
some filthy corner of Dutch Hous<f
most likely.”
“1 wasn't meaning to stay without
* fight.”
■'Then you weren't as drunk as you
seemed?”
“Didn't you catch me making n move
the minute you erented a diversion?
Of course, I'd no idea you were friend
ly”-
“Look here.” P. Sybarite Interrupted
"What has Red November got on you
to make him so anxious?”
“Nothing as far as I know', unless it
was Brian Shaynon's doing”—
“A-ah!”
“Friend of yours?”
“Not exactly.”
The accent of P. Sybarite’s laugh
rendered the disclaimer conclusive.
“Glad to hear that,” said the boy
gravely. "I’d despise to be behplden to
any friend of his.”
“What’s the trouble between you and
old man Shaynon?”
“Search me—unless he thought I wa
spying on him. Wlmt business could
he have hnd with Red November there
tonight?"
. “That Is a question,” P. Sybarite al
lijved.
"Something urgent. I’ll he bound—
else he wouldn't ever have dared show
his bare map In that dump. To begin
with, I went to a party tonight.”
“I know.” said P. Sybarite, with a
quiet chuckle, “the Hadlay-Owen mas
querade.”
"How did you know.”
“Kismet! It had to be. But we're
here.”
The taxicab was drawing up before
an apartment house entrance.
Hastily recovering Ills hoard of gold
pieces. P. Sybarite jumped out and [ire
eented ono to the driver.
“Can't change that.” said the latter,
staring. “Besides, this was n charge
call.”
"I know,” said P. Sybarite, “but this
is for you for being a good little tight
mouth.”
"Forever and ever, amen!" protested
the latter fervently. “And thank you!
Thank you!”
“If you’re satisfied we're quits,” re
turned P. Sybarite, offering a hand to
the boy.
“I can manage.” protested this last,
descending without assistance. “I
don’t want the hallhoys here to sus
pect, and 1 can hold up. never fear.”
A liveried hnllboy opened the door,
while a second waited In the elevator.
Promptly ascending, without delay they
were set down at one of the upper
floors.
Throughout this transit the boy car
ried himself with never a quiver. To
the elevator boy he said:
“By the way. Jimmy”—
“Sir?”
“Call up Dr. Higgins for me. Tell
him I’ve an attack of Indigestion and
will be glud if lie'll turn out and oee
If he can fix me up for the night.”
“Very good, Mr. Kenny.”
The gate clanged, and the cage drop
ped from sight as Mr. Kenny opened
his rooms and switched up the lights
In a comfortably furnished sitting
room.
A very little sniping and slashing
sufficed to do away with the shoulder
and sleeve of the lioy's coat and to lay
o|moi Ills waistcoat as well, exposing n
bloodstained shirt. And then at the
Instant when P. Sybarite waa notlug
with relief that the stain showed both
In bark and lu front the telephone
thrilled.
"If you don’t mind answering that.”
grunted Mr. Kenny.
P. Sybarite was already at the In
strument.
"Yes,” he answered. “la this Dr,
nigglns?”
“Sorry, sir." replied a strange voice.
"Dr. Higgins Isn’t In yet. Any mea
sago?"
"Tell him Mr. Kenny needs him at
the Monastery and the matter's urgent.
Doctor not In." he reported superflu
ously, returning to cut away collar, tie.
shirt and undershirt. "Never mind. I
shouldn’t be surprised If we could do
without lilm after nil. I’m beginning
to hope you've had a marvelously nar
row escape."
"Feels like It.” said Kenny Ironically.
F. Sybarite withheld response white
he made close examination. At the
base of Mr. Kenny's neck, well above
the shoulder blade, dark blood was
welling slowly from an ugly puncture.
And In front there waa a correspond
Ing puncture, but smaller. And pres
ently his deft and gentle Angers, ex
ploring the folds of the hoy's under
shirt, closed upon the bullet Itself.
“1 don't believe,” he announced, dis
playing his find, “you deserve such
luck. Somehow you managed to catch
this just right for It to slip through
without either breaking bone or sever
ing artery.”
“I told you I wasn't so badly hurt”—
“God's good to the Irish. Where's
your bathroom?”
With a gesture Kenny indicated its
location.
"And handkerchiefs"—
"Upper bureau drawer In the bed
room.”
In a twinkling P. Sybarite was off
and back again with materials for an
antiseptic wash and a rude bandage.
"How’d you know 1 was Irish?”
“By yourslirs name.” quoth P. Syb
arite in a thick brogue as natural ns
grass, while he worked away busily.
“’Tls black Irish, and well 1 know it.
’Twas me inither's maiden name
Kenny. She had a brother, Michael he
was, and be way av bein' a rich con
thractor in this very town as ever was
befure he died—God rist his sowl! He
left two children—a young leddy who
misspells her name M-a-e A-l-y-s—
--keep still!—and Peter, yersllf. me
cousin, If It’s not mistaken I am.”
“The Lord save us!” said the boy.
“You're never Percy Sybarite?”
P. Sybarite winced. “Not so loud!”
he pleaded in a stage whisper. "Some
one might hear you.”
“I say, what have yffu been doing
with yourself since—since"— he stam
mered.
“Since the fall of the house of Syb
arite.”
“Yes. I didn't know you were in
New York even.”
“Your mother and Mae Alys knew
It, but kept it quiet, the same as me."
&
"She's gene and promised to marry
Bayard Shaynon.”
said the little man. "But yourself?
How long are you out of college?”
"A year—not quite.”
"What were you doing in Dutch
Hofise tonight?”
“Well," Peter Kenny confessed sheep
ishly, "I’m In love”—
"And you proposed to her tonight at
the ball?”
"Yes, nnd”—
"She refused you.”
"Yes, but”—
"So you decided to do the manly
thing—go out and get drunk?"
"It wasn’t as If she'd left me any
excuae to hope, but abe told me flatly
she didn't care for me.”
"That's bad, Peter. Forgive my Ill
timed levity. I didn’t mean It meanly,
boy,” P. Sybarite protested sincerely.
"It's worse than you think," Peter
complained. "I can stand her not car
ing for me. Why should she?”
"Why, indeed?”
"It’s because she’s gone and prom
ised to marry Bayard Shaynon.”
Sybarite looked dazed.
"She? Bavard Shaynon? Who's the
girl?”
"Marian Blesslngton. Why do you
ask? Do you know her?”
There was a pause. P. Sybarite
blinked furiously.
‘Tve heard that name,” he said quiet
l.v, at length. "Isn't she old Brian's
ward—the girl who disappeared re
cently?"
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
THE AUGUSTA HERALD. AUGUSTA, GA.
Krazy Kat
Copyright, I*l4, Internnilonsl News
Service.
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Mr. Dinqbat Gets the Missing
Will—Tomorrow.
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