Evening Star Newspaper, April 20, 1924, Page 63

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. VBy Clarence Budington Kelland In Which an Amateur Detective Matches His Wits Against the Wiles of a Crafty Oriental—In Unraveling One Mystery He Encounters Another OTCED the parcel-post delivery ome to a stop before the house of my neighbor, John Sandys, and watched with some interest an oblong, paper-wrapped box carried to his door. The box might have con- tained flowers, but the habits and character of Mr. Sandys made flowers incredible. He was the type of man who might send his wife a present of a sirloin steak upon her birthday or of a waffle iron at Christmas, but for him to have sent a box of flowers casually upon no occasion whatever was unimaginable. Alpin Stone, my adjoining neighbor ~a dealer in second-hand books—and, £0 1 have discovered, an individual well worth cultivating—was trimming the grass about a flower bed. 1 called to him “Alpin.” said 1, “a parcel has just bean delivered to the Sandyses. It Jooks like flower: “Then,” said he. “Mrs. Sandys must have an indiscreet admirer.” “It might,” said I, “contain food. “If it came from Sandys,” said he, “it might contain anything that is de- woid of beauty or sentiment, and is useful “But,” said T, “he's not such a bad chap. Seems fond of his wife, and she of him." “A good husband and bountiful pro- vider,” said Alpin sententiously, “but as empty of imagination as a puff ball 15 of honey." At that moment Mrs. Sandys ap- peared in the door. Even at the dis- tance of a hundred yards one was aware of her exceptional prettiness, even though her features were indis- | tinguishable. She stood in the door an instant, looking up and down the street; then spying Alpin and myself, ran across the porch, down the steps and toward us. She paused before my house breathless, “Will you come? Will you please coma—quick?* she said. “What has happened?’ said I. though Alpin already had moved to- ward her. “The box. I'm afraid of the box! Then, as we walked beside her—and her pallor and trembiing made it ap- parent she was the victim of no ordi- nary fright—she said, “T don’t know what it Is. [ never felt so before. It isn't fright exactly, but a kind of loathing. The moment I touched that box it overcame me. 1 felt that 1 had something horrible in my hands.” “You opened it?" Alpin asked. o Alpin paused. mation was one horror? Yes." “Was the box light or heavy “It was—it was quite heayy “Did it feel,” asked Alpin, or dead?” “It felt, “malignant.” “There was no mechanical ing “You say your sen- of loathing and “alive she said after a pause, tick- Alpin nodded to himself. In Mrs. Sandy's hall he paused and said im- patiently, almost petulantly, “The box! The box!" “There.” She pointed to a table in the library where rested a container some two feet long by ten inches wide and six inches deep. It was wrapped in stout manila paper and secured in- tricately by a strong cord, knotted | and knotted again. We approached it. No sooner had we come within its immediate neigh- borhood than Mrs. Sandys covered her face with her hands and uttered a sort of moan. T myself was:con- scious of a peculiar and highly dis- agreeable sensation, mot unlike the feeling one has in a rapidly descend- ing elevator. Alpin Stone's face mir- rored some unpleasant emotion, but his lips were compressed and his brows drawn. As if by a tremendous effort of the will, he compelled him- self to lay his hand on the cover of the box. He lifted it, weighed it, shook it. From the sound the box contained some heavy substance, packed loosely in paper. He set the box down—and the movement within continued. : Alpin iarned to look at me, and noddr d, if confirming some con- jecturc - ready made. “Wait,” he said, “Don't touch it until T come Luck. On your life, don't untie a knot. Or better. I will carry the box into the garden. Come along.” * % % ¥ B walked through the house to the back yard, a little plot secluded by high shrubs, and Alpin placed the box on the lawn; then he walked to a young fruit tree and ruthlessly cut a strong limb with his jack-knife—a limb with forking branches. This hé trimmed meticu- Jously until he held in his hand a stout wand, some six feet long, with @ crotch at its extremity. “Mrs. Sandys, stand at a distance, please. You, Jenkins, take that hoe and be ready. The cord was unfastened. Alpin stood back, and with his wand loos- ened the wrapping paper, disclosing a strong box of corrugated board. He placed the tip of his wand under the cover and flipped it upward, poising tensely. The box was filled loosely with white paper such as is used to pack fragile objects, paper cut into narrow strips and looking like white excel- sior. That was all. Alpin reached forward with his wand and stirred the mass of paper! Slowly something emerged. Some- thing dark, sleek, loathsome reared jtself from its concealment with a lithe, graceful, horrible, undulating movement, slowly swaying to gnd fro. I think I uttered & cry. Alpin lunged forward deftly with his wand. The box was overturned amid a dis- concerting flopping and thrashing abput, and then Alpin turned to me, calm restored, and said in his natural volce, “Have a look.” 3 I ventured nearer. There, pinned to the ground, with the arms of Al- .pin’s fork imprisoning its throat, if the thing can be =aid to havea threat, was a reptile which I recognized as the hooded cobra of the Dekkan Peninsula! “Imagine,” said Alpin, almost with pleasure, “a man, unsuspicious, open- ing that box and fumbling blindly in the loose paper to see what he had.” I could imagine it, and the thought nauseated me. “Better take Mrs. Sandys over to your wife,” he said. “Then hurry back and help with the execution.” 1 left Mrs. Sandys, who seemed struggling with hysteria, in the hands of my wife, a woman of stable dispo- sition’ and much tact; after which T returned to Alpin Stone, and together we completed the unpleasant task of disposing of the snake. “Did you observe Mrs. Sandys close- 1y?" he asked. “Was it your opinion she acted.as one would expect a woman to act In the presence of a wholly unexpected and frightful oc- currence? Or was it your opinion she showed fright without such astonish- ment as you would expect to find? I considered. “She was exceedingly upset.” I said. - “Naturally,” he replied shortly, ut was she astounded that anyone should try to take her life by such an abhorrent means?” “I cannot say,” said L. “Nor can 1” he said, more to him- self than to me. “It is of first impor- tance. If the whole affair is incom- prehensible to her, we have one spe- cies of puzzle. If she had reason to expect a murderous attack of some kind, but was only surprised and ter- rified at the manner of it, we have quite a different problem. What do you know of these Dsup]zi‘" “Hush,” T sald, for I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the figure of a man come around the house and pause at sight of us I turned. It was Mr. Sandys. Mr. John Sandys was a short gentleman with wide shoulders and thick waist. His neck was unusually short, and his wide face habitually wore an ex- pression which, to give it the best of it, was placid. “Good afternoon,” szid Alpin. “Howdy do?" he responded. “A frightful thing has happened,” said 1. “Is that s0?" he responded in ex- actly the tone he would have used if 1 had mentioned my bellef that it would rain, “An attempt.” said Alpin, “has been made to murder your wife. “Who did it?" said Mr. Sandys. “Some one,”" said Alpin, “sent wife a poisonous snake by mai “What Kind of a snake?" asked Mr. Sandys. Then, after a moment's ap- parent study of the situation. “Didn’t bite her, did it?* He hesitated, as if striving to cope with the situation. “Must have kind of frightened her, T guess,” he said. “Mr. Sandys,” Alpin said stem- 1y, “do you know of any reason why your wife might fear a murderous at- tack?" “Susan?" “Why—no. “Have you or Mrs. Sandys an ene- my?” s'pose,” he said, “there’s folks that don't like us. Everybody can't like everybody. But that ain't a rea- son to send snakes."” ! “Hardly,” said Alpin dryly. You will notify the police at once?” said . “What for?” he responded with the minutest trace of irritation. “There ain’t any harm done.” “Because,” said I angrily, “the in- dividual who made this attempt will try again. He must be discovered before that can happen.” He pondered it briefly. “It is a matter,” said Alpin in an odd tone, “for Mr.’ Sandys to' de- cide.” With which he turned his back squarely and walked out of the yard. Mr. Sandys, apparently, paid no at- tention to our going. As we crossed the street we met Mrs. Sandys re- turning; she waiked hurriedly and passed us without token of recog- nition. “Jenkins,” said Alpin Stone, when we reached my piazza and dropped itno chairs. “John Sandys is either a very good man or a very bad man. In either event he is a remarkable man. “He impresses me as being & clel)’ said I * % % % AT that moment the newsboy threw a folded paper upon the steps. T opened it to glance at the day's news. The first item my eyes en- countered was a so-called feature story in the middle of the page under the cartoon. I imagine the occurence of the word “snake” in the headline arrested my attention. I read it has- tily and passed it to Alpin. The item, written in jocular vein, described with much detail how some one unknown had- broken into the snake- house at the z0o, admitting himself by cutting the pane from the window with a diamond. There were sur- mises as to the purpose and alcoholic condition of the burglar; but the telling point of the narration was the fact that a certain snake, a cobra recently arrived ffom India, was miss- ing. . “Perhaps,” said Alpin, “we should not have killed the reptile. Doubtless it was a valuable specimen.” He was silent 'a moment, looking apprehensively from time to time to- ward his - own house. His especial ‘worry when engaged upon some crim- inal problem was lest his wife should discover his activitz. Mrs. Alpin Stone regarded her husband’'s pen- chant for criminal investigation as a low habit, savoring of large feet and broad shoes and taking of snuff, which she learned was a habit com- mon among policemen. “We may group premeditated mur- ders,” he sald, “into three general classes. Those arising from greed (perhaps a majority), those arising from some of the numerous by-prod- ucts of so-called love, and those aris- ing from the desire for vengeance, It has long been my conclusion that crimes of a fantastic nature have their origin in the last.” “Then—" said 1. I incline to believe this was an attempted crime of veneganci “But what,” said I, “could a pretty, commonplace little home body like Mrs. Sandys have done to call down such a horrible revenge?' “Jenkins,” he sald solemnly, “there is no such thing as a commonplace home body. The mere fact of her sex invests every woman with tremen- dous potentialities.” “Sandys' attitude,” said 1. “It is incomprehensible. Doesn't he realize? It piles the responsibility upon us, does it not? If he refuses to take action for his wife's protection, we must.” ‘And shall,” said he. “T was about to go to the shop to consult my in- dexes. This is an exceptionally fas- cinating set of circumstances, bizarre, exotic. It should be a matter of small labor to find the right road. But to follow it—that may prove both diffi- cult and—hazardous. Alpin, as you may ,perhaps not know, is an omnivorous reader. He buys many books for his second-hand shop, but s distressed if a purchaser carries one away. And he had, for & quarter of a century, made a study of the crimes of fiction and of fact, studiously classifying them as to their characteristics, and cross-index- ing them. so that, given a set of facts, he can, with a reasonable de- groe of certainty, build up from his data the true conclusion. It was next morning before I saw him again. “Have you noted.” he said, “the re- markable increase in the number of vanished young women for the past six months?” 0, sald T “It is remarkable,” he said. “And the notable feature is the class of young women who vanish. In New York it is girls who shop in expen- sixe 5th avenue shops, in San Fran- cisco it is girls who live on the Hill, in Cleveland it is young women whose photographs appear in the society columns. There have been no less than seven such disappearances in six_months.” “Which indicates?" He shrugged his shoulders. “Any- thing you choose.” he said, “but, un- doubtedly, something! None of them has been found.” “But that has no bearing on the Sandys affair.” 1 wish,” he said, apparently ig- noring my remark, “I knew from what part of the world Sandys came. 1t 1 knew it were Australia, matters would be simplified.” “Ask him,” said T. and his only re- ply was an ironical smile. He gazed off across the street a few moments, and I fancied his brain busily engaged with the affair in hand, but what was my astonishment to hear him say, with every sign of a keen interest in the subject. “I wonder how one recognizes real poetry. The borderland between the sublime and balderdash is so nar- row. Drivel and loftiness run along side by side.” “I never read poetry,” said I, with| some displeasure. “You should. Not so much for the poetry itself, perhaps, but for the pleasure of determining if the sen- timent comes from the heart of the writer, or if he were only stringing together, with a certain degree of skill, words which seem to mean something, but are utter rot.” “Meantime,” said I, “Mrs. Sandys sits in danger of her life.” “I af not unmindful of Mrs. Sandys,” he said with that irritating placidity which sometimes settles upon him, *but I chanced to think of this Hindu poet who has conquered our drawing rooms and our publishers and our lecture audiences.” ‘What about him?” said I “Either,” sald Alpin, “his is the mind of a very sweet and deep and extraordinarily wise man, or it is the cunning of a charlatan. I have read him. Sometimes 1 fancy I catch glimpses of thought so profound and comforting as to be beyond the grasp of the ordinary Intellect. At other times I am certain it is nothing but pseudo-esoteric rot, meaningless with intent.” * k% % ‘Hl-: arose and walked across the street to the Sandys home, mount- cd the porch and rang the bell. Mr. Sandys appeared and stood in the door, staring at us in his mild, vague, unin- terested way. “When do you go?" abruptly. “Go?" said Sandys with an air of not comprehendins. “M~ve on,” said Alpin, “to the next stopping place. This one, of course, has become Impossible.” Mrs. Sandys appeared, her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed to ex- traordinary prettiness by sudden danger. “Don’t annoy him. Don't question him. T won't have it. Isn't it enough- “Quite enough,” said Alpin. not wish to annoy. My purpose in coming was to ask for your promise not to— disappear — for ferty-eight hours. You can do so with safety, I think. I am almost willing to guar- antee it.” “Forty-eight hours,” said Sandys unemotionally. “Why should I move on in forty-eight hours?’ “Mrs. Sandys,” said Alpin, “you have been making Inquiries about me. “Po they warrant you in begging your husband to place some confidence in Alpin said “John. Please.” He did not look at he he look at us. He merely seemed to stand there like some piece of household ware, not endowed with consciousne: “Mr. Sandys, Canadian?” Alpin mean island *“No.’ “I have always wanted,” said Alpin, “to make the voyage to Australia Sandys waggled his head uneasil: “It must be a—long trip. I—person- ally I don't like long trips.” “Did you notice in the paper of this morning,” said Alpin, “that Marylin Graine, one of the season’s most pho- tographed debutantes, has disappeared ?” | pearea® o," said Sandys. ‘'Who is the richest man world?" asked Alpin. “Wh replied Sandys after a pause, “I suppose Mr. Rockefeller.” ‘Wrong. It is the Maharaja of Sawnpore, Good evening. 1 bhave your promise. Do not leave this house for forty-eight hours. Admit no one but yourselt. Take in no par- cels except from my hands. Prefer- ably keep to the second floor and away frony all windows. Good eve- ning.’ “Well!" sald T in exasperation, when we reached my own porch again, “that was a peculiar conversation.” “Most illuminating,” said Alpin. “I wgs sure I must be correct. The manifestations are identical He leaned forward and touched my knee. “Come. 1 have secured an invitation to call upon the great Hindu poet— the Beggar of Benares.” “But I have no interest in poets.” “All the same, I imagine this one will Interest you. He seems to have a great message and to be a striking personality.” “Very well, if it will please you, said 1, with the air of one making & sacrifice. “Have you, as a firea’m o visit a poet™ He smiled. “Do you remember the multiplication table?” he asked. “Naturally.” “Bear in mind” sald he. “If I touch your arm, fix your mind upon it. Recite it to yourself as if your life depended upon it. Which it may. Concentrate upon it to the exclusion of everything else. Carry your pistol carcely did said Alpin, “are you nodded former “Nor English—I resident of the in the said he, “such a thing I LA ®THE MASTER SLEEPS,” SAID 4 . “I do | immovable | C. ALPIN LUN |in tha inside breast pocket of vour coat—on the left side.” * % % % 'HE taxicab stopped before the door of a brick house set well back from the street in a profusion of trees and shrubbery. I was taken somewhat aback, for the house was upon our most elite thoroughfare, and was of no mean pretensions. “Poetry.” said 1, “must be profit- able merchandise in India." “I believe,” said Alpin, “that the Beggar has a patron who foots the bills, thus acquiring merit.” * We traversed the long walk and presented our cards to a bearded. sandaled Hindu who performed the offices of butler. The house, I noted at once, was redolent with some pleasing, if exotic. odor, as of price- less incense burning. There was a profound quiet. The Hindu did not speak. He bowed low and motioned us with courtly gesture to follow. After crossing several rooms we en- tered a spacious apartment given over to the preservation of books. Cases filled with thousands of vol- umes erected themselves to the ceil- ing, and there were no windows. The light of day was admitted through the glassed apex of the ceiling. but it was now evening, and the sole il- lumination came from tall candles rearing themselves from oriental candelabra. There was a faint haze of smoke—the smoke which dissem- inated the odor noticeable upon en- tering the house. “Welcome, Friend of the Written Word.” said a voice, rich, melodious, beautiful, “and welcome to your com- panion.” It was then that my eyes first rested upon the face of the Beggar of Benares, and whatever apprehen- sions of evil I entertained vanished as THE SERVITOR. APRIL 20, 1924—PART 5. if before some magic of exquisite purity. It was the face of an old man who has lived beautifully: a face which spoke at once of childlike sim- plicity and of profound wisdom. The Beggar sat, oriental fashion, upon a low divan. His robe was white, but not so white as his beard. At his feet crouched a second Asiatic, given to stoutness, with head bowed upon knees and face hidden as if in perpetual reverence. “We have come,” said Alpin Stone, “to drink at the fountain of your wisdom. ‘“The wisdom." gently, ness.”* I felt a great shame, a shame for the presence of a firearm in my pos- session. It seemed a sacrilege. “Be seated,” said the Beggar. “It is well to comfort the body.” He spoke a word to the servitor at his feet, who arose and placed chairs for our convenience. N Never .from the lips of man have 1 heard such gracious eloquence! The talk was of virtue and beauty, and of the triumph ef spirit over flesh. One lls(ens{d as“to a revelation. 1 was at peade: I was made to feel that the world was good and to perceive the feebleness of evil. “And now,” said Alpin, “let us speak of men. We of the west rest under a cloud of ignorance and misconception as to you of the east. Names come to us on the wind of rumor, but they remain names. To some we must be grateful—to the patron who sent you to us, the Maharaja of Sawnpore. Tell us of him.” ‘The servitor at the feet of the Beg- gar lifted his head for an instant, and 1 felt the sharpness of his piercing glance. “A youth, said the Beggar “of a child lost in the wilder- bound to the flesh, but GED FORWARD DEFTLY WITH HIS WAND. striving toward the heights of purit said the Beggar. “But I thirst. Let such refreshments as are fitting be ‘drought."” * % % & THE servitor clapped his hands: portieres opened, and a slender girl, swathed to the face in white, entered bearing a tray. She moved slowly, and. if the phrase be per- missible, with mechanical grace, and stood waiting. The eyes of the servi- tor did not lower themselves, but remained fixed on Alpin Stone. “Enlighten us, master,” said Alpin, and some subtle change in his voice caused me to sit tense and appre- hensive, not evil worked under the shelter of virtue of blacker face than evil which stands fearless in the open? 1 looked to the Beggar. His head rested upon his breast; his eyes were closed, and his face was one of per- fect peace. “The master sleeps,” said the ser- vitor. “It is well,” said Al Deither see nor hear.” “It is well,” replied the servitor. “Rutton Lal,” said Alpin. “I am Rutton Lal" “At first I was deceived. His good- ness deceived me.” “It was well conceived,” said the fat servitor, rising. He laughed with an amusement which was inexplica- bly repulsive to me. e, he said. “You came to gain knowledge. Look.” With sudden gesture he threw back the folds which concealed the face of the girl bearing refreshments. It was a white face, a western face. ‘Marylin Graine,” said I for her fea- tures had been made familiar in the public prints since her disappearance. Rutton Lal spared me a glance. *You know what you know,” said he, and Jaughed again. “Now the work of your lives is accoriplished.” Suddenly Alpin clutched my arm. “The table,” said he, and, remember- ing, I began to recite those labors of my schooldays. one, one times two is two, one times three is three. . ..” But even as I counted I saw things which were not. The Beggar of Benares vanished from his seat, and in his place sat a woman of gracious beauty, at whose face cofled a snake, and as I watched, re- citing mechanically, fighting to per- celve the real from the unreal, the snake uncoiled and moved toward me. Alpin stood beside me, staring, wide of eye, wavering upon his feet. I tried to cry out, but no sound came. I knew, but I do not know how I knew, that the approach of that ser- pent meant the approach of death, but T was powerless to move. “Six times six is thirty-six; six times seven is forty-two; six times eight—" I could not recall it. I struggled to remember the-answer. Rutton Lal came very close to Alpin Stone and laughed in his face. “We who do the bidding of the Maharaja of Sawnpore do it well,” he jeered, and suddenly stopped jeer- ing, for Alpin no longer wavered on his feet with drowsy face and half- shut eyes; Alpin’s left hand clutched the fat olive throat, and there was the sound of a blow as the butt of Alpin's automatic fell upon the lank bair of Rutton Lal's rounded skull The man sank to the ground. “Jenkins,” said Alpin. x &% * I CLENCHED my hands, rubbed my eyes. The beautifdl woman gave place to the sleeping Beggar; the crawling snake vanished. 1 feit weak, nauseated. “He almost had me,” said Alpin. He bent quickly and handcuffed the wrists of Rutton Lal. “Tie his feet,” said he. “Here is rope. We're not out of the house yet—nor Marylin Graine.” The girl still stood, motionless, ap- parently sightless, unmoved by what had passed “Rutton,” said Alpin, “at the first appearance of something that doesn’t exist I shall shoot.” The Hindu shrugged his shoulders. -“You escaped from prison in Aus- tralia.” “Evidently.” “Why did you send the snake to Mrs. Sandys?” 3 Rutton Lal maintained a stubborn silence. “Do you want him to know?" Alpin pointed to the still sleeping Beggar. 0. No. He must not know. “I thought so. Sublime goodness can impress even such as you. Talk, and I promise he shall not know. How is Mrs. Sandys concerned in this?™ “He will “One times one fis | “She was one of us.” “In Australia “Where your Wusiness was abduet- | Ing girls for your master, the Maha- raja of Sawnpowe?" “Yes,” very smienly. “She was the Mary Noyes who gave ¥ou up to the police? Why?" “Love,” said Rutton Lal sneer. “She loved a man.” “A good man?" “A good man.” “Who knew her story, and her ¢ickedness—her abandoned childhood nd the current of events which threw her into your hands™ “And he persuaded her to cleanse her soul? He took his life in his bands that she might be redeemed “He was a brave man,” said Rut- with a have hunted them dow two years I have searched chose a strange means* “A warning. The sStory would far. Many would read it. Those who read would fear to do as this woman did.” Alpin nodded. “So T reasoned,” said he. “And now, under the shelter of the virtue of the Beggar of Re- nares you have entered again the busi- ness of abfuction “But he does not know. not know." “Is there an household?” He does honest man in this 1l save four. Tt was necessar “Rutton Lal,” said Alpin, “you will disappear. Now, while 1 wait, will send your message to the intel- ligence of the Beggar that you bave been called away, and who will take the trust of his affalrs. He must not suffer.” Rutton shrugged fatalistically. He shut his eyes and remained silent a moment. “It is done” he said. “When he awakens he will know.” “I do not wish to frighten the girl Tell her to awaken tomorrow in her own home—without memories.” “It is done,” said Rutton presently. “Come,” said Alpin. He bent over and freed Rutton's fect. “There is a very modern telephone, Jenkins. Will you be so good as to notify the police, and call a taxicab to take Miss Graine to her home?’ He turned to Rutton Lal. “Perhaps” he said, “you need refreshment. Will you choose a glass from the tray?” “For the first time since birth” said Rutton, “I acknowledge intel- ligence in an occidental. You play well to the last move.” He lifted a glass to his lips, and then sat down, composing his limbs comfortably, and buried his face in his arms as he had sat when first we entered the room. “We waited. Half an hour passed in silence. Rutton Lal sat motion- less; the girl stood as if carved from stone. The turbaned butler entered, paused uncertainly. Alpin arose. “Cover Rutton lal” he said. “There may be trickery. I doubt it, but he may hope this Is not checkmate but only mate.” He motioned the butler 1o folfow him, and they disappeared. -Almost instantly he returmed with our old friends Detectives Samuels and Rousch at his heels. “Gentlemen,” said he, with a note of compiaisance in his voice. ‘“Miss Marylin Graine Yonder Is Rutton Lal, abductor extraordinary to his highness the Maharaja of Sawmpore. The story will wait. Let us make haste.” Ed. Rousch stepped heavily to Rut- ton Lal's side and placed a profes- sional hand on his shoulder. The man did not move. Roush lifted the oriental head: the eves were closed; it was the face of one who has gone peacefully to sleep—but it was the sleep from which there is no awak- ening. late that night we rapped at the Sands door. “It is 1" said Alpin and we were admitted. “There is no need to move onm," he said .“Rutton Lal is dead.” “You know—"" For the first time Sandys exhibited strong emotion. “The story in all its details But you need have no fear. Malicious tongues will never touch Mrs. Sandys. Now you may begin to live.” “But how?” I said. “How did vou arrive at all this?” “The index,” he said. “The cobra was a favorite means of Rutton Lal. He used it twice in Australia, once in Shanghal, and nobody knows ~how many timeg in other places It, taken with the disappearance of a number of young Society women, pointed to a recurrence of two years ago. The cable told me Rutton was at large. But I admit I was shaken when I faced the Beggar of Benares. It seemed impossible evil could shelter itself under such simple vir- tue. Then I saw Rutton's eyes” He turned to Mrs. Sandys. “Mad- am,” said he, “may I congratulate you upon a husband such as few women possess?’ “I am trying.” she said with grate- ful tears, “to be worthy of him.” (Copyright, 1924.) you a Sweets Other Than Sugar. OME years ago a report ran through the public press that a plant had been discovered in South America that produced a substanee 180 times sweeter than sugar. The report startled the sugar growers all over the world, nor were they reas- sured until it was found that the substance was a glycerin, and not & true sugar. Efforts to get seeds of the plant failed at that time, but not long ago several ounces cf the dried leaves and a small amount of seed were received by the Department o> Agriculture. Experiments with the#* leaves show that they sre as sweel as saccharin. ¢ Investigation of certain stores of crystallized honey in places in Penn- sylvania where the bees had died from starvation led to the discovery of a quantity of rdre sugar, known as melezitose, which was extracted and purified and placed at the dis- posal of the bureau of chemistry. It appears that melezitose is one of the rarest of sugars. Minute quantities of it have been available to men of science for many years, but the sup- ply has never been suffiaient to per- mit of cxtensive experimentation.