Evening Star Newspaper, July 26, 1925, Page 64

R. QUENTIN QUAYNEpaused | step toward finding M. Dufourler is to “ircus, he ind looked st demie,” h chez vo oui—ce He tu smile n in the been t phone- ibove ma re te 1s a neuf to litt A ¢ A PARIS FROCK BY F. BRITTEN AUSTIN Who Stole the Crown Jewels? fluent kr alking in —in his the roar answering a ci it his wi nant cing red. “F heures me. A ta me le trip nt, M. with to ¥ rench he hud 1ito the tele- room, high of Piccadilly 1 from teh. q heures et Jon—je serui ge soir. Mais ntoit, alors.” his kindly Mr. Diéulafoy of de la Paix—one of the most Satterthw Ah, V Croydon Number T jewe! 1le pressed the bell to b ve the lers in Paris—is_in Miss ou phone to eady Number Two or in half an hour? And tell Paris to have a car waiting at It was ency from ( when we the landing our car my Q Q. A minu behind th: foy hir M who knc A I s ry—that ‘veal—not The; ticular voice now D to At thix the crow safe. 1 opened th were no 1 must recc ever it cc You di diamonds a watcl c Agency was nothing if not pre- 6:1 own oy [ pe ms late reeted us. mat a even were intrus a hor M. Quayne “When did you discover this I ew mi ah! Le Bourget from 8 p.m. onws 5 when one of the Q. machines was nked for the des ound at Le Bourget. into the Rue de la Paix It rked 9 ik Q. oft light ent to As ook, stil o'clock. The in the private room He rs not t to you, He rified they ar nutes pa: whisper. shop, M. Dieula- Quayne, five—four hours ago— my safe held the crown hrew up his which coun- secret I must not re- M. Qua vne. d to me for a par- dropped his “And e not there s st 5. Some- whispered to me to make sure diamonds were still in the | went safe, ong ver = a the and there! to bY after § strong-room, 1. Quayne, I ed the absence of the ? Your em- ployes were here at that hour?” Yes. [ hed nothing searched phoned to 4 o'clock monds we to which I “How dc 3ut them I sen the pri ye nd re spir ¥ at 4 o'clock o saw them they Nevertheless, are myself. t them emises. M. Quay: o'clock, ited out M. Monnier, beyond sus- to make sure, I 1 away found and Then I tele- ne—between those dla- of that safe alone hold the inner key!” | 1 know they were there | my chief assistant, had a package which he desir to acc unlocked Jookir there. Th case. M —some tomer Monn je an w to loc pany it ey we Monr ched I 1yself! my: : to see tha ck up. B him to 1 ut in in ocked ed with there him?” the e asked me the safe. I remember monds were mall black his package to a cu: safe. M.| me to the| when I dis searched every one, Those d diamonds are than life; they represent my professional honor!” * ok the steel door of a safe. The jeweler turned the knob of the combinatic doors, inse inner’ door piles of The dia Dieu shelve: Q. Q And side?” stood here himself. position. ne M sw erted ung open a key and opened the E followed M. Dieulafoy into the vaults and stopped in front of the outer Ranged on shelves were jewelers’ amond: pointing saded 1. Mon replied The cases. were here,” said M. to nnier sto M step Dieulafoy, He indicated the s chief one of the od at your “he de of ped to that And now will you close the safe?” M. Diet the inne afoy doc complied, was a clash on the floor. had dropy ved a bunch but before had swung back, there Mr. Quayne of keys with which he had been fidgeting. The two men bent Mr. Quaym Dieulafoy to pick them up. who retrieved them. e turned 1 again It was M. to the safe, pushed the door home, turned the key. Q. Q. “And nc swur The Sain bl me De ive t M. “Is this The e a st M. Diet have shc vanish. closing swor Qus i fa th: Menin! niled. wwil ee if arls hy n I sa hi 1yne it, M 1 you anyt he said, unlockec peered wi € the C 1sped them w eld out Dieulafoy open hing is mis the safe sing, i the door, | thin untesse de I could there a mo- a all red er sprang the lid open, his ¢ in stupefied astonishment n you 1 at or this * said Mr. how that Monnier momentarily d attenior “M. Mor eler droppec bent to pi Quayne, I Monnier i has bee has larity h - Be dulity ¢ he Knew but—a m besid his chief searched searched ¢ chi *H'm!"” his nni rom nier’ s—1 the cann, been shed y ler pi Mon d i of 1sped t remembe his keys, as m u ot believ chief as with me twenty vear: the sligh said M 1 nier's inmond such ted ui integrity t. - Quayne, “I ur diamonds as you were fternoon, M. racted your he little jew- r now—he e both but—M. e that! M. sistant. He —there itest irregu r. Quayne,” his incr it. Certainl were there, And it had he done with them? Although not in the least suspecting | very ¢ ant, fonnier me else. as he had had dropped into a chair. runte “But before ed anything, he could have up fr coat T 1 the n Can you »vement 1fe?” the strong room for you answer after We were in the shop until I t to the safe and discovered my a M. custor Just “And di Yes Monnier tomer took ¢ He M. Di ot M ber " And is there such have a dir Y section, his head. “streets. here DIl 5 d the At tw itten k away silver his n; lafoy t vin Dufourier. tory TLAF tor The is no Monnier any one outside his b er, for e his parc inkstand, ame urned up 984 the; * oY tur got d ed to he n tu such nu person? communicate ness—or sxample me from the ent that an of cour: down the di | the diamonds | those diamonds, what- the jeweler had | | four. M. | The cus- 1—it was a left for re- | Avenue Kle- | You | > the names | 1 his finger down it, shook rned to the mber, even! no Dufourier in the Avenue that nd the highest street is nothing like that!” number in The chief rose from his chair. our M. Dufourier “Depenc 22k awa) 1 upon these iamond The first had not gone out again, and no one | body | nier with some find M. Monnfer. lives, of course?”’ “With his mother, in an apartment in the Rue de Courcelles.” “Bon! Let us visit M. Monnier.” Ten o'clock was striking when we climbed to M. Monnier's flat. The door was opened by a bonne. M. Dieulafoy introduced himself. M. Monnier was out, the maid informed us. Would we see Mme. Monnier? We would. A little old lady—gray-haired, black- gowned, came toward us M. Dieulafoy bowed perfunctorily. M. Monnier is not at home?" No, M. Dieulafoy. Jules went out after dinner. You will find him at the Cercle, I expect. He is a maniac for chess—often it Is past midnight before he returns. I hope nothing serjous has occurred, M. Dieulafoy, that you want him at this hour?" *‘Serfous?"” The little Jjeweler echoed the word in astonishment. *“I have been the victim of a robbery! Did not M. Monnier tell you?” A startled look came into the old lady's eyes. “That explains why he was looking so haggard at dinner,” said the old lady. “Of course, he would not tell | me, lest I should be worried. But how dreadful, M. Dieulafoy—a rob- bery! It is serio you say’ Again the look of maternal apprehension. “I trust no carelessness of my n is responsible for it? But no, she smiled, “I am sure that could not be. Jules is never careless—he is the most precise, the most conscientious of men!” “Madame,” said M. Dieulafoy, “you will excuse us. We must find your son at once. He is at the Cercle, you say Which club is that?” t the Cercle des Procoplens—Rue Royale,” she replied. M. Dieulafoy had picked up his hat. His movement of farewell toward the old lady was cut short by the ringing | of the bell. We paused to hear the maid going to the door, and then we heard the ‘quick run of her feet toward us. She burst into the room. “‘Madame! Madame!” she cried. “Two sergents-de-ville! They want M. Monnier!” But the two policemen had not waited for an answer from the malid. They appeared in the room, two stolid | figures, twinlike in thelr uniforms | and the voluminous capes about their shoulders. “Madame Monnier?” queried one of them, addressing himself to the old la You know where he 1 | | police | Royale. had visited her until Monnier had ar- rived at 8:30. At half-past 4 some one had telephoned—the maid did not know who is was—and Mile. Angele had summoned the maid to pack for a long journey. No, the mald could not say where Mlle. Angele was going. And then at half-past 8 M. Mon- nier had arrived—oh, yes, M. Monnier was Intime, tres intime, with madame had gone into the bedroom where Mlle. Angele was still busy with her trunks. M. Monnier had seemed very surprised—angry, in fact; he did not seem to know that madame was going away. More than that she could not say, as she had been ordered out of the room. But she had heard a vio- lent altercation, and then a revolver shot. The next moment M. Monnier dashed out of the flat. The maid had run into the bedroom, seen her mis- tress lying dead—and had telephoned the police. She had picked up the revolver and given it to the police- man. - “The Quayne. ‘Yes, revolver!” exclaimed Mr. ‘““‘He left his revolver?" monsieur. 1 gave it to' the “Then,” sald Mr. Quayne, to us, “with what revolver did Monnier shoot himself—if he committed suicide? He does not strike me as the sort of man to carry two revolvers. M. le Com- missaire, I think you have two mur- ders to deal with. Go on,” he said to the maid. “Did any’ one else come here this evening?" “Only M. St. Georges." M. St Georges? Who is he?'’ ‘He 18 the costumier of the Rue He was a friend of madame and of M. Monnler also. They were always together."” “Did he come into the flat?" The mald hesitated. ‘He went into the bedroom." “What did he do there?” ‘“He took an envelope from the escritoire of madame.” “An envelope? You are sure it was an envelope? Not a packet—like this?” The commissary sketched, with a gesture of his hands, the size of the case M. Dieulafoy had described. ‘No, monsfeur. It was an envelope —an envelope only a little larger than that of a letter. It was sealed with blue wax. M. St. Georges gave me a hundred francs to say nothing to any one.” ‘And then?"” “And then M. St. Georges went away. He had a taxl waiting with two trunks on the roof—I saw it as he drove away." We sped toward the Rue Royale. es, monsieur?” We hold a warrant for the arrest | of M. Jules Monnier, madame.” i The old lady's eves yent wide in| astonishment. For the murder of AMile. sseur of the Folles Parisienne: flat this evening.” The little old lady gasped and then laughed hysterically. But—but this is fantastic!" she “It cannot be my son you seek. | ; son does not know this—this Mile. | Angele. He has never spoken to an | actress in his life. Iappeal to you, M. | Dieulafoy.” She turned to him. “Have | you ever known my son consort with | actresses? Ah, non!” she burst out, | genuine in her indignant repudiation. | “It is not my son you seek. You have | made some absurd mistak The policeman held out a handker- chief to her, the initfals “J. M.” em- broidered on it. “Do you recognize this, madame?"” she stammered; “yes—it is— on’s- 24 It was found by the dead body of | Mile. Levasseur,” said the policeman. “For the rest there is no doubt Though you may be ignorant of it, for | the past year M. Monnier has been in- | timate with Mlle. Levasseur. Tonight | he shot her and dashed away before | any one could stop him. -y The poor old lady collapsed at this | thunderbolt. Mr. Quayne assisted her | to a chair. But her martyrdom was | not yet completed. | * kK X% I T 'HE telephone bell rang. One of the policemen picked up the receiver. “Hallo! Yes? What? The Hopital Beaujon? Dieu!” Yes?" He listened. “Mon He turned around to the stricken Mme. Monnie “Madame,” he said, “I regret to tell you that M. Monnier shot himself in | the Champs Elysees at 10 o'clock this | evening. He is- now in the Hopital | Beaujon. If you wish to see him alive you have not a moment to lose.” In a few minutes we were racing to the Hospital Beaujon. A nurse led us | to the ward where M. Jules Monnier, thin-faced and now preternaturally haggard, his eves fixed in a glassy stare, his face greenish-gray with the | h of death, in a narrow | A flicker of recognition came | into his eyes. They fixed themselves | on" Mme. Monnfer, who sob- | bing convulsivel his lips | frame the word Then he perceived M. Dieulafoy. He made just the feeblest gesture for his em- ployer to approach. The jeweler bent over the bed. e l'ai—donne— dylng man, - nd his eyes cl “Ye: Given it—given it—to whom?” demanded M. Dieulafoy. But the unfortunate Jules Monnier was dead. His mother with one last wild o Angele | whispered the | He shuddered, | sed. collapsed— | across his | Before we left we had a few words with the doctor who had recelved Jules Monnier. “Suicide?” he echoed our query, and shrugged. “Apparently. He was| shot_through the chest. It was in a shrubbery of the Champs Elysees. A gardien heard the report, ran toward the spot and found M. Monnier on the ground, a revolver at his side. He was speechless when brought in here. “H'm!" said the chief. his pockets have been emptied. we see the contents?” The hospital authorities showed us the articles—a card case, a bunch of keys, a few loose francs, a wallet con- taining a couple of hundred francs in notes, and the revolver of which one chamber had been fired. Q. Q. examined them. “And this?" he asked, holding up a p of paper “That was found in his vest pocket,” the answer 10,” “I presume May w upon “I would suggest to you,” said Mr. Quayne, turning to the policemen, “that you make sure that this is sui cide and not murder, mon am said. “It occurs to me that ‘C. 10’ makes an appointment for M. Mon- one at 10 o'clock in amps Elysees—and that some v have fired the fatal shot. ¢ rarely shoot themselves I _recommend you to trace the ownership of that revolver beyond doubt. And now I propose we visit the flat of Mlle. Levasseur. Our little mystery seems to be unraveling itself | for us, M. Dieulafoy.” * ok k% E_searched the flat thoroughly, but we found neither case nor diamonds. The maid deposed that her mistress had lunched at a restaurant and had returned at 4 o'clock. She all that was written the CI |in an apartment above it. | not say if the costumier business was | the other. On the way we visited the poste-de- police for the district, and picked up an agent acquainted with the area. He knew M. St. Georges quite well. I. St. Georges had been established for about 18 months as a fash- | ionable dressmaker on a second floor halfway down the street. He lived He could successful—but M. St. Georges had a wide acquaintance among the demi- monde. An elevator shot us up to the apart- ment of M. St. Georges. We pressed the bell, scarcely expecting any re- sponse. To our surprise, the door opened. A tall, dark-mustached man, handsome in a sinister sort of way —the type born to exploit women— stood before us. An exclamation broke from M. Dieu- lafoy. “That {s the man of the inkstand!® he cried. “The man who came to my shop this afternoon!” e o THE commissaire informed M. St. Georges that he was suspected of complicity in a diamond robbery and that his premises would be searched. We searched thoroughly—sounding | the walls, pulling up floorboards Historic Estates of Old Dominion (Continued from Second Page.) phere is carrled out in picturesque detall from the extra wide teak boards with which the drawing room is floored to the quaint landscape paper on the dining room walls. The win- dows have the deep embrasures so dear to our grandfathers and in the dining room are beautifully propor- | tioned cupboards to house Mrs. Wil- son’s remarkable collection of rare china. Mr. Wilson’s allegiance is gdivided between New York and California as far as business interests are concern- ed, but he and his wife are residents of Virginia from choice, and they de- light in the traditional hospitality of the Old Dominion, friends from Wash- ington being always welcome at their house. It is sald that the Government has long had its eye on Mount Hybla, which has been used as a signal sta- tion in the wars of a century and which boasts magnificent views in all direction, with Mount Vernon, Gun- ston Hall and the Potomac on one side and Alexandria and Washington on There must at one time have been a mansion house atop this hill and at some time in its early history this stretch of the Mason property was in the hands of the Stiths, for the remains of an old graveyard were recently unearthed be- neath an anclent cedar tree, and one to the memory of Mr. Buckner Stith, | died 1791,” another being in memory of *“Anne Stith”-—presumably his wife, who died In 182! Little Hollin Hall,” which is now vacant, is built of wide clapboards— the mills don’t make ’em nowadays— and queer square bricks brought over from England. It was the center portion of the house that was used as a spinning house by Thomson Mason's family, and the wings were added at a later date. Okeley and Huntley, two outlying farms, were included in the tract of land_willed by George Mason to his son Thomson Mason, and it was over boundary line of one of these s that George Mason and George hingion fell out. There was, it a little stream which both claimed, and even now this i ed by a double ditch, put in because neither would give an inch. * K ok % ALTHOL'GH the house on Col. and Mrs. Drain’s place is of compara- tively recent date, the property was originally ~art of the Mount Vernon estate and was known as the River rm. The Drains bought it several years ago, and Mrs. Drain, who was a Miss Marsland, renamed the estate in honor of her father. Col. Drain, at present national commander of ‘the American Legion, has been in Indian- apolis, headquarters of the legion, for the greater part of a year. But Mrs. Drain is established at Marsland this summer, and is keeping the farm in apple-pié order. The Drains are the nearest neighbors to Mount Vernon. Collingwood Farm, present home of Mr. and Mrs. Mark Reid Yates, was also one of Mount Vernon's outlying A farms. There are, morevver, several @ probing the furniture—not only the apartment, but M. St. Georges’ busi- ness premises. We found no trace of the diamonds. But we found one or two other little matters of interest. ‘We found the inkstand. We found two half-packed trunks in a bedroom. M. St. Georges admitted he had in- tended to go for a journey but had changed his mind. And we found in an escritoire a number of notes from Jules Monnier to Gustave St. Georges totaling nearly four hundred thousand francs. M. Dieulafoy seized on them. “Yes™ he cried. ‘““These are genu- ine signatures! But”—he looked be- wildered—+‘‘four hundred thousand francs! This, then, is how Monnier financed his friendship with Mlle. Angele!"” ‘When we came to making a search of M. Bt. Georges himself we made another discovery. In his pocket was an envelope, sealed with blue wax, and that envelope contained the mar- riage certificate, dated & year pre- viously, of Mme. Angele Dubols, nee Angele Levasseur. “This, then, is what you took from Mlle. Levasseur’s apartment at 10:30 this evening!” said the commissary. “And bribed the bonne not to men- tion! Why did you steal this certifi- cate?"" St. Georges shrugged. “I had a perfect right to it,” he said. “I require it to prove my claim to the succession. My real name is Henri Dubois. Mlle. Angele was my wife."” “Your wife!” The commissary stared at him. “Then”—he waved his hand toward Monnier’'s I. O. U.'s—"you de- liberatply financed Monnier, that he might gn&ke love to your wife?” “My morals are my own affair, M. le Commissaire. One may be eccen- trically generous without interference from the police.” “But why did you give a false name and address In my shop?” cried the Jeweler, exasperated by this blank wall. ‘A whim,"” replied M. St. Georges. “What have you to complain of if I choose to give a fictitious name? 1| pald for the work you did. I did not cheat you.” It was past midnight and since the diamonds were not on M. St. Georges' premises, nor any other clear evi- dence connecting him with their dis- appearance, there was nothing to do but to retire. But outside the butld- ing the commissary placed the police- man with strict instructions to arrest M. St. Georges if he attempted to leave, and to seize all correspondence. * x ox % VWE left the commissary giving his orders, and M. Dieulafoy got into the car with Mr. Quayne and myself. “Well, M. Dieulafoy,” sald Q. Q. “so far, your case seems to be un- raveling itselt for us. This man, St. Georges or Dubois, undoubtedly en- couraged the intimacy of Monnler with his wife and financed his ex- travagances. Then, having estab- lished a hold over them, he prevailed upon him to steal those diamonds and hand them over to him. He left his inkstand until they should be fn Mon- nier's possession, and they were slipped to him with the parcel. Then he telephoned his wife to prepare to accompany him on a journey tonight. She packed her trunks. Monnfer went to her flat at his usual time and found her in the midst of her prepara- tions. They were probably mnot only a surprise but a shock to him. In the | quarrel, the truth or some of it came out. Monnter shot her in despair. He escaped—to meet his death in the |and only | thousand francs. parture—and finds her dead. This throws out all his plans, 8o he returns to his own flat. And—yes!” Mr. Quayne slapped his knee. “There is one thing missing. Why did Monnler g0 to the Champs Elysees at 10 o'clock? Who shot him there? And who sent him—or passed across the counter—that note making the ap- | pointment? Who but our friend St. Georges, determined to silence the man who could betray him!” ““There is one other thing missing,’ observed M. Dieulafoy. “My dia- monds! Where are they “Yes—where are they?” The chief sat thoughtful. “St. Georges had be- tween 4:20 and when we visited him to dispose of them. He did not give them to his wife. The maid’s evidence disposes of that. He did not keep them with him—or we should have found them. I observed him when we were searching his premises—and I am sure that he was confident we could not find them even by accident. Therefore they were not there. There are a dozen ways in which he might dispose of those diamonds until he wanted them. The way that occurs to me is that he posted them for whatever place he in- tended to go to with his wife. And unless we can discover that—and only he can tell us—there they are likely to remain.” As we sat the next day in the office of the commissary of police we were informed that M. St. Georges had been arrested on the charge of mur- dering Jules Monnier. A gunsmith in the Rue Lafayette had deposed to selling M. St. Georges the revolver two months previously. The police had succeeded in com- piling some sort of dossier of that enigmatic individual. The son of a deceased costumier in the Rue St. Honore, he had entered his father’s business, but under various aliases he had drifted into the career of a “swell mobsman” and jewel thief. Be- tween 1905 and 1912 he had under- gone two terms of imprisonment. In 1914, he had been mobilized and transferred to the telegraphic service of the army. In 1919 he had been convicted of an attempted theft of pearls from a jeweler. In 1923, under his real name of Dubols, he had mar- ried Angele Levasseur, and a few months previously had established himself in his trade of costumlier in the Rue Royale as M. St. Georges His clientele had been chiefly among the lesser lights of the demimonde, moderately lucrative. It was beyond doubt that he,had been intimate with Jules Monnier and had encouraged that unfortunate man in his infatuation with Mlle. Levasseur, or Mme. Dubois as she really was (though the fact had been kept closely secret), to the extent of financing him to the tune of nearly four hundred It looked like a conspiracy to get the jeweler's trusted assistant into his toils. But there was nothing to indicate complicity in the disappearance of the diamonds. The establishment in the Rue Rovale had been closely watched from the time we left it until M. St. Georges had been arrested at 10:30. The employes had arrived at 19:30 and at 10 o'clock one of them had come out with a parcel for the post. The policeman had examined the package. It was a cardboard box con- taining a dress for dispatch to a client. The policeman had satisfied himself that it contained no message. M. St. Georges must have had a sus- picion that his arrest was more than possible, but if he had accomplices to whom he would wish to communicate the whereabouts of the diamonds, he | had made no attempt to utilize the interim of liberty accorded to him. Champs Elysees. St. Georges goes to his wife's flat at 10:30, ready for de-| estates in nearby Virginia that be. longed in the beginning to the Wash- ington family, notably Woodlawn and | Abingdon. Wellington, which was the home of Toblas Lear, secretary to George Washington, is also enjoying a revival of hospitality in these modern days, and is now the home of Malcolm Matheson. Hollin Hall, by the way, 18 on the old road from Mount Vernon to Wash- ington over which George Washington used to drive, and the right of way for which was ceded to the State by the - LO He was now in prison. To the charge against him he had replied by con- temptuous denial Masons. The north fork of Little Hunting Creek flows through the place and it is blessed with springs, “which run perennial The estate was named for Hollin Hall in York- shire, the family home of Anne Thom- son, who was Thomson Mason's mother. . Rippon Lodge crowns a graclous eminence about five miles beyond the quaint_town of Occoquan. Happily now, after being long in alien hands, the place has come to its own again, for the mother of the new owner, Wade Hampton Ellis, was a Blacl VE (With Incidental Music) BY ROYAL BROWN. (Continued from Fourth Page.) erless. He carried her to the front door. “Put me down, please,” she begged then. “You'll come—peaceably?” he de- * manded. She hesitated, avoiding his eyes and quivering with what could not— surely—be anything but righteous wrath. Then: “Yes,” she murmured. And ‘so the Heights saw them in turn drive off. “I bought this car from Bromley because you seemed to like it,” re- marked Ted. “Strikes me as sort of loud—but women are queer. I hope my wife will like it.”” Kay said nothing. She sat with her pretty profile inflexible and unre- lenting. “The house isn't furnished as yet— I wanted your opinion on that,’ Ted ran on, as if they were two souls with but a single thought. “Here we are!” And Kay's determination to say nothing was shattered by surprise. He had no more than driven around the block and he was stopping before the Witherbees’ house. “You—you bought gasped. “It seemed a good move—settling a neighborhood problem and mine at one crack,” he explained. “But the McSweeneys?” “That was just my little joke. Mc- Sweeney is really a plumber and’ his sons are carpenters and painters. But the whole family is musical—or think they are. They actually call them- selves the Six Musical McSweeneys. I moved them out here so that they would be on the job both ways, so to speak.” She permitted him to lead her in- side the house. “The McSweeneys have gone,” he explained. “I'll move their stuff out smorrow. How dies this living room t you? ‘That white wainscoting strikes me as the goods.” Between a house—almost any house—and a woman there is always 2 curlous affinity. “Oh, it's ducky!" breathed Kay, ap- this?" she proving in spite of herself. “I hoped you'd like Iif 've wanted to ask your advice quite a few times,” He paused almost im- perceptibly. “But I was sure of one thing, anyway. And that is that 1 couldn’t get a better location—right next door to your own house. You can go home to your mother so easily when we quarrel as—I suspect—we will.” Kay's eyes met his incredulously; for a second she was speechless. Then “We?" she echoed. “You and me,” he assured her. “But—you're engaged to a New York girl!” she protested. “Oh, that was all an idea father and mother got—they went off half cocked. There never was any girl for me but you, Kay. Haven't you known that all along? Where's—where's your woman'’s intuition?” Kay's eyes met his—just long enough to see all his heart in them— then fell. And then—well, it was for- tunate that he had had the fore- thought to send the Six Musical Mc- Sweeneys on their way. They would have been superfluous, to say the least. Presently Kay glanced at him, her eyes soft and shy, yet glowing like altar candles. “Why—why didn’t you tell me all ?" she asked. he replied whimsically yet huskily, “I, as’ the movies might put it, wanted to make a man of my- self; get ahead and be able to give you the things you deserve. I tried darned hard, Kay. Do I suit?” “You—you know you do!" she whis- pered. And Kay's mother? “As if I didn’t suspect it all when I saw you and Ted mooning around to- gether,” she told Kay’'s father scorn- fully. “I’ve known all along that Kay would probably marry Ted in the end. ‘The way they acted might fool a man, but never a woman.” And she almost convinced him that this was so. But she knew better than to try to fool another woman. “Of course, I'm as pleased as can be,” she assured Ted's mother, after they had embraced and kissed. “But you could have knocked me over with a feather.’ “Me, too,” admitted Ted's mother. “Some feather!” commented Ted, characteristically. (Copyright, 1978.) “MADAME,” HE SAID, “M. MONNIER SHOT HIMSELF. IF YOU HAVE NOT A MOMENT TO LOSE.” WISH TO SEE HIM ALIVE, YOU WWE were invited to the preliminary investigation by the juge d'in- struction the next morning. We attended, M. Dieulafoy, Q. Q. and myself. M. St. Georges was brought in between a couple of po-| licemen. To the interrogation of the juge d'instruction, he replied with an exasperating nonchalance. It was whim that he had given the false name of Dufourier in M. Dieulafoy’s shop—whim that he had connived at the association of his wife with the Jjeweler’s assistant—whim that he had financed M. Monnler in his intrigue! Had he not a right to his whims? “I assert that you conspired to get M. Monnler into your power, that you prevailed on him to rob his employer, that you received the stolen property, and that to cover your tracks you murdered M. Monnier that same eve ning!” the juge d'instruction thun dered at him, voice and aspect formid- able, crashing his fist upon the desk. | “It 1s merely your assertion, M. le Juge,” he smiled olitely. “I am com- mencing a civil suit against the au thorities for unlawful” detention.” ““Where are those diamonds?’ ‘Where, indeed? Why not consult a fortune teller? He wiil perhaps teh you that they existed only in the esti- mable M. Dieulafoy’s imagination.” And that was the extent of the sat- isfaction to be got out of M. St. Georges. Thus matters stood when after a week we again recelved an invitation to attend the bureau of the juge d'in- struction. The prisoner was waiting in the corridor. We found the com- missary of police with the magistrate. “Ah, M. Quayne!” he said. What do you make of this?” He held out a letter he*had been dis- | cussing with the juge d'instruction. I read it over the chief's shoulder. “M. le Chef de la Surete: Although I am quite innocent of any complicity in the affair with which M. St. Georges is charged, I can indi- cate where is the packet that you seek, on condition that M. St. Georges is released and that the prosecution against him is relinquished.” It was signed “Marle Leroux,” and dated from Villers-en-Amont. “Bring in St. Georges!” commanded the magistrate. The prisoner was as self-confident as ever. The juge d'Instruction smiled cynleally at him. “Own up, Dubois,” he said. accomplice has confessed.” Mr. St. Georges lifted his eyebro “Very interesting,” he replied. “An old trick, M. le Juge. Perhaps you will tell me the name of that accom- plice?” The magistrate smiled at him confi- dently. ““Certainl. “Your Ml arle Leroux of burn and a descendant of a collateral branch of the family of Col. Richard Blackburn, by whom the place was built. And Mr. Ellis' grandfather, Christopher Blackburn, who was a Virginian by birth, used frequently to go a-visiting in his youth to his cousins at Rippon Lodge. It was this assoclation probably which was most potent in causing Mr. Ellis to select this plcturesque estate when looking for a country place near Washington. The name of Rippon Lodge is bound up with Mount Vernon and Gunston Hall in the annals of the Virginia of colonial and revolutionary days. In one of George Mason's letters he re- fers to the fact that his_daughters were then visiting at the Lodge, and the Blackburn children used to pla: at Mount Vernon. Indeed, two Black- burn girls married Washingtons— John Augustin Washington and Bush- rod Washington—the weddings pre- sumably taking place at Rippon Lodge, and they now lie burled at Mount Vernon. The house dates back to the early days of the eighteenth century, ante- dating Gunston Hall and possibly Mount Vernon. Built by Col. Richard Blackburn, it was. named for the ca- thedral town of Ripon, whence he came—no plausible explanation having vet been offered for the change in spelling. AFTER their new home is restored, Mr. and Mrs. Harold Walker ex- pect to spend the major portion of the year at Mary's Delight, although undoubtedly they will maintain a win- ter residence in Washington. The house, which is built of brick, four- square and solid, with gracefu] wings, dates back to 1659, and in all those years the old place has changed hands but four times. Mary’s Delight is listed and described in all the books on famous homes of the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Among Mr. and Mrs. Walker's near- est neighbors are Mr. and Mrs. Glen Stewart, whose estate, Cape Centaur, is one of the most extensive—and expensive—in this part of the world. They bought up an old estate, with several miles of water front, but the original mansion house had been de- stroyed and they used only the old farmhouse while their new house was being completed. At Cape Centaur the Stewarts keep their horses—there are miles of bridle paths on the place—and the famous Irish wolfhounds to whose breeding they have devoted so much time, thought and money. They own Bally- shannon, world’s champion of this splendid and now almost extinct breed, with several other specimens almost as_valuable. Dimitri Dem. Dimancesco, the pop- ular young attache of the Rumanian legation, has also joined the ranks of * Ok % % the “landed gentry” in Maryland, hav- ing leased Woodstock, a picturesque farmhouse of colonial date down near Marlboro. He has installed his beautiful Rumanian things—peasant embroideries, old paintings, carved chests, brass work, etc., these rather exotic furnishings consorting remark- ably well with their quaint colonial background. He passes part of every week in the country, returning to town to carry on his work at the Jegation, S Villers-en-Amont.” telegram. If we expected any collapse of the prisoner, we were disappointed. He continued to_smile. “I regret 1 have not the honor of her acquaintance.” ““You persist that you do not know her? 1 have never heard of her in my life That we shall see. And this charge of murdering Jules Monnier—have you anything more to say “I have already admitted it.” (He had, in fact, admitted it during the week.) “It was a crime passionnel. I knew his friendship with my wife. I did not know that he was her lover When I discovered it I killed him The jury will acquit me.” Nevertheless,” replied the commis sary, “I am impelled to go to Villers- en-Amont and investigate.” M. Dieulafoy’s representati should like to accompany you, the chief. “By all means, M. Quayne.” %o e He held up the 'HE next day the chief and I stood in the little inn at Villers-en Amont, walting for lunch. The com- missary had gone for a few words with the postmistress. He wanted to make sure whether Mile. received any correspondence recentl: We looked out of the window while the landlady laid the table. The chief engaged her in conversa- tion, learning what he could of the place and its inhabitants. “Ah, non, monsieur,” said the old dame, “nothing happens in this tomb of a place. The chateau is empty. There is only M. Benet, the cure; Mile. Pichon, his niece, and Mlle. Leroux, w]hlu lives at the white house on the hil.” Mlle. Teroux?” said Mr. Quayne. “I once knew a Mile. Leroux. Did this Mlle. Leroux ever live at Bor- deaux?” 0, monsieur. She came from Ar- cis-sur-Marne, in the war area. She was a telegraphist at the post office there. Her uncle died and left her his house, and she came to live here. Mais, there she is!” The hostess pointed to a quiet-looking woman in a white linen dress who passed in the glare of the sunshine. ‘“Ah, qu'elle est flere aves sa robe de Paris! A dress from Paris?’ sald Mr. Quayne. “But how do you know it is a dress from Paris?” “Ah, monsieur, in a place like this one knows everything. Mile. Leroux received that dress a week ago. receveuse at the post office told me it came from-Paris, for she noticed the postmark.” The commissary returned, and we sat down to lunch. He shook his head to our inquir: little woman of retiring and blameless life,” he sald. *“‘And she has recelved nothing by post or telegraph | for many months. quite sure.” “Except a dress from Paris,” said Mr. Quayne. “Except a dress from Paris,” agreed the commissary. ‘“But there was no letter in the box. The postmistress is also sure of that, for the string had come undone and she had the curi- osity to look inside. At least, that is what the postmistress said. More probably she untied it herself and looked inside for some indication of the sender. And for Mlle. Leroux to ve such a thing was most un- The postmistress is Was there any indication of the sender of the box?" asked Mr. Quayne. “None. I inquired particularly.” “H'm! We'll interview Mlle. Leroux and hear what she has to sa: After lunch we climbed the hill to Mile. Leroux’s house. Mlle. Leroux, we could guess, was expecting visitors in answer to her letter. She came in a moment later—a thin, shy-looking little woman with tragic eyes. She was wearing the Paris frock. It was a simple enough affair in crisp white linen, with a spiral design in little blue beads on the corsage, and a zigzag design in similar beads around the hem of the skirt. The commissary stated our-business, M. St. Georges was in prison on the charge not only of robbery but of mur- der, and under no circumstances short of a verdict of acquittal could he be released. But if Mlle. Leroux had an knowledge of the diamonds it was her duty to dedlare the fact. Concealment rendered her liable to prosecution as an accessory. “I will only reveal what I know if M. St. Georges is released,” she said firmly. “Mademoiselle, that is impossible,” declared the commissary. “And it is inconcetvable that a person of your character should compromise herself by solicitude for such a scoundrel as this M. St. Georges—or Henri Dubois, to glve him his real name.” “Nevertheless, only on that condi- tion will I speak,” she said. “But why do you take this interest in Dubois?” persisted the commissary. “He is my husband.” “Your husband! But—pardon me, mademoiselle—madame—Dubois was married to the actress who was shot— Angele Levasseur.” “He married me at Arcis-sur-Marne in July, 1918,” said the little woman. “He was then a telegraphist in the army.” , “He is then a bigamist—as well as @ thief—and perhaps worse.” “‘Very probably,” agreed the woman. “But he is my husband. And he has put his trust in me. I vannot abuse it. T can only use it to save his life— or at any rate to save him from prison.” “Madame,” said the commissary, “this obstinacy will not help you. If you know what has become of the ob- Jjects stolen by Dubois, he must have communicated with you. You will put me to the necessity of searching your hous ‘“‘You may search,” sald Mme. Du- bois. “You will find nothing.” “How, then, did he communicate with you?” Mme. Dubois shrugged. “It is useless to question me, M. le Commissaire,” she sald. “You can even put me in prison, but you will Leroux had | The | learn nothing. has been re tunity to leave 1 to where is the packet con missing diamonds.” commissary turned * ok TH!-: “I am afraid, M. Quay nothing to do but to for instructions fear will find you accomplice.” Mme. Dubois made accepted this possibility. “Well, M. Quayne,” said sary will return tc before go we will g the satisfaction se: house Mr.” Qua | hands in his pockets. | if awakened to present | commissary’'s wc hands sha 1y fro he did so, he accidently | handful of s change wi all over the room He wen | his knees and began to pick tr gest had stood s He around he h, encore une piec crawled round to the other side of her | He rose to his feet and turned to t | ry. 1l willingly assist you in vc | search, mon cher confrere,” he said. But first T have an urgent telegram to dispatch.” We took a provisional leave of Mme. Dubois and walked to the telegraph office. The commissary was not a little st prised at the telegram written out by Mr. Quayne, and handed to him for fficial signature Chef de Police, Le Havre Examine postal packet name Mad. ame Dubois waiting poste-resta Havre report here " He was even more astonished when an hour later a telegram came for us at the Soleil d'Or. “Commissaire de Police, Amont Packet found contalns 21 large dia- monds corresponding with informa- tion in case St. Georges. Chef de Police, Le Havre." “M. Dieulafoy’s diamonds,” said Mr., Quayne. “But when or how did Mme. bois confess this to you?" exc the commissary. ““She did not confess,” replied the chief. “Then by what miracle did vou dis- | cover her secre Villers-en. s,” sald Mr, ne. £ you looked closely ‘at Dubois’ ne: frock, you would have noticed that it had a design on the corsage.” He took out a pencil and opene notebook. ““A design in blue bea If you had looked a little more closely vou would have seen that the be: were of two distinct shades, one d er than the other, and rathe; larly disposed. Suppose we represer them like this—" He drew a spiral of little circles, some open and s filled in. “Does that convey anythin | you?" We both shook our heads. Well, assume that the open cir: are dots, and the closed o and follow round the both know the Morse code, sume?"” “Voir bord!"” we exclaimed “Precisely. “See the hen I ceeded to see the hem by groping o the floor for the money I drop) And I saw a design in beadwork, 1 this.” He drew again, quickly, zag line of spirals. “Read following the zigzag."” “Chercher paquetu Mme. Duboi P. R. Havre. Garder pour moi. 1 fie a toi. Henri,” read the comm S a little Exactly. ‘Fetch packet addressed Mme. Dubois posterestante Hav: Keep it for me. I trust in Henri,’ " said Mr. Quayne “But why did he do this?" commissary was still a little puzzled. “It is easy of deduction,” smiled the chief “St. Georges had posted the packet to Havre to the name of Mme. Dubois. He intended to fetch ft—on his way to America—with Angele Le. vasseur, who could prove herself her marriage certificate to be Mme, Dubois. But Angele Levasseur was murdered. Then he bethought of other Mme. Dubofs, in whose fidelity he was sure he could trust. But he had no time to write her before the police visit showed him the danger he was in. He spent that night after we had left in doing a little embroid. ery on a gown and getting it read 1o post as a present to Mlle. Leroux in the morning., That was the dress examined by the policeman just be. fore St. Georges was arrested. Mlle. Leroux naturally closely examined this present—and equally naturaly, to a professional telegraphist, the dot- and-dash sequence of the two shades of blue beads on the spiral would soon become apparent. It is possibla that she had already received mes. sages from her husband in that in- genious manner. We shall probably never know this. “But M. Dieulafoy monds, and 1 trust M. will get his deserts. share in the robbery, and I thipk the jury will prefer to regard his killing of Jules Monnier as the suppression of an inconvenient accomplice rather than as the romantic crime passionnel he claims it to be. Let us now go back to Paris.—And,” he smiled at me, “‘remember next time, Mr. Crelghton, that there are hidden potentialities in, everything, even Paris frocks.” (Copyright. 1825.) Making Real Pearls. JAPANESE pearls formed by an oyster round a nucleus of mother. of-pearl can now be definitely told from real pearls by spectrography with monochromatic X-ray waves. The mother-of-pearl center in the Japanesa, pearls produces a definite figure ar rangement not unlike the Lane fige ures, while the real pearl shows a definite unstriated series of rings. Tha difference between the simple struce ture of the true pearl and the double structure of the Japanese-growr mearl can be immediately recognjzed. has St. Georges This proves his