Evening Star Newspaper, June 2, 1894, Page 14

THE PLANISPHERE FOR JUNE. STORY OF THE STARS What One Can Read in the Evening Skies. THE HEAVENS IN THE MONTH OF JUNE The Onward March of the Stellar Legions. THE BEGINNING OF SUMMER pa cane T 9 O'CLOCK TO- morrow evening the constellation Bo-otes, the Herdsman, con- taining the bright star Arctrrus, will be found directly over- head. Grouped around this constellation are the Great Bear (Ursa Major), the Dragon (@raco), Hercules, the Northern Crown and Coma Berenices. In the north is Cassio- pela, but too low to be seen well. In the no-theast are the Swan (Cygnus), better known as the Northern Cross, and the Lyre (@yra). whose bright star, Vega, is the rival ef Arcturus in brilliancy. The Eagle (Aquila), distinguished by the bright star Altair, has just risen in the east. The region Between east and south ts occupied by the Berpent, the Serpent holder (Ophiuchus), the Scorpion, containing the bright star ‘Antares, and Libra, the Scales. Virgo, the ‘Virgin, of which Spica is the principal star, fs in the south. Stretched above the hori- gon, from west to south, is the enormous Hydra, on whose back stand the Cup (Crater) and the Crow (Corvus). The Lion (Leo) is toward the west. Low in the north- ‘west are the Twins, Castor and Pollux, and between north and northwest, Auriga, con- taining the bright star Capeila, 1s still part- ly above the horizon. The seven brighter stars of the Bear form the well-krown Dtpper, or, as our English cousins prefer to cal) this striking group, * the Plow. They are often referred to by the Bames given them by the Arab astronomers. ‘These names, beginning with the star on the eXtreme right, as the Dipper is now placed, are Dubhe, Merak, Phad, Megrez, Alioth, Mizar and Benetnasc). The first four form the bowl of the Dipper and the remaining Three its handle. These stars are of the second magnitude, with the exception of Megrez, which is of the third. Alcor, the Tester. Just above and very close to the star Mizar is a faint star, to which the Arabs gave the name Alcor, the Tester, consider- ing an ability to see tt a proof of good eye sight. The star can readily be seen on a clear night by any one whose eyes are tolerably good, a fact which has led some astronomers to think that {t has gained in Drilliancy within the past few hundred Years. An opera glass brings the star out ‘Very prettily. A telescope of even moderate wer will show that the larser star, Mizar, double—that is, it consists of two stars Bo close together that to the naked eye and even through an opera glass they appear az one. This is one of the prettiest objects of its class for a very small telescope, and it has the advantage over many others of Being very easy to find. Mizar has tately been brought into promi- mence in the astronomical world through the discovery made by Prof. Pickering of the Harvard College observatory, that, be- sides {ts long-known companion star, it has @nother companion so close that it cannot be “separated” from it even with the most powerful telescope. It was found, some three or four years ago, that in a series of photographs of the spectrum of this star there was a periodical doubling of the mpecttal lines, which Prof. Pickering ex- jained as due to the fact that the light of izar really comes from two sources, which Fevolve about each other in a period of 104 @ays, each star alternately approaching an4 Feceding from us in Prof. Pickering reached a further conclu- gion by what seems to be sound reasoning, that the distance of Mizar from us is apout 9,000,000 times that of the sun, a stretch of t the star’s light re- ‘The combined masses of the two Mizar consists are that of the sun, and the orbit in y revolve about each ether is gomewhai larger than that of Mars in the g@olar system. There are, of course, many dlements of uncertainty in the calculations By which these results are reached; but the acts fuminous bodies of wh ferty time: fact that in a case like this any conclusions | an fairly be made affords one illustration of the power of photography applied to the Study of the stars. the “Poiters.” They lie nearly in With and thus point to the Pole star. No Taatter where the Dipper may be seen, whether above or below, to the right or to the left of the Pole star, that star may al- Wars be found by running a line from Merak throvgh Dubhe and continuing It he- tbout equal to the Dip- istance between the twe line 's ieneth 3 The Retetere is almost exactly five degrees, so thas ¢ have au additional use as a sort Of celestial foot-rule. The Pole Star. The Pole star may also be recognized qanily from its position at the end of the handle of the Little Dipper—the tip of the Father jong tail of the Little Bear (Ursa Miner) The pair of stars tn this group cor- Feaponding to the Pointers in the Great Dipper are sometimes called the Guardians of the Pole. These stars and the Pole star ftxelf are of the second magnitude, and are Much brighter than the remaining stars of the group. It was by this constellation, rather than single t the ancient Greek nician saflors directed their course at night. the Two Guardians being 2,000 eers ago much hearer the true pole of the avens than was the star which at the Present time very nearly marks One of the names ty which the constella- tion was known to the Greeks was Cyno- @ura. The name means, literally, “dog's tail,” and it would seem to indicate that this asterism was sometimes regarded as a dog rather than a bear, particular stress Being laid on the great length of its caudal appendage. The name survives in our word “cynosure.” applied to an object which, like the old constellation, attracts all eyes. Winding its tortuous length above and partly around the le Bear is the Dra- gon (Draco) The trace of it given on the ae the coils, which may found on the chart—should enable one to eee where the constellation is, even its orbital course. | The stars Dubhe and Merak are known as | though its figure is but dimly visible. The third star from the tip of the Dragon's tail, situated midway between the Guardians of the Pole and Mizar, is Alpha Draconis, a star of considerable notoriety. Some 4,000 years ago this was the Pole star, being then but a trifle over three from the true pole of the heavens, a fact which has held a prominent place in the discus- sion ri age of the Egyptian pyramids. The most striking feature of the Dragon is its flaming eyes, a pair of stars which very closely resemble the twin s of the pole. Two stars of the fourth magni- tude form, in conjunction with the two “eyes,” a quite noticeable diamond-shaped figure. The more southerly of these, how- ever, belongs to another constellation, being in the left foot of Hercules. To the right of the Dragon’s head is the Lyre ), easily located by means of its bright star Vega, or Alpha Lyrae. This small but very interesting constellation is of triangular shape, as shown on our chart, each corner being marked by = of stars. The upper corner, as the Lyre is now placed, is marked by the brilliant Vega and a fifth magnitude star to the left. The small star is Epsilon Lyrae, a famous dou- ble star, sometimes called the “‘Double-dou- bk Even an opera glass will resolve it |imto two stars, while a small telescope, which magnifies fifty or one hundred times, will show that each of the two stars that ferm the double star, as seen through an opera glass, is itself double. A larger tele- scope will bring into view three still fainter stars lying between the pair of doubles; that Is, Epsilon Lyrae, which to the naked eye appears as a single star, is really a multiple star, having seven components. The star just below Vega, at about the same distance from it as Epsilon, is also double, but it can hardly be resolved with an opera glass. An Interesting Star. The pair of stars which mark the south- ern corner of the Lyre are Beta and Gam- ma Lyrae. The upper of these (Beta) is a variable star of great interest to astrono- mers, thoug3 the range of its variability is only a little over one magnitude—between magnitudes 3.4 and 4.5—and it is, therefore, less Interesting to ordinary star gazers than are Algol and Mira, which we examined some four” months ago. Beta Lyrae goes through its changes in a period of a little under thirteen days. A remarkable larity of it Is that it has two “minima,” at one of which it falls only to the fourth mag- nitude, and not always even so low as that. Midway between these two stars is the famous ring nebula of Lyra. It can be seen, but hardly recognized, with an opera glass; indeed, it requires a powerful telescope to show it well. It appears as a thick ring of nebulous light, turned toward us partly ise, so that it has a slightly eliptical figure. It is the ‘gest and the most sym- metrical of this class of nebulae, and when seen with an adequate telescopic power is a very striking object. ‘The Lyre has recently been invested with an additional interest for us through the labors of Herr Stumpe, who has placed within its limits the “apex of the sun's way,” a phrase, which being interpreted, means the point toward which the sun and its attendant planets are moving in space. The first to attempt a solution of this prob- lem was Sir William Herschel, who, making @ sort of general average of the motions of the stars—their “proper motions,” as they are called—reached the conclusion that the sun is moving from a point about twenty degrees southwest of Sirius, in the constel- lation Argo, toward a point near Lambda Herculis—marked on our chart with a small circle and the letter H. Other astronomers have confirmed Herschel’s view in the fnain, although there has been a considerable dis- agreement as to the precise location of the “apex.” All have, however, fixed upon a point somewhere in this neighborhood. Herr Stumpe deduced his conclusions from inde- pendent observations on four sets of stars. In every case the apex fell within the con- stellation Lyra, the mean position of the four being the point marked on our chart with a small cross. Herr Stumpe,finds the rate of the sun’s motion to be eight miles a second—no less than 250,000,000 miles a year. To this extent, then, according to this astronomer, our distance from the Lyre is annually decreasing. The Planets. Mercury will be an evening star through- out the month. By the end of this week it should make its appearance low in the west shortly after sunset, and it will be seen higher and higher each evening until the 224, when it will reach its greatest appar- ent distance from the sun toward the east, and will at sunset be an hour and a half high. Venus is a morning star, rising two hours before the sun. She is now drawing in ; toward the sun, and her briiliancy has di- | minished sensibly during the past month. Mars now rises at about midnight. He will be in “quadrature” with the sun—90 | degrees, or six hours in advance of the sun— |on the 17th of the month. } Jupiter and his near companion, Neptune, re now close beside the sun, the former i ing been in conjunction with it on the {1st and the latter on the 3d of this month. Saturn is now an evening star, setting at about 2a. m. Its position, near the star | Spica, is shown on the planisphere. Since Yeoruary this planet has been “retrograd- \ing’—moving westward. On the 2ist of this month {t will be stationary, and after that date its motion will be direct, or to- ward the east. It continues to be in an ex- | cellent position for observation with a tel- | escope. Uranus fs about one and a half degrees— three diameters of the moon—to the right, or west of Alpha Librae. It can be seen dis- tinetly with an ona glass, and probably without this aid by a person of keen eye- sight. Alpha L'brae is a star of the third magnitude, lying midway between Spica and Antares, and should be found without diffictity. It is a double star, separable with an opera glass, and this circumstance will aid in its identification. There is a faint star near Uranus, but since the planet is moving westward a few nights’ observation will enable one to distinguish it from the star. On the 21st of this month the sun will enter and the tropical summer will From Life. little Giri—‘You bad cat, bird?” Cat—Oh, he’s just gone inside.” where’s my GES CASE OF MR. FOGGATT Arthur Morrison in the Strand Magazine. LMOST THE ONLY dogmatism that Mar- tin Hewitt permitted himself in regard to his profession- al methods was one on the matter of accumulative proba- bilities. Often when I have remarked up- on the apparently trivial nature of the clues by which he allowed himself to be guided—sometimes, to all seeming, in the very face of all likeli- hood—he has replied that two trivialities, pointing in the. same direction, became at or.ce, by their mere agreement, no triviali- ties at all, but enormously important con- siderations. “If I were in search of a man,” he would say, “of whom I knew rothing but that he squinted, bore a birth- mark on his right hand, and limped, and I observed a man who answered to the first peculiarity, so far the clue would be trivial, because thousands of men squint. Now, if that man presently moved and exhibited a birthmark on his right hand, the value of that squint and that mark would increase at once a hundred or a thousand fold. Apart they are little, together much. Apart weight of evidence is not doubled merely, it would be only doubled if half the men who squinted had right-hand birthmarks; whereas, the proportion, if it could be ascertained, would be perhaps more like one in ten thousand. The two triviahties, pointing in the same direction, become very strong evidence. And when the man is seen to walk with a limp, that limp (another triviality), reinforcing the others, bring the matter to the rank of a practical certainty. The Bertillon system of identification—what is it but a summary of trivialities? Thousands of men are of the same height, thousands of the same length of foot, thousands of the same girth of head—thousands correspond in any sepa- rate measuremeft you may name. It is when the measurements are taken together that you have your man identified for ever. Just consider how few, if any, of your friends correspond exactly in any two per- sonal peculiarities.” Hewitt's dogma re- ceived its illustration unexpectedly close at home. The old house wherein my chambers and Hewitt’s office were situated contained, be- sides my own, two or three more bachelors’ dens, in addition to the offices on the ground and first and second floors. At the very top of all, at the back, a fat, middle- aged man, named Foggatt, occupied a set of four rooms. It was only after long resi- dence, by an accidental remark of the house-keeper’s, that I learned the man’s name, which was not painted on his door or displayed, with all the others, on the wall of the ground-floor porch. Mr. Foggatt appeared to have few friends, but lived in something as nearly approach- ing luxury as an old bachelor in chambers can live. An ascending case of champagne was @ common phenomenon of the stair- case, and I have more than once seen a picture, destined for the top floor, of a sort that went far to awaken green covetousness in the heart of a poor journalist. The man himself was not altogether pre- Possessing. Fat as he was, he had a way of carrying his head forward on his extended neck and gazing widely about with a pair of the roundest and most prominent eyes I remember to have ever seen, except in a fish. On the whole, his appearance was rather vulgar, rather arrogant, and rather suspicious, without any very pronounced quality of any sort. But certainly he was not pretty. In the ead, however, he was found shot dead in his sitting room. It was in this way: Hewitt and I had dined together at my club, and late in the evening had turned to my rooms to smoke and discuss whatever came uppermost. I had made a bargain that day with two speculative odd lots at a book sale, each of which contained a hidden prize.’ We sat talking and turning over these books while time went unperceived, when suddenly we were startled by # loud report. Clearly it was in the building. We listened for a moment, but heard nothing else, and then Hewitt expressed his opinion that the report was that of a gunshot. Gunshots in resi- dential chambers are not common things, wherefore I got up and went to the landing, looking up the stairs and down. At the top of the next filght I saw Mrs, Clayton, the housekeeper. She appeared to be frightened, and told me that the Teport came from Mr.Foggatt’s room. She thought he might have had an accident with the istol that usually lay on his mantelpiece. 'e went upstairs with her, and she knocked at Mr. Faggott's door. There was no reply. Through the yenti- lating fanlight over the door {t could be seen that there were lights within, a sign, Mrs. Clayton maintained, that Mr. Foggatt was not out. We knocked again, much more loudly, and called, but still ineffec- tually. The door was locked, and an appli- cation of the housekeeper’s key proved that the tenant's key had beea left in the lock inside. Mrs. Clayton’s conviction that “something had happened” became distress- ing, and in the end Hewitt prised open the door with a small poker. Something had happened. In the sitting- room Mr. Foggatt sat with his head bowed over the table, quiet and still. The head was {Il to look at, and by it lay a large revolver, of the full-sized army pattern. Mrs, Clayton ran back toward the landing with faint sc1 doctor and I bounced down the stairs half a flight at atime. “First,” I thought, “a doctor. He may not be dead.” I could think of no dcetor in the immediate neighborhood, but ran up the street away from the Strand, as being the more likely direction for the dcetor, although less so for the policeman. It took me @ good five minutes to find the medico, after being led astray by a red lamp at a private hotel, and another five to get back, with a policeman. Foggatt was dead, without a doubt. Probably had shot himself, the doctor thought, from the powder-blackening and other circumstances, Certainly nobody could have left the room by the door, or he must have passed my landing. while the fact of the door being found locked from the inside made the thing impossible. There were two windows to the room, both of which were shut, one being fastened by the catch, while the catch of the other was broken—an old fracture. Below these win- dows was a sheer drop of fifty feet or more, without a foot or hand-hold near. The win- dows in the other rooms were shut and fastened. Certainly it seemed suicide—un- less it were one of those accidents that will eccur to people who fiddle ignorantly with firearms. Soon the rooms were in posses- sion of the police, and we were turned out. ‘We looked in at the housekeeper’s kitchen, where the daughter was reviving and calm- ing Mrs. Clayton with gin and water. “You mustn't upset yourself, Mrs. Clay- ton," Hewitt said, “or what will become of The doctor thinks it was an acci- us dent.” He took a small bottle of sewing machine oll from his pocket and handed it to the daughter, thanking her for the loan. There was little evidence at the inquest. ‘The shot had been heard, the body had been found—that was the practical sum of the matter. No friends or relatives of the dead man came forward. The doctor gave his opinion as to the probability of suicide or an accident, and the police evidence tended in the same direction. Nothing had been found to indicate that any other person had been near the dead man’s rooms on the night of the fatality. On the other hand, his papers, bank book, etc., proved him to be a man of considerable substance, with no apparent motive for suicide. The police had been unable to trace any relatives, or, in- deed, any nearer connections than casual acquaintances, fellow club men, and so on. The jury found that Mr. Foggatt had died by accident. “Well, Brett," Hewitt asked me after- ward, “what do you think of the verdict?” I said that it seemed to be the most rea- sonable one possible, and to square with the common-sense view of the case. “Yes,” he replied, “perhaps it does, From the point of view of the jury, and on their information, their verdict was quite rea- sonable. Nevertheless, Mr. Foggatt did not shoot himself. He was shot by a rather tall, active young man, perhaps a sailor, but certainly a gymnast--a young man whom I think I could identify, if I saw him.” “But how do you know this?” “By the simplest possible inferences, barony you may easily guess, if you will but think.” “But then, why didn’t you say this at the tnauest?” “My dear fellow, they don’t want my in- ferences and conjectures at an inquest, they enly want evidence. If I had traced the murderer, of course then I should have comm ‘with the police. Asa matter of fact, it is quite possible that the police have cbserved and know as much as I do— er more, They don’t give everything away at an inquest, you know—it wouldn't d¢ “But it you ure right, how did the man get away?” “Come, we are near home now. Let us take a look at the back of the house. He couldn’t have left by Foggatt’s landing door, as we know; and as he was there (1 am certain of that), and as the chimney is out of the question—for there was a good fire in the grate—he must have gone out by the window, Only one window is pos- sible—that with the broken catch—for all the others were fastened inside. Out of that window, then, he went.” “But how? The window is fifty feet up.” “Of course it is. But why will you per- sist in assuming that the only way of escape by a window is downward? See, now, look up there. The window is at the top floor, and it has a very broad sill. Over the window is nothing but the flat face of the gable end; but to the right, and a foot or two above the level of the top of the window, an iron gutter ends. Observe, it is not of lead composition, but a strong iron gutter, supported, just at its end, by an iron bracket. If a tall man stood on the end of the’ window sill, steadying himself by the left hand and ‘leaning to the right, he could just touch the end of this gutter with his right hand—the full stretch, toe to finger, is seven feet three inches; I have measured it. An active gymnast, or @ sailor, could catch the gutter with a slight ‘pring, and by it draw himself upon the roof. You will say he would have to be very active, dexterous and cool. he would. And that very fact helps us, because it narrows the field of inquiry. We know the sort of man to look for. Because, being certain (as I am) that the man was in the room, I know that he left in the way I am telling you. He must have left in some way, and all the other’ wa: being impossible, this alone remains, diff cult as the feat may seem. ‘The fact of his shutting the window behind him further proves his coolness and address at so great a height from the ground.” All this was very plain, but the main point was still dark. “You say you know that another man was oe room,” I said; “how do you know t? : “As I said, by an obvious inference. Come, now, you shall guess how I arrived at that inference. You often speak of your interest in my work, and the attention with which you follow it. This shall be a simple exer- cise for you. You saw everything in the room as plainly as 1 myself. Bring the scene back to your memory, and think-over the various small objects littering about, and how they would affect the case. Quick observation is the first essential for my work. Did you see a newspaper, for in- stance?” “Yes. There was an evening paper on the floor, but I didn’t examine it.” ‘Anything else?” ‘On the table there was a whisky decan- ter, taken from the tantalus stand on the sideboard, and one glass. That, by-the- bye,” I added, “looked as though only one person were present.” “So it did, perhaps, although the inference wouldn't be very strong. Go on.” “There was a fruit stand on the stdeboard, with a plate beside it, containing a few nut- shells, a piece of apple, a pair of nuterack- ers, and, I think, some orange peel. There was, of course, all the ordinary furniture, but no chair pulled up to the table except that used by Foggatt himself. That's all T noticed, I think. Stay—there was an ash tray on the table, and a partly-burned cigar near {t—only one cigar, though.” “Excellent—excellent, Indeed, as far as memory and simple observation go. You saw everything plainly, and you remember everything. Surely now you know how I found out that another man had just left?” “No, I don’t; unless there were different inds of ash in the ash tray.” “That is a fairly good suggestion, but there were not—there was only a single ash, corresponding in every way to that on the cigar. Don’t you remember anything that I did_as we went downstairs?” “You returned a bottle of oil to the house- keeper's daughter,*I think.” “I did. Doesn't that give you a hint? Core, you surely have it now?” “T haven't.” “Then I shan’t tell you; you don’t deserve it. Think, and don’t mention the subject again till you have at least one guess to make. The thing stares you in the face— you see it, you remember it, and yet you won't see it. I won't encourage your siov- enliness of thought, my boy, by telling you what you can know for yourself if you like. Good-bye—I'm off now. There is a case in hand I can’t neglect.” “Don’t you ptopose to go further into this, then?” Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not a policeman,” he said. “The case ts in very good hands. Of course, if anybody comes to me to do it as a matter of business, I'll take {t up. It's very interesting, but I can’t neglect my regular work for it. Naturally, I shall keep my eyes open and my memory in order. Sométimes these things come into the hands by themselves, as it were: in that case, of course, I am a loyal citizen, and ready to help the law. Au revoir.” . oe I am a busy man myself, and thought lit- tle more of Hewitt’s conundrum for some time—indeed, when I did think, I saw no way to the answer. Aweek after the inquest I took a holiday (I had written my nightly leaders regularly every day for the past five years), and saw no more of Hewitt for six weeks. After my return, with still a few days of leave to run, one evening we together turned into Luzatti’s, off Coventry street, for dinner. “I have been here several times lately, Hewitt said: “they feed you very well. Ni not that table’—he seized my arm as I turned to an unoccupied corner—"I fancy it's draughty.” He led the way to a longer table, where a dark, lithe, and (as well as could be seen) tall young man already sat, and took chairs opposite him. ‘We had scarcely seated ourselves before Hewitt broke into a torrent of conversation on the subject of bicycling. As our previ- ous conversation had been of a literary sort, and as I had never known Hewitt at any other time to show the slightest interest in bicycling, this rather surprised me, I had, however, such a general outsider’s grasp of the subject as is usual in a journalist-of- all-werk, and managed to keep the talk going from my side. As we went on I could see the face of the young man oppo- site brighten with interest. He was a rather fine-looking fellow, with a dark, though very clear skin, but had a hard, angry look of eye, a prominence of cheek bone, and a squareness of jaw that gave him a rather uninviting aspect. As Hewitt rattled on, however, our neighbor’s expression became one of pleasant interest merely. “Of course,” Hewitt said, “we've a num- ber of very capital men just now, but I be- Heve a deal in the forgotten riders of five, ten and fifteen years back. Osmond, I bi lieve, was better than any man riding now, and I think it would puzzle some of them to beat Furnivall as he was at his bi But poor old Cortis—really, I believe he was as good as anybody. Nobody ever beat Cortis— except—let me see—I think somebody beat Cortis once—who was it, now? I can’t re- member.” “Liles,” said the young man opposite, looking up quickly. “Ah, yes—Liles it was; Charley Liles. ‘Wasn't it a championship?” “Mile championship, 1880; Cortis won the other three, though. “Yes, so he did. I saw Cortis when he first broke the old 2.46 mile record.” And straightway Hewitt plunged into a whirl of talk of bicyles, tricycles, records, racing cyclists, Hillier and Synyer and Noel Whit- ing, Taylerson and Appleyard; talk wherein the young man opposite bore an animated share, while I was left in the cold. Our new friend, it seemed, had himself been a prominent racing bicyclist a few years back, and was presently, at Hewitt's request, exhibiting a neat gold medal that hung at his watch guard. That was won, he explained, in the old tall bicycle days, the days of bad tracks, when every racing cyclist carried cinder scars on his face from numerous accidents. He pointed to a blue mark on his forehead, which, he told us, was a track scar, and described a bad fall that had cost him two teeth, and broken others. The gaps among his teeth were Plain to see as he smiled. Presently the waiter brought dessert, and the young man opposite took an apple. Nuterackers and a fruit knife lay on our side of the stand, and Hewitt turned the stand to offer him the knif ‘No, thanks,” he said, “I only polish a good apple, never peel it. It’s a mistake except with thick-skinned, foreign ones.” And he began to munch the apple as only a boy or a healthy athlete can. Presently he turned his head to order coffee. The watiter’s back was turned, and he had to be called twice. To my unutterable amazement Hewitt reached swiftly across the table, snatched the half-eaten apple from the young man’s plate and pocketed it: gazing immediately, with an abstracted air, at a painted Cupid on the cefling. Our neighbor turned again, looked doubt- fully at his plate and the tablecloth about it, and then shot a keen glance in the direction of Hewitt. He said nothing, however, but took his coffee and his bill, deliberately drank the former, gazing quietly at Hewitt ag he Ald {t, pald the latter, and left. Immediately Hewitt was on his feet and, taking an umbrella which stood near, fol- lowed. Just as he reached the door he met our late neighbor, who had turned suddenly back. “Your umbrella, I think?” Hewitt asked, offering it. “Yes, thanks." But the man’s eye had more than its former hardness, and his jaw- muscles tightened as I looked, He turned and went, Hewitt came back to me. “Pay the bill,” he said, “and go back to your rooms; I will come on later; I must follow this nan—it’s the Foggatt case.” As he went out I heard a cab rattle away, and imuediately after it another. I paid the bill and went home, It was 10 o’clock before Hewitt turned up, calling in at his office below on his way up to me. “Mr, Sidney Mason,” he said, “is the gen- tleman the police willl be wanting tomor- row, I expect, for the Foggatt murder. He is as smart a man as 1 remember ever meeting, and has done me rather neatly twice this evening.” “You mean the man we sat opposite at Luzatti’s, of. course?” “Yes, I got his name, of course, from the reverse of that gold medal he was good erough to show me. But I fear he has bilked me over the address. He suspected me, that was plain, and left his umbrella by way of experiment, to see if I were watching him sharply enough to notice the circun stance, and to avail myself of it to follow him. I was hasty and fell into the trap. He cabbed it away from Luzatti’s, and I cabbed it after him. He has led me a pretty dance up and down London to- night, and two cabbies have made quite a stroke of business out of us. In the end he entered a house of which, of course, I have taken the address, but I expect he doesn’t live there. He is too smart a man to lead me to his den;.but the police can certainly find something of him at the house he went in at—and, I expect, left by the back way. By the way, you never guessed that simple little puzzle as to how I found that this was a murder, did you? You see it now, of course?” “Something to do with that apple you stole, I suppose?” “Something to do with it? I should think 80, you worthy innocent. Just ring your bell—we'll borrow Mrs. Clayton’s sewing machine oil again. On the night we broke into Foggatt’s room you saw the nutshells and the bitten remains of an apple on the sideboard, and you remembered it; and yet you couldn’t see that in that piece of apple possibly lay an important piece of evidence. Of course, I never expected you to have ar- rived at any conclusion, as I had, because I had ten minutes in which to examine that apple, and to do what I did with it. But least you should have seen the possibility of evidence in it. “First, now, the apple was white. A bit- ten apple, as you must have observed, turns of a reddish brown color if left to stand long. Different kinds of apples brown with different rapidities, and the browning al- ways begins at the core. This is one of the twenty thousand tiny things that few peo- ple take the trouble to notice, but which it is useful for a man in my position to know. A _russet will brown quite quickly. The apple on the sideboard was, as near as I could tell, a Newtown pippin or other apple of that kind, which will brown at the core in from twenty minutes to half an hour, ana in other parts in a quarter of an hour more. When we saw it it was white, with barely a tinge of brown about the exposed core. Inference—somebody had been eating it fifteen or twenty minutes before—perhaps @ little longer; an inference supported by the fact that it was only partly eaten. ‘I examined that apple, and found it bore marks of very irregular teeth. While you were gone I oiled it over, and, rushing down to my rooms, where I always have a ttle plaster of Paris handy for such work, took a mold of the part where the teeth had left the clearest marks. I then returned the apple to its place, for the po- lice to use if they though fit. Looking at my mold, it was plain that the person who had bitten that apple had lost two teeth, one at top and déne below, not exactly op- posite, but nearly so. The other teeth, al- though they would appear to have been fairly sound, were irregular in size and line. Now the dead man had, as I saw, a very excellent set of false teeth, regular and sharp, with none missing. Therefore it was plain that somebody else had been eating. that apple. Do I make myself clear?" “Quite. Go on.” “There were other inferences to be made —slighter, but all pointing the same way. For instance, a man of Foggatt’s age does not, as a rule, murach an unpeeled apple, like a schoolboy—inference, a young man, and healthy. Why I came to the conclu- sion that he tall, active, a gymnast, and perhaps a sailor, I have already told you, when we examined the outside of Foggatt's window. It was also pretty clear that robbery was not the motive, since nothing was disturbed, and that a friendly conversation had preceded the murder— witness, the drinking and the eating of the apple. Whether or not the police noticed these things I can’t say. If they had had their best men on they certainly would, I think; but the case, to a rough observer, looked so clearly one of accident or suicide that possibly they didn’t. “As I said, after ths inquest I was unable to devote any immediate time to the case, but I resolved to keep my eyes open. The man to look for was tall, young, strong and active, with a very irregular set of teeth, a tooth missing from the lower jaw just to the left of the center, and another from the upper jaw a little further still to- ward the left. He might possibly be a per- son I had seen about the premises (I have a good memory for faces), or, of course, he Possibly might not. “Just before you returned from your hol- iday I noticed a young m: at Luzatti’s whom I remembered to have seen some- where about the offices in this building. He was tall, young, and so on, but I had a client with me, and was unable to examine him more narrowly—indeed, as I was not exactly engaged on the case, and as there are several tall young men about, I took little trouble. But today finding the same young man, with a vacant seat opposite him, I took the opportunity of making a closer acquaintance.” roe certainly managed to draw him ou “Oh, yes—the easiest person in the world to draw out is a cyclist. The easiest cyclist to draw out is, of course, the novice, but the next easiest is the veteran. When you see a healthy, well-trained looking man, who, nevertheless, has a slight stoop in the shoulders, and, maybe, a medal on his watch-guard, it is always a safe card to try him first with a little cycle racing talk. I soon brought Mr. Mason out of his shell, read his name on his medal and had a chance of observing his teeth—indeed, he spoke of them himself. Now, as I observed just now, there are severai tall, athletic young men about, and also there are sev- eral men who hi lost teeth. But now I saw that this tall and athletic young man had lost exactly two teeth—one from the lower jaw, just to the left of the center, and another from the upper jaw, further still toward the left! Trivialities, pointing in the same direction, became important considerations. More, his teeth were ir- regular throughout, and, as nearly as I could remember it, looked remarkably like this little plaster mold of mine.” He produced from his pocket an trregular lump of plaster, about three inches long. likeness of two irregular rows of six or eight teeth, minus one in each row, where a deep gap was seen, in the position spoken of by my friend. He proceeded: “This was enough at least to set me after this young man. But he gave me the greatest chance of all when he turned and left his apple (eaten unpeeled, remember!— another tmportant triviality) on his te. I'm afraid-I wasn’t at all polite, and T ran the risk of arousing his suspicions, but I couldn't resist the temptation to steal it. I did, as you saw, and here it is.” He brought the apple from his coat pocket. One bitten side, placed against the upper half of the mold, fitted precisely, a gap. The other side similarly fitted the lower half. “There's Hewitt remarked. man’ this is as plain as his signature or his thumb-impression. You'll never find two men bite exactly alike, no matter whether they leave distinct teeth marks or not. Here, by-the-bye, is Mrs. Clayton We'll take another mold from thi and compare them.” He oiled the apple, heaped a little plaster in a newspaper, took my water jug and rapidly pulled off a hard mold. The parts corresponding to the merely broken in the apple were, of course, dissimilar; but as to the teeth marks, the impressions were identical. “That will do, I think,” -Hewitt said. “Tomorrow morning, Brett, I shall put up these thirgs in a small parcel and take tl “Merely observing the Quite sufficient for the police purpose. There is the man, and all the rest—his movements on the day and so forth are simple matters of inquiry; at any rate, that is police business.” I had scarcely sat down to my breakfast on the following morning when Hewitt came into the room and put a long letter before me. “From our friend of last night,” he said; “read it." This letter began abruptly, and undated, and was as follow! “To Martin Hewitt, Esq. “Sir: I must compliment you on the adroitness you exhibited this evening in extracting from me my name. The #//ress I was able to balk you of t= * + ine. although by the time you read this you will probably have founa 1 Law List, as I am an admitted solicitor. That, however, will be of little use to you, for I am removing myself, I think, beyond the resch even of your abilities of search. I knew you well by sight, and was, per- haps, foolish to allow myself to be drawn as I did. Still, I had no idea that it would be dangerous, especially after seeing you, as a witness with very little to say, at the inquest upon the scoundrel I shot. Your somewhat discourteous seizure of my apple at first ™me—indeed. I was a little On one side of this appeared in relief the | Projection of apple ‘filling exactly the deep | no getting behind that, you see,” | teeth was a guide to some extent, but | doubtful as to whether you had really taken it—but it was my first warning that you might be playing a deep game against ine, incomprehensible as the action was to my mind. I subsequently reflected that I had been eating an apple, instead of the drink he first offered me, in the dead wretch’s rooms on the night he came to his merited end. From this I assume ‘hat your design was in some way to compare What remained of the two apples—although I do not presume to fathom the depths of your detective system. Still, I have heard of many of your cases, and profoundly ad- mire the keenness you exhibit. | am thought to be a keen man myself, but al- though I was able, to some extent, to hold my own tonight, I admit that your acumen in this case alone is something beyond me. “I do not know by whom you are com- missioned to hunt me, uor to what extent you may be acquainted with my connection with the creature I killed. I have sufficient respect for you, however, to wish that you should not regard me as a vicious criminal, and @ couple of hours to spare in which to offer you an tion that may persuade you that such is not altogether the case. A hasty and violent temper I admit possess- ing; but even now I cannot regret the one crime it has led me into—for it is, I suppose, strictly speaking, a crime. For it was the man Foggatt who made a felon of my fath- er before the eyes of the world, and killed him with shame. It was he who murdered my mother, and none the less murdered her because she died of a broken heart. That he was also a thief and a hypocrite might have concerned me Uttle, but for that. “Of my father I remember very little. He must, I fear, have been a weak and in- capable man in many respects. He had no business abilities—in fact, was quite unable to understand the complicated business matters in which he largely dealt. Foggatt was a consummate master of all those arts of financial jugglery that make so many fortunes and ruin so many others, in mat- ters of company promoting, stocks and shares. He was unable to exercise them, however, because of a great financial disas- ter in which he had been mixed up a few years before, and which made his name one to be avoided in future. In these cir- cumstances he made a sort of secret and informal partnership with my father, who, ostensibly alone in the business, acted throughout on the directions of Foggatt, understanding as little of what he did, poor, simple man, as a school boy would have done. The transactions carried on went from small to large, and, unhappily, from honorable to dishonorable. My father relied on the superior abilities of Foggatt with an absolute trust,carrying out each day the directions given him privately the pre- vious evening, buying, selling, printing prospectuses, signing whatever had to be signed, all with sole responsibility and as sole partner, while Foggatt, behind the scenes, absorbed the larger share of the profits. In brief, my unhappy and foolish father was a mere tool in the hands of the cunning scoundrel, who pulled all the wires of the business himself unseen and irre- sponsible. At last three companies, for the promotion of which my father was re- sponsible, came to grief in a heap. Fraud was written large over all’ their history, and, while Foggatt retired with his plun- der, my father was left to meet ruin, dis- grace and imprisonment. From beginning to eud he, and he only, was responsible. There was no shred of evidence to con- nect Foggatt with the matter and no means of escape from the net drawn about my father. He lived through three years of imprisonment and then, entirely abandoned by the man who had made use of his sim- Plicity, he died—of nothing but shame and @ broken heart. “Of this I knew nothing at the time. Again and again, as a small boy, I remem- ber asking of my mother why I had no father at home, as other boys had—uncon- scious of the stab I thus inflicted on her gentle heart. Of her my earliest, as well as my latest, memory is that of a pale, weeping woman, who grudged to let me out of her sight. “Little by little I learned the whole cause of my mother’s grief, for she had no other confidant, and I fear my character devel- oped early, for my first coherent remem- brance of the matter is that of a childish design to take a table knife and kill the bad man who had made my father die in prison and caused my mother to cry. “One thing, however, I never knew—the name of that bad man. Again and again, as I grew older, I demanded to know, but my mother always withheld it from me, with a gentle reminder that vengeance was for a greater hand than mine. “I was seventeen years of age when my mother died. I believe that nothing but her strong attachment to myself and her desire to see me started in life kept her alive so long. Then I found that through all those yeats of narrowed means she had contrived to scrape and save a Uttle money—sufficient, as it afterward proved, to see me through the examina- tions for entrance to my profession, with the generous assistance of my father’s old legal advisers, who gave me my articles, and who have all along treated me with extreme kindness. “For most of the succeeding years my life does not concern the matter in hand. I was a lawyer's clerk in my benefactors’ service and afterward a qualified man among their assistants. All through, the firm were careful, in pursuance of my poor mother’s wishes, that I should not learn the name or whereabouts of the man who had wrecked her life and my father’s. I first met the man himself at the Ciinton Club, where I had gone with an acquaint- ance, who was a member. It was not till afterward that I understood his curious awkwardness on that occasion. A week later I called (as I have frequently done) at the building in which your office is sit- uated, on business with a solicitor who has an office on the floor above your own. On the stairs I almost ran against Mr. Fog- gatt. He started and turned pale, exhibit- ing signs of alarm that I could not under- stand, and asked me if I wished to see a ‘No,’ I replied; ‘I didn't know you lived here. I am after somebody else just now. Aren’t you well? “He looked at me rather doubtfully and said he was not very well. “I met him twice or thrice after that, and on each occasion his manner grew more friendly, in a servile, flattering, and mean sort of way—a thing unpleasant enough in anybody, but doubly so in the intercourse of @ man with another young enough to be his own son. Still, of course, I treated the man civilly enough. On one occasion he asked me into his rooms to look at a rather fine picture he had lately bought, and observed casually, lifting a large revolver from the mantelpiece: “*You see I am prepared for any unwel- come visitor to my little den! He! he! Concetving him, of course, to refer to burglars, I could not help wondering at the forced and hollow character of his laugh. | | As we went down the stairs he said: ‘T | think we know one another pretty well | now, Mr. Mason, eh? And if I could do any- thing to advance your professional prospects I should be glad of the chance, of course. | I understand the struggles of a young pro- | fessional man—he! he! It was the forced | laugh again, and the man spoke nervously. ‘I think,’ he added, ‘that if you’ will drop in tomorrow evening, perhaps IT may have a little proposal to make. Will you? | “I assented, wondering what this proposal | cculd be. Perhaps this eccentric old gen- tleman was a good fellow, after all, anx- jfous to do me a good turn, and his awk- | wardness was nothing but a natural delf- cacy in breaking the fice. I was not so fivsh of good friends as to be willing to lose one. He might be desirous of putting business in my way. “I went, and was received with a corital- ity that even then seemed a little over- effusive. We sat and talked of one thing ard another for a long while, and I began to wonder when Mr. Foggatt was coming | to the point that most interested me. Sev- eral times he invited me to drink and smoke, but long usage to athletic training has given me a distaste for both practices and I declined. At last he bean to talk about myself. He was afraid that my profes- sioral prospects in this country were not great, but he had heard that In some of the colonies—South Africa, for example— young lawyers had briliant opportunities. “"If you'd like to go there,’ he said, ‘I’ve | no doubt, with a little capital, a clever man | | like you could get a grand practice together | Very soon. Or you might buy a share in |some good established practice. I should | be glad to let you have five hundred pounds | or even a little more if that wouldn't sat | ty you and— | “TI stood aghast. Why should this man, almost a stranger, offer me five hundred pounds, or even more—‘if that wouldn't satisfy’ me? What claim had I on him?! It was very generous of him, of course, but out of the question. I was at least a |gentleman and had a gentleman's self-re- spect. Meanwhile he had gone maundering on, in a halting sort of way, and presently let slip a sentence that struck me like a blow between the eves “I shouldn't like you to bear ill-will be- cause of what has happened tn the past,’ he said. ‘Your late—your late lamented mother—I’m afraid—she had unworthy sus- pictons—I'm sure—it was best for all par- our father always anpreciated— “I set back my chair and stood erect be fore him ‘This eroveline wretch, forcing the words through his dry lips, was the thief who had made another of my father and had brought to miserable ends the lives of both parents. Everything was clear. The creature went in fear of me, never im- agining that I did not know him, an4 sought to buy me off: to buy me from the |temembrance of my dead mother’s broken heart for {00-4500 that he had made my father steal for him. I said not a word. But the memory of all my mother’s bitter a , years, and a savage insult to myself, t Was a tiger. Even ened one word of nest remorse, and stammered i a E i i 7 i i tone : Hy Hy ht a fF 8 i 2 F & 54 BF z FEL 8 be inside, and I left § quietly opened a clear 4@rop into plain wall; but a as anne of the gable 2m tron gutter ended, supported by a bracket. It was the only way. I got upon the sill and carefuly shut the window be- hind me, for people were already knocking at the lobby door. From the end of the sill, hoiding on by the reveal of the window pinahig —! leaning and stretching my ught t if clear, and scrambled on the roof, climbe! over many roofs be! le a ts before I found, in an ad: ae, against the of repair. This, to me, was an easy oppor- tunity of descent, notwithstanding the fastened over the f; ladder, and I availed myself of it." °* ""* 8 ® iy th i sprang from the i you (so far as IT am aware the only human being beside myself who knows me to be the author of Foreatt’s denth) shall have at least the means of ay ing my crime at its just value of culpability. your own “Trusting that you freak of a man—a criminal, let us say—who makes a confidant of the man set to hunt will forgive the o44 him down, T beg leave to be. sir. y, obedient servant. SIDNEY MASON” T read the singular document through and handed it back to Hewitt. — i = strike you?” Hewitt asked. a would seem to be a man of very Fa And i ute ies Fe 4 is tale is ne, sreat tone to the ora pales “Just so—if the tale ts true. Personally, T am disposed to believe it t=" ( “aWhere was the letter posted?” Tt wasn't posted. It was handed in with the others from the front door lette- box this morning in an unstamned envelone. He must have dronped it in himself durine the night. Paner.” Hewitt proceeted, hot. ing it up to the leht, “Turkev mill, ruled ‘oolscap. Envelope, hue. Pirte’s water mark. Roth and no special marks.” iXVhere do you supnose he's gone?" “Impossible to cuess. Some might think he meant suicide by the exn-ession “beyond the reach even of vour abilities to search,’ but T searcelv think he is the sort of man to do that. No, there ts no telling. Some- thing may be got by Inaviring at his late aMress. of course, but when such a man tells you he doesn’t think you will find him Fea may count vpon its heine a Aim. cult fob. Fis opinion ts not to be despised.” “What shall you do” “95 “Put the letter in the box with the caste for the nolice. Fiat fustitia. you know. without anv anestion of sentiment. As to the apple—I really think. if the police will let me, I'll make you a present of it. Kaen it somewhere as a souventr of your absolute Aeficiency in reflective observation in this case, and Inok at it wheneve> you fee! your- self rowing @engerously conceited. It should cure you This is the history of the withere’ and almost petrified half apple that stands in my cabinet among a number of fint tm- nlements an@ one or two rather fine olf Roman vessels. Of Mr. Sifney Mason we never heard another word. The police iA their best. hut he had left not a track behind him. His rooms were left almost undisturbed. and he had one without anv- thine in the way of elaborate nrenaration for his journey. and yet without leaving a trace of his intentions. enemgiibapeias ONLY ONCE LUCKY. jonatre Tells How He Lost &3T When a Roy a Found It Again. From the New York Herald. “What is the luckiest thing that ever happened to you?” somebody asked of the mfliionaire. “Do vou mean sheer! unadulterated Iuck— something that just happens without seeking on your part?” “relied the mfl- Monaire, throwing away a half-smoked Per- fecto and taking another out of his case. “Well, ves; let it go at that.” “T am generally accounted a very lucky man by the thousand and one people who know more about me than I do myself. Rut, on my honor, what I call a genuine piece of good luck happened to me only once tn ™y life. It didn’t amount to much, though it meant much to me 4t the time. It was when I was filling my first job—that of an errand bor at $3 a week—and I tell you T have never since felt so rich as when I car- Tied home my first $8. “T had been given a check to cash and a dill to pay. After paying the bill T ha@ S87 of my emplover’s money left. I had just crossed Broadway, when. ing to look back, I saw two men fighting in the street. I was enough of a boy then to take a keen interest tn anything Mike a ‘scrap.” I retraced my steps to see what it was all about. To my amazement and surprise T discovered that the two men were fighting about the $87 and the receipted bill, which. in some mysterious fashion, had dropped out of mr pocket. A policeman happening along at that moment. I was able to prove that T had a better right to the property in dispute than either of the two comhat- ants and recovered it forthwith. They had each grabbed for it at the same time and each was bound to get all or none-—luckily for me. I have often speculated en what might have happened if they had not quar- Teled. I should never have recovered the money and in consequence I should certatn- ly have lost my situation. That might changed the whole current of my career and instead of being a rich man I might today have been a poor devil, or I micht have been twice as rich as I am. Who knows? Anyway, I regard ft as the only downright, simon sure, unmistakable piece of good luck that ever befell me. But any ‘Tom, Dick or Harry that you chance to meet will be able to tell you lots of luckier things that have happened to me. Some of them things that I have worked at for —— 202 — The Gladness of May. Written for The Evening Star. Now sings the oriole his sweetest song, For tenderest feeling tn his heart holds sway; Tb wood-thrush pours bis spiritosl ny: ‘The hoarse crow caws and epresds his pinion strong: His lyre the cricket strikes the whole day long; The bee hums, finding to fresh fiowers his way; With silent Joy the butterfly greets May; ‘The breeze breathes music "mid the green leaves" throng. The sky sheds benison; the caller alr Is like a healthful, aromatic wine— All creatures quaff, and draw exulting breathy Before all eyes Hope stretches prospects fair; Over every life Love throws a spell divine, And all rejoice, oblivious of Death. By Rock Creck, May 10, "94. Bird Songs in the City. His little lyrics the household wren Trills in the light of the smile of May. And the oriole over the homes of men ‘His silvery love-song sings all day. ‘The wood-thrush pours from the city trees The lay of his longing for Bolle, And the cat-bird’s tangle of melodies At morn and at close of day bear we From one bird “Sweet” rings loud and <lear, | I believe in my heart, "Ianthe Gear, ae for me—and sings of you! May 14 e's singing In my garden,