IF® A Life For Sale BY 8Y0NEY HURLER __I The man writhed in a vain «ndeav«r to free himself. “* Ml it before I caught aight of you!” he gasjed; “the tube is Just outside . . . we aiiall both be blown to hell!” Chipstead briefly hesitated, while the terror of the man threatened to rob him of aanlty. "You blasted fool! Take me away! Take me away!” lie ahrieked hysterically. Even then Chipstead did not reply. This man might be a 'coiuumrnuteiy clever actor, lie was taking no chances. "I’ll carry you out,” he an nounced. After all, he had ob tained what he personally wanted and was quite ready to go. wiinoui wasting any wiviu time he picked up the man, who must have weighed at least two stone more than Inmself. and commenced to walk up the worn stone steps «»f the-cellar. On arrival at the top, he caught an acrid smell of burning. “Quick! Quick!" screamed the man. Cliipstead hurried now in real earnest. Unable to use l>i,s tttrch because both hands were occupied, he lived titrough an eerie experience. The only thing to guide him was his sense of direction. The weight in hts aims became licavlpr every moment, threat ening to drag him down. By the time he reached the ground-floor rooms, his breath was coming in short, staccato gasps. He was almost apent with exhaustion. Still he kept on. He had to aave this man as well as him self. Hus burden now lay passive in his arms, whimper ing like a child. The ordeal had seemed to turn his brain. Just as Bunny felt he could go on no longer, he saw across the room the window through which he had entered the I muse half an hour previously. Lurching now like a drunken man, he flung himself through this with his burden, and the two i oiled down a grass bank Into the Jungle-like grounds. One moment of blessed rest, and then he had picked up the man again. Progress now was exceedingly difficult, but lie did not stop until he bad reached a high wall bordering the street. Scarcely bad he flung himself down beneath this before a terrific explosion shattered the si lence. like the crack of doom. The night sky was lit up by gigantic tongues of flame, and the air became full of flying fragments. When comparative stillness bad come again, Chipstead turned to the shivering man crouched by his side. “I’m going to let you clear off now,” lie said, “because the police are bound to be here soon, and they may ask some awkward questions." This fellow might be a hireling of The King, and therefore a danger to society, but he had gone through suf ficient that night. Untying the silk handkerchief that bound the man's wrists, Bun i>y wished his companion in that strange adventure good night and slipped away. As be dropped quietly over the garden woll. there came to bis cars the hurrying foot steps of an approaching crowd. (JliAl .1 tire aaa Lord Belshaven put down (he telephone received with a Jerk. He war, considerably perturbed. Tire world seemed to be going mad that morn ing. and the information lie had Just received from Rough moor had spoilt an unusually good appetite for breakfast. He had barely reseated Scores for Show Hit Written in Houston Houston. Tex. — (Ui?>—“Of Thee f sing,” the musical satire on politics, has won a Pulitzer prize felt lew people know its words end frmsaic were written i.i a Houston frolci room. The fact has just come, to light that the brothers Gershwin. • •oorge and Ira, Si»ent th? summer «# mi here, with t.'.eir presence Known only to three or four peo himself at the table before a footman, after uttering an apology, brought him In a | card. “The gentleman said he must see you at once, your lordship,” stated the man. The face of the Foreign Secretary cleared as he noticed the name. “Show Mr. Chipstead in here immediately,” ho or i dcred. The famous politician shook hands warmlj with his early visitor. “I hope you haven’t break fasted, Chipstead?” he asked. “Everything seems to be go ing wrong this morning, and your company will be wel come.” The visitor’s reply was brisk and businesslike. “I’ll drink a cup of coffee, and. if you don’t mind, I’ll ! talk whilst you have your meal, Belshaven. I’ve come on here from Sir Robert Hed dingley. He tells me that your secretary, Miss Margery Steers is still missing.” The politician paused In the act of pouring the coifee, and the cloud returned to his face. "Yes,” he replied. ' I nave appealed to the police, but they have given me no help. By the way, you remember that young fellow Creighton ! —the man who created the disturbance in this house the ; night of the reception?" Chipstead nodded. "You mean the man who is supposed to have murdered Sir Simon Baste? Yes, I re j member him very well." Lord Belshaven frowned. "Well, he’s disappeared too. I must explain that I took the law into my own hands in connection with Creighton. After being arrested by the police, he made a sensational escape. Whilst working his way to the Kentish coast, with the intention of crossing to France, he took refuge in a barn at my country place, Roughmoor, which is not far from Hythe. He was disguised as a tramp, and my servants | were going to deal summarily with him, when I gave him the chance of telling me his story. “It was an amazing story— so amazing that I knew that he could not possibly have invented it. It appears that, being very down on his luck through being swindled out of five thousand pounds, he inserted an advertisement in the Personal Column of the Meteor ofering to sell his life! He received an answer through the telephone, and got in touch with a man whom he referred to as the Colossus—quite evidently a very dangerous criminal. He was taken blindfolded to the London house of this man, and there saw my secretary. Miss Margery Steers! What Miss Steers could have been doing in tills house I have yet to discover, but from Creigh ton’s statement it would cer tainly seem that by some extraordinary means the man had some hold on her. It was a peculiar household, appar ently, for another member of it was a particularly hideous dwarf.” "I thins i may ue auie w help you. Belshaven,” he put In. “I haven’t told you be fore, because Heddingley wished the matter to be en tirely private, but I have been working on this Cabinet Blackmail Scandal.” Lord Belshaven softly whistled. “A very terrible scandal, too. Chipstead,” he comment ed. “It has already killed two of my colleagues, whilst the Prime Minister himself Is daily expected to collapse. pie who carefully guarded the i secret. The Gershwins had a piano hauled up to the room and spent the summer at work — George on the score, Ira on the lyrics. Relatives of the Gershwins live here, and Ira once visited them. George came here once with Paul Whitemans orchestra. Casting about for a quiet place to work on | "Of Thee. I Sing," it was only ; natural that this city should come to mind. However, even their relatives did not know they were here at I But what ha.i that to do with ! tne Creighton affair?” ’ A great deal, unless I am mistaken The evidence is | pretty strong that both Miss Steers and Creighton became entangled with the very gang wo are running this audacious blackmail business. The dwarf you just mentioned is em ployed by this gang, who used to meet at a house in High gate called The Mount. This was blown up last night, and I"—with a somewhat grim smile—‘‘nearly went up with i it.” “I called there.” continued i the speaker, “in the hope of getting Information. You say i you have a place in Kent. Bel shaven—is it anywhere near an old castle known as Wildwood?” Lord Belshaven nodded. “Roughmoor is only three | and a half miles from Wild wood Castle,” he replied. “Why do you ask?” “Because,” replied the Secret Service man slowly, “I think that Y/ildwood Castle will have some interesting disclosures to make to us. I shouldn’t be surprised, more over, if your missing private I secretary, Miss Margery ! Steers, is being kept a prisoner there at the present time.” His host sprang up. “And the man Creighton, too,’’ he said. “I was going to tell you just now that alter j Creighton—who unless I am very much mistaken, is in love with Miss Steers—had told me his story, I was con vincea nor oiuy umu ac was I innocent of the murder of Sir Simon Baste, but that he had been made a catspaw by this man he referred to as the Colossus. Instead of hand ing him over to the police, as I suppose I should have done, I decided to help him. Engag ing him as an indoor servant, I resolved to keep Creighton under cover at Roughmoor until the real murderer had been discovered. Just before you called this morning, I re ceived a telephone message from my butler at Roughmoor saying that Creighton had gone for a walk last night— ! and had not returned. It may be, assuming that your sur mise is correct, and that Creighton , wandering near Wildwood Castle, fel lagain into the hands of his enemies. The thing is, what are we to do? The police—” Chipstead waived the sug gestion aside. “Believe me, Belshaven, this is not a matter for the police,” he said, so seriously that the politician stared at him: “I am going to follow your example and go outside the law for once. I shall spend the rest of the day hunting i up a number of men whose assistance Bob Heddingley has placed at my disposal. These fellows can be relied upon, all or them being in the Service. But we shall want a G. H. Q.—” This time it was the Fareign Secretary who interrupted. “Allow me to offer you i Roughmoor, Chipstead, and if I'm not too old and too far gone in the wind, I shall be delighted to serve under you I am not only very fond of Margery Steers, but om anxious to see that young Creighton gets a fair deal. What time do you intend to start?” Bunny Chipstead smiled at the boyish eagerness in the tone. CHAPTER XXXI I OU St'IlU 1UI UlC, Margery groped with her hands for the chair which was behind her. She was t’ ankful for this support. “Yes,” she replied. “Mr. Zoab, there are some impor tant questions I must ask you and which you must answer me.” The dwarf inclined his I huge shaggy head. “I have already told you. queen of my heart, that it would be better if you did not know certain things,” he said. “Soon, as I have promised you many times, we shall be away from this place, away from all its associations . . . that time. Mrs. Harry Green i field, a distant cousin, recently re- . ceived a letter from George in which he revealed all and apol ogized. He explained that if he had been threatened with recognition he would luve assumed the na «c j of Throttlebottom. the now fa 1 mous vice-presidential candidate in "Of Thee I Sing." -» + .. Q Of what composition are un breakable dolls made? A. B. A. All dolls of domestic manufac ture are today made of an unbreak - i able comDosition which is entirely and we will never talk of it again.1’ The small hands that were clutching the back of the chair tightened their grip Margery realized that only by means of self-control and feminine strategy could sht obtain the vital information but the mental torture sh» was undergoing was agoniz ing. • yes—yes,” she murmured quickly, "but there are some tilings l want to know now Mr. Zoab. If you have any re gard for me, if—” “I place my life at your service, orincess,” the dwari interjected. ‘‘Then you will tell me?” she pleaded passionately. Zoab made a gesture of re luctant submission. “Ask me what you want to know, princess.” But now that the promise hed been made she felt too afraid to ask. Already she was convinced, from v/hat the dwarf had previously told her, that Martin Creighton was not only in the castle, but was a prisoner like her self. For the third time he had endeavored to help her, but luck must have been against him. Her heart seemed to rise in her throat as she recalled the well-re membered face of the man she now knew she loved. Per haps even at that moment this face was twisted with pain. . . . . , _ _• 1 ! • >» 1 0,111 Will Ling, JJ1111V.LOO. She tried to rally herself, conscious that the dwarf was watching her closely. What a mockery it was that not only the entire future happiness, but the very lives of Martin Creighton and herself de pended upon the will of this malformed creature! Thrice hideous became this mockery at the thought, which now flashed through her mind, that it was this human od dity’s passion for her that had placed both of them in this position of peril. Falteringly she found her voice. "When you were here just now, Mr. Zoab, you mentioned a young man—Mr. Creighton, I believe his name is, I mean,” she went on, conscious that her words must sound very confused, "the young man who was at that house of— did you say the name was Juhl?” The dwarf nodded. In some subtle way Margery felt that he had changed. "And what about that young man Creighton. princess? Did you not tell me when I was here before that he had never made love to you? Why are you showing so much in terest in him?” With a stab of apprehension she felt that at any moment she might make a fatal slip —perhaps she had already done so. "Mr. Creighton did me a splendid service once,” she contrived to reply. “Perhaps you do not know, Mr. Zoab but the man Juhl was beastly to me. He got to know that my father wTas doing some thing . . . something which —which was not quite right, and he threatened to expose him unless I stole some papers from Lord Belshavcn’s private safe. Lord Bclshaven was my employer—I acted as one of his private secretaries.” The dwarf made no com ment. He did not appear in terested. Yet she had to con tinue in the endeavor to gain his sympathy, and the soul panic. which increased every minute, made her further words ring with dramatic fer vor. ‘ I want you, Mr. zcab, to try to realize the embarass ing position in which I was placed. In the particular night of which I am now go ing to tell you, the man you call Juhl issued to me an ultimatum: either I was t