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~xZ j MhMHiafllHHtiMft THURSDAT. AUGUST M, IMS. UMSTKATtam BfKEMOCnOH SECOND INSTALLMENT # ° * WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE John Drane, prosperous Westcote man of mystenr, is risited br William Dart and by a boyhood chum, Simon Judd. As be speaks to them, a young girl, Amy Drane, approaches him. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY v “What was it, Amy?” John Drane asked. “Oh, nothing!” she said. * “It was only about Robert; whether you wanted to see him now, but if you have visitors—” “This evening, perhaps,” John Drane said. “But, one minute, Amy. This is an old friend of mine—” “Chum, black my cats, when we were kids, why don't you say, huh?” , Simon Judd demanded. “He’s afraid to tell how long ago that was, huh?” “Yes, one of my boyhood chums,” John Drane said, smiling slightly. “Simon Judd, in fact. And Judd, this is my grand-niece, Amy.” The girl gave Judd her hand and for a minute or two they talked, the girl smiling and Judd laughing for no reason but because of his own unfailing good humor; then she said, having learned that the jolly fat man might stay a day or two, , that Bob was waiting for her and, after a word of greeting to Dart, she hurried away. She did not like Dart; she had never liked him; she could not imagine what her uncle John saw in him. Dart stood stroking > his gray beard, studying Simon Judd as the big man climbed the veranda steps. From the rear the movements of the man from Riverbank were al most grotesque as he hoisted his great bulk from step to step. ‘ “I think,” Dart said, when John Drane turp^d at the top of the steps, “I’ll come back later on— tomorrow,-perhapsv”—— _ Drane scowled his annoyance. “Now, don't do that, William,” he said. “You know I don’t like to have my plans disarranged. You said you would stay the night and I have counted on it. I want to thrash that matter out with you. Don’t be a fool” “I only thought, as you had Mr. Judd here—” Now, that’s just why I want you to stay,” John Drane said. “If Sime and I get to talking boyhood days we’ll never go to bed. Don’t you see? We'll be talking over the old days. We'll never stop.” “Can’t stop me, once I get started, * that’s sure enough,” laughed Simon Judd. “Talkin’s my long suit, and always was, I guess. But don’t you folks let me bust up any plans you’ve made. If you want to talk, I’ve got a lot of stuff I’ve got to read over sometime— stuff I come down to New York to get hold of. I been made Chief .of Police back home, John.” * s i n f* r **ting. At seventy, too, Simon,” Drane said. ”Yes, I guess they got around to where they thought they needed some brains at last,” Simon Judd chuckled. “Folks do, sometimes. Yes, sir; made me Chief of Police of Riverbank, sure as you’re a foot nigh!” William'Dart had come up the steps and taken one of the wicker chair^. He put his elbows on its arms and now began revolving his thumbs, leaning forward and look ing off over the lawn 5r New York, Simon?” Drane asked. “Are you on the track of a crimin al?” . “Lands o’goodness, no!” laughed Simon Judd, slapping his huge thigh. “Why. I ain’t started in yet, John! I don t get my badge until first of the year. No sir! I come down here to have a look around and see how these New York de tective fellers manage the business. And I must say they’re right kindly to strangers) toM me a lot of things; gave me a Mot of pamphlets and one thing and another. It’s goin’ to help me a lot, John; I got the genius for it, all right, but I got to brush up on the technic more or less. I guess, though, maybe I’ll get along all right.” Norbtrt, as if knowing what was desired, appeared on the veranda with cigars—long slender light cigars of admirable quality. Dart and Drane took cigars, but Judd hesitated. “Mostly I smoke a pipe, John,” he said, “and when I do go in for but she was dressed as always, neatly. “Josie,” she said ^presently and with considerable effort, “I think vou had better have Norbert call Mr. Drane and the other Wien again. They can’t have gotten up.” “Yes, ma’m,” the maid said. “If they felt the way I do they never would get up.” “You’re not so well this morn ing?” “Oh, I feel just awful!” the girl exclaimed, almost in tears. “I don’t hardly feel like I could drag through the day. I’m that weak, Mrs. Vincent!” “Your hairt'again?” “Yes, like always, only last night it pained me worse than ever it did. It was something terrible, Mrs. Vincent.” “I don’t know what’s the matter with us—all sick dike we are,” the housekeeper said. “You better tell Norbert.” The girl went to find the negro Yes, *ir, John," Shnon Judd con tinued cheerfully, "I been all my life tryin’ one thing and another, but you can’t discourage a good man; sooner or Tafei* hVs gdih^fcF find out what he’s made for. There was one time I tried preachin’ and it looked awhile like that w’as goin’ to be it, but I ain’t got the voice for it—when I go to let loose the voice gets squeaky on me. There was awhile I tried the butcher busi ness, but sight of blood always did make me faintish, so I sort of gave that up, too. But I got the nght thing now, John. Pretty near ever since I was a boy I’ve had a leanin’ toward it” • policeman?” William asked. y “Crime tracin’,” explained Simon Todd, turning toward the little man In black. » “Huntin’ out who done the crime. What you call detective work. I feel I got genius that , H i W^Y. “And that*t what brought you to a cigar I kind of like ’em dark and strong. • But, I don’t know; TU risk one. Now, if you fellers had anything ,to talk over—” “We can do that later,” John Drane said. “Tell n\e about River bank; not many changes, I sup pose?” “Well, yes,” Simon Judd said, puffing at his cigar. “Say, this ain’t such a bad smoke, is it? Yes, quite a few changes, John. Main Street ain t changed much, but out around—you’d be surprised. Say, that niece of yours is a mighty nice girl, ain t She? You didn’t say she was your niece, did you?” “I said she was my grand-niece,” said John Drane, and William Dart looked up at him suddenly. There was a question in his eyes—a ques tion and fright. If he feared any thing, however, there was no sign of anything to fear in Simon Judd’s face. The fat man was finding un expected pleasure in his cigar. “She stay here with you all the time?” he asked. “She’s making her home with me now—yes,” John Drane answered. “That’s nice—nice to hav£ young folks around,” Simon Judd said. “And, as I was sayin’ about the changes in Riverbank—vou know that field where we used to go to hunt rabbits? Bailey’s field, John? Well, you’d never know it—all built up with houses; streets and all, gas and electric, sewers, everything! x ou remember little Ross Gartner —father used to rim the Western Hotel? He developed that part of town—” a With Simon Judd talking and John Drane asking a question now and then, they remained there on the veranda until dark, when Nor bert called them to dinner. On Sunday mornings John Drane and his household usually slept latex than usual and breakfast, was~ not served until nine. At nine,* this morning, Mrs. Vincent—who for many years had sat at the foot of John . Drane’s table behind the coffee pot and toaster—stood in the breakfast room waiting for her ejn- pUyer. She stood near her chair and she seemed to be suffering, for her eyes were closed and she held one hand against the small of her back. She was actually in great pain, for she was a diabetic and at times the pains caused by her con dition were almost more thaa she could bear. Presently, as no ono appeared in the breakfast room other than the maid~ Josie, Mrs. Vincent drew out her chair and seated herself ( ready to arise at mo mentary notice. Her face was unusually pale, of the hue natural to those sufieriag from her disease; houseman. She returned almost jfiim e <ji a t ely, He s got one of them awful coughing spells again,” she said. I guess I’ll have to go myself, and I don’t feel hardly able.” €> She looked at Mrs. Vincent, but that poor woman was suffering. “I guess you’ll have to go, Josie,” she managed to say. “I’ve got to save myself for breakfast; Mr. Drane don’t like it for me to- b« away from breakfast,” and the girl went. On the veranda—for it was there the small family gathered before breakfast in nice weather—Amy Drane was sitting on the arm of a chair looking through the yages of the huge Sunday newspaper, and she had just opened wide a double page of brown illustrations when she heard a* piercing scream from the floor above and the fall of a body to the floor. She threw aside the paper and, swinging open the screen door, ran up the wide stairs. In the hall Simon Judd, trousered but coatless and with his suspen ders hanging, was coming down the passage from the yellow guest room as hastily as his huge bulk could movie, and at the open door of John Drane’s room tffe girl Josie lay outstretched on the floor unconscious. Amy Drane was about to bend down to raise her when her eyes glimpsed her uncle she stood on his bed and white and yieechless, petrified with horror. The old man, her uncle, lay with his head thrown back against the pillow, his glassy eyes staring at her.^and the front of his pajama coat was sodden with blood from a spot over the heart to the bed covers drawn close about him. “What’s the matter?” Simon Judd asked, and then he too, looking past Amy, saw the dead man. “He’s been murdered!” he exclaimed, and Amy felt something huge lean against her back. “Black my cats!” Simon Judd said weakly; ‘T’m'goin’ to faint!” and he did, his vast bulk thrusting Amy into the' room as he fell across the body of Josie the maid. ^ Continued Next Week In almost every home there is an old treasure or two, but, proud as we are of these possessions, they do not always have a place of honor in the home. Bookshelves always welcome bits oi colorful oid glass or pottery among the books. On the sideboard or con sole a piece of old silver gives a sug gestion of luxury that is subtly con vincing. «Old prints either side of the secretary; old pewter plates for the mantel shelf—such well-chosen orna ments often give more atmosphere and individuality to a room than many dollars spent on new furnish- Ing». I Don’t Fail to Read this Great Mystery Story in The People-Sentinel Each|Week. ^ • * HINDU MYSTERIES REMAIN UNSOLVED Stone Image Split* Offerings Fifty-Fifty. London.—Investigations by English youths into the traditional mysteries of Hindu temples in India are being carried on under the guidance of Dr. Arthur R. S. Roy, Ph. D., D. Litt, M. D. Of temples visited the following reports have been made:’ • At Vakam, in South India, noted for the temple of Vakyabapam, an annual dinner is held, at which 1,000 people ^are fed. It has been said that every year after the dinner is over an odd plantain leaf is found which canoot be accounted for (on ceremonial oc casions the Indian eats from a plan tain leaf). This year volunteers Vent to Vakam And Stood guard at the din ing hall. Aided by Police. They had two policemen, and they counted the leaves before they were taken into the temple yard, examined every attendant and guest to see that extra leaves were not smuggled In and counted the leaves*' when spread for dinner. After dinner the leaves were counted and it was found that they numbered 1,001. Only 1,000 people were admitted, and the odd leaf could not be accounted for. At Mangalgiri, near VIzagapatam, in Madras residency, there Is a figure of the god Narasinga, or the man-lion in carnation of Vishnu, huge and open mouthed. This stone image takes of ferings thrown into the gaping month, but as soon as the ceremony ie fin ished exactly half the offerings are thrown out. An OxonLau, recently from England, scoffed at this and threw In a pound tin of strawberries. The tin come out split in two, and the porflop thrown out was exactly half a pound in weight. Fifty-fifty seems to be the motto of this deity, and it adheres to it exactly. A railroad guard once wanted to test the truth of the statement, and put his hand Into the gaping mouth. He could not find anything there, hut could not release his hand. It was held by some invisible force, and only after hours of prayer was it freed. Then there is the temple of Kail, the terrible goddess, seven feet high, with ten heads and eighteen hands. The door of the temple is opened but once a year. Then several goats, buf faloes, fowls and other animals are brought to the temple and tied in front of the door. Ropes are fastened to the rings In the door, and the people stand holding the ropes to pull the door upen. Hair That Waves. When the door is opened the ani mals die instantaneously. No person has experimented to learn the effect If men stood there. When a prayer is made to the pre siding deity of Tirupati, near Madras, or in the Pain! hills, to save the life of a sick child, the child generally re covers, but its hair becomes waved and plaited. Try what one may, the hair will not lose its wave or its plait, but as soon as the hair has been of fered to the god, the new hair that grows has no waVee or plaits at all. ♦ ♦ ♦ Three days after his marriage a N*w Yorker was sentenced to six months in jail. Ptrhaps he is consoled by the thought that it might be for the best, after all! The CabrloUt , BodybyPkher UllTOA §KMIAIKffvUlLimA NEW 'rand available only to buyers of pc whac : PRODUCT OP GENERAL MOTORS In answer to the widespread demand for a low* priced six of ultra«smartness, all Pontiac Six body types have been made available with special sport equipment. 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