THE B
STORY FROM THE START
Defying all efforts to capture
him, after a long series of mur-
ders and robberies, a super-
crook known only as “The Bat”
has brought about a veritable
reign of terror. The chief of po-
lice assigns his best operative,
Anderson, to get on the trail of
The Bat. With her niece, Dale
Ogden, Miss Cornelia Van Gorder
is living in the country home of
the late Courtleigh Fleming, who
until his recent death had been
president of the Union bank,
wrecked because of the theft of
a large sum of currency. Miss
Van Gorder receives a note
warning her to vacate the place
at once on pain of death. Dale
returns from the city, where she
had been to hire a gardener.
The gardener arrives, giving his
name as Brooks. He admits he is
not a gardener, but needs work.
Miss Cornelia tells Doctor Wells
of the threatening note. They
are interrupted by the smashing
of a window in the house. They
find another warning note. The
detective, Anderson, arrives, is
told of the situation, and an-
nounces he will stay on watch
that night. Miss Van Gorder
tells Anderson she has an idea
Courtleigh Fleming robbed his
own bank and concealed the
money in the house, but the de-
tective helieves the bank's cash-
jer, Bailey, who is missing, is
the guilty one. Brooks (who is
really Bailey, the sought-for
cashier, and Dale's flance) tells
the girl he knows there is a hid-
den room in the house. Dale tel-
ephones Richard Fleming, Court-
leigh's nephew, asking him to
come, over Dale tells Richard
Fleming of her knowledge of the
hidden room. He gets rid of her
while he seeks and finds blue-
prints of the house.
CHAPTER VI—Continued
Cle
Dick Fleming's lips set in a thin
line. “Just a moment,” he said, put-
ting the table between them with a
swift movement. On<2 more he stole
a glance at the scrap of paper in his
hand by the flickering light or the
candle, Then he faced Dale holdly.
“Do you suppose, if that money is
actually here, that 1 can simply turn
this over to you and let you give it to
Bailey?” he said. “Every man has his
price—how do I know that Bailey's
isn’t a million dollars?”
Dalz felt as if he had dashed cold
water in her face,
“What do you mean to do with it,
then?” she said.
Fleming turned the blue-print over
in his hand.
“I don’t know,” he said, then tenta-
tively. “What is it you want me to
éo?”
But by now Dale’s vague distrust in
Yim bad grown very definite.
“Aren't you going to give it to me?”
He put her off. “I'll have to think
sbout that.” He looked at the blue-
print again. “So the missing cashier
is in this house, posing as a garden-
er?’ he said, with a sneer in his tones.
Dale's temper was rising,
“If you won't give it to me—there’s
a detective in this house,” she said,
with a stamp of her foot. She made
2 movement as if to call Anderson—
then, remembering Jack, turned back
to Fleming.
“Give It to the detective—and let
him search,” she pleaded.
“A detective?” said Fleming, star-
tiled. “What's a detective doing here?”
“People have been trying to break
in.”
“What people?”
“T don’t know.”
Fleming stared out
into the night.
“Then it is here,” he muttered to
himself.
Behind his back—was it a gust of
air that moved them?—the double
doors of the alcove swung open just
a crack. Was a listener crouched be-
hind those doors—or was it only a
trick of carpentry—a gesture of
chance?
The mask of the clubman dropped
from Fleming completely. His lips
drew back from his teeth in the snarl
of a predatory animal that clings to
its prey at the cost of life or death.
Before Dale could stop him, he
picked up the discarded blue-prints
and threw them on the fire—retain-
ing only the precious scrap in his
hand. The roll blackened and burst
into flame. He watched it, smiling.
“I'm not going to give thls to any
detective,” he said quietly, tapping
the piece of paper in his hand.
Dale's heart pounded sigkeningly,
but she kept her courage up.
“What do you mean?’ she said
fiercely. “What are you going to do?”
He faced her across the fireplace,
his airy manner come back to him just
enough to add an additional touch of
the sinister to the cold self-revelation
of his words.
“Let us suppose a few things, Miss
Ogden,” he said. “Suppose my price
fs a million dollars. Suppose I need
money very badly and my uncle has
left me a house containing that
amount in cash. Suppose I choose to
consider that that money is mine—
then It wouldn't be hard to suppose,
would It, that I'd make a pretty sin-
cere attempt to get away with it?”
Dale summoned all her fortitude,
“If you go out of this room with
that paper I'll scream for help!” she
said defiantly,
Fleming made a little mock-bow of
courtesy. He smiled.
“Te carry on our little game of
supposing,” he said easily. “Suppose
there 18 a detective in this house—
and that, If I were cornered, I should
tell him where to lay his hands on
beyond Dale,
A Novel From the Play
By Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood
WNU Service
‘The Bat,” copyright, 1920, by Mary Roberts
Rinehart and Avery Hopwood,
Jack Bailey.
would scream?”
Dale’s hands dropped, powerless, at
her sides. If only she hadn't told
him—too late !~~she was helpless. She
could not call the detective without
ruining Jack—and yet, if Fleming
escaped with the money—how could
Jack ever prove his innocence?
Fleming watched her for an instant,
smiling. Then, seeing she made no
move, he darted hastily toward the
double doors of the alcove, flung them
open, seemed about to dash up the
alcove stairs, The sight of him escap-
ing with the only existing clew to the
hidden room galvanized Dale into
action. She followed him, hurriedly
snatching up Miss Cornelia’s revolver
from the table as she did so, in a last
gesture of desperation.
“No! No! Give it to me! Give
it tc me!” and she sprang after him,
clutehing the revolver, He waited for
her on the bottom step of the stairs,
the slight smile still on his face.
Panting breaths in the darkness of
the alcove—a short, furious scuffle—
he had wrested the revolver away
from her, but in doing so had un-
guarded the precious blue-print—she
snatched at it, desperately, tearing
most of it away, leaving enly a cor-
ner in his hand. He swore—tried to
get it back—she jerked away.
Then suddenly a bright shaft of
light split the darkness of the alcove
stairs like a sword—a spot of bril-
liance centered on Fleming's face like
the glare of a flashlight focused from
above by an invisible hand. For an
instant it revealed him—his features
distorted with fury—about te
down the stairs again and attack the
trembling girl at their foot,
A single shot rang out. For a sec-
ond the fury on Fleming's face seemed
to change to a strange look of bewil-
derment and surprise.
Then the shaft ef light was extin-
guished as suddenly as the snuffing
of a candle, and he crumpled forward
to the foot of the stairs—struck—Ilay
on his face, in the darkness, just in-
side the decuble doors.
Dale gave a little whimpering cry
of horror.
“Oh, no, no, no,” she whispered from
a dry throat, automatically stuffing
her portion of the precious scrap of
blue-print into the bosom of her dress,
She steod frozen, not daring to move,
not daring even to reach down with
her hand and touch the body of Flem-
ing to see if he were dead or alive.
A murmur of excited voices sound-
ed from the hall. The door flew open
—feet stumbled through the darkness
—"“The noise came from this rcom!”
that was Anderson’s voice—*“Holy
Virgin!” that must be Lizzie—
Even as Dale turned to face the as-
sembled household, the house lights,
extinguished since the storm, came on
in full brilliance—revealing her to
them, standing beside Fleming's
body with Miss Cornelia’s revolver
between them.
She shuddered, seeing Fleming's
arm flung out awkwardly by his side.
No living man could lie in such a
posture,
“I didn't do it!
Do you suppose you
I didn’t do it!”
she stammered, after a tense silence
that followed the sudden reillumining
lights.
of the Her eyes wandered
The Mask of the Clubman Dropped
From Fleming Completely.
from figure to figure idly, noting un-
important details, Billy was still in
his white coat and his face, impas-
sive as ever, showed not the slightest
surprise. Brooks and Anderson were
likewise completely dressed — but
Miss Cornelia had evidently begun to
retire fer the night when she had
heard the shot—her transformation
was askew and she wore a dressing-
gown. As for Lizzie, that worthy
shivered in a gaudy wrapper adorned
with incredible orange flowers, with
her hair done up in curl-papers. Dale
saw it all, and was never after to for-
get one single detail of it,
The detective was beside her now,
examining Fleming's body with pro-
rush
fessicnal thoroughness, At last he
rose,
“He's dead,” he said quietly. A
shiver ran through the watching
group. Dale felt a stifling hand con-
strict about her heart.
There was a pause. Anderson
picked up the revolver beside Flem-
ing’s body and examined it swiftly,
careful not to confuse his own finger-
prints with any that might already
be on the polished steel, Then he
looked at Dale.
“Who is he?” he said, bluntly.
Dale fought hysteria for some sec-
onds before she could speak.
“Richard Fleming—somebody shot
him!” she managed to whisper at
last,
Anderson took a step toward her,
“What do you mean by somebody?”
he said. .
The world to Dale turned inte a
crowd of threatening, accusing eyes —
a multitude of shadowy voices, shout-
ing “Guilty! Guilty! Prove that
you're innocent—you can’t!”
“I don’t know,” she said wildly.
“Somebody on the staircase.”
“Did you see anybedy?” Anderson's
voice was as passionless and cold as
a bar of steel.
“No—but there was a light from
somewhere—Ilike a pocket-flash—" She
could not go on. She saw Fleming's
face before her—furious at first—
then changing to that strange look of
bewildered surprise—she put her hand
over her eyes to shut the vision out.
Lizzie made a welcome interrup-
tion.
“I told you I saw a man go up that
staircase!” she wailed, jabbing her
forefinger in the direction of the al-
cove stairs.
Miss Cornelia, now recovered from
the first shock of the discovery, sup-
ported her gallantly,
“That’s the only explanation, Mr,
Anderson,” she said decidedly,
The detective looked at the stairs—
at the terrace door. His eyes made a
circuit of the room and came back to
Fleming's body.
“I've been all over the house,” he
said. “There's nobody there.”
A pause followed. Dale found her-
self helplessly looking toward her
lover ‘for comfort—comfort he could
not give without revealing his own
secret,
Eerily, through the tense silence, a
sudden tinkling sounded—the sharp,
persistent ringing of a telephone bell,
Miss Cornelia rose to answer it au-
tomatically. “The house phone!” she
said. Then she stopped. “But we're
all here.”
They looked at each other aghast,
It was true. And yet—somehow—
somewhere—one of the other phones
on the circuit was calling the living
room,
Miss Cornelia summoned every
ounce of inherited Van Gorder pride
she possessed and went to the phone,
She took off the receiver. The ring-
ing stopped.
“Hello—hello—" she said, while the
others stood rigid, listening. Then
she gasped. An expression of won-
dering horror came over her face.
“Somebody groaning!” gasped Miss
Cornelia. “It's horrible!”
The detective stepped up and took
the receiver from her. He listened
anxiously for a moment,
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“I heard it! I couldn't imagine such
a dreadful sound! I tell you—some-
body in this house is in terrible dis-
tress.”
“Where does this phone connect?”
queried Anderson practically.
Miss Cornelia made a hopeless little
gesture. “Practically every room in
this house!”
The detective put the receiver to
his ear again.
“Just what did you hear?” he said,
stolidly,
Miss Cornelia’s voice shook.
“Dreadful groans—and what seemed
to be an inarticulate effort to speak!”
Lizzie drew her gaudy wrapper
closer about her shuddering form.
“I'd go somewhere,” she wailed in
the voice of a lost soul, “if I only had
somewhere to go!”
Miss Cornelia quelled her with a
glare and turned back to the detec-
tive,
“Won't you send these men: to in-
vestigate—or, go yourself?’ she said,
indicating Brooks and Billy.
The detective thought swiftly.
“My place is here,” he said. “You
two men,” Brooks and Billy moved
forward to take his orders, “take an-
other look through the house—don’t
leave the building—I'll want you
pretty soon.”
Brooks—or Jack Bailey, as we may
as well call him through the remainder
of this narrative—started to obey.
Then his eye fell on Miss Cornelia’s
revolver, which Anderson had taken
from beside Fleming's body ang still
held clasped in his hand.
“If you'll give me that revolver—"
he began in an offhand tone, hoping
Anderson would not see through his
little ruse, Once wiped clean of fin-
gerprints, the revolver would not be
such telling evidence against Dale
Ogden,
Rut Anderson was not to be caught
napping.
£ \ ad
“>
-
THE PATTON COURIER
“That revolver will stay where it
18,” he said with a grim smile,
Jack Bailey knew better than to
try and argue the point. He followed
Billy reluctantly out of the door, giv-
ing Dale a surreptitious glance of en-
couragement and faith as he did so.
The Japanese and he mounted to the
second floor, as stealthily as possible,
prying into dark corners and search-
ing unused rooms for any clew that
might betray the source of the star-
tling phone call from nowhere. But
Bailey’s heart was not in the search.
His mind kept going back to the fig-
ure of Dale—nervous—shaken—un-
dergoing the terrors of the third de-
gree at Anderson's hands. She couldn't
have shot Fleming, of course—and
yet—unless he and Billy found some-
thing to substantiate her story of how
the killing had happened—it was her
own, unsupported word against a
damning mass of circumstantial evi-
dence. He plunged with renewed
vigor into his quest.
Back in the living room, as he had
feared, Anderson was subjecting Dale
to a merciless interrogation.
“Now I want the real story!” he
began, with calculated brutality, “You
lied before!”
“That's no tone to use! You'll ter-
rify her,” cried Miss Cornelia indig-
nantly. The detective paid no atten-
tion—his face had hardened—he
seemed every inch the remorseless
sleuth-hound of the law. He turned
on Miss Cornelia for a moment.
“Where were you when this hap-
pened?” he said.
“Upstairs in my room.”
nelia’s tones were icy.
“And you?’ badgeringly, to Lizzie,
“In my room,” said the latter pert-
ly, “brushing Miss Cornelia’s hair.”
Anderson broke open the revolver
and gave a swift glance at the bullet-
chambers.
“One shot has been fired from this
revolver!”
Miss Cornelia sprang to her niece's
defense,
“I fired it myself, this afterncon,”
she said,
The detective regarded
grudging admiration.
“You're a quick thinker,” he said—
with obvious unbelief in his voice He
put the revolver down on the table,
Miss Cornelia followed up her ad-
vantage,
“I demand that you gec the coroner
here,” she said,
“Doctor Wells is the coroner,” of-
fered Lizzie eagerly. Andersen brushed
their suggestions aside.
“I'm going to ask you some ques-
tions!” he said menacingly to Dale.
But Miss Cornelia stuck to her guns.
Dale waz not going to be bullied into
any sort of confession, true or false,
if she could help it—and from the
way that the girl's eyes returned with
fascinated horror to the ghastly heap
on the floor that had been Fleming,
she knew that she was on the edge
of violent hysteria,
“Do you mind covering that body
first?” she said crisply. The detective
eyed her for a moment in a rather
ugly fashion—then grunted, ungra-
ciously, and, taking Fleming's raincoat
from the chair, threw it over the body.
Dale's eyes telegraphed her aunt a
silent message of gratitude.
“Now—shall I telephone for the
coroner?’ persisted Miss Cornelia.
The detective obviously resented her
interference with his methods—but he
could not well refuse such a custom-
ary request,
“Ill do it,” he said, with a snort,
going over to the city telephone,
“What's his number?”
“He's net at his office—he’s at the
Johnson's,” murmured Dale.
Miss Cornelia
from Anderson's hands.
“I'll get the Johnsons,” Mr. Ander-
son,” she said firmly. The detective
seemed about to rebuke her, Then his
manner recovered some of its former
suavity. He relinquished the tele-
phone and turned back toward his
prey.
“New, what was Fleming doing
here?” he asked Dale in a gentler
voice,
Should she tell him the truth? No
—Jack Bailey's safety was too inex-
tricably bound up with the whole sin-
ister business. She must lie—and lie
again—while there was any chance of
a lie's being believed.
“I don’t know,” she said weakly,
trying to avoid the detective's eyes,
Anderson took thought,
“Well, I'll ask that question another
way,” he said. “How did he get inte
the house?”
Dale brightened—no need for a lie
here,
Miss Cor-
her with
took the telephone
“He had a key.”
“Key to what door?"
“That door over there.” Dale Indl
cated the terrace door of the alcove,
The detective was about to ask an.
other question—then he paused, Miss
Cornelia was talking on the phone,
“Hello—is that Mr. Johnson's resi- |
dence? Is Doctor Wells there? No?
Her expression was puzzled, “Oh—all
right—thank you—good night—" She
rang off, and hung up the phone,
Meanwhile Anderson had been lis-
tening—Dbut thinking as well. Dale
saw his sharp glance travel over to
the fireplace—rest for a moment, with
an air of discovery, on the fragments
of the roll of blueprints that remained
unburned among the ashes—return,
She shut her eyes for a moment, try-
ing tensely to summon every atom of
shrewdness she possessed to aid her.
He was hammering at her with
questions again.
“When did you take that revelver
out of the table drawer?”
“When I heard him outside on the
terrace,” said Dale promptly and
truthfully. “I was frightened,”
Lizzie tiptoed over to Miss Cornelia,
“You wanted a detective!” she said
in an {ironic whisper. “I hope you're
happy now you've got one!”
Miss Cornelia gave her a look that
sent her scuttling back to her former
0
[]
“l Think She Knows More Than She's
Telling.”
post by the door. But nevertheless, in-
ternally, she felt thoroughly in accord
with Lizzie.
Again Anderson’s questions pounded
at the rigid Dale—striving to pierce
her armor of mingled truth and faige-
hood.
“When Fleming ¢ame in, what 4id
he say to you?”
“Just—semethinz about the weath-
er,” said Dala weakly. Thé whole
scene was still ivo horribly vi¥id be-
fore her eyes for her to furnish a
more convinsiag alibi,
“You hav®a't had any quarrels with
him?”
Dale heeisated
*No.”
“He Jw cam in that door—said
sometkiag about tha weather—and was
shot from that svafrcase. Is that it?”
said the detective nh tones of utter in-
credatity,
Da'e hesitated again. Thus baldly
put. ker story seemed too fimsy for
wot-}3—she couid not even blame An-
derson for disbelieving tt. And yet—
whet other story could she tell that
wih not bring ruin on Jack?
Fler face whitened. She put her
bend on the back of a chair for sup-
pA.
“Yes—that’s it,” she said, at last,
ahd swayed where she stood.
Again Miss Cornelia tried to come
‘e the rescue.
“Are all these questions necessary?”
ahe yberied sharply. ‘You can’t for a
moment believe that Miss Ogden shot
that an!” But by now, though she
did not show it, she, too, began to re-
alize the strength of the appalling net
of circumstances that drew with each
minute tighter around the unhappy
girl. Dale gratefully seized the mo-
mentary respite and sank into a chair.
The detective looked at her.
“I think she knows more than she’s
telling. She's concealing something!”
he said, with deadly intentness. “The
nephew of the president of the Union
-
bank—shot in his own house the dav |
the bank has failed—that’s quee: |
enough—" Now he turned back to
Miss Cornelia. “But when the only
person present at his murder is the
girl who's engaged to the guilty
cashier!” he continued, watching Miss
Cornelia’s face as the full force of his
words sank into her mind, “I want ro
know more about it!”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
BS LOE ES DDD <
gra,
SEPT ST BT NT GENE ST TLE L0H
Cheerfulness a Factor in Symphony of Life
Cheerfulness is more precious than
great riches, If I were founding a
new religion its first commandment
should be: “Thou shalt be cheerful.”
If I were instituting a new school
of medicine its fundamental principle
would be: “Cheerfulness on the part
of the doctor,7and for the patient good
cheer,”
For in the symphony of life much
gold without cheerfulness Is as sound-
ing brass and tinkling cymbal, Re
ligion without cheerfulness is a mock-
ery. Success in the cure of most mal-
adies ¢(epends upon faith and hope
and cheerfulness.
The optimist is cheerfulness per-
sonified; the pessimist a walking
grouch,
ch ann nda
The cheerful optimist makes the
progress of humanity; the growling
pessimist would turn back the wheel
of time. Abas with pessimism! Let
cheerfulness reign supreme, — Exe
change.
m— ————
Blindness Reduced
The underlying cuuse of blindness,
whether the result of disease or acey-
dent, is usually ignorance. In 18 years
the percentage of children in the
schools for the blind who lost these
sight because of ophthalmia, neona-
torum (babies’ sore ayes)—for cen.
turies the principal cause of blinds ~ag
—has been reduced more than 51 per
eat,
|
| : their flocks and go to the little
|
Nts os os os ns os ms pn mr
Se Te Te te Te te te te te es ee
‘The First Christmas
IGHT had descended upon A
the hills of Judea. All was f
hushed and still; the earth and i
heavens seemed resting in a J
great, deep calm. No sound i
came to break the stillness. J
Even the humble shepherd men fl
who watched their flocks were i?
A
ts
}
!
)
;
!
4
{ silent—they, too, felt the deep f
i thrill and mystery of the night. “
+) Humble ard uneducated as they 0
were, they could not fathom
what it all meant, but in their
hearts was a sense of awe and
wonderment that kept them si-
Ji lent,
% Then on the darkness of the
i night there came out of the
U heavens a dazzling light and |
¥ the shepherds were frightened. i
Y But an angel of the Lord was i
i standing beside them and in a “
i voice that found its way to their fn
#4 very hearts told them to fear i
SESE ee ee
ve not, rather to rejoice instead,
| Lu Y fl!
Y for he was bringing them tid- “0
{! ings ot great joy, that the long- 5
u looked-for Savior had been born ft
oj that night in Bethlehem of il
J» Judea. And when this angel had 0
4 finished speaking the glory of o
i heaven shone brighter all tbout
hi them, and looking up they be- 0
A held a multitude of the heavenly “
\. host praising God and singing 3
i the song that has echoed since iy
i) through all the ages: “Glory to fl
i God in the highest and on earth
» peace to men of good will,” o
After the angels had departed fl
U and the dazzling light had van- 0
yy ished from the hillside the shep- 0
herds whispered among them- +
selves, and they decided to leave !
town of Bethlehem, as the angel
i had told them. Over che hills i)
4 and valleys they went, never ph
e pausing until they came to the !
i humble stable where the Savior 1"
pl lay. There they prostrated 0
le ’ tet f,
1 themselves at His feet, praising “\
God for the thing that had come J
i to pass, and telling Mary, His i
{! mother, and Joseph of what they |
te fh
#4 had seen and heard that night. “0
i Then they departed from His J
» presence and went their way, f)!
i teling all whom they met of the fi
i Savior's coming, pi)
i So wis it at the first Christ- A
0 mas !—FKatherine Edelman, .
i (©, 1927. Western Newspaper Union.) i?
emma aaa)
Christmas in Spain
In Spain the children seek secre:
places among the shrubs and bushes
In which to hide thelr shoes and on
Christmas morning they go out to find
them filled with fruits and candies —
Farm and Ranch,
|
HERE is one jaunt I hope
never to deprive my
youngsters of,” said 8s
business man the other
day, “and that is the an-
nual trip to the woods
after Christmas greens for the house.
fivery year since we were married,
my wife and I have bundled ourselves
up in warm togs and gone out a day
or two before Christmas and gathered
armfuls of spruce and hemlock
branches, sprays of ground pine, and
occasionally some mistletoe, though
this is rare in our part of the coun-
try.
“After the children came, this ex-
cursion into the woods became as
much a part of Christmas as the tree,
the stockings, and the dinner. When
we were living out in the suburbs,
near the open woods, we used to go
out and chop down our own Christ-
mas tree and bring it home on a low
sledge,
“Then the time came when we had
to move into town, because of my
having a good deal of night work, and
it took too long to get way out into
she country late at night. We
couldn't bring home our own Christ-
mas tree any more, of course, but we
could, and did, take a whole day to
£o out and get our Christmas greens,
and we do it every year. If the
weather is open and there isn’t too
much snow, we take the car and
drive out to the woods.
“If there is a great deal of snow
and it is impossible to take the car
out, we go on the train to a con-
venient country station, get off and
tramp through the woods, and col-
lect our Chuistmas decorations. If
we have too large a load to take into
the coach, I find that the baggage
car will bring it in to town for a half-
dollar or so. The spirit of Christmas
comes back with us from the woods,
and the twining of our own greens in-
to wreaths and festoons means a hune
dred times more than if we bought
them out of a wooden packing »ox at
the florist’s.”
{Copyright y
FINNEY CO
ag;
SPEC MAWE
WHISTLE LOUDE
HE CANT CARR
So GooD AS b
CAUSE MY 4
STULL LIFE
“TWENTY BELOW
ARTIST~
JACK FROST
(Copyright, W. N. U.)
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THE FEAT
LISTEN FANNY-
(UT,
PERCY L. (
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