Evening Star Newspaper, May 21, 1922, Page 68

& Clever. Criminal By William LeQueux ' Poc ()1‘ Retnbuhon Overtakes Secret of the Dea IN the course of constant wander- ing to and fro over Europe I have mads msny acquaintances —people of both sexes and of all nationalities. I have good friends who wear clothes of reindeer skin and live in tents a thousand miles north of the arctic circle, and I have friends equally as good, black-faced fellows, who live on the Nile-bank near Khartum. I have hundreds of acquaintances whom I have met while. traveling, but one of them. stands out in my memory because of certain dramatic happenings. 1 was one night stamfing beside the Sud express in the Qual d'Orsay station, in Paris. I had secured my sleeping berth, and had given over to the conductor my ticket for Madrid by way of Bordeaux and Irun. There did not appear to be many travelers. for it was summer, and nobody goes to Spain for pleasure in August. I crossed to the bookstall to buy some literature when I noticed beside- me & tall, aristocratic-looking French- man with gray hair and a pair of small piercing eyes. In his tapel he wore the crimson button of the Legion of Honor, and standing just behind him was an elegantly dressed lady. slightly older than himself, ap- parently his wife. They purcliased several novels and then walked together to the train. ey were. I at once saw, fellow- passengers. * ok ok k T last the horn sounded, and the train moved off upon its long dusty journey. I did not see the Franchman and his wife again that night, but next morning at breakfast they were given seats at my table in the restaurant car, at#l as was but natural we began to chat. The man, to my surprise, spoke perfect Englis! Indeed, he had not the slightest trace ‘which you aze going is, I assure you, ~—rubber “or cotton, or some omor delighttul, if you can only put up with the bad hotels. In some places they are really appalling.” x % &8 NEXT day we arrived at the Prin- cipe Pio station in Madrid, and together wé todk the motor omnibus to the Ritz Hotel in the Plasa de Canovas, close to the Prado Muséum. The doctor and his wife took an ex- pensive suite of rooms, while I oc- ingle réom. days we met at dinner— for my days were occupied at the embassy in the Calle Fernando el Santo, and I had an Important affair of strictest confidence on hand. In the evenings we dined together mer- rily and afterwards went to the Trianon, the Lara, or the Teatro Espanol in the Plaza Alfonso. One of thé attaches at the embassy put me up for the Nuevo Club and on the fourth night they were my guests there at dinner. I lijked them both. Though madame could only speak English with great difficulty, her husband was typically a Londoner, notwithstanding his French appearance. On the fifth day I was with them all day. We spent half an hour in the Puerta del Sol, and then dered beneath the trees in the P de Recoletos, and later took our aperatifs at the Suzio, in the Calle de Alcala. We returned to the Rits for lunch, and I sat as usual at their table Only that morning I had told them my name, and T saw that it had im- pressed them. Why, I could not tell. They had viewed me as a mere wandering Englishman, but now they knew that not only was I a novelis but I was engaged in matters of diplomacy. His name I learned for the first time was Dr. Booth-Evenden. ‘We were chatting after dinner of as the gay, easy-going husband who loved to take his wlh '.o the Cafe Suzl “Well uld. after 3 brlot pause, “you'll come to see me ‘agaln, won't you? Don’t forsake me because, as a doctor, I am compelled to live.in this hole.” “Of course not,” I said. Madame will recover. But he shook his head he grasped my hand, and we parted without fur- ther _word. On my way back to Piccadilly I felt sorry for him. He seemed so utterly broken. And, indeed, it was “Cheer up. [1 speculation? * % % X LUNCHED with my friends ln tho big, rather bare restaurant., The food was perfect and I noticed that the doctor, lunched with a pale-Thcéd young man whom I suspected of tu- berculosis. We had sea truffies, I recollect, those delicious shelifish that come from the Meditefranean and are only known in luly—v.ho land of love and good living. Before we left on our long run across the mountains down to Flor- ence—a road full of sharp turns and fl? ( ‘ M mnmmmflnmm tor of Camberwell, ‘We-spoke: of - matual in Con. stantinople .and over ai Scutarl. He apparently had. been in touch with sev- oral_of the officials at the sublime porte —men who were my close personal triends. ‘At last he said: “Do forgive me formot acknowledging. you in the restaurant a few months ago. Byt I was, as you know, with a lady, and I had. strong mlonl, very m reasons.” % “Oh,imy dear fellow, I quite under- stood. That's all over. I wondered at firpt, but quickly I felt lh-n must have been some good reasona’ * % %% LATER we parted, previosly mak- ing an. appointment to dine togeth- er at th Cariton grillroom a week later. This we did. After our meal, he said: “Why not let us go along to my place. Tve got quite a cosy little flat in Mount street. Come and see it, and we can have & real long chat” I consented, and: found that his abode was one, of the most expen- four' days the lad has & temperature. Within & week the.poor little fellow Bas disd of ‘jockjaw. Quita feasible. The infection has entered the system by the wound. The ointment has been thrown away, and chly the doc- tor knows that (nto it were intro- duced the bacteria of tetanus. That's the kind of thing I mean.” _*Horrible!” I° declared. “Surely such & crime has never been com- mitted?” | g “Oh, it has—and worse,” my friend aniwered. - “Why, there is a polson I know that will produce exactly the same symptoms as heart disease, and it is impossible to deteet, if one knows How- to introduce it properly.” “Really, I begin to feel frightened of yap!” I laughed. Yet those words of his struck me as being curious—"if one knows how to introduce it properly. “What is the polson?” I asked with curlosity. : “A newly discovered one. A chemist in Frankfort makes 'it—and sells it, too!” “To whom?" 2 * % % ¥ OOTH-EVENDEN made no reply. He only #miled. “You haven't told me its name,” I said. “It is best that the public should remain in ignorance of its name,” was his reply. +Then how could I write a novel and ifitroduce such a polson?” “Of course, you would not do so. The novel I should suggest would de- scribe the easiest method by which a doctor could amass great wealth by ad- ministering bacilli of deadly diseases in return for heavy payments.” “But Is it ever dofie?” I asked in- credulously. - “Done? Why, of course, it is. Any me an invitation to Pontrieux. This 1; administering in her tea the bacilli of doctor who has studied bacteriology and the effect of infection upon the hu- man system can administer a culture to you and be able to farecast about the exact hour of your death. That is, if accepted. and about three months later I paid them a flying visit. What the doctor had said regarding the place was quite true. The chateau was as fine as any of those famous ones on the Loire. It was in the cen- ter of & fine estate, the home of the now defunct Marquises de Pontrieux, which, twelve years ago, had been bought by madame's first husband, & Paris banker named Leblanc. Le- blanc had died, end Booth-Evenden had met his widow at Heyres. They had become friends, and he had mar- ried her. Now I happen to subscribe to lhe day in London, or wherever I may One day I read an astounding para- graph to the effect that an English doctor named Booth-Evenden had been arrested in Marseilles on suspi- cion of causing his wife's death by Matfn newspaper, and read it evobr% typhus! With 'agerness I watched the news- papers day after day, and read how suspicions had fallen upon him after the death of his wife in London, and, furthér, that he had masried in other names four other women, il of them rich, and &1 had died of zymotic dis- eases within a few months of mar- risge. At once I saw that the man who had been pry friend was a clever ‘criminal who killed his wives for pur- Pposes of gain. This was abundantly proved at the assize court of the Seine, and he sub- sequently went to the guillotine. The case is among The annals of the most notorious crimes in France, hence my acquaintanceship Booth-Eevnden has left a rather ter taste in my mouth. (Coprright, 1922.) MONG the great poems of the civil war Father Ryan's “Con- quered Banner” stands high in the list of worthies, and but for this one effort of the dis- tinguished priest he might long ago have been forgotten, save among his {mmediate friends. That, one poem was written at a time when the peo- ple of a great section were mourning for & cause that was forever lost. To that cause they had given the flower of their manhood. They had sacri- ficed.. dusing four long years, all that was best In lives, in property and in unquestioned devotion. When the south realized that the banner representing this cause was OUR FAMOUS SONGS “The Conquered Banner” brought to & common level of poverty through one common misfortune. “The Conquered Banner” was sung from Richmond to the Rio Grande touching in every soul a popular chord of sympathetic feeling Which made it famous. Few songs have ever been written in which the thems and the occasion 8o eloquently met Furl that banner. for 'tis wears: Round its staff "tis drooping dreary Furl it, fold it, it is the best For there's mot & mas to wave It And there’s not & sword to save it And there's not ome left to lave it In the blood which beroes gave it And its foes mow scorn and brave it Furl i, bide it—let it rest! of accent, though his wife was evl- |0 {n London, when he chanced to be fs an ex] Furl that banner! Furl it sadl: N pert. The character in your | finally conquered, trailed in the dust, 2 dently from Provence, Judging by her | 1e¢ drop the neighborhood whers he book would have dozen different fatal | griet which rent every southern heart | goq yoo uomenes vt o speech. practiced. It was in the working = diseases to ring the changes upon. One|was more than any arrangement of | gwore it showld forever wave: “My wife and I live in London,” he said. “We are just going on a little trip through Spain and Portu- gal. We begin at Madrid and then g0 on by way of Valladolids Palencia, Corunna and Monforte to Oporto, afterward to Lisbon, and then back to Madrid by way of Caceres.)' tiass district of Camberwell. True, upon the fees in that quarter he could not make much of a living. Further, from another remark he let drop, I learned that his first wife had died a year ago, and that he had only married madame, who was herself a widow, three months before. 3 * * x % of his patients would die of typhus, an- other of anthrax, another of pneumonia, and so on.” *“The book would be too gruesome,” I declared, vet what he had told me somehow impressed itself upon me. “Again, infection can easily be sent by post—in a letter,” he suggested. clever lauguage can describe. So when Abram Joseph Ryan wrote the memorable poem, “The Conquered Banner,” it became at once the out- pouring of grief for the great suf- fering soul of a conquered people, just as Randall's “My Maryland” had inflamed their patriotic enthusiasm Swore that foeman's sword should mever Hearts like theirs entwined, dissever. TIl that fiag should Soat forever O'er their freedom or their grave! Furl that bammer! True, “tis gory Yet ‘tis wreathed around with glory And “twill live in song and story. ‘Though its foids are in the dust’ A very nice round.” I sald. “I Was| _popcw poQTH.EVENDEN I grew “Those - modern envelopes in which | only four years before. P:-"«' g :;‘:";"_::" over tha ground once. You will sce to like very much, and madame thére 1v'a. thin paper lining are admira- * %% | Snail go sounding down the ages— lots of things of Interest, although . l bly adapted for the purpose. If the en- the hotels in some of the places leave much to be desired. But you'll both herself was charming. The apparently had much money at their disposal, for in the weeks that followed they velope is opened and allowed to He about, the germs of disease will soon '‘ATHER RYAN, who was born in Norfolk, Va., in 1839, and died in Louisville in 1 ‘Was not a master Furl its foids though mow we must Furl that bammer. softiy, slowiy! Treat it gemtly—it is holy— enjoy it, if the weather I8 NOt 100 | yont everywhere and spent very| Infect the room. Many & man has lost | ,¢yp technical phases of poetry, but{ _ For it droops abore the desd hot. freely. Indeed, so friendly had we : his life by that unsuspected means.” |, L g «The Conquered Bannmer”| Touch it met—unfoid it never, “It's never -too hot for me,” he|pecome that when the day came for : “I really don't belleve it,” was my | ' ool 3 theme met All over| Lot it droop there, furled forever laughed. “I was in India for ten|parting and I saw them off south I|- reply. the south could be seen the smoking| T 1 People’s bopes are fea: years, and I can stand heat.” was filled with regret. ' “But I know,” he declared very em-| o Pt D0 0 o avistooratic e, A L Then we schatted on about people | “I shall be back in London in about phatically. < : ) and places. Although he lived in London, his wife spoke only a few words of English. “We have French servants,” he re- marked, “so my wife always speaks French.” Through the day, as we appreached the Spanish frontier, we met in the corridor, and in the afternoon they invited me into their compartment for another chat. We did not know each other's names. for 1 am not prope to giving my card’ to strangers. Once I found a card of mine used for the purpose of fraud. A man, posing as myself, and giving one of my cards, ob- tained a motor car from a dealer in Bath, got clear away with it. and nothing has been heard of him since! Hence I seldom carry a card. In the course of our convérsation, as we sat together in the marrow six weeks,” the doctor said. “As soon as I get home I'll write to your club, and I should be delighted if you would come to see us." “Certainly I will come,” I promised. and then I wished them bon vovage as the overcrowded train moved off. I returned to London and went up to Scotland, where I remained for nearly three months. One day I received a letter from Booth-Evenden, London a few Camberwell one evening. The doc- tor's house was a singularly de- Ppressing one, very old-fashioned, built of stone, and detached. It was situ- ated half-way up a long, dismal street called Albany road. Half a century ago they had been pleasant residents with large gardens, but now they ‘were hemmed in by jerry-built houses of the working class. Unkempt chil- dren were shouting and playing in the no surprise when I received three days later a brief note informing me that his wife had passed away. A week afterwards I took a taxi down to Camberwell and called upon the doctor. The woman who opened the door told me that Dr. Booth- Evenden had sold his practice three days before to another doctor named Evans and had gone aw dangerous - precipices—I - ma: have another chat with Booth-Even- den. His lantern-jawed friend was with him. He introduced him as “my. friend, Mr. Jones.” We exchanged greetings and he struck me as = bored man from London. “Queer old place, Bologna,” re- marked the doctor. “They've got two leaning towers like Pisa. 'Great “CAUSING HIS WIFE’S DEATH BY ADMINISTERING IN HER TEA THE BACILLI OF TYPHUS.” sive suites of rooms in that very exclusive West - End thoroughfare. His rooms were perfect as bache- lor's chambers. What a contrast to that sordid house in Albany road, Camberwell! His man—a Dutch- man, I took him to be—was’a per- fect type of manservant, while his rooms were furnished with great artistic taste and unstinted luxury. It was half-past nine when we entered there, and 1 threw myselt into a big, soft. armchair, with a large silver cigar-box et my elbow. Presently, as we were smoking and ping, he.sald: “Do. you know, my dear Le Queux, “I shall begin to dread coming into coritact with you. You are a most dan- gerous person.”” He laughed merrily and said: *“Ah! We doctors are used to horrors, you know. ‘ I'm only pointing out how easy it is to be dishonest in the medical profession. Please don’t think I have ever been guilty of the practices I have described.” “Of course, not,” I sald. “It was only a joke. But, really, I hesitate to think that any man would do such tiings unless he pouuud a cnnln.l Kink."” “Well, I assure you that it has been done, and lots of money has been made by those who have given the little dodes. Even when the patient Is in a critical state and specialists are called, the latter naturally have no suspicion of the actual cause.” *%xx % people had been crushed by force of numbers. The cause which they be- | lieved in and for which they had staked their all had been lost. For years that banner had stood for their hopes of success. It was an emblem in which they had faith. It was the thing for which thousands of the flower of southern manhood had given their lives and. their fortunes—their all. The banner was sacred. So when that dark day dawned— the day when the south realized its defeat—this gentle chaplain who had served through the conquered army wrote from_the emotions of a soul overflowing with grief “The Con- quered Banmer.” The song went like wildfire through a country now ruined by war. It was read in every hamlet and alfke in the poverty-stricken pal- ace of the one-time rich—all now IT is said that Father Ryan wrol: this famous sgng in a few min utes, the entire poem coming to hix as an inspiration complete, withou any after changes. Yet in that one half hour he builded for his nam and memory a monument that wil live forever. That one poem stand out against his lifetime of bene\o lent work and unceasing toil fo the unfortunate. A few minutes o glorious inspiration, God-given anc faithfully executed. outweigh all th tedious labor of a lifetime of anxiou: activities. “The Conquered Banner” will Iiv forever in the annais of our histor: Of all poems growing out of th civil war it has wielded a powerf: influence. It is a classic which b« longs in our cherished soul of sacrc things. 1 streets, and the exterior of all the tunt, eh? A lots of le to : = = compartment, I discovered that the |pieeis. and the ext 8 “Has b left 1o address?” I asked, | StUnt: eh? Attracts lots of people to| I have often wondered why you|\\/HEN I left him I walked to the man 1 had taken to be a Frenchman [t M55 Wos blackened by Zond¥n ien, wie T am o send all his let | "9 square towers tumbling over,|have never written a really thrilling V club and sat in the deserted erican peclmens was a doctor practicing in London. what? mysts tory.” smoking room for a long time, . Upon the door was a brass plate ters to the Grand Hotel in Brussels,” d traveled extensively. That I replied as the cosmopolitan I| I looked at him quite straight, and | thinking over what Booth-Evenden e . 3:- h:pp-rrem from his conversation. :ol:‘lz:eahf:?- ml.:l;lr:::xk);' ‘,.:d; ‘nb:;n h;rlmr:;:m e noo' i FT Hst uo:u!d to h:v‘;. !’orfatun replied: had told me. What, T wondered, had l] ln era S O eCtIOI Once he had been a ship's doctor |fanlight was a sheet of red his grief, ane was, rather pleased | “Well, I have written a good. many | prompted him to make the suggestion _ traveling to and fro between South-| When I rang the bell an elderly|. "':‘ ':::d.,d Indeed,” Tusata, | AL It wau s, mystery -stories, which have been |that I should write such & book? I NICE, May 10. | private man unaided can thus brin ampton and Japan. woman appeared and showed me into ..,°‘ ir. T am very sorry for the|, 1 hall be back in-London s0on." | widely read, in' many fangusges.” | found myself entertaining a growing | ¢ WISH you would look at my |them into neighborly and understan: “Ah, those were the merriest days |the doctor's consulting room, & nar- e M ey mtle. | e said. “and T'll let you know at| “Yes, I know,” he sald. “Tou are|dislike of him. Surely a man who € | fathers mineral collection,” | able order gives one a sweeping visio: I had” he declared. “Now that I|row little space reeking with some | °°tO% = ';:;‘:;.““ :1:::»::!;-;:; once. I gold my.practice, as You|a popular author—very popular— |spoke so glibly of crime was not a said Dr. Camous. “He is sev-|Of things. " am married I have to settle down |disinfectant. ;:::‘d m.: =< “ed’::“"d REsnm are aware. I was so very -;a :: 2hd have been 80 for twenty years.|very desirable friend. And yet, after enty-eight years old, and it has| In the extravagant bringing to and attend to my practice.” She had a keed and no doubt un- derstood English well, though she could not speak jt. When I ad- dressed her I spoké in French. * % kK I\IY curiosity was aroused as to why an Englishman—as he un- doubtedly. was—should take such great care to pose as a Frenchman. 1 know that many people who travel tPy to assume characters that are fictitious. 1 have known clerks to become sons of English peers when Madame laughed. sense of humor, at winter sports in Switzerland. But they- do not do that at the Riviera, as the cost of assuming the char- acter is too great. Somehow—how I cannot tell—my mind was exercised concerning the pair in the hour I spent alone over my book before dinner. We had passed the frontier and were well on our way into northern Spain when, after 2 most excellent meal in the wagon-restaurant, wash- ed down with wholesome Spanish wine—now taken out of bond—we The squalor of the place amazed me. I recollected my elegant fel- low traveler with the' scarlet button in his coat, and was much surprised to see his place of abode. * % ¥ % FEW moments later he entered the room and gripped my hand in ‘welcome. He was dressed in shabby black, and his face was pale and care- worn. “Ah, my dear friend, it is so good of you to come to see me. I am-in ’mllch trouble—such great trouble. My wife I fear, dying!” “Dying!” I gasped. *“What is the matter?” “She was taken {1l when we were in Lisbon. I failed to diagnose what it was, and called in an English medical man there. He also failed. For three weeks she remained in bed, and then at last I was able to get her -|Hfome by easy stages. TI've called in two specialists and they now agree that it is serious heart trouble. She is away at a nursing-home in Wim- pole street.”. “I'm awfully sorry,” I declared. ‘“Madame did not strike me as belnt ple all sorts of delicacies paid for out of his own pocket. I always said that half the people he attended were never charged a fee.” I agreed with her, and after a fur- ther chat I:left, and later wrote to Booth-Evenden at Brussels, express- ing the deepest regret that he had left London without seeing me. To that no answer came, and T concluded that he had left Brussels and that the letter had been réturned to the Belgian dead letter office and had then gone astray. g PR OVIR & year went by. The inci dertt had faded from my memory in the crowd of later engagements ‘with business and diplomatic worrles. One day at lunch time I alighted from & car in which I was traveling with friends before the old Hotel Brun, once the Palazzp Malvasia, in Bologna. - Those whé know Italy know the hotel well—a gquaint, old- world place which breathes the for- gotten grandeur of the past, and yet 1s modern and extremely comfortable. leave all the people there. they were poor, they were a fine lot. Tm always for.the working class. I'd hate to be in Harley street, with all its smug professional ‘mannerism and its awful bunkum. - Where one consultant is honest nine ars stmply charlatans. - 'm: in the profession and I speak. from expsrience.. If I hadn’t been misled in the first {n- atance by a consultant my poor wife might have been alive now,” hp added, in & rather broken tone. “Are you staying here long?” I inquired. s “No, only a few days. Then I go to Milan. I want to see the mon- tery Pavia. Afterwards I go to, Turin .2nd ‘then back by the' Mont Cenis.” ¥ Ten minutes later I' was-in the car speeding out of old Bologna, the town of arcaded -m.u and a hun- dred churches. X ¥ .ttt't | THE next time T saw him was some months later, when dining one night at a small foreign restaurant in That’s all right. publie, ideas.” s “Are there any new ideas in the world of litératyre?” I queried. “’Yes, of course. Modern science has many {deas. Electricity is only in its Infancy, wireless discoveries are being made, ard soon we shall know the fourth dimension.” “True,” 1-kaid. “But what are you But'you have a new and you must. have new gest that you should. write a really great medical novel. If you wilt do-s0 I will give you all the data gratis.” “That's very good of you,” I re- plied. “And 1 accept straight away What do.you suggest? “Ah! That's rather, difficult,” he siid reflectively, as he turned in his chalr to settle himself more com- fortably. “If you write ‘sensational- ism thefgplot must hinge. upon sud- den death, or death brought about lndfl-nly by sinister design. “Exactly,” I-remarked. “Well, what sbout describing the doings of-a doaqr who is open for all, I rather liked him. Since he had recovered from the loss of his wife he had gmpatly improved as a com- panion. Many weeks went by, -and I was abroad again—in Copenhagen, to beé exact. Time after time I recollected that strange conversation In Mount street, and tried to fathom the mo- tive of making that suggestion to me. After about three months I wrote to Booth-Evenden, but it was a fort- night before I received a reply. It ‘was dated from the Chateau de Pon- trieux, in Brittany. He told me that he wi staying with friends there Aand having a most enjoyable time ‘motoring about. He should, however, be in London in about six weeks’' time, and then he would hive some news for me. I wondered what it was. .I wrote him a letter full of curiosity, but he replied that he could not tell me yet, and urged me to wait in patience. I did. But one day I emtered his flat in Mount street and found him cheery and beaming. “And” the news I promised to tell been his life work and he has always kept it to himself.” In France I have already made ac- quaintancé with such private scien- tific and art collections, gathered piece by plece and’ year by year by edu- cated persons of moderate fortune. Their interest lies in a sort of per- sonal juxtaposition of unexpected specimens quite as guch as in their completen: 1 was predisposed in favor of the work of Auguste Camous by what he has published—with: illus- trations from his own drawings—on the seaweéeds and sea flora of his na- tive Mediterranean, with particulars of the depth and temperature of the water and the kind of sea bottom ‘where they are found and the changes of such marine vegetation in the past. A collector like that is no amateur. Mineral specimens .are not picked up at sea, but sea voyages can help a collector to find the lie of the land. The natives of Nice have been a sea- going race ever wince the Pheniclan and Greek ships made a landing sta- tion of their little port much further back than 2,000 years. Garibaldi was géther of places I note: Apache moun tains and Arabic Chain: Idaho and the Euganean Hills of Shelley's poetry: Napoleon's Corsica and Marathon, where Greece delivered our world from the Persian peril; Ireland and Greenland, facing each other across the ocean; Brazil for “Venus Hair" quarts and Arkansas for plain quartz- ite; emeralds from Bogota and chrome iron from Baltimore; chloride of silver from the Bolivian desert and glassy beryl from New Hampshire, with Mis- sourite from Montana and amasonite belle from Pikes Peak. One beauty of the eollection is a single Geode from Oisans. where tour- ists mount the French Alps above Grenoble.. It is fifteen inches in di- ameter and is composed of 170 crys- tals of every geometrical figure found in quartz. Educational blocks cut to order could not get ahead of nature here. _ In this odd collection there are other items of human interest for the uninitiated in mineral lore. There is a porphyry from a rock which stjil holds columps the Romans never fig- ished cutting out—and more porphyry very strong.” Soho. I moticed him seated tete-a-tete you, my dear friend,” he laughed, S Over our o A e 'he?| "“No, she “was not. ‘She had a very| In the lounge I came across Booth- | with's youns, well dreased womap. i * | when T.was seated. “Well, the fact|§ "¥ire of oo a4 LOERS WS STSC ) from the Block out of which was i e b serlous {liness six years ago—before | Evenden. It was summer and he| He glanced at'me uneasily, and next| i ‘mean s man who, for a tew |8 that I've married againl” . and, afte muny sdventures, satled|C27*] the sarcophagus of Napoleon's = ez e ing|f met her—end I'think that must|wore a suit of cool white linen, which | second I realized that'his 1ntention was | thousands, would ive his patient u| I CXPressed surprise, but, of course, |pods SHtef MY RCOTrOn TN |tomd in the Invalides, Paris. There is Ml it D0 e 18 de rigeur In Italy in thelion mouth. | to avold me. Tyerefore.I.gave.him.no | jjttie dose that in, the end.-must|COnETatulated him. T Auguste Camous satled for Brasil| % G2k silicate of which prenistoric 3 3 1 saw t t P % . - it - cannot know how delightful it is to in his eyes.| He had again changed and ;-ruted acknowledgment.'And 1, .being also with | prove fatal,” was his reply. “The; “Yes, a French lady. 1 was stay-| o o 0 5 " ty-two, with little Brittany made tomahawks and silli be unshackled—out of London. A doctor is ever at the beck and call of his poor patients. If one prac- tices in a poor neighborhood it is & very strenuous life.” “Yes,” I sald. “I quite beliave it. You, no doubt, deserve a holiday.” “I think I do. I haven't been away. from London for three years. I've mever been in Spain, so that's why ‘we are here.” “There's a gt of bunkum in the medical profession,” I sald merrily. “Phew! I know one or two doctors and I've been let into some ‘of the secrets of the consultant!” My fellow-traveler smiled. - “Ah, you evidently know some- thing,” he said. “Perhaps I do.” I replied. “But, after all, in these decadent days there is no honesty in business, and but- little in any of the professions.” “Yes,” he laughed. “I really think 1 agree with you. We doctors see it every day. But—well, ‘it is & real rellet to be free, and away from London.and the constant calls on tl- telephone.” “My is never gree one single day,” declared his wife in _very broken English. *“No man is for I knew how devoted he was to her. 1 tried to comfort him, but he only shook his head, saying: “I left her an hour ago, as I have to see several serious cases. But I know there is, alas! no hope. - She will probably have passed away: be- fore I can get back.” As he spoke there was a ring at the bell, and I heard some one being shown into the walting room. And then I heard a woman's groans, so 1 thought it time to leave. “I'm so awfully sorry to see you so distressed,” I said. ) “Ah, my dear friend, if my wife is taken I shall give up everything, said brokenly. “I know there is no hope for her. Nonel"” I again trigd to console him, bnt he only shrugged his shoulders. The room in which' we were was uncarpeted. On one side was an old leather couch from which the horse- hair stuffing protruded, and a small writing table, lit by a single gas jet. In that room he attended the ilis of the poor of Camberwell and Wal- worth. . X * ¥ & % SWCE we had been together in ‘me merrily. “Well, well!” he cried. "Only fancy that we meet here! Ihave not heard from you. Why?” < I told him of ‘my letter to Brussels, but he declared ,that he had never received it.’ #1 have nll along thought that the shock of your visit to me at Camber- well had caused you to scratch me off your visiting list,” he laughed. I assured him that such was not the case and congratulated him upon how well he looked. . ‘ “I take things easier qovmllyl" he sald. “I've just been along the lakes—Como and Garda—aiid up to Riva. Had a delightful time. I was in Dalmatia all the spring—at Zara and Sebenico. Do you know the places? Charming!” “Yos.. I've been to Zars”.T sald. You siw the.cherry blossoms, I sup-; poseT” *I did. Tt it lovely?” , 'flun he. & vermouth and bitters, in | true Italian “style. Booth-Evenden was & cosmopolitan without a doubt. But.nmumqnotnhawhnm had changed from the much harassed doctor of Camberwell to a vum:! English traveler in-Haly. a lady, looked the other.way...He was evidently on intimste terms with .his companion, for they chatted and aughed together, and over . their .coffee they smoked cigarettes together,. with .thelr elbows on the table.” .. 1 rose and .went. on -to.the. theater with my friend, leaving the dogtor thers. Aboyt thres months later'T had re- turned from Serbia, where I hid been on a government. mission, when Jate one are lots of people ready to pay a doctor a thousand or two to get out of the.way univanted. relatives who stand but!uu themselves-and for- tune.” . “That.is. not ‘muy & new ldea,” I said.- . “I" know . thgt. 'But the trgatment ‘oftho"themé could be new, for your ‘charadter | Would., émply . the newly discoyered poisons, “well as the baerllt~of ‘fatal diséases. The mode of a@mipistraition ‘must ‘be one that ‘could never be traced.” ° ;"Everything can now be discovered by’ the_pathologist” I declared du- bloumy. - .Aiffer. Polson or. bacteria can that 1t un dety, detection, and death ing at her house, the Chateau de Poa- trieux, a beautiful old place, when your letter reached me. We had then been married just a week. We're staying at Claridge's till we get a house.”. But I come round here every day. . Gabrielle will be h in a few minutes. She will be “delighted to meet. you, I'm sure.” . ‘In .about a quarter-of an hour a rather stout, elderly, lady was shown in, and ‘I was dntroduced. Though she._was_ the reverse of prepossessing, | she spoke English well, and was quite refined—much more so than the previous Mrs. Booth-Evenden. “My husband has often spoken of you,” m—u."nndl:gwfitltcmod to know you.” ¢ ‘We took tes unmcr, and I spent & very. pleasant hour with them. His attitude toward her was most courtly and.generous. He did not seem the sime callous man who had spoken 80 alrfly. of murder & few months before. x‘ had found a house at Lan- Gate, they told me, and that uywyumwua.muu the .decorators. “™And now,” sald madame, “we shall stirt buying Purniture. Tt will be de- 1ighttul to have & house in London, a3 -voflumuthhfl-" fortune besides his scientific education, and in time he extended his collecting activities as far as Labrador. At last he settied down in Nice to complete his collections and his studies of his native ses, and, for his support, mean- ‘while, was content with the pharmacy which he opened in the old town, where American tourists search for the romantic and the picturesque. In this retreat his persistent work, with- out ever talking to the world about 1t, must have been prodigious, and the result ‘is interesting even to the man and woman in the street. 1 went over more than a thousand specimens with the help of a classified catalogue which. M. Camous has been persuaded to have privately printed. Under the title of® garnets alone—a unique part of the collection—I count- 4 sixty-six headings, of which sev- eral i comprise groups of -their own. tal, with the blue sapphire, rose ruby and yellow topas. There is emery- stone from the classic maid Ariadne’s Isle of Naxos and diaspora from Ches- ter, Mass.; rubicella from Ceylon and brucite from New York, and, of course, gatherings from all Europe, from Fin- iand snd Norway. to,ltaly and the s one whole serles of the co- mlun precious stones called orien- mwanite (an American name that) of which later Gauls made battle axes— and one of the axes from the Upper Lbire. And, reverently, there is irised anthracite from Pennsylvania and & | specimen labeled “very beautiful Bal- u.marlu from Barc (7) Hill, Maryland.” STERLING HEILIG. —_— . Tnn ingerference of light produces the prismatic colors on a fiy's wings. When light falls on an ex- cessively thin substance, such as & 20ap-bubble or & film of air between two glass plates, the waves of light reflected from the upper and under . surfaces interfere with one another in a certain order called “Newton's scales.” The iridescence of mother-of-pearl is due to the reflection from minute on the surface, giving rise to the production of color Ly the in- terference of the waves of light. The refraction of light and the produc- tion of priamatic colors surround us with the most intéresting phenomena. The laundress. whose work raises over the washtub a soapy froth, per- forms inadvertently one of the most delicate operations of chemistry— “worked harder. Dieu! T often won- ‘Madrid he had become a changéd 1 became oonnimlof g e i der how he gets through it all. But|man, silent, frowning and taciturd.|in. him. g....," it T & u.n::nuwy u-;n';!o::; botey. NSetabl -mow we sre going upon s pleasant|I man; ll‘l:‘\ll‘“nltnl any Evma‘um.- 'lfl -‘flr!. 'u.u:uu:mm-’u taell. .-. -holiday, I hope!” finsnelal loss. ° -' seemed s0 " | aseter : “weaithy, meney everywhere on rocks “It will na doubt,be very pleas-|strange that & o | wound. ‘pensated for her plain countsnance. and various stones, some of which are sat” I seld “TR mum-iuurn "be -applied hlght and '-nuc. “In . She told me.of Mfl-—.u‘n" A precious in-