Evening Star Newspaper, June 6, 1926, Page 82

"6 pTe———— THE ‘SU By Austin Parker DAY "STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C. BORN TO BE HANGED Three Thousand Dollars for a Few Hours’ Work. NE o these days one of us—maybe both of us—is going to break his neck! An’ then where'll we be?” “Dead:” answered Red Luke, not without feeling. “Correct!” The firm of Luke & Myrick, Death Deflers — “Plane Changing, \\'lnvg AWalking and Parachute Jumping: We Will Try Anything”—drank its beer 1houghtfully, almost sadly. ‘Harry Myvick, whose idea of a good show was to stand on the top wing of « plane while Red looped it, pursued 1he subject. “Do you now what'd happen,” .he demanded, we went into a life-insurance office? “'Sure!” responded his lean, hatchet- 1aced, red-headed partner. ““The presi- dent of the company’d have a nervous breakdown.” “An’ they'd disinfect the office after they bounced us out.” “Well, what do you want to do mbout it?” asked Red. “We don't Xnow how to do anything except fly €< “What we need,” he announ ncres near Hollywood fér a flying field. ‘Fhat’d put us handy with the picture gang, an’ we'd get the Winter tourist 1rade. With Moe Silkley in New York"” (Moe was their booking agent) +an’ us hanging out Summers near Chicago an’ Winters in California, we'd have the country well covered. Ve could swing it on a couple o' thou- #and.” “Sure!” agreed Red. “Let’s buy the routhern end of Californla—say, from J.os Angeles down. What do we care? “We've got $65.” “All T vant to know from you,” an- swered Harry Myrick, “is—are you with me?” Sure, I'm with you, but—" ‘Don’t try to think, kid,” inter- rupted Harry. “It gets me all wore out watching you. Hey, Joe, bring some boloney for Dooley with them beers!” Their mongrel pup, Dooley, grown mow nearly to doghood's proud estate ‘he was the world's only wing-walk- ing, parachute-jumping dog — was sprawled under the table. He gave the floor a whack with his tail just to show that he appreciated being men- tioned. “Wish Moe'd nail down another good movie contract for us,” said Harry. “Yeh,” agreed Red. “We sure do need the cash!” He added after a mo- mnent: *“We better get busy 'n’ clean *em spark plugs. They're rotten dirty. You're a bright little fellow, Harry. Why don’t you invent a spark pluj that c'n brush its own teeth?” Harry grunted in response, and they moved away_silently toward their two mirplanes mounted the engine sec- on of the smaller one. * x x DAPPER, quietly overdressed man, with a hard, angular face pproached them and stood digging his cane into the turf. Ir. Luke and “I have a matter of business that I would like to talk over with one of Yyou."” * ‘Both men laid aside their wrenches dropped to the ground. Just with ene of you. howeve! iweep them in a cooly appraising glance. “It's all right,” said Red. “We work together. “Possibly s0.” He swung his cane negligently. “But this is a one-man job, and I prefer to keep it so.” “Well,” said Harry, “let's match Heads you take it; tails 1 take it. ‘He pulled out a coin, prepared to spin ¢ this is a bootlegging job, we're ‘ot out. The man’s head shook briefly. course not!" The coin spun in a twinkling are, dropped to the ground, tails u “‘Clean the spark plugs, bab; Harry. “Papa’s busy.” Red watched them as they moved away, saw Harry enter the hangar and reappear after a few minutes in his city-going clothes. They got into « car and rolled down the road. It was shortly after noon when My- rick returned to the field. Red looked up from the pan of wzasoline in which he was scrubbing rk plugs. Y T took the job. There's three thou- nd in it “Wow! What s {t?” Harry scowled, and his brown eyes wtared across the fleld. “Can’t tell vou, Red. Promised I wouldn't. an’, ='elp me, T don’t know myself. I'm to shove off from here this afternoon an’ fly here to there, an’ from there 10 some place else again. 1 ought to le back here by tomorrow night. May- be not until the next morning. Three thousand!” echoed Red. You're up to no good, kid! They don’t pay three thousand for virtue.” Harry Myrick shrugged. “Don't know, an’' what I don't know ain’t 8oing to trouble my conscience. I've lived long enough not to ask ques- tions. The bird that lays the golden eggs ain't a parrot, anyhow.” “Which crate are you going to take?” “The barge, 1 guess.” He nodded toward the bigger of the two planes. “She lands slower, an’ I'm not sure of the fields. We better get busy an’ service her.” | As they worked, refitting the plugs, lifting cans of gas, oil and water, Harry Myrick whistled “The Merry ‘Widow” waltz over and over again, in deep preoccupation and with aston- ishing variations of theme. His severest ‘attacks of “The Merry Widow"” always came when he was busiest and happiest. “Will you pipe down on that tune?” Red. 5 T was just wondering how much a concrete floor for the hangar'd o Of course, we could get along with a dirt floor.” “What we need is another ship. You can't fly a concrete floor.” He added, as a sultry afterthought, “We better not spend thes three thousand until we get it.” 3 % sald the man, his eves shifting be-| “We'll get it all right. Papa's mighty bright that way.” “Maybe!"” More silence, and then, inevitably, more “Merry Widow.” It was after 5 o'clock when Harry prepared to take off. “I wish I knew what you were up said Red. “Honest, I don't know much more about it than you do,” Harry an- swered. “I'm just goin’ ahead on sealed orders.” “If you get in any trouble call me up at the restaurant. I'll tell Maisie to send one of the kids for me. So long.” » “So long." The exhaust of the big engine changed from a throbbing mutter to a roar; the big plane turned, with Red dragging on one wing, headed into the wind and rolled down the fleld, * ok X ¥ ED had fallen into the habit of late dinners. Not that he was in- fluenced by continental fashions in the matter of dining, but that he preferred the Best-ever Restaurant—Maisie Gor- don, Sole Prop.—when the other pa- trons had finished eating. Then, cus- tomers all served and her kid brother tucked into bed, Maisie would usually sit across the table from him, chatter- ing as brightly as though she hadn't finished 14 hours of work. “If Harry and I start a flying fleld near Hollywood, you come down and open a restaurant,” Red said to her one day. ‘“Would yvou?” Maisie Gordon’s blue eyes shone and her full red lips fairly rolled out the | fleld in California this Winte: words, “Would 17" She seemed so lit- tle more than a youngster herself— she was only 20—yet for three years following the death of her father and mother in a mortal affray hetween a six-ton truck and a street car, she had been running the Best-ever Restaurant and making a good job of it, too. Tommy, her 12-year-old brother, hadn’t missed a day of school. She ran him, ran the cook, the two waitresses, the cashier and herself with the capability of one born to manage. The vear before, during an open week in their bookings, Luke and My- rick had dropped down into one of the emergency flelds of the Air Mail to spend a few days overhauling their planes and resting. They discovered Maisie. This year, when they had an- other open week, Red had suggested that they return, even though the field happened to be nearly 200 miles out of their way. He had presented argu ments, but Harry silenced him by sa) ing, “All right! Maisie’s the only girl I've ever seen you travel with that didn’t give me a pain in the gizzard. Let’s go!” Maisie glanced up from the cashier’s where she was balancing the y's accounts, as Red entered. o with you in a minute.” He sat down, ordered his dinner. Maisie would want to know all about Harry's job, and he decided that he, had better get ready with a lie. It was difficult to lie to Muaisie. “Harry’s gone down to Centertown, he said casually, as the girl sat opp: site him. “The Masons are holding some sort of outdoor shindy, and they wanted a plane.” “onr “Like to go to a movie tonight Her head shook. “Too darned tired, Red. Sorry. Some other night. I'd just go to sleep in the theater.” “It's a dirty shame you work 80 hard,” he said feelingly. He leaned toward her. “Sav, Maisie, it looks as though we're going to have a pretty good chance of opening our If we can get a good location for We'll know pretty soon—within a few weeks.” As he was leaving he said, “I told Harry to call me up here if he wanted to talk to-me. Will you send one of the kids over for me? Tell him there's two bits in it.” She nodded, smiling. “G'night, Maisie.” Sood night.” faisie—you're a peach. 1 like iike you, too, Red.” Her eyes met his in an unabashed, friendly gaze. They shook hands as though th were sealing a bargain. “Good night.” “G'night.” x X X ¥ RED walked slowly toward the dark house where he and Harry were quartered, his heart thumping so that it seemed to ring bell-like through his body. At lunch the following day he lin- gered over a cigarette and a second cup of coffee, until at last Maisie re- warded him. She leaned over the back of the chair opposite, smiling. “What _do_you think of Val Scott escaping?” she demanded. - “Val Scott? All right with me. Who is he? ; Her eyes opened wide in amaze- ment. “You haven't heard of Val “IT'S A TERRIBLE THING THAT MAN IS OUT,” MAISIE'S VOICE BROKE IN. Scott!” she exclaimed almost disgust- edly. “Everybody's heard of him! He's one of thesirtiest and worst men that ever got thrown into State’s pris- on. He murdered his wife. They say she was an awfully nice girl—got pushed into marrying him by her peo- ple. His money was the only thing that saved him from hanging. Wait a minute.” She hurried away to the cashier's desk, where there was a congestion of patrons trying to pay their checks and buy cigars. Red watched her, conscious of some new and inexplicable emotion growing within him—growing like some cold, have to | ou, will | gigantic mushroom rooted in the pit of his stomach. From the first instant, long before he dared admit it to him- self, his mind had connected Val Scott with Harry Myrick’s mysterious flight. People didn’t pay $3,000 for a day's joy-flying! That was certain. ‘His impulse was to get up and leave, but he saw Maisie slide a newspaper across the counter to a passing wait- ress and nod toward him. He took the paper and glanced at the black stream- er headline across the front page: “VAL SCOTT ESCAPES.” His eyes ran down the story, picking out sentences, phrases, here and there: B a Most notorious =millionaire criminal since ... . escaped by unknown means before dawn _this morning Country-wide alarm sent out . . complete investiga- tion ordered by the governor . . . roads guarded by local and State po- lice with orders to stop all cars . Ve “It's a terrible thing that man is out,” Maisie's voice broke in. “He probably bribed the guards. He's worth three or four ‘million, you see. Back in a second.” She went as a rescue party to a small and dumb waltress who was complicating four orders hopelessly. Red continued to read a story of cruelty, blackmail and murder that wound up with: “In 1916 Warden Connolly allowed the prisoners in the lifers’ block to have a dog, a renegade Airedale, ‘sent up’ for chicken stealing. Scott was found one day by & guard torturing the dog. ,When the facts became known th& other lifers threatened to take Scott’s life at the first opportu- nity, and it was necessary to remove him to another section of the prison and give him special exercise periods so that he would not come in contact with other prisoners. Since then not one of the thousands of crooks and degenerates housed in State’s prison has associated with Val Scott. He was, In reality, retired within the prison and condemned as an outcast by his fellow unfortunates.” ‘. K RED laid the paper down and arose. “Going so soon, Red?” asked Maisie. “Yeh, got to—to do some work on the bus,” he explained. “See you later.” ‘What's the trouble?” demanded Maisie, her eyes searching his face. “No trouble,” he answered gruffly. red, I guess.” ‘Out on a party last night Her voice was humorously accusing, and his eyes faltered when they attempted to_meet her straight, cool gaze. “ “Ware of parties. old boy! don’t mix with your business. You'll have a crack-up one of these days.” He laughed uneasily. “Take me to the movies tonight?"” asked Maizie. “I won't he too tired.” “You bet 1 willl So long.” He had gone nearly a block before he felt a hand tugging at his arm. It was the girl's brother, Tomm Somebody wants you on the tele- phone, Red,” he panted. “Malsie sent me to catch vou.” For a_moment! he stood stock-still, then broke into a run back to the Best-ever. It was Harry Myrick on the other end of the line. 'Red, I'm up near a feridian with a busted stick,” he sald. TLoad one aboard and beat it for all ou're worth. I'm about 5 miles nor" nor’east of Meridian. Keep well over to the east an’ make it low. ‘under- stand. It1l take you 2 hours. I'll have a smudge going. Get me “Yeh." His eyes shifted, and he nearby. Be right with you. “Good-by.” He hung up. “Harry having his troubles?” she ed. 'Busted his propeller,” he explained, “‘and wants another one. I'll be back before evening.” He went to the barn, where they had stored their spare equipment, se- lected a new propeller, and stood for a moment thoughtfully. Then he picked up two parachute packs and hitched the harness over his shoulder. Dooley, their pup, was eating his one square a day, selecting morsels of meat with a certain degree of fas- tidiousness, but when he saw Red Luke emerge from the barn, equipped for flying, he bolted down the rest of his meal, his belly quivering, his eyes | He fell in at Red's heels, as though to say, aturally vou won't leave me behind.” Doole: had an unostentatious way of invii ing himself. ' Together they made their way to the fleld, where Red started warming up the engine of the smaller plane. He attached the new propeller to the fuselage, binding it tightly and secur- ing it forward so that it could not work down the taper and foul his controls. Next he strapped the para- chute in the passenger’s cockpit. Doo- ley had been standing by in silent, tail-wagging_ excitement; he jumped as soon as Red arched his back into on his master. a gangplank, and, once in the plane, began to whine ecstatically. The \take-off was abrupt, savagely s0; then the plane leveled into deter- mined, fullout flight. Dooley, ears flapping in the wind, stuck hi= nose a fraction of an inch over the wind- shield, sniffing at the cool air blast, and occasionally sneezing. ¢ L RED'B course was not laid directly toward Meridian. Instead he swung off in a great curve until he caught the blue ribbon of the river; | then he compared the landscape with the map fastened to the instrument board. Finally he peered over the A place called | side, examining a small riverside town which was .located on his map, ““Cooper (State Prison).” At the water’s edge there was a gray oblong of'stone, inclosing a_half dozen gray oblong buildings. He laid his course toward Meridian, bearing slightly eastward. Still_miles away from the rendez- vous he spotted a thin stream of black smoke, Harry Myrick’s smudge, mounting in the clear air.. He throt- tled down, so that the engine’s roar became a soft purr, almost indistin- guishable from the ground, and let the plane sink in a long glide. It was a deserted country; a few farms far away, and Meridian, a aleepy hamlet, cut off: even from the railrcad. To the northward lay for- ests and.rocky hills, with the Cana- dian border two hundred miles to the north. Harry,, smudge extinguished, was standing” beside the big plane. He trotted forward as Red came to a stop. Dooley jumped eut, scampered about his legs. “Where's your passenger?’ manded Red. “In the woods,” answered Harry dis- ‘gustedly. “You know who he is, don't you?"” “No—an’ I don’t want to! Looks like a louse to me, but what I don't know isn’t going to give me no pains in the head—so blow me no low- downs!"” “I won't, eh?” answered Red. “He's the fllthiest human being that ever bought his way out of a hanging bee —Val Scott! And you're going to get yourself in a jam!"” Dooley had been circling about after quarry.” He came upon a strange scent and went ki-yling - into the woods. There was a squeal—one which seemed to have come from an angry, petulant child—then a fusillade of stones. Slowly the-figure of a man emerged from behind a row of bushes. He glanced about in the manner of one who comes out of a cave into day- light, gray face oddly set above a mis- fit, obviously new dark suit. He ap- proached cautiously for a few steps and paused. “That's the bird, all right!” said Red in an undertone. “You're sure getting yourself into the gluepot. An’ what it takes to get you out I've got! Bring him over here. “‘Come on!" ordered Harry eating you?" Red attacked the ropes securing the propeller. “That guy's so rotten that even the other prisoners won't asso- ciate with him.” “Well, what do you want to do? Should we take him over into Canada —his gang's waiting for him—or tell him to peddle his papers?” “Nelther!” snapped Red. it to me.” Val Scott had approached within a few yards. “Hey, you,” said Red. “it's going to take two hours to get this new propeller on. I'll take vou aboard in the other plane.” Val Scott’s head was thrust forward. and his chin trembled with excitement. His hands opened and clenched. “You—you keep to your side of the bargain,” he stammered. “or I'l—I'll kill you. I'll have one of my men kill you His arms moved in a wild, spasmodic gesture. You're losing Red scathingly. | nerve to get away with this. don’t want to get excited.” B AL SCOTT hitched at the overly long_ sleeves of his coat, stared ahead of him, his Adam’s apple bob- bing. “I got to get free!” he muttered. “I got to get free! I'm an innocent man! You understand?’ His luster- less, pale eves became suddenly {llumi- nated, and one hand made an irre- sponsible slap at his breast. With his loose clothes, loose gestures and star- ing face he was like an orating marionette. “I'm going to have my revenge!” His voice rose and cracked. 'm innocent, I tell yvou!" ‘Sure, you are!” said Red. “We wouldn’t help you if we didn’t know that. Here, put this on.” He held out_the harness of a parachute. “What—what is it?” “Parachute harness, that's all. Just fe We're going to pass some and if anything goes wrong our parachutes’ll save us from getting killed.” 'We didn’t have them before,™ challenged Val Scott. “Sure, you didn't. You didn’t need ‘em. See—vyou landed here all right, { but if there hadn’t been a field handy | you'd of cracked up.” His coddling, softly sympathetic voice, the same voice he would have used in gentling a colt, induced the man to submit to the harness. The parachute pack.was attached, and the release cord fastened in front within convenient reach. Harry Myrick stood 0 one side, eyeing Red Luke. his lips compressed into a straight line. “Better tell you how to use it said Red, as though it were an after- thought. “If anything goes wrong, de- “What's “Leave your nerve.” said “You got to have You and you have to jump out, or. some- thing like that, all you got to-do is to give this cord a yank—an' down you come, .rocka-bye-baby. = See? Just give the cord a pull.” “A pull,” repeated Val Scott, dazedly. His hand went to the cord, gave a little uncontrollable yank. M heavens!” - protested Red. “Don’t do it until you have to. Come on—get aboard.” He boosted the man into the, cockpit. ‘‘See you later, “Yeh.” Harry Myrick, standing there with his legs apart, shouldering the big propeller, allowed his face to crack into a grin as the plane lum- hered down the field. - Dooley, red {a trade or profession, / \!wammti : "JUNE 6, 1926—PART 8. RED PAUSED ONLY LONG ENOUGH TO GLIMPSE THE WHITE HUTE. tongue drooling, followed the plane with as much of an owl-like movement of his head as he was capable of and lost interest in it. Luke and Myrick ‘were interchangeable as masters in Dooley’s life. “Red swung the plane about into a westerly course and glanced at his watch. A little too early, he de- cided, so he continued west for a half- hour and then edged to the south, & great sweeping curve. The lower rim of the sun was just touching the horizon when he sighted the river, a winding,molten strip of red and gold. Imperceptibly he eased off on the throt- tle, letting the plane sink until it was riding at fifteen hundred feet; then he shut the throttle, silencing the engine. He turned to Val Scott and pointed down through the dusk. “Look down!” he yelled. The plane flipped over in a tight spiral. “You're going overboard! Grab that release cord! Grab it i Val Scott looked down and saw that gray oblong wall of the State Prison and the jail yard spreading beneath him. The plane gave a wicked lurch, his hand went to the release cord and pulled. Red paused only long enough t6 glimpse the white blooming of the parachute over the jail yard: then he “gave her the gun” and thundered away in the twilight. * Xk % ARRY MYRICK'S head jerked forward as he entered the Rest- ever Restaurant and found Red Luke at dinner. i “What did you do with that bird?" he demanded in an undertone. “‘Sit down, little boy, and eat some fish. They say it's good for the brain. You need it!” “What did you do with him?" per- sisted Harry. “Why, I took him for a nice ride and then flipped him overboard into the State Prison where he came from. And the next time you start a jail rald don’t pick on a guy that's & blemish on the whole human race. You think like a woman gets off a strpet car— backward! Why, you poor- o ““What have you two got your heads together about?” interrupted Maisie, leaning over the table. Her voice was pleasant, but about her eyes and mouth there lingered—for Red, at least—the shadow of a menace. ““Nothing mucl Then he added, “We were talking about our chances of opening that BLOOMING OF THE PARAC fleld in California. They don't look so good—not for this Winter, anyhow.” The girl seemed not to hear him. “Look here, Red,” she said quickly, her voice dropping. ‘There's been a lot of talk going around—that Val Scott made his getaway in a plane. There are some people who think that you two boys were mixed up in it. I don’t believe it, but—" She paused for a moment. “I'm telling you just 80 you can make your own get-away if there is any truth in it. I wouldn't want to see you get caught. If there is any truth in it you'd better get out.” Before Red could speak she had turned away. The eyes of the two men met in silence. Harry was the first to speak. He sai T like a girl who calls her shots! Maisle does! She's all right!” Red nodded. “We're probably going to get in a jam, and we'll have one pretty time irying to get out of it!" “I'll square you with Maiste,” volun- teered Harry Myrick. “Unless that bimbo bumped off landing on the stone pile.” “Shut up! We got troubles enough as it ia!” * X Xk ¥ 'HERE was a babble of voices about the cashier's desk. Maisie emerg- ed from the cluster of people, came to- ward their table, waving a newspa ‘‘He's captured and back in prison. she announced. “Look!"” the paper before them. Z “Val Scott, the millionaire lifer who escaped early this morning, has been captured and is once again incarcer- ated in State’s prison at Cooper. The circumstances of his capture are a complete mystery and no statement has as yet been made by the officials to explain it. ‘‘ ‘He just dropped in to see us,’ sald Warden Johnson, when he was reached by telephone. ‘You can tell the world that Val is back in his cell where he belongs. That is all I can sy now. ““When asked if there had been any claims for the $5,000 reward offered by the State this afternoon, Warden Johnson said that he had heard of no one making such a claim.” “I'm morry I said what T did a lttle bit ago.” began Maisle contritely. “Oh, that's all right,” answered Red. “Forget it." Harry Myrick had risen from the table. “Five thousand reward! We'll get that money if it's the last thing we ever do!” “You beat it!"" ordered Red Luke. “Yeur thinking days are over. Any thinking that has to be done on this Go on! Papa’s busy! See you later. = He turned to Maisie. “Say, I've got a lot of explaining to do—to vou, the district attorney, the sheriff, the verybody else. But understand? You're Maisie, wide-eved, nodded. “The newspaper story about Val Scott ‘dropping in' is straight,” he went on. “I'm the bimbo who drop- ped him there. I tied a 'chute on him an’ let him float. It was Harry who ! helped him make a get-away, but the poor little marblehead didn't kno who he was carrying. And now, my luck holds out, 1 cash-in for the 3 s the field i1 ‘alifornia. And you're coming! Y understand? Maisie, listen, I love you so much: “Sh-h-h!”" She put a finger over his mouth. “They'll hear you!" *“Come on in the pant then!" As Harry Myrick remarked, wither ingly, later that night, Red Luke was so lucky that he was probably born to be hanged. (Copyrizht. 1926.) Hermit Countess, Living in Tenement, Loses Suit for Millions Against Soviet BY ALAN MACDONALD. UPPOSE you had inherited $20,- 000,000 worth of property in the United States, and an up- heaval had driven you, penniless and terrified, to some foreign jland. Suppose you had never learned or even ac- customed vourself to taking orders. Suppose, too, while you had once been a beautiful woman, you were now. because of yvour experiences, old and worn at 36. Could you settle down to work, say in Paris, on an ordinary working girl's salary and strive ambitiously for little promotions? Or would the eight-hour day—day after day—irk you near to madness. Would the petty routine try vour patience to the limit? And the seemingly useless orders of unsym thetic but efficient straw bosses drive you to sulk or openly revolt? Wouldn't you forget your work quite frequently to dream of better days—and so let your Jjob on occasion get away from you? T climbed a dingy stairway in Har- lem the other day to see a woman whose life prompted these supposi- tions and querifes. Whose life—save that her property was in Russia and she fled to America—is more or less accurately framed by them. I was prepared for squalor and sadness. But I wasn't prepared for what hap- pened. It was, when I came to think of_it later, much more pitiful. In the gloom of the narrow hallway T made out a white card on what seeimed a black door. It was the card 1 sought. I rang the bell. No sound of footsteps came from beyond the door, and the voice which asked—so suddenly as to be unexpected—" Who is there?” was tremulous and mysteri- ous. “A friend,” 1 hazarded. ‘The door opened about eight inches and a pale, oval face framed in soft brown hair, parted Madonna fash- ion, and almost covered by the folds of a voluminous black shawl, peered anxfously out. A feeble, wan ray of light from a window at the front of the flat fell upon the dark head. “You are the Countess Kapnist?” Something between a cry of protest and a weary moan vibrated the gloom of the hallway. The door was pushed swiftly toward me, but I managed to hold it open. “Walit,” I pleaded. “I want only to tell you that your $20,000,000 suit against” the Soviet @overnment has been dismissed. I wanted to ask . ..” Again the queer cry in the murk of the stairway, then, “I know. I can- not talk. Go now. Maybe tomorrow. I cannot talk now, I tell you.” A weak but frantically trembling pressure exerted itself on the door. It seemed to run through my arms, for I let go tha door and stepped back. The door slammed. Inside, on carpetless floor, the rattle of a running woman's feet sounded and dled away. And the next day when I went back no one an- swerad the bell. A boy playing in the hall told me the woman there had left hurriedly that morning. I was not altogether surprised. I had been told that under the relentless buffets of fate this woman had been bereft at last even of initiative and self-confidence. She had become a re- cluse, shunning all strangers, suspi- clous, sometimes, of friends. Above all she disliked publicity. She had moved time after time to avoid prying people. The Countess Sofia Petrovna Kar- poff Kapnist was dining alone in her palace in Petrograd,’in the famous sireet called Kameneostrovsky ‘Pros- pect, the night of 1917 when the bol- shevist rabble swept that section of the old city with fire and sword. Her husband had ed with the Rus- sian armies in Galicia, and she was in mourning. Around her in the ancient hall were the silver, the tapestries, th treasured canvases of the count' family, which was one of the ten old- est in the court of the Czar—older by generations, in ]l!mt, than the Roman- oft dynasty itself. The old servants, placing the dishes before her-in grave silence, stood in ns . very solit but sacred ritual e room mnglm except for the tinkle of the service. Suddenly a cry and & 1 | t ~. “THE COUNTESS GOT AWAY UNNOTICED AS THE DOOR OF THE PALACE FELL BEFORE THE MOB.” rush of feet in the hallway. ‘An aged henchman burst through the great crimson curtains at the wide door. He. threw himself at her feet. She arose, pressed a hand to her heart. The man raised an anguished, blood- streaked face. “Fly,” he panted hoarsely. “The soldiers—the mob. They're coming. Go by the back way—in the car. You have only minutes. As the countess ran into the hall and sped in terror toward the out- houses where were her three swift, im- ported automobiles, she saw the mes- senger pitch forward on his face. She never saw him again. He had been caught by the approaching mob, but had escaped, giving his life to save his mistress. Yet he had been almost too late. as the countess rushed into the rear courtyard, followed by one or two faithful adherents, a group of bolshe- vists was already gathering about the stable buildings. The light of torches flared luridly across the snow. Round the edge of the house she hurried and through a small door in the side wall she managed to slip into the dark street. She slunk away unnoticed. even as the door of the palace fell be. fore the mob. For weeks then Countéss Sofla lived the life of the hunted fugitive in the cheapest quarter of the city, in the homes of poor men she had befriend- ed. They dressed her in peasant’s clothing and kept her hidden. They lied for her, risked life for her. ' But the name she bore made her an espe- clally desirable quarry for the revolu- tionists. Through the annals of Rus- sia—particularly the southern prov- inces—the name of Kapnist occurs re- peatedly. Her uncle, a Karpoff, was once head of the Czar’s secret service. For years a Count Kapnist was Min- ister to Austria; another, even at this time, was adjutant to the Czar's min- ister of war. ‘When the Germans took over the Ukraine, under the treaty of Brest- Litovsk between Berlin and the So- viets, the countess secretly set out for the Province of Harkoff, where the bulk of her vast property was located. There her husband’s family had ruled and owned whole states and villages before the Romanoffs ascended the throne of Russia. By train, in peace- ful days, the journey would have tak- en about three days; but this was war. Now and again on horseback, in peas- ant carts and on foot she made the trip—and it took Her nearly three months. In Charikoff, the W:Cllfll city, estate. the | 2,000 titled emigres from Russia in of the buildings had been looted and burned. Pricelesc heirlooms, jewels e | until March, 1924. werth thousands of dollars, furniture, had been carried away. And the Ger- mans! With no desire to offend their new allies they laughed at her. They told her to run along lest she be rec- ognized by the mob. Again hunted like an animal, she lived for months in the homes of peasants and villagers who took little or no part in the revo- Iution—which was confined, in a way to the cities. Many peasants of the district revered her. She had built schools and hospitals for them, had paved stpeets and built canals for the transportation of their wheat—§ad made their farming easier, their livess! happier and healthier. Again the fortunes of war shifted. and the White—or Antisoviet—Army, under Denikine, won control of the territory, following in after the Ger- mans withdrew in the Summer of 1919. For about three months the countess stayed on, lingering about the wreckage of her former home. But the sway of the White Army waned. too, and as the Soviet troops came nearer and nearer she decided to go to the Crimea, where she had relatives and estates almost as rich as those she had possessed in the Ukraine.’ Communication in Russia and Si- beria had become practically non-exist- ent, and the countess hoped that the Crimea at least would have escaped the Soviet horror. But when she ar- rived there she found her palace had been looted, her lands devastated and the Soviets in complete control. Two of her relatives, Count Boris Kapnist, one-time adjutant to the Czar's war minister, and his uncle, had been killed by the so-called Green Army., This force was made up of peasanes who withdrew into the forests and lived by robbery and murder on the highways rather than fight for either Czar or Soviet. The last of her jewels bought her passage to Constantinople and from_there, in the Summer of | | | 11928, the Red Cross gave her passage to_America. In New York she joined the growing colony of Russian- refugees. Her serv- ices for the Red Cross in Petrograd before the Soviet forces arose against the Czar—when she turned homes and money over to the soldiers then fighting on the side of the allles— stood her in good stead. She obtained employment through Red Cross friends in the Fifth Avenue Hospital in September, 1923. There, with what grace and content she could muster, the countess worked in the kitchens Refugees talk a lot about winning back their former There were and are about New York: perhaps they fired her hope of rich again. Perhaps she could stand the kitchen work no longer. pital. For a time she lived in a rooming house in West One Hundred Twent: sixth street. She was quiet; uncommu nicative, even morose. Her landlady knew she had different jobs after com ing there. but knew nothing about them. About this time she becam interested in suing the Soviet gov ernment for $20,000.000 through the courts of the United States. The suit hinged on the point that while you can't sue a recognized foreign govern ment in these courts the Soviet wis not a recognized government. And back of it all was the reported fact that the Soviets had millions in Ame: ican banks. One night in March, 1925, the count- ess left the One Hundred and Twenty- sixth street house—mysteriously and without explanation. Was she threat- ened because of the suit, by some friend or emissary of the Soviets? At any’ rate she left a trunk and luggage at the rooming’ house and has never gone back to claim them. When the suit was filed in the State courts she made her lawyer pledge not to reveal her whereabouts. He revealed only that she had at last gone to work in an_East Side clothing shop, sewing. and concealing her true identity. The State courts ruled they had no jurisdiction over such a case. The fight was then carried to the Federal courts, with the same result. ‘So the poor hermit countess now has only her dreams and her sewing machine. s it Most Accurate Clock. MERICA'S most accurate clock ticks off the seconds with a varia- tion of two-one-hundredths of a sec- ond a day. Inclosed in an airtight chamber at the Bureau of Standards, ‘Washington, this clock is used for measuring time intervals at the - bureau. It is electrically wound twice a minute and has contact by which it may send second signals to any part of the bureau. Its time is check- ed each day by comparison with the noon signal from the Naval Observ. atory, which uses solar observations to set the Nation’s time. At any rate she left the hos. Motor Buoy. T Redondo Beach, Callf., there recently was tested a new motor- driven life buoy designed to enable a rescuer to reach a drowning person quickly. As described in Popular Sefence Monthly, it is 4 feet long and looks like a small motor boat. On the stern is a bar to which one or ‘more persons can cling. A button on the stern bar starts and stops the mo- lor.d while the operator acts a¢ *he rudder.