THE COPPER HOUSE
A Detective Story
BV
JULIUS REGIS
AUTHOR OF “NO IS TORONI"
1 m
The young man colored up
like a schoolboy- and said hus
kily: “Was that what your let
ter was aboutt”
“Yes, 1 wrote to request
your consent to the sale of the
popper House.”
“The Copper House for
pale?”
“You may regard it as sold,
my lad.”
“What the devil do you
mean?” cried Leo, springing
tip from ilia chair.
“What else can you expect,
When a property has been neg
lected for three gerations?
(Your grandfather spent the
prholc of his life abroad, and
married in California, where
pe settled. When he dipd,
Ivarkii was mortgaged for half
Its value, although his sister
forked herself to skin and
bone in her efforts to reduce
expenses. Your father certain
ly remained at home, but he
entertained very lavishly, ami
bis tobacco-growing hobby,
[which started very hopefully,
proved a very costly failure.
(You inherited your grandfath
er’s love of travel, and your
Idea ot managing an estate ap
fiarently consists in tolograph
ng incessantly for money from
the four quarters of the earth.
During the last 30 years, I
bave warned first your father
and then you how things were
poing. Then the war broke
out, and now matters have
come to a crisis. 1 can assure
you, I have done my utmost to
stave off the debts ...”
Leo had been drumming on
the window-pane, and now he
turned round and said: “1
know you have; 1 'in not trying
'j ip ii
,*u I'-vri iii^ym-u.
The lawyer nodded- arid con
tinued in a slightly mollified
tone: “1 had not put up the
property for sale, hut at the
end of March a purchaser ap
peared unexpectedly, and
made a good—an uncommonly
good offer, which we have no
choice but to accept. 1 have
drawn up the contract, already,
and was only awaiting your
consent to my signature, hut
ninec you are hack, you can
sign it yourself.”
“My signature!” repeated ,
the young man. He was filled
With a sullen, boyish despair at
the thought that by a stroke of
the pen, he must sign away the
property which had been in his
family for eight generations,
fend lose the old home which
Was the shrine of his childish
memories.
“I can’t he true, it’s impos
sible!” he burst out.
The lawyer looked at him as
though he were taking a care
ful inventory of the young
man’s weakness and lack of
resource in this unforeseen
emergency.
“Unfortunately it is only too
possible,” lie said gently. The
official atmosphere of Mr. Bur
cluirdt’s private room began to
irritate Leo like the touch of
a hair shirt on a sensitive skin,
and as the lawyer turned sug
gestively towards his deed-box,
the young man said hastily, al
most incoherently, as if at
tempting to stave off inevita
ble doom: “No, not yet! Give
me a little time to get accus
tomed to the idea. I must
hare one more look at the Cop
per House whilst it is still
mine . . . ”
Burehardt looked thought
ful. Inwardly, ho was deeply
touched, hut his severe expres
sion remained unaltered* and
be said to himself: “What a
pily the scatter-brained fellow
did not make a rich marriage
while there was time.”
Aloud he remarked: “As
you wish. But I have not told
you everything yet. As you
know, the Copper House, that
is, the house itself, was let in
the summer of 1915 to a person
named An’drei Bernin. He is
a Russian author, though I be
lieve he has naturalized him
4
self as a Swede, and he is liv
ing in the Copper House with .
his sister and daughter. As re- I
gards the rest of the estate,
and the woods, Suneson, the
bailiff, continued to look after
them, at any rate until last
year; perhaps you remember
him—a decent, trustworthy
fellow. But he left the place
very suddenly last autumn
without giving notice. Andrei
Bernin now rents the whole
property, but the land is lying
fallow. He’s a strange sort of
man—shuts himself up alto
gether in the Copper House;
lie seems to have plenty of
money, and not content with
paying rent for the place, he
has now made a very generous
offer to buy it. I have never
met him personally, as he is
elderly and an invalid, and
blind into the bargain; but I
carry on negotiations with his
friend and solicitor, Marcus
'fussier, who is managing the
business with the most amaz
ing energy . . ”
“Tassler,” said Leo, with a
slight grimace, “is lie a Ger
man?’’
I should say he is of a sort
of German-Russian-Jewish ex
traction, but all the same, hi: is
a Swedish citizen,” replied 1 lie
pdentically accurate B u r
chardt. “He is one of those
financial experts who have
come to the front during this
war, and he is the manager of
the Finno-Russian Import and
Kxport company. Personally, I
don’t, find him particularly
congenial, but he certainly
looks after his friend Bernin’s
interests with exemp’ary zeal.
They have not allowed us
much time to turn around; 1
have been obliged to give way
a little here and there. A con
siderable sum of caution money
has been paid down already; if
the sale does not go through,
the lease hold.- good, and we
are pound to undertake expen
sive repairs, whilst over and
above all that, we shall he held
legally rcsponsi!)!- for allow
ing the land to go out of cul
tivation . . . ’
Geo turned quickly to the
window; the truth seemed to
dawn uppp him for the first
time, and ho said: “I suppose
the Copper House is filled with
these people?”
“Yes, and all the old serv
ants have left. We are abso
lutely powerless, Geo; the sale
must take place!”
“Must it?” murmured Goo;
still unconvinced. “Have you
anything more to tell me?”
“Yes. Bernin, or, more cor
rectly, Tassler acting for him,
has bought up all the mort
gages. and the largest out
standing debts on the proper
ty, and is bringing pressure to
bear on us in that way.”
Geo felt as though a net was
closing round him; he was fu
rious, and exclaimed: “The
cheek of the fellow! So he
threatens me, does he? I’ll
have something to sav to
him!”
“It is his way, I don’t blame
him. At any rate, we can’t
quarrel with the price he of
fers; it will cover all your
family liabilities.”
”\Nill them be any sur
plus ?”
“About 12,000 kroner, I
should think.”
“That isn’t much,” re
marked Geo thoughtfully. His
anger had evaporated, and he
was smiling. “After all, I
have always been hard-up. so
there won’t be a great differ
ence. At any rate, tin* Copper
House still belongs to me—
nominally.”
Rurchardt came up to the
young man and laid a hand on
his shoulder. He had laid
aside his official manner, and
said kindly: “Take my advice,
Geo. Life is hard on those who
make no attempt to take it se
riously, and we are living in an
ago when individuals as well as
nations are being tested to the
fullest extent ot tneir capabili
ties. You are young, mentally
and physically: that is one as
set. You have had a good ed
ucation: that is another. Face
the future boidly, and win
yourself a p'aeo in the sun:
you can do it.”
Leo looked at him. “Yes,”
said he, “that doesn’t sound
bad. But how am I to do it?”
“By, working.”
“Painting, d > jrou mean?”
“I mean, by hard work.”
“Chopping wood perhaps?”
“By all means, if you are fit
for nothing better.”
The young man stretched his
arms over his head, and
laughed softly: then lie began
to walk up and down the room.
“I may be a ne’er-do-well, but
I am not an invertebrate,” said
he. “I expected all this in a
way, but I don’t know how it
is ... I feel somehow re
lieved. At any rate, I know
now .just how T stand. “But,”
he added, with renewed ve
hemence. “the loss of the Cop
per House is an idea that it will
take me some time to digest.”
‘*7t is too late to prevent it
now, Leo.”
“That is just what makes it
so hard to bear! Besides, I
can’t get over the fact of such
people as these taking such a
fancy to the Copper House;
I’m sure there’s something
wrong somewhere.”
“There is nothing wrong
with their money, at all
events.” remarked Burchardt
patiently.
“Money!” snorted Leo.
turning round. His expressive
face lighted up, and he added
eagerly: “Nobody knows yet
that 1 am in Sweden. Suppose
I go straight hack to California
and try to make a fortune.
How’s that for an idea?”
The lawyer remained silent:
he had not the heart to reply.
But the young man’s remark
reminded him of something,
and lie bent down and took an
envelope from liis desk.
“Somebody seems to have
expected your arrival,” lie
said, “for this letter has been
waiting for you since yester
day.”
a loner: repeated neo, j
taking it with surprise, “so it !
is, and by the postmark a local
one, posted boro in Stockholm.
Isn’t that odd
He opened and read it, first
to himself, then aloud:
“Mr. Leonard Crath, Care
of Burehardt and Company,
Stockholm.
Sir,—Should you intend
taking any steps with regard
to the Copper House, may 1 beg
you to wait for further infor
mation from me? The matter
is serious. Above all, let no
body know that you are in
Stockholm, and on no account
go out to the Copper House.
Ask Mr. Burehardt to observe
similar precautions. He can
tell you who 1 am.
Yours in great haste,
Maurice Wallion.
Leo read these lines once
again. The lawyer pricked up
bis ears, as if at the sound of a
bugle. “Maurice Wallion,” be
repeated.
“Yes, that's the name.
What’s all this about? Who is
the fellow, and what does lie
mean?”
Burehardt took the letter,
and read it in his turn, slowly
and attentively. Leo, who was
watching him, noticed that the
lawyer actually looked dis
turbed. almost alarmed.
“What is it?” asked the
young man, quickly. “Who on
earth is Maurice Wallion?”
“Unexpected, perfectly un
expected!” murmured the law
yot. “Serious? Yes, that may
well be, if lie says so. Leo, this
message comes from a man
who wishes you well. 1 hap
pen to know him: few persons
have met him, hut many have
heard of him. They call him
‘the problem-hunter,’ and his
nominal occupation is that of a
contributor to the Daily Cou
rier. But he is more than a
journalist: he lias a way of
turning up on the scene of any
crime or mystery, if he thinks
there is anything abnormal
about it.”
Leo smiled slightly: “That
sounds very mysterious.” he
said, “but as T am not guilty of
any deeds of darkness. T can’t
say 1 teel particularly alarmed
• • •
“1 was engaged on young
Ravoncrone’s ease, when Wal
! lion recovered his estate for
[ him,” replied the lawyer
; gravely; “that problem was
100 years old: blit he solved it
j in an hour.”
“And now I suppose lie will
offer to recover mine.” said
Leo. “Why, what business i*
I jt of his? How did he know, to
' begin with that I was coming
• here?”
“How, indeed,” echoed the.
i lawyer significantly.
They looked at one another,
and the young man’s smile
gave way to a grown. “T call
I it either great cheek or a verv
poor joke for anyone to med
die unasked in my affairs,’
he said, taking up the letter to
put it in his pocket hook.
Hurehardt shook his head
and at the same moment Tier
uttered a cry of vexation. “M>
poekethook!” he exclaimed
“that scoundrel has stolen it!’
“Who has?” asked the law
yer, jumping up.
“A man who ran into me on
the stairs about lmlf nu bom
ago. It can have been no one
else, for I bad it in my hand
not five minutes before. He
was a tall, thin fellow, with
black eves; I thought, he was
drunk, for he barged right into
me, without saying a word; 1
gave him a good shove, and he
1 nrelied out into the street. 01
course the beggar was after m\
poekethook.”
“What had you in it?”
“Not much money, hut prac
tieallv all my papers, passport
and everything. ”
At this minute thr> door op
Plied, and one of Burchardt’s
clerks came in.
“A hoy has just, left this
parcel for Mr. uratl\ ” he said
putting down an oblong pack
et, and departing. Leo tore
open the white paper, which
bore no address, and looked up
with a mixture of amusement
and bewilderment in his face
“What’s the date today?’
he inquired.
“July 19, 1927,” replied the
puzzled lawyer.
“Make a note of if, as being
a day of surprises.”
“\Vhat is it now?”
“I liave got back my pocket
book. It is here, in this parcel.”
“You don’t say so! Empty
of course?”
“No,” replied Leo, after
looking through it, “that is the
most surprising thing of all
Nothing is missing. lie has
not taken a single thing.”
“Impossible, it’s too absurd.
Look again more carefully.”
Both men examined the poc
ketbook again, but it was as
Leo bad stated: both money
and papers were totally undis
turbed.
“This is certainly a very
striking commentary on out
friend the ‘problem-hunter’s
letter,” remarked the young
man; “is he given to playing
such tricks as these?”
“Nonsense,” said Burchardt,
curtly. “His letter is a warn
ing, and this incident is a east
in point. Some person has had
recourse to an uncommonly
daring way of finding out ev
erything that concerns you
evidently wishing to identify
you by the aid of your own
papers.”
In spite of himself, Leo he
turn to feel rather uncomforta
ble but he pulled himself to
gether, and said: “i begin tc
think that there is a general
conspiracy to make a fool of
me: a profiteering baron wants
to compel me to sell the Copper
House: a thief steals my pa
pers. and. sends them back nn
t o u e h c d : a problem-hunter
s mds me unintelligible warn
ings—my poor brain is getting
quite muddled! I wish I was
hack in California, there are
such a queer lot of folk in
Sweden, since last I was here.”
“Listen to me, Leo,” said
the lawyer slowly. “There is
something wrong about all
this. That fellow Tassler must
have some motive of which we
know nothing. The first thing
for you to do is to find out
what Maurice Wallion knows.”
(TO B' CONTINUED)
Banished Gypsies
-
Ji’roin the New York Evening Post.
Many Americans who make It a
practice to attend the races at Ep
som Downs will regret to learn of i
the attempt being made to bar
(gyps.es from plying their vocation
on notable racing occasions. A voca
tion they certainly have, and that Is
tell.ng fortunes. This may strike
cold moralists as a reprehensible
kind of business, but to many thous
ands of innoocnt pleasure seekers
the crossing of an old crone’s hands
with a niece of silver appears to be
a highly romantic part of the pro
ceedings of the English holiday.
Firth, the Royal Academician,
immortalized Epsom Downs cn one
of his broad canvases in which the
old fortune teller is posed in front
of a barouche containing some beau
tiful English girls. No one is de
ceived by the fortune teller and her
vaticinations are in exact proportion
to the piece of silver placed in her
somewhat begrimed palm. For Just
a shilling—24 cents of American
money—the lady will predict a meet
ing with a tall, dark stranger whose
intentions may or may not include
matrimony, while for half a crown—
60 cents—the illustrious cavalier to
i be encountered will offer his hand,
j heart and fortune.
• • •
j There are laughter and hilarity,
j and no more notice is bestowed up
' on such incidents than upon tne
persons who are washing down lob
i sters with champagne or upon those
less autocratic patrons of the turt
| secreting cold mutton with the as
sistance of warm ale. Acrobats,
itinerant organ grinders. Punch and
Judy shows and all the fun cf the
fair” diversify the glorious downs
of the famed Surrey track.
If the gypsies have to go. an in
teresting and picturesque element of
the Derby will be eliminated, and
to the general sorrow. The gypsies
are much beloved, whether they are
of the real Romany descent cr just
tanned-up-for-the-dav specimens ol
shrewd performers from the White
chapel and Somer's Town districts
of London. Who has brought about
the prosecution of th“ gypsies is not
exactly clear from the cable dis
patches announcing the event, but
perhaps chickens have been missed
from the domain known as "The
Durdans," the racing residence of
the late Earl of Rosebery, himself
formerly the owner of noted race
horses and thrice a winner of the
Derby.
Mail Pick-up Trial Comes to Griet
This giant 20-passenger Burnelli monoplane crashed at Key
port, N. J., in taking off on trial flight before hopping to picki
up mail at sea from the Leviathan. P. W. Chapman, owner of'
the plane, is preparing another to make the flight and wiH!
make mail pickup a regular feature if tests prove successful.'
Mail will be in the post office at Newark airport many hoursl
before the Leviathan docks.
(International Newar-oll
Once Condemned, in Toils Again
Having once escaped from the shadow of the gallows after be
ing convicted of the murder of Arthur Lindstrom in Chicago
several years ago, Mrs. Catherine Cassler, left, of Valparaiso*
Ind., is back in jail, where she faces charges of murdering Mis*
Cameleo Soutar, right, whose body was found in a swamp near
Hebron, Ind. Chester Johnson, inset, sweetheart of Miss Sou
tar, is the woman’s chief accuser. Her husband has admitted
to having lived with the dead girl during his wife’s imprison
ment. and she :s claimed to have made threats against both.
f IntapnaHnnal Nawarual t
$35,000,000 at Stake She’s Queen of May
Hints of huge sums of money
being squandered to a personal
staff of psycho-analysts are
contained in Mrs. Katherine
Dexter McCormick’s, above,
suit, instituted in Los Angeles
courts to regain custody of the
millions and affections of her
husband, Stanley McCormick
of Chicago. She claims his ai
fections are being alienated
from herself by his physicians
treatments.
**-• .national Mavirnl)
11 -.. nrt
Marva Brown, of Staten Isl
and, N. Y., popular senior at
Linden Hall Seminary, Lititz,
Pa., smiled her way to the
throne when she was crowned
May Queen at the annual
school exercises rounding out
the month of May.
' ‘oka! ’ NewarMU