Irwinton bulletin. (Irwinton, Wilkinson County, Ga.) 1894-1911, September 08, 1911, Image 3

Irwinton bulletin., September 08, 1911, Image 3

About Irwinton bulletin. (Irwinton, Wilkinson County, Ga.) 1894-1911 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 8, 1911)

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Newspaper Page TextSYNOPSIS. The story opens with a scream from Dorothy March In the opera box of Mrs. Missloner, a wealthy widow. It is oc casioned when Mrs. Mlssioner’s necklace breaks, scattering the diamonds all over the floor. Curtis Griswold and Bruxton Sands, society men in love with Mrs. Mis sioner, gather up the gems. Griswold steps on what is supposed to be the cele brated Maharanee and crushes it. A Hin doo declares it was not the genuine. An expert later pronounces all the stones substitutes for the original. Detectives Donnelly and Carson investigate. They decide that the theft of the original gems Was accomplished by some one in the * house. Miss Elinor Holcomb, confidential companion of Mrs. Missloner, is sus pected. One of the missing diamonds is found in her room. Mrs. Missloner pro tests that Elinor is Innocent, but she is taken to prison. Meantime, In an up town mansion, two Hindoos, who are In America to recover the Maharanee, dis cuss the arrest. Detective Britz takes up the case. He evidently believes Elinor in nocent and asks the co-operation of Dr. Lawrence Fitch, her nance, in running down the real criminal. He advises Elinor not to seek bail. Britz investigates affairs at the Missloner home. He learns that Mrs. Missloner had the diamonds In Paris With her. ■ CHAPTER IX.—(Continued.) — Ab the detective left the office, he could not help a feeling of depression at the slow progress of events. As yet, the intricacies of the mystery were vaguely outlined In his mind. He saw them as a floating mist, heavy with possibilities but charged with delusive signs of beckoning trails that he In stinctively knew led to nowhere. He was still treading lightly the mazes of the case. One false step miiht be fatal, and he preferred to remain In a crouching attitude of watchfulness, ready to spring from cover at the proper moment. Much as he deplored his enforced Inactivity, he nevertheless had faith in the final outcome. A quick mental survey of the case convinced him that the first necessity was to find the maker of the paste stones. Whoever made the duplicate Maharanee would surely recall having done so. There were few Europeon firms that could have made the stone. It was doubtful whether any American manufacturer could have turned out a substitute to fool the eyes of Mrs. Missloner, even for a night. It Is hard enough to get the compact brilliance of the diamond In a small paste gem; Infinitely more difficult is it to manufacture a coun terfeit Maharanee. Britz knew that whoever copied the cut and luster of that marvelous stone was an expert of high caliber. No faint shimmer of glass could have availed to deceive Mrs. Missloner. The laboratory fire that gleamed from the duplicate was the work of years of experiment, and only in Paris, Britz believed, wjs the art of manufacturing paste gems suf ficiently developed to bring forth a ■atisfactory duplicate of the Mahara nee. Three weeks, at least, must elapse before word would come from Logan. The emissary sent abroad was himself a diamond expert. Before entering the Detective Bureau, he had been a foreign agent of the United States Treasury Department. If the dupli cate necklace was manufactured abroad, Logan would find the manu facturer without delay. Britz had faith in his man, and he waited Im patiently through three weeks of tor ment for the first cablegram. It came finally, and he opened it with nervous fingers. I “Missloner necklace manufactured •from drawings by three firms. Orig inal never In possession of manufac turers.” i Britz let the telegram flutter to the floor. | “I knew Its” he burst forth. “They wouldn’t have dared to take the orig inal out of the safe without immedi ately replacing It with the duplicate.” He picked up the message and burst into the Chief’s room. ■ "Read it!” he exclaimed. • The Chief’s eyes drank in the words, but his brain failed to grasp their underlying meaning. “I don’t see that this proves any thing,” he remarked. I “It proves everything,” volleyed Prltz. “It proves that the thief was a clever draughtsman. It proves that he spent weeks sketching the neck lace, stone by stone, and It proves, itoo, that he went to Paris to have the duplicate made.” I “It proves all that,” agreed the Chief. “But who had the opportunity to see the necklace a sufficient num ber of times and long enough to make the sketches? Who but Miss Hol comb?” | “I will find someone who had al most as good an opportunity,” Britz returned confidently. I “And if you do, what will it mean?” asked the Chief. | “It will mean something to work on,” the detective said. । The next twenty-four hours Britz spent in the quiet of his home, ; hls mind focused on the prob lem before him, trying to map out his Jine of procedure. Plan after plan he discarded as worthless. He could have struck out blindly In the hope of stumbling on a trail, but that was not Britz’s method. Crime mysteries were to him scientific problems to be solved by scientific means. Step by step he went over the ground already covered, and then swept the outlook with the keen searchlight of his mind. I By a process of elimination he tried * to sift the real thief from the group of suspects on whom his mental ef forts were concentrated. He, was un able to drag forth the culprit. Then he sought to discern the motive for the crime In the action of each possible criminal, but he could come to no sat isfactory conclusion. "More Information, more informa tion Is needed before the real work can begin!” he murmured. In his preoccupation he did not ob serve the door open and the servant show In a subordinate from Head quarters. Not until the visitor spoke did he become aware of his presence. "Two cablegrams for you, sir," the subordinate said. The first cablegram aroused no emo tions in the detective. "Have obtained original drawings. Will sail to-morrow with them,” the message from Logan read. He opened the second envelope and read the contents half a dozen times, as if to stamp them indelibly on his mind. “Drawings for duplicates taken to manufacturer by young woman. Gave name of Elinor Holcomb.” Britz dismissed the visitor, left the house, and hastened to the office of Dr. Fitch. Taking the Important cablegram from his pocket, he handed it to the physician. The doctor’s eyes lingered on each word. His face paled, his eyes bulged forward, a violent tremor ran up and down his frame. “This is awful!” he groaned. “It’s great news for you and Miss Holcomb,” the detective smiled. Fitch eyed him in perplexity. The detective met his inquiring gaze stead ily, and, slowly folding the cablegram, he said: "It proves beyond question she had no part In the crime.” “How?” Fitch demanded eagerly. “If Miss Holcomb had been clever enough to plan the theft, she’d have known better than to go about Paris ordering the duplicates. Also, if she had taken the diamonds, she’d never have permitted one of them to remain in her room in Mrs. Mlssioner’s house. No, whoever stole those gems deliberately tried to throw suspicion on her.” “But who could have conceived such a dastardly cwtme?” Fitch blurted, a wave of anger sweeping his frame. “Whoever it was,” Britz returned, “either was actuated by enmity to ward the young woman, or knew enough about the Missloner household to realize that suspicion would natur ally fall on her, and therefore he de cided to use her as a cloak to hide his own identity. However, I now have something to work on, something that will produce quick results. Dr. Fitch, you may tell Miss Holcomb that in my calculations she Is entirely eliminated from participation in the crime. You may Inform her also that the hunt for the thief has begun.” Before the physician recovered from the pleasant shock of the de tective’s words, Britz was hurrying down the steps. CHAPTER X. Dorothy March Talks. Matinee girls In the Forrest Theater differ from their sisters of other New York playhouses in that they are far more serious than anybody In the eve ning audiences,_ Caramels, marshmal lows, chocolate creams are forbidden by the unwritten law of their cult The utmost nourishment one of them can allow herself is a salted almond nibbled surreptitiously between de corous little outbursts of kid-gloved applause. It is not the sort of gather ing in which one would expect to find the busiest sleuth of the headquarters staff, especially with a great diamond mystery on his hands. Yet, on one of those warm January afternoons that make the metropolis wonder If It Is being metamorphosed into a winter resort, one of the most interested aud itors in the select little theater was Detective-Lieutenant Britz, of Man ning’s staff. Britz found the somebody he sought : when his gaze fell on a slim little fig ure in the trimmest of dove-colored gowns, sitting in the fifth row oft the • center aisle. Instantly his last pre tense of attention to the play van । ished. Keeping his eyes on the gray curves of the girl In the fifth row, he quitted his post at one side of the i house and walked slowly to the main exit, whence he watched her until the curtain fell on the first act. Mean ■ while, he scribbled on a card, slipped i a liberal tip into the receptive hand of an usher, and Indicated the object of his interest. When the curtain fell on the first act, the usher hurried down the aisle, and presented the card to the girl In gray. I "If Miss March,” read the young , woman, “will spare a few minutes to • Britz, of Headquarters, she will con । fer a favor and serve her friend, Mrs. । Missloner.” i Dorothy gathered her wrap, glasses ! and program quickly and followed the : usher to the back of the theater. The i youth led her to the famous detective, I whom, though she had heard of him • through Doris Missloner, she beheld , for the first time. i “You wished to see me?” inquired Dorothy. It was a banal question, and a flush tinged her cheeks as she re- > allzed Its superfluousness could not es- j yuo, r— I W7l I/I I “More Information, More Information Is Needed." cape the greatest detective in New York. But Britz seemed not to notice it, and the simple directness of his manner put the girl at her ease. “I took the liberty. Miss March,” he said pleasantly, “because I saw you across the orchestra, and I need a short course in social knowledge.” His smile robbed the reply of flip pancy. “Fancy!” said Dorothy. Bhe was so utterly at sea as to the detective’s purpose she could think of nothing else to say save: “I fear you have sought a poor teacher.” “Well, I don’t know now,” Britz re turned, looking at her with respectful admiration. “You see, you’re a soci ety girl, and I know nothing of so ciety, and there’s something I want to know—something I ought to know.” “If there’s anything I can tell you, Mr. Britz, I’ll be glad to do so,” Dor othy volunteered. "Especially If It will help you to find Mrs. Mlssioner’s diamonds.” “I’m not sure it will,” said Britz. “It may, however, save me from seeking them In the wrong place. You seemed to enjoy the play, Miss March.” This shift of subjects was so ab rupt that if Dorothy’s breath had not already been coming in catches, she might have gasped. It was evident detectives were more original than society men. She wondered absently if the type was worth studying. “Why, yes,” her hesitating answer came. "I believe it’s considered one of the best hits of the eeason. Very elevating, you know, and —well, differ ent” “Modern, Miss March?” “It has two periods. The first deals with the life of today, the second harks back to the early Victorian pe riod with, I understand, an abrupt re turn to the present” She was Chatting qiiite easily with the detective now. Had she been reared In Mulberry street Instead of on Murray Hill, she could not have felbjnore natural. “Now, this society subject—by the way, Miss March,” Britz switched again, “is there as much difference between social life then and now?” “Oh, a great deal, I should say.” Her eyes twinkled. “Os course, I can not speak with authority—from per sonal observation.” “I wouldn’t ask you to tell me any thing about Ward McAllister from per sonal observation, Miss March,” said the sleuth. His gallantry on occasion was the wonder of the Central office. Dorothy looked alarmed. Could it be great detectives wasted time on compliments, too? But a side glance at the detective’s serious expression reassured her. It was manifest even to a debutante he had no idea of ma king an impression along that Une. She laughed frankly and looked at him again In the friendliest way. “I know you don’t want to ask me about anything so recent as the Span ish war,” she said, “now, do you?” “Candidly, I don’t,” he rejoined. “To tell you the plain truth, I don’t know exactly what I wish to ask you nor how to ask it, but I have an idea you can help me, and I am sure you will for Mrs. Mlssioner’s sake.” “And Miss Holcomb’s?” asked the girl eagerly. “She, too, you know. Is a dear friend of mine.” "And Miss Holcomb’s,” answered the headquarters man warmly. "Let me say, too, my dear young lady, as one old enough to be your—your —” "Don’t say my brother, Mr. Britz,” Interposed Dorothy mischievously. “I —l —well, I don’t really see how I can be a sister to anybody else.” She felt Impelled to treat this strangely natural man naturally—she, who de spite her Inexperience, could freeze presumption with a glance, felt that way. It was a tribute to his adapta bility. Britz laughed. “Miss March,” he said with more heartiness in his tone than had col ored It in many a day, “if I were not so busy, it would be a delight to be an elder brother to you. But I guess you’re not Interested in my impulses, ■ and we were talking of the play.” i “Oh, yes, 'the play’s the thing.’ ” i Dorothy countered with keen relish of the situation. If subtlety was his । intention, she would show him what a . woman—Dorothy was all of nineteen . —a woman could do. “I never would 1 have supposed,” she added, allowing ■ herself full measure of mischief, “that a famous detective could be a matinee i man.” Britz winced. His ready good na ; ture parried her shafts, however, and i it was with the same slow smile that he replied: “Dees the author reconcile the ®an i ners of the two periods, or, is the ■ piece one of those problem plays that ■ leave everything to the audience? : You see, Miss March,” he went on, • “Mulberry street gets to Breadway occasionally.” ■ “I don’t know, Mr. Britz.” She tried ■ to recall the advance notice of the ; production. “This is the first time 1 I’ve seen It. I dare say the play wright has bridged the gap some- : how.” “It’s a wide gap to bridge,” ob l served the detective thoughtfully. “From reading nineteenth century nov ■ els, I should say it would be hard for : the writer to hold Interest with such । a groundwork for his plot Things : were so different 50 years ago.” i “Exactly what my grandfather ’ says,” Dorothy retorted, fun flashing in that mignon face. “But we’ll know • soon how the author has succeeded,” s she added. "The orchestra is nearing ■ the end of this selection.” “Even their amusements were differ ent,” mused Britz. “Instead of golf, tennis, autolng, yachting, they had i archery, croquet, sketching and square I dances —I don’t suppose anybody In • society sketches nowadays, Miss ■ March?” “I’d hardly say that,” she replied, i “There are a few talented men —” i “And many women —’’ ! “Oh, almost all women are more or i less artistic,” said Dorothy with con vlcltlon. “But one must not be un- । just to the men on that account.” “Well, Miss March,” and his smile । from a younger man would have been called caressing, “we’ve started with • discussion of the play, and we touched on authorship, the founder of the Four Hundred, the war with Spain and a dozen other subjects. Funny how chatter zigzags. Isn’t It? I was about to say that from all I understand, the society men of today are not ag ac ’ compllshed, even if they are talented, as the beaux of good Queen Victoria’s girlhood. Come, now, I’d be willing ’ to bet a box of bonbons you don’t , know half a dozen men who can draw ’ anything except checks.” “Oh, yes, I do!” she cried gayly. Then, meditatively, “Half a dozen, you say? Do you know, Mr. Britz, I ’ think you win.” “You don’t know as many as six?” , Britz inquired, as If the fate of em pires hung on his winning the wager that as yet was only a hypothesis. "It’s humiliating, isn’t it?" she said I naively. “But I don’t. There are two ' or three, though—Teddy Lorimer and t Mr. Griswold, and that" queer little j Frenchmen, Anatole —Anatole —oh, you know who I mean?” ( “Anatole Daubigny?” t “Yes—he draws the funniest, dear- est little dogs.” [ “And his monkeys. Miss March. t Don’t forget his monkeys.” , “Aren’t they simply—simply ravish ing?” the girl returned. "And have > you seen his newest satire on the [ Newportsseat—a lot of apes and t baboons and chimpanzees In evening t dress sitting at the table with several - men and women? ‘A Family Reunion,’ . he calls it” ( “Delightful!” said Britz with en t thusiasm equaling hers. "I perceive . we enjoy a good many things in com- mon, Miss March." She smiled. It was not every mat > Inee girl who could interest a man . who solved world-famous mysteries, t “Isn’t it strange!” she said. Then > the training of years recalled her to a > sense of what she was doing. “I fear , we’ve been very unconventional, Mr. Britz,” she said as primly as her prettiness permitted. “But I’ve en joyed our little chat very much.” "Which means I must be going,” said Britz promptly, “if I’m not to spoil your enjoyment of the mid-Vlc torian scene. The orchestra has fin ished speaking its little piece.” “Yes, there goes the curtain,” agreed Dorothy, rising hastily. “So glad to have met you, Mr. Britz. I hope I’ve been of some assistance about dear Mrs. Mlssioner’s jewels. Good-after noon." “But, Mr. Britz,” she cried, “there was something you wished to ask me —something that was to help you find the diamonds?” “Some other time, Miss March, thank you,” said Britz, smiling. "I won’t detain you now. Perhaps we’ll meet at another matinee soon, with a longer intermission between the acts. Delighted to have made your ac quaintance, Miss March. I know you’re in a hurry to get back to your seat. Forrest audiences don’t like to be disturbed, you know. Good-after noon, Miss March, and —thank you so much! ” He had cause to thank her, he be lieved. For, In her girlish talk, she had given him the first Missloner clue of the week—or, rather, she had extended for him a thread of the mystery that had occupied much of his thoughts from the moment when he received Logan’s cable saying the paste jewels were made from sketches. For days, he had sought to learn who among Mrs. Missioner’s Intimates was artist enough to make such delicate draughts of the dia monds as would be required by an ar tificer for the manufacture of Imita tions. With that object, he had ascer tained Dorothj’s Intention to go to the matinee in the Forrest and had gone to the theater to meet her under con ditions not likely to interfere with such gentle questioning of her as he meant to do. His veiled interrogation of the society girl had brought forth the fact that Curtis Griswold could sketch —that the clubman was suffi ciently master of his pencil ter have his skill pretty generally known among his acquaintances. Lorimer and Daubigny, the other society ar tists she had mentioned, were not, he knew, in Mrs. Missioner’s circle. It was fortunate for Lieutenant Britz, as well as for Elinor Holcomb and Doctor Fitch, and everybody whose hopes hinged on the detective's success in solving the great Missloner diamond mystery, that long custom made him thread the traffic of the city’s throbbing artery automatically, for so deeply did the sleuth ponder the possibilities of his newest infor mation that he had several close es capes from taxicabs, private automo biles and trolley cars as he crossed Broadway and bent his steps toward Fifth avenue. The case had cleared a little, but his course was not much plainer than it had been when he dropped into the theater in quest of further knowledge. “It won’t do to call Miss March as a witness,” he mused, walking north in the carriage-crowded avenue, with that briskness characteristic of him when his brain was most active. “She W W Mi JjII \ J k Ba “I Won't Detain You Now." can’t absolutely prove anything." It was necessary to obtain tangible evi dence of Griswold's ability as a draughtsman. How to do so without alarming the clubman was the present problem. Britz by no means was prepared to suspect Griswold of the robbery. He realized thoroughly that Dorothy’s in formation was all he had to indicate Griswold any more than Sands, or two or three others. He did not even know whether Miss Holcomb could draw, and it was no part of his pur pose to distress the Imprisoned girl with questions betraying the smallest belief in the accusation against her. No; Britz always honest with himself, could not say he suspected Griswold. His method was the opposite of Don nelly’s and Carson’s. Instead of sus pecting everybody, as they invariably did in cases at all mysterious, he would not attach suspicion to anyone without satisfactory proof. That was the secret of his success. He was more than a detective: he was prose cutor. judge, jury and counsel to the defense. It accounted for the fact that he rarely made a mistaken ar- ■ rest, and that when he caused man or woman to be placed in the prison er's dock, a conviction almost always followed. “Griswold, Sands, All, Blodgett—" The names presented themselves to the sleuth’s mind In that order as he hastened along with no particular place as an objective—merely walking * to Btlmulate his mental process. It always brightened Britz to pass the panorama of fashion In Fifth avenue. It was with an almost fatherly feeb Ing he glanced at the rich, the debon air, the gay sauntering along the side । walks or rolling In automobiles and carriages up and down the asphalt. The safety of their wealth, sometimes , of their very lives, depended on the I vigilance, courage and efficiency of himself, and of the few men like him . on the police force of New York. So far as the rank and file of the depart ment were concerned, those care-free sons and daughters of opportunity might be at the mercy of the ablest birds of prey in the human flock. It was because -Britz and his compeers worked and watched and waited so patiently, so devotedly, so ceaselessly, that fashion and finance, coquetry and commerce, could bask in the sunshine of metropolitan prosperity. A dark-blue limousine standing at the corner of Forty-fourth street caught his attention. For a moment ho studied It as he slackened his pace- Then he stopped short, retraced his steps, crossed to the east side of the avenue, and, through the windows of a waiting cab, trained his gaze on Sherry's fashionable restaurant in front of which the costly automobile stood. Dimly, through the filmy lace curtains, he saw the figures of those lingering over afternoon tea, with a few early diners. He could not dis tinguish their faces, but something in the bearing of a woman at the first window held his glance. Then a waiter, moving silently about the ta ble, chanced to part the curtains with his elbow, and in the momentary gap between the folds of film Britz saw the blonde beauty of Mrs. Missloner, and the clear-cut features of Curtis Griswold. Britz settled himself to wait The cabman, whose vehicle he was using as a redoubt, looked at him Inquiring ly, but the detective fished out of his pocket a fat cigar with a scarlet-and gold band, and in a moment he and the cabby were chatting amiably. Ths ! headquarters man had not long to | wait. Before the cabman had gone far into discussion of the current po litlcal crisis, the door of the restau rant across the street was swung open by a boy in many buttons, and Mrs. Mlssioner appeared on the threshold. She was followed closely by Griswold and, after a moment’s pause to glad den the heart of the much-buttoned youth, by a man the watching detec tive was somewhat surprised to see— Bruxton Sands. “Home,” said Mrs. Mlssioner to hex chauffeur. Britz could not hear the word, but he read it fr^m her lips. He saw the widow step Into her limou sine, saw Sands and Griswold follow, saw the chauffeur throw his clutch, saw the big car glide swiftly south to wheel for a northward trip along the avenue. Before the automobile reached a turning point, the detective sprang into the cab. whispered an ad dress to the driver, and added in a low tone: "Double your fare for speed.” The cabman lashed his horse and, knowing his craft, threaded his way through the traffic so quickly that in a short time he was several blocks ahead of the limousine. All the way up the avenue the race continued, Britz well in the lead. At the Fifty ninth street entrance, the automobile swung into the park, but the cabman urged his horse straight up Fifth ave nue, and so great was the gain made by the short cut that a few blocks fur ther north he dropped his fare in front of a mansion of Imposing ugli ness, touched his hat in acknowledg ment of a generous fee, and was bowl ing eastward, halfway to Madison ave nue, when the Missioner car reap peared from the park s Seventy-sec ond street gate. "You at least can stop for a minute ' of gossip,” said Mrs. Missioner over her shoulder as she preceded Sands and Griswold into her library. “Fi nance and club affairs can wait a lib' tie while, and —oh!” ^TO BE CONTINUED.) 4 1 -- —— The Scientific Butler. Science In its more awful forms is not confined to schoolboy howlers. On* ’ of the witty Canon Ainger’s stories— quoted In Mr. E. V. Lucas’ delightful 1 anthology of letters, entitled “The Sec ' ond Post” —proves it 1 At a country house party a maid WM - dressing a guest’s hair. “I hope, Parker,” said the lady, "yon . are comfortable in your place?” “Oh, yes, ma’am,” the maid replied, • with great warmth. “The society ■ down stairs is so superior. The butler ’ leads the conversation. > "He is a refined man,” she contln > ued, with rising enthusiasm. "Indeed, i quite scientific. He has been telling ► all about evolution, and we quite unds^ ■ stand it now. • “He says,” the maid concluded, earn t estly, “that we are all descended from - Darwin.”- -Youth's Companion.