Evening Star Newspaper, April 19, 1925, Page 72

MAN brought his motor car to a standstill before a signpost on the dreariest part of Salis bury Pldin at about 9 o'clock on a wild, blustry night. The wind came booming like an incessant annonade across the vast, empty spaces. The man—Richard Bryan— was a commercial traveler. He was anxious now to reach a vil tage still four or five miles off, where he could spend the night. He had pulled up abruptly on seeing the sign post and perplexity was written in his face. According to his recollection it was a straight run to Bruntingford his destination. To his surprise, the signpost pointed to a road on his left—a broad road, hedgeless like all the others. There was no doubt what ever that the signpost read, BRUNTINGFORD 7 MILF —and signposts cannot lie. Bryan stepped back into his car, reversed for a few yards and took the indicated route. There is very little difference in the roads which traverse Salisbury Plain but this man, from the first, was not happy. From the roar of the wind in his face he knew that he was trav eling northward, when he should have heen traveling due east. There was a clump of trees that he thought he remembered which was certainly not in evidence. The road, too, was be coming Arrower. Consequently, when he saw lights shining from the windows of a tall, shadowy house on his left he brought " to a standstill. As he made y towafd he became con- vinced that, o far as that signpost was concerned, he must have been under some hallucination. There was no such house as this on the road to Bruntingford It was an ancient building, with many rows of empty windows, but there was a light burning from some- where on the ground floor, and his summons was promptly answered. It struck him, as he stood there in the darkness, listening to the approaching footsteps, that the silence of the place was almost extraordinary. The bark- ing of a dog would have been a re- lief. The house seemed set in a cavern of silence. The door was and a powerful country tweeds, “What can I quired. courteou: “Sorry to troubl replied, “but I way. The s this was ri I feel Y 1 “Come inside, please.” the other beg. d. "I am afraid that the wind will blow out my lamp. Richard Bryan obeyed, and the door | was immediately closed. The hall was | left in darkness, but light came flood ing out from a room on the left-hand side. The tenant of the house pointed courteously toward it. “Step in for one moment,” he in vited. “You are on the wrong road for Bruntingford. I can easily put you right, though. I have a map in my study.’ opened in due course man, well dressed in looked out | do for you?" he in you, sir.” Bryan have rather lost my npokst seemed to say that it for Brungingford. but sure that I am on the wrong * ¥lxin RICHARD BRYAN was e stolid, un tmaginative young man. Yet, as he stood there he had a queer feeling of insecurity, a nervous dread of penetrating further into this partially occupied house. | “Much oblige, sir,” he said, “but there's no need for me to keep you. 1 didn’t think this was the right road, somehow. I'll just step back to the crossroads. T'll show you your my map,” the older throwing open the door. The traveler had not the courage 10 yield to the one nervous instinct of his life. He crossed the threshold of the room—a very large and lofty apartment, with couches, easy chairs, a multitude of books and a great, cheerful log fire. Lying on the hearth rug before it, half risen now at his entrance. was a woman who, even in that light, seemed to him more than ordinarily beautiful, a woman dressed in a dull green teagown, who looked at him with strange eyes. ‘Gentleman lost his way motoring, my dear,” his companion explained, cheerfully. “Sit down for a moment, §ir, while T get my map. Will you have a whisky and soda This was an invitation which Rich- ard Bryan seldom refused and which he had never felt less inclined to re- fuse than at the present moment. He sat on the edge of his chair and watched the tenant of the house mix his drink at the sideboard. He found it impossible to think of anything to say to the woman. “Is it very cold driving?” softly. “Bitterly, ma’am,” he answered. “I've crossed the plain a good many times in the way of business, and when this north wind blows it fairly goes through vou “Come nearer to the fire,” she in- vited. “If vou have crossed the plain s0 often how is it that you have lost your way? “That's exact route on man replied, she asked, hat T can't quite figure out myself,” he acknowledged. “I was Foing on all right until the sign point ing down this road for Bruntingford Here's good health, ma’am and sir, 1 he added, raising the glass which had just been brought to him to his lips. “Good health to you, sir,” was the courteous rejoinder. The traveler drank and set his glass down empty. All the time he fancied that he could see the woman's eves glowing as she wat him, and he was conscious of a queer sen: ion of excitement. Surely the whisky must have been very strong! It was absurd but the strength seemed to be going from his legs. He tried to speak and found it difficult. The other man had opened a cupboard and returned with a smelling salts bottle. He took out the stopper carefully and held it for a moment to Richard Bryan's nos- trils, “A very ordinary type,” the woman murmured. “Naturally, my dear,” the man agreed. A traveler, no doubt, ped- dling between the villages.” “You had better go and see to things,” she enjoined. “I will watch him.” 1t amuses me when he tries to talk He nodded assent and left the room. He put on an overcoat and made his way out through the windy darkness to where the car was standing. He mounted to the driver’s seat and drove her on the reverse until there was room to turn. Then he made his way back to the main road, turned a litile to .he left and drove a short distance along to a rise in the road. which left the pas- ture four or five vards below. He drove the car to within an inch of the bank, descended. put her in first speed, turned the wheel slightly, and, leaning over, pressed the accelerator. The car started with a jerk, turned over and over and lay at the bottom of the bank upside down, half way across a small stream. He turned and retraced his steps, pausing at the signpost to swing it back to its proper position, and re- | to THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. The House on Salisbury Plain BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM. Thrills, Mystery angl Action in a Detective Story. woman was watching him and laugh- ing. ““Very interesting,” was the smiling observation. *“We will leave him where he is for a quarter of an hour while I finish my chapter. He will not disturb us.” AN A . seated alone in her little out- side office, was buried in a news- paper. Daniel found her there and paused on his way to his own sanc- Fashions?” he asked. he shook her head. Murder,” she answered. “Have you read what they call the Salisbury in mystery?” 1 haven't seen a paper for a week.” You neglect a great deal when you leave the newspapers so severely alone.” Ann told him. “In your pro- fession—"" “Don’t be silly,” Daniel interrupted. My profession is a reader of code manuscripts. “It seems to me, she observed, “that you have a nervous fear of be- ing called a detective.” “Well, I'm not a_detective,” he an- swered, irritably. “I am affiliated with that branch of the Criminal Investiga- tion Department which' goes by the name of Q 20, and that's a different thing altogether.” “Would you like to know about the Salisbury Plain mystery?” she asked. “If you can tell it to me in a few words,” he answeréd. “The Salisbury Plain mystery is briefly this,” she recounted. “Richard Bryan, a commonplace, unadventurous commercial traveler, left Wincanton about 3 o'clock one afternoon last week for Bruntingford, where he meant to stay the night. He had with hir: samples of drapery and he drove & motor car. The next morning his car was found overturned by the side of the road in one of the loneliest parts of the district and he himself was found close to it, almost un- recognizable and quite dead.” “Why unrecognizable?” Daniel quired. “Because of terrible injuries to the sk of his head,” she explained. ry account affirms that the in- uries” were far more terrible than could have been caused by any acel- dent. Further than that, the roads were dry and there was no sign of any skid; the night, though windy, was not dark; the lamps of the car were in order, and the man was a highly capable driver. “Any money about?" All'the money he had with him and some checks In his possession were found in his pocketbook."” uggage? Samples?” ‘ntouched, lying with the wreck of the car.” “Anything in the man’s private life ggest an enemy?"” Not a chance of it,” she answered. “He was a dull little man, living a aull little life.” It sounds queer,” Daniel admitted. “It is queer,” she agreed. “It's a police job, anyway,” Daniel concluded as he passed on into his private office. Miss Lancaster re. sumed her study of the Salisbury Plain mystery. The young man got off his bicycle and stared at the signpost. “Bruntingford 7 Miles,” “Well, I'm blowed! He drew a map from his pocket and sat considering it. When he had fold- ed it up he was still in doubt. It had been raining off and on, but the sun was shining now and the air moist and hot. He eased the knapsack on his shoulders and mounted to his bi- cycle again. He took the road which, ccording to the sign Bruntingford. Erbes. Jalgto “T'll stop at the first farmhouse I come to and see if they'll give me some tea.” he decided. “I shall know for certain where I am then.” * ok % % THE first house he came to stood some distance back from the road and was very much larger than the ordinary farmhouse. It had once, without doubt, been a mansfon of re. pute, but it had apparently fallen now upon evil days. The young man, whose name was Harry Dawson, was not of the genus who are afraid of snubs, 5o he wheeled his bicyele up to the front door and rang the bell. His hopes were a little dashed, however, when he found himself confronted, o few seconds later, by an exceedingly ::;l;mndreu!ed and * very beautiful , not at all a lik: Dr‘cheap hospitalities. S “Beg your pardon, I'm sure,” : son :aclnred.h “I'was Jooking foe e rmhouse where T farmhon couldn get a cup “Pray come in," smiling. plefl'nu _“ was thinking of somethin, abo ninepence,” he explained, “with plents of bread and butter.” % “That will be quite all rj 54 Iady promised hirs: satiie He leaned his bicycle against the outside wall and followed her into the house. A man, apparently of her own station of life, who was writing at a table, looked up inquiringly. “This young gentleman,” she an- nounced, “wants some tea, with plenty of bread and butter. You can sit down here,” she told him, “while I go and get it for vou.” “‘Look here,” Harry Dawson queried, twirling his cap in his hand, “some- thing a bit wrong, ain't there? Mak- ing fun of me, eh? This isn't a farm- house or an inn.” “Never mind,” the lady answered, with a smile, “you shall have your tea. He looked at her in silent admira- tion. She had the most amazing eyes he had ever seen, and the most beau- tiful deep golden hair. The woman had left the room, pre- sumably to get the tea. The man rose to his feet, insisted upon his visitor taking an easy chair, and seated himself opposite. “Are you on & bicycling tour?” he asked. in- he read. 0 _the lady invited, = T will give you one, with turned to his house. Richard Bryan was still seated in his chair, swaying a little and mwktering to himself. The “You've got it, guv'nor,” was the prompt response. “I've had a fort- night's holiday, and this is my last day but one. Name of Harry Dawson. I've a berth with Townen & Gillard, wholesale drapers in St. Paul Church- " his temporary that you have your tour. “Pretty fair, host re- enjoyed Mr. Harry Dawson acknowledged. “A cycling tour ain’t what it used to be, though. These cars have come along, and the prices of everything's gone up on the road. It will have to be the roadhouse for yours truly tonight, unless I can find a cheaper pub.” “How much farther did you think of golng before you put up for the night?” the other inquired. “Another ten or a dozen miles,” was the unenthusiastic reply. “Place called Bruntingford, a bit farther on, I thought I might get to——"" * ¥ % 'HE tea was a wonderful success, and after the tea came a whisky and soda. The visitor rose to leave with the utmost reluctance. “T'll have to toddle on a bit,” he an- nounced. “It's almost dark now. What's the damage?” The woman with the eyes laughed at him. ‘My dear young man,” she re- monstrated, “we don't want any money. We've plenty of our own. It's lonely here and we're glad to see any one.” B iy “If you put it that way, ma'am, Mr. Harry Dawson _ acquiesced promptly, “it sujts me down to the ground.” “Why not stay with for the night,” she suggested. 'We'll give you some dinner and a bed and charge you nothing.” “Is this on the square?” the young man asked. SR “Absolutely,” she laughed. “You'll enjoy it, I promise you | The invited guest unslung his knlp-‘ sack. ] “I'll promise you that myself,” he| declared. ““This is the biggest stroke of luck I've had these holidays. Th& statement was, in view of later events, a little rash, but, nev- ertheless Mr. Harry Dawson fared well that night. He ate food which was strange to him, ate it with appe- tite and in prodigious quantities. He drank wines which had been only a dream. He smoked cigars. When he went to bed after a final whisky and soda he was most certainly unsteady on his feet. He slept at first deeply Afterward he must have had a night- mare. He fancied that he awoke to find himself being carried by the dark, stronglooking man who had been his host, across the landing into another room—a bathroom. He was stretched upon a long trestle, and before he knew what was happening he was being tied to it. Even for a nightmare this was too much. He began to scream. Then he felt something pushed into his mouth and the screams were choked. His host was standing over him in a long white coat. He held something in his hand which he had taken from a case—a short Kknife. The lamp- light flashed upon its blue blade. “You need not be alarmed,” his host assured him courteously. “You have something which I need and which is of little use to you. Better close your eyes for a moment. It was a very horrible nightmare. i A (N was standing by the side of her employer's desk. The fingers that clutched the newspaper which she laid down before him were trem- bling a little. i “Is this still only a police job?” she asked. Daniel adjusted his rimmed spectacles and read. The paragraph was headed: ‘‘Another Tragedy on Salisbury Plain—Second Undiscovered Murder Within a Month.” It went on to describe the finding of the body of Mr. Harry Dawson, the youth whose disappearance had been recorded a few weeks ago, par- tially dressed, and with terrible in- juries to the head, recalling in § moet amazing manner the conditions of the man Bryan, whose corpse had previ- ously been discovered within a few hundred yards of the same spot. The body was found under a clump of bushes, some distance from the road, in one of the loneliest parts of the Plain, visited only occasionally by shepherds or cattle tenders. It might have remained there, indeed, for months, the paragraph went on to say, but for the intelligence of a sheep dog which, by prolonged howling, brought his master from a quarter of a mile away to the spot. Daniel took off his spectacles and reached for the tele- phone. “This must be investigated from our point of view at once,” he admitted. “Please step out to the bookshop next door, Migs Lancaster, and buy me a ‘wonderful tortoiseshell- map of Wiltshire. I will telephone for the car:” “Shall you communicate with Scot- land Yard?” she asked. “I think not?” he decided: ‘“‘not just at present. I shall just look round myself first.”” “We,” Ann murmured. Daniel frowned. alisbury Plain is a very lonely place,” he objected, “and the man we are in search of is dangerous. I think it would be better for you to wait here.” “That is a pity,” she remarked, “be- cause I am coming with you.” “I am starting in half an hour,” he warned her. “I shall be ready in less than half that time,” she rejoined. * ok % ¥ HEY lunched at Amesbury, and, after a further inspection of the map, Daniel decided to make it their headquarters. There were a few trav- eling Americans and English tourists in the room, and a sprinkling of ar- cheologists, of all of whom Daniel took note with interest. After lunch he went himself to fetch his car from the garage and spent a few minutes in the vard of the hotel and in the smokeroom. When they started on their after- noon’s expedition he was a little pre- occupled. Ann asked no questions. She sat quite still, looking ahead. He pointed out Stonehenge to her and the two big military camps. “The local impression,” he confided, “is that one or more of the soldiers from that further camp are respons: ble. They have the reputation in the neighborheod of being rather a tough lot. . “That is, of course, possible,”. Ann adnitted. They drove on for a considerable distance. It was an afternoon in late May, and the lassitude of Springtime lay’ upon the far-spreading country. The atmosphere of tragedy was en- tirely absent. Nevertheless, Ann was conscious of a tremor when her com- panifon brought the car to a standstill behind two others already drawn up by the road and pointed to a little group of three or four people about a mile away. “That, I suppose,” he said, “is where the young man’s body was found.” He thrust his hand into the pocket of his motoring coat, drew out a pair of fleld glasses and scrutinized the lit- tie group for a moment. Abomt a mile further on he halted at some crossroads. “That is the ditch.” he pointed out, “where Richard Bryan, the commer- cial traveler, and his overturned car were found.” “How do you know these things?" she asked. curiously. “I made Inquirfes at Amesbury,” he told her. “It was very simple to recognize the spot, just short of-these crossroads.” He descended from the car and strolled on toward the signpost. He examined this for a few moments carefully. The turf around it was disturbed, and the signpost itself had svidently been blown down and re- placed. “If any one desired.” he remarked “t0 have a practical joke with tra elers, it would be quite easy. See! He swung the post round. The way to Bruntingford now—the village through which they had recently passed—was apparently down the lonely track . which seemed to lead into the heart of the Plain and no- where else ‘Quite simple, vou see,” he went on. “Below, in the dip there, is a house. Any man who was not quite sure of his way would naturally call to in- quire there. That, 1 should imagine, is what Mr. Richard Bryan did, and also, probably, this Mr. Harry Daw son. Unless I am very much mis- taken, that house is tenanted by—-" “By whom?" Ann_cried. “By Sir Joseph and Lady Londe!” “Are we going there now?" she asked ot 1! was the gruff reply. “I've had a taste of that lunatic's methods.” “Don't leave it too long,” Ann ad- vised anxiously. “We'll do something tomorrow,” he promised— During their drive, however, Daniel changed his mind. He called at a local police station of importance and asked to see the chief. He was received by a tall, stiff-looking per- sonage, with a falr mustache and an exceedingly self-assured manner. “What can I do for you, Mr.—er— Rocke?” he asked, glancing at the card. “Do you remember the outrages at Dredley?” Daniel inquired. “The criminal was supposed to be a fa- mous Australian surgeon—Sir Joseph Londe.” “Quite well,” the Inspector knowledged. “The police down Surrey weren't very smart.” “You have a chance of atoning for them,” Daniel observed. “Sir Joseph Laonde and his wife are living at Ho- mans Hall, about fourteen miles away, close to the scene of these two mur- ders. He is probably responsible for them.” The Inspector smiled. “We have alrendy solved the mys- tery of those murders, Mr. Rocke, he announced. “I can put my hand on two of the men tomorrow. I am waiting to try and get the third.” Indeed?” Danlel murmured. oldiers from the barracks,” the Inspector went on. “T knew that from the first. Fitting things together wasn't quite so easy, but we shall be taking the men to Salisbury within the next few days.” Dear me!" Daniel exclaimed, un- der his breath. ‘““As regards the occupants of Ho- mans Hall,” the Inspector continued, “you are mistaken in this matter also. Their name is Charlton, they come from Tunbridge Wells, the man is an antiquarian and a scholar, and 1 happen to know that the lady was in Amesbury, looking for servants and shopping, only vesterday. You'll excuse my suggesting, sir, that you should be a little careful before mak- ing such statements.” “I do not make them without con- viction,” Daniel replied. “I was in the Foreign Office for some years, I have been a King's Messenger, I have served in the Secret Service and in the Intelligence Department, and I am now attached to the new department which you may have heard of—Q 20." The ~Inspector was unperturbed, unimpressed. “Quite so,” he murmured. “All the same, you have got hold of a mare’s- nest this time, Mr. Rocke. You have been chiefly concerned, no doubt, with forelgn matters. 1 think you'll find the police in this country are quite able to run their own affairs.” Daniel picked up his hat. “Very well,” he said, “you're mak- ing a great mistake, and you're throw- ing away the chance of earning a handsome reward.” The Inspector's smile was madden- ing. “T'll risk that, sir,” he declared. There was a_fair sprinkling of diners that night in the pleasant ac- in C., APRIL 19, little coffee-room of the hotel. The headwalter, who was in a gossipy frame of mind, paid a good deal of attention to Daniel “We get an interesting crowd here sometimes, sir,” he confided. “The gentleman’ in the corner, with spec- tacles, is an Oxford professor with his wife." “And the gentleman in corner?” Daniel inquired. “Professor Philip H. Thomson, sir,” the man replied. “He is from Har- vard University. Daniel sipped his coffee, lit a cigar- ette, glanced through the evening paper, exchanged a few remarks with Ann, and, with a whispered excuse to her, made his way toward where the Harvard professor was seated. The latter was a tall, spare man with Jet-black hair, and he wore rimless| spectacles. “How do you do, Professor Thom €on?” Daniel said. “How are you, Mr the quiet but cordial name. as I imagine Windergate.” Danlel dropped into a chair by his side. “You're not interfering with the local police, I hope?” he remarked. Mr. Windergate smiled. hey're going to arrest some sol- diers,” he confided. “A very natural error. You under- stand, Mr. Windergate, that my in- terest in this is personal, not official— personal because the man who mur- dered these two fellows, pretty nearly had me. “The Australian surgeon?” Bate asked like a flash. Dantel nodded. “He is lving alone with his wife in a lonely house close to the scene of the murders. Have you authority enough to take him?” “I should say so!” Windergate re. plied. “Now tell me all about it Mr. Windergate was introduced to Ann and carried the little company off to his sitting room, where he drank in every word of Danlel's story with prompt_ credulity. “We'll have him tonight,” the pseudo-professor _declared. “We'll | have him in Salisbury Gaol while these pumpkins keep their eves on the soldiers. the other Rocke?” wa reply. “M you know, is ‘Winder- T T WAS about a quarter-past nine when_ they dropped down the hill at the foot of which Homans Hall reared its inhospitable front toward | the road. The two men walked up to the front door and rang the bell. In a few moments they saw the flicker. ing light of a_lamp being carried | down the hall. The door was opened The woman with the strange eves stood there, peering out. “Can we see your husband?” Daniel asked. 1f she recognized him, she made no sign. “Certainly, you come in? way?" “Not exactly.” She led them across the hall to the study, and pushed open the door. “My husband is here,” she an nounced. Londe looked up and rose to his feet “Dear me!” he exclaimed, with per- fect composure. “An old friend, T be- lieve?"” He motioned toward chairs, but they both remained standing. Londe still showed not the slightest signs of uneasiness. “I believe I am right?” he went on pleasantly. “It is Mr. Daniel Rocke, is it not? We were on the point of trying a little experiment together once when your—er—nerve failed you.” “You were on the point of mur. dering me, Sir Joseph Londe,” Danicl rejoined. “I wish you would not use that ab. surd word,” Londe declared irritably ““There was no.question of murder at all. T have been for years trying to find a very small portion of a human brain, to take the place of a damaged portion of my own.” Sir Joseph Londe,” Windergate in- terposed, “we do not wish to hear anything more, if you please. You will have to come with me to Salis- bury—you and vour wife."” Londe turned to his wife “You hear what these gentlemen say. my dear?” he asked querulously. The woman folded up her knitting and rose to her feet “This_gentleman,” she said. look ing at Danlel, her eves reproachful and her tone one of tender regret. “has never been very kind to us. However, we will go.” They moved toward the door. Win- dergate preceded them, Daniel brought up the rear. They ciimbed the broad staircase. Sir Josaph threw open .the door of a large bedroom. “My wife and I are unfortunately without servants at the present mo- ment,” he explained. “You will see that this apartmnt is shared by both of us. It will be necessary to ask you gentlemen to withdraw while we make ready for the journey.” Windergate hesitated. The silence in the house seemed to indicate the truth of Londe’s statement as to the absence of servants. “We will await you in the hall,” Windergate decided. “Is it an open car?” asked. am afraid that it is.” { shall be three or four minutes | longer, then,” she remarked, with a | little grimace. “I rust really put on some warm things.” The two men descended to the hall and seated themselves upon a bench which commanded both the back stairs and the front ones. In a quarter of an hour’s time, the man and the woman descended the stairs. They were wrapped from head to foot in motoring coats. The wo- man wore a voluminous veil and the man a closely fitting cap with ear- flaps and celluloid spectacles. Win- dergate rose to his feet. “You will excuse me, sir,” he beg- ged, “but I must search you for arms before we start.” Londe held up his little gesture of impatience. gate felt him all over. nodded. “Quite all right,” he said. way."” she replied. Have you “Won't | lost your the woman hands with a ‘Winder- Then he “This Ak e HEY started for Salisbury in gloomy silence. In front was Daniel's car, with the woman by his side and Ann in the dickey. Behind came Windergate and Londe, who had lit & cigar and was leaning back with folded arms, unperturbed and undis- mayed. The moon had risen now, and the road was clearly visible, ex- cept where the shadows from the trees threw black gulfs across the road. They drove on through several villages. until before them they saw in the distance Httle pinpricks of light and the vague outline of a city. Sud- denly Ann leaned forward and touched Danfel on the arm. Will you stop a minute, please she begged. | They were on a straight piece of road, with open country on either side of them. Daniel thrust out his hand, slowed down and brought his car to a standstill. The other car followed suit. “What's wrong?” Daniel demanded a lttle impatiently. 1925—PART 5. “I WILL WATCH HIM, ,” SHE e S R 1D. “IT AMUSES ME WHEN HE TRIES TO TALK “The woman by your side,” Ann declared, “is not Londe's wife.” Daniel started. The woman began to laugh. He tore off her veil. Then he sprang to the side of the other car. The man, relieved now by Win- dergate of his spectacles and cap, leaned back and laughed hoarsely. “What's wrong, guv'nor?” he asked “I thought we were to have a ride to Salisbury?” Daniel had lost his temper. He thrust the cold muzzle of his revolver against the man’s cheek. “If you don’t tell me the truth,” he threatened, “T'll blow your head off! The man cowered back. ” here,” he protested, “‘no vio- I've done nothing wrong—nor wife. story, my man—quick!” Daniel my wife .and T at the asylum ingford where Sir Joseph Londe were patients some years ago the man said. “Folks used to say there that I was rather like him, but that's neither here nor heard tell of some people Homans Hall, who. deners at Bruntingford insisted, had been in the asylum. “So my wife and I, having a day off, went to see them last Thursday The fact of the matter is, we'd got the sack, and I thought if these two really were Sir Joseph Londe and his missis, as seemed likely enough, from what the gardener told us, there might be something in it for “We were hidden away in the kitch- en part of the houseand told to keep quiet. This morning we were both were both near Brunt- and Lady living at there. I one of the gar-| I in some of his clothes and Susan, my wife, in some of ladyship’s. To cut a long story short they engaged us at ten pounds a day | to lay tight in the room next to theirs | and do exactly as we were told. An | hour ago, we were told that we had to be taken into Salisbury and kee up the bluff of being Lond missis as long as we could rigged out, HEY left the mar | * there in the roaa, | complain Daniel’s v car, and he and Ann gate of Homans Hall ahead of Windergate lights in_the house, that stood there black and deserted. By the time Win dergate arrived he found Daniel, his revolver in one hand and an elect torch in the other, coming acr field | “I've searched the | groaned “They've | enough:” | Windergate pointed doors of the cow shed. “That's where they kept their car declared. “I've traced the wheels the field.” hurried to the gate. There were indications that the car had been driven to the left, along the deserted road which led past the house to the few scattered villages almost in the | center of the Plain. They prepared at once to follow We_ could do with the local me: ¢,” Windergate remarked Daniel started away first. He was arcely half-way up the dip, however, right tire went off with a report like a pistol shot, and his two- and w shoutin; the faster ced up to the some distance There were no house!"” gone, n seater As he me to | the ditch | thrown ¢ They moment ¢ spe | recog nized Daniel » with somewhat co I've got them sir. You'll read all about or two. They've been trying for leave I've got the net ove ou local fel points. he admit A boy ran headed, from t from l vou've he has 1 . Daniel remarked v feel inclined to come a chat h me abou aver and have those soldiers.” (Copyr Washington Takes Part in Work For Hampton and Tuskegee Fund DUCATION, and especially edu- cation along the lines of man- ual training, not only in the South or throughout the United States, but over the entire world, has been influenced to a greater extent by Hampton and Tus: kegee Institutes than by any other two factors within the last 25 vea ‘William Howard Taft, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, voiced this high praise of the two in- stitutiond during an interview con- cerning the work that is being ac- complished by Hampton and Tuske- gee, which has been arousing recent- Iy so much interest in both edu- cational and philanthropic circles throughout the Nation. That Chief Justice Taft did not base this statement on a casual study of the two institutes may readily be re- alized when it is understood that he has been intimately connected with the progress and policles of both Hampton and Tuskegee, and that he has been the chairman of the board of directors of Hampton for a number of years. The two institutions are now en- gaged in a campaign to raise a joint endowment fund.of $5,000,000 to en- able them to broaden their field of influence and the scope of their work. Chief Justice Taft made his debut over the radio in their behalf recent when his address here in Wash ington was relayed by station WJZ, New York, to a great mass meeting in New York City, at Carnegie Hall, that marked the launching of the en- dowment. fund campaign in that city. The Washington campaign to raise a quota of $100,000 has just been start- ed in this city, and Frederick A. | Delano is the chairman of the local campaign committee. “In the good fortune which usually attended the settlement and develop- ment of this country there was the exception of human slavery,” said Chief Justice Taft, in explaining the series of circumstances that led up to the founding of these two institutes. “Its consequences follow us today. The great Civil War was one. The mistakes and hardships of reconstruc- tion were another. The difficulty in the maintenance of equal civil rights in the pursuit of happiness by colored men is another. It is not insurmount- able, as many think. Having in view the dangers that we have confronted, we may well be thankful that so much has been achieved. But much remains to be done. “The man who led in this work was Samuel Chapman Armstrong. He was one of the great men of the last generation. Born in the Hawailan Islands, trained in a New Enghnd family ktmosphere of sturdy mis- slonary sacrifice, his courage, his persistence, his genius for inspiring others, and that ever willing en- thusiasm in a great human cause made him a leader of both races. “Due to his distinguished service as a soldier in the Civil War and the confidence he had gained of the Union leaders, there was thrust upon him the problem of"the disposition of the refugee slaves that he found huddled togéther just after the war in great numbers at Hampton, Va. His_associates did not know what to do, and he undertook to find a way. In finding a way, he made one of the r‘n-t educational discov- eries and qemeonstrated it DR. JAMES E. GREGG, WELL KNOWN FOR HIS WORK AMONG THE NEGRO AND PRINCIPAL OF HAMPTON IN- STITUTE. HE IS MAKING A SERIES OF ADDRESSES IN THE INTEREST OF THE CAMPAIGN TO RAISE A $5,000,000 ENDOW- MENT FUND FOR HAMPTON AND TUSKEGEE INSTITUTES. “How could he give his wards the means of maintaining themselves out of slavery? How could he give them the rudiments of a necessary education? How could he start them on the way to be useful members of our great national community? Most of all, how could he gradually impart to them moral strength? “He decided that the way to do these things was to teach them that labor, manual labor, labor in the farm trades, labor in the field, prop- erly directed, economically conducted and constantly carried on, would give them knowledge, usefulness and character. “He persuaded them that labor which they had looked upon as a badge of their servitude and degrada- tion was their only hope of redemp- tion. He showed them that training in labor would make them better workers, would make them better citi- zens, would make them better men. “Thus out of the most discouraging material, with little money, with little aid of any kind except his indomits ble will and his power of inspiring others, he bullt a great model com- munity at Hampton. He organized and conducted, for a quarter of a century, the greatest industrial school in the world. “He taught the slaves and their children the knowledge that the must have to do the things they could do and ought to do. He changed h wards, utterly illiterate and helples in freedom, had been wholly dependent upon their masters for everything, to one in which they became their own mas- ters, proud in the obligation to look out for themselves. He gave them education for life. “He madg, this manual tralning a from a state where they | means of the soundest retarded e, 4 we his school a_shrine. Ie made source of religious inspiration to t ace that glows tc It h better men and w veople who have Hampton and felt in that_atsmos of the United in installment t gee and spend tw those places to b that animates the teachers students those it would make ther mists, and give every depressed, hope what human nature The spirit of Armst Hampton and stice asserted, po t: Booker T. W = of times, and diffict | the exampl strongest evidence of of the spiri tended, as well Booker Washir in the transfer phere in which to her daughter, “The product tions,” Chief J “is chiefly in practical agrict dairying, teac carpentry tailoring of the Hamp Tus achers in sanitation, teact in useful architecture, teachers municipal refc in small ities, teachers in real hapy teaching profession is the them all. It is natural that in the regeneration of a light must be spread throug profession “We have ten millions ¢ in the United States. We v to enjoy to the full the pursuit of hap- piness intended to be secured by the guarantees of the Constitution. They have their rights on paper, but those rights are not always preserved. They are formulated anddeclar and grad ually improvement is being made the maintenance. But it was =« doctrine of Armstrong’s, and greatly enforced and preached by Booker Washington, that the negro could best help to maintain his own rights by proving to the community his useful- ness as.a citizen and his economic power and force and his growth in moral strength and restraint. It is the instilling of these truths in the negro race that is ultimately to se cure the members of that race the { full enjoyment of their constitutional rights. Hampton was the first which these lessons were taught that Tuskegee is working with Hamy ton, these two represent the greatest single edu throughout this Union toward a | factory solution of this race probler the reason should reja generot of those who ® NOW cor tributing b their energy and their money to raise the it joint endow- | “ment fund of $5,000,000 for these *we institutions.” place in Now is why the noly we us