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Show I ni of the EWkmess I ' it i i b By CHARLES J. BUTTON Illustrations by Irwin Myers A ij fcr J CHAPTER XII Continued. 1 It jcvin th.it tt'-f inoriiiin; n&cr the rV !fiy htf had joii to the pot urtW (,.r it'. until. '' of 1'nx.toii KfT.Ui!i 'l'Mif. f-t I f lo which JM not subscribe, luul been handed to huu by mUttike. lie lui.l I ecu rvadins h'-vk inly it few du8 t'ctore. "tilled murders mut the ; IA" remembered the ovuui ' of roMerv In It nnd how the - docce lliixliufaeturrd. I'll till av t-.'ive he sloped t the polu tnlloii f,r information, and ofTored to drive t'.e polw out lo home of the 11. en w-u 'veil arrested. It soeun :.' at ll;e slate polloe had taken them to tl.eir owe homes and allowed one of tie "'-en ll clmiis ivnt !'-(v-re tkln him to Jail. Tlie Uvnl police wanted to seareh the cvat nh.oh ha J bevn left behind. It m N-r trt the chauffeur had Ms first lile o? pl.mtlni the v Mruoe. lie or the cvri.er oT the papfr. nr.J at lit nn's bouse matun'od to s t '. ; the re "r luto the pwkot of the coat efire the p- lio rumlne-l 1'. I.nlrr. -r Sl.vfces, he threw the little torn ? ;:e-e of I apor oil the f!i'r so that they ooil.l f.i-. l :h.it. too. When he la! finSheO.. I .n.ierv.l :' ;he h.i 1 t.ot l-vt rUht w!n f. th '-.M thut t:. man ha J bet-n ; r.i h!::i. !'.:! !f It "ere - t-. hi sTi-ry. ta'eti ::h s! o !:n" ..... : of :: e chauffeur. W -: .. ..1 t free the i. en In I r:- ri. 1 I v. el :o ; ue h::u r.:e t. the I ; . . e :.::.. i at! let h.:.i :! t:. ; o .r nrr'..t1. 1". S.ir.t;. fca ue were i .. e:: :h to :;! l-'th K"o:.e an 1 . ; the- Without any c::i- j . e- : . : ::.y I ir:. I haj the h.'.v r. r:i: j . . r-.ry to the t'.o it! :. They : -.-r. U a fvl t!.-ul . f mt.-.-r;. :: .. .. of o.u.-ve. haj ha:: '.!e.l the r..' s..J Wue.v cj.-re nhout It than j ' "a .: tu: r.lack. I k'.ie-.v. lellfii-J I'.r.ffeur hij th.e ruur-ierer of e. aa-J the ; :.-ry con::r-.iii-J ' s N,:ef. We i:ehate-J the Ftorj for an hour. K.i.e taking the Tie that the chauffeur chauf-feur zu'.ht have t-en foi'.Icj the boy. .".r.J r.Ui.'i that the chauffeur had tolj :ie truth auJ was to.) ijruci to rt-al- - hat he had sa:J. tin. he cUnoheJ tis arunu ct by de-:: de-:: hi ! r;. "Why, unJer heaven. 8houM S ; owe Ur.ffeur a targe sum of J nevT That iras. we a'.l afreel, the wealc i.ir.t :c the story. "My Lord." Koche eiclairr.e'l as a :ho::-ht occurred to b!m. "do you re.-K;e that It was Kriffeur that four.'! ::e t n i ;oeoes of clo'.h on the r"e ' ush. the fiiece that fitted into the ; n:-r.'t pai-itsy' !n ;-.s-Lr.:.hrnent I asked. "It wa?r c "It sure was. He came Into the I e :at!i n a few days latf-r with It t,-', f id us where he had discovered it. r-nd aked If we knew what It was. We f.ojnd later that It fitted Into a Uie in the pants one of the fellows "earlni." "Was he ever In the cell with those rnen-" Black asked, with a glance at j me. "Yes. several times. Slyke asked ' ''. at e let him go In and talk to ; tl.ern." H'.ack threw out his hands In dis-r-ist. "My G , Roche, one would thick you kept a hotel. You let anyone any-one go in and out that wanted to." Hoc-he flushed, and replied angrily, . "Well, Slyke had lots of pull here, ; and I don't think It did any harm to ( let his chauffeur Bee those men." . "None," said Elack dryly. "It only save him a chance to snip a piece ' fr' in one of the men's trousers." "That's foolish," Roche laughed. : "Oh, I don't know," was Black's unswer. "Y'ou can't prove he did not. , Yoj never saw the piece of cloth until un-til he brought It In to you. He was ';i the cell alone with them, and had ti e chance to cut out the piece of 1 1' th. You can't prove that the chauf-i-ur's story is not true. It fits In letter with facts than the evidence that s. nt those men to Jail. But, oh l,f,J'. the easy way you run this Jail !" I'"' he scowled at us, and was about to retort when lie was called from the 'ooi.i. Black and I lighted cigars and -a"l.ed in silence. "Mr. I'elt," he asked at last, "what do you think of my theory that Brlf-feur Brlf-feur tnurdered Slyke?" I had given little thought to the ''Utter, and said as much. Black sur-iu'-i.ed me by adding, "You know that doctor King and the district attorney think that the only verdict that can l;e lirougb'.- in In the Slyke case is suicide?" Black's remarks astonished me. , True. I realized that It was almost Impossible Im-possible to present convincing legal proof that Slyke bad been murdered, 'tit there was still the chauffeur's death to ne explained. If he hat. ''WD killed, as Hartley thought, be eai.se he knew too much about Slyke'. death, then it seemed to tne that t. ( 'ring In a verdict of suicide would b. impossible. I told Black of this oh jection. and ne agreed with me. Then he reiterated his belief 1. , l-lrreu.-'s jruiit. According to hln II" Ktorv the chauffeur told the bo I I tilted III well with ,s wu theory. Ti no, there, wna lutle to base It on. so far nu e hlen.t. w.-nt; l,t, iiMlim. Ins- that Slyke mid the ehiiulTeur bud imneled about money, hln utroiigem bit of eNlitctu-e HrlrTeur'a coining to the vault where the missing re-olver re-olver was hidden. No one rise, ao far as wo knew, hnd quarreled with Slyke. or had nur reason for winning to kill him. lllaek explained the chauffeur's death by myliig Mls rotter rot-ter had killed Mm. I tld Mm this last disproved Ida first theory, that wluver hod killed the chauffeur Mid done s because he knew too much about Slyke' death. 1 found thai It was nearly four o'clock, and a I had hnd no luncheon I deelded to get oinetblni; to eat before be-fore Hartley'! train came In. Just ns I reached the door Black oil lied ufter me. "Say, felt, what does your chief want ui till over for, to Slyke'i to- nightr Thlf was the flmt time that I had heard we were epeoted to go there; and. seeing my astonishment, he ail lsl that I'.urtley had cent word for Hishe and himself to be at Slyke'n promptly at eight o'clock. 1 was forced to admit that 1 did not know a much about It a be did. I went to a little tea room on the main street, and had iilm.'t f.iild.cd li: tuo.-.l w hen Sonus. lie called tn r.a:i:e. an 1 a reporter from the Itec-o-1. whom I knew, roso and Joined ire. Ho month-tied the Slyke casund s.i. 1 h..t everyone was waging for Hartley to "spring hoiuet hi He complained tl at there was little fS"'.: h lr.fonr.atlon to be g..tten about It. All he had been al io to ,!o hud he.-n to Interview the men that had 1 en nt Slyke' home the nl.'ht of bl. hath, one of them told him. however, how-ever, that three or four times during the evening Slyke had tried to reach s.-n.e. no on the " I -1 1 r i o Just who, be did not know. I had now barely time to reach the station before Hartley's train pulled In. and I bade hlni a hurried farewell. As Hartley and I drove down the main itreet of Saratoga, he mid. "By the way. Belt, stop at a tore and get me five slates." "Hive what?" I asked. He grinned. "Hive slates. The kind used year ago In school. I want them all the came sLze." He threw back his head and laughed. "They are usually used to write on. IVlt, but you will find out tonight what I want them for." I stopped at a little stationery store, and returned in a moment with five slates. As I was getting back Into the car. I remembered what the reporter had toid me about Slyke's trying to get someone on the telephone, tele-phone, and I repeated his story to Hartley. He said nothing for a moment, mo-ment, then asked me to drive to the telephone exchange. He spent ten minutes in the building; and. when he came out. he seemed well pleased with his visit but did not mention Its result. As we drove along I told him the boy's story. When I had finished he smiled. "I believe the chauffeur told the boy the truth. He had been drinking, but that Is when a man ofter speaks the truth." I glanced at him to see if he were In earnest, and he nodded. "Yes, I am serious. Briffeur had broken Into Slyke's house. He never spoke of this crime, but he thought a good deal about It. When he got drunk, bis subconscious sub-conscious mind told the secret that he was trying to hide. I believe that what Briffeur said was the truth about the robbery." "But why should he try to rob Slyke?" I asked. "I am not sure. My theories are beginning to make a more or less connected con-nected whole, but there are still some gaps to be bridged." Currie heard the car as It stopped before the house and came out to greet Bartley. As Mrs. Currie was in town, we did not change for dinner. During the meal the murder was not mentioned. Bartley went to his room Immediately afterward. I sat with Currie Cur-rie for a while, smoking; then I excused ex-cused myself. I was eager to learn what Bartley had discovered In New-York. New-York. I found him In his room, stretched out In a big armchair, one leg thrown over its arm, his pipe In his mouth. As I watched him I thought how little one would suppose that he was engaged In solving two mystifying murders. He looked up as I entered, smiled, and went back to his reading. "How did your trip come off?" I asked. "Well, Pelt," he drawled, as he placed his long yellow-covered book ot, the floor, "Arentino certainly knew the criminal life of his day." His remnrk hnd, of course, to do with the book that he had been reading, read-ing, and nothing with my question. Seeing my - disappointment, he laughed. "The trip wasn't of much niportance. The mnn did buy the whisky from Slyke. He had bought ill that was in the vault, but hnd ,nly removed one truck load when he vns caught. He paid $23,000 for it hat afternoon, and left on the seven o'clock train for New York. Ill nil!. I U perfect; ho know nothing about the minder. The alibi of the men on the truck also I perfect. They did not reach Saratoga until noon on tin) day after Slyke death. They dealt only with one mnn." "One man?" I echoed. "Who?" Ho watched Iny face for moment, then replied simply, "Briffeur 1" I hud half expected that answer. It made the chauffeur' Htory that Slykii owed 1 1 1 1 ii money seem reasonable. It even hinted that the chauffeur hail tried to blackmail Slyke, and mad Black' theory that Briffeur had killed Slyke eem not unreasonable. "The men on the truck," Hartley continued, "did not know Briffeur' name; but their description of the man who unlocked t lie door of the vault for them lilted Briffeur." "Hut " I ventured. "But what?" he countered. "That connect Slyke and Briffeur." Ho was silent for a moment, his face grave. Then lie said slowly, "Yes, I'elt, It doe. If the chauffeur had not been killed himself, he would be suspected of causing Slyke' deuth. Hut there Is one thlnu' " "And what is that?" I asked. "BrlfTour said some one else wu lui. Healed In that robbery. What I want to know Is, who was that other man." He paused. then uchlod: ' There Is no doubt, I'elt. that Slyke had been selling whisky f"r some time. Where he got it. and who wn In on It with him. we don't know. May be tonight we can llnd out." Currle's voice (ailed from below that the car was waiting to take us to Slyke's house, and we rose. As 1 started for the d.-or. Hurtle; handed me a package uud gave me a playful shove. "I'on't drop them." he laughed. I gave him n disgusted look. "Hut these nre the slates." "So they are, but they may tnlk for us tonight." And with that absurd suggestion In my earn, I went down the stairs to Join Currie. CHAPTER XIII Out of the Oarknet. The butler seemed to expect ns, and shewed us at once Into the lnrge room In which the Inquest had been held. Bartley placed his bag and the package pack-age of slates on a small table In the center of the is-K.m, Roche sat down heavily In a chair, and the rest of us stood until Miss Potter entered. She seemed to be expecting us also, and for the first time, since I had met her, seemed almost at her ease. As she greeted us, the bell rang, and a moment mo-ment later the butler ushered In Eoc-tor Eoc-tor King. He glanced at Bartley, then gave us all a word of greeting. We seated ourselves around the table with the exception of Bartley, who remained standing at one end. He was a different Hartley from the one who had .laughed and Joked with us during the past few days. His face was stern, and his tired eyes glanced from one to the other of us soberly. The butler brought in a glass of water wa-ter and placed it on the table. Bartley waited until he had left the room again before he spoke, his voice low and hesitating: "I have brought you here tonight at Miss Potter's request. She believes be-lieves that It Is possible to get In touch with the spirits of the dead, and that we may receive a message from Mr. Slyke that will tell ns who killed him. She has asked us to be present as witnesses." Currie looked at me as If he thought that Bartley had gone crazy. I was too surprised to offer an excuse. A glance at Bartley showed that he was In earnest, and I sank back In my chair bewildered. I knew that he did not believe In spiritualism, though he was familiar with the question ques-tion from all sides and had made a special study of It. I was puzzled as to why he should stoop to this pretense. pre-tense. Doctor King seemed more surprised than any of us; after a startled look at Bartley, he shrugged his shoulders and whispered something some-thing to Roche, who In turn shook his head. "While I was In New York," Bartley Bart-ley continued, "I arranged for a certain cer-tain medium, who Is claimed to have hid wonderful results, to meet us here tonight I did not tell him what we expected, or anything about the circumstances. He will be here In a few moments. Meanwhile I am going to try a little experiment of my own." He paused, then continued: "You know It Is believed by thousands that messages from the spirit world are written on slates by unseen hands. The test of the genuineness of such messages Is the absence of an opportunity oppor-tunity for fraud on the part of the medium, nnd the fact that It Is In the handwriting of the person who Is believed be-lieved to be sending them. If these tests are met, we can then assume that the message was not the work of the medium, but comes from ont-side ont-side sources. I have a number of slates here, nnd am going lo try to secure a message on them. I am not sure if I can do It. however." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Too Late to Recall It. Prefers the Street Car. Blake was talking with his friend A Detroit multimillionaire who owns Scribbler, the well-know n English Jour- two large automobiles and employs a nnlist of Fleet street. chauffeur thinks he has an excuse for "Do you believe In writing anony- not using them. "I like to ride back niouslyV he asked the hero of the pen. and forth in a street car." he says. "It Scribbler looked to see that the door ' Is friendly, ami you get into pleasant of bis study was shut ere be replied j talks with people. It is no fun riding In a confidential whisper: in a limousine with a chauffeur out in "Well, I've often wished that one of front and you sitting there stiff and my productions bud been iin'.nymou.s." alone. It's kind of pathetic." Youth's "What vvas that?" asked Blake. j Companion. "A letter proposing to Mrs. S'-rib-j These slow-motion moving pictures bier," groaned the famous writer. I remind a reader of the last hired man London Answers. he hired. |