Oi
THE
TEETH OF THE TIGER
bt y
MAURICE LEBLANC
TRANSLATED BT
ALEXANDER TEIXE1RA DE MATTOS
IU— -
CHAPTER TEN. (Continued.)
“Monsier, to understand my ac
tions thoroughly, you must re
member that I was a student, a
man leading a solitary life, but
■also an ardent lover. I would
have spent all my life in work,
asking no more from fate than to
see Marie at her window from
time-to time at night. But, once
she was being persecuted, another
man arose within me, a man of
action, bungling, certainly, and
inexperienced, but a man who was
ready to stick at nothing, and
who, not knowing how to save
Marie Vauville, had no other ob
ject before him than to do away
with that enemy of Marie’s to
whom he was entitled to ascribe
all the misfortunes that had be
fallen the woman he loved. . . .
This started the series of my at
tempts upon your life. Brought
into your house, concealed in
Florence’s own rooms, I tried—
unknown to her: that I swear—
to poison you."
He paused for an instant to
mark the effect of his words, then
went on:
4 ’ Her reproaches, her abhorrence
of such an act, would perhaps
have moved me, but, I repeat, I
was mad, quite mad; and your
death seemed to me to imply Ma
rie’s safety. And, one morning,
on the Boulevard Suchet, where
I had followed you, I fired a re
volver at you.
4 4 The same evening your motor
■car, tampered with by myself—
remember, Florence's rooms are
close to the garage—carried you,
I hoped, to your death, together
with Sergeant Mazerouz, your
■confederate. . . . That time again
you escaped my vengeance. But
an innocent man, the chauffeur
tvho drove you, paid for you with
his life; and Florence’s despair
was such that I had to yield to
her entreaties and lay down my
arms.
x tciinuu vy uiitti x
l»ad done, shattered by the re
membrance of my two victims,
©hanged my plans and thought
•only of caving Marie by contriv
ing her escape from prison. . . .
“I am a rich man. I lavished
money upon Marie’s warders,
without, however, revealing my
intentions. 1 entered into rela
tions with the prison tradesmen
and the staff of the infirmary.
And every day, having procured
a eard of admission as a law re
porter, 1 went to the law courts,
to the examining magistrates’
corridor, where 1 hoped to meet
Marie, to encourage her with a
look, a gesture, perhaps to slip a
few words of comfort into her
hand. . . .
Sauverand moved closer to Don
Xmis.
“Her martyrdom continued.
You struck her a most terrible
"blow with that mysterious busi
ness of Hippolyte Fauvillc’s let
ters. What did those letters
tnean? Where did they come
from? Were we not entitled to
attribute the whole plot to you,
to you who introduced them into
the horrible struggle?
“Florence watched you, I may
say, night and day. We sought
for n clue, a glimmer of light in
the darkness. . . . Welt, yester
day morning, Florence saw Ser
geant Mazeroux arrive. She
•could not overhear what he said
to you, but she caught the name
of a certain Langernault and the
name of Damigni, the village
where Langernault lived. She
remembered that old friend of
Ilippohte Fauville’s. Were the
letters not addressed to him and
was it not in search of him that
you vvere going off in the motor
with Sergeant Mazeroux? . . .
“Half an hour later we were in
the train for Alencon. A carriage
took us from the station to just
outside Damigni, where we made
our inquiries with every possible
precaution. On learning wliat you
must also know, that Langernault
was dead, we resolved to visit his
place, and we had succeeded ii
effecting an entrance when Flor
enco” saw you in the grounds
"Wishing at all costs to avoid a
meeting between you and myself
she -dragged me across the lawn
and behind the bushes. You fol
lowed u?, however, and when a
barn appeared in sight she pushed
-out: of the doors which hall
. 25
opened and let us through. We
managed to slip quickly through
the lumber in the dark and
knocked up against a ladder.
This we climbed and reached a
loft in which we took shelter.
You entered at that moment. . . .
“You know the rest: how you
discovered the twro hanging skele
tons; how your attention was
drawn to us by an imprudent
movement of Florence; yohr at
tack, to which I replied by bran
dishing the first weapon with
which chance provided me; lastly,
our flight through the window in
f he roof, under the fire of your
revolver. We were free. But in
the evening, in the train, Florence
fainted. While bringing her to I
perceived (Eat one of your bullets
had wounded her in the shoulder.
The wound was slight and did not
hurt her, but it was enough to
increase the extreme tension of
her nerves. When you saw us—
at Le Mans station wasn’t it?—
she was asleep, with her head on
my shoulder.”
Don Luis had not once inter
rupted the latter part o? this nar
rative, which was told in a more
and more agitated voice and
quickened by an accent of pro
found truth. Thanks to a super
human effort of attention, he
noted Sauverand’s least words
and actions in his mind. And as
these words were uttered and
these actions performed, he re
ceived the impression of another
woman who rose up beside the real
Florence, a woman unspotted and
innocent of all the shame which
he had attributed to her on the
strength of events.
Nevertheless, he did not yet
give in. How could Florence pos
sibly be innocent V No, no, the
evidence of his reason, which had
judged, both rebelled against any
such contention.
He would not admit that Flor
ence could suddenly be different
from what she really was to him:
a crafty, cunning, cruel, blood
thirsty monster. No, no, the man
was lying with infernal clever
ness. He put things with a skill
amounting to genius, until it was
no longer possible to differentiate
between the false and the true, or
to distinguish the light from the
darkness.
He was lying! He was lying!
And yet how sweet were the lies
he told! How beautiful was that
imaginary Florence, the Florence
compelled by destiny to commit
acts which she loathed, but free
of all crime, free of remorse, hu
mane and pitiful, with her clear
eyes Und her snow-white hands!
And how good it was to yield to
this fantastic dream!
Gaston Sauverand was watch
ing the face of his former enemy.
Standing close to Don Luis, his
features lit up with the expression
of feelings ami passions which he
no longer strove to check, he
asked, in a low voice:
“You believe me. don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” said Perenna,
hardening himself to resist the
man’s influence.
“You must!” cried Sauverand,
with a fierce outburst of violence.
“ You must believe in the strength
of my love. It is the cause of
everything. My hatred for you
comes only from my love. Marie
is my life. If she were dead, there
would be nothing for me to do but
die. Oh, this morning, when I
read in the papers that the poor
woman had opened her veins—
and through your fault, after Hip
polyte’s letters accusing her—I
did not want to kill you so much
as to inflict upon you -the most
barbarous tortures! My poor
Marie, what a martyrdom she
must be enduring! . . .
“As you were not back, Flor
ence and I wandered about all
morning to have news of her: first
around the prison, next to the po
lice office and the law courts.
And it was there, in the magis
trates' corridor, that I saw you.
At that moment you were men
tioning Marie Fauville’s name to
a number of journalists; and you
told them that Marie Fauville was
innocent; and you informed them
of the evidence which you pos
sessed in Marie’s favor.
“My hatred ceased then and
there, Monsier. In one second the
enemy had become the ally, the
master to whom one kneels. So
you had had the wonderful cour
age to repudiate all your work
and to devote yourself to Marie’s
rescue! I ran off, trembling with
joy and hope, and, as I joined
Florence, I shouted, ‘Marie is
saved! He proclaims her inno
cent ! I must see him and speak
to him! ’ . . .
‘ ‘ We came back here. Florence
refused to lay down her arms, and
begged me not to carry out my
plan before your new attitude in
the case was confirmed by deeds.
I promised everything that she
asked. But my mind was made
up. And my will was still further
strengthened when I had read
your declaration in the newspa
per. I would place Marie’s fate
in your hands whatever happened
and without an hour’s delay, I
waited for your return and came
up here. ’’
He was no longer the same man
who had displayed such coolness
at the commencement of the in
terview. Exhausted by his efforts
and by a struggle that had lasted
for weeks, costing him so much
fruitless energy, he was now
trembling; and clinging to Don
Luis, with one of his knees on the
chair beside which Don Luis was
standing, he stammered:
“Save her, I implore you! You
have it in your power. Yes, you
can dg anything. I learned to
know you in fighting you. There
was more than your genius de
fending you against me; there is
a luck that protects you. You
are different from other men.
Why, the mere fact of your not
killing me at once, though I had
pursued you so savagely, the fact
of your listening to the inconceiv
able truth of the innocence of all
three of us and accepting it as
admissible, surely these constitute
an unprecedented miracle.
“While I was waiting for you
and preparing to speak to you, 1
received an intuition of it all!’’
he exclaimed. “I saw clearly that
(he man who was proclaiming Ma
rie’s innocence with nothing to
guide him but his reason, I saw
that this man alone could save
her and that we would save her.
Ah, 1 beseech you, save her—-and
save her at once. Otherwise it will
be too late.
in a xew uays mane win nave
ended her life. She cannot go on
living in prison. You see, she
means to die. No obstacle can
prevent her. Gan any one be pre
vented from committing suicide?
And how horrible if she were to
die! . . . Oh, if the law requires
a criminal I will confess anything
that I am asked to. I will joy
fully accept every charge and pay
every penalty, provided that Ma
rie is free! Save her! . . . I did
not know, 1 do not yet know the
best thing to be done! Save her
from prison and death, save her,
for God’s sake, save her!”
Tears flowed down his anguish
stricken face. Florence also was
crying, bowed down with sorrow.
And Perenna suddenly felt the
most terrible dread steal over
him.
Although, ever since the begin
ning of the interview, a fresh con
viction bad gradually been mas
tering him, it was only as it were
a glance that he became aware of
it. Suddenly he perceived that
his belief in Sauverand’s words
was unrestricted, and that Flor
ence was perhaps not the loath
some creature that he had had the
right to think, but a woman
whose eyes did not lie and whose
face and soul were alike beautiful.
Suddenly be learned that the
two people before him, as well as
Marie Fauville, for love of whom
they had fought so unskilful a
fight, were imprisoned in an iron
circle which their efforts would
not succeed in breaking. And
that circle traced by an unknown
hand he, Perenna, had drawn
tighter around them with the most
ruthless determination.
“If only it is not too late!” he
muttered.
He staggered under the shock
of the sensations and ideas that
crowded upon him. Everything
clashed in his brain with tragic
violence: certainty, joy, dismay,
despair, fury. He was struggling
in the clutches of the most hideous
nightmare; and he already seemed
to see a detective’s heavy hand
descending on Florence’s shoul
der.
‘‘Come away! Come away!”
he cried, starting up in alarm.
‘‘It is madness to remain!”
‘‘But the house is surrounded,”
jSauverand objected.
‘‘And then? Do you think that
1 will allow for a second-?
No, no, come! We must fight side
by side. 1 shall still entertain
some doubts, that is certain. You
must destroy them; and we will
save Mine. Fauville.”
‘‘But the detectives round the
! house?”
‘‘We’ll manage them.”
, ‘‘Weber, the deputy chief?”
‘‘He’s not here. And as long
■as he’s not hero I’ll take every
thing on myself. Come, follow
me, but at some little distance.
When I give the signal and not till
then-^—”
He drew the bolt and turned the
handle of the door. At that mo
ment some one knocked. It was
the butler.
“Well?” asked Don Luis.
“Why am I disturbed?”
“The deputy chief detective, M,
Weber, is here, sir.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROUTED.
Don Luis had certainly expect
ed this formidable blow; and yet
it appeared to take him unawares,
and he repeated more than once:
“Ah, Weber is here! Weber
is here!”
All his buoyancy left him, and
he felt like a retreating army
which, after almost making good
its escape, suddenly finds itself
brought to a stop by a steep
mountain. Weber was there—
that is to say, the chief leader of
the enemies, the man who would
he sure to plan the attack and the
resistance in such a manner as to
dash Percnna’s hopes to the
ground. With Weber at the head
of the detectives, any attempt to
force a way out would have been
absurd.
“Did you let him in?” he
asked.
“You did not tell me not to,
sir.”
“Is he alone?”
“No, sir, the deputy chief has
six men with him. He has left
them in the courtyard.”
“And where is he?”
“He asked me to take him to
the first floor. He expected to
find you in your study, sir.”
“Does he know now that I am
with Sergeant Mazeroux and Mile.
Levasseur ?”
“Yes, sir.”
Perepna thought for a moment
and then said:
“Tell him that you have not
found me and that you are going
to look forme in Mile. Levasseur’s
rooms. Perhaps he will go with
you. All the better if he does.”
And he locked the door again.
The struggle through which he
had just passed did not show itself
on his face 'and, now that all was
lost, now that he was called upon
to act, he recovered that wonder
ful composure which never aban
doned him at decisive moments.
He went up to Florence. She was
very pale and was silently weep
ing. He said:
“You must not he frightened,
Mademoiselle. If you obey me im
plicitly, you will have nothing to
i’ear.”
She did not reply and he saw
that she still mistrusted him. And
he almost rejoiced at the thought
that he would compel her to be
lieve in him.
“Listen to me,” lie said to
Sauverand. “In ease I should not
succeed after all, there are still
several things which you must ex
plain.”
“What are they?” asked Sauve
rand, who had lost none of his
coolness.
Then, collecting all his riotous
thoughts, resolved to omit noth
ing, but at the same time to speak
only what was essential, Don Luis
asked, in a calm voice:
“Where were you on the morn
ing before the murder, when a
man carrying an ebony walking
stick and answering to vour de
scription entered the Cafe du
Pont-Neuf immediately after In
spector Verot?”
“At home.”
“Are yon sure that you did not
go out?”
“Absolutely sure. And I am
also sure that l have never been
to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf, of
which 1 had never even heard.”
“Good. Next question. Why,
when you learned all'about this
business, did you not go to the
i prefect of police or the examining
magistrate?. It would have been
simpler for you to give yourself
up and tell the exact truth than
to engage in this unequal fight.”
“1 was thinking of doing so.
But 1 at once realized that the
plot hatched against me was so
clever that no bare statement of
the truth would have been enough
to convince the authorities. They
would never have believed me.
What proof could 1 supply? None
at all — whereas, on the other
hand, the proofs against ns were
overwhelming and undeniable.
Were not the marks of the teeth
i evidence of Marie’s undoubted
guilt? And were not my silence.
! my flight, the shooting of Chief
1 Inspector Aneenis so many
crimes? No, if I would rescue
| Marie, I must remain^free. ”
“But she could have spoken
herself?”
(Continued Next Week.)
-- ♦ --
Women teachers In the Pittsburgh
public schools arc to receive a $100
war bonus.
Noisiest Carpenter Does
Not Do the Most Work
From the Philadelphia Public Ledger.
Some diligent manual laborers are of the opinion that a man
who sits at a desk and writes or a man who pauses and is silent,
without stirring, in order to think, must be censurably idle.
They cannot appreciate the motion of the wheels of thought
within the skull. They can only understand what they see. They
judge of a man’s business by bis aspect of being occupied. If he
brandishes his arms about, or runs very fast, or gets excited, or
perspires freely, then he must be earning his salary.
But some great and necessary tasks are “accomplished in
repose.” The measure of a man’s dynamic value is not in the scalo
of the thermometer which registers the heat that is generatd by his
activity.
The fever and the fret are not the assurance that what is doing
is worth while.
A man is shut up alone in a laboratory in minute and careful
research. His mind is “voyaging through strange seas of thought
alone.” He knows what Kipling means by “the loneliness of wings.”
He is far above the crowd. There are few on earth who can help him
—few who can follow him into the rarefied air that he breathes. Yet
out of his questing and testing are born wonderful new ideas,
perhaps some that help to hasten the prayed for end of a war or spell
a lasting benefit conferred on multitudes forlorn in China and India
years hence, Avho will not know the name of him who helped them.
Judge not of the idleness of another by the nature of your own
task. Many times this war has seen a civilization rebuke a soldier
who has fought and been wounded and has doffed khaki to wear
mufti for a time. “Where is your uniform? You are a slacker, sir!”
the critic generalized hastily from insufficient premises. None in this
stressful time has any business to be idle. But there is more than one
sort of work. Do not condemn a man because his labor does not
immediately leave the visible and audible traces you are able to show
for your more obvious endeavor.
_•' ___
This Machine War. !
t
Theodore M. Knappen, Writing From Detrpit to the New York Tribune.
Mottled in camouflage to look like
frogs, artillery caissons are taking
form in the army and navy section of
| the Ford motor plant. Long and ardu
ous are the pre-natal processes, but
prolific the delivery of the war imple
ments when their time has been ful
filled.
Shrouded in military secrecy are
most of the preparations and move
ments of this protean war. Who, for
instance, outside the inner circles
knows what our artillery preparations
are? Here is a glimpse that suggests
its magnitude, a glimpse that cannot
by any possibility give aid or comfort
to the German: In the Ford factory
alone they are making 11,000 caissons
for field artillery. Presumably that
means 11,000 guns. When the apex
of production is reached one caisson
will come forth every 10 minutes.
Somewhere about that time, or not
long thereafter, a gun will be pro
duced every 10 minutes.
Difficult Simplicity.
There are about 700 parts in such
a simple looking affair as a caisson.
To a layman it looks like a box on
two wheels, just a cart in which to
carry shells and powder. Completed
that is what it is. It wouldn't take
a group of workmen verv long to
make one. But when they had made
ane, it would take them just as long
to make another. To attain quantity
production takes time in preparation,
but when the preparatory period is
over, making and putting together
those 700 parts is done almost auto
matically and entirely' by machinery in
some form or other. Just to get ready
to make caissons, the Ford plant has
had to install 300 machines. These
machines had to be made. Then they
had to be equipped with cutting tools,
dies, jigs and fixtures adapted to the
making of all the different parts. All
yf these require thought and elaborate
drawings. Their making is a task of
time and infinite care. Upon their
accuracy depends the success of stand
ardization and interchangeability.
Thumbs and Inches.
The thought naturally arises that
since the guns that are to go with
these carriages are of French caliber,
If not of actual French manufacture,
why did we not just send to France
for the drawings and save the time in
designing? Here enters the metric
system as a retarder of war, or let us
put it the other way and say it is the
absence of the metric system in this
country. Our workmen, our machines,
are not adapted to the metric system.
To translate the metric system into
our system would take time and thei*
it would result in awkward decimal
fractions. We might, of course, have
prepared for war by having our de
signs worked out and the machines,
tools, jigs, dies and fixtures, etc.,
already made. But before the war
we would not have had the advantage
of the French artillery designs.
Coming Through.
Ford is making caissons for 4.7-inch
and 155-millimeter guns, 1,000 of the
former and 10,000 of the latter. Kxcept
the wheels, they are entirely of steel
and parts of them are of armor steel
to afford protection to the men
handling the ammunition in battle.
Tit,; French type uses considerable
wood and has a mechanical dump ar
rangement which we have discarded ^
in '?rder to simplify and hasten pro
duction. Production should have
started April 1, but the navy and air
craft had the priority in materials
and machines, so Ford has only begun
production in quantity now. Never
theless, the whole order will be com
pleted on time, September 1, which
meejis 2,500 or better a month, and
100 «. day.
Ford Technique. t
Here again Ford applies the auto
mobile method. The building parts
move along in a regular sequence of
completion and then the completed
parts flow methodically into the fin
ished whole. Some of the parts are
duplicated in the two different types,
but there are, nevertheless, 404 sep
arate parts to be made, assembled into
units and then collected into wholes.
The contract involves about $14,000,
000, so, roughly, the first 11.000 cais
sons will cost $13,000 apiece. But
when they are done the equipment
will be ready to go on indefinitely
with 2.500 caissons a month.
The Germans wanted a machine war
and they are getting it. Our kind of
machine war, a war of machines made
by machines, takes time to start, but 'i
it is strong at the finish.
MOBILE HOSPITALS
FOR THE WAR ZONE
Washington, D. C.—Mobile hospitals,
mounted on motor trucks and trailers,
and equipped with nurses who will eat
and sleep on the road, and every other
facility necessary to bring the operat
ing room to the wounded men, are
being organized by the army medical
department. Miss Dora E. Thompson,
chief of the army nurse corps, is or
ganizing staffs of 50 nurses for each
unit who will go up to within five
miles of fighting when their caravan
responds to the emergency calls it is
designed to meet.
Each unit is planned to be equivalent
to an evacuation hospital, and besides
living quarters for the nurses and
transport space for their supplies, the
five sections of motor trucks and trail
ers will he in themselves temporary
hospitals. The nurses, each given the
field kit of an officer, will be prepared
to camp where night finds them, or
dine from the trailer kitchens as they
go along the road. Ten of them will
be assigned to each section of the unit,
and the sections, put together, will
constitute every detail of an operating
hospital, from sterilization plant to
X-ray equipment.
Miss Thompson now places the total
enrollment of the army nurse corps at
10.000. and anticipates that the number
will pass 20,000 before the end of the
year. There are 3,000 now wearing the
uniform abroad, and more in every
camp, cantonment, and embarkation
point in the United States. In addition,
one group of 24 are on duty in dis
pensaries maintained at Washington,
caring for the health of government
employes wfiose number now runs to
the tens of thousands. In various ex
ecutive buildings 15 emergency sta
tions have been established for first
aid work, and much service has been
found necessary.
^ i .✓
Origin of the Red Cross.
From the New York Sun.
\me!ia E. Bar, the novelist, who is over
S7 years old and Is still writing romances
In which the fire of youth burns vigor
ously, is amt witli a new book, "An Ork
ney MaidT' in which Fhe tells how the
Ked Cross society originated According
to Mrs. Barr, the motive for the Ked
Cross was inspired by the London Times,
in which appeared the following:
"The commonest aecessories of a hos
pital are wanting; there is not the least
attention paid to decency, or cleanliness;
the stench Is appalling, the fetid air can
barely struggle out through the chinks
in the walls ami roofs, and for all I can
observe^the rueti die without the least
effort being made to’ save them. They
Us Just as they were let down by the poor
fellows, their comrades, who brought
them on their backs from the camp with
the greatest tenderness, but who are not
allowed to remain with them. The sick
appeared to be tended by the sick, and
the dying by the dying. There are no
nurses, and the men are literally dying
hourly because the medical staff of tho
British army lias forgotten that old rags
of linen are necessary for the dressing of
wounds.”
In "An Orkney Maid” we read that a
“trumpet call” in the Times asked who
among the women of England were
ready to go to Scutari hospital to com
fort and help the men dying for England.
“The Son of God goes forth to war!
Who follows In his train?"
In six days Florence Nightingale and
her group of trained nurses, most of
whom were from the Roman Catholic
Sisters of Mercy and St. John's Protest
| ant House, had left England for Scutari.
! “The prudery of the English middle class
was shocked at the idea of young women
nursing in military hospitals. They con
sidered it ‘highly improper.’ ”
Buy Safe Stocks. ^
From Leslie's.
Let those who have money to invest
j and who wish to invest It safely, and
I those who have funds with which they
! would like to speculate with fair proa
| pects of making a gain, follow the ex
ample of successful investors and specu
lators.
Successful investors, whose fortunes we
hear about from time to time, deal in
listed securities as a rule, or in others of
such high grade that there can be no
question as to their genuineness. Every
man with $100 or more can buy the same
kind of stocks that Mr. Rockefeller, Mr.
Schwab, Mr. Carnegie, or any other mil
lionaire owns.
It is bettor to hold one share of a divi
dend paying stock, with a good record
and costing $100, than to own 100 acres at
$1 a share, of a newly promoted scheme
against the success of which the chances*
are 1,000 to 1. In these days of high
wages and general prosperity, an army of
small investors is swelling to enormous
proportions and many who are feeling
their wav" are being tempted by pro
moters of schemes that deserve investiga
tion by the postoffice departmen as well
as by the department of justice and tin*
federal trade commission.
Not Indicative.
From Stars and Stripes, France.
Along came the second lieutenant whist
ling. whistling. Cadenzas he manipulated
in the grandest colatura style.
Along came the colonel.
“Lieutenant,” said the colonel. “Just
because you’re between gold bars is no
reason to Imagine yourself a canary.'*