Nebraska Newspapers

    THE BEE: OMAHA, SUNDAY, AUGUST 14, 1921.
8 D
The World's Greatest
Detective Cases
The Married Life of
Helen and Warren
The Party Who "Hopes He Doesn't Intrude."
By CHARLES DANA GIBSON
Copyright, Life rubtlahtng Co.
New and Radical "Ketp-Youngn
Theory Lures Helen to a
Drastic Experiment.
It was a (ackd, old-fashioned pho
tograph with the photographer's
name in gilt script. On the back
was the now unit inscription
"Taken on my first trip to St. Louis
in mv IHth vear."
Sitting on the floor beside the old
trunk, Helen studied wistfully this
early portrait of her mother.
The round young face uder the
quaint hat, set high on the severely
parted hair. The tight basque
buttoned in Iront, me nour-giass
11UIII, IIC nuui-feiuJJ
the polonae overskirt
Yisi, ana tae p
iaI 4-itli "frin fff
ir.t.v. ...... . ... ,
urtaius, she was standing by a
marble topped table, her hand
placed rigidly on an open book. Yet
the stiffness of the posture could
not detract from the slender youth
ful grace.
Yielding to ak morbid impulse,
Helen ran into the library for a
photograph of her " mother taken
only a few months ago.
Holding them side by side, piti
lessly she compared them. The
ghastly change the years had made!
The slender beauty of 18 bore no re
semblance to the withered old lady
of 62. Every feature was cnatigcd
and distorted only the eyes claimed
kinship.
The sagging muscles of chin and
neck were but a hideous caricature
of the once delicately rounded con-
t0lir- ,r i
With sluiddery revulsion Helen
viewed N the ravages of time. A
helpless rage at the inevitabli
cruelty of it all consumed her.
Would her face too grow with
ered and distorted? Did the years
hold only a slow decay?
In her own room, she switched on
all the lights and scrutinized herself
in the mirror. The. youthfulness
that confronted her was momentar
ily reassuring.
Yet each year would bring some
slight change the insidious poison
was slow but inevitable. Was there
no escape? Could nothing be done
to retard this hideous deterioration?
Some time ago she had come
across a striking article on "Why
Grow Old?" Secure in her own
youth, she had read it with only an
amused interest. But now, she flew
to the hall closet to a pile of mag
azines waiting for the Salvation
army. ' ' .,
At last she found it in ths April
"Welfare."
WHY GROW OLD?
How Youth Can Be Indefinitely
Retained
By Prof. W. G. Weinberg,
B. S., Ph. D.f M. D.
' With feverish intensity Helen
read through. The theory ad
vanced was as startling as it waj
revolutionary. The writer claimed
that the falling, dragging muscles of
old age could be rejuvenated by t.ie
simple process of standing on ones
head for 20 minutes each day. All
.muscles and organs would thus be
inverted and rested from the contin
uous downward drag. t
Were it possible to spend all one s
sleeping hours in this posture, old
age could be indefinitely deferred.
But since the public was not yet
prepared for so radical a corrective,
20 minutes a day was advocated.
Even this short period of inversion
would work wonders.
As prevention was always easier
than cure, the writer strongly urged
that no one. was too young to be
gin this daily exercise.
Deeply impressed by These con-
vincing arguments, cicn
again to the illustration of a man
Ot SliperD pny5iquc aianu.i.B
ly on his head.
It was simple, safe and cheap. It
involved no injurious drugs nor ex
pensive treatments. Not even any
,.,. n.aa i-ninred. lust iH
minutes spent in this reversed post
v 1 ...MHmiAn lir
CS spent m ii: i"1""
Logically and economically it
,t'l .
tion. Logically an
lJ Uln
In lieu of a gymnasium suit, she
s inocd into a pair ui
uminous pajamas, rinnius uV
trousers, she girdled the ample coat
...:.!, tini inrasure from the
work basket.
. . , .t
It was just a quarter after 5. bne
, 1 - T..1f 0( tit in lit PC 311(1 I
fnir 20 minutes and
linuu taivc ,
still have time to dress before bar
ren came. .
Spreading a newspaper on trie
floor by the wall. Helen gingerly es
sayed the reversing process, i" ma
in the . floor unsympatheticaliy
hard, she padded it with a cushion
It was easy enough to get up one j
egbut the other obdurately re
fused to follow. Bracing herself by
her hands, palm downward, she tried
to take the weight from her head,
which bored through the cushion to
the adamant floor.
As she toppled over. Pussy Purr
Mew, gravely viewing the perform
ance from a nearby chair, scurried
over to a safer perch on the window
SCclt
t last -Helen got both feet up
against the wall but, not straight
up. Her heart beat fast and the
blood rushed uncomfortably to her
head. ; . -
What if she had a weak heart?
The article cautioned those subject
to heart trouble to consult a physi
cian before attempting this treat
ment. Yetta reckless, persistence
kept her at it.
She should have taken off her Ox
fords. She was scratching the wall
paper but even that did not deter
1,eThe blood pounding in her tem-
l - ehm ctrilOTO-lpH to Cet both Tt
belii'ous legs straight up against the
wall. Again and again sne xoppieu
over, but at last, with a desperate
Twenty minutes! Could she en
dure it for 20 minutes r from ner
inverted position she could not read
the clock on her dressing 3.bc
' Xext time she would turn it upside
down. ;
' She began to count out loud.
c,t,r niiM h a. minute. It seem
ed an eternity before she reached 120
each second position grew more
9 trnnirrtnolv : tinhpaTable.
' The counts came in gasps. "138
139 140 " She could not go on!
"141142143"
"For the love of Lulu!"
To her dizzy befuddled gaze War
rcn loomed in the doorway, an in-
"What the hell you trying to do?"
Tumbling over she struggled to
her feet. Panic-stricken, she tried to
steady herself, then swayed and fell
dizzily forward.
Warren caught her but not before
her forehead had sharply collided
with the edge of the dressing table.
"Jove, Kitten, are you hurt?"
I lie pain was territic. Both hands
clasped over her forehead, she
tried to keen from scrcamine
"Great guns!" forcing away her
hands. "That's a nasty bruise.
Where's that liniment?"
"Xo, in the pantry," she moaned,
as he started for the bathroom.
Knowimr Warren could never find
anything, she staggered out after
...... 0, ....
him, her clasped hands blinding one
J.t'A
"On the second shelf by the spice
box," pushing through the pantry
door. ,
But Warren was riot there. From
the kitchen came his brusque in
cisive: ' ,
"Give me a knife, Annie. I want
a piece of this raw."
Groping her way to the kitchen
door, she saw Warren cutting a slice
from the porterhouse steak that was
laid out ready for the broiler, while
Annie stood by in speechless amaze
ment. "Best .thing for a bruise," he came
towards Helen, dangling the red
flesh.
"Oh, no no!" shrinking from the
repulsive .application.
"Xow uonef. .your squcamish
ncss." Then sharply Jo Annie, "Get
something for a bandage." -.,
A fltictratnH spnrrli anH Annip -nro-
" .J . - ..... . . I
duccd an old pillow-case which she
tore into strips.
Forcing Helen into the kitchen
chair, Warren "bound the meat over
the purplish, swelling bruise, tying
the bandage under her chin.
".Not a very pretty jod out n il
eta v." crimlv. "Now come and lie
down. Want a little brandy?"
un tne library coucn neien sippea
a thimble-full of brandy while War
ren plied her with vigorous ques
tions. . ,-
"What in blazes were you trying
to do? Break your neck?"
"No, I I was just taking some
exercises."
"Exercises! Gone nutty? You
were standing on your head mutter
ing to yourself," real concern be
neath his brusqueiiess.
"I I was just counting. It said
20 minutes and I couldn't read the
deck upside down."
"See here, 'been out in the heat
er taken anvtliing.' leeung ner
CT laKCH aUyilllll. ICCllllg lit,
hands and her one accessible tern-
, e r l .-l-i: f
pie for any sign of feverish deli
rium.
urn. .... . i
"Xo no!" The brandy giving her
1 I I i: T r I
couraee. she pushed him away. "If
you stand on your head forT 20
minutes, .it's well, -it's healthy,". not
icliiiicr tn admit to Warren's mer
ciless sccfiing her morbid dread of
old age. ,
"Oh, it is, is it? Whcre'd you get
that brilliant idea?"
"There's an article about it in the
'April Welfare.'"
npinanflinor the mao-azine. he has
tily scanned the "Why Grow Old"
article. . .
Helen winced under his jeering
comments as he quoted several
paragraphs and finally the eloquent
line that closed the article:
" 'As a free gift to mankind I
have here embodied the principle
of this simple, practical, yet basi
cally scientific method of indefi
nitely retaining the. buoyancy
and beauty of youth.
"Of all the blooming rot! I be
gin to get it now a new beautifying
stunt!" He flung down the mag
azine. "Well, you certainly got quick
results, wugm iu bcuu
mon;ai with a photo as you look
results. Uught to sena in a lesu
now. lhat Dump win aecoraic your
bean for some time.
"It's because you startled me I
didn't think you'd come home so
early."
"Mighty glad I did. What little
Drains jouxc gui nuu
out ; you'd st0od around on your
t.i I. 1 lift... m.. rtlQ.
ncaa mucn longer. '"j1
mas? They part of the system?"
Oh. I I forgot" Flushing,
un, i i iuikui.
Helen wrapped me couui iuv
about j,cr grotesque garb, of which
cu ua Ueen niprcifullv unconscious.
,.t t, -II t. HA... I'll ita erpt
1 I ni ail I'S"l "uvy. in bu
dressed1 eager to escape.
. i J , U Unf
"WaII Ann't tnnrh that bandaee."
sternly. "That stays on all night.
Then with a grin, "And you get no
steak for dinner remember that.
You've got your portion plasteredon
your map!" .
Next Week Helen s Jiconorraes
intrude on a Company Dinner,
(Copyright,
19! 1, by Mabel Herbert
Harper.) -
Lampshades May Bring
Omaha Hero Livelihood
Leg Shattered by Shrap
nel in Argonne, 23-Year-Old
Ex-Soldier Learns
to Make Things
With His Hands.
Making lamp shades is the way a
young Omaha hero "carries on."
His leg shattered by shrapnel in
the fury of the Argonne and his
other lcar weakened by numerous
bone-grafting operations, none of
which have been successful, Anarcw
Peterson, 23, 4524 Marcy street, is
learning how to fashion beautiful
things with his hands in order to
earn a livelihood.
He acquired this knowledge in oc
cunational theraov classes in Wal
ter Reed hospital in Washington,
D. C.
His sister, Mrs. Glenn Wright, at
the above address, has beautiful
lamp shades, carved jewelry boxes
and hand-woven rugs her brother
has made.
He has been in hospita!s con
tinually since October 18, 1918, the
day he was wounded, except for
three months he spent at home re
cently, summoned here by the last
illness of his mother, who died
April 26.
The lad was only 18 when he en
listed in the war. He was attached
to an engineering corps building a
bridge over the Meuse river when a
Hun bullet ended that. Since he en
listed both parents and a sister died.
"A
(Continued From rate- fine.)'
ate in dumb show, but never, over
balanced her. .
"I've done my. best," I told him
at the end.. v
"But . . ' . but . . -Telt W'
he stammered. "Bianca! ..." "
I waited for a moment and then
slipped, away. Forgetful of my pres
ence or Indifferent to it. Gaunt was
beginning to speak and to gesticu
late in a way of which he would not
care afterward to be reminded; and,
as he raved in this conscious deliri
um, I could not look at his twisted,
damp face nor at Bianca's fascinat-
CU HIIU ICUUI-OUH-bou rjte. -
hurried out of earshot I wondered
- j. L . 11 T 4tJ
lor a moment wueuicc.i uiu men
m leaving mciii . .
check this lava stream of primitive,
. - -r : ,l,n,
In loavine them Vith no . one to
pent desire; I hurried on when 1
had taken time to realize that neith
tr I nor anyone else could reason
or wrestle with a man in Gaunt's
mood until he had overwhelmed the
girl's resistance or allowed himself
to be convinced by it.
When I returned to the darkening
studio he was alone, sprawling on
the divan as though his arms and
legs had broken their union with his
body and gasping for breath like
a man who has run to a standstill.
, As my footsteps rang out on the
tiled floor he .raised his head eagerly
and then let it fall with a groan. 1
"Something to drink! Water!
Anything!" he panted. "Where Is
she?"
"I've not seen her," I answered.
"I must talk to her; she doesn't
understand..;, ;.. I ' won't let her
go. . . . She must! . . ."
I attempted a remonstrance; but
before I could finish it he had stum
bled to his feet and staggered out of
the studio, knocking from my hand
the glass of water that I was bring
ing him. Whether he, found her or
not I never inquired; whether in a
long hungry week of prowling he
ever caught another glimpse of her
I do not know; for most of the day
and night he was absent, and,
though we took our meals together,
it was in sUence. , , ,
The end came one .night when I
observed him making, prodigious ef
forts to recover his 'old ironical
manner; and in the course of dinner
he informed me that he was return
ing to England. ' " ;
"It must be painful . for you to
lart with so charming a guest," he
added, "but I must .steel myself
rgainst your most: frantic efforts to
retain me." -
"I'm sorry to lose you," I said,
"but I won't pretend that a complete
change isn't the best thing in the
world for you. In the. autumn, per
haps" ; " ..
"Please God, I shan't be alive In
the autumn," he interrupted. .
Though I told him not to. talk non-
The government allows compensa
tion to the disabled soldier sufficient
to maintain him, but that is all.
"If he is ever released from the
hospital he .will want , to work at
something that ' he is - able to do,"
said a sister. -
Inquiries have already been made
tc Washington to learn whether he
will be permitted to take orders and
make lampshades for private sale.
DAUGHTER OF
sense, ; I was sufficiently concerned
for his health and sanity to come
ever in the summer and spend a
couple of months in London. Though
perhaps I natter myself, I believe
that when one of his now recurrent
attacks of melancholia threatened to
master him I was the means of
pullingrjim up on the brink of sui
cide, and Then I left he had settled
down to at tfcirsta slower method
of self-destructionby eoccessive work
and somewhat excessrv . drinking.
In time. I hoped he woufcriyscover
enough of his old-time indiffef en.ee
to dispense with even these aids td'
oblivion; but illness attacked a weak
ened constitution and .a broken
moral resistance, and he flickered
out like a rushlight, as I have al
ready suggested, before he had given
himself time to struggle again3t
death.
That he made no reference' to
Bianca hardly surprised me, though
I was glad to be spared questions
which would only have elicftecKthat
my prophecy was being fulfilled. Her
passion for Gaunt, held in check and
mastered by the shrewd knowledge
that she could never make him a
suitable wife, was unhappily not
killed when she ran away from his
importunity nor even when , he said
"good-bye to Italy.' As I had predicted.
ner mind was unsettled, ror a time
at least she could'' think of no one
else; and her obsession was 'most
j-athetio in that her old sweetheart,
irorii association with her tragedy,
was the man of all men whom she
refused even to meet. v -j
"In time . . .''fused to say. He
and I had no quarrel; and, though
at first he suspected me as Gaunt's
friend, I overcame his hostility with
most genuine sympathy. "In time,
my friend. . . . We know what
girls are. ..."
And then, with troubled eyes and
his . face drawn into Us perpetual
scowl, Antonio if that was indeed
his name would generalize about
women and I would counsel patience
and' give him what encouragement
I could. If I found this difficult at
all times, it became Impossible on the
day when he told me that Bianca
had disappeared; though neither
dead nor spirited away, she was no
longer at home, and it was unsafe
to ask her mother what had become
of her.
My unhappy friend fancied for a
time that Gaunt had somehow
swooped through the night air and
borne her away in his talons, but
I could tell him with confidence that
he need fear no rivalry from a man
who replied to an invitation from
me by saying, with less than his
nsual irony or polish, that he might
indeed come to stay with me in
Campitello life was so uncertain
that only a fool would prophesy or
bind himself by oaths but that he
would both prophesy and swear that
he would go sooner to the nether
most pit of hell than return to the
shadows and memories of my studio.
I never saw Bianca agoin. Before
long, as Antonio discontinued his
calls, I ceased even to hear of her;
and, if Gaunt at his death had left
her anything,' I should have been
puzzled to trace her. He himself
and all that, chapter of my life were
fading out oi mind when I received
a letter in which Sidney Macebridge,
an English collector whom I had
known by name for many years,
asked whether he might come and
see my pictures.
"We have a bond," he added, "in
our poor friend Marshall Gaunt. He
gave' me a letter of introduction to
you, but I have had no opportunityJ
of using It before, and hope that you
will not feel that his death invali
dates it."
I replied that I should ' always
welcome any friend of Gaunt's; and,
when Macebridge arrived, I was suf
ficiently charmed by his address to
invite him to stay with me. He
seemed a widely read, well found,
and much traveled man, a little of a
bohernlan, very much of a bachelor,
a catholic connoisseur, and a fastidi
ous critic. It was inevitable that
our conversation should begin with
a discussion of Gaunt, but I soon
found that Macebridge could tell me
little that I did not already know;
they had met at the dinner table of
a friend, Macebridge had followed
up. the encouter by calling at the
Malda Vale studio, and when Gaunt
heard of a projected tour in Italy he
had volunteered an Introduction.
"He used to stay with you every
year, I gather," Macebridge added.
"As a' rule," I answered. "Last
year he broke his rule. . . I think
; he was a little tired of the place.
. . . I miss him." '
Now that for the first time I had
some one clie staying with me I
realized the greatness of my loss and,
more poignantly, the needless waste
of Gaunt's broken life. If by the
merciless, misunderstaning canons of
posterity my friend were dismissed
as a thrid-rate artist and, perhaps,
a second-rate man, I felt that he had
as good a right to life, liberty and
the pursuit of happiness as most of
us. If he did little good to anyone
he did conscious harm to none;
there was nothing in his career, as
I knew it, to excite the jealousy of
the gods by overweening pride or to
prompt their vengeance by inexpi
able crime. -
He was a normal, middle-aged
bachelor; selfish but kindly, solf-in-
dulgetK but self-sacrificing, timid in
practicehutidventurous by tem
perament; if tie, had indeed suffered
from a romance in boyhood I knew
almost nothing of it? tut the price
lhat he paid for a youth. in which
women had played little part was an
cnslaught , of love from which he
could neither escape nor recover
when youth had lagged behind him.
And so this harmless, average man
of middle age had been set alight,
maddened, driven to the verge of sui
cide, and finally allowed to cool pain
fully to extinction through no fault
of any man or woman in creation;
no fault of his, no fault of Bian
ca's! .. . .?
Blind, fumbling destiny was re
sponsible, and the scorching' touch
of Us fingers had not scared only
Marshall Gaunt, a decent, trusting
peasant . boy, mild-eyed as he was
tough-tongued, placid, and bewild
ered as an' ox on his .way to slaugh
ter, had. been pole-axed by an un
seen, unintending hand. Bianca . .
the ugly little savage with the streak
of Sophistication had disappeared
with no more trace than such images
as I might choose to make of a hu
man, animal stimulated to passion
and robbed of satisfaction.'
Her portrait hung in my collection,
where I at least knew its shadowy
niche;, and, whenever the afternoon
light crept around the walls and
shone on the canvas, I saw Bianca
brought ; to life as a startled wild
thing, struggling with me for pos
session of her murderous knife and
proclaiming that her body was sacred.
From that I saw her as a barefoot,
starving creature, wolfing sweetmeats
or tearing her bread in lumps and
sopping it in her wine. Wherever
she had hidden since strolling away
from Gaunt, I trusted that she was
at least not hungry and that her
body was still sacred.
"Was Gaunt in Rome shortly be
fore his death?" asked Macebridge
with a mysterious little smile.
"Not as far as I know. His sister
said nothing of it,"-1 answered.
"O! . . . It's a curious thing; a
most amazing coincidence, when you
come to think of it. Have you ever
seen that before?"
Like a conjurer, at the climax of
his best trick, Macebridge whipped
from his pocket a cumbrous, school
boy's knife with a couple of blades
and a small saw, a spike, a cork
screw, tweezers, and a steel hook.
ADVERTISEMENT
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If you are not willing to eat the peela
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tended you should do, then you should
eat plenty or iron-containing foods like
spinach, rsrrots and baked apples and re
inforce them from time to time with a
little organic iron, which you can obtain
I mm your druggist under the name of
Nuxated Iron.
Nuxated Iron represents organic in such
highly concentrated form that one dose
of it ia estimated to be approximately
equivalent (in organic iron content) to
eating half a quart of spinach, one quart of
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as it comes from the action of various
I 1 1 Kfil 11011 lW I
Published by arrangement with Life.
PAN
On one side was a silver plate, and
through the tarnish I could read "M.
GAUNT.",
"That was Marshall's," I said.
"How in the world do you come by
It?"
"I bought it for one lira."
"In Rome?"
"Yes.. . . .1 was thinking of
Gaunt at the time. It was the night
I arrived there, and I'd been run
ning through my introductions and
picking out those I wanted for
Rome. While I was on the job, I
thought I'd put the others in order,
and Gaunt's heaflcd the list for the
time when I left Rome, Marshall
Gaunt. . . .. The name stuck in
my head, and I suddenly found my
self turning this knife over and star
ing at the M. Gaunt' . . ."
"But where did you find It?" I
persisted.
"I bought it from a woman. In
the square outside , my hotel. The
stub of my cigaret got Jammed In
the holder, and, I asked her if she
could lend me a pin.- She offered
me this' knife. I don't want to do
the poor girl an injustice, but I'm
afraid she thought this was a trick
on my part to get into conversation
with her; I had the utmost difficulty
in getting rid of her. In the end I
gave her a trifle rather more than
she expected and she told me to
keep the(knife. Of course, I refused.
. . . Then I saw the name and
offered to buy it from her at her
own price. She suggested a lira,
and we clinched the bargain. .
And you say you recognize this?"
"Perfectly. . . . Do you remem
ber what the girl was like?"
Maccbridge's sigh was less con
vincing than the laugh which fol
lowed it. , ; .
The conventional type that you
find wandering around the streets
of . every capital at 11 o'clock
o'night."
"Pretty?" .
"Quite the reverse, , so far as I
could see."
Bianca's portrait was within reach
of my hand. As Macebridge crossed
the room to" fetch himself a match I
slipped it out of-sight from some
pusillanimous feeling that I did not
want to hear the truth too securely
established.
"And you're sure you've diagnosed
ner rightly?" I asked.
sne may- only nave wanted a
meal. . . ."he conceded. "It was
one thing or the other, though."
"And not a very happy choice
either way. . , . Now. if you'd
care to see my pictures before the
light goes. ..."'
(Copyright. 1921. by the Chicago Tribune.
Missouri Pioneer Buried
With Mattress in Grave
Poplar Bluff, Mo., Aug. 13.
tfrown Hughlett, Howell county s
pioneer settler, has been buried with
a feather mattress in his rude home
hewed coffin. He was garbed ,in his
nightshirt as he entered the "long
sleep."
ADVERTISEMENT
acids on small pieces of iron. To prove to
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your doctor to take a specimen of your
blood and make a "blood count" of your
red blood corpuscles, then take Nuxated
Iron for a month and have a new "blood
count" made and see how your red blood
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tunity lie hurried out of the club, .nd
arranged for it to be raided, but the
anarchist had somehow got warning,
ntwt flpil Th Hplrrlivo imniprtintrl V
! hurried round to his rooms in Soho,
j and. without any preliminary warn
ing, burst open the door, fully expect
ing to be faced with a fusillade of
bullets. Munier, however, evidently
alarmed by the arrest of Francois,
had vanished.
On the Continent.
Mouths slipped by, and, despite
every inquiry, the detectives only
.learnt one thing, and that was that
the anarchist had managed to dodge
the watching detectives at the ports,
and had fled again to the continent.
To Paris went Melville, and in a
little Paris wine shop, the resort of
some of the most desperate charac
ters in France, he waited patiently
for news of the man he was after.
There, "comrades" of anarchist or
ganizations, which were then spread
ing terror in most of the capitals of
Europe by their bomb outrages,
gathered, and discussed their future
movements. Here is an incident
which the detective related after
wards that took place in the cafe.
He had apparently been overcome by
the wine he had been drinking, and
was lying half on the little table,
wfth-.his head in his arms, asleep to
all appearance.
"You sec'that man there?" said a
French anarclust, "I don't know
him, but I have bcehMeld that he is
a German who speaks our-ljuguage.
It will not be safe to talk iuxFrcnch
or German. Let us speak English."!
And Aleiviile, who spoke an tnese
languages fluently, so fluently, in
deed, that on the continent his na
tionality was always confused with
one of the three countries, listened
to every word! But nowhere could
the detective get the slightest clue
to the hiding place of the wanted
man.
During this time his life was more
than once attempted by the desper
ate men he was hunting down one
by one, and once his life was at
tempted at Scotland Yard itself.
One summer day, just after he had
returned from making hjs continent
al inquiries, he was sitting in his of
fice at Scotland Yard, when a visitor
asked specially to see him. ;
"Sit down," said the detective,
pointing to a chair beside his desk.
"What is it you want?"
"I've got some information to give
you about the bomb explosions," an
swered the visitor. It was a hot day.
and as he spoke he pulled a large red
handkerchief out of his pocket with
the obvious intention of wiping his
face.
He got the surprise of his life.
With one wild leap the detective
flung himself on his visitor and the
two rolled over and over on the floor.
The . visitor nearly had his wrist
broken in the struggle, and the pain
of Melville's grip made him drop his
handkerchief, and the revolver it con
cealed! But for the detective s quick
eye he would not have lived to arrest
Munier.
Exciting Scene.
' At last, two years after Munier had
committed his crime at the Cafe Very
and disappeared, the detective learned
at one of the anarchist meetings he
attended that the wanted man had
been in hiding in America. But he
had become homesick and had re
turned via London to his beloved
Paris. At the time he obtained his
information Munier was actually in
London, though Melville was unable
to find out where. He did learn the
valuable new's, however, that the an
archist was going to France the fol
lowing afternoon.
That afternoon picked detectives
were detailed to watch at every big
London terminus from which the an
archist might try to get on the con
tinent, and in order that the an
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archist could not pick the train up
from any outlying London station
everv one was also watched. The
famous detective himself went to Vic
toria to watch the direct continental
trains.
He went alone.
He believed the anarchist at the
last moment would boldly take the
ordinary rqute to France, and he was
right, and just before the boat ex
press was due to leave the man Mel
ville had hunted for two years came
hurrying along and, walked up to an
empty compartment.
"Munier, I believe," said Melville
quietly.
Quick as a flash the murderrr
turned, hut before his hand could
reach his pocket the detective's arms
were round him, gripping him like a
vise. The two men fell and rolled to
gether on the platform, struggling
desperately, while the crowd waiting
for the train to start scattered in al!
directions. The anarchist made mad
efforts to get at his pockets, hut
Melville's arms never lost their grip
of him, though in the struggle he
was battered and severely handled.
In a minute porters and uniformed
police came up, and Munier was
, I , , ...IT ..I
overpowered ana nanucuneu. f
In his pockets were two revolvers,
fully loaded, and one of those fear
ful surgeon's knives, which he al
ways carried about with him for jujit
such an emergency! Only the fierce
grip of the detective had prevented
him using it, and there's no doubt
if he had not been caught unawares
he would have never been captured
alive.
All the way to the station he
cursed the detective and told . him
whaf would have happened to him
if he could have only got at his knife
in time! 'v.
In the dock he said, "I shall have
one consolation in riiyv prison. I
shall spend the rest of niy-hfe in a
rpll hut hp" nnintin? with a con
temptuous gesture to the detective
"he will be dead in his grave. He
will be dead sent to his reckoning
by those who will avenge a com
rade." But Inspector Melville lived many
a long day after that, and brought
many more desperate criminals to
their well deserved fate!
(Another World's Greatest Detective
Case Next Sunday.)
Next Sunday
The Cyclone
By Rose L. Ellerb
How Lon Baxter, pioneer,
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