The Crime of “ns5**
S the Boulevard
_______—_
CHAPTER X.—(Continued.)
"Give them to me." He then added,
"Is M. Bernardet here?”
“Yes, M. le Juge."
"Very well."
Jacques Dantin remembered the lit
tle man with whom he had talked In
the journey from the house of death
to the tomb, where he had heard some
one call "Bernardet." He did not know
at the time, but the name had struck
him. Why did hts presence seem so
much Importance to this examining
magistrate? And he looked In his turn
kt M. Ginory, who, a little nearsighted,
was bending hts head, with Its sandy
hair. Its bald fotehead, on which, the
veins stood out like cords, over his
notes, which had been brought to him;
Interesting notes, important, without
doubt, for, visibly satisfied, M. Ginory
allowed a word or two to escape him:
"Good! Yes—yes—fine! Ah, ah! Very
good!" Then suddenly Dantin saw
Glnoro raise his head and look at him,
as the saying is, in the white of the
•yes. He waited a moment before
•peaking and suddenly put this ques
tion. thrust at Dantin like a knife
blow:
"Are you a gambler, as I find?”
Tho question made Jacques Dantin
fairly bound from his chair. A
?rambler! Why did this man ajk him
f he was a gambler? What was his
bablts, his customs, his vices even,
to do with this cuuse for which he
bad been cited—to do with Rovere's
murder?
"You are a gambler," continued
the examining magistrate, casting from
time to time a keen glance toward his
notes. “One of the inspectors of gamb
ling dens saw you lose at the Cercle
des Publlo.lstes 25.000 francs tn one
night.”
“It Is possible. The only important
point Is that I paid them." The re
sponse wns short, crisp, showing a lit
tle Irritation and stupefaction.
"Assuredly," said the Judge. "But
you have no fortune. You have re
cently borrowed a considerable sum
from the usurers in order to pay for' j
some losses at the Bourse."
Dantin became very pale, his Ups
•quivered and his hands trembled.
These signs of emotion did not es
cape the eyes of M. Ginory nor the reg
istrar’s.
"It it from your little notes that you
have learned all that?" he demanded.
"Certainly," M. Ginory replied. "We
bave been seeking for some hours for
sccurate information concerning you;
Started a sort of diary or rough draft
sf your biogruphy. You are fond of
pleasure. You arc seen, In spite of your
SRe—I pray you to pardon me; there
la no malice In the remark; I am older
than you—everywhere where is found
the famous Tout Paris which amuses
Itself. The easy life Is the most diffi
cult for those who have no fortune.
And, according to these notes—I refer
to them again—of fortune you have
Bone.”
’That Is to say," interrupted Dantin
brusquely, “it would be very possible
that, In order to obtain money for my
needs, in order to steal the funds in his
Iron safe, I would assussinate my
friend."
M. Ginory did not allow himself to
tsplay any emotion at the lnaolent
ne of these words, which had burst
fbrth almost like a cry. He looked
Pantin full in the fnce, und with hts
•lands crossed upon his notes he said;
"Monsieur, in a matter of criminal
Investigation a magistrate eager for
the truth ought to admit that anything
ia possible, even probable, but In this
case I ought to recognize the fact that
pou have not helped me tn my task.
A witness finds you teto-a-tete with
the victim and surprise^ your trouble
*t the moment -when you are examin
•jffgJiw Rovere’s paners. I ask what it
'Was that happened between you. You
wisSNTly that that is your secret, and for
■explanation you give mo your word of
Ttonor that It had nothing whatever to
■do with the murder. You .would your
think that I was very' foolish if
3 Instated any longer. True, there was
mo trace of any violence In the apart
ment, whatever subtraction may have
.been made from the safe. It appears
that you are in a position to know
the combination. It appears also that
pou are certainly In need of money, us
clearly known as it is possible to learn
In a hurried Inquiry such as has been
made while you have been here? I
question you. I let you know what
pou ought to know, and you fly Into a
passion. And, note well, it is you your
self, in your anger and your violence,
mrho apeak first the word of which I
Have not pronounced n syllable. It Is
?rou who have Jumped straight to a
oglcal conclusion of the suppositions,
’Which are still defective, without doubt,
but are not the less superstitious. Yes,
It is you who say that with a little
logic one can certainly accuse you of
the murder of the one whom you called
your friend."
Each word brought to Dantln's face
an angry or a frightened expression,
and the more slowly M. Glnory spoke
the more measured his words, empha
sizing his verbs with a sort of pro
fessional habit, as a Burgeon touches a
■wound with a steel instrument, the
questioned man, put through a sharp
cross examination, experienced a
frightful anger, a strong Internal
struggle, which made the blood rush
to his ears and ferocious lightnings
dart through his eyes.
“It Is easy, moreover,” continued M.
Glnory In a paternal voice, "for you to
reduce to nothingness all these sup
positions, and the smallest expression
In regard to your last Interview with
Rovere would put everything right."
“Ah. must we go back to that?”
“Certainly, we must go back to
that. The wrtiole question lies there.
Tou come to an examining magistrate
and tell him that there Is a secret;
you speak of a third person, of recol
lections of youth, of moral debts, and
you are astonished that the judge
strives to wrest the truth from you?"
"I have told It."
“The whole truth?"
“It has nothing to do with Rovere’s
murder, and It would injure some one
who knows nothing about It. I have
told you so. I repeat It."
“Yes," said M. Glnory, “you hold
to your enigma. Oh, well, I. the magis
trate, demand that you reveal the truth
to me! I command you to tell It.”
The registrar's pen ran over the pa
per and trembled as If It scented a
■torm. The psychological moment ap
proached. The registrar knew it well,
that moment, and the word which the
magistrate would soon pronounce
would be decisive.
A sort of struggle began In Dantln’s
mind. One saw his face grow haggard,
hts eyes change their expression. He
looked *t the papers upon which M.
Glnory. laid his fat and hairy hands—
those police notes which gossiped, as
peasants Bay, in speaking of papers or
writing which they cannot read and
which denounce them. He asked him
aetf what more would be disclosed by
those notes of the police agents of
the scandals of the club, of the neigh
bors. of the porters. He passed his
hands over his forehead as if to wipe
off the persniratlon or to ease away
a headache.
"Come, now. It Is not very difficult,
and I have the right to know,” said M.
Glnory. After a moment Jacques Dan
tln said In a strong voice, “I swear to
yon, monsieur, that nothing Rovere
said to me when I saw him the last
time could assist Justice In any way
whatsoever, and I beg of you not to
question me further about It.”
“Will you answer?"
"I cannot, monsieur.”
“The more you hesitate the more
reason you give me to think that the
communication would be grave."
"Very grave; but It has nothing to
do with your Investigation."
"It’s not for you to outline the du
ties of my llmjts or my rights. Once
more I order you to reply.”
”1 cannot.”
“You will not.”
"I cannot," brusquely said the man
run to earth, with an accent of
violence.
The duel was finished.
M. Glnory began to laugh, or rather
there was a nervous contraction of his
mouth and his sanguine face wore a
scoffing look, while a mechanical move
ment of his massive Jaws made him
resemble a bulldog about to bite.
“Then,” said he, "the situation Is a
very simple one, and you force me to
come to the end of my task. You un
derstand?”
"Perfectly,” said Jacques Dantln,
with the Impulsive anger of a man who
stumbles over an article which he has
left there himself.
“You still refuse to reply?”
“I refuse. I came here as a witness,
t have nothing to reproach myself with,
especially as I have nothing to fear.
You must do whatever you choose to
Jo.”
’’I can,” said the magistrate, "change
t citation for appearance to a citation
tor retention. I will ask you once
more"—
“It Is useless,” Interrupted Dantln.
"An assassin, I! What folly! Rovere’s
rhurderer! It seems as If I were dream
ing. It Is absurd, absurd, absurd!”
"Prove to me that It Is absurd In
truth. Do you not wish to reply?”
”1 have told you a(l I know.”
“But you have said nothing of what
I have demanded of you.”
“It is not my secret.”
“Yes; there Is your system, rt Is
frequent, tt Is common. It Is that of
all the accused."
"Am I already accused?" asked Dan
tln, Ironically.
M. Glnory was silent a moment: then,
slowly taking from the drawer of his
desk some paper upon which Dantln
could discern no writing this time, but
some figures, engraved In black—he
knew not what they were—the magis
trate held them between his Angers so
as to show them. He swung them to
and fro, and the papers rustled like
dry leaves. He seemed to attach great
value to these papers, which the regis
trar looked at from a corner of his eye,
guessing that they were the photo
graphic proofs which had been taken.
"I beg of you to examine these
proofs." Bald the magistrate to Dan
tln. He held them out to him, and
Dantln spread them on the table (there
were four of them). Then he put on
tils eyeglasses In order to see better.
'What Is that?” ha asked.
"Rook carefully," replied the magis
trate. Duntln bent over the proofs,
jxamlned them one by one, divided
■other than saw In the picture, which
was a little hazy, the portrait of a man,
tnd upon close examination began to
lee In the specter a vague resemblance.
“Do you not see that this picture
pears a resemblance to you?”
This time Dantln seemed the prey of
lome nightmare, and his eyes searched
M. Glnory's face with a sort of agony,
rho expression struck Glnory. One
would have said that a ghost hud sud
denly appeared to Dantln.
"You say that it resembles me?”
"Yes. Rook carefully. At first the
portrait Is vague. On closer examlna
.ton It comes out from the halo which
iurrounds It, and the person who ap
pears there bears your air, your fea
:ures, your characteristics"—
"It Is possible," said Dantln. "It
teems to resemble me. It seems as If I
were looking at myself In a pocket
mirror. But what does that signify?”
"That signify— Oh, I am going to
astonish you. That signifies"—M. Gi
aory turned toward his registrar. "You
saw the other evening. Favnrel. the
;xperlment In which Dr. Oudln showed
as the heart and lungs performing their
functions In the thorax of a living man,
made visible by the Roentgen rays.
Well. This Is not any more miracu
lous. These photographs" (he turned
now toward Dantln) "were taken of the
retina of the dead man's eye. They
are the reflection, the reproduction of
the Image Implanted there, the picture
of the last living being contemplated In
the agony, the last visual sensation
which the unfortunate man experi
enced. The retina has given to us—as
a witness—the Image of the living per
son seen by the dead man for the last
time."
A deep silence rell upon the three
men tn that little room, where one of
them alone lost his foothold at this
strange revelation. For the magistrate
it was a decisive moment, when all
had been said, when the man. having
been questioned closely, Jumps at the
foregone conclusion. As for the reg
istrar, however blase he may have be
come by these dally experiences. It was
the decisive moment, the moment when
the line drawn from the \fcater the fish
Is landed, writhing on the hook.
Jacques Dantln. with an Instinctive
movement, had rejected, pushed back
on the table those photographs which
burned his fingers, like the cards In
which some fortune teller has de
ciphered the signs of death.
"Well?" asked M. Qlnory.
“Well,” repeated Dantln in a stran
gled tone, either not comprehending or
comprehending too much, struggling us
If under the oppression of a nightmare.
“How do you explain how your face,
your shadow If you prefer, was found
reflected in Rovere's eyes, and that In
Ills agony this was probably what he
saw—yes. saw bending over him?"
Dantln cast a frightened glance
arouud the room and asked himself if
he was not shut up In a maniac's cell,
If the question was real, if the voice
he heard was not the voice of a dream.
"How can I explain? But I cannot
explain, I do not understand, I do not
know—it is madnesB, It is frightful, it
13 foolish!"
“But yet.” insisted M. Ginory, "this
folly, as you call It, must have some
explanation.”
"What do you wish to have me say?
I do not understand; I repeat, I do not
understand.”
“What If you do not? You cannot
deny your presence in the house at the
moment of Rovere's death"—
“Why cannot I deny It?" Dantin in
terrupted.
"Because the vision Is there, hidden
hazy, in the retina; because this photo
graph, In which you recognize yourself,
denounces, points out. your presence at
the moment of the last agony.”
"I was not there! X swear that I was
not therel” Dantln fervently declared.
"Then explain,” said the magistrate.
Dantln remained silent a moment, as
It frightened. Then he stammered: "I
am dreaming! I am dreaming!” And
M. Glnory replied In a calm tone:
"Notice that I attribute no exaggerat
ed Importance to these proofs. It Is not
on them alone that I base the accusa
tion. 1 But they constitute a strange
witness, very disquieting in Its mute
eloquence. They add to the doubt which
your desire for silence has awakened.
You tell me that you were not near
Rovere when he died. These proofs,
sir, refutable as a fact, seem to prove
at once the contrary. Then the day
Rovere was assassinated, where were
you?”
"I do not know. At home, without
doubt. I will have to think It over. At
what hour was Rovere killed?”
M. Glnory made a gesture of lgnor-!
ance and In a tone of raillery said:!
"That! There are others who know It
better than I." And Dantln, irritated,!
looked at him. >
“Yes,” went on the magistrate with
mocking politeness, “the surgeons who
can tell the hour In which he was
killed.” He turned over his papers
“The assassination was about an hour
before midday. In Paris In broad day-;
light, at that hour, a murder was com
mitted!”
"At that hour,” said Jacques Dantln,
"I was Just leaving home.”
“To go where?”
“For a walk. I had a headache. I
was going to walk In the Champs Ely
sees to cure it."
"And did you In your walk meet any
one whom you knew?”
“No one.”
“Did you go into some shop?”
”1 did not.”
”In short, you have no alibi?”
The word made Dantln again trem-'
ble. He felt the meshes of the net
closing around him.
"An alibi! Ah, that! Decidedly.
Monsieur, you accuse me of assassinat
ing my friend,-- he violently said.
”1 do not accuse. I ask a question.”
And M. Glnory In a dry tone which
gradually became cutting and menac
ing said: “I question you, but I warn
you that the Interview has taken a bad
turn. You do not answer; you pretend
to keep secret I know not what In
formation which concerns us. You are
not yet exactly accused. But—but—but
—you are going to be”
The magistrate waited a moment as
If to give the man time to reflect, and
he held his pen suspended, after dipping
It In the Ink, as an auctioneer holds
his 1’ orv hammer before bringing It,
down to close a sale. "I am going to
drop the pen,” It seemed to say. Dan
tin very angry, remained silent. His
look of bravado seemed to say: "Do
you dare? If you do dare, do It.”
“You refuse to speak?” asked Glnory
for the last time.
“I refuse. ”
“You have willed It. Do you persist
In giving no explanation? Do you In
trench yourself behind I know not what
scruple of duty to honor? Do you keep
to your systematic silence? For the last
time, do you still persist In this?”
-T have nothing—nothing—nothing to
tell you," Dantln cried in a sort of
rage.
"Oh, well. Jacques Dantln”—and the
magistrate's voice was grave and sud
denly solemn—"you are from this mo
ment arrested.” The pen, uplifted till
this instant, fell upon the paper. It
was an order for arrest. The registrar
looked at the man. Jacques Dantln
did not move. His expression seemed
vague, the fixed expression of a person
who dreams with wide open eyes. M.
Glnory touched one of the electric but
tons above his table and pointed Dan
tln out to the guards, whose shakos
suddenly darkened the doorway. “Take
away the prisoner,” he said shortly
and mechanically, and, overcome, with
out revolt, Jacques Dantln allowed him
self to be led through the corridors of
the palais, saying nothing, comprehend
ing nothing, stumbling occasionally
like an intoxicated man or a somnam
bulist.
(Continuer! Next Week.)
ODD ERRORS THAT
CREEP INTO TYPE
Typographical errors that produced
weird or comical effects are described
by the St. Louts Republic in an article
recalling the days when all of that
newspaper's type was set by hand, be
fore the Introduction of typesetting ma
chines, when the "copy," instead of be
ing typewritten, was turned over to
the printer In an infinite variety of
good, bad and indifferent chlrography.
Comparatively few of the errors were
allowed to contribute to the gayety of
the subscribers, as the majority were
squelched in the “House of Correction,”
as the proof room was facetiously |
called. From a collection made by a
proof reader the following Instances of
ridiculous misreading of copy are
taken:
“His blushing bride" was # trans
formed Into “his blustering bride." A
captain was said to have "served with
destruction in the confederate army,"
but the writer thought he wrote “dis
tinction." Two pictures entitled “The
Galley Slave” and "Each In Their
Turn" were referred to as “The Galley
I Love" and "Enoch in Shin Town."
Having In mind the Influence of for
mer citizens of the land of the sham
rock upon the political destinies of the
town, what more natural than the
printerman should set up an "Irish
District Court" when it should have
been the “First District Court?" Pro
fessor Geeks was mentioned as having
rendered "violent selections” rather
thare "violin selections."
Somebody was quoted as saying that s
"all the singing folks on the vaudeville
stage have hundreds of wives,” but the
copy when carefully examined was
found to read “husbands or wives"
and a sensation In the theatrical world
was averted.
"They sailed for throe days around
the cape and finally slaughtered a small
Italian" was corrected to read “sighted
a small island.”
On one occasion the reporter wrote
of certain "dwarfed and hungered chil
dren,” who were made to appear per
haps more pathetic when the composi
tor substituted the words “doorfed and
haggard." "He takes delight in talk
ing on his family shame" was a shame
ful thing to say about him, for "favorite
theme" was meant. "Red Cross So
ciety will fight Corbett” was the way a
typesetter transformed the copy con
cerning a crusade against cholera.
The Unprodigal Son.
From the Washington Star.
Otto E. Schaar, president of a club
of New York waiters, said the other
day of a parsimonious young man:
“He resembles a chap they tell about
in Rucks county.
“This chap lived alone with his fa
ther. On the old man's death he would
inherit the farm.
"Well, finally the old man took sick.
His end drew near. The son sat up
with him a night or two, expecting him
to pass away, but he lihgerod on.
"On the fifth or sixth night the son,
instead of sitting up. put a lamp,
turned very, very low, on a table by the
bed, and went off to his own room with
the caution:
"When you feel that it is all over
with you, father, don't forget tc blow
out the lamp."
Mr. Henpeck—But what about the
“obey part” of the marriage ceremony?
Mrs. Henpeck—Oh! that’s only a bit
of hot air to make the groom feel good.
Oliver
cMj>,oore
* ^
WOMAN'S WAT.
Bessie—I don’t believe s word of It. \
Bert—A word of what?
Bessie—Of what you Just now sold.
Bert--But T dldn t say anything.
Bessie—Well, It's all the same. I don’t believe a word of what you would hero
aald If you had said anything.
THE SINS OF THE FATHERS.
"Do you think the sins of the fathers
are visited on the sons?”
"Well, I don’t know. Sometimes
when I see and read about the sons of
some of our great men It strikes me
that If they are proof of that doctrine
their dads must have been pretty bad
men.”
SADDENING.
I'll ne’er forget the funny tales
My grandpa used to tell me.
I laughed at them, for they were good;
X chuckled then delightedly.
I can't forget them now because
Most any day some good friend nails
Me and proceeds to tell as new
Some of those old familiar tales.
MAKING IT TENDER.
"What’s all that noise out there about, waiter?”
"Didn’t you order your steak tender, sir?"
NO LACK OF MOTIVE.
- - - -- .. -
“Why wouldn’t the editor take your pcemT"
"He eaid the motive was weak—as if e thirst that's lasted ten days wasn’t
motive enough!”
| SOME EXAMPLES
| OF IRISH “BULLS”
The Quick Witted Son of Erin
Is Famous for Verbal
Trippings.
Sir Richard Steele, that famous Irish
knight of cleverness and wit, once In
vited an English nobleman to visit
him by saying, “If, sir, you ever com®
within a mile of my house, I hope you
will stop there!”
It was this same Sir Richard that,
on being asked why his countrymen
made So many bulls, replied, “I cannot
tell if It is not the effect of climate.
I fancy if an Englishman was born In
Ireland, lie would make as many.”
An Irishman who married at 19 re
pented of his choice and swore that he
would not get married so young again
if he lived to be as old as Methuselah.
On examining an Invoice of goods, a
merchant found everything correct ex
cept one hammer, which was missing.
"Oh, don’t be unaisy, sir,” cried the
Irish assistant. “Sure I must have
taken it out to open the hogshead!”
“Whiniver anyone’s asked me what
counthry I loike best, I’ve always tould
him Oirland,” said a sturdy laborer,
‘‘But,’’ he added, “no one’s iver asked
me yit."
The Irish porter of a Dublin grocer
was accused of stealing chocolate. In
court his master charged him with
selling it, thus wounding his pride.
“Indade, sir," he said, “do you think
I’d have sold it?"—“Then what did you
do with it?” was asked. "Since you
must know, I took it home, and me an’
my ould ‘Oman made tay of it.”
A salesman in the old country rec
ommended a certain rich material by
saying, “Madam, it will wear forever
and make a petticoat afterward.”
Two members of the bar, Doyle and
Yelverton quarreled and came to
blows. Doyle knocked Yelverton down
twice and exclaimed, “You scoundrel.
I'll make you behave yourself like a
gentleman!" At this, the other rose,
screaming, “No, sir, never! I defy you,
I defy you! You could not do it!”
A proud maternal heart declared that
there was never such another as her
son Bill, who had made two chairs and
a fiddle out of his own head and had
wood enough left to make one more.
”1 will never spake to you more!"
declared a lover furiously. "Kape your
spake to yourself then!” retorted th®
girl. "I am sure I can live without
either It or your company."—“I am sur®
so can I then!" came the surprising an
swer.
An Irish carpenter sent In a bill for
“hanging two barndoors and himself,
seven hours, two dollars and a half.”
A young woman admitted that ah®
liked her lover very much, but said sh®
was the darling of a widowed mother,
whose kindness could not be equaled.
“Marry me,” begged the enthusiastic}
lover, “and see if I don’t beat your
mother!"
“As I was going over the bridge th®
other day,” said a son of Erin, “I met
Michael Connolly. ‘Connolly,’ says I.
‘how are you?’ ‘Pretty well, thank you,
Keefe,’ says he. ‘Keefe!’ says I, 'that’*
not my name!’ ‘Faith,’ says he, ’and
mine’s not Connolly!’ With that w®
'looked again at aich other, and sur®
enough It was nayther of us.”
An Irish paper told of a poor deaf
man named Gaft, who was killed by
being run over by a locomotive. “And
,he received a similar injury this tlm®
last year,” addedthe paper.
WHAT DOES IT GOST
US TO FIGHT FIRES?
National Commission Is Gath
ering Data to Ascertain Cost
of Fire Protection.
Washington—The national conserva
tion commission is trying to find out
what it costs the country to fight fires.
The geological survey, which is con
ducting this particular branch of In
quiry for the commission is sending
out letters to city officials all over the
country asking for data on the addi
tional cost of city water supplies for
[fire protection beyond what is neces
sary for domestic use. This informa
tion will be combined with other statis
tics of a similar nature to throw light
■on the general topic of the conservation
'of life and property through the pre
vention of fires for the use of the com
[mission when it meets here in Decem
ber to prepare its report for President
Roosevelt.
: The fact that the investigations of
;the commission have reached a point
[where such detailed information Is ba
ling sought is an Indication of tho sub
stantial progress of its preliminary
Iwork. For a time, perhaps, the men
who undertook to prepare an Inventory
of the country’s present natural wealth
, and the outlook for the future feared
that the task was going to prove too
gigantic for them to finish in time to
submit to the first full meeting of tho
commission, December 1. But they say
now there is no doubt that they wiU
place in the hand of the commission
a. practically complete inventory upon
which that body can base Its further
studies and recommendations.
This city fire fighting system Investi
gation Is part of a general study of tho
conservation of life and property. Tho i»
commission is compiling an Immense
'amount of accurate information con
cerning the nature and extent of loss
[of life and property from fires, the cost
‘of insurance, water systems and flro
departments, and the possibility of pre-‘
iventing fire through the use of fire re
■slsting building materials and of flro
iprooflng systems, and the desirability
;of changes in building systems. Tho
■letters which are going out now ask
for figures on the total cost of each
'city’s present distributing system, with
,the amount of pipe laid and the number
iot hydrants, and the cost of the water
;used. They ask further for an esti
mate of the cost of the system and
‘materials that would be required if tho
[necessity for fire service were omitted
and only a domestic supply were need
ed. Such cities as have a separate
ihlgh pressure fir* system, or contem
plate installing one. can give actual
[ [figure# of the cost of fighting fires; for
others the expense can be deduced with
tolerable accuracy.
: Some of the city officials regard their
information as confidential, so that no
figures will be available until tabula
tions of totals can be worked out.
She Supported Them.
Mr. Rich—Do you have any trouble
In supporting your family, Rustus’>
Rastus—No, sah, but rnah wife ex
periences some trouble In dat resDon
sibility, sah.
His One Failing.
Winks—There’s one thing I don’t like
about Cook.
Dinks—What is it?
Winks—Why, the infernal, half wlt
■ ted, illiterate slob Is always calling
homebody names. 1