Evening Star Newspaper, August 20, 1898, Page 18

18 THE LOST CHAPTER VI. The Dead Body. The splendid success of Le Breton’s ride ae How Vansittart Came Back to France. ee WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY LOUIS TRACY. (Copyright, 1898, by Louis Tracy.) PROVINCES, quietly dressed. Her eyes looked as if they had been crying. “I went to have a talk with Agnes Car- haix,” said Folliet. fave the millionaire a little relaxation from | “But Fam she, monsieur,” said the girl. 2 s of unrest; for the present, at| “Gced. I am of the police—from the Im had his work cut out, not | Prefecture. You called there this morning, behind him. But Vansittart's bre ng was short. The frantie energies with which the Germans threw ves into the task of repairing their red bases warned him that what he must do quickly. And in order that the victory might be striking and dramatic, he himself must be there with the army, commanding it—he, Vansittart. Paris was no place for him. His eagerness to set out became in a few days a fever with him. But he could not go. First of all, there was a whole world ef business, a whole cosmos of organization, which his tired brain had to arrange before he could dream of leaving the capital. before, but ndly, by some perfectly organized and determined hostile agency, the chief railway lines east of Paris were temporar- | ily ruined by viaducts and bridges being blown u ‘Thirdl as he was on the point of leaving affairs to take care of themselves in order to reach the front by a circuito route, the body of an unknown man w found floating, all bloated and disfigured, in the Seine. The body was found at 9 o'clock on a Tuesday morning. The same night Folliet, the prefect of police, was closeted with a detectiv of the small inner rooms His sharp, angular fez in eager inquisitivenc face of his subordinate. he said. pose that’s it,” + it on. bent close to “Murder “Oh, L ather. answered the marks? No wounds?” And the funny thing is, the Ar- Sement doctor says the body doesn’t to him as if death was due to drown- fond loo! tng. Poison, th no poison What was he? that’s certain.” “He looks to me like a German; you know those bullet-headed Germans, wit! the back of the skull all flat like a board. ‘Only a little piece of wet cardboard in pocket, marked in red ink with a big It may be a 6, or it may be a 9, for that This morning a girl came to give notice hi m: that Bach, a lager beer seller, No. 1 Rue | Musette, had disappeared. Bach's a wid- ower, and the girl's his sweetheart. A lit- tle before that the body had been found, 1 we took the girl to see it. She said it vasn't Bach, though it was like him.” olliet smiled But i must point out that the girl also said that Bach never dressed like that. The othes we wrong.” The corpse's clothes were peculiar, a little peculiar.” t was this hat the girl meant. In lisgust at the bloated face she of the hat. That's it. Tell hat as a cap with a glazed peak, turned It was found floating near him. < between the ribbon and the side of a pigeon’s feather.” er wore a cap with a er stuck in didn’t he? But Bach; all the same ne inter- ng happen just before on Friday even- of man she si t the clock. , and said on the liquor | alone tiny ant said found it ni understand, Ca in my own hand I am going to hav nce Into a room be- = hat hung among a host of ics on the wall. Folliet took it, a magnifying ss from his mmenced to examine the father r ry portion of the surface. Presently an exclamation came from him. He had ithin the leather lining of the cap f wet paper folded upon it- Bach's cap, you see, was large for his head. Yet, surely, f ill fit almost anybody's A! If he took the trouble to stuff it with r, that shows that it must have be2n only lar but very much too gain shows that M. Bach ular cap for ‘arot, that this ame by g cap replizd “but that | you see. i the damp leaf. It nd looked as from an acco © Wo all nes rm > now re the “We “All ame no, sir, of course en, I tell you so. And now, the car This, too, he examined. It was small— about an inch squar>—dry and peeling. But on it, quite legi was the red 9 or 6 with curving ta Uiet put it Into his pocket. “And now for Mr. Vansittart,” he mut- tered. CHAPTER VII. No. Il Rue Pigalle. It was now growing dark. Folliet de- scended hurriedly from his interview with Vansittart, and im the Place de la Con- corde sprang into a fiacre. He teld the cocher to drive to the Rue Pigalle, No, 11. This street runs northeast and south- vest from the Place de la Trinite, starting frcm near the fine church of that name. It is narrow and winds somewhat. The jalousicd houses are large, but decayed and somber. There is a certain mystery, a Hint of squalor. No. 11 had a gloomy exterior. It was big. and the gray jalousies were every one closed. In the courtyard there Was no concierge. But Folliet, penetrating a few steps be- yond the gate, was met by a girl, some twenty years of age, well figured. with dark face, and hair in disorder. She was } to find I think.” “Yes, monsieur, but—” “I just want to have a talk with you—"” “Well, monsieur—if that is so—” Her eyes dropped. She was confused. “What the devil,” said Folliet to himself, “is the matter?” “If monsteur will—will step this way with me—we might sit together in the Cabaret au Vrai Bruyant just yonder out- side, anc there talk.” “Can't any one enter the house, then, I wender?" said Folliet to himself. Aloud he added: “Really, but {t isn’t worth all that trou- ble, you know. I wanted merely to ask you a question or two about your sweet- heart, M. Bach. I may tell you at once that we have every hope of finding and re- storing him to you, if we can just get a few facts—” The girl's eyes leaped upon him. Pi finding him—really, monsieur?” she ‘ really—why not? These temporary disappearances are quite common, you know, in a place like Paris. Let us sit in the room here a little and talk the mat- ter over.” . Still she hesitated turned reluctantly and led the way. As Folliet moved to follow her some- thing slowly falling from above through the air brushed past his nose. He caught it quickly, and quickly poked it into a poc! it was a fcather. The courtyard in which they had stood was dark, but the room dh the ground floor into which Agnes Carhaix now led was darker still. Folliet placed his r so that, while he remained in ab- solute shadow a dim glimmer from the half-open door made her movements and attitude discernible. But it was his nostrils, and his ears, rather than his eyes, which were busy. He had no sooner entered the room than a gular odor grested him. He aad no Seconer settled himself on the chair thaa @ singular sound fell upon his ears. The odor was the faint, fetid odor of a stable. The sound was a single one, resembling the stroke of a club thumping upon boards. As it sounded through the a moment. Then room the girl winced. “Well, now about Bach,” said Folliet, with Ty sense on the alert. ee “¥ou will find that the t questions I have to ask you abcut him are not many, and easily an- swered. First of all, how long have you been engaged to him? SI—I—" she said, in evident confusion. “Come, now—how long?” “About—about two week: “That Down in answer came sounding the club upon the boards, a single blow. se —tha 3 “And when were you to be married?” “In—in a weck “So? Ri ment then, a very long engage- “No. But what has that to do with the matter, monsieur? nh a case of this kind everything is of importance, you know. Just answer jons—you will find them easy to How long have you known \ bout—about three weeks.”" hat all? He was anxious to be married quickly, then?” “Oh, co: now, if the man is to be found, ft is clear that ou must let me know the fact you know. “Ah, monsieur, do not torment me!" She buried her face in her hands, “Well, then,” he aid, “we start with is fact: That Bach was anxious, for some reason or other, to get married in frantic haste. Bach—or you. Which was it—Bach, or you?” The mysterious sound of the, club came pound4@_ answer upon the boards. The ccwering girl was silent. = + you are not open and candid, Yeu said Foil “how do you expect me your lover for you? Well, then, I mu ask you something else. Was the appointment which Bach had to keep on day he eared an important one suppose ly ‘Suppo: that’s better. Yi yas it all about?” u kelicve don’t kn well, then I shall leave you to find ar lover for yourself, that’s all." “He Ss going to a meeting.” is ally? An assemblage of men?” “I suppose so.” “He told you so?” in the faintest whisp2r, came “He did not say they were Germans. Why should you pitch upon Germans?” “Bach is a German?’ “Yes—a naturalized Frenchman.” what was the object of this ‘meet- ing?’ “You do not suppose that Mr. Bach told me his secrets.” “Tt S a secret meeting, then?” “I suppose so.” “Why?” “Because—I do not know. I suppose it was secret.” “He told you it was secret?” “Well-I suppose—yes,”” “And you know nothing of its object?” “How should I?” “When did you first meet Mr. Bach?" re, in this house.” io? How came he here?” was brought here by a friend of German friend?’ “Well— “Who knows you, also?* “Yes—he lives here.’ lodger? s. “Have you “About five. “All Germans?” fost of them, I believe.’ “The house is yours? “Mine and my two sisters.” ve you always lived here? rly always.’ our father’s house?"* ny other lodgers? “He ts lately dead. “How long ago?" “Three weeks ago. “About the same time when you met Bach, then?” She lowered her eyes. Folliet rose. As he did so, for the twen- tieth time, the club sounded its solitary, strange blow upon the boards. “Well, all I ean say,” he said, “4s that you Know a great deal more ihan you choose to tell me. Jt is very foolish if you are anxious to find him, you kaow. I sup- pose you are anxious?” “Ah, monsieur, find him, find him quick- jy for me!” she wailed with hidden face * he said, “I won't hide from you have a clue—that his recovery is possible—soon—but——" He turned sharply surprise. There was the swift striking of a match behind him, and the room was flooded with light. There approached him a girl, holding a candlestick. Her face was long, thin and ugly, and on her back was a hump. A look of intense malice was stamped on her features. Her left fist clenched with rage. Her age was about thirty. Folliet guessed at once that she had been listening in the dark to the whole of their talk. His eyes keenly read her somewhat evil face. “Why not tell the gentleman what you know of this man Bach?” she cried. “Your jJover! Yes, and a fine lover for my iather’s child was Bac’ The face 6f Agnes. was first blanched, then encrimsoned with rage. “Look you, Jeanne!” she hissed, “one THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 1898-94 PAGES, word—one little word against him—and I tell every syllable I know of whence the pigeons come!” “Come, now,” said. Falliet to himself, “this looks not ill. Between two sisters. You are sisters, I suppose?’ he added, aloud. “If you can all any one your sister who hates you, sir,” said Agnes. “It is you,” replied Jeanne venomously— “it is you who began it! -You covetous, eedy, mercenary—" a ghe did not go any further; at this point her invective was broken in upon by the shrill whinny of a horse—a whinny fierce end high and strong. It came from the di- rection of the room where the club had struck the boards and where the stable odor had arisen. Both the women started, with blanched faces. Folliet smiled. He had long since guessed that the soli- tary, slow, mysterious sound was due to the restive smiting upon the bare boards of the hoof of a high-spirited horse. Now he knew. But he was infinitely puzzled. The plot was thickening. He wished to be alone to think. “Weli, I won't stay to witness your fam- ily quarrels,” he said. “Mile. Agnes, I can only promise that we shall do our best, and I think I can give you the hope of seeing your fiance in three or four days at the furthes: He bowed and passed out of the room; he reached the courtyard and became anx- ious; he reached the gate and despaired; but as he was bending fo pass through the wicket into the street, the expected happen- ed. Jeanne touched his arm; she had run after him. “Come tomorrow at 1, monsteur,” she sald in a thick whisper; “I will be here alone, and may tell you- “Back—quick!"" said Folliet, ter- “At 1,” whispered Jeanne, and ran back. Foiliet looked up and down the street, then turned to the left and walked into a small house, which bore on its door the legend: “Knock and one will open.” It was the Cabaret au Vrai Bruyant. Folliet selected a seat in the least noisy corner and ordered a glass of hock. He sat trying to catch the eye of a big, burly fel- low with long black hair combed back stiff- ly from his brow, dressed in black velvet, with Wellington boots and a coarse jersey for a shirt. He was the brazen-lunged pro- prietor of the Vrai Bruyant. Presently Foi- “your = sis- liet beckoned with a_ finger. The great sWaggerer approached him. They knew each other. “Sit down here, Cazales; I want to talk to you.” Cazales sat near. “Who are these Carhaix young women?” “Carhaix? Carhaix?” said Cazales, prod- ding remembrance. “Yes—they live three doors away, on this ROUND FLEW THE RACING wes ing out, Jaanne, the shrewder of th elder sisters, stood still and turned slightly pale. Then sh, -d near to Agnes and ese words: ti mwas us2less. Even while Jeanne ‘S ispering, Marie, who had slyly and sd@ftly furned the handle, slid fugitively through the door. - The two wom&n looked into each other’s eyes a minute. —— J2anne, with an sir of conviction: =. “She's gone to meet a man! Wait!’ In half an hour Marie was running light- ly within the #gates{of the Buttgs-Chau- mont. She hadiseegjwith alarm that she was a minute igte. Behind h2r, toiling and panting, came Jeai running also. The gardens fay ber and umbrageous under the moonlight: They are a little bit of Switzerland in thé heart of Paris. This wes not the point of Marie’s aim. Rising high from th> water is a bluff cliff, crowned at the summit with a little round temple of open columns of ebony. From the bottom one ascends some rising Bound, then over a rather frail and very Tong wood2n bridge, then up some rude stone steps cut through the heart of the rcck, then you are at the top, and the tem- ple is there, with its circular wooden bench for seats, the very home of Cupid, the sanctuary of Venus. Here the moonlight was supreme. The silence and the solitude were complete. Marie, when she reached the bridge, knew that she stood expos2d to two eyes that watched for her coming. She no lon- ger ran; she even tried to walk slowly; but, in reality, her pace was very rapid. In sweet, reluctant, amorous delays, her wild young haart was not yet proficient. Behind her, crouching and bending, came Jeanne. “Marie! Marie!’ said a man’s voice. “Ah!” in a dying sigh, came fluttering frem her lips. She was on his breast. “My soul!” he said. “My life!” she whisper2d, but he did not hear her; the words perished in their faint- ing utterance. These two people had only known each other a few days. They had met by chanc> in the street. They leaned together over the parapet of the little temple, and saw the water, and the woods, and discovered that heaven can be nothing else than a moonlit 2arth, where one is always young and amorous. He, too, was young—not twenty-three—yet his forehead was bald at the temples, and down from his chin and cheeks spread a dark-red fan-shap2d beard, rough end thick; and his body was heavy and buiky. He was a ne’er-do-weel, a student, a mu- sician, one of the wild, penniless, Latin quarter sort, named Armand Dupres. At the conservatoire, everywh>re, he was a marked man. One said: “He will arrive— side of the know them.” h, yes—Carhalx—ah, yes. Three young women. Uncle lately dead.” Tell me about them; why do they hate each other?" “Hate! Hate isn’t the word for it! It's the uncle’s fault, too. They were always goed friends till he died.” ‘Well, let me hear it—all you know. For tip, I promise you that you shall find the police all round the Cabaret pretty blind for the next, say, three months. “Well, you're welcome to what I know about it from a party who should be in the swin over yonder. he whole trouble comes from the last will of the uncle. An old hermit he was—crotchety—a miser kind of dog. There are three of them, Marie, pret- ty little girl, flaxen-haired, about seven- teen; then Jeanne, the eldest, ugly, bitter- tempered; and another one, I. forget her name—" “Agi “That's it. - Lived happily til uncle died. Unele in his will left the house jointly to the three and, in adsition, 40,000 frances, which are to be the sole property one who marries first. You can gui sult.” “I see!’ cried Folliet. street, you know. You must h was al- orrainer, they say. She to him to come immediate! some- thing prevents. Meanwhile Agn in great hurry, goes and gets engaged; man named Bach—know him well—beer seller—Mont- martre. What steps little Marie takes I don't krow. But the other two frantic to be married; tearing out each other's eyes.”” “That all you know?” ‘That's about it.” “Thank you, Cazales. Shan't forget my promise. Find out anything else of import- ance to me, and I make the time six instead of three months. Bon soi He passed out. At the first street lamp he stopped and drew from his pocket the feather which had brushed past his nose. He took out a magnifying glass and bent to examine it. * “Yes,” he muttered, “it is a pigeon’s feather, right enough. But the horse! the horse living like a Christian in the house! What—the devil—can be the meaning of that? at once CHAPTER VIII. The Invention, The thr2e sisters Carhaix were very dif- ferent one from the other; Jeanne was ugly; Agnes was attractive; Marie, the sey- enteen-year-old, had youth and beauty, but she did not know of the claus3 in the will; yet she, too, had a lover. Why did not the Lorraine farmer fly as with wings to claim Jeanne and the for- tune? Day after day she wrote lettar after letter urging him to com2—to leave all, and come, come. He answered, promising to be with her soon; but he did not come. There were affairs of far vaster importance en- gaging, for the time being, this man’s at- tention. He was a German, named Hans Schwartz, He occupied, as he had told her, a smali tarm and homestead in the neighborhood of Gravelotte. A great part of his later life had been devoted to the culture and train- ing of pigeons. i It was a nice question which of the cis- ters would marry first. Agnes had only to discover that Bach was really dead in order to se2k and find a 1.ew and eager lover, An hour after Folliet had left ihe house of the girls Marie came in. She was en- gaged during the day at a vacherie on the other side of the river. As sha sat down she glanced at a clock in the room. A lamp was on the table, and by it sat Jeanne sewing with tight lips. She did not speak when the other entered, but sha cast upon ner a look suspicious and evil. Marie glanced secretly at the clock. She said: “Is there anything in the cupboard. May I take something to 2at, Jeanne?” “Hat off!” “I do not wish to take it off just now.” At this moment Agnes entered the room. “Don’t you hear your elder sister talking to you, you little idiot?” she said. “It does not take two of you to oppress a poor, mis?rable girl like me—"” “Tam going out. “Out!” they exclaimed together, in aston- ishment. “Yes, out!’ she answered. go out if one would?” “Well, this is coming to something,” said Agnes. “And where, if you pleas3, are you going to at this hour of th> night?” Marie averted her head. She did not aprswer. Ten thousand elder sisters would have found it difficult to keep her indoors that night. She had an appointment, All this time she held on2 hand behind her, on the handle of the door. In her pocket was a note which she was longing to finger and feel and cover with kisses. At the announcement that Marie was go- “Cannot one — he will be famous."& But he never knew whence his dinger wuld come, if {t cume at all. If h> fia khfown whence it would come, life woufl have been intolerable to him, at his age. How the settled, the tame man—the clerk, the artisan—could endure to live, he could not und2rstand. Armand reposed upon providence; God fed him like a bird; chance took care of him, lest at any time he dashed his foot against'a stone. In one of his Wild midnight revelries with his Bohemian stud2nt-friends, when coals fail- ed to keep the fire going, they broke up one of the few old chairs in the room and threw the pieces in the grate. One after another of the guests would rise and sup standing. Armand cailed this “moying out by way of the chimney.” Yet this light- natured person could, when he was sober, tcuch a harp or a plano or a violin at chance moments in such a way that some heavenly dream-image would hint itself in mclodious loveliness to th2 soul that heard it. He had a brain as keen and shrewd as lightning. And the whole world was one pcem to him. Of this poem, Marie, lately. found, was the climax. Here the poem’ swelled into song—and music was the universe. is ie, we must go to the mayor.’ atever you will.” “At once, Marie.” “We are poor, mon2y, He laughed. “Why, you housewife! Money is of no importance. “Sometimes, Armand. I knew a grisette whose child died becaus2 she had no money.” “Well, but, Marie, I am so clever! I can make money whenever I like. Why, last week only I invented something~are you intzrested in the war, Marie?” was,” she said. “But not now?” “Oh, row! What is anything to me now but_yo “Sweet! Well, but the war. I, Marie, for a week was frantic, all excited; then some- thing heppened— had a musical fancy—it changed the current of my interest. But during that w2ek 1 worked, I can tell you! That Vansittart, the American, he seenis to me so great a man. I sald, ‘I will invent him something more deadly than death, with which he shall destroy his enemies.’ And for days, Marie; for days, i kept at heme, saw no on3, thinking of that one thing.” Armand. We have no “And did you invent the thing?’ she asked, with wide, wondering eyes. “But, yes! It was not so difficult. I made a model, too—or half made it.” “And—when {t is finished,” she said, rea- soning to herself—“then—I shall know what to do. Leave the rest to me.” “So?—and what will it do, the little sweet manager, then?" will go straight to Mr. Vansittart, and I will tell him Armand caught her to kim, laughing, kissing her eyes, and ears and hair. Jeanne, who was crouching a little below them at the stone steps, ros2 to go, She had heard all. CHAPTER IX, he Horse. Folliet spent sleepless night. He sat on a hearth rug in.pis own bed room in the Rue de ubgage, with his arms around his knégs (afi his wrinkled brow sunk low in though The day stole into the room and found ‘him sitting so. He was absolutely Mertain now that there was a conspiragy, afigassociation—probably large, probablygt mans—with a secret, unlawful, poli items ease = Paris. A man. be rea: shrewd- hardly have failed, Ipwiedge, to come to ® chain of deduction rather, from Bach’s in it, especially, and that the cap had large for Bach. The ew from these facts seemed to him quite clear. And they were these: The cap, with the feather in it, was a badge, a sign of membership, a symbol of association. It was very much too lare for Bach, for the-simple reason that it had never been specially bought for him at all, but was merely one ofa lot purchased in the gross for the members of the confra- ternity. © A faint instinct of all this had passea through his brain from the first sight of the cap. When Agnes Carhaix informed him that Bach had gone to a “meeting” and a “secret” one, he was no longer in doubt. f But.a “secret meeting” of Germans at such a time? It could not be but that its object was political. And the cardboard in Bach's pocket marked with the 6 or 9 was now no longer a matter of mystery; 6 or 9 was Bach's membership number. 3 But from this fact his mind went on to started from cap, from the from, the cit been so very m inferences whi ‘ two | a new conclusion. He reasoned that an association whose members were known and admitted by numbered tickets must be a large and far-reaching one—one so Jarge and so far-reaching that its mem- bers were not all known to each other by sight; one requiring formality and organ- ization and numerical computation. An- other mind would have reasoned: Since Bach was 6 or 9, there must be at least six or nine of them. Folltet reasoned: Since Bach was numbered at all, there must be at least 600 or 900 of them. But if there were 900 of them they must be powerful, resourceful, strong in means to effect their end. It takes many men and much moncy to destroy railways, With this fact, then, he, the prefect of police in Paris, found himself confronted. But what was their end? That it was hostile to France was cer- tain, but whether this hostility was per- sonally directed against King Henri, or against Vansittart, or merely as & general agent in favor of the kaiser, he could only guess. All night his cogitation lasted, and at the end had he computed the currents of his thoughts he would have discovered that, in fact, it was the horse more than any- thing else which had occupied and puzzled and excited him. The horse—it lay motiveless, like lead, in his brain. One thing only he decided, that he would see it that day with bis own eyes and discover whatever was the secret asso- clated with it. Sharp at 1 o'clock he was in front of the Carhaix gate. Jeanne was waiting in the courtyard. “No one in?” said Folliet. Z “No.” “Where is Agnes?” “Shopping.” “This is her regular hour? “Yes.” ete ae Folliet took a mental note of that. ‘They passed inward, near the room where the horse had been stabled. He listened for the sound of the restless hoof, but heard nothing. Jeanne ascended a stairway be- fore him. ‘The white house was dingy and “why do we ascend?” he asked. Agnes -may return,” she said. taking you to my own room.” She led the way down a passage, and in a rather small triangular apartment, bed, pointed to a seat. At the moment when Foiliet sat, there be. San on the other side of one of the three partitions the trouling sound of s. ing bird; and at once the monody was taken up by another; and presently a per- fect chorus went rolling through ths ait in soft rotary joyance, with swell and fail Sabine velvet volume, ell, now, we are in pigeon-l - er,” muttered Fouiet. | 507 14n4 Prop Jeanne sat opposite him, eyeing him ‘with half-suspicious gray undorglance.. Her leng, olive colored face was somewhat pale. “Can you give me any news of M. Bach, “I am “Only this,” replied Folliet, “that we as Sood as have our hands on him. It is only a matter of a few hours now, and we shail be able to restor2 him to you and your sis- er, Jeanne’s pallor increased. “Restore him to me, sir? I have nothing to do with the man. "I could give you ine formation against him which would mean the guillotine for him the week after you find him.” “Very well, mademoiselle, go on. I am willing to hear, as you see by my presences here.” {Lam a patriot, monsieur,” said Joeann>. “You are?” replied Foliiet, with lifted eyebrows. ‘I'love my country, sir.” “Is that so?” “What advantage should I derive if we be beaten by the Germans? I am a patriot. I pr2fer, on the whole, that France should be the victor. This man, Bach, Is a con- spirator, monsieur.” “You don't say that, now?” ‘He is. I can prove it.” “Well, tell me.” ‘The cooing of the pigeons had somewhat ceased, and at this point a gentle sound of some movement, apparently accilental, came from the other side of the partition. They both heard it. Jeanne started and turned pale. “Hold! You heard a sound, sir?” she whispered. ‘I? No. It ts your fancy. Go on.” “I thought we were alone in the house, but some of the lodgers may have coms back. They have that roum thers. ‘They are Germans—they may listen—* “Well, why not open the door and see?” There was a door in the partition, and the key projected inward. Jeanne rose at the suggestion, turned the key, and pe2ped into the next room. At the first sound of her movements at the key, two men on the other side had hurriedly slipped into a spacious cupboard. Whil> Jeanns’s back was turned to him, Folliet, on his part, with the quickness of lightning, drew out the key, which he-could reach without rising, and pressed it deep into a lump of wax from his pocket. With swift skill he had replaced the key in th> lock and the wax sin his pocket before Jeanne agaia faced him with the words: here is no one there, sir.” “Well, now; about this conspiracy of Rach’s,” ie said. “I ne2d not tell you that ary information you can give of import- ance to the government will not go un! warded.” “I am not seeking a government reward, monsieur. But I make this stipulation be- fore I go any further: That you promis: me that M. Bach shall not be allowed io marry my sister until after I am myself married. I’am quite candid, you see, about the m: ter. I stipulate that.” “I see. You want him kept in prison, in co he is not guillotined, till ‘Well, I promis tha “Then, I will tell you. For, why should not I be a patriot. I? There is a conspiracy of over fifteen hundred Germans in Paris. I knew it, because—” She bent her lips close to his 2ar. But she got no futther. A violent knocking was heard at the door of their entrance, a door in one of the three partitions of the room. A cry of “Mademoiselle Jeanne! Madem- oiselle Jeanne! News! News! Are you there?” came from without. Jeanne, in a white scare, took Folliet by the shoulders. “Quick, monsieur!” she hissed in flurried fright: “behind the bed curtains—later— later—later I will finish” Folliet hurried to the hiding place— Jeanne to the door. Ske opened it, stepped “Bach is a Germa outside and closed ft behind her. Two men were there awaiting her—the same two who had run hiding at her opening of the ether door. To reach this side of the room they had made a wide detour through the house. They had been listening to her promise of disclosure, and hurried round in time to prevent it. They knew the means. One in his hand carried a pigeon and a narrow strip of paper. . “Mlle. Jeanne,” he said in the lowest “sorry am I to have to tell you “What, what is it?” “This pigeon yo see here has just ar- rived from the Lorraineer, and tied round its legs this slip.” He handed her the slip. She recognized the writing of her lover, Schwartz. But she could not make out its meaning. It was in German. “What is it? You know I she said. “He says,” replied the man, “that the 5,000 sent out by Vansittart have ridden in their devastating career right through his farm, and left the place a ruin; ail is trampled, harried and desolate. He ts left penniless, Schwartz. The mes: is in- tended for you, For the present he cannot move, nor think of marriage.” Jeanne had heard of the ride of the 5,000; she did not stop to think that their opera: tions were long since over—that this mes- can’t read it, lieved; and she tottered backward, with bloodless face. The farm of Schwartz had, in truth, been scorched by the flying flame of the Five Thoasand in its meteoric course of destructicn; but the Message mentioning it had been brought by a carrier pigeon from his colombier many days before to the conspirators at No. 11 Rue Pigaile. They had not so much as taken the pains te mention it to Jeanne untli they saw how it might be useful to their ends. The sisters Carheix were, in ct, permitted to know as little as possible. “My God!” gasped Jeanne, with « a hands. All her hopes at that moment per- ished. In a few days Agnes wou!d know Whether or not she should marry Bach speedily. If she could not ma him, what was easier than the purchase of an- other husband? In a moment or two her pailor va Her face flushed with brutal rage. Re- venge, above every other passion, swelled in her—revenge agzinst the hand thet had struck her this blow, the hand that had hurled the thunderbolt of the Five Thou- sand straight at her heart. She had just been about to do this man a service, ‘and all the time he had been crushing her. She had been about to a! Frence! And France had been ruining her. What did she care for Vansittert, for France, in Comparison with her triumph over Agnes, her laugh of gle: urse them! Curse them through her clenched teeth. She rushed at once toward the room where she had left Folliet, mad with rage. Folliet had crept from his hiding pface meanwhile and had been busy. He ha? taken the key from the door between Jeaane’s room and the conspirators’, then crouched peering through the hole of the lock. The sight that met his eye was, first, a window, open, and looking out at the back of the house upon an open space. Then he saw the side walls, crowded from top to bottom with square’ wooden cxges, in every cage a bird. The place was squalid, littered with feathers, crumbs, seeds. As he looked, there alighted on the window sill In winged urgency, glancing in quick query round the room, 'a feathered messenger. Wrapyed round her leg, bound with an elastic thread, was a narrow slip of paper. One of Wilhelm’s pigeons! Folliet would have given his left hand to know what was written in that far-borne message. But as he gazed, all his soul in his peering eye, his quick ear heard a hint of Jeanne’s returning steps. He slid back behind the curtains, ‘The woman had lost all control of herself. She deigned no explanation. She simply pounced upon him in intense exasperation, with the words: “Look here, get out of my house, my good man. You have no right here, you know.” Folliet_ was not surprised. He was cer- tain, beforehand, that he was dealing with men of cunning and resource, quite capable of twisting to their own purposes the pas- sions of a woman like Jeanne. “I want you to go away out of my place, I tell you. Will you go?” Folliet thought a second. He would go, if Jeanne allowed him to descend the stairs alone; he wanted to inspect the house. He would not go if she went with him. He made three steps toward the door té try her. Good. Jeanne sank upon her knees before the bed, hiding away her face like a wretch without hope. Folliet descended quickly. He touched with his finger the revolver in his pocket. it might be that the horse was guarded. He met no one in his descent. The house was silent and seemed deserted. The lower he went the more the somber obscurity of the place deepened. He came to the door, feeling his way. For a minute he stood listening for the tramp of the restive hoof. But he heard nothing. A vague fear began to fill his mind. He put out his hand and groped for the handle. To his surprise he found the door unfastened. It was even a little way open. He intruded his head within the aperture. The reek of the stable greeted his nostrils strongly, but so dark was the apartment that for the moment he could see nothing. He struck a match. Now he knew the truth. The horse was gone! At the discovery a pang plerced his bos- om, and at the same time something like a flash of light illuminated his brain. This fact stood out clear and prominent in his consciousness: That the horse, kept cabined in darkness for he knew not how long, had been removed on the same day when Vansittart proposed to leave Paris— or, perhaps, during the night preceding that day. He rushed from the house and pelted himself into a passing cab, shouting to the driver to fly to the Tuilerie: It was already 2:30 o'clock. This was the day when Vansittart had proposed to leave Paris—“in the after- noon. When Folliet reached the Tuileries in the ished. she hissed cab sittart had already gone. He heard the news from a footman. On his brow broke cut beads of sweat. A cer- tain definite suspicion of evil was by this time working within him. He had not de- duced, but he had guess:d the truth. He rushed at once round in the direction of the stables. He thus lost another minute, and Vansittart had set out fully five minutes be- fore he arrived. Half way to th2 stable: jockey-like knew. “Tell me, quick,” panted Foll did Mr. Vansittart drive away? ‘A broug! ‘i Drawn by what?” “The two blcod Arabs, Tom and Bess.” They all right?” ‘So, so. Tom was a bit mad this morn- ing. ‘Mad, man?” Pretty mad. Couldn't make him out— kept blinking in the light, his nostri ing—wouldn't stand the traces, neither. in’t harn him. It was Kari, ani Karl is stupid with horses, as all Germa Folliet heard no more. He went bounding across the quadrangle. He took a cab. Through the rather wild traffic of the Pa- risian streets went Folliet. Soon, however, h> found himself in a reg- uiar Babel of disorder. His cab ran into the wheels of a backing cart, to be crushed into fragments; but by an agile leap in time he saved himself. He dived into the crowd, dashing it asid>. He gained the pavement, and recommenced his bawling, shoving and urging his desperate way among them. The people made way for the distracted man. In less than a minute a wide circular space, with a vast columnar monument in the c2n- ter, opened before him. It was the Place de Ja Bastille. Round this circular space he saw, as he looked, two frantic, staring black horses dashing, and behind them a brougham—and looking from the window of this brougham tk2 astonished face of Vansittart. Folliet did not now lose his head. His plan of action was, already determined upon. Something like what he saw he had expect- ed to see. He had the revolver in his hand. But first he had to discover which of the two was the untamed horse taken from No. 11 rue Pigalle and substituted in the stables of the Tuileries for the Arab Tom. Bess, he knew, was merely fellowing an example, and was harmless. Round flew the racing team like a flash of swiftress. Every one of the wide-eyed onlookers stood paralyz2d ‘They saw that the attempt to stem the ava- lanche of fury would have been mere sim- plicity of mind. Folliet stepped out alon The substituted horse was on the off side. But by the time he had determined this fact, so intense was the pace, they had shot past him b2fore he could fire. He ran the other way to meet them. This was the fifth revolution of the broug- he met a jaunty, sort of little-man whom he t, “in what ham, and with every revolution it had tends ed nearer, in a narrowing circle, to the cens tral monument. Before it came round again the carriage bumped. Vansittart, his coach- man and the two horses were sprawling on the ground. Vansittart lay right in the way of the horses, which at once began to flounder and struggle to their feet. But Folliet lodged a bullet in the brain of the Arab and the next moment was supporting Vansittart. M. Foiliet,” said Vansittart, bilt pu? Ah, thanks.” He held out his h: d to Folliet The next moment he fainted. The arm he had heid out was dislocated Just at the corner of the rue de Rivoli and the boulevard Sebastopol some one who was not known had struck flercely at the plunging and ive Arab stallion. So Fol- Met heard afterward. (To be continued.) oo ART AND ARTISTS, Mr. James Henry Moser was in the city this week after an interesting sketching trip through the mountains of Virginia. He spent a couple of weeks at Snickers- ville, in the Blue Ridge, and abowt a week in the neighborhood of Clifton Forge, and from the amount of material which he brought back with him it is evident that his sojourn In the mountains was devoted to something else besides recreating. In addition to many studies of mountain scenes and effects which will serve as mo- tifs for future pictures, Mr. Moser brought back a’ number of water colors, which will undoubtedly atract attention when they are exhibited next winter. Most of the latter were made in the Blue Ridge region, and are especially noteworthy for their truth of color and good atmospheric qualities. Mr. Moser expects to return to Clifton Forge next week, and will be at work in that vicinity for some time. * Mr, W. B. Chilton “has gone north to spend his vacation at Goderich, on the Can- ada side of Lake Huron. He will not re- turn until the early part of September. * oe Mr. Carl Weller left a short time ago for Rowley, Mass., where he will spend some time. Miss Bertha E. Perrie ts at the place, a spot rich in outdoor sketching. * * * Among the works which have been occu pying the time of Mr. Jules Dieudonne lately is a canvas begun some time ago at home near Bladensburg. Under the hade of two large trees a cow is lazily standing, while in the distance a glimpse of an old barn is shown and a woman is seen approaching over the hill on the left. The foreground is dotted with bright meadow flowers, and is worked out in con- siderable detail. This work is interesting as being one of the few animal studies Mr. Dieudonne has attempted. A canvas which will appeal more to most persons, howev is the half-length figure of a small boy, clad in a green blouse, who stands playing upon 2 fife. It is entitled “A Young Pa- triot.” The figure is strongly lighted from above, and the blood tint showing through the ears and fingers of the boy is remark- ably true, while the expression of eager- ness and enthusiasm on the face of the little fellow, and the simplicity and sin- cerity of the Whole, make ft a work which will attract more than a passing interest. * * x Mr. George Gibbs is spending some time at Ocean City, Md. * * * The arrangements for the classes and the winter work of the Art Students’ League are now essentially completed and the pro pectus for the coming year will be ready shortly. The league will open its fifteenth year with excellent prospects and compar- atively few changes in the plan of work as conducted in the past. The most important departure is the engagement of a new in- structor in the person of Mr. Edward L. Morse, who is probably known to few per- sons here in Washington, but comes well recommended and will unquestionably prove a valuable addition to the working force of the league. Another feature of the work this year will be the greater number of evening classes. Heretofore evening work has been confined to students in the lite class for men, but during the coming year there are to be evening classes in the pre- paratory, antique antique drawing. The water-color s will work out of doors two mor weck throughout October. The summer work at the league, in charge of Miss Grace Le Due, will be discontinued about the Ist of September. The following is @ list of the instructors and ciasses for next year: Classes in pre- I ry antique, Miss Loui antique classes, Mr. Edward § Mr. Edmund Clarence Mess: Mr. Edmund Clarence Messe ward S. Siebert; painting cla: ward L. Morse and Mr. Edward S. water color, Miss Bertha E. Perric Miss Louise Tracy Hull; Mr. Edmund ¢ crative and indusirial > Trac} Siebert and ; life clas: and Mr. Humphreys. The board of the Art Students’ League for 180s- as fol- lo} Mr Parker Ma president: Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, first vice president: Mr. Wiliam B. Chilton, E. L. Jackson, Wainwright, cor Miss Aline E : s Mary Mr, V nd vice asurer; ponding pre Miss shee. Mrs. Allender, Mr. A. G. Randall and Mr. L. Warner, > All Over an Irish Beauty. From the Irish Independent. The British consular court at Bangkok has its hands full at the present moment on account of a domestic tragedy which oc- curred in an Irish family in that city. A beautiful Irish girl of seventeen, named Kate O'Donoghue, was abducted in the middl2 of June by an Indian named De Silva, who holds an important post in the Siamese telegraph department. De Silva end his accomplices were arrested, and are now on their trial for felony. The girl's father is on his trial for attempting to murder De Silva. A sea captain from Hull, engaged to Miss O"Donoghue, has been bound over to keep the peace, having been detected in the act of following Dz Silva with a loaded rifle. When De Silva was out on Lail he had to be guarded by twenty, Sikh constables, as there was a universal disposition to lynch him. De Silva’s law- yer and a number of prominent residents are on their trial for aiding and abetting the abductor, Finally, a young Irishman of twenty-three—one Frank M'Cullagh—has bean hauled up for contempt of court. Obtrusive Friendliness. From the Chicago Record. “Agnes won't speak to any of us.” “What's the troubl “We ga’ her a surprise party on her birthd: “That ought to have pleased her.” “Well, it didn’t. We gave her a beautiful birthday cake with forty candles around it.” UTOPIA. (After a sketch by “Dusty Rhods.”) (Coryright, 1898, Life Publishing Company.)