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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. If You Look at It. You Sec It » i ! 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