Evening Star Newspaper, January 27, 1929, Page 86

I e AT S 7Z] B SS NS X EA ) W THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTO: By F. Britten Austin Fourteen Hours in Which to Solve a Murder, and No Clues, No Trace of Guilt Anywhere. HE liner rose and fell evenly on the quiet black swell of the In- dian Ocean, streaking a diver- gent greenish phosphorescence from her flanks. Capt. For- #yth hummed happily—except in a fog, he never whistled while at sea—as he descended from the bridge and went to his own quarters. The barometer was nicely high and steady. The wire- 1688 weni.iT reports were good. In a few minutes the second dinner bugle would sound. All was well in Caypt. ¥or- syth’s world, and he was cheerfully conscious of it as he pulled open the door of his cabin. He was dressing when there was a tap at the door. “Come in!" he shouted, and swung round. It was the purser—his plump face deathly white, “What's the trou- ble, Jervis?” ‘The purser wiped a brow that was beaded with moisture. “Bad trouble, sir,” he said. “There's been a murder on board.” ‘The captain stared at him. “Mur- der? Another of those Lascar feuds, I suppose—where's the first officer?” “This isn't the first officer’s job, sir— it's mine,” replied the purser. “It's one of the passengers.” “What?" cried the captain incredu- lously. “A passenger? Who is it?” “Man in No. 43, sir, B deck, for- ward end—first-class passenger. His steward found him. He reported it to me.” Capt. Forsyth forgot his rule. He whistled. The murder of a first-class passenger at sea meant trouble. “Here's the passenger list, sir,” said the purser, producing a folded sheet and spreading it out. He indicated a name with a trembling finger. “Allan Sollas, he's described as. Age, 43. Sin- gle. Bound for Bombay from London. It’s a bad business, sir.” “It is, most assuredly, a bad busi- ness,” agreed the captain grimly. “I don't want to get hung up over a murder _trial—nor you, either. Get taken off the ship for a month or two, perhaps. Who did it?” “I wish I knew, sir. There's not the slightest indication. The steward saw a trickle of blood under the door. It was fastened on the inside. He worked up the catch, went in and found him—Ily- ing across his bunk, with a knife stick- ing in him. He was like that when I saw_him.” “3But.” said the captain, a sudden hope in his voice, “how do you know it's murde.? You say the door was fastened on the inside. The man must have committed suicide.” “Hardly, sir, A man can't very well stick a knife in his own back. You'll see it for yourself, sir. I've left him, just as he was. I've told Macey not to say a word. He's locked the door of the cabin, and he’s just swabbed the floor, to leave nothing for passengers to see.” * X X X THE captain pulled on his gold- braided jacket. “We'll get the doctor,” he said. ‘The purser looked at him anxiously. “Wouldn't it be better to wait, sir— until after the dinner bugle? If the passengers see you and the doctor and me going along the corridor at this hour, theyll think something his oc- curred—and it's just as well they shouldn't know anything about it—if we can manage it.” “Not much chance of keeping this quiet,” said the captain. “But perhaps you're right. We don't want ’em all guessing at the criminal. We want to catch the brute first. . . . Isn't there anything that gives a hint to him— nothing of suspicion at all?” “No, sir. Mot the least. Cabin didn't seem to have been interfered with.” “How are we going to catch him? ‘When you think of it, it isn't so easy. It might be any one of the crew, any one of the 80 first-class passengers, any one—though not so likely—of the 200 steerage people. It isn't difficult to go slipping along the corridors when every- dy is changing for dinner.” He also sat down, in his chair. “Heaven knows, I'm pretty good at running a ship, but I've never set up for being a detective.” “No, sir. Nor 1" agreed the purser. “Well, let's get busy with it, anyway,” sald the captain. “Let’s try and get some idea to help us. We can’t afford to waste time while we're waiting here. ‘What sort of fellow was this chap?” “Very qulet, sir. Asked for a table to himself. Didn't seem to mix with any of the other passengers. Used to sit by himself, and read all day. Well- off, I should imagine. He paid for two berths to have the cabin to himself.” “H'm! Who's on either side of him?” “No one in 41, sir—and that's the end cabin up that way. No. 45 has old Mrs. Laverstoke—you know, sir—the funny old woman. She’s alone in her cabin also. Her maid sleeps with Mrs, Waldron’s maid in No. 80. I'm terri- fied of her getting to know this. And she’s hound to notice, if No. 43 doesn’t go in or out.” “She mustn't,” said the captain. He thought for a moment. “What ~bout sending a fellow in to make a leak in the water-pipe while she's up on deck tomorrow—soak the cabin—and put her in a better one, with abject apologies? That seitles her. . . . But it doesn’t help us. Who else is there? “There’s a couple of larky young lads in No. 47, sir.” He referred to his sheet. “Walter Osborn and Henry Mackwith Strong—aged 24 and 25— lieutenants, both of them — Indian army. It would be a safe bet that they were in the smoke-room when the murder was done.” “Who else?” ' No. 49 has Col. and Mrs. Black, sir-—they asked me if I couldn't move them a little farther from the young gentlemen in No. 47. I can hardly see either of them doing it.” He smiled, ‘wanly. 'Any one else likely?"” “Well, there’s the whole ship to choose from, sir—and, if you ask me, one is as likely as the other. I can't imagine any of them doing it.” “What about the crew? Those con- founded Lascars slip along like ghosts.” “Quite, sir. It may be one of them; but Macey said he didn’t see any of the crew—I asked him. H. <ays that, after putting out the dinner clothes of his passengers, he was standing with the stewardess—that's Mrs. Halkett, sir, you know—at the entrance to that corréour from-the companion staircase, and he swears that no one but passengers passed him. He would have stopped any of the crew, of course.” “And the stewardess—what does she sa; e “I haven't asked her, sir. No one knows anything about it, except Macey, and you, and me—and the murderer himself, whoever he is.” “You haven't told the doctor?” . “Not yet, sir. I thought, when the g:menlers were out of the way, per- ps he would go along with you. ‘There's the dinner call!” he added, as the notes of a bugle came from several quarters of the ship. “Give ’em 10 minutes, sir, and the coast'll be clear.” ‘The captain nodded. “Yes. Run along and catch the doc- tor before he goes in to dinner, Jervis. Bring him up here. It's a business for both of us—and bad business, too.” Left alonein his cabin, he glanced at the passenger list the purser had spread out. The long column of names merely mocked him. Any one of them was as likely—or as unlikely--as another. And —good Heavens!—in 14 hours they would arrive at Bombay! Once they touched port, good-by to the last hope of catching the murderer. That was certain. Fourteen hours in which to find him! ok No one would have suspected from Capt. Forsyth’s manner, as—a little late—he entered the dining saloon and took his place at the head of his table, the grim Hmmuy of his secret thoughts. To perfection he played his habitual part of the jovially urbane skipper, an apt joke always ready for the ladies, a semi-facetious, semi-serious remark for the men. He even ate his dinner, though never in his life had he had less appetite for it. Altogether too recent was that spectacle in the cabin he had Jjust visited. The unfortunate Mr. Allan Sollas lay stretched on his bunk, a knife in the middle of his back. The steward identified that knife as the murdered man’s property. It was a large hunting knife that had lain on his table, and he had used it for the purpcse of cutting the pages of the books he >ead. Evidently, he had met his death in the act of dressing for dinner. The dJdoctor pronounced that, at the moment of examination, he had been dead rather less than an hour. There was no indication of struggle in the cabin. The victim’s baggage stood open, but there were no signs of interference with it, The steward stated the circumstances of his discovery of the crime, and reiterated that the door had been fastened on the inside. He had had to jerk up the catch with the thin instrument he carried, in case sick passengers should ring- for assistance when the door was buttoned within. No one could refasten the door in that manner from without. Then how had the murderer left the cabin? All four had instinctively glanced at the port-hole. It was open, but the wind-scuttle—which made the most of the breege—still was fixed in position. “He'd have to be pretty thin and pretty nimble to get out of there, sir,”” the steward had said, and plainly the man was right. In addition, the steward stated that he had found the electric light switched off when he had entered the cabin. And that seemed to be everything that, for the moment, could be establishe All this Capt. Forsyth exasperatedly turned over in his mind, while he made himself amiable to the passengers at his table. He had 20 of them, the rest being split up among the tables of the senior officers, save a few at small tables by themselves. One of these ap- parently quite normal people in evening dress was—almost certainly—the mur- derer. Which? He glanced along his own table. Every one was present, Mrs. and Col. Black on either side of him, old Mrs. Laverstoke smirking at him from farther down, the flirtatious young lady journeying to meet her fiance now making eyes at the coffee planter re- turning from leave, the couple of Anglo- Indian officials, the padre, the quiet lit- tle husband of the large, domineering lady, the two men who talked jute— they were all there. And tonight—he felt the irony of it—all the passengers were rather more cheery than usual. It was a special farewell dinner for the last night before Bombay, where many would disembark. From all over the saloon came the popping of corks and bursts of laughter. Presently there would be dancing under the col- ored lamps of the promenade deck— and the final flirtations in dark cor- ners, It seemed incredible that any of these people could, an hour back, have stabbed a man to death. In that thought, he glimpsed the possibility of a clue. Perhaps the murderer hadn’t had nerve enough to come down to dinner? He took a pencil from his pocket, wrote on a corner of the menu card, “Anybody missing?” folded it up, scribbled “Purser” upon it, gave it to the steward. And the answer, “All nere,” came back to him. * ok kK T"was an hour later. The captain’s cabin was somewhat crowded with himself, the doctor and the purser. Outside the door Macey waited, in case they should have any more questions. From the deck below came the music of a band. Capt. Forsyth gestured to a small heap of papers on his table. “Nothing much there. Just the ordi- nary stuff the ordinary man carries about with him, except for the auto- matic in the suit case, which had not been fired. Nothing unusual in carry- ing that when going out East. I gather that Mr. Allan Sollas was bound to Bombay on business of some sort not specified. He seems to have been a wealthy man. There's that thousand pounds in notes, in addition to his letter of credit and a wad of traveler's checks, besides twenty pounds loose on his table—poor men don’t carry around such sums. Robbery wasn't the motive. The twenty pounds were plainly in sight, and we found that fat packet of the thousand al- most as soon as we looked in his suit case.” “I can’t imagine why he didn’t hand them in to me for safe-custody,” in- terposed the purser. “It's madness, keeping so much money in one’s cabin.” “Quite,” agreed the captain. “It's a point. But I don't see that it gets us anywhere. All it tells us is that rob- bery was not the motive for his death.” “We certainly clbn‘t have :“mu passengers up, one by one, an T rogate them,” said the doctor. “The whole ship would be in a buzz with it in five minutes, and the murderer— whoever he is—would have plenty of warning to prepare himself for being questioned.” “Quite impossible,” agreed the cap- tain. “I want to come alongside the dock tomorrow with the murderer safely under lock and key—and not a soul on the ship the wiser, And— somehow—I will!” “Splendid, Captain!” smiled the doc- tor. “But how are we going even to start looking for the gentleman? not a hint of a clue” “There’s the knife,” said the cap- tain. He jerked his hand to where the large hunting-knife lay on his table. “If there are, I can’t see' them,” re- lied the . “And I've done my . Of eooll:ne“;cl have no proper apparatus. hand, it is possible the murderer Tubber gloves.” For a few minutes there was silence. “You can't suggest anything?” said “Well, Heaven |speech: ihe captain, at last. ‘knows, I don't set up as a sleuth, but the | centric, method persisted “All things considered,” said the doc- tor, “that seems the most probable.” “Very good. Now it is just possible that the murderer met his enemy on Possible—but it involves a coincidence, and coincidences are mathematical im- probabilities, if I remember rightly. We will commence at the simplest—and we will assume that the murderer did know his intended victim was on board, that he came for the purpose of killing him and that he proposed to commit the crime just before arriving at Bombay.” “One would have thought he'd have done it during the night, in that case, sir,” said the rurser critically. “Quite. But he didn't. He chose the time just before dinner,” replied the captain, somewhat snappily. “Don’t let’'s confuse this—do you agree that there’s something in what I've said?” “Undoubtedly,” concurred the doctor. “Then,” said the captain, “just look out from the list there all the passen- rs who booked for Bombay—and who ked after Mr. Sollas booked his passage.” The purser reached for his lists. “That's fairly easy, sir,” he said. “Mr. Sollas booked his passage rather late— a week before sailing. The only other people who booked to Bombay after him are"—he ran his finger down the col- umns—"Mr. Osborn and Mr. Strong, the two young subalterns next door but one to him—they had a last-minute ex- tension of leave, they told me, and transferred from a B. I. boat; Miss Brandon, the spinster, who's going out as a governess; Mr. Johnson—he's on the other side, Number 68, the clergy- man, sir—if he got out of that port- hole, It must have been a tight fit, and 1 can't quite see him climbing up a rope to the deck or however the fellow managed it. And that’s all, sir.” “They certainly don't sound very probable, any of them,” murmured the doctor. “What do you think, captain?” * ok ok ok CA?!‘, FORSYTH frowned. He had hoped that his flash of deductive genius would have revealed some name TRve [ plainly self-evident as that of the criminal. “We'll have those young subalterns up, anyway,” he said. “Who knows? This Mr. Sollas may be a money lender: who had one of them in his clutches. Call Macey in.” l‘;I‘he purser brought the steward in- e. “Find Mr. Osborn, steward,” ordered BY MARJORIE MEARS. F you want to get rid of a cough, mosquitoes or gray hair, there are numerous people to tell you how to do it quickly and cheaply. But when it comes to wives they are mute. This year's prize for a practical scheme to get rid of a wife should go to an Englishman who recently accom- plished the feat in what a magistrate said was the cheapest way he had ever seen. The case of Lily Burton against her husband, Henry Theodore Burton, for not providing her with reasonable maintenance was tried in Marylebone Police Court, in London. The Burtons were married in 1911. In 1925 Mr. Burton, being out of em- ployment, the husband and wife agreed | that she should go to Canada to earn | her own living, while he returned to his | mother. Before making the Canadian | venture Mrs. Burton signed an agree- |ment with her husband in which he | paid her $540 for her passage and out- fit. Not being able to find employment in Canada, Mrs. Burton came back to England to find that her mother-in-law had died and Mr. Burton was richer by $300,000. She applied to her husband for maintenance and upon his refusal summoned him to court for non-sup- port. She told the court that Mr. Bur- ton had said that the agreement freed him from all obligation and had threat- ened to shoot her if she bothered him. The signed agreement held. But in dismissing the summons, Magistrate Halkett said: “One hundred and twenty-seven unds ($540) seems a very small sum or & man in Burton's tion to get rid of his wife, and but for the case of Medway and Medway, in which a man got rid of his wife for £20, I would be inclined to decide against the husband without any hesitation. But this deed is a valid one, extraordinary as it is, and it seems to be a complete bar to the wife applying for the present order.” * ¥k % IN some country districts of England an even cheaper, if somewhat ec- up to com- paratively modern times. e was a notion among the rural population that a m&n by tslemng hxl:“ ': tl':‘ at b]l}c auction, and so part; T, legally dissolved the ge tie and escaped from all its obligations. As late as 1913 the Dail; ported the case of a married woman who when asked why she had left her husband answered: “Because he sold me to this man for & sovereign.” She further flabbergasted her hearers by admitting that she had agreed to the sale. In 1832 an account of a wife sale ap- peared in the Annual! ter. Joseph Thomson, a farmer, and wife, Mary Anne, been married for three years. 1 The grievousness of their e be- She e aEpat o fhm b ey an separate. Be- nvev{ng that wife-selling was a perg:mh”v wife into the tosn of Carlisle and an- nounced by the bellman that he was prepared to sell her. At 12 o'clock noon, other {5 large crowd ha thered, the sale ‘wore | commenced. HED ‘Thomson placed his wife n a large oak chair, with a rope or halter of straw around her neck. He then the following remarkable peech: “Gentlemen, I have to offer to your we_must work on some hypothesis— |notice my wife, Mary Anne Thomson, :enduwe will assume that the mur- Ter killed Mr. Sollas from a motive of re- venge. Do you agree?” 4 is a first-class passenger Wwho [sell to the otherwise Willlams, whom I mean to highest and fairest bidder. Gentlemen, it is her wish as well as to part forever. She has been to the captain. “Give him my compli- ments, and ask him if he would step up here for a moment. Say nothing to any one else.” “Very good, sir.” “‘L’:gl cm{:{ all this up, captain, an ou over the yl:‘nu?lnd the murdered man’s papers. giving our hand away.” ‘There was a tap at the door, and the steward opened it, as the captain shouted, “come in.” The sound of jazz music entered with him. “Mr. Osborn, sir,” he said. The young man, tall, good-looking, stepped over the sill. “Good evening, captain,” he said cheerily. Certainly this young man did not look like a murderer—still, one never knew. Capt. Forsyth relit his pipe as a preliminary to questioning him. “I asked you to come up, Mr. Oshorn,” he said, “because I thought you might possibly be able to help me. You know Mr, Sollas?” “Never heard of him, captain.” “He had the cabin next but one to you, sir,” said the purser. “Number 43 sald the ad chart p of the sense in “Oh, yes—you mean ‘the melancholy crow'—the solitary bird? Yes—I know him—by sight. What about him?” ‘The captain hesitated. What should he say? “The fact is, Mr. Sollas has been stricken down with a most dan- gerous and—er—infectious disease,”"— he glanced at the young man to see whether he was affected by this pos- sibly embarrassing intelligence; plain- ly, he was not,—“and he is now in the sick-bay, I regret to say, delirious. We have been trying to find out a little about him, so as to wireless his rela- tives, and 1t occurred to us that, as you were his neighbor, you might have a little information.” “I'm sorry, captain, spoke to him in my life. “H'm._One more question, Mr. Os- born By an extraordinary coinci- dence, some one—probably one of the Lascars—broke into Mr. Solla’s room tonight and—er—committed a robbery. It must have happened in the hour but I never ONE OF THESE APPARENTLY QUITE NORMAL PEOPLE IN EVENING DRESS WAS—ALMOST CERTAINLY — THE MURDERER. before dinner. You don't happen to have seen any one in the corridor, I suppose?” “No, I didn't. Strong and I weren't about just then. We were in the smoking room until a quarter of an hour after the bugle went.” “1 see. Thank you. And I need hardly say that I rely on you to say nothing of this. We don't want the passengers to get panicky—and there's the question of quarantine.” ‘When the young man had departed, the three looked at each other. “That leaves only Miss—Miss—" said the doctor. “Little Miss Brandon, doctor,” the purser put in. “And it happens that I've an alibi for her also. Get Rid of Your Wife:: JANUARY 27, D0, playing bridge in the lounge a$ half past six, again at seven, and again just as I was coming up to the captain's room to tell him about the murder. I don’t think she interrupted her game of bridge to slip down and murder Mr. Sollas, wriggle out of the port-hole and climb up on deck again, and then sit down as if nothing had happened.” “Hardly,” growled the captain. “That eliminates" her.” “It also completes the elimination of all the people who booked for Bombay after the murdered man,” said the doc- tor. “I'm afrald your idea has broken down, captain.” * ok Kk AT that moment there was a tap on the door. It opened and yo Osborn put his head in. T “It has just occurred to me" he said, “that you ought to disinfect the purser’s assistant, if this fellow— what's his name—has anything catch- ing. Just before 6 o'clock tonight I went to the purser's office to get my wallet out for tomorrow—and Mr. Sol- las came up to cash a check. I thought I'd just speak of it, in case you didn't know—you weren't there at . Purser.” Mr. Osl ; T didn't 11 see to it. —I didn't know,” he added, to the captain, after Osborn had again disap- peared. “I wonder what he wanted to cash a check for, with all that money in his cabin? There are twen- ty fivers among his big notes” He went to the door, told the steward to find the assisiant purser and bring hlm along. “We'll look into this,” he said. The assistant purser stated that he had cashed .a_ “traveler’s check” for 20 pounds for Mr. Sollas that evening. Mr. Sollas had stated tha* he wanted the money for his wine-bill, the tips to the stewards, and to get off the ship with tomorrow. He had said that he made a habit of never carrying cash with him. 3 " exclaimed the captain. “He said that he made a rule never to have more than five pounds in cash with him, because once he had had his pocket picked, sir.” ‘When the assistant purser had closed the door after him, the captain looked at his companions. “Strange, isn't it? in again.” Macey stood once more in the cabin. “Steward—we're wondering about all that money in Mr. Sollas’ cabin. Did you ever see any there—did he over leave any lying about?” “No, sir. I've been thinking about that money myself, sir—and it's very queer. Mr. Sollas asked me to repack his trunk and his suit case, sir—all ready for tomorrow morning. He Jeft everything cpen. And I didn't see any Call the steward 1 saw her i money. He came in to dress just as I In Olden Times the Husband Would Put Her on the Auction Block, the Only Difficulty Being to Find Bidders. THE SALE COMMENCED. THOMSON PLACED HIS WIFE ON A LARGE géé(KCHAlR, WITH A ROPE OR HALTER OF STRAW AROUND HER T me only a born serpent. I took her for | fead novels and milk cows: she can but she became my tormenter, a de mestic curse, a night invasion and a daily devil. Gentlemen, I speak truth from my heart when I say may God deliver us from troublesome wives and lrollcsumald wome;l Avoid the; would a mad dog, a roaring loaded pistol, cholera morbus, mror any other pestilential thing in . At this point Thomson evidently realized that this was not selling talk. Or perhaps Mary Anne made a men- acing move toward him, for his words became honeyed. “Now I have shown you the dark side of my wife and told you her faults and failings. I will introduce the bright and sunny side of her and explain her qualifications and goodness, She can laugh and weep with the same ease that you could a glass of ale when tlirsty. Indeed, gentlemen, she re- minds me of what the poet says of women in general: b ‘Huv:rn gave to women the peculiar ace To llu;:né!t:o weep, to cheat the human “She can make butter or scold the maid; she can sing Moore’s melodies and plait her frills and caps; she cannot make rum, gin or whisky, but she is a good judge of the quality from long experience in tasting them. therefore offer her with all her per- fections and imperfections for the sum of 50 shillings.” Her auctioneer had_evidently dwelt too wholeheartedly on Mary Aune's im- [y I} was sentenced to a month's 1929-PART T. was finishing, and he must have taken some out of his pocket—that would he the 20 pounds on his table, sir. But that fat wad of notes wasn't in his suit case when I left him, sir, at about 6:30 —I'm sure of that. The more I think of it, the more sure I am.” “Thank you, steward,” said the cap- tain. “This beats cock-fighting. If the steward is right, then we have a mur- derer who not only comes in through the side of the ship and goes out again the same way—1 defy any one to climo out of a port hole with the wind-scuttle up—but leaves a present of a thousand pounds in cash for his victim!" “That gives us a clue, though,” said the doctor. “Those notes can be traced. ‘The wads have evidently come straight from a bank. The bank can tell us who_received them.” “That's true, doctor—but how long will they be about it?” “Wireless, sir?” suggested the purser. “Wait a bit,” said the captain, tap- ping his teeth with his pipe stem. “People don't usually carry around that amount of notes. stolen—supposing we have the thief on board—what then? If we can spot him, we've got the murderer!” “It sounds a bit far-fetched—" be- gan the doctor. “We can but iry,” said the captain. “Take the numbers of those notes, pur- ser, and send a message to Scotland Yard. Ask if they are known, and tell them a reply is required. Tell them to wireless a description of any ‘ndi- vidual who may be wanted in connec- tion with them. We ought to get an answer under the hour.” In half an hour there was a tap at| the door. operator. “Message, sir,” he said. * ok ok ¥ It was the junior wirelsss THE captain tore open the envelop. “Here we are!" he exclaimed. “Listen to this! ‘Notes part of missing proceeds of robbery committed by bank clerk Lawson sentenced nine months back to five years penal servitude.’ That doesn’t heip us much,” he added. “The fellow’s in jail. But—how in the name of all that’s wonderful did those notes get into that cabin between 6:30 and 7:30 tonight?” “Put there by the fellow who did the murder, evidently,” said the doctor. “By Mr. Lawson himself, I suppos=>" replied the captain scornfully. “He just willed himself all the way from Dart- moor and back again!” He was furious in his disappointment. “No, captain, but by somebody on the ship who knew Lawson—or who was connected with the robbery in some way.” It looks as if this Mr. Sollas must have been connected with it,” remarkad the purser. “Otherwise, why give him this precise wad of notes?” “Well, we can't question him!" said perfections, for he did not get his asking price. The account concludes with the statement that after waiting an hour Thomson knocked down the lot to one Henry Mears for 20 shillings and a Newfoundland dog. The con- tracting parties then separated on friendly terms—Mears and the woman going one way, Thomson and the dog another. * x kX THOMAS HARDY founded the first chapter of “The Mayor of Caster- bridge” on a similar transaction. In a refreshment tent, on Fair day, a wan- dering haytrusser in a drunken humor offers to sell his wife for 5 guineas. “Five guineas,” said the auctioneer, “or she'll be withdrawn. Does anybody give it? The last time. Yes or no?” A bargain was struck with a sailor, who paid for her in crisp Bank of Eng- land notes and clinking shillings. The remonstrances of his wife only de- termined the haytrusser in what he had started half in jest. “A joke? Of course it's not a joke! I take the money, the sailor takes you. ‘That's plain enough. It has been done elsewhere—and why not here?” * ok ok ok 'HE quaint custom seems to be a survival of feuda! times when the Ppeasantry, being ignorant of legal ways, honestly believed that the marital tie might be dissolved by a document par- taking of the character of a lease. The trading in wives was marked by the same fluctuations as the stock mar- S ket. In 1796 the London Times an- nounced that a wife had been sold at Sheffield for sixpence. About the same time that r carried an article stating that the price of wives had risen in Smithfield market from 10s 6d to 31, guineas. These husbands had no more idea of wrongdoing than a Zulu who paid anywhere from 5 to 16 cows for a wife. ‘The whole outrageous business was con- ducted as openly and in as good faith as any other sale. The town of Sheffield seems to have done a business. In 1887 a citizen of that town acknowledged in ad paid 5 shillings for another man’s wife. He Ehroduoed & written agreement, worded us: & “At theflll!oy!dl' Oak, sr':mefix, 1, A:;}le- am Boothroyd, agree to sell my 3 Clara, to Wllliylm ‘Hall, both of Sheffleld, for the sum of 5s.” The bartered wives did not always get the short end of the bargain. One woman_ was sold by her husband for £15. She survived both the buyer and seller, and then married again. On the death of her first husband she izhesited a share of his property, for notwith- standing claims put forth by his re- llmm'!!l? z'h‘:t :l?ek eloe 3?"5»5%5 court of law sal colglod‘ not vitiate her rights as his widow. This cheap substitute for dlvo‘l;‘ca than seems villagers round about ‘were surprised and annoyed wh“l.‘n mY“’kZhl‘:e lh-e vgle‘s: ‘or] 23 Riding Sessions G n ment and hurd“hgo’: ‘fl selling, or at- 3 wife. e ';';wbemwo:eum Alimony Club would obably murmur, m"hd cheap at the pricel” Supposing these are | the captain irritably. sage gives us no clue at all.” He sat back, frowning savagely, filling the cabin with tobacco smoke. There was a prolonged silence, in which he doctor and purser glanced at each other sympathetically. Suddenly the captain leaned forward. “I've got it!" he exclaimed. “We were on the wrong track when we looked for some one who had booked | to Bombay after Sollas. If I had com- mitted a murder just before reaching a port, I shouldn't get off the ship. 1 should be sure that the police would be checking up every one who disem- barked. If I had succeeded in avoid- ing suspicion up to then, I should stick to the ship as long as I could. Isn't that common sense? Every one would be off on a false trail. By the time 1 landed, thousands of miles off, I should be forgotten, or, if not, it would be difficult to track me. By Jove, just look up who it was that booked the farthest passage after Mr. Sollas had booked his—and man, woman or child, I'l have ‘em up hLere!” The purser consulted his list. on the 13th, the day after Mr. Sollas booked, is old Mrs. Laverstoke, sir.” The doctor burst into laughter. “You're not going to get the old dame up here, captain! She's the sort that writes outraged letters to the direc- tors. And old ladies of 70 don't usu- ally climb in and out of portholes.” Capt. Forsyth set his jaw. “I don't care,” he said stubbornly. “There's the maid as well, sir,” put in the purser. “Both booked to Singa- pore.” “Very well.” said the captain desper- ately. “We'll have 'em both up. Tell the steward to fetch 'em.” * K ok ok SOON there was the sound of footsteps along the deck, a young girl’s voice, evidently guiding some one—old Mrs. Laverstoke! There she was! Wrapped in a cloak, her maid behind her, the old lady came into the cabin. The captain had never liked her—he never liked old women who painted them- selves as this old woman did. “The steward told me that you wished to see me and my maid on ur- gent business.” The captain looked rather staggered. He had not teken into account what the steward might have said to get them there. “Quite—quite,” he said. “The fact is—er—your next-door cabin companion has had to be removed to the sick bay, suffering from, I regret to say, —the captain recovered his aplomb—"a most deadly disease.” “And what has that to do with me, pray?” “Merely that I think—the doctor thinks—it would be safer if you re- moved to another cabin. More pleas- ant, at any rate, for you. It's not nice having that sort of thing next door. Did you happen to know Mr. Sollas?” “I belleve I passed him once or twice in the corridor and on the deck,” said the Dldolrned‘y stifly. “And I have heard “A bad habit—a bad habit,” said the captain. “But I don't think you'll hear him snore any more on this trip. Well, since I have brought you up here, is there anything I can offer you? The purser will get you a liquer.” ‘Nothing,” thank you.” She de- clined with a dignity that froze. The captain seemed about to add something else, but refrained. He looked at her quizzically. “By the way"—he changed his tone suddenly to one of semi-seriousness— ;l;‘n‘\'; you mger seen a weapon with vhich a murder was commif Laverstoke?” sy She frowned at him. “I cannot say that I have,” she said. “Well, here you are, then——catch!” He whipped from under the chart the hunting knife and tossed it toward her. ‘The weapon fell to the floor. She in gcmutm;‘ hg;rcr from her seat. “Captai rsyth, if you have quite finished, I will retire. ~And it isq but Just to warn you I propose to write to your directors. I feel sure they will be interested to know that one of their :::ft'"m fails to remain sober when at She moved with dignity toward the door, passing him. The captain laughed foolishly. Was he indeed drunk? The docter was embarrassed for him. “I was at sea—all at sea, Mrs. Laver- stoke—but I'm not so much at sea now. Permit me,"—he lurched toward her,— “your wig does not fit very well!” Sir * ok ok % IMULTANEOUS with the outraged ejaculation, the gray wig was in the captain’s hand, and before him stood a quite young man, with neatly smoothed down fair hair! The girl at the door, uttering a cry, turned to dash out. “Hold her, purser!” The captain looked to see that the purser had her fast and turned again to the young man. “Out with it!” he said sharply. “Why did you murder Sollas?” The young man glared at him, ludi- crous in his get-up. what you're talking “I don't know about!" “‘You don’t—don't you? Then answer this: What relation are you to the man Lawson, now doing time for a bank-robbery?"” ‘The young fellow started incredulously “That's pretty good,” he said, as though prepared for this. don't know how you found out, but you've got me. But she”—he indicated the girl—"knew nothing about—the killing. She’s my sister, Lawson’s wife.” “I see,” said the captain. “And where did Sollas come in?" “He’s a crook. One of the flash gang. He planned the bank robbery and worked a frame-up on my brother-in- ll?l. Hg‘mwm'cd in jail.” “Lawson’s sister. My brother-in-law kept too sharp an eye on her while I was away. She was engaged to me. ‘That blackguard persuaded her to marry him. She—committed suicide— six months after.” AR S g s 4 e of swag Mar- shall is his real e—planted on Lawson's sister to terrorize her. She sent them to me—just before turning on the gas. I kept ‘em to give back to him with interest.” “Wh-" t were you all doing on this p? “Marshall was dodging me. He thought he'd give me the slip in India—also he wasn't too popular with the police at P “And this mes- | home—it was time he “The passenger booked to Singapore | stared at it for a second and started up | HUNTING AND TOWARD HER, 4led & fresh climate. I happened to spot Riza going to the steamship office end ¥ bhookes the berth next to his. I took my sister, because she was alone in the world, except for me. We planned to go on from Singapore to some South Sea island—start fresh and make a home for my brtoher-in-law when he came out. Marshall had never set eyes on | her—and I saw to it he didn’t recog- me.” very creditalyle disguise, if I may | say s0, Mr.—Mr.— “‘Somers, my name is. Albert Somers." “Well, Mr. Somers, I haven't the slightest doubt how you got into Mr. Marshall's cabin tonight—you merely tapped at the door; and, thinking it was the steward, he opened to you. I can guess also why you didn't go in the middle of the night. You surmised he might have an automatic under his pillow. But I'm curious to know how you fastened the door on the inside after you had gone out.” “I thought that would puzzle you. T had a bit of wire to throw the latch up, if he didn't cpen. Afterward I thought it would be just as well to latch the door. I wish I'd thought of it first—I should have stabbed him in front, and it would have passed for certain suicide. Particularly as I used his own knife— I saw it on the table as he turned to get me the box of matches I asked for I only thought of the door afterward.” “These second thoughts that come too late!” commented the captain grimly. “But I still don't know how you did it.” “Quite easy. It just meant hooking the wire over the metal button, passing it through the crack of the door, and giving it a jerk. It's a big button and not stiff. Nothing to it.” *Professional, I see?” smiled the cap- tain. “If you like, sir. Both ways. Small part on the stage once. But I've chucked the lock-picking game. Uncle in Australia died and left us a bit. We shouldr’'t have been able to afford this trip otherwise—we couldn't risk trying to pass those notes.” “I'm afraid it's a trip with a bad end- ing Mr. Somers. As I told you when you came in, I shall have to change your cabin. Doctor, would you mind fetching the first officer?"” ‘The young man shrugged his shoul- ders. “It's a neat cop,” he said. after the doctor had gone. “Scotland Yard couldn't have done it better, captain. And how you spotted it. beats me, . . . Could you spare me a drink? I'm a bit knocked.” “Certainly.” The captain poured out a whisky-and-soda, handed it to him. “Thanks, captain—youre a sport!” said the young man as he took the glass. ‘The next instant he had hurled it full in the captain’s face, had switched out the light. There was a sudden rush. a shout from the purser, a cry from the girl. When Capt. Forsyth had wiped the fluid from his eyes and found the switch, the young man had disappeared. He had been too quick even for the steward outside. Macey had only s fragment of a lavender satin dress to show, snatched as the murderer leaped overboard. (Copyright, 1929.) l Ancient Toys | 'HAT the scholars of the world attach great importance to the study of the playthings and dolls of all times is best demonstrated by a late remarkable volume written in German by Prof. Karl Groeber, in which lies a wealth of information and illustrations dealing with this topic. The taste of the elders is reflected in the playthings of the children, and the fact that they took the trouble to amuse their children in this fashion and to teach them something of the art of living through their play is in line with modern thought at its best. The child meant much to the an- cients, quite as much as it means to us. They saw play as a means cf education, and the toy and doll were part of the equipment. Considering our progress in other directions, we have not advanced greatly beyond their toys, save in the sphere of ‘the mechanical and electric toy. If the ancients knew electricity it was reserved fur more sacred purposes. In studying children's toys it is found that the early Middle Ages have pre- served little or nothing of the play- things of the children. It is possible that there were some dolls and toys, for children had the same desires then as earlier and later, but the ruthlessness of the Dark Ages destroyed all that seemed trifling, and to them it did not seem worth while to keep the toys that had amused the boys and girls. In the constant sieges and burnings of the towns and castles what remained of childish treasures was easily destroyed. Yet a few of the old dolls are found in the graves of their childish owners in Germany and France, and in the ro- mantic age the fact that the toys, con- sisting of knights and riders, were made of clay tended to their preservation, as these did not fall into decay like wood- en toye. ‘There is much of suggesttion for the parents of today in the study of this subject, and the wise }m‘enu will be glad to have the help of the right kind of playthings to develop taste and tal- ent in_their children. The daily con- tact of the dolls and toys has a far greater influence upon the mind of the ichild than much of the school - “All right. I ti 3 ™ & e on. The ancients can teach us much in this line, if we are willing to learn. The problem of the parent was the same then as now—how to keep the child interested, amused and intelli- gently impressed through and by the rhyu-ungs used every day, and all day long. This problem should be solved most effectively now in the light of ail that may be learned from the records and the models of the last 40 centuries. Seeds of Sequoia. XPERIMENTS made at Giant For- est, Sequoia National Park, have shown that the California Big Tree sometimes retains its cones for 16 years before they drop and disc! their seed contents. The seeds are preserved by & powdery pigment which gives them 8 waterproof and germproof gloss. This pigment when dissolved in water makes a good writing fluid or furniture stain of a rich maroon color. . Scotland’s two branches of the Pres- byterian Church will, it is said, soon