THE CIRCULAR SX4IRCASE
By mir.' *>
ROBERTS
❖ RINEHAHT
iILWTMTIOM BY ?,'^wV^V
HPYiUUiT net BY T
SYNOPSIS.
Miss Innes, spinster and guardian of
<sertrude and Halsey, established sum
fnrr headquarters at Sunnyside. Arnold
Armstrong was found shot to death In
the hall. Gertrude and her llance, Jack
Bailey, had conversed in the billiard
room shortly before the murder. Detec
tive Jamieson accused Miss Innes of hold
ing back evidence. Cashier Bailey of l'aul
Armstrong's bank, defunct, was arrested
for embezzlement, l'aul Armstrong's
ieath was announced. Halsey's Ilanc:ee,
X<ouis« Armstrong, told llalsey that while
Bhe still loved him. she was to marry an
other. It developed that 1 >r. Walker was
the man. Louise was found unconscious
®.t the bottom of the circular staircase.
She said something had brushed by her
In the dark on the stairway and she
fainted. Bailey Is suspected of Arm
strong's murder. Thomas, the lodgekeep
er, was found d#ad with a note in his
f locket bearing the name "Lucien Wal
ace." A ladder found out of place deep
ens the mystery. The stables were
burned, and In the dark Miss Innes shot
an intruder. Halsey mysteriously disap
peared. His auto was found wrecked by
freight train. It developed Halsey had
an argument In the library with a woman
before his disappearance. New cook dis
appears. Miss Innes learned Halsey was
alive. Dr. Walker's face becomes livid
at mention of the name of Nina Carrlng
ton. Evidence was secured from a tramp
that a man, supposedly Halsey, had been
bound and gagged and thrown Into an
•mpty box car. Gertrude was missing.
Hunting for her. Miss Innes ran Into a
man and fainted. A confederate of Dr.
Walker confessed liis part In the mys
tery. He stated that the Carrlngton wo
man had been killed, that AValker feared
her, and that he believed that Paul Arm
strong had been killed by a hand guided
by Walker. Halsey was found in a dis
tant hospital, l'aul Armstrong was not
dead.
CHAPTER XXXl.—Continued.
The slip had said "chimney." It
■was the only clue, and a house as
large as Sunnyside was full of t'-
There was an open fireplace '
dressing room, hut none in the
room, and as I lay there, look
around, 1 thought of something that
made mo sit up suddenly. The trunlc
room, just over my head, had an open
fireplace and a brick chimney, and
yet there was nothing of the kind in
my room. I got out of bed and ex
amined the opposite wall closely.
There was apparently no flue, and I
knew there was none in the hall Just
beneath. The house was heated by
steam, as I have said before. In the
living room was a huge open fireplace,
but it was on the other side.
Why did the trunkroom have both
a radiator and an open fireplace?
Architects were not usually erratic.
It was not 15 minutes before I was up
stairs, armed with a tape-measure in
lieu of a foot-rule, eager to justify Mr.
famieson's opinion of my intelligence,
and firmly resolved not to tell him of
my suspicion until I had more than
theory togo on. The hole in the
trunkroom wall still yawned there, be
tween the chimney and the outer wall.
I examined it again, with no new re
■ult. The space between the brick
wall and the plaster and lath one,
however, iiad a new significance. The
hole showed only one side of the chim
ney, and 1 determined to investigate
■what lay in the space on the other
aide of the mantel.
I had a blister on my palm when
at last the hatchet went throughttnd
fell with whatsounded like the report of
a gun to my overstrained nerves. I sat
on a trunk, waiting to hear Liddy fly
up the stairs, with the household be
hind her, like the tail of a comet. But
nothing happened, and with a growing
feeling of uncanniness I set to work
enlarging the opening.
The result was absolutely nil. When
I could hold a lighted candle in the
opening I saw precisely what I had
Been on the other side of the chimney
— a space between the true wall and
the false one, possibly seven feet long
and about three feet wide. It was in
no sense of the word a secret cham
ber, audit was evident it had not
been disturbed since the house was
built. It was a supreme disappoint
ment.
It had been Mr. Jamieson's idea
that the hidden room, if there was
one, would be found somewhere near
the circular staircase. In fact, I knew
that he had once investigated the en
tire length of the clothes chute, hang
ing to a rope, with this in view. 1
was reluctantly about to concede that
he had been right, when my eyes fell
on the mantel and fireplace. The lat
ted had evidently never been used;
It was closed with a metal fire front,
and only when the front refused to
■tove, and investigation showed that
it was not intended to be moved, did
my spirits revive,
I Uurrled Into the next room. Yes,
•ure enough, there was a similar man
tel and fireplace there, similarly
closed In both rooms the chimney
flue extended well out from the wall
I measured with the tape-line, my
hands trembling no that I could
scarcely hold It. Th<y extended two
feet and a half into each room, which
with tin- three feet of space between
the two partition.-!, made eight feet to
be accounted for. Klght l< et In one
direction and almoi-t even in the oth
er —what a chimney It was!
Hut I had only located the hidden
room. I was not in it, and no amount
of |>i'« lb* on th« carvuif! of tin
wooden mantels, no search of the
Hoot -"'OI- 100 . lio trd none of Ho
customary m« tin* l* availed a t all.
That ihers vut > a nuans oi entrance
ard pndr'bl) a .Iniple one, i , ~u | d li<
certain. Hut what? Whai would I
And If I did (Set In ' Wan the d>i.it
Ivo light, and v• r« l! ' m ami
y I rum the Trader batik (hit.
Or wa* our v.l. i iu<
Td a Sad and Pitiful Narrative."
nvo taken
itli i.iur? U iiti had not,
Walter wTSrt In the secret,
■would" havrfntnown liow to enter
the cliimney*» f room. Then —who hart
dug the other hole in the false parti
tion?
CHAPTER XXXII.
Anne Watson's Story.
Liddy discovered the fresh break
in the trunkroom wall while we were
at luncheon, and ran shrieking down
the stairs. She mantained that, as
she entered, unseen hands had been
digging at the plaster; that they had
stopped when she went in, and she
had felt a gust of cold damp air. In
support of her story she carried in
my wet and muddy boots, that I had
unluckily forgotten to hide, and held
them out to the detective and myself.
"What did 1 tell you?" she said
dramatically. "Look at 'em. They're
yours. Miss Rachel—and covered with
mud and soaked to the tops. I tell
you, you can scoff all you like; some
thing has been wearing your shoes.
As sure as you sit there, there's the
smell of the graveyard on them. How
do we know they weren't tramping
through the Casanova churchyard last
night, and sitting on the graves!"
Mr. Jamieson almost choked to
death. "I wouldn't be at all surprised
if they were doing that very thing,
Liddy," he said, when he got his
breath. "They certainly look like It."
I think the detectivo had a plan
on which he was working, but which
was meant to be a coup. But things
went so fast there was no time to
carry it into effect. The first thing
that occurred was a message from
the Charity hospital that Mrs. Wat
son was dying and had asked for me.
! did not care much about going.
There is a sort of melancholy plea
sure to be had out of a funeral, with
its pomp and ceremony, but I shrank
from a death-bed. However, Liddy
got out the black things and the crepe
veil 1 keep for such occasions, and I
went. I left Mr. Jamieson and the
day detective going over every inch
of the circular staircase, pounding,
probing and measuring. I was inward
ly elated to think of the surprise I was
going to give them that night; as it
turned out, I did surprise them—al
most into spasms.
I drove from the train to the Chari
ty hospital, and was at once taken
to a ward. There, in a gray-walled
room in a high iron bed, lay Mrs. Wat
son. She was very weak, and she
only opened her eyes and looked at
me when I sat down beside her. I
was conscience-stricken. We had been
so engrossed that I had left this poor
creature to die without even a word
of sympathy.
The nurse gave her a stimulant,
and in a little while she was able to
talk. So broken and half-coherent,
however, was her story that I shall
tell it In my own way. In an hour
from the time I entered the Charity
hospital I bad heard a sad and pitiful
narrative, and had seen a woman slip
into the unconsciousness that Is only
a step from death.
Hrlefly, then, the housekeeper's
lory was this:
She wa>! almost 40 years old, and
had been the sister-mother of a large
luniily of children One by one they
had died, and been hurled beside their
parents in a little town in the middle
v,. 1 Tuere was only one ulster left,
the I ilt.v. Lu< v On her the older girl
[ Lad lavished all the love of an fmpul
ive and emotional nature. When
Vnn- tl elder, was 32 and Lucy 19.
i juj!.k man hatl come to the town
111- V.I e;i t, Hit r spending the
liuHit-r at a ce|i brated rum It In \Vy
s.althy men s-eiid worthless and dls
• •la U otis tor « utt uu uf temper
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, 1911.
ance, fresh air and hunting. The
sisters, of course, knew nothing of
this, and the young man's ardor rath
er carried them away. In a word,
seven years before, Lucy Haswell had
married a young man whose name was
given as Aubrey Wallace.
Anne Haswell had married a car
penter in her native town and was a
widow. For three months everything
went fairly well. Aubrey took his
bride to Chicago, where they lived at
a hotel. Perhaps the very unsophisti
cation that had charmed him in Val
ley Mill jarred on him in the city. He
had been far from a model husband,
even for the three months, and when
he disappeared Anne was almost
thankful. It was different with the
young wife, however. She drooped
and fretted, and on the birth of her
baby boy she had died. Anne took the
child and named him Lucien.
Anne had had no children of her
own, and on Lucien she had lavished
all her aborted maternal Instinct. On
one thing she was determined, how
ever: That was that Aubrey Wallace
should educate his boy. It was a part
of her devotion to the child that she
should be ambitious for him: he
must have every opportunity. And so
she came east. She drifted around,
doing plain sewing and keeping a
home somewhere always for the boy.
Finally, however, she realized that
her only training had been domestic,
and she put the boy in an Episco
palian home, and secured the posi
tion of housekeeper to the Arm
strongs. There she found Lucien's
father, this time under his own name.
It was Arnold Armstrong.
I gathered that there was no par
ticular enmity at that time in Anne's
mind. She told him of the boy, and
threatened exposure if he did not pro
vide for him. Indeed, for a time, he
did so. Then he realized that Lucien
was the ruling passion in this lonely
woman's life. He found out where
the child was hidden, and threatened
to take him away. Anne was frantic.
The positions became reversed.
Where Arnold had given money for
Lucien's support, as the years went
on he forced money from Anne Wat
son instead until she was always pen
niless. The lower Arnold sank in the
6calc, the heavier his demands be
came. With the rupture between him
and his family things were worse.
Anne took the child from the home
and hid him in a farmhouse near
Casanova, on the Claysburg road.
There she went sometimes to see the
boy, and there he had taken fever.
The people were Germans, and he
called the farmer's wife grossmutter.
lie had grown Into a beautiful boy,
and he was all Anne had to live for.
The Armstrongs left for California,
and Arnold's persecutions began anew.
He was furious over the child's dis
appearance and she was afraid he
would do her some hurt. She left the
big house and went down to the lodge.
When I had rented Sunnyside, how
ever, she had thought the persecutions
would stop. She had applied for the
position of housekeeper and secured It.
That had been on Saturday. That
night Ixniiso arrived unexpectedly.
Thomas sent for Mrs. Watson and
then went for Arnold Armstrong ut
the Greenwood club. Anne had been
fond of Louise— she reminded her of
Lucy. She did not know what the
trouble was, but Louise had been in
a state of terrible excitement. Mrs.
Watson tried to hide from Arnold, but
lie \\a< ugly. He left the lodge and
! went up to tin house about was
admitted ut the i ast entrance and
■ aiue out again very soon. Something
had oeeurn il, in- didn't kuow what;
but very HOOII Mr Inn*** and another
Thomas aud she hsd not l.ouMu
•tub t, and a little before three Mis
i»N .. .it I U£ U) lito ituus*.
Thomas had a key to the east entry,
and gave it to her.
On the way across the lawn she
was confronted by Arnold, who for
some reason was determined to get
into the house. He had a golf-stick
in his hand, that ho had picked up
somewhere, and on her refusal he had
struck her with it. One hand had
been badly cut, and it was that, pois
oning in, which was killing
her. She broke away in a frenzy of
rage and fear, and got into the house
while Gertrude and Jack Bailey were
at the front door. She went upstairs,
hardly knowing what she was doing.
Gertrude's door was open, and Hal
sey's revolver lay there on the bed.
She picked it up and turning ran part
way down the Circular staircase. She
could hear Arnold fumbling at the
lock outside. She slipped down quiet
ly and opened the door; he was in
side before she had got back to the
stairs. It was quite dark, but she
could see his white shirt-bosom. From
the fourth step she fired. As he fell
somebody in the billiard room
screamed and ran. When the alarm
was raised, she had had no time to
get upstairs; she hid in the west wing
until every one was down on the
lower floor. Then she slipped upstairs
and thew the revolver out of an up
per window, going down again in time
to admit the men from the Greenwood
club.
If Thomas had suspected, he had
never told. When she found the hand
Arnold had injured was growing
worse, she gave the address of Lucien
at Richfield to the old man and almost
SIOO. The money was for Lucien's
board until she recovered. She had
sent for me to ask me if I would try
to interest the Armstrongs in the
child. When she found herself grow
ing worse she had written to Mrs.
Armstrong, telling her nothing but
that Arnold's legitimate child was at
Richfield, and imploring her to recog
nize him. She was dying; the boy
was an Armstrong, and entitled to his
father's share of the estate. The pa
pers were in her trunk at Sunnyside,
with letters from the dead man that
would prove what she said. It was
she who had crept down the circular
staircase, drawn by a magnet, that
night Mr. Jamieson had heard some
one there. Pursued, she had fled
madly, anywhere—through the first
door she came to. She had fallen
down the clothes chute, and been
saved by the basket beneath. I could
have cried with relief; then it had not
been Gertrude, after all!
1 iiat was the story. Sad and tragic
though it was, the very telling of it
seemed to relieve the dying woman.
She did not know that Thomas was
dead, and I did not tell her. I prom
ised to look after little Lucien. and
sat with her until the intervals of con
sciousness grew shorter and finally
ceased altogether. She died that night
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Ways to Keep Neat.
"My children were becoming dread
fully careless about leaving their
things around," said an original moth
er, "and the older members of the
family weren't any too tidy. So I
made up my mind that I wasn't going
to be a 'pick-up' drudge for the rest
of the household. I set up a big fine
box, a box with an oblong hole in the
top, into which I put every single
thing—hat, coat, toy, pipe, no matter
what—that I found lying around in
the way. And to get his or her prop
erty the owner had to pay a penny—
if it waa one of the children; ten
cents in case of the older ones. As the
children have only an allowance of
ten cents a week each, they didn't
naturally want to pay it out in fines;
so they began to be careful. Gradual
ly the whole family inendod their
ways, and now my fine box is general
ly empty, and the houso is as tidy as
you please."
Cheering Her Up.
Islington, which is no longer rural,
was once so esteemed by medical men
that they sent their patients there
after severe illness. Many also went
there in the last stages in the forlorn
hope that the invigorating air might
restore them to health. A story re
lated by l)r. Abernethy turns on the
latter class of visitors. One of his
patients engaged some rooms in Is
lington, and casually remarked to the
landlady that the banisters on the
staircase were very much broken
"Lor' bless you, mam," said the land
lady, "It's no use to mend them, for
they always get broken when the un
dcrtakcr'a n»en bring tho colllns down
stairs." —London Chronicle.
Intelligence In the Kitchen.
Tho higher the Intelligence and the
broader the education of the womau
In the kitchen, the greater the pleas
ure and satisfaction In household du
ties.
The woman who cooks lutelllgcntlj
Is commanding great and mysterious
forces or nature. She is an alchemist
behind an apron. At her command
food constituents that are Indigestible
unpalatable and even poisonous, are
subjected to ehetuleul changes that
render them an • idouteau delight. Th«
*nuian of real Intelligence and |>owert
of it tKlnatU'ti llmis In hr well oi
dered kitchen a source of deep *uj >•»
du'lig luii u U and }>lb-a«ur*
I £# ml© HEN
£& J NDOUHTKDL.Y, we believe
that spiritual virtues should
concern us more nearly than material
ones; but equally do we believe that If a
thing be done. It had beat be well done,
except It be a eanvasback duck; and no
housewife ever lost her title to future
bliss through tho keeping of a good tablo
while she was on earth.
—Owen Wlater.
Ways of Serving Curried Dishes-
In spite of its high seasoning, peo
ple who have lived in India are en
thusiastic in their praise of curry. Al
though It is not expensive it may be
made at home.
Curry Powder.—Take one ounce
each of turmeric, coriander seed,
•white ginger, nutmeg, mace and
cayenne. Pound all together and sift
through a fine sieve. Bottle and cork
well. To make an Indian curry, a rab
bit, chicken or other delicate meat
Is required. For chicken curry, cover
the chicken with boiling water, adding
a bouquet of herbs and two large
onions. Simmer gently for an hour
and a quarter, removing the fat as it
rises. Melt two tablespoonfuls of but
ter In a jauce pan, add two table
spoonfuls of flour and when well
blended stir in the chicken broth. Add
a teaspoonful or more of the curry
powder with the flour. Beat the
yolks of three egg?, stir in the
gravy and the juice of half a lemon.
Pour over the chicken and serve with
a border of rice.
Curry of Mutton.—Fry one large
onion, cut fine, in two tablespoonfuls
of butter. Mix one tablespoon of curry
powder, one teaspoonful of salt, one
tablespoonful of flour and stir it into
the butter and onion. Add gradually
one pint of hot water or stock. Cut
two pounds of lean mutton into small
pieces and brown them in hot fat.
Add them to the sauce and simmer
until tender. Place the meat on a
hot dish and arrange a border of
boiled rice around the meat.
Curried Eggs.—Remove the shells
from six hard-cooked eggs, cut in
halves. Fry one teaspoonful of
chopped onion in one tablespoonful of
butter, add two tablespoonfuls of flour
and half a tablespoonful of curry pow
der. Pour on slowly one and a half
cupfuls of white stock, milk or cream;
add salt and pepper to taste. Simmer
till the onions are soft, add the eggs
and when warmed through, serve in
a shallow dish; or arrange the eggs
on toast and pour the sauce over
them. This may be used on any fish
flaked and served as curried fish.
Curried Vegetables.—Cook one cup
ful each of potatoes and carrots, one
half cup of turnip cut in fancy shapes.
Drain; add a half cup of peas and
pour over the sauce made by cooking
two tablespoonfuls each of onion and
butter, remove the onion, add two ta
blespoonfuls of flour, salt, pepper and
celery salt and a half teaspoonful of
curry. Add gradually one cup of
scalding milk and sprinkle with pars
ley.
Mil
Wk?s«. 0 „ <J: o, A!A ,
EMEMBER this—that very llt
tie la needed to make a
happy life. Suit thyself to the atate In
which thy lot la cast.
—Marcus Aurelius.
Recipes From Northern Europe.
Each country has its characteristic
cookery, and a study of the dishes
tnade in different sections of our coun
try is most interesting.
Norwegian Cabbage Soup.—Take
two pounds of the shin of beef, half
a pound of salt pork, four onions, a
root of celery, four quarts of water
and a teaspoonful of salt. Boil three
hours and then strain the broth and
take off the fst. Melt a tablespoonful
of butter in a saucepan, add a minced
onion and a small cabbage cut fine.
Stir and cook five minutes, then add
a pint of the broth and cook one hour.
Cut the meat in squares, thicken the
broth with flour, cook, then add the
cabbage and meat, pour the hot broth
over it and serve.
Swedish Salmon Pastry.—Take two
pounds of salmon cutlets, bread and
fry brown. To two pounds of fresh
pike, finely minced, add a teaspoonful
of salt, a dash of cayenne, the juice
and rind of a lemon, two beaten egg£
and a tablespoonful of melted butter.
Mix all together. Line a meat pie
dish with pastry, spread a layer of
the minced flsh upon it, then the sal
mon with mushrooms between. Cover
with the rest of the pike nnd lay on
a* cover of pastry, leaving a hole in
the center. llakc one hour, then
pour In a cup of white sauce or fish
broth. Serve hot or cold.
Beef au Gratln (Polish).—Cut cold
roust beef Into strips the size of the
finger. Mince four large onions and
fry a light brown In butter. Add a ta
blespoonful of flour and a cupful of
broth with three sprigs of parsley,
minced I.ay the beef In w baking
dish, the pieces crossing each other;
on each layer put a spoonful of the
on lon and broth. Cover with a layer
of bread crumbs, dot with bits of but
ter sad bake 15 minutes in a quick
ovelj.
Swedish Charlotte.—Cut a small
•pongt cake In thin slices and cover
each slice with flavored sweetened
whipped cream. Put the allcej to
getlu'r In the shape of a leaf and
eo\ r with a tiit-rlague made of the
whites of two and five tat le
•p< nful- uf powdered agar. I'-iowe
In a slow oven antl serve cold
"Art 4U~ pi
S The Placi to Boj Ckesp j
) J. F. PARSONS' ?
vaa»y
b^S^SFC.
CURES'
RHEUMATISM
LUMBIQO, SCIATICA
NEURALGIA and
KIDNEY TROUBLE
"f-OTOPS" taken internally. rids tbe blood
Of tbe poisonous matter and aolds nblcb
are tbe dlreot oauses of these diseases.
Applied externally U affords almost In
stant relief from pain, while a permanent
ours 1* being effected by purifying tbe
blood, dissolving tbe poisonous snb
■tanoe and removing U from tbe system.
DR. 8. D. BLAND
Of Brenton, Os., wrlteei
"I had bra a |UIT«« for a nsntn o( years
with Lumbago and Rheumatism In my arms
and leg", and tried all ths remedies that I ooulc
gather from medical works, and alio consult*
with a number of the best physicians. bat found
■otblng that gar* the relief obtained from
M 6-DR< >PB." I shall prescribe It In my practise
fw rheumatism and kindred diseases.''
FREE
If yon are suffering with Rheumatism,
Neuralgia, Kidney Trouble or any kin
dred disease, write to us for a trial boMle
of "S-DROPS." and test It yourself.
"■•DROPS" can be used any length of
time without aoqulrlna a "drug habit."
as It Is entirely free of opium, cocaine,
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Ingredients.
LunSlae Battle, "B-DKOPS" (SOO Deeee) ■
01.DO, Vor (Ale by Orniflita.
SWARIOI IHIOMATIO ODRE CONPAIY, fj
Dept. 80. 180 Luke 8 tract, Q
SHBBHBB
THIS ad. is directed at the
man who has all the
business in his line in
this community.
Q Mr. Merchant —You say
you've got it all. You're sell
ing them all they'll buy, any
how. But at the same time
you would like more business.
<1 Make this community buy
more.
<J Advertise strongly, consist
ently, judiciously.
<1 Suppose you can buy a lot
of washtubs cheap; advertise
a big washtub sale in this pa
per. Putin an inviting pic
ture of a washtub where
people can see it the minute
they look at your ad. Talk
strong on washtubs. And
you'll find every woman in
this vicinity who has been
getting along with a rickety
washtub for years and years
will buy a new one from you.
CJ That's creative business
power.
OURj AD. RATES ARE RIGHT
—CALL ON US
(Copyright, 1809, by W. N. U.>
Word-of-Mouth
Advertising
Passing encomiums, only over
your store counter, about the
quality of what you've got to
sell, results in about as much
satisfaction as your wife would
get if you gave her a box of
cigars f'jr Christinas.
Advertising in This Paper
talks to everybody at once and makes
them talk back with money.
(('(•t>rrl«h>. IJW br W N 112.)
sAim the (k
Ad. Gun
/TRUE \
■ If It's hot weather, »d
--v arti.e coot thing., Mf.
M"ch.int When It'e
■ «»; I i. , >.t warmth.
■ You know what people
■ want; whan they want
■ Profit thereby Send
your »<>py to .lay lor
■ your ad. In thie paper.
M> ») »<r *. 11.)
3