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SYNOPSIS.
The story open* with a scream from
Dorothy March tn the opera box of Mrs.
Mlssloner, a. wealthy widow. It Is oc
casioned when Mrs. Misstoner's necklace
breaks, scattering the diamonds all over
the floor. Curtis Griswold and Bruxton
Bands, society men in love with Mrs. Mls-
Bioner, 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 al! 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. Mlssloner, is sus
pected. One of the missing diamonds is
found In her room. Mrs. Mlssloner 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 fiance, tn running
down the real criminal. He advises Elinor
not to seek ball. Britz Investigates affairs
at the Mlssloner home. He learns that
Mrs. Mlssloner had the diamonds in Paris
With her. Paris police Inform him that
duplicates of the stones were made there
on the order of Elinor Holcomb. Britz
interviews Miss March and learns who
of her friends can draw.
CHAPTER X.—(Continued.)
She stopped in the act of throwing
off her furs, and stood gazing at the
uh' die of the room. There, absorbed
tn Uis task, at ease in a big chair be
fore the crackling grate, sat Detective-
Lieutenant Britz. Pad in one hand,
pencil In the other, he was sketching
busily.
Mrs. Mlssloner extended a hand be
hind her to silence her companions.
She turned her head with a smile al
most as mischievous as Dorothy could
flash.
"Hush!" she whispered. She and
the others watched Britz quietly as
his pencil moved slowly, awkwardly
over the paper. From his frequent
glances at the end of the room that
held the big safe, it was evident he
was making a drawing of it. The la
borious dragging of his pencil point
proved he was not accustomed to such
work —at least, bo It seemed to one
of the three who watched him. But
the sleuth stuck to the task doggedly,
and at last he bore so heavily on a
corner of his sketch that the point of
bls pencil broke.
He laid down the pad, took out a
pocket knife, and began to sharpen
the pencil. When the point was
fashioned to his liking, he looked up.
Then and then only did he seem to
see the widow and her friends. He
arose instantly and bowed to Mrs.
Mlssloner, following that with a short
nod to the men behind her.
“I told your man to let me come in,
madam, because I had no time to
spare,” said the sleuth.
Mrs. Mlssloner bowed her bead In
assent.
“You wish to see me?” she Inquired.
“There is something more you wish
to know?”
She was not in the mood for dis
cussion of the detective’s quest this
evening. The afternoon tea in
Sherry’s, the short ride home, in
cluding the turn in the park, with her
two most persistent admirers, this
cozy home-coming in the dusk of a
winter day, however unreasonable the
weather, had made her meditative.
Even as she spoke to the detective
and sank dreamily into a conversation
chair beside the fire, her eyes strayed
from Sands to Griswold, from Gris
wold to Sands, with the vague look of
Th* Detoctlv* Qulck*n*d Ht* Pa**, Reading South,
a woman trying to decide a momen
tous question. Griswold, ever ready
to seize the smallest advantage,
promptly occupied the other end of
the chair. Facing the beautiful
widow, he Ignored both Britz and
Sands, and he threw into the glances
he showered upon the woman all the
caress at his command.
Britz eyed Sands sharply before re
plying. He gripped his chin with
thumb and finger, and seemed study
ing the big millionaire. As a matter
of fact, he was watching Griswold.
His gaze, even as it appeared focused
most strongly on Sands, in reality was
concentrated on the clubman, who
shared the serpentine chair with the
wealthy widow.
"I want a plan of the room," said
Britz at length. “A sketch of the safe,
too. One of my men was to have
made draughts for me, but I had to
send him out of town at short notice
on another end of the case. So,” and
he smiled slowly at his poor work
manship, “I’m doing the best I can."
“May I see what you have drawn?”
asked Mrs. Mlssloner pleasantly. “Oh,
Mr. Britz,” she laughed, holding the
paper at arm's length, “I'm afraid
you’ll never make an artist I hope,”
she added hastily, “you have no pro
fessional pride on that point?”
“None whatever,” returned the de
tective. He liked a woman with a
sense of humor, and there was some
thing about Mrs. Mlssloner that ap
pealed to him anyway. “I told you 1
was merely a substitute.”
Sands, towering above the widow on
the hearth-rug, shot a single, Indiffer
ent look at the drawing. Griswold’s
glance brushed It carelessly, but the
widow’s interest in it was echoed by
him in so for that he took the dia
gram from her and examined It for a
few seconds. Then, with a short,
harsh laugh, he half turned to Britz,
alternately bending and straightening
the paper In his fingers.
“Ever hear of such a thing as per
spective, detective?” he asked conde
scendingly. Britz overlooked the air
of superiority. He shook his head
thoughtfully. There was inquiry in
his eyes as he waited for Griswold’s
next words. “You'd starve to death
in a studio," the clubman continued
scornfully.
A crisp little laugh from Britz was
the only reply. He crossed the floor
and made a microscopic examination
of the safe. Then he circled the room,
tapping the walls again, moving pieces
of furniture to look behind them, turn
up corners of the rug, and gazing re
flectively at the ceiling. AH, the In
dian servant, appeared noiselessly at
the door, started slightly at the sight
of the detective, and vanished as si
lently. Britz pretended not to see
the 'Hindoo, but, in his movements
about the room, he paused at the
threshold, and glanced quickly down
the passage. There was no one in
sight
All that time, Curtis Griswold, hav
ing ripped off the sheet on which
Britz had drawn the rude diagram,
was sketching Idly as he talked In an
undertone to the widow. His words
held her attention. She took no note
of the detective’s wandering, the
heavy silence of Sands, the soundless
appearance and disappearance of the
Hindoo. Ripples of laughter revealed
that she, at least, was amused by
what Griswold was saying. It was
when Britz, having finished his de
tailed examination of the room,
stopped close beside him that they
looked up.
"I see you are an artist, Mr. Gris
wold,” remarked the sleuth, his eyes
on the paper under the clubman’s pen
cil.
Griswold was genuinely surprised.
For the first time, he seemed to be
come aware of the shape his idle tra
cing on the pad had taken. In the
course of his brief chat with Mrs.
Mlssloner, he had sketched clearly,
accurately, artistically, not only the
room, but the great safe at the for
ther end—sketched them far better
In those few minutes than Britz could
have done in as many hours. His
drawing, almost automatic, showed
the subconscious skill of —to say the
least —an excellent amateur.
“Why, that's so,” he said, holding
up the drawing indifferently. His
prowess with the pencil was an old
story to the widow and his rival. Gris
wold tossed the pad and pencil on the
table and resumed his talk with Mrs.
Mlssloner, turning the coldest of cold
shoulders toward the sleuth.
But Britz was not to be shouldered
aside so easily. He addressed himself
toward the widow, winning her instant
attention with his first query:
"Has Miss Holcomb ever told you
much about her last year in Smith?"
he asked.
Mrs. Mlssioner’s eyesbrows arched.
"Nothing Important enough to re
member, Mr. Britz,” she said, staring
Incredulously. The detective had al
ready assured her warmly of his be-
Hes in Elinor’s Innocence. Could it be
he was not going to clear the girl
after all?
"You know nothing of her engage
ment to a Harvard undergraduate,
then?” he persisted.
The widow shook her head.
“Before her father lost his fortune,
I mean,” said the sleuth.
“Neither before nor after, Mr.
Britz,” replied Mrs. Mlssloner, rising
Impatiently. "Miss Holcomb, being a
beauty, naturally received a great
deal of attention, but I never heard of
a betrothal.”
Lieutenant Britz, still standing be
fore the hearth, moved to let Mrs.
Mlssloner pass. The widow pushed
aside the heavy hangings of a window
and peered Into the twilight backed
by the trees In the park. Britz,
having moved, took another step.
Those gray eyes of his shifted so rap
idly they were upon the three others
almost simultaneously. So gradually,
so slowly did he approach the table
that no one noticed his hand upon it.
Resting that hand upon the edge, he
went on:
“I am sorry you are not more min
utely Informed concerning Miss Hol
comb’s university days.” Slowly his
fingers extended until the tips rested
on the tiny pad. “In a case like this,
the smallest knowledge may be of
value.” Slowly, ever so slowly, the
fingers contracted, drawing the pad
with them. “Perhaps if you make an
effort, you can recall something about
the —the prisoner’s past, Mrs. Mls
sloner?" The pad was In his hand.
Deftly he tore off the top sheet and
Inclosed It In his fingers. As the
widow started to speak, and entirely
unobserved by Griswold or Sands, the
detective slipped that agile hand Into
his pocket. When the hand came out,
it was empty.
“No,” said the rich woman with
more emphasis than would be expect
ed of her large good nature, “I can
recall nothing. I am sure there is
nothing to recall. You musi look else
where if you seek to forge links in a
chain of evidence against Miss Hol
comb. I have told you all I know —
all I could possibly know.”
“That being the case,” said Britz
briskly, "there is nothing more to say.
With your permission, I will send a
draughtsman to make plans of the
room and diagrams of the safe.” He
hesitated. "I suppose these little art
gems of mine,” he resumed with a dry
smile, “may as well meet the fate
they deserve." With a quick move
ment, he threw all the sheets of paper
on the table and the pad as well into
the heart of the fire.
“Guess I'll say 'Good-afternoon,'"
and with a bow to Mrs. Missioner and
the coolest of nods to the men, he left
the room, the widow’s detached “Good
afternoon, Mr. Britz," floating after
him.
Was he mistaken, Britz asked him
self as he walked quickly along the
passage, or did he see a pair of eyes
beneath a towering turban peer at
him from the corner of a cross corri
dor? He made a mental note to have
the Hindoo servant watched more
closely as, treating Blodgett’s lofti
ness with exasperating indifference,
he tripped down the steps of the Mls
sloner mansion, and hurried along a
path in the park. Once in the shelter
of the shadows, the detective quick
ened his pace, heading south.
He stopped under the low-hanging
bough of a great oak tree to get a
better light. As he was about to
strike a match, his use of that par
ticular cigar suddenly ceased, for,
gripping, clinging, strangling, some
thing soft and silky was drawn tightly
about his neck, his elbows were
Jammed against his sldpa, his knees
were squeezed together so closely he
could not take a step, and In another
minute he found himself bound,
gagged, helpless, with three men sit
ting on him, bowling rapidly In a cab
along the park drive in a direction
which, owing to the swirling excite
ment of the last sixty seconds, he
could not ascertain. All he knew
was that he was a captive; that he
had been seized in away unusual to
city highwaymen, and that for the
present a struggle for release would
be simply a useless —perhaps worse
than useless —expenditure of his
strength.
CHAPTER XI.
A Wild Ride.
Once he realized the futility of re
sistance, Britz busied himself with ef
forts to get a line on his direction. He
was In an ordinary brougham, drawn
by a pair of high-stepping horses. He
was lying on the floor, but on a pile
of rugs. The silk scarf with which
he had been fastened had been loosed
from his neck, only to be drawn tight
ly about his mouth. A smaller strip
of silk, rolled into a ball, had been
thrust between his teeth, gagging him
beyond his power to utter a cry. His
wrists and ankles were bound with
similar scarves. He was as helpless
as if In the electric chair. His life,
it might be, depended on his self-con
trol and resourcefulness.
In the faint light that flashed from
time to time through the windows of
the brougham as it whirled past park
lamps, Britz saw that all three of his
captors were dark of feature and lithe
of form. One moment he was con
vinced there was something foreign
In the appearance of the men. The
next, he was less certain they were
not American. A hawklike sharpness
of profile, however, inclined him more
strongly to the former belief. He had
seen recently, he thought, a face that
in such a light would resemble those
bending above him. As he was striv
ing to recall it, and the circumstance
surrounding It, a fourth scarf was
passed about his eyes and knotted
behind his head. The silken strip was
light in texture, but folded so many
times that he could not see the dim
mest .glimmer of light.
Britz focused his forces on the task
of ascertaining his whereabouts and
direction. One, two, three blocks the
brougham sped westward. Britz knew
he was headed for the Hudson. Had
not his blindfolding convinced him his
life was not in peril, he might have
thought his captors were hurrying
him to the river to make an end of
him. He continued counting the
blocks until, wheeling sharply to the
right, the horses headed north, and
a change in the sound of their hoofs
betrayed that they had left the as
phalt and were on the macadam
again.
"The Drive!” Britz told himself
with a slight glow of satisfaction. The
distance traveled from the park, the
change of direction, and the altered
pounding of the hlghsteppers’ hoofs
could mean but one thing; the vehicle
was bowling along the beautiful Riv
erside concourse New Yorkers have
come to appreciate only in recent
years.
It was at that point Britz made his
first mistake of the trip. The latch
of the left door was jarred loose by
an uneven crossing, and the detective
felt the door give slightly against his
shoulder. He sensed in an eyeflash
the door had not swung open. Prob
ably an end of the rug had caught
under it sufficiently to hold It shut.
But it undoubtedly was unfastened,
and that evidently without the knowl
edge of his captors. Had any of the
three noticed the unlatching of the
doer, he would have drawn it close im
mediately. There was momentary
danger of that There was not a mo
ment to spare. Britz had little time
for thought With a powerful contor
tion of his wiry frame he threw off
the men above him long enough to
fling himself against the door.
Britz reckoned on the likelihood
that his fall from the carriage would
be seen by a patrolman—at any rate,
that his attempt at escape would
cause a commotion sum to result in
police interference.
The detective omitted from his reck
oning the astuteness and readiness of
his captors. He thought the surprise
hinging on his desperate attempt at
escape would be of sufficient duration
to let him roll to the road. He was
shocked mentally as well as physical
ly, therefore, when his fall was stopped
with a jerk, and the back of his head
struck with cruel force against the
carriage step. Just for a second’s
flight, reinforced steel and rubber
though he was, he lost consciousness.
When his senses returned, he was In
the same position—head dangling,
shoulders resting against the rods of
the step, back bent painfully over the
steel-shod threshold of the carriage
floor, lege Inside, gripped in a hold
not all his struggles could break. Hi?
ankles still were bound. So, for that
matter, were his wrists, with his
hands behind him.
Then began as strange a struggle
as any in which Britz had engaged in
all his exciting career. The men In
the cab strove to pull him inside; he
battled against their efforts. Bound
though his hands were, his fingers
were twined tightly about the step
rods. He had a grip on the rods as
powerful as that with which one of
his captors held his ankles. The
crossing of his hands to bind his
wrists had made his hold only the
firmer. All the leverage of each
sinewy wrist strengthened the other.
The rods were so small they hurt his
hands, but unless they broke his grip
could not be loosened. Britz clutched
them with an Iron resolve not to be
drawn Into the brougham again. Safe
though his life might have been at the
outset he was not certain it would be
secure after his daring defiance of the
odds against him.
“This,” said Britz to his inner con
sciousness, with a touch of the grim
humor his colleagues often found dis
concerting, “is hill-climbing under dif
ficulties.” For the coachman, in spite
of—perhaps because of —the silent
struggle going on furiously at the door
of the cab, had whipped his horses to
a gallop, and was speeding them up
a slope. Over the edge of the scarf
that had slipped from his eyes, Britz
got a glimpse of the Soldiers' and
Sailors' monument He knew exactly
where he was then. Next moment his
eyes fastened themselves on the faces
in the carriage, and he tried with
all his might to make out the dark
features of the three in the gloom of
the cab; but their features still were
shadowy. He would not have liked to
pick them out of a line in a police
station. It was a point of honor with
the lieutenant always to be sure of
his man before making an identifica
tion. In part, that accounted for the
failure of almost every defendant In
any of his cases to establish an alibi.
Lean hands stretched forth from
the dark interior and caught him
about the middle. Other hands seized
his legs, while the pair clutching his
ankle tightened their grasp, but he
only twined his fingers the more firm
ly around their slight circumference.
By now the carriage was rolling and
pitching like a seagoing tug. Had he
not been held so stoutly by the six
lean hands above, and his own iron
clutch below, the motion might have
swung his head against the step
again with force to crack it in a dozen
places. The very fury of the battle
made for his safety.
The horses struck a slope that took
them out of the Drive. Britz guessed
they could not go far without encoun
tering a policeman. If they did not
meet a mounted patrolman or a bicy
cle bluecoat in the avenue, it was al
most certain they would strike an
ordinary policeman in one of the by
streets. Britz chewed the gag savage
ly in the hope of freeing his voice.
Abrupt as its beginning was the end
of the struggle. Britz, his eyes still
boring into the inner murk, saw one
of the long, lean hands slip forth
again. This time the hand clutched
something between thumb and fore
finger. The arm extended until the
hand was close to the detective’s
wrist Suddenly the sleuth felt a
frightful burning pain in the back of
his hand. The agony was duplicated
in the knuckles of the other. Strive
though he did with all his grit and
strength to retain his grip, his fingers
opened against his will, the tendons
contracted by the biting agony, and
Britz knew a powerful acid had been
sprinkled on his hands. He could not
The Coachman Brought Hie Worses Beck to Their Wtoh-SJIPPMW
close them again in the first moment
of his torment, and before his muscles
could recover from the shock, the
sway of the brougham swung him
clear of the rods. Then, by the united
strength of the three inside, he was
jerked upward, and dragged with a
single tug into the carriage. The door
was slammed, and the coachman
brought his horses back to their high*
stepping trot Suddenly they slowed
to a walk.
"What's wrong here?” asked a vole#
at the window.
“Hallo, Rafferty," said the driver
with the easy familiarity of a night
hawk toward the rank and file of the
force. “Just a bunch of drunks I’m
taking to their little white cots,” he
added in an undertone.
A patrolman pressed his face
against the pane and looked inside.
Already, the three dark, slender men
who had kidnapped the detective were
lolling and nodding in away sug
gestive of safe but satisfied intoxica
tion. Britz, trussed more securely
than ever, was under their feet, welt
out of the policeman’s range.
"They’re sure a fine lot of rum
mies!" exclaimed the bluecoat to hia
friend, the coachman. "The sooner
they hit the hay the better. On your
way!” And, the driver flicking his
horses in a leisurely way, the broug
ham resumed its journey with Deteo
tive-Lieutenant Britz raging in en
forced silence among the silk rugs on
Its floor.
It was just then that Britz made his
second mistake. He breathed too
deeply. True, he was blown sadly by
the desperate struggle as he hung
headdown from the vehicle and hia
lungs had almost stopped working
when he was jerked so violently back
into the carriage. The air near ths
floor was cool and refreshing. No
ordinary man would have hesitated to
renew his strength by drawing it as
far down into his lungs as the cramped
position would permit; but Britz him
self, in cooler moments, would have
observed sagely that air itself was not
alv,*ays an unmixed blessing. He
would have told Inquiring minds that,
under suspicious circumstances, IC
should be taken with caution and, if
possible, should be well shaken be
fore taken. In this Instance, the air
Britz breathed was mixed with a sub
tie something that gradually stole his
senses and left him, though healthily
alive, an inert heap under the feet of
his captors.
So potent, so gentle was the action
of that strange something that the
stoppage of the carriage, the lifting
from its floor of the inanimate detec
tive, the carrying of his limp form up
darkened stairs in dead silence to a
room at the remote end of a suite at
the top of the building, and that
which happened to the headquarters
man as, sodden with the subtle so
porific, he remained at the mercy of
the strangers three, were things Brita
for many a long day could only guess.
So groping was his conjecture through
those weary days of uncertainty that
whenever he recalled the experience,
it was with a certain gliding move
ment of the jaws that boded ill for the
three dark, slim men if ever ha
should be able to enfold them in the
meshes of the law as they had!
wrapped him in their scarves.
No, Britz was not vindictive, bet he
was —human.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
