A Life For Sale
BY SYDNEY HURLER
i;
Mrs Perkins, her lace con
tused with astonishment,
taw her paying guest bein';
Jed away by the man who lad
previously handcuffed him
There seemed, a calamity upon
tier lodgers. First Mr. Drop
stick had left her to tie mar
ried, ar.d now' this young
man, who was so quiet and
gentlemanly in his ways, wit
being taken away by the po
lice. Of course, a tenbV mis
take must have happened,
but it was all very upsetting
“What has happened, Mr.
Creighton''” she Inquired,
running alter the small
party ”
These fools say that 1 re
Committed a murdpr, Mrs.
Perkins They are taking me
to the ixilice station, but l
•hull be back soon," Even in ;
hi; anger Creighton trted to j
toothe the woman's feelings. I
Mrs Perkins was a decent j
tort. and he hated having
brought this disgrace upon
i her home.
‘Come along, now!” sharp
lly said the chief detective;
“take my advice, sir, and
save your breath.”
Twenty minutes later Mar
tin Creighton stod in a ,mall '
rm at the local police sta
llion In addition to the two
detectives who had brought
him there, this room con
tained three other men. One
wore teh uniform of a
superintendent of pdlice,
while the other two v/ere in
plain clothes.
At the sight of one of these
men, Creighton sprang for
ward. clenching his manacled
hands.
ho you re tne roten swine!
he cried; "you’ll pay for
this!”
The small Immaculately
dressed, wiry-looking man re- !
in lined unruffled by the j
words. Sitting in his chair, i
ho turned his gaze towards |
the ceiling, as though he had
not heard the other speak.
“It will be In your own In
terests, Mr. Creighton. If you i
' fetam your temper.” The
words, uttered in a sing-song
voice, caused Creighton to 1
look at the second man
\ dressed in ordinary clothes.
He found himself looking into
a pair of extremely pale blue
eyes set in a somewhat flabby
lice, whose natural evpres
fsion appeared to be one of
f Intense lugubriousness.
I Creighton instinctively dis
liked this man, and he made
I no bones about it.
“Who the douce are you?"
ho demanded.
From three cut of the four
men in the rom came a gasp.
“I am Jarvis Stark. Deputy
Commissioner of Scotland
Yard,” replied the melan
choly-looking man.
It w:a then that Creighton
had his first real sensation
of fear. Whoever had spun this
w ob about him had used
f subtle and cunning means,
i The Deputy Commissioner of
1 Scotland Yard himself . . .
Yet he faced the lugubrious,
,but powerful personage bold
Iv
‘T warn you, Mr Conifcils
sioner, as I have already
> warned your detectives, that
a grave error lias been made
4a arresting me to-night,” he
aald. “I understand that I am
.charged with the murder of
Sir Simon Baste. In reply to
! tills monstrous and ridiculous
accusation. I tell you that I
ffcave never even seen Sir
Simon Baste.”
• The sing-song voice of Mr.
Jarvis Stark made an instant
icply.
; ‘‘Then how do you account
for this revolver being found
near tne murdered man?"
The Deputy Commissioner
of Scotland Yard extended to
ithe accused a Colt automatic
revolver. Before he took it
I into his hand, Creighton
recognized it as a weapon
which he had brought from
South America, and which,
until that moment, he had
had every reason to believe
was in a drawer in his bed
room at 13, Fitzroy Street. He
stared blankly, while the
realization of what this must
mean flooded through him.
“Is this your revolver?
Quickly, now!” The tone of
Mr. Jarvis Stark’s voice had
changed. As he spoke, Martin
Crelgnton leaned forward. He
was trying to puzzle out what
seemed to him to be an
amazing mystery. It could not
be—and yet—
“Yes, that is my revolver.”
He marvelled how calm his
own voice sounded.
The Deputy Commissioner
looked at him fixedly.
“I take it, Slmmonds, that
you have already warned the
accused?”
The detective who had ar
rested Creighton nodded.
“Yes, sir, I told him at the
time that anything he said
might be used in evidence
against him at his trial.”
At the word “trial," Martin
felt a wave of madness pass
through him. His mind con
jured up a horrifying picture.
He saw himself standing in
the big dock at the Old Bai
ley. a police warder on either
side. In front of him, on the
raised bench, a scarlet-garbed
judge, on whose white wig
rested a small square of black
cloth, was speaking in a
voice broken with emotion:
“Martin Creighton, you have
been declared guilty of the
terrible crime of murder
. . . you will be taken to
the place from whence you
came. ...”
“It’s all a damned lie!” he
cried at the top of his voice.
“I am innocent!”
The manner of Mr. Jarvis
Stark changed once again. He
might have been a chapel
deacon conducting a religious
service.
“If you are innocent, Mr.
Creighton, rest assured that
no harm will come to you.
The fact that you acknowledge
this weapon to belong to you,
however, is damaging. Certain
fingermarks have also been
found. . . ”
Now the whole fiendish
plot was laid bare. That
monster, who so sardonically
called himself “Jones”—had
spun this web. He had wanted
a catspaw. Good God! a cats
I paw for murder!
That thumb-mark! Now he
knew the significance of it.
By some devilish cunning
they had duplicated this im
pression; it would be used as
damning evidence against
him and—
He pulled himself together,
urged to do so .by his innate
sense of manhood.
"For the last time, Mr
Deputy Commissioner. I have
to say I am innocent,” he de
clared.
Mr. Jarvis Stark made a
gesture with a bony hand.
“Take him in a car to
Cannon Row Station, Sim
monds” he ordered. "Have
his finger-prints taken, and
| report to me in the morning."
As he was hustled from the
room, Martin turned to look
! at the small, wiry man seated
I on the Deputy Commissioner’s
' right hand. What was he
j doing in this matter? Was he
an associate of the Colossus?
In the circumstances it
seemed incredible, but as lie
continued to stare at this
man, the latter gave him a
! wink of encouragement!
Whilst waiting for the car
which was to take him to
captivity, Creighton saw the
man approaching him. No
MN
; SAOT-CAUDENS
• P^ris — (OP*— Among the moou
■irnts commemorating the art as
•orirttion ot France and the
tTr«f<*^ /states, none is more ln’
Sreasire than tha memorial just
Aedieafced to the memory of the
American sculptor. Augustus
ft.:nt-Oaudens, in the town Of
that name.
Saint-Gaudcns, where the an
cestors of the greet sculptor lived,
v as tha scene of an impressive
ceremony, when the town officials.
; members of the Beaux-Arts Mtn
! is try and First Secretary of the
I American Embassy Robert T.
Scotten, dedicated the classic
monument to the sculptor’s mem
ory. The dedication of the great
Mime Memorial prevented Am
bassador Edge and other person
ages of the art and political world
from being present.
, 'll’.a monument, consisting of a
y words were passed, perhaps.
Martin considered, because
of the presence of the detec
tives, but again he was given
an unmistakable look of en
couragement.
What was behind this
glance Creighton was unable
even to conjucture. He had
little time for reflection, In
any case, for a closed car now
drove up to the entrance of
the police station, and the
detective Simmonds ordered
him curtly to get inside.
A minute later the car was
proceeding across a portion
of the Heath in the direction
of the City.
CHAPTER XIX
Returning to the room in
the police station, Bunny
Chipstead was frowned upon
by Mr. Jarvis Stark.
"W'ith the best will in the
world. Mr. Chipstead. I don't
quite see your connection in
this matter," said the Deputy
Commissioner of Scotland
Yard. There was a covert
hint of hostility in the of
ficial’s tone.
Chipstead became apolo
getic.
“I should hate you to think
that I butted in on purpose,
Mr. Deputy Commissioner,"
he replied. ‘‘The reason I
came out here to-night was
because I called at Scotland
Yard and found you had
gone. You will remember be
ing kind enough to promise
me any help I might require
whilst in London?"
Mr. Jarvis Stark’s face lost
something of its former
thundery expression.
“My dear Mr. Chipstead,”
he said, in the sing-song
tone so characteristic of him,
“I regret that in the heat of
the moment I was a little off
hand. But I have not been
well lately." It was an intense
ly interested Bunny Chipstead
who watched the speaker wipe
a bedewed ferehead with a
large handkerchief. “Now tell
me, Mr. Chipstead, in what
way I can be of service to
you." The Scotland Yard of
ficial put away his handker
chief and leaned forward in
his seat.
Chipstead was quick to r«i
piy
"Do you happen to know if
‘Darkey’ Mottram is in Eng
land, chief?" There were two
notes in Chipstead’s voice.J
One was anxiety for the in
formation required, and the
other was a manifest respect
for the man he addressed.
Mr. Jarvis Stark sighed. It
might have been a sigh of re
lief now that the arrest of the
man he had recently charged
with murder had been safely
effected, or it might have been
caused by the wickedness of
such men as “Darkey" Mot
tram.
i naven t heard that Mot
tram is here,” he answered;
“but I will instantly make all
necessary inquiries, of course,
Mr. Chipstead.”
“That is awfully kind of
you, chief.”
“What’s ‘Darkey’ been doing
now, then?” inquired the
Scotland Yard official, evi
dently pleased at being so
addressed.
“According to a cable I had
this afternoon,” replied Chip
stead. “he’s been showing too
much interest in Mrs. Van
Hooten’s famous jewel col
lection. New York thinks he
will make for London sooner
or later, and hearing I was
on this side, they sent me a
cable on the off-chance.”
The Scotland Yard Deputy
Commissioner raised his
loose-jointed frame and ex
tended a bony hand in fare
well.
“I’ll do all I possibly can,”
he promised; “drop in at the
Yard to-morrow morning and
I may have some news for you.
There are one or two things
I have to settle up here.”
It was a plain hint, and
Chipstead was sensible
enough to act on it.
“Good-night, chief — and
thank you very much,” he re
plied. Leaving the place, he
broke into a soft whistle.
An hour later the Secret
Service man was closeted in
! the study of 3ir Robert Hed
dingley, at the latter’3 private
residence. Heddingley’s face
' was lined, and he looked ap
preciably cider than when
Chipstead had last seen him.
He had greeted his visitor
warmly, his eyes searching
the other's face.
“You’re not looking well,
Bob,’’ was Bunny’s comment
as they 3hook hands.
“Well! I’m worried to death.
This thing I was telling you
about a little time back—”
The speaker broke off,
turned away, and groped with
, an unsteady hand for a pin*.
■ This he filled and lit.
1 Three minutes later, when
! the two were seated opposite
each other in deep leather
; chairs, Sir. Robert Hedding
; ley spoke again.
“I suppose you haven’t been
able to get a line, Bunny?”
, he asked eagerly.
Chipstead caressed a silk
clad ankle.
“At the present time, Bob,
I prefer not to say anything
definite,” he replied; “but I
dropped In to-night to let you
know that I am working on
this job—working a good
many hours a day, too.”
“Good old man!”
“I am heading in a certain
direction, Bob,” went on
Bunny; “I may want some
help later on, and directly I
i do I will let you know. For the
present I’d much rather be
I on my own.”
I Sir Robert Heddingley nod
j ded. He knew his man.
“By the way. Sir Simon
: Bastq%has been murdered, I
understand?”
“Yes. I hear there has been
an arrest."
Bunny Chipstead pointed
the stem of his pipe at the
speaker.
“Scotland Yard have made
1 almighty fools of themselves
over that arrest, Bob,” he
said startlingly.
The other looked at him.
“There’s something behind
that remark, Bunny. Isrf*t
ttie man guilty?”
Chipstead smiled.
“He’s no more guilty than
you or I, Bob. By the way, do
you know anything of a man
named Juhl? He’s a great
; brute of a fellow, almost daz
zllngly handsome in an ani
mal fashion, and he has three
I curious white streaks in a
mop of black hair.”
Sir Robert Heddingley’s
lined face softened into a
smile.
“Sounds like a film Sheik,”
he commented. “No, I can’t
say I know the gentleman.”
“You will later on," de
clared Chipstead, and rose to
go.
CHAPTER XX
xiorror tuiu am^cuiciu
were the predominating im
pressions left on Margery’s
mind as the dwarf shuffled
from the room after making
his declaration.
The conclusion to which
she was bound to come was
that Fate, instead of showing
her a way out of her troubles
had plunged her into an even
deeper perplexity. That stunt
ed man had been sincere! He
was as fanatical about his
passion for her as about that
mysterious work, as a result
of which he was to achieve
such tremendous power.
Sitting on the small bed.
Margery experienced a series
of bewildering emotions. To
be worshipped by such a man!
It frightened her because
i Zoab she knew, was not only
abnormal in body, but ab
normal in mind. He was a
human ogre, and yet she felt
sure that he would willingly
die for her sake if the neces
sity arose. And. actuated by
the same irresistible force, he
would kill anyone who at
tempted to thwart his desire
—he would even kill her
should she make any at
tempt to escape. Such a man
was purely primitive; he
made his own laws.
She could not get his fren
zied words out of her ears
‘Emperor of the World!’
What could such a high
sounding phrase mean?
(TO BE CONTINUED)
severely classic Greek platform, ^
faces a beautiful panorama of the
Pyrenes Mountains. In the cen- !
ter of the platform is a bust of
Saint-Gauctens, while at each side
a figure stands, one representing l
France, the other the United
States.
The memorial is the work of
Pierre f'eitu. a pupil of the late
sculptor, and was executed by I
Louis Lonfosse, architect. The ;
monument was built under the
auspices of a committee headed by
General de Sham bran.
RILE NO. 1
An item states the cross eyed dame
Will always keep her man.
And never in the race of life
Will she play also ran.
Though such a gal has thrown the
line
And also done the hooking,
Yet still and all the poor young fish
Won’t know just where she’s look
ing.
The technique of the stunt Is this
Such Miss is here confessing:
The same old stuff, rule numbei
one—
Just keep the guy a-guessing.
- - -—Sam Payc.
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• •
Unkind Comment
What Chicago thought of Cincin
nati back in 1682 l§ shown by this
piece of reprint from the Herald of
that city, says the Cincinnati En
quirer. ,sWe learn that Cincinnati
is to have a College of Physical Cul
ture. Unless it is at the head of an
inclined plane and run in connection
with a brewery and n German band
it will be declared unconstitutional.
A man may like making a fortune
—even better than preparing his son
to take care of it.
Living Chicken House
At Knoxville, Term., two deputy
sheriffs saw a negro walking along
*ie street with nine chickens under
his arms. Closer inspection revealed
suspicious lumps about his person.
Occasionally a lump would move and
make a noise slightly like a chicken
being smothered. They removed five
more chickens from beneath his
clothing. (
There Is a struggle to be hard
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have heartache. *1
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