The evening world. Newspaper, November 19, 1921, Page 16

mr te ought te be that charge!" “But how—what—I got your wire—I came right in, Is there—did she’—— “Certainly,” Parr, nod- cing. “You are a wonder, Oliver!” he sdded, “What put it into your head to start Sophie after her husband? Don't tell me you didn’t,” said the Deputy, as Arimston tried to break In with a word, “I heard you. You knew Sophie listening-in on the tele- phone the other day in your study when you told me in a loud voice to go out and find her husband—that he had squealed on her. On the level, Ar- miston, I thought you were squealing on me! Then it all came over me. You've got the goods! You're all sight, Oliver!” “Well, it was the obvious thing to downstairs on responded was THE LADY HERE BURST INTO A TORRENT @o, of course,” agreed Oliver, now preening himself. ‘I knew you couldn't find him, I knew the only way was to scare her into, starting after him her- séelf—then your men could trail along behind, It made a very good ending of the story, I thought,” said Oliver. “Your men trailed her, of course?” “Well, as a matter of fact,” said Parr, weakly, “she got the jump on us. You know Sophie! So we just sat back and waited.” “Waited!” ejaculated Armiston, “Oh, Sophie did her part—she pro- duced him, all right,’ said Parr, “Dead,” he added grimly, He related “iceman said gruffly: swiftly how the bogus Amos P. Hun- tington, who had been blown up by synthetic rubber and cremated, in the end came to his death and burial In so obscure a manner that the police would never have known who he was except for one thing Sophie over- looked. “My window-washer,” said Parr. “He's a wonder, too. He managed to borrow a razor, among other personal effects of the late Amos P., that So- phie had packed away in a box, We found finger-prints on it that corre- spond to that,” he said, pointing at the glass paper-weight. “When his dead body turned up, with the same finger-prints, the was simple enough.” And Parr, who had compla- cently encompassed the murder of a murderer, by neglecting to follow So- rest OF WORDS. “I DO phie too closely, leaned back in his chair, “Oh, they all come to _ pot, sooner or later,” he said, in his philo- sophic mood again, “But, Sophie’—— “Oh——she’s on her way downtown row,” exclaimed Parr, “Sit still, You'll see her.” HE Dresden china widow, an hour T before, had set out on her af- ternoon drive to air her red- headed mechanic, At 42d Street a po- “Drive up to the curb, young fellow.” The red-headed mechanic had obeyed with alacrity, “Let me have your keys,” commanded the traffic policeman, He took the proffered keys and calmly locked the doors of the litter. Sophie could not escape now, except by smashing glass. “Take her to Headquarters!" com- manded the traffic man, While Parr end Oliver sat talking, Sophie was an- nounced. The graceful little woman clothed in a cloud of black entered weeping and sniffling in her handker- chief under her veil, “Lift up the curtain, Sophie,” said Parr, with a full breath of elation. ‘This is where you stop for the night.” She lifted the veil, disclosing a tear- stained face, pathetically pretty. Parr with an oath lifted himself out of his chair, “What's the joke, Hanrahan?” he bawled at the red-headed mechanic, NOT UNDERSTAN’,” SHE WAILED, “Joke, sir? rahan. “Look at her you fool!” snarled the Deputy, “Look what you've brought here—this rag dol] done up in crepe!” The lady here ‘burst into a torrent Joke?" protested Han- of words. “I not understan’,” she wailed, in French accents, “I am Madame ‘untington maid, She move. 1 come to town—three-four days—to make ready. She move, This after- noon I go out-—-to get leetle air. The policeman—he lock me in! Oh, he lock me in! I scream—I cry—I knock on the window, I come here, This man, he say to me don’t start nothings’—" 4 THE EVENING WORLD'S FICTION SECTION, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1991. Hanrahan was holding his head, He was reviving that episode in the hitchen that made the country seem so attractive to him a few days gone by. ~ “Where did you get those clothes?” demanded Parr roughly. “Madame, she give them me—she no want them more, My ‘'usband—he was die—Il est mort!” “Take her away!" roared Parr. “What is the charge?” asked the meek Hanrahan. “Oh, anything—anything,” snarled Parr, “so long as the newspapers don’t get it. You, a detective! You on the Sophie Lang case! Oh, dear, oh, dear!" When the door closed on the figures, it was Armiston who broke the pain- ful silence, x ite mel IN FRENCH ACCENTS. “After all,” he said dreamily, “it was a signed masterpiece! Eh, Parr?” That was the end of the Sophie Lang case. There were loose ends, of coursé, such as William, and the maid, and the jettisoned quarter of a million do lars. The underlings proved to bev faithful tools of the lady, who tool their medicine, maintaining to the end their ignorance of such a purely le; endary person as Sophie Lang. THE END. Copyright, All rights reserved. Printed by arrangement with Metropolitan Newspaper Service, New York. NEXT SATURDAY'S COMPLETE STORY KORY DICKORY DOCK By WALLACE IRWIN ™ The Story of an Unusual ‘“Triangle’—With a Problem That Was Solved by a Mouse and an Ending That Will Excite Your Imagination. ORDER YOUR EVENING WORLD IN ADVANGE