CHAPTER XIV.—Continued.
I took refuge in silence. I closed
my eyes wearily.
“Before I bid you good night, sir, I
think it right that you should know
that your mother and sister are In this
hotel. At the risk that you think me
impertinent I dare to hope that your
meeting with them to-mofrow may be
free from any embarrassment or un
happiness.”
He bowed stiffly and left the room.
I stared after him vacantly.
The dispatch he had left, gorgeous
and brave with its royal crest and em
bossing, lay passively in my hand.
And now a new dilemma confronted
me. I was supposed to be under the
influence of an opiate; they would not
scruple to take from me the dispatch.
To allow that might give them such in
formation as would make their con
spiracy, whatever its nature, the more
effective. To resist would tell them
that I had been feigning.
I must hide the papers. But where?
It was a bare little chamber; my
heart sank as I noted how bare.
I leaped out of bed. Again I threw
open the shutters. I could hear Capt.
Forbes speaking sternly; if he could
but hold them half a minute!
In the garden below the marble
basin of a disused fountain at once
caught my eyes.
I tore the comer of the envelope,
inserted my penknife to weight the
packet, leaned over the balcony and
dropped it.
It fell squarely into the basin among
the leaves and moss.
To regain the room was the work of
an instant
I heard Captain Forbes wish them
a cold good night, and Madame de
Varnier answer him mockingly. Then
the bedroom door was opened and
Starva shuffled into the room.
“Who was that man?” I demanded
languidly, and regarded him with list
less eyes, my hand to my forehead.
He shrugged his shoulders, disdain
ing to answer.
“He has left some papers here by
mistake.”
“Perhaps,” I muttered indifferently,
and pretended to sleep.
I heard him moving about the room
for some time. Madame de Varnier
and he whispered together. I felt so
little concerned as to the result of this
search that I actually fell asleep. The
strain of the evening had exhausted
me. No doubt the search was extend
ed to me personally; I believe I was
vaguely conscious of it.
CHAPTER XV.
The Castle of Happiness.
‘ You sleep soundly, my friend.”
Dr. Starva was looking down at me
with grim intentness.
It was not yet dawn. His immense
figure seemed even more huge than
it was in this uncertain light. It ap
peared to threaten, to menace me.
And yet I welcomed his presence; at
least they had not made their escape.
I looked up at him with cool assur
ance.
“A light conscience gives deep slum
ber. Do we start so early?”
“Yes. Your coffee is waiting for
you in the salon.”
I dressed rapidly. A certain depres
sion would have been natural. The
night is the time of follies; with the
morning come clear thought and pru
dence. But not so with me. It is true
that I detested Dr. Starva. His meth
ods were too gross; his eyes were too
closely set together; his mouth too
cruel and sensual. I could have wished
him out of the game. And yet I be
lieved that I was a match for him.
But this woman who tempted and
pitied! This woman Whose beauty
fascinated and whose treachery re
pelled! This woman who lied and
prayed in the same breath!
As I thought of her I was at once
furious and eager. I was ashamed
to think how eager. I had pledged
myself to the cold Diana of my dreams.
For her I ran these risks; for her I
might be disgraced and a felon. It
was her gratitude I coveted; her for
giveness I craved.
And yet for the moment I was seek
ing the flame and the glamour of the
other woman—this warm, mysterious
creature of diverse moods.
Her fantastic chateau held out a
promise, not of happiness, indeed, but
of the joy of doing, of daring.
So as I dressed my spirits were
buoyant. The little garden below,
half hidden in the mist that came
from the lake, was fresh and charm
ing in the morning dew. Patches of
flowers, brave in scarlet and purple
and blue, opened their eyea to the
dawn. I followed mechanically the
graveled paths, geometric and straight,
threading the sparkling lawns.
I looked eagerly down at the bat
tered fountain choked with refuse. I
could see no trace of the long, white
envelope. It was completely concealed
by the leaves.
I found it impossible to rescue the
little packet from its hiding place. My
hostess and her cousin kept too care
ful an eye on me for that. But it was
a tolerably secure hiding place; and
frankly I was not sorry to leave the
proof of my complicity, behind me.
A faint breeze, cold with the snow
of the mountains, fanned my ’ cheek,
The poetry of the dawn thrilled me,
Before the evening came the placid
lake might bfe lashed into fury. The
trees, now gently swaying, might be
bent and broken by the violence ol
the storm. But now the sky was
clear. When the storms came I would
try to meet them. But before they did
,■ come why should I not enjoy the pres
^ eat? I threw open the door and
stepped into the salon where coffee
and Madame de Varnier awaited me.
She greeted me with vivacity. Bui
I was not blind to the cool glance that
measured. “The fool has no suspic
ions,” thfe eyes said, while the lips
asked how I had slept.
“Admirably,” I answered gayly.
“And we are to start at once for your
Castle of Happiness?
“You have a sublime faith to still
believe it that?” she questioned mock
ingly as she poured my coffee.
“Why not?” I cried mockingly, in
my turn. “Is it not happiness to be
with you, madam?”
“Pas des banalites, monsieur,” she
replied with an impatient gesture.
“But you really believe that-the tire
some journey will repay you?”
"Since I am resolved to hear your
secret, yes.”
“Oh, ungracious!” She smiled at
me ruefully. “I think I prefer an In
sincere compliment to an awkward
truth.”
“Madam, it is not I who made the
condition.”
“Ah, you are a very cautious friend,
monsieur.”
“I generally try to look before I
leap,” I returned with composture.
I was not unwilling that she think it
curiosity that prompted me to accept
the extraordinary invitation given with
so little heed to convention. She had
hinted that we were to be of mutual
use to each other; but of this I was
skeptical. I accepted the invitation
precisely in the spirit in which it was
given. It would be shocking form, to
say the least, to be a guest that one
might have the opportunity to play
the detective. But she and I had
But I Was Not Blind to the
placed ourselves beyond the pale of
conventionality. Either distrusted :he
other. An armed truce—that was the
word that described our relations, £.nd
she had suggested that word.
Dr. Starva entered.
“En route,” he said gruffly. “The
carriage is waiting.”
It was very early, scarcely past five.
The night porter, drowsy-eyed and sul
len, took us down on the elevator and
put our luggage in the carriage. I
confess I breathed more freely when
the hotel was some miles behind us
and we had seen neither Helena Brett
nor Captain Forbes.
As Madame de Yarnier had warred
me, the journey itself was long and
tiresome; nor did Madame de Vernier
and her companion exert themselves
much to relieve its monotony.
It was almost dusk when she pointed
out to me the pinnacles of her cha
teau.
For the last hour the horses had
been struggling up a dusty road wind
ing about the mountainside. Forests
of fir were on either side. From far
bSlow came the impetuous murmur of
a stream. High above the forests of
fir trees there were herds of cattle.
We could hear the faint jingle of the
cow-bells. Only rarely had there belh
any view, but the clear and pure at
mosphere told me that the altitude
must be considerable. But this sylvan
scene suggested nothing of the horrors
of a few days ago. The mountains,
purple and pink in the dusk, were too
far away.
Suddenly there was a turn in the
road. Now we had an uninterrupted
view of the chateau across a green
valley. In this vague light its towers
and turrets seemed as unreal and
ghostly as a fairy fabric.
At the base of its white walls a
titty village, crouching close to the
chateau for protection, found a pre
carious foothold on the steep hillside.
There was a maze of red-tiled roofs,
hvgh-gabled and sloping, tier tfpon tier
of them, each pierced by numbers of
quaint dormer windows.
A wild river, fed by the turbuteht
streams of the mountain snows, flung
itself in headlong rage down the slop
ing valley, straight for the chateau, as
if to sweep It from its base. Reach
ing the castle, it spent it# fury on tie
smaIts i S 11. 52
rocks, then, as If baffled of its
i
Cool Glance That Measured.
sociated with dishonor,” I ventured
boldly.
“I can see no glamour in this ob
scure village,” she replied, yawning.
“But the chateau is a part of the vil
lage?” I persisted.
“Monsieur!” she cried passionately.
“You weary me with senseless ques
tions.” ,
I smiled quietly. I wished Madame
de Varnier to know definitely that it
depended on her playing the part of
Circe or Lady Bountiful whether the
armed truce was to continue, or
whether there was to be open warfare.
We turned at an abrupt angle from
the village street. We were entering
a mere passageway just wide enough
for the carriage. It was flanked on
either side by the houses of the vil
lage; over the arch, too, was a dwell
ing. Suddenly we emerged in a court
yard large enough to permit a squad
ron of cavalry to perform its evolu
tions. A low wall inclosed it. We
drew up at the doorway. I was wel
Did Not Believe the Story
Tale of Old Testament Too Much For
Artless Youth.
"When I was a youth In Zanes
ville,’’ said E. S. Timms, clerk at
the Hotel Normandie, the other day,
“I was an active worker in a local
Sunday school. I was pretty popular
wiih the boys, I was delegated to
gather the outsiders from the glass
works district together in a vacant
storeroom and begin their religious
'instruction.
“One Sunday I gathered about 45
youngsters who had never attended
Sunday school before, and as they did
not take kindly to'the reading of the
Scriptures and the regular Sunday
school methods, I began1 telling them
tales from the Old Testament They
much interest to the
stories of Adam and Eve, and Moses
in the bullrushes, and so on, but when
I came to the story of Jonah and the
whale they listened with particular
attention.
“When I concluded the story, of how
Jonah was cast overboard from the
ship and received by the whale who
afterwards cast him up on Bhore, one
fellow broke the silence by saying:
“ ‘I believe that’s a d— lie. Give me
a chaw of terbacker.’
“Well, everybody joined in a laugh,
and I passed over the remark. In
time I got about 30 of those boys to
attend Sunday school regularly.”—De
troit Free Press.
English Friendship.
In London . you seldom make
friends; you buy them.—London
* ‘
msde an abrupt half circle about the
base and continued its stormy career,
seeking a less powerful foe.
“At last,” breathed Madame de Var
nler. “Well, my friend, does it prom
ise diversion for you?”
, “The village and the castle breathe
the spirit of romance,” I cried with
animation.
“Ah, romance! What if I say to
you,” she whispered, “that your day
of romance has come?”
I glanced toward Dr. Starva whose
shaggy head was nodding. “Even we
Americans, madam, are not indifferent
to its glamour. But too often the ro
mance of medievalism suggests dis
honor.”
She looked at me startled, then
shrugged her shoulders. “One must
take the world as one finds it,” she
said indifferently.
We were making the last steep
ascent to the village. We crossed the
noisy stream; the driver cracked his
long whip; we passed under a dilapi
dated arch; we were rattling over the
cobblestones of a winding street.
It was too dark for me to see much
of the quaint beauty of this pictur
esque village. I caught a glimpse of
the timbered Rathaus, its gilt clock
proudly conspicuous on the squat tow
er, and of the fountain in front of it,
its basin radiant with scarlet flowers.
There were little shops dimly lighted,
their wares heaped abgut the doors
and windows.
As we passed, women and children
dropped delighted courtesies, and the
men took pipes from broadly grinning
mouths and doffed their hats. Evi
dently Madame de Varaier was loved
by this simple folk.
“You seem to be very welcome,” I
said smiling, surprised that the .vil
lagers should have greeted her so cor
dially. “You are the Lady Bountiful
to these simple people, I suppose.”
She ^jniled faintly. “I have been
here for two summers. I am the event
of the year in their stupid lives. I try
to bring them a little pleasure. When
I leave I like to think that they re
member me with love.”
“Then I should not have said that
the glamour of romance is always as
j corned by Madame de Varnier with
exaggerated deference. We were at
her Castle of Happiness. ,,
I felt the insincerity of the welcome.
They looked on me as a puppet to
move only when they pulled the
strings. I saw, too, that I had not left
in the hotel at Vitznau the character
of Sir Mortimer Brett.
But before the next day was past I
determined to know once for all the
reason of this deception. I was de
termined to put an end to this farce.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Death-Mask Again.
One does not expect to find in
Switzerland grace and charm in archi
tecture. There are no historic cha
teaux worthy of a pilgrimage. This
castle of Alterhoflen gave one the sim
ple impression of sheer strength. It
was primitive and savage and bare of
pretense to beauty as its founder must
have been.
A rather squat tower of immense
solidity, the roof steeply sloping, the
windows narrow and few, it would
have been commonplace and ugly in
the extreme had it not been for three
smaller semicircular towers placed at
each angle of the larger one. The ef
fect of this triangular-shaped tower,
with its three supporting towers, was
bizarre, but not unpleasing. It pre
pared one for an' interior unique and
interesting.
We passed beneath the arched door
way, severe and bare of ornament, into
the great hall. At the left was the
grand stairway, the balustrades of oak
massive and dark with age, but ad
nfirably carved. At the end of the
hall, on the right, a fire of logs was
blazing brightly. The hooded mantel,
Gothic in design, war also of oak and
blackened with the smoke of cen
turies. A stand of banners stood near
the foot of the stairway. Not far from
the fireplace was a curious spiral stair
case leading to the gallery that ran
the length of the room above. Tapes
tries covered the bare walls and filled
the spaces between the narrow win
dows that looked out on the court
yard. The furniture was of the period
of the French Renaissance—covered
for the most part with stamped leather
of gold and dull red.
I could not repress a cry of delight
as I entered. I had passed in an in
stant from the world of commonplace
hotels and railway trains into an at
mosphere of charm and beauty. For
no matter how industriously the con
noisseur in America may gather about
him exquisite and beautiful things, he
cannot shut out the scream of the
railroad train; he cannot transplant
across the seas the charm of medieval
ism that clings to castle walls. It is
one thing to see the Cluny with a
guide book; it is quite another to find
one’s self a guest at the Cluny.
“You like my Castle of Happiness?”
asked Madame de Vamier, pleased at
the pleasure I showed.
“It promises its adventures,” I re
plied meaningly.
“I have told you that your hour of
romance has come. But remember,
romance in these prosaic days is a gift
of the gods given only to children and
poets, a few women and lovers, and to
the very bold. If you would claim the
gift, monsieur, you must have some
thing of the nature of all of these. The
sincere trust of the child, you must
certainly know what this is, monsieur.
The poet’s imagination, his delightful
power of make-believe, you must not
despise that. A woman’s tenderness,
and a lover’s ardor, these, too, are
necessary. And last of all, the daring
of the hero.”
She had whispered these rather
comprehensive attributes as I walked
across the hall to the staircase, follow
ing the servant with my bag.
“A rather large bill, madam,” I sug
gested humorously.
“Oh, but I am serious, very serious.
I assure you that it is not sentimental
talk.”
“I am afra.id I must contradict you.
The daring of the hero, for instance,
even 'one so optimistic as yourself
couid scarcely expect that of me.”
“Monsieur,” she protested earnestly,
“I have already told you that I refuse
to believe you a coward. Do you be
lieve it yourself? You know you do
not. The task I am to give you would
appall any but the bravest heart. It
requires audacity, absolute assurance,
and a clever brain. But I believe in
you. You will not disappoint me. We
dine in half an hour.”
Dr. Starva had stood with his back
to the fire. He called after me, scowl
ing, as I ascended the stairs:
“You will find, as I have said, that
madam is an admirable host. But if
the guest is to be quite happy he must
accept the diversions madam offers
and when they are offered*
It was not the words so much as the
tone that menaced. It emphasized the
conviction I already felt: Dr. Starva
did not welcome my coming to the cag
tle. As I reached the gallery I saw
Madame de Varnier address him al
most fiercely. I was not blind to his
sullen contempt, though evidently the
woman was the ruling spirit here.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Cadet Prince Edward.
Future King of England in the uniform of a naval cadet at the royal Na
val college, Osborne, Isle of Wight. Prince Edward is the thirteen-year-old
grandson of King Edward and son of Edward, Prince of Wales.
ONCE RICH; IS NOW HOMELESS.
EX-MAYOR OF NEW YORK TOWN
IS EVICTED.
Jeremiah Casey, of Edgewater, N. Y.,
Loses Fortune in Litigation—Rise
and Fall Due to His Inven
tive Genius.
New York.—At one time affluent,
Jeremiah’ Casey, formerly mayor of
Edgewater, on the Palisades, the oth
er day was ejected from the home he
had bought three years ago and all
'the possessions ■ he had left in the
world were set out in the street. His
wife was so shocked by this latest bit
ter experience that she collapsed and
had to be placed in a doctor’s care.
Casey’s later years have been full of
hard luck and litigation. About all
the money he once possessed has been
spent in lawsuits.
His prosperity and adversity are
due almost entirely to his inventive
genius. Several‘years ago he invented
a nailing machine. The device could
take the requisite amount of timber,
after it had been sawed to the proper
length, and make a box of it as good,
If not better, than one made by a car
penter. A company was organized to
build the machines and put them in
•operation. Casey asserts he was not
treated properly by the concern. At
any rate he lost his Interest in the
patent and in the company as well.
That started a long line of legal pro
ceedings which dragged through many
courts and took much money. Casey
collected the records of these trials
and several hundred pages of scrap
books were needed to hold them.
Back In the days when he was pros
perous he bought the old Bayard Cut
ting homestead on the Palisades, op
posite One Hundred and Tefnth street,
and went there to live with his family.
Instead of being a haven of rest, the
place proved to be another source of
legal difficulties. He said he had good
reason to believe he had paid for
more land than he found specified in
the deed. More lawsuits were started.
Then his taxes, to his mind, were too
high for the property, and he refused
to pay the assessment. Threat of a
sale of the land for taxes brought an
adjustment, but the property had only
just begun to give trouble. There was
a mortgage on it. This, in the course
of time, was foreclosed and the prop
erty was sold at auction. Dr. M. S.
Ayres became the owner of the Casey
home. The doctor took no steps to
oust Casey, and it seemed as If un
kind fate had decided to give a short
respite to the former mayor.
A short time ago, however, Dr.
Ayers sold the homestead to a manu
facturing concern. Desirous of build
ing a'new plant, the company asked
Casey to get out. He refused, assert
ing he had a right paramount to
theirs. They did not think so, and
constables ejected Casey.
Nellie Casey, daughter of the one
time mayor, was a schoolmate of
Grace George; and is now a member
of Miss George’s company.
COST OF SHRINERS’ WRECK.
Southern Pacific Railroad Will Pay
Out About $1,180,000.
San Francisco.—Accident insurance
policies, $200,000. Regular life poli
cies, $320,000. Railroad damage set
tlements (estimated), $600,000. Dam
age to train, etc., $60,000. Total,
$1,180,000.
These figures represent the finan
cial phase of the recent terrible wreck
of the Shriners’ train at Honda,
north of Santa Barbara, in which 32
men and women were killed and 16
badly injured. Inquiries by the rail
road officials indicate that many of
the Shriners who were killed had ac
cident policies, which contained the
usual specifications that the amount
be doubled in case of death in a train
wreck. One company will have to pay
accident losses amounting to about
$176,000, and another company about
$25,000.
It has - been ascertaihed that prac
tically all the Shriners who were
hilled had left insurance policies in
varying amounts in about six or seven
companies. The total of these polk
cies approximate $320,000.
The Southern Pacific under the law
of this state has no defense against
claims for damages by those injured
and the relatives of those killed. The
company has effected some settle
ments and will settle all the cases as
quickly as possible. One of the rail
road officials expressed the opinion
that the company would get off by set
tling In the aggregate for $600,<000.
Under the law of this state, save In
the case of contributory negligence, a
railroad company practically insures
the life of a passenger holding a
ticket he has paid for.
Bets Himself on a Race.
St, Louis Girl Will Marry Owner of
Horse If He wins Cupid Handicap.
St. Louis, Mo.—Miss Helen Burs, of
2024 Fair avenue has bet herself on
a horse race.
Laws against bookmaking didn’t
bother Miss Burs, and Frank Grimes
when they put their wager, as re
markable a one as the turf ever saw,
into writing and had it witnessed be
fore a notary public.
The great Cupid handicap will be
run at Priester’s park, near Belleville,
on the afternoon of July 4. If the
fourth horse, Grime’s Robbie G.,
comes first under the wire Miss Burs
will come down from the grand stand
and will take Grimes by the hand, the
Judge's bell will be rung in wedding
day fashion, a real judge will step
forth and the dashingly pretty St
Louis girl will become Mrs' Grimes.
Miss Burs made the wager after a
discussion as to the merits of two
horses in the race, in which Grimes
dared bar to pat herself up as the
,
prize. He had proposed to her before,
but had been refused. Miss Burs
says the novelty of the situation won
her to consent. »
Woman Landed Prize.
When Mrs. Lizzie Spencer of Mex
ico, was going to Louisiana on a visit
the train stopped to take coal at Far
ber. Several women were fishing be
side the railroad and one of them
hooked a large fish which became de
tached from the hook and flew
through the window into the Qoacb.
The passengers scrambled for it and
Mrs. Spencer landed the prize.—-Kan
sas City Times.
Electricity in Turkey.
Turkey 1b practically a virgin soil
for electrical enterprise. Up to a year
ago there, was not a single city or
town In the 800,000 square miles of
Turkish possessions which could boast
of a telephone system or of a central
station for electric light or power pnr
Now Damascus and Beirut are
FORMER HOUSEKEEPER WEDS
WESTERN MILLIONAIRE.
Was Once Companion of His First.
Wife—Successfully Invests Sav
ings, Then Educates Her
self and Travels.
Spokane, Wash.—Anna Larsen-Pe
terson, bom of humble parents in
Sweden, has become the wife of D. C.
Corbin, millionaire railroad builder
and sugar manufacturer, president of
the Spokane International Railway
company, whose line he built after
selling the Spokane Falls & Northern
railway to the Great Northern Rail
road company. The wedding took
place at Mt. Vernon, N. Y., May 22,
and was not made public until the
couple arrived in Spokane a few days
ago. Mrs. Corbin is 35 years of age,
while her husband is 70. Close friends
say it was a love match.
Mrs. Corbin’s romance reads more
like one of Hans Christian Anderson s
fairy tales than a story of modem life
in the active and virile northwest.
The daughter of a small farmer in
rural Sweden, as a little girl she.
dreamed of the future, and before she
attained her majority she came to
America, like many of her country
men and women, to improve her sta-,
tion in life.
Alter worning in various **“““*-:
holds In New England and the middle
western states, she came to Spokane
12 years ago and entered the home of
D. C. Corbin as a housekeeper and
Companion to Mrs. Corbin. She gained
the friendship of Mrs. Corbin, who
assisted the girl with her education.
Shortly before Mrs. Corbin died, six
years ago, Anna married Antone Pe
terson, at that time identified with a
local hardware firm, but they lived to
gether only a few weeks, and two
years afterward the young woman ob
tained a divorce at Tacoma.
Before her marriage she invested
her savings in realty, which she sold
profitably, and with the proceeds went
to Chicago and placed herself under
instructors, afterward going to Bos
ton and New York, whence she went
abroad with a teacher and three other
pupils on an educational tour.
She traveled extensively a year,
and in the meantime entered into cor
respondence with her former employ
er, who asked her hand in marriage
three years ago. She gave her con
sent several weeks ago, when Mr.
Corbin started eastward on a business
trip, and they were married at the
home of a friend, the bride being giv
en away by her brother, Hjalmer Lar
son, who is chief draftsman for the
Spokane international system.
Mrs. Corbin is of the Swedish type
of beauty and has light hair and blue
eyes. She is a brilliant conversation
alist and speaks English with scarce
ly a trace of accent. She is also con
versant with the French and German
languages. She is a member of the
Swedish Lutheran church, and it is
said by intimate friends that she will
use considerable of the fortune placed
at. her disposal by her husband in as
sisting her countrywomen and in
works of charity.
Through her marriage she becomes
the mother-in-law of the earl of Ox
ford, whose wife is Mr. Corbin’s
daughter.
DOCTOR IS CABIN BOY.
Milwaukee Physician Quits Large
Practice for $10 Job at Sea.
New York.—It was the fascination
of the Pacific, the undeniable attrac
tion of endless blue skies and rolling
seas that caught Daniel Wylie, a Mil
waukee physician, and caused him, as
so many others have done, to secure
employment that would keep him in
the Sandwich islands. Less than a
year ago Wylie, about 35 years old,
shipped out of this port for Honolulu
as “cabin boy” aboard the American
bark Nuuanu, Capt. Joselyn. Now he
is purser of an island steamer plying
between Honolulu, Maui, Hawaii and
other islands.
The Nuuanu has come back. Capt.
Josselyn, an elderly skipper, who
lives at Duxbury, Mass., told of his
physician cabin boy. He said: “He
made a good cabin boy; never saw a
better one to clean brasses than
Wylie. He was a good doctor, too, by
all accounts. A man about 35 years
old, I should imagine. He got $10 &
month as cabin boy and said he left
a practice of $10,000 a year to make
the sea trip. He was shattered In
health, you see; nerves gone; worked
too hard. Well, naturally, you can
see what it led to. His health gave
way and he was advised to go east
and take a long sea trip.
“Seems his wife was dead and he
had letf two children out west there.
Wylie stood the test well. When we
were out a few days he was very bad
and could hardly get abobt. After
that he braced up* however, and stead
ily recovered his health.”
SEES IN MERCHANT A BANDIT.
Respected Citizen of Houston, Texas,
Identified as a Train Robber.
Galveston, lex.—Joseph Bertmann,
a respected merchant oi Houston, was
confronted the other day by John T.
Dickey, who positively identified him
as one of the robbers who held up a
train and robbed the express com
pany of about $25,000 18 years ago.
Dickey was the Wells Fargo express
messenger on the Houston & Texas
Central line and the hold-up took
place on the night of Sept. 24, 1889,
ten miles south of Fort Worth. Two
men did the work and for a half-hour
the express messenger was face-to
face with the man wlto robbed the
safe while his companion covered the
engineer and flremah.
Dickey made a study of this man’s
features and voice, and declares he
could recognize either among 1,000
men. He has not been in south Texas
for fifteen years and upon entering
Bertmann’s store he was astonished
to be greeted by the robber. Bert
man is Bald to have offered to restore
the amount li the case lie dropped. •
