Nick Carter Stories No. 152, August 7, 1915: The Forced Crime; or, Nick Carter's Brazen Clew. (2024)

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No. 152. August 7, 1915. Price Five Cents.

CHAPTER I.

A TALE OF BURGLARS.

“You say this burglar has got into your bedroom three times?”

“Yes, Carter. Three times that I know of. He may have got in oftener foraught I know.”

“Hardly likely, Mr. Bentham. If you woke up three times and saw him, itindicates that there is something in his presence which affects you evenin your sleep. It is a psychological influence, evidently.”

Professor Matthew Bentham, one of the most learned scientists inBrooklyn, shook his head. He knew too much about psychology to believeit was an agent in his case.

“That explanation won’t do, Carter,” he declared. “On each occasion Ihave been awakened by a distinct noise in the room.”

“But you never got up to interfere with the man,” Nick Carter remindedhim. “That isn’t your way. No one ever has insinuated that you lack inphysical courage. You are an athlete, too. I have had the gloves on withyou, remember, and I know how you handle yourself. There must have beensomething to make you lie still in bed while a stranger was ransackingyour bedchamber.”

The famous detective was sitting comfortably in Professor Bentham’swell-appointed library on the ground floor of the latter’s home nearProspect Park, and both were smoking.

Carter had dropped in casually to see his friend, and the subject of themysterious burglar had come up without any previous knowledge of it bythe detective. They had been talking about other things, particularlyabout some important records of a Chinese secret organization which werein Matthew Bentham’s care, and which were soon to be sent to Washington.

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Suddenly, Bentham had confided to Carter that he was worried overcertain midnight visits that had been forced upon him, and instantly thegreat criminologist was deeply interested.

“Did your burglar—or burglars—get away with anything?” he asked.

“There is only one of him. At least, I think so. I never have had aclear view of his face. He is a slim, active sort of man, dressed in anordinary dark business suit, with a soft hat pulled down over his eyes.The hat has always prevented my seeing as much of his features as Ishould like.”

“There are many thousands of slim, active men, in dark business suitsand soft hats, moving about Greater New York,” remarked Nick, betweenpuffs at his cigar.

“True,” conceded Bentham. “But you know, as well as anybody, that everyhuman being has certain peculiarities of movement, attitude, and poise,that are not exactly the same as those of anybody else. There is a sortof what I may call ‘atmosphere’ about each one of us—an aura—thatdistinguishes us from all our fellows. You know that, Carter?”

The detective nodded.

“Yes, professor. That is pretty well understood by most persons, Ithink. Well, we’ll say it is only one particular burglar who favors youwith his company in this way. What I asked is whether he stealsanything.”

“He never has yet. But I think that is because I never leave valuableslying about the room. I never carry much cash in my pockets—have no usefor it unless I am going away somewhere—and my watch is always under mypillow.”

“And why have you never got up to argue matters with him?”

“Because I can’t. He seems to hypnotize me.”

“Then there is a psychological influence?” smiled Nick.

“To that extent, yes. But I do not believe it is that that awakens me.[Pg 4]”

Nick Carter took his cigar from his mouth, and, with a careless gesture,knocked off the ash into a silver tray on the table.

“Well, that is of not much consequence, after all,” he said. “What isthe fellow after? He must have some purpose in coming three separatetimes, only a night or two apart. You say you don’t know how he getsin?”

“Haven’t an idea. The doors and windows are all locked at night beforewe retire, and we find them the same way in the morning.”

“What servants have you?”

“Only two maids, besides the boy who does odd jobs, such as polishingbrasswork, sweeping the front steps, and waiting on the cook. He sleepsout of the house. My daughter lets him in early in the morning. There isan electric contrivance, operating from her bedroom, which opens theside gate, and also connects with the lock of the back door to thekitchen.”

Nick Carter stopped smoking and looked hard at the professor. He wasinterested in this mechanical device.

“I should like to see that electric connection,” he said. “Can you showit to me?”

“Certainly. Wait a moment.”

Bentham went out of the room. When he returned he smiled apologetically.

“My daughter is dressing to go out this afternoon. But I can tell youall about it. There is nothing remarkable about the apparatus. I had itput in by a regular electrician. It is a great deal like the electricdoor openers used in flat houses, by which tenants open the front doorat the street without leaving their apartments.”

Nick Carter resumed his cigar and smoked for several minutes in silence.His host could see that he was thinking hard, and did not disturb him.Instead, he kept on gravely smoking himself.

“The last time this fellow came in was last night, eh?” asked NickCarter, after a long pause.

“Yes.”

“And you have not told anybody about these visits?”

“No one. You see, my daughter Clarice and I are alone, except for thetwo maids. I would not worry Clarice, and there would be no use intelling the maids. They probably would take fright and leave. You knowwhat a bother is to get good servants in New York.”

“Those records of the Yellow Tong, sent to you by Andrew Anderton on thenight that he died—you have them?”

“Yes.”

“Who brought them? As I remember Mr. Anderton’s last letter to you, hesaid they would be sent by safe hands. What did he mean by that?”

“They were sent by express to a club I belong to, but which I seldomvisit. Then I got a cipher telegram from the club, informing me thatthere was a package in the safe there for me. I went to the club and gotthe package.”

“I see. It was a wise precaution on the part of Anderton. He knew thatyou were likely to be shadowed by some members of the tong, and that ifyou brought anything direct from his house, in Fifth Avenue, it would bedoubtful whether you ever would get it home.”

Nick Carter spoke in low tones, as if he were deep in thought, and wereletting his tongue run on almost without guidance. At the same time, itneed hardly[Pg 5] be said that this astute, long-experienced student ofcriminology was not the man to say anything without knowing exactly whathe was saying.

“You have the package quite secure, I suppose?” he asked.

“Quite, I believe. Nobody knows where it is but myself—not evenClarice. It is not that I would not trust my daughter. But there wouldbe nothing gained by her knowing, and it might worry her to think thatshe held an important secret.”

“Women like secrets generally, don’t they?” smiled Nick Carter.

“That is the tradition,” acknowledged Bentham, also with a smile. “ButClarice is a level-headed girl. Then she has had to take care of me forthree years, since her mother died, and that has given her a sense ofresponsibility, I think, which is beyond her years. She does not knowanything about the package, and would not be interested in it, anyhow.”

“Don’t you see any connection between the visits of this mysteriousstranger and the package?” asked Nick slowly. “May it not be that theYellow Tong—and you know how powerful and far-reaching it is—has setit* agents to get from you the records that it is so important to theorganization to keep from the government at Washington?”

Bentham smoked a few seconds before replying. The same suspicion hadbeen in his own mind, but he had brushed it away. Now, here was thiscool-headed, straight-seeing master detective suggesting the same thing.

“It is possible you are right, Carter,” admitted the professor. “I’lltake those records to Washington to-morrow night. I can’t go before,because I am going to a reception this evening given by the famousIndian savant from the Punjab, Ched Ramar. You have heard of him?”

“Yes. He has been in the newspapers a great deal the last few weeks. Whoand what is he?”

“One of the most eminent scholars from that country,” answered Benthamenthusiastically. “He has traveled a great deal, especially in Tibet. Hehas a collection of idols from that country which are well worth seeing,I am told. I am delighted with the prospect of looking them overto-night.”

“I should think you would be. Is there a special invitation needed toget into his house this evening?”

“Well, I don’t know. I got a card addressed to me. But there is a lineon the card to the effect that any friend of mine will be welcome. It iswritten in pencil. The remainder of the card is lithographed. If youwould like to go, I should be pleased to take you in. My daughter isgoing, with her aunt, Mrs. Morrison. She is Clarice’s mother’s sister.”

“I accept your invitation with pleasure,” said Nick Carter. “But—hereis a request I have to make. You won’t think it very strange, knowing myprofession. I should like to go in disguise, and under another name thanmy own.”

“Don’t want to be recognized, eh?” smiled Bentham. “Why? You don’t thinkthere will be anybody there who would be afraid of you as NicholasCarter, the detective, do you? Ched Ramar is a man who moves in thehighest circles and is known all over India. His house, in BrooklynHeights, is one that questionable characters would find it hard toenter. He has two tall men[Pg 6] of his own race perpetually on guard at hisdoor—besides many other servants engaged in this country.”

“It is merely a fancy of mine, perhaps,” returned Nick. “I will beDoctor Hodgson, if you don’t mind. Shall I come here to-night?”

“If you will. I’ll take you in our car. Mrs. Morrison and Clarice willbe with us. Get here about half past eight. We don’t want to go tooearly. It will be ten o’clock or so before things get into full swing atChed Ramar’s house.”

“All right! I’ll be here at eight-thirty,” replied Nick, as he got up togo. “I’ll have just about time to go home and dress, and get backagain.”

“It takes you a long time to dress,” laughed Professor Bentham. “I canget ready in half an hour any time.”

“My dress will be rather more elaborate than yours, perhaps. I have tochange my face, you know.”

CHAPTER II.

A HOUSE OF MYSTERY.

When a grave, bearded man, with gold-rimmed spectacles and hair brushedup straight from his forehead, presented himself in Matthew Bentham’slibrary at half past eight, the professor could not see anything in himto suggest the clean-cut, up-to-date American whom he knew as NicholasCarter.

The big, blond beard and mustache completely changed the contour of hiscountenance, while the pompadour hair and the lines in the forehead werenot those of the detective, although they seemed to be perfectly naturalin Doctor Hodgson. The rather shabby cape overcoat which covered hisevening clothes was not such a garment as he would wear in his ownproper person, either.

It was only when the door of the library was closed, and Nick knew theywere alone, that he dropped the deliberate speech he had used, and spokein his own natural, quick tones.

“The package still all right, professor?” he asked.

“Yes. I looked a few minutes ago, to make sure. Somehow, I hate to leaveit in the house when I am away. It is something I never have donebefore. Still, I am not afraid it will be found—even if my burglarshould come while I am away. He may do that, if he is keeping as close awatch on me as I think he must. I have too much faith in my hidingplace.”

Nothing more was said, for just then Clarice knocked at the librarydoor, and, on her father telling her to come in, she stood before them.

Clarice was a beautiful girl, who looked enough like her father for anyone to recognize the relationship. She had something of the intellectualgravity of the professor, and Nick set her down at once as a very brightyoung woman. He put her age at not more than twenty. Later her fathertold him she lacked two months of that age.

With Mrs. Morrison—a middle-aged, dignified matron, richly attired andbejeweled—on one side of him, and Clarice on the other, in the tonneau,Nick Carter kept up his character of a learned doctor by talkingauthoritatively on tuberculosis, typhus, and similar cheerful subjectsbrought up by Mrs. Morrison, but always with one eye on Clarice. Hewanted to hear the girl talk, so[Pg 7] that he could judge whether she wouldbe careful in guarding her father’s house against strangers.

But Mrs. Morrison—who was a good woman in her way, and devoted muchtime to the poor and sick of New York—would not let him off. They gotto the house of Ched Ramar without Clarice getting an opportunity tothrow in more than a few words here and there, and he did not see heragain until they were in the handsomely furnished reception rooms of theIndian scholar, and were looking at the curiosities on all sides.

Nick Carter got an opportunity soon to stand back and look steadily atChed Ramar. He saw a tall man, with the dark skin and black eyes of theEast Indian, and wearing the white turban of his race, who talked goodEnglish and was the essence of suave courtesy.

“I don’t know how it is,” thought Nick Carter. “His face seems familiarand yet I know I never saw Ched Ramar before.”

As the detective moved about with the others, looking at the manycurious idols of various metals that were disposed about the greatrooms, and answering readily to his assumed name of Doctor Hodgson, heseemed not to have any interest outside of what he was inspecting withthe other guests. But his gaze never left the swarthy face of Ched Ramarfor more than a few seconds at a time.

“Where have I seen him before?”

This was the question that would not keep out of Nick Carter’s mind. Itmight have worried him, too, only that he had quite determined that hewould answer it before he was many days older.

“Perhaps not to-night,” he told himself. “But when I get alone, in myown room. I’ll go through my portrait gallery of people I have met, andI’ll place him, or know the reason why.”

There were other rooms besides these two great double drawing-rooms towhich the guests were invited. In all the apartments of the house weresome strange things worth seeing, and Ched Ramar took pleasure inoffering them to the inspection of those who had honored him by coming.

He said this himself, and he seemed sincere when he did so. He seemedinclined to pay particular attention to Matthew Bentham, Clarice, andMrs. Morrison. He talked to them more than to any of the other guests,Nick Carter thought.

The two tall Indian guards, in glittering military uniforms, with curvedswords at their sides, and gaudy turbans setting off their dark, solemnfaces, were always at the wide door of the reception rooms, and thedetective noted that they watched every move of the throng as it surgedabout the apartments.

Ched Ramar had the air of a man who trusted everybody, but his guards’vigilance suggested that he had given them orders to be suspiciousunceasingly.

“Hello! Where’s he taking that girl?” suddenly exclaimed the detective.

Ched Ramar had directed the general attention to a large glass casefilled with magnificently jeweled weapons at one end of thedrawing-room. Then he called one of the guards.

“Show and explain these, Keshub,” he ordered shortly.

Keshub, the guard, made a deep salaam and marched to the end of thecase. He spoke as good English as his chief, and his sonorous tonesrolled through the rooms[Pg 8] as he told the history of each dagger, sword,and gun to his open-mouthed listeners.

It was at this instant that Nick Carter made his inaudible remark, forChed Ramar led the girl behind some heavy red velvet hangings, whichdropped back into place, hiding them.

For a few moments Nick stood still, uncertain what to do. He had no ideaof allowing this young girl to be taken into a secret part of this big,strange house by a man like this Indian, whom no one knew except as afamous man in his own country.

“I’ve got to see what is back of those portières,” muttered thedetective. “I don’t see Matthew about, or I’d tell him. By George! Thisis New York—even if it is Brooklyn—and we don’t do things of thiskind. He must think he is still in the Punjab.”

He saw that Keshub was busy with the people who were admiring the reallywonderful display of weapons in the glass cases, and that the otherguard was staring at the people over there. No one was taking any noticeof himself.

“All the better,” he thought.

He edged around the wall till he stood in front of the red velvetcurtains. Then he gently pulled them apart and looked behind. What hesaw was the gilt railings of a door that evidently belonged to anelevator. The elevator car was above, on another floor.

“One of those automatic affairs,” he thought. “Well, all the better. I’mgoing up. If one of the guests is entitled to ride in the elevator, itought to be all right for another. Anyhow, I can easily explain that Isupposed we were all to go up here, if there is any question.”

He pressed an electric button, and the car slid noiselessly down. Thecoming down of the car released a latch on the railed door, and Nickpulled it open. Taking his place in the car, he pressed a button inside,and was wafted upward.

The elevator was so delicately adjusted that it made not the slightestnoise, and it stopped at the next floor above without a jar. There werethick curtains outside, like those below. Also a railed door.

Gently, Nick opened the door and stood inside the curtains, listening.He caught a low murmur of voices, which told him that the speakers wereat some distance.

He opened the curtains a little way, and then stepped between them. Hewas in a dimly lighted room, with a red lantern giving the onlyillumination. At one end were heavy portières draped back, so that hecould look beyond, into another room.

In the farther room he saw that there were idols of all sizes and kinds.He remembered that Ched Ramar’s collection of idols was said to be thefinest possessed by any private person in New York. Moreover, each idolhad a history.

Standing, with their backs to him, were Clarice Bentham and Ched Ramarhimself. The latter was pointing to one immense image of Buddha whichfaced the opening in the curtains. He was talking in a low earnest tone,and it seemed to Nick as if the girl were completely entranced by thegreat, golden figure and the words that poured from the grave lips ofthe Indian.

“I can’t hear what he is saying,” muttered the detective. “I suppose theway to find out is to step forward and show myself. And yet——”

At this instant the low tones of Ched Ramar changed[Pg 9] to loud, clearaccents, delivered in a matter-of-fact way, as he waved his hand towardthe Buddha.

“That Buddha and other things in this room will interest you for sometime, Miss Bentham, I have no doubt,” he said. “But I can hardly remainaway from my guests. I will leave you alone. When you are ready to comedown, you know how to work the elevator. Although it is possible thatsome of the other ladies below will be up to see the idols before youhave finished looking at them.”

“Oh, but I don’t know whether I dare be left here alone with thesedreadful things,” she protested, with a shudder. “I’m rather afraid ofthem.”

Ched Ramar laughed good-naturedly as he shook his head at her.

“I beg your pardon for laughing, Miss Bentham,” he said. “But, really, Ihad never thought of my poor idols in that light before. These thingsthat so many thousands of people in Asia believe can save them from allill, and bring succor to them in distress—surely ought not to frightenany one, even an American young lady. But, if you are timid, why, I’lltake you down at once.”

This offer seemed to bring Clarice to herself. She was ashamed of herapprehensions, and Nick saw her shoulders stiffen as she declared, in aresolute voice:

“No, I’ll stay till I’ve looked at all of them. I hope you won’t thinkI’m a coward. When I said I was afraid I meant that I felt a sort ofawe. I should think most persons would experience some such feeling onbeholding all these strange figures for the first time. No doubt, if Ilived in Tibet, or wherever these images come from, I should regard themonly with reverence, and believe in them as sacred guardians, like theothers who have been familiar with them from childhood.”

Nick Carter slipped behind a tall vase on a stand close to where he hadbeen standing. He saw that Ched Ramar was about to go downstairs, and hedid not want to be seen.

“I’ll stay up here till she has finished her examination,” he thought.“Then, if she should get frightened—as she may when she is alone—I’llstep forward and try to give her courage. She knows me only as DoctorHodgson, and I flatter myself I took the part of a grave and reverendmedico pretty nearly to perfection.”

Ched Ramar, with a low bow, turned away from the girl, strode to the redvelvet curtains, and pulled open the railed door. That was the last Nicksaw of him, for the curtains fell together before he had stepped intothe elevator.

Clarice, her two delicate, white-gloved hands interlocked behind her,stood gazing thoughtfully at the gigantic Buddha.

CHAPTER III.

WHAT THE BUDDHA SAID.

The Buddha was a work that would have attracted special attention in anycollection. If it had been in a public museum, there is no doubt therewould have been a crowd in front of it most of the time.

It was on a dais of its own, a giant statue of a squatting Buddha,wrought in hammered brass, with an enormous sapphire in the middle ofits great forehead. The sapphire alone must have been worth an immensesum, just as a jewel.[Pg 10]

The figure reached almost from floor to ceiling, so that the sapphirewas very high. If one wished to look at the jewel at close range—andmost persons who entered this room did want to do so—he had to climb asmall stepladder which stood conveniently at one side. Nick saw the girllooking at this ladder, and he was about to make his presence known sothat he could move it for her, when she carried it over herself to thefront of the image and placed it firmly for use.

“No timidity about that girl,” thought the detective. “Ched Ramarneedn’t get that idea into his head.”

Unlike most statues of Buddha, the eyes of this one were not closed.They were merely skillfully made openings, which, in the gloom of theroom, might easily be imagined to have cruel, shifty eyes in theirdepths.

“I must go up and look at that sapphire,” the girl said aloud. “I neversaw such a magnificent jewel in my life before. I have heard that theyhave precious stones in India that are never equaled anywhere else, andI can believe that now. What a heavenly blue! Yet I wish those eyesweren’t there. Pshaw! They are only holes! I believe I am a coward,after all.”

This thought seemed to put courage into her, for she had her foot on thebottom step of the ladder even as she spoke. She did not go up at once,however. Standing at the bottom of the ladder, with one foot on thestep, she looked up at the face of the idol in a reverie that was halffascination and half repulsion.

“I’ve got to go up and look at that sapphire!” she breathed at last.“Besides, I want to look at its face close. I feel as if I must.”

With her hands out to steady herself, so that they touched the knees ofthe great figure, she went slowly upward, hesitating at each step. Shecould not have told why she went up so slowly and uncertainly. It seemedas if there were a power greater than her own controlling her movements.

It seemed to Nick as if the blue light of the sapphire changed to ahorrible green as the girl drew her face level with the great brassvisage of the statue.

“Pshaw!” he murmured. “It was only the shadow of her head. But in such aplace as this one might imagine anything.”

Up a little higher she went, and, as one hand hung rigidly at her side,the other rested on the shoulder of the god. It was an incongruouspicture they made—the beautiful young American girl seeminglyexchanging confidences with this grotesque representation of a deitycoming down through countless ages.

Suddenly a hollow voice seemed to fill the room. It came from thesneering, parted lips of the image. There could be no doubt of that. Thedetective involuntarily tried to get a little nearer, to catch what thewords were.

Clarice was gazing intently into the eye sockets of the idol. Shesaw—what was not visible to Carter where he stood—two staring eyesthat were alive!

“You will obey—obey—obey!”

The voice sounded like the distant murmur of rushing waters. It wasrather that of some strange, unearthly being than of anything human.

“I will obey,” replied the girl, in a dull monotone.

To Nick it sounded as if she were talking in her sleep, but she neverrelaxed her hold on the brazen shoulder, and she stood perfectly uprighton the stepladder.[Pg 11]

“It is well,” went on the mysterious voice. “You know what to do. Followthe instructions that will come to you later.”

“How am I to know?” she gasped.

“Listen! Bring your face close to my lips. What I have to tell is foryou alone.”

Nick Carter thought he heard her utter a low cry of terror and protest.But immediately afterward she pressed her beautiful, warm cheek againstthe brazen mouth of the image, and Nick saw in her eyes that she was notcognizant of anything save the message that had already begun to come toher.

The detective made an impulsive step forward. Should he dash up thesteps, drag the girl away, and see for himself what this strange scenemeant?

He knew that the whole contrivance was some fiendish trick. But who hadarranged it, and why, was beyond him. Ched Ramar was a man of highstanding in the scientific world—even though he had not been long knownin New York. It was inconceivable that he could have any evil purpose inall this. And yet—what was it all about?

If it was an experiment of some kind, to prove a scientific or psychictheory, then certainly this East Indian must not be allowed to work itout with the aid of this innocent young girl. Still, it was not for him,Nick Carter, to interfere, until he knew. All he could do was to watch,and be ready to give help if it should be needed. He kept still andwaited.

For two or three minutes the girl stood there, while a low murmurreached Nick’s ears, telling him that the image—or somebody insideit—was talking to Clarice Bentham.

At last she moved back, and again came the distinct words: “You willobey!”

“I will obey,” she replied.

“It is well. Before you leave this house, a small gold image of myselfwill be placed in your hands. Each afternoon, at six o’clock, you willlook into its eyes. As you do so, you will be subject to my will. Itwill be my eyes you will see there.”

“Bunk!” muttered Nick Carter.

“If I have any orders for you,” continued the voice, “you will hear mysuggestions, for at that very moment I shall be sending mental messages.If I have none for you, you will put the image away—until the nextafternoon. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“That is all. You will forget all about this—that you have looked intomy eyes and heard my voice. You will not remember how long you have beenstanding up here, and you will not recall anything when the small imageis given to you. Now! Awake!”

Clarice’s right hand passed over her eyes, and she stared at the idolcuriously. Then she looked around, and Nick Carter saw that her gaze wasnormal. She seemed to be quite her usual self. He stepped forward andspoke to her.

“Taking a close view of that statue, Miss Bentham?”

“Yes, Doctor Hodgson! It is a wonderful piece of work, isn’t it? And noone can tell how old it is. That sapphire in its forehead attracted me,and I felt as if I must look at it from the ladder. You have to allowfor feminine curiosity, you know,” she laughed.

“Masculine curiosity would impel me to go up there,[Pg 12]” returned Nick,with a smile. “Indeed, it was curiosity of that kind that brought meinto this room just this moment. I found the elevator, and I was boldenough to make use of it. I am glad I was, for I should not like to havemissed this room. Ched Ramar has a wonderful house.”

Nick made this remark about only just having come up because he did notknow who might be listening. If a man could get inside that statue andpretend the statue itself was speaking, it was quite possible that hewas now hiding somewhere else within hearing.

The girl came down the steps, and Carter had placed his foot on thebottom one, intending to go up, to look into the cavernous depths of theeye sockets himself, when the curtains in front of the elevator parted,and Ched Ramar came into the room. He brought with him Matthew Benthamand Mrs. Morrison.

The latter ran forward as she saw Clarice. Then she stopped abruptly, asher gaze fell upon the immense brass statue.

“Mercy! What an awful-looking thing! It’s an idol, isn’t it? I waswondering where you’d gone, Clarice. So was your father. How did youfind your way up here alone?”

“She did not come alone,” broke in Ched Ramar, smiling gravely. “I ledher up here. Then I left her for a moment to bring you and Mr. Bentham.I was going to ask Doctor Hodgson, too, but he anticipated me, I see,”he added, with a bow to Nick Carter.

“I have just come up,” responded Nick. “This Buddha is worth seeing, andI’m glad I found my way here.”

“Yes,” was Ched Ramar’s reply. “This is an extremely ancient image ofthe god. It was captured during a Tartar raid many centuries ago. It isreputed to possess marvelous occult powers. I would not dare to denythat that is untrue. The sapphire in its forehead is, I believe, one ofthe finest specimens in existence.”

“Aren’t you afraid the sapphire may be stolen?” asked Mrs. Morrison,fascinated by the blazing beauty of the jewel. “I should think a thiefwould risk a great deal to get it.”

Ched Ramar smiled significantly.

“Any thief who thinks he can get it, is welcome to try,” he said, withgreat confidence. “This Buddha is able to take care of itself and ofeverything it possesses. You remember what I said just now—that it issupposed to be endowed with strange powers. But let me show yousomething else. I am rather proud of this room. It contains the finestspecimens in my collection of antiques.”

He went to a table in a distant corner, and came back, carrying a verysmall gold idol in his long fingers. The image was exquisitely wrought,and so much soul had the artist put into his work that, from certainangles, the diminutive god seemed actually to be alive.

“What a beautiful thing!” ejacul*ted Clarice, as she bent nearer to theidol. “And what wonderful eyes!”

There were eyes in the sockets, and they seemed to goggle and stare asone looked into the gold face. Everybody examined the image separately,as it was passed from hand to hand, but it was only Nick Carter whonoted that the colored iris of each eye was an exact duplicate, in toneand shape, of those belonging to the grave East Indian student whocalled himself Ched Ramar.

Clarice, more than any of the others, seemed to be[Pg 13] taken with thebeauty of the golden idol. She stood, holding it in her hands and gazingin silent admiration, as if she were fascinated.

“Miss Bentham seems to like my poor specimen. Will she honor me byaccepting it?”

“Why, I—I—don’t think I should,” she protested, making as if she wouldput it down. “It is too valuable. It would be too much. I reallycouldn’t take such a priceless——”

“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Morrison, turning from some other images shehad been looking at on a table near her. “What did you say, Clarice?”

“Professor Ched Ramar has asked me to accept this exquisite gold idol,aunt. I couldn’t—could I?”

“No, I think not, dear,” returned Mrs. Morrison. “It is such a wonderfuland costly thing, that——”

“It pains me that you decline,” murmured Ched Ramar. “If I haveoffended, I am sorry—deeply sorry. But my excuse must be that it is acustom of my country to offer trifling gifts like this to ladies whoseem to admire them. You understand, I hope?”

Mrs. Morrison looked from the tall, dark Indian to her niece, and seemedto make up her mind with a jerk.

“Yes, I think I understand,” she answered. “Of course, if it is theIndian custom, that makes a difference.” Then, turning to Clarice, shewent on: “I think you may accept it, Clarice. And, I may add, that it isan opportunity which does not often come to a girl.”

Ched Ramar put the idol in Clarice’s hands, and she held it before herwith an expression of rapturous delight in her fair face.

“How can I thank you?” she murmured.

“Oh, it is nothing,” declared Ched Ramar, putting up his hands with aprotesting gesture. “Let us go down again. There are some pieces ofjade—vases—that I don’t think I have shown you, and that I should feelhonored if you and Mrs. Morrison would take with you as mementos of thisevening.”

When, half an hour later, the party left the house, the two ladies hadthe magnificently carved jade vases to which Ched Ramar had referred.But Clarice held clasped to her bosom, as if she feared she might loseit, the gold idol that seemed to have been merely an uncontemplatedgift, but which Nick Carter remembered had been promised to her by thestrange voice from the lips of the gigantic Buddha.

“I wonder just how far thought transference and hypnotism really cango?” he said, as he entered his library and lighted a cigar, an hour orso afterward.

CHAPTER IV.

AN EARLY-MORNING CALL.

It was a custom of Nick Carter to take a brisk walk by himself in theearly morning when he had been able to get to bed at a reasonable hourthe night before. In accordance with this habit he was out of the houseand on his way to Madison Square before seven the day after his visit,with the Benthams and Mrs. Morrison, to the home of Ched Ramar, inBrooklyn.

The grass looked and smelled fresh at that hour, for it was a brightmorning, and there had been a light shower of rain during the night,which had freshened the verdure and flowers, and brought out theirfragrance more than[Pg 14] usual. The detective enjoyed a stroll about thelittle park, and his thoughts were clearer than they would have been ina room. At least, he believed they were.

“Hypnotism!” he mused, half aloud. “That is the explanation, no doubt.But it doesn’t make everything clear. For instance, it doesn’t tell mewho this Ched Ramar really is. I looked at him closely last night, and Icouldn’t see anything in him that warranted my doubting him.Nevertheless, I do doubt him—from the top of his turban to the heelsof his slippers.”

He took another turn up the path he had chosen for his stroll, in arather retired part of the square, before he resumed his half-audiblecogitations. Then he went on slowly:

“It is fortunate for society that the understanding of hypnotism restschiefly in the hands of men who are to be trusted. Were its power to bewielded to any great extent by criminals, there would be many innocenttools of lawbreakers. It may be that Clarice Bentham is one of them. Ihope not, but it looks suspicious.

“The greatest tragedy is that, while under the dominion of another’swill, the hypnotic subject has no realization of its doings, and, whenconsciousness returns, no remembrance. Well, if Ched Ramar is takingadvantage of that young girl’s innocence of the ways of the world tomake her do things she would shrink from under ordinary circ*mstances, Idon’t think it will be well for Ched Ramar. In fact—— Hello! What’sthe trouble now? Here comes Chick!”

Indeed, Chick came hurrying along the path at a pace that told he hadsomething important to communicate—even if his face had not shown thathe was excited.

“Telephone, chief!” cried Chick, as soon as he came within hearing. “Itis Professor Matthew Bentham. Wanted to know if you could see him if hecame. I told him you were out just then, but I believed I could findyou.”

“Yes?”

“I also said that I had no doubt you would see him, and that he’d bettercome over from Brooklyn—that’s where he lives—and get to our house bythe time you were there.”

“That was right. Did he say he would come?”

“Yes. He said he would come over in his motor car and be there in a fewminutes.”

So well had Matthew Bentham timed himself that his car drew up in frontof the Madison Avenue house just as Nick Carter and Chick walked up fromMadison Square. The three entered the house together, while thechauffeur kept the car at the curb, to wait.

“It’s gone!” were Matthew Bentham’s first words, as soon as they were inthe library. “I’ve just found it out.”

“You mean the package of papers sent by Andrew Anderton?”

“Yes. There are not many things would have made me trouble you at thistime of the morning, so you can easily guess. I was tired when I gothome last night, after that reception at Ched Ramar’s, or I would havelooked then to see that the records were safe. But I went to the placewhere I had put them the first thing this morning, even beforebreakfast.”

“In a secret place?”

“Yes. The one I told you about yesterday afternoon.[Pg 15]”

“Did you say nobody knew where they were but yourself? Think hard,please. You are quite sure you have never let it out to your daughter,for instance?”

“I told you yesterday that I have been careful to keep it from her—forher own sake. She has not the slightest idea where I kept those papers.”

“What is the name of the boy who does odd jobs about your house—andsleeps away?” asked Nick, with seeming irrelevance.

“Swagara.”

“Curious name. What countryman is he?”

“Japanese.”

Nick Carter started and looked hard at the professor. Then he smiledgrimly, as he asked:

“Where did the boy come from? How did you get him?”

“An employment agency in New York. He had been a valet for a theatricalman before he came to me. But he didn’t like traveling, and he waswilling to do the menial work I require rather than go on the roadagain. He wanted to stay in New York, so that he could study moreconveniently. He is a bright chap, and he speaks German and French, aswell as English and his own native tongue.”

“He brought good references, I suppose?”

“Unimpeachable,” was Bentham’s prompt reply. “He has been in thiscountry three years, and there are many persons in Brooklyn who knew himbefore he went with the theatrical man, Goddard. They all speak well ofSwagara. He attended a college there, studying languages, and everybodysays he was marvelously quick.”

“I don’t doubt it,” was Nick Carter’s dry response. “However, pleasetell me all the facts of this case. Then we will see what we can do.”

“There is nothing to tell, except that the records sent to me by myfriend Andrew Anderton, just before his death, have been stolen from myhome since yesterday afternoon, when I last looked at them. The theftmay have been committed while we were at Ched Ramar’s, or afterward,when we were asleep.”

“Who was in the house while you were at Ched Ramar’s? This Japanese ofyours, Swagara?”

“No. Only the two maids—the cook and the general servant. They wouldnever touch anything. We’ve had them a long time. Besides, I’ve seenthem proof against all kinds of accidental temptations. They could haverobbed me hundreds of times if they had been criminally disposed. Youmay as well cut them out of the list of possible thieves, Carter.”

“I have cut them out,” replied Nick.

“And Swagara, too?”

“Not yet. I should like to know a little more about Swagara. You aresure he was not in the house while you were away?”

“Quite.”

“How do you know?”

“He has proved an alibi—without trying to do so. He mentioned that hewas visiting a fellow countryman of his who is employed at Yonkers, andthat he did not get home till two o’clock this morning. This friend ofhis is in the service of a friend of mine, and I had him on thetelephone just before I came out this afternoon. Swagara did not leavethe house in Yonkers till one o’clock. He and his chum sat in thekitchen, talking till that hour. My friend happened to have company,and[Pg 16] he did not go to bed till Swagara left. So he knows. I was home byone.”

“That settles that, then,” agreed Nick. “We must look elsewhere. By theway, have you ever heard exactly how Andrew Anderton died?”

“No. I was told that he died of heart failure. But from what I haveheard about Sang Tu and the Yellow Tong, and of its hatred for Anderton,I am inclined to think that hideous Chinese organization was somehowresponsible for his death.”

“It was responsible,” declared the detective. “Wait a moment. I want toshow you something.”

He went to his iron safe, and, twisting the combination knob for a fewseconds, opened the great door. Then, after using a key he carried onhis key ring to open one drawer within another, he brought out a smalltin box and placed it on the table.

“Don’t touch what I am about to show you, Mr. Bentham,” he warned. “Itis dangerous.”

When he opened the box, he held it close to his visitor. Inside were twolong, glittering needles, crossed and held together at the point ofcontact.

“Harmless-looking things, aren’t they?” asked Nick. “Yet it was thesethat killed Andrew Anderton. Well, not these exactly, but two needles ofthe same kind. They are poisoned, so that even a slight scratch with oneof the points will cause instant unconsciousness, followed by death in afew seconds.”

“Who did it?”

“That has never been found out. Two men concerned in the murder havepaid the penalty. But the one at the back of it all is still at large.We shall get him, but we haven’t done it yet. I only mentioned this toconvince you that the power which put Andrew Anderton out of the worldis not likely to hesitate at breaking into your house and stealing therecords that were the cause of his assassination.”

“The crossed needles,” murmured Bentham musingly. “I have heard of them.But I did not really believe they were in use in New York. They are acheerful feature of certain phases of life in China, I understand. Iheard a guest of mine talking about them the other night. He was aChinese professor from Peking, introduced by a member of the OrientalAssociation.”

“What was his name?” asked Nick casually.

“Upon my word, I forget. Something like Ning Po, though I don’t thinkthat was it exactly.”

“Not Sang Tu?”

“No, indeed,” replied Bentham, with a slight smile, as he shook hishead. “You don’t suppose I should receive the head of the Yellow Tong inmy house without knowing who he was? This Professor Ning Po—or whateverhis name was—did not look the kind of man to be connected with such aninfamous organization. He was a very mild sort of man, blinking behindlarge spectacles, and a decidedly entertaining personage.”

“I should like to have seen him.”

“I think you would have found him worth while. He has made himselffamous by his translations of ancient Chinese literature into English. Ihope to see him again. I enjoyed his conversation very much.”

“Was Professor Ning Po, by any chance, alone in the room in which youhave these records hidden, at any time, during that evening?” askedNick, with one of those sudden changes of topic that he often indulgedin when[Pg 17] working on a puzzling case. “I don’t ask which room that was.”

“It was the library,” replied Bentham. “I was about to tell you that. Infact, I should like to show you the secret place where I kept thepackage of papers, if you can spare time to come with me.”

“I shall spare the time, of course. I could not give you much help, I amafraid, unless I had your entire confidence. That means that I want tosee the receptacle from which the thieves took the papers. You have notbreakfasted, I think you said?”

“No, I was too anxious. I just hurried right out, to see you, withoutthinking about breakfast.”

“Nevertheless, it is not well to work seriously without proper meals.Will you honor me by taking breakfast here?”

“Thank you, I will,” answered Matthew Bentham. “Now that I have confidedthe case to your hands, I am not so worried, and my appetite seems to bereturning.”

CHAPTER V.

THE HOLLOW TABLE LEG.

When Matthew Bentham’s motor car left Nick Carter’s house, it held,besides Bentham, the chauffeur, and Nick, the latter’s assistant, Chick.

The detective had explained that he often found Chick’s quickobservation of inestimable benefit, and Bentham had been only toowilling for him to accompany them.

“I confess the whole thing is such a puzzle to me that I cannot see howeven you are to get to the bottom of it,” he remarked, as the car sweptover the Manhattan Bridge. “Perhaps Mr. Chick will see into the problem.At all events, the more there are working on it, the better chance thereseems to be of success.”

Once in the library in Matthew Bentham’s house, with the door locked,and only Bentham, Carter, and Chick in the room, the detective proceededto make a close examination of the window. There was only one window,and it overlooked a garden at the back of the house.

Access to this garden could be obtained from the street through a narrowpassageway at the side of the house, which was guarded by a high woodengate, with a row of spikes on top. The gate had a spring lock, whichcould be opened from without only by a key.

“The window has an electric burglar alarm, Carter,” observed Bentham, asNick began to look it over. “There was no indication that it had beentampered with when I examined it this morning. The catch was properlysecured, too. I can’t think the thief got in that way.”

Nick Carter did not reply. Instead, he called to Chick, and throwingopen the window, went through and dropped to the garden beneath.

“Come down here, Chick, and look around,” he directed.

The ground below the window had been newly sown with seed, and as yetwas only sparsely covered with grass. Mr. Bentham intended to have asmall patch of lawn there eventually. So soft was the soil that thefootprints of sparrows who had been digging up the grass seed wereplainly revealed.

“No footprints, so far as I can see, chief,” remarked Chick. “If any onehad been here, his heels would sink in a couple of inches.”

“That’s true, Chick. I agree with you. But I guess we’ll make sure noone has been in the garden. Look[Pg 18] all over it on that side, and I’ll dothe same on the other.”

In about ten minutes both of them were in the library again, with thewindow closed.

“Now will you show me the place in which you hid the papers?” asked NickCarter, in a businesslike way. “But, if you don’t wish my assistant toknow, he will step outside the room.”

“I don’t wish him to do so,” interrupted Bentham. “Why should I? This isa confidential affair, and certainly Mr. Chick is in my confidence whenI know he has proved himself worthy of yours.”

He pulled down the window shade, and added to his precaution by closinga solid, wooden shutter inside. Then he hung a velvet jacket hegenerally wore in the library on the handle of the door, so that itcovered the keyhole.

“I am not afraid of anybody eavesdropping,” he explained. “But I do notwant you to feel that it is possible. We are quite sure nobody can peekin here now.”

He pulled out the drawer of his massive, mahogany library table and laidit on a chair. Then he thrust his hand into the opening and pressed in acertain spot. His next move was to replace the drawer, following this byclasping with fingers the thick, round leg on his right as he sat at thetable.

It seemed to take considerable strength to accomplish his purpose, andit was several seconds before he slid the front of the leg around,disclosing an opening in it some ten inches long and three wide. Thispart of the table leg was hollow.

“There is the place, Carter. You see that it is empty.”

“Has anything about the table been forced?” asked the detective. “Or wasthe table leg opened in the same way that you did it just now, bypressing certain buttons and unscrewing part of the leg?”

“Nothing has been injured, so far as I can see,” returned Bentham. “Letme show you just how it works.”

He took out the table drawer again, and Nick Carter, flash light inhand, peered under the table. It did not take him a moment to understandthe ingenious contrivance.

“You see, what adds to the security of this table-leg cupboard, is thatthe drawer must not only be taken out, but also put back, before theopening can be made,” said Bentham. “It is not the kind of thing thatcould be discovered accidentally.”

“That is apparent,” agreed Nick. “Whoever stole those papers knew justhow to get at them. Would you mind asking Miss Bentham to come into thelibrary for a few moments?”

“I will do so if you wish it,” was the reply. “But Clarice cannot helpus. She did not know anything about the papers being gone till I toldher, and she had no idea even then of their great importance.”

He rang the bell as he spoke, and in a minute a fresh-looking maid camein and looked inquiringly at Matthew Bentham.

Nick Carter decided that it would be hard to suspect this maid of beingmixed up in the affair. Obviously, she was the sort of girl who wouldattend to her work conscientiously, and think of nothing else after itwas done except her personal affairs—new clothes, and so forth.

“Mary, ask Miss Clarice to step here,” requested Bentham.[Pg 19]

Almost directly, Clarice Bentham came into the room, followed by heraunt, Mrs. Morrison.

“I took the liberty of coming with Clarice, Matthew,” explained Mrs.Morrison. “I have not gone home yet, and I am very anxious to knowwhether you have found out anything about your papers.”

Nick Carter bowed to Mrs. Morrison and Clarice. They returned his bowwith smiles, for both of them knew that the famous detective, NickCarter, was in the house. Neither had the slightest idea that thiskeen-faced man, with the brisk manner, was the rather slow-spoken DoctorHodgson whom they had seen last night. It was not the detective’sintention that they should know it, either.

“I am sorry to trouble you, Miss Bentham,” he began. “But it occurred tome that it might be worth while hearing what Professor Ched Ramar saidto you last night when you were examining the big statue of Buddha inhis famous idol room. Everybody has heard of that wonderful image. Yourfather tells me you examined it closely.”

“I did,” she admitted readily. “Professor Ched Ramar showed it to mehimself. He only told me that it was a fine specimen. Then he went away.When I was alone, I climbed up to look at the face of the idol, andDoctor Hodgson, who came into the room, spoke to me about it in ageneral way. Professor Ched Ramar also came in, with my aunt, Mrs.Morrison, and my father. Ched Ramar afterward gave me a small goldidol.”

“Yes? Was Doctor Hodgson there at the time?”

“I believe so. But I am quite sure Doctor Hodgson had nothing to do withthe loss of these papers, any more than Ched Ramar had. You don’t thinkmy visit last night had any connection with the burglary, do you?” sheadded, with a quizzical smile.

He passed over this query, as if it were too absurd to be takenseriously, and turned the conversation by hoping that the ladies werenot fatigued by their examination of Ched Ramar’s antiques the nightbefore.

“That sort of thing always tires me excessively,” he explained. “I amafraid I ought not to have come to you so early in the morningafterward.”

“This is not early, Mr. Carter,” protested Clarice, still smiling. “I amashamed to be so late. We have only just finished breakfast. By the way,here is the gold idol that was given to me. I was looking at it just nowwhen Mary told me I was wanted in the library, and I forgot to put itdown.”

She passed the idol to Nick Carter, and he stared at it intently for afew seconds, as he tried to understand why the eyes looked so human,although he knew they were only of skillfully fashioned glass.

“I will not detain Miss Bentham any longer,” he said to Bentham. “It washardly worth while to trouble her at all. But I thought possibly shemight have heard something that would put us on the right track.”

“You surely don’t suspect Professor Ched Ramar of stealing papa’spapers, do you, Mr. Carter?” she asked, laughing. “I hope you’ll pardonme if I say that you seem to look suspiciously at everybody. That is theway it strikes me now. But I know it is the only way to find out things,and I do hope you will find papa’s valuable papers. I hate to see him soworried.”

With a playful wave of the hand to Nick Carter, as if she were askinghis pardon again for speaking so bluntly,[Pg 20] the girl went out of theroom, followed by her rather stately aunt, and Chick whistled softly tohimself.

“She’s a mighty pretty girl,” he muttered. “But she’s rather too freshin the way she talks to the chief. He never suspects anybody withoutvery good reason.”

CHAPTER VI.

BROKEN THREADS.

For five minutes after Clarice and Mrs. Morrison had left the library,Nick Carter sat in front of the table in a brown study. He felt as if hehad run against a brick wall, and that it would take some climbing toget over it.

“Chick,” he said, at last, “suppose you go down into the kitchen regionsand interview the Japanese young man you’ll find down there. His name isSwagara. Find out if he has any Chinese friends, and whether he knowsChed Ramar. Don’t be rough with him. Lead him on gently. Understand?”

“Yes. That’s clear enough,” replied Chick.

“You are wasting your time with Swagara, I’m sure,” put in Bentham.“I’ll answer for him.”

“It is from apparently unlikely sources that valuable information oftenis obtained,” answered Nick Carter quietly. “Oh, and by the way, Chick.”

He walked over to the door, where Chick already had his hand on theknob, and spoke quietly to him for a few moments. Then Chick noddedcomprehendingly and went out.

“While Chick is talking to Swagara, will you have the cook and Mary uphere? I should like to question them in the presence of each other. No,”continued Nick, with a smile, as he saw a peculiar expression in MatthewBentham’s face, “it isn’t that I want them to contradict each other, andso prove that they are not telling the truth. In their nervousness theyare likely to tell different stories. My object is to get at the exacttruth by letting one remind the other of details she may have forgotten.I believe both those young women are honest.”

The cook was a woman of thirty-five or so, while Mary was ten yearsyounger. When they came into the library, Nick Carter politely gave themchairs side by side. Then he took a seat at the table and looked themover judicially.

“I am sorry to say,” he opened, “that Mr. Bentham has lost something ofvalue, and he has permitted me to ask you a few questions. Of course,not a shadow of suspicion attaches to anybody in the house, but we haveasked everybody to help. Miss Bentham and Mrs. Morrison have just toldme all they know—which is nothing at all. It may be the same with you,but you won’t mind my asking you a few things, I am sure.”

This diplomatic way of putting it disarmed the two young women at once.The cook, in particular, would have fiercely resented the slightestintimation that she could touch anything which was not her own, and Marywould not have been far behind.

“We shall be glad to tell anything that will help,” replied the cook,who answered to the name of Maggie, and whose surname was Quinn. “But Ido not think either me or Mary can be of much help. What was it you werewanting to know, sir?”

“Will you both cast your minds back to last night? Begin at ten o’clock,after Mr. Bentham, Miss Clarice, and Mrs. Morrison had gone out, andthink carefully. Did[Pg 21] anything whatsoever happen which was at all out ofthe ordinary? Remember that what may seem of no moment to you may be ofimportance to us. Please go over every moment.”

“I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary,” replied the cook. “Iwent around, with Mary, to see that all the doors and windows werefastened. Then we went to bed.”

“That’s so,” confirmed Mary. “We both went to bed.”

“And slept soundly all night?”

“Yes,” replied Mary. “Except——” she stopped.

“Yes?” prompted Nick. “Except what?”

“Well, we generally get up at seven o’clock. But something woke me atsix this morning, and I looked out of our window, which is in the frontof the house, on the top floor.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing much, except Miss Clarice walking away from the front door, andgoing fast down the avenue, to where the street cars pass. It wasn’tanything remarkable, except that she doesn’t often go out so early asthat.”

“I never knowed her to do it before,” put in the cook.

“Especially after being out so late the night before,” added Mary.

“You’d think she’d be tired,” remarked Maggie.

“Too tired to get up before six in the morning,” supplemented Mary.

“Where did she go when she went down the avenue?” asked Nick. “Did yousee whether she got on a car?”

“I didn’t see, sir,” was Mary’s reply. “But it would have been easy todo, if she wanted to.”

“Look here, Carter!” interrupted Bentham impatiently. “This is sheerwaste of time. What if my daughter did take an early-morning walk? Thereis nothing remarkable in that. She is a healthy young girl, with a loveof nature. When can you enjoy nature better than in the beginning of afine day? But it has nothing to do with this loss of my papers. Howcould it have any bearing on such a matter?”

“Still, I should like to know,” insisted Nick. “This is all I want toask of these two young women, but I should like a few more words withMiss Bentham. Perhaps Mary will tell her so when she goes out?”

Mary looked inquiringly at her employer. He nodded savagely, and Maryand Maggie left the room.

When Clarice came in, a few moments later, she appeared to be slightlysurprised, but she took the chair her father pointed to without remark.

“Mr. Carter desires to ask you one or two more questions, my dear,”blurted out her father angrily. “I don’t see the necessity, but perhapsI shall understand later.”

His accent and manner said, plainly enough, that he did not expect to beconvinced, but he meant to give Nick Carter all the opportunity hesought.

“I shall be only too pleased to tell you anything I can, Mr. Carter,”she said. “But I feel as if I have given you all the information Ihave—which is simply nothing at all.”

“We can’t always tell at the beginning,” returned Nick. “I will not takeup much time, but there are one or two things I wanted to discuss withyou, if you don’t mind. You went for a walk this morning earlier than isyour custom, I believe?”

“Yes. But why do you ask?”

She smiled as she put this query, in the manner of one[Pg 22] who feelssomething like pity for a puerile question. The detective was notdisturbed, however. He continued his questioning in an even tone:

“Did you go for any special purpose, or merely for the benefit of theexercise?”

She pondered for a few moments, as if this was something that had notoccurred to her. A slightly troubled look clouded her pretty face.

“I really cannot say exactly, Mr. Carter. But I think it was onlybecause the beautiful morning tempted me. I went to bed late lastnight—or, rather, this morning. But it is often the case with me that,when I retire much later than my usual time, I am awake several hoursearlier in the morning. When I wake, I always want to get up.”

“H’m!” muttered Nick Carter. “There is reason in that. I am often thesame way.” Then, in a more brisk tone: “Do you mind telling me where youwent?”

“I don’t mind at all. I went down this avenue till I got to where thetrolley cars pass. It had been my intention to go into the park for tenminutes or so. But I thought it would be pleasanter to ride in one ofthe open cars for a few blocks, and come back in the same manner. So Istepped on a car.”

“A Brooklyn Heights car?”

“Yes. It was going in that direction.”

“Do you remember where you got off the car, and what you did then?”

The girl shook her head, with a smile, and held out her two handsprotestingly.

“Actually, Mr. Carter, I cannot tell. I must have been so absorbed in myown thoughts that I didn’t notice how far the car went, or where I leftit. All I know is that I found myself at home again after a while, andthat I got off the car that brought me here at the corner, two blocksdown our avenue. I had been thinking about various things the wholetime, and I had performed my whole journey mechanically. It is not oftenI do that, but it has happened before, and if you had not asked me aboutit, I should not have given it any further thought.”

The sincerity of the girl was beyond question, and Nick Carter knew hecould not expect to find out anything more from her. His manner was easyand courteous, as he told her he was sorry to have troubled her, andbegged her not to think any more about him or his questions, either.

“I don’t mind the questions at all,” she declared. “If I could have toldyou anything that would be of assistance to my father, I should havebeen only too glad.”

“I am sure of that,” Nick assured her warmly.

When Clarice had gone out of the library, with a graceful bow and smilefor the detective, Matthew Bentham heaved a sigh of relief.

“I knew Clarice could not tell you anything that would have a bearing onthis case. I hope you will not consider it necessary to ask her anythingmore. She is of a nervous temperament, and I am always careful not to door say anything to distress her when it can be avoided.”

“Naturally,” said Nick. “But, as you saw, the few innocent questions Iput did not agitate her. As for the case as a whole, I confess it isvery baffling. I shall have to go home and think it over.”

“You think you will be able to recover the papers eventually, do younot? I suppose that is a foolish ques[Pg 23]tion, but I am so anxious that Icannot help saying what completely fills my mind.”

“I shall not rest until I have satisfied myself on several points thathave a direct bearing on the mystery. I am in hopes that when I havedone that, I shall have a report for you that will be valuable. I cannotsay any more than that at this stage. I will call you up as soon as Ihave something to communicate. Meanwhile, I should advise you not towalk about the streets or go into public places much.”

“I never do, for that matter,” replied Bentham. “You think some of theYellow Tong might get after me personally then, do you?”

“Have you a gun?”

“Yes. I got a permit to keep one in the house and to carry it, some timeago, when these burglaries began. Look!”

He showed a serviceable-looking automatic pistol in the table drawer, ina chamois bag. Nick saw that it was well supplied with cartridges andready for instant use.

“That’s well,” said the detective. “If any of the tong should find theirway to you and ask insolent questions, or if you should see anysuspicious movements on the part of any burglar, I should advise thatyou shoot first and ask questions afterward.”

Before Matthew Bentham could comment on this emphatic advice, Chick cameinto the room and showed, in a way that Nick Carter understood—althoughit meant nothing to Bentham—that he had something weighty tocommunicate.

The detective arose and nodded carelessly to Chick.

“Ready to go, eh, Chick? I was just saying ‘good morning’ to Mr.Bentham.”

“Did you find anything from Swagara?” asked Bentham, in a tone that toldplainly enough how surprised he would have been if the answer had beenin the affirmative.

“Swagara hadn’t anything to say of any consequence,” replied Chick, ashe and Nick Carter left the room and the house.

CHAPTER VII.

PATSY GETS INTO THE GAME.

“What did you find out from the Jap, Chick?” were the detective’s firstwords, as soon as they were well away from the front of Bentham’s home.

“Nothing. What I told Mr. Bentham just now was the absolute truth. But Ilearned something from the cook, Maggie. Swagara had to go out to getsome vegetables for her, and while he was away, Maggie loosened up.”

“Go on! Hurry up!” urged Nick. “What did she say?”

“Only that Swagara used to be employed by Ched Ramar, the Indianmillionaire. That is how Maggie describes him. She knew it throughanother cook—a cousin or sister of hers, I believe—who lives in thenext house to Ched Ramar. She’s seen Swagara go into the house, atnight, and I guess he’s been holding two jobs—one here and the other atChed Ramar’s.”

“Is he employed there still?”

“I couldn’t find that out. Maggie seems to be afraid to say much aboutChed. All she has been told is that he is a millionaire, and she hasthat only on the strength of the jewelry he wears when he goes out, andthe fact[Pg 24] that swell people visit him. He has not lived at that housevery long. When he moved in, about six weeks ago, all the things hebrought with him were truckloads of big packing cases. Some of thesewere as big as a house, according to Maggie’s cousin—or sister. Whenall those were in, furniture came from some big store. It was all new,and Maggie’s relative thinks it is only rented.”

Nick Carter had been listening so closely to Chick’s recital that theywere at the subway station they intended to go to before they knew it.He told Chick to save the rest till they were in a train. When the trainstarted with them, Chick resumed:

“Maggie says Swagara is a quiet young man, who doesn’t talk much. Butshe has never cared for him since she found he was sneaking away to worksomewhere else at night, when he ought to be resting, so as to be readyfor what he had to do at Mr. Bentham’s house the next day.”

“What time does he leave Bentham’s usually?” asked Nick.

“About half past eight. He gets there at nine in the morning, ready tobegin work after breakfast.”

“Where does he live?”

“He has a room in a street off Fulton, down near Borough Hall, Maggiesays. That’s all she knows about it. Of course, I had to get all thisout of her by degrees, and under the seal of confidence. I tried to makea good impression on Maggie,” continued Chick, with a grin, “and Iflatter myself she thinks I’m all right. I told her I was your clerk,and that I sometimes acted as a chauffeur.”

“Good!” commended Nick. “Half past eight, you say, Swagara leaves Mr.Bentham’s house at night?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to bring Swagara to our house when he leaves Bentham’sto-night, Chick. Have him in my library by nine, if you can.”

Chick did not express any astonishment at this order. Neither did heseem to have any doubt that he could fill it. He had been told to dostrange and difficult things so many times that there was nothing couldsurprise him now.

“All right, chief,” was all he said. “I’ll work it through Maggie.”

Nick Carter did not reply. He did not care how his instructions werecarried out, so long as he was obeyed.

When, after luncheon—which he took at his home, with Chick and PatsyGarvan, his other confidential assistant, for table companions—Chicksaid he was going out and would not be back till nine at night, mostlikely, the detective only nodded. He knew that Chick was going afterSwagara.

For some little time after the departure of Chick, the famous detectivebusied himself in looking over his mail, which he had not had time toattend to before, and Patsy Garvan helped him.

“Say, chief,” broke out Patsy, after working industriously for an hoursorting letters and putting them in their respective piles under NickCarter’s eye, “can’t you let me in on this Yellow Tong case again? I wasin it before, you know. Didn’t I make good then?”

“You certainly did, Patsy. I have no fault to find.”

“That’s what I thought. But, gee! You and Chick are having a lot ofthings doing with this Mr. Bentham, and I’m out of it. Of course, Iain’t kicking, because you[Pg 25] know what you want. But—gee!—I’d like toget into it. Ain’t there anything I can do?”

Nick Carter smiled as he tossed another letter across the table to thepleading Patsy.

“Put that letter in the ‘No-answer-required’ pile, and don’t getexcited,” he said. “I’m going to get you into this case to-night.”

“You are?” almost screamed Patsy. “Suffering crumpets! That’s healthynews. Where do I come in? Have I got to lick somebody? Or is it to bethe smooth and ‘Thanks-very-kindly’ stunt? Gee! When it comes to thefresh-laundried diplomatic game, with the honeyed words and eagle eye,you can count me in as standing on the pedestal, with both feet presseddown into the granite. Say, ‘Tact’ is my maiden name!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” smiled Nick Carter. “Because that is the qualityI expect you to use. Still, there might be a fight, too. I hope you arenot opposed to a scrap, if one should turn up.”

This was too much for Patsy. He could not reply. The bare idea that he,Patsy Garvan, who had licked all the boys of his weight and twentypounds over, in his part of the Bowery, before he was sixteen, wouldwant to sidestep a battle, completely choked him.

“All right, Patsy,” laughed Nick. “Don’t say anything.”

“Don’t say anything?” repeated Patsy, when at last he could get hisbreath. “No, I won’t say anything. I want to see the man that gets infront of me to-night and looks crooked. Gee! I’ll mash his face throughhis back hair. That’s what I’ll do!”

It was not till nine that night that Patsy knew what he was to do,however. That was when Chick led Swagara, the Japanese servant ofMatthew Bentham, into Nick Carter’s library, and gave him a chair infront of the detective’s table.

Swagara was a polite young man, of about Patsy Garvan’s size and build,who seemed to be rather anxious to get away as soon as possible.

“I have an engagement to-night,” he announced, in the precise English ofone who has not always known the language. “But Mr. Chickering told methat I should hear of something very much to my advantage if I camehere, and, of course, I came. I am ambitious, Mr. Carter, and I neverneglect anything that seems likely to help me along.”

Swagara made this admission quite freely. He seemed to be franknessitself. He smiled widely, and then waited for Nick Carter to saysomething else, blinking amiably through rather large spectacles.

“Your engagement is with Professor Ched Ramar,” remarked Nick Cartercasually. “How long have you been employed by him, Mr. Swagara?”

“Six weeks,” blurted out Swagara, evidently before he realized what hewas saying. “That is—I have been told not to say anything about it,” headded lamely.

“I know that. Ched Ramar doesn’t like his affairs talked about. But youare quite safe here. I know Ched Ramar, and he has no secrets from me—Imean, of an ordinary nature. You have been with him ever since he tookthat house in which he lives at present—on Brooklyn Heights. You nevermet him until you were recommended to him by somebody whom you do notknow. Ched Ramar has never told you how he came to know of you.”

This was all shooting in the dark for Nick Carter.[Pg 26] But he knew the waysof Ched Ramar. He had not been idle all day, and he had found out from afriend of his at police headquarters considerably about Ched Ramar’smethods. It is a way the police have—that of making a few secretinquiries about mysterious foreigners in New York who have plenty ofmoney and no particular apparent business.

“It was something like that,” confessed Swagara. “But not quite. ChedRamar saw me in a restaurant on the East Side of New York, where Isometimes play chess. He is a chess player, and he got into conversationwith me one night. It ended in my saying I wanted employment, andsoon—I don’t know how it was—I found myself engaged by him. I keep hisrooms in order, and I do anything he tells me.”

“Exactly. You do what he tells you, whether you want to do so or not.”

As Nick Carter spoke, he moved his hands quickly before Swagara’s face,at the same moment that he turned on it a fierce light from a crystaldisk set at a certain angle to the electric light over his desk.

Swagara stiffened in his chair. Then he heaved a deep sigh and fell fastasleep.

“A very easy subject,” observed Nick. “No wonder Ched Ramar uses him inhis house. He finds it convenient to have a man he can handle as he doesSwagara. Patsy!”

“I’m here!” responded Patsy promptly.

“Take a good look at this young man. Can you make up to pass for him, doyou think?”

“Can I?” snorted Patsy confidently. “Watch me. Where shall I do it?Right here?”

“Yes. I’ll give you the paints and things. You can take his suit ofclothes when your face and hands are made up. Be careful to get theexact shading of his features. You will have to use plain-glassspectacles. You couldn’t see through his. But I can give you a pair thatwill look exactly like them.”

“Say!” exclaimed Patsy, with a chuckle, as Nick Carter brought a box ofgrease paints, with boxes of powder, puffs, and bits of soft chamoisleather and put them on the table in front of him. “This is the easiestthing I have had for six months. Can I look like this Jap? Well, when Iget through, he’ll think he’s Patsy Garvan, and he’ll be asking mewhen I got in from Tokyo.”

“I don’t intend to let him ask you anything,” corrected Nick Carter.“But I hope you will make yourself look like him. Unless you do, youwon’t be able to do anything in this case.”

Patsy went on with his making up. He whispered to himself that he’d “bea native Jap or bu’st,” and both Nick Carter and Chick knew it would beall right.

CHAPTER VIII.

UNDER THE SPELL.

When, at nine o’clock, Nick Carter gave final instructions to theJapanese-appearing young man, who looked at him soberly through hislarge spectacles, any one who knew Swagara would have been ready toswear that this was he.

Patsy Garvan had not promised more than he could achieve when he said hecould make himself look like the young man from Tokyo who was expectedto go to Ched Ramar’s house that night.[Pg 27]

By the deft use of grease paint, and the careful adjusting of a wig ofcoarse, straight black hair, he had changed his appearance somarvelously that there was nothing left of the broad, freckled face ofPatsy Garvan. His features seemed to be pinched, like those of the Jap,and he had even made his gray eyes look a deep black.

It was a triumph of make-up, and Nick Carter secretly acknowledged it tohimself. He did not tell Patsy what he thought. If he had, there wasdanger that his assistant would depend too much on his appearance, andperhaps grow careless in keeping up his character in other respects.

They had carried Swagara to an unoccupied bedroom at the top of thehouse, and, after undressing him and putting him into a set of pajamasowned by Patsy Garvan, had left him there in a deep sleep. Then theylocked the door on the outside, to make assurance doubly sure.

“Not that there is any likelihood of his coming to his senses until Iwake him,” remarked Nick Carter. “Ched Ramar is not the only person inGreater New York who has made a study of mental control. I knowsomething about hypnotism myself.”

Swagara’s clothes fitted Patsy as if they had been made for him, and thegentle manner of the original owner went with the costume, so that therewas practically no danger that Ched Ramar would suspect thesubstitution.

For it was Ched Ramar that Nick Carter meant to deceive, and it was allpart of a well-laid plan to get to the bottom of the mystery of thestolen records.

The great detective had not promised positively that the papers would berestored to their legitimate possessor, but he intended that they shouldbe, nevertheless.

Nick did not believe Ched Ramar was the person he pretended to be. Hedoubted even whether he were an Indian at all. Well did the detectiveknow the almost diabolical skill of the notorious Sang Tu, head of theYellow Tong, and it would not surprise him at all to find that ChedRamar was carrying out the behests of the unscrupulous Celestial inobtaining his strange power over Clarice Bentham.

“That there is much more in the queer performance of that Buddha thanmerely frightening that young girl, I am convinced,” mused Nick, whilePatsy was putting an overcoat over his costume, and Chick was gettinginto a disguise. “I’ll find out what it is if I have to pull that imageall to pieces.”

It was at this moment that Chick came into the library, attired as aChinaman of the poorer class. He wore the blue blouse and trouserscommon to laundrymen in America, and his face was of the pale yellowthat is always associated with Mongolians in the average mind. He wore alarge, soft black hat, which completely concealed his head. He wore awig, with a queue, but it was not convincing if closely examined, andNick Carter had told him to keep on his hat under all circ*mstances.

Patsy Garvan had his instructions, and when the taxicab in which allthree were carried over to Brooklyn reached the vicinity of BoroughHall, they got out and sent the cab away.

It happened to be a cloudy night, so that when the three detectivesturned into a side street, with only an occasional arc light to relievethe gloom, there was no danger of their being closely inspected bypassers-by.

Three blocks from Ched Ramar’s house Patsy left his companions andwalked on, with the short steps peculiar[Pg 28] to Swagara, and presentedhimself at the basem*nt door to one of the Indian guards, who opened itcautiously.

“Swagara!” whispered Patsy.

Without a word, the guard opened the door and admitted the supposed Jap.Then he closed it and walked away, leaving Patsy in a half-lightedkitchen.

“Gee! What am I to do now?” thought Patsy. “Why didn’t that bigchocolate drop tell me what to do?”

It was evident that Swagara had a regular routine of duties, and thatKeshub, the guard, assumed he would go about it as usual.

Chance aided Patsy in his dilemma. He had taken off his overcoat and wascarrying it on his arm as he walked through the kitchen to a dark hall,where he saw a flight of stairs, when the deep tones of Ched Ramar camedown to him:

“Is that you, Swagara?”

Patsy did not know exactly in what terms Swagara would have answeredthis query. So he gave an inarticulate grunt, which he turned into asingularly distressing cough.

“What is that, Swagara? You have a cold? Well, never mind. You need nottalk. You know, I have always told you I prefer you to answer me bysigns, rather than by words.”

“Gee! That’s a good one,” muttered Patsy. “He doesn’t know what a finething he has handed me.”

He walked forward, happy in the knowledge that he could not be seen wellin the gloom, and waited for further instructions.

“Go to the room of the great Buddha,” rumbled Ched Ramar. “Stay there.Make no sound when visitors come. I want you to see, but not to showyourself. You understand?”

Patsy bowed in acknowledgment, and began to ascend the stairs. He waswondering how he would stand the scrutiny of those fierce eyes when heshould pass close to the red-shaded electric light in the main hall.

Ched Ramar gazed at him as he came up, and the eyes followed him on hisway up the other stairs to the second floor of the great, shadowy house.Patsy had not been directed to the elevator. That seemed to be reservedonly for the use of Ched Ramar and his guests.

He found himself in the idol room, where the dim red glow from a largelamp enabled him to see the gigantic Buddha squatting in the middle ofthe apartment, while other small images, equally grotesque, were rangedabout.

“Say! This is a regular museum, all right,” thought Patsy. “Hello!Here’s a feather duster in this corner. That means that Swagara issupposed to keep things clean. Well, that’s me!”

He was passing the duster over the great Buddha when he heard a soundbehind him. It was Ched Ramar. He nodded approvingly as he saw how Patsywas occupied.

“It is well!” he boomed. “But when you hear the bell over there, youwill know guests have arrived, and you will keep behind there.”

He pointed to a space at the back of the big image, where Patsy sawthere was a small door, which now stood partly open. Then, with acareless wave of the hand toward a large gong which Patsy decided wasrather of Chinese, than Indian, design, Ched Ramar disappeared behindthe velvet curtains which concealed the door of the elevator.

“Now is the time,” thought Patsy. “I’ll do what he[Pg 29] says about goingbehind this big brass dub of an idol. But, first of all, I’ve got alittle private business of my own to pull off. I didn’t see anybody inthe kitchen when I came through. I hope it will be the same now. If itisn’t—— Well, the chief said I wasn’t to mind getting into a scrapwhen it was forced on me. I’d just like to land on that black guy wholet me in.”

It was in this disrespectful way that Patsy Garvan referred to Keshub.But Keshub was not in the kitchen. He, with his fellow guard, was in thelarge double drawing-rooms into which Matthew Bentham, Clarice, and theothers had been ushered the night before.

Patsy got down to the kitchen without meeting anybody. He slippednoiselessly down the stairs and found himself at the back door, entirelyunopposed.

As he opened the door a little way, the voice of Nick Carter sounded ina whisper from the darkness:

“All right?”

“Fine as silk,” was Patsy’s response. “Come in.”

Nick Carter, followed by Chick, stepped into the kitchen, and Patsyclosed and secured the door. Then he directed the others to stand still,against the wall, where they would be in deep shadow, while hereconnoitered. Almost directly, after creeping up the back stairs andmaking sure the hall was empty, he was back.

Two minutes later they were all in the idol room. Patsy hastily relatedwhat his orders were—to hide behind the idol.

“He expects some guests, he says,” continued Patsy. “And I think hemeans to put something over on them.”

“I think I know who the guests will be,” returned Nick. “You go to theplace you’ve been told. Is there room for more than one there?”

He went to the cupboard Patsy had pointed out and stepped inside. Withhis pocket flash light he examined it, and a grim smile illumined hisface as he saw how it had been arranged to deceive strangers.

There was a door at the other end of the little room, communicating witha ladder that went down from a trap in the floor. Another ladder ledupward, and it did not take Nick more than a moment to see that,standing on this ladder, a person could lean forward into the hollowbrass head of the Buddha, and speak through its parted lips.

“It’s an old trick of the Buddhist priests,” he murmured. “They keeptheir devotees well in hand by these supposed miracles. No doubtthousands of devout believers in this old god have listened to priestsin this way, and been bent to their will because they supposed they werelistening to the voice of Buddha himself. This whole trick istransparent when you have a clew.”

This was all straight enough so far. But Nick Carter well knew that,without the hypnotic power that this mysterious Ched Ramar possessed, hecould not have used the idol so effectively to make Clarice Bentham dowhat he wanted.

That the girl had been made an unconscious agent in crime he neverdoubted for an instant. Just how it had been done he hoped to find outnow.

“I know he got a promise from Clarice to obey,” he thought. “I saw howthe image held her in its power. But that is as far as I have been ableto go. I may even be wrong in supposing the girl will come to-night. ButI think not. Let me see, they are all going to a ball to-night, Benthamtold me. That means they will leave[Pg 30] home about eleven o’clock. It isn’tten yet. Can it be possible that she would come here first?”

“Look out!” suddenly whispered Patsy. “He’s coming. I’ve been watchingthe hall below. He’s on his way to the elevator. Hide somewhere, both ofyou!”

Nick Carter and Chick both stooped behind one of the draped tables onwhich the small idols were displayed, and Patsy crept behind the bigBuddha.

There were a few moments of silence. Then the red curtains moved, andfrom the elevator came forth Ched Ramar. He held the curtains open toallow a companion also to come through. That companion was ClariceBentham.

She wore a rich evening gown of white silk and lace. Over it was throwna handsome opera cloak, and covering that again was another cloak ofblack, which draped her from head to foot.

Her eyes were wide open, as if she were staring hard. But, from hisretreat at the back of the table, Nick Carter had a full view of herface in the light of the red lamp.

“She is fast asleep!” he murmured.

CHAPTER IX.

POWER AGAINST POWER.

Ched Ramar placed a chair for her in the middle of the room, where shefaced the large statue. Nick observed that, as he passed her, he wavedone long hand before her face—twice! There was a slight twitch in thegirl’s eyelids, and her stare at the image became more intense.

The tall Indian went out of the room—by the door at which Nick Carterand his companions had entered—and which was near the Buddha.

For a few moments there was stillness. Then, from somewhere came a deep,subdued voice, almost like the sighing of a strong wind.

“Come!” it said.

“What does all this mean?” whispered Chick to his chief.

“Hush!” was all Nick replied.

The girl was slowly rising from her chair. As she did so, the operacloak dropped from her, revealing her white shoulders in the décolletégown and the equally white arms, bare except for a jeweled bracelet oneach wrist.

She stood perfectly still in front of the chair, her vacant gaze towardthe brazen face of the great effigy.

“Come!” repeated the strange voice.

With measured steps she walked forward, and without hesitation went upthe ladder which stood in front of the Buddha. She stood there, in aboutthe same position that Nick Carter had seen her before. One hand restedon the idol’s shoulder, and she was looking into the large eye socketsas if held under a deep spell.

“Say, chief! Let’s get after this,” whispered Chick restively. “We can’tlet this go on.”

“Keep quiet, Chick!”

“You will obey—obey—obey!” moaned the deep voice.

The girl did not speak. She only stared. Nick Carter could not see hereyes now, because her face was turned away, but he had no doubt thatsome intelligence had come into them, and that she was looking intothose strange eyes which had appeared in the idol’s sockets on theformer occasion.[Pg 31]

“Speak! I command!” went on the idol. “You will obey?”

“Yes, I will obey,” replied Clarice, in a low monotone.

“It will be death if you do not,” said the deep voice.

“It will be death!” repeated Clarice.

“Before you leave this house, a package of papers will be placed in yourhand.”

“A package of papers!” she repeated, like an automaton.

“Those papers, with the exception of a few, are the same that youbrought this morning.”

“The same that I brought.”

“You will take them from here and return them to the place from whichyou took them. Afterward, you will go to the ball and forget where youhave been—or what you have done.”

“Forget!” she answered, in the same strange, toneless accents.

“Forget utterly! Forget! Obey!”

She repeated the words slowly, and each accent was perfectly clear,although it seemed as if she uttered them without knowing that she wasspeaking.

It was an awe-inspiring spectacle—this fair young girl, in thefripperies of her handsome ball dress, standing there, talking to animage, and never taking her gaze from its unnatural eyes.

“That is all. You will go down the steps and seat yourself in thatchair. Soon the packet of papers will be given to you. Then you will betaken downstairs to the car that brought you, and be left at the cornerof your own avenue. You will not know. When you are in your home youwill do as you have been commanded. Then—you will forget. Obey!”

Slowly she descended, and, with unseeing gaze, walked to the chair andsat down. From force of habit alone, she arranged her skirts, allowingher long train, which had escaped from the loop that ordinarily held itup, to sweep the floor.

“Say, chief! Are you there?”

It was Patsy Garvan. He had come out from behind the idol, and waslooking about the room for his chief. He took no notice of the girl inthe chair, and she betrayed no consciousness of having heard or seenhim.

Nick Carter came out from behind the table, and went over to Clarice.She seemed not to know that he stood in front of her, and when he passedhis hand across her eyes, they did not wink.

“She’s in a deep hypnotic sleep,” he murmured. “Well, I’ll leave her sofor the present. What did you see back there, Patsy?”

“It was all such a bald fake, that it isn’t worth talking about,”replied Patsy. “He just stood up on the stepladder and gave her all thatbluff, with his head shoved into the hollow. When he got through, hecame down and told me to keep the door of the cupboard shut until he gotback.”

“I see. Is that all?”

“Not quite. Before he went up on that ladder, he tried to hypnotize me.But I was wise and I kept thinking about other things, and he couldn’twork it. I know how to beat that game. You’ve taught me that.”

“Yes. A hypnotic subject can often resist if he or she has a strongwill,” replied Nick Carter. “I shouldn’t like to say that everybodycould do it, however.”

“Maybe not. But they can’t bluff me,” chuckled Patsy.[Pg 32] “I’ve had thattried on me too often, and no one ever got away with it yet.”

Nick knew that this was true. He had seen too many proofs that PatsyGarvan had a powerful will of his own to fear that he could be easilyput under the influence of such a man as this East Indian. Neither henor Chick were the kind of young men who would yield without a fight toan attack, whether physical or mental.

“Look out!” suddenly whispered Patsy. “Duck! He’s coming back!”

He slipped behind the idol, dragging Nick Carter and Chick with him.

“There’s room for all of us in here,” went on Patsy, in a scarcelyaudible tone. “But keep quiet. If he comes back here, we’ve got to landon him. That will be all. I don’t care if he does come.”

“Hush!” warned Nick.

If there was any weakness in Patsy Garvan which had to be controlled, itwas a disposition to talk too much.

The curtain at the elevator parted, and a man came through.

“Gee!” whispered Patsy. “It’s the fellow they call Keshub!”

“One of the guards,” added Nick.

Keshub was not as tall as Ched Ramar. But he was a big fellow, and hehad all the dignity of the Oriental, even though he was not of as highcaste as Ched Ramar was supposed to be.

He strode into the room and looked at the big idol. Then he made a deepsalaam to the image, joining the tips of the fingers of his two handsover and in front of his bowed head as he bent low, and dropping them tohis sides as he straightened up.

“Teaching old Brassy to swim, I guess,” grinned Patsy.

Nick gave him a hard dig in the side, to quiet him, although he found ithard to repress a smile at this irreverent designation of the god as“old Brassy.”

Keshub turned from the idol and strode over to Clarice. Nick sawthen—as he cautiously peeped around the idol, and partly concealed bydraperies—that the Indian had taken from his clothing a package ofpapers, held together by a rubber band.

“Take!” he said curtly.

The girl sat perfectly quiet, and appeared not to hear the word. Herepeated it, at the same time lifting the girl’s right hand and placingthe packet in her fingers.

The touch of the packet seemed to revive some sleeping memory in herbeing. She clutched it tightly and arose from her seat.

“Obey! Forget!” she murmured.

“I will return in a short time and take you out to the car,” saidKeshub. “Stay here.”

Whether the girl heard and understood this Nick Carter could not tell.All he knew was that she stood perfectly still, her eyes staring intovacancy, but always turned toward the idol, while Keshub disappearedbetween the curtains to the elevator.

“Now, Patsy! Go to that elevator and see if you can fasten it so that noone can get out of it. There is a door with gilt railings. I think itcan be bolted from this side. I noticed it when I was in this placebefore.”

Patsy ran to obey his chief, and a low chuckle told that he had foundthe bolt referred to. Then there was a[Pg 33] click as the bolt slipped intothe socket, and Patsy came back.

By this time Nick Carter had begun something that had been in his mindwhile Keshub talked to the girl. He went to her, and staring straight ather eyes, whispered:

“Obey! The packet!”

Mechanically she held out the packet and he took it from her unresistingfingers. Then, as if another power were fighting against the influencewhich Nick Carter had brought to bear, she held out her hand as if toget the packet back.

He waved his hands before her face and whispered again, in the samesharp, staccato tones he had used before:

“Go to the ladder and listen again to what will be said to you from themouth of Buddha.”

She moved across the floor, and reaching the ladder, went up in themechanical way that always distinguished her in that particular action.When she was in her usual place there, with one hand on the shoulder ofthe idol, Nick slipped behind, and, going up the hidden ladder, took hisplace in the hollow, where he could lean forward into the head.

“Chick!” he called down to his assistant. “If anybody comes, tell me.Then, if you must, bring him down at all risks. But—make no noise.”

“Am I in on this?” asked Patsy.

“Of course.”

“Good! Here’s where we shake down the plums. But telling us not to makeany noise sort of puts prickles on the job.”

With his two assistants at the foot of the ladder, ready to fly at anyintruder, Nick Carter leaned forward, and, in lowered tones, spokethrough the brazen lips of the great Buddha.

“You will obey!” were his first words.

As he spoke he fastened his gaze firmly on the eyes of the girl, and wasencouraged when she looked steadily at him. The vacant expression hadleft them. This told him that he had been able to take the place of ChedRamar, and that the hypnotic power exerted by the East Indian had beenmaintained by himself.

That it would not be easy to make this sort of transfer he had realizedfrom the first. But he believed it could be done if he could concentratehimself sufficiently to overwhelm the mentality of the subject. He hadsucceeded now, almost beyond his hopes. The girl would do anything hecommanded.

CHAPTER X.

HIS HOUR OF SUCCESS.

“You will obey!” repeated Nick Carter.

“Obey!” she responded dreamily.

“That is well. Tell me what you did when you got the packet you broughtto me this morning. You remember that it was this morning?”

“It was this morning,” she replied, repeating the last few words of hisquery, as was always her way.

“Where did you get them? The library?”

“The library.”

“Who showed you where they were?”

“Where they were?” she repeated.

“Yes. Tell me.”

“He did,” she answered. “The man I fear.”

“What’s his name?[Pg 34]”

But to this there was no reply. She seemed to have no remembrance ofnames. Perhaps she never had known the name of this man she feared.

“Is it the man who speaks through Buddha?”

She seemed to wrestle hard with this question, as if trying tocomprehend its meaning. At last she slowly nodded.

“You are sure?”

“Sure!” she repeated.

“That is enough,” said Nick Carter. “The packet will again be placed inyour hands. Take it, as you were commanded, and put it where you gotit—in the table leg.”

A gleam of understanding came into her eyes, that had in it more ofmemory than she had shown before. Nick Carter knew then that this girl,under the fiendish influence of Ched Ramar, had indeed robbed her fatherwithout knowing that she had done so. A half-repressed ejacul*tiondangerously near an oath broke from the detective’s lips, as he camedown the ladder.

Hurriedly he took the packet from his pocket, where he had slipped itbefore ascending the ladder, and looked through it under the red lamp infront of the idol.

The girl had already descended, and was walking, like a somnambulist,toward her chair.

Nick Carter ran through the half dozen large sheets of manuscript, andsaw that none of them bore reference to the Yellow Tong. All were of acharacter that would be valuable to the scientific world, but not onewas concerned with the secret, far-reaching organization whose methodsand intentions Washington was so eager to know something about.

“The cunning wretches,” he murmured. “They have taken what they want,and are returning these, so that they shall not furnish a clew to theothers. Well, I think I shall beat their game. I’m going to find outwhere those other papers are before I leave this house.”

He walked over to the girl and gave her the packet. Then he said to her,in the quiet, even accents which seemed to penetrate easiest to herbeclouded brain:

“Take the packet back and put it into the hands of your father. Youunderstand that. Father.”

“Father!” she repeated dully.

“Look out, chief!” whispered Patsy. “I hear the elevator.”

Nick and Chick got back to the idol and secreted themselves. But Patsywent to the elevator door and unlocked it—just in time to admit ChedRamar and Keshub.

“Why did you lock the door?” thundered Ched Ramar, at Patsy.

Patsy shrugged his shoulders in a way that he had seen Swagara do it,and there was an expression of bland protest in his yellowed face, as ifhe considered he were being shouted at unjustly.

He did not speak, but contented himself with pointing to Clarice, whosat still where Nick Carter had just left her.

“She wouldn’t have gone away, if that is what you mean,” growled ChedRamar. “Keshub, take her down to the limousine and see that she getshome in safety.”

Keshub salaamed. Then he went over to Clarice, touched her arm, andpointed to the curtains shadowing the elevator door. She went over toit, quite docile, and Keshub accompanied her down, out of sight. ChedRamar let the curtains fall together.[Pg 35]

“Watch the doors and windows, Swagara,” he ordered briefly. “There is nodanger. But—watch them.”

Patsy responded with a funny little bow peculiar to Swagara, and stoodback while Ched Ramar went up the stepladder on which Clarice had stood,and regarded the great brass face of the Buddha for a few moments insilence.

“Great Buddha,” he muttered, at last. “How many secrets dost thou hide!But how willing art thou to give them up when he who has the right putsthe request! Siddartha, holy one! It is thy servant who makes thedemand. Give him what he seeks!”

He placed his hand on the left arm of the idol, and his long fingersfumbled under the head.

As is usually the case with statues of Buddha, the arm lay across hislap in a negligent way, while the other was stretched forward on hisknee. Ched Ramar was pressing a certain little knob under the brasshand. This released a spring, as was evidenced by the slight click thatNick Carter and his assistants could hear.

“That is well, holy one!” murmured Ched Ramar.

He took the hand of the god and raised it slowly, as if it were of greatweight—as indeed it was. When he held it clear of the lap, there wasrevealed a square hole beneath, like a box, some eight inches square.

Into this square opening Ched Ramar dipped his fingers, bringing themout immediately with several papers rolled up, and fastened by a silkencord made of many strands of different colors twisted together.

“My task is nearly done!” exclaimed Ched Ramar, smiling. “It has been ahard one, but the result is worth it. My great master, Sang Tu, will bepleased. Much pleased!”

“Will he?” thought Nick Carter. “Well, it isn’t all over yet.”

Still smiling—but in a grave way, as if he felt that he should notpermit himself thus to show joy—Ched Ramar lowered the brazen armslowly to its former position, and a click announced that it wasfastened in its place. When this had been done, no one not in the secretwould have suspected that there was anything of the kind there.

“Did you see that, chief?” whispered Chick.

“Yes. Keep quiet. We want the papers. But we want him, too.”

“That’s what,” put in Patsy. “And that Keshub and the othercoffee-colored guy, too. There may be others in the house as well asthem. There are some maids, we know.”

“They are probably in another part of the house,” answered Nick. “Weneed not trouble about the maids. What we want is this fellow, papersand all. Keep ready!”

Ched Ramar stepped over the red lamp and looked carefully at the papershe had got from the lap of the image. His sinister smile again spreadover his dark countenance, and he muttered to himself in his own tongue.

“This is all!” he suddenly exclaimed in English. “I will take theserecords to Sang Tu in the morning. Meanwhile, they shall not leave me. Ido not trust any one. I will not go to bed. Such sleep as I need I canget here, in this chair.”

He walked over to the chair in which the girl had sat. It was verylarge, and when she had been in it had seemed actually to swallow herup. Even Ched Ramar, tall as he was, had plenty of room to curl up init.

He tried it in this way. Then he arose and strode[Pg 36] over to the big idol,as if to look behind it. Nick Carter, Chick, and Patsy were standingready to fling themselves upon him.

But he changed his mind, when nearly up to them, and contented himselfwith calling sternly:

“Swagara!”

For a moment Patsy Garvan had forgotten his assumed name. He made nomove to go out. Instead, he held his automatic pistol ready to be usedeither as a club or a firearm. Nick Carter brought him to himself with asharp tug at his elbow.

“Go out, confound you!” he whispered. “You are Swagara!”

“Gee! So I am!”

“Swagara!” called Ched Ramar, again, in a fiercer tone. “Come here!”

Patsy slipped out from behind the statue and made his Swagara bow withdue humility.

Ched Ramar raised his fist, as if he would bring it down on Patsy’sshoulder. It was as well that he did not carry out his intention, forPatsy surely would have forgotten his assumed character and retaliatedwith another and harder blow.

“You deserve to be kicked, you dog!” snarled Ched Ramar. “You are tocome quickly when I call. But let that pass. You will keep awake in thisroom till I tell you that you may sleep. Understand?”

Patsy bowed. He never had spoken more than a word or two to the Indian.He had a presentiment that if ever he did so, he would be known as abogus Swagara at once.

“Very well,” went on Ched Ramar. “I would sleep for an hour—in thischair. Keshub and Meirum are asleep in the hall without. They will notcome in unless I summon them. But you! You are not to sleep at all. Now,walk over there to the large Buddha and let me see that you are quiteawake now. Go over and march back. Do as I bid you.”

Somehow, Patsy Garvan did not exactly understand what was meant by thiscommand, and he hesitated when he got to the idol. Turning toward ChedRamar, he was about to give him a pleading look, which would mean thathe wanted clearer instructions.

This angered Ched Ramar, and he bounded from the chair, drawing a largejeweled scimitar that he generally wore, concealed by the folds of hisrobe.

Flourishing this weapon, he flew at Patsy, as if he would strike himdown with it. The belligerent action was a great deal like his formerone, only that this time he held a deadly weapon, instead of merelymenacing with his fist.

“Gee!” shouted Patsy, forgetting entirely the part he was playing. “Ifyou don’t drop that cheese knife, I’ll plug you as if you were a rat!”

He drew his pistol as he spoke and leveled it at the head of thesurprised Indian.

Instantly it occurred to the cunning mind of Ched Ramar that there wastreachery somewhere, and he leaped forward to seize Patsy. Rascal as hemight be, there was no cowardice about Ched Ramar.

He did not catch Patsy, however. Instead, the supposed Japanese suddenlystooped, and just as the Indian got to him, he arose and sent his fistinto the brown neck.

Ched Ramar uttered a choking gasp, and dashed behind the Buddha. As hegot there, he found himself facing not[Pg 37] only Patsy Garvan, but NickCarter and Chick, as well. All three were in hostile attitudes thatcould not be mistaken for a moment.

CHAPTER XI.

THE CRASH OF THE IDOL.

The utter astonishment in the face of Ched Ramar when he saw these threemen where he had expected to find one only—and he a submissiveservant—made Patsy Garvan emit a shrill chuckle. Patsy never would holdback his emotions when they got a good grip on him.

“Gee! Look at the map of him!” he shouted.

“Who are you?” roared Ched Ramar. “You’re not Swagara!”

“Not by a jugful!” returned Patsy Garvan. “There isn’t anything likethat in me. Say, chief! We want to work quick! There’s two more rightoutside the door.”

Nick Carter stepped in front of the East Indian and held up his hand fora chance to speak.

“Ched Ramar,” he said in his usual cool tones, “the game is up. You havesome papers in your pocket that you stole from Professor MatthewBentham. You got them with the help of the man you call Swagara, who isalready my prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” broke from Ched Ramar’s lips before he knew that he wasspeaking. “Prisoner? Who are you?”

“My name is Nicholas Carter,” answered Nick.

“Nicholas Carter? Ah! Yes! I never saw you before. But your picture isin our archives. We all know what you look like. If it had been lighterhere, I should have recognized you at once. Well, Mr. Nicholas Carter,all I have to say to you is—this!”

The curved scimitar, with its richly jeweled hilt and its heavy,Damascus-steel blade, swept through the air like a great half moon offire, as it caught and reflected the red glow of the lamp. The nextmoment, it circled Nick Carter’s neck, and seemed as if it must actuallysever his head from his body.

But the detective had been in critical situations of this kind before,and he knew how to meet even an attack by such an unusual weapon as thiscruel, curved saber.

He stooped just in time. He had very little to spare, for the keen bladecaught the top of his soft hat and actually shaved away a thin sliver asclean as if done by a razor. In fact, the convex edge of the scimitarwas ground almost to a razor edge.

The force of the blow made Ched Ramar swing around, so that he could notrecover himself immediately. Nick took advantage of this momentaryconfusion to close with the tall Indian and grasp the handle of thesaber.

There was a short and desperate struggle. The muscles of Ched Ramar wereas tough and flexible as Nick Carter’s, and the detective knew he had afoe worthy of his best endeavors.

Up and down in the narrow space behind the big idol they fought, eachtrying to gain possession of the scimitar.

Nick did not want to make noise enough to attract outside attention. Buthe soon realized that this was something he could not prevent—the moreso as Ched Ramar seemed desirous of causing as much disturbance aspossible.

A banging at the door explained why Ched Ramar had made as much noise ashe could.

“Now, Mr. Nicholas Carter,” hissed the tall Indian, “I[Pg 38] think you willfind you have stepped into a trap. I have two men outside that door whowill do anything they are commanded, and never speak of it afterward.You have been in countries where men are slaves to other men, I know.You shall see what my men will do for me.”

During this speech, which was delivered jerkily, as the two struggledfor possession of the scimitar, the banging at the door increased inviolence. Chick and Patsy were against it on the inside, trying toprevent its being battered down.

“Chick!” called Nick. “Come here!”

Chick looked over his shoulder.

“If I leave this door, Patsy can’t hold it by himself. It takes all wecan both do to hold those fellows back.”

“Never mind!” returned Nick. “Come here!”

As Chick came toward the two powerful fighters, Ched Ramar laughedderisively.

“The door will fall,” he shouted. “When it does, you will wish you wereout of this place. I’m glad you are here. It is fortunate.”

He wrenched with tremendous energy to get the scimitar away from NickCarter. But the detective’s grip was not to be shaken. He held thehandle of the weapon at top and bottom, with the Indian’s two handsdoubled around it between. Neither could gain any advantage over theother.

“What am I to do?” queried Chick, looking at his chief, and making agrab at the handle of the scimitar.

“Don’t bother with this,” directed Nick sharply. “Feel in the front ofthis man’s robe and get the papers he has hidden there.”

“What?” bellowed Ched Ramar. “You’ll try such a thing as that? Ha, ha,ha!” he laughed, as the door broke down, throwing Patsy Garvan to thefloor. “Get these men, Keshub! And you, Meirum! You did well to come!You heard the noise? Yes? Now to your duty!”

Instantly there was a fray in which all six were engaged. The two guardswere nearly as strong as their employer, and all three of the Indianswere vindictive, and determined to be victorious.

“Get the one who is trying to rob me!” shouted Ched Ramar.

The two big guards rushed on Chick together, and with such suddenviolence that they hurled him away before he could set himself forresistance.

“Look out, Patsy!” cried Chick. “Get those papers! The chief wants them!Didn’t you hear him?”

“Did I hear him?” roared Patsy Garvan. “Well, I guess I did! Let me inthere!”

As Chick was hurled aside, Patsy rushed at Ched Ramar and sent his headfull into the Indian’s stomach. Patsy had had training inrough-and-tumble warfare in the Bowery in his younger days, and he stillremembered the tricks that had availed him then.

The concussion was too much for Ched Ramar. It doubled him up, so thatNick Carter got a better hold on the handle of the scimitar than he hadbeen able to obtain heretofore. At first he thought he had won theweapon altogether. But Ched Ramar’s hold was too sure for that. He stillretained his grip, but not quite so good a one as he had had, becausethere was not so much room for his fingers.

As Ched Ramar bent forward, still intent on not letting the scimitar outof his grasp, Patsy reached in among the flowing robes that were flyingin all directions in the[Pg 39] turbulence of the fight, and, after a littlefumbling, felt the end of the packet of papers sticking from an innerpocket.

“Got them!” he shouted, as he dragged out the papers and passed them toChick. “Gee! This is where we make the riffle!” cried Patsy delightedly.“Hand them to the chief!”

Nick Carter shook his head quickly. He was holding Ched Ramar with bothhands.

“No! Keep them yourself, Chick, until I’ve got this man where I wanthim. They’ll be safe enough now. Patsy, lay out that big fellow behindyou with your gun, before it is too late.”

Patsy employed a little ruse, and grinned as he saw how successful itwas. Turning swiftly, he presented his automatic pistol at the head ofMeirum, and there was a glint in the eye looking along the barrel whichconvinced the man Patsy meant business.

As a result of his terror, Meirum backed away quickly, and let go ofPatsy’s arm, which he had seized as Patsy handed the papers to Chick.

On the instant, Patsy changed ends with his pistol, and brought theheavy butt down on Meirum’s turbaned head with a crash that made nothingof the white linen swathed about it. A turban is not much protectionagainst a hard blow with a steel-bound pistol butt.

As Meirum went down, there were only the two left—Keshub and ChedRamar.

“Take those papers, Keshub!” cried Ched Ramar. “Quick! Before he goesaway.”

“I’m not going away!” interposed Chick. “I’ve something else to dobefore I go.”

He threw his arms suddenly around the big Keshub as he spoke, and forcedhim backward.

“Pull that turban off the other fellow’s head!” he shouted to Patsy. “Itwill make a good rope.”

This was a happy thought. Patsy unceremoniously stripped the whiteturban from the head of the unconscious Meirum, and found himself with along strip of strong, white linen, which would, indeed, make aserviceable rope.

But Keshub had not been overcome yet. He was almost as powerful as ChedRamar, and quite as full of fight. He tore himself out of Chick’s graspand rushed to the aid of his employer. The two of them set to work toget the papers from Chick.

Nick Carter was equally resolved that Ched Ramar should not interferewith Chick. He argued that Patsy Garvan and Chick were quite able todeal with Keshub together—even if Chick could not do it alone.

“But Chick could do it himself,” he muttered. “Only that it mightrequire a little more time.”

It seemed as if Ched Ramar might have guessed what was passing in themind of Nick Carter, for he redoubled his efforts to get away, scimitarand all, to go to the aid of his man.

“You may as well give up, Ched Ramar,” panted Nick Carter—for the longfight was beginning to tell on his wind, just as it did on his foe’s.“We’ve got you. We have the papers, and one of your men is done righthere. Another is a prisoner in my house. What is more, I know who youare.”

“I am Ched Ramar!” cried the Indian proudly.

“Perhaps. I don’t know what your name may be. The[Pg 40] main thing is thatyou are a member of the Yellow Tong, and that you are trying to stealthese papers for your chief, the infamous Sang Tu.”

“He is not infamous!” shouted Ched Ramar indignantly. “He is thegreatest man in the world to-day, and it will not be long before he willcontrol every nation on earth.”

“Beginning with the United States, I suppose?” exclaimed Nick Carterironically.

“Yes. We have this country of yours mapped out and given to differentsections of our great organization already,” snarled Ched Ramar. “As forgiving up, why—see here!”

He bent almost double, as he exerted every ounce of his immense strengthto tear the scimitar away from the detective. The latter felt the handleslipping through his fingers. But he had strength, too, and in anotherinstant he had gained a firmer hold than ever, as he pushed with all hismight against the powerful bulk of his towering antagonist.

For a moment neither side gave way. It was like two mountains pressingagainst each other. No one could say what the end might be. They mightstand thus for an indefinite period.

But they didn’t. Nick Carter felt his foe yield ever so little—not morethan a fraction of an inch. But the fact remained that he had given wayslightly, and Nick was quick to take advantage of anything that wouldhelp him in such a desperate fight as this.

He pushed harder, and back went Ched Ramar two or three inches thistime.

“Keshub!” shouted Ched Ramar.

But Keshub had his own troubles just now. Chick had applied a backheelto him, and was slowly pushing him backward, until he must fall flat onhis back, while Patsy hovered above them and grumbled because hecouldn’t get into the fight.

“Keep off, Patsy!” cried Chick. “Don’t come into this, or you’ll spoilit. Don’t you see that?”

“Gee! I can see it, all right. But it’s mighty tough on me. I’ve beenshut out of this whole circus. When this is over, I’m a goat if I don’tgo out and hit a policeman. I’ve got to get action somehow.”

Nick Carter saw that he had Ched Ramar giving way now, and he determinedto make an end of the struggle without further waste of time. The fighthad been conducted very quietly. It had not even disturbed the twomaids, asleep upstairs, and there was no reason to suppose the fracashad been heard on the street.

“You think you have me, I suppose?” hissed Ched Ramar, as he fought withall the energy he had left.

Nick Carter did not answer. He knew that the cunning Indian was tryingto make him talk, and thus divert his attention. Instead, he gave hisenemy a sudden and harder twist that took him an inch farther back.

There was an inarticulate ejacul*tion of rage from the Indian, and hisblack eyes glowed fiercely through his glasses. He stopped for a secondthe onward rush of his assailant. Then, as he was obliged to give way,he jerked up his arms and tried to bring the edge of the scimitar acrossNick Carter’s face.

The attempt failed, but it brought the battle to an abrupt end.

As Nick Carter leaped aside to avoid the scimitar, he kicked the feet ofChed Ramar from under him. Back[Pg 41] went the Indian, crashing against thegigantic image of Buddha behind him.

For a moment the enormous idol rocked on its pedestal. Then, as it lostit* balance, down it came, pedestal and all, toward the two fighters!

One corner of the pedestal struck Nick Carter on the shoulder and laidhim out flat on his back.

He was not hurt, and he jumped to his feet on the instant. As he did so,he shook his head—partly in satisfaction, but still more in horror.

The body of Ched Ramar lay under the great idol, and the brazen kneeswere pressed into its victim’s head, crushing it out of all semblance towhat it had been!

Ched Ramar had paid the penalty of his rascality through the very agenthe had employed to make an innocent girl a participant in his crime.

“Look out, Chick!” shouted Nick Carter, as he saw Keshub breaking awayfrom his assistant’s hold. “He’s going to get out, if you don’t hurry.”

But Patsy Garvan was on the alert. He was only too glad to get into thefight in any way, and he tripped Keshub, just as he leaped through thedoorway, in a very skillful and workmanlike manner.

“Oh, I guess not!” observed Patsy. “I saw you getting up after Chick hadlaid you out, and I was looking for you to make a break like this. Comeback here!”

The cloth from Meirum’s turban was bound about Keshub, and he was laidon the floor by the side of the knocked-out Meirum. Then, withconsiderable exertion, the image of Buddha was rolled completely awayfrom the body of Ched Ramar, so that Nick could look it over with hisflash light.

“He died on the instant,” decided Nick. “Cover it with one of thosecurtains, while I go downstairs and telephone the police station.”

In due course, the remains of Ched Ramar were viewed by the coroner, anda verdict of “accidental death” was rendered.

Very little got into the papers about it. This was arranged by NickCarter. He did not want too much publicity while any of the Yellow Tongwere still likely to be active. It might interfere with work he had yetto do.

Keshub and Meirum, as well as Swagara, were not prosecuted. Nick made uphis mind that he could better afford to let them escape than to drawgeneral attention to the rascality they had been carrying on.

So he put them aboard a tramp steamer bound for Japan, and India, andwhich would not touch anywhere until it got to Yokohama. Swagara was tobe put off there.

The next port would be Bombay. Both Keshub and Meirum said they wouldnever leave Indian soil again if once they could get back to it, andthere is no reason to suppose they were telling anything but the truth.

Matthew Bentham never knew the part his daughter had played in takingand returning the precious papers. Nick Carter decided that no good endwould be served by letting him find it out.

Even Clarice herself was quite unaware of what she had done. The subtleinfluence of hypnotism had permeated her whole being at the time, andwhen she came to herself, it was entirely without recollection of whatshe had passed through when in the power of another and stronger will.Hypnotism is a wonderful science.

“Is this all of the Yellow Tong, chief?” asked Chick, smiling.[Pg 42]

“There will be no end to this investigation until I have my hands onSang Tu,” replied Nick Carter sternly.

“I thought so,” was Chick’s reply.

THE END.

“The Doom of Sang Tu; or, Nick Carter’s Golden Foe,” will be thetitle of the long, complete story which you will find in the nextissue, No. 153, of the Nick Carter Stories, out August 14th. Inthis story you will read of the great detective’s ultimate triumphover the shrewd leader of the Yellow Tong. Then, too, you will alsofind an installment of a new serial, together with several otherarticles of interest.

(This interesting story was commenced in No. 148 of Nick Carter Stories.Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or thepublishers.)

CHAPTER XXII.

A QUESTION OF COLOR.

After Owen had seen Jake Hines safely locked up in a local policestation, he went back to Dallas to fulfill this mission which hadbrought him to Chicago. “I want you to explain to me about that letteryou got from the mail box,” he said. “You got the wrong letter by amistake, of course? Instead of the one which you had mailed to yourbrother, you got the pink envelope which the Reverend Doctor Mooredropped into the box?”

“Yes,” answered Dallas, “when the letter carrier opened the box and tookout the mail, and I caught sight of that square, pink envelope lying ontop of the heap, I jumped to the conclusion that it was mine, and Igrabbed it and hurried away, fearing that he might change his mind aboutgiving it to me. You see, Owen, I was very much excited. The letterwhich I had received from my scapegrace brother that day was verystartling. It informed me that he was in great trouble, and was about todo something desperate—the letter didn’t state what—and that the onlything which could prevent him from taking this step was my coming toChicago immediately. It warned me, too, that I mustn’t let a soul in NewYork know where I was going.”

“That was Hines’ work, of course,” said Owen. “He couldn’t come to youin New York, so he contrived that scheme to bring you out to him.”

“Yes; but I didn’t suspect anything like that. I was very much worried.From the tone of Chester’s letter I feared that he contemplated suicide,and I was awfully scared. But I didn’t very well see how I could get outto him, because”—she hesitated, and blushed painfully—“because I—Ididn’t have the fare, Owen. I had been sending more than I could spareto Chester recently, to help him to get out of a scrape, and I was veryhard up. So I had to write him that I was very sorry, but I reallycouldn’t come to Chicago.”

“And then?” said Owen eagerly.

“Then, after I had mailed that letter, I suddenly thought of theengagement ring which you had given to me, dear. I hated to pawn it, ofcourse, but I was so scared[Pg 43] about Chester, and I—I thought youwouldn’t mind, under the circ*mstances.”

“So that’s how you raised the fare to Chicago!” said Owen, with a smileof great relief.

“Yes; and when I found that I could go, naturally I wanted to get backthat letter; for I feared the effect it might have upon my brother.”

“So you waited at the box until Pop Andrews came to collect the mail,and you prevailed upon him to violate the rules and let you have it, andhe handed you the wrong letter,” said Owen. “So far, so good. And now,Dallas, when you found that you had the Reverend Doctor Moore’s pinkenvelope, with the hundred-dollar bill inside, what did you do with it?”

“When I got to my room at the boarding house, I started to tear theletter up without opening it, still thinking, of course, that it was theone which I had sent Chester. When I caught sight of the money inside,and realized the mistake I had made, I was in a quandary. Thehundred-dollar bill and the letter which the envelope contained wereeach in four pieces. I was afraid to go to the post office and explainhow it had happened, because I knew that if I did so it would getCarrier Andrews into trouble for violating the rules. So I decided tocut some sticking plaster into small strips, and paste the piecestogether. I made quite a neat job of it; then I addressed a freshenvelope, inclosed the patched-up letter and hundred-dollar bill, anddropped it into a mail box.”

Owen drew a deep breath of relief. “And I suppose the envelope which youaddressed was a white one?”

“Yes. I didn’t have any pink ones at the boarding house.”

“And that explains, of course, why they thought at Branch X Y that theletter was missing from the mail. Naturally they didn’t think to gothrough the white envelopes. No doubt by this time the Reverend DoctorMoore’s friend in Pennsylvania is in receipt of his hundred-dollar bill.Your explanation, Dallas, clears the mystery! What a gink I am not tohave thought of that solution before!”

But suddenly a puzzled look came to Inspector Sheridan’s face. “There’sone point that isn’t cleared up yet: If you got the wrong pink envelope,Dallas, what became of the right one? The letter which you sent to yourbrother ought to have been in the mail still.”

“And so it was,” answered Dallas, with a smile. “When I reached here Ifound that Chester was already in receipt of it.”

“But how could that be? They searched all through the mail at Branch XY, and failed to find any square, pink envelope.”

“The letter which Chester received was in a square, white envelope,”said Dallas. “I noticed that as soon as he showed it to me. And,” shewent on, with a puzzled frown, “that’s something which I can’tunderstand at all. I know that it sometimes happens that in a box ofcolored stationery a white envelope will get mixed with the tinted ones,but I am ready to take oath that the envelope in which I inclosedChester’s letter was pink. If it wasn’t so perfectly ridiculous I shouldbe inclined to believe that it must have changed color while in themail.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Owen, an inspiration coming to him. “I thinkI’ve got the answer. This en[Pg 44]velope was exactly the same shape anddesign as the rest in the box, wasn’t it, Dallas?”

“Yes; exactly the same as the others, except that it was white insteadof pink.”

“And it appeared to you to be pink?”

“Yes; and I am not color blind—if that is what you are going to imply,”replied Dallas, mildly indignant.

“I’m not quite so sure of that,” said Owen, with a smile. “I’ll grantthat you are not color blind under ordinary conditions, but these werenot ordinary conditions.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was a dark afternoon when you addressed that envelope, and theelectric light over your desk at the office was turned on, wasn’t it?”

The girl nodded. “Yes, that’s so; but still——”

“And the electric globe over your desk throws such a strong light thatyou have a piece of paper around it to shade it, haven’t you, Dallas? Apiece of red paper; I noticed it the other day.”

A look of enlightenment came to the girl’s face. “Why, yes; I understandhow it happened now. That red shade around the electric light made thatwhite envelope look pink, just like the rest.”

“Exactly!” cried Owen happily; “and that solves the mystery of themissing pink envelope. I’m mighty glad now that I followed you toChicago, Dallas.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

UNTO THE LAST.

When Samuel J. Coggswell learned that his disciple and confidential man,Jake Hines, had been brought back to New York under arrest, he wasgreatly perturbed.

“And what does he say?” he asked the reporter who brought him the news.“What does the misguided young man say? I suppose he has been makingsome sensational and, of course, absolutely false statements about me,eh?” He looked at his visitor anxiously.

“On the contrary,” the newspaper man replied, “they can’t get a thingout of Jake, Mr. Coggswell. He refuses to talk.”

An expression of great relief came to the district leader’s face. “Ah!”he exclaimed, his ears wiggling rapidly as he spoke. “Poor Jake, poorJake! So they can’t get a word out of him, eh? Jake always was astubborn young man—a very stubborn young man.”

After the newspaper man had gone, Boss Coggswell sat in his privateoffice at the clubhouse, smiling confidently to himself.

“I might have known Jake wouldn’t squeal,” he mused. “He’s not thatkind. Even though they’ve got him, I guess I’m safe.”

Even in the worst of men there is usually some redeeming trait. Crook,grafter, and scoundrel as Jake Hines was, there was one thing which,perhaps, should be put down to his credit—his unswerving loyalty to hismaster.

The prosecuting attorney, certain that Samuel J. Coggswell was behindthe conspiracy against Owen Sheridan, which had landed Jake in thetoils, and anxious to get the bigger fish in his net, if possible,offered to deal leniently with Hines if he would make a confessioninvolving the boss. But Jake stubbornly refused.

“No,” he said, “I ain’t convicted yet, and while Boss[Pg 45] Coggswell’s myfriend I won’t give up hope of beatin’ this case. But if the worst comesto worst, and I have to go up—well, I’ll be the goat. You won’t get asqueal out of me!”

Coggswell made every effort to keep his subordinate from going to jail;that is to say, every effort which it was possible to make in secret. Hegot a bondsman for Jake, even though the latter’s bail was set at a veryhigh figure, and arranged for the young man to skip his bail and escapebeyond the jurisdiction of the courts before the case came up for trial.

But this plan was defeated by the vigilance of the prosecuting attorney,who, anticipating such a move, had Hines watched so closely bydetectives that it was impossible for him to get away.

Failing in this attempt, Coggswell retained the very best lawyersobtainable to defend his faithful follower; and when this array of legaltalent met with defeat, and Hines was found guilty by a jury, thepolitician exerted all his powerful influence to save the convicted manfrom a jail sentence. But this attempt also failed, and Jake Hines hadto go to prison.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A SAD FAREWELL.

The young politician took his medicine with a stoicism worthy of abetter cause. There was actually a broad grin on his beefy face as heheard the judge utter the words which condemned him to several yearsbehind prison bars. But it was not wholly stoicism. His attitude waspartly due to the fact that even at that desperate stage of the game hehad not quite lost faith in the power of his master and mentor to aidhim.

“I won’t be in the jug long,” he declared confidently to the deputysheriff who led him, shackled, out of the courtroom. “Boss Coggswellwill get me out. His pull will win me a pardon, all right. So long ashe’s my friend I’m not worryin’. And not only will he get me free,” headded, a glint coming into his beady eyes, “but you can bet he’ll makeit hot for everybody that’s had a hand in sending me up. That judge’llget his for handing me such a stiff sentence; the district attorney willbe made to regret that he wouldn’t let up when the boss gave him thehint; and as for that big stiff of a Sheridan—well, I’m willing to beta thousand to a hundred that he won’t be holding that inspector’s jobvery long. They’ll all be made to feel that it ain’t healthy to defy aman like Samuel J. Coggswell.”

Just as the train which was to carry him off to prison was about to pullout of the station, Jake received a visit from the man in whom he hadsuch faith. Coggswell rarely yielded to sentiment when it was againsthis interest to do so, but in this instance, although he realized thathe could ill afford to be seen shaking hands with the convicted man, hedecided that the latter’s loyalty in refusing to “squeal” was deservingof this tribute; so he was there to say farewell to his faithfulhenchman.

“I need scarcely say,” he explained unctuously to the group of newspapermen who were on the platform to see Hines depart, “that there is no manwho condemns and deplores more than I the atrocious crime for which thatwretched young man is about to pay the penalty. Still, I cannot quiteforget the time when poor, misguided Jake Hines was an honest man, whoenjoyed my esteem[Pg 46] and friendship. It is in memory of those days,gentlemen, that I am here now to give him a parting handclasp. Whoknows,” he added, raising his eyes piously toward the ceiling of thetrain shed, “but what the lingering recollection of that last touch ofan old friend’s hand may soften his heart and cause his feet to seekonce more the straight and narrow path after he emerges from his gloomyprison cell?”

Having delivered himself of this worthy sentiment, and noting, withsatisfaction, that several of the scribes were taking it down verbatim,Mr. Coggswell stepped aboard the train and approached the seat whichcontained Jake and the deputy sheriff.

“How do you feel, my boy?” he inquired, in a sympathetic whisper.

“First class, boss,” Hines assured him, with a cheerful grin. “Say, it’smighty white of you to come to see me off, but you shouldn’t have doneit. It might cause talk.”

“Let evil tongues wag if they will,” was the sententious response. “Youought to know me better, Jake, than to think for a moment that I wouldconsider myself at all in a case like this. I hope, my boy, that you areaccepting this unfortunate situation with philosophy and—er—are stilldetermined not to talk.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” said Hines, with another grin. “They’re not goingto get a word out of me, even though I have to stay in the jug for thefull term of my sentence. I’m no squealer.”

Hearing which, Coggswell exhaled a sigh of relief, and, as the train wasabout to get under way, took a hurried leave of his unfortunatelieutenant.

“Boss,” Hines said to him wistfully, as they once more clasped hands,“I’m sorry I won’t be there to help you at the coming primary fight. I’mafraid you’ll miss me.”

“I’m afraid I shall, Jake,” Coggswell answered, taking care not to speakabove a whisper. “I’m afraid I shall.”

And his ears were not wiggling as he said it.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LAST STAND.

Deprived of the services of his able lieutenant, Boss Coggswell facedthe coming primary-election contest with some misgivings. He realizedthat he was up against the biggest battle of his political career.

Several times in the past attempts had been made to wrest the districtleadership from him, but in all those cases his opponents had been soweak, and their campaigns so poorly organized, that he had been able todefeat them without much effort. The Honorable Sugden Lawrence, he hadreason to believe, would prove a much more formidable foeman. Theex-judge possessed a personality which made him an opponent to be fearedeven by so powerful a boss as Samuel J. Coggswell. Therefore the latterhad spoken with the utmost sincerity when he told Jake Hines that hewould miss him. He feared that in order to win, much dirty work wouldhave to be done; and Boss Coggswell disliked dirty work—when he had todo it himself. It would have been so much pleasanter to have theindefatigable Jake on hand to take care of the hiring of “guerrillas,”the “fixing” of election inspectors, and various other details of asimilarly sordid and disagreeable character which Jake had always takencare of so faithfully.[Pg 47]

Perhaps it is needless to say that the enforced absence of his trustyhelper did not increase the boss’ good will toward the man who wasdirectly responsible for that calamity. Coggswell promised himselfgrimly that if the primary election went his way Mr. Owen Sheridan’schances of holding down his job as post-office inspector wouldn’t beworth a plugged nickel.

True, Sheridan was protected—to some extent, by the civil-service laws;but that fact did not worry Coggswell. He had his own little ways forovercoming such obstacles.

It was not only a desire for vengeance which actuated him; fear andself-preservation were also his motives. He considered it positivelydangerous to have Sheridan remain in the detective branch of the postalservice, for there were certain transactions past, present, andcontemplated, with which he was closely identified, which would not bearthe scrutiny of a post-office inspector.

He was afraid, however, to bring about the dismissal of the man beforeprimary-election day; he knew that if he did so Judge Lawrence would notfail to make political capital out of the incident; so he decided towait until the contest for the district leadership was over. In themeantime, for safety’s sake, he contrived to have Sheridan transferredfrom the New York district. This he could bring about without layinghimself open to the charge of persecution. A little wire pulling atWashington, and, without Boss Coggswell’s name being mentioned in thematter at all, Owen received peremptory orders to report to the chiefinspector of the San Francisco branch.

“I wouldn’t mind the change at all,” said Owen to Judge Lawrence. “Itwill be a nice honeymoon trip for us”—for the transfer order reachedhim on the very day of his marriage to Dallas—“but I hate the idea ofbeing away from New York while you are waging your primary battleagainst that crook. I was in hopes that I would be able to repay alittle of what you have done for me by helping you in your campaign.”

“For shame!” exclaimed the ex-jurist good-humoredly. “Even if you werein New York, you couldn’t possibly afford to take any part in the fight.Don’t you know that employees of the United States postal service areforbidden to mix up in politics?”

He smiled ironically as he said the words, for, although things aresomewhat different to-day, in those days it was an open secret thatevery member of the service, from the humblest letter carrier to thehead of the department, was an active political worker.

“Besides,” Judge Lawrence continued seriously, “I shall not need yourhelp. There isn’t any doubt in my mind that I am going to defeat thatrascal. All the trickery and corrupt practices which his crooked braincan devise won’t suffice to avert his downfall. You can go to SanFrancisco thoroughly assured that the days of Samuel J. Coggswell as apolitical boss are numbered.”

This did not appear to be an idle boast. As primary day drew nearer,Coggswell grew more and more alarmed by the strength which his opponentdisplayed. Word reached him that the voters of the district wereflocking by thousands to the ex-jurist’s banner. Men who had never takenthe trouble to vote at a primary election before were taking a keeninterest in this fight. Judge Lawrence was conducting a whirlwindcampaign, and his[Pg 48] forceful oratory had the district stirred as it hadnever been stirred before.

So worried was Boss Coggswell that he decided to take the stumphimself—a step which he had never before found necessary in all theyears he had been a political boss.

During the closing days of the campaign he followed his opponent aroundthe district, speaking from carts and in halls, denying vehemently thejudge’s charge that he had been mixed up in the conspiracy for which hisman—Jake Hines—was in prison stripes, and hotly denouncing the rivalcandidate’s “mud-slinging” tactics as “un-American and ungentlemanly.”

But, although he was an eloquent speaker, he was forced to realize thathis oratory could not save the day. His audiences smiled skepticallywhen he protested that he had had nothing to do with the desperateattempt to railroad young Sheridan to jail. They smiled still moreincredulously when he denied Judge Lawrence’s charge that he had derivedrevenue from the sale of tickets for the various outings of the SamuelJ. Coggswell Association.

The judge made it a point to go extensively into the details of thosenotorious outings. He quoted figures to show that at each outing thesale of tickets had brought in several thousand dollars more than thetotal expenses. He charged that this surplus had gone into the boss’coffers, and exposed the blackmailing methods by which Jake Hines andthe other lieutenants had forced the reluctant civil-service employeesand business men of the district to take tickets. It made excellentcampaign material.

What worried Boss Coggswell most of all was the fear that he would notbe able to carry out successfully on election day the corrupt practiceswhich now constituted his only hope of winning. That he could not win byfair means he was already sadly convinced, but he hoped to be able tosteal the election by the aid of the guerrilla bands of “repeaters,”fraudulent election inspectors, and stuffed ballot boxes.

But a doubt had arisen within Coggswell’s troubled mind whether, with afighter like the Honorable Sugden Lawrence to contend with, it would bepossible to “get away” with these violent measures. The judge had issueda warning from the stump that he intended to have a fair, honestprimary, and that if any rough work were attempted, those participatingwould be prosecuted.

Moreover—most serious blow of all—Judge Lawrence had enough pull atpolice headquarters to bring about the transfer of the captain of theprecinct—an officer kindly disposed toward Coggswell. The man who hadbeen sent up to take his place was an officer who was noted for hisimpartiality at elections and his ability to quell disorder at thevoting places.

Altogether, things looked very bad for the boss. But just when theoutlook appeared darkest and he was about to give up hope, he suddenlysaw an opportunity to crush the enemy by a single blow.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CRUSHING EVIDENCE.

The opportunity which came to Boss Coggswell was in the form of aletter. Bill Hillman brought it to him as he sat in his private officeat the headquarters of the[Pg 49] Samuel J. Coggswell Association. Hillman wasone of his henchmen, who, during the enforced absence of Jake Hines, hadbeen chosen by the boss to fill that unfortunate young man’s place ashis confidential man. He was not as able a worker as Jake, judged by thestandard which had made the latter so useful to his chief, but hecombined the qualities of shrewdness, audacity, and unscrupulousness toa greater degree than anybody else in the organization; therefore,Coggswell had picked him as the man best fitted to wear Jake’s mantle.

“Here’s something important, boss,” Hillman exclaimed, burstingexcitedly into his chief’s presence and waving a pink envelope with anungummed flap.

Coggswell took the envelope, and noted with interest that it wasaddressed to the Honorable Sugden Lawrence. It bore in the left-handcorner the imprint: “Hodginson & Lehman, Attorneys, 22 Wall Street.”

He drew out the inclosure, and read eagerly the following typedcommunication:

The last sentence of this letter afforded Boss Coggswell much amusem*nt.“No publicity!” he chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about that. I ratherthink that Mr. Harvey Hodginson is going to find himself mistaken onthat point.”

He turned to Bill Hillman. “This letter is indeed interesting,” heremarked. “How did you get it, my boy? I hope you came by it honestly?”

Hillman’s only response was a broad grin. He knew that the boss knewvery well how the letter came into his possession. In spite of thenarrow escape he had had once before, Coggswell, for several days past,had been up to his old trick of having Judge Lawrence’s mail interceptedand carefully scrutinized before it was delivered to its addressee. Hewas so anxious to “get something on” his opponent that he considered therisk worth while.

Hillman grinned again as the boss folded the letter, replaced it in theenvelope, and carefully gummed down the flap. It had been opened byholding it over a steaming kettle, and was necessary for Coggswell toresort to the mucilage bottle on his desk in order to close it again. Heperformed the task with a dexterity which showed that he was a mastercraftsman at that sort of thing, taking great care not to invitesuspicion by applying too much mucilage.

“Bless me!” he exclaimed, suddenly drawing back with affectedastonishment after he had completed this opera[Pg 50]tion. “There’s a postagestamp on this envelope, Bill—an uncanceled stamp. Queer that I didn’tnotice it before. It looked as if this letter must have somehow droppedout of the mail. You’d better take it right away and hand it to a lettercarrier. As good citizens, Bill, it is our duty to see that the UnitedStates mails are not delayed any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

As Hillman hurried out to restore the letter to the unscrupulous carrierfrom whom he had “borrowed” it, Coggswell reached for his desktelephone, and called up a certain newspaper man with whom he was onvery friendly terms.

“Can you come around to the club right away?” he inquired. “There’s achance for you to make twenty dollars and get a good story for yourpaper, besides.”

Half an hour later he was explaining to the reporter what was requiredof him. The latter was to earn the twenty dollars by interviewing a firmof lawyers named Hodginson & Lehman, and a young woman named MissMarjorie Dorman, if he could find her. He was to ask them about abreach-of-promise suit which the Honorable Sugden Lawrence had settledout of court by the payment of thirty thousand dollars.

“It is probable that you won’t find either the lawyers or the young ladywilling to talk,” he remarked. “They don’t wish any publicity. But areporter of your experience ought to be able to wring some informationout of either one or the other. Do the best you can, and let me know assoon as possible what you find out.”

The reporter was not successful. At the law offices of Hodginson &Lehman he was told curtly that the firm never discussed its clients’affairs with representatives of the press. A search through citydirectories and telephone books failed to locate Miss Marjorie Dorman.

Boss Coggswell was disappointed, but not dismayed. “I scarcely expectedthat you’d be able to make them talk,” he told his newspaper friend;“but I thought it was worth trying. Of course, the more details I couldget about the case the better. However, I have enough information for mypurpose. Come around to Colfax Hall to-night, and you’ll see some fun.I’m going to address a big meeting there—the biggest of the wholecampaign—and I’m going to hand a big jolt to my dear friend the judge.I don’t imagine that he’ll be as popular with the voters of thisdistrict after I get through with him. If you can’t come yourself, you’dbetter see that your paper sends another man to cover the meeting. I’mgoing to notify all the other papers. I want every sheet in town toprint my speech.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

A BOOMERANG.

At nine o’clock that evening Coggswell proceeded to hand his opponentthe big jolt, as planned. Standing on the platform at Colfax Hall, whichwas filled with some two thousand voters of the district, he beganearnestly:

“My friends, as you all know, since the start of this contest I havedeplored personal attacks. I have raised my voice in protest against theoutrageous mud slinging indulged in by my opponent and his misguidedfriends. But inasmuch as they have persisted in their shameful abuse ofa man who for seventeen years has worked night and day to serve thepeople of this district, I feel justified in showing you that we can doa little mud slinging,[Pg 51] too. I am going to handle this Mr. JusticeLawrence without gloves. I am going to show him to you in his truecolors.”

Boss Coggswell raised his clenched fist above his head. “A rascal whodeceives his fellow men is bad enough,” he yelled, “but I cannot findwords, my friends, to express my contempt for a scoundrel who would dupea woman—an innocent, trusting young girl. And that’s the kind of a manthe Honorable Sugden Lawrence is.”

He was interrupted at this point by a storm of groans and hisses, andone man with a brazen voice shouted: “That’s a lie!”

“It’s the truth!” roared Boss Coggswell, shaking his fist frenziedly inthe direction of this disturber. “It’s the truth, my friends, and I canprove it. This rascal Lawrence has just paid the sum of thirty thousanddollars to a young woman whom he promised to marry and then shamelesslyjilted. He paid her the money, not out of a sense of shame, my friends,or a sense of justice, but because she had started a suit for breach ofpromise against him, and he was afraid of the scandal. He was afraid ofbeing shown up to his fellow men in his true colors, so he paid herthirty thousand dollars hush money to call off the suit. The name ofthis young woman is Miss Marjorie Dorman. I challenge the HonorableSugden Lawrence to deny these facts.” The speaker placed witheringemphasis upon the word honorable. “I challenge him to deny that he paidthat money to prevent the breach-of-promise suit from going to court.”

Amid the excitement which followed this sensational charge, a young manstrode down the center aisle toward the platform. Boss Coggswell saw himcoming, and stared at him in astonishment. He scarcely could believethat his eyes were not playing him a trick.

The young man, a grim smile on his face, mounted the three stairsleading to the platform, and stood in the background, waiting patientlyuntil Boss Coggswell was through with his speech. He did not have longto wait. Although the speaker had intended to say much more, histhoughts were so upset by the arrival of this visitor that he cut shorthis remarks.

As he stepped to the rear of the platform, he was confronted by thenewcomer.

“Well, if it isn’t my young friend, Inspector Sheridan!” he exclaimed,with affected heartiness. “What are you doing here, my boy? I thoughtyou were in San Francisco. I heard that you had been transferred there.”

“Evidently your informant hasn’t kept you well posted,” Owen replieddryly. “I was ordered there, but I was called back. You see, Mr.Coggswell, you are not the only man who has a pull at Washington. Myfriend Judge Lawrence has a friend there who is quite influential inpost-office affairs. He lives at the White House. When he heard that thejudge needed me here, he was kind enough to countermand that transferorder.”

“So the judge needed you here, did he?” remarked the boss uneasily.“Might I ask what for?”

“Certainly. I have no objection to telling you that—now. Judge Lawrencehad a suspicion that his mail was being tampered with. He thought that Imight be able to find out who was responsible for the outrage.”

“And have you found out?” inquired Coggswell, his ears beginning towiggle.

“I have,” Inspector Sheridan answered. “That is why I am here now. Ihave come to place you under arrest,[Pg 52] Mr. Coggswell. I wish I could saythat it is an unpleasant duty, but I must be truthful. As a goodcitizen, I have been looking forward to this moment for some time.”

Their voices were sufficiently loud to carry to all parts of the hall,and a hush had fallen upon the audience. Every man was listeningintently.

Boss Coggswell frowned. “Young man, you had better be careful. I warnyou that if you go ahead with this foolishness the consequences will bemost disastrous to you. I presume this is a piece of spite work on thepart of my opponent. No doubt he has heard that I’ve got the goods onhim regarding that breach-of-promise case, and he thinks he’ll be ableto square himself with the voters of this district by making thisoutrageous move.”

“Are you quite sure that you have the goods on Judge Lawrence regardingthat breach-of-promise case?” asked Sheridan, with a quizzical smile.“Perhaps you are mistaken, Coggswell. Perhaps the judge is not quite therascal you have painted him. It is true that he is acquainted with ayoung person named Marjorie Dorman. It is also true that he is very fondof her. But it is not true that he has ever asked her to marry him. As amatter of fact, she is not quite old enough to consider a proposal ofthat sort. She is only six years old. She is the judge’s little niece.”

Boss Coggswell looked very uneasy. His face had turned pale. His earswere wiggling furiously.

“Then what was the idea?” he inquired hoarsely.

“The idea was to set a little trap for you,” Owen explained. “As I saidbefore, the judge has had cause to suspect for some time that his mailwas being tampered with—that somebody was steaming open the envelopesand reading their contents before they were delivered to him. He put thematter in my hands, and we decided to make a little test to ascertainwhether his suspicions were correct. We fixed up a decoy letter. It toldof an imaginary check for thirty thousand dollars which the judge paidto settle an imaginary breach-of-promise suit. It was sent to the judgethrough the mails, and was intercepted in the usual way by you,Coggswell——”

“That’s a lie!” Coggswell interrupted furiously. “I never saw yourconfounded letter. I——”

“It is the truth,” Inspector Sheridan returned quietly. “The speech youhave just made on this platform is enough to convict you. But, inaddition to that, I have arrested the carrier who handed the letter toyour man, Bill Hillman, and I have a complete confession from him. Wehave such a good case, Boss Coggswell, that we are fully confident ofthe result. Not only are you going to lose the leadership of thisdistrict, but you are going away for a few years to keep your friend andaccomplice, Jake Hines, company in prison.”

And, although he was not the seventh son of a seventh son, Post-officeInspector Owen Sheridan proved to be a true prophet.

THE END.

“SOLD.”

As the man went across the street, several persons saw it, and turned tolaugh at him. The second boy, who was waiting across the street, ran upto the man and said:[Pg 53]

“Mister, there’s a card hooked to your coat behind. Let me take it off.”

“Goodness me!” said the man. “How did that get there?”

“One o’ them ragamuffins put it on, I s’pose.”

“Confound them! Well, here’s a dime for you.”

Two minutes later the good little boy hung it on a fat man, and hispartner on the other side collected another dime. He had to ask for it,but he got it. A man would be a brute to refuse a dime to a poor boy whohad done him such a service.

A SMART TOAD.

Professor Botkins tells of a remarkable instance of intelligenceexhibited by a garden toad. He was watching the efforts of his pet toadto capture a very large worm. The toad had been sitting still, andgiving no sign that it saw anything. The worm gave a little wriggle asit began to come out of the ground, when, quick as a flash the toad madea leap, and seized the end of the worm in its mouth.

Then began a tug of war. Every time that the toad gave a pull, the wormdrew back. But the toad was not to be discouraged. It jerked and jerkeduntil it fairly stood on its hind legs. Still it could not dislodge theworm.

He glanced down again, and saw the toad twisting its legs about untilthe worm was wrapped twice around it, then the toad gave a hop, and outcame the worm.

IT WAS FOUND.

An Irish clergyman, riding from his home to chapel one morning had themisfortune to lose a new cloak, which he carried attached to his saddle.

Before commencing his discourse, he thought well to advertise the lossof the garment and to enlist the services of the congregation in itsrecovery.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “I have met with a great loss this morning.I have lost my fine new cloak. If any of you find it, I hope you will beso good as to bring it home to me.”

“It’s found, yer riverence,” cried a voice from the bottom of thechapel.

“God bless you, my child!” exclaimed the pastor, with unction.

“It’s found, sir,” continued the voice; “for I kem that road thismornin’, an’ it wasn’t on it.”

TOO SHARP BY A THIRD.

Harry had just begun to go to school, and was very proud of what he hadlearned.

One day he thought he would show his father how much he knew, and askedhim at dinner:

“Papa, how many chickens are there on that dish?”

“Two, my boy,” said papa. “I thought you knew how to count.”

“You’re wrong,” said Harry; “there are three. That’s one, that’s two,and two and one make three.”

“Very well,” said his father; “your mother may have one for her dinner,I’ll take the other, and you can have the third.[Pg 54]”

[Pg 55]

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Gets Another Prison Term.

Charles F. Kline, who, at the age of fifty-five, has spent thirty-threeyears of his life in prison, and who pleaded guilty in Federal court inColumbus, Ohio, to charges that he had counterfeited silver dollars, wassentenced by Judge Sater to four and one-half years in the Moundsville,W. Va., Penitentiary. Kline was arrested several months ago in a logcabin near West Jefferson, Ohio.

Woman, Seventy-four, Cutting New Teeth.

Mrs. H. Vincent, of Medford, Ore., seventy-four years old, and a pioneerof the Rogue River Valley, is cutting a new set of teeth, nine uppersand eight lowers. The unusual condition has necessitated the castingaside of false teeth.

Last summer Mrs. Vincent suffered from a paralytic stroke in the leftarm, and the nervous shock is supposed to be responsible for the suddenreversal in Nature’s routine. Mrs. Vincent is suffering but slightinconvenience from her second “teething.”

Saved by Strip of Canvas.

Falling forty feet and not being injured was the unique experience ofWorley Hassler, an employee of the Spring Grove Stone and Lime Co., ofSpring Grove, Pa. A thin strip of canvas put up to protect the firemenfrom the sun saved his life.

Hassler was working on the top of a kiln when he was overcome by gaseousfumes, falling over the edge. Workmen who saw him hurtling through theair were surprised when he alighted on the canvas covering, bounded intothe air again, and landed safely on the ground, unhurt.

Snake’s Queer Predicament.

When James Moriarity, of Lead Hill, Ark., heard a rustling of the bushesin a fence corner near his barn, he pushed aside the shrubbery and saw alarge blacksnake apparently making a furious effort to crawl through anarrow crack between two rails of the fence. When the snake sawMoriarity, the reptile made an effort to withdraw but could not do so.

Moriarity investigated the predicament of the snake and saw that it hadfound a nest of eggs, part of which were on one side of the fence andpart on the other side. The snake had swallowed an egg on the “near”side of the fence and then had poked its head through the crack andswallowed another egg. With two eggs in its throat, one on each side ofthe crack, the snake was a prisoner. Moriarity killed the snake but didnot rescue the eggs.

Terrapin Back After Twenty-five Years.

This is the story of how a Georgia terrapin came back after twenty-fiveyears. It is vouched for by a number of well-known citizens.

One day back in the year 1890, Harry Lee Jarvis and W. H. Prater werestrolling over the latter’s plantation near Varnell Station, aboveAtlanta, when they encountered a highland tortoise or what is commonlyknown as a[Pg 56] terrapin, and pronounced “tarrypin” by the portions of thepopulation who know and love him best.

Prater did what quite a number of now celebrated men have donebefore—he carved his initials and the year on the unresistingterrapin’s lid, and let him go. And last week the terrapin did whatquite a number of now celebrated tortoises have done before—it cameback.

Prater was directing the clearing of a ditch, when one of the workmenpicked up a terrapin. On its shell were plainly carved the initials W.H. P. and date 1890, partly grown over by a new growth of shell, butstill perfectly distinct. Mr. Prater says the terrapin didn’t seem tohave grown much, but looked hale and hearty as when they first met.

Makes Tumblers Out of Ice.

Instead of icing drinks, why not put them in tumblers made of ice? Itlooks as if this would soon be possible in every home, for the UnitedStates patent office has issued a patent to Hendrik Douwe Pieter Huizer,of The Hague, Netherlands, for an apparatus for making tumblers of ice.Besides cooling the contents, such tumblers will have the hygienicadvantage of never being used more than once. The inventor suggestsinsulating his ice tumblers in paper or celluloid cases in order to makethem last at least as long as the drink.

Interesting New Inventions.

A new piano for traveling musicians weighs but one hundred and twentypounds and can be packed and shipped like a trunk.

A rat trap has been patented that first catches a rodent, thenelectrocutes it, and finally drops the body into a receptacle out ofsight of others.

A German speedometer for automobiles has an illuminated dial which makesseveral color changes as the speed of the car to which it is attachedincreases.

For the blind there has been invented a watch with the hours marked byraised dots and dashes that can be read by the sense of touch.

A new traveling bag locks automatically when it is lifted by the handle.

A California inventor has patented a chair for amusem*nt places that canbe opened for use only when a coin is dropped into a slot.

A saddle has been patented by a New Jersey inventor which includesleather flaps to cover the buckles, which frequently wear out riders’clothing.

Champion Quiltmaker—A Man—Defies Rivals.

W. W. Yale, of Ouaquaga, N. Y., champion patchwork-quilt piecer of theState, defended his title by completing his twentieth quilt for theyear.

Encouraged by his tremendous accomplishment for the fiscal year, Mr.Yale, who fears no thimbled demon in America, has issued a challenge toevery hemstitching, quiltmaking, embroidery lover in the nation for thecoming year. He says openly that he will complete twenty-five quilts orknow the reason why, and those who know Mr. Yale declare that this isstrong language for him.[Pg 57]

Already the champion has made arrangements for the construction of aquilt, the central decoration of which is to be the Ouaquaga town hall.Facetious persons who are familiar with the Ouaquaga town hall, figurethat the reproduction in needlework may be life size, which would makethe quilt ample to cover a cot or for use as a doily.

A great number of punsters make remarks about Mr. Yale and his lifework, but he never gives them a thought, as is evidenced by the factthat he has heard their tirades frequently without so much as dropping astitch. Frequently he has caused gasps of delight by his colorings,which he takes from the flower beds in the front yard of his home. Thecolorings are those of the cannas, bleeding hearts, hollyhocks,sunflowers, salvias, dahlias, and marigolds.

Mr. Yale dreads to have women advise him regarding his work, for theyfrequently annoy him by their overbearing attitude in matters which he,as champion, should be consulted about as the last authority. He getsterribly angry sometimes, but as yet has never struck any one.

Smallest Electric Motor.

The smallest electric motor in the world, just high enough to reach upunder the chin of the head of Lincoln on a one-cent piece, has beenbuilt by H. F. Keeler, a student in the Highland Park College ofEngineering at Des Moines, Iowa.

The armature is less than one-fourth of an inch in diameter, and thewire is of the size of number one-hundred thread. A jeweler’s microscopemust be used to see the different parts, and the whole thing weighs onlytwenty grains, or as much as a third of a teaspoonful of water. Whencoupled with small dry batteries, it runs at very high velocity andmakes a noise like a fly on a windowpane.

Says Eyes Tell Tales to Most Shrewd Observers.

Are your eyes predominantly blue or gray, or brown or black?

According to some elaborate statistical researches, if they are blue orgray you are of an intellectual rather than emotional nature. If brownor black, the emotional nature. If brown or black, the emotional in youexceeds the intellectual, and you need to be specially on your guard tokeep your passions in check.

If, again, your eye is not strongly colorful; if it is prominent, withthe pupil small and seldom dilating to any extent, and with the glancefixed, the modern physiognomist warns you to cultivate generosity ofheart and breadth and tolerance of mind. For these are the qualitieswhich this eye formation indicates that you lack.

So, too, there is a danger signal for you if you find a puffiness belowyour eyes, with the rim of the lower lid falling away from the eye,showing the red, while the upper lid droops. These signs usually pointto one of two things, we are told.

Either you are wasting your energies in some form of dissipation or yourinternal organs, particularly your kidneys, are not functioning as theyshould. You yourself know best to which of these evils—dissipation orill health—the puffiness is due.

Does your glance meet that of other people squarely[Pg 58] and fearlessly? Ordo you have a tendency to shift your eyes and look away when talkingwith others?

In the latter event, says the physiognomist, you may be sure somethingis wrong with you. You are perhaps suffering from some slight nervousweakness. Or, what is more likely, you have thoughts in your mind whichare not altogether to your credit. The shifting or drooping of your gazeis then based on a subconscious fear that your eyes will betray what ispassing through your mind.

Finally, note the position of your eyes. Mistrust yourself especially ifyou find your eyes “slanting upward from the nose under brows alsoslanting upward with fullness in the upper lid which overhangs the eyeand hides the rim of the lid, the eyeball thrown upward.”

“This,” says the physiognomist Foshbroke, and the writer has verifiedhis observation, “is the eye of craft and treachery, indicating thenature of the tiger and the fox, whose eye it resembles.”

A person with such an eye cannot too soon begin a course of moralself-education to straighten out the kinks in his nature.

This can always be done. Eye indications do not mean that your nature isfixed and unalterable in accordance with the signs shown by the eyes. Onthe contrary, the value of such signs is that they specify precisely inwhat respects reforms are most desirable.

Fierce Man-eating Lion Dines on Dog.

Julia, the ferocious “snarling lioness,” billed as one of the mostterrifying features of the Firemen’s Carnival in Mount Vernon, N. Y.,escaped from her cage the other night when she sneezed and blew out twoof the many half-inch bars forming the front of her den.

Fortunately it was three o’clock in the morning, at which times nothingis out in Mount Vernon but the street lamps and the downtown dogs. Ofthese latter Julia partook sparingly, as will be seen.

When Julia was brought here in connection with the effort to raise fundsfor Hose Truck No. 2, her fierce, untamed conduct, coupled with the factthat she was said to have two teeth, made the firemen fearful for thesafety of their friends, who, after paying their admission, foolishlyinsisted upon feeding peanuts and stick caramels to the evil-eyedman-eater. The situation became so desperate that Julia growled everytime she woke up—about twice a day.

One night, when her trainers left her, she was over in one corner of thecage, yawning. As she had yawned every couple of minutes since she was acub, nothing was thought of it. They took their dinner pails and wenthome, confident that they had trained her enough for one day.

Soon after two o’clock, one of the trainers, unable to sleep because ofa presentiment that something was wrong with the Firemen’s Carnival,walked down to the wild-animal cage and looked in. Julia was gone! Thekeeper, fully convinced of this alarming fact, took his life in hishands and immediately jumped into the cage. Then he called for a bit ofhelp at the top of his lungs.

The police force, who had been sleeping fitfully, responded as soon ashe could get his helmet and shield on. When he reached the Firemen’sCarnival, the awful situation was finally made clear to him, and the twoof[Pg 59] them, working in shifts, soon aroused the greater part of the town.

Julia was found cowering in the doorway of an apartment house. It washigh time for her to cower, for it was found that in her jaunt she hadeaten one of Alphonse Camera’s dogs, fell over an Airedale, which diedof fright, and chased a black cat to its death in a heavy door at theapartment house which was swinging at an unfortunate moment.

While one of the trainers threatened Julia with a revolver, another gota box, and they shooed her into it.

The Firemen’s Carnival management say that the whole thing is a goodadvertisem*nt for every one concerned—except possibly Julia’s trainerand the firm that made the cage.

Lawyer Seems to Have Amazing Dual Nature.

The strange case of Charles Williams, of Whitewater, Wis., is likely tobecome a cause for celebration among medical men, for it is one of theclearest cases of dual identity on record. The two personalities areCharles Williams, lawyer, justice, man of culture and personality, andthe same man as a farm laborer.

The doctors, bringing Williams back from Merriville, Ind., where he wasfound after he had been missing for three days, are working to transformhim once again to his true identity, that of the Whitewater courtcommissioner.

Mr. Williams was, while in college, a famous baseball pitcher, but in1895, just after his graduation from the State University, disappearedwhile en route to Chicago to begin his life work as a lawyer. It wasseven years before he was found, and he was then a farm laborer nearMerriville, Ind.

He came back to Whitewater, and all went well for a dozen years. Lastweek Mr. Williams began to complain of headaches, and on Tuesday startedfor Janesville on some legal business. He disappeared exactly as he hadtwenty years ago. And the strange display of his dual personality wasthat he immediately went to Merriville, Ind., and tried to get work atthe same farm where he was found after his first disappearance.

It took him three days to reach there, and as soon as he arrived, wordwas sent back to his home here, and relatives went after him. Thedoctors hope to restore his mind to the regular legal channels sostrangely abandoned for the “call of the farm.”

War Hits Circus Men; Few Tent Shows on Road.

The circus has received two hard blows this year, and daddy, uncle, andauntie may not have many opportunities to take Johnny under the canvasto see acrobats, tigers, and such.

War was the first setback circus people experienced. Then came thefoot-and-mouth disease among live stock. Each at first had an indirectresult, but now the loss of foreign acrobats, animal trainers, and wildanimals, together with the United States Bureau of Animal Industryprescribing narrow zones in which a circus can move for fear of carryingor contracting the foot-and-mouth disease, have caused lots of troublefor the three-ring showmen.

As evidence of this condition, A. L. Wilson, manager of a big tent andawning company of Kansas City, Mo., says that the demand for circus andconcession tents has practically been suspended, and he does not expectit to[Pg 60] resume until the European War is ended and the United Statesgovernment officials pronounce the country free of the foot-and-mouthdisease.

Persistent Wooer Mauled.

That the course of John Jestor’s true love for Miss May Sutton, of NewYork, has been an intolerable rocky path was indicated when his criesfor assistance called several policemen into the vestibule of MissSutton’s home. They barely dodged a butcher knife, of which the youngwoman had disarmed her persistent suitor and had hurled it into thestreet.

The policemen found Miss Sutton kicking Jestor about the vestibule,cuffing his ears soundly and occasionally landing a doubled little fiston his eyes, while he bellowed for aid.

Miss Sutton said that Jestor had declared that as she would not be hiswife, he would end both their lives.

Jestor, who is forty-five years old, cut both his wrists with a razorthree months ago, according to the police, because Miss Sutton had toldhim to stay away from her. He was locked up on a charge of attemptedfelonious assault.

Boy Bandit Comes to Grief.

After he had held up and robbed Miss Martha Zelf, eighteen years old,assistant cashier of the People’s State Bank at Dodson, a suburb ofKansas City, Mo., and forced her to give him three hundred and fourdollars of the bank’s money, a man giving his name as Luther Afton,nineteen years old, of Merrick, Okla., was captured, and an hour laterpleaded guilty in the criminal court and was sentenced to twenty yearsin the penitentiary.

The girl was alone in the bank when the young man entered. He pointed arevolver at her and ordered her to hand him the money in the teller’scage. At first Miss Zelf laughed at him, and then handed him a doublehandful of silver dollars. These he refused. The girl parleyed with hima moment and finally complied with his demand for currency.

As the robber reached the door, the girl screamed for help. Immediatelya number of citizens gathered and pursued the robber, catching him in achicken yard.

Renders Objects Invisible.

Michael Comerford, of St. Johns, Newfoundland, claims to have discovereda process of developing a film which, when placed in front of anyobject, no matter of what character or size, absorbs the color and exactform of the said object and presents a surrounding which hides from viewany object behind without the object being visible. In other words, theinvention is all that is claimed for it, and it makes it possible for aman or a body of men to disappear in a twinkling. Mr. Comerford hasgiven several demonstrations of the invention to his friends, who saythat it will revolutionize modern warfare.

Discovers Funniest Joke.

The “funniest joke” has been rediscovered. Samuel Ramsey, a carpenter ofNew Orleans, La., knows it, though a waiting world is yet to hear it.Just as soon as Sam gets entirely free from the ether of the CharityHospital, he says he’s going to tell it.

Sam laughed so heartily at the joke that there came a click to his jaw,and, to his dismay, he was unable to close[Pg 61] his mouth. In hispredicament he was removed from his home to the hospital, where surgeonsendeavored to set the jawbones. A reporter interviewed Sam on his littlecot, and Sam wrote this on a slip of paper:

“I can’t tell it to you now—it’s too funny, but if you wait until I getout of here, I’ll try to tell it.”

Patient is a Wireless “Nut.”

A patient in the State asylum, in Pueblo, Col., is suffering from anunusual form of insanity. He believes that the wireless stationsthroughout the world are preying on him and sapping his strength.

He wants to form a union for the purpose of elaborately attempting toabolish aërial communication throughout the world.

So far as known this is the first time this peculiar hallucination hascome to notice.

Favors Pardon for Youtsey.

The Reverend Andrew Johnson, nominated for governor of Kentucky on theProhibition platform, announced that his first official act, if elected,would be to pardon Henry E. Youtsey, who is serving a life sentence forthe assassination of William Goebel in 1899, while Goebel was contestingW. S. Taylor’s gubernatorial seat.

This announcement will carry more weight than is apparent on thesurface, since the Democratic party has been divided two or three timesover efforts to pardon Youtsey, and petitions have been put incirculation, principally by women, in aid of such effort.

Youtsey is only one out of more than forty men arrested for complicityin the Goebel murder. Caleb Powers and James Howard, who were alleged tobe most concerned, were pardoned by Governor Wilson, Republican, severalyears ago. As Youtsey confessed to his part in the crime, Democratscontend he should be pardoned.

Mr. Johnson offers to withdraw from the race if the Republican orDemocratic party puts a State-wide prohibition plank in its platform.

Horse Falls in Hidden Well.

Chester Tupper, of Paternos, Wash., was riding through the orchard of C.J. Stiner in pursuit of some cattle, when his horse broke through ahidden well, which had been dug to a depth of sixty feet and thencovered with loose boards. Tupper threw himself clear of the saddle andsaved himself. The horse went down, but somehow managed to keep his headabove the water. A tripod was rigged with pulley and snatch block. Ateam was hitched to this and the horse was brought safely to thesurface.

How White Woman Came Near Being an Indian.

If Mrs. Josephine Carroll, of South Omaha, Neb., had become a littleIndian papoose as she was slated to have been, one of Omaha’s mostenthusiastic charity workers and night-school instructors would bemissing to-day.

Mrs. Carroll was once slated to be a papoose. A squaw so wished her whenher parents were not looking. The squaw kidnaped the child a little morethan half a century ago, when Omaha was a buffalo pasture.

There was a rescue. But it never got into the papers. There were nopapers to print thrilling adventures that occurred around the MissouriRiver bluffs in those days. The mother, Mrs. John Godola, walked rightout of the[Pg 62] house, stopped the squaw, and took the child away from her.If it were to-day, the movies would have a thriller on the screen aboutit. But that was before Edison or any one else had thought of makingpictures walk and talk; also, those were the days when experience withthe Indians were many and grotesque. A mere kidnaping did not attractmuch attention.

Mrs. Carroll’s mother lived at what is now Thirteenth and FarnamStreets. At that time it was neither Thirteenth nor Farnam. It was justa place in the hills, prairie and timber. The present Mrs. Carroll wasabout three years of age. Her mother employed a young Indian squaw as adomestic. All was fine, but the domestic didn’t like to work. She likedto play with the baby, however. The baby took a great liking to thebrown maid.

One day the brown maid and the baby’s mother fell out. Straightway theservant was dismissed. Being fired was a somewhat novel experience tothis brown maiden. She knew principally that she was expected to leavethe premises, and that her pay, whatever that may have been, was tostop.

When the childish prattle was no longer heard, the mother rushed outjust in time to see the squaw disappearing over the hill with the child.There was a hotly contested half-mile race. It was a race of the whiteand the red. White won, and the precious child was brought back.

Millionaire is Generous.

Henry Pfeiffer, of Philadelphia, son of one of Cedar Falls’ earliestpioneers, now head of the big chemical company of Philadelphia, St.Louis, and Chicago, and a multi-millionaire, concluded a two weeks’visit with his brothers and sisters here by presenting each of them witha check for ten thousand dollars and an automobile. His benefactions inthis way totaled nearly one hundred thousand dollars.

The beneficiaries are H. J. Pfeiffer, L. Pfeiffer, Mrs. D. C. Merner,Mrs. W. F. Noble, brothers and sisters, and ex-Mayor W. H. Merner, D. C.Merner, and S. S. Merner, brothers-in-law. Besides this, the children ofall these people were likewise remembered handsomely.

Twin Children Made Taller.

Phaon and Uriah Schaeffer, four-year-old twins from Pinegrove, will bereturned to their home from the Miners’ Hospital, in Pottsville, Pa.,fully an inch and a half taller than when they were admitted three weeksago.

The twins were so bowlegged as to be deformed, and Doctor J. C. Biddle,to straighten out their limbs, put them in a plaster cast. The resulthas not only been to straighten out the legs but to make the boys muchtaller, while their walk is so different that they could hardly berecognized by relatives.

Little Ship Sails to Find Arctic Explorer.

Within a month the little schooner George B. Cluett will be buckingice in the arctic waters, on her way to Etah, Greenland. The Cluettsailed from New York recently for Nova Scotia and Labrador, where shewill put off part of her cargo for the coast hospitals of the GrenfellAssociation. Then she will sail on to search for Donald B. MacMillan andhis party.

MacMillan set out from New York just two years[Pg 63] ago to explore CrockerLand, the existence of which Rear Admiral Peary believed he haddiscovered. According to a message which MacMillan managed to get backsome time ago, there is no such land. The American Museum of NaturalHistory, one of the chief backers of the expedition, is sending theschooner Cluett to find MacMillan.

At one of the hospital stations where the schooner will stop, Doctor E.O. Hovey, of the museum, will be taken aboard. Captain H. C. Pickels, ofthe Cluett, hopes to find MacMillan and his comrades waiting at Etah,the expedition’s base, and to get out before the winter ice closes in onthe schooner. In that case he will be back in November. But the schoonercarries provisions to last two years.

If MacMillan has to be awaited for or search made for him, the longwinter will make neither task easy. The ship will then find herselfencompassed with leagues of ice. Eskimo huts will spring up around herlike mushrooms, and in the long arctic night it would be difficult toidentify the little Cluett with the picture of her taken at New Yorkthe other day.

But a closer acquaintance with Captain Pickels and the Cluett helpsone’s imagination to bridge the gap. Ever since she was built, fouryears ago, for the Grenfell mission service on the Labrador coast,Pickels has commanded her. She was designed for work in Northern waters.As the bronze plate in the captain’s cabin sets forth, she was presentedto Doctor Wilfred Grenfell in July, 1911, by George B. Cluett. That shewent to sea with purposes other than those of the ordinary tradingschooner, the plate makes plain in these few words: “The Sea is His andHe Made It.” The inscription in the brass band which binds the wheel,“Jesus saith I will make you fishers of men,” serves to distinguish herfrom the run of fishing craft which infest the Labrador waters. But forthese symbols of a higher vocation she is just like them, save that sheis much more stanch.

Although the proved nimbleness of the Cluett leads her charterers tohope that she may slip in and out with the rescued MacMillan party intime to get back to New York in November, the way food supplies havebeen poured into her show that no chances are to be taken in a localitywhere, as the captain remarked, “ye can’t fetch stuff from a grocery’round the corner.’” He shed light upon what for a dozen men might beconsidered a two years’ food supply. Some two thousand pounds of beef,nearly half of it canned and the rest pickled in brine, and an almostequal quantity of mutton and pork, formed the backbone of the stores.Beans and potatoes and barrel on barrel of pilot bread set off thisimpressive meat supply, which winter hunting is to vary with freshsteaks and roasts.

Several hundred pounds of coffee and a hundred of tea, onions, and manygallons of lime juice to ward off scurvy, were important items;strangely enough, not a particle of chocolate or coco. A comment uponthe rather small supply of milk—condensed, of course—as compared with,for one thing, three hundred pounds of rolled oats, drew from the hardycaptain the explanation that crews in the North preferred molasses withtheir oatmeal, and of molasses he had nearly a hundred gallons.

When the schooner starts on the last leg of the journey north, withdecks piled high with barrels of kerosene—the Cluett is to be stockedwith nearly five thou[Pg 64]sand gallons of kerosene and nine hundred gallonsof gasoline for her engines—the only persons aboard beside the crew ofeight hardy Nova Scotians, will be the representative of the NaturalHistory Museum. Captain Pickels’ Newfoundland dog, “Chum,” completes thelist.

“Belled” Buzzard Appears.

When working on the Charles Dufour farm, two miles north of Vevay, Ind.,Charles Hollcraft and son were surprised to hear a bell ringing in thetop of a high tree. On investigation they discovered a buzzard with asheep’s bell strapped around one of its wings in such a manner that ateach flap of the wings the bell tinkled. Seven years ago a “belledbuzzard” was seen in various parts of Switzerland County at frequentintervals, but finally disappeared.

Woman Operates Zinc Mine.

One of the most active prospectors and mine operators in the extensivezinc-mining district of southwest Missouri is a woman, Mrs. SarahMatlock. There is much activity in the Wentworth district, where herinterests are located, and she is carrying on operations on a big scale.One of her many mining properties comprises one hundred and sixty acres.The biggest mine in that district is owned by her. Much of her land issubleased.

Indian Given State Office.

Oliver la Mere, of the town of Winnebago, Neb., is the first Indian tohold an appointment under the Nebraska State government. He has beenappointed dairy inspector by Food Commissioner C. E. Harman, adepartment of which Governor Morehead is the chief.

Mr. la Mere is not an expert dairyman, but is a farmer, and has hadconsiderable experience with dairy cattle and dairy products.

He is thirty-six years of age and has a wife and seven children. Heattended the Indian school at Genoa, Neb., three years and attendedschool at Carlisle, Pa., in the year 1902. While he was a student thereduring that year he played center on the famous Indian football team. Hethen weighed two hundred and five pounds. He has written some newspaperarticles on Indian clan organizations and Indian burial customs, and hascoöperated with the government in anthropological research.

Lightning-rod Dispute is Officially Settled.

A few days ago a lightning-rod salesman near Bloomington, Ill., wasstruck by lightning and seriously injured. Notwithstanding the fact thatthe unfortunate salesman could not be expected to have his person andrig fitted out with a system of his alleged lightning catchers,extending far above his head and continually plowing into the roadway,as he made his tours of the country, still, the incident again revivedthe oft-discussed question as to the efficacy of the wares thatconstituted his stock in trade—the great American lightning rod—themysterious economic discovery that has caused thousands of Americanfarmers the loss of so much sleep and so many dollars in coin of therealm.

Ever since Ben Franklin designed the lightning rod as a means ofprotecting structures from lightning stroke, there has been periodicallyraised the question of the efficiency of these rods as a means ofwarding off the[Pg 65] bolts from the heavens. Men of eminence in theelectrical world have been found arrayed on both sides of the question,and in order to arrive at some well-founded conclusion, the subject wastaken up by the weather department.

The investigation was conducted by Professor J. Warren Smith, whoaddressed an open letter to the mutual fire-insurance companiesthroughout the country, especially those in the rural districts, askingfor any information which these organizations might have which mightthrow some light on the subject. The value of the rods was undoubtedlyattested to in the answers, and Benjamin Franklin has received fullvindication.

In two recent years two hundred mutual companies doing a business offully $300,000,000 had 1,845 buildings struck by lightning. Of thisnumber only sixty-seven were equipped with lightning rods. So far ascould be learned, about thirty-one per cent of the buildings insured bythese companies were rodded; hence, if the rods had furnished noprotection, the number of rodded buildings struck should have been fivehundred and seventy-two instead of sixty-seven.

Thus the efficiency of the rods in actually preventing lightning strokesappears to have been about ninety per cent. It may be fairly assumedthat a large part of the damage done to the rodded buildings occurred incases where the rods were improperly installed or in poor condition.

Five companies, with over 18,000 buildings insured, of which more thanfifty per cent were rodded, reported that they had never had a buildingburned or even materially damaged by lightning that was equipped with alightning rod; their records covering periods ranging from thirteen totwenty-five years.

Another important fact brought out by Professor Smith’s figures is thatwhen a rodded building is struck by lightning and damaged but not burneddown, the average damage is much less than in an unrodded building,viz., ten dollars in the former and twenty-two hundred dollars in thelatter.

Boy Attempts to Fly; Falls.

John Mitchell, aged fourteen, living in the Mount Vernon Road belowEvansville, Ind., attempted to rival the birds, and came to grief, witha broken arm. Mitchell made a girder and wings after a pattern in aboy’s book which he bought at a local store.

He attempted to glide from the loft of the stable to the ground. Thegirders were not strong and the wings collapsed. Mitchell fell to theground and his left arm was broken near the elbow and he suffered slightinternal injuries.

Sharpening Stones; Their Various Uses.

Not many people realize that there is a special sort of whetstone fornearly every purpose. The proper sharpening stones for each differentuse are exhibited in the National Museum at Washington, D. C., and thereare hundreds of them.

The hard, white, compact sandstone found near Hot Springs, Ark., areamong the best whetstones known, equaling, if not surpassing, the Turkeystone, which for years has been considered one of the best.

The hard, flintlike stone should be used only to sharpen instrumentsmade of the very best steel, requiring very[Pg 66] keen edges and points suchas those used by surgeons, dentists, and jewelers. Other grades,although composed of the same ingredients, are more porous, the sandgrains are not as close together, and a rougher edge is given to thesharpened tool. Because of their more porous nature, these stones cutfaster, proving suitable for the finer-edged tools and for honingrazors.

Indiana and Ohio supply a whetstone made from a sandstone of a coarsergrain than the novaculite of Arkansas, but nevertheless quite uniform.It may be used with either oil or water, and is useful for sharpeninghousehold cutlery or ordinary carpenters’ tools. But since it is easilycut and grooved by hard steel, it is not suitable for the fineinstruments of dentists and surgeons.

Scythe stones and mowing-machine stones are practically all made frommica schist rocks found in New Hampshire and Vermont. These rocks arecomposed of very thin sheets of mica and quartz crystals. The grit ofthe schist is not as sharp as that of the sandstone, because it containsforeign material other than silica, which prevents the quartz grainsfrom abrading freely.

Mica-schist stones wear down quickly from constant use—an advantagerather than a disadvantage, for, as they wear down, more of the hardsilica grains are exposed to do the sharpening. Neither oil nor water isneeded to keep the pores of the stone open, as with other whetstonerocks. Scythes require stones with these qualities.

Stove Trouble is Solved.

For some time it has been impossible for the family of James Rich, ofFidelity, to use the stove in the summer kitchen, because the flue hadbecome choked in some manner. The other day Mrs. Rich noticed a catsitting on the stove and looking steadfastly at the stovepipe. At thesame time Mrs. Rich’s attention was attracted by a tap-tap-tappingsound. Although the woman is not a spiritualist, she answered the threetaps by rapping on the stove with a fork handle. The taps responded fromthe stovepipe.

She called her husband and he too listened to the mysterious rappings.Finally they decided to take down the pipe and investigate. They did so,and what should suddenly emerge from the pipe but a red-headedwoodpecker much soiled from his adventure in the pipe’s sooty retreat.

The bird immediately took wing and flew away, pursued by other birdsthat seemed to mistake him for some new species. Mr. Rich then lighted afire in the stove, and the flue has been drawing excellently ever since.

Girls Hang to Ties for Life.

Hanging from their hands from a high trestle of the Baltimore & OhioRailroad, near Yarklyn, Del., residents of Mount Cuba escaped death whenan express train overtook them.

Mrs. Mary Flusher attempted to run to the end of the trestle, but wasovertaken by the train and hurled down an embankment after her leg hadbeen cut off. She was taken to the Delaware Hospital in a criticalcondition.

Miss Ryan and Miss Sastburn, together with Mrs. Fisher, were utilizing ashort cut homeward. Both girls dropped between the ties and clung withtheir fingers as the train thundered over them. Members of the traincrew dragged them to safety after it was brought to a stop.[Pg 68][Pg 67]

The Nick Carter Stories

ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS

When it comes to detective stories worth while, the Nick Carter Storiescontain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawntales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finestminds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiarall over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read intwenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test oftime so well as those contained in the Nick Carter Stories. It provesconclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some ofthe back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, orthey will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receiptof the price in money or postage stamps.[Pg 69]

714—The Taxicab Riddle.
717—The Master Rogue’s Alibi.
719—The Dead Letter.
720—The Allerton Millions.
728—The Mummy’s Head.
729—The Statue Clue.
730—The Torn Card.
731—Under Desperation’s Spur.
732—The Connecting Link.
733—The Abduction Syndicate.
736—The Toils of a Siren.
738—A Plot Within a Plot.
739—The Dead Accomplice.
741—The Green Scarab.
746—The Secret Entrance.
747—The Cavern Mystery.
748—The Disappearing Fortune.
749—A Voice from the Past.
752—The Spider’s Web.
753—The Man With a Crutch.
754—The Rajah’s Regalia.
755—Saved from Death.
756—The Man Inside.
757—Out for Vengeance.
758—The Poisons of Exili.
759—The Antique Vial.
760—The House of Slumber.
761—A Double Identity.
762—“The Mocker’s” Stratagem.
763—The Man that Came Back.
764—The Tracks in the Snow.
765—The Babbington Case.
766—The Masters of Millions.
767—The Blue Stain.
768—The Lost Clew.
770—The Turn of a Card.
771—A Message in the Dust.
772—A Royal Flush.
774—The Great Buddha Beryl.
775—The Vanishing Heiress.
776—The Unfinished Letter.
777—A Difficult Trail.
782—A Woman’s Stratagem.
783—The Cliff Castle Affair.
784—A Prisoner of the Tomb.
785—A Resourceful Foe.
789—The Great Hotel Tragedies.
795—Zanoni, the Transfigured.
796—The Lure of Gold.
797—The Man With a Chest.
798—A Shadowed Life.
799—The Secret Agent.
800—A Plot for a Crown.
801—The Red Button.
802—Up Against It.
803—The Gold Certificate.
804—Jack Wise’s Hurry Call.
805—Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase.
807—Nick Carter’s Advertisem*nt.
808—The Kregoff Necklace.
811—Nick Carter and the Nihilists.
812—Nick Carter and the Convict Gang.
813—Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor.
814—The Triangled Coin.
815—Ninety-nine—and One.
816—Coin Number 77.

NEW SERIES

NICK CARTER STORIES

1—The Man from Nowhere.
2—The Face at the Window.
3—A Fight for a Million.
4—Nick Carter’s Land Office.
[Pg 70]5—Nick Carter and the Professor.
6—Nick Carter as a Mill Hand.
7—A Single Clew.
8—The Emerald Snake.
9—The Currie Outfit.
10—Nick Carter and the Kidnaped Heiress.
11—Nick Carter Strikes Oil.
12—Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure.
13—A Mystery of the Highway.
14—The Silent Passenger.
15—Jack Dreen’s Secret.
16—Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case.
17—Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves.
18—Nick Carter’s Auto Chase.
19—The Corrigan Inheritance.
20—The Keen Eye of Denton.
21—The Spider’s Parlor.
22—Nick Carter’s Quick Guess.
23—Nick Carter and the Murderess.
24—Nick Carter and the Pay Car.
25—The Stolen Antique.
26—The Crook League.
27—An English Cracksman.
28—Nick Carter’s Still Hunt.
29—Nick Carter’s Electric Shock.
30—Nick Carter and the Stolen duch*ess.
31—The Purple Spot.
32—The Stolen Groom.
33—The Inverted Cross.
34—Nick Carter and Keno McCall.
35—Nick Carter’s Death Trap.
36—Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle.
37—The Man Outside.
38—The Death Chamber.
39—The Wind and the Wire.
40—Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase.
41—Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend.
42—The Queen of the Seven.
43—Crossed Wires.
44—A Crimson Clew.
45—The Third Man.
46—The Sign of the Dagger.
47—The Devil Worshipers.
48—The Cross of Daggers.
49—At Risk of Life.
50—The Deeper Game.
51—The Code Message.
52—The Last of the Seven.
53—Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful.
54—The Secret Order of Associated Crooks.
55—The Golden Hair Clew.
56—Back From the Dead.
57—Through Dark Ways.
58—When Aces Were Trumps.
59—The Gambler’s Last Hand.
60—The Murder at Linden Fells.
61—A Game for Millions.
62—Under Cover.
63—The Last Call.
64—Mercedes Danton’s Double.
65—The Millionaire’s Nemesis.
66—A Princess of the Underworld.
67—The Crook’s Blind.
68—The Fatal Hour.
69—Blood Money.
70—A Queen of Her Kind.
71—Isabel Benton’s Trump Card.
72—A Princess of Hades.
73—A Prince of Plotters.
74—The Crook’s Double.
75—For Life and Honor.
76—A Compact With Dazaar.
77—In the Shadow of Dazaar.
78—The Crime of a Money King.
79—Birds of Prey.
80—The Unknown Dead.
[Pg 71]81—The Severed Hand.
82—The Terrible Game of Millions.
83—A Dead Man’s Power.
84—The Secrets of an Old House.
85—The Wolf Within.
86—The Yellow Coupon.
87—In the Toils.
88—The Stolen Radium.
89—A Crime in Paradise.
90—Behind Prison Bars.
91—The Blind Man’s Daughter.
92—On the Brink of Ruin.
93—Letter of Fire.
94—The $100,000 Kiss.
95—Outlaws of the Militia.
96—The Opium-Runners.
97—In Record Time.
98—The Wag-Nuk Clew.
99—The Middle Link.
100—The Crystal Maze.
101—A New Serpent in Eden.
102—The Auburn Sensation.
103—A Dying Chance.
104—The Gargoni Girdle.
105—Twice in Jeopardy.
106—The Ghost Launch.
107—Up in the Air.
108—The Girl Prisoner.
109—The Red Plague.
110—The Arson Trust.
111—The King of the Firebugs.
112—“Lifter’s” of the Lofts.
113—French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves.
114—The Death Plot.
115—The Evil Formula.
116—The Blue Button.
117—The Deadly Parallel.
118—The Vivisectionists.
119—The Stolen Brain.
120—An Uncanny Revenge.
121—The Call of Death.
122—The Suicide.
123—Half a Million Ransom.
124—The Girl Kidnaper.
125—The Pirate Yacht.
126—The Crime of the White Hand.
127—Found in the Jungle.
128—Six Men in a Loop.
129—The Jewels of Wat Chang.
130—The Crime in the Tower.
131—The Fatal Message.
132—Broken Bars.
133—Won by Magic.
134—The Secret of Shangore.
135—Straight to the Goal.
136—The Man They Held Back.
137—The Seal of Gijon.
138—The Traitors of the Tropics.
139—The Pressing Peril.
140—The Melting-Pot.
141—The Duplicate Night.
142—The Edge of a Crime.
143—The Sultan’s Pearls.
144—The Clew of the White Collar.

Dated June 19th, 1915.

145—An Unsolved Mystery.

Dated June 26th, 1915.

146—Paying the Price.

Dated July 3d, 1915.

147—On Death’s Trail.

Dated July 10th, 1915.

148—The Mark of Cain.
[Pg 72]