(Continued from last week).
“When did you learn who Eaton
was, Avery?”
“Phe day after we got back here
from the West I got word from La-
tron; they didn’t tell me till they
needed to use me.” Avery hesitated;
then he went on: “You understand,
sir, about Latron’s pretended death—
a guide at the shooting lodge had
been killed by a chance shot in the
woods; purely accidental; some one
of the party had fired at a deer,
missed, and never knew he'd killed a
man with the waste shot. When the
guide didn’t come back to camp, they
looked for him and found his bady.
He was a man who never would be
missed or inquired for and was very
nearly Latron’s size; and that gave
Latron the idea.
“At first there was no idea of pre-
tending he had been murdered; it was
the coroner who first suggested that.
Things looked ugly for a while, under
the circumstances, as they were made
public. Either the scheme might
come out or someone else be charged
as the murderer. That put it up to
Overton. He'd actually been up there
to see Latron and had had a scene
with him which had been witnessed.
That part—all but the evidence which
showed that he shot Latron after
ward—was perfectly true. He thought
that Latron, as he was about to go
to trial, might be willing to give him
information which would let him save
something from the fortune he’d lost
through Latron’s manipulations. The
circumstances, motive, everything was
ready to convict Overton; it needed
very little more to complete the case
against him.”
“So it was completed.”
“But after Overton was convicted,
he was not allowed to be punished,
sir,”
' Santoine’s lips straightened in <on-
tempt. “He was not allowed to be
punished?”
“Overton didn’t actually escape, you
know, Mr. Santoine —that Is, he
couldn’t have escaped without help;
Latron was thoroughly frightened and
he wanted it carried through and
Overton executed; but some of the
others rebelled against this and saw
that Overton got away; but he never
knew he'd been helped. I understand
it was evidence of Latron’s insistence
on the sentence being carried out that
Warden found, after his first sus-
picions had been aroused, and that
put Warden in a position to have La-
tron tried for his life, and made it
necessary to kill Warden.”
“Latron is dead, of course, Avery,
or fatally wounded?”
“He's dead. Over—Eaton, that Is,
gir—hit him last night with three
shots.”
“As a housebreaker engaged in
rifling my safe, Avery.”
“Yes, sir, Latron was dying when
they took him out of the car last
night. They got him away, though;
put him on the boat he'd come on. 1
saw them in the woods last night.
They'll not destroy the body or make
away with it, sir, at present.”
“In other words, you instructed
them not to do so until you found out
whether Overton could be handed over
for execution and the facts regarding
Latron kept secret, or whether some
other course was necessary.”
The blind man did not wait for any
answer to this: he straightened sud
denly, gripping the arms of his chair,
and got up. There was more he wished
to ask; In the bitterness he felt at his
blindness having been used to make
him an unconscious’ agent in these
things of which Avery spoke so calm-
ly, he was resolved that no one who
had shared knowingly in them should
£o unpunished. But now he heard the
noise made by approach of Eaton's
captors. As Santoine stood listening,
the sounds without became coherent
to him.
“They have taken Overton, Avery,”
he commented. “Of course they have
taken no one else. I shall tell those
in charge of him he is not the one
they are to hold prisoner but that I
have another for them here.”
The blind man heard no answer
from Avery. Those having Overton
in charge seemed to be coming into
the house; the door opened and there
were confused sounds.
Then Santoine heard his daughter's
voice in a half ery, half sob of hope-
less appeal to him. Harriet ran to
him; he felt her cold, trembling fingers
clasping him and beseeching him.
“Father! Father! They say—they
say—they will—"
He put his hands over hers, clasp-
ing hers and patting it. “My dear,”
he said, “I thought you would wait
for me; I told you to wait.”
He heard others coming into the
house now; and he held his daughter
beside him as he faced them.
“Who is in charge here?’ he de-
manded.
The voice of one of those who had
~ just come in answered him. “I, sir—
I am the chief of police.”
“] wish to speak to you; I will not
keep you long. May I ask you to have
your prisoner taken to the room he
occupied here in my house and given
attention by a doctor? You can have
my word that it is not necessary to
guard him. Wait! Wait!” he direct-
ed, as he heard exclamations and
ejaculations to correct him. “I do not
mean that you have mistaken who he
fs. He is Hugh Overton, I know; it is
because he is Hugh Overton that I
say what I do.”
Santoine abandoned effort to sepa-
rate and comprehend or to try to an-
swer the confusion of charge and
questioning around him. He con-
cerned himself, at the moment, only
with his daughter; he drew her to
him, held her and sald gently, “There,
dear; there! Everything is right. I
The Voice of One of Those Who Had
Just Come in Answered Him. “I, sir
—] Am the Chief of Police.
have not been able to explain to you,
and I cannot take time mow; but you,
at least, will take my word that you
have nothing to fear for him—noth-
ing!”
He heard her gasp with incredulity
and surprise; then she drew back
trom him, staring at him, she breathed
deep with relief and clasped him, sob-
bing. He still held her, as the hall
was cleared and the footsteps of those
carrying Overton went up the stairs;
then, knowing that she wished to tol-
low them, he released her. She drew
away, then clasped his: hand and
kissed it; as she did so, she suddenly
stiffened and her hand tightened on
his spasmodically.
Someone else had come into the hall
and he heard another voice—a wom-
an’s, which he recognized as that of
the stenographer, Miss Davis.
The blind man straightened. holding
his daughter to him; there was anxi-
ety, horror, love in the voice he heard;
Harriet’s perplexity was great as his
own.
“Is that you, Miss Davis?" he in
quired.
“Yes; yes,” the girl repeated.
“Where is—Hugh, Mr. Santoine?”
“You do not understand,” the voice
of a young man broke in on them.
“I'm afraid I don’t,” Santoine said
quietly.
“She is Hugh's sister, Mr. Santoine
—she is Edith Overton.”
“Edith Overton? And who are you?”
“You do not know me. My name is
Lawrence Hillward.”
Santoine asked nothing more for the
moment. His daughter had left his side.
He stood an instant listening to the
confusion of question and answer fu
the hall: then he opened the door into
the library and held it for the police
chief to enter.
CHAPTER XXIV
“|1¢'s All Right, Hugh”—at Last.
Eaton—he still, with the habit of
five years of concealment, even
thought of himself by that name—
awoke to full consciousness at eight
o'clock the next morning. He was In
the room he had occupied before In
Santoine’s house; the sunlight, re:
flected from the lake, was playing on
the ceiling. His wounds had been
dressed; his body was comfortable
and without fever, ] :
He saw and recognized, against the
lighted square of the window, a man
standing looking out at the lake.
“Lawrence,” he said.
The man turned and came toward
the bed. “Yes, Hugh.”
Eaton raised himself excitedly upon
his pillows. “Lawrence, that was he—
last night—in the study. It was La-
tron! I saw him! You'll believe me,
Lawrence—you at least will. They
got away on a boat—they must be fol-
lowed—" With the first return of
consciousness he had taken up again
that battle against circumstances
which had been: ‘his only thought for
flve years.
But suddenly he was aware that his
sister was also in the room, sitting
upon the opposite side of the bed. Her
hand came forward and clasped his;
she bent over him, holding him and
fondling him.
“It is all right, Hugh,” she whis-
pered—*oh, Hugh! it is all right now,
Mr. Santoine knows; he-—he was not
what we thought him. He believed
all the while that you were justly
sentenced. Now he knows other
wise—"
“He—Santoine—believed that?” Ea-
ton asked incredulously: d
“Yes; he says his blindness was
“Where is he? Hugh! Hugh!
What have you done to him? Mr.
Santoine! Mr. Sanutoine! Where is |
he?”
\ garding yourself,” he said.
used by them to make him think so.
So now he is very angry; he says no
one who had anything to do with it
shall escape. He figured it all out—
most wonderfully—that it must have
peen Latron in the study. He has
been working all night—they have al-
ready made several arrests and every
port on the lake is being watched for
the boat they got away on.”
“Is that true, Edith? Lawrence, Is
it true?”
“Yes; quite true, Hugh!”
choked and turned away.
Eaton sank back against his pil-
lows; his eyes—dry, bright and filled
still with questioning for a time, as
ne tried to appreciate what he just
had heard and all that it meant to
him—dampened suddenly as he real-
ized that it was over now, that long
struggle to clear his name from the
charge of murder—the fight which had
seemed so hopeless, He could not
realize it to the full as yet; conceal-
ment, fear, the sense of monstrous
injustice done him had marked so
deeply all his thoughts and feelings
that he could not sense the fact that
they were gone for good. So what
came to him most strongly now was
only realization that he had been set
right with Santoine—Santoine, whom
he himself had misjudged and mis-
trusted. And Harriet? He had not
needed to be set right with her; she
had believed and trusted him from the
first, in spite of all that had seemed
against him. Gratitude warmed him
as he thought of her—and that other
feeling, deeper, stronger far than
gratitude, or than anything else he
aver had felt toward anyone but her,
gurged up in him and set his pulses
wildly beating, as his thought strained
toward the future.
“Where fis—Miss
asked.
His sister answered. “She has been
belping her father. They left word
they were to be sent for as soon as
you woke up, and I've just sent for
them.”
Eaton lay silent till he heard them
coming. The blind man was unfa-
millar with. this room; his daughter
jed him in. Her eyes were very
bright, her cheeks, which had been
pale, flushed as she met Eaton's look,
put she did not look.away. He kept
nis gaze upon her. :
Santoine, under her guidance, took
the chair Hillward set beside the bed
for him. The blind man was very
gulet; he felt for and found Eaton's
nand and pressed it. Eaton choked,
as he returned the pressure. Then
Santoine released him,
“Who else is here?’ the blind man
asked his daughter.
“Miss Overton and Mr. Hillward,”
sbe answered.
Santoine found with his blind eyes
their positions in the room and ac-
knowledged their presence; afterward
he turned back to Eaton.
“I understand, I think, everything
now, except some few particulars re-
“Will ygu
Hillward
Santoine?’ he
tell me those?”
“You mean—" Eaton spoke to San-
toine, but he looked at Harriet. “Oh,
I understand, 1 think. When I—
escaped, Mr. Santoine, of course my
picture had appeared in all the news-
papers and I was not safe from rec-
ognition anywhere in this country. 1
got into Canada and, om Vancouver,
went to China. We had very little
money left, Mr. Santoine. What had
not been—lost through Latron had
been spent in my defense. I got a
position in a mercantile house over
there. It was a good country for me;
people over there don't ask questions
for fear someone will ask questions
about them. We had no near rela-
tives for Edith to go to and she had
to take up stenography to support her-
gelf and—and change her name, Mr.
Santoine, because of me.”
“Go on,” said Santoine. “You
thought I knew who Latron’s mur-
derer was and morally, though not
technically, perjured myself at your
trial to convict you im his place.
“What next?” : .
“That was it,” Eaton assented. “We
thought you knew that some of those
sround you who served as your eyes
must knew It, too.”
Harriet gasped. Eaton, looking at
her, knew that she understood now
what had come between them when
“she had told him that she herself had
served as her father’s eyes all through
the Latron trial. He felt himself
flushing a8 he looked at her; he could
not understand now how he could
have believed that she had aided in
concealing an Injustice against him,
no matter what influence had been ex-
erted upon her. She was all good;
all true.
“At first,” Eaton went on, “Edith
did not find out anything. Then, this
year, she learned that there was to
be a reorganization of some of the
Latron properties. We hoped that,
during that, something would come
out which might help us. I had been
away almost five years; my face was
forgotten, and we thought I could
take the charfce of coming back to be
near at hand so I could act if anything
did come out. Lawrence met me at
Vancouver. We were about to start
east when I received a message from
Mr. Warden. I did not know Warden
and I don’t know now how he knew
who I was or where he could reach
me. His message merely said he knew
I needed help and he was prepared to
give it’ and made an appointment for
me to see him at his house. You know
what happened when I tried to keep
the appointment.
“Then you came to Seattle and took
charge of Warden's affairs. I felt cer-
tain that if there was any evidence
among Warden's effects as to who had
killed Latron, you would take it back
with you with the other matters re-
lating to the Latron reorganization,
You could not recognize me from your
having been at my trial because you
_——
were blind ; I decided to take the train
with you and try to get possession of
the draft of the reorganization agree-
ment and the other documents with it
which Warden had been working on.
1 had suspected *hat I was being
watched by agents of the men protect-
ing Latron’s murderer while I was in
Seattle. ! had changed my lodgings
there because of that, but Lawrence
had remained at the old lodgings to
find out for me. He found there was
a man following me who disappeared
after I had taken the train, and Law-
rence, after questioning the gateman
at Seattle decided the man had taken
the same train I did. He wired me in
the cipher we had sometimes used in
communicating with each other, but
not knowing what name 1 was using
oti the train, he addressed it to him-
self, confident that if a telegram
reached the train addressed to ‘Law-
rence Hillward’ I would understand
and claim it.
“Of course, I could not follow his
instructions and leave the train; we
were snowed in.
imagine how anybody couid have fol-
lowed me onto the train, as I had
taken pains to preveut that very thing
by beiniz the last passenger to get
aboard It.”
“The man whom the gateman saw
did not follow you; he merely watched
you get on the train and notified two
others. who took the train at Spo-
kane. ‘They had planned to get rid
of you after you left Seattle s0 as to
run less risk of your death being con-
nected with that of Warden. It was
my presence which made it necessary
for them to make the desperate at-
tempt to kill you on the train.”
“Then I understand. The other tel-
egram was sent me, of course, by
Edith from Chicago, when she learned
here that you were using the name of
Dorne on your way home. [I learned
from her when I got here that the doc-
uments relating to the Latron prop-
erties, which I had decided you did
not have with you, were being sent
you through Warden's office. Through
Edith I learned that they had reached
you and had been put in the safe. I
managed to communicate with Hill-
ward at the country club, and that
night he brought me the means of
forcing the safe.
Eaton felt himself flushing again, as
he looked at Harriet. Did she resent
Eaton Felt Himself Flushing Again, as
He Looked at Harriet.
his having used her in that way? He
saw only sympathy in her face.
“My daughter told me that she
helped you to that extent,” Santoine
offered, “and I understood later what
must have been your reason for ask-
ing her to take you out that night.”
“When 1 reached the study,” Eaton
continued, “I found others already
there. The light of an electric torch
flashed on the face of one of them
and I recognized the man as Latron—
the man for whose murder I had been
convicted and sentenced! Edith tells
me that you know the rest.”
There was silence in the room for
several minutes. Santoine again felt
for Eaton’s hand and pressed it.
“We've tired you out,” he said. “You
must rest.”
“You must sleep, Hugh, if you can,”
Edith urged.
Eaton obediently closed his eyes,
but opened them at once to look for
Harriet. She bad moved out of his
line of vision.
Santoine rose: he stood an Instant
waiting for his daughter, then sud-
denly he comprehended that she was
no longer in the room, “Mr. Hillward,
1 must ask your help,” he said, and
he went out with Hillward guiding
him.
Eaton, turning anxiously on his pil-
low and looking about the room, saw
no one but his sister. He had known
when Harriet moved away from be-
side the bed; but he had not suspected
that she was leaving the room. Now
suddenly a great fear filled him.
“Why did Miss Santoine go away?
Why did she go, Edith?’ he ques-
tioned.
“You must sleep, Hugh,” his sister
answered only.
Harriet, when she slipped out of the
room, had gone downstairs. She could
not have forced herself to leave be-
fore she had heard Hugh’s story, and
she could not define even to herself
what the feeling had been that had
made her leave as soon as he had
finished; but she sensed the reason
vaguely, Hugh had told her two days
before, “I will come back to you as
you have never known me yet"—and
it had proved true. She had known
him as a man in fear, constrained,
carefully guarding himself against
others and against betrayal by him-
self; a man to whom .all the world
seemed opposed; sa that her sympa-
thy—and afterward: something more
Besides, 1 could not |
than her sympathy—had gone out to
him. To that repressed and threat-
ened man, she had told all she felt
toward him, revealing her feelings
with a frankness that would have
been impossible except that she want-
ed him to know that she was ready to
stand against the world with him.
Now the world was no longer
against him; he had friends, a place
in life was ready to receive him; he
would be sought after, and his name
would be among those of the people
of his own sort. She had no shame
that she had let him—and others—
know all that she felt toward him,
she gloried still in it; only now—now,
if he wished her, he must make thai
plain; she could not, of herself, return
to him,
Sc unrest possessed her and the
suspense of something hoped for but
ungudfilled. She went from room to
room, trying to absorb herself in her
daily duties; but the house—her fa-
ther’'s hovse-—spoke to her now only
i of Hugh vu4 le could think of noth-
ing but h sa, ‘Was he awake? Was
i he sleepin ¢= Was he thinking of her?
‘Or, now Hd: the danger was over
through v Lich she had served him,
| were his thoughts of someone else?
| Her heart halted at each recur
! rence of that thought; and again and
i again she repeated his words to her
"at parting from her the night before.
“TI will come back to you as you haev
"never known me yet! To her he
"would come back, he said; to her, not
ito anyone else. But his danger was
not over then; in his great extremity
and in his need of her, he might have
felt what he did not feel now. If he
i wanted her, why did he not send for
| her?
She stood trembling as she saw
Edith Overton in the hall.
“Hugh has been asking for you con-
tinually, Miss Santeoine. If you can
find time, please go in and see him.”
Harriet did mot know what answer
she made. She went upstairs: she
ran, as soon as she was out of sight
of Hugh's sister; then, at Hugh's door,
she had to halt to catch her bireath
and compose herself before she opened
the door and looked in upon him, He
was alone and seemed ‘asleep; at least
his eyes were closed. Harriet stood
an instant gazing at him.
His face was peaceful now but
worn, and his paleness was more evi-
dent than when he had been talking
to. her father. As she stood watchs
ing him, she felt her. blood coursing
through her as never before and
warming her face and her fingertips;
and fear—fear of him or of herself,
fear of anything at all in the world—
fled from her; and love—love which
she knew that she need no longer try
to deny—possessed her.
“Harriet!” She heard her name
from his lips and she saw, as he
opened his eyes and turned to her,
there was no surprise in his look; if
he had been sleeping, he had been
dreaming she was there; if awake, he
had ‘been thinking of her. 7
“What is it, Hugh?” She was be-
side him and he was looking up into
her eyes,
“You meant it, then? All you said
{ and—and all you did when we-—you
and I—were alonz against them all!
It's so, Harriet! You wean it!”
“And you did too! Dear, it was
only to me that you could comme back—
only to me?”
“Only to you!” He closed his eyes
in his exultetion. “Ch, my dear, I
never dreamed—Harriet in all the days
and nights I've had to plan and won-
der what might be for me If every-
thing could come all right, I've never
dreamed I could win a reward like
this.”
“Like this?”
He opened his eyes agaln and drew
her down toward him, “Like you!”
She bent until her cheek touched
his and his arms were about her.
felt her tears upon his face.
thata ;
not that—you musta’t cry,
dear,” he begged. “Qh, Harriet,
aren't you happy now?’
“That's why. Happy! I didn’t
know before there could be anything
like this.”
“Nor L No, it's a! right,
Harriet; everything is all right now?”
“All right? Ob, it's all right now,
if I can make it so for yeu,” she
answered.
{THE END!
Mass Athletics Prove Success at Penn
State.
With more than two-thirds of the
men students at Penn State engaged
in some sort of winter sport, the slo-
gan of “everybody playing” is being
carried out most successfully under
the mass athletic system introduced
by athletic director Hugo Bezdek.
During the winter, first and second
year students have their choice of
sport, including basket ball, boxing,
wrestling, track and gymnastics. The
former is- by far the most popular,
with boxing second. Including the
varsity, class, fraternity and unit
teams in all of these sports, it is esti-
mated that more than 2,000 of the
2,800 men are in some healthy athlet-
ic sport during the winter.
A Tax on Impudence.
An English actress spent the sum-
mer in a small village in Vermont and
one day engaged a local farmer to
drive her about. Anxious to entertain
her, the driver chatted about local
matters, whereat she was much bored.
Finally she said sharply: “I engaged
you to drive me, not to talk to me.”
The farmer collapsed. Subsequent-
ly he sent his bill, one item of which
puzzled the actress. “What's this?”
she asked.
“Thet?” the man returned. “Oh,
thet’s sass. I don’t often take it, but
when I do, I charge.” The actress
paid.
news while it is news.
He
“Noto
——The “Watchman” gives all the
"THOSE FOOL LITTLE GRUDGES
}M One Only Would Pause to Consider
the Question, Are They Really
Worth While?
The first time I crossed the Atlantic
I had t e good fortune to find myselt
in good company. The passenger list
was comparatively small and the
weather was mild. So, by the time
the ship approached Liverpool, the
passengers were fairly well acquaint-
ed and the atmosphere was decidedly
genial. What interested me most
about the trip was the sadness: re-
flected here and there during the last
two days, John D. Barry writes In
the Minneapolis Tribune.
“Well, we'll never be together
again,” said one passenger, and an-
other said, “I hate to leave all these
pleasant people.”
Since that time, after voyages of a
week or more, even of ships where
the passengers have been rather de-
tached, I've noticed a somewhat sim-
flar feeling.
Among college students it's well
known that during the last year of
college there's a pretty general soft-
ening up. In the men’s college it's
very marked. I suppose it's just as
marked in the women’s colleges, per-
haps more So.
Men who had cherished grudges
acainst each other for months or
vears and hadn't spoken would begin
to speak again and would perhaps
become friends. Acquaintances that
had passed with a slight nod would
grow more agreeable. Somehow ani-
mosity, chilliness, all unpleasant be-
havior began to seem foolish.” Tt be-
came clear that in this association
there was something worth. while,
something that hadn't been fully ap-
preciated before and that the thing
to do was to make the most of It
while it lasted.
BUFFALO HERDS HAVE GROWN
Animals in Canadian Government Pre-
serves Must Be Killed to Prevent
Evil of Overcrowding.
Twenty-five years.ago the Canadian
government purchased a small herd
of buffalo and placed it in a national
park at Banff. For several years the
herd was regarded merely as an ob-
ject of curiosity. Then a game pre
serve was decided upon, and the herd,
together with other buffalo acquired
from a United States rancher, was
turned into the inclosure. The pre
serve is located at Wainwright, Alta.,
and extends over 162 square miles of
sandy prairie which was considered
unsuitable for agriculture. The buf-
falo, 709 In number, thrived from the
start, and last spring the caretakers
counted 6,146 of the animals. Al-
though the 1922 “crop” cannot be
counted until the hison are herded
into their winter quarters, it is esti-
mated that there will be an addition’
of at least 1,000 calves. Besides this
herd at Wainwright, there are other
buffalo in Canada in sufficient zum-
hers to bring the total up to approxi:
mately 9,000 head, and the govern-
ment is preparing to kill about 1,000
of them every year to prevent the
preserves from becoming overcrowd-
ed.—Popular Mechanics Magazine.
Frank Is Frank,
One afternoon I was invited to #
bridge party. The woman who usually
takes care of my son was ill. I told
him that he would have to go to the
party with me. This displeased him,
because he had planned to play all
afternoon. Knowing how much he
likes angel-food cake, I told him Mrs.
Blank was going to serve ice cream
and angel-food cake, He at once
changed his mind about playing.
All went well until my son rambled
out into ‘the kitchen, where he saw
Mrs. Blank taking two cakes out of
the oven.
She said, “Frank, I'll bet you can’t
guess what kind of cakes these are.”
My son replied: “They're angel-
food cakes, because that's what we
came for."—Chicago Tribune,
Teeth as Well as Finger Prints.
The unhappy criminal son is likely
to have no chance to escape the penal
ty of his misdeeds. Nor is anybody
likely to have a chance to hide his
identity for innocuous reasons, since,
in addition to the plan for the univer-
sal finger-printing, the rogues’ gal
leries of the country are now adding
minute descriptions of teeth.
Recently a prisoner on Welfare is-
land who had been sent up under an
assumed name was discovered to be a
state prisoner who had broken parole
and sent back to Sing Sing to serve
out the remainder of a two-year sen
tence. His teeth revealed his identity.
et
A Foreign Entanglement.
“My boy writes me that he has
joined a Greek letter society at col-
lege,” remarked the self-made man.
“It's the Alpha, Gamma, Lamma or
something like that. I'm going to give
him a piece of my mind.”
“What for?”
“I don’t want any boy of mine join-
ing one of those foreign organizations,
And, besides, everybody knows Greece
is in a bad way."—Birmingham Age-
Herald.
ees me
Mercury Cleans Rie Barrels.
it has been fouad that mercury can
be used very effectively to clean rifle
barrels. The end of the barrel is
tightly corked, and about one-hall
fluid ounce of mercury is poured in
"hen, after the other end is corked
the barrel is slowly upped from enc
to end a number of times. The mer
cury amalgamates with the lead ad:
hering to the inside of the rifle bar
rel.—Popular Mechanics Magazine,