Evening Star Newspaper, February 1, 1925, Page 76

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C., FEBRUARY 1, 1925—PART 5. THE PERFECT CRIME --- A Story by Austin Small Pogarty Had Schemed and Worked for Many Months to Perfect It. SEROLD POG d 4 cusat than simself in rising to state the for | the crown thus described Mr. Pogar- ! ¥'s experiment | It was a gem, a shining example of | the higher art of trans al| serupulously prepared and so immac- carricd out that it placed Mr. Jerold Pogar a stroke in a high place among the world’s master erim nals. As a work art it stands. lesser lights rov it as a zutde 1 a model upon which to mold their own efforts, and at one company promoter even now whenever the na | Farty is ment 1 | It was only offense Mr. Pogarty ever in his fe. He spent tw delight- though he co t matter off in a coup had 16 wished. But he the vears to the minutes, why ho attained perfection. It succeeded brilliantly And vet it failed. It failed so la- mentably and so needlessly that in the awful moment when the crash and the law gazed tark and maglignant "ogarty ghed ly at t ARTY ev a crite general ct and committea Th for the attorney raises the crimin ymmitted 1y preferred which ame tin ted com crim \d his family im @ harassin e. He h assuredly of the at great | just as ntemplated or the | knows what's what. garty differed, utterly xnd entirely, from the vast majority va® that he was one of the inf restimal few essod the ty. the cal the opportunity thought into d he pro- | same calm, racterized of his smooth, un- two years before took up his pen and wrote °s on the wrong side of the On that day several things to Mr. Pogarty that had| never happened before. | To begin with, Mr. Pogarty got to he bank that morning an hour late "hat had never happened before. For ars 15 minutes to 10 had alway seen Mr. Pogarty hanging up his hat | on his own private peg. There was never mora than a few saconds in it| either way. Wh 1d thers be! {r. Pogarty always caught the same train, and the bank was only 347 steps from the station But that morning there had been a suicide on the train, and that had aver happened before. Some poor, If-demented creature, battered and ten In the great struggle and acking one of the essentials for com- iitting one really worth-while job, ad suddenly grasped up at a courage ig enough to do the biggest job of Lappened Mr. Pogarty gazed at the qpen door. Te muttered “Dear me!” and gazed ully around, as though to assure 1solf that the compartment really was empty. He mechanically pulled runication cord, and he had never that before. Because he was > witness, he was requested by to “just pop around to sir, just for a few min- if you don't mind, sir—just a mere formality. you know, sir— o make out a proper statement, sir.” * ok ok k R. POGARTY popped around the station by the side of a wal ng uniform, and that had never hap- pened bef He discovered that policenen are a ponderously decent set of fellows, al- belt nearly as much addicted to im- movable routines as he was himself. They made him an hour late. They insisted on making him an hour late sisted on doing that as calmly 5 sincerely as they apologized for so doing. He went up the bank steps slowly, through a palatial temple and columns, counting cash, and went into his| » office. As he closed the door he caught the warning whisper of a junior clerk to his chum “Shh, boys! Old Pogarty has turned His hat stopped S Old Pogarty! the com- to houses and own priva half way to the He feit a cold,| lammy hand sliding_all over his| skin. Old Pogarty! He had never lieard himself called that before. For « painful moment the power of| ought slid out of his brain and his| face went tense, as though he awaited | the horrific explosion of a shell he| had already seen drop. Then he stared destiny straight in the eyes. And destiny laughed at him He saw himself standing, bare- eaded and bewlldered, at the grim half-way house on the crest of the | hill. It was labeled “The Abattoir of N | \ | ot | there | his were abstract. the Slaughterhouse Dreams.” Behind him, all the grand hopes, the splendid ambitions the <hining {deals of youth streamed way to a far horizon. There they ¥, resplendent, magnificent, a glori ous panoply, woven of cloth-of-gold n the precious loom of youth, all ablaze with the brilliance, the bioom nd the mauty of the days when his was young. And ft ast! His frightened eyes saw receding hour by hour, dimming and flattening to a dull, dead monotone of memory. Like the glorious, golden confidence of youth, it was dying; in a little while it would be gone—gone beyond all dreaming and desiring. It became a dreadfully silent procession shattered illusions, holiow am- bitions and broke ideals, slipping back inexorably into the shadows. And ahead lay the suns Full and square in the path he must tread, the great plain went falling away, un- checked, remorseles: to where the red embers of the dying fires lit up the journey's end. He stood, gazing wild-eyed at the tragedy of life. And destiny hugged itself at the spectacle, destiny being privileged to see the funny side of the man stand- ing in the bordedland of 40. “Go to, old fool!” it tittered. are you but old? Hair gone, teeth gone, vigor gone, digestion going, rheumatism coming, you'll be an old un in no time. Don't stare at me like that—hundreds and thousands of myriad millions have fought their way up that side of the hill, and they all shy at the sunset. Death? Why, man there are 80 many countless impis of dead the soil that the bread you ate this morning was grown In the dust of the dead. That “What { cocky 1ittle devil who called you ‘Old Pogarty' just now-—he will be number himself almost a back before he That's the only little bit of satisfaction you get out of this business. Excuse me laughing, wo you, but you do look a silly fish standing Wwith your mouth open. But th they do. Right down through the ages I've stood here, watching the millions pass. Armies of them, leglons of them, all fighting and struggling like mad to get a look over the top of that hill. And they all rear up and plunge like startled horses when they get their first sight of the sunset. Tee hee! Pass along there, old fool; make way for the mil- lfons yet to come. This ix where you wigh!” N R. POGARTY'S VL5t journey. He stood and startea at it for a moment, not quite certain as to how it got there. Then he sat down very gingerly to think things out. Man is by nature a selfish ani- mal. ‘At a crisis he s apt to think in terms of personal possessions. Mr. Pogarty did. Somewhat to his own surprise, he found that nine-tenths of Even so, they were hat completed beyond price. Twenty years of faithful service in the throne rooms of cash and credit. A few hundreds put by for the rainy day that came along every now and then to re- mind him of others coming. a bril liantly yet unconsclously established repu n for absolute dependability, honesty and sobriety. A bachelorhood equally solidly founded. A meticulous brain. A perfect knowledge of every phase and facet of the working system of the bank. A board that might, or might not, bestow on him *some little token of appreciation, some little me- mento of the high esteem, admiration and regard in which the whole of the directorate had always held him, through the long years of his, etc., etc.,” when the time came for them to kick him a little farther down the road to the sunset. There was a lot more, too; such as a horror of genteel poverty. It was &t that moment that Mr. Pogarty’s criminal complex functioned. As a criminal, he passed from the po- tential to the intentional. The idea of committing one magnlificent declension, which until then had been wholly sub- consclous and subservient, suddenly be- came definite. It became a reality, one of his personal possessions, Mr. Pogarty was not a little per- turbed at the brutal casualness of it. His amazed brain demanded a reaction, a touch of the humdrum, to bring it to earth. He found himself signing his name on a plle of letters and docu- They had been placed on his desk for that purpose. That had been his first job In the morning for years and years, putting his signature to a great sheaf of papers and things. They were all perfectly in order, of course. They always were. The secretaries saw to that. A long mechanical suc- of | ce fon of signatures along under a long “Yours faithfully.” Pogarty’s was rather a ture, he thought. It looked well. The quaint little flourish to the initial *J* and the trim little pull-back loop of the final “y" created the necessary inclsive- ness about a signature that was known and honored throughout banking circles all_over the city. While he was writing he began to visualize the absurd simplicity of the fdea that had lain dormant at the back of his mind ever since he first detected the weaknesses In the bank's system. “No banking system can be perfect,” he assured himself, “for the simple re son that the final balance is struck in figures instead of actual gold-weight in the opposite scale-pan. And flgures will always be open to jugglers He began to toy with his idea. He fondled it as would a connoisseur some priceless old art treasure. All the week end he pondered it, turning it this way and that, testing odd little bits of it, working out minor little de- tafls of it with the analytical delicacy of a chess master proving out a prob- lem game. He studied It, Inspected it, examined it piece by piece, put it under the microscope of his meticulous brain, turned It upside down and Inside out. reassembled the whole scheme and mentally rehearsed the final working out of each incident. Then he as- cended to the pinnacle of intentlonal criminality. He made it his hobby. * 1S perfect idea became his pastime and his recreation, his first and only love. He reveled in it. His hours of ease were spent in sublimating it to the highest pitch of perfection. His plan deserved it, for he had found the means of effectually eliminating that bugbear of all criminals, the hue and cry. He wanted to 1ive his subsequent life at his ease, without having to ex- perfence the slightest qualm or fear. And he knew that it could be done. He decided on the most suitable amount to negotlate. “Forty thousand pounds,” he mur- mured, speculatively. “That is the ideal figure. It Is the lowest I shall re- quire and the highest I can utilize without making a bulge in the market elsewhere. Most decidedly, forty thou- sand is the ideal figure.” Having arrived at this decision, he took & prolonged look at himself in the glass. Certainly that young blighter of a junior had been a trifle premature. Mr. Jerold Pogarty did not look old. He was dapper, neat, natt; a4 as straight as a back- board. His complexion was clear and his eyes as bright and keen as steel Admittedl was semi-bald and his teeth were a bit groggy, but he wore his clothes exceptionally well, and there was not a trace of what one might call elderly-spread below his walstcoat. He had a small sandy- buff mustache which suited him ad- mirably. The wee touch of pom- posity in his manner became him as naturally as did his morning coat and white spats. Mr. Jerold Pogarty decided that that particular identity should slowly wane in Threadneedle Street and be transported bodlly, except the mus- tache, to his future home, which he decidéd would bo St. Albans, as be- ing a qulet, exclusive little place and within half an hour of town That was only one brilliant facet of his {dea. Ha was to manufacture a false {dentity right under the board's nose and live an artificial iife before their eyes. His real self he pro- posed to efface and reserve for his own subsequent use later on in St Albans. The next morning he turned up at the bank, wearing Spectacles. They were plain glass lenses, but his friends were not to know that. So they just looked at him their sympathetic heads. From that moment Mr. Jerold Po- garty of Norwood and Threadnoedle strest became half of himself — that is, he became one of two entirely separate and distinct personalities. The one went to the bank regularly every morning, performed his duties in the same suave, faultless manner, lunched at the same table with the same friends, went home at the same time, and never lapsed from punctu- ality again. The only notable change in him was that slowly but surely his eyesight failed. Strength by strength he found it necessary to in- crease the magnifying power of his lenses until, before many months had sped, he blinked wistfully at the di- rectorate from behind a couple of pebbles a quarter of an inch thick. But when he was alone he pushed them up on his forehead, and at other times, unless ho was being ad- dressed personally, he closed his eyes, for Mr. Pogarty was proudly jealous of his vision. Later on other changes appeared in him, or became noticeable for the first time. His knees had lost their spring. He was apt to stand just a trifle bent, as though his tendons were feeling the years, and he shuffled ever such a trifie when he walked. These were the most marked of the other perfectly por- went crawling succession of neat signa- HE HAD BEEN CAUGHT IN THE MAMMOTH SUCK OF THE GREAT LINER BACKWASH, | He took off his sandy-buff mustache, and ehook | trayed littls signs of age creeping | upon the body of Mr. Pogarty. But | he also spoke mumblingly because | his teeth were out, and Col. Calhoun | of the board was “quite certain the old devil had put on 4 inches and a stone since last year.” Sir Wilmot shrugged. “Well, well, that's the way of life, Colonel. We all come to it, you know. Though I must say I always admired old Pogarty's flgure—sort of hoped I might wear half as- well when the fitties loomed ahead. But he cer- tainly has cracked up. His teeth have all gone to pot, t00." “Um—Ilooks bad. Not quite the thing. Man can't talk decently to our class of clients. Not quite the thing. Looks bad. “Yes, well, there it fs. His articu- lation, 1 know, is painfully senile, but I understand he has some miser- able affection of the gums. They are 80 beastly soft and tender it is abs, lutely impossible for him to wear false teeth. Poor old boy has my sympathy, but—ah'—as you say.” The other halt of Mr. Jerold Pogarty remained exactly as the real Mr. Pogarty always was. The only thing that changed in him was his name, which was Mr. Wilfrid Wilder- son. He was a smart, neat, dapper little gentleman with a delightful little place down at St. Albans, He fell quite in love with the old city; he loved its quiet peace and the tast ful tone of its residential quarters. Indeed, his one regret was that his wretchedly plebeian business im- posed necessary absen upon him, for Mr. Wilfrid Wilderson was a dried fruit fmporter with many busi- ness connections at what he was pleased to call the smelly end of the Mediterranean. For two years without a break he sedulously cultivated the atmosphere | of his new entity. Two years was tho lowest limit of time in which he con- sidered he could safaly accomplish the metamorphosis. He t8ok a metl. ulous delight in its gradual develop- ment, while the new conceptfon of Old Pogarty as gradually materfalized | at the bank | Each evening Mr. Jerold Pogarty | of Norwood and Threadneedls Street £ot into a first-class compartment of the fast train down from St. Pancras, and half an hour later Mr. Wilfrid Wilderson of St. Albans and the smelly end of the Mediterranean got out xoxox ! OWARD the end of the year it was a very shuffling figure that got in; a figure that was over at the knees, decidedly stout, epoke with labial senility, wore a little sandy-buf mustache, and bumped | into plles of luggage in spite of verv | strong glasses. He always got into an empty compartment, an easy task these days. On the way down he un- wound a great many swathes of very | fine silk from around his pérson swathes that had been added to month by month with studied care.| second discarded his pebble glasses, inserted | a double set of very perfect false | teeth, squared his shoulders, s(l‘nlghp‘ enecd his knees, and dapper little Mr. Wilfrid Wilderson got out. In St. Albans he established his own | perfectly regulated menage. He paild | his rent, rates and taxes there, had a bank account there, posted lettars and circulars to himself there, called | himself up now and then on the telephone, and on several occasions telegraphed to himself to go in a hurry to the smelly end of the Mediterranean. He entertained his own little circle of friends there, and was entertained in return. He was | barbered and tailored and haber- | dashed there and registered his vote in the council elections. He wrote letters to the local police, to keep his eye on his little place during his necessary absences. Inspector Gorrel much indeed. “A very nice old par- ty” he declared in the messroom. “We could do with a few more like him in the city. Gave me a tenner for the fund with all the pleasure in the world, he did. ‘What's that, my | dear Gorrel’ he says; ‘the Police| Orphanage? Most decidedly I will| glve you something. Musn't let the little kiddies suffer, must we? I'd like to make It more, but this wretched Smyrna business has played the deuce with dried fruit’ he says. ‘I think I shall make it an annual subscription; come along and see me every year,’ he says, anu handed me over & tenner as though it was no more than a ‘tanner.’ “Good old sport. Iltked him very Dried fruits, is Yes. Travels a goodish deal where that stuff grows. That's why he has to g0 away sometimes. But he says he is retiring very soon, and maybe will settle down here permanen He always stayed in St. Albans overnight and had breakfast about 8 o'clock. His housekeeper was a quiet, stald old soul who superin- tended such matters for him with comfortable care. Except at week- ends he never troubled her again till after tea. He had friends in Harpen- den, Luton, Hitchin, Watford, and all | the little country towns around. whom he was frequently visiting. His housekeeper could testify to that But after breakfasting, Mr. Wil- frid Wilderson did not go out pay ing .duty calls. Ho caught the 9 o'clock fast train to St. Pancras, en route for Threadneedle street, and a day's labor that was an absolute mod- el of dignified propriety. He took & very real delight in per- fecting his two personalities. They lived in his heart as completely as a masterpiece lives in the soul of an artist. Throughout the long course of the two years he applied himself with infinite care to the detection of wenknesses or possibilities of im- provements in his plan. Thus one day it appeared that old Pogarty's heaging was not what it used to be. He %.d developed an annoying habit of saying “Eh?" with his hand be- hind his ear when juniors spoke to him, and “I beg your pardon?’ when addressed by the board. That came about after overhearing a chance re- mark of Gorrel's to the statlon ser- geant. “Eyes like an ‘awk and ears like a pointer, he has” whispered that gentleman with proprietary pride when Wilderson stopped him in the street to give him another subscription to the Police Orphanage Fund. He saw in the remark yet another opportunity of creating an- other alibl of contrast; and so Mr. Jerold Pogarty began going deaf. * K ok Ok E had moved from his flat at Nor- wood to a comfortable hotel in the neighborhood, so that his sudden change of habits should give no cau for comment. Night after night and month after month he made the trip to St. Albans with unfailing regular- ity. On quarter.days and at the end of the financial year, when the bank worked at high pressure untll far into the night. Mr. Wildérson was called away to the smelling end of the Mediterranean. But at all other times he cultivated the society of St. Albans. He showed himself there as much as possible, became a patron of various entertainments and move- ments, rented a pew In the beautiful abbey there, and ever founded a Wild- erson Challenge Shield to be com- Thus with elegant care and ef- fortless skill he establshed a thou- sand witnesses at one end of the line who could swear on oath that Mr. Wilfrid Wilderson, smart, dapper, alert little Mr. Wilfrid Wilderson, had been an honored and respected citizen of St Albans for at least two years to their definite knowledge; and that he hadn't left the town for months on end. At the other cnd almost as many were quite convinced that poor old Pogarty, who, alas, was failing fast, had discharged his skilled and arduous dutles faithfully and wel at the bank for as long as they could remember. The only possible weakness was the tralu. It was the one connecting link that, unfortunately, could not ba eliminated. He had thought of mak- ing the journey by car, stopping at some lonely point on the road and getting into it change, but that would have created an even more no- table link at the garage. Further- more, it would necessitnte his learn- ing to drive a car,, an expedient which at his time of life would be indiscreet, to say the least. So the train it had to be, and his season ticket was held in the name of Wil- derson. The last and final preparation occa- sioned him a good deal of thoughtful study. It concerned the demise of Mr. Jerold Pogarty. The fdeal loca- tion for that old boy's tragic exit had long been firmly fixed his mind It was an ideal place. There was not the slightest shadow of & doubt| of it. That little strip of coast where | England peeps across at the Isia of Wight carried featuras that dove talled in perfectly with every single one of his requirements. He spent his Summer holidays there for two years running, maturing his| plans and perfecting his arrange- ments without the slightest suspicion | of haste or hurry. He took Gosport | as his center. Krom thers he hired out little salling dinghies and went for long, Invigorating trips down the green waters of the Solent, going right up close to the mammoth hom- ing liners. He lowared the little tuns'l, stood up in the boat, and| cheered lustily as the splendid ves- sels swung grandly past him and rounded the point for Southampton The boatmen smiled at him. He | was a quaint littlo figure, old Mr.| Pogarty. Some sald he had the sea | in his blood, but It had been denied | him. Office ‘stools chained him, and he didn't find out until it was too| late that he was born of the old| woman of the sea. But he certalnly had an abounding, exulting pride in | the great ships that came in from | the far ends of the oceans Even after his plans wers all com- plete and ready for fulfillment, he still, dallled with his schome.’ Ho| was obsessed with tho skill and the| beauty of it. It titillated his artistic | sense to a point of quiet rapture. He | thought of it as a beautifully con- | structed machine, walting stationary, ready at a touch on the master key | to slip smoothly into a veritable poem | of motion. o e E waited for the Summer, then pressed the master k on that day he took up his pen and| wrote a few figures on the wrong side | of the legal line. Tho thing was sim- | plicity itself, merely the writing of the Tight figures in the wrong ledgers. Mr. Pogarty went down to the strong room with the ledgers and returned without them. In his inside pocket were £40,000 in notes and bearer bonds. He sat In his chair, appalled at the simplicity of crime. Heo was one of the eight men in that building privi- leged to enter the vaults “My dear Mr. Wilderson, judiclally to himself, “isn't ing what almple, tiny, little actions can make a man a| criminal? The mere twitching of a | finger—the gallows! A simple ‘Yes'| instead of an equally simple ‘No’ in a court of law—Dartmoor. The mere inscription of the right figures in the wrong sequence—a living tomb of isolation in a sepulcher of silence. Awful to contemplate.” “I have long pondered the same painful thought,” smiled Mr. Wilder- son, his fingertips pressed benignly together. “Modern progress seems to have created a system wherein it Is and he said it amaz- insignificant | fairway {into the shimmering deeps. easier to commit sin than to prevent it. That, in my humble estimatlon, ts & crime in itself. Think! It Is easier to commit & murder, or perjury, or to steal £40,000 than it is to do some- thing really normal, like getting married or having a tooth out. Now. I should never have the courage to get married. It is all very queer and enigmatio—more 8o, my dear Pogarty, after one has peeped over and seen the sunset.” During the next few days Mr. Jerold Pogarty negotiated the notes without a hitch and without ralsing the slightest suspicion. The whole thing was done with the utmost dis- cretion. On the following Saturday after- noon he made his fall from grace irrevocable. He dropped a letter into the pillarbox, a pitiful, pleading let- ter that was addressed to the board He heard the letter drop, and his heart missed a beat, for he reallzed that letters, once posted, proceed i exorably to thelr appointed ad- dresses. No effort of his could re- gain possession of that letter. The letter pleaded for forgiveness, prayed for a little charity of thought He was getting old and eomething must have gone wrong in his head Excuses were beyond him; he himself did not know how it all happened. His confession was utter and com- plete. Gambling was not for old brains: it had demanded subtler faculties than he possessed. But he had just been jolted into s o had made a siip, a ghastly blunder in his figure juggle: made covery inevitable 1 d to think well of him. It was not I it was his miserable old brain that had betrayed him. He was taking what he humbly ventured to submit was the bravest course, tha course that would give the dear old bank the least trouble and pa He mentioned one or two little matters that would require immediate attention on Mon- day morning, and finished the mis- sive with the neat little signature knew so well. “Dear me!” he reflected. “That is the last time I shall ever sign that name. Most extraordinary, after the thousands and thousands of times I have written that name * ¥ x 'HE mall train bore him swiftly to Portsmouth. He the Isle of Wight morning he booked a bathing cabin for the day. He went in, donned a bathing suit, dressed again, lit the spirit stove, and went out, leaving his suit case and a flask of hot tea in the cabin. He hung the key on & plece of string around his neck. He returned to Gosport by motor boat. In an hour's time the at Berengaria was due. The boatmen smiled when the decayed old gentle- man asked for a boat. They gave him one and he left £30 deposit on it as he always did—"just in case any- thing went wrong, for he really Wwasn't very much of a sallor, you know. and he wouldn't like them to lose by {t.” He made a round of the marine store dealers and fishing tackle shops and bought a couple of lead sinkers at each. The boatmen waved him a merry hand as the old “Cheership Party"” sailed off. When well out into the crossed over to Early in the dropped them overboard. Then he took off his collar and tie, walst- coat, shirt, and vest, attached sink- ers to them, and watched them sink “Good- bye, Mr. Pogarty,” he murmured, as they sank out of sight. Then, dressed only in Jjacket, trousers, hat and socks, but apparently fully clad, he slid away down Channel till he came opposite his bathing suit, where he backed and filled till the Beren- garia swung into view. She came on, riding majestically by In a colossal tiering of decks and bats and smoking funnels. He let the sall fall and stood up to wave his hat as the splendid thing swept by, less than 30 yards abeam. She passed. Suddenly those on the high decks clutched at the rails in horror. The old gentleman In the dinghy was in & bad way. He had got caught in the mammoth suck of the great liner and was spinning in the back- wash. His coat was tossing desper- ately. Horrors, he was over! he took off his boots and | dis- | i | | | took him nearly HALF AN WILFRED OUT. HOUR LATER MR. WILDERSON GOT ul of the liteboat sudden Bells clanged in the mammoth. She stopped struck the water with splash. Strong arms at end of strong omrs thrust n toward the pathetic little cockle-shell that lay keel up in t cir- cled and search ywed around for ov Keen peered every bit that” broke the and scrut a i and hour. ace of the w of weed and surfac ch For over ha T hour they rowed and scarched. But they nelther rescued nor found the of Mr. Jerold Pogarty. All they found was his b The lifeboat was recalled and the Berengaria proceeded on her way, t report the little tragedy to the shore authorities higher up in Southam ton waters wood R. POGARTY listened thankful heart to th, f the liner. He was under the linging calmly to the center thw reathing easily and deeply of water ins serew ide verturned hull He walted until the propellers diminished monody of sound far back blocks the passed away the time In ridd himself his other clothes socks were an awkward business, he got them off at last. He dropr a lead sinker in each, tied them gether at the tops. and let them The trousers and j t went down with the remainder of the weights in the pockets. He tore the litt] sandy-buff moustache to shreads put them in his mouth. He unfs tened the swimming belt from center thwart and adjusted it he dived out under t Once well away from th efocted the moustacha and tu s attentions toward the Isle Wight shore half a mile thud of the to a fain away in the ) channel. ¥ [ It chilled to half away two hours with 1 rests, and he the time he was mir inday afternoon crow bathing from the bgach. It was intense.effort of will-power, but stayed in among them for anot 10 minutes before edging toward sands. He emerged, in his bath sult, a quiet, normal holiday-ma coming In after pleasant noon's swim He went into his hut, body one vast ache of wea He almost fainted with the vi of the reaction of the heated interior of the hut. He collapsed on a chair and rested, sipping hot tea from flask to get the biting flavor of the seawater off his palate. After a vigorous towelling he dressed. There was every mortal thing he wanted in the sultcase, right down to halr pomade, cash, and the Sunday paper—and a telescope. Through the glass he saw that the Berengaria had lost little time in re- porting the accident. A clutter small boats jostled about round overturned craft. But they never found the poor old chap's body. He and freque the bone by gling with the e his sed | g, they saids immaculate- onair, went with th He 1 | must ha Ports He thrill trembled it g D stiny’s fa he ha ts jeering with his | an | He spectc | with & pe e earth—what For help that muttered ‘sir. Gorrel, apologetically of him he couldn't “But—but—wh; seripti Wilder He Mr the “held out the sub a shaking hand Joked agaln W John Marshall Was Commissioned U. S. Chief Justice 124 Years Ago BY ALFRED B. WILLIAMS. OHN MARSHALL was commis- sioned to be Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States 124 years ago yesterday, on January 31. 1801. The Law- yers’ Club of New York City celebrat- ed the 124th anniversary of Marshall's appointment to the chief justiceship on Tuesday, January 20. The appoint- ment was made by a defeated and outgoing Presid'nt, Mr. Adams, who afterward issurd the commission, and the confirmation was by a lame-duck Senate, of which a large proportion of members had been beaten for re- election by the triumphant followers of Mr. Jefferson. Marshall was bitterly opposed and often savagely denounced by Jeffer- son and many others. Yet he became one of the few men of history whose fame has risen, brightened and wid- ened with lapse of time: one of very few judges whose decisions are stud- ied more earnestly and admired more ardently by each succegding genera- tion of his own profession. The mon- umental biography of him by former Senator Beveridge of Indiana has stimulated the interest of the general public in his life, character and achievements, and increased knowl- edge of them. Students of American history know that Mr. Marshall was sent to Paris in 1797 by President Adams as one of a commission of three intrusted with the delicate task.of endeavoring to establish good will and peace between the French revolutionary government and the United States, and to end frictlon which threatened armed con- flict @lmost momentarily. Thé two other commissioners were Mr. Pinckney of South Carolina, Mr. Marshall's fellow Federalist, and Mr. Gerry of Massachusetts, Jeffersonian, destined to enrich the American lan- guage subsequently with the word “gerrymander. The French had gulllotined their king four years before and were ruled by a directory obsessed with the be- lief that the people of thls country were fervently devoted to the revolu- tion and enthusiastically eager to adopt its policies nad imitate its acts. Marshall and Pinckney were regarded 83 speaking for a small and discred. ited faction of American aristocrats capitalists and reactionaries, and through nearly a year were subjected to dally tests of their patience and courage, as Marshall narrates in his “Life of Washington,” although care- fully avolding mentlon of his own name, Nevertheless, Marshall found time to sit to Houdon, who had become celebrated through his statue eted for annually by the local foot teams. 14 ‘Washington, now in the rotunda ;‘(J she Virgiala oapiiol, and bis buats- FIRST PUBLICATION OF THIS CLAY LIKENES S OF JOHN MAR- SHALL, MADE BY HOUDON, IN PARIS, IN 1797. THE PORTRAIT SHOWS MARSHALL AT THE AGE OF 42. Franklin, Catherine of Russia, Buf- fon, Rousseau and others. The future Chief Justice was not a celebrity. He bore no titles but those of “captain,” won In service in the Continental Army, and “Silverheels.” The latter s sald by Senator Bever- idge to have been given him by com- rades at Valley Forge, because in the toot races with which the tedlum of privation was relieved he invariably outfooted competitors, and ran al- ways in brown yarn socks with white heels, knitted for him by his sisters in their home i uler Countyi Va., He was not yain pearance. To the contrary, he was rather notoriously negligent of ex- ternals. To this day young people in Virginja tending to ostentation, or “putting on airs,” are rebuked with stories of how often their revered fel- low cltizen was mistaken by strangers for a very plain farmer, with some in- telligence, but in reduced circum- stances, and of how he accepted their condescensions with humility and good-humored simplicity. It is supposed that he had the bust made at behest of Mrs. Marshall, to whom he then had been married five ears, He almost worshiped her through all trad much law to 1 for the Natic the 1 I-\-r.uul time sittings t and | bust, rth life | final insult to the commisston car | with the arrogant ultimatum that the | directory might consent to talk busi- ness with Mr. ( the basis of & large cash contribu m this country, if the two Federalists would take themselves off. Thereupon the commission safled for America, Mr. Marshall bringing his bust Perhaps the eagle the 17 statesmen of greeted the report of the ers and responded to Mr. Pinckney “Millions for defense; not one cent for tribute,” and the announcement that Washington was ready to accept appointr nder-in-chief if there was a fight, copvinced tha | French directory that ‘their bluff would be called. Satisfactory terms were agreed upon in course of time, and Mr. Marshall went about his ow affairs. He stood for the Honas of Representatives, at request of Wash- ington, 1 the Richmond district was elected, and then was appointec Chief Justice. The bust was placed 1 his home at Richmond and remaine there some 30 years. Then he pre- sented it to Edward Colston of Honey wood, Berkeley County, now in West Virginia Mr. Col t ng er- plete his his i to cor secured commission- nt as ¢ was the son of Eliza- beth Mar: and Raleigh Colston His mother was the eldest sister of {the Chief Justice, born a year after him, and was the object of his warm and’ litelong affection. At the age of 21 she had taken charge of the edu- cation of vounger brothers and sis- ters, and hile her father and two brothers were fighting almost side by side in the Continental Army she was virtually head of the family he was engaged to Col. Porterfield of the same Army, but he was killed in battle and she did not marry wotfl she was 29 years old. Her wedding was at the residence of the Chlef Justice in Richmond in 1785. Her husband was not only the intimate personal friend of Justice Marshall, but also his business partner in buy- ing, clearing and selling lands in northern and western Virginia. Her son, Edward, was the eldest and favorite nephew of the Chief Jus- tice, a graduate of Princeton, with creditable record us a licutenant the Army in the War of 1812, the last Whig elected to Congress from hia {district, and several times represent- |ing his county in the Virginia House == a (Continued pu Sixth I'ug: ‘