Evening Star Newspaper, October 30, 1921, Page 69

rg ™ I H E V V I D E N I N G ‘ I R‘ I E_. Villains are often more fascinating than heroes, E / | as witness the smooth Buccaneer Achison. EYWOOD ACHISON, entering the stately library where John Schofield spent ‘his de- clining days, would probably have been as much surprised as his host if some one had told them that they were both reliving a scene en- acted twenty-five or thirty centuries before. And yet if Achison had given utterance to his secret thoughts he would have voiced the demand that King Ahab made ta his nelghbor Naboth: “Give me thy vineyard.” And John Schofleld’s answer would have been that of Naboth: “The Lord forbid that I should give the inheritance of my fathers unto thee.” But the centucles have taught us to cloak our greed with subtlety, and neither by word nor sign did Achison give a hint to the man who stretched out his hand in welcome, that he had determined to possess Scarlet Maples, | this fine old estate in the Westchester [ hills, with its handsome manor house built by the first Schofield in pre- revolutionary days, and added to and embellished by every Schofleld who had lived there since. There was one present, however, who comprehended Achison’s designs. and that was Frederick Schofield. the old man's nephew, whose handsome| if not particularly strong face had} begun to wear a habitually unhappy | and careworn expression. He was| under a heavy obligation to Achison. i owing him not only money but grati- tude—a debt of honor that must be paid. Tt was through this boy that Achi- son had become a frequent visitor at Scarlet Maples. The elder Schofleld had outlived the graceful impulses of Thospitality: he claimed, as he often said. the privileges of age and in- firmity. and refused to be bored. He was, moreover, inclined to view with suspicion and distrust any of his nephew's acquaintances. But Achi- son. in addition to possessing a fascl- nating personality, was a man_of note. a criminal lawyer who had achieved the dizzy feat of rising to a spectacular eminence without impair- ing his dignity. He was also con- slderably older than Frederick. and the fact that the boy had won the friendship of such a man ralsed his otherwise doubtful value in. his uncle's eyes. Achison was now in_the habit of motoring out to Scarlet Maples almost every Sunday. and these visits had hecome a source of pleasure to the recluse, for in spite of physical dis- ability his keen and powerful mind had lost none of its vigor, and in Achison he found a more congenial companion than he had known for a long time. John Schofleld had once heen a power in two worlds; in busi- had auadrupled an Inherited fortune, and in the realm of art he had spent lavishly. ransacking the azes to gratify his discriminating taste. * ok ok ok A CHISON also was a collector, al- <% though in a lesser degrce, and could talk to the valetudinarian in the langnage he loved and on the only subjects in which he still took an Interest—the gossip of the auction rooms and galleries, the genuine finds of this or that collector, or the frauds which had been palmed off on them. In a few moments after Achison's arrival on this particular day Fred- erick, who had been fidgeting about, plainly 111 at ease, excused himself on ::e plea of other guests, and left em. ‘The two men, sitting there in the library suffused by the m«.low light of an afternoon in earl autumn, were of strikingly contrasted types. Schofield, gaunt and lean as a starved wolf, sat in a great armchair, his shrunken hands clasped over the gold top of his cane. Achison, on the other hand, was anything but emaciated; vet, although tall, he moved with an almost catlike grace and ease. Only an occasional glint in his steel-gray eyes betrayed the fact that he was neither so carelessly tolerant nor so smilingly debonair as he appeared. “The responsibility you have placed on Fred is doing him good,” he re- marked to the uncle as Frederick closed the door upon them. “I hope the reformation lasts,” said \Bchofleld, grimly. “Do the boy justice.” Achison urged in his rich, persuasive voice. “These wild colts often turn out to be lhe] most steady ard reliable horses. And Fred could hardly have done more lol prove the sincerity of his good inten tlons. He has buckled down to bus ness, as you know, in a way to w the highest encomiums; and"—smil- ing—"he has also, if my eyes do not deceive me, had the good taste to fall | head over heels in love with Mies Drew. What better assurance for the future could you ask?" Schofield nodded, a glint of deep gratification in his eve. Margery Drew, an orphan ward of his who had ived since childhood in his home, and | who was now a charming girl in her early twenties, was one of the few peonle he thoroughly believed in. “They are engaged. Yes: Margery will_keep him straight, if any onel crn” He gave a chuckle of profound satifaction | “I am sure of it”” Achlson agreed, heartily. | “You have my warmest| congratulations. You_really should hesitate no longer about restoring Fred's inheritance.” The old man cogitated the sugges- tion, rubbing his chin with his hand. “T've been waiting untll T could feel sure of him,” he explained. “But per- haps you are right. Ye-es, I guess you are right.” He sat with his penetrating eyes fixed on Achison for a moment or two, and_then spoke again with an abrupt change to a more business- like tone. “You've no ax to grind in this mat- ter that T can see—— “Except that T am fir Fred. and belleve in him, put in. “And,” continued the other. ven though you have devoted yourself chiefly to criminal Jaw. you are cap- able. T suppose, of drawing up a will? “I am.” returned Achison. smiling but giving no outward sign of 'P.fls inmer elation. “And. by the way'— glaneing toward a massive writing table—"if T catch your drift correctly, let me remind you that in these things there {s no time like the pres- nt." % He spoke emphatically. but with Just the proper degree of detachment. Schofield nodded assentingly. “You might. then. If you will. take down some notes of my wishes now. and then you can put them in proner legal form later. Tn a former will 1 made suitable nrovision for Mar- gory. and then divided the residue &f my property among various Insti- tutions. Tt i= still my desire to make certain outside beauestr” ~ He enumerated them rapidly. “But.” he then continued. “T want the home- stead here to follow the name and belong to Frederick.” His bent form straightened: he threw up his head carlet Maples has been in our family for generations. Achison. must continue to go down the line. * k% % THE lawyer murmured an appre ciative comment. but he did not look up from the paper on which he was busily writing: and he continued to write rapidly for some time with- out speaking. At last, his task fin- ished, he gathered up the loose Q:: e looked tnhem over, and, having de interested in " Achison one or two corrections, turned to Schofleld. “Now, Mr. Schofleld,” tapping h! eveglasses against the back of his hand, “you and I know the accidents the folly of delay. Again I repeat, there is no time like the present. Put your signature to this now, and call in two of the servants to witness it. If you do so, I fancy your night's rest will be that much easier.” “In good time—In good tim rurred the old man a bit petulantly. 4snasgmed depressed, and Jeaned back 1) lor the Louvre.” | offered by ;unrny in his chair, silent and brood- ng. “You spoke of my night's rest.” He broke the silence at last. “Are your’v.r troubled by dreams, Achi- son “Rarely,” the lawyer replied. “There’s one dream that I dream over and over agaln. Schofleld’s voice was hardly above & whisper. *What 1s 1t Achison asked, with involuntary curiosity, and ~_then checked himself quickly. “Don’t think me prying, but it sometimes relieve the mind to talk of these things. “It's an odd dream,’ swered, musingly, ‘“and always the same. I seem to be standing on the brink of a clear, narrow stream. It runs through & fertile country— wheat flelds on one side, and a gar- den something like that on the other.” He waved his hand toward the flower-bright .lawns beyond the win- dows. “Then I feel a strong impulse. I know that it is a bad one at the time, but I am not able to resist it. I set to work to dam up the stream and divert it from its course. I work like a beaver, and when I have finished the water flows out over a desert tract and disappears. The sands into which it sinks seem dryer than ever. My labor has been worse than use- Schofleld an- less. 1 wn_;ke up in a terrible state of depression. It takes a long time for me to throw it o His voice trailed away; he sat huddled dejectedly in the chalr. “0dd, and unpleasant.)” Achison murmured sympatheticall; keeping his mounting exultation out of his voice by an effort of will. ' “But, my dear Mr. Schofield, one doesn't have to be a psycho-analyst to interpret that. Think a moment. When Fred- erick was apparently going to the dogs, it distressed you to contemplate diverting the property from the Schofield line: yet you resolved to do s0 rather than to risk it in his hands after you were gone. All your love and pride. all the hopes you had cen- tered on him, you ruthlessly put out of your mind. ~But they still contin- ued to live in that storéhouse of sub- merged memories, the subconscious, and to find their outlet in this dream. The dream is merely a symbolic pic: ture of a former state of mind.” His tone was dramatically impressive. “The Schofleld property, including this wonderful old place, husbanded and handed down always to the suc- ceeding heir, typifies the stream de- flected from its course and flowing out over the barren sands: the dam is a wall you built up between your rigid sense of duty and your heart. 1 believe”—his voice rang out domi- natingly—*“that this wil¥ release you from that wretched nightmare for good and all.” “A stream deflected from its course,”” Schofield muttered, “the dam a_ wall built up between my sense of duty and my desire. Achison™ he looked at the other strange “you have said more than you imag- ine” Again he lapsed into silence. and at last appeared to come to a deter- mination which cost him an effort. “I am not sure, not sure,” he hesi- tated. Then: “I would like to show you something. We will go up to the gailery.” ?TTTTTTT —a ceOywl. i T fi TA They passed through several rooms, the windows of which were heavily barred and wired with burglar- alarms. Achison longed to loiter and indulge his proprietary delight in what he already regarded as his pos- sessions, his pictures, his tapestries, his rugs, potteries and bibelots; but Schofield hurried him on. * ok kX AT last in one of the rooms they <} paused beside a cabinet of antique snuffboxes. Schofield opened the dcor, and, pushing aside two or three of the specimens, pressed a concealed spring in the satinwood floor. About a square foot of the marquetry slid noiselessly inward, revealing a shal- low aperture. From this the old man lifted a carefully wrapped package. Achison watched his movements with fascinated interest. The un- steady fingers untied the cord and re- moved the wrappings: and then Schofleld looked at his companion with a flash of triumph on his face, In his hands was a book, the golden covers of which were wrought in| marvelous des “Géod Lord!" y poise was shaitered. “Why—why— He stretched out his hand, “and Schofield reluctantly, as if he hated to see another touch it, gave the book to him. The amazement deepened on Achi- son's face, as he put up his eve- glasses and examined it minutely. “It must be—there can’t be a doubt of the work!" His voice vibrated with excitement. “It's genuine Ben- venuto Cellini—ad beyond question made for Francis I. Look! Here is the salamander, a particular device of Francis’, and the stag, one of his emblems. Good heavens, Schofield how did this come into your hands? Its place is in the Vatican, the Ufiizi n's habitual “You are right” murmured Scho- fleld in a harsh whisper. “It came to me some years ago from very du- bious sources. There was a reward the Ttalian government. it still stands, you know—their law against removing art treasures of But I had to over a certain valae. show it to you, after what you said about the dream — ‘something de- flected from its true course.” “I've made up my mind again and again to send it back. But when the moment came I couldn’t bear to part with it.” “I can easily understand,” assented ! Achison, touching almost reverently the exquisite modeling of the covers. h, but you have yet to look in- side Schofleld took the-book from him and dramatically exultant, turned over the leaves. “A missal illuminated by Albrecht Durer Achison fell back a step.or two, and | then leaned forward eagerly to scan the coloring at closer range. “It's incredible!” He straightened up. ° “Impossible! Why, man, it's value is fabulous. And you were dreaming of parting with ft!” “Stolen good: croaked the old man. “And you have shown me what I must do. There'll be no more inde- cision or faltering. It goes back to- morrow." A deep flush colored Achison’s face. Tt he before had coveted Scarlet Maples and all that it contained. he coveted it a thousand times more, now that he knew it held this treas- ure of kings. He was overwhelmed by a passionate determination to possess at any cost this joint master- piece of two of the world's greatest craftsmen, to know that it was his own, to gloat over it in secret as a miser over his gold. Just as he was’ summoning all of his persuasive, argumentative powers to combat the old man’s announced purpose there was the sound of rapid footsteps approaching, and before Schofleld . could conceal the book Frederick entered. He stopped short, staring; and then his eyes wandered to the secret re- pository in the cabinet. “Why, I never saw that before!" he exclaimed. “What a beauty!” Con- scious of his uncle’s furious gaze, he stopped short. “I beg your pardon if T am butting in” he stammered apologetically. “But Ramsey is outside, and wants to see the pictures. May I show him through the gallery?’ “You may not.” replied the old col- lector angrily. wont have every Tom, Dick and Harry prying among my things.” He waved his stick im- periously. Surprised and evidently resentful. Frederick turned on his heel and left the room. 3 Achison looked after him, a deep frown between his eyebrows. “Ramsey?” he repated. “What Ram- sey s that?* There was an edge to his tone. “His name i{s Wallace Ramsey, I believe.” Schofield was hurriedly re- placing the missal in its miche, and closing the lid upon it. “A young fellow with whom Frederick ‘seem to have struck up quite an intimac “So?" Achison’s lip curled disap- provingly. “Well, far be it from me to censor Frederick's friendships; but if this Is the young man I take him to be. I should strongly. discountenance any such association. Mr. Wallace Ramsey is a person to be avoided. He appeared from nowhere a year or two ago, and managed to get himself well introduced, &ince then, although he { }‘acrmly. IH has succeeded in escaping pubifcity, | he has been involved in some exceed- ingly unsavory transactions. 1 am speaking solely in your interest when 1 tell you this, Mr. Schofleld, but from certain and confldential knowledge. ‘With all these valuable objects about, especially such a treasure as this missal you have just shown me, a man like Ramsey ought not to be permitted inside the doors.” John Schofield's 1ips protruded fiercely; there was fire in his eyes. “Just like Frederick!" he sald “I'll get rid of this friend of his in short order.” Come.’ PR E led the way from the gallery; but back again in his library he seemed to have forgotten his purpose to rid his house of an unwelcome visitor, and sank down panting In a chair, his face almost ghastly in its lack of color. must rest,” he sald falntly. “You excuse me, Achison; I am very will “Not too tired, I am sure, to sign this,” Achison replied in a brave at tempt to assume his suave yet com- pelling manner, as he spread out on the table the draft of the will he had written, and dipped a pen in ink. Schofleld waved it aslde with a stubborn gesture. “Tomorrow will do. I want to look it over before I sign." He dismissed the matter from his attention and re- verted to his old perplexity. “Maybe your interpretation of that I happened to be in the courtroom when you were arraigned. I recog- nized you, took the case and got you off, successfully concealing your identity, 1 also suggested a plan of campaign that would relnstate you in your uncle's good graces, and I financed your rehabilitation. “Oh, I know all that you dl Frederick desperately. “I never for- get it for a minute. I only hoped ; Alchison disregarded the interrup- tion. “The way in which our plans have succeeded has been beyond my hopes,” he contlnued inexorably, “and for you to come to me now and try to beg .off from & bargain, the terms of which you thoroughly un- derstood, seems to me—well, to put it plainly, not the action of an honor- able man.” . REDERICK flushed. “I am not try- Ing to beg off,” he denled hotly. “I only wanted to tell you how I felt, and see 1t you would not be willing to consider an arrangement.” “An arrangement?” Achison repeat- ed scathingly. “The return of the sums I have advanced to you—with interest! Good Lord! Do you think 1 put my brains at your disposal and exerted myself as I did in your be- half on any such pawnbroker's com- putation? Positively not! What does the beggarly amount of money in- volved mean to me? I made my terms plain in the beginning. You under- stood and accepted. There is nothing more to be said.” Frederick bowed dejectedly. “The “¥OU MUST EXCUSE ME, ACHISON; T AM VERY TIRED.” ; 1921— pie PART 4.~ off the road and into the shadow of & thick clump of trees a little distanoe away, where he stopped gnd stopped out. A LITTLE after 10 o'clock that night Achison’s telephons rang in response to a call from the switche board on thé lower floor of the lar apartment house iIn New York wheré he made his home. A servant an- swered the ring, and was Informed that Mr. Schofleld was .downstairs and would like to see Mr. Achison. . There was a brief pause upon the receipt of this message; then -the switchboard attendant was requested to advise the visitor that Mr. Achison had retired, but that he would see Mr. Schofleld, if the latter would give him five minutes to dress. y The five minutes lengthened to- fif- teen; and Ramsey, who had accom- panied John Schofleld, was showing his impatience over the delay by| frequent glances at the clock, when at last the word arrived to come up. The two men found the door of the apartment opened to them, and théy were ushered by the servant into a small and very beautiful geception room. At almost the same moment Achi- son entered from another doer.. He was hastily pulling on a purple Bilk dressing gown, and his halr was tum- bled as If he had just risen from his oouch. He stopped short as he saw that “You will recall, Mr. fleld, my warning.” ' xn s GCHOFIELD looked at him from under the pent house of his bushy eyebrows. He was like some worn- out old mastiff rising at the approach of an enemy, with bristling neck. “You are Intimating, Achison,” he Bald slowly, “that we are now In the presence of the thief. On that point I agree with you. I agree with you 80 fully that—I am going to ask you to return the book at once.” - “Me!" Achison stared at him for an astounded moment, and then rose 80 suddenly that he almost overturned his chair. “Me!" His hand touched his breast: his expression was one of haughty, indig- nant amasement. He lifted his arm with & threatening movement, and then let it drop. “If you were not a feeble old man, I would throw you out neck and crop, you’and this fellow here.” He jerked his thumb toward Ramsey. Then by a determined effort he controlled his wrath and tried to speak more rea- | sonably. My~ dear sir, this is a painful manifestation of the vagaries of ex- treme age. You are more in need of a physician than a lawyer.” e that as it may, I want the book, and I want it now.” Schofleld, too, had risen, and leaning on his stick, brought his great bony claw “NOT TOO TIRED TO SIGN THIS,” ACHISON REPLIED. dream is right.” He leaned forward and tapped his stick on the floor. “But if I dream that cursed night- mare again tonight, the missal goes back where it belongs tomorrow “You will not dream it" A ison said, prayng that he could make the suggestion strong enough. “If you should, it will be because you have delayed signing the will. This other idea you hold is the greatest piece of nonsense-I'ever heard. Every man who has @@llected as widely as you bave has two or three things which he only shows to the safe few. You bought and paid for the missal. Such thin belong to the man who holds them. Schofield sank lower in his seat his mouth was set in a straight line. I am too tired to argue’” he re- plied impatiently. ~Come out tomor- row. and 1 wili talk to you about the will. Achison shrugged his shoulders; there was nothing to do but assent. He bade the old man good-by with what grace he could muster, and left| the room. There was a glorious sunset facing him as he stepped outside, but he was too absorbed to notice it—so ab- sorbed that he started perceptibly when Frederick Schofield, who had been leaning moodily against one of the pillars of the porch, spoke to him. “Can you give me a moment, Mr. Achison?” the young man began. “There is something I want to speak to you about.” “Certainly — certainly.” Achison's graciousness was a shade perfunc- tory. “Well, in the first place- face visibly brightened—' as consented to marry me. “My dear boy"—the lawyer wrung him by the hand—"I am more than pleased. But I have already had an inkling of it; your uncle couldn’t keep the secret. Still. even though it isn’t altogether a surprise, it’s mighty Frederick returned rather absently. and paused. There was_evidently something else on his mind, something that he wished to put into words but found it difficult to do. He looked down, frowning. and dug the toe of his shoe into the soft earth of the drive. “I've told Margery the whole story,” he said at last abruptly—“all about us, I mean.” Achison made no movement; he merely drew in his breath quickly. and there was a slight click of kis teeth as he tightened his lins to keep from uttering the word “Fool!" Frederick squared his shoulders: there was a new resolution in his feel very differently about the ce, now that I have come back he said. “And Margery's heart is simply bound up in it. She cannot bear to think of its going out of the famil He hesitated Ja moment; then went on. “I should tell you; tos, that my uncle is 80 pleased with odr engagement, aud with the way I have taken hold of the business, that he has given me quite a substantial sum of mon:y. So now I am going to ask you to let me return the amounts you have advanced me, with interest, of coursa, and to be released from my promise to turn Scarlet Maples over to you in the event that my tncle resfores my inheritance.” Achison did not reply at once. He was gazing on across the landscape— vivid maples and russet oaks as far as the eyve could see. Naboth's vine- vard had never appeared more fair. He turned to the younger man, and 8poke definitely and concisely. “My dear Fred, I hardly think you realize just what you are asking. It is decidedly unpleasant to have to refer to certain events in the past, but your memory must indeed have grown. dull for you to come to me ‘with such a request at this late date. After knocking around in South America for a more orless hectic two years you came back to New York, down and out. You were found under suspicious circumstances and arrest- ed_ for carrying concealed weapons. If it had not been’ fér me, you would have been sent to the Island. Do you imagine, in view of those facts, that your uncle would have even consid- ered giving you another chance?” He laughed scoffingly. ‘You and T ha',ummwculqhdlmm. agreement stands.” he answered with a choke in his voice. Of course it does.” The silkiness had come back into Achison’s tones. “Let us forget the incident, Fred.| After_all, what s one old house to| you? Under the terms of your uncle’s will you will be a very rich man, with all the wide world open for your | enjoyment. What is there to prevent you froin building your own home. any sort of home you want? Think it over. * * * Good-by.” He stepped into his big gray car, and starting it up, rolled away down the drive. Around a bend in the winding road. and out of sight of the house, he checked the speed of the car and swore deeply and vehemently, damn- ing all Schofields root and branch to the end of time. Then, his feelings relieved, it was characteristic of him to begin a cool and dispassionate mental review of the whole situation. Up to a certaln point everything had come his way; the game he had set out to play had been easier than he could possibly have foreseen. With the signing of the wiil, Scarlet Maples would be virtually his; for even eliminating his great age, John Schofield, 88 he happened. to know, was the victim of an organic disease which must necessarily prove fatal within & few months—too short a time to render likely any change in his disposition of the property. And with the old man’s death he could call upon Frederick for a fulfillment of their compact, could force him to it, if it came to_that. E Yet with all the odds apparently in his favor, Achison was too Shrewd a calculator of chances not to recognize that the chain_he had so carefully wrought depended on one link: and Frederick, instead of merely playing the part his mentor had assigned him, that of a supposedly reformed| character, had with inconceivable stupidity actually bacome one.. Nor was this all. The fool had also blun- dered into an intimacy with Wallace Ramsey, a fellow so' intensely and vindictively hostile to Achison that he would go to any lengths to thwart or oppose him—as the lawyer had on ‘more than one occasion had reason to appreciate. > : ‘Was it not reasonable to suppose that Ramsey in his position of bosom friend would soon discover the exist- ence of some sort of an understand- ing with Achison as the cause, of Frederick's obvious ‘dejection, and take pains to quaint himself with the nature of it Achison drew up the car at the side of the road and. stopping the engine, lighted a cigarette while he tried to figure out his prospects. Already he had to count two persons in active opposition to him; Ramsey and the girl Margaret Drew. And Frederick, with a wife set lilke a rock against his giving up any part of his inheri- tance, and a friend forever at his elbow urging that Achison had trapped him into the bargain, and that whatever obligation there was could be justifiably met with a money settlement—well, Frederick's ultimate stand was under the circumstances hardly even a debatable question. Of course, Achison could put into circulation the tale that.he had Yescued the boy from a term on Blackwell's Island—and prove it, too, it required. But with the old man gone, what would that amount te? A morsel for the gossips to mull over for a day or two, and then forget. A bygone youthful peccadillo would not be counted very seriously against the pogsessor of Scarlet Maples and the Schofield miilions. Again Achison {ndulged in anath- ema, freely admitting that it was of no use to delude himself. Without waiting to bring the thing t6 a show- down he was beaten. But even in a rout there is always the chance of & maneuver which may retrieve some portion of the loss: and it was to this phase of the situation that the lawyer now bent the energies of his extraordinary mind. He had started up the car again, driving very slowly through the deep- ening dusk #s he pondered this or that course of ‘action; but as the lower gates of the estate and the 1odge house came in sight he reached his decision. Switching off the lights, hie deliberately, turned the car ;l a hand down on the table, the palm at. Achison reseated himself and glared at_his accuser scornfully. “T suppose I should neither be sur- Schofleld was not alone. For the barest secand a shadow, evil and sin- ister, crossed his face; then it was gone. In its place he assumed an expression of astonishment and con- cern. prised nor annoyed under the circum- “You? Mr. Schofleld!” he ex-|stances. The incident has also its claimed. “I thought, of course, it|humorous side” He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “You, the self- confessed receiver of stolen goods, holding in your possession a valuable object which you dare not admit owning, would naturally not hesitate either to suspect or accuse another man of the same lack of moral sense. My dear Mr. Schofield. you do not deserve it, but I am going to give you a few words of counsel. will have the devil of a time in re- covering that book. You dare not was Fred who had come to town and was rousing me from my slumbers.” Then as if struck by a sudden dis- tressing thought: “Nothing has hap- pened to him?" He drew a sigh of relief as Sch fleld responded with a negative ges- tu h, that s good. But my curiosity increases. It must be a matter of im- portance to bring vou here at this time of night, Sit down, won't you?" He pointedly ‘ignored the presence of Ramsey, addressing himself entirely to the older man. “T believe, though, I can hazard a _pretty good guess af your mission. You want to sign that attemipt to recover {t.” “I am not going to advertise its loss.” Schofleld twisted his mouth, his gaunt form still towering over Will before you sleep?” the table ve u Schofleld sat down heavily. Ihe psplexberwesn them. Y Limant it “No,” he said in his harsh, dry P voice. - “I am in no great anxiety & about that. It Is something Gf a good Acmsox drew a breath of profound deal more importance that brings me to you. The missal which I showed you this afternoon has been stolen.” “Stolen?” ‘Achison’s surprise was expressed by a single deep-toned note of incredulity. “Stolen!” he repeated ‘s if he did not yet grasp the asser- irritation, and then with an air of resigned patlence lighted a ciga- rette. “It seems to me” he sald with a show of disgust, “that the person tion. “How? When? with you might be better employed “Some time between 6 and 7|than in fostering and abetting your o'clock. crazy obsessions. I respect your age, Achison apparently made a rapid mental catculation. “That must have been shortly after I left.” “The night watchman, who was just coming on duty, saw a man stealing through the grounds in a di- rection away from the house, and—" .“Well, that is something to go on,” interrupted the lawyer with aroused interest.” “Could the watchman give a description of him?" or 2 ok ok k% 3 N gretfully. Schofield shook his head re- dark, and he thought at first the man and have nothing more to say. “Don’t bluff, Achison.” The cracked d volce had & ring of power in it. Tve played these cutthroat games myself. You're a master of them, but it's of no use. When I explain a little further, you'll come down from your khigh horse and hand over the missal.” “Still_harping.” The lawyer gave an indifferent shrug. ¢ My ducats and chofield let himself down sl into his chair. Slor “I'm old, my friend, but I'm not blind. I've seen ever since Frederick came back that there was something on his mind. Boys of his age don't confide in elderly uncles, but he did You! advertise its loss. or make any open | equal softness, “I allowed myseif just half an hour to convince you thst you had better hand me over the book.” His volce strengthened and grew stern and impressive. “I have lald my cards on the table. Because you llve down to the dregs of human nature you imagine that all men do so. Your one vulnerable spot is your innate dishonesty. You fool! Did you really think that I would hold & museum treasure under such circum- stances as I described to you—that be- cause you are without ~principle or standards, 1 was, too? I bought that book at a falr price years ago from an Itallan nobleman who brought his works of art to this country before the resent law went Into effcct. Few new of it, because I collect solely for my own pleasure.” Achison’s eyes, 8 he listened, were ltke points of ice with firo behind them. “I refuse to argue with s madman. You and your friend will leave my apartment at once, or I shall enforce the order.” He lifted a bronze hammer and struck sharply against a gong on the table. But his man responded almost be- fore the note of summons could have traveled beyond the room. I beg pardon, Mr. Achison. but a man is in the next room asking for Mr. Schofield.” “Tell him to waft five minutes more and then come in.” Schoficld spoke before Achison could do ®o. Almost casually, he turned toward the law- yer. “A man with a search warrant,” he explained. “And now the missal, please, Achison. tell you that it will not be necessary to come out to Scarlet Maples to- morrow to attend to the signing of that will. The complete draft of my desires, signed, sealed and witnessed, has been in the hands of my attor- meys for some days' * ¥ x *x CHISON bent his head in his hands. When he lifted 1t his face was seamed with passion, but his nerve held. “Good God! What ingratitude!” His rich volce was choked and broken. “Mr. Schofleld, I have listened to you with surprise and horror, and during' your whole recital of this vile and crafty scheme to discredit me 1 steadily refused to exoulpate myself in the presence ¢f a man who has pursued me with fnsare, unbelievable malice. But now I must do justice to mysel Also I may as well | By Mrs. Wilson Woodrow “After your possibly bogus confes- slon to me this afternon I left your house possessed by vague forebo- dings. This man Ramsey, sn intes- national orock, as I have 'every rea- #on’ to know, had without doubt seem the missal and its hiding place. 1 was convinced that he would lose no time in getting it into his hands, and 1 determined to outwit him. “1 returned to the house, got the book without difficulty and drove home. For over two hours I sat here tonight, debating the proper course to follow—whether to return the missal to you tomorrow and urge a new and safer hiding place for it, or to do the only right and proper thing.” Again he struck the gong upon the table, and when the servant appeared asked him to bring a parcel which he sald was upon the table in his bedroom. The man returned immedi- ately with the pacilage, ocarefully wrapped and sealed. “Hand it to Mr. Schofield,” Achison ordered, with a negligent gesture. Schofield adjusted his classes and looked at it. it was neatly addressed to the Italian ambassador at Wash- ington. “1 submit that as my complete ex- culpation,” said Achison, superbly, and as proof of my altruistic, if un- appreciated, motive: The room rang with Schofield’s crackling laughter. ) that was how you employed the fiffeen minutes you kept us ocooling our heels downstairs? Preparing for any emergency, taking To chances” Clever of you, Achison! You meant il to me and my nephew'—ths old man spoke very seriously now—-but, | nevertheless, you did us a good turn No matter what your motives, you |#howed him.a good turn when he | needed it and you restored him to | me. Therefore this incident shall go no farther.” It Achison felt relief he did aot show it. There was a mocking smile on his lips. “That must be a great grief to Mr. Ramesy,” he observed, ironically. “It 15 returned Ramsey. “But it cheers me to think how the cirole is ever widening. More and more peo- ple are coming to know of your de- vious ways and crooked tricks, and |some day you will stand fully ex- | posed before the whole world.” “Ah? The old Prussian toast.” There was a sinister ring under the light- ness of the response. *“The day eh? Well, let us hone, Ramsey, that we both live to see it.” (Copyright, 1921.) | THE BLUE GLOVES By Frederic Boutet. ted From the French by WILLIAM L. McPHERSON. UITTING the day nursery, where, since the beginning of the war she had spent her days caring for the children left there, Mme. Presles walked slow- 1y home. It was Trans o'clock, it was cold, the there was nothing to keep her from thinking during the long evenings. Nevertheless, the wind bl i across the Place Saint she quickened her steps under her umbrella, and her destination. “There is letter for you." said the janitress, who since the war no longer delivered mail upstairs. Mme. Presles nodded her head and passed on. She knew that wouldn’t be any letter. Who woul crouching soon reached preferred to occupy herseif as much us possible and also to save the money for her relief work. She took off her cloak and hat, lighted the lamp and made a little fire. Looking at her closely one could see that she was about thirty, and that she was pretty. But with her chestnut hair; her gray eves and her pale skin, she seemed without age and wholly neutral in personality. without coquetry or even the appeal of a discreet sadne: * ok kK SHE dined in five minutes and be- gan knitting on some blue gloves. When by purchase or her own labor she had accumulated a sufficient quantity of soldiers’ clothing sl sent off a package and immediately started on another, with that same with which she cared for the wound- ed, looked after children or aided refugees. . Mme. Preles was still conscious of her fingers and knitted with close attention, trying to absorb her mind in that mechanical task and in re- capitulating the things she would do the next day in the way of service. Suddenly the bell rang. Sh. was startled and astonished. She got up and opened the door. Then she shrank back, nfoundes In the doorway stood a soldier, in long military coat. It was Cluude Presles, her husband.r “It is I,” he said in & low voice with a little tremble in it. *“I came—I came——" He entered. e She said nothing. She was choking. She hadn’t seen him for three years. He had made her suffer continually in the four years they had lived together. Then he had left her without any other rea- “It was growing ‘was ‘Frederick or one of his friends. 1t-was not until he heard a car start- ing up and leaving the grounds.at high speed that his suspicions were aroused and he decided to report the matter.” “A _bold undertaking!" Achison's brows were knitted reflectively. “It must have been some one who knew of the book, its value and also its hiding-place. An agent of the Italian government perhaps, who had .suc- ceeded In running it down? Or no— he would have come directly to you. It must be the work of a group of high-class thieves who in some way had learned of your treasure. The first thing to do i= to list all the per- sons.who had any knowledge of its being in your possessiop or of its secret repository.” tell Margery of the—arrangement.” His voice grew hoarse; his hands, clasped over the top of his cane, trembled. “The fine arrangement be- tween you and himself! She went to Ramsey with it; and he, having a considerable knowledge of you and your methods, undertook to lay the matter before me.” Achison had not moved but his face had hardened until it resembled a stone mask; and over it lay again that sinister shadow. ‘Young brains.” chuckled Schofield. “You must learn to respect them, Achison. You ignore the fact that you are growing old. However.” he went on, “Ramsey and I considered the situation from all sides. It was ran impasse. So, without consulting Frederick—he is not even aware of our being here tonight—we decided “No one knew anything about it|on a pl: except myself.” Schofleld spoke with “Ah!" as the other lifted his head obstinate finality. quickly. “I've caught your interest Achison raised his eyebrows, a|at last?" “Not in your plans.” Achison flicked the ashes from his cigarette into a tray. “Merely in the celebra- tions of a senile fox and a paranoiac rabbit.” Schofield’s worn frame shook with appreciative laughter. -“You're vitriolic, Achison, but my old hide is too leathery to scorch. And I mustn't lose your attention. You had the boy in a trap. The only thing left for us was to get you into another. To catch you and show you up would promptly kill your influence over him as well as his sense of obli- gation towsrd you. Ramsey, it seems, has made quite a study of what he calls your peculiar psychology. So we worked on that lead. “A senile fox, you called me just now,” he laughed, croakingly. ‘Well, the poor old fox had the job of coaxing the big- gest, sleekest, cleverest rat in the coun- try into the trap prepared for him. No ordinagy cheese for that wily rodent; he wouldn't even go after plum pud- dlni. But ‘he did have a taste for ca ; 80 we baited the trap with caviare and we caught him. We've got him hard and fast.” ““Then,” asked Achison, with a deadly softness, “why are you here?” “Because,” replied faint, cynical smile on his lips. “That is something it won't do to be too positive about. You must have had cataloguers from time to time. There is always the chance—"" “My only cataloguer has been my ward, Margery Drew.” Schofield drew himself up stifly. *“And she had no knowledge of the missal, or where it was kept."™ “In that case,”—Achison leaned his arms on the table and looked across it at his unbidden guest—*I shall have to say something that may both anger and pain you, Mr. Schofleld. There are two or three suppositions. that force themselves upon me. Your ward being a woman, it is hard to say just what she knew, or if she had discov- ered anything, to whom she may have confided it. “Oh”—soothingly, for Schofleld gave a gesture: of violent impatfence—"I merely offer it as one of the contin- gencies; we ‘must take them all into account. “And there is another that suggests itself,” he went on. “Do_you re- member that this afternoon Frederick entered the room, and saw not only the book but the open in the cabinet. More that, a guest whom he mentio; by Dame WAS son than because it pleased him to do £0. After that Mme. Presles had suf- fered even more, not being able. to restrain herself from still loving him. She didn’t want a divorce. She had never tried to see him again. She lived alone so that no one could spealk to her about him and his other attachments. Now she sought to control her feelings. She looked at her husband. He was standing erect before her. He had put his cap on the table. The yellow lamplight half illuminated his face,r which bore the marks of fa- tigue and suffering. There were white hairs among the black ones. Even his eyes. when he fastened them on her, seemed changed. “I was wounded,” he said, “serious- 1y wounded. But I have recovered. I had a few days’ lea I knew that you lived here. So b fore going back 1 wanted to see you.” She stiffened up and found enough strength to speak without weeping. “Why do you come back to me?” He flushed a little and looked hard at_ her. “Because 1 didn’t care to see any one but you." She made no answer. She took a seat mear the table, still trying to keep herself from trembling. But he replied to what she didn't say. “Yes, you are the only ome. I have been in Paris since the -early part of the week. I haven't been to see ‘anybody. 1 wanted to see you—only. you. At first I didn’t dare to come. But tomorrow 1 must go back.” He stopped and then continued slowly, as if thinking aloud: *] wanted to tell you that now I . . yes, yes, you see, I Wi T ks I know what 1 have beer and know. what you are. little by little. the truth. I give you my word. moments of danger Aan I have understood In 1 was going to die, fought. . . streets were dark and the snow was? there | persistent and annoymous devotion ! 1 have understood It suffering, when I was wounded, When I thought ‘when I was weak and unhappy, and also When 1 . It is necessary to have a thought, you understand; it is nec- essary to have a thought which keeps Schofield, with i you company, which comforts you, which encourages courage. Well that thought was you" 5 He paused and began again: * ¥ kX &PUT, you see, it isn't enough that one has a thought. He must also have the certainty of an affec- tion. He must feel that there is back in the rear, in a house which he knows, at a hearth which he knows, a tenderness of which he can falling, but Mme, Presles wasnt in | be sure that it goes out Lo him, that a hurry. She always dreaded a little | F 'S concerned. that It o et be coming back to her apartment, where - like a hope. 4 promise, a ‘recompens: all, the others aboutl All of them in one way And I was envious of All, or nearl; me had this. or another. ! i them.” Mme. Presles d¢idn't lift her head from between her hands. But she said in a low voice, as if to herself: “L 100, Was envious.” i didn't hear her and went on: Afterward—afterward, they will live, you see, knowing life better. So 1 came to usk you—to know—" You do know,” she murmured soft- Iy, raising her eyes. be likely to write to her? She had | He grew pale and his face con- no relatives and no longer saw her | tracted. But he didn’t want (o show friends. Tiis feeling and, pointing to the knit- The mounted two flights and was |ting on the table he began to laugh. at home. She had lived there for haven't changed. Always three years, always alone. Her apart- But these gloves there— ment was cold, colorless and cheer- keep them. They will be for less. Although she wus well-to-do, 't they she kept no servant, ause she | Mme. Presles burst into sobs and j threw herself on his breast. “And you g0 tOMOITOW—YOU EO to- morrow " she groaned, in a voice so lifeless that he thought she was go- ing to faint. “You see,” he said,, “I am an egoist. Now, as before, 1 make you suffer.” But she shook her head to say that it wasn't the same sort of suffering. Nothing would be the same. She knew that well. She kmew it better the next day when he was gone. and she found herself at home in her lodg- ing, which- was no longer cheerless and depressing, near the lamp and near the fire, and when she began passionately, trembling with happi- ness and anguish, to count the stitches of the biwe gloves, which were for him. Rare Earths. RAHE earths are the oxides of such metals as thorium, cerium, tita- nium, zirconium, tantalum, niobium, tungsten, uranium and vanadium. The most common and familiar uses for these metals are: For thorium and cerium in the making of gas man- tels, and for tungsten in the making of incandescent lamps. Tungsten, together with vanadium, is also used in making certain kinds of steel Thorium, or one of its compounds, is used extensively in -searchlights, motor-car headlights, and in flash- light powders. Cerium alloyed with certain metals makes the flaming alloy used in | cigar_and gas lighters and to trace the flight of artillery shells. The same metal, or one of its salts, is used in photography. in dyeing leather and for coloring glass. Titanium alloyed with iron is often used to purify steel, cast iron and cast copper. Zirconlum oxide makes crucfbles and simiiar heat, can be plunged into cold jwater without cracking. Tantalum surgical and dental instrumen will not rust and can be sha like steel and sterilized by | heat. Nine-tenths of the tu and the vanadium produced i in makjng steel. Thus the rare now serve both very importa: very trivial uses. As chemist other _investigators are con: studying them with a view tol uses. the list of their services longer every year. A Live Fishline. HERE is a singular dlike creature of the sed call the nemertes borlassi, sometimes tjwenty or thirty. feet long, which enfwines and swallows its prey after the ner of a boa constrictor. among the seaweed stems and rocks it may be sten, a long, tangled string. It presents & slippery fndia rubber-like appeafance. A sea-string it is, but not a weed. It ing the prey inclosed withl| treacherous folds. Taken from the water, this seaworm bangs helpless and motionless, a mere string_across_the hand. On nnot tell where it begins or ends. It'looks like a strip of dead seaweed, or even & tarred string. Such, apparently, is fish that plays over it, until at last it touches what is too surely a head. In an instant a bell-shaped sucker mouth has fastened to the fish's side. In another instant, from one lip, & concave double proboscis, just 1iki taplr's Nas clasped the fish just a firm finger would. And now begli tha struggle, but in vain. At last fhe victim s tired, and slowly, yet dex- terously, its blind assallant i el- :nHL,one end is reached. Then the laci surely the curved finger begins pack- ing the fish end foremost down the gullete 3 the impression it makes on the little * ing and shifting along the fish's side * 1ips expand, and slowly and * .