The
Double
Cross
QW
By
A. E. THOMAS
Copyright, By Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc,
W. NU. Service
CHAPTER XIII
oe] fe
In the dead of night Doris was
awakened from troubled dreams by a
muffled knocking at her door. Star-
tled, she sat up, wondering if the
sound were not a part of her dream.
But the knocking was repeated.
“What is it? What is it?” she
cried, and a voice said:
“Mrs, Waterman I”
“Yes—yes—"
“Something terrible has happened!
1 think you had better come down at
once!”
“What is it? What Is it?” she cried
again. But there was no answer. She
snapped on the light, slipped swiftly
out of bed and hastily began to dress.
At the same moment O'Hara, sum-
moned from the garage over the house
phone, walked into the library. Wil-
son stood across the room, looking
from the open French window.
“What the devil's the matter?” cried
the chauffeur.
Wilson turned a white face upon
him. “Thank God, you've come,” he
said; “thank God!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Something's happened—something
dreadful.”
“What 1s it?”
“Mr. Stanley has disappeared.”
“What?”
“Yes.” ;
The three maids rushed in, almost
on the housekeeper’s heels, in various
stages of negligee—frightened, shiver-
ing, inquiring. Their idea seemed to
be that the house was on fire.
“No—no—no—shut up, for heaven's
sake,” ordered Wilson. “There isn’t
any fire.”
The whole group advanced upon
him with frantic inquiries, but he
waved them away, crying, “Stand
back, all of you—stay where you are!
Don’t touch a thing in this room.
There’s been a struggle. Can’t you
see? I'm afraid Mr. Stanley's been
murdered.”
Silence fell upon the little group.
Awe-stricken they looked about the
room. Their eyes fell upon the dis-
order of the place—the overturned
table, the broken glass, the twisted
rug, the papers covering the floor,
swept from the desk. Upon this si-
lence Doris entered, pale as moonlight,
in a negligee of emerald green, which
she had hurriedly cast over her night-
gown, her bare feet gleaming from a
pair of little mules.
“What's the matter? What's the
matter?” she cried, advancing into the
room. There was no answer. “Where's
Mr. Stanley?”
“That’s just it, Mrs. Waterman,”
agreed Wilson, “we don’t know.”
“Don’t know?”
“Mrs. Waterman,” continued Wilson,
“I'm afraid something has happened
to Mr. Stanley.”
“Something? What?”
“I'm afraid he’s been murdered!”
With a gasp Doris sank into the
nearest chair.
“What's this? What's this?” said a
new voice.
The group turned and looked at the
door. Waterman stood there. He still
wore his dress trousers, and he had
donned a silk dressing gown. There
was a handkerchief tied about his
neck. *“Who says Mr. Stanley's been
murdered?”
“I'm afraid it’s a fact, sir,” an-
swered Wilson.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“We can’t find him anywhere.”
“And therefore he’s been mur-
dered,” cried Waterman, ironically.
“Rot! He's probably gone out to
take a walk.”
“At midnight?” Doris put in.
“Why not? Any law against it?”
3ut Wilson turned to the chauffeur
and pointed to the open French win-
dow.
“O'Hara, go out through that win-
dow. Have you got a fashlight?”
“Sure,” answered O'Hara, *“aiways
carry one for use about the car.”
“Some one has been through that
window,” Wilson continued. “If there's
a trail, follow it. See where it leads.”
“Right,” responded the chauffeur.
He disappeared through the window
“What did 1 say?” resumed Water-
man lightly. “O'Hara will find him
mooning about the lake somewhere
He'll have the laugh on us. 1 say.
Wilson, what the deuce do you mean
getting us all our of bed for a mare's
nest like this?”
Wilson regarded him obliquely. “It
isn’t a mare's nest, sir.”
“No?” »
“No. sir. When | come into this
room and find it. littered with evi
dence of a desperate struggle, as you
see—" He pointed to the wreckage
“When 1 find this table overturned,
everything that was on this desk
swept upon the floor and—" here he
pointed to a dark red stain upon the
twisted rug—*blcod wpon this rug—"
A murmur of approval came from
the little group of servants.
Doris drew her negligee closer about
her with a little shiver, “Who saw
him last?” she asked.
“The last I saw of him,” replied
Wilson, “he was talking here with
Mr. Waterman,”
Doris fixed her eyes upon her hus-
band.
“Rollin, what happened between you
two?”
“Why nothing,” he answered easily.
“We just talked for an hour or so,
and then I went to bed.”
“Leaving him here?”
“Yes. He said he was going to
write a letter or two. You remember,
he told O'Hara to sit up a while, so
as to take them to the village post
office tonight.”
O’Hara stood in the French window
again. His face was grave.
“Did you—did you find anything?”
asked Wilson, speaking with difficulty.
“No—but some one has walked down
that path to the lake tonight.”
Wilson continued the inquiry. “Did
you go as far as the lake?”
4] 4d.”
“And the boat?—The boat?”
“It’s gone. And I found this caught
on one of the bushes.” He produced
a large white handkerchief.
There was silence in the room for
a moment. Doris broke it.
“Here,” she said, “give it to me.”
The chauffeur obeyed.
She took the handkerchief, examined
it carefully, dropped her eyes, and said
faintly: “No, there’s no mark upon
it.” She rolled the handkerchief into
a ball,
Wilson turned to Waterman. “Well,
sir, he said, “are you convinced now
that it isn’t any mare's nest?”
“No, I'm not,” was the prompt re-
sponse. “It’s ridicuous—all this fuss.
I'll bet you anything you like that if
you sit here quietly for an hour or
so, Jim Stanley will walk in and—
Lord! How he will laugh!”
Doris rose. “Well,” she announced,
“I'm not going to sit here quietly for
an hour. Wilson, call the police.”
Wilson started for the telephone.
Waterman stopped him,
“Doris, don't be a fool,” he cried.
“Call the police,” she repeated im-
periously.
Again Wilson started for the tele-
phone. But as he did so, a quiet voice
was heard to say, “What is this?”
Startled, the little group turned as
one. The Swami, clad in his custom-
ary robes, stood in the doorway.
“By gad, it’s the Swami,” cried Wa-
terman, “Come in, sir. We had for-
gotten all about you. 1 suppose we
woke you up with all this tempest in
a teapot?”
“No—no—" he said quietly. *“l1 was
awakened from a dreamless sleep by
a sense of trouble. Then something
led me here.”
He walked slowly to the ceater of
the room and looked about the startled
group.
“Ah—it's Mr, Stanley, is it not?” He
is not here.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilson informed him.
“Mr. Stanley has disappeared.”
“Ah?
“We have every reason to fear foul
play.”
“Foul play?”
“Yes, sir, murder.”
The faintest possible smile flickered
over the Swami’s face. “But you look
so shocked,” he said mildly. “It is
amusing. If, as you say, Mr. Stanley
has been murdered, he has but passed
to another cycle, where perhaps he
will be happier than here. He was
my friend and his heart was clean.”
The Swami’'s ear caught the ghost
of a sob. He turned to Doris—she
had covered her face with her hands.
“Ah, my child,” he said, “you suffer.
Do not—I1 beg you. It would grieve
Doris, in a Negligee, Hurriedly Cast
Over Her Nightgown.
him.” He laid his hand lightly upon
her shoulder.
“l don't know anything about
cycles,” said Wilson with startling dis-
tinctness, “but I'm going to call the
police.” Again he started for the tele
phone.
“Wait,” said the Swami with
quiet swiftness, “Later, perhaps, you
shall summon those imbeciles. But
pot now.” And after a little pause he
went on, “You have questioned the
domestics?”
“No, sir. not yet.”
The Swami sat down. “Do so,” he
said.
Wilson turned to the maids. *“Ann,”
he said, “when did you see Mr. Stan
ley last?”
“About six o'clock. sir,” replied the
maid, “as he was passing through the
hall.”
“Sarah?”
“Just before &inner, sir, as he was
leaving his bedroom.”
“Bridget?”
“Sure, I didn’t see him today at all,
at all. 1 been in the kitchen all day.
What in the name of all the saints
would I be krowin’ about—"
“Hush, hush, hush!” murmured Wil-
son. “Mrs, Burkett?”
“1 haven't seen him since the mid-
dle of the afternoon,” replied the house-
keeper, “when I looked out the win-
dow and saw him playing with Henry
Cabot.”
“Henry Cabot?” inquired the Swami,
puzzled.
“That’s the cat, sir.”
“How do you happen to be fully
dressed at this hour of the night?”
inquired Wilson.
“I fell asleep in my chair and slept
till you come knockin’ on the door.”
Wilson turned to the butler,
“Jefferson?”
“I saw Mr, Stanley last, sir,” re-
plied the butler, “when I fetched a
bottle of port to the library, not long
after dinner.”
“You locked up, as usual?”
“Yes, sir, about ten o'clock. And
then I went to bed.”
Wilson turned to the Swami. “Do
you wish to question them further?”
The Swami did not answer him but
turned to the chauffeur,
“And you?”
“Well, sir—" answered O'Hara.
“Mr. Stanley sends for me about ten
o'clock and says he wants me to sit
up. He's going to have some letters
for me to mail. So I gets busy around
the garage, and about midnight Mr.
Wilson rings me up on the house
phone and says will I come in.”
“How did you get in?’ demanded
Wilson.
“I got a key to the kitchen door.”
The Swami raised his hand.
“Let them go,” he said, “they know
nothing.”
“Jefferson, O'Hara, wait in the hall,”
said Wilson; “the rest of you go to
bed.”
The servants departed, whispering
excitedly among themselves, with
many backward glances.
Wilson closed the door behind them,
and turned and said to the Swami,
“Let me tell you everything I know,
sir.”
The Swami checked him. “I have
eyes,” he said, “I have seen. There
was a struggle, a table overturned, or-
naments broken, that desk swept
clean, and there, I perceive, is an ar-
ticle of wearing apparel.”
As he pointed to it on the floor, Wil-
son stooped and picked it up. It was
a black dress tie.
“And,” continued the Swami, “upon
the rug is blood. Hm,” he paused a
moment before he went on, “the secret
is here—let us find it.”
Slowly he turned his somber gaze
upon Waterman. No one spoke, till
Doris said sharply:
“Rollin, why don’t you answer him?”
Waterman started violently.
“Tell him everything you know—ev-
erything!” she commanded.
“I don’t know anything, I tell you,”
Waterman answered her. “After you
left us, we talked for an hour or so,
and then I went to bed. That's all I
know about it. If any—"
“Hush, hush,” breathed Doris.
He followed her gaze till it rested
on the Swami. The Hindu lay back
limply in his chair. His eyes were
closed. After a time he began to
speak, in a level emotionless voice.
“I see—I see—a weapon—a revolver
—it’s here—in this room—search—"
Wilson wandered about the room, his
eyes darting here and there. Sudden-
ly he gave a cry and stooped.
“Take care,” came the Swami’s
voice, “there are fingerprints upon it.”
Thus warned Wilson picked up the
revolver gingerly by the tip of the bar-
rel, and laid it upon the desk. The
Swami opened his eyes. It was as
though a spell had been lifted.
“Well, well, what next?” demanded
Waterman impatiently.
“You have told us all you know?”
inquired the Swami gently.
“Yes, everything,” snapped Water-
man.
“That’s not true,” cried Wilson.
“What?” said Waterman, rising sud-
denly, in a rage.
“No,” said Wilson, nothing daunted,
“it’s not true. You say nothing hap-
pened while you were here. Well, I
know of one thing that happened, and
that’s a quarrel.”
“What say you?” said the Swami,
“] say a quarrel!”
“That’® enough.” Waterman Iinter-
rupted sharply. “If you think I'm go
ing to sit here while you pour out
your insane fancies, you're mistaken.
I'm going to bed and tomorrow morn-
ing you'll be in jail. There was no
quarrel.” He turned to the Swami
“There's not a word of truth in what
he says—not one word. And now,
good-night.”
He turned on his heel.
“Wait,” commanded Doris. “Do you
want us to call the police?”
“No, of course not,” answered Wa-
terman., “It’s too silly! Jim’ll walk
in here any minute, 1 tell you.”
3ut the Swami only said to Wilson,
“Speak on.”
“Well, sir,” said the little clerk, “I
was busy over some accounts in the
office desk—"when about ten-thirty
my bell rang. ‘I came in here. Mr
Stanley and Mr. Waterman were here,
Mr. Stanley gave me an order.
and 1 went out. It happened | didn't
close the door quite tight, and pretty
soon, though 1 was not listening, |
heard their voices raised. Then |
listened, naturally enough, because
they seemed to be angry. Finally one
of them, I think it was Mr. Waterman,
said, ‘That's a lie!’ Then some one
came and closed the door and I heard
no more. These doors are very old
and very heavy, you see. No sound
comes through. I finished my work.
and about midnight 1 game in here,
THE PATTON COURIER
and found—what you know. Then 1 Fconomic Danger in the Rapid Spread of Use of
roused the house,” He ended.
The Swami turned to Waterman and
inquired slowly, “All this, you say, is
a le?”
“Every d—d word of It!” cried Wa-
terman,
The Swami rose. “Approach,” he
said.
Waterman slowly recoiled, his eyes |
fixed upon the Swami, as if hypno- |
tized.
At this moment Doris held out the |
handkerchief, saying in a barely aud-
ible voice, “1 was mistaken. There
is a mark upon this handkerchief—
‘R. wW.”
Waterman slowly collapsed in a
chair, and hid his face in his hands.
“And now,” murmured the Swami,
“the truth, my son.”
And presently, after one false start,
In a low voice Waterman began to
speak,
“After my wife went to bed and left
me here alone with Jim—I—I1 didn’t
want to stay. I had a presentiment
that something would happen, and I—"
“Presentiment 2” prompted the
Swami,
“Yes—and now I look back upon it,
it seems to me that every word he
spoke to me from the time I entered
Waterman Slowly Recoiled, His Eyes
Fixed Upon the Swami, as If Hyp-
notized,
this house, shows that he had deter-
mined to pick a quarrel with me as
soon as he got a chance.”
Waterman made another effort.
“Well, I tried to get away—=said I was
sleepy, and tired to go to bed, but be
wouldn’t let me. So I stayed on.”
“You wished to please him?”
“Why—yes. Well, the talk ran
along, till presently he began to say
things 1 couldn't understand, and
pretty soon he accused me of some-
thing.”
“Of what?”
“Of—disloyalty to him.”
Doris smothered an exclamation.
For an instant the Swami allowed his
eyes to rest upon her; then he turned
them back to Waterman.
“What was the accusation?” he in-
quired.
“Does that matter?”
“Perhaps not.”
“Yes.” said Doris sharply, “I think
it does.”
“Well?” the Swami prompted.
“I'll tell you if my wife will leave
the room.”
“No,” she decided promptly, “I'll
stay.”
And the Swami said, “You may omit
the accusation. I think I know it al-
ready.”
Waterman cast an agonized glance
upon the Hindu and presently strug-
gled on.
“Well, sir, one thing ran to another.
I was very angry—I admit it. And
finally the lie was passed. Then—
then he drew a gun on me.”
“Remember,” the warning was gen-
tle. “There are finger prints upon it.”
“Yes,” cried Waterman, spurred to
speed, “and they are probably mine.
He threatened me with it. 1 took it
away from him—threw it away. Then
he fell upon me. As he did so the
lights went out—l1 don't know why.
We struggled in the darkness, and fell
to thé floor fighting. As we fell, some-
thing struck my head, and that’s all 1 |
knew for quite a while. I don’t know |
how long I was out, but when I came |
to, the lights were on again. Jim was
gone. I was so sick and dizzy I could
hardly stand up. The room swam be-
fore my eyes. 1 had only one idea— |
to get upstairs to my room. Little by
little 1 finally made it, fell on my bed.
and lay there till I heard Wilson rous-
ing the house. And that’s all I know,
so help me God! If Jim has disap-
peared, he went himself. [f he’s been
killed, I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it, as
sod’s my judge!”
The Swami allowed him a brief in-
terval for self-control, but presently
he asked—*“The revolver, was it
fired?”
“No.”
The Hindu moved slowly to the
desk. picked up the gun by the bar-
rel, and offered it to Doris, The
weapon was still broken as it had been
when Waterman cast it away. The |
Swami daintily extracted a cartridge
and examined it.
“One cartridge only,” he said, “which
| think has been discharged. Madame,
examine the barrel.”
“Take care,” said Wilson quickly,
“the finger prints!”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Modein Educated Man
Ap educated man is one who can
tell the difference hetween a great
ci’tic and a common scold.—Nash-
vile Tennessean,
Labor-Saving Machinery
By JAMES J. DAVIS, Secretary of Labor.
E ARE coming to realize that it is a serious matter to have
any men out of employment. To prosper we must work and
produce. If our present prosperity is to be maintained every
able-bodied producer in the country must be kept employed
for the maximum period of the year and at the maximum wage. When
we have any considerable number of people out of work and earning no
wages, business suffers by the absence of just that number of buyers.
One element of economic danger to our workers, and so to our pres-
perity, arises from the rapid spread of labor-saving machinery, what we
call the mechanization of industry. In all our great industries machines
are being introduced at a rate which justifies calling it a new industrial
revolution.
It is only the period of adjustment that needs to be watched, the
time during which a man displaced by a new machine must wait and per-
haps suffer until he can find a new occupation. Manufacturers will
soon see the mistake in too rapidly putting in machines and throwing
cut workers.
The long day and the long week should be as obsolete in America as
serfdom and chattel slavery. Wipe out the long week and you enable
consumption to catch up with production and so keep men in their jobs.
The man kept at work all the time has no time left in which to see
end buy things. Give him more leisure and he will consume more and
want more. He will develop new desires, and so create new demands,
new markets for new products.
Existence of Life in Immaterial Things Conceded
by Scientific Thinker
By SIR OLIVER LODGE, British Scientist.
Science, with all its great work, has not eliminated the accumulated
witness of the ages. The immensity of possible discovery contrasts with
our feebleness in putting it into words. For that reason never throw
away hastily any old faith or traditions because of some dogma of science,
do not run foul of conventions merely because you do not see the good
of them.
The problems do not get easier as the world grows older. The ex-
traordinary multiplicity of plants and animals is astounding. What an
imagination the Creator must have had! Our growth of knowledge of
the planetary system shows that everything is governed by one system of
law. Order permeates all space, which leads us to postulate the existence
of some great being who controls all. Even space is full of the anima-
tion of life and matter.
Real existence is a much wider thing than terrestrial existence. We
are mistaken in believing that life can exist only for material bodies. It
can exist, perhaps better, with immaterial things. Our senses tell us only
about matter and that is why matter only has loomed so large in our
minds. Life can exist in the interspaces as well as on the planets.
Passion for the Welfare of Others a Rich Expe-
rience of Human Life
By REV. DR. HAROLD LEONARD BOWMAN, Portland, Ore.
It is the most glorious news that man can learn that he is a child
of God, an inevitable possessor of a share in the divine life, a child of
God. The term “Our Father” means more than that. It signifies that at
the heart of all things is love and good will.
True religion cannot be merely an individual affair. It must in-
clude both our attitudes and our actions toward other people. If we ac-
cept as valid Jesus’ picture of God as father, if we rise to His concept of
the interrelation of the human and the divine, if we believe that God is
love and that He seeks the highest good of all men—then there are
startling conclusions to which we are forced. - We, His children, must
come increasingly to share that love and be governed by its spirit. As
children of a father, sharers of His nature, we must share His interest in
His other children.
If we let divine love operate in and through our lives we shall find
more and more a passion for human welfare, an eagerness for the high-
est, fullest experience of all human lives.
“Lame Ducks” Not to Be Considered Unregen-
erate Outcasts of Society
By DEAN ROBBINS (Episcopal), Washington.
There is not only use for the “lame duck,” there is also hope. Sci-
ence is continually making headway in its long warfare upon disease,
Malady after malady that once resisted stubbornly now yields to treat-
ment. The victim of tuberculosis, who was once shut up in a stuffy room
to die, is now bundled off to Saranac lake or Arizona to get well. The
victims of drug habits and of alcoholism, who were once considered hepe-
less, are now being reclaimed to society by the application of principles
of psychology.
Pity is another answer to elimination. As men grow saner, strong-
er, more self-restrained, more civilized, they grow more pitiful. The
truly civilized man assumes voluntarily the care of the incapable. Some
divine instinct has taught him that his fate is bound up with theirs. This
law of pity has embraced all weakness, all dependence, even all de-
linquency.
Faith of Judaism Always a Way of Life; Never
Has Been a Creed
By RABBI LOUIS L. MANN, Chicago.
Judaism has no fundamentalism because it always has been inev-
itably and inherently evolutionistic. Religion, according to Judaism,
never was a creed, but always a way of life.
Ours is an age of confusion. In the sphere of religion the clash of
fundamentalism with modernism, in its vain attempt to turn the hands
of the clock backward, holding on to legends and superstitions that have
outlived their day, is sadly significant.
In the realm of morals we have witnessed the breakdown of author-
ity. In the field of education a mechanistic philosophy and a behavior-
istic psychology jostle one another, while education remains mere propa-
ganda. In civic affairs crime is allied with politics. In the sociological
realm the institution of marriage is threatened. In literature, art and
music classicism and romanticism have given way to jazz
4
A Sour
Stomach
In the same time it takes a dose of
of gas and sour stomach, Phillips
Milk of Magnesia has acidity complete-
ly checked, and the digestive organs
all tranquilized. Once you have tried
this form of relief you will cease to
worry about your diet and experience
a new freedom in eating.
This pleasant preparation is just as
good for children, too. Use it when-
ever coated tongue or fetid breath
signals need of a sweetener. Physi-
cians will tell you that every spoon-
ful of Phillips Milk of Magnesia neu-
tralizes many times its volume in acid.
Get the genuine, the name Phillips is
important, Imitations do not act the
same!
[PHILLIPS
Milk
of Magnesia
—
Indian Superstitions
Many Indian tribes held that ani-
mals and plants were animated by
spirits, They regarded certain of these
spirits as powerful and active. Among
their elemental gods were the sun, fire
and water. The buffalo, eagle and
rattlesnake were worshiped. Among
plants, cedar, cottonwood, corn and to=
| bacco were venerated.
|
| Heard and Not Seen
| “I hear your neighbors have a new
| solarium in their house.”
| “Goodness, maybe that's the awful
| thing we hear ’em playing on.”—Phil-
adelphia Bulletin.
|
{
| It is easy for a rich old man to
say that youth is enough for a young
| man,
There are quarrels and quarrels, but
family quarrels are the worst.
|
Are
ou
When your
Children Cry
for It
Baby has little upsets at times. Al:
{| your care cannot prevent them, But you
| can be prepared. Then you can do what
any experienced nurse would Go—what
most physicians would tell you to do—
give a few drops of plain Castoria. No
sooner done than Baby is soothed; re-
lief is just a matter of moments. Yet
you have eased your child without use
| of a single doubtful drug; Castoria is
vegetable, So it's safe to use as often
| as an infant has any little pain you
| cannot pat away. And it's always
| ready for the crueler pangs of colic, or
constipation or diarrhea; effective, too,
| for older children. Twenty-five million
| bottles were bought last year.
‘Garfield
Was Your
Grandmother’s Remedy
For every stomach
and intestinal ill
This good old-fash-
loned herb home
remedy for consti-
pation, stomach ills
and’ other derange-
ments of the sys-
tem so prevalent these days is in even
greater favor as a family medicine
than in your grandmother's day.
your skin heautifol, also
a, Price Free booklet. Freckle
8 frec Used over forty years.
$1.25 and 5c. Ask your dealer or write
Dr. C. H. Berry Co.,2975 Michigan Ave., Chicags
soda to bring a little temporary relief’
ol
=F
¢ POTAC
_—1 (Copyright, W. )
C77, 72
“Hee Gni
MUD
= olip
PUZZLE PICTUR
WHO 15 THiS
PATHETIC
PERSONY%
#5
PERCY
ke by the McC