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ATURDAY. MARCH 28. THE DA Y OF DA YS PROLOGUE. ' "It breaks the speed limit to smithereens.” That's a candid opinion about this story. There may have been 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 and you may be swimming in the full tide of fortune. If so, read how P. Sybarite found his. If your own ship is still in the offing, you will enjoy learning how the little spunky red headed bookkeeper won a fortune and an heiress, foiled all his enemies and had some of the most amazing adven tures ever penned—all in less time than it takes the hour hand to round the clock dial twice. (Continued from Yesterday) - do take on llke'you'd lost a power of trouble." “Taxi!" the little man panted vo eiferously. The other yawned and stretched. “It can’t be done," he ndmltted fairly. “They ain’t no such animal on the premises.” With a gesture P. Sybarite singled put the nearest car. “What’s that?” he demanded an grily. “Ten dollars an hour"— “I’ll take it." i “But yon asked for a taxi." grum bled the man, rising to press a button. Whereupon a bell shrilled somewhere In the dark backward of the establish ment. “Deposit?" he suggested, turn ing back. P. Sybarite disbursed a golden double eagfe, and to the operator who. roused by the bell, presently drifted out of the shadows, gaping and nib bing his eyes, he promised a liberal tip for baste. In two minutes be was rolling out of the garage ensconced in the body of a luxurious and high powered touring machine which he strongly suspected to be somebody’s private car lawlessly farmed out while Its owner slept. Self conscious and 111 at ease, he pre sented himself to the amused inspec tion of the night force In the office of the Plaza, made his halting inquiry and received the discounted assurance that Miss Blessington. although a known and valued patron of the house, was not then Its guest. He turned away, sobered, baffled, outwitted and miserably at a loss to guess what next to do. Gloomily he paused with a hand on the open door of Ids car, thoughts pro foundly disturbed and unsettled, for so long that the operator grew restless. "Where next, sir?” he asked. I “Watt." said P. Sybnrite In a man ner of abstraction that did him no In justice. CHAPTER XIII. , Nemesis. SUDDENLY It became plain to P. Sybarite that If In truth It was I with her as he fearefl at least two persons knew what had become of the girl—two persons aside from himself and her hired kidnapers f-Brian Shaynon and Bayard, his son He gave the operator the address of Shaynon’s town house and ns the car slipped away from the hotel was sensi ble of keen regret that he had left at Teter Kenny's at the time ho changed his clothing the pistol given him Mrs. Jefferson Inche, together with the greater part of his fortuitous fortune. In five minutes the car drew up In of one of those few old sash loned brownstone English basement residences which today survive on Fifth avenue below Fifty-ninth street, elbowed and frowned down upon by beetling hives of trade. . Trying bold of an obsolere bellpull. l*%Sybarite yanked It with a spirit In tune with his temper. Immediately and considerably to his surprise the doors were thrown open, and on the threshold a butler showed a face gray with the strain of a sleepless night. "Mr. Shaynon V the little man de manded sharply. "Mr. Bayard Shaynon 'as Just gone, notice minutes ago. sir." "G'one where?" “To his apartments, I presume, sir." “Then I’ll see Mr. Brian Shaynon.” “I'm afraid, sir. Mr. Shaynon is 'ard ly likely to see any one at this hour.” "He'll see me." replied P. Sybarite “He hasn’t gone to bed. I gather?" “Not yet. sir. but 'e's goin’ Imme diate.” "Very well. You may as well let me In.” • Suspicious, but impressed, the serv ant shuffled aside, and P. Sybarite brushed past him into the ballway. 1 "Where Is be?— - " By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE “If you'll give me your utiue. sir, I*l toll him you're ’ore." I*. Sybarite hesitated. Ho wns In n<> mood for joking, yet u oerlnln doui humor lu tlie Jest caught his fancy and persuaded his hotter Judgment. "Nemesis." he said briefly. “Mr.—name-what? Itcg pardon, alrf* “Nein-o-sls," P. Sybarite articulated distinctly. ">nd don't mister It. lie'll understand." "Tbenk you." muttered the servant blankly and turned. On Impulse P. Sybarite strode after bim. "On second thoughts, you needn't ■unounce me. I'll go up with you." “I'm afraid I can't permit that, sir." observed the butler, horrified. "If I mas to permit that, sir. It might cost me my position." "Well"— P. Sybarite drew back, relenting. P.ut nt this Juncture, from a point di rectly over their heads, the voice of Brian Story non Interrupted them. "Who Is that. Sonnies?" he called Impatiently, without making bluise'.t visible. "Has Mr. Bayard returned?" “No. sir,” the butler called, distress ed. “It's—lt's a person, sir—lnsists on seein' you—soys 'ls nlme's Nemmysls." There was a sound of heavy, drag glng footsteps on the upper landing and Brian Shay non showed himself at the head of the stairs; now without his furred great coat, blit still in the evening clothes of Elder Rostiectablllty —Respectability sadly rumpled and maltreated. “I dou't seem to know you.” he said slowly, with a weary shake of his head. “And it’s most inopportune the hour. 1 fear you must excuse me." His accents quavered querulously, and P. Sybarite, with a flash of scorn put his condition down to drink. “Far from it," he retorted ruthless ly. “What have you done with Marian Blessiugton?” “Mar— Marian!” the old voice iter ated. “Why. she”—the man pulled himself together with a determined es fort—“she's In her room of course Where shonld she be?” “Is that true?” P. Sybarite demand ed of the butler in a manner so perem tory that the answer slipped out befon the fellow realized It. “Miss Marian 'asn't returned ns ye! from tlie ball.” he whispered “'E—’e's not quite 'imself. sir. 'E’s 'ad a hit of a shock, ns one might s'y. I'd go easy on 'lm. if you'll take a word from me.” But P. Sybarite traversed his advict without an instant’s consideration. "Brian Shaynon.” he called, “you lie The police have caught Red November I’ll worm the truth out of him within twenty minutes. If I don’t get it from you. bow. The game's up Come What have you done with the girl?” For all answer, a low cry, like th< plaint of a broken hearted child. Issued from the leaden, writhen lips of the old man. He seemed suddenly to lose tin strength of his limbs. His legs shook beneath him ns with a palsy; and then knees buckling, he tottered and piling ed headlong from top to bottom of tin staircase. Kneeling beside the body of Brian Shaynon, where it had lodged on a broad, low landing three steps from the bottom of the staircase, the butlei turned up to P. Sybarite fishy, unemo tional eyes In a pasty fat face. “ 'E’s gone.” ho announced. The little man said nothing. Besting a hand on the newel post, he looked down unmoved upon the mortal wreck of him who had been his life’s bane. “Dead," the butler affirmed, releas lng the pulseless leaden wrist and ris lng. “I presoom I'd. best call 'ls doc tor. 'adn't I. sir? He’d 'ad a bit of shock before you come in. sir." “Yes?” murmured P. Sybarite ab sently. “Yes. sir. a bit of a shock, owin' to ’ls ’avln' quarreled with Mr. Bayard, sir.” P. Sybarite interrogated with his eyes alone. “It was a bit odd. come to think of it —the ’ole affair, sir. Must ’ave been over an hour ago, Mr. Shaynon 'ere, 'e come 'one alone from the dance. 'E 'adn’t more than got inside the house, sir. w'en a lldy called on 'lm. Properly speakin’ she wasn’t a lldy at all—but n woman. I mean to s'y, a bit flash." “I understand you. Go on." “Weil, sir. I didn't 'ave a chance to over’ear w'nt 'er business were, but It seemed to work on Mr. Brian there somethin' 'orrid. They was closeted in the library upstairs not more than twenty minutes, and then she went and 'e rung for roe and to bring 'lm brapdy and not delay about it. 'E nearly emptied the decanter, too, be fore Mr. Bayard got 'ere. And the minute they came together it was 'am mer and tongs. 'Ot and 'eavy they 'ad it for upwards of an hour, be’lnd closed doors, aline as like with the lldy. But w'en Mr. Bayard 'e come to go. sir. the old gent follows 'lm to the landin'— Just where > was when he spoke to you, sir. before > 'ad the stroke: and 'e says to Mm. says ’e: ‘Remember, 1 cawat you off. Don't come to rne for nothin' after this. Don’t ever yon dark en my doorstep agin.' 'e says. And Mr. Bayard, sir. 'e ups and laugha fiendish in 'la father's own flee. ‘You've got another guess coinin'.’ ’e mocks Mm open: ‘you're in this business as deep as we.' be says, ‘and if you cross me IM! double cross you, and through the newspapers too.' And with that, out 'e went In a rlge." THE AUGUSTA HERALD, AUGUSTA, GA. — —y "in —^ M Ij I He Looked Down Unmoved. “So that was the way of It?" P. Syb arite commented dully. So Mrs. Incbe bud sought the father to revenge herself upon the,sou. und with this outcome—llayard uuharmed, bis father dead. With neither hesitation nor a single backward glance at the body of his ancient enemy the little man swung about, walked quietly to the front dem and as quietly let himself out. He was of no mind to be called as a witness at a possible Inquest, and busi ness of fur greater import urged him —time pressing—the real business of his life, this—to discover the where shouts of Marian Blesslugton with the least avoidable delay. His first cast having failed him, he must now try to draw the son and If possible before the latter .learned of bis father's death. Not until about to re-enter the car did he remember he had neglected to secure Bayard's address from the but ler. But he wouldn't turn back. It could be ascertained. Peter Kenny would either know it or know where to get it. To Peter's rooms he must of neces sity return first of all, for it would not much longer prove possible to go up and down and to and fro upon Man hattan Island in a black silk evening coat and flaming scarlet small clothes. To change was imperative. "The Monastery," he directed, set tling back into bis seat. It was now clear daylight. “Wait.” be told the driver on alight ing at the Monastery. “I’m keeping you.” Money passed between them, more than enough to render bis wishes Inviolable. A dull eyed -hallboy recognized and let him in. sullenly passing him ou to the elevator, but as that last was on the point of taking flight to Peter Ken ny’s door It hesitated and the opera tor with his hand on the half closed gate shot it open again Insteud of shut. A telegraph boy not over forty years tired was being admitted at the street door. The colloquy there was distinct ly audible: “Mr. Bayard Sbaynon live here?” “’Leventh floor. Hurry up—don't keep the elevator waitin’.” Peter Kenny’s rooms were on the twelfth. The telegram, with its sprawling in dorsement in Ink, “Mr. Bayard Sha.v non, Monastery Apartments,” was for several minutes within two feet of P. Sybarite's nose. Impossible to conjecture what Inti mate connection It might have with the disappeuranee of Marian Blessing ton, what a flood of light it might not loose upon the dark intrigue. “What door?" demanded the messen ger as he left the cage at the eleventh floor. “Right across the ball,” he was in formed. The gate clanged, the cage mounted to the next floor, and I’. Sybarite got out. requiring no direction, for Peter' Kenny’s door was immediately above Bayard Shaynon’s. As he touched the bell button for the benefit of the elevator man—but for his own fulled to press it home—the rum ble of the door bell below could be heard fulutly through muffling firebrick wulls. The grumble persisted long aft er the elevator bad dropped back to the eleventh floor. And presently the voice of Western Union was lifted in sour expostulation. "Sa-ay, whatcha s’pose’s th’ matta wid dis guy? I’ been ringin’ baffan our!” “That’s funny,” commented the ele vator boy. "He come in only about ten minutes ago.” “Waitin' here ail day won’t get me nothin'. Here, wbat’s th' matta wid you signin' for't?' "Owan. Sign it yourself 'nd stick unda the door, wbydoneba?” “A’right. Guess I will." Clang of the gate; whine of the de scending car; silence. Softly P. Sybarite tiptoed down the stairs. (To Be Continued Tomorrow,) “I SAW IT IN THE HERALD” OPPORTUNITY DOESN’T COME LIKE AN ANGEL Opportunity knocks at every man’s door, but don’t expect to find upon the step an angel proffering a inagio wand, a wave of which will bring you fame and riches. It is the chance for hard work and application that Oppor tunity most often brings, and do not shut the door upon it to wait for a magic pass to success. THE CHARITY MATCH It was so simple—just writing an other fellow's name. After that, the unspeakable horor of bare, close walls, of solitude, of as sociation worse than solitude. In tho uniform of the banned. Yes, the uni form they were all as one. Their fraternity, though minus liberty, abounded with equality. Ross Cun ningham had never dreamed how that last word would one day make him shiver. Then, one clay, again It was so simple. A sea mist stealing over the moorland. A stumble over a marl stone fragment lying hidden in the ling and bracken, that grew so rank and high that, where he lay, it form ed a skyline and a cover. Hark! There it came—the shout of his number, the halt. But at what a distance already. Morn shouts, still more distant. His heart was jumping more than ever. Then the whistles —all further oTf. Now for It. Cross-country run ning had In the old daj-B won him fame. Would it win him froedom now? Yes. certainly for a while the old pnee, the old stamina, had won him freedom. Ilut what was he to da with it? Miles lay between him and those grim, high, spiky walls. Tho light was coming, with the marrow curdling chill of tho hour before tho dawn. And the light would bring danger. As soon as seen, ho would be recognized as a wanderer from the fold —of black sheep—branded as well as black. He must get cover, so he made for the jagged line made by house-tops and pegged with chimney-stacks, dark against the lifting bluish grey. He came at last to a high, close paled, vast enclosure, and, skirting this, reached a range of sheds wltn corrugated roofing. Why, yes, in the strengthening dawnlight he read on the huge placard: “Moonlight Football Club.” There were the high gates—too high to be scaled; but, a little lower down, the road, up for repairs, was littered with planks and poles. Again, it was so simple. In five minutes he was within the high en closure, had scrambled over a locked turnstile. “Team's Dressing Room.” Ah! If he could only get In there! The doors? —locked. The win dows? —fastened! But click! In a mo ment a pane had smashed. His hand, thrust through, ho forced back the catph. He was In. There where he lay, he sank Into an all-compelling slumber, a spool so profound that when Ht last he start ed up, like the hunted thing he was, the clock hands were both up at the twelve. From without came sounds of life and bustle, dancing through the windows, he saw officials and others obviously Intent on preparations for a big “gate.” For Ross remembere l It was Saturday, and there on the wall was a double-crown poster, big leteered In blue and red, with the date and Moortown vs. Brindley. If he could only get rid of that in criminating ridge. There was an in ner fitted with basins, a shower-bath ani lockers, some unsecured, and In one of these—Eureka! a serge suit. Foraging in others, he secured a pair of boots, somewhat the worse ror wear, but the better so rease. Even stockings he found. He started at the rattle at. the door. Holding his breath, he listened to the click of the letter-box, and a yellow envelope fell through Mechanically he picked it up, and observed that it was addressed “Mur- chison, Moortowm.” Mechanically he oponel and read It, not from curiosity, or any vague idea of it assisting him. “Desperately sorry! Sprained ankle at exercise this morning. You must play somebody else.’ —Steggles.” Steggles! Who could he be? Ross wondered; then tore up tho telegram, chiding himself for wasting a mo ment on Buch idle wonderlngs. He lost not a second in changing, which was as well, for Just as he had hidden tho kit he had abandoned, In the depth of what was obviously a nobody’s looker half-flllel with odd ments, and completed tho luxury of a good sluice and toweling, the door handle again. Now for it! A square-jawed bullet-headed man in a reefer suit entored, and ex claimed; “What? Mr Steggles—alroaly?" And Ross Cunningham abandoned swiftly that resolution to make a rush for It, and, with a quick laugh, re plied: v ’’Hardly expected me so soon, oh?" was the reply. "But I’m glad. Frankly, I told Mr, Henthara It was running It ruthor fine, your timing yourself to be hero at 2:15. By the by, y»*u’ll be Borry to hear bo's laid up with gout.” "Dear me, that’s a pity-" Ross said, occupied more in won lerlng who Betham might be than with 'his misfortunes. "it is,” said the other. “He hav ing gone over to arrange your trans fer, and all that. My name’s Mur chison, you know—Geordle Murchi son.” "Ah, yes, I know.” “Well, laddie, you’ve got your chance now,” said the other. "We're not a great club yet awhile, but I think you'll like yourself better play ing center-forward in our first, string than staging on at Hlagton in their reserves,\nd a new one at that. But I understood from Mr. Ben tharn, you wore a black mustache.” “I did, but I’ve shave i clean late ly,” said Cunnlntfham, this time quite truthfully. And a daring Idea was shaping In his brain, daring and yej— So simple! This man, evidently the manager of the Wednesdays took him for Steggles, evidently a recent transfer from Hlagton United Why not play the part? It meant playing the game; but that Ilea merely made his heart beat a trifle faster. Seven ty minutes of the game! Seventy minutes of fierce, frantic Joy! Then, 1f be had to go back after, his bid for freedom would nqjt have be’en all lu vain. But what of the kit? His leaping heart sank for a moment, then he whispered to himself; “Bluff It." "But, 1 say, old chap, what do you think I've done? I,ike a consummate ass. I’ve left my kit-bag In the train.” “By Jove! That’s Hwkward for you,” said the other. “But we'll soon fix that up and ” Cunningham’s heart was In Ills mouth as the genial manager began to rummage the very next locker to that one wherein lay the discarded broai-arrow uniform. But luckily he* rummaged neither that nor the other wherein Ross had found the clothes lie was wearing, but, from others furnished him with a shirt with the Moortown Wednes day stripes, knickers, boots, and all. And, good fellow as he was, be huii plemented these with the proffered loan of a sovereign. Then Murchison betook himself off to consult his 11- rectors on points concerning the com ing match. Ross gave that dressing room a wide berth for awhile, wandering among tho crowds gathering Just be yond. He wondered whether to see the thing through or make a holt oT It. Slagton was a flry cry. The real Rleggles only a reserve, "and a new one at that.” As to bis ability to meet the expectations cherished eon corning the newly transferred re serve, ho, without undue vanity, felt fairly confident. What had moved the Queen's Club to ecstasy would probably do for Moortown. A band was laid on his arm. He started, but It was only (leordlo Mur chison. That perforce ended any indecis ion. Back to the dressing-room he went to be introduced to the team to make yet another change of garb. His own skipper was giving a few last directions. “You’re lookin' a wee hit nalrvous, Steggles,” ho said. ‘'That'U go as soon as we tuk’ the field, I'm thlnk !n’.” Then the toss —tho lino up tho starting whistle—and the mighty roar it set In motion, and Roas Cun ningham became oblivious of every thing that was or had been, save that ho was Jock Steggles playing center forward for Moortown At tho outset Brindley, with wind and sun In their favour, were press ing hard, and for a quarter of an hour tho Moortown goal wds Intermittent ly packed. And xhen, all at once, tholr new center forward, heading away a coo ner kick, sprang after the ball, got on it, and, with It at his toe, drib bled It through tho forwards, round center half, then sent It swift as an arrow Into tho open, gaping goal. The rest, of the game was summar Grand Duchess Will Marry For Love ~. 1,, m.. . 1 .t ' - ' * • <> ' V - isfyw&fok A GRAND DUCHfcSS MATJANA OK RUSSIA, St. Petersburg Grand Duchess Tat* Jana, the second daughter of the Czar Insists that she will nrisrry for lov« and not for political reasons. Tat Jana is now In her seventeenth, year arid strik ingly beautiful, Several times It has been reported that various princes of KuVopean royal houses have sought the hand of the Grand Duchess In vain. it Is now rumored that a son of King Charh s of Roumania Is contemplating i visit to the Russian court with the idea of contracting a Russian-Rumanian al liance which is riot dtspleasng to the Cjsaf. Ib w Tatjana wll receive him is a. question, and If he falls to appeal to her he will not he long In finding It out, as she Is very outspoken and oasts dip lomacy to the winds when personal feel ings are concerned. THREE ized by’the “M.mrtown Chronicle ” “As to the respective teams, it wa* unanimously conceded that the home side were on the whole immeasur ably outclassed by the visitors, both as to combination, pace, and science; and Moortown’s paradoxical win was due In Jock Steggles, the new center forward.” The match was over, and the new center forwnr 1 had been cheered and chaired. Jock Steggles was all at once, in the hubbub and bustle, missed, he ‘having, after rc-ehunging slipped out by a back door of the dressing-room, a tweed cap pulled well down over his eyes. “Jock Steggles, man, where are you?” Geordle Murchison bawled, stampeding along the passages. And a man who was limping with the aid of a stick. In quest of Geor dle, Imwlol hack: “Hero I Ire Soon as the doctor bad hound up my gammy foot I took first train I could. I’m too lato even to see the match, but that's no mat ter; they tell nie we won well.” Geordle stared hard. “Oh, yes, we won!” he chortled,” thanks to one man. But, excuso me who lire you?” “I’m Jock Steggles from Hlagton, If you’ve no objection,” the new arrival exclaimed, "though one Fellow laughed In nm face when I told him so Just now. And 1 heard another fool ehoutlng that I'd scored all the six goals.” Geordle stared Rmazed, then to the indignation of his Interlocutor, shout ed to tho Moortown goalie and skip per; "William, lad, where’s Steggles, anyway the other Steggles, cause tills chap says he’s one of ’em.” “One of ’em, man! I’m the Stpg gles, the Steggles that signed on for your club last, week Ask Mr. Ren thani. Who's been taking my name?” Then the goalie, too, atarerl. "Nobody who has disgraced It,” he said "But, Geordle, I've something unpleasant to report. Somebody's plnehed that second best suit 1 left 111 the old locker last week, when wo went to the dinner after the match. Found any trace of them?” Tills last inquiry was to the dress ing-room attendant, who replied: r “No, William, but here’s a pair of knickers and a sort, of tunic. But. look st tho pattern.” In dead silence they took stork of the garments, nnd tho "pattern” which was—a broad arrow! "This explains a lot,” he said. "Poor, lad. ’ "Then he took your togs, and my name" the real Jock Steggles blurt ed "What are you going to do about It?” “Nowt,” said William Abbs. “Man, however, he may have disgraced his own name, today ho covered yours with glory. Imt the old clothes go.’" And SteggleH, In another tone re plied: "Ay, lads, and let him go. I .at us four remember 'tls «anny to say nowt. T'Book tells us, ‘Charity seeketh not her own,’ and this was a Charity Match." "Down in Front, You Bean Pole”—To Chancellor Berlin.—Dr. von Bethinnnn-Hollweg, the Imperial Chancellor vlaited the aquarium at the Berlin "Zoo” yeater ilay, and, fascinated by a basin full of clams, did not notice that his towel ing form effectually obstructed the view of hts shorter fellow-visitors, who tried In vain to peer over his shoulder. Finally, a small man tugged at tho Chancellor’s sleeve and remarked, "Well, you bean-pole In front there, perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping back and looking over our shoulders, so that others can get their money’s worth, too.” The Chancellor smilingly hastened to oblige.