Evening Star Newspaper, October 11, 1931, Page 83

;' D.C., OCTOBER 11, 9931, 1, but It B as Solved —By E.P hllllpS Oppenheim oubt that those two men who escaped across e frontier were the robbers?” “Ah'!'” she murmured. “I wonder!” She showed signs of irritation. “Do you know, I believe that you're bluffing e all the time,” she declared. “I believe that ou were only bluffing when you followed those w0 men. You have something else in your ind.” Peter Hames closed the matter. “Miss Sybil Christian,” he said firmly, “you re making a mistake. As a sleuth hound, I m entirely at fault. I don't know which way o turn. I will confess that I have lost a little aith in those two men who crossed the frontier., hey were lacking in finesse for artists who ad brought off so wonderful a coup. Never- heless, I don't know where else to look for the riminal.” “Why are you so resplendent tonight?” she sked, looking across at his spotless whie vaistcoat, with onyx buttons matching his nks. “Was this all in honor of a poor little cognito at a Beausoleil restaurant?” “Not entirely. There's old Branksome's fare- vell dance tonight, you know, on the yacht.” “I had no idea that you were such a frivolous person,” she observed. \ “I don't go to dances if I can help it,” he dmitted. “I have known old Branksome for a png time, though.” She called for the bill, waving aside his rotestations. “Glad you reminded me about the dance,” he said. “I must go back and change.” “You're not going?” he exclaimed. “You told e you went nowhere.” “I'm like you—one has to make exceptions,” lhe rejoined. “Sir Richard has been very kind o a brother of mine who is delicate. He is in Iharge of the wireless on board.” “Couldn't I take you then?” he suggested. “I am going with a party,” she explained. “I am to be allowed to dance with you, I ope?” he ventured. She remained silent for several moments. Hz 21t an impulse almost of anger, She saw his pression cloud over, and patted the back of is hand as she rose to her feet. “Leave that to me,” she begged. “Don’'t be filended if I seem to have no manners. OUNG Christian?” Sir Richard repeated, as he shook hands with his early guest. ‘es, he’'s my Marconi man. A very decent llow, but delicate. Crazy on his job. He's een tinkering with his instruments all day, t I think he’s about now. Got a sister com- hg tonight with Lady Fakenham's party. Ex- se me, old chap.” “No news, I suppose?” Hames inquired of nis pparting host. “They're sitting round ’em all right,” Sir chard called back. “Somewhere between brdighera and San Remo.” Peter Hames strolled on to the dancing deck, d did his duty for half an hour. Afterward p mounted the ladder, and tapped at the door the Marconi room, A young man, pale, but pleasant appearance, admitted him. “Your name Christian?” the visitor greeted m. ‘The other nodded. He had evidently been in e act of completing his toilet. “I know your sister slightly,” Hames ex- ained. “Thought I'd look you up. Aren't you ming down to dance?” “Afraid I'll have to,” the young man ad- mitted. “Sybil's turning up presently, and some other people I know. Mind walting while I tie my tie?” Peter Hames subsided into a chair. He glanced curiously at the titles of the books con the shelf by his side, and with even greater curiosity at a college photograph upon the wall. A pair of huge dumb-bells upon the dressing table also attracted his attention. “You've had a busy day, I hear, tinkering with your installation,” he remarked. “I sup- pose you like your job?” “The only thing I'm fit for. I have to live at sea, and I was always fond of this sort of thing, anyway.” “How long is Sir Richard going to keep this show going tonight?” Peter Hames asked. “Lights out at 1 o’'clock,” was the cheerful reply. “We shall just have time for an hour at the Sporting Club. I'm ready now, if you are,” he added, slipping on his coat. They descended together and exchanged amenities in the bar. Afterward, Peter Hames turned toward the gangway. “You're not going!” his companion exclaimed. “Only for half an hour. We’ll go up to the Sporting Club together later, if you like.” “Right-o0,” the young man assented. Peter Hames, an hour or so after, felt a light touch upon his shoulder. One of the yacht's >fficers, who was acting as master of ceremonies, addressed him. “If you happen to be free for a few moments, sir,” he said, *“a young lady over there, Miss Christian, wculd like to have you presented to her.” Peter Hames swung along the deck by the side of his companion. He felt himself unrea- sonably exhilarated. For hours he had been nursing a secret resentment, which disappeared finally as she rose to dance with him. “Were you surprised?” she asked. “I was going away in a few minutes, feeling very hurt,” he told her. “You shouldn't have felt like that,” she re- monstrated. “You must krow that there were reasons. Even now that you are acquzinted with Miss Sybil Christian, that very improper young woman of Beausoleil is and must remain a stranger to you.” “You might have trusted me,” he complained. “I shall and do,” she replied. “What a relief to have spent even a few seccnds with some one who hasn’t told me that the bank has offered a thousand pounds reward for the return of their money!” “You can't exactly blame the chatterboxes,” he observed. “As a matter of fact, though, I hadn’t heard about the reward.” “Ycu're still interested in the affair, though?” “Yes, aren’t you?” he rejoined. There had been a momentary pause in the music. It recommenced, and they danced in silence. She walked with him into the saloon afterward and they drank a glass of champagne. “What was it you asked me?” she reflected, “just before we began to dance again? Oh, I remember—whether I wasn't interested in the bank robbery. Of course I am. Have you any fresh theories?” “There dcesn't seem room for any, does there?” he answered, a little evasively. “One hears that the two men are run to earth in Italy and will be arrested directly the necessary authority comes along.” “You are hopelessly out of date,” she told him. “The two men at San Remo have been guestioned and were easily able to prove that they had ncthing whatever to do with the affair, The gendarmes returned this afternoon.” “Then they will have to begin all over again,” he remarked. “How they must curse me for having led them off on a false scent!” A partner found her cut and claimed a dance. She rose to her feet reluctantly. “Are you going to jcin in the hunt again?” she asked. “Perhaps a partnership?” he suggested. She shook her hezd. “I am like you,” she said. “I prefer to work alone . . . SUDDEN change took place in the weather before the dance was over. A drifting rain rolled in from the sea and the decks were soon damp®and unc:mfortable. People began to leave, in a thin strecm at first, and afterward In a procession. Among the tail-enders, Peter Hames caught up with young Christian. “Sporting Club?” he asked, as the two fell into step on the quay. The young man nodded. “I want scme of my money back from last night,” he confided. “I am playing for a friend, too, so I can afford the big table.” “High play there!” “I'm really piaying for three of us. I didn't come to any serious harm last night, and I feel like winning tonight.” Peter Hames drew a pipe from his pocket, and began to fill it. A little abruptly, he turned to one side, and sought the shelter of a buttress. “Go on. TI'll catch you up in a minute,” he called out to his companion. The latter nodded and continued his way. Peter Hames had difficulty. The air was damp, and his place of shelter drafty. Just as he succeeded in lighting his pipe, however, he heard a shout from the darkness, and the sound of a fall. A man came running toward him. Young Christian called out: “Stop him, Hames! Stop that fellow! He tried to rob me.” Peter Hames watched the man come lumber- ing on, but if he made any effort to interfere with his progress it was a very half-hearted one. a “Why did you let the fellow go?” Christian demanded. “Too quick for me,” was the indifferent reply. “What happened?” “He came out from behind that wall there,” the young man explained, in some excitement, “and snatched at my coat, trying to get my pocketbook.” “Did he get it?” “No, fortunately he slipped on the pave- ment there, and went over—right on his back. Seems to me you might have pulled him up, though.” “Sorry. I didn't quite understand that it was as serious as that,” Hames apologized. They climbed the steps, and crossed the road to the Sporting Club, Christian's opinion of his companion having undergone a definite change. Nevertheless, he accepted his invita- tion to have a drink at the bar. They wer: almost alone, as the hour was late. A man, seated on a stool at the farther end, however, in obedience to a gesture of invitation from Hames, joined them. He was a broad-shoul- dered strong-featured Frenchman of swarthy complexion and flashing brown eyes. At the moment, however, he seemed singularly nerv- ous. “Christian,” Hames said, “I want to intro- duce you to an old acquaintance of mine, who has lately come to Nice to open a boxing and sporting academy. Mr. Christian—M. Paul Redoux.” The color slowly left the young man's face. He looked at Hames, and he was afraid. “You two should be interested in one an- other,” the latter continued. “M. Redoux, I believe, commenced life on the stage, and you, Christian, I noticed from that framed photo- 1he ]apa/zc’sa Continued from Fourth Page She's an American. Does she want to learn Japanese? Not at all. She's satisfied with the languages which she knows. After her foster mother died, William Baeder Adamson, widower and childless, adopted the young Japanese Cinderella legally, with the consent of her mother. That was in April, 1930, 17 days after he had made the will which rounded out her story of complete Americani- zation. Ip this will, which left an estate of over $900,000, Miss Adamson was to receive the income from a trust fund of $300,000. The remainder of she estate was divided in half between Miss Adamson and Mr. Adamson's nephew, William Adamson, who lives with his wife and children in Bryn Mawr. 11] CAN'T see why people were surprised when the will was probated,” Miss Adamson said. “I always called Mr. Adamson ‘daddy.’ I knew I would be his heir. My real father is dead. My own mother is now in Japan. Mr. Adamson’s will provides that if I die without heirs $100,000 shall go to my mother from my part of the money, and the rest shall go back to the estate.” “Fudge” Adamson seems to have acquired even more than the usual benefits of environ- ment, not only in money, but in her choice of diversions. Willlam Baeder Adamson was an expert golf player. In fact, in 1906 he was the champion graph in your room, were once a member of the Thesplan Socliely at Cambridge. Nothing like an early start in amateur theatricals to give you a good grounding in the art of mak- ing up. You don't remember me, M. Redoux,” Peter Hames went on, turning toward him, “but I came to you seven years ago when you taught me that trick of throwing a man on his back. You taught it to young Christian, too. I saw him do it to a man I hired to try to steal his pocketbook a few minutes ago. - “Yes, you ought to b2 interested in each other,” he continued meditatively. *“Christian here ¢peaks of being half an invalid, but I o= served in his room he uses the same weight dumb-bells as I do, and you've only to shake hands with him to kncw what sort of a grip he’s got. But perhaps, after all, this intro= duction is unnecessary. Some of those after=- nocn dashes of yours, Christian, on yom" motor bicycle have led you toward Nice, and M. Redoux’s academy.” “We have had quite enough,” Christian gasped. “What are you going to do?” “We are all going to have one long drink together,” Hames announced, “and afterward we are going into the cocrner there to talk business.” A AT 11:45 the mnext morning Peter Hames strolled into the bank, and, finding the manager disengaged, took him by the arm and led him into his office. “Pontifex,” he asked, “what would be your attitude supposing some ancnymous person returned to you that £10,000 in Bank of Eng- land notes, a million in francs and a bundle of bonds?"” “Speak plainly,” Pontifex begged. “What I mean, then, is this,” Peter Hames said. “You have offered a thousand pounds ree ward, not for the apprehension of the robbers, I notice, but for a return of the money. If the money and the bonds are forthcoming, would you be satisfied?” “I should thundering well say so,” Pontifex agreed emphatically. Peter Hames threw a brown-paper packagée, which he had been carrying, onto the table and cut the strings. » “Count 'em out,” he enjoined. “They are all there. No questions, mind. As a matter of . fact, I picked 'em up in the street.” Peter Hames climbed the steps to the Royalty bar as the clock struck 12. As usual, the place was crowded. This time a new form of excite= ment prevailed. Before he had even reached a table several young women bore down mpon him. Sybil, however, brushed them lightly to one side. s “This is my pet victim,” she insisted, proe ducing a square card decorated with ribbons, “You know what you're in for, I suppose, Mr, Hames?” q “Not the slightest idea.” i “It's collection day for the English and American Hospital.” . She presented the card. He looked down at the list of names. Then he felt in his waiste coat pocket and produced a slip of paper. “You relieve me,” he confided, “of an eme barrassment.” = She unfolded it, carelessly enough. Then, as she looked at the draft, the color slowly faded from her cheeks. “The whole affair is wonderfully arranged,® he said, smiling and dropping his voice a little, “The bank has its money—and no questions asked. The matter is closed and youf hospital is a thousand pounds better off.” She looked at him mistily. “And I have gained a wonderful friendf*® “You didn't know, I am convinced of that,® he assured her. “There was a terrible, hauntin ess in brain all the time,” she whisperedg. o m" “The thousand pounds on your card,” he suggested, as they went off to lunch, “had better be anonymous.” (Copyright, 1931.) Cinderella of the Belfield Country Club. He always ene joyed the sport and was a great advocate of ite advantages. And “Fudge,” as it happens, if fond of the golf links and is a crackerjack with the clubs. Mr. Adamson was a devotee of whist and was secretary of the Philadelphia Whist Club. Miss Adamson is an excellent bridge player. As for machines, they were always a point of pride with Mr. Adamson. When Fuji was only 5 years old she used to get up at 7:15 for breakfast with her foster father. Then she would drive with Daddy Adamson to the stae tion, and when he came home in the afternoon she would meet him. Her pet car at present is a blue sports toura ing model. In it she races around the suburbs, into Philadelphia and home again. Her favow rite attire for motoring is a blue silk skirt and white blouse, short sécks and white sport shoesy No one who sees her flashing by in-the citg® streets or on a country road can refrain fromy staring at this charming, petite Japanese 0 becomingly attired in the latest Ameri styles. ! Kipling may have said “East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meat,® but he may not have been absolutely righ§ when he said it. At least, he never knew “Fudge” Adamson. ' The cherry blossoms of her mother's nativd Japan don't lure her. The pagodas and . temples of Oriental tradition don’t attract “No,” she says, “I don't want to go t@ Japan. I'm an American, I was born herd and I want to stay here.”