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CHAPTER IX—Continued
—11—
A change came over the girl. She
relaxed, as if from a sudden at
tack of weakness. She did not take
her eyes from Vance, and appeared
to be appraising him and deciding
what course to follow.
Before she managed to speak
Heath stamped up the passageway
and opened the study door. He car
ried a woman’s black-and-white
tweed top-coat over his arm. He
cocked an eyebrow at Vance and
nodded triumphantly.
“I take it. Sergeant,” Vance
drawled, “your quest has been suc
cessful. You may speak out.” He
turned to Zalia Graem and ex
plained: "Sergeant Heath has been
searching for the gun that fired the
second shot.”
The girl became suddenly ani
mated and leaned forward attentive
ly.
“After going over the roof and the
stairs and the hall of the apartment,
I thought I’d look through the wraps
hanging in the hall closet,” said
Heath. “The gun was in the pocket
of this.” He threw the coat on the
davenport and took a .38 gun-metal
revolver from his pocket. He broke
it and showed it to Vance and Mark
ham. “Full of blanks—and one of
’em has been discharged.”
‘Very good. Sergeant, Vance
complimented him. “Whose coat is
this, by the by?”
“I don’t know yet, Mr. Vance; but
I’m going to find out pronto.”
Zalia Graem had risen and come
forward.
“I can tell you whose coat that
is,” she said. “It belongs to Miss
Beeton, the nurse. I saw her wear
ing it yesterday.”
“Thanks awfully for the identifi
cation,” returned Vance, his eyes
resting dreamily on her.
“All right.” She focused her
gaze on Vance again. “Lemmy Mer
rit, one of the various scions of the
horsy aristocracy that infests our
eastern seaboard, asked me to drive
out to Sands Point with him for the
polo game tomorrow. I thought I
might dig up some more exciting
engagement and told him to call
me here this afternoon at half-past
three for a final yes or no. I pur
posely stipulated that time, so I
wouldn’t miss the running of the
Handicap. As you know, he didn’t
call till after four, with excuses
about not having been able to get
to a telephone. I tried to get rid
of him in a hurry, but he was per
sistent — the only virtue he pos
sesses, so far as I know. I left him
dangling on the wire when I came
out to listen to the race, and then
went back for a farewell and have
a-nice-time-without-me. Just as I
hung up I heard what sounded like
a shot and came to the door, to find
everyone hurrying along the hall.
An idea went through my head that
maybe Woody had shot himself—
that’s why I went mid-Victorian and
almost passed out when I saw him.
That’s everything.”
Vance rose and bowed.
“Thanks for your ultimate candor.
Miss Graem. I’m deuced sorry I
had to torture you to obtain it. And
please ignore the nightmares you
accused me of manufacturing.”
The girl frowned as her intense
gaze rested on Vance.
“I wonder if you don’t really know
more about this affair than you pre
tend.”
“My dear Miss Graem! I do not
pretend to know anything about it.”
Vance went to the door and held it
open for her. "You may go now,
but we shall probably want to see
you again tomorrow, and I just ask
for your promise that you will stay
at home where you will be avail
able.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be at home.”
As she went out, Miss Beeton was
coming up the passageway toward
the study. The two women passed
each other without speaking.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr.
Vance,” the nurse apologized, “but
Doctor Siefert has just arrived and
and asked me to inform you that
he wished very much to see you as
soon as possible. Mr. Garden,” she
added, “has told him about Mr.
Swift’s death.”
At the moment her gaze fell on
the tweed coat, and a slight puzzled
frown lined her forehead. Before
she could speak Vance said:
“The sergeant brought your coat
up here. He didn’t know whose it
was. We were looking for some
thing.” Then he added quickly:
“Please tell Doctor Siefert that I
will be very glad to see him at once.
And ask him if he will be good
enough to come here to the study.”
Miss Beeton nodded and went out.
CHAPTER X
There was a soft knock, and
Vance turned from the window. He
was confronted by Garden, who had
opened the study door without wait
ing for a summons.
“Sorry, Vance,” Garden apolo
gized, “but Doc Siefert is down
stairs and says he’d like to see you,
if convenient, before he goes.”
Vance looked at the man a mo
ment and frowned.
“Miss Beeton informed me of the
fact a few minutes ago. I asked
her to tell the doctor I would be
glad to see him at once. I can’t
understand his sending you also.
Didn’t the nurse give him the mes
sage?”
“I’m afraid not. I know Siefert
sent Miss Beeton up here, and I
assumed, as I imagine Siefert did,
that you had detained her.” He
looked round the room with a puz
zled expression. “The fact, is I
thought she was still up here.”
“You mean she hasn’t returned
downstairs?” Vance asked.
“No, she hasn’t come down yet.”
Vance took a step forward.
“Are you sure of that, Garden?”
“Yes, very sure.” Garden nod
ded vigorously. ‘Tve been in the
front hall, near the foot of the stairs,
ever since Doc Siefert arrived.”
“Did you see any of the others
come down?”
“Why, yes,” Garden told him.
“Kroon came down and went out.
And then Madge Weatherby. And
shortly after the nurse had gone up
with Siefert’s message to you, Zalia
came down and hurried away. But
that’s all. And, as I say, I've been
down there in the front hall all the
time.”
“What about Hammle?”
“Hammle? No, I haven’t seen
anything of him. I thought he was
still here with you.”
“That’s deuced queer.” Vance
moved slowly to a chair and sat
down with a perplexed frown. “It’s
possible you missed him. However,
it doesn't matter. Ask the doctor
to come up, will you?”
When Garden had left us Vance
sat smoking and staring at the ceil
ing. I knew from the droop of his
eyelids that he was disturbed.
“Deuced queer,” ne muttered
again.
“For Heaven’s sake, Vance,”
Markham commented irritably.
“It’s entirely possible Garden
wasn’t watching the stairs as close
ly as he imagines.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Vance nodded
vaguely. "Everyone worried. None
on the alert. Normal mechanisms
not functioning. Still, the stairs are
visible half way up the hall, and
the hall itself isn’t very spacious
»»
“It’s quite possible Hammle went
down the main stairs from the ter
race, wishing, perhaps, to avoid the
others.”
“He hadn't his hat up here with
him,” Vance returned without look
ing up. “He would have had to enter
the front hall and pass Garden to
get it. No point in such silly ma
neuvers . . . But it isn't Hammle
I’m thinking of. It’s Miss Beeton.
I don’t like it . . .” He got up
I Heard What Sounded Like •
Shot.
slowly and took out another cigar
ette. “She's not the kind of girl that
would neglect taking my message
to Siefert immediately, unless for
a very good reason.”
“A number of things might have
happened—”
“Yes, of course. That’s just it.
Too many things have happened
here today already.” Vance went
to the north window and looked out
into the garden. Then he returned
to the center of the room and stood
for a moment in tense meditation.
"As you say, Markham.” His voice
was barely audible. “Something
may have happened. . . Sud
denly he threw his cigarette into
an ash tray and turned on his heel.
“Oh, my word! 1 wonder . . . Come
Sergeant. We’ll have to make a
search—immediately.”
He opened the door quickly and
started down the hall. We followed
him with vague apprehension, not
knowing what was on his mind and
with no anticipation of what was
to follow. Vance peered out through
the garden door. Then he turned
back, shaking his head.
“No, it couldn’t have been there.
We would have been able to see.”
His eyes moved inquiringly up and
down the hall, and after a moment
a strange, startled look came into
them. “It could be!” he exclaimed.
"Oh, my aunt! Damnable things are
happening here. Wait a second.”
He rapidly retraced his steps to
the vault door. Grasping the knob,
he rattled it violently; but the door
was now locked. Taking the key
from its nail, he inserted it hur
riedly into the lock. As he opened
the heavy door a crack, a pungent,
penetrating odor assailed my nos
trils. Vance quickly drew back.
“Out into the air!” he called over
his shoulder, in our direction. “All
of you!”
Instinctively we made for the door
to the garden.
Vance held one hand over his nose
and mouth and pushed the vault
door further inward. Heavy amber
colored fumes drifted out into the
hall, and I felt a stifling, choking
sensation. Vance staggered back a
step, but kept his hand on the door
knob.
“Miss Beeton! Miss Beeton!” he
called. There was no response and
I saw Vance put his head down and
move forward into the dense fumes
that were emanating from the open
door. He sank to his knees on the
threshold and leaned forward into
the vault. The next moment he had
straightened up and was dragging
the limp body of the nurse out into
the passageway.
As soon as the girl was out of
the vault, Vance took her up in his
arms and carried her unsteadily
out into the garden, where he placed
her gently on the wicker settee. His
face was deathly pale; his eyes
were watering; and he had difficulty
with his breathing. When he had re
leased the girl, he leaned heavily
against one of the iron posts which
supported the awning. He opened
his mouth wide and sucked the fresh
air into his lungs.
The nurse was gasping stertor
ously and clutching her throat. Al
though her breast was rising and
falling convulsively, her whole body
was limp and lifeless.
At that moment Doctor Siefert
stepped through the garden door, a
look gf amazement on his face. He
had all the outward appearance of
the type of medical man Vance had
described to us the night before.
He was about sixty, conservatively
but modishly attired, and with a
bearing studiously dignified and
self-sufficient.
With a great effort Vance drew
himself erect.
“Hurry, doctor,” he called. “It’s
bromin gas.”
Siefert came rapidly forward,
moved the girl’s body into a more
comfortable position and opened the
collar of her uniform.
Nothing but the air can help
her,” he said, as he moved one end
of the settee around so that it faced
the cool breeze from the riv
er. “How are you feeling, Vance?”
Vance was dabbing his eyes with
a handkerchief. He blinked once or
twice and smiled faintly.
"I’m quite all right.” He went
to the settee and looked down at the
girl for a moment. “A close call,”
he murmured.
Siefert inclined his head gravely.
At this moment Hammle came
strutting up briskly from a remote
corner of the garden.
“Good God!” he exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?”
Vance turned to the man in angry
surprise.
“Well, well,” he greeted him.
“The roll call is complete. I’ll
tell you later what’s the matter.
Or perhaps you will be able to tell
me. Wait over there.” And he
jerked his head in the direction of a
chair nearby.
“I wish I’d taken the earlier train
to Long Island,” Hammle muttered.
“It might have been better, don’t
y’know,” murmured Vance, turning
away from him.
The nurse’s strangled coughing
had abated somewhat. Her breath
ing was deeper and more regular,
and the gasping had partly subsided.
Before long she struggled to sit up.
Siefert helped her.
“Breathe as deeply and rapidly as
you can,” he said. “It’s air you
need.”
The girl made an effort to follow
instri.ctions, one hand braced
against the back of the settee, and
the other resting on Vance's arm.
A few minutes later she was able
to speak, but with considerable dif
ficulty.
“I feel—better now. Except for
the burning — in my nose and
throat.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“We don’t know yet.” Vance re
turned her gaze with obvious dis
tress. "We only know that you were
poisoned with bromin gas in the
vault where Swift was shot. We were
hoping that you could tell us about
it yourself.”
She shook her head vaguely, and
there was a dazed look in her eyes.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you very
much. It all happened so un
expectedly—so suddenly. All I know
is that when I went to tell Doctor
Siefert he might come upstairs, I
was struck on the head from behind,
just as I passed the garden door.
The blow didn’t render me entirely
unconscious, but it stunned me so
that I was unaware of anything or
anybody around me. Then I felt
myself being caught from behind,
turned about, and forced back up
the passageway and into the vault.
I have a faint recollection of the
door being shut upon me, although
I wasn’t sufficiently rational to pro
test or even to realise what had
happened. But I was conscious of
the fact that inside the vault there
was a frightful suffocating smell.”
"Yes. Not a pleasant experience.
But it could have been much
worse.” Vance spoke in a low voice
and smiled gravely down at the
girl. "There’s a bad bruise on the
back of your head. That too might
have been worse, but the starched
band of your cap probably saved
you from more serious injury.”
The girl had got her feet and
stood swaying a little as she stead
ied herself against Vance.
"I really feel all right now." She
looked at Vance wistfully. "And I
have you to thank—haven’t I?”
Siefert spoke gruffly. "A few
more minutes of that bromin gas
would have proved fatal. Whoever
found you and got you out here
did so just in time.”
The girl had not taken her eyes
from Vance.
"How did you happen to find me
so soon?” she asked him.
"Belated reasoning,” h e an
swered. "I should have found you
several minutes before—the mo
It Was Part of a Broken Vial.
ment I learned that you had not
returned downstairs. But at first it
was difficult to realize that anything
serious could have happened t o
you.”
"I can’t understand it even now,”
the girl said with a bewildered air.
‘‘Neither can I — entirely,” re
turned Vance. ‘‘But perhaps I can
learn something more.”
Going quickly to a pitcher o f
water Heath had brought, he dipped
his handkerchief into it. Pressing
the handkerchief against his face,
he disappeared into the passageway.
A minute or so later he returned. In
his hand he held a jagged piece of
thin curved glass, about three
inches long.
It was part of a broken vial, and
still clinging to it was a small paper
label on which was printed the sym
bol “Br.”
“I found this on the tiled floor,
in the far corner of the vault. It
was just beneath one of the racks
which holds Professor Garden’s as
sortment of chemicals. There’s an
empty space in the rack, but this
vial of bromin couldn’t have fallen
to the floor accidentally. It could
only have been taken out delib
erately and broken at the right mo
ment.” He handed the fragment of
glass to Heath
"Take this, Sergeant, and have
it gone over carefully for finger
prints. But if, as I suspect, the
same person that killed Swift han
dled it, I doubt if there will be any
telltale marks on it. However . . .”
"This was a dastardly thing,
Vance,” Siefert burst out, his eyes
flashing.
"Yes. All of that, doctor. So was
Swift’s murder . . . How are you
feeling now, Miss Beeton?”
"A little shaky,” she answered
with a weak smile. "But nothing
more.” She was leaning against one
end of the settee.
"Then we’ll carry on, what?”
"Of course,” she returned in a low
voice.
Floyd Garden stepped out from
the hallway at this moment. He
coughed.
"What’s this beastly odor in the
hall?” he asked. “It's gotten down
stairs. Is anything wrong?”
"Not now. No,” Vance returned.
"A little bromin gas a few minutes
ago; but the air will be clear in
a.little while. No casualties. Every
one doing well . Did you want
to see me?”
Garden looked round at the group
on the roof with a puzzled air.
"Awfully sorry to interrupt you,
Vance; but the fact is, I came for
the doctor." His eyes rested on Sie
fert, and he smiled dryly. “It’s the
usual thing, doc,” he said. "The
mater seems almost in a state of
collapse—she assured me that she
hadn’t an ounce of strength left.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Claw and Ball Foot Furniture
Claw and ball foot furniture orig
inated from the Oriental design of
a dragon’s claw holding a ball or
pearl which was frequently found
on early Chinese bronzes. It suc
ceeded the club foot as a terminal
in English furniture, its greatest
decorative use being in what was
called the Transition period of the
early Georgian era, which continued
through the early work of Chippen
dale to the beginning of the reign
of George III.
SPROUTED OATS
GOOD WINTER DIET
Tender Plants Should Be
Free From Mold.
By J. C. Taylor, Extension Poultryman,
New Jersey College of Agriculture.
WNU Service.
Green food for winter feeding of
poultry can easily be obtained by
sprouting oats. Oats to be sprouted
should be good seed oats and free
from any must or smut, and a home
made oat sprouter, consisting of
trays two feet square and four or
five inches deep with fine hardware
cloth for the bottom, is satisfactory
equipment.
Soak the oats in warm water over
night and then spread them on the
trays about an inch thick. Keep the
temperature of the room in which
the oats are placed between 60 and
70 degrees Fahrenheit and water
the oats once a day. Whan the
sprouts are three or four inches
long, they are ready to be fed to
the birds at the rate of one square
inch of oats to each bird daily.
The most serious trouble in sprout
ing is mold. Great care is needed
to avoid its appearance and no oats
should be fed which have any trace
of mold. Careful washing of trays
and tubs used in sprouting oats in
a five per cent solution of formalin
is a good practice to follow. If
this fails to control the mold, use
one teaspoon of formalin to every
six quarts of water and allow the
oats to soak in this solution for 12
hours.
Houdans a French Breed,
Takes Name From Village
The Houdan is a French breed,
taking its name from the village
of Houdan. It is a rather popular
breed in France and is kept to a
certain extent in the United States
for the production of table poultry.
It is a bird of good substance with
good length and depth of body, mak
ing it well adapted for the produc
tion of meat. The back is long and
of good breadth, sloping slightly to
ward the tail. In many respects
the Houdan somewhat resembles
the Dorking, an English breed. The
standard weights in pounds are:
Cock, 7; hen, 6Vi; cockerel, 6V4;
and pullet, 5.
A characteristic feature of the
Houdan is the presence of a fifth
toe, practically all other breeds and
varieties of chickens having but
four toes. The Houdan also has a
well-developed crest and a beard.
The comb is V shaped.
The Mottled Houdan has black
plumage with about 1 feather in 2
to 1 feather in 10 tipped with posi
tive white, depending on the section
of plumage. The fluff is black,
tipped with gray. The under-color
in all sections of both sexes is dull
black. The ear lobes are white.
The color of the beak is dark horn;
the shanks and toes are pinkish
white, mottled with black.
The White Houdan is the coun
terpart of the mottled m type and
has pure white plumage. The ear
lobes are red. The beak, shanks,
and toes are pinkish white.
Problems of Disease
With the increase in poultry pop
ulation, and local concentration,
have come problems of disease—
plenty of them. Some of the experi
ment stations, notes a writer in the
Rural New-Yorker, in states where
poultry is a large industry have re
search laboratories comparable to
those of the great hospitals. Germ
and parasite infestation, bodily de
fects, nutritional deficiencies and
disorders are studied to find, the ex
act causes, so that prevention, vac
cination or medical treatment may
be recommended. Easily adminis
tered capsules are available for
many poultry troubles, such as in
testinal parasites. We all realize
that disease prevention through san
itary measures is of prime impor
tance, but many poultry disorders
do yield to modern treatment so
that it is not necessary to chop off
a hen's head at the first sign of ail
ment
Hatching Eggs
When we hatch eggs from a pul
let, not much can be known about
her ability to live. If, on the oth
er hand, eggs from her are hatched
when she is two or three years old,
she has then demonstrated her abil
ity to endure heavy laying and
to resist disease and adequately as
similate large amounts of feed. Re
gardless of the cause of the high
mortality, it would seem logi
cal to breed more from hens
that have lived long and produced
well.
Loss From Red Mites
Red mites and body lice frequent
ly cause serious loss in egg produc
tion. Deaths also may follow a bad
infestation among both young and
old stock, and considerable time and
care may be required to bring the
flock back into condition after the
trouble has been overcome. Care
lessness or insanitary conditions are
usually responsible for the presence
of these pests. They thrive on dirty
hens and multiply rapidly in filth if
it is r.llowed to accumulate in the
henhouse
I
The Sun Rises
By WILLIAM It. GRECO
9 McClure Newspaper Syndicate.
WNU Service.
HE ENTERED the room and
closed the door behind him.
For a moment he leaned heavily
against the door. Outside the sounds
of the jubilant crowds drifted dimly
to his ears. He shook his head as if
to rid his brain of the noise and
turmoil.
Dragging his big body across the
room, he sank into an easy chair.
He covered his face with his hands,
still red from the Arctic ice and
wind. His head ached from think
ing. All that long trip he had spent
torturing his mind in vain efforts
to drive the mist from his brain.
When he had received word of his
wife’s death, he seemed to lose the
power to think clearly. All he could
say over and over again, was:
"Binnie's dead . . . Binnie's dead."
He dug the palms of his hands
deep into his eyes. "It’s going to
be hard. Binnie."
The door to his room opened quiet
ly. His head came up slowly, wear
ily, and he saw that it was Eflfle,
the housekeeper.
Her thin voice came softly. "I’m
so sorry, Mr. Caffrey."
Caffrey stared at the blurred wall
before him. "There’s something I
must know, Eflfle,” he said, his
voice hoarse and tired.
"Yes. sir?”
His brown eyes, dark with suffer
ing. bored into those of the house
keeper. “Could I have ... if in
some way I had managed to
come ...”
The housekeeper shook her head.
“Oh, no, sir. There wasn’t time for
that. Besides, she wouldn’t hear of
it. She was so happy that you had
been chosen to go on the expedition.
She wanted you to finish your job.
And all the while, sir, she knew.”
He lapsed into silence. Then:
“How was it, Effle? I mean—”
“I know, sir,” Eflfle said. “It was
beautiful, sir, and peaceful. She
seemed so gay those last few days
planning a surprise for you. It’s in
the bedroom.”
“You’ve explained to Junior?”
The old eyes of the housekeeper
moistened. “As best you can tell
a little fellow like him, sir."
He nodded. “I know, Eflfie. You
can go now. And thanks—for every
thing. You’ve been kind.”
Steeling himself, he entered the
room—their room—Binnie’s and his.
He looked about. Everything was in
order. Beside the bed he saw a
phonograph machine. Binnie had
loved music. On the dresser, tied in
a neat, circular bundle he saw a
package. His heart gave a queer
jerk as he grasped it eagerly. He
struggled with the cord. A phono
graph record rolled out of his hands,
onto the bed. His breath came in
swift gasps as he leaned over the
machine, fumbled a moment with
the mechanisms, then waited, ex
pectantly.
“Hello, Bill.”
The voice came low, natural—Bin
nie’s voice. For a crazy moment
his whole body racked with renewed
agony. He called softly: "Binnie...
Binnie."
"Listen Bill,” Binnie's voice said,
softly. "I’m so sorry, dear, I couldn't
be there to greet you. You’re a
hero now, aren’t you, my Bill? I
know you will have something to
say, so now and then I’ll pause and
let you talk to me. I’ll hear you,
Bill.”
Caffrey sat stiff and silent on the
bed’s edge. Then the voice came
again. "Dear Bill, I know how you
must feel. But I had to say good-by
to you.”
All the loneliness left him as he
listened. Binnie was talking to him—
Binnie!
Again the voice: "Perhaps you
wonder why I’m repeating your
name so often. It’s been a long time
since I’ve talked to you. I want to
say it over and over. Just Bill . . .
Bill. I—”
Her voice stopped short in a
choked cry. Caffrey clenched his
fists. "Binnie!”
"I’m so sorry, Bill,” her voice
continued. "A little pain. So sorry.
But honestly. Bill, it wasn’t much of
a pain. There never has been very
much pain except when I thought
of you and Junior.”
There was a silence. When her
voice did come he noticed that it
was quieter, lacking the brave lev
ity of tone she had assumed.
"Now, Bill, before I go . . .
when this is over . . .when I stop
talking . . . promise me you’ll break
the record.”
Caffrey was silent a moment. “I
can’t Binnie, I can’t,” he said.
Miraculously, but then Binnie
knew him so well, her voice said:
"Oh, Bill, promise. You see, if you
didn't break the record, then it
would only mean suffering every
time you listened to me. I don’t
want to keep coming back to you.
It isn’t fair to you or Junior to
keep me, even on a record. Prom
ise, Bill.”
He didn’t say anything. He waited
for Binnie to speak. She said:
"Good-by, Bill dear. Good-by.”
And that was all. His body
loosened; his hands lay opened and
nerveless in his lap. He reached
out a hand and picked up the record.
For a brief moment he held it in
his hands, carefully. Then, delib
erately, he let it drop to the hard
wood floor. He stared, his face grave
and motionless, at the broken
pieces.
Then he arose and went to his son.
Striking Wild Rose
Design in Cutwork
Pattern 1337
Simplicity of design—simplicity
of needlework combine to make
these wild roses effective in cut
work. Do the flowers in applique,
too — it’s very easy to combine
with cutwork. Use these designs
on sheets and pillow cases — on
scarfs and towels — on a chair
back. Dress up your own home or
make them as gifts. Pattern 1337
contains a transfer pattern of a
motif 6 Vi by 20 inches, two motifs
5 by 14^4 incnes and pattern
pieces for the applique patches;
illustrations of all stitches used;
material requirements; color sug
gestions.
Send 15 cents in stamps or coins
(coins preferred) for this pattern
to The Sewing Circle Needlecraft
Dept., 82 Eighth Ave, New York,
N. Y.
Write plainly pattern number,
your name and address.
Ask Me Another
0 A General Quiz
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
1. What is an incantation.'
2. What is an antitoxin?
3. On what island was the lab
yrinth of the Minataur?
4. What is a locomotive’s pilot
sometimes called?
5. Does Holy week come before
or after Easter?
6. Is Japan north or south of
the Philippines?
7. What does “irascible” meanT
8. Who was the first emperor
of modern Germany?
9. What was the latest territo
rial acquisition of the United
States?
10. Who wrote “Old Wives’
Tale”?
Answers
1. A formula for magical words.
2. A substance neutralizing poi
son.
3. Crete.
4. The cow-catcher.
5. Before.
6. North.
7. Prone to anger.
8. Wilhelm I.
9. The Virgin Islands (bought
from Denmark).
10. Arnold Bennett.
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