Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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LOST MAN’S LANE. By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. [Copyright, 1897, by Anna K It oh Us. J CHAPTER XXIV. THE ENIGMA OF NUMBERS. “Whcu I told you that Mother Jane ■was out of the question in this matter, I meant out of the question for you. She was a subject to be handled by the po- j lice, and we have handled her. Yester day afternoon I made a search of her cabin.” Here Mr. Gryce paused and j eyed me quizzically. He sometimes does eye me, which same I am not bound to take as a compliment, considering how fond ho is of concentrating all his wis dom upon small and insignificant ob- j jects. “I wonder,” said he, “what you would have done in such a search as that. It was no common one, I assure 1 you. There*are not many hiding places between Mother Jane’s four walls. ” I felt myself begin to tremble, with f eagerness, of course. ‘‘I wish I had been given the oppor- | tunity,’’said I—‘‘that is, if anything was to bo found there. ” Ho seemed to be in a sympathetic mood toward me, or perhaps—and this is the likelier supposition—he had a minute of leisure and thought ho could afford to give himself a little quiet amusement. However that is, he an swered me by saying: ‘‘The opportunity is not lost. You have been in that cabin and have noted, I have no doubt, its extreme simplicity. Yet it contains, or rather did contain up till last night, distinct evidences of more than one of the crimes which have been perpetrated in this lane.” “Good! And you want me to guess where you found them? Well, it’s not fair.” ‘‘Ah, and why not?” ‘‘Because you probably did not find them on your first attempt. You had time to look and change your mind and look again. I am asked to guess at once and without second trial what, I war rant, it took you several trials to deter mine. ” ‘‘Humph!” He could not help but laugh. “And why do you think it took me several trials?” “Because there is more than one thing in that room made up of parts.” “Parts?” He attempted to look puz zled, but I would not have it. “You know' what I moan,” I de- : dared; “70 parts, 28, or whatever the numbers are she so constantly mutters. ” 1 His admiration was unqualified and sincere. “Miss Buttorworth, ” said he, ju are a woman after my own heart. How came you to think that her mutterings had anything to do with a hiding place?” “Because it did not have anything to do with the amount of money I gave "Tell your story,” I repeated. "Don’t you see that lam”—I was going to say “on pins and needles till I hear it, ” but that is a vulgar expression for a woman like myself and might prove I was be coming deteriorated by the business iuto which I had been pushed more or less against my will; so I altered the words happily before they were spoken into— “that I am in a state of the liveliest curiosity concerning the whole matter? Tell your story, of course.” “Well, Miss Buttcrworth, if I do it is because I know you will appreciate it. You, like myself, plan* d weight up on the numbers she is forever running over, and you, like myself, have con ceived the possibility of those numbers having reference to something in the one room she inhabits. At first glance tho extreme bar jness of the spot seem ed to promise nothing to my curiosity. I looked at the floor and encountered no signs of any disturbance having taken place in those symmetrically laid bricks for years. Yet I counted up to 70 one way and 28 the other, and marking the brick thus selected began to pry it out. It came with difficulty and showed me nothing underneath but green mold and innumerable frightened insects. Then I counted tho bricks the other way, but nothing came of it. The floor does not appear to have been disturbed for years. Turning my attention away from the floor, I began upon the quilt. This was a worse job than the other, and it took me an hour to rip apart the block I set tled upon as the suspicious one, but it all came to nothing also. There was no hidden treasure in the quilt. Then I searched the walls, using the measure ments 70 by 28, but no result followed these endeavors, and—what do you think 1 did then?” “ You will tell me, ” I said, “if I give j T ou one more minute to do it in. ” “\cry well, ” said he. “I see you do not know, madam. Having searched below and around me, I next turned my attention overhead. Do you remember tho strings and strings of dried vegeta bles that decorate the beams above?” “I do,” I said, not stinting any of tho astonishment I really felt. “Well, I began to count them next, and when I reached the seventieth .mion from the open doorway I crushed it be tween my fingers and—this fell out, madam—worthless trinkets, as you will immediately see, but”— “Well, well,” I urged. “They have been identified as belong ing to the pedlar who was one of the victims in whose fate we are interested. ” “Ah, ah!” I cried out, somewhat amazed, I own. "And number 28?” “That was a carrot, and it held a really valuable ring—a ruby surrounded by diamonds. If you remember, I once spoke to you of this ring. It was the property of young Mr. Chittenden and worn by him while he was in this vil lage. He disappeared on his way to the railway station, having taken, as many can vouch for, the short detour by Lost Man’s lane, which would lead him di rectly by Mother Jane’s cottage.” “You thrill me,” said I, keeping hi i When I handed her 25 cents, she cried, ‘Seventy, 28 and now 10!’ Ten what? Not 10 cents or $10, but ton”— “Why do you stop!’,’ “I do not want to risk my reputation on a guess. There is a quilt on tho bed made up of innumerable pieces. There is a pavement under foot of neatly laid brick”— "And there is a Bible on the stand whose leaves number many over 70.” “Ah, was it in the Bible you found”— His smile put mine quite to shame. “I must acknowledge,” he erhid, “that I looked in the T ’ible, but I found nothing there beyond what we all seek when we open its sacred covers. Shall I tell my story?” He was evidently bursting with pride. You would think that after a half cen tury of just such successes a man would take his honors more quietly. But pshaw! Human nature is just the same in the old as in the young. He was no more tired of compliment or of awaken ing the astonishment of those he confided in than if he was out on his first great case. Of course in presence of such weakness I could do nothing less than give him a sympathetic ear. I may be old myself some day. Besides, his story was likely to prove more or less inter esting. down with admirable self possession my own thoughts in regard to this matter. “And what of No. 10, beyond which she said she could not count?” “Li 10 was your 25 cent piece, and in various other vegetables small coins whose whole value was of a pitiful smallness. The only numbers which seemed to make any impression on her mind were those connected with these crimes. Very good evidence. Miss But- terworth, that Mother Jane holds the clew to this matter, even if she is not respnnsiblo for the actual killing and putting away of the individuals repre sented by this property.” “Certainly,” I acquiesced, “and if you though to examine her after her re turn from the Knollys mansion last night you would probably have found upon her some similar evidence of her complicity in the lust crime of this ter rible series. It would needs have been' small, as silly Kufus, as I take it, neither indulged in the brass trinkets sold by the old pedlar nor the real jew elry of a well to do man like the young westerner. ’ ’ "Hilly Rufus?'’ “He was the last to disappear from these parts, was he not?” “Yes, madam.” “And as such should have left some clew to his fate in the bunds of this old Crone if her motive In removing him was. as you s> em to think, entirely that of gjiia. ” “1 did not ^ayit was entirely so. Sil ly I.ufus wo : .1 be tho last person any one, even such a non compos mentis as Mother Jane, would destroy for hope of gain.” “Lut what other motive could she have, .aid, Mr. Gryce, where could she bestow the bodi : of so many unfortu nate victims, even if by her great strength she could succeed in killing them?” ‘‘Th re you have r.s, ” said he. “We have not been able as yet to unearth anybodies. Have you?” “No,” said I, with some little show’ of triumph showing through my disdain, “bi t I can show you where to unearth one. ’ ’ Ho should have been startled, pro- fcmidly startled. Why wasn’t he? I asked that of myself over and over in tho one instant ho weighed his words before answering. “You know something then, definite ly,” he declared. “You have come across a grave or a mound which you have taken for a grave. ” I shook my head. “No mound,” said L Why should I not play for an instant or more with his curiosity? He had with mine. “Ah, then, why do you talk of un earthing? No one has told you where yon cun lay hand on billy Rufus’ body, I take it.” “No,” said L "Thehouse Knollys is not inclined to give up its secrets.” He started, glancing almost remorse- fully first at tho tip, then at tho head of the cane he was balancing in his hand. “It’s too bad,” he muttered, “but you’ve been led astray, Miss Butter- worth, excusably, I acknowledge, quite excusably, but yet in a way to give you quite wrong conclusions. The secret ol the Knollys house— But wait a mo ment. Then you were not locked up in your room last night?” “Scarcely,” I returned, wavering be tween the doubts bo had awakened by bis first sentence and tho surprise which his last could not fail to give me. “I might have known they would not be likely to catch you in a trap, ” he re marked. “So you were up and in the halls?” “I was up,” said I, “and in tho halls. May I ask where you were?” He [laid no heed to the last sentence. "This complicates matters,” said he, "and yet perhaps it is as well. I under stand you now, and in a few minutes you will understand me. You thought it was silly Rufus who was buried last night. That was rather an awful thought, Miss Buttcrworth. I wonder that you look as well as you do, madam. Truly you are a wonderful woman—a very wonderful woman.” "A truce to compliments,” I cried. “If you know as much as your words show of what went on in that ill omened house last night, you ought to show some degree of emotion yourself, for if it was not silly Rufus who was laid away under the flower parlor who, then, was it? No one for whom tears could openly be shed or of whose death public acknowledgment could be made, or we would not bo sitting here talking away at cross purposes the morning aft er his burial. ” “Tears are not shed or public ac knowledgment made for the subject of a half crazy man’s love for scientific in vestigation. It was a dog you saw buried, madam—a favorite dog which Mr. Knollys loved, but which for all that could not escape that half monster’s passion for vivisection.” “You are playing with me, ” I cried, "outrageously and inexcusably playing with me. A dog laid away in such secrecy and with such a degree of feel ing as I was witness to? You must think me iu my dotage, or else”— “Wo will take tho rest of tho sen tence for granted, ” he said. “You know that 1 can have no wish to insult your intelligence, Miss Buttcrworth, and if 1 say dog I must have ample reasons for it. Can you contradict those reasons? Do you know it was a man that was buried there last night? If you do, there is no more to be said, or, rather, there is everything to be said, for that would give to the transaction of last night a very dreadful and tragic significance which at present I am not disposed to as<: toit. ” Tuucn aback, almost overwhelmed by a statement for which I was in no de gree prepared, and yet which I could not but think false for all his quiet self assurance, I stolidly replied: “Since yon say it was a dog, prove that. It will be time enough for me to talk when your supposition is proved untenable.” “Madam”—he was not angry; fel low feeling for the disappointment be considered me a prey to made mm very gentle to me—“madam, if yod know it was not a dog, say so. I do not wish to waste my time. ” “I do not know it.” "Very well, then, I will tell you why I think my supposition true. Mr. Knol lys, as you probably have already dis covered, is a man with a secret passion for vivisection. ” “Yes,” said I, “I have discovered that.” “It is known to his family, and it is known to a very few others, but it is not kujwn to the world at large, not even to his fellow villagers.” “I can believe it,” said I. “His sisters, who are gentle girls, feel dreadful about it. They have tried in every way to influence him to abandon it, but unsuccessfully so far, for he is not only entirely unamenable to persuasion, but has a nature of such brutality he could not live without some such excitement to help away his life in this dreary house. AH they can do, then, is to conceal these cruelties from the eyes of the people who already exe crate him for his many roughnesses and the undoubted shadow under which he lives. Time was when 1 thought this shadow had a substance worth our in vestigation, but a further knowledge of his real fault and a completer knowl edge of his sisters’ virtues turned my inquiries .in a new direction, where I Have found, as i have told you, actuu< reason for arresting Mother Jane. Have you anything to say against it? Cannot you see that all your suspicions can be explained by the brother’s cruel im pulses and the sisters’ horror of having those impulses known?” I thought a moment; then I cried out boldly: “No, I cannot, Mr. Gryce. The anxiety, the fear, which I saw depicted on those sisters’ faces for days might have some such explanation perhaps, but the knot of crape on the window shutter, the open Bible in the room of death (William’s room), Mr. Gryce, proclaim that it was a human being for whom Lucetta’s sobs went up, and so shall I continue to thiuk till investiga tion has proved my mistake. ” “I do not follow you,” he said, moved for the first time from his com posure. “What do you mean by a knot of crape, and when was it you obtained entrance into William’s room?” ‘‘1 have points to relate,” was my quiet retort, “as interesting as anything you have told me of your investigations at Mother Jane’s cottage. Did you think I simply walked on the outside of things, Mr. Gryce?” “I should not have done you that in justice. ” “I have pierced, as I think, deeper than even yourself into William’s char acter. I think him capable—but do sat isfy my curiosity on one point first, Mr. Gryce. How came you to know as much as you do about last night’s proceed ings? You could not have been in the bouse. Did you succeed, then, in mak ing Mother Jane reveal on her return what it was she took part in?” The tip of his cane was up, and ho frowned at it. Then the handle took its place, and he gave it a good natured smile. “Miss Buttcrworth, ” said ho, .“I have not succeeded iu making Mother Jane at any time go beyond her numerical monologue. But you have been more successful. ” And with a suddeu marvel ous change of expressym, pose aud man ner he threw’ over his head my shawl, which had fallen to the floor iu my as tonishment, and, rocking himself to and fro before me, muttered grimly: “Seventy! Twenty-eight! Ten! No more, I can count no more. Go. ” “Mr. Gryce, ” I exclaimed, “it was then you I saw”— “In Mother Jane’s cottage with Mr. Knollys,” he finished. “And it was I who helped to bury what you now de clare, to my real terror aud astonish ment, to have been a human being. Miss Butterworth, w’hat about tho knot of crape? Tell mo. ” CHAPTER XXV. TRIFLES, BUT NOT TRIFLING. But I am methodical even at the most critical instant, as those who have read “That Affair Next Door” have had am ple opportunity to know. Having heard him make this startling declaration, I could not proceed to establish my stand point till I knew a little more about his. “Excuse mo one moment,” said I. “If you had the handling of one of those ropes, you were nearer tho heart of this business than I Is that why you decided it was no human being you were burying?” “In a measure, yes. Having some skill in these disguises, especially where my own infirmities can have full play, as iu case of this strong but half bent woman, I had no reason to thiuk my own identity was suspected, much less discovered. Therefore I could trust what I saw and heard as being w’hat Mother Jane herself would bo allowed to see or hear under the same circum stances. If, therefore, the Knollys aud this old crone had been, as you seem to think they are, in league for murder, Lucetta would hardly have greeted me as she did when she came down to meet me in the kitchen. ” “And how was that? What did she say?” “She said: ‘Ah, Mother Jane, we have a piece of work for you. You are strong, are you not?’ ” “Humph!” “Aud then she commiserated me a bit and gave me food which, upon my word, I found hard to eat, though I had saved my appetite for the occasion. Be fore she left me she bade me sit in the ingle nook till she wanted me, adding as she went out to Haunah, who that momeut came iu: ‘There is no use try ing to explain anything to her. Show her when the time comes what there is to do ami trust to her short memory to forget it before she leaves the house. She could not understand my brother’s propensity or our shame in pandering to it. So attempt nothing, Hannah. Only keep the money in her view. ’ ” “So, and that gave you no idea?” “It gave me the idea I have imparted to you, or, rather, added to the idea which had been instilled in me by oth ers.” “And this idea was not affected by what you saw afterward?” “Not in the least—rather strength ened. Of the few words I overheard one was uttered in reference to yourself by Miss Knollya She said: ‘I have locked Miss Butterworth again iu her room. If she accuses rao of having done so, I •ball tell her our whole story. Better • it should know the family’s difgrace rimn imagine us guilty of crimes of which we are utterly incapable.’ ” “Well,” I cried, “you heard that?” “Yes, madam, I heard that, and I do not think she knew she was dropping that word into the car of a detective, but you may differ with me.” “I am not ready to say so yet,” I re plied. “What else did these girls let fall in your hearing?” “Not much. It was Hannah who lod mo into the upper hall and Hannah who by signs and signals rather than words showed mo what was expected of me. However, when, after the box was lowered into the cellar, Hannah was drawing me away Luoetta stepped up and whispered iu her ear: ‘Don’t give her tho biggest coin. Give her the little one or she may mistake our reasons for secrecy I wouldn’t like even a fool to do that, even for the moment it would remain lodged in Mother Jane’s mind. ’ ” “Well, well,” I cried again, certain ly puzzled, for these stray expressions of tho sisters were in a measure contra- dictory not only of the suspicions I en tertained, but of tho facts which had seemingly come to my attention. Mr Gryce, who was probably watch ing my face more closely than the move ments of tho cane with whose move ments he was apparently engrosser!, stopped to give a caressing rub to the knob of that same cane before saying: “One such peep behind the scenes is worth any amount of surmising on the wrong side of tho curtain. I let you share my knowledge because it is your due. Now if you feel willing to ex plain what yon mean by a knot of crape on the shutter I am at yonr service, madam. ” Then 1 told him, and as I talked I saw his face lengthen and doubt take the place of the quiet assurance with which he had received my various intimations up to this time. The cane was laid aside, aud from the action of his right forefinger on the palm of his left hand I judged that I was making no small impression on his mind. When I had finished, he sat for a minute silent; then ho said: “Thanks, Miss Butterworth; you have more than fulfilled my hopes. What wo buried was undoubtedly hu man, and the question now’ is who it was and of what death did this person die. You think it was silly Rufus.” I did not answer. There was a weak point in the position I had taken in this matter, and I knew it. He did not try to hurry me. I appreciated this aud took my time. Presently I said: “I have a confession to make. Up to a certain moment I never had a thought but that it was silly Rufus they held imprisoned iu William’s room and who died there, nor am I quite sure that I am yet ready to embrace any other the ory ; but, Mr. Gryce, iu the minute I took to look about the room from which the victim had been so lately curried I saw standing iu one corner a pair of shoes that could never have been worn by any boy tramp I have ever seen or known of. Neither could they have been the property of any one I had ever met in the Knollys house. Loreen and Lu cetta both have trim feet, but these were the shoes of a child of 10, very dainty aud of a cut and make worn by women, or rather, 1 should say, by girls. Now, what do you make of that?” He did not seem to know what to mako of it. Tap, tap went his finger on his seasoned palm, and as I watched the slowness with which it fell I said to myself, “I have proposed a problem to him now that will tax even Mr Gryco’s powers of deduction. ” And I had. It was minutes before he ventured an opinion, aud then it was with a shade of doubt in his tone that I acknowledge to have felt some pride at putting there. “They were Lucetta’s shoes. The emotions under which you labored— very pardonable emotions, madam, con sidering the circumstances aud the hour”— “Excuse me,’’said I. “We do not want to waste a moment. I was excited, suitably aud duly excited, or I would have been a stone. But I never lose my head under excitement nor my sense of proportion. Tho shoes were not Lucet ta s She never wore any approaching them in smallness since her tenth year. ” “lias Simsbury a daughter? Has there not been a child about the house some time to assist tho cook in errands and so on?” “No, or 1 would have seen her. Be sides. how would the shoes of such a person'come into William’s room?” “Easily. Secrecy was required. You were not to be disturbed; so shoes were taken off that quiet might result.” “Was Lucetta shoeless or William or even Mother Jane? You have not told me that you were requested to walk in stocking feet up the hall. No, Mr. Gryce. the shoes were the shoes of a girl. I know ic because it was matched by a dress 1 saw hanging up in a sort of wardrobe. ” “Ah! You looked into the wardrobe?” “1 did and felt justified in doing so It was after I had spied the shoes. ” “Very good. Aud you saw a dress?” “A little dress; a dress with a short skirt. The Misses Knollys do not ride a bicycle, I take it, aud this could only be the drt ss of one who did or of a child. It was a silk dress—another anomaly—and the color, I thiuk, was blue, but I cannot swear to that point. I felt very hurried and took the brief est glance. But my brief glances can be trusted, Mr. Gryce. That, I think, you are beginning to know. ” “Certainly,” said he, “and as proof of it we will now act upon these two premises—that the victim in whose bur ial I was an innocent partaker was a human being and that that human be ing was a girl child who came into that bouse well dressed. Now where did that girl come from? The town, so far as we know, has lost none of its inhabitants lately.” “That you should know,” said I. “A visitor— But no visitor could en ter this house without it being known far aud wide. Why, I heard of your ar rival herb before I left the train on which I followed you. Had we allowed ourselves to be influenced by what the people about here say we would have turned that Knollys house inside out a week ago. But I dou’t believe in put ting too much confidence in the preju dice of country people. The idea they suggested, and which you suggest with out putting it too clearly into words, is much too horrible to be acted upon without the Lest of reasons. Perhaps we have found those reasons, yet I still feel like asking where did this girl come from aud how could she have become a prisoner in the Knollys house without the knowledge of— Madam, you have met Mr. Trohm?” The question was so sudden I had not time to collect myself. But perhaps it was not necessary, for the simple affir mation I used seemed to satisfy Mr Gryce, who went on to say: “It is he who first summoned us here, aud it is ho who has the greatest inter est in locating the source of these djj appearances, yet bo has seen no child come hero. ’ * “Mr. Trthm is not a spy, ” said I, but the rei ark, happily, perhaps, fell unheeded. “2\u one has, ” he began. “Wo must give another turn to our suppositions.” Suddenly a silence fell upon us both. His ting r ceased to lay down the law, and my gaze, which h;id been searching his face inquiringly, became fixed. At the same moment and in much the same tone of voice we both spoke, he saying, “Humph!” and I, “Ah!” followed by a similar “I have found it.” “The phantom carriage, ” explained L “Which rolled so quietly into Lost Man’s lane the evening preceding yonr arrival. ” “It was no phantom,” I went on. “Two saw it, and I”—here I could not suppress a slight toss of my head—“re member now a petty circumstance which I dare you to match in corrobo ration of this new theory. ” “You have had advantages, ” he com menced “And disadvantages,” I finished, de termined that he should award me my full meed of praise. “You are probably not afraid of dogs. You could visit tho stables. ” “And did, madam, but I saw noth ing”— “I thought not.” I could not help the interruption. It is so seldom one can really triumph over this man. “Not having the cue, you would not be apt to see what gives this whole thing away. I would never have thought of it again if we had not had this talk. Is Mr. Simsbury a neat man?” “A neat man? Madam, what do yon mean?” “Something important, Mr. Gryce. If Mr. Simsbury is a m at man, he will have thrown away tho old rags W’hich, I dare promise you, cumbered his stable floor the morning after the riding in here of the phantom carriage. If he is not, you may still find them there. One of them, I know, you will not find. He pulled it off of his wheel with his whip the afternoon he drove me down from the station. I can see the sly look he gave me as he did it. It made no impres sion on me then, but now”— “Madam, you have got it. That car riage was the old coach to be found now in the Knollys stable, and its phantom appearance was due to its noiselessness, which yon have now in a measure ex plained; but, Miss Butterworth, if they went to the length of winding rags around the carriage wheels to make them noiseless, even tying up the horse’s feet for the same purpose perhaps, they must have had a motive dark enough to warrant your deepest suspicions. And William was not the only one involved. Simsbury, at least, had a hand in it, not does it look as if the girls were entirely innocent of a foreknowledge of what W’as likely to occur. ” “1 cannot consider the girls,” I de clared. “I can no longer consider tha girls.” “No,” said he, “we must do out duty. We must find if any child alight ed from the cars at the mountain sta tion that night or, what is more prob able if sinister rt suits were expected, from the littlo station at (J., five miles farther up iu the mountains. ” “And”— I urgi d, seeing that he had still something to :-.uy. “We must make sure who lies buried under the floor of the room you call the flower parlor. You may expect me at the Knollys Lou ome time today. I shall come quietly, Lut in my own prop er person. You are not to know me and uul< ss you desire it n td not appeal in the matter.” “I do not desire it. ” “Then good morning, Miss Butter worth. My respect for your abilities has risen even higher than before. We part in a like mind for once. ’’ And this be expected me to regard as a compliment. This vo->rv will he eon'tr "ed in r-x‘ Frirt \ 'g iu- ie < ' The | < , -r Women as Well as Men Are Made Miserable by Kidney Trouble. Kidney trouble preys upon the mind, dis courages and lessens ambition; beauty, vigor and cheerfulness soon disappear when the kid neys are out of order or diseased. Kidney trouble has become so prevalent that it is not uncommon for a child to be born ^ afflicted with weak kid neys. If the child urin ates too often, if the urine scalds the flesh or if, when the child reaches an age when it should be able to control the passage, it is yet afflicted with bed-wetting, depend upon it. the cause of the difficulty is kidney trouble, and the first step should be towards the treatment of these important organs. This unpleasant trouble is due to a diseased condition of the kidneys and bladder and not to a habit as most people suppose. Women as well as men are made mis erable with kidney and bladder trouble, and both need the same great remedy. The mild and the immediate effect of Swamp-Root is soon realized. It is sold by druggists, in fifty- jent and one dollar < izes. You may have a| sample bottle by mail ree, also pamphlet tell- Home of Swamp-Boot, ng ail about it, including many of the housands of testimonial letters received rom sufferers cured. In writing Dr. Kilmer e Co., Binghamton, N. Y., be sure and icntion this paper. Notice to Voters. The Legislature haviu*r created there vot- ln>r prerlnctH In the town of Gaffney Inatead of one. all voters who vote In Oaffney are noti fied to brinj; U’> their certificates to be re numbered act -rdinjr to law on first Monday in October. O. E. Tate. J. A. Whisonant. H. Gibson. Members Board Registration. Fridays until Oct. 1st.