The evening world. Newspaper, July 6, 1915, Page 15

A Romance of Treasure, f By Magy Rost Author of “SEVEN DAY! ILARY KINGSTON had been H fingham for years. Hillary. Jude's he was never seen without it. there for ten years. man's house wae his own. the town could get along with him. to the country club passed under the brick wall of its Italian garden, Their occupants sometimes caught @ giimpse of Elinor Kingston there, reading in a rose arbor, wandering among her peonies and iris in the *pring, or cutting sprays of phiox in inidsummer. The men thought her rather lovely; the women, odd, with her blond hair and dark eyes, Tho assistant rector of St. Jude's, new come to the village, met her face to face on one of his jong country walks, a month or so before old Hilary's death, and could hot forget her, He led the conversation to her that night at a dinner, “An exquisite face,” he described her, “but sad, almost tragically sad.” “Blond?” ‘The lady on his right was @ Mrs. Bryant. In honor of the new assistant rector, who came of fine family and was A distinot acquisition to the village, she wore the Bryant pear shaped pearl, She spoke rather courtly, “L should not call her ex- auisite—but you probably met Elinor Kingston. Her sadness is a pose, I velieve; she has everything she wants.” ‘The assistant rector was young but very wise. So Ke spoke no more of Elinor until the women had left the table, Then he ventured again. “Don't join the army of those of us who worship from afar,” advised the youth who had moved up beside him. “She's the loveliest thing in this part of the country. But, except our saint- 4 rector, no one ever gets to put a foot on the place It's exclusiveness to the nth power, and then some. There's a lot of talk, of course, or used to be, Old Kingston brings his ser- vants from New York, and, except en elderly housekeeper, none of them speak English. They used to say around here that he was a refugee, but that’s all rot. He's a stingy old dotard, afraid some handsome youth like myself will captivate the girl. That's all there is to It.” The assistant rector, whose name } was Ward, smiled perfunctorily. In- i stead of the gleaming table, spread with flowers and candles, with the \ gay colors of cordialé and liqueurs, ho was seeing @ girl standing at the turn ? ef @ country road and gazing down into the valley and the distant village with sombre eyes. . . - Faith, hope and charity, and the | greatest of these ie faith. Faith in * ourselves, faith in those around us, and that sublimest faith of all which trusts in Something Beyond. To all men is given such faith at the begin- ning of life, and some keep It to the end. But here and there ie one who \. has lost it, who cannot turn his eyes ), \ up and ecy, “Lord, Lora.” Old Hilary had not kept the faith. Years ago he had not been evil, Ho had gone from philosophy into unbe- | tet, that route which allemust travel. But, unlike the many, he had not come back. He had started with Socialism, but Socialism must be founded on the Christ, and Him he scorned. Bo woe Gocialism he had Grifted to anarch Te rob the rich and give to the poor, at first. Later on, to rob the rich, to \ dhe eeditions, to arm the rebellious ¥ at first the slogan of the band he gathered around him, “Against the oppressor” it became later on. Vastly different the two. Most of human charity and kindliness lay crushed down and trampled underfoot during old Hilary’s progress from Christ to Aatichrist. The band had been gathered with much care, Respectability, order de- corum—these spelled safety to old Hilary's astute mind. Most of them were younger sons of English landed families, with a eprinkling of the other nationalities. Young Huff was an Australian, for instance, the son of @ wealthy sheep-owner, Boroday n—implicated in the bomb- ‘ visitors, returned no advances, Visitors thought this curious. Prosperous business men with smart wives, shrugged their shoulders, The If he found that he could do without the town, “Conscience” and Love MARY ROBERTS RINEHART “TUR MAN IN LOWER TEN,” (Copyright, 1916, by Mary Roberts Rinehart.) CHAPTER I. ehot. Old Hilary had been a familiar figure in the village of Wot- The eccentricity of his gray derby hat, his Dectling gray brows, his always fresh gray gloves, his erect, rather heavy old figure, singled him out from the mass of com- ™utérs that thronged the city trains, The gray derby was @ part of old Except on those rare occasions when he attended aervice at St. He lived on tht hill above the village, with his daughter—had lived The Hall was beautiful, but old Hilary recetved no ‘The-villagers, There was no mystery about the Hall, and little curfosity. Cara going throwing that destroyed the minister of war—was @ nobleman. Old Hilary had got him out of Siberia during those early days when he righted what, to his crooked mind, were “— ore were twelve in the band at the beginning, and for five years there were no changes, Then came the kidnapping and holding for ran- som of Mackintosh the banker in Towa, and the unexpected calling out of the State militia, The band had hidden Mackintosh in a deserted mine and three of the band went down in the shooting that followed his discovery. In the looting of Tit- fany's vaults, which has never been published, a Frenchman named Du- pres waa killed; and only recently a tire had burst after the holding up of the car of the Governor of Delaware, and their car, overturning, had crushed Jerrold, the mechanto of the band and old Hilary's chauffeur. One way and another, there were only five left: Talbot and Lethbridge the Englishmen, Boroday, Huff and old Hilary himself. And old Hilary's hour was almost come. Old Hilary lived well, he might. His foreign servants were artists. He liked good food, good win good books. He even had a few picturee— from the leading galleries of Europe. He hung them in the house at Woft- ingham, with a cynical smile. “Safest place in the world,” he sald to old Henriette, who protested. “The vilage has never even heard of them!" And e@o in this atmosphere with which he surrounded himself, of fine Uving and wrong thinking, of atheism raised almost to religion, of no law and no Christ, old Hilary had brought up bis daughter. He had been proud of her in his way; absolutely selfish, too, She had no other companion. He taught her his unbelief, pointing out the churchgoers, as they drove together on Sunday mornings, as slaves to a myth. Also, he taught her to hate @ le, and to give alms, Early in her ‘0 their drives to- gether had been punctuated with questions. “But !f my mother’is dead, where 1s she?” asked Elinor on one of them. Old Bilary had eyed her from un- der eyebrows that were already gray. “Bhe lives in the memories of those that knew and loved her.” “But I never knew her. Then for me she doesn’t live! But Mademo!- @elle’—— she checked herself. BSus- picion had been dawning in old Hilary’s eyes. “Death is the end,” he said tersely, and quoted Darwin and Haeckel to her. But at the end of the drive he interviewed Mademoiselle, and sent her flying to her chamber, where from under the carpet beneath her bureau ehe got her rosary and wept over it. Elinor was twenty the year her father die slender girl, fond of flowers, rather a dreamer. Well edu- cated, too. Old Hilary had seen to that; she knew Malato, Haeckel, The he Evening World Daily Magazine, Tuesday, July 6, | A COMPLETE NOVEL‘ EACH WEEK IN THE EVENING WORLD Bakunin; spoke French and Spanish Hilary had spent much time tn Cen- tral America helping the insurgents; it was he who financed the insur- rection in Northern Mexioo—and wrote fluently the form of shorthand that her father had devised as a means of communication between the leaders of the band. A keeh-eyed, wistful-mouthed alip of a girl, shut off in the great house on the hill above Woffingham; living her life of big theories and small duties, cal- loused to robbery and violent deeds, and viewing wistfully from her win- dows the little children in the road below. —_——_=- CHAPTER II. ICE # year the association closed ita books. During all of the June before old Hil- ary’s eudden death Elinor had been busy arranging figures, collecting data in the cryp- tio shorthand she knew. Then, on the ist of July, Hilary gave his an- nual dinner, ‘The band, from twelve, was down to five, Boroday, the Russian, glano- ing around the table, shrugged his shoulders, It was the chance of the game they played, and percentages would be larger, Nevertheless there was a weight of depression over them all, Elinor was at her father’s right, simply dressed. The dinners were al- ‘ways a trial to her. She was palpi- tatingly anxious that the papers be- fore old Hilary be in order and accu- rate, ‘They were her work. The deeper significance of the meeting she was not so much ignorant of as profoundly indifferent to. If her father did a thing, it took on order, became law. ‘There were present Talbot and Lethbridge, the Englishmen; Boro- day, whose rescue from Siberia had made him old Hilary’s henchman; and young Huff, Huff was the mech- anician, He had been trained in the Bleriot works; aeroplanes to wireless, automobiles to automatic pistols, he knew them—all makes, all grades, If old Hilary was the brains, Huff was the hands of the band. He oat beside Elinor and watched her with worshipping eyes. Perhaps it was as well that old Hilary was in- tent on his food and on the business in hand, The routine of the annual dinner seldom varied. Five of them then, that last dinner around the table, in evening clothes, well eet up, spare, three of them young, all temperate, honorable about women—as polished, as harmless in appearance, as death- dealing, as the gleaming projectile of a 12-inch gun! First old Hilary went over the books, It might have been the board meeting of some respectable bank. He stood at hie end of the table, and the light from the chandelier fell full on him. “I have to report, gentlemen,” he would say, “a fairly successful year.” This i» where it differed from a bank. The association had had no bad years, “While our expenses have been heavy, returns have been correspondingly 80." And so on, careful lines of fig- ures, outlays and returns, to the end. For old Hilary waa Secretary and ‘Treasurer as well as President. This time, when he had reached the end of what was to be his last report, he paused and cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, that is not all, gen- tlemen. ‘Nothing can we call our own but death.’ And it is my sad duty to report, this last year, the loes of three of our number, A calamitous year, gentlemen.” He might e been a trustee, Ia- menting the loss of valued support- ers to a hospital! Afterward, in the Ifbrary, with Ell- nor embroidering by the fire, they cashed in. They dealt only in cash. Securities were dangerous. Once or twice Boroday had successfully ne- gotiated with a fence in Paris, but always under old Hilary's protest, ‘The routine never varied. Elinor unlocked the door to a winding stair- case, which led to @ basement room where the steel vault stood in its coment walls. The five went down, returning shortly with the cash boxes, The money wae divided on the library table, It went by per- centages. Hilary Grew twenty that last year, each of the others ten—a total of sixty per cent. The forty per cent. remaining wae divided, or sent as a whole, according to the sense of the meeting. Berlin got tt all one year, for instance, to Boro- day's dingust. Russia generally re- coved a large proportion. The Chi- nese revolution, the defense of Berk- hardt, who killed Boker the pork- packer; « shipment of guns and am- munition to Central America—thus it ‘went. Although they preferred only money, now and then the loot in- cluded jewels, By common consent euch gems, stripped of their settings, were put de for Elinor, They meant nothing to her. Had any one told her that for several years her share had been greater in actual value than all the money that hed fi to her father she would not have believed it. * * Four days or so after the annual meetings the rector of St. Jude's was always asked to dinner. And although the reverend gentleman would under hormal circumstances have been fish- ‘who had now fost his best friend, felt all the ditterness of his unbelief, Elinor atirred. “He will have to be buried,” eald Henriette. “The news has gone through the town. The assistant reo- tor of the church has telephoned, and is on his way here now. What am I ‘to dot” “Let them bury him as they will,” @aid Boroday, “What does it matter? He would himself have seen the humor of it.” Hilary Kingston had been shot dur- tng the daylight robbery of the Agrarian Bank messenger. He was shot as an innocent bystander, and ‘Was referred to by the press as phil- anthropiet and martyr. So much for years of caution and the annual gift to Baint Jude's. As @ matter of fact, the Agrerian affair was calamitous in esveral ‘ways. It bore too close a resemblance to a Bt. Louis matter of several years back, in which Boroday had come under guspicton, On a Tuesday morning, the cash be- ing more than the bank cared to hi about, $210,000 was sent to the Clear- ing House, Two clerks from the bank accompanied the messenger, who went by taxioab. ‘There are two direct routes to the Clearing House, one along one of the great avenues, the other through the newepaper district. Here, at 10.30 in the morning, things are rather quiet, ing in Canada, he never went until and except for vans delivoring rolls this function was over, For old Hilary, detesting bis creed, respected the man. A certain percentage, then, of old Hilary’s share wont over t! brary table, after the dinner, to the rector. “Use it where it will do the most good,” he would say. * “The church organ”"—~ “Not a cent to the church organ! Buy the youngsters a playground, or build @ lying-in ward in the hos- pital.” Elinor’s mother had died in obild- birth, The last check had been unusually generous, The rector, who had been smoking one of old Hillary's choice clears, put it down and faced bis host resolutely. It took courage. . “Mr. Kingston,” he said “the church needs men like you. Why be ® Christian in the epirit and—avoid the letter?” “Tut.” Old Hilary rose and looked down at him. “T am like all gam- blers. This annuat check to your poor is the sop I throw to luck. That's all, sir.” And tone closed the discussion. The word “gambler” worried the rec- tor, He thought over it on his way down the hill to the rectory. But his Poor werg very poor. He cashed the check the next day. Elinor was in the library that sunny August day when they brought old Hilary to her. She had never seen death before, except on the streets of Mexico, and for a good many years he bad been all had—since her last governess, in fact, had been dis- coyered secreting the rosary and had been word-scourged from the house in tears. She had fainted, and wrin- kled Henriette laid her on a couch. Boroday, the Russian, had brought the body home, and now he stood, looking down at Elinor and stroking bis English-cut beard. “He expected it, Henriette,” he sald. “He thought it would have come sooner, in the Parker matter. I wonder"—— He glanced through the open door to the billlard-room, where old Hil- ary’s body lay on the table. He was minded, was Boroday, to wonder many things—whether, after all, old Hilary's dauntless spirit had gone out Uke a lamp, or if— ‘This white and carven thing in the Mext room, with stiffening hands and the gray derby at its feet, surely there was no mystery about it. This Was not old Hilary; that wae all. But where then was old Hilary? The Russian, who had been raised within the pale and on an ancient faith, end Of paper, there ts little traffic, ‘The taxicab went by this latter route, Opposite the Record office, ‘where the presses stood, eilent mon- eters waiting to leap, old Hilary Kingston was standing, kid gloved and wearing the gray derby hat he affected. As the taxicab bore down towam him he hailed it. “Taxi!” he called. ‘The taxicab slowed down. Old Hil- ary, seeing it occupied, waved it off with his etick. But it had come to a full stop. There was an alleyway be- side the Record building, and now three men ran out from there, and thrust revolvers through the open windows of the cab. After that it was hot work. Marshall of the bank ‘went back with a bullet through his lung. The bank messenger fired pointhiank, and missed his target; but old Hilary, gray derby and all, went down where he stood, twenty feet away. The uninjured clerk had an automatic gun, and swept @ circle with it over the bag which lay at his feet, There waa no getting inside that ring of death. The bandits re- treated, firing as they ran, and climbed into an automobile up the street. When the reporters in the Record office wakened to the fact that there was @ story under their win- dows, the street was clear. Only old Hilary lay dead on the pavement, with a bullet in Bis head. The chauffeur of the jaxicab drove madly to the hospital With Marshall, who was dying, and then to police quarters, where he gave himself up. He was released, of course. His name was Walter Huff. He was shown to be ‘@ new man, but sober and indus- trious, one of the best drivers in the employ of the taxicab company. It was also shown that Hilary Kingston had hailed him; Huff explained hie stopping. Mr. Kingston was @ regu- lar patron; he had meant to tell him that in five minutes he would come back and pick him up. Huff was under surveillance for three days His conduct was im- peccadle, CHAPTER Il, was, after all, the assistant tor of St. Jude's who came up the hili that hot August day, The news of old Hilary’s death had come down from the city on early train. The rector was away on hia deferred fishing trip, where, having exchanged his clerical collar for none at all and having bilstered the end of hie eccle- siastical nose he was quite happy. ‘The assistant, Mr. Ward, whistled aa he climbed the hill, Aas the hill was steep, this proved two things— his youth and his lightness of heart. True, old Hilary Kingston was dead, and violently done to death, But to Mr, Ward death was but the gateway to a larger life; and only very ead in the young, who have not yet lived. Mr. Ward was young, a broad- shouldered young man, with clear, rather deep-ect eyes and a firm mouth. The people of St Judea prophesied that the world would hear of Mr, Ward. There was only one bar to his progress: he had too much humor. It seemed to the peopie of St. Jude's that religion ts « serious thing, fgorgetting that good cheer is one the things it must bring, an it be religion. So Mr, Ward ofimbed the hill and whistled, One may think while whie- ting. He thought of the cricket olub, and of the injustioe of hie arrest the day before for speeding his car, From that to olé Hilary's French machine, and @ wonder !f it would be sold now —and #0 to Elinor. He young and vigorous, and Elitior’s face had been but a temporary obsession. Nev- ertheless, as he approached the house hie heart beat a little faster. Boro- day met him in the hall. Old Hilary was upstairs by that time, lying in his great bed. All the doors and win- dows were open, and minehine filled the rooms, Ward thought it an un- usually pane house of mourning. “Tim giad to eee the aun,” he enid, jo many people ciose things up.” “Mise Kingston wished things un- disturbed.” “I came up to tell her—but T eup- pose sho doesn’t care to eee any one— the rector {s away on a holiday. I'll wire him, of course.” Boroday led the way into the It- brary where the rector had so re- cently received his check. He turned and eyed Ward. “Why bring the rector back? he esked. “Tt is a little late for—the comforts of religion.” “Mr, Kingston gave lavishly to the church, whatever the church can 40"— "T rather think,” sald Boroday po- Utely, “that he gave, not to the church, but to the poor.” “Inasmuch as ye give unto one of the least of these,” Ward replied, and returned Boroday’s gaze. Elinor had pulled herself together. By the one standard that had ruled her life she acted now—her father's wis! Ward, brought face to face with her, found her unapproachable, calm, almost cool. Found her very lovely, too, and let his ardent young eyes rest on her oftener than was wise. Her eituation appealed to him. She geemed to be quite alone, save for the Russian with the beard. “If I can do anything,” he said, “wire to your relatives—anything of that eort”—— ‘I have no relatives. My mother died when I was born. I-—I have a curlous feeling that everything in the world has stopped—as though I'd reached the end of things.” Tt seemed to Mr. Ward that he should offer some of the comfort of his faith to this shrinking, wide-eyed girl before him. But what? Rumors had come to him, of couree. “Death is only a tragedy when we think of it ee an end and not as be- ginning,” he said. “Tt is always sad. I hope you understand that I know how terrible all this is for you. But to have lived one's life, active and well and useful to the end, and then to depart, in the fulness of days, for new activities—somewhere else"—— Elinor shivered in the warm eun- ohine, “You eee," she said dreastly, “T do not believe those things. I should like to Just now.” Then, almost de- flantly: “He was useful. You will never know the things he did that were helpful, But perhaps we would not agree on that, either.” 1915 | Sweetheart Primeval ee = | By EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS tot “TARZAN v The Russian wae walking up and down the hall, impassive, watchful. Under his stoical indifference, he was sufforing tortures. A bullet from the automatic had gone through his left arm grazing the bone. Lackily, the Dullet was not in the wound. Henrt- ette had bathed and cleansed it, but he was in agony. He was suffering pain, bereavement, defeat. His face expressed ‘only decorous and conven- tional regret. Now and then he manced in at the Ubrary door, but generally he watched the road up the hill, As had watched the Church ascending, so now at any time might come Law. He would be prepared, Ho had grown a beard since the St. Louls matter, That would help. 4 he had watted to return and claim old Hilary's body, until the Record extra Had announced his killing. Walking up and down the wide hall, his keen mind was going back, detatl by detail, over the day. Talbot and Lethbridge in the car had kept on. They had had changes of clothing in the machine. By now they should be at the country club, and ay around the links, The car, with ite changed license plates, would be standing in the eminently respectable country club garage, Ward had risen. He towered far inor, Because of his heavy rs, he never looked his full height. Boroday, in the corridor, stole a moment from his anxieties to find the young clergyman every inch &@ man, and to throw him the grudging admiration of defeated middle-age for youth and vibrant life, “Then I shali not send the rector?” “Please, no.” “Is there anything at all that I can dot o Elinor looked out at the corridor, where Boroday's restless eyes were ones more on the road, “Surely. told about what happened.” “They wilt tell me nothing.” ‘There was « car coming up the hill. I suppose you have been ‘That would be it. Boraday eased hia aching He did not dare a owing, but the hand was thrust in the pocket of his coat. If only the hemorrhage did not start again! He braced himself and watched, “It was a robbery, you know that,” said Ward, in the library. He picked hie words carefully. “As I got the story, @ taxicab on ite way to the bank was held up near the Record office. Your father had stapped to the curb to hail the taxi, and—it happened then, a—a stray bullet from one of the bandit’s guns.” Boraday, eyes on the car, heard the statement, and, with the Chief com- ing up the steps from the road to the garden, took the time to repudi- ate it. “Pardon mo!" he said. “Tt was not & weapon in the hands of the bandits. It was the revolver of the bank mes- songer.” Ward turned in surprise. Boro- day's eyes were fixed on Mlinor’s, with reassurance in their depths. The aesistant rector was not subtie, but he had @ curious feeling of eome- thing behind aM this. He was un- comfortable, “I truat,” he said earnestly, “that these various outrages will be at an end now. Surely the potice”—— “Possibly.” The Anarchist’s gase wandered to the garden, where even then the Chief was making his way toward the house. “Of course, these bandite are trained men of unusual intelligence. If the police were of in- telligence to cope with them”—— , “Year” “They would not be on the force, at meagre salaries and petty graft. They would be"—he ghrugged his shoulders HOW TO LOOK FOR A JOB First of all, il Is well to know whal kind of a fob jourself—your ambi- acide what vou be- will best fit into, Study your natural apne lieve you could do BI ares A New EVENING WORLD 8UCCE! Arm yourself with references know you well, le who stand well In munity. 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NHN NOLIN ee NEXT WEEK'S COMPLETE NOVEL | NOVEL IN THE EVEN “THE EVENING WORLD OF THE APES, —"bandits themselvéa, very ‘Ward left after that—left uncomfortable feeling of open gatewiy, was for this girl closed and fastened door, And be knew something else. No other womag ‘had ever xo profoundly impressed Bin: as this girl who without hope tm her ariet met it with @ high beet and courageous eyes, He found a certain comtom in one thing. Elinor had made @ concession. — and Hilary Kingston, lavish giver to the parish poor, was to be buried from Bt. Jude’ ‘The Chiet met Mr. Ward om the ter- race and took off his hat. Boroday, in the dim hall, felt @ éertain sense of content. Nothing could have heen more auspicious, could have set stage better for his [ttle drama, Chan the presence of the young cleteyatan. The whole scene gained tone di corum, ‘ The Chiet'e visit was short. ‘Thay had followed thé bandits’ car and iat, it, and finding himacif in the aeigh- borhood—— “Be assured,” he sald to Elinor, in’ his best manner, “that we'll net rer until this thing is cleared up, © fhe community”—he cleared his throat—~ . “the community will not lose one of its best citizens without a violent pro- tewt."* With the coroner he went uf, “ig stairs and into old Hilary's room. | “a Chief glanced about while the Nasty examination was being made, ¢ W “Nice room,” he sald. “But @ lot of good it does the old gent now! Nice little girl downstaire, I've seen that chap tn af ‘halt some where.” we iy ‘The coroner drew the sheet ap ever Hilary’s peaceful face. “The preacher? They all look @ifke.: a It’s the vest and the collar.” ae “The other man, with the gccemt. = German, I take it, or—Russian.” q pent et tan’ Sivan ca el Se fost, ot the sian eae Me brary was @ tray, ae ~ sandwiches. The shades had lowered. ‘The Chief ate and drank. An@’as often ae he raised bis giass he jooked at the Russian over it. At last: . " “Haven't we met Mr-—" y “Boroday. I rather think not: % “You remind me of some : place you, or the person you pretty soon. I have a slow m! lke an Airedale dog: its a long getting started, but when it begine dt hangs on like the devil.” The drinks were cold, and the house cool. The prospect of starting out in the heat and dust did not allure the two men. Sitting there at his the Chief ran over the pointe of outrage. “In several waya,” hé observed comfortably, “the affair resembles one that happened in St. Louls several years ago. There's the same quail of audacity—and there are things." of Quite suddenly « light came tato ie ward Boroday. st wid sou Te oe 8. It was in Bt. Louis I saw you!” » ‘Their glances clashed, the intent, the Russian’e coel, wae for sending away. the other servants, oom 4 “I cam manage,” she said, “For ali you eat"— . aa But Elinor protested. = ot eng shall want to keep up the Get y dinners, Let things stay they are for @ time.” bes a It had been old Hilary’s custéds to have such members of the band as “You are alone here now. To have those four men”—— ‘That 19 better than having ow 4 man, Henriette.” ! (To Be Continued.) GOING AWAY POR® : SUMMER? Remember The “i ning World prints each week | complete up-to-date novel week's reading! Have The’ a ning World sent to your ‘suit mer address. Story by the Man Who Wrote “TARZAN OF THE APES. By Edgar Rice Burroughs, ' WILL BEGIN IN NEXT MONDAY'S EVENING WORLD. READ IT!) ose