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Show I THE. GIFT WIFE... O RUPERT HUGHES WNU SERVICE By RUPERT HUGHES CHAPTER VH-Coutlnued 9 "But let's not talk Turkish politics. poli-tics. I hear nothing else all day. Let's go to a cafe chantant," suggested sug-gested Banbury. "Anything to get my mind ofi my troubles," replied Jebb. The admission was only two piastres pi-astres or ten cents apiece. The price seemed small till the musicians began, be-gan, then it seemed excessive. Banbury chose a table and the waiter brought them coffee. Banbury Ban-bury rejected it with horror and ordered Scotch and soda, in which Jebb begged to be excused from joining him. At a table in front of him. Jebb noticed a fat neck and short, bristly poll of distinctly French extraction. Eventually their owner turned his face, glanced at Jebb, stared, turned away, turned back, looked uneasy, angry, pugnacious, puzzled. Jebb wondered what ailed the man. He was sure he had never seen him before. At length the stranger rose and left the hall, and Jebb gave his soul to the Miserere from "II Trovatore." He was absoibed so deeply in the music that he failed to notice at first the arrival of a police officer wiskee, but we others always expect ex-pect that from the English and Americans. He orders the best room in the house, the best food, and he drinks much of the wiskee. Then one day his room is empty. He does not come back." "How much was his bill?" "Five pounds Turkish." "Is it that he left of the baggage?" "No, monsieur. He brought nothing noth-ing with him. He said he expected his yacht to come for him. He bought fresh linen here in the shops and threw the old away." Jebb smiled sadly. The portrait sounded familiar. "Did Mr. Pierpont register?" "Yes, monsieur." "May I see the signature?" "But yes, monsieur." Mme. Carolet whisked the little book from a drawer and Jebb recognized recog-nized his own writing with a conflict of relief and shame. The name was Vanderbilt Pierpont, but the hand was the hand of Jebb. "One more question. Is it that Mr. Pierpont had a child with him a little girl?" "No, monsieur, not one." "From what city was he come?" "That he did not say, monsieur, and he had not of the baggage, mon- He kept walking and late in the afternoon he reached the southern limits of the city, where houses were few and fields broad. In the distance dis-tance he saw a splendid palace in a great garden surrounded by a high wall. He skirted the edges and continued con-tinued on his way till it began to grow dark. Seeing that the sunset was purpling Mt Olympus and that night would soon be upon him, he turned back. He was startled by distant cries. He saw people running here and there. Suddenly a little veiled figure fig-ure came out of the twilight and the shrubbery close to him. Jebb thought that some poor Turkish wife was fleeing from murder or persecution. perse-cution. He determined to offer her his protection. He ran towards her shouting in English. As he came up the little veiled figure drew two revolvers re-volvers and fired at him. The bullets whirred past his ears. He would have been glad to retreat but his impetus carried him forward, for-ward, and it was momentum rather than any foolhardy bravery that led him to leap at the murderous lady and wrestle with her for her revolvers, revolv-ers, which continued to spit fire in a very feminine way and fortunately with feminine aim. In the highly indecorous wrestle for life, the fugitive's thick yashmak yash-mak was torn loose, and Jebb saw to his infinite amazement that the little lady wore a heavy beard, and was a little old man. The captive kept uttering violent things in a violent way; then he began be-gan to plead shrilly. But Jebb had lost his Turkish along with his breath and his patience; and he simply sim-ply held his prisoner fast till the pursuers arrived. They gazed with awe at the scene, pouring forth horrified hor-rified sentences in which Jebb caught the word "Padishah! " He nearly swooned as it came over him that the little old gentleman in the disheveled ferije and veil was no less and no more than Abdul Hamid I. Each of the breathless pursuers laid hold on the royal captive, till he looked as many-limbed as the spider he had been always called. Turning to Jebb, the Turks, with such hands as were free, lifted the imaginary dust of homage to their breasts and brows. Then in a cloud of real dust a mounted officer thundered up. He insisted that he was the dust under Jebb's feet, and introduced himself Jebb did not hesitate about his answer: an-swer: "Tell them about the lost child and ask them if they can give me any help." Banbury drawled forth a long story, which seemed to touch the guests deeply, for when he finished fin-ished they all spoke at once, and Cranford explained: "They promise you the aid of the whole nation, and say that nobody in Turkey shall feel himself too high or too busy to join in the search." At the station, the next day, the Young Turk leaders gathered to wave him good luck, and as the train pulled out he heard them crying: cry-ing: "Jebb EfTendl, chok yasha! Jebb Effendl chok yasha!" And some who knew he understood French cried: "Vive le Monsieur Jebb." And so he set forth on his 24-hour Journey to Constantinople and puffed at his cigar with his first genuine contentment, for he shuffled in his hands a sheaf of buyuruldus, letters let-ters of commendation to some of the chief personages of the empire. CHAPTER VIII The train was only six hours late, so that instead of arriving In the early morning light Jebb came in the full glow of the afternoon. What chiefly overwhelmed Jebb as he rode through the streets in an araba, was the hugeness of the city as large as ten Salonicas or fifty Uskubs as large as If Boston, San Francisco, and St. Louis faced each other in one mass. There were European hats enough in the crowd, but they were worn by foreigners. Some of the bats were so American that Jebb looked under them, counting on finding a face he knew. It seemed impossible that such a melee should not include some acquaintance of his. A derby hat unmistakably American Ameri-can caught his eye and he turned to stare at it. At the same instant he heard a voice behind him, almost at his elbow. "Hello, old man! how's electricity?" electrici-ty?" Jebb whirled so quickly that he nearly sprained his neck. He caught an over-the-shoulder grin and heard a Yankee chuckle. He could not recall re-call the face or the voice, but the race was plainly his own. The fellow-countryman moved on through the crowd. Jebb stood up to Identify him, but saw only a glimpse of red hair. He was tempted tempt-ed to leap out and go in search. But a hamal carrying two huge barrels on his shoulders drifted between, and hid the wayfarer from sight. Jebb sank back in the araba, cudgeling cudg-eling his memory. Why did he mention electricity? The next morning Jebb visited the American Consulate. But when he reached the consulate it was deserted. desert-ed. He was tempted to forswear his allegiance and become another Man Without a Country. But there was a gorgeous kavass at the door, who explained that the whole staff was away for a holiday. With splendid condescension, the kavass observed: "Thees afternoon comes back one of the officers, Meester Rosen Ef-fendi. Ef-fendi. He has some work to be did. If you are here again three four o'clock you find him I theenk." To kill time Jebb went on along the Grande Rue de Pera to Janni's restaurant, dawdled through his luncheon, and strolled about its gardens. gar-dens. Dismounting before the consulate at three o'clock, Jebb was greeted by the kavass with the deference of expectancy and with palm open for baksheesh. Mr. Rosen was at his desk, preparing some trade reports, re-ports, but he consented to see Jebb. (TO BE CONTINUED) who spoke deferentially to Banbury. Banbury was melting sympathetically sympathet-ically under the influence ot Scotch and Verdi, but he was instant with an Englishman's rage at any invasion inva-sion ot his privacy. Jebb turned in surprise and found the Turkish officer regarding him with a piercing scrutiny, whioh Jebb answered with the clear-eyed innocence inno-cence of ignorance. He caught a word here and there and gleaned that the conversation had to do with a French hotelkeeper named Moosoo Carolet, some other person named Pierpont, and an unpaid bilL Banbury grew more and more furious fu-rious as he thundered Turkish with a curious British intonation. The officer of-ficer grew more and more humble and finally withdrew in confusion with much apology and many a salaam. sa-laam. When he had gone, Banbury said, "This Is the most ghastly country in God's world. What do you suppose sup-pose that jackass of a policeman wanted? It would be no end funny if it weren't so disgustingly impertinent imperti-nent It seems that some silly ass of a French hotelkeeper here had a guest who lived very royally for a few days then skipped without stopping stop-ping to pay the shot. This jackanapes jacka-napes sees you and thinks you are Pierpont He goes to the police and orders your arrest. The officer came to me with apologies for throwing a friend of mine into a dungeon as a common thief, but I sent him about his business." "That's mighty nice of you." "Don't think any more about it. Have another cigar and a cup of coffee, and let us hope that soprano is really not so unhappy as she sounds." "By the way, what was the name of the hotel?" "The Grand Hotel de something or other. I don't remember. Don't think of it again, I beg you." But Jebb thought of it without rest. At length Banbury rose impatiently. The Scotch had made him drowsy, but he blamed the Italian music. "I can't stand any more of this caterwaul, can you? What do you say to our getting out? I'll drop you at your hotel, eh?" "Thank you, I think I'll see it through." "Very well, I'll wait if you want to." "Please don't let me keep you." It took much delicate management, manage-ment, but Banbury was very, very sleepy and at last permitted Jebb to bid him eood-nieht. As soon as he And so he set forth on his 24-hour 24-hour journey to Constantinople. sieur. He talked very little and his tongue was a little thick." "I will pay his bill" "Nom de Dieu, you will pay the bill! But why should monsieur pay the bill of that gentleman?" "It is my whim. He was an American. Amer-ican. I am an American. For the honor of the country but if you would prefer not I will not pay the bill." "Oh, monsieur, I do not question you. I thank you." He paid the bill and went back to the cab. He had found a clew to himself at last. So the devil in him had taken the name of Vanderbilt Vander-bilt Pierpont and talked large and lived high. But having found his alias, how was he to retrace his route? Long after midnight he sat in his room pounding his forehead with his fist to beat out an idea, and finally one came like a spark from a smitten anvil. "The teskere!" He could hardly endure the delay till morning, and he was waiting at the station when the fat recorder of passports waddled in and squeezed into his chair. And at length after much delay he unearthed the document. as Raouf Bey, a cavalry colonel or Miralay detailed as the guardian of the Sultan. When the Allatini villa was reached and the Sultan snugly restored re-stored to his nest, Raouf invited Jebb to enter the carriage with him, and returned him to his hotel in state. That night he was the guest at dinner of a group of Young Turkish leaders. The dinner was given in the home, the selamlik, of the wealthy Chekub Pasha. It was a stately affair a procession of luxuries. lux-uries. At Jebb's request Cranford Banbury Ban-bury was asked to attend as interpreter, inter-preter, though there was little need of him in this respect, since all of the Young Turks spoke French and German and some of them English. After a long and flowery speech by a white-bearded Young Turk, who had spent part of his years in prison pris-on and part in exile, Jebb turned to Banbury with an anxious whisper: "I didn't quite understand what he said last." Banbury whispered back: "Tuey want you to name some reward for your wonderful et cetera, et cetera. What would you like most, my boy? the diamond star of the order of Nishani Osmanee, or a silver medal for saving life? or will you have it in cash?" I "Yes, effendim, here is the permission per-mission for V. Pierpont Effendj to travel from Constantinople into the interior. It carries the visa of Salon-ica Salon-ica in the writing, of my assistant. I was absent that day." "May I ask the date, and the name of the man who issued the teskere." was out of the building, Jebb rose and searched for the policeman. He was greeted with profound courtesy. Jebb had been mulling the affair over in his head, and he was able to ask in intelligible if inelegant Turkish: Turk-ish: "Will you please tell me the name of the hotel kept by Musu Carolet?" The recorder held it out for him to see, and Jebb wrote down the name of the official and his address in Constantinople. He could hardly control his excitement as he said: "One more question, effendim, when is the next train to Constantinople? Constanti-nople? Shall I have time to go back to my hotel before it leaves?" "I think so, effendim," smiled the Turk, shaking like a vat of jelly: "the train to Constantinople runs three times every week, and the next train leaves tomorrow." Another twenty-four hours of inaction! inac-tion! It seemed that he could not tolerate the delay. He was finished with Salonica, so impatient to be quit of it that he was tempted to set out for Constantinople on foot He actually climbed the steep hillside, through the Turkish quarter. Young girls hung about the fountains foun-tains filling their jugs, and a dozen times Jebb saw some profile, some little form that suggested Cynthia. But he was all too well assured that she was not in Salonica. "The Grand Hotel de 1' Europe, effendim. ef-fendim. He is a dog of a fool to have suspected you." Jebb bowed and murmured: Good-night," and the official answered, an-swered, "You are welcome." Jebb sauntered carelessly out of the cafe and, calling an araba, said: "Grand Hotel de l'Europe." Arriving there he told the arabaji to wait He found the office alight and M. Carolet talking excitedly to a lady who was presumably Mme. Carolet. Jebb had rehearsed his French in the cab, and he began smoothly: "Monsieur thought I had rested it his hotel, is it not?" "I was sure of it, monsieur. You ook most like that miserable pig-log pig-log of a Pierpont I see now that vou are not the man he was much hinner and not at all like you. I ipologize humbly." "When was Mr. Pierpont here?" "It was two weeks, monsieur. He irrives in state. He seems to have 4 little too much of the gin or the |