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srcen Murder Case BY 8. 8S. VAN DINE. SYNOPSIS. Vance, with a hobby for solving cars" mien Diret. Atiories when strict orne; Hg 8 Heath are ps 14 r with five children, Julia, Ches- beila, Rex and Ada (adopted) live n the old' Greene mansion. Police in- res ions reveal nothing; then Ches- ter found shot dead in his room. Again footsteps are found to and from the entrance of the mansion. Ada goes to Markham's office and informs him that Rex has not told all he knows. Five minutes later word comes that he has been shot. Vance becomes convinced that the criminal is one of the family and calls on Dr. Von Blon to discuss old Mrs. Greene, § CHAPTER XXIX.--(Cont'd.) Von Blon did not speak for several minutes. He sat toying 'nervously with his glass, his eyes fixed with in- tent calculation on Vance. "It might be well for you to have the report," he acceded at last, "if only to dispel your own doubts on the subject. No, I have no objection to the plan, I will be very glad to make the arrangements." Vance rose, "That's very generous of you, doc- tor. But I must urge you to attend to It without delay." "I understand perfectly. I will got in touch with Dr. Oppenheimer in the morning and explain to him the offi- zial character of the situation. I'm sure he will « dite matters." When we w, again in the taxicub Markham gave vice to his perplexity. "Von Blon strikes me as a particular- ly able and trustworthy man. And yet he has obviously gone woefully astray in regard to Mrs. Greene's ill- ness. I fear he's in for a shock when be hears what Oppenheimer has to say after the examination." "Y' know, Markham," said Vance somberly, "I'll feel infinitely bucked if we succeed in getting that report from Oppenheimer." "Succeed! What do you mean?" "Pon my word, I don't know what I me.n. I only know that there's a black terrible intrigue of some kind going on at the Greene house. And we don't know yet who's back of it. But it's some one who's watching us, who knows every move we make, and is thwarting us at every turn." The following day was one that will ever remain in my memory, Despite the fact that what happened had been foreseen by all of us, nevertheless when it actually came it left us as completely stunned as if it had been wholly unexpected. Indeed, the very horror that informed our a: ticipation tended to intensify the enormity of the . event. The day broke dark and threaten- ing. A damp chill was in the air; and the leaden skies clung close to the earth ith suffocating menace. The weather was like a symbol of onr gloomy spirits, Vance rose early, und, though he said little, I knew the case was prey- ing on his mind. After breakfast he sat before the fire for over an hour sipping his coffee and smoking. Then he made an attempt to interest him- self in an old French edition of "Till Ulenspiegel," but, failing, took down Volume VII. of Osler's "Modern Medi- tine" and turned to' Buzzard's article on myelitis, For an hour he read with despairing concentration. At.last he veturned the book to the suelf. At Lalf past 11 Markham telephon.- ed to irform us that he was leaving the office immediately for the Greene mansion and would stop en route to pick us up. He refused to say more, and hung up the receiver abruptly, It v:anted ten minutes of being noon when he arrived; and his expression of grim discouragement told us more plainly than words that another tra- gedy had occurred. We had on our coats in readiness and accompanied him at once to the car. "And who is it this time?" asked Vance, as we swung into Park Ave, "Ada." Markham spoke bitterly through his teeth. "I was afraid of that, after what the told us yesterday. With poison, I suppose." "Yes--the morphire." "Still, it's an easier death than strychnine poisoning." She's not dead!" said Markham. "That is, she was still alive when Heath phoned. i ~~ "Heath? Was he at the house?" "No. The nurse notified him at the Llomicide Bureau, aud he phoned me Sm ES mai | 'Be Proud ] - of your Baking 7 You" . thrill new. from there. He'll probably be at the Greenes' when we' arrive." "You say she isn't dead?" "Drumm--he's the official police surgeon Moran stationed in the Nar- coss Flats--got there immediately and kad managed to keep her alive up to the time the nurse phoned." "Sproot's signal worked all right, then?" "Apparently. And I want to say, Vance, that I'ni damned grateful to you for that suggestio: to have a doctor on hand." - When we arrived at the Greene 1:ansion Heath, who had becn watch- ing for us, opened the door. "She ain't dead," he greeted vs in a stage whisper and then dr. us into the reception room to explain his sec- retive manner. "Nobody in the house except Sproot and O'Brien knows about this poisoning yet; Sproot found her, and then pulled dow. all the front curtains in this room, which was |the signal agreed on. When Doc Drumm hopped across, Sproot was waiting with the door open, and took kim upstairs without anybody seeing him. The doc s2at for O'Brien; ani, after they'd worked on the girl for a while, he told her to notify the bureau. They're both up in the room now, with the doors locked." "You did right in keeping the thing quiet," Markham told him. "If Ada recovers, we can hush it up, and, per- haps, learn something from her." "That's what I was thinking, sir. I told Sproot I'd wring his scrawny neck if he spilled anything to any- body." "And," added Vance, "he bowed po- Ltely and said, 'Yes, sir." "You bet your life he did!" "Where is the rest of th: househo!d at present?" Markham asked. "Miss Sibella's in her room. She had breakfast in bed at half-past 10, and told the maid she was going baci to sleep. The old lady's a'so asleep. The maid and the cook are in the back of the house somewhere." "Has Von Blon been here this norn- ing?" put in Vance. "Sure he's been here--he comes regular. O'Brien said he cailed at 10, sot with the old lady about an hour and then went away." "And he hasn't been notified about the morphine?" "What's the use? Drumm's a good doctor, and Von Blon might blab about it to Sibella 0: somebody." "Quite right." Vance nodded his approval, We: re-entered the hall and divest- ourselves of our wraps. "While we're waiting for Dr. Drumm," said Markham, "we might as well find out what Sproot knows." We went into the drawing room, and Heath yanked the bell-cord. The old butler came directly and stood before ue without the slightest trace of emo- tion. His imperturbability struck me as inhuman. Markham beckoned him to come nearer. "Now, Sproot, tell us exactly what took place." "I was in the kitchen resting, sir" the man's voice was as wooden as usual--'and I was just looking at the clock and thinking I would resume my duties, when the bell of Miss Ada's room rang. Each bell, you under- stand, sir--" "Never mind that! What time was it" "It was exactly 1 o'clock. And, as I said, Miss Ada's bell rang. I went right upstairs and knocked oa her door; but, as there was no aaswer, I tock the liberty of opening i% and looking into the room. Miss Ada was lying on the bed; but it was nol a natural attitude--if you understand what I riean. And then I noticed a very peculiar thing, sir Miss Sibel- la's little dog was on the bed--" "Was there a chair or stool by the bed?" interrupted Vance. "Yes, sir, I believe there was. ottoman," "So the dog could have climbed on the bed unassisted?" "Oh, yes, sir." "Very good. Continue." % "Well, the dog was on the bed, and he looked like he was standing on his hind legs playing with the bell-cord. But the peculiar thing was that his hind legs were on Miss Ada's facs, and she didn't seem to even notice it. Inwardly I was a bit startled; and I went to the bed and picked up the dog. Then I discovered that several threads of the silk.tassel on the end of the cord had got caught between his An .lonable wave of the hand and bowed well-built wom. n of 85, with shrewd brown eyes, a thin mouth and a firm chin, and a general air of competency. . She greeted Heath with a compan-, to the rest of us with aloof formality. "Doc Drumm can't leave his patient! just now," she informed' us, seating herself, "So h: sent me along. He'll be dowr. presently." "And what's the report?" Markham was still standing. "She'll live, I guecs.- We've been giving her passive exercice and artid- cial breathing for half an hour, and doc hopes to have her walking before long." . Markham, hs nervousness some- what abated, sat down again, (Tb be continued.) Prine I Will Be Glad 1 will be glad to be and do, 'And glad of all good men that live, For they are woof of nature too; Glad 6f the poets every one, Pure Longfellow, great Emerson, And all that Shakespeare's world can give. When the road is dust, and the grass dries, Then will I gaze on the deep skies; And if Dame Nature frown in cloud, Well, mother--then my heart rhall say-- You cannot so drive me away; I will still exult aloud, Companioned of the good hard ground, ,, Whereon stout hearts of every clime, In the battles of all time, Foothold and couch have found. --RBdward Rowland Sill, in "Piems." Qe Hurdy-Gurdy Memories Ten o'clock of an autumn morning on a busy city street. A panorama of faces; alert, indifferent, determin- ed, bored and eager Sudden music, gay and inconsequential, quite alien to the prevailing seriousness of af- i fairs. A rollicking tune, sweet and shrill, vibrating on the air, dispell- ing gravity and dispensing magic. A dark, wiry man, with flerce black moustachio turns a handle vigorous- ly, head and foot unconsciously keep- ing time to the music of his hurdy- gurdy. The light-hearted tunes bring memories of little girls, standing in an awestruck ring around the hurdy- gurdy man. Of frantic rushes into the house to get a penny, so the music may not cease. Of a neighbor, throwing pennies from an upstairs window to the repeated bowing of the music man and his ingratiating smile, Memory pictures street and the box of music sur- rounded by urchins with tattered clothes, tousled hair and untidy faces. A tiny girl detaches herself from the group and begins to dance. Short, ragged skirts fluttering, dark hair flying, bare arms. akimbo, black eyes shining, she dances with deli- cacy and grace. Her little feet glide in perfect rhythm, her slim body sways and curves as if the heart of the tune {tself had taken form on the city street. Again memory changes the scene, this time to the sleepy square >f.a seaport town. A hurdy-gurdy man grinds out metallic tunes, as he waits hopefully' for an audience, and a button-eyed monkey capers along the ground. From restaurant, from parked automobile and white door- way, natives and visitors stroll to the center of the square. A group of adults surround the hurdy-gurdy as its tunes clatter on, bringing echoes of plaintive old song and ancient melody. Neighbor and stranger smile and sigh together at phantom pic tures of childhood days. Someone gives the monkey a marshmellow and the entertainment proceeds. The speculative expression of the little animal as he pulls the marshmallow from one claw to the other, testing it gingerly, upsets the dignity of the crowd, so that the old-town square rings with music and hearty laugh- ter, : Memory brings to mind the day that music sounded high above the city streets, Perhaps never was hurdy-gurdy seen in a stranger place than in an elevated train. The door opens, and in trots a smiling dark man carrying his cumbersome instru- ment. A few moments he sits quiet ly, epeing the other passengers, then suddenly begins to turn the handle of his hurdy-gurdy. hear music, mingled with the rush and roar of the city elevated train, is so unusual that passengers crane their necks and children chatter in pleased excite ment, The atmosphere grows notice ably gayer. The dark man smiles and turns the handle that rolls out the old airs, satisfied with his recep tion. A station is called. The another city hurdy-gurdy maw bobs sad 'bows to] mat that lowly servant, the first] to that lordly autocrat, the edi nd that mo ent magnifico, --everyone with of TSpenstaty for he acceptance or r by ection of manusciipts is hauated| one, and .only one, nemesis. Itf is the fear of rejecting in a careless moment, or a blind one, a master plece=or worse yet, a bestseller. There have even been in - b : the least degree of among editorial blunders when re- jected manuscripts turned out to be both masteryieces and best.sellers. Most of the great publishing houses have the memory of some such biunder to haunt them. For example Walter Hines Page, who made a success of every magazine he touch- ed, made ome of the worst and most expensive blunders whefi be prevent ed the publication of Thomas Hardy's firs? novel, although he recognized tne Hardy genius even then, Thackeray's freelancing days were a constant struggle wiih edi tors and publishers. Tkere is some uncertainty just how mauy thnes Vanity Fair really was rejected be- fore it finally crawled, obscurely, in- to print; though on the fact of its rejection all accounts agree. Thack- eray's daughter alludes to "the jour- neys which the manuscript made to varioug publishers' houses before it could find one ready to undertake the venture," but she is not specific as to the identity of the offending publishers, The only cditor who can be Cef- iaitely hoisted to the bad eminence of the rejection was Henry Colburn of the New Monthly Magazine. We can hardly blame him in view of the fac's. In 1846 when Thackeray first offered the novel to him he had only a few chapters to show, and seemed to have only a vague idea as to its eventual length. To make the editor's blunder still more ua- tural, the great novel was then call- ed "Pencil Sketches of English So ciely,"--a title that would bother any self-respecting editor. The famous title is said to have occurred to Thackeray while he was in bed, Wd he leaped up, ran three times around the room, shouting: "Vanity Fair! Vanity Fair! Vanity Fair!" It. was Bradley and Evans. the pro- ed the risks of publication, and be- fore it was concluded ir serial form it had won favorable notice in the Edinburgh Review. Sales picked up fast after that. Edward Fitzgerald, Thackeray's friend, had a far more bitier strug- gle to get his translation of the Rubaiyat of Cmar Khayyam into print. He first submitted the poems to Fraser's, who returned them after a year or more at the author's re- quest. In 1859 Fitzgerald published them at his own expense, These row nearly priceless little books were to have been five shillings, but they dropped to a penny before they vere discovered by Rossett!, Swin- burne and Richard Burton. They were all anthusiastic, and the price rose to 30 shillings, The first edition was exhausted. Richard Watson Gilder, then at the beginning of his brilliant editorial career on the Century. was assistant to the first editor, J. G. Holland. "1 thought of publishing the whole of it in the magazire," he wrote lat- er, "but realizing that Dr. Holland would never let it appear there on account of the wine therein, I gave up the idea." This was perhaps the worst editorial bluoder of the Cen: tury's history, except the sad occasion when an unidentified stranger was thrown out of the office before any- one discovered that he was Robert Louis Stevenson. " He next offered them to a pub- lishing house specializing in trans- lations, but they were again reject ed. Although two obscure Ameri. can editions appeared, ome in 1870 and one a few years later, the poems did not really come into their own until Houghton Mifiln published them with Elihu Vedder's illustra- tions in 1894, Another poem, called Forlorn, writ- ten by William Dean Howells, was rejected by .the Atlantic and the Fortnightly Review, to be accepted some time later by the New York Nation. It was very successful. George Meredith, as pudiisher's reader for Chapman and Hall, was responsible for a number of famous rejections. - In spite of the vehem- ence of his literary opinions, and in spite of the acid in his critical pen, his comment was so highly valued that many authors of the day sent their work to Chapman and Hall mainly to see What he would say. v When Hardy submitted his firs novel, Thy Poor Men and the Lady, to Chapman and Hall, they agreed to publish the book if Hardy would prietors of Punch, who finally assum-| Callander, June 20ta, 1823 To Miss Lucy Edgeworth . . "Here we are! | can hardly be lieve we are really at the place we have so long wished to see: we have really been on Loch Katrine. We were fortunate fn the day; it was neither too hot, mor too cold, nor too windy, nor too anything. : "The lake was quite as beautiful as I expected, but that is telling you nothing, as you cannot know how much 1 expected: Sophy has made some memorandum sketches for home, though we are well aware that neither pen nor pencil ean bring be- fore you the reality. William says he, does not, however, fear for Kil larney, even after our having seen this. Here are mo arbutus, but plenty of soft birch, and twinkling aspen, and dark oak. On one side of the lake the wood has been within these few years cut down. Walter Scott sent to offer the proprietor five hundred pounds for the trees on one spot, if he would spare them; but the offer came two days too late; the trees were stripped of their bark be fore his messenger arrived. To us, who never saw this rock covered with trees, it appeared grand in its bare boldness and in striking con- trast to the wooded island opporsite. Tell Fanny that. upon the whole, 1 think Farnham lakes as beautiful as Loch Katrine; beauty, perhaps superior; but where is the lake of our own, or any other times, that hag such delightful pow- er over the imagination by the recol- lection it raises? As we were row- as to mere beauty.|- © ALakeofStoriedRomance |: ed alopg, our boatman, happily our only guide, named to us the points 'we most wished to see; quietly nam- ed them, without being askel, and seemingly with a fll belief that he was telling us plain facts without any flowers of speech. 'There's the Place on that rock, see yonder, where he king blew his horn.' 'And theres the place where the Lady of the Lake landed.' - 'And there is the Silver Strand, where you see the white peb- bles in the little bay yonder." "He landed ws just at the spot where the lady : 'From underneath an aged oak, That slanted from the islet rock, shot her little skiff fo the silver strand on the opposite side, .. . "At the jun the mistress of hte house lent me a copy of the Lady of the Lake, which I took out with me and red while we were going to the lake, and while Sophy was drawing. We saw an eagle hovering, and n ore- over, Sophy spied some tiny sea- larks flitting close to the shore, and making their little, faint cry. Re turning, we marked the place where the armed Highlanders started up from the furze-brake before King James, when Roderic Dhu sounded horn, and we settled which was the spot at "Clan Alpine's outm:st gnard" where Roderic Dhu's safe conduct ceased, and where the king and he had their combat."--From "Maria Edgeworth: Chosen Letters." by F. V. Barry. S ten three times for the American Magazine. Other Meredith rejections were: Villirs, by Ouida; Frank Tressilor, by G. A. Henty; The Heavenly Twins, by Sarah Grard; East Lynne, by Mrs, Heury Wood; Samuel But- lers' Erewhon; and Bernard Shaw's first novel, "Immaturity." Rudyard Kipling met with relent. less rejection in America when he was already well known in India und beginning to be known in England. In 1889, passing through New York, he callad at Harpers, and offered half a dozen books, all of which were promptly rejected. Among these were Plain Tales From the Hills, Soldiers Three, The Phantom Rick- shaw, and The Story of the Gads- bys. In December, Kipling's agent again submitted Plain Tales From the Hills to Harpers, and it was agaln rejected. Later, the Ameri firm reprinted a number they had bought from other magazines, in book form, and sent Kipling--in his own indign- ant phrase--"a ten.pound note as a notification of outrage perpetrated." This is the unauthorized collection of his stories which he characterizes as "an unedited, unrevised, unfinish- ed, disorderly abortion of both- work." . BE. N. Westcott, the author of David Harum, was 2a banker with literary and musical tastes, He contracted tuberculosis, and while trying to regain his health in the Adirondacks, wrote his famous story. Among the editors who rejected the novel, the greatest was Walter Hines Page, who made few editorial blund- ers. He never quite lived it down. Finally, Appleton published it, and it scored an amazing success. met with many rejections, until it was finally landed by Mr, Rutger Jewett of Appleton's, In spite of the fact that editors have grown wiser, and "the call for books is so great that nearly every one finds a market, there are still some horrid tales of editorial blunders, Macmillan rejected the Autoblo- graphy of Helen Keller; 'Doubleday rejected Education of a Princess; also Booth Tarkington's Houston Beaucaire; Doubleday and Arlel, written by Andre Maurofs, |' Poems; Malin Street was turned down on the ground that Sinclair Lewis was an unsuccessful novelist; The Outline of History, Pollyanna, The Man Nobody Knows, and Casuals of the Sea are other examples. We are told that Mr, Christopher Morley once impishly typed out some of Shakespeare's sonnets, and sent them to Doubleday. They were re- jected as being "Below the Usual Standard." It is said that the re- jection formula was hastily altered when the awful truth leaked out.-- The Mall, London. i a] Twilight in the Alps I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair And dewy feet, along th Alpine dells To lead the cattle forth, A thous- and bells Go chiming after her across the fair And flowery uplands, while the rosy flare 1 Of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, And valleys darken, and the drowsy spells Of peace are woven through the purple air, Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems To wally before the dark by falling 1s, And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; She opens all the doors of night, and fills With moving bells the music of my dreams, That wander far among the sleeping hills. ~--Herry Van Dyke, in "The White Bees." eee rem DAMP Four fellows who had arrived at a riverside resort for a week-end's fishing dispatched one of their num- ber to the nearest wine merchan'ts for a few supplies. The emissary ordered a crate of beer, several bot- tles of whisky and siphons of soda, and concluded: "What do you think the weather'is going to be like this week-end?" "The further outlook, sir," sald the Ian both let slip Rupert Brooke's =" distinctly wet." assistant with a slight smile, "je| in lite."--Herbert Hoe . ~~ "The United States had better take warning now (rom the fate of several European countriés"--Roger W. Bab son. : j _ "A conservative is a fellow that's Tan office and wants to stay there,"--Huey P. Long. ; "It. les more and more clear that fndividual competition needs to - be supplemented and guided by pub. lic or collective planning." --8ir James Arthur Salter. 3 Sid "We may come Ou a new 'golden age' if we get fear out of the world and get a new economic equilibrium establi-"ed."--John Drinkwater. "In New York, marriages are too short and novels are too long.,"--Paul Morand. : "lI am sure of one ihing--unless we get some step in disarmament there is chaos ahead."--Lord Astor, "There is no record in human his tory of & happy philosopher; they exist only in romantic legends' --H. L. Mencken. "Tha busimmess world is no place for a woman."--Alice Foote MacDougall. "One should always learn to love oneself for that is the onl; life-long romance." ~--~Gabriele D'/ nnnnzio. "With the exception of capitalism, there is uothing so revolting as re: volution."--George Bernard Shaw. "Man lives only when he lives dan- gerously."=Sir Arthar Keith, "The present is the invisible brid.a over which the achievements of the past walk toward the shaping of the undetermined future."--Alfred Noyes, "God is clever, but not dishonest." -- Albert Einstein. "There '1 no short ut to prosperity through the provision of governmental credit in huge amounts. What is need- ed primarily is not credit but busi. ness."=--Nicholas Murray Butler. "Ch. :m is sexual virility."--Joseph Hergesheimer. : "Taere "3 no swift and royal road > universal prosperity." -- Thomas W. Lamont. 4 "Feminine talent is altogether too latent."--Fannie Hurst. "Argun .nts which daw heir de- monstrations from probabilities are idle, and unless one is on one's guard egainst them they are very deceptive." ~Plato. > ; From a Chinese Junk It was raining when the ship slid out from under the eaves of Hong Kong. Hong Kong is like the great shadow of a Chinese temple upon the sky; its sunset is nearly always ruled straight by a high horizontal cloud, its slopes have the optimistic con- cavity of temples, and only lack a titanic dragon and a curled lon or two to make the temple suggestion complete. At night, so absurdly is Hong Kong tilted, ft loses its out line, 'the lights of the peak clim' 'so high and the stars so low. But it was morning when my little ship deftly extricated herself from the shadows and ships in the har- bor , . . At last Hong Kong itself was dim and loops of silver cloud blew across the great harbor end obscured the faces of the gaunt hills of the New Territory, When Hong Kong slipped over the gray-glass rim of the sea, the Chang-Shing seemed = all alone like a guest at a strange deserted feast. A great company of remote islands stood about her and, without wel come, watched her pass. ~ I have never been so much alone on a ship only indigo She was only smart In comparison The Chang-Shing carried and--by courtesy--me;