Denbighshire Free Press

CHAPTEli XXV. tEWIS WINCHESTER KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. "Gone!" It was London who spoke. Sir Ashton had gripped the back of his Chair, as though for support, and seemed unable to utter a sound. He could only think of his horeH so suddenly dashed to the ground. Where could Sayle have gone but to warn his Companion ? "He ain't gone far yet, Sir Ashton, can't a' done. We was in the kitchen together not half-an-hour ago, Mrs. Sayle along with us. Sayle gets up an' goes to his bedroom for some papers in another coat pocket, an' I waits expectin' him to come down an' go to his den. When he didn't come J. goes to look for him. He warn't in his bedroom. I goes to his den, an' the cupboard warn't open. I opens it an' goes down, but there warn't no signs o' Sayle. What shall we do ? "There is nothing to be done," said Sir Ashton. "He has slipped through our hands at the last moment, and all our scheming has been in vain. "Don't say that, sir. We can't be beaten yet. What can we do, Mr. London ? Ain't you got no suggestion ? "You're sure he wasn't hiding somewhere below ? "I looked into every corner I could think on. but he couldn't a'gone there. The cup- board was shut, an 'you can't open it from the other side. Sayle always leaves it open for that reason. "He may have shut it to-night. Perhaps he went that way, not meaning to return, and escaped by the other door. "The other door's bolted, sir, an' he Couldn't bolt it from the outside." "W,ll go and look again," said Sir Ashton. "I cannot stand here doing nothing." "I'm very sorry, Sir Ashton," said Gibbs. ♦•I done my best. Sir Ashton did not answer as they went quietly to Sayle's room. One moment," London said, as Gibbs was about to open the cupboard. "It is just possible that Sayle went this way, and closed the entrance after him for a purpose. I think We should do well to close it after us, too. We can get out the other way. "An' we can go without a light," said Gibbs, "an' step quietly." "Our care comes too late, I fancy, but do 89 you will," Sir Ashton said. They passed on to the stairs, and Gibbs closed the entrance behind them. In single file, and close behind one another, they traversed the passages and entered, the sitting- room. There they stopped of one aeoord to listen. There was not a sound. They might have been in a huge grave, and Sir Ashton Shuddered to think of the poor woman who had lived alone in this silence, for if she were not mad it was no fault of the villain who had condemned her to this imprisonment to long. Merciful for her, perhaps, that she was deaf and dumb. "If we are to search the place we must have a light," he whispered presently. "Hush!" said Gibbs in a lower whisper still. "Don't you hear somethin'? Listen! !w -mere may have been a faint sound, bat neither Sir Ashton nor Lendon heard it. Practice may have made Gibbs's hearing more acute. "Some'un's about. Let's wait in the pas- sage. We can watch from there. I've done it often. Catch hold o' me an' I'll guide you." Sir Ashton and Lendon caught hold of either arm. "We're safe here. Some'un in the tower, J think." „ "The tower! He may be giving a signal. "It's the wrong night, Sir Ashton." I "Well, we can prevent his escape." No need," said Gibbs. "Listen, he's coming. It's Sayle right enough, I know his shuffle. Where's he been hidin', I ironder ? The Bounds were distinct now. Nearer and Bearer they came, until they were in the room, and the three watchers instinctively drew further back into the passage. A. match was struck, and a candle lighted. It was Sayle. He stood by the table and glanced carefully round the room. He went to the bedroom and looked in, then closed the door again and locked it. He looked, at his watch, holding it close to the flame of the candle that he might see the plainer. He thrust his hand deep into the inner pooket of his coat, evidently fingering its contents care- fully, as though to satisfy himself that all-the- papers he wanted were there. Then he pulled the chair sideways to the table and sat down, his back towar&s the passage. "Waiting!" whispered Lendon. Ie It was ten days counting the one on which the appointment was made. We've made a Mis- take, Sir Ashton. The- man is coming to-night" The minutes passed slowly, but Sayle might have fallen asleep for any impatience he shewed. Half-an-hour must have elapsed before he got up and consulted his Watch. again, holduhg it to the candle as he; had previously done. ~jntvo more minutes," he- said aloud. He was not afraid of being overheard; had no fear of being watehed. True, Gibbs had managed to enter this hiding-place onoe, because he had carelessly left the door of the room unfastened. The cupboard itself was closed to-night. There could be no intrusion from that direction, and there was no escape that way either. u- n_ It was, a long five minutes ueiore oayio moved again. He took the candle and went to the door of the short flight of steps. "The appointed time," Lendon whispered. The light came back slowly, and Sayle's shuffling step, and. there was a firmer tread behind it. "Well, asyle, has ft happened ? Sir Ashton eould .ot see the speaker, but he started. The newcomer was Lewis Wilchester. Sayle put down the candle before answering. "Have you brought my three thousand lpounds ? "In crisp notes, Sayle. Listen I Doesn't the crackling sound of them make your mouth water. If you hadn't already earned them, you would take eave to do so before many minutes had gone, wouldn t you ? Where is she ? The watchers expected to hoar Snyle demand what his companion had done with her, but he did not do so. He was silent for a few moments, then he said: "You want to. play the game to the end, do you ? So you shall." I "I don't understand this," whispered Sir Ashton. "We shall presently," Lendon answerer in the same tone. "Where is she?" Wilohester demanded, somewhat impatiently. "I want to see her -end get away." „ "Where should she be, but in there ? Bayle answered, pointing to the bedroom door. "Did you think I should leave her at the bottom of the steps for you to tread upon you eame ia Y u a Wilchester made a step towards the bed- room. "Wait a minute," said Sayle, I want your help first. I can't leave her there. Christian twiat she can't have, but burial of a sort she must; and my strength ain't sufficient to open her grave." "You have a head for detail, Sayle." "Come and help me, then." Sayle kicked back the carpet, and then! both men came isto sight of the watchers. There were rings in one of the stone .ftagø near the table. "It's a long timr* ainc —^7 ciKW, iivst it a hemdv, place fa. the «isj]<-as den-I in old titl- It vrili serve n-ow. ExceU<«iUy," Wilchester answered. 441, shouldn't l1""c thought of it. The tvo in bent to their JIbe ston* vras iii7it-i. and h..J become fixed froia i&ag "Mi suse, but it y;cidt?'l rt i'-ht the efforjs, and v "1. leaving a long* wmm t1t. «-■ —•* —-< •'It's the. shape of a grave, too," said Say)*. J •Many of your ancestors' enemies have gone feat way in the past, and some of their I friends as well, when they became incon- venient. You're only following the example of those before you but it's a horrible rwtine-place for her all the hame. "Cut sentiment, Sayle. Let's get through with the business. I want to get away front this, confounded place." "Yes, yes, it's all that, but it was good enough for her living, and that hole's gpod enough for her dead, isn't it ? "Any hole's good enough for the dead, yoil fool! was the callous answer. "And I suppose you were fond of her once, in a way ?" said Sayle, reflectively, at though he were turning over the problem in his mind. "I daresay. I married her, that was enough. Other men have been idiots in the same way. And then she went mad." What does that matter now ? If yotl must know she went deaf first, she became a nuisance altogether, and one night I got angry with her and threatened to shoot her. Fright deprived her of speech the doctors said, but declared she would get well again in time." "And in spite of it all she was fond of you to the end. Some women are like that. I told her it had only been done in joke, and she believed it I ought to have pulled the trigger, it Would have saved a lot of trouble." What a villain!" hissed Sir Ashton, under his breath. "I don't understand Sayle," whispered Lendon. Gibbs thought he did, but he re- mained silent. "A lot of trouble," Sayle said. "Why didn't you pull it ? You were afraid, I sup. pose ? The other did not answer. He shruggei his shoulders, and turned towards the bedroom again. "Just one moment more," said Sayle. He was standing by the table, his hand thrust into the inner pocket of his coat. "Well, yhat is it ? "You've only seen her in life. Have you the courage to look on her now she's dead ? A violent accident leaves horrible marks behind. For one moment Wilchester paused. "It's not a pleasant job, but it's a necessary one, and I am not easily frightened," and he went to the door. In an instaiir Sayle was behind him. His hand came from his pocket, and it grasped a long knife as it was raised high above his head to strike swiftly and deeply. But Sayle, who had made all his arrangements with such careful and minute detail, had forgotten one thing—the shadow cast by the light of the candle. Even as the knife began its swift descent, Wilchester turned, and, springing aside to avoid the blow, caught the descending arm, and threw his wou1^ -be assassin stagger- ing back across the room. For a moment Sayle leant limply against the wall1, but his purpose gjive him strength. "It's your life for hers," he cried, as he stealthily approached him again. Wilchester retreated. The frightful deter- mination of his antagonist made him afraid. "Think, Sayle! Three thousand pounds "^•nr life for hers is She only price," was the hoarse answer. the hoarse answer. Wilchester dared not turn his back upon his enemy, and he remembered the open grave. He retreated round the walls of the room until he stood with his back to the room until he stood with his back to the passage where the three watchers were con- cealed. It may have been that Sayle thought he was about to escape, for he suddenly rushed at him. "Die, then!" cried Wilchester, and even as he spoke his arm was raised, and the crack of a. revolver shot startled the echoes. Sayle stopped. His legs seemed to double under him, and then slowly to twist round each other. His arms were flung out, and with a low, gurgling moan, he pitched back- wards into the hole. The knife, catching the side of it, was struck from his hand as he fell, jerked upwards, and then-went spinning down after him. From the moment of Sayle's first attack little, more than a couple of minutes could have passed, and, none of the three watchers had uttered a sound. Now. aghast at the horrible suddenness of Sayle's death, an exclamation, escaped from Sir Ashton. Wil- ohester heard it, and turned round sharply, the revolver in his hand. But he had no time to use it. Before he could raise it, Gibbs had pinioned him and borne him to the ground, the revolver clattering on the stone floor as the two men fell. For a moment Wilchester seemed paralysed with fear, the attack was so sudden and un- expected. He hardly made any show of fight at all, and when he saw there were three against him, he recognised that resistance was useless. "Steady, Gibbs. Let him get up. Look to was useless. that revolver, Lendon." "It's you, Ashton, is it ? Wilchester said, rising to his feet. "You can bear witness I' that the fool brought it on himself. Sir Ashton looked fixedly into his cousin's eyes. "Twioe a .murderer, Lewis Wilchester -to-,nigbk.and that other night, when you stabbed James Milroy 1:1

CHAPTER XXVI. SOW SIR ASHTON OAMB TO REDMAYNB FOB THK SBCOKD- TIME. In the very worst of men, it is said, some spark of goodness may usually be found. There is comfort in the reflection, when, its inuist.ImVpen,to -all of us at times, we are repressed with the. sense of the terrible evil there is in the world. To feel that deep down, buried under all this ovil, there is some dormant good; to be conscious that there are moments when this good forces its way to the surface, proving that, though sleeping, it is not dead; is to us as a breath of tresh air sweeping across a stagnant, foul"limelling morass, a promise of better things to come. The wnoie nistory or crime is mil of examples of this truth, replete with strange paradoxes of intense brutality in one direction, allied, in the same person, with extreme gentleness in another—a murderer's love for tome animal; the swindler's almost feverish ambition to be counted amongst the socially respectable; the robber's charity; and in ultimate analysis it would seem to be proved that man, once possessing, as each one must possess, something of the Divine, can never wholly lose that possession. Such a conclusion must, by the very nature of it, preclude us from admitting any exception to the rule; yet, as far as we can see, so far as our understanding is able to penetrate into the heart of our fellow-men, examples do appear to exist, and Lewis Wilchester was one of these. There is a satisfaction, when the life of a bad man has been laid bare, in being able to say that, at the last, he was repentant. When we feel able to say so, we at the same time forgive, mentally at least if not in words and, as a jury will ever find all possible reasons for mercy, so are we happier if we can con- scientiously appreciate some extenuating circumstances. In this case there would seem to be none, and if we have any sensation at all, it is rather one of regret that such a criminal should have managed to take his own life in kis cell, and cheat the gollows. he so thoroughly deserved. The fact of being found out affects different men in different ways. Lewis Wilchester was the hero of a sensational tragedy, the dosing ^c|. |o as strange a story of successful crime as London had known for some time. The ohata^^j. presented many attractions to Lewis WlloQeøter, and, leet any should think him an ordinary crimi»al, merely the murderer of ntt mRn, he volunteered, and gloried in, the confession of the murder of James Milroy. Without such a confession, it is doubtful whether Sir Ashton Carless would over ¡1tt.Vè sucoeeded in proving his innocence conclusively; and it ia conceivable that. had Lewis. Wiiehester recognised how great a service n* 1'; &0-,Ufc on j i.n'- v •.l'viu. The hihtor} ot tnt.b in cite iSdgware- ) road might be looked upou, it- z, as the closing chapter of one of Wiltthester's j life. He ;».nd Jnutc* Milroy bad <>fceu close aseocMkt^a for a UTOI-, akA facing honest money making diinauli, they recounts i to In-due time She rooms 1 th", Kdgwaro-road were used fc the pluck- ua £ of loolish pipoMif, OAA in thm outqtpx"" the. two men were, partners. Lewis Wil. ehester; was no more the ruin of her husbandf as Bertha believed, than Milroy was of Wilchester. They mutually helped each other Wilchester. They mutually helped each other on the downward path. In some ways, indeed, Milroy became the leading spirit in the end. His ill-gotten gains were not squandered as Wilchester's were; he had more method about him, and was content to live quietly, while Wilchester was dissipated and a spendthrift. Wilchester liked to mix with gentlemen, and his partner's somewhat coarse familiarity was annoying to him. In this way Milroy got the upper hand. He lent his partner money; he negotiated bills for him, some of the signatures to which he knew had been fraudulently obtained, while others he knew to be forgeries. In a moment of in- fatuation Wilchester married beneath him, and this, too, Milroy knew, and was aware that, a very short time after his marriage, Wilohester would have gladly got rid of the burden if he could. Wilchester took a small house in the suburbs, but kept on his rooms in Guildford-street as well, and by repre- senting to his wife that his business necessitated his being away a great deal, he spent less and less time with her. How the unfortunate marriage ended we know. It is certain that Sayle had planned to kill him that night, fully believing he had already killed his wife, and with this intention had got him to help make ready his own grave and it is just as certain that Wilchester was armed that night for the express purpose of settling with Sayle as soon as he had seen his dead wife. As Wilchester got more deeply involved, quarrels between the partners became frequent, and Milroy found retaliation easy. The letter Gibbs picked up at Redmayne, and which Wilchester must have dropped during one of his visits there, was one specimen of the means he employed. The visit of the three men to Sandown was not a prearranged one. When Lewis started with his cousin that morning, nothing was probably further from his thoughts than the tragedy with which the day was destined to close. It gradually took shape as the daj went on, but when the evening came the idea had become definite. He had drugged others in that room before that night, and he drugged Ashton. He knew perfectly well that his cousin suspected Blue Peter of cheating; that Peter was bungling in his work and he left the room when he conceived the right moment had come. But he did not leave the flat as Ashton supposed. He opened the door and closed it again, and then waited for the quarrel. During this time Gibbs must have been in the flat concealed in the bed- room. Certainly he did not see Wilchester waiting there. The quarrel was not long in coming, and Wilchester re-entered the room at the moment when the sudden excitement caused the drug Sir Ashton had taken to work most potently. He stabbed Peter as his cousin collapsed, turned out the gas, and, locking the door, left the dead man and the unconscious one together. So he got rid of his enemy, and more, Ashton would undoubtedly aocuse himself of the crime. To have his cousin in his hands in this way would be useful; but at the same time he did not wish him to be con- victed of the crime. For this reason he took the weapon away, as its absence, he thought, would suggest that the murder was a planned one, and he slipped the key under the door so that Ashton might escape, and went home fully expecting that Ashton would come to him a few hours later, which as a fact he did. Wilchester had not dropped the envelope addressed to his cousin on purpose. He had borrowed a scrap of paper from him in the train, and Ashton had given him the envelope to make some note on. It must have accidentally fallen from his pocket, perhaps when he stooped to slip the key under the door. With the money he had afterwards obtained from Ashton he embarked on a new career of deception, company promoting and speculation of the wildest kind, and his schemes would certainly have dissipated even the resources of Miss Bulmer had he ever married her. With hia arrest they came toppling to the ground, burying many of his victims in iinaneial ruin. Such was the history of the. man, and he told it without a word of regret. He had lived his life, and in a spirit of bravado declared himself willing to pay the high price demanded. "Death," he said to the chaplain, "can come but once, and there are longer roads out of life than the one I am likely to take." But for all that he shirked taking it. To avoid it, he had determination enough to strangle himself with his own hands. It was summer again at Kingsworthy, and a special day in the village too. Flags were hung from cottage windows, strings of flags were stretched across the village street, and many eager faces were turned to look up the road from Sutherton. Much had happened in Kingsworthy in the last twelve months. To the great annoyance of Aunt Muthaher niece had been quietly married to Sir Ashton Carless one morning, and tbav had driven away uirecrc irom Vile churen. There 110.4 been no rejoicing, no breakfast, nothing, and half the village did not know what had happened until it was all over. "Just as if they were ashamed of them- selves," said Aunt Martha. Mr. London vainly tried to pacify her by attempting a parallel between a quiet wedding and perpetual motion, but, failing miserably, retired to his workshop, and endeavoured to make his latest model go. It is sad to relate he was just as unsuccessful in this. Nor was Aunt Martha at once reconciled when Mrs. Goodall wrote and congratulated her. Your niece has made a splendid match, my dear friend," she wrote. "Sir Ashton will certainly be the social lion when he comes to town, and I hear on the very best authority— indeed, from a particular friend of mine, Sir John Sibthorpe, a man who knows everybody, my dear, and has dined with the King-that Sir Ashton is likely to enter Parliament on his return from abroad. Where are the travellers now ? The last time I heard of them they were in Rome." Social lions and Members of Parliament were no consolation to Aunt Martha just then. She allowed herself grave doubts of Mrs. Goodall's common sense, and conceived that the season might have been a trying one and proved too much for her. And old Miss Lendon was no better pleased when the village it on its best raiment for the marriage of Mrs. Milroy and Edward Lendon. "Most reprehensible to be married while Sir Ashton and his wife are away," she said. "We've waited a good long time already," laughed her nephew. "Exactly, and a month or two more would have made no difference." However, the wedding was not postponed, and in a shower of rice and congratulations they had departed. They had been settled at the cottage for some months now, and on this summer day were assembled with many others on the lawn before Redmayne. "They're awfully late, aren't they, father ? Edward put his arm round Lena's shoulders. The little girl had got quite used to calling him so now, but it was another who answered her question. "Not they, missy; another ten minutes yet afore they can come. See my flog yonder ? Gibbs pointed down to the lodge, and in the gardens there, close to the tree where the dilapidated swing used to hang, a pole was raised from which a large flag fluttered bravely. Are you going to live there, Mr. Gibbs ? I am, missy, me and Mary." Maty who ? "Mary Gibbs she'll be, but just at present fthe's Ma Johnson." "Tito housemaid at the Manor House Farm-2 "Quae right, missy, but she's goin' to give up the le o' hou&eruaiJ fhore and take on th.it >j wiio at the lodge yonder; :ui' the very first tirii"; sli- iy« as she regrets it, I'm agoin* to bng myself to the top o' that there pole instead o' the flag." Th;.>rp is one v>athetin figure there. She is standing beside Mrs. Sayle. She is 'luite but she P.ltIJ zipeak a few words siowIy, and tee doctor says that in tim- speech will coma fe&tfk to hvr. Poor Amy Wilchester ;i* to con- tinue to hve at Rediasyne* Dorothy would have it so, From tin- somes a cut s.toutof welcome, The -grinding carrifu: come nearer and u:-r- re?-, mid then the htu nes daiih | through the op-n gates. I "Welcome!.Welcome I It is the cry on ev<-ry side. Dorothy stands time. rr.dir-nMt li-tiinv, st she looks round at the wum.. i.mige- the well-kept lawns, the t i ii, tht- brilliant beds of flowers. "I didn't riianage.it all Bysi-li. uy lady," says Gibbs. "I had a lot o' hf And a glaace within shews he. the hah is luxurious, and comfortable, of flowers arc everywhere, and Mi-, l' drop, a curtsey and says: "Every roo,.i. K- hous< is beautiful now, my lady." There are tears in Dorothy's happ) tears. Then her husband's arm ste .i n(i her She lifts her face to his, and he kisses he) lips. "Dorothy < Little wife! Welcome home tt Redmayne* fTHE END. 7 P

G!J ..1 NEXT WWEEK, NEW SERIAL. Readers will be glad to hear that g we have secured a Splendid New Story for publications in the Free Ptms, entitled THEPIISSING MARCHIONESS." by that celebrated Novelist, COULSON KERUAHAN. NEXT WEEK. L!H _J. Fels-Naptha makes glassware shine like a mirror; it washes so clean. It washes everything else as clean. Go by the book inside the wrapper. Fels-Naptha 39 Wilson street London F. C

LALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] rD LEAVES FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF A PRIVATE DETECTIVE EDITED BY HUAN MEE. TEE LONG ARM OF cojncid HAVE you ever accidentally hit upon one crime when you have been investigating another ? queried a chum of mine, the other night as we sat over dinner in one of Lon- don's latest restaurants. We were at a table by ourselves and it was iate in the evening, so that the uaual throng of diners had departed for the theatre, music-hall or other enjoyment, leaving us practically alone. A sharp summer shower had suddenly come on, and I felt more in- clined to sit and sip my coffee, smoke and chat, than to go out at the moment, and the mood being on me to yarn, I answered I've done more than that. I've involun- tarily stumbled upon crime and been by the force of circumstances or the long arm of coincidence, or whatever fantastic name you like to apply to it, almost a participaiit in an outrage." My friend's eyes sparkled. He dearly loved to listen to my detective experiences, and the start of this one, I must candidly confess to myself, sounded interesting, and the facts did not belie the promise. The affair," I continued, led to my being able, single-handed, to lay by the heela one of the most dangerous gangs of anar- chists that ever found an asylum in England, only to attempt to abuse that hospitality by a dastardly outrage. The chief movers in the scheme, for eome of the small fry escaped, paid a pretty severe penalty of a long term of imprison- ment. One of them died at Portland and the other after his release went abroad, and was killed in a brawl in Barcelona. last year. Well, now to the story, and it is rather cur- ious that you should have raised the point you have, of the accidental discovery of crime, here to-night, for it was in a restau- rant not half-a-mile away that the first unpremeditated step in the affair was made." I'm very cosmopolitan, as you know, in my ideas and mix with all sorts and condi- tions of men, and before I retired from active detective life I frequented the cafes and restaurants of the foreign quarters in Lon- don pretty often, and especially that wilder- ness lying to the north of Shaftesbury Avenue known as Soho. There are a good many very decent places there for a man with a. taste for Continental cooking and a not too abundant purse to, as the phrase goes, do himself very well' at a, moderate cost, and it was in one of these that one evening a few years ago that I simply fell into the affair that saved London a, catastrophe. I had finished my dinner, drained my glass of Creme de M enthe and the waiter was obse- quiously assisting me with my coat and handing me my hat, but as soon as I placed it on my head I discovered that the bowler was not my own, for although it was the same size it was a ahade tighter across the front than the hats I am accustomed to wear, which ua .1'" -j .1. Still it was' the only bowler left on the hat- stand, evidently someone else had taken mine by mistake for his own. It was practically new and of excellent quality, quite equal to my own half-guinea felt, and making a vir- tue of necessity I decided to keep it, and tipping the waiter, departed. I took a stroll round town and was home by ten, and abed by ten-thirty. I'm sn early riser, and at 8 o'clock next morning was having my break- fast and glancing down the Agonv columns of the papers, for I always find them interest- ing. There is much romance and considerable food for reflection in the Agony column, but I was certainly surprised by one advertise- ment which appeared in both the Daily Telegraph and the Standard. It ran BOWLER lIAT. The advertiser took bv error the wrong bowler hat from a Soho cafe last night. if the owner of it will to-day (Thursday) be in the same restaurant at 2 p.m. at the first table to the right from the door he will receive his own hat in ex- change, together with f,20 for the inconveni- ence caused." u I whistled. and strollec, out into tne nail for the bowler that I had had willy nilly forced upon me overnight. There must be. something very curious about that hat. It must, I folt certain, con- tain some secret, and I set mVself to work to thoroughly examine it. It had already rifmu wonderfully in value-frOln ten shillings to twenty pounds—and might it not be possible that instead of twenty pounds it was worth twenty thousand pounds ? But how ? The matter must be very urgent, for after no ioubt trying to recover the hat at the rest-au- rant. the loser must have dashed off at once to the newspaper offices ir order to get the a. ,>rt; iemoat In-verted in the Agonj column ill tl-ai morning. I p-c-er evt-iv inr-h of the ha.t--therp seemed to he no concealment 5f anv kind. There was no maker's itanic in 11., but I had the idea that it was not of Britu;< workmanship. Ir. was not lined he- yond d, narrow leatiier band to keep the felt irom pressing upon the forehead, and it bad t videmly been a little large for the wearer who I- A folded up a piOOfo of stiff paper and plaretf it under the to make the hat fit better-. Without the paper it suited me :u..ar.tl. T took the paper out and <n iiiised it carefully. It was,meri>!y ti.e i».!>u card of a cheap restaurant in which a lot of holes had been cut in a fancy pattern.- as one often toys and idles after a good meal. There WaAJ no other or private writing upon it except a few odd letters and figures in one corner. If there was any secret about the hat I felt it was in that piece of paper, but there was nothing visible upon it of any value at all. I determined however to test it for sympathe- tic inks and put it carefully in my pocket- book for the purpose. I quickly finished my breakfast, and then made my way to one of London's big hospi- tals, the house surgeon of which was a parti- cular friend of mine. and with his assistance I submitted the hat to the searching investigation of the X Rays. I confess I half expected a revelation of something hidden between layers of felt as I held the hat between the great globe full of apple-green light and the fluorescent screen, but there was absolutely nothing. The ha.t to all appearances was as innocent as when it left the makers. I went into the laboratory and experi- mented with the paper taken from the lining for sympathetic inks. but again my tests met with no success. I was baffled for the mo- ment, but I could not get away from my mind that it was the paper that was worth twenty pounds, not the hat. I determined not to go near the restaurant and drove over to my office, where I instructed one of my assistants to wire his sweetheart and take her to lunch at the restaurant where I had dined the night before. I preferred to send him in feminine company in order that the owner of the hat should not assume that the man enjoying a tele d tele meal with his inamorata was shadowing him. I gave my man the fullest instructions as to the table he was to watch, and arranged that he should go to the restau- rant about one-thirty and be ready to depart, bid his swetheart adieu, and shadow the man who would come to keep the appoint- ment. when that individual got tired of waiting and departed. Incidentally I may mention now, that this programme was followed out to the letter, but the shadowing of the man was not suc- cessful for in a labyrinth of streets he. either knowing he was followed, or from inherent caution, slid up a narrow court and dis- appeared, giving my man the slip. Meanwhile I sat alone in my office poring over the menu card, in the corner of which, written in indelible ink pencil were the words and figures, Petit 18, p.4, C 2. L X." I sat there with the paper on the desk in front of me. and wondered if these cryptic signs meant anything. Then suddenly like a flash it came to me, these holes and stabs in the paper were not haphazard—they were made with intent-Pnd meant something. They were the grille" as the French call it, to disclose a secret message. If this paper with its perforations was placed over a certain page in a book or sheet of writing, known to the recipient, there would be one or more letters visible through each aperture, which would no doubt spell certain words, and give a message. True, it might even then be in cypher, but that would be a big step on the right road. But what book? What paper ? That was the puzzle. I gazed at the figures again that had been jotted on the menu and simply flogged my brain for half and hour and then I got it: Petit 18, p.4, C 2, LX." I called myself a confounded fool for not having seen it sooner. Here was the answer: —- PETIT "-Le Petit Journal. 18 "-The day of the month. pA. "-Page 4. L X "-Line 10. It simply meant that the grille" I had be- fore me was to be laid on the second column of the 4th page of Le Petit Jourital--the well- known half-penny French newspaper of the 18th, no doubt of that month, March, com- mencing at the 10th line and through the perforations there would appear certain letters. In half an hour a swift hansom had taken my clerk up West and back, and from one of the Continental libraries in Wardour Street he had obtained the number of Le Petit Journal I desired, dated March the 18th. just three days before the day upon which I made the discovery, which was the 21st. I confess that my fingers trembled a little as I turned to the second column of the fourth page, and then I gave a whistle of delight, for that column was filled with a displayed advertisement of some wonderful appetiser printed in large capitals. Putting the top of my grille" level with the tenth line I, after a little manipulation, read:- Lun, soir, sept, traf, sud est, Lion, flour rouge." Which as abbreviated French but translated with & little ingenuity became — Monday night, seven o'clock, Trafalgar Square. Lion at South east corner, Red flower." This was undoubtedly an jnstruction to someone to meet an emissary at Trafalgar- Square on Monday evening, and either one or the other was to wear a red flower as a signal of recognition. So far so good. Now the question that at once suggested itself was why this great anxiety to recover the hat and by the offer made draw special attention to its value and its secret T It was for one or two reasons, either the fear that it should fall into the hands of someone who should be sufficiently acquainted with the art of cryptography to realise the import of the folded paper, or what was far more likely, the owner of the hat had not yet himself worked out the cypher, and this knowledge might mean a matter of life and death to him. I concluded that this latter was the real solution, because had he already read the message he would remember it near enough to keep the appointment, and not be indis- creet enough to advertise his loss and call attention to the hat which he would be quite sure would be carefully scrutinised by its possessor in the hope and belief of hidden valuables, such aa banknotes. The risk of discovery was too-great, and therefore I con- cluded he had not yet >read the message, and so it turned out. While it was evident that an oppointment had been thus made for the Monday evening, it gave me no clue to the persons likely to be implicated in the matter, although I had a shrewd suspicion as to what it might por- tend, for at that time London was being terrorised by a series of explosions which were taking place, and which were undoub- tedly the work of anarchists, and although I did not know it then, I had by sheer luck stumbled on the very hot-bed of the ruffians. This was the Friday before the Monday of the appointment for Trafalgar-Square, and on Saturday morning another advertisement appeared in still more urgent terms, offering fifty pounds for the return of the hat that day. but the advertiser was too wise to again suggest a restaurant. He asked that th3 possessor of the hat should be at Cleopatra's Needle on the Embankment at noon that day, carrying in his hand as a signal of identity and consent to the bargain a bunch of daffodils. Needless to say I did not accept the offer, and though I sent a spy to the Embankment he was unable to find anyone suspiciously lounging about. Evidently the man, who- ever he was, was watching from a window or some secluded spot from which he could by meant of field-glasses see the pavement by the needle and discover if the appointment was kept. Now, as the man who had lost his hat and the cypher key would not know the rendez- vous, he would naturally be unable to keep the appointment, on Monday night, and I determined to take his place. The reference to a red flower meant, of course that either one or the other of the men to meet was to wear that distinguishing badge, and I therefore decided thpt uo I^ra oould eventuate, and sucSIJ# be 1. no way jeopardised, if I took the precaution wear I a red rose in my buttonhole j The next question was should I ".etO vSth the matter single-handed or rot ? I felt, was in for a great coup, and althcugih tt would mean mm.1t credit it would m^»n v, cash, n::d after all that it would b", bbClter to ttulist some wefnl aid than t-O iun ihe chance of a possible failure. Still I never, unless forced, act in » hurry, find I waited till over Sunday before I finally decide to take 800fand Yard into my conft- On ITonday morning I called tlsjre. and told the authorities of mv confident belief that a plot was on foot that might have very disastrous consequences for London. They had enough confidence in my perspicacity to gladly afford all the help I asked without the least cross-questioning, and this wae not surprising, for London and the authorities alike were scared and demoralised by the constant. dynamite outrages that had been taking place. There was a nervousness in the air that they were only too anxious to allay. I waited with what patience I could the advent of fieven o'clock on Monday evening, and just before the hour, decked with my red rose, as a mark of the brotherhood, made my way to the south eastern corner of Trafalgar- Square. I carefully reconnoitered the spot from the opposite eide of the way. near by the entrance to St. Jajnes' Park, and there resting by the lion. idly glancing over a. 14 e.ttmi/i^tcr (,az'ltc was a man with a red flower in his buttonhole and with a small box which he carried by a strap in his hand. I crossed and came "within his range of vision. He saw me over the edge of his newspaper, and as I reached him addressed me in French. Bon soir. mon cher confrere." he said. M Bon soir," I answered, tuul laid my finger on my lips. and gave, for his benefit, a warning glance around. He understood, and was about to hand me the box which I felt convinced contained a bomb. when I hailed the hansom which I had arranged should be waiting by the curb, and we both got in. I took the box from him and placed it behind me on the seat, wedging it safely in the corner of the cushions with my back. Then before he realised it there was mc-liek of steel as I snapped the handcuffs upon his wrists. It was all over in a moment. From, it seemed, the ground itself several police inspectors and constables sprang to life and one jumped into the cab, but there was no nefcd for assistance—the man was too dumb- founded to make any real resistance, and in five minutes he was in a cell at Bow Street Police Station. Upon him were found a number of incrimi- nating documents and letters written from abroad to an address in Soho at which place late that night we captured the rest of the gang, and there also, within a stone's throw of the Palace Theatre, we found a complete manufactory for the construction of nitro- glycerine bombs, any one of which but for my lucky roup, due to the long arm of coinu- ience, might have wrecked the neighbourhood without a. moment's warning."

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;4'8ac.C 11 WORDS OF WISDOM. Pay as you go, and if you can't pay don't go. A difficulty is at the door of every delight. Skilful ignorance is better than clumey know- ledge. To accept good advice is to increase one's OQ ability. None are less eager to learn than they whtl know nothing. A man can accomplish anything he wants t" if he wants to badly enough. The man who stepe to the front will alvaj* have people yelping at his heels. Most men postpone happiness until the futur4 and the future never comes. d- It's easy enough to laugh at the rich for doing things y/t can't afford to do. The great secret of making the labour of lire easyfs to do each duty every day. !ren men have failed from defects in morals qrbere one has failed from defects in intellect. Do not judge a man by his failures in life, for many a man fails because he is too honest to succeed. Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears: for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlaying our hard hearts. Sentiment is a strong man's concealment of what he feels, whil sentimentality is a weak man's expression of what he does not feel. The man who becomes his own doctor has a fool for a patient as truly as the man who acta as his own lawyer has a fool for a client. Unless one has something to look forward to it is difficult to live. When the joy of looking forward is gone the zest of life ebbs and fails. When trouble goes hunting him « man nisy dodge it, but when a man goes huntii-L Ir,ut)fe it hasn't one chance in d. thousand t i escanin,^ him. Never be afraid to doubt, if only you hav# the disposition to believe, arid doul' order that you may end in believing tlte 1"rllth.- T"; The pinion of the !s»i-^ftthropicai this very positive ba-s, thnf t,u."y ad faith of some as eviu cliCt* v> ? th-- v of all. W" seek too high for things what Nature found i- for li^ft hi"; charms so tka: as homg —Swaiw. e STrtitrtt gift ins-

RJRUNINEITS USE AND ABUSE. Cutting away the top of the tree in order to balance the loss sustained by root removal is all rubbish, and is a custom based upon theory only, says a writer in the Market Gardener. The tree that is planted and is left intact will in spring open out the buds first that are the most easily opened at any time-viz., those that are found at the extremities of the twigs and branches. If, on the other hand, the tree has been pruned, then the very dormant and small buds situated at the base of the twigs and shoots will have to be pushed into growth. This will require greater effort on the part of the tree, and, there not being root enough to do the work, the growth will, in the majority of cases, start late and weak, and remain so all the season; and, in consequence, the trees will make little progress below greund. In the case of the tree that is left unpruned the buds at the points starting easily develop leaves, and no sooner are leaves developed than there is a call to the roots, and if the tree were lifted early in the season, and the wounded roots have healed, then at once, in answer to the demand of the leaves on the terminals above, new root fibres are formed, and leaf development above ground. is helped for- ward. The more it is helped the more it demands, and the result is that when autumn winds and early frosts clear off the foliage the labour remains, or rather the result of it, in a fine, healthy root system below ground. Now the pruner comes along, a man of nerve and ability, and cuts deep down to dormant buds that, owing to removal and non-pruning the first season, had their animation suspended for a year. The pruner now cuts back to these in a surgeon-like manner. The result in the next growing season is that the abundant root causes an abundant growth, and the future of the trees is assured, provided, of course, common sense rules in the after treatment. So we say, Don't prune your trees the first season, but prune hard the second. LINCOLNSHIRE BUFF FOWL. The so-called Lincolnshire Buff is old-estab- lished, and has been known in Lincolnshire for many years. It is not recognised as an exhibi- tion fowl, and until the buff Orpington made its appearance it was comparatively unknown outside the county from which it derived its name, except as a good all-round farmer's breed. Scores have been sold in the London, markets as table fowls, and many clean-legged specimens have been .disposed of by unscrupu- lous dealers as buff Orpingtons. Some strains of the latter variety are said to have had Lincolnshire blood infused into em, but how much truth there is in this assertion it i. impossible to say. There is not a standard of excellence for it; in fact, it clashes too much with the buff Orpington ever to be able to hold its place in the show penhe two varieties only differing in legs, those of the Lincolnshire being a trifle longer and slightly feathered. Years ago the farmers and poultry- keepers of Lincolnshire bred mongrel fowll of the Dorking type, but, finding them unsuit- able for the climate and surroundings, they,an Mooney cocks with their hens; and when the buff Cochin boom was on males of that breed were mated with their hens. The de8 was to obtain a breed of good all-round fowls, the cockerels of which would grow^-trell for table, and the pullets be good layers. So attempt was made to keep to type or colour, hence the birds were of all kinds. The boot Lincolnshire Buffs are much longer-legged, of slimmer build, and carry much less leg feathering than do Cochins. From such crossing as we have mentioned, and taking into consideration the fact that no atten- tion whatever was paid to the colour and markings of the plumage, it is easy to under- stand that the breed will not "throw true," and that all sorts of Specimens may be produced from even the best-mated hen.

WATKH-SOFTENIXG PLANT. Growers, both amateurs and professionals, are often faced by the water difficulty, con- sequently a notice of the water-softener lately introduced by the Pulsonieter Company, which is so simple in operation as to be under- stood by the veriest novice, must be of interest. It requires but little attention when at work, the hard water being first admitted into a syphon tank containing a float, which is mechanically connected with two dis- placers. M*Iit-ii the water rises in this tank tin displacers are drawn out of the tanks contain- ing the lime water and soda solution, which are then automatically filled up to a given level by means of ball cocks. The syphon tank i« arranged so that it discharges its content* automatically directly the water reaches a certain level, thus ensuring an exact quantity of water being discharged at each emptving. The ball cocks in the reagent tanks are set te WATER-SOFT KKKE. fill 'the tanks to a point just below the dis- charging troughs, so that when the displaeer* enters, say, the lime tank, a bulk of lime water exactly equal to the portion of the displacer submerged is pushed over into the mixer. The displacer is easily adjusted, so that a smaller or larger quantity of lime water can be delivered to suit the chemical nature of the hard water then being dealt with. The displacer in the soda solution is similarly arranged. It will be seen that the discharge of the reagents is exactly dependent on the quantity of water to be softened. If this is reduced, the syphon tank fills fewer times per hour, and consequently the number of times the displacers work is reduced in the same proportion. The discharges from the hard-water syphon tank and from the lime and soda tanks all meet at the same time and at the same place (the mixer), thus ensuring an immediate and thorough mixture in proper. proportions. From the mixer the treated water is passed through a down pipe to the bottom of the settling tank, whence it steadily flows upwards, leaving in its progress the heaviest of I the suspended matters caused by the action of v 1 the softening process. From here it passia through the filter, emerging at the "filter outlet" soft and bright. The filter is cleaned without the removal of the filtering medium. The lime tank is recharged with lime daily, and tha spent lime drawn off. The attention required in the case of medium-sized plants is that of one man for an hour once in twelve hours.