New York
---Day by Day—
By O. O. MrlNTYRE.
New York, April 12.—A page from
the diary of a modern Samuel Pepys:
Vo and with Gene Markey, the book
reviewer to gt-ee' Ashton Stevens,
the dramatic critic. against his going
to Europe and had a bite with Inn
Claire who was in high lnoka and
bravely say.
And we talked very big about lit
erature albeit I know very Utile
about it and so to Gramercy Park to
<ae H. Hoth's new ton. Thence to
Tt. Long s luncheon to Michael Arlcn
tie tayle writer, and found him a
very small, shy young man but he
v «n our hearts hv his frankness.
In the evening to the Madison to
a dinner Henry Sell gave and young
Allen also there and. too, Mrs. TV. Tt.
T-learst. Norman Hapgood. Joseph
Moore. Irvin Cobb. Ttalph Barton and
all of our wives and mighty mirth
we had. So home late and to bed.
Tire" since the promulgation of
that phantasy that Eugene Walter
gnawed at crusts on a Bryant. Park
bench before New York claimed him
as a writing genius, there has been
talk of a cozy home for scribblers.
1 have never met a writer who ac
tually suffered the pangs of hunger,
p. Henry perhaps came nearest to
it in New York in the last decade.
Anyway there is to he a nifty little
attic for writers in the new Author's
league studio apartment building. It
will be 13 stories high and above
these pill rise a tower four stories
high.
In less affluent writing days, If
any. I used to journey to second-hand
clothes shops on Second avenue in
the spring to dispose of my winter
suit. It became a sort of high ad
venture.
The suit was usually of brown.
With uncanny instinct and before I
opened the package the overlord
would say: "If it is brown, I don't
want It"—and my heart would sink.
“It it was now a niftick blue suit
t could use it," and then he would
open and Inspect the brown suit,
with well feigned disgust. "How
much?” lie would inquire in a voice
that indicated any price was too
much,
1 had a fixed price—$fi. He would
tie up the package and without a
word hand it back and I would start
for the door. At tlie entrance lie
would call: "Wait a minute!" and
the haggling would begin.
He w ould offer |5.50 and 'moan be
cause the suit was not of blue. Rut
I always held out and in the end got
my price. Once r did capitulate for
S5.90 ami have been kicking myself
ever since.
The last stand of the combination
shooting gallery and penny peep
show is on Sixth avenue. An Im
presario In cowboy hat, blue flannel
shirt and rattlesnake belt presides.
There are also many mechanical for
tune telling devices, weight lifting
machines ai d the like. The proprie
tor tells me most of his patrons are
city folk and the heaviest rush of
trade Is after the theater.
The library wall on Forty-second
street Is the pitch ground of the
night peddlers. For five cents one
may scan the heavens through a tele
scope. Also see the Herd's prayer
engraved on a pin head. Brown der
ived men sell naughty French pic
tures. Silk neckties for a dime—with
the whispered Implication they were
stolen. A strange crew of salesmen.
They mingle together but rarely con
verae, A few sales a night seem to
meet their needs.
I have n note from Reconcilement
Department of a N'ew* York bank. I
fear to open it. 1 suppose they can
not reconcile incoming checks of
mine with the amount deposited.
(Copyright, 1925.)
1
The Long Green Gaze
A Cross Word Puzzle Mystery
By Vincent Fuller * v
(Continued From ftatnrday.)
“Do you hope for much from that,
Burke?”
“We'll have to get each one into n
state of mind about it first—grill
them for several hours, and then.
When their nerves are pretty well
shot, flash this dim on the screen
suddenly in the room where they're
sitting. If one of them’s guilty,
they're pretty sure, in my estimation,
to break down. Somebody did this."
“Yes. we re sure of that—at least,”
Smith smiled wryly. "The thing that
I want now is to have that library
searched. The architect’s plans don't
show anything in the nature of a
secret panel. And the architect—he
must be eighty now—remembers noth
ing of the kind. The workman are
scattered, and we can't reach them.
Still, that emerald was in that room,
and must he there still. That would
be the only reason for the thief's
going down there at night.”
With his assistants. Smith went
Into the room to supervise the search.
.Measurements were already being
taken by hi* assistants: walls and
woodwork were being carefully sound
ed for hollow spaces. Books were
taken from the shelves and examined,
and the shelves also were scrutinized
with extreme <are. The furniture
was probed. And all the work went
on noiselessly, so as not to arouse
suspicion on the part of those above.
Smith even had a jeweler on hand
to examine the elaborate heavy clock
•.hat stood on the mahogany mantel.
But tlie sum total of several hours
of silent investigation was—nothing.
Nothing, that is. except some ripped
furniture, hastily repaired.
"We won’t find anything until we
tear the room down.’’ Smith told
Burke in discouraged tones. "And we
can’t do that yet. We might find the
emerald, hut it's the thief we’re after
—the thief and the murderer.
"Have you heard from the reports
jet?”
"N'ot a word. I'm expecting them
every minute.”
Whereupon Smith ordered the room
*et to rights, and In the dining room
smoked a cigaret with Burke.
They were interrupted by the arri
val of one of Smith's assistants.
"Henry Talbot's report, Mr. Smith.
I brought it right out.”
Smith grabbed the report, and to
gether he and Burke bent over it.
When they raised their eyes to look
at each other, there was renewed life
in their faces. "We might as well go
<ip to thle first one's room, and quiz
her a little there,” Burke said. "That
will five the people time to clear
out.”
Accordingly, a minute later. Helen
Barr was admitting them to her room,
in answer to a soft rap on her door.
“The thing we want to know. Miss
Barr. Is your reason for suspecting
Homer Chalfonte, and for writing a
cross-word puzzle casting suspicion on
him and slipping it under the door of
Miss Pitkin's room in the middle of
the night?”
Helen's eye* widened. “I—I did
nothing of the kind.”
”Oh, yes. you did. We’re not here
to argue It. We're here to get your
reasons.”
’’But what makes you think T did?”
Her breath was coming quickly.
"The report of Henry Talbot, hand
writing expert, for one thing. You
worked carefully, well admit, but
still, in the linste of printing the let
ters, you couldn't wholly control the
long years of established habits of
writing. An occasional stroke be
trays you. an occasional curl of the
letters. There's no use in trying to
conceal the fact.”
“t—I—r did do It. I don't know
why I lied about It. I thought I
couldn't be traced by anybody. . . .
1 wrote It. not so much because I had
any real evidence against Homer
Chalfonte. as because I was so wor
ried about Grant—Mr. Fowler. 1
knew lie wasn't, guilty. And after all,
Homer Chalfonte had had that jar.
It was his—lie brought it here—not
Grant. And he could so easily have
placed It In Grant’s room. A ‘plant’
you call it, don’t you? And . . .
that’* ail there Is to it.” Her voice
quickened then: "And doesn't Homer
Cbalfonte’s suicide—”
"What makes you think tt was
suicide?”
"Why. everything. t-Te—he mur
dered— I'm sure he did—to get the
emerald back. He thought by rigid*
that it belonged to him or to his
family. And then be felt he was
traced, and would be discovered, and
owmltted suicide. That’s what T
think, and nothing can shake the
thought out of my head. Besides,
think of the doors and windows locked
on the Inside."
"A \ery Interesting theory, Mies
Barr—except that It may not lake .ill
♦ he facts Into account. . . . But you
bad no other reason for suspecting
Chalfonte, other Ihnn the oqc« you've
given?”
“S'-no. N'one tlist T can rnnemlie;'
* few. . . If i think of any I'll tell
JPU.”
— ■ >
"Very good of you.Ml right, I
guess that's all. Don't write ary
more puzzles, though, is m,v advice
to you.” Smith rose as he spoke.
"You’re hardly clever enough for
that.”
Then they left. As they went down
the hall toward Miss Minty's room,
Burke opened his notebook and point
ed out an item to Smith. Thp item
read: "Helen Barr faints when the
doctor announces death by poison.”
Smith nodded his head "Anxious
to make it suicide, too," he mur
inured.
Miss Minty Pitkin, similarly eon
fronted in her room, admitted at once
that site hail received the puzzle that
had been slipped under her door, had
worked it at once, and had reported
it the next day' to Helen and Hose,
and had—as she pointed out—given it
to Burke on returning from the
funeral,
"And now about this puzzle you
wrote, Miss Pitkin. Why did you
write it—the one you placed under
the flowers on the coffin, I mean'’"
"Yes. I wrote that, and 1 11 tell vou
exactly why. First, though. I'd like
to know how you know I wrote it."
"Tracing such handwriting as yours
Isn't very difficult, Miss Pitkin. It
was very easy, in fact. I suppose
that your years and the nervous ten
sion of the whole affair betrayed you
more easily than you think."
"All right. But I don’t pretend
for a minute that I didn't write it.
Just note that, young man. Now I'll
tell you why I did it. I worked the
puzzle that, was slipped under my
door, as I told you. That pointed
suspicion at Homer Chalfonte—whom
I had suspected all along, anyway—
he and that Hindu. Weil. 1 knew Hel
en was frightfully worried about
Grant. Almost hysterical, she was.
So I went right down to her room
and was going m tell her about it.”
"You went to Miss Barr s room with
the puzzle that was slipped under
your door, eh?" Smith smiled, and
glanced at Burke
"I did. AVasn’t It a natural thing
to do?”
"Certainly.”
"Well, just as T was about to rap
on her door I glanced around and
saw something that gave me the
scare of my life." She paused, to
note with lively eyes the effect of her
announcement.
"Ye*, go on, Miss Pitkin."
"1 saw the shadow of a head on
the wall, an enormous shadow—it was
the shadow of a head with a turban
on it! Now what that Hindu was up
to. I don't know. I didn't wait to
find out. I went hack to mv room
as fast as I could go snd wrrote a
puzzle about him, and that was the
puzzle 1 slipped under the flowers on
the coffin the next morning"
"You couldn’t see what Mr. Bose
was doing?"
"No. And 1 didn't wait to find
out."
"On which wall wax the shadow?"
"The south one. It was cast by
the light burning downstairs. I've
thought since that lie must have
been on the landing "
This Information touched Smith to
action. He wondered, as he left the
room with Burke, if he had been
wrong in releasing Ghopal Bose.
Ghoprfl, who had returned to the
Dunsfnth house, was ns ready to tell
what he knew, apparently, as Mis*
Minty had been ready to tell about
him.
"Yes, T was out in the hall on that
night. You know' that the emerald
really belongs to the god of my pen
ido. T was trying to get it, anil admit
that 1 was. But t could do nothing
with the safe in Mrs. Dunseath's
room. Anil as 1 was returning to
my room. I was aware that somebody
was moving about softly, downstairs.
I crouched and tried to see who it
was. T couldn't see.'
"Could you tell whether It whs n
man or a woman?"
"No—the sounds were too soft, and
I could see nobody. I was about to
go down when I heard somebody else
moving. It must have been Miss 1*11
kin. Naturally 1 did not want to be
seen prowling around. I did not
know whether I had t>een seen or not.
But I did not—what do you call It?—
wish to ‘take a chance.’ Hence 1 re
tired to my own room.”
Together Burke and Smith reviewed
their finding* In the kitchen, the In
mates nf the House having been re
leased from their rooms.
“Apparently, we've only cleared the
Jungle of some underbrush, hut we
ought lo he able to see the-hlg thing
all the better. At least, we ought to
he able to see where the big tilings
arc. For one. I'm still convinced that
the emerald’s hidden somewhere In
ilie library. I have ilmi much faith
in Fhall'onle's puzzle l hen. we have
Helen Bari -her theory of suicide
her iigltallon -which doesn't mean
much In ilself Ht 111. It's clear that
she len t acting npenli . as most oi
lhe other- seem to be '
(In Us (unlinuid iuuivrrun.)
Bozo Butts—They Drive Him Nuts. _By Rube Gol<lb"8
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