mºrp-research-eranies
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3 34.33 O748.3573


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THE STRANGE ADVENTURES
OF
BROMLEY BARNES


-------------
****
#| THE MYSTERY OF THE
§ Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50 #
#| THE STRANGE ADVENTURES ſº
#: Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
#| THE WORLD'S GREATEST
[I]| MILITARY SPIES AND
RED FLAME
OF BROMLEY BARNES #
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Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $2.00
-I
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 BEAcon STREET, Boston
JºETEEL -





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“‘I want You To save JAck
(See page 209)


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iStrangeadventures i
of
Bromley Barnes
BY
GEORGE BARTON
Author of
“The Mystery of the Red Flame,” “The World's
Greatest Military Spies and Secret
Service Agents,” etc.
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Illustrated BY
CHARLES E. MEISTER
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THE PAGE COMPANY
Boston . MDCCCCXVII: . -


TO
JOHN J. MAHONEY
As the MEMENTo of
a Treasured friendship





chapter
II
III
IV
VI
VII
VIII
IX
XI
XII
CONTENTS
Adventure of the THIRTEENTH TREATY .
Adventure of THE Bolted Door . . .
ADVENTURE of THE SCRAP of PAPER . . .
Adventure of THE StoleN MESSAGE . .
Adventure of THE BURNT MATCH STIck
Adventure of THE FRENCH CAPTAIN
Adventure of the OLD CHEss PLAYER . .
Adventure of the LEATHER BAG . . .
ADVENTURE OF THE ANoNYMoUs CARDs . .
ADVENTURE OF THE CLEOPATRA NECKLACE .
Adventure of THE BARItoNE.SINGER . .
ADVENTURE of THE AMSTERDAM ANTIQUES
Page
. 275
. 299
319





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
“‘I want YoU to SAVE JACK!’” (See page 209)
Frontispiece
“THE Door of the wardrobe was SHOVED open
AND A MAN EMERGED " - . 26
“MADE A HURRIED INSPECTION of THE HELPLEss
BODY " - - - - - . 44
“STARING AT THEM LIKE A MAN who HAD Lost
HIs wits " " . - - - - . 185
“SLowLY THREADED HIs way Down to THE
TABLE" - - - - . 243
“Forward's RIGHT ARM . . . FELL LIMPLY TO :
HIS SIDE" . - - 338





THE STRANGE ADVENTURES
OF
BROMLEY BARNES
----
I
ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEENTH
TREATY
BROMLEY BARNEs pushed aside the window cur-
tains of his cozy bachelor apartment in Washington
and gazed upon the glistening dome of the Capitol.
There was something majestic about the imposing
pile of marble and steel. In the moonlight, on that
cold frosty night, it seemed to acquire new beauty.
It was the embodiment of the honor and the dignity
of the nation, and as the veteran investigator looked
upon its graceful proportions, surmounted by the
I


2 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
goddess of liberty, his heart thrilled with a feeling
of renewed pride and patriotic emotion.
Thirty years in the confidential employment of the
United States Government had not dulled the man,
or staled his infinite varity. He had left his mark
upon the Secret Service, and he also made a great
reputation as the Chief of the Special Agents of the
Treasury Department. The private missions he
performed for the State Department would have
won for him medals of honor in any foreign coun-
try, but in the land of the free and the home of the
brave it was all taken as a matter of course and he
was content to go upon the retired list while he was
still in the full enjoyment of his mental and physical
faculties.
He was thinking of some of the things he had
done for his country as he looked out at the splendid
dome sparkling in the moonlight of this crisp Jan-
uary night, and he squared his sturdy shoulders as
he reminded himself that he was still fit for service if
the emergency should occur. The clattering of a
poker caused him to turn and look into the room.


The Thirteenth Treaty 3
But it was only Cornelius Clancy, his faithful assist-
ant, stirring up the wood fire in the open grate. If
it be said that Barnes was polished and persistent,
it could be asserted with equal truth that Clancy was
red-headed and hopeful. The two men comple-
mented each other perfectly, and it was not surpris-
ing when Barnes resigned his position in the Secret
Service that the loyal Clancy should quit too, in
order to become his confidant, factotum and man of
all work.
While the veteran's glance wandered from the
dome of the Capitol to the shining asphalted pave-
ments of the city, he was conscious of a sudden
awakening of interest. A limousine, plum-colored
and nobby in appearance, was swiftly and noiselessly
making its way up the avenue leading to the St.
Regis apartment house where the old investigator
made his home. Bromley Barnes shoved the lace
curtains farther to one side and strained his eyes in
the effort to get a better view of the approaching
vehicle. He looked at his watch. It was nearly
midnight, and he gave a whistle of astonishment.


4 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Calling me, sir?” asked Clancy, pausing in the
act of directing a shower of sparks up the chimney.
“No, but I’m seeing things.”
“Seeing things?” echoed Cornelius, with a ges-
ture of respectful curiosity.
“Yes, Brewster's down there in his plum-colored
car, and I think he's coming to see me.”
“What, the Secretary of State?”
“Certainly,” answered the old man, haughtily,
dropping the curtain and coming toward the center
of the room; “it’s not the first time the premier of
the administration has visited my quarters, is it?”
“Oh, no,” Clancy hastened to say with an apolo-
getic air, “but the hour seemed to be so unusual.”
Barnes nodded understandingly.
“You’re right about that. The hour is unusual,
and the business must be unusual. Brewster's not
the man to go about paying social calls at midnight.
He's been under a terrific strain lately, and if he had
any spare time, he'd be resting. We're living in
history-making times, my son, and I'll wager that
that plum-colored limousine is telling a story


The Thirteenth Treaty 5
as it comes up that hill. I wonder what it
means?”
He did not have to wait long for an answer. In
a few moments there was a tap at the door and two
men entered. The first, tall, distinguished, fur-
coated, and with a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard,
put out his hands and greeted the detective warmly
but with a somber manner. He inclined his head in
the direction of his companion.
“You know Senator Hance, Bromley?”
“I have that honor, Mr. Secretary,” said Brom-
ley, bowing.
He might have added that the Chairman of the
Foreign Relations Committee loomed so large in
the public eye at the time that none could very well
help knowing him. The Senator was thin and
hatchet-faced, wore the conventional string tie of the
Southern statesman, and seemed much more at his
ease than the distinguished member of the cabinet.
While he and Barnes were passing conversational
small change the Secretary of State was removing
his fur coat with the air of one who is very much at


6 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
home. The detective turned from the Senator and
addressed Brewster:
“Mr. Secretary,” he said, with his characteristic
4.
frankness, “you don't need to tell me that some-
thing of great importance has brought you here at
this hour of the night.”
Secretary Brewster gave Bromley Barnes a look
of gratitude. It was the thanks of a busy man to
one who understood him.
“You’re right,” he replied, with equal conciseness;
“something has happened to-night which may affect
the honor and dignity of the United States if it
does not plunge the world into a war quite as hor-
rible as the one which has devastated Europe.”
Barnes gasped. He had not expected anything
so sensational as this solemn statement from the
head of the State Department.
“You say,” he began hesitatingly, “that it may
affect the United States and the world. Might
I —”
“May is the word,” was the deliberate interrup-
tion. “It is not too late to avert this calamity, and


The Thirteenth Treaty 7
you are the one man in Washington with the wit and
the courage to do it.”
Barnes flushed to the roots of the iron-gray hair
which formed a circle about his bald head. He was
too old, and had too much experience with the world,
to be carried away by mere idle flattery. He knew
Secretary Brewster too well to feel that he would
indulge in vain words at such a time. His emotions
came from the sense of responsibility which the
statement carried with it. He was the one man in
Washington that could avert a world calamity. It
was a fearful task to place on the shoulders of any
human being. Would he be equal to it? The Sec-
retary must have read his thoughts in his face. -
“I know you've retired from the Government
service, but will you undertake this business?”
It was more than a question. It was more than a
plea. It was a challenge. It did not take the old
man two seconds to decide. He said simply:
“I will l’”
Secretary Brewster impulsively grasped him by
one hand, and placing the other on his shoulder, and


The Thirteenth Treaty 9
treasures, especially the rare first editions of “Rob-
>
inson Crusoe’’ and the early American humorists.
Presently he remarked, cynically:
“After you two gentlemen have finished admiring
each other, you might get down to business.”
The reminder brought an eager, if care-worn look
into the tired eyes of the Secretary. He dropped
into the nearest chair and began to address Barnes:
“The thing seems almost unbelievable, but I —”
He stopped short and looked at the stooping form
of Cornelius Clancy, who was again stirring the
blazing logs in the fireplace and sending showers of
sparks up the chimney. Barnes caught the un,
spoken query.
“That's Clancy. You probably remember that
he's my right bower; my other self. I’d be helpless
without him. You can talk as freely and as safely
before him as you might to the priest in the confes-
sional. He's never betrayed a trust, or run from
an enemy. Go ahead with your story, Mr. Secre-
tary.”
Clancy's face was as red as his hair at this tribute,


10 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
but it might have been the reflection of the blazing
logs. While he was still bending over the fire, Sec-
retary Brewster resumed:
“I’m going to let you into a big State secret,
Barnes, and without any preliminary talk. We are
just on the eve of completing a treaty for the pur-
chase of the Pauline Islands. One copy of the
treaty — the thirteenth copy of the treaty — has
been lost, stolen or mislaid, and unless it is recovered
at once the whole business will crumble into nothing-
ness, and the United States will lose the greatest
opportunity in its history.”
“Lost — stolen!” murmured the investigator.
“Precisely,” replied the Secretary. “You know
these matters have to be negotiated in absolute se-
crecy. Otherwise, they would be impossible. I do
not need to tell you that we have passed the period
of isolation in this country. We even have colonial
possessions, distasteful as that term may sound to
many of us. We have been gradually acquiring one
group of islands after another, until only one set
of islands of any importance remained between this


The Thirteenth Treaty II
nation and the old world. I refer to the Pauline
Islands. Their strategic importance cannot be over-
estimated. You know that the most important na-
tions of Europe have combined under the designation
of the European Alliance. They are very power-
ful, and they say that as long as this Alliance lasts
there can never be another war in the Old World.
“Now,” continued the Secretary, impressively,
“the statesmen representing this new combination
look with jealous eyes only upon the United States
of America. If we get the Pauline Islands it will
make us invincible. We can defy the world, but,
as we have committed ourselves to a policy of peace,
it means that the signing of this treaty and the un-
furling of the Stars and Stripes over those islands
means peace for the world, indefinitely.”
“By George,” ejaculated the detective, “but
that's a big thing!”
“The biggest thing for humanity in the history of
the world,” asserted Brewster, “and for that reason
we have been straining every nerve to bring it about.
Sweden owns the islands. Sweden, in view of the


12 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
enormous interests involved, is willing to sell us the
islands. I prepared the treaty in collaboration with
the Swedish minister. It has been approved by the
king of that country, and the only thing that re-
mains is to have it ratified by the Senate.”
“Well, why don't you do it?”
“I’m coming to that,” said Brewster, with a faint
trace of irritation in his voice. “In order to get the
thing in shape for action, thirteen copies of the
treaty were typewritten by my confidential clerk.
The President, the Swedish Minister, ten members
of the Committee on Foreign Relations, and myself
each had a copy.”
“A pretty wide distribution,” said Barnes, with a
grim smile.
“Yes, but, under our" form of government, it was
necessary. However, I'm satisfied that each holder
of the treaty regarded it as sacredly confidential.
But, unfortunately, one copy of the treaty has been
lost.”
“Whose copy?”
“Mine!” confessed the Secretary, in a low voice.


The Thirteenth Treaty 13
Barnes stiffened up at this announcement. His
eyes were dancing with interest.
“Where did you lose it?”
“I haven't the faintest idea.”
“When P’’
“Within the last two hours.”
The old man reached for a holder containing a
supply of his inevitable supply of Pittsburgh stogies
and passed them to his visitors. It was only after
he had lit his own that he turned to Brewster and
said:
“Mr. Secretary, it is necessary for you to tell me
in detail just what has happened during the last two
hours.”
“Well,” began the official, “I left the State De-
partment a little before ten o'clock for the Capitol
where I had arranged to meet the members of the
Foreign Relations Committee. I made some minor
changes in the verbiage of the treaty, and before
leaving the office put the paper inside the black port-
folio I use for carrying official papers. I went to the
Capitol in the limousine you see outside, went into


14 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
executive session with the members of the Senate
Committee, and after securing their entire approval
of the transaction placed the treaty in my portfolio
again, got in the car and went home, but when I
opened the portfolio to get the treaty it was gone!”
“Gone?”
“Yes, sir, gone as completely as if it had evapo-
rated in the short ride from the Capitol to my
home.”
“Are you sure you put it in the portfolio”
“Positivel ”
“I can vouch for that,” chimed in Senator Hance,
“because I saw Mr. Brewster place it in the holder
and then carefully fasten all of the straps.”
“Was any one in the car with you?” asked
Barnes of the Secretary.
“No, I was alone.”
“Did the chauffeur open the door of the vehicle
to let you in or out?”
“No, he never left his seat. Besides, I have per-
fect confidence in McLain. He has been with me
for years.”


16 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
ing. One young woman called my attention to the
fact that I had dropped my handkerchief, but when
I stepped down to pick it up, it wasn't mine at all.”
“Could the treaty have been stolen then?” asked
Barnes.
Secretary Brewster gave him a look of annoy-
ance.
“My dear Bromley, it was on the desk in front
of me, strapped and fastened, and the cleverest
magician couldn't have unfastened a single strap in
those two seconds.”
“All right, but I'd like to take a look at the port-
folio.”
The Secretary had it with him, and Barnes was
soon engaged in making a careful examination of
the receptacle which had been made to hold State
secrets. It was about eight inches by ten, made of
black leather, and on the side of it were the initials
in ornate silver, J. T. B. A bag of distinction,
with an individuality of its own, and yet a service-
able portfolio. Barnes examined each strap and
buckle and every square inch of the leather. It


The Thirteenth Treaty 17
seemed as though his scrutiny would never end.
“How long have you had this?” he finally asked.
“Oh, for a long while.”
“Do you use it much?”
“Almost constantly. For the last year it has
been with me in all of my trips between my office
and the White House and the Capitol!”
Barnes leaned back in his chair and thought and
thought, and puffed his stogie until the room was
filled with clouds of tobacco smoke. Presently he
straightened up with a start, and said suddenly:
“Whom do you suspect?”
Secretary Brewster gave a nervous little laugh,
and looked at Senator Hance.
“Surely, Barnes, that's a sweeping question.
They say the city is full of spies, but it is not—”
“Well,” interrupted the detective, “we’ll put it
in another form. Is there any country that would
be particularly interested in preventing the consum-
mation of this treaty?”
“Yes, any one of the countries represented in
the new European Alliance.”


18 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
The bell in an adjoining steeple was heard tolling
the hour of midnight. Senator Hance consulted
his watch.
“Come on, Brewster,” he said, “it’s Friday
morning.”
“When was the treaty to be signed?” asked
Barnes of the Secretary.
“At ten o'clock Saturday morning.”
The detective made a hasty calculation.
“That's thirty-four hours from now. You may
go ahead with the business, and I'll undertake to
recover your thirteenth copy of the treaty before
that time.”
“And before any outsider has a chance to see it.”
“Well, I'll do the best I can, and meanwhile it's
understood that I'm to have the use of any of the
Secret Service men I need?”
“Certainly. You understand why I do not want
to use the ordinary facilities of the Government.
The President does not know of this yet. I don't
want to trouble him if I can help it. He has wor-
ries enough.”


The Thirteenth Treaty 19
Five minutes later the Secretary and the Senator
were seated in the plum-colored car, speeding down
the asphalted incline, and Barnes and Clancy stood
facing one another in the cozy apartment. The
whirr of the machine had scarcely died away when
Barnes turned to his assistant.
“Clancy, go to bed and get a good night's sleep.
You're going to have a busy day ahead of you.”
“But what about yourself — don't you think
you'd better retire?”
“No; I've got something to do.”
And after the faithful one had gone to bed, and
his snores were punctuating the silence of the night,
Barnes sat at the window of his room with the cur-
tain drawn, gazing out upon the dome of the Capi-
tol, and thinking. A jar, filled with stogies was by
his side, and at intervals he leaned over and mechan-
ically picked up a fresh cigar and lit and smoked it.
Barnes was more than a detective, active or retired.
He was a patriot, and love of country burned in his
breast. He was not the flag-waving, hip-hip-hurrah,
spread-eagle, vociferous type of American, but


20 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
rather the kind who thinks deeply and calmly, and
believes that upon the success of the experiment
made by the Fathers of the Republic depends the
hope of the oppressed of all nations.
He thought of this during the long vigil of the
night, and he felt that he would be willing to run
any risk to preserve this Government in all of its
integrity. The dome of the Capitol seemed to him
to symbolize all that was best in the nation. It was
a beacon of hope, a light house for the world. In
the meantime he was thinking of the problem that
faced him. Who had taken the treaty? Where
was it? Why had they taken it? Where was it
now? And how could it be recovered? Hundreds
of reasons and solutions flashed through his mind.
One impossibility after another was rejected, until
finally, with a shout of joy, he jumped to his feet.
He had a theory that covered the whole story, and
would lead to the recovery of the thirteenth treaty
— under certain contingencies.
He noticed that it was daylight. The first gray
streaks of dawn were beginning to streak the noble


The Thirteenth Treaty 21
outlines of the Capitol dome. He took that as a
good augury, and the next moment his spirits were
cheered still more by hearing the cheerful morning
greetings of Clancy from the adjoining room. A
bath and breakfast, and Barnes was ready for the
big job. It really started the moment the detective
picked up a business directory and began skimming
through its pages. Presently he called to his as-
sistant:
“Take these names and addresses, Clancy — and
see that you get them right.”
In quick succession he called off a list of firms in
Washington, and then closed the directory with a
bang. After that, he paced the floor for several
minutes thinking and apparently forgetful of the
presence of his lieutenant. When he halted, it was
to get down on one knee and open the little safe in
a corner of the apartment. He reached in and
brought out a red-covered book, much thumb
marked.
“The book of spies,” commented Clancy, with a
smile.


22 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Yes,” said the old man, looking up as if he had
just recalled the presence of the red-haired
one, “the man — or the woman — I want is
in this book. I wonder if I can pick out the right
one?”
“I — I hope so,” was the fervent comment.
“The first thing we have to do is to make calls on
the persons whose business addresses I have given
you,” said Barnes, meditatively, “and after that
I'll decide whether to go after two of these spies,
or whether to invoke the Secret Service and arrest
all of the eighty-seven on suspicion.”
“The eighty-seven?”
“Yes, that's precisely the number of names I have
in this book.”
“It's a big job.”
“That's the least part of the difficulty. But I'm
fearful of the drag net method. The very fish we
want may slip through the meshes.”
Barnes and Clancy divided the list of addresses
they had obtained from the business directory, and
after the old man had given his assistant explicit


The Thirteenth Treaty 23
directions, they started out on what the investigator
called his “canvass for a clew.” It was a long and
tiresome task, and it was late in the afternoon when
they met again. Clancy was dejected. His red hair
seemed lusterless, and for a wonder he appeared to
have lost his hopefulness. But the face of the old
man was shining like the morning sun. He clapped
Clancy on the shoulder.
“There's nothing like meditation before investi-
gation, my boy. I've found the first clew, and it fits
into my midnight dream like a bit of marble in a
mosaic.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going for the two suspects whose names
were in my book of spies. And you're going with
me. I want your moral and physical support.”
It was dusk when the two men entered the hall-
way of an apartment house in the northeastern sec-
tion of Washington. Barnes pressed an electric
button beneath a card on which was engraved the
name of Mortimer Myers. A feminine voice came
through the speaking tube a moment later, and in


24 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
answer to his inquiry, informed him that the gentle-
man in question was not at home.
“Nevertheless,” said the old man, with a signifi-
cant glance at his assistant, “we’re going to call on
Mr. Mortimer Myers.”
The house was not sufficiently modern to boast of
an elevator, and they trudged laboriously up three
flights of stairs. Barnes was puffing when he
reached the landing, and he mentally resolved to
begin physical exercise at the first opportunity.
He tapped smartly on the first door in view, and it
was opened a few inches by a pale-faced woman
with frightened eyes.
“We're calling on Mr. Myers,” began the old
man genially, “we —”
Before he could say any more, the woman started
to close the door.
>
“He’s not in,” she exclaimed.
But the old man placed a determined foot across
the surbase and was in the room, followed by
Clancy, before the scared-looking female had time to
realize what was going on.


The Thirteenth Treaty 25
“How — how dare you come in here?” she cried,
trembling with fear and anger.
“Pardon the intrusion,” replied Barnes, smoothly,
“but our business is urgent. We must see Mr.
Mortimer Myers.”
“I told you,” she said, with quivering lips, “that
he was not at home.”
While she was speaking, the detective was making
a rapid survey of the room. It was plainly fur-
nished with a walnut wardrobe in one corner.
Something about that article of furniture attracted
the attention of Barnes. He turned to Clancy with
a smile.
“Have you anything that will serve as a target?’”
The young man looked at his chief curiously.
He wondered if he was taking leave of his senses.
But, nevertheless, he pulled an envelope from his
pocket.
“W111 this do?”
“Yes, it's just the thing. Now pin it on that
wardrobe over there.”
Clancy followed instructions.


26 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
The old man retreated to the far end of the room
and produced a small revolver from his hip pocket.
The woman advanced toward him with an agonized
look on her face.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try a little experiment; I'm going
to try and hit the bull's eye.”
She gave a shriek.
“Don’t shoot; for God's sake, don't shoot!”
At the same moment the door of the wardrobe was
shoved open, and a man emerged, looking sheepish
and much disheveled. Bromley Barnes pocketed
his pistol and smiled ironically at the unmasked
One.
“I’m sorry that it was necessary to call you from
your retirement, but my business would not wait.”
Mr. Mortimer Myers gave a silly laugh.
“I — I didn't want to see any visitors. What do
you want?”
Barnes looked at him intently and spoke with
great deliberation.
“I want the portfolio you picked up in the rooms


... Tire poor of THE wardrobe was shoved opes AND A
MAN EMERGED "





The Thirteenth Treaty 27
of the Committee on Foreign Relations yesterday
afternoon.”
The man went pale beneath his dark skin. He
moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, and
after a moment, said:
“I — I don't know what you are talking
about.”
“Oh, yes, you do. I want that portfolio, and I
want it right away.”
Mr. Mortimer Myers was gradually regaining his
self-possession. When he spoke again, it was in a
more defiant tone: . . .
“I haven't got the article you speak about, and I
haven't been near the rooms of the Committee on
Foreign Relations. I can account for every minute
of yesterday.”
“Ah!” said the old man, significantly, “an
alibil”
“Yes,” retorted the other, raising his voice, “an
alibi, if you want to call it that. And now, I’d like
to know what you mean by breaking into my rooms
in this way. A man's home is his castle and —”


28 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Yes,” was the purring response, “even a ward-
robe may be a man's castle — sometimes.”
Barnes was moving about the room with seeming
aimlessness, but as the suspect dropped his eyes the
detective reached over to a table, and furtively
picking up a white blotter, slipped it in his
pocket.
“I’ll not bandy words with you, sir!” exclaimed
Myers.
“All right,” said Barnes, with an air of resigna-
tion and implied defeat, “if you won't help us we'll
have to say good day.”
He left the room with Clancy, and as soon as they
reached the sidewalk they started in the direction of
Barnes' quarters near the Capitol. Not a word
passed between them until they were safely in the
cozy apartments. It was then that Clancy ventured
to say:
“I thought you had two suspected spies on your
list. This one and another.”
“Yes,” admitted Barnes, absently, “Myers and a
woman, but as the woman happened to be in the


The Thirteenth Treaty 29
room with him it won't be necessary to make a spe-
cial call on her.”
“And yet you left both of them without getting
any results.”
The investigator smiled benignly.
“They'll be watched day and night — I've ar-
ranged for that. And as for results, let's take a look
at this blotter.’
As he spoke, he drew the little square of absorb-
ing paper from his pocket. It had evidently been
freshly used. The ink marks on it were meaning-
less at first, but presently, with the aid of a mag-
nifying glass, they deciphered the following:
drapsaC
ot uoy ees
prahs net
It must have taken at least thirty minutes to bring
out all of the faint lines on the blotter, but finally
Barnes turned to his assistant with a smile and had
him hold the blotter in front of the mirror. What
they beheld from the reflection was faithfully trans-


30 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
mitted to paper, and when the missing links were
supplied, it said:
“Gaspard:
Will see you at ten sharp to-night.”
“My boy,” said the old man, triumphantly, “all
that we have to do from now until the end of the
chapter is to watch and wait.”
“Not here?”
“Oh, not here. The scene of our activities will
be transferred to another part of the town. In the
meanwhile, let me see that blue book.”
The veteran investigator carefully studied the list
of the names and addresses of the foreign diplomats
residing in the city of Washington. Barnes knitted
his brows. The volume evidently did not give him
the information he desired. But presently he turned
to the back of the book and there he found some
written memoranda in the copper-plate hand of
Cornelius Clancy, and a few newspaper clippings in
the form of “futures.” The red-headed and hope-
ful one had kept the directory of diplomats up to


32 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
riage and escort the visitors to the vestibule of the
mansion.
At precisely ten o'clock a hired taxicab made its
way creaking and groaning to the front of the
Baron's home, and when it stopped who should
alight but Mr. Mortimer Myers. He drew his loose
raglan overcoat about his body protectingly, and
peered around with the air of a man who is fear-
ful and ill at ease. But while he hesitated, the tall-
hatted and brass-buttoned footman came down the
pathway and saluted him in military, if not diplo-
matic, style. He leaned over and whispered to the
dark-skinned one: -
“The Baron wants to see you alone — follow me
to the lodge.”
Mortimer breathed a sigh of relief, and immedi-
ately trailed after the liveried one. The lodge was
a one-story stone building at the other entrance to
the embassy grounds. A single light was burning
in the structure, and the two men could see a bulky
form within. The footman opened the door and
Mortimer entered. To his surprise, the uniformed


The Thirteenth Treaty 33
one followed him and locked the door from the in-
side. The spy thought this strange, but he stepped
forward with the intention of speaking to Baron
Gaspard — and gazed into the muzzle of a revolver
in the hands of Bromley Barnes.
“Trapped ' " he gasped, and glanced in the direc-
tion of the embassy butler who had led him into the
cage. But the high hat and the blue coat had already
been discarded, and he saw only the freckled face,
the dancing blue eyes, and the red head of Cornelius
Clancy.
“Now,” he heard the stern voice of the old in-
vestigator saying, “I’ll have that portfolio!”
Slowly and with trembling fingers he unbuttoned
his overcoat and from within its folds he produced
a black leather portfolio on the outside of which, in
ornate silver, were the initials “J. T. B.”
“Secretary Brewster's bag!” gasped the aston-
ished Clancy.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before
Barnes grabbed the portfolio and opening it, brought
out the thirteenth copy of the great treaty. The


34 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
next minute he pushed the door ajar and whistled
softly. Two Secret Service men appeared and ac-
cepted the prisoner.
“If he dares to make an outcry,” said Barnes,
sternly, “shoot him on the spot.”
While they were going off with Mr. Mortimer
Myers, the faithful Clancy was staring at the black
leather portfolio like a man in a trance. Barnes
laughed at the young man's amazement.
“It's a perfect imitation of the original, son,”
he said. “The minute Secretary Brewster told me
his story, I knew he had been flim-flammed by the
old trick of the bank sneak thieves. A customer is
counting his money at a side desk. The crook comes
along, and dropping a note on the floor, tells the
victim he has lost some of his money, and while he
stoops down to pick it up the sneak gets off with
the roll.”
“But when Secretary Brewster arose, his port-
folio was still there.”
Barnes smiled.
“Not his portfolio but one that is an exact dupli-


86 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
got to be torn up by the roots. After you've given
that butler's rig back to your Tipperary friend, go
to my rooms and you'll see the climax of this little
drama.”
As they parted, Barnes went directly to the door
of the embassy and asked for Baron Gaspard. The
diplomat, a florid-faced man with a waxed mustache
and a goatee, appeared in a few moments and de-
manded brusquely:
“What do you want?”
“Baron,” said Barnes, in a low voice, “Mr.
Mortimer Myers finds it impossible to reach here
and wishes you to accompany me to a rendezvous he
has selected.”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“But that is out of the question — he must
come to me.”
“But it is a physical impossibility. He bids me
say that you will never forgive yourself if you do
not respond. I have a conveyance here. It will
not take many minutes.”
The detective spoke with great earnestness, and


The Thirteenth Treaty 37
pointed to the taxicab which still waited in front of
the embassy. After a slight hesitation, the Baron
shrugged his shoulders—and agreed. In fifteen
minutes they were in the bachelor apartments of
Bromley Barnes. The rooms appeared to be vacant.
The diplomat looked about him and exclaimed im-
patiently:
“Come, come, my man, I'm in a hurry.”
“You understand what he was to hand you, I
suppose. A very, very important document.”
The representative of the European Alliance, in
his eagerness, was taken off his guard.
“Yes,” he cried irritably, “the treaty — the copy
of the Pauline treaty!”
Barnes bowed.
“The gentleman that has that document is here.”
As he spoke, he drew aside the curtain of the ad-
joining room and Baron Gaspard was confronted
by John T. Brewster, the American Secretary of
State.
The Baron turned as white as a sheet, and when
he spoke it was in a husky voice:


38 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“I — I have made a great blunder!”
“Yes, Baron,” was the cheerful reply, “and in
diplomacy a blunder is worse than a crime.”
On the evening of the day of these stirring events,
the newspapers carried two stories of sensational im-
portance. The first told of the consummation of the
great treaty involving the purchase of the Pauline
Islands, and the second announced that Baron Gas-
pard, prince of diplomats, who had come to repre-
sent the European Alliance in Washington, would
not even present his credentials, but would return
home on the first available steamship. One rumor
said that the Baron had been personally affronted
by the Secretary of State, and another that he was
persona non grata to the American Government.
But, however that may be, the Pauline-American
treaty was hailed everywhere as a wonderful triumph
of statesmanship, while the Gaspard-Brewster affair
remained one of the world's greatest diplomatic
mysteries.


II
ADVENTURE OF THE BOLTED DOOR
THE day of days had arrived — the day when
Hugh Helverson was to give a private view of the
marvelous contrivance which was to end the sub-
marine peril. The old inventor had spent a month
of trying days and sleepless nights in the workshop
of his modest cottage on the Woodley Road, and
this morning all of official Washington was on the
tip-toe of expectation.
Bromley Barnes was one of the select few who
were to get the first glimpse of the submarine de-
stroyer. He rose early, and as he looked out of the
window and saw the sun gilding the dome of the
Capitol he took it as a good omen — as a sign that
the product of Hugh Helverson's brain would fur-
nish the United States with the instrument that was
to insure the freedom of the seas.
He dressed carefully for the occasion, and when
39


40 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
he finished, his appearance was irreproachable. The
carefully creased trousers, the gray spats, the gold-
handled cane, and the opal in the green tie made him
look very unlike a detective. Indeed, he seemed
more like one of the diplomats, statesmen and scien-
tists whom he expected to meet at the home of the
inventor.
The Helverson cottage stood back a short distance
from the road. It had a stone foundation, but the
superstructure was of wood, painted green and
white. An addition, in the rear, contained the work-
shop where the inventor had been toiling so un-
remittingly. But it is a long lane that has no turn-
ing, and his day of triumph had arrived — that day
when he might say he had done for his country that
which seemed beyond the skill and imagination of
anyone else.
Barnes was accompanied by Cornelius Clancy,
and when they arrived at the house they were sur-
prised to find a group of distinguished looking men
walking about the porch in a disconsolate manner.
The house itself was tightly closed — doors, win-


The Bolted Door 41
dows and every possible means of entrance and exit
seemed hermetically sealed. It was after ten o'clock,
which was the hour fixed for the official view of the
great invention. The moment Barnes reached the
place, a young man hurried down the graveled path
to meet him. It was Captain Mayne, a naval officer,
who had been detailed for duty as a special assistant
to the Secretary of the Navy.
“I’m glad you're here, Barnes!” he exclaimed.
“I don't know what to make of this business. No
one seems to be in the house, and we were expressly
bidden to be here at ten o'clock.”
“Maybe Helverson's overslept himself. You
know these inventors take queer turns. They're
not normal.”
He tried to speak cheerfully, but he had grave
misgivings. He realized, probably better than any-
one else, the dangers that surrounded Hugh Hel-
verson while he was at work on the much-talked-
about destroyer.
“We had no right to leave him here alone,” re-
torted Captain Mayne.


42 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Alone?” echoed Barnes.
“Sure — he made it a condition that he was not
to be disturbed. He had an assistant, Conan Wil-
liams, but even Williams was only permitted in the
workshop during the daytime.”
“I understood that his daughter and a Japanese
servant lived in the house with him.”
The naval attache shook his head.
“That's not exactly correct. Hilda Helverson
is the pride and joy of his life, but she was not
permitted to stay in the house. She has apart-
ments near the Capitol. She came to see him each
day, but never stayed very long and he was always
impatient to get back to his work.”
“But the Japanese servant?”
“He came and prepared Helverson's meals and
then went about his business.”
“So the old man was all alone here last night?”
“You have said it.”
At this point in the dialogue, one of the officials on
the porch came down and joined the two men. He
was angry at the delay.


The Bolted Door 43
“See here,” he shouted, “won't somebody do
something — and at once?”
Without replying, Bromley Barnes hurried up the
pathway to the door. He tried it but without re-
sult. He pushed the electric button.
There was a tense silence.
After a few moments, he pounded vigorously on
the panels of the door with his fist. But the only
response was the echoes of his blows. Captain
Mayne smiled sadly.
“We’ve tried that already. You may hammer
until doomsday without getting a reply.”
The old investigator's face became very grave.
He thought for a moment, and then made his de-
cision. He turned to the group around him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “unusual conditions call
for unusual methods. I’m going to take the respon-
sibility of breaking into this house. It may be a
mistake. But if so, I'm willing to shoulder the
blame. Come on, Clancy, and you, too, Mayne.
Now, altogether!”
The three men lined up in front of the closed


44 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
--
door. Some one sang out “one-two-three " and
then simultaneously three bodies were hurled against
the frame work. There was a rumbling sound
and the straining of the hinges, but the door
remained intact. For the second time the perform-
ance was repeated with the same result. They
paused long enough to get their breath and
then made a third drive. This time there was
the crash of splitting wood, the creaking of iron
work, and the door fell inward with a thud.
The three men hastened into the room, followed
by the others. They found themselves in a sparsely
furnished living apartment, but they had only
proceeded a few feet when they drew back shrink-
ingly. Barnes, in the lead, detected something
on the floor. He leaned over and gave a gasp of
horror.
And no wonder, for lying there at full length, was
the body of Hugh Helverson!
The detective dropped to his knees and made a
hurried inspection of the helpless body. He felt the
hands and placed his ear against the broad chest.


-
- -
- ||
“MADE A HURRIED INSPEction of the HELPLEss Body"





The Bolted Door 45
When he looked up, his face was very grave, and
when he spoke it was in a low, reverent tone.
“His race is run,” he murmured, “he is dead!”
Involuntarily the men lifted their hats and stood
there looking down at the cold and stiffened form
with something like awe in their faces. One man
had sufficient presence of mind to hurry for a phy-
sician, but when the doctor came, a few minutes
later, it was only to pronounce the aged inventor
“quite dead.” A careful examination of the body
disclosed the fact that Helverson had been shot
through the heart. The prostrate form lay on a
large rug near the entrance of the hallway, and a
tiny pool showed where the life blood of the gifted
man had trickled from the wound in his breast.
Barnes had know him well in life, but at this supreme
moment all of his professional instincts came to the
surface. Force of habit was strong and he found
himself giving orders that nothing in the house
should be disturbed, and sending a messenger to
summon the coroner to the house of death.
After the room had been cleared he began his in-


46 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
vestigation. The furniture was in order and there
was no evidence of a struggle. Automatically three
questions came into his mind. Was it an accident?
Could it have been suicide? Was it murder? He
knew that Helverson had been shot. He was cer-
tain that the single shot had gone through the in-
ventor's heart. Death must have been instantane-
ous. But at the outset he was confronted with a
puzzling circumstance. The weapon with which the
deed had been committed could not be found. He
searched every nook and corner of the room and he
could not find a gun or pistol of any kind.
He opened the two large windows of the living
room — opened them with difficulty for they were
barred and bolted, and the rust on the bolts proved
that they had been closed for some time. Then he
went to the rear of the house and he discovered that
it was almost hermetically sealed. He visited the
rooms on the upper floors and found that everything
there was tightly closed. There was no opening on
the roof through which anyone could have come or
gone. The trap leading to the roof was bolted from


The Bolted Door 47
the inside. After a while Barnes came down stairs
again and seated himself in a large arm chair and
tried to think in a coherent way. He remembered
that the front door had been bolted. He ex-
amined the shattered door to make sure of the fact,
and then the astonishing thing presented itself to his
partly dazed intelligence.
Hugh Helverson had been shot and killed in a
house that was barred and bolted from cellar to
roof.
The thing was positively uncanny. If the front
door had been merely deadlocked, it would have ex-
plained everything. But how was it possible for a
man to kill the inventor and then escape without
leaving some signs of his exit? The question was
too much, even for this man who had spent the
greater part of his life in solving crimes that seemed
to be unsolvable. The coroner came while he was
trying to make the unreasonable facts seem reason-
able. The official happened to be a physician as well
as a coroner, and after a brief examination of the
remains he said that, in his opinion, death had en-


48 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
sued six or eight hours before. The body was cold,
and it was safe to say that the poor man had been
killed shortly after midnight.
By this time Hilda Helverson had arrived, and
when she beheld the dead form of her father she
broke down and would have fainted if it had not
been for the prompt application of smelling salts.
While this was going on, Conan Williams, the as-
sistant of the inventor, came into the room, and
when he realized the meaning of the scene acted
like a man who was bereft of his senses. He re-
covered quickly and then gave his attention to the
distracted girl. It was a trying time for all, but
Barnes did not fail to notice the tenderness with
which Williams treated Hilda Helverson. It was
not the ordinary sympathy with which one treats a
fellow creature who is in trouble. It was more than
this, and the detective was not surprised when he
learned later that the two young persons were en-
gaged to be married. He was given to understand
that it was a secret engagement, and but for the
unfortunate tragedy might not have been made pub-


The Bolted Door 49
lic for some time. But death breaks down all arti-
ficial barriers, and Williams, with much manliness,
said the time had come when he should act as a
protector to the girl who had been so unexpectedly
deprived of her natural guardian.
After they had gone, Barnes made a second tour
of the house. The Japanese servant, Sarto Joseph,
had arrived and he assisted the detective in his search
of the place. There was absolutely nothing in the
upper part of the house to throw any light on the
mystery, and Barnes came to the conclusion that the
solution, if there were any solution, would have to
be found in the living room. It was almost de-
void of ornament, just the sort of room that might
have been expected to appeal to a man of the tem-
perament of such a man as Hugh Helverson. Over
the old-fashioned fireplace was a large oil painting
of the father of the dead inventor. It might not
have passed muster as a work of art, but it was a
striking piece of work just the same. A pair of
keen eyes seemed to peer out at the spectator. The
Japanese servant said that Helverson was fond of


50 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
gazing at this picture and had more than once de-
clared that he got the inspiration for his work by
looking at it. The eyes, he declared, followed one
about the room. Sarto shivered as he gave the de-
tective this bit of information. Barnes tried the ex-
periment, and then assured the frightened servant
there was nothing supernatural about the business.
It was merely an optical delusion which he had often
found in other pictures.
At this point Captain Mayne came hurrying into
the house, followed by another naval officer.
“See here, Barnes,” he cried, “in the excitement
we forgot all about the invention. The Secretary
couldn't get here but he told me to find out about
it.”
The veteran investigator smiled sadly.
“I haven't forgotten it by any means, only I felt
that we had more pressing business to attend to at
first.”
Even while he spoke, he was walking in the direc-
tion of the room in the rear of the house. The door
was locked, as he had expected. He walked back


The Bolted Door 51
to the prostrate body on the floor of the living room,
and gently searching the pockets of the dead man,
found a bunch of keys. Instinctively he recognized
the key of which he was in search. Once again he
made for the rear apartment and this time suc-
ceeded in getting within. Captain Mayne followed
him, and the first thing the two men noticed was a
covered object resting on a long table. The detec-
tive threw off the covering and exposed a curious
looking model — whale shaped and with a sharp
point at the bow. The naval officer examined it
with feverish haste. Presently he gave a loud ex-
clamation, an exclamation of mingled joy and
amazement:
“He’s got it! He's got it!
Barnes looked at him sharply.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, grab-
bing the young man and peering into his face.
“About this invention!” Mayne cried. “It's the
thing that we have sought in vain for years. It's
precisely the thing needed by the Government, and
never more than at this particular minute. It's


52 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
- *
perfect in every particular. I’ll stake my reputa-
tion as a man and a sailor on the assertion that this
contrivance is going to revolutionize naval warfare.”
“Do you think it has been tampered with in any
way?” asked Barnes.
Captain Mayne made a second examination of the
queer looking object on the table, and when he had
concluded, said:
“No — it's in perfect order.”
The detective gave a sigh.
“I’m glad for the sake of the Government,” he
said, “but I’m sorry on another account, and that is
that it makes the death of Helverson more of a mys-
tery than ever. The quickest way of solving a crime
is to find the motive. Get the motive, and it will
not take long to get the man. If I could feel that
the spies of some other Government were interested
in the death of Helverson or the destruction of his
invention, I'd have something to work on. But
you've taken that from me.”
Captain Mayne's rosy cheeks took on an added
hue. He scratched his head and said presently:


The Bolted Door 53
“It's just possible that a cast might have been
made from this model. But I doubt it, and, in any
event, why should they have left the patent unin-
jured, and at the disposal of the United States?”
“That's so,” admitted Barnes, “but there's a
possibility that they might have been frightened off
before they completed their program.”
The detective and the Assistant Secretary of the
Navy walked up and down the room while they
talked. Mayne was making his tenth turn about the
apartment when he suddenly halted.
“Say,” he cried, “have you thought of Sarto?”
“What — the Jap?”
“The very same. He knows more than his
prayers, and if I were you I'd give him the
third degree.”
Barnes was thoughtful.
“No,” he said, after a while, “I won't give him
the third degree. If he's as shrewd as you say, he'll
beat us at that game. But I'll have him watched
day and night.”
Hugh Helverson was buried with all of the official


54 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
honors that it was possible for a grateful nation
to bestow. His invention ever afterwards bore his
name and it was conceded to be the most important
gift that had been made to civilization in a decade.
Both before and after the funeral, Barnes was bus-
ily engaged upon the case, but at the end of the
seventh day he was almost ready to confess defeat. -
This was a most unusual attitude for the old man,
but he confessed that the case was a most unusual
one. That a man should be shot and killed in a
house that was closed and bolted, and that not a
single clew to the manner of his death be found was
mystifying indeed.
The thing was so uncanny that it began to get on
the nerves of the veteran. But it was at this stage
of the game that he became more determined than
eVer.
“The most improbable things are the most prob- .
able—after they've been solved,” was the epigram
he hurled at Captain Mayne one afternoon.
The young naval officer looked at the detective
meditatively. He was interested in the search —
*


The Bolted Door 55
deeply interested, and the excitement of the chase
was beginning to get into his veins. They were in
the apartment of Bromley Barnes at the time, and
the youthful Assistant Secretary of the Navy sud-
denly felt a desire to personally solve the mystery.
“You said in the beginning,” he remarked, “that
it was absolutely necessary to find the motive for a
crime before you could discover the criminal.”
Barnes puffed lazily at a cigar and watched the
smoke curl about his head.
“I think I made some remark to that effect,” he
conceded.
“Well, why not apply that theory in this case?
And if you do, how would you start?”
“By finding out all I could about Helv
his fads, his purposes in life, and so on.”
“Very good,” conceded Captain Mayne, “that's
settled. How would you take the first step in that
direction?”
The old investigator, without answering reached
up to his bookshelf, and pulled down a red-covered
volume of “Who’s Who in America” and quickly
-


The Bolted Door 57
“but I have a theory of my own that I would like
to test.”
“What is it?”
“It concerns Conan Williams, the assistant to
Hugh Helverson. I’ve learned some things about
that young man, and I’d like to cross-examine him in
your presence. And I want to do it in the room
where the body of the old man was found.”
Barnes chuckled.
“The old theory of the scene of the murder, eh?
It's too late to compel him to place his hand on the
dead body of the victim.”
The tone of the detective displeased the young
111a11.
“It’s easy enough to laugh at me,” he retorted,
“but I don't see that you have accomplished much.
What I want to know is whether I have your per-
mission to go ahead.”
“You certainly have. I’ll help you, too, be-
cause your little experiment may throw some light
on the situation.” -
So it came about that a queer little group gathered


58 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
in the little cottage on the following afternoon.
There were Barnes, Cornelius Clancy, Captain
Mayne, Sarto Joseph, the Japanese valet of the dead
inventor, Hilda Helverson, and Conan Williams.
They were all keyed up to a high pitch, and as they
seated themselves in the living-room there was a
sense of expectancy that filled the darkened apart-
ment. Williams was nervous and ill at ease, and
his pale face seemed whiter than ever in contrast
with his coal black hair and his blazing, black eyes.
Captain Mayne, toying with a pencil, turned to the
young man with an air of carelessness:
“Mr. Williams,” he said, “I believe that you were
associated with Hugh Helverson in most of his in-
ventive work?”
“I was,” came the quiet reply.
“I’m told that you were especially interested in
the submarine destroyer which was his final, if not,
his greatest work?”
“No one knows how intensely interested I was in
that particukar bit of work.”
“You helped him with it — a little bit?”


The Bolted Door 59
“I helped him with it a great deal,” came the
passionate retort, with emphasis on the last two
words.
The unexpected display of feeling caused every
eye to turn on the white-faced young man. Cap-
tain Mayne, still toying with his pencil, gave a smile
of satisfaction.
“It's just as I thought,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you were jealous of Hugh Hel-
verson's growing fame.”
“It's a lie!'” shouted Williams. “But,” he added
in a lower tone, “I’ll admit that I have never been
given credit for the part I had in many of his in-
ventions. The world applauded him. I was un-
noticed. No one paid any more attention to me
than they did to the chair in his workshop, or the
hammer in his hand.”
“Oh, Conan,” murmured Hilda Helverson,
“please don't talk in that dreadful way.”
A twitch of pain distorted his white face. He
turned to her appealingly.


60 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Hilda,” he begged, “you know I'm telling the
truth.”
Love and distress were mingled in the glance she
gave him.
“I know what you did,” she replied, quietly, with
emphasis on the personal pronoun, “but father was
too absorbed in his work to pay any attention to the
instruments he used — human or inanimate.”
During this little aside, Bromley Barnes, sitting
behind the others, kept his eye rested upon the in-
ventor's assistant. Captain Mayne, immensely
pleased with his cross-examination, resumed the at-
tack.
“We'll pass the question of jealousy and rivalry,”
he said, “and come to something more important.
Mr. Williams, do you recall a conversation you had
with Hugh Helverson on the night before he was
killed P”
A wave of color rushed over the pale face of
Conan Williams. He moistened his lips with the tip
of his tongue. He spoke in a low voice:
“I do.”


The Bolted Door 61
“Isn't it a fact that you had a quarrel with him
and that you threatened him?”
The silence that followed the question was op-
pressive. Every eye was on the young man. Every
ear waited with expectancy. It seemed a full min-
ute before the answer came. The two words were
literally torn from the victim:
“It is,” he said.
A feeling of horror oppressed every one in the
little room. Hilda Helverson was weeping silently,
and the others were breathing heavily. Captain
Mayne arose as if he could no longer contain
himself. Williams followed his example. The
young naval officer pointed his finger at the
witness.
“One more question,” he said. “Isn't it a fact
that you were lurking in the shadow of this house on
that last fatal night — lurking behind the trees when
Hugh Helverson came into that doorway for the last
time?”
A cry of anguish came from the lips of Hilda
Helverson.


62 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Oh, this is cruel!” she exclaimed, “this is too
terrible! You must not go on with it!”
Strangely enough, Conan Williams suddenly be-
came the most self-possessed person in the room.
His face was as white as chalk and his lips were
compressed, but he faced the ordeal with calmness
and courage. Captain Mayne was excited and so
were the others, but the waves of emotion beat about
the suspected man without disturbing him. The
cross-examiner spoke shrilly:
“I’m sorry for you, Miss Helverson,” he said,
“but I must have an answer from Mr. Williams.”
But Williams stood there as still as a statue, and
as though he had lost his hearing. -
“I insist upon a reply,” shouted Mayne; “were
you lurking in the grounds when Hugh Helverson
came into the house? Answer me yes, or no?”
“Yes,” replied Williams.
A shocked silence fell upon the group. It was
broken by a despairing wail from Hilda Helverson.
“Tell them everything, Conan. If you love me,
tell the whole story.”


The Bolted Door 63
“I have nothing more to say,” was the dogged
response.
“Tell us what you were doing there,” commanded
Mayne, and as he spoke, he stamped his foot on the
floor with anger and determination.
His heavy boot came down with such force that it
shook the pictures on the wall. The oil painting of
the father of Hugh Helverson, which hung over the
fireplace, sagged and assumed a crooked position.
It gave the venerable one a rakish appearance. One
eye was discolored. He seemed to be leering at the
little company, and to be enjoying their discomfiture.
Barnes noticed it and, with his ever-present sense of
the artistic, went over to straighten it. He spent
some time examining the picture and the frame. As
he stood there he heard Williams announcing for the
third time:
“I have nothing more to say.”
“If you refuse to explain this matter to us
you may be forced to explain it in a court of
law.” -
Hilda Helverson gave a scream.


64 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Oh, Conan,” she cried, “please tell every-
thing.”
Williams looked about him haughtily. He
glanced at Mayne.
“Am I to understand that I am accused of mur-
dering Hugh Helverson?”
The captain was about to speak when Bromley
Barnes stepped forward.
“I’ve been playing second fiddle for you young
folks,” he said quietly, “but I think it's time for
me to take charge of the performance.”
They all looked at him inquiringly, and he pro-
ceeded:
“Captain Mayne has been making an experiment
here, and it has not been entirely successful —”
“But,” interrupted that person hotly, “you
haven't given me time to finish. If you will kindly
stand aside for a few minutes I think we'll be able
to clear up this mystery.”
“I don't think so,” replied the old man, not un-
kindly. “Now, I want to make a proposition to
you. I've learned something to-day and I want to


The Bolted Door 65
make a little experiment of my own. I want you
all to come here at midnight and I'll undertake to re-
produce the events of that eventful night. In a
word, I hope — with the kind assistance of Mr.
Williams — to show you exactly how Hugh Hel-
verson was killed.”
Conan Williams looked at the detective with dis-
tended eyes.
“What — what do you mean?” he faltered.
The old investigator placed his hand on the shoul-
der of the young man.
“My friend,” he said, “I take it that you are
anxious to clear up this mystery.”
“Why — yes.”
“Then do as I tell you, and I promise that the
whole business will be perfectly understandable be-
fore the dawn of another day.”
Williams looked miserable. Nevertheless, he
nodded his head in assent. Hilda Helverson, her
fair face clouded with grief, took his arm as a means
of showing the love she had for him. They left the
house with Bromley Barnes and Captain Mayne


66 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
bringing up the rear. The officer spoke to the de-
tective.
“But Williams — will he be here?”
Barnes smiled.
“I pledge you my word that he will be here at
the appointed time.”
Just as the party reached the end of the graveled
walk, Williams turned and addressed them:
“I hope,” he said, brokenly, “that you won't mis-
understand my outburst. I — I loved Hugh Hel-
verson, and I think he was the greatest genius of his
time. He deserves and is entitled to all of the
credit for this submarine device. It is his and his
alone. I helped, but I have sense enough to realize
that his was the guiding mind. But I have led a
life of self-effacement and — and I guess his death
must have gotten on my nerves.”
Then he turned abruptly, and giving his arm to
Hilda Helverson, marched away.
It was a few minutes before midnight when a
ghostly looking procession filed up the graveled path
leading to the door of the cottage on Woodley Road.


The Bolted Door 67
Bromley Barnes, immaculately attired, was in the
lead, and directly behind him was Cornelius Clancy,
keenly alive to the possibilities of an adventure.
Hilda Helverson, dressed in deep black, and with her
countenance showing traces of grief and anxiety,
was followed by Sarto Joseph and Captain Mayne.
The young naval officer had the air of a man who
is oppressed with a sense of responsibility. He said
nothing, but at intervals the flicker of a smile about
the lips indicated that he was attending the per-
formance from a sense of his regard for Bromley
Barnes and that he looked upon the whole business
with unfeigned skepticism.
The party made its way into the hallway, and the
detective skillfully guided each person along the far
side of the entrance and to a chair that had been
previously placed in the living room. When they
had all taken their places in this manner, the investi-
gator locked the front door. There was a dim light
in the room, but by peering about, it was possible to
distinguish objects. For instance, all present could
discern the oil painting of the father of Hugh Hel-


68 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
verson which hung in its accustomed place over the
fireplace. Even in the semi-darkness the eyes of
that counterfeit presentment seemed to glare out
with a force and distinctness which had been char-
acteristic of the dead inventor. Also, the dull light
cast its rays upon the large rug which covered the
entrance to the room, two or three feet from the
doorway.
Barnes busied himself in examining the shutters,
and in making final preparations for his experiment.
When he had finished, he turned to the others and
said:
“I have endeavored to place this house in pre-
cisely the condition it was on the night when Hugh
Helverson entered and met his fate. I have been
particular to see that every door in the rear has been
bolted and every window locked. The front door,
of course, is deadlocked, and may be opened from
the outside with a latch key. If you gentlemen de-
sire to investigate these things for yourself, you are
at liberty to do so.”
There was silence after this, and then the voice


The Bolted Door 69
of Captain Mayne could be heard as he said in a tone
of irony:
“Go ahead, Barnes. We are sure that you have
nothing concealed up your sleeves. But I wish you
would hurry the show for I have important business
to look after.”
“The show — as you call it — will begin as the
clock strikes the hour of midnight. A gentleman
of my acquaintance has consented to impersonate
Hugh Helverson, and will endeavor to repeat
what we suppose were his movements on that fatal
night.”
A hush fell over the assemblage — a hush that
cast a sort of awe over all present. A sob came
from the lips of Hilda Helverson. It was a hysteri-
cal cry and gave a faint notion of the strain under
which she was laboring. The quiet, the semi-dark-
ness and the nervousness of the participants gave
the affair the appearance of a spiritualistic seance.
The ticking of the clock on the mantel was the only
sound to relieve the tenseness of the moment. Sud-
denly a cry burst forth from Captain Mayne:


70 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Hold on there, Barnes — there's something
missing.”
“What do you mean?” asked the investigator.
“I mean that Conan Williams is not here. He's
the most important one of all. To give this per-
formance without Williams is like presenting
“Hamlet” without the Dane. Besides, you prom-
ised me that he would be here. I suppose it's all
right, but it looks mighty queer. If he couldn't
stand the strain —”
“It is all right,” assured the detective; “I said
that Williams would be here, and he will be. Just
be patient.”
After this outburst, all became quiet again. The
seconds passed by with leaden-like slowness. Even
in the gloom it was plain that the thing was getting
on the nerves of the participants. Just when it had
reached the breakable point, the clock in a near-by
steeple struck the hour of midnight. Before the
last stroke pealed forth the little time piece on the
mantel rang out twelve times. As it ceased the
silence, by contrast, seemed more tense.


The Bolted Door 71
Suddenly a sound of footsteps on the porch at-
tracted attention. There was a scratching around
the keyhole, and the next moment they knew that
the door was being opened. Through the gloom
they saw the figure of a man with his hat drawn
down over his eyes. He turned and closed the door
and carefully bolted it. Then he advanced with de-
liberation. As his face was turned to the inside,
they recognized the newcomer as Conan Williams.
He stepped upon the large rug and the moment he
did so there was a loud explosion, accompanied by
a cloud of smoke, and they saw that he had been
struck upon the breast, just in the region of the
heart, by a black object.
Barnes and Clancy turned up the lights and every
one else leaped forward. Williams stood there un-
injured, gazing at the picture of the father of Hugh
Helverson. The gaze of all present followed his
and they saw a little stream of smoke issuing from
one of the eyes in the picture. The detective rushed
forward and raised the rug and they saw a tiny wire
in the floor that led to the wall and from thence back


72 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
of the picture above the mantel piece. Before any
one could speak, Barnes exclaimed:
“Now, gentlemen, you may all look upon the
solution of the mystery of the bolted door!”
While he spoke he removed the portrait, and be-
hind it, with the smoke still curling toward the ceil-
ing, they beheld a pistol carefully balanced so that
its muzzle must have been directly behind the left
eye of the picture.
Barnes briefly told them how the whole thing had
been contrived. The inventor, fearful that some
one might enter the house in his absence and steal
the secret of the submarine destroyer, had con-
structed a device which meant death to the one that
stepped upon the rug. It was ingenuity almost
supernatural.
“Unfortunately,” concluded the old investiga-
tor, “Hugh Helverson was the victim of his own
contrivance. Filled with the thought that his great
invention had at last been completed, he came here
forgetful of the trap he had set to catch the one
that might try to pilfer his idea.”


The Bolted Door 73
“But Williams’s quarrel with Helverson,” inter-
jected Mayne, “what about that? And why was
he lurking about the house?”
“That quarrel came about because Helverson re-
fused to agree to his marriage with his daughter,”
replied Barnes, quietly, “and he came here on the
fateful night to renew his request for the girl's hand.
But at the last moment, his heart failed him and he
left without speaking to Helverson. There was
really no reason why he should not have told you
this, but he is young and chivalrous, and he felt
that it would not be fair to Miss Hilda to reveal the
unfortunate domestic episode.”
It was a saddened, but satisfied, group that left the
little cottage shortly after midnight. Hilda Helver-
son was weeping silently, her grief over the death of
her father strangely mingled with the joy over the
acquittal of the man she loved. Captain Mayne
tried to forget his chagrin over his admiration for
the cleverness of the detective.
“You said “find the motive and you will find
the man,’” he remarked to Barnes, with just a trace


74 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
of complaining in his voice, “but I don't exactly see
the connection in this case.”
“The connection is perfect,” said the veteran,
“and it came to me when I read the biography
of Helverson in the copy of “Who's Who.” When
I read there that he was the inventor of a contrivance
to catch burglars I got my first clew — a clew that
became perfectly clear when I discovered that one
of the eyes of the portrait had been shot away. It
was a trifle, but upon such trifles have hinged the
solution of many of the world's strangest mysteries.”


III
ADVENTURE OF THE SCRAP OF PAPER
BROMLEY BARNEs and Admiral Hawksby sat on
either side of a flat-topped desk in the Navy Depart-
ment, talking in low, earnest tones. The grizzled
face of the old sea fighter looked sterner than usual,
while the attentive, earnest countenance of the vet-
eran investigator indicated that he fully appreciated
the importance of the communication which was be-
ing made to him. The purport of it was simple
enough, and sufficiently alarming to call for prompt
action. The secrets of the Department were being
peddled to the enemy. Orders, that were presum-
ably known to only three persons in Washington,
were finding their way to hostile quarters with a
rapidity and a certainty that was almost uncanny.
“We’ve got to locate the leak, Barnes,” said the
admiral, emphasizing the remark with a resounding
75


76 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
blow on the desk with his closed fist, “ or I'll feel
like handing in my resignation.”
An incredulous laugh came from the bald-headed
man with the fringe of iron-gray hair which en-
circled his head with a halo-like effect.
“Resign,” he retorted; “that sounds like retreat,
and I didn't think that word had any place in the
vocabulary of the man who ran the blockade —”
“Never mind that,” hastily interrupted Hawksby,
who feared the usual eulogy for the gallant action
which had won him a gold medal and the thanks of
Congress; “you know what I mean. I feel so im-
potent in this underhand business that I scarcely
know what to do. If it was an out-and-out, face-
to-face fight, I'd know just how to act. I'm depend-
ing on you to get to the bottom of the thing. Will
you help me?”
“Yes,” was the prompt reply, “but you've got to
help me first. Now, you say the last message that
was intercepted related to the movements of the
Asiatic fleet. Please let me see a copy of the order.”
The admiral pressed a button on the desk, and in


The Scrap of Paper 77
a few moments a young man, with coal black hair
and brown skin, entered the room.
“Lee,” said the sailor, “get me the order book.
I think you will find it in the copying press.”
As the Admiral sat stroking his mustache and
imperial, Barnes looked at him curiously
“Who is that man?” he asked.
“That chap — oh, that's a West Indian who acts
as a sort of personal servant to me.”
“Do you mean to say that he has access to the
copy book and is given the run of the place?”
Hawksby drew himself up stiffly.
“I don't know what you mean by the ‘run of the
place '- and, besides, the orders are in code and
would be Greek to him or any other man except to
myself and the Secretary of the Navy.”
Presently the messenger returned, and for the
next ten minutes the two men were deeply engrossed
in the intricacies of the naval code and the details of
how the orders had been transmitted. Barnes asked
a hundred and one questions and finally departed
with the intimation that he might return and ask


78 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
some more before he started in on his difficult task.
“It all depends upon circumstances,” he said,
“and, in the meantime, I’m going to take a long
walk to get the cobwebs out of my head.”
He went to his apartments near the Capitol first,
and gave some general orders to his assistant and
general factotum. He consulted a number of maps
and then he started out on one of the long strolls
which had made him as familiar with the streets
of the National Capital as the famous Caliph was
with the equally celebrated city of Bagdad.
No member of the Cabinet, and not one of the
foreign diplomats at Washington could have been
more fastidious in his dress than this investigator
who had come from his retirement to assist his
Government during a critical stage in its history.
The frock coat, the carefully creased trousers, the
gray spats, the opal in his green tie, and the tightly
rolled silk umbrella which took the place of a walk-
ing stick, were all just as they should be — or at
least, just as Barnes felt they should be. He walked
up one street and down another, thinking all the


The Scrap of Paper 79
while of the problem that had been given into his
care. A stranger, noting the cold gray eyes and
the quizzical smile, would have thought him a man
without a care in the world. He must have been
walking for an hour when his steps led him into
that section of the city known as Farragut Circle.
He noticed, in a casual way, that an automobile was
standing in front of one of the houses. And then
an incident, seemingly insignificant in itself, roused
all of his thinking faculties.
The driver of the car had taken the cover from
a sandwich. Instead of tossing it aside he care-
fully rolled the oiled paper into a little ball and
threw it on the sidewalk. At the same moment a
nattily dressed man with a waxed mustache and a
pink carnation in the buttonhole of his stylish coat,
came down the steps of the house and picked up
the discarded bit of paper. He looked up and down
the street in a nervous manner, as if to make sure
that he was not observed, and then turning briskly,
rečntered the house. The incident did not take a
minute, but to the watching Barnes it was like a


80 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
drama itself. Instantly the driver of the car put his
foot on the lever of the machine and it whizzed
away. But in that brief time the detective had ob-
tained the number of the machine and a mental pic-
ture of the chauffeur. He noted the number and
location of the house, and then, with his quizzical
smile broadening, hastened to his own apartment.
On the morning after the incident of the oiled
paper, a new janitor appeared at the apartment house
on Farragut Circle. He wore a blouse and over-
alls and seemed to fit into the scheme of the place
much better than the house itself did with the richer
and more pretentious dwellings with which it was
surrounded. The new tyrant of the place was most
industrious and showed a desire to please that was
truly amazing upon the part of a modern janitor.
His round face and bald head were smudged with
soot and dirt, and his features were all but recogniz-
able. But even the evidence of praiseworthy toil
could not change the cold, gray eyes and the quizzi-
cal smile which were a part of the personality of
Bromley Barnes. He made friends with every-


The Scrap of Paper 81
body—especially the women and children — and
he had the run of the house, which was to be ex-
pected in one who was presumably charged with its
destinies.
In twenty-four hours the new janitor was familiar
with the place and its occupants. No matter how
unkempt he might seem himself, he showed a real
desire to keep the house tidy. Residents were de-
lighted to find a man who was willing to carry off
the contents of their waste paper baskets and trash
cans, and they were united in designating him as “a
jewel ” of a janitor. On the evening of the second
day the new man sat in his quarters in the basement
of the house smoking a corn-cob pipe and looking
the picture of contentment. But later that night,
when most of the guests were sleeping the sleep of
the just, the janitor had pulled down the blinds
of his own modest apartment and was restlessly
pawing over scraps of paper that had been found in
the waste baskets.
For more than an hour he worked there, with a
patience and a persistence beyond all praise. At the


82 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
end of that time he began to show signs of weari-
ness. But just when he seemed ready to quit, he
gave a cry of delight. He had found a little scrap
of oiled paper, twisted and rolled into a tiny ball.
Slowly and carefully he unrolled it and spread it
out on the little wooden table. It contained several
typewritten lines which the old man found some dif-
ficulty in deciphering. But the hardest task has its
end and finally he was able to read these significant
words:
“Gunboats Philadelphia and Newark have been
ordered to join the Asiatic fleet. 200 jackies have
been assigned to special duty in this connection.
Ammunition in large quantities is to be shipped.
More details in the next twenty-four hours.”
Bromley Barnes gave a sigh of relief. He picked
up the little scrap of paper reverently and placed it
in his wallet. Then, with that quizzical smile hov-
ering about his lips, he undressed and went to bed
to enjoy a well-earned night's rest.
Things in the apartment house moved along in
their accustomed grooves for some days. The man
with the waxed mustache and pink carnation did not


The Scrap of Paper 83
appear to have any occupation, yet for a man with-
out regular employment he seemed to be amazingly
busy. Percival Roberts, for by that name he was
addressed, had a room near the top of the house —
an attic room that by no means corresponded with
his careful dress and fastidious manners. He sug-
gested a person who spends much time at the bar-
ber's, and regarded the manicuring of his nails as a
sort of religious rite. Such a one was not likely to
bestow much attention on a mere janitor, and when
the bald-headed man with the cold gray eyes and the
quizzical smile passed him on the stairs, Roberts did
not even deign to throw a glance in his direction.
There were many things that the wax-mustached
person was not, but there was one thing he was —
or thought he was — and that was a lady killer.
One morning he was coming out of the house
when he passed a young woman with a singularly
attractive face. She had taken an apartment on the
third floor back and Mr. Percival Roberts made it
his business to find out all about her. Gossip flows
quite as freely in the modern apartment house as it


84 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
formerly did in the less pretentious boarding
house, and by putting this and that together, the
young man learned a number of things. First,
she was Miss Marie Johnson, and she had come
from the far West for the purpose of attending
an art school in Washington. Secondly, she
had been quite as much taken with Mr. Percival
Roberts as he had been with her. That was a
hopeful beginning, and before long he had managed
to make her acquaintance, and even offered to escort
her to the institution where she proposed to take
up the study of art. But she smilingly declined this
on the ground that it was not wise to mix business
with pleasure.
In less than a week, however, the acquaintance
had prospered to such an extent that Miss Johnson
accepted an invitation to accompany Mr. Roberts to
the theater, and after that he pressed his suit with
much ardor. She did not precisely repulse him, but
she tried to make him understand that she had a
serious purpose in life, and that she did not propose
to be diverted from the plan which had brought her


The Scrap of Paper 85
to the National Capital. She let him know that she
admired men with a purpose in life, and gently inti-
mated that his indolent existence did not promise
well for the woman who would consent to be his
wife. The bald-headed man with the fringe of gray
hair, and the cold gray eyes and the quizzical smile
noticed the growing intimacy between the pair, and
he merely shrugged his shoulders as much as to
say that in the matter of love he could not be re-
garded as a competent authority. But Percival Rob-
erts felt that when it came to the tender passion he
was in his element, and he plainly was flattered at
the evident impression he had made upon the studi-
ous young woman.
It was on the evening of the fifth day that Per-
cival found himself in the cozy sitting room of Marie
Johnson, making his first formal call. He found it
very pleasant there. The apartment, furnished with
exquisite taste, made an appropriate setting for the
girl. She was not “beautiful” in the usually ac-
cepted sense of that much-abused word. But she
was undeniably fascinating. He took in every de-


86 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
tail of the picture — and it satisfied him. Her coal
black hair, parted in the middle, and glowing with
life and vitality, her dark, gray eyes, full of spirit
and intelligence, and the masterful manner — al-
ways feminine — in which she carried herself, con-
vinced Percival that here at last was the one girl
in the world for him. They talked of indifferent
topics for some time, and finally the young man, tak-
ing her shapely hand in his, began to declare his
passion. She did not withdraw her hand, neither
did she show any inclination to encourage his words.
There was just the right degree of modesty mixed
with friendliness.
“My dear,” he began, “you have my happiness
in your keeping. Marie, I want to ask —”
But at this point there was a terrific hooting of an
automobile horn just outside the apartment house.
To the surprise of Marie, the ardent wooer dropped
her hand, and rising, walked over to the window.
One look was sufficient, for turning to her, he ex-
claimed:
“Pardon me, I'll be back in a moment.”


The Scrap of Paper 87
Before Marie realized what was going on, he had
grabbed his hat and hurried from the room. She
did not betray any emotion, disappointment or other-
wise, but she evidently possessed the curiosity of her
sex, because she went to the window and, raising
the sash, looked below. It was worth while, for a
curious performance was being enacted. An auto-
mobile had halted in front of the house. The driver
had just finished taking the covering from a sand-
wich. Instead of tossing the oiled paper to one side,
he rolled it into a small ball and then threw it, with
great deliberation, over on the sidewalk. At the
same moment, Mr. Percival Roberts, descending the
steps of the house, reached over and picked up the
discarded paper. The automobile, with a farewell
honk-honk, dashed away, while Roberts, with simu-
lated indifference, reëntered the house.
Marie closed the window and sat down and
awaited the return of the young man. Five minutes
and then ten passed, and still he did not come back.
Presently, with a look of determination on her face,
she left the room and ascended the staircase in the


88 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
direction of his apartment. It did not take long to
reach the entrance to his attic room. The door,
fortunately, was slightly ajar, and without the
slightest compunction Marie pushed it oper, and
entered.
Roberts was not there. The room was empty.
She glanced about hastily and noted the bareness of
its furnishings. There was a small cot in a corner
of the attic, but it seemed out of place because the
room was fitted up more like an office than a place of
habitation. A roll-top desk was against the wall
and it was open, showing a mass of papers in much
confusion as though the owner had left in a hurry.
What did it all mean? Where had Percival Roberts
gone? What was his occupation, and what was the
meaning of his sudden agitation? Presently Marie
noticed a light screen that shut off one corner of the
attic. She had gone too far to retreat, and walking
over, she moved the obstruction. She gave a gasp
because she saw revealed a flight of steps, leading
to a trap door that looked out on the roof. Slowly
and cautiously she began to climb the ladder and


The Scrap of Paper 89
continued until her head emerged into the outside
air.
“Zip-zip-zip’’ came from nearby, followed by a
spluttering sound. She looked in that direction,
and saw Roberts, his face white and concentrated,
working at an instrument. Like a flash, the truth
dawned on her. It was a wireless telegraph outfit
and he was the operator. Summoning all her
strength, she climbed on to the roof and stood there,
supporting herself by holding on to the edge of the
trap door. At that moment he looked up and saw
her standing there like an accusing spirit. His face
went white and his voice trembled:
“What are you doing here?”
The color had vanished from her countenance
too, and her eyes danced with excitement. Never-
theless, she managed to speak composedly:
“That is the very question I was going to ask
you. What are you doing up here like a thief in
the night?”
He had evidently finished with his telegraphing,
because he threw a cover over the outfit and ad-


90 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
vanced toward her in a threatening way. Her
words had cut him like a whip, and he approached
her shakily. Bewildered rage and childish fright
seemed to be struggling for the mastery. He
grabbed her by the wrist, and when he spoke again,
it was in a thick, husky voice:
“What do you mean by spying on me — what do
you mean by creeping up that ladder — what are
you doing here, anyhow P’’
She gave a long-drawn breath before she replied.
Her hand, holding the edge of the trap door, trem-
bled in spite of her effort to be composed, but pres-
ently she spoke in a voice that had a note of pathos
in it.
“Don’t — don't you think that you are the one
to explain? You leave me without a word of warn-
ing, and when I come to find you, I find you out on
the roof, acting — acting like a criminal.”
He pulled himself together. The look of half-
dazed fury left his face. He loosened his hold on
her wrist and spoke in low, tender tones:
“Forgive me, Marie, I — I lost control of my-


The Scrap of Paper 91
self. You scared me for a moment. I'm sorry.
Say that you'll forgive me for my nasty outbreak.”
She looked up at him with humid eyes. She
seemed to be seeing him through a mist. But this
passed quickly and she said:
“That's very well, but it doesn't explain any-
thing.”
He placed her arm about her waist, and began to
assist her gently down the rude ladder. He closed
the trap door, and presently they stood facing one
another in that attic room. The seconds seemed like
minutes, and when he spoke it was in a slow voice, as
though the words were being dragged from his re-
luctant lips:
“Marie, I'm going to tell you what I would not
tell another living soul. But — but you are en-
titled to know it. You have often asked me to tell
you my occupation. You wondered what I did for
— for a living. I'll tell you. I'm engaged in secret
service work.”
He had locked the door before he began to speak,
and she stood there now with her delicate fingers


92 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
nervously handling the knob. She seemed to be
quivering with terror. Then she raised a white
hand and pointed it at him in a shaky manner.
“You — you mean to say that you are a spy?”
His face reddened. That look of bewildered rage
returned for a second, and then he said doggedly:
“You can put it that way if you want to do so.”
She stood for a moment, swaying with fright.
Her voice was very low, and it quivered:
“And in the face of this, you have dared to make
love to me — you pretended to care for me.”
He rushed over to where she stood and threw his
arms about her in frantic fashion.
“Oh, Marie, can't you see that I have been doing
it for you — can't you see that I have been trying
to earn the reward that will make us independent?
I care for you more than anything in the world.
If you care for me, nothing else matters. Say that
I am forgiven. Say that you will be my wife.”
Her face hardened at that, and she spoke with de-
termination, with that air of decisiveness which he
had admired in her so much.


The Scrap of Paper 93
“If you care for me as much as you say, you will
tell me everything. Tell me the truth. You must
keep nothing from me. You were working against
the United States, against your own country. Isn't
that a fact?”
“Don’t put it that way. I'll tell you everything.
I have been representing another nation. You speak
of my country. What does that mean? I owe
nothing to the country. It has not even given me
the chance of making a decent living. And patriot-
ism" What is that? Merely a word. The work
I have been doing will give me the means to keep
you in comfort. We can go away and live in com-
fort for the rest of our lives.”
“But a traitor,” she murmured, “to be married
to a traitor!”
“Please don't talk like that,” he implored, “and
think only that I am doing it for you. The thing
we do for love cannot be wrong. And, Marie, I
love you so much.”
She melted at that and looked at him in a way
that seemed to say that she might forgive the of-


94 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
fense for the sake of the love. He grasped at his
opportunity as a drowning man grasps at a straw.
He led her to a chair and then began to fumble
among the papers on his desk. Presently he secured
a number of them in a package and he waved them
in front of her dark gray eyes.
“Look!” he exclaimed, “these few pieces of
paper carry with them the power to give us wealth
and happiness for the rest of our lives. Promise me
that you will say nothing of what you have seen.
In a few days all will be well, and then we may go
away and be happy with each other. You want to
be happy, don't you?”
“Yes,” she said softly, “I want to be happy.”
“Ah,” he shouted gayly, “I was sure that you
were a sensible woman; I realized that from the
start!”
She looked very tired standing there. There were
dark circles under her lustrous eyes, and her chin
seemed to quiver from weariness and excitement.
She looked at him appealingly.
“Now,” she said in a half whisper, “if you will


The Scrap of Paper 95
unlock the door, I will go to my own room. I need
rest.”
He moved as if to comply with her request, but at
that instant there came a sharp, peremptory knock
on the panel of the door. He opened it quickly, and
a smallish man, with coal black hair and brown skin,
confronted him. The visitor was agitated and he
spoke hurriedly:
“We have been discovered. They know about
the wireless. The police are likely to be here at any
moment. Getaway!”
As he uttered the last word, the black-haired,
brown-skinned man turned and ran down the stair-
way. Marie had heard all, and she looked the pic-
ture of fright and terror. Roberts' eyes had nar-
rowed as he received the message, but when he noted
the fear in her eyes he put his arms around her in a
comforting way. º
“It's all right, little girl. We have reached the
end of the chapter, but we won't go away empty
handed.”
He hastened to the desk and picked up a small


96 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
packet of papers. He fondled them as one might
a favorite child. He looked up with cupidity and
triumph in his face.
“They've discovered the wireless, but it's too late
to prevent the damage. I've got enough here to
shake the whole Department of State, not to
speak of the Navy. And there's a fortune in it
for us. And don't be frightened. I'll take care of
you.”
He moved toward her, and with a smothered cry
she clung to his shoulders. He saw that she was
white about the lips, and he could feel that she was
trembling. As they stood thus a gust of wind swept
beneath the closed door and rustled a bit of paper on
the floor. She gave a cry of terror and he let out
an oath.
“I’m like a skittish horse,” he said, half apolo-
getically, “but it will be all right. We'll have to
make a quick get-away. I'll call a taxicab and we’ll
shoot off to the Union Station.” He looked at his
watch. “We’ve just got time to catch the southern
train. Before they know it, we'll be at El Paso,


The Scrap of Paper 97
and then, once across the border and on Mexican
soil, I'll defy the whole bunch to get me.”
He was tossing articles of clothing into a grip
by this time, and then he paused for a moment to
say to Marie:
“You’d better go to your room and get a few
things together. We'll only have a few minutes.
Hurry. I'll have the cab by the time you're ready.”
The girl seemed to be more composed by this
time. She looked at him with a glance of endear-
ment.
“Percival,” she said softly — and the first men-
tion of his given name from her lips thrilled him —
“I’ll try to be useful. I’ll call the cab.”
He was delighted beyond measure by her accept-
ance of the situation. He stooped down and kissed
her on the lips. That one act seemed to change the
whole character of the enterprise. Instead of a
fugitive from justice, he felt like a man about to en-
ter on his honeymoon.
“Do so,” he murmured in return, “and by the
time it is here I will be all ready for you.”


98 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
During the next few minutes there were scenes of
feverish activity in that apartment house on Far-
ragut Circle. Percival Roberts lived in a Heaven
of his own creating. He pictured himself and his
beloved in a far-away land enjoying the fruits of
his “hard work.” But in the midst of his day
dreaming he roused himself to the actualities. If
the police were on the way he did not have much
time to spare. He finished his preparations in rec-
ord time, and started down stairs to meet Marie.
To his satisfaction, the door of her room was open
and he saw her standing there, attired for a journey,
and looking as neat and as pretty as anything he
had seen in a long while. He gave a sigh of joy.
His cup of happiness was full indeed.
She was fastening her gloves as he entered the
room, and she gave him a smile that thrilled him.
Quite evidently her scruples had vanished and she
was going to imitate him by making the most of her
life. He felt flattered, and as he tried to put his
thought into words she interrupted him to say pret-
tily, and with just a shade of deference:


100 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
the fifth time with intense pride and an undisguised
sense of ownership.
“Before you took those papers,” he cried, banter-
ingly, “I thought you were the loveliest girl in the
world. Now, you're that and more. You are the
most valuable. You're worth your weight in gold.
Those papers are worth millions to the enemy and
they mean wealth and comfort for us. I'm sure
you'll guard them — especially if anything should
happen to me.”
She gently boxed his ears.
“Don’t talk like a pessimist,” she cried; “it’s not
a bit like you — and, besides, there's a machine out
there tooting away for dear life.”
Two minutes later they were seated in the taxicab
to the relief of the driver who grumbled something
about having to wait all day for people that didn't
know the value of time. That seemed to amuse
Percival, who grimaced at the fellow behind his back
and whispered to Marie that time at that moment
was the most important thing in his life. He looked
at his watch and said to the girl:


The Scrap of Paper I01
“We've got twenty minutes, and I think it would
be wise to make a circuit instead of going directly
to the station. Then, if by chance we should be
followed, we can throw them off the scent.”
She laughed gayly.
“You’re the most cautious man I ever met.
They'll never catch you napping. But do just as
you please, my dear.”
Accordingly he gave direction to the green-gog-
gled chauffeur, who resolutely kept his back to his
passengers as if still resenting the indignity of hav-
ing to wait. But he nodded that he understood his
orders, especially the one which directed him to let
his two passengers off about a square from the Union
Station.
“That may keep them from knowing that we
actually went to the station,” he whispered with a
sagacious look at the girl.
The drive took them beyond the White House,
and then past the Army and Navy Building and the
Treasury Department. The driver kept mumbling
to himself as though he were questioning the sanity


102 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
of any one driving about the city at random while
the automatic clock was registering a fare that might
appal any one except a bride and groom. As they
passed the Navy Building a little man was seen en-
tering a conveyance.
“That's Admiral Hawksby,” explained Roberts
to his companion; “he's going home now after what
he calls a ‘hard day's work.’ He'll be the sorest
man in Washington when he hears of my escape.
But it serves him right, the arrogant old ass. He
thinks he knows it all, and he doesn't know any-
thing.”
For five minutes after that the man and the girl
simply sat and admired each other. It was a real
mutual admiration society, with only two members.
Marie Johnson certainly looked attractive. Her coal
black hair, parted in the middle, contrasted with the
coquettishness of her face, and her dark gray eyes
sparkled in the half gloom of the cab. Percival
complacently stroked his mustache and leaning to-
ward her, said tenderly:
“I’ll mark this day down as the luckiest day of


The Scrap of Paper 103
my life — the day you insured my happiness. And
if I only thought you fully reciprocated my feel-
ings —”
“I do,” she interrupted, “I do — and as soon as
I can get one I'm going to put a red mark around
the date on the calendar.”
They both laughed at this conceit, and after that
there was a blissful silence. It was broken by the
voice of the girl, speaking seriously and with a cer-
tain pathos:
“You’ve been very frank with me, Percival.
There is something I should tell you.”
He interrupted her with a loyalty that astonished
even himself. He had not thought he was capable
of such high flights.
“Never mind about your past, Marie — I don't
want to hear a word.”
“Oh, it isn't anything terrible,” she retorted with
feminine inconsistency; “I simply wanted you to
know that before I came to this city I was an actress.
Do you mind?”
Roberts laughed heartily.


104 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Mind? Well, I should say not. I should say it
was a sort of distinction. And I'll bet my bottom
dollar you were a mighty clever actress.”
“Well,” she said reflectively, “I know I wasn't
dismissed for incompetence.” w
By this time the outlines of the Union Station
began to loom in sight. Percival looked ahead and
prepared to alight as soon as the cab drove up to the
curb. On and on they went until they were within
a block of their destination. The spy uttered an
exclamation of impatience and called to the driver:
“Hey, out there — didn't I tell you to stop before
we got to the station?”
But the taxi went right ahead as though nothing
had been said. The young man half arose in his
seat. Marie turned to him with a look of alarm.
“What's the trouble? You mustn't do that while
the machine is in motion.”
Roberts fell back into his seat with a muttered
oath.
“It's that infernal driver. He's so stupid that
he doesn't know enough to do as I tell him. Well,


The Scrap of Paper 105
I guess we'll have to go into the station after
all.”
But, strangely enough, the taxicab did not go into
the regular driveway of the station. Instead, it
circled around the building and paused in front of
the entrance to a small room. The driver jumped
from his seat and opened the door. Percival Rob-
erts alighted first, and then assisted Marie to the
ground. He turned to give the driver a piece of his
mind for his stupidity, but that personage, with un-
looked for insolence, gave him a push and sent him
into the little room. Percival was furious and he
doubled up his fist menacingly. As he did so he no-
ticed a figure in the half-darkened room. It gave
him a start — and no wonder, for it was Admiral
Hawksby, stroking his mustache and imperial,
and with deep satisfaction depicted on his grizzled
face.
Roberts was scared, but he kept his self-possession.
The presence of the old sea fighter might be merely
a coincidence. He turned around to the driver of
the taxicab, and as he did so the stupid one tossed


106 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
away his glazed cap and took off his green goggles.
The spy looked at the other man with half-dazed
fury.
He was staring into the face of Bromley Barnes
— special investigator of the United States Govern-
ment.
Bewilderment filled his mind. Then gradually
he rallied. He looked around the room. The Ad-
miral and the detective were looking at him curi-
ously. Presently his eyes fell upon Marie John-
son. She stood by a table in the center of the
room, and she seemed to be trembling like a leaf.
Her head was buried in the folds of her coat and
her breast heaved convulsively. He remembered
that the incriminating papers were in the inside
pocket of her coat. In that instant his resolution
was formed.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, fingering the pink car-
nation in his coat, and with that nonchalant smile
which he could assume so quickly, “what is the
meaning of this?”
Barnes grinned at him amiably,


The Scrap of Paper 107
“We wanted to be sociable — we couldn't bear
to see you go off without saying good-by. We've
already got Lee Hallman and the code man.”
Roberts smiled in return, but his brain was work-
ing furiously. He looked again in the direction of
Marie. She seemed to be trying to control her emo-
tions. At any moment she might break down. He
must anticipate anything she might say. In those
seconds of thought any affection he might have felt
for her vanished into thin air. He felt a new emo-
tion — and yet it was not new. It was as old as the
everlasting hills. It was the impulse of self-preser-
vation. He was willing to sacrifice anything and
any one to save himself. He moistened his lips with
the tip of his tongue, and steadying himself, said
slowly:
“Well, gentlemen, you've anticipated me a little
bit, but still I think I can claim credit for helping
my country.”
The detective looked at him in a puzzled way.
When he spoke it was brusquely:
“What in thunder are you talking about?”


108 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
In reply to this question, Percival pointed an ac-
cusing finger in the direction of Marie.
“Simply this. I have arrested that woman as a
spy and I now desire to transfer her to your custody.
I still have some evidence to get, but I will appear
against her in the morning.”
The woman, who had been standing, sank into a
chair, as if in total collapse. She buried her face in
her hands and refused to look up.
Bromley Barnes gazed at the man with a curious
smile hovering about his lips. He spoke in a voice
of authority:
“Young man, it is one thing to accuse and another
to prove. Where is the proof of what you say?”
Percival Roberts took a turn up and down the
room before replying. He was considering the
dramatic effect of what he was about to say. Then
he pointed his hand at the girl for the second time
and exclaimed loudly:
“Search her and you will find a number of mes-
sages that have been intercepted from the Navy
Department. They are in the inside pocket of her


The Scrap of Paper 109
coat. I saw her put them there, and I am willing
to so testify in a court of law l’’
Something like a sob was heard to come from
the woman with the bowed head and then the mur-
mur in a muffled voice:
“Oh, Percival, how could you?”
Several speechless seconds passed. A dramatic
tableau was being enacted in the little room. Ad-
miral Hawksby broke the silence with one brusque
Sentence:
“Well, Barnes, why don't you search the
woman?”
The cold gray eyes of the investigator softened
just a little bit, and the quizzical smile became more
pronounced, but he went over to Marie and com-
manded her to arise. She did so and he unbuttoned
her coat, and took out the packet of letters from the
inside pocket. As he read them his eyes widened
and he emitted a low, significant whistle.
“Are these all of the papers?” he asked the girl.
“Yes,” was the reply with downcast eyes, “all
that I know anything about.”


110 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Percival Roberts had been watching her intently,
and her manner seemed to reassure him, for turn-
ing to Barnes, he exclaimed:
“You see, I've told the truth, and now if you'll
excuse me for the present, I'll appear at your office
the first thing in the morning.”
Barnes looked at him with a sort of contempt,
and then producing a whistle, blew it softly. Two
officers rushed into the room, and the next thing
Roberts knew he was on the floor of the patrol
wagon. He managed to regain his feet just as the
Admiral, the Detective and the Girl came out of the
railroad station. He turned to one of the officers
and pointed in the direction of the trio.
“Who —” he spluttered, “who is that woman go-
ing down the street?”
The policeman shaded his eyes with one hand in
order to get a better view of the girl, and then re-
plied, in the most matter-of-fact way:
“That? That's Miss Johnson — the smartest
little woman in the United States Secret Service.”


IV
ADVENTURE OF THE STOLEN MESSAGE
BroMLEY BARNEs cackled with delight. He sat
before the blazing logs in his cozy quarters over-
looking the dome of the Capitol, and fondled a very,
very old book. It was a copy of the first edition of
“Robinson Crusoe,” published April 25, 1719, and
was in three parts, the third part containing “The
Serious Reflections,” wherein the author uses Crusoe
as his mouthpiece to express his sentiments on
morals and religion. The venerable investigator
smoothed the cover of the volume as though it were
a living thing.
“I tell you, Clancy,” he exclaimed, “the time is
coming when I'll have the greatest known collection
of old and rare editions of ‘Robinson Crusoe.’”
“I guess you're right, sir.”
“Guess — there's no guessing about it. Already
111


112 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
*
I've collected two hundred separate editions of that
one work.”
“But what's the use,” said Cornelius, rubbing
his red head, “ of having two hundred editions of
the same book? Why not get one good edition and
be done —”
“Ah,” interrupted the old man, “you haven't the
heart of a true collector. If you had, you'd know
the joy of suddenly coming across a volume for
which you'd searched for years. You haven't the
heart of the simon-pure collector.”
“No,” admitted Con, with great directness and
simplicity, “I’ve just got the heart of a simon-pure
Irishman.”
The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted the
dialogue. Barnes answered it and when he hung
up the receiver, his face was grave and thoughtful.
Evidently something more important than “Robin-
son Crusoe’’ was on his mind.
“It's from the White House,” he said. “His
secretary intimates that the President would like to
have me call and see him.”


114 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
preparing the State papers, and concluded by
saying:
“I am so anxious to get at the bottom of this
thing, and so eager for an impartial inquiry that I
have determined not to make it through any of the
ordinary Government channels. I desire a thorough
and independent investigation, and have concluded
that you are the best man in the country for that
purpose.”
Barnes bowed.
“Mr. President, I appreciate the compliment
and trust that I may prove worthy of your con-
fidence.”
The head of the greatest nation on earth looked
at the detective intently, and there was a glint of de-
termination in the gray eyes.
“Do your duty,” he said, “and let no guilty
man escape!”
The President turned his attention to pressing af-
fairs of State, and Barnes was placed in the care of
his private secretary. That young man, eager, loyal
and bubbling over with the energy and enthusiasm


The Stolen Message II5
of youth, was even more anxious to solve the mys-
tery than was his chief.
“My relations with the President are of such a
confidential nature,” he explained, “that many per-
sons would only be too glad to place the responsibil-
ity of the leak at my door.”
“When did the last leak occur P”
“With the sending of the Venezuelan message —
we learned afterwards that it was known in Wall
Street before it was read in Congress.”
“When did you first see the message?”
“When I read it in the newspapers.”
Bromley Barnes looked at the young man in
surprise.
“Didn't you assist the President in preparing the
document for Congress?”
Wheatley shook his head and smiled happily.
“I am glad to say that I had nothing to do with it
in any manner, shape or form. Neither did any
member of the Cabinet. The President was the
only living person that had any knowledge of what
it contained.”


116 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“But how was it written — surely some stenog-
rapher was employed in its transcribing.”
Once again the young man shook his head.
“It may not be known to the general public, but
the President is an expert stenographer and type-
writer, and he prepared and wrote the paper without
assistance of any kind.”
“Where did he do the work?”
“In a little apartment in the executive depart-
ment. Come here and I'll let you see it for your-
Self.” -
The detective accompanied the private secretary
to a small room which formed part of the Presiden-
tial suite. It was not much more than an entry way
between two of the offices, but with the two doors
closed, it insured complete privacy. In a corner
was a typewriting machine in one of those tables
which can be closed and used as a cover for the in-
strument. There was a book case on one side of the
wall, filled with the usual works of reference. A
filing cabinet, a waste paper basket, an arm chair,
a couch and two ordinary cane-seated chairs com-


The Stolen Message 117
prised the furnishing of the apartment. The
chubby-faced secretary gave an eloquent wave of his
arin.
“Democratic simplicity all around you — doesn't
look much like a place for the hatching of plots,
eh?”
“No,” said Barnes, looking about him with alert,
eager eyes, “but is the general public permitted in
this room?” -
“Well,” replied the others, “that depends upon
what you call the general public. Callers on the
President pass through this room constantly. Sena-
tors, Representatives, heads of delegations, admin-
istrators of the various departments, and sometimes
those who wish to return home and say they had the
distinction of shaking hands with the Chief Execu-
tive of the Republic.”
“H'm,” murmured the detective, “I should say
that you kept open house.”
Wheatley smiled.
“You must understand,” he protested, “that
when the President is working in here no one is


118 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
allowed in the room. That's the mysterious part
of the business. The President came into this room
alone, locked both doors, sat down at that machine
and typed his own message. When he finished, he
folded the page of typewritten matter, enclosed it
in an envelope, put it in his pocket, and left the
room. That was seven o'clock in the morning; not
a soul was about. Even the cleaners who look after
the executive department had not arrived. The
President kept the document in his pocket until he
read it at the special session of Congress at five
o'clock in the afternoon. Yet the information in
that message reached Wall Street before noon, and
we hear that one man cleaned up a million dollars
by trading on the right side of the market.”
“It seems supernatural,” commented Barnes.
“It's damnable!” ejaculated the loyal secretary,
giving way to his indignation.
“Do you suppose,” asked the detective, mus-
ingly, “that the clicking of the keyboard could con-
vey anything to a person on the outside? You know
prisoners in cells, when they happened to be tele-


The Stolen Message II9
graph operators, have talked to one another by tap-
ping on the wall with a pencil.”
Wheatley shook his head.
“I’m a stenographer and typewriter, and I know
that the sounds from the keys are meaningless.”
Barnes smiled.
“That's what I supposed, but you know we've got
to consider every possibility.”
As he spoke, he moved around the room and made
a careful examination of each article. He looked
on each shelf of the book-case; he investigated the
couch, and finally he picked up the waste basket
and examined each scrap of discarded paper that it
contained.
“Tell me,” he said presently, “the names of the
men who habitually have access to this room.”
The secretary paused and reflected. Then he
began to tick off the names on the ends of his
fingers.
“There's Senator Hance, of the Committee on
Foreign Relations, Bert Stanley, the Associated
Press representative, Charley Fisher, the executive


120 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
clerk, Amos Brown, who cleans the offices, and —
and myself.”
While he was talking Barnes was writing the
names in a little memorandum book. The secretary
looked at him curiously.
“What are you going to do — shadow them?”
The detective put the book in his vest pocket.
“Wheatley,” he said calmly, “in an investigation
of this kind we've got to reverse the usual American
procedure — we've got to consider every man guilty
until his innocence is proven.”
The secretary nodded understandingly.
“Do you suppose,” continued Barnes, “that the
President had any notes of his message which he
might have afterwards discarded?”
“No, positively no,” was the emphatic reply.
“He told me particularly that he used no notes, and
that he carried the completed message away with
him.”
While they were talking, a bearded man in a blue
blouse, carrying a mop, came to the door of the
room. He halted and turned as if to go away.


The Stolen Message 121
“Come on in, Amos,” called the secretary, geni-
ally, and as he left the apartment, followed by
Barnes, he added, “that's Amos Brown, one of the
cleaners.”
At the doorway they met a sallow-skinned,
smooth-faced man who nodded to Wheatley and
went into the room. The detective looked after
him curiously.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Charley Fisher, one of the clerks in the Execu-
tive Department. We've only had him a few
months, but he's an invaluable man. Willing to
work early and late and never complains. He's an
all-round man, but we use him chiefly in carrying
papers to and from the Capitol.”
For the second time Bromley Barnes made a com-
plete survey of the office. He examined every crack
in the wall, and he minutely observed every bit of
furniture and each article in the room. He held a
whispered conversation with Secretary Wheatley
and made certain requests to which the young man
gave a ready assent.


122 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
After that he hurried to his apartments overlook-
ing the Capitol and handed Clancy the little book
with the names of the individuals who were to be
placed under surveillance. Then, to the amazement
of his assistant, he threw himself back into an easy
chair and began reading his latest copy of “Robin-
son Crusoe.” He noticed the puzzled look in the
young Irishman's face.
“It's all right, Clancy. You go ahead and do as
I've told you. In the meantime I'll get some inspira-
tion from this book. You may not know it, but it's
chock full of wisdom.”
And so the red-headed one left him, looking like
a man without a care in the world.
It was late in the afternoon when Clancy, having
shown his credentials to Secretary Wheatley, was
keeping a sharp lookout for all persons entering or
leaving the little room in the Executive offices. The
place was practically deserted and Amos Brown, the
cleaner, was engaged in his humble but necessary
work. He was old and he moved slowly. The
watcher, half hidden behind a screen, wondered if


The Stolen Message I23
he would ever finish his task. Suddenly he became
aware that another man was in the room. He wore
overalls and a blue jumper, and his face and part of
his bald head were smeared with dirt and grime.
Evidently a second man had been assigned to this
work, but Clancy wondered how he had obtained
admission without his knowledge. He felt a twinge
of self-reproach.
What would Bromley Barnes say, if he knew?
He resolved to make up for the lapse by renewed
vigilance from that moment. Also, he determined
to get a better look at the newcomer, and find out
who had assigned him to the work. The new man
seemed younger than Amos Brown, but he pottered
about with the same deliberation as the veteran.
Clancy watched him very intently. For an ordinary
cleaner, he seemed to display unusual curiosity about
his surroundings. He pawed over the books in the
rack, he poked the waste in the paper basket like
a scavenger, and altogether acted in a reprehensible
manner. Brown, who was near-sighted, did not
seem to notice this and presently the two men were


124 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
seen to be chatting together as though they were
life-long friends. After a little while, the new man
placed his mop in a corner of the room and started
for the door. When he reached there, Clancy
blocked the way.
“How did you get in here?” demanded the red-
headed one.
“Walked in, of course,” mumbled the other,
hanging his head.
He attempted to go past the vigilant sentinel, but
Clancy grasped him by the arm.
“Not so fast,” cried the young man; “look at
me and answer my questions!”
The man lifted his head, and something in the
gray eyes caused Clancy to give a gasp of suprise
“Bromley Barnes!” he ejaculated.
“Sure,” was the smiling response, “and now, if
you'll kindly make way for me, I’ll hurry home and
wash the grime of honest toil from my manly
brow.”
An hour later he was the bland, debonnair, culti-
vated, well-dressed Bromley Barnes the red-headed


The Stolen Message I25
and hopeful one knew so well. His eyes were danc-
ing, and Clancy knew from that, better than any
words, that he had obtained the initial clue which
made him plunge into a mystery with confidence and
enthusiasm. He waited for the information he
knew was coming.
“Now, Con,” said the old man after, a brief
silence, “if you'll just stick a revolver in your hip
pocket and come with me, we'll pay a little call.”
It was one of those clear, crisp winter days which
make the blood tingle, and the two men walking
along Pennsylvania Avenue, in the direction of the
Treasury Department, seemed to taste the joy of
living. It was a long walk, and presently the old
man turned off into one of the side avenues which
led into the residential section. They passed row
after row of fine homes, and finally came to a neigh-
borhood which had all of the appearance of being
run down at the heel. Barnes paused in front of
one of these dingy brick houses. On the sill of
the front window was a weather-beaten sign, read-
ing:


126 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
ERNEST Rosetti
TEACHER OF THE PIANO
The detective mounted the wooden steps and
pulled the knob of a bell that gave forth a squeaky
sound. After some delay the door was opened and
a poorly clad girl ushered them into a cold and
sparsely furnished room. Barnes asked to see the
professor, and the girl invited them to be seated
while she delivered their ºnessage.
Left alone, they had an opportunity of studying
their surroundings. An old-fashioned square piano
stood in one corner. On the other side was a flat-
topped table and a swivel chair. The table was
covered with books and papers, and beside it was a
waste-paper basket. Barnes walked over to the
basket and fished out some bits of paper. He pieced
them together on the flat table and, completed, they
formed a page of the stationery used in the Presi-
dential offices. The sheet was perfectly blank —
free of writing. But on the edge of the page was
the embossed inscription: “The White House.”
The sound of hesitating footsteps warned Barnes


The Stolen Message 127
that the man he sought was approaching. He has-
tily swept the bits of paper into the basket and re-
sumed his place on the sofa. The door opened and
a tall, thin man entered the room. He advanced
slowly, and as he stood there in silence, Clancy real-
ized that the newcomer was blind.
“Professor Rosetti, I believe?” said the detec-
tive, rising.
“Yes, sir,” was the reply, in a harsh voice; “what
can I do for you?”
“I understand,” said the old investigator, in his
smooth, purring tones, “that you teach the blind to
read and I wondered if you would take a pupil. I'm
told that you are the best exponent of the touch sys-
tem in this country.”
That last sentence had the desired effect. A
smile overspread the face of the blind man and he
sat down and invited his caller to do likewise. He
had the long thin fingers of an artist and a musi-
cian, and he talked enthusiastically of what he had
been able to accomplish with those wonderfully
sensitive fingers. They chatted for fifteen minutes,


128 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
and at the end of that time, Barnes promised to call
again.
Once outside of the house, the detective slapped
Clancy on the back in boyish fashion.
“This is easier than I expected,” he cried in great
glee.
“It's all Greek to me,” grumbled the red-headed
one, “and I cannot see what it's got to do with
your case.”
“You will see pretty soon,” was the retort, “and,
Con, you've got to help me to do a very disreputable
thing.” -
“What is it?”
“We're going to rob a blind man,” was the calm
reply; “do you understand me? We're going to
rob a blind man.”
Barnes, grinning at the amazement of his assist-
ant, walked a short distance away from the house,
halting behind the friendly shadow of a tree box.
From that point of vantage he could get a good view
of the studio of Ernest Rosetti. At his direction,
Clancy took his post on the other side of the street


The Stolen Message 129
from whence he could see any one that attempted
to leave or enter the rear of the house. It was
a long wait, but it was not a fruitless one. The
shrewd detective knew that he had interrupted the
blind man in the midst of some task, and he felt
instinctively that “something” was about to hap-
pen. In the midst of his cogitations a boy rang the
bell of the Rosetti house and was admitted. He
came out in about two minutes and walked down the
street whistling. Barnes gave the signal to Clancy,
and the two men trailed after the youngster. When
they reached a comparatively secluded spot the old
man suddenly faced the boy.
“Now, son,” he said, cheerfully, “let me have
that message.”
The boy drew back, startled, and looked for a way
of escape. But Clancy was there, guarding the rear.
Then, with a sagacity far beyond his years, the
youngster let forth a series of unearthly yells. Un-
expectedly a police officer rushed upon the scene.
The old man and his assistant presented the appear-
ance of a pair of abductors. But fortune favors the


139 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
brave, for the moment the policeman caught sight of
the detective, he saluted and said:
“How are you, Mr. Barnes — what can I do for
you?”
The veteran heaved a sigh of real relief.
“Hello, Hartley!” he cried, cordially, “you're
just in the nick of time. This young man has a mes-
sage which I must see. Won't you please convince
him that it is my — my right to see it?”
“See here, young feller,” brusquely exclaimed the
guardian of the peace, flattered at the opportunity of
serving the famous investigator, “you give that
message to Mr. Barnes right away or I'll take you to
the lock-up.”
The boy was frightened anyhow, and the threat of
imprisonment was the finishing touch. He put his
hand tremblingly into his pocket and pulled out a
long envelope. It bore a printed address: “J.
Percy Dekayne, Dekayne & Co., Bankers and Bro-
kers.” Without any hesitation, the detective ripped
open the envelope and brought forth a yellow sheet
of paper at which he gazed with fascinated interest.


The Stolen Message I31
And no wonder, for this is what it contained:
SAM EBN | LOU
LDP UEQ | SFR
SGS THT OIU
CON | KKW SAM
Barnes knitted his brows and scratched his head in
perplexity. While he puzzled over the queer code,
Clancy and Hartley stood on either side of the
whimpering boy. The detective turned and looked
at him curiously. The policeman evidently re-
garded this as a signal, for he said eagerly:
“Shall I lock him up, Chief?”
“That depends upon whether he will help the of-
ficers of the law,” replied Barnes, sternly.
“I — I don't know what you want me to do,”
gulped the innocent victim.
“What do you know about this letter?”
“I don't know nothin’,” wailed the boy, “I’m just
takin' it to me boss.”
“Have you carried many messages from that
house?”


132 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Not so many — lately I’ve been goin' there
every week or so.”
While he was talking, Barnes was puzzling over
the strange combination of letters on the piece of
yellow paper. He turned it upside down and side-
ways. He held it up to the light, but that proceeding
did not seem to add to his stock of knowledge. For
a while he was silent. Suddenly he gave a shout of
joy.
“I’ve got it!” he cried, “I’ve got it! It's as plain
as the nose on your face. Why, a child could read
that.”
Clancy felt hurt. He had looked over the chief's
shoulders and he knew that he could not read it.
But he said humbly enough:
“What are we going to do?
“Do?” shouted the old man, merrily, his eyes
dancing with a vision of victory. “Why, we're go-
ing at once to the office of DeKayne & Co., and this
young man is going to lead the way. You'll go
along too, Hartley. We may need your assistance.”
“I’m — I'm afraid to go back to the boss without


The Stolen Message 133
the letter,” cried the boy, dabbing a dirty fist into
one eye and then the other.
“Why, bless your young heart,” retorted the de-
tective, “you'll have a letter to hand him, and it
will be this very one.”
The boy's face brightened.
“How — how can I do it?” he asked.
“Why, I'll give it to you and you will place it in
the hands of J. Percy DeKayne. You're a fine
boy,” concluded the veteran, “and some day when
you grow up you may be President of the United
States.”
The office of DeKayne & Company was located
on Fourteenth Street, and it did not take them long
to reach it. It was rather an imposing establish-
ment, and from the signs on the outside one learned
that the firm maintained branches in New York,
Boston and Philadelphia. The private office of J.
Percy DeKayne was in the rear of the suite, and
through the open door that gentleman could be seen
at a desk looking sleek, well groomed and pros-
perous.


The Stolen Message 135
r
he spoke, he noticed the uniform of the policeman,
and its significance caused the words to die on his
lips. But his debonnair air did not desert him en-
tirely. Instinctively he recognized Barnes as the
head of the invading party and he turned to him with
his accustomed authority.
“Well, sir,” he said in a voice that was intended
to be brusque, “to what am I indebted for this
Visit?’
The detective, instead of replying at once, sank
back into a luxurious leather-covered chair.
“Your boy seems to have something for you,”
said the chief; “don’t let us interfere with your
business. We can wait.”
For the first time DeKayne noticed his messen-
ger holding the long envelope in his outstretched
hand. He took it and saw that it had been opened.
An expression of anger rose to his lips, but he
smothered it. He pulled forth the sheet of yellow
paper and looked at it in a dazed sort of way.
“This — this letter has been opened,” he said
finally.


186 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Yes,” interrupted the detective, “it was opened
by me — shall we say by mistake?”
J. Percy DeKayne moistened his lips with the tip
of his tongue. Little beads of sweat were begin-
ning to show on his ample forehead. He was silent
for several seconds. Then he gave a hysterical
little laugh.
“I confess that I do not know what you mean by
opening a communication addressed to me. But
you're heartily welcome to what you've found. I'm
sure I don't know what it means. It looks like a
silly April fool lark. I suppose some one's trying to
have fun with me.”
He held the yellow sheet between his fingers as he
spoke, and in spite of his bravado, his hands
trembled. Barnes slowly arose and approached the
broker.
“Probably,” he drawled, “I may help you to
solve the puzzle.”
“I wish you would,” he said, hastily handing
the paper to the old man.
Barnes moved in the direction of a convenient


The Stolen Message 137
electric light while Clancy, Hartley and the boy
grouped themselves around him. DeKayne's eager,
restless eyes were fairly dancing in his head. Sud-
denly he made a dash toward the open, the heavy
office door closed with a bang, and there was the
click of a key being turned from the outside.
Barnes looked up from his yellow sheet of paper
with the ghost of a smile on his shrewd face.
“Buncoed!” he ejaculated, “and by a four-
flushing stock broker!”
Clancy rushed to the door but found that it was
'securely locked. He beat against it frantically with
both his hands, but to no avail. Hartley looked
around the room and discovered only one window in
the rear, and that was guarded by heavy iron bars
such as are usually found in banks. The walls were
of brick, and the door leading into the room was
of thick oak. They were as effectually imprisoned
as if they had been in the cell of a penitentiary.
The little pocket of an office in the back of that
building could not have helped DeKayne n ore in
this crisis if it had been built for the purps .


138 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Clancy, Hartley and the boy were all hammering
on the door now, and shouting to those on the out-
side to open it. But only the echo of their blows
and shouts could be heard. It was solid wood, with
no glass to relieve the deadly security. In the midst
of the excitement, the calm voice of Bromley Bar
could be heard:
“What time is it?” he asked.
>
“Ten minutes of four, spluttered Clancy, still
pounding on the door.
“Be quiet for a few seconds,” said the chief,
rebukingly.
The noise ceased and they all looked at Barnes in
amazement. How could the man remain calm un-
der such conditions? He was smiling to himself
and nodding his head queerly. While they were
wondering if he had lost his reason, he sat down
before the desk, picked up the telephone receiver
and asked for the Union Railroad Station. The
connection made, he called for the special officer in
charge of the station.
“Hello, Steve,” he said as quietly as though lie


The Stolen Message I39
w
were ordering a cup of coffee, “this is Bromley
Barnes. I want you to pick up a man who is likely
to come into the station within the next few minutes.
It is J. Percy DeKayne, of DeKayne & Co., stock
brokers. You know him, do you? So much the
better. He's fair, fat and forty-four. Yes,
smooth-faced, black eyes, well-dressed and all the
rest of it. Cover all the ticket windows. He'll
probably buy a ticket for New York. But don't let
him get out of Washington, or I'll never speak to you
again. Yes, all right. I’ll be with you in five or ten -
minutes.”
He hung up the receiver, and turned to the others
with a look of grim determination in his face.
“Now, boys,” he said cheerfully, “let’s all get
together and see if we can't break that door down.
It's pretty heavy, but I don't see how it can with-
stand this aggregation of weight and beauty.”
Just when they had formed what Clancy after-
wards called the “Flying Wedge,” there was a
scraping noise outside, the key was turned and the
door opened. Barnes never hesitated to look at


The Stolen Message 141
who hears the sound of his own doom, and thought
longingly of what might have been if he had only
had a little start.
“Where now, sir?” asked the chauffeur, who
had been so suddenly commandeered.
Barnes gave him an address, and in a few minutes
the machine halted in front of the residence of the
blind music teacher. The detective went in, and in
a little while came out leading Ernest Rosetti by the
hand. Finally, they visited the home of Amos
Brown, and added the White House cleaner to their
prisoners.
“Now,” said the detective, laughingly, as they
sped toward the station house, “we have the cleaner,
the translator and the broker, the three graces that
form the links in the most subtle chain of con-
spiracy in my experience.”
The following morning Bromley Barnes sat in the
library of the White House, smoking a Presidential
cigar. The Chief Executive of the nation looked at
him admiringly:
“You’ve done wonderful work and cleaned this


142 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
matter up to my entire satisfaction, but I'm curious
to know how you got your first clew.”
Barnes looked thoughtfully at the ashes on the
end of his perfecto, and said slowly:
“I’ll tell you that gladly, Mr. President — but I
suppose you would like to know the name of the real
culprit?”
The distinguished statesman leaned eagerly in
the direction of the detective.
“Indeed I would. Who was it?”
The veteran investigator smiled faintly and, low-
ering his voice, said:
“It was yourself.”
Surprise was depicted upon the Presidential face,
and there came a flash of annoyance.
“I'm afraid,” he said, “that I do not fully ap-
preciate your kind of humor.”
“It's not humor, Mr. President; it's the simple
truth. In order to guard your messages, you have
been over-cautious. You will probably remember
that when you did your typewriting you placed an
extra sheet of paper in the machine for ‘backing'


The Stolen Message 143
purposes. Every man that runs a typewriter under-
stands this. Well, the paper you used was soft, and
the machine itself was old and shaky. You had to
hit the keys hard in order to get an impression.
Well — you got it all right, not only on the first
sheet, but on the sheet used for backing. You will
probably notice, if you have preserved the originals,
that the type made holes in some parts of the paper.
In every case the indentations were unusually deep.
The consequence was that the second sheet, the
‘backing’ or waste sheet, carried the marks of the
type.
“Well!” ejaculated the listener, a look of com-
->
prehension dawning upon his face.
“Now,” continued Barnes, “I don't pretend that
these second sheets could be read by every one with
the naked eye. But regularly, after they were
thrown into the waste basket, they were gathered by
Amos Brown, the cleaner, and taken by him to Pro-
fessor Rosetti, the blind musician. Rosetti has the
sense of touch, like all of the blind, but in his case
this sense is highly developed. With great care and


144 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
infinite patience he was able to translate them, if I
may use the word in this connection. Even when
he was not able to read all of the words, he was able
to get the sense or the trend of the document. He
knew the effect the message would have upon the
market — whether it would send stocks up or down,
and this fact was regularly and faithfully trans-
mitted to J. Percy DeKayne, the broker.”
“Rosetti did this by means of a code which was
agreed upon between them. This sheet of yellow
paper I have in my hand will explain it. On the
face of it we have twelve squares filled with mean-
ingless letters. But in this one, for instance, the
broker merely had to take the first letter in each
square to be informed that now was the time to
“sell U. S. stocks.’” -
“Very ingenious,” commented the President,
“but was the blind man able to make out the code?”
“The clerical part of the work was done by his
daughter. He did the translating.”
As the two men arose, the head of the nation
grasped the old investigator by the hand and, look-


The Stolen Message I45
ing into his clear, gray eyes, said with great delib-
eration:
“Mr. Barnes, you have performed an invaluable
service to me and therefore to your country.”
It was ten days after this that the veteran received
an official-looking envelope from the United States
Treasury Department. It contained a voucher to be
signed in triplicate, and a check for one dollar and
seventy-five cents as payment to Bromley Barnes for
“one day's services” as a cleaner in the Executive
Department. The old man looked at it quizzically,
and, turning to his assistant, said:
“Clancy, I'm never going to have that check
cashed. I'm going to have it framed and hung in
my apartments as a reminder of at least one day's
good work that I was able to do for Uncle Sam.”


ADVENTURE OF THE BURNT
MATCH STICK
THOSE who poke about in the great dust heap
called history will find that some of the most
amazing events in this very old world have come
from the most trivial causes. And, by the same
token, many of the mysteries which have perplexed
the minds of mankind have been solved by the slen-
derest of clews.
For instance, Bromley Barnes had altogether dis-
missed business from his mind on that perfect morn-
ing in May when he took his green-colored motor
car for a spin along the country roads about Wash-
ington. He was in fine fettle, and dressed with the
precision of a bridegroom. His striped trousers
were carefully creased, his waistcoat was the last
word in haberdashery, and the opal in his green tie
146


The Burnt Match Stick 147
seemed to reflect the exuberant and ever-changing
moods of the veteran investigator. He had Clancy
with him, of course, and as he fastened his cold,
gray eyes on the young man he smilingly and quiz-
zingly commented upon the passing scene. He
pointed to a square brick building.
“That's the new National Arsenal which the Gov-
ernment has built for the purpose of speeding up
the manufacture of munitions of war. Two thou-
sand men and women are working there. And the
curious part of it is that they are natives of nearly
every nation under the sun. They call the United
States a melting pot — well, war is the fire that's
going to cause the pot to boil and do the melting.”
Clancy listened intently and thoughtfully. Pres-
ently he turned to Barnes.
“Chief, isn't the Government running a big risk
in having so many aliens in such an arsenal? You
know there's been a lot of plotting lately, and the
country is full of foreign spies.”
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
“How can it be helped? Labor has never been


The Burnt Match Stick I49
in the uniform of a lieutenant of the United States
Army, appeared. His face was as white as a sheet,
and there was a startled look in his eyes.
“What's the matter, Hale?” demanded Barnes.
“The Major,” exclaimed the young man, thickly,
“the Major — he's dead!”
Without waiting to hear any more, Bromley
Barnes rushed past Lieutenant Hale and into the
house, followed by Cornelius Clancy. There, in an
arm chair, in front of his desk, in the large living
room, sat Major North, the Commandant of the
National Arsenal — quite dead.
The officer had leaned against the high-backed
chair, and in his hands was a copy of a daily news-
paper. If such a thing may be said of a dead man,
it can be stated that he looked quite life-like.
Barnes put his ear against the side of the soldier to
listen for a possible heart beat. He heard none.
Lieutenant Hale had followed them into the
room. Barnes turned to him now.
“What do you make of it?”
“I don't know; I'm distracted, and I don't know


150 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
whether to say it's a natural death, or murder, or
suicide.’
Barnes looked at him sharply.
“There's no indication of violence here.”
“No, that's the mystery of it. I left him in per-
fect health and when I returned five minutes ago, it
was to find him there — dead!”
“Has he complained lately?”
“Not about his health, but I know the responsibil-
ity of this Arsenal has weighed heavily upon him.
He has been particularly disturbed over the store-
house, and has personally opened and closed it each
day. No one could get in or out without his con-
sent. He always carried the key himself.”
Barnes, in spite of his sorrow over the unexpected
death of his friend, had his wits about him and sug-
gested that the coroner and a physician be sent for
at once. The lieutenant, with a mournful smile, an-
nounced that he had already telephoned. While
they were talking the two men arrived. The doctor
made a careful examination of the body and said
that, to the best of his belief, death had ensued from


The Burnt Match Stick I51
natural causes. The coroner asked a number of
questions, and was particularly impressed with the
fact that the Major had died with a newspaper in
his hands.
“I don't believe a formal inquest will be neces-
sary. It's a case of heart disease,” he said.
After the two had departed, Barnes took the news-
paper from the stiffened fingers and laid it on the
desk. Then he made a systematic examination of
the floor surrounding the chair in which the dead
body of the Commandant reposed. He got down
on his hands and knees regardless of the creases in
his trousers and the danger to his dignity. The
floor was not tidy. There was the usual clutter of
torn papers to be found in a busy office. Barnes
looked at each bit separately before he cast it aside.
In the midst of this débris was a Turkish cigarette.
The detective placed this in his wallet and then re-
sumed his search. After a time he came across a
small match stick, partly burned. It was very thin
and of red wood. He placed it in the wallet with
the cigarette.


152 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Lieutenant,” he said, looking up, “I don't be-
lieve that Major North smoked. Did he?”
“No — he never used tobacco in any form.”
“But you keep matches here?”
“Of course,” came the surprised reply; “there
are some on the desk now.”
The detective arose and looked at the matches in
the little porcelain safe. They were thick and of
white wood.
Turning, Barnes picked up the newspaper that
had been taken from North's cold fingers and glanced
at it mechanically. Something about it caught his
eye, and instantly his manner changed. He
turned to Lieutenant Hale briskly:
“I’d like to know if the keys are still in his posses-
sion. Would you mind looking?”
Tenderly the officer began a search of the cloth-
ing of his late superior. Finally the keys were lo-
cated — a dozen of them on a steel ring.
“If you thought they’d been stolen, you're mis-
taken,” he commented mournfully.
The detective grabbed the bunch eagerly and


The Burnt Match Stick I55
a graven image. His jaw was set, and he looked
ahead with the steely eyes which his young assistant
had come to know so well. Clancy said nothing.
He realized that it was no time for words, but he
was filled with a consuming curiosity. Once Barnes
pulled out his watch and looked at it intently. His
lips moved, and the young man listened to hear what
he was going to say. He spoke, but it was to him-
self and not to Clancy.
“An hour,” he muttered; “it would take about an
hour — I wonder if we will be too late?”
Presently the buildings of the National Arsenal
hove in sight, and when Barnes saw the brick walls
and the low stone coping surrounding them he
breathed what seemed like a sigh of relief. There
were no signs of activity without, but the detective
knew that inside at least two thousand men and
women were as busy as bees. The main building
was a long, low structure, and a few hundred feet
away was the storehouse used for the finished ex-
plosives. The little green-colored motor car rolled
up the driveway, and at that moment a man came out


156 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
of the main building. Barnes recognized him as the
Superintendent of the works.
“Grayson,” he shouted hoarsely, “you have a fire
drill or something of that sort for the employees,
haven't you?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, demonstrate it. Get the men out at once.
See how quickly you can do it.”
“Why?”
“Well,” said the detective, trying to control him-
self, “my young friend here,” pointing to Clancy,
“would like to see the fire drill.”
The business-like superintendent shrugged his
shoulders.
“I’d like to oblige you, Mr. Barnes, but we're
way behind with our work.”
“It's important to get the men out of that plant
at once,” snapped the veteran.
“If Major North were here,” faltered Grayson,
catching the note of authority in the voice of the
other man.
“Major North is dead,” was the abrupt reply.


The Burnt Match Stick 157
“What?” he exclaimed, “you don't mean —”
“I do mean it,” burst forth Barnes, losing his
self-control, “and for God's sake get the men out at
once.”
Grayson was awed.
“All right,” he murmured, moving away; “is
there danger?”
“Yes — no; I can't tell,” exclaimed the detec-
tive, “but let's act first and talk afterwards.”
It did not take Grayson long to recover his self-
possession, and after that he was the cool execu-
tive, accustomed to handling men, and to having his
lightest wish quickly obeyed. He issued the neces-
sary orders, and in an incredibly short time all of the
employees were ready to go through the fire drill
which really meant marching out of the building and
into a big field many hundreds of yards down from
the Arsenal. But it was an orderly march. If
some one had yelled “fire" in that human beehive,
there would have been a stampede and a panic, and
hundreds might easily have been killed and injured
in the crush. As it was, Grayson simply announced


158 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“fire drill,” and they made their way to the en-
trances, four abreast, in a calm and orderly manner,
and with the precision of a trained regiment.
It was an impressive object lesson, and Barnes
and the Superintendent stood at the doorway and
looked at the men admiringly as they passed through.
It was a cosmopolitan crowd. There were Poles,
Italians, Austrians, Hungarians, Germans and a few
Americans. Curiously enough — probably because
they were not warlike, the Americans were the least
efficient munition workers. Most of the other na-
tionalities took to it as a duck takes to water. But
now all were bright and eager over the unexpected
fire drill. Most of them were in playful mood and
laughed and joked with one another like schoolboys
on a holiday. It was a relief to get away from
work, even though it might be only for a short time.
Barnes and Grayson were the only ones who were
not at ease. The detective was as fidgety as a cat.
He turned to the Superintendent.
“Can't you hurry them, Grayson — they'll never
get out of that place.”


The Burnt Match Stick 159
Grayson yelled another order and the men
changed to double-quick time. Presently they were
all out of the building and assembled in the great
open space adjoining the works. Some one pro-
duced an American flag and there was a cheer that
echoed on the morning air. The superintendent
turned to Barnes.
“Now, you've got them out, what do you pro-
pose to do with them?”
“I dunno,” was the helpless reply.
“Suppose you make a speech to them,” suggested
Grayson with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
“Not a bad idea,” was the quick reply.
He turned and faced the men, but before he had
time to say a word there was an explosion that shook
the earth. The storehouse had blown up and parts
of it went sailing through the air amid clouds of dirt
and powder and burning missiles. The echo of it
reverberated through the surrounding hills and val-
leys. It was a fearsome thing, and the multitude
of scared and white-faced men gazed on the phe-
nomenon with silent awe. The first explosion was


160 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
followed in quick succession by four or five others,
and then masses of projectiles and burning wood fell
into the long, low building the men had just left.
The great assemblage waited with bated breath.
They instinctively knew what was to follow. Out
of reach of personal danger, they anticipated the
next move in this terrible catastrophe.
They were not disappointed.
There came a succession of explosions louder
than those in the storehouse, and in the twinkling of
an eye the splendid National Arsenal was a mass of
ruins. Even the eye witnesses of the shocking
affair were unable to give a coherent account of what
had occurred; they were almost deafened by the
thunderous sounds, and dazed by the flying dirt and
burning wood. The air was filled with fire and
sparks and in the midst of it a human body was
catapulted into the river. The horror of it sent
the women — and some of the men — into hys-
terics.
After it was all over it was found that the plant
was a mass of ruins — and that only one person had


The Burnt Match Stick I61
perished. That fact was not ascertained for about
twenty-four hours, and after a census of the em-
ployees had been taken, but in the meantime, and
while the place was still in flames, Grayson had in-
formed the bewildered crowd that they owed their
lives to Bromley Barnes. The men cheered, while
some of the women and girls crowded about him
and kissed his hand. The old man, very much be-
draggled and embarrassed at this unexpected
demonstration, was glad to get away.
But it was not to rest or evade responsibility. He
was determined to solve the mystery of this strange
explosion. Hordes of reporters, detectives and in-
vestigators thronged the ruins — and discovered
nothing. Superintendent Grayson sought Barnes.
“How did you know there would be an explo-
sion?” he asked abruptly.
“I didn't.”
“But you expected something was going to hap-
pen?”
“Yes, I did — let's call it intuition on my part.”
“Surely you had proof of some kind?”


162 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Barnes knitted his busy brows before replying,
and then he said, with deliberation:
“I had no legal proof – no proof that would hold
in a court of law.”
“Was the death of Major North connected with
the explosion in any way — directly or indirectly?”
“It was — directly. Now see here, Grayson, if
you want me to unearth the cause of this horror,
you'll stop asking questions and let me run it out
in my own way.”
On the morning of the second day after the ex-
plosion it was definitely settled that the solitary
victim of the tragedy was Hans Schmidt, who was
employed in the storehouse. Also, it was proven
that the catastrophe had been caused by an infernal
machine which had been placed in that building on
the morning of the explosion. The deadly thing
worked by means of a time clock, and it was esti-
mated that it had been placed there just one hour be-
fore the first shock was heard.
Who placed the infernal machine there, and what
was his motive?


The Burnt Match Stick I63
Barnes worked unremittingly to get the answer to
this question. In this he had the assistance of Su-
perintendent Grayson and Anton Stokley, the fore-
man of the Arsenal, who was also in charge of the
storehouse. Stokley was a burly fellow who talked
broken English and walked with a slight limp. He
hurried to the detective on the very day of the ex-
plosion and offered his help.
“It may selfish sound,” he said, with his curious
transposition of words, “but I the criminal wish to
find. It will so to my advantage be with your great
government.”
He piloted the detective through the piles of
débris, and explained the workings of the establish-
ment. When the remains of the sole victim had
been identified as those of Hans Schmidt, he told
- all that he knew about that unfortunate. Schmidt,
he said, was a native of Bavaria. He had come to
the works a month before and had been accepted
on sight for they were short-handed and the superin-
tendent had neither the time or the inclination to
ask for references.


164 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“But he was one solitary man,” continued Stok-
ley, “and made no friends.”
“Did he talk to you much?” questioned Bromley
Barnes.
The foreman gave a twisted smile.
“No, he avoided me, just so as if I had the plague
— which was all foolishness.”
Having delivered himself of this bit of philoso-
phy, the foreman limped away, shaking his big head,
and gesticulating with the air of a man who knows
the times are out of joint and sees the hopelessness
of trying to set them straight.
Barnes made many inquiries concerning Schmidt,
the victim of the explosion, and found that he was
regarded as one of the queer characters about the
works. He had created much innocent merriment
on the day of his arrival by reason of his dress.
He wore what is commonly called a Joseph's coat —
a coat of many colors, and a big cap with a glazed
peak that came down over his eyes. The descrip-
tion made a deep impression on the detective's mind,
and often afterwards during the course of his inves-


The Burnt Match Stick I65
tigation he could mentally see that quaint figure
with its many-colored coat and peaked cap.
In the meanwhile Anton Stokley worked pains-
takingly with Barnes, helping him to clear up many
minor points in the investigation. He frequently
mentioned the name of Hans Schmidt and always
with a sigh of regret and compassion. Finally the
detective reached the stage when he was ready to
assemble the hundred and one pieces that went to
make up this baffling jig-saw puzzle.
While Barnes was at work, Cornelius Clancy had
not been idle. At the outset, the detective had given
him a list of locksmiths in and about Washington,
with instructions to get specific information. He
had finished this task and was now in communication
with the postal authorities in an endeavor to get
certain facts concerning the quantity and character
of the mail delivered to the munition workers at
the National Arsenal. This was not an easy job,
but the Postmaster-General had directed every em-
ployee in the service to coöperate with the young
man, and he had really obtained something definite


166 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
as the result of his labors. Finally, under the pro-
tection of the Secret Service operatives, he had
forcibly broken into the rooms of at least three of
the munition workers and shamelessly, but patriot-
ically, gone through their private effects.
One of the lodgings thus entered was that of the
late Hans Schmidt — the man with the coat of many
colors.
On the fifth day after the explosion Bromley
Barnes sat in his lodgings overlooking the dome
of the Capitol and tried to fit together the bits
of evidence he had gathered at the cost of so
much labor and ingenuity. He mentally re-
viewed all of the happenings since that first day
and endeavored to give each its relative im-
portance. Musingly he opened his wallet and
looked at the burnt match stick and the Turkish
cigarette he had picked up in the office of Major
North. The sight of the two articles gave him an
inspiration. He had already determined to cross-
examine all of those connected in any way with the
business.


The Burnt Match Stick 167
He would examine them in the office of the dead
commandant!
All of the morning was spent in perfecting the
plan he had in his mind. Clancy was given special
instructions and he was told to follow them liter-
ally.
That afternoon the detective sat behind the desk
of the Commandant. It was an unofficial inquiry,
but in order to make it as impressive as possible,
the veteran investigator had the Coroner seated on
one side of him, and a representative of the War
Department on the other. The first witness was
Doctor Hendricks, an army surgeon. His testi-
mony was brief but startling.
“Major North died of heart disease,” he said,
“but it was caused by a shock. I have discovered
marks behind the left ear which satisfies me that
an attempt was made to choke him, and that as a
consequence of this he received the shock which
caused his death.”
No amount of cross-examination would shake his
convictions on this point. Lieutenant Hale and


168 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Superintendent Grayson gave much detailed infor-
mation concerning the habits of the deceased, but
instead of throwing any light on the investigation,
they only helped to befog it. How were they to
account for the fact that the Major was found in
such a natural position with his newspaper in his
hands? How could they explain why nothing was
stolen? They made no attempt to answer these
questions. Indeed, the lieutenant said that the
Major was as regular as clock work, and that every
morning at that hour he had always found him per-
using the daily newspaper.
It was when Anton Stokley, the foreman of the
store room at the Arsenal, took the stand, that some-
thing of a definite nature was elicited. He nodded
in a friendly way to Barnes as he took the big arm
chair, and looked at the other two men in a kindly
manner. At the outset he caused a sensation by de-
claring positively that Hans Schmidt was responsible
for the destruction of the Arsenal. He said that he
had overheard a conversation between Schmidt and
some unknown man on the night before the tragedy


The Burnt Match Stick I69
which convinced him that they were conspirators.
“Why didn't you tell us this before, Anton?”
asked Barnes, reprovingly.
He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“I was not certain, and I no want to be unjust
to a dead man.”
“But you are satisfied now that he was the guilty
man?”
Stokley's florid face was all animation. His blue
eyes were alive.
“Pos-i-tively,” he said slowly and with emphasis
to make his English understandable.
A smile went around the room, and then Barnes
remarked dryly:
“But it's too late for us to punish Schmidt, isn't
it?”
The foreman shrugged his broad shoulders again.
“He is already punished. Shot in the air and
tossed in the river.”
After some further questions, Bromley Barnes
graciously announced that, as it was not a formal in-
quiry, all who desired might relieve the tedium by


170 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
smoking. Like magic, cigars and cigarettes ap-
peared on all sides, and in a little while nearly every
one in the room was puffing at a weed. The fore-
man of the powder plant complacently smoked a
cigarette.
“By the way, Anton,” said the detective, leaning
over and speaking casually, “won't you let me have
a match?”
Flattered at the familiar form of address, the
man put his hand in his pocket and, pulling out a box
of matches, passed it to the inquisitor. Barnes took
one of the little wooden splints, scratched the end on
the sand-papered side of the holder and lit his cigar.
As he did so, the flame went out, leaving the burnt
match stick in his fingers. He laid it carefully on
the flat desk in front of him and then drawing his
wallet, took from it another match stick. With
equal care, he laid it beside the other. The two,
side by side, were perfect twins. Both were small
and thin, and of red wood of a very soft texture.
Every one in the room watched the queer perform-
ance with fascinated interest. The eyes of the


The Burnt Match Stick 171
foreigner seemed to bulge from their setting. He
was aroused by the voice of Bromley Barnes, stern
and compelling:
“Anton Stokley, stand up!”
Automatically the man arose, with trembling limbs
and frightened face
“Stokley,” continued the detective, in even tones,
“I accuse you of the murder of Major North and
of the destruction of the National Arsenal l’’
The face of the foreman turned as white as snow.
He moistened his lips with the end of his tongue.
“By what evidence?” he murmured.
“By the evidence of that burnt match stick. It
was found at the feet of the dead man, and it came
from the box you have just handed me.”
Stokley laughed hysterically.
“Men by the thousands have such matches — you
talk nonsense.”
Barnes pressed a button, and a tall youth entered
the room.
“Bennett,” said the detective, pointing to Stokley,
“is this the man who ordered the key?”


The Burnt Match Stick 173
collapsed into his chair, his face downward on the
desk.
“Enough ' " he sobbed and shrieked. “I can't
fight ghosts! I did it! I thought I was serving
my country, but I did it!” -
It was after the waiting officers had led the as-
sassin from the room that Barnes turned to the man
with the Joseph's coat and the peaked cap.
“You did that fine, Clancy. I had the goods on
the murderer, but it only needed that finishing touch
to wring the confession from the scoundrel.”
Just before the formal inquest was held, when the
whole business was cleared up to the satisfaction of
the authorities, Clancy ventured to put a question
to his superior.
“Chief,” he said, “the burnt match stick was fine,
and it was an inspiration that caused you to send
me to Schmidt's room for his old coat and cap, but
I don't understand yet how you first satisfied your-
self that the Commandant was murdered and that
the Arsenal was to be destroyed.”
Barnes smiled.


174 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“That was the simplest part of the whole busi-
ness. Stokley overplayed his part. He was too
careful. The newspaper he stuck between the cold
fingers of the Major was not that morning's issue,
and I knew North too well to imagine that he would
be found reading a newspaper thirty days old. And
then when I discovered a tiny particle of wax in the
hole of the key in his pocket I knew that the mur-
derer had taken an impression for the purpose of
having a new one made — one that would give him
access into the storehouse so he could place his
infernal machine before any of the men reported
for duty. He imagined that when the keys were
found undisturbed no suspicions would be aroused.
But the old newspaper and the particle of wax gave
his game away.”


VI
ADVENTURE OF THE FRENCH CAPTAIN
BROMLEY BARNEs suddenly resolved to close his
bachelor apartments in Washington and spend the
winter in New York. He had been working much
too hard for an elderly gentleman who considered
himself a retired investigator for the United States
Government, and he felt that the change from the
routine of the National Capital would do him a
world of good. He meant it as a sort of vacation
— a period of rest and relaxation.
The apartments he secured in New York were all
that a man with Bohemian instincts could desire,
and once he had surrounded himself with his beloved
books and the little articles he treasured, he breathed
a sigh of happiness. The change, he felt, would
brighten his wits, and he would finally return to
175


176 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Washington refreshed by the change of scene and
surroundings. He promised himself at the outset
that he would not do a stroke of work, and he might
have kept the promise if he had not made the mis-
take of inviting Forward and Clancy to spend a
week with him. Forward was a clever lawyer and
chemist who had helped him in some of his intricate
cases, and Clancy was, as we know, his assistant
and general factotum, a red-headed, happy-go-lucky,
loyal, big-hearted Irishman.
The three men were seated in the cozy apartment
just about dusk one evening when Barnes made the
chance remark which was to start him into action.
“Bagdad, in the days of its greatest glory,” he
said, gazing reflectively from the big bay window
of the apartment, “never possessed half the possi-
bilities for mystery, romance and adventure that
are to be found in the big cities of the United
States.” -
Forward looked at the detective with skepticism
in his brown eyes.
“They're human bees all right,” he admitted,
*


The French Captain 177
“but I can't see much in it beyond a frenzied strug-
gle for wealth and pleasure.”
Barnes gazed out at the green of the park, with
its big, white, marble arch before replying.
“You’re like most men in the legal profession,
Forward,” he said finally; “much dabbling in the
intricacies of the law has made you a skeptic.”
A low, self-satisfied chuckle came from the corner
of the room. Cornelius Clancy, faithful factotum
of the master of the establishment, winked mischiev-
ously at the limb of the law.
“We have no Grand Viziers,” continued Barnes,
ignoring the muffled interruption, “and we may be
a little short on Caliphs, one-eyed Calenders and
Royal Mendicants, but we have men and women
whose actual experiences cause the make-believe
stories of the Turks and Persians to seem pale and
prosaic in comparison. Here's the recipe: Pour a
million human beings in the seething cauldron which
you may call New York, Chicago, Boston, or any of
our large cities, stir them up with hate and love,
make their interests and ambitions clash, and if the


178 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
result doesn't spell romance and adventure, then my
hair has grown gray in vain!”
“Perhaps there's something in what you say,”
conceded the lawyer.
“Something in what I say!” Barnes retorted ex-
plosively. “There's everything in what I say!
Bully stories bump up against you every day in the
week and you don't know it. The man that sits
beside you in the subway train may be an embezzler;
the smiling woman you pass on the street probably
has a heart affair, which, if properly told, would
melt a hardened first-nighter into tears. Why, the
chances are that I couldn't throw a stone out of this
window without hitting a person whose life would
furnish a plot better than anything you read in fic-
tion.”
Forward smiled feebly. He spoke softly:
“I’ll grant you the possibility of an adventure,
but you speak of them as if they hung on every
bush.”
Barnes rubbed his hand across his bald head with
unnecessary vigor.


The French Captain 179
“Forward,” he cried, “you're the most persistent
doubter I ever met. But you can't phase your Uncle
Bromley. I'll go out for a dozen nights and bring
you back an adventure every time.”
“I thought you retired from the detective busi-
ness, Chief,” ventured Clancy.
“So I have,” was the prompt rejoinder. “You
couldn't drag me back into that sort of thing with
a double team of horses.”
The others exchanged smiling glances.
“And you wouldn't even go out to solve some
of those knotty customs cases?” insinuated For-
ward.
“Not if I knew it,” replied the old man. “But
I'm willing to convince you youngsters that all the
poetry and romance have not been squeezed out of
life — that is, if you'll help.”
“We'll accept your challenge,” shouted Forward,
“and we'll call ourselves ‘The Adventure Syndi-
cate — Limited '!”
“Sounds good,” smiled the old man, entering into
the spirit of the sport, “but why the “Limited'’ ”


180 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Oh, that's just a business word put in for your
sake.”
“For my sake?”
“Yes,” laughed the lawyer, “it means that your
responsibility in this scheme is limited. If you
don't make good, we're going to be magnanimous.
We'll think as much of you as if you hadn't entered
on this Don Quixote enterprise.”
“All right, boys,” agreed Barnes.
“Now, what about the first adventure?” asked
Forward.
The old man smiled blandly. “I don't know,” he
said, “but the other day you told me you had been
living in New York over twenty years and had never
been on the Bowery. You said that, for all you
knew to the contrary, there wasn't any Bowery, ex-
cept maybe a myth invented for the benefit of song
writers and vaudeville artists. You're the first New
Yorker that ever admitted ignorance of anything.
You deserve consideration. I'll go to the Bowery
with you right now.”
“But,” objected the lawyer, looking at the immac-


The French Captain I81
ulate evening dress of the Chief, “I thought you
were going to the Opera to-night?”
“So I was, but I'm willing to swap it for some-
thing of human interest. The Bowery for me.”
Clancy sighed.
“I’m afraid you're both going to be dreadfully
disappointed. The Bowery's perfectly respectable.
It's like any other business street in New York.”
In spite of this warning, they made the trip to
the once-famous thoroughfare. As Clancy pre-
dicted, they were completely disillusioned. They
passed one of the modern moving picture shows.
Barnes shook his head sadly.
“Nothing the same; since Tony Pastor died the
whole town seems different.”
Just as he spoke, a ball of crumpled paper fell
directly in front of the old man. The others kept
moving, but Barnes halted them.
The next moment he was pulling out a piece of
narrow tape which had been enclosed in the paper
and which made itself apparent as the ball was torn
apart. The tape was about two feet in length and


182 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
it contained a message written in a rather shaky
handwriting. The Chief moved under a convenient
electric light. Forward and Clancy each held an
end of the tape while the old man read as follows:
“I have been kidnaped and locked up in the
garret of this house like a rat in a trap. If the
person who finds this note will notify the police
he will earn the prayers and the everlasting grati-
tude of Henri La Rue, captain of the French mer-
chant steamer known as the Mermaid.”
Barnes turned and looked at the front of the
house. It was an ordinary four-story dwelling with
an attic. A store on the ground floor was used as
a delicatessen shop. A private entrance on the side
showed a sign that proclaimed “Apartments to
Rent.” Clancy spoke to the old man.
“What do you think of it, Chief?”
“I think it's a bit fishy,” interjected Forward,
who seemed out of sorts.
“Well, it does smell of the sea,” admitted Barnes,
laughingly.
“You’re not going to bother with it, are you?”
asked the lawyer in surpris *


The French Captain 183
“I’m going to investigate it, if that's what you
mean,” answered the old man, good-naturedly.
Without any further ado, Barnes hurried to the
private entrance of the house and, finding the door
unlocked, walked in. He ran up the narrow stair-
way, followed by Forward and Clancy. They soon
found themselves on the top landing. A door con-
fronted them on either side. The Chief tapped on
the one facing the street.
“Hello,” he shouted, “is Captain La Rue there?”
“Yes,” cried an eager voice, “who is it?”
“A friend who wishes to help you,” was the re-
ply.
“Thank Heaven for that!” was the fervent re-
sponse. “Have you a key?”
“Clancy,” directed the Chief, “find the janitor
and bring him here at once. Tell him if he don't
hurry, we'll smash the door.”
Before many minutes the janitor appeared. At
first he was insolent and threatening, but when
Barnes made known his identity his manner
changed.


184 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“The room was just rented this afternoon,” he
said apologetically, “and honest, gents, I ain't got
no right to let yer in.”
“You’re detaining a man there against his will !”
Snapped the detective.
“I ain't doin' nothin' of the kind,” was the sulky
rejoinder. “He was put there by his brother.”
“His brother?”
“Yes, Mr. James, who rented the room. He said
his brother'd been drinkin' heavy and that he didn't
want him to get out till he got back.”
“That's false!” roared a muffled voice. “I was
drugged and thrown in this hole!”
“Open that door at once!” demanded Barnes
sternly, “ or you'll make your explanation to the
Captain of Police.”
Without any further delay the janitor put the key
in the lock and threw open the door. The three
men crowded into the room. The reflector from a
smoky lamp in the hall shed a dim light into the
apartment. It was almost bare excepting a bed, a
cheap washstand, and a couple of broken chairs.


“STARING AT THEM LIKE A MAN WHO HAD LOST HIS
wits."


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
Astoft, LENOx
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS


186 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Now, if you'll tell me your story I may be able
to help you.”
The man shook his head with a gesture
of despair.
“You're very kind, but I'm past helping now.”
“You don't look like a drinking man,” was the
suggestive remark.
“I’m not — that's the meanest part of it.”
“Why the meanest part of it?”
La Rue looked at his questioner dumbly for a mo-
ment. Presently, he got off the bed and took a turn
up and down the room. Then he turned to Barnes.
“I might as well tell you the story. It may re-
lieve me to do so.”
“There isn't any doubt about that. Go ahead
now and don't omit any part of it.”
The sailor smiled grimly.
“I’m not likely to forget any part of it. My
name is Henri La Rue, captain of the Mermaid and
a native of Bordeaux, though my mother was Eng-
lish. I've been on the sea all my life and have had
charge of this ship for the last six years. Ten


188 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
should be abrogated on a certain date — which date
was to-day. Now to win the benefit of the old
— the lower — duty on my cargo of wine, it was
necessary for me to get the Mermaid in port and
to file my manifest at the Custom House before the
closing hour to-day.”
“And the closing hour?” interjected the law-
yer.
-
“The closing hour,” replied the captain, “was
at half-past four this afternoon.”
“What time did you arrive in port?” asked
Barnes.
“At half-past three.”
“Then it was all right,” cried Clancy.
“So I thought,” resumed the Frenchman, sadly,
“but it proved to be all wrong.”
“How P "
“Well, the minute we touched the wharf I jumped
ashore with my manifests and other ship's papers
and started for the Custom House. A big, broad-
shouldered fellow standing on the pier came for-
ward and shook hands with me, congratulating me


The French Captain I89
on my success in getting in on time. That pleased
me, naturally — you would have been pleased your-
self under the circumstances.”
“The fellow said, “Captain, you're a game sport
and if there's anything I admire it's a game sport.
If you'll jump into my automobile I'll run you up to
the Custom House in no time.’”
“I was so crazy to file my papers so as to make
the transaction complete and legal that I accepted
the invitation. On the way up he pulled out a flask
of brandy and invited me to have a swig. Now,
I'm not a drinking man. In fact, I’m so abstemious
that you might almost call me a total abstainer, but I
was nervous and excited from the strain of the voy-
age, and I thought a few drops would merely act as
a stimulant. I took it and when I recovered con-
sciousness an hour ago I found myself a prisoner in
this room.”
“A plot!” ejaculated Clancy.
“Beyond a doubt,” wailed the captain, “and the
worst part of it is that all of my papers are gone.
But what difference does that make? I've lost the


190 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
race, and Bunn and Company will lose a little for-
tune!” -
While he was talking, Barnes stooped down and
picked up a newspaper that lay on the floor.
“What's this?” asked the Chief.
“Oh,” answered the other wearily, “that's to-
day's issue of the New York Journal of Commerce.
I always get it when I'm in port to read the shipping
news. But it has no interest for me now. There's
nothing in life for me now. I'm a broken man!”
“Did you have your manifest in your pocket?”
queried Barnes, ignoring the note of dejection.
“No, I had it with the other ship's papers in a
little red leather portfolio. It looked like a music
roll.”
“Even if you were in time,” said the Chief, “you
could not do anything without your papers.”
“No; I'm helpless without them.”
“What did your obliging automobile friend look
like?”
“Broad shoulders, big, round, red face and hands
like hams.”


The French Captain 191
“A professional bruiser engaged for the pur-
pose,” commented the old man.
He walked over to the window and gazed out at
the street lights. After what seemed to be an in-
terminable time, he turned suddenly to the captain.
“You had a race across the ocean?”
“Yes, sir, with the Swan under Captain Jules
LeFevre. We left Bordeaux at the same time, but
I passed him on the fifth day and he won't be in for
at least twenty-four hours. But he'll be better off
than I am. He'll have his ship's papers.”
Barnes had pricked up his ears with interest.
“His cargo was champagne?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And who was it consigned to?”
The seaman hesitated and scratched his head with
the air of one who is groping in his memory. The
Chief waited anxiously for the reply. Finally, Cap-
tain La Rue spoke slowly, as if he were not quite
sure of himself: - ?
“I think his cargo was consigned to Feldspar and
Feldspar.”


192 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Barnes threw his hands in the air with a cry of
delight.
“Clancy,” he shouted, “go to the nearest drug
store and beg, borrow or steal a business directory!
Look for dealers and agents in wines. After that,
get the names and home addresses of all the Feld-
spars you can find.”
The young man departed on his errand. The de-
tective turned to Forward.
“Get a taxicab and bring it to the door at once.
I think there will be something doing before the
night's much older!”
The cab and the addresses from the directory
came at the same time. There were many Feld-
spars. Barnes shifted them and discarded all but
two — one located on Fifth Avenue, the other on
West 149th Street. The machine whizzed to the
Fifth Avenue address first. It was dark and de-
serted. No one answered the summons.
“Just as I expected,” commented Barnes.
“Now, we'll try the junior member of the firm.”
Not a minute was wasted in making the trip up


The French Captain I93
town. Indeed, the chauffeur was twice threatened
with arrest for exceeding the speed laws, but each
time his air of injured innocence won his liberty.
In due time they reached their destination. Barnes
halted the cab at the corner of the street.
“This part of the game calls for a little dis-
cretion,” he said. “It means the observation of one
of my cardinal rules. You boys understand it very
well. Prudence in preparation and boldness in
execution.”
The house, which stood alone, was brilliantly
illuminated. There was a clatter and a buzz of
voices in the rear of the dwelling. Here a number
of musicians, clad in gorgeous raiment, were tun-
ing up their instruments. Four or five waiters were
preparing to serve a dinner.
“You and Clancy go to the back of the house.
You may be useful later in the evening,” whispered
the old man to Forward.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going in the front door.”
“What then?”


194 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“After that I shall be guided by circumstances.
If I'm thrown out I hope I shall take it philosophi-
cally.”
Barnes did not go in immediately. For ten or
fifteen minutes he reconnoitered. He ascertained,
at the risk of breaking his neck, that a banquet was
in progress in the beautifully decorated dining-room.
The Chief glanced at his own immaculate evening
dress with a smile of satisfaction. He had come
prepared at any rate. He gave final directions to
Captain La Rue, who was posted at the front door,
in case of need, and boldly walked into the hallway.
A servant opened the door of the vestibule. Barnes
tossed him his hat and coat with an air of confi-
dence. The man smiled obsequiously.
“You’re late, Mr. Cozzens,” he said.
“How did you know my name was Cozzens?”
asked the Chief, sharply.
“Why, I just heard Mr. Feldspar say that Mr.
Cozzens was the only man who had not arrived.”
“Bright mind,” smiled the detective, and he
slipped the man a dollar.


The French Captain I95
He felt that it was worth that much to be fur-
nished with a name when he was about to enter
upon such an uncertain adventure. The servant
was delighted. He became extra officious. He
rushed ahead of the Chief and, parting the curtains
leading to the dining-room, called out in a rich,
sonorous, English voice:
“Mr. Cozzens.”
A half-dozen men in evening dress were seated
about a round table. One of these, a man with a
red, smooth face and a bull neck, arose to greet the
InewCOmer.
“Welcome to our midst, Mr. Cozzens,” he cried
with mock ceremony.
Barnes smiled his acknowledgment and seated
himself in the only vacant chair. He gazed curi-
ously around at the members of the dinner party.
They all bore a resemblance to the host; that is to
say, they all had very thick necks and very red
faces. Their cheeks were so puffy that it gave
them all the singular appearance of having little,
round eyes. In short, there was an air of dissipated


The French Captain 197
pliments of the season. When we invited our prin-
cipal agents to meet the firm, we thought to furnish
you with a surprise. The Swan, loaded with a cargo
of wine for our house, left Bordeaux ten
days ago. We thought it would reach here in
time to take advantage of the old tariff rates. Un-
fortunately, it failed. However, every cloud has
its silver lining. The Mermaid, which was car-
rying a cargo to a rival house, arrived here
early this afternoon. The captain of the Mermaid,
however, paused to celebrate his victory and
failed to reach the Custom House. His manifest
and other ship's papers were lost and some wag
has sent them to me as a trophy of the occa-
sion. So that, instead of a defeat, the game is
simply a draw.”
Amid the buzz of excitement and conversation the
papers in the red portfolio were passed around from
hand to hand. When they reached Barnes he ex-
amined them critically and then thrust them into
his inside pocket. Feldspar noticed the action. He
laughed.


198 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“No tricks on travelers!” he said; “I’ll have
those papers back.”
“They don't belong to you!” retorted the Chief.
“Nor to you!” returned the other, with some
surprise.
Barnes smiled blandly. “I’ll see that they reach
the rightful owner.”
Every eye was on the old man. Feldspar rose in
his chair, white with anger.
“What's the meaning of this nonsense?” he
shouted in tones husky with rage. At this critical
juncture the curtains were parted and a voice an-
nounced: “Mr. Cozzens!”
A short, thick-necked man, with a red face,
hopped into the room, puffing like a porpoise. He
looked enough like the other diners to belong to the
same family.
Amazement gripped Mr. Frank Feldspar so sud-
denly that he was denied the power of speech.
He pointed a stubby forefinger at the newcomer
and finally spluttered:
“Are — you — you Mr. Cozzens?”


The French Captain 199
“So me mother and father says,” was the flippant
rejoinder.
“And you?” cried the wine merchant, wheeling
around to the Chief.
“I?” was the response. “Here's my card,” he
said, handing a pasteboard to the host.
3 xx
“‘Bromley Barnes, he read, ““Formerly
Special Investigator of the United States Customs
Service.”
“At your service, sir,” said the Chief, with his
profoundest bow.
“Give me those papers!” cried Feldspar.
“Not to-night,” said Barnes.
“You’d better,” cried the other; “it’s six to one!
No one here will help you!”
“I will!” piped a shrill voice from the rear.
Every one turned to look. It was a waiter who
spoke. He had a napkin carelessly thrown over his
arm and was in the act of removing a plate. The
detective gave one glance and uttered a cry of joy.
“Clancy! You darling boy!”
Feldspar gave a sniff of disdain. He spoke bitterly:


200 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“A waiter! Much good he'll do you!”
Unexpectedly another voice was heard:
“Maybe I can help some.”
The sound came from behind a cluster of ferns.
The next moment a red-coated person emerged,
carrying a trombone. Barnes was amazed. The
musician laid down his instrument and stepped into
the light. The old man gave another shout of
delight.
“Forward, as I'm a sinner!”
To complete the picture, Captain La Rue pushed
into the room. Feldspar sized up the quartette in
silence for some moments. He meditated fight.
Discretion proved to be the better part of valor.
He spoke in a husky voice:
“Things have come to a pretty mess,” he said,
“when a crowd of ruffians can break into a gentle-
man's house in this fashion. Get out of here!”
“We're going to get out,” retorted the old man,
“but I may have more to say to you later. Abduc-
tion and larceny are serious crimes under the New
York law.”


202 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“I’m glad to hear it. But my work was nothing
to the way Forward blew that fake trombone. He
got purple in the face. I thought once he was go-
ing to blow his head off.”
Everybody laughed. Suddenly the Chief thrust
the red portfolio into the hands of Captain La Rue.
“Here are your papers, Captain. Don't lose 'em
again.”
They had not gone many blocks when Forward
gave an exclamation of dismay. He had his watch
out and was looking at it.
“I’m not a mind reader,” he said, “but if you
count on getting to the Custom House before mid-
night I'm afraid you'll be badly mistaken.”
There was silence for some moments. Barnes
was clearly disconcerted. He poked his head out
of the window of the taxicab and when he drew it in
again there was a look of relief upon his counte-
nance.
“You’re a pretty good guesser, Forward,” he re-
marked, “but the game is not up yet — not by a
long shot.”


The French Captain 203
The lawyer-chemist looked at his friend gloomily.
“Evidently you propose to hand in these papers
at the Custom House before midnight. It will take
ten minutes to get there, if it takes a minute, and
we have just five minutes to do it in — it can't be
done!” "
“I’ve got it,” shouted Barnes, and then lowering
his voice, he added: “At least I think I’ve got it.”
“What is it?” asked Forward.
“Why one of the deputy collectors of customs is
a friend of mine, and lives in the Ainsworth Apart-
ments, which are only two blocks from here.”
“What good will that do — the Ainsworth
Apartments are not the Custom House.”
“Yes, but a deputy collector of customs is a deputy
collector, no matter what part of the city he may be
in.” -
“It's worth trying,” conceded Forward.
“Worth it?” ejaculated Barnes; “why there isn't
anything else to do!”
The orders were given to the driver and they got
to the Ainsworth Apartments in a few minutes, and


204 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
by rare good luck found that Mr. Katby was in.
He received them with delightful courtesy and when
Barnes asked if they could file their papers with
him, he said:
“Why, yes, it's rather unconventional, but it's
perfectly legal.”
“Now, what did I tell you,” exclaimed the detec-
tive, turning to Forward with a look of triumph.
“All right,” smiled the other feebly, “but we'd
better hurry. That clock on the mantel says five
minutes of twelve.”
While Captain La Rue was laying his papers on
the table in orderly fashion, Barnes was giving the
deputy collector a hasty sketch of the events that had
brought them to his apartments instead of to the
Custom House.
“You deserve to win out,” said Mr. Katby, as he
scrutinized the papers.
While this was going on, La Rue looked about the
room curiously. It was a bachelor's apartment and
furnished in artistic style. The sailor noticed that
the ceiling decorations depicted three cherubs cir-


The French Captain 205
cling in midair. The voice of Mr. Katby inter-
rupted his meditations:
“I find these papers in proper form and I'm now
ready to swear you, Captain.”
Captain La Rue raised his right hand and solemnly
swore that the contents of the papers were correct
to the best of his knowledge. As he finished, the
onyx clock on the marble mantelpiece struck the hour
of midnight. The deputy collector put out his hand
to him.
“I congratulate you. Uncle Sam knows when
he's beaten.” -
“Thank you,” murmured the captain, but at that
moment he experienced a queer sensation. His head
was hurting him. He looked up and the three
cherubs on the ceiling were circling about madly.
The next moment everything went black and La
Rue fell to the floor unconscious.
It did not take long to revive the exhausted cap-
tain. A glass of wine and some light food did the
business, and in the course of a half hour he was
leaving the apartment of the deputy collector with


206 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
the detective who had enabled him to win the race
against time.
After they were seated in the taxicab again and
on their way to the Washington Square apartments,
La Rue turned to Barnes expectantly:
“How did you know there was a loophole for
me?”
“By the newspaper I picked up on the floor of
the house in the Bowery. It was a night extra and
it contained the special dispatch from Washington,
ordering all Custom Houses to remain open until
midnight in order to comply with the provisions of
the French-American commercial treaty.”
“But — but Feldspar's captain might have done
the same thing.”
“Possibly — but I doubt it. At all events, the
news was not flashed to this city until after business
hours and your rival and his friends were so busy
celebrating your discomfiture that they failed to be
on the business job.” -
While La Rue, between tears and laughter, was
protesting his eternal gratitude, Clancy exclaimed


The French Captain 207
with flashing eyes, “I think that was a rotten plot
on the part of Feldspar. Just because he lost, was
no reason why —”
Barnes halted him in his whimsical way:
“Boys,” he said, “it was simply the manifesta-
tion of a trait in human nature as old as Adam — a
trait that has been admirably depicted by one AEsop
in his justly celebrated fable called ‘The Dog in
x * x
!
the Manger


VII
THE ADVENTURE OF THE OLD
CHESS PLAYER
BARNEs and his two friends sat in the living-room
of the former's Washington Square apartment. A
timid knock on the door interrupted their conversa-
tion and, in response to the Chief’s “Come in,” a
girl, dressed in black, entered.
She was petite and her very white face was ren-
dered snow-like by the contrast with her black
clothes. Clancy, with his ardent Celtic nature,
thought she was the most appealing creature he had
ever gazed upon. Forward mentally compared her
to a dainty Dresden doll. She looked at the three
men and then instinctively turned to the oldest:
“This is Mr. Bromley Barnes?”
“Yes.”
“I am Emma Brown.”
208


The Old Chess Player 209
“Glad to meet you, Miss Brown.”
The little lady halted irresolutely. But suddenly
she cast all restraint aside and cried impulsively:
“I want you to save Jack!”
“Jack?” queried Barnes.
“Yes, Jack Winslow, the man I'm engaged to
marry.”
“Ah,” he said, “the Winslow tragedy. You are
interested in that?”
“Very much so,” she replied bitterly.
“How P "
“Didn't you know that Jack has been accused of
the murder?” she asked in surprise.
“To be perfectly candid, I didn't,” said the Chief.
“I never read these matters unless I am specially
interested.”
“Well,” she retorted, with an assertiveness that
sat strangely on her young shoulders, “I want you
to be specially interested in this case.”
“Why did you come to me?” asked Barnes.
“Because my father knew you. He worked in
the Custom House when you were the Chief Investi-
}


210 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
gator there. He said you could solve anything. I
want you to solve this mystery.”
“Suppose you give me the facts.”
The girl took a few moments to compose herself
before beginning the recital of the crime that had
aroused the city.
“I met Mr. Winslow some time ago,” she said
finally, “and last Sunday week Jack took me to his
father and presented me as his future wife.”
“What did the old gentleman say to that?”
asked Barnes.
“He was very angry. He said that Jack was too
young to think of marriage. He said he should
establish himself in business before taking a wife.”
“Was there a quarrel?”
“You can hardly call it that. But old Mr. Wins-
low was an eccentric person. He was very posi-
tive, and the manner in which he talked disturbed
Jack and made me very unhappy.”
“When was he killed?”
“The night before last. You know he conducted
a circulating library in the house in which he had


The Old Chess Player 211
lived all his life. Since the death of his wife a few
years ago he has lived practically alone.”
“Except his son?”
“Yes, of course. Jack slept in the house, but
that was all.”
“And the old man had no intimates?”
“He had one friend, a man named Goodrich,
who lived directly opposite, on the same street. Mr.
Winslow was a chess enthusiast. Mr. Goodrich is
the same. That was the tie that bound them. At
night, after the old gentleman had closed the library,
Mr. Goodrich would join him and they would play
chess until eleven o'clock. Promptly at that hour
they would quit. Frequently the game was left un-
finished and they would resume it after supper on
the following night.”
“What happened on the last night Mr. Winslow
was seen alive?”
“They met and played as usual. Jack came in
just as they quit their game and he went to the front
door with Mr. Goodrich and bade him good night.”
“Did Jack go to bed then?”


212 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
She hesitated a moment before replying.
“Not — not right away.”
“What happened? Please tell me everything if
you expect my help.”
“You will help me, then?” she asked eagerly.
“I haven't said so yet. What happened?”
“They got into a discussion about — about me.”
“What was the result?”
“Mr. Winslow said he would disown his son, and
Jack said he intended to leave home the next morn-
ing.
“What time did he go to bed?”
“About midnight. He went to his room in the
--
third story and left his father sitting down stairs
studying the unfinished chess game.”
“Well, go on.”
“That was all — that night. At seven o'clock in
the morning, Mrs. O'Brien, who cooked the meals
and looked after the house, came and let herself in
with her latch key. Oh, I can't —”
“Go On 1 ''
“She stumbled over something on the floor. It


The Old Chess Player 213
was Horatio Winslow with a bullet through his
forehead, and she ran screaming from the house and
called the police. They made a search. No one
was down stairs. They went up to the third story
and found Jack sound asleep in bed. They awoke
and took him down and confronted him with the
body. He was horror stricken and nearly fainted,
and they claimed that was proof of his guilt, and
now Jack is in prison charged with the death of his
father l’’
Barnes looked very grave.
“Did they find the pistol?”
“No, they could not find a weapon anywhere, and
I said that it was a suicide, but they claim it would
have been impossible for the old man to kill himself
and then hide the weapon.”
“A reasonable assertion,” commented the Chief.
“Oh,” she cried hysterically, “you're not going
to turn against Jack, too, are you?”
“I’m not turning against anybody,” said Barnes
quietly.
“But he's perfectly innocent!” she insisted.


214 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“How do you know?”
“He told me so! ”
The detective laughed in spite of himself, and she
began to cry softly.
“Come, come,” he said gently. “Can't you give
me some proof of his innocence?”
She cried eagerly: “Why, he couldn't be cruel
enough to kill his own father!” -
“Have you any of the newspaper stories?”
Opening a little black bag, she produced an en-
velope containing clippings of everything that had
been printed of the crime.
Barnes read them all carefully and then looked
intently at his visitor.
“Miss Brown,” he said finally, “the facts seem
to be all against the young man, but I admire your
courage and somehow I have faith in your intuition.
I'll take the case.”
She jumped from the chair with a cry of triumph.
“I felt sure you would not desert me. I'll go and
tell Jack at once. I’ll let him know that he owes his
liberty to you.”


The Old Chess Player 215
“If he gets his liberty,” corrected the old man
dryly. “We’ve got a hard fight ahead of us, but
I’ll do the best I can.”
Barnes acted with characteristic energy and
promptness. His first call was at police headquar-
ters. Captain Campbell, who was in charge, re-
ceived him quite cordially, but frowned when he
learned his purpose.
“That girl's been whimpering to you,” he said,
with nasty savageness.
“That has nothing to do with the case,” retorted
Barnes. “I came here for information.”
“Well,” was the insolent response, “we’ll prob-
ably give you information that you don't want.”
Barnes smiled cheerfully.
“It may be hard to get what I want here — since
I'm after the truth.”
The captain's eyes bulged and his face swelled
until it looked as if he were about to have an attack
of apoplexy. The other checked the incipient out-
burst of profanity by raising his right hand in that
impressive manner of his.


The Old Chess Player 217
face. The kid got into a fight with the old man and
killed him. That's all there is to it!”
After that unsatisfactory interview, Barnes hur-
ried to the Winslow house. He found Mrs. O'Brien
and Adam Goodrich, Winslow's faithful old friend,
in charge. The good-hearted Irish woman had
been weeping and the old chess player looked
forlorn.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” he said with a
break in his voice, “but nothing you can do can
bring my dear old chum back to me again.” He
pointed to a table nearby. “Look there; there's the
unfinished game of chess just as we left it that night.
It will never be finished now. No one could play
chess like 'Rash Winslow. He was a man worth
playing with.”
Barnes made a sweeping survey of the room.
“Was everything left undisturbed?”
“As far as we know,” replied Goodrich, “unless
the police mussed things up.”
The detective tried the door. It was a big, old-
fashioned affair, controlled by a patent device that


218 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
made it close of its own accord. He next made a
careful examination of the big hallway leading to the
door. There was a narrow mantelpiece against the
wall. The plush drapery attached to this had been
partly torn off. A small, nickel-plated alarm clock
was on the floor, one side dented. The Chief ex-
amined these things carefully.
He was on his hands and knees, carefully ex-
amining the threadbare carpet.
“Did Winslow smoke?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Goodrich, “it was one of his con-
solations. Every night, before retiring, he smoked
a pipeful.”
“I thought so,” murmured Barnes, as he gathered
up a handful of the fine stuff from the floor.
“Now,” he said, “if you will, I wish you would
hold the door open while I examine the outside
steps.”
He wandered around for some moments, but pres-
ently found what he had been looking for. He
arose with a grunt of satisfaction. They reëntered
the house.


The Old Chess Player 219
“I suppose,” said Barnes, “they have probed for
the bullet?”
“Yes,” said Goodrich, “the coroner's physician
did that. He took it away with him.”
“I’ll have to see it, but I don't suppose that's pos-
sible until morning. Did he have any reason for
taking his life?”
“None whatever. He was a bit eccentric, but I
think he was perfectly happy. He loved books and
it cost him very little to live. He was in the midst
of his beloved volumes all day, and had his game
of chess with me at night. What more could a man
wish? I don't suppose I'll ever play chess again.
My nerves are all shaken. Two shocks in succes-
sion are too much for a man of my age.”
“Two shocks?”
“Yes; early on the morning of this affair a thief
tried to break in my house. I think he got away
with some old clothes, but that was all. I discov-
ered him.”
“And you frightened him off?”
“You bet I frightened him off!” chuckled Good-


220 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
rich. “I gave him a scare that he's not likely to
forget. He won't try that game on me again!”
“Did you report the robbery to the police?”
“Yes; but I haven't heard anything from them.”
“What did the fellow look like?”
“He was tall. I didn't get a good look at his
face — he was climbing into one of the second story
windows when I discovered him. You know there
is a little porch or balcony around the upper part
of my house.” -
“How did he get away?”
“He hung on to the ledge of the porch and
dropped to the street and ran. I gave him a part-
ing salute just to scare him. After that I went to
bed and slept in peace until morning.”
“What do you think of the charge against Jack
Winslow P ''
“I don't believe it,” was the emphatic reply.
“He was a decent boy and he loved his father as his
father loved him. They were not demonstrative,
but I know the affection was there. I don't know
anything about their differences. That was a fam-


The Old Chess Player 221
ily matter that didn't concern me. But blood is
thicker than water, and the boy wouldn't harm a
hair of his father's head.”
“But the police believe him guilty.”
“You mean they say he is guilty. That relieves
them of any further responsibility.”
“Probably you're right, Goodrich. At any rate,
it's up to me to locate the thief. You say you
scared him off, but how do you know that he didn't
come back and try to get into Winslow's house?”
“That might be,” said the other. “I’m sure I
don’t know.”
Early next morning Barnes was in consultation
with Captain Campbell.
“Well,” said the policeman tauntingly, “I sup-
pose you found things as I told you?”
“Precisely, Captain,” was the suave reply, “but
there's one little point I want you to clear up if you
will.”
“All right,” was the modified reply, “what is
it?”
“I’d like to see your book of robberies or at-


222 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
tempted robberies reported for Monday morning.”
Campbell grinned.
“It's a long list.”
“I suppose so, but I've plenty of spare time.”
The book was produced and Barnes began his
weary search. Finally he located an item which
told of the attempt to break in the house of Adam
Goodrich on Walnut Street.
“Did you notice this?” he asked the captain.
“Yes; what about it?”
“Well, it's just opposite the house where Horatio
Winslow was killed.”
“I don't see anything in that.”
“Probably not. Have you made any arrests?”
“No.”
“Whom have you in the cells now?”
“Oh, a couple of drunks, and a darkey caught
with a suit of clothes. We arrested him on suspi-
cion. Like to see him?” he asked with a challeng-
ing air.
“Why, yes,” was the prompt reply, “I think I
would.”


224 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
if he talked too much he might incriminate himself.
But when Barnes left the station-house there was
an air of confidence about him that puzzled Captain
Campbell mightily. The Chief called in the coro-
ner's physician next and obtained the bullet that had
killed Winslow. From there he went to the Win-
slow house, where he made another and more care-
ful examination of the hallway and the spot where
the old chess player had been found dead.
Finally, that night, he obtained permission from
Adam Goodrich to sleep in his room in the latter's
house. Similarly, he arranged that Forward should
spend the night at the Winslow home. And last
of all, Clancy, in the rôle of a burglar attempting to
rob the Goodrich home.
The following morning, Barnes, sitting in state in
his Washington Square apartment, sent for Police
Captain Campbell and Deputy Coroner Nordean.
Campbell and Nordean were autocrats in their way
and they had little love for Barnes, but they felt that
his message meant business. They arrived at the
apartment together.


The Old Chess Player 225
“I want you both to release Jack Winslow,” said
the old man quietly.
Campbell laughed, but in an uneasy way.
“I must say,” he said, “that you dispose of that
momentous affair in a light and airy fashion.”
“I do it in a direct way,” replied Barnes, un-
ruffled. “I will produce the real culprit.”
“What?” gasped Campbell. “When?’
Barnes looked at his watch.
“In a few moments.”
“He’s coming here?”
“Yes.”
“Under arrest?”
“No; voluntarily.”
The officers merely grunted their skepticism.
A slight tap on the door was heard. Every one
sat upright. The knob turned and in walked Adam
Goodrich, with a smile on his benevolent counte-
nance. He seemed a bit surprised at seeing so many
men in the room, but he nodded pleasantly to them.
“Did you bring it with you?” asked Barnes.
“Yes,” was the reply, and the aged chess player


226 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
handed a pistol to the detective. It was done with
the innocence of a babe. The detective produced a
bullet. It fitted in the muzzle of the weapon.
Every one gasped with horror.
Before their emotion had died away, Barnes led
Goodrich to an arm-chair and seated him in it com-
fortably.
“My old friend,” he said gently, “can you stand
a shock?”
“Why — er— yes.” he stammered in wonder.
The Chief paused a moment as if unable to pro-
ceed.
“What is it?” insisted the other, impatiently.
“You must not feel too badly about it,” replied
Barnes, “but unfortunately you are the man who
killed Horatio Winslow !”
“Impossible!” gasped Goodrich.
“That's what I said first, but I’ve demonstrated
the truth to a mathematical certainty. Clancy, For-
ward and I reënacted the whole tragedy last night.”
While Goodrich lay panting in the chair, the Chief
told his story:


The Old Chess Player 227
“The moment I heard that Mr. Goodrich had shot
at a burglar I felt that the incident was connected
with the tragic death of Winslow. Every step in
the investigation strengthened that belief until the
final proof has come just now. After Mr. Goodrich
left that night, Winslow had the wordy altercation
with his son Jack.
“It was disagreeable, but not at all sensational.
The boy has told me all that occurred. Presently
Jack went to bed and slept soundly until morning.
Winslow remained up, studying the unfinished chess
game. Finally he lit his pipe for his good-night
smoke. It was quite late, but he went to the front
door, probably to take a look at the weather.”
“I see,” said the Deputy Coroner, nodding his
head comprehendingly.
“The clocks were striking two,” continued
Barnes, “and at that identical moment James Madi-
son, the colored thief, who had robbed the house of
Adam Goodrich, was fleeing down the street. Good-
rich, confused, came to the window and fired his
pistol. Winslow, as I said, was standing in the


228 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
doorway. The ball struck him in the temple. He
staggered back, releasing his hold on the heavy door,
which was slammed shut and dead-latched by means
of the patent spring. Inside the hall, the wounded
man grabbed the plush cover of the mantelpiece for
support. Part of it was pulled to the floor, together
with an alarm clock. Winslow died almost immedi-
ately.”
“How do you know Winslow was at the front
door?” asked Captain Campbell.
“Because the spilled tobacco from his pipe was
not only in the hallway but on the front step.”
“But the time? How do you fix that?”
“By three witnesses,” was the reply.
“Who are they?”
“First, the colored thief, Madison. He says he
heard the clock in a nearby steeple striking the hour.
Second, Adam Goodrich. He admits that it was at
that precise hour that he fired the shot.”
“And the third witness?”
“The third witness,” retorted Barnes, “is the in-
animate nickel-plated alarm clock that I found by


The Old Chess Player 229
the body. The hands of that clock pointed to two
o'clock. Naturally it stopped the moment it was
pulled from the mantelpiece.”
Adam Goodrich had his head in his hands and
was sobbing with the intensity of a broken-hearted
man. The Chief touched him on the shoulder and
said softly:
“Never mind, Mr. Goodrich. You'll go free, of
course, and you have the melancholy satisfaction of
having cleared Winslow's son from a false ac-
cusation.” *
Finally the old chess player controlled his emotion.
He looked up with a tear-stained face. But the rul-
ing passion was strong.
“Poor Winslow,” he said, “that game will never
be finished ' " Then he added hastily, with a look
of defiance:
“If it had been, I'd have won 1 ''


VIII
THE ADVENTURE OF THE
LEATHER BAG
BARNES lay back in a big arm-chair in his Wash-
ington Square apartment, reading the Sunday
papers. He puffed at the beloved stogie, pausing
at intervals to address a casual remark to Forward
and Clancy.
He went through this modern literature rapidly,
albeit with all-seeing eyes. He read the headlines
of the news pages. He skipped the editorials and
woman's section altogether. But he lingered over
the financial page and became absorbed in the per-
sonal and small “ad " section.
Presently he reached for a pair of scissors and
carefully cut a fragment from the personal column.
It seemed to recall something, for he fished down
among the discarded papers and, bringing up a news
230


The Leather Bag 231
section, snipped a short article out of that. He
calmly folded this clipping and put it away in his
pocketbook. The personal he handed to Forward.
“How does that strike you?” he asked.
The lawyer read it carefully and was silent for
some moments. The lines that made him stop to
think were as follows:
“One hundred dollars reward! Lost, between
two and three o'clock yesterday afternoon, in a
Twenty-Third cross-town car, a lady's black hand
bag with monogram “L. R.’ on the outside. Con-
tained twenty-five dollars in money, besides a
number of personal articles of no value to any one
except the owner. The above reward will be
promptly paid and no questions asked if the bag
and its contents are returned to its owner. Miss
Richards, The Lafayette Apartments, West 69th
Street, N. Y.”
“Well,” exclaimed Barnes, cheerily, “I’m wait-
ing. What do you think of it?”
“It's too deep for me,” replied Forward, scratch-
ing his head in a perplexed way. “Why should the
young woman pay a hundred dollars for a bag con-
taining only twenty-five?”


232 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Barnes laughed. “That's the meat in the cocoa-
nut. If it were not for that, it might have gone,
with ten thousand other personals, into the limbo of
forgetfulness.”
“Still,” persisted the lawyer, “I don't see that
we have any interest in it.”
“Forward ' ' exclaimed the old man, with a note
of playful censure, “you pretend to be eager for ad-
venture and you won't grab it when it is whisked
beneath your nose.”
“What are you going to do about it?” chimed in
Clancy, ever ready to head off superfluous conversa-
tion.
“Do,” echoed the Chief, “I’m going to call on
the lady and present her with a leather bag.”
“The leather bag,” questioned the quick-witted
Irishman.
“I said a leather bag!”
“Have you got one?”
“I’ll get one at a department store for a dollar.”
“And that —”
“That,” interrupted the old man, “will be the


The Leather Bag 233
entering wedge into the mystery that lurks behind
the queer personal.”
The next morning at nine o'clock Barnes tapped
on a door in the Lafayette Apartments.
“Come in,” said a very musical voice.
On being shown in, he was confronted by an ex-
ceedingly attractive young woman. She gave him
a welcoming smile, but behind the smile there was an
air of very evident perturbation.
“Miss Richards, I believe?”
She looked at him from a pair of winsome eyes.
“Yes, sir; what can I do for you?”
“I came to see about the advertisement of the
leather bag.”
Her eyes sparkled.
“Oh, you've got my bag!” she exclaimed.
“I’ve got a bag,” replied the Chief, feeling a bit
sheepish at the rôle he was playing.
“Let me see it,” she cried. “I can tell you at
once whether it belongs to me.”
The old man shook his head sadly.
“I can't do that, Miss Richards, I'm afraid we'll


234 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
have to reverse the method of procedure. I sug-
gest that you describe in detail the articles that were
in the leather bag.”
She fell into the trap without the shadow of a
suspicion.
“Why, yes, there was twenty-five dollars in bank
notes.”
“I know about the notes. What else?”
She puckered up her pretty mouth.
“Well, there was a lace handkerchief, fifty visit-
ing cards with my name and address. Surely that
should be enough —”
“Yes, yes, but what else?”
“Two department store coins, a box of capsules
and a latch key.”
“I see — how did you get the capsules?”
“With a prescription, of course.”
“For yourself?”
“Sir,” she said, drawing herself up to her full
height, which was not very high, “what do you
mean by this cross-examination? If you have my
bag, deliver it; if not —”


236 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Her eyes snapped. Her patience was clearly ex-
hausted.
“That does not concern you!” she cried.
Barnes reached over and picked up his hat. He
bowed smilingly to Miss Richards.
“The bag that I have in my possession,” he said,
“does not answer the description you have given
me.”
She stamped her foot angrily.
“How dare you come and trifle with me in this
manner?”
The Chief looked at her gravely.
“Miss Richards,” he said, “I’m not trifling with
you. This is very serious business. You have been
more or less candid with me. The time may come
when you will need a friend. When that time
comes you may depend on me.”
He left her standing there with a look of amaze-
ment and terror in her winsome eyes. At the foot
of the stairs he met Clancy.
“My boy,” he said, “I want you to watch this
place. All sorts of people with all sorts of bags will


238 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
men collided in front of the Washington Square
apartments. Both were absorbed in thought, and
the shock brought them to their senses suddenly. A
fight seemed imminent, when Clancy and Forward,
looking up the same moment, recognized each other.
“I've met with big success,” exclaimed Clancy
exultingly, “and I could hardly get here quick
enough to tell the old man!”
“Same here,” sputtered the lawyer.
Barnes was delighted, a few moments later, to
have his lieutenants report so promptly.
“I’ve little to say,” announced Clancy, chuckling,
“except that Miss Richards has recovered her
leather bag.”
“That's a good deal,” vouchsafed the old man.
“Who returned it?”
“A conductor of one of the cross-town cars. He
came there in cap and uniform. He picked the
bag up from the seat where Miss Richards had left
it. I judged from his beaming face that he was the
finder; so as he came away I stopped him. On my
asking him about the contents of the bag he was


240 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
after a while, wiped her eyes and told me to tell Dr.
Ramsey that she would be there.”
“And did you?”
Clancy grinned.
“No, I left that job to the regular messenger
boy.”
“Will he deliver it?”
“Sure; he's to be paid at the other end. Besides,
I gave him a half-dollar.”
Barnes' face glowed with delight. He turned to
the lawyer.
“Well, Forward?”
“Your speculations proved correct. Dr. James
J. Ramsey is the ship's doctor. He's been with the
boat on its last four trips across. He prescribed for
Miss Richards two days before the boat landed.
It seems that she suffered from an acute attack of
indigestion.”
“How do you know?”
“From the apothecary of the boat. He showed
me the prescription. He knows all about it for
he filled it himself.”


The Leather Bag - 241
Barnes turned to the lawyer.
“You understand something about medicine;
you've dabbled in Latin?”
“What I know about medicine wouldn't save a
sick kitten. As for Latin — well, I know from
* Caesar's Commentaries' that all Gaul was divided
into three parts.”
The old man knitted his eyebrows and said im-
patiently: “What do you think of the prescrip-
tion?”
“I should say, with all due allowances for what I
don't know — that it would be a mighty good rem-
edy for indigestion.”
“Then it looks regular?”
“Entirely so.”
Long before eight o'clock the Chief and his right
and left bowers were at the Hotel Montgomery.
The proprietor greeted Barnes like a long-lost
brother. The old man explained his mission in a
few words.
“Why, I've reserved a table for Doctor Ramsey,”
said the boniface.


xx
* SLOWLY THREADED HIS WAY DOWN TO THE TABLE





The Leather Bag 243
seated, Barnes and Forward could look through a
big plate glass window and get a view of all the
newcomers. Presently a taxicab drove up to the
hotel and an alert young man jumped out. He has-
tened into the dining-room and slowly threaded his
way down to the table where Miss Richards sat.
The young man was a bundle of nerves. He was
tall and slim and wiry. His brown eyes flashed like
tongues of flame. He summoned a waiter and
greeted Laura Richards in such rapid succession that
the two sentences appeared simultaneous.
“What shall I order for you?” asked Dr. Ram-
sey. -
“Nothing,” she said emphatically, the blood
mounting to her cheeks. “I’ve humiliated myself
sufficiently in coming here to meet you.”
“Just a bite for the sake of appearances?” he sug-
gested.
“Not if I were starving!” she exclaimed, with
suppressed emotion.
“Oh, very well,” he answered. “Did you bring
the box with you?”


244 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“I did.”
“Did you bring the letter?” she asked in turn.
“I did.”
“Let me have it.”
He reached in his coat pocket and brought forth
a folded letter. His manner was indifferent enough,
but Barnes noticed that he retained a firm grip on
the end of the note paper.
“Here's your letter,” he said; “now let me have
the box and we'll call it “quits.’”
She produced her leather bag and, diving into it,
drew out a small pasteboard box such as is com-
monly used by druggists.
“Forward,” whispered the old man, “this is the
time your Uncle Dudley plays the part of a high-
way robber.”
Dr. Ramsey was handing the letter across the
table and Miss Richards was passing the box in his
direction. Barnes, who was making his way past
their table, deliberately jolted her elbow. The un-
expectedness of the blow loosened her hold on the
frail thing and it fell to the floor at the feet of For-


The Leather Bag 245
ward. Instantly he stooped down to pick it up.
But Ramsey was there before him, and, giving the
lawyer a push, sent him sprawling on his hands and
knees. At the same moment the young physician
grabbed the box and thrust it into his trousers pocket.
He snatched his coat and hat and made long strides
toward the door of the café. The head waiter
blocked the entrance.
“Your check? Your dinner?”
“Haven't time to wait; give the waiter some of
this!”
And while the chief functionary of the dining
room was straining his eyes to discover the de-
nomination of the bill that had been thrust into his
hand, Ramsey had passed him and gained the side-
walk.
Inside, Barnes was struggling between his natural
chagrin and an unexplainable desire to laugh. For-
ward scrambled to his feet very much flushed with
the half-embarrassed and half-angry feeling that
takes possession of the average mortal who slips on
the ice before a crowd of grinning spectators.


246 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Follow me,” whispered the Chief, “and bring
Miss Richards with you.”
With that he hurried out with the other two trail-
ing after him. The whole business occurred so
quickly that half the diners in the room failed to see
it. The others, with the indifference of their kind,
dismissed it as one of the minor scandals that occur
so often as to excite no comment.
Several taxicabs were lined along the curb outside
the hotel, puffing and snorting as though anxious to
be on their way. Ramsey recognized the one in
which he had come. He jumped in, calling out an
address. The chauffeur closed the door with a
bang, hurried to his seat in front of the machine and
whizzed away. Barnes groaned at the sight, but
wasted no time in moping over his defeat. He
thrust Miss Richards and Forward into a second
taxicab, shouting to the driver:
“Follow that machine! Don't let it get out of
your sight!”
The chauffeur, with the restlessness of his tribe,
glowed at the thought of a race. He let out full


The Leather Bag 247
speed and the car went bounding after its red rival.
Up one street and down another they rolled until
the taxicab reached Fifth Avenue. By that time,
the tail end of the first car was in plain sight.
Barnes noted it with a grunt of satisfaction and
turned to the frightened girl by his side.
“Miss Richards,” he said, in a reassuring voice,
“you must realize that the time has come to tell all
you know.” r
The girl burst into tears.
“I’m only too anxious to relieve my mind,” she
cried brokenly, “I’m only too sorry that I permitted
myself to get mixed up in such a dreadful business!”
“You know Dr. Ramsey?” the Chief asked.
“Slightly,” she replied. “He attended the same
medical college as my brother. He graduated last
year and secured an appointment as ship's doctor
with the Anglo-American Line. I never liked the
man, but was civil with him on account of my
frother. I went abroad this summer to study. Re-
turning, I happened to come over on the boat on
which Dr. Ramsey is doctor. He was very friendly


248 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
with me, but when we were within two days of New
York he said he had bad news for me.”
“Bad news?” echoed Barnes.
“Yes; he said that Frank had written a very com-
promising letter, and that he had it in his possession.
Naturally, I pleaded with him to give it to me or de-
stroy it. Finally he relented and said that if I
would do him a slight service he would give it to me
on our arrival in New York.”
“What was the service?” asked the Chief.
“He said he was going to prescribe for me.
Amazed, I retorted that I was not ill. He laughed
and said that he knew that, but would give me a pre-
scription for indigestion. I was to have it filled and
then give him the medicine. I protested at such a
queer proceeding, but finally, for my brother's sake,
yielded. I thought possibly it was some college
prank. I took the prescription to the ship's druggist
and it was put up in twenty-four capsules in the box
you tried to get to-night.”
“He took the medicine from me and locked him-
self in his cabin. Just before landing he gave it to


250 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
apartment. Ramsey was gesticulating wildly and
telling the chauffeur that he was going in the wrong
direction. But the driver was not paying the slight-
est attention to his protests.
The two taxicabs reached the curb at the same mo-
ment. Ramsey jumped out, but instantly Barnes
had the physician by the scruff of the neck. The
infuriated man shook his fist at the driver of the car.
A musical laugh was the only response. Something
about the tone of that voice caused the old man to
look up. He gave a cry of delight:
“Clancy!”
Ramsey made an effort to get away, but Barnes
pressed the cold muzzle of a revolver against his
cheek and he became as resistless as a babe.
“Straight up the stairway to my rooms!” com-
manded the detective.
The queer procession filed into the familiar apart-
ments, and, while Forward was looking after the
comfort of Miss Richards, and Clancy was devoting
his attention to the prisoner, Barnes was at the tele-
phone. He got a quick response.


The Leather Bag 251
“Is that you, Williams? — This is Barnes —
Come to my rooms at once.— What?— Yes.”
In a short time a tall, official-looking person had
arrived and was greeting the old man warmly.
Barnes turned to the detained physician.
“Dr. Ramsey,” he said, “I want to present you
to Mr. Williams, Chief of the Customs Service.”
Ramsey had stood up at the first words of the de-
tective. At the conclusion of the sentence his legs
gave way beneath him like a pair of worn-out
hinges.
The customs officer, who had been whispering
with Barnes, turned to the prisoner briskly:
“Now, Doctor, I'll take that box of capsules!”
Ramsey gave a backward movement of the arm
and was about to toss the box out of the window,
when Clancy, reaching out, grasped his hand and
wrenched the box from him.
He handed it to the customs officer, who promptly
emptied the capsules on the table in the center of
the apartment. Then he calmly and carefully pro-
ceeded to take the capsules apart. Every one in the


252 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
room watched him with breathless interest as he ex-
tracted a beautiful pearl from each one of the cover-
ings.
“Part of the Dillington pearl necklace!” he
gasped.
“Yes,” assented the Chief, “it will be, after those
pearls are strung together by a good jeweler.”
Williams gathered up the precious stones and sum-
moned a plain-clothes man, whom he had stationed
outside the door.
The doctor was marched off in his custody.
“It seems a shame,” said Barnes, “that such in-
genuity should have to be punished.”
“It would be more of a shame if we let it go un-
punished,” said the customs chief as he started for
the door.
As Forward prepared to escort Miss Richards to
her apartments, the old man turned to Clancy:
“What did it cost you to impersonate the chauf-
feur P’’
“Not a cent — he's a friend of mine.”
“You don't seem surprised at this climax P "


The Leather Bag 253
Clancy smiled in his elfish way.
“Why should I? When you cut out the personal
concerning the leather bag, you also clipped another
item from the paper.”
“But I put that clipping in my pocket-book.”
“Yes, but I bought another copy of the paper and
found it concerned the story of the Dillington Pearl
Necklace. The customs officers were all at sea over
the strange smuggling case. I put two and two
together and I knew that you would finally demon-
strate that pearl necklaces were an infallible cure
for indigestion.”


IX
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ANONYMOUS
CARDS
BARNEs. Forward and Clancy were spending an
evening “at home.” They sat in the bachelor apart-
ment at Washington Square, puffing and smoking
until the room resembled a locomotive roundhouse.
The old man was in a reminiscent mood, and he told
his young friends of many interesting and thrilling
events of his earlier life.
In the midst of his talk, Clancy began idly
handling some postal cards that lay on the table.
He picked one up and unthinkingly read aloud:
“It's never too late to mend.”
Instantly he realized his indiscretion and ex-
claimed: “Chief, I hope you'll excuse me! I
| *
really didn't intend to read your personal letters
254


The Anonymous Cards 255
Barnes latighed.
“You may have 'em all if you want 'em.”
Forward joined Clancy in a stare of mild surprise.
“For four consecutive days I received a postal-
card without date, address, or signature. Each one
contained an enigmatical proverb or warning type-
written on the face of it. On the fifth day none
came. After that, four in daily succession.”
“May I examine them?” asked Forward.
“Certainly,” and the old man tossed the cards to
the lawyer.
Forward scrutinized them carefully and with grad-
ually wrinkling brows. The sentences on the cards
could hardly be regarded as threats, and yet some of
them might be twisted into warnings.
They were as follows:
“Brag's a good dog, but Holdfast's a better.”
“Love me little, love me long.”
“Like master, like man.”
“Time and tide wait for no man.”
“Rob Peter to pay Paul.”
“A man's house is his castle.”


256 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Crosses are ladders that lead to Heaven.”
“Years know more than books.”
After some minutes the young man looked up with
an impotent sigh.
“It's too deep for me, Chief. What do you make
of it?”
“I make nothing of it,” snapped the old man ir-
ritably; “the cards are anonymous. That's enough
for me. What's the use of talking about such silly
things?”
They smoked in silence for some moments. Pres-
ently the old man's eye was attracted by the calendar.
It was an enormous affair, with the date of each day
printed on a separate sheet of paper.
The Chief riveted his eye on the two figures that
stood out conspicuously against the smoke-laden at-
mosphere — 23.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “but that's a reminder
that I must send a telegram to the warden at Sing
Sing!”
“The warden — Sing Sing?” repeated Forward.


The Anonymous Cards 257
“Well,” said the Chief indulgently, “you boys
were not in this affair, but I'm sure you'll be inter-
ested in it. It concerns Bill Tracy, whom I consider
to be one of the cleverest crooks on two continents.
I’ve always felt this deep down in my heart, but I'd
never admit it to Bill. He takes more chances than
any man in the business, and he's as slippery as an
eel, but he tried the game once too often, and now
he's being fed and lodged at the expense of the Com-
monwealth.
“It happened in this way. He went into an ex-
press office in broad daylight and stole five thousand
dollars in bank notes from the cash drawer.”
“How P” asked the astonished Irishman.
“You’ve seen those express offices. Half a dozen
clerks doing routine. Well, in this particular office
the clerk who had charge of the cash drawer wore a
linen duster much bespattered with ink. Another
one of this fellow's personal fads was a green shade
that he wore over his eyes. He usually went out to
lunch about noon and returned a little before one
o'clock.


The Anonymous Cards 259
me to lodge a formal detainer against the
fellow.”
“How did he take his conviction?”
“Oh, as blandly and as smilingly, as ever. But I
made him wince. I told him that he was a bungler;
that only a child in the infant class of crime could
have been detected and arrested under the circum-
stances. But in reality his capture was a bit of
sheer good luck on my part.”
The telephone bell rang furiously as though some
important person were demanding a hearing.
The old man answered the call.
“Is that Bromley Barnes?” came from the other
end of the wire.
“Yes.”
“Well, you are wanted at One Hundred and
Sixty-Eighth Street — at the first drug store near
Seventh Avenue. The druggist there will give you
an important message.”
“But —” began the Chief.
“That's all. Please come at once!” and the
speaker hung up the receiver.


The Anonymous Cards 261
“Don’t you recognize that?”
“No, I don't.” -
The old man turned up the gas in the hallway.
Clancy and Forward stooped to take a look.
“Why, it's your picture!” exclaimed the
lawyer.
“Yes,” said the detective, “it’s my photograph
with an autograph attached. It's a little whim of
mine. I had it screwed on there under that bit of
glass. It's intended to serve notice on would-be
robbers that I'm master of this house. The moment
they see that — and I'm not trying to brag — they'll
run away as fast as their legs will carry them.
You know the old saying, “an ounce of prevention
is worth a pound of cure.’ This is a preventive.”
“Suppose, though,” said Forward, on second
thought, “ some thief should come along that did not
know you or had never heard of you?”
Clancy stared at his colleague with undisguised
SCOTTI.
“The crook that never heard of the old man,” he
said, “is too insignificant to talk about. A fellow


264 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
are hundreds precisely like it in New York City.
The proprietor, a pale-faced young man, came to
meet them.
“You have a message for me?” questioned the
detective.
“Are you Bromley Barnes?”
“I have that honor.”
The druggist gave a sigh of relief.
“I’m glad you came. I'm glad to get this mes-
sage off my hands.”
“What is it?”
“Well, you are to go on up four blocks and ring
the bell of the fourth house from the corner of this
side of the street. You are to go there at exactly ten
o'clock, and when the woman comes to the door you
are to say that you came to see about the papering
of the third story back. She will escort you to that
room.”
“What are we to do then?”
“You are to be guided by circumstances — by
what you find.”
“Gee!” ejaculated Clancy, unable to restrain his


The Anonymous Cards 265
feeling, “this beats a tale from the ‘Arabian
Nights.'”
“Who gave you this message?” asked Barnes,
assuming a cold and formal tone that was intended
to quench the ardor of his assistant.
“An old man.”
“Didn't you think it a peculiar message?” he
asked.
“I did, indeed. I refused to have anything to do
with it at first, but he pressed a ten-spot in my hand,
and before you could say “Jack Robinson,’ he had
dashed out of the door and was gone. After receiv-
ing such a fee I felt bound to follow his instructions
to the letter. One of the conditions was that I was
not to ask any questions and not to attempt to pry
into his secret. I hope I haven't done anything
wrong, Mr. Barnes.”
“I hope not,” retorted the old man dryly, “but
that remains to be seen.”
It was a few minutes of ten, but, jumping into the
taxi, the three adventurers reached the door of the
appointed house just as the hour was striking.


The Anonymous Cards 267
room yourselves. Here it is. I'll carry out his di-
rections by leaving you.”
The light in the hallway was quite dim. For a
moment the three men stood there irresolute. Then
Clancy, with a pretense at courage which he did not
feel, caught the knob of the door of the third story
back and threw it open. Barnes and Forward
marched into the room with their hands on the trig-
gers of their pistols. Clancy struck a match and
lighted the gas.
The room was empty
With a feeble smile, they took their hands off their
weapons. Barnes made a hasty appraisement of his
surroundings. A sheet of paper lay on a table in
the center of the room. It was the form and size
of the blanks used by physicians in writing pre-
scriptions. The old man picked it up. Clancy and
Forward looked over his shoulder. This is what
they read, written in a bold, cheerful hand:
“A wild goose chase has been known to cure
an aggravated case of swelled head.”
Barnes dropped the slip and it fluttered to the


268 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
floor. The young men looked at him sidewise, but
his face betrayed no emotion whatever.
He spoke coldly: “Let’s go down town.”
They followed him into the waiting cab. They
hadn't gone many blocks when they were suddenly
halted. Barnes poked his head out of the window.
A man stood in the middle of the street, wildly
gesticulating. It was the pale druggist who had de-
livered the message only a short time before.
“I want to see you!” shouted the excited
One.
“I guess I want to see you,” grunted the Chief.
“I’ve been cheated!” yelled the druggist.
“I guess I've been hoodwinked myself,”
chuckled the old man.
“Why not ask him what he wants?” suggested
Clancy with undreamed-of wisdom.
“A good suggestion,” laughed the detective,
whose natural good humor was returning rapidly.
“Say, Mr. What's-your-name, what do you want,
anyhow P'
“You know the man that left the message for


270 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Why,” she exclaimed, with eyes wide open at
the idea of any one not grasping her explanation,
“why, the man and the letter and —”
The Chief raised his hand for silence.
“One moment, Mrs. Hobbs. Your news seems
too portentous for a whole sentence. We'll have
to chop it up in little bits for mental digestion.”
Mrs. Hobbs stared at her star lodger as though
he had gone mad.
“Now,” resumed the Chief, “take the man first.
Who was he? What was he and why was he?”
The affair, in Mrs. Hobbs' eyes, was too tragic
for smiles. She spoke gravely, if somewhat inco-
herently:
“Why, sir, he came here a little while after you
left to take the measure for the new rug.”
“I wanted no new rug' " said Barnes.
“That's what I said, sir. But he persisted and
said you would be very angry if I did not let him in.
He said to-day was your birthday — the 23rd, you
know — and that the rug was to be a present from
an admirer. Besides, he showed me the letter with


The Anonymous Cards 271
your name on it. He said that was his authority.”
Barnes groaned.
“The envelope that was nipped from me in the
telegraph office!”
“We don't know yet what's happened,” said
Clancy, looking at Mrs. Hobbs.
“We'll find out for ourselves,” said Barnes, start-
ing at a double-quick pace for his rooms. The first
evidence that something had happened was on the
door. The photograph and autograph of the Chief
had been pried off the panel. The bit of plate glass
that covered it lay on the floor, broken. They en-
tered the room. It was in confusion. An empty
champagne bottle and some cracker dishes and a
cheese holder proved that the uninvited visitor had
enjoyed himself. A note was pinned to the table-
cloth. It read:
“So sorry you were not at home when I called.
However, I partook of your hospitality and en-
joyed it immensely. I want to congratulate you
on your wine. It was just dry enough to suit
my taste. I have taken your photo and auto-
graph as the memento of a very delightful oc-
casion.”


272 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Barnes said something that sounded very much
like “damn.” While he was trying to form an esti-
mate of his probable losses a telegram came from the
warden of Sing Sing. It conveyed the regrettable
information that Mr. Bill Tracy, by impersonating a
workman, had managed to elude his keepers and
escape.
The Chief was so flabbergasted by this unexpected
news that he had to sit down to recover his wind.
Forward looked very grave, but Clancy in his trivial
way, was fooling with the postal cards on the table.
Mrs. Hobbs had handed in another since their return,
so that there were nine cards in all.
Forward, happening to glance at the calendar,
noticed a penciled note under the date. He went
closer, and this is what he discovered:
23
B. B.'s Jonah Day
The lawyer could not restrain a smile, but he for-
bore to say anything to the Chief. The old man had
troubles enough. Clancy was still fooling with the


The Anonymous Cards 273
postal-cards, building and rebuilding them as a child
does with toy blocks. Suddenly the irrepressible let
out a shriek of the war-whoop variety.
“What's the matter?” snapped Forward, whose
nerves were on edge.
“I’ve got it!” shouted Clancy, jumping to his
feet.
“Got what?”
“Nine cards. They form a perfect acrostic.”
“An acrostic?”
“Yes, don't you know,” he cried impatiently, “a
sort of puzzle by which you form words out of the
first letter of each line or sentence.”
Clancy laid the cards out in order on the table.
One glance was sufficient. The acrostic solved
the problem of the whole night's misadventures:
“Brag's a good dog, but Holdfast's a better.”
“It's never too late to mend.”
“Love me little, love me long.”
“Like master, like man.”
“Time and tide wait for no man.”
“Rob Peter to pay Paul.”
“A man's house is his castle.”


276 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
The announcement brought a crush of visitors to
Egyptian Hall. The curator, Dr. Randall-Brown,
had provided a strong plate glass case for the
precious relic, and had given it the place of honor in
the very center of the marble-tiled hall. The collar
of the late — very late — Queen of Egypt reposed
on a velvet-covered stand which displayed its rare
qualities to excellent advantage. The setting was of
some curious metal that was neither gold or silver,
but the necklace itself was a collection of amethysts,
pearls and diamonds.
Egyptian Hall was one of a number of large
rooms in the Cosmopolitan Museum, which was part
of the educational system of the famous University
where some eighteen hundred young men, from all
parts of the world, were preparing themselves for
their attack on the world. The Cosmopolitan Mu-
seum, it might be added, was regarded as burglar-
proof, as well as fire-proof. One watchman was
employed during the day and another by night.
George Young, the day watchman, also acted as a
sort of guide, and when the trouble came he ad-


278 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
ery was made that some one had taken the stones
from the priceless Cleopatra necklace and had sub-
stituted paste diamonds and imitation gems in their
place.
The news, which leaked out in spite of the caution
of the trustees, made a tremendous sensation. The
telegraph and the cable were called into requisition
to beseech the police everywhere, and the learned
men of the world, to join in the search for the mis-
sing treasure. Dealers in precious stones and pawn-
brokers were given the description of the gems taken
from the necklace, with instructions to arrest the
first person who offered such stones for sale. Their
curious size and shape, it was added, would make
their identification comparatively easy. . -
The local police made a determined effort to lo-
cate the stolen property and to unravel the mystery
of the robbery. Every one connected with the mu-
seum, in any capacity whatever, was subjected to a
rigid inquiry but without result. The curator and
the trustees wrung their hands in despair. They
were estimable gentlemen, but their brows were so


The Cleopatra Necklace 279
high and their intellects so keen that they were abso-
lutely helpless in solving every-day problems of life.
The University was becoming the laughing stock of
the world. It was inconceivable, said outsiders, that
such a crime could be committed without the police
speedily detecting the criminal.
It was at this stage of the game that Barnes, go-
ing into the Clarion office, met his friend Curley, of
that paper, and was given this command: “Solve
the museum mystery.” He had been given many
difficult orders in the past, but this seemed the most
impossible of all. Perhaps they were trying to have
some fun with him at the office. “If so,” he said
to himself, “I’ll put the laugh on the other side.”
That afternoon he called up Dr. Randall-Brown
and told him that he had been commissioned to solve
the mystery. The learned curator smiled through
his perplexity and said fervently:
“Do so, and you'll win my everlasting gratitude.”
“But,” insisted Barnes, “I must have your au-
thority to cross-examine the employees and to con-
duct the investigation in any way I see fit.”


280 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“You have all that,” replied the doctor. “I’ll see
that no obstacles are placed in your way.”
The first thing that Barnes considered was the
substitution of the fake necklace for the real one in
the day time. He interrogated George Young, the
day watchman, at some length, and that officer per-
sisted in his statement that his longest length of ab-
sence from Egyptian Hall was for fifteen minutes.
“Didn't you go out for luncheon?”
“No, sir; I carried it with me as usual and ate
it at that little desk over in the corner of the room,
where I had a full view of the case containing the
relic.”
“Have you had many visitors?”
“Yes, sir; especially since the necklace came.”
“How many at one time?”
“The number varied. Sometimes the room was
crowded, and again there would be only two or
three.”
The detective reflected that it might have been
possible for a trained gang of thieves to do the job
in fifteen minutes. One man might have stood


The Cleopatra Necklace 281
guard at the door while a half-dozen confederates
unscrewed the case and made the substitution.
But, of course, they would be subjected to interrup-
tion. Altogether, Barnes felt rather skeptical about
his theory.
His next move was to put Adam Markley, the
night watchman, through the third degree. The re-
sults were far from satisfactory. Adam Markley
had been with the museum for fifteen years, and his
reputation for integrity was very high. Indeed, he
almost took a childish interest in the rare objects
that were in his charge. He was an illiterate man,
but what he lacked in education he supplied with en-
thusiasm and devotion to duty.
Dr. Randall-Brown shook his head smilingly when
Barnes spoke of the night watchman.
“It's all right to put him on the griddle,” he said,
“but you might as well suspect me as old Adam
Markley.”
“I do suspect you,” began the detective.
The venerable Egyptologist gave a start of sur-
prise. He spoke sharply:


282 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Well of all the cheeky —”
Barnes lifted an interrupting hand.
“I suspect you and every one connected with this
place,” he finished. “You know,” he added, “I am
working on the French principle that you're all
guilty until you prove your innocence.”
“Ah,” was the relieved reply, “that's different,
but I'm sure you're wasting your time on the night
watchman.”
Adam Markley told his story in a straightforward
way, and although he was called upon to repeat it,
he never once deviated from any of the essential
details. He was cherubic in appearance, and in
spite of his years, his cheeks were round and rosy,
and his blue eyes looked out at his inquisitor with
child-like innocence and freshness. He constantly
ran his hand through his brown hair, and his manner
seemed to say, “Why don't you look for the thief
instead of bothering with me?”
Barnes, not content with examining the employees,
made an exhaustive investigation into their antece-
dents. He paid particular attention to the two


The Cleopatra Necklace 283
watchmen. Young, he found, was a married man
with a large family living in a modest house in the
suburbs. Markley resided in bachelor apartments
in the city, living comfortably but inexpensively.
Those who knew him were loud in his praise.
Some of his older friends recalled him as a child.
He had a brother, and the two of them, with long
brown curls and rosy cheeks, went about hand in
hand like two babes in the wood. The brother, who,
unfortunately, had left the straight and narrow
path, was now living in the West.
Adam Markley, in the course of his examination,
let fall one remark which Barnes thought might
develop into a clew. He said that Professor von
Hermann had paid five or six visits to the museum
and had stood before the case containing the neck-
lace like a man fascinated. Professor von Her-
mann was one of the world's greatest archaeologists,
and there is no doubt that he keenly felt the disap-
pointment which comes to such a man when a rival
— even though that rival be an institution — secures
the prize he covets. Barnes, in the course of his in-


The Cleopatra Necklace 285
“No,” admitted Barnes, “not yet, but I’ve got a
bully good theory.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not ready to give it out. What I want to
know from you is whether you haven't forgotten to
tell me something.”
“Sir!” exclaimed the doctor, with a rising and
highly indignant inflection, “I’ve told you all I
know.”
“You were in your office in this building the day
before the theft was discovered?”
“I was.”
“Did anything unusual occur? »
“No, sir.”
“You stepped out of your office for a few
minutes?”
“Yes, I was in and out several times.”
“And once, when you returned, you found a
young man fumbling in the drawer of your desk?”
The curator's face lengthened.
“You're right, Barnes, I forgot all about that. It
seemed such a trifling matter.”
*-


288 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“You needn't tell me what you want,” said the
loyal Con, “I’ll go with you anywhere without ask-
ing questions.”
At midnight the two of them were prowling about
the dark stone walls of the Cosmopolitan Museum.
The place was on the outskirts of the city, and at that
hour was lonely and deserted. A dim light shone
from one of the small windows near the entrance.
It was too high for either of them to look inside.
“I'd give a dollar for a soap box or something to
stand on,” grunted Barnes.
Clancy never hesitated for an instant.
“Let's play horsey,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I'll get down on my hands and knees,”
quoth the faithful one, “and you can stand on my
back and peep inside.”
It was no sooner said than done. The im-
provised stand proved to be just the right hight.
By clutching the window sill with his finger tips
Barnes was able to draw himself up and peer into the
little room that led to the museum.


290 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
wondered whether he could, by any possibility, be
taking leave of his senses. In spite of this mo-
mentary doubt he followed his friend with the blind
devotion which was his most becoming trait. Soon
after leaving the museum they were able to get a
cab and in a little while the vehicle, pursuant to
Barnes's directions, drew up in front of Adam
Markley's lodgings.
“This is the part of the job that I dislike, but
desperate cases require desperate methods.”
“How in the world can you get in?”
“This is one feature of the case where credit
belongs to the police department. They secured
skeleton keys in order to search old Markley's
rooms.”
“Then what's the use of your doing it over
again?”
“Oh, they might have forgotten something,” was
the laughing rejoinder.
The two men entered the house noiselessly, crept
silently up the stairs and soon found themselves in
the modest habitation of the old watchman. It con-


292 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
desk down in a way that automatically locked it, and
cried out cheerfully: -
“We’re through, Clancy, old boy; nothing to do
until to-morrow.”
After breakfast next day Barnes called Dayton,
Ohio, on the long distance telephone. It took him
some time to get the person he wanted, but by noon
his face was wreathed in smiles.
“It’s all right,” he exclaimed gaily to Clancy; “I
want you to meet me at Markley's room the day
after to-morrow at eight o'clock in the morning.”
“Why?"
“Oh, we're going to have a little surprise party.”
At the hour appointed Barnes and Clancy were at
the modest quarters of the old watchman. So was
Dr. Randall-Brown. The curator was annoyed.
“I don't like this,” he exclaimed testily; “I don't
relish the idea of breaking into a man's rooms with-
out absolute proof.”
Barnes smiled.
“If we had absolute proof, we wouldn't have to
do it.”


The Cleopatra Necklace 293
“Well, what do you expect to prove by coming
here?”
“That depends entirely on the result of my ex-
periment. We'll know all about it in a few
minutes.” -
As he spoke, heavy footsteps were heard on the
stairway, and in a few minutes Markley entered the
room. He seemed dazed at the unexpected sight of
strangers in his apartments.
“What's — what's the meaning of this?” he
stammered.
“You know,” said Barnes, sharply.
“I don't,” he retorted with a trace of defiance.
Barnes advanced until he stood directly in front
of the old man. He pointed an accusing finger at
him. He spoke sternly.
“I charge you with the theft of the Cleopatra
necklace from the Cosmopolitan Museum !”
The color slowly receded from the cheeks of the
man's cherubic face. He sank weakly into the easy
chair. It was some moments before he spoke, and
then it was in a hushed and trembling voice.


The Cleopatra Necklace 295
“He isn't,” said Barnes, coolly.
The curator pointed a despairing finger at the
gems and then at the cowering man in the chair.
“There,” he cried angrily, “how do you explain
this evidence away?” -
Barnes paused for a moment as though listening,
and then said:
“If I'm not mistaken, the explanation will be here
in a moment.”
He had scarcely ceased speaking when the door
opened, and in walked a rosy-cheeked, brown-haired,
cherubic-faced person. The detective gave a wave
of his hand in the direction of the newcomer.
“Gentlemen,” he said, with something like dra-
matic effect, “let me present to you Mr. Adam
Markley.”
Every one shouted with surprise.
“But who,” exclaimed Dr. Randall-Brown,
pointing to the creature in the arm chair, “is this
man?”
“That,” said Barnes, “is Jim Markley, thief and
general all round confidence man. He had been


The Cleopatra Necklace 297
Randall-Brown's desk, or Professor von Hermann,
the Egyptologist.”
Barnes shook his head.
“The boy was hunting for a set of questions to be
used in the coming examination, while the sight of
the necklace simply caused Professor von Hermann
to give his rare collection to the Cosmopolitan
Museum.”
“You got your clew the night you peeped in at
Markley, didn't you?” persisted Clancy.
“I did,” was the reply, “and the clew was in the
book he was reading. I knew that Adam Markley
could scarcely write his own name and that he could
read only with great difficulty. Therefore, when I
discovered that watchman reading the second volume
of Gibbon's ‘Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire’
with ease, I knew he wasn't Adam Markley. The
rest was easy. The finding of the telegram
that lured Adam to Dayton, and then getting
into communication with him over the long-
distance telephone was simply a matter of
course.”


XI
ADVENTURE OF THE BARITONE
SINGER
It was Kelly, the Chief of Detectives, who let
Barnes into what afterwards came to be known as
the “Mystery of the Baritone Singer.” The old
man was just considering the advisability of taking
an extended vacation when the telephone rang and
Kelly asked him to come down to a certain number
on the avenue.
“I’ve got a case here,” he said, “that threatens
to develop into a first-class problem. I'd like you
to take a look at it while all the evidence is fresh.
I'm willing to divide honors with you.”
Barnes accepted the invitation with alacrity and
took Clancy along. The veteran had a sneaking ad-
miration for Kelly and had coöperated with him in
the solution of more than one big case. Kelly actu-
299


300 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
ally had ideas and was one of the few policemen in
Barnes's acquaintance who was not as dull as he
looked. -
Kelly was waiting for them at the doorway of the
house on the avenue, and acted as their escort,
They passed through an elegantly furnished hallway
and on to the stairway leading to the upper part of
the house. At the landing, a frightened girl turned
and opened the door of what seemed to be the living
room of the house. The sight that met their aston-
ished gaze caused Barnes to give a gasp of surprise.
Stretched prostrate on the floor was an elderly man
with his arms extended. On the carpet next to his
right hand was a glass paper weight, as though it
had just slipped from his grasp. A tiny pool of
blood had trickled from a wound in his head.
The detective dropped down on his hands and
knees and examined the prostrate body. It was
rigid, and life was extinct. The old man turned to
Kelly.
“You might as well have the body removed to the
bed room — then we can look around.”


302 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
and music of “My Old Kentucky Home.” There
was a bay window in the rear of the room, but the
chief noted that the sashes were tightly closed and
fastened with iron clasps. At this stage of the
inquiry the door opened timidly and Marie Hearne,
a niece of the dead man, came into the room. She
looked very white and very frightened.
“You are just in time, Miss Hearne,” said Barnes
gently. “I want to ask you a question.”
She flung herself into a chair and began to rock
to and fro nervously.
“I understand your feelings,” said the detective,
“but I want you to give me a plain story of all that
has occurred in this house to-night.”
“I can't!” she cried; “it is out of the ques-
tion.”
“But you will have to do so sooner or later.
Please tell me now.”
“You do not know what you ask,” she shrieked;
“it would kill me to say anything against Guy.”
“Guy?” questioned Barnes, with upraised eye-
brows.


The Baritone Singer 303
“Oh, no,” she corrected herself hastily. “I
didn't mean that. Please don't mind what I say.
You see that I am overwrought and not responsible
for what I am saying.”
“I have no desire to harass you,” insinuated the
detective in his caressing way; “indeed, I would like
to help you if it is in my power.”
The tears welled forth and relieved her from the
strain under which she had been laboring. Indeed,
she exhibited the common feminine appearance
after a good cry. She seemed relieved. Barnes
saw his opportunity and seized it.
“Now, Miss Hearne,” he said, “I am prepared
to hear your story.”
She looked at Barnes apprehensively.
“I — I — that is, I fear publicity.”
Kelly spoke up in the tone of one who has author-
ity:
“You can depend absolutely upon his discretion.
I vouch for Mr. Barnes and Mr. Clancy, too.”
Miss Hearne seemed satisfied. She spoke slowly,
as if trying to be accurate and fair in her statements.


The Baritone Singer 305
“A few weeks after the concert Mr. Avondale
was a guest at our house. For such a talented
singer he was exceptionally modest. His manners
were good, he made splendid company, and alto-
gether we had every reason to be fond of him. He
sang for us frequently, and it was uncle's delight
to get him in the living room to sing the dear old
plantation songs of the South.”
The young woman paused at this part of the re-
cital, as if loath to say any more. But Barnes
encouraged her in his friendly way:
“Go on, Miss Hearne, and remember that you
have friendly listeners.”
“I dislike to speak of my personal affairs,” she
said modestly, “but I must. I might say truthfully,
that in the beginning I had no more than a passing
interest in Guy Avondale. But before many weeks
had gone by that interest became profound. You
will understand my present position, gentlemen,
when I tell you that I love him passionately.
“Events progressed so rapidly that a week ago he
proposed to me, and I accepted, providing he could


The Baritone Singer 307
one of the wealthy families of the town. He said
that he had some one in view that was distantly re-
lated to the Astorbilts. Anyhow, I left the room
weeping, and when I got down stairs I found Guy
waiting for me in the parlor. He noticed that my
eyes were red and insisted on knowing the cause.
I told him all that Uncle had said and he was furi-
ous.”
“What did he say?” asked Barnes.
“He said he was going upstairs to tell Uncle just
what he thought of him. I begged him not to get
into a quarrel for my sake.”
“What else did he say?” persisted the de-
tective.
“He — he said that love was the only excuse for
marriage, and that if Uncle put money or position
above love, he was not fit to live. He was very
much wrought up and his wild talk distressed me.
I told him that Uncle had forbidden me to see him
any more, and I thought we should separate — at
least, for the time being. He was sulky about it,
but I said “Good night’ to him and came up in my


808 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
room to throw myself on the bed and have a good
cry. I left him standing in an irresolute way in the
hallway.”
“Then what happened?”
“I fell asleep crying. When I woke up I knew
it must be quite late. Something prompted me to
go down stairs, but no one was there. I came up
slowly, and noticed that there was a light in the
living room. The door was shut, but I could see the
light streaming from one of the windows into the
side yard. I knew by that Uncle was still awake,
and I was filled with a desire to go in and throw
myself at his feet and plead my cause. I knew that,
after all, he could never refuse me anything that was
necessary for my happiness. I had my hand on the
knob of the door, when I was startled by a strong
baritone voice breaking into song. It was Guy's
voice. There can be no mistake about that. I could
tell it among ten million. He was singing “My Old
Kentucky Home.’ The words rang out superbly.
I stood there listening, enraptured, to the old re-
frain:


310 Strange Adventures of Bromley Parnes
good-by to Miss Hearne. As they reached the front
door the journalist turned to the servant girl.
“Susan,” he said abruptly, but with easy familiar-
ity, “did Mr. Guy Avondale go up to Mr. Fulton's
room last night?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied unthinkingly; then, with
sudden terror, “I hope I haven't said anything
wrong, sir.” -
“Not at all. You never go wrong in telling the
truth, Susan. But how do you know that the young
man went upstairs?”
“Because a messenger came here with a telegram
for Mr. Avondale, and I delivered it to him person-
ally. I supposed he was in the parlor and I called
to him but the answer came from the head of the
stairs, as though he had just come out of the living
room.”
“Thank you very much, Susan, and good-night.”
As they reached the sidewalk, Kelly accosted the
policeman on the beat:
“Well, Jake,” he exclaimed cheerfully, “anything
going on about here?”


The Baritone Singer 311
“No, Mr. Kelly,” responded the officer. “I saw
Reddy Brown hanging around here earlier in the
evening, but he's gone now.”
“I thought he was in Sing Sing.”
“Released this morning,” replied the policeman.
“Do you think he's the fellow you're after?”
asked Clancy, as they moved away.
“I’ll know before daylight,” said Barnes.
Before the three men separated the detective
asked Kelly to follow out a certain line of work and
promised to meet him the next day. That night he
sat smoking one stogie after another in his room
and all the while thinking. At midnight, when he
turned in, there was a smile of triumph on his face.
The first thing in the morning he called at the Fulton
home to make a second examination of the library,
and when he finished the smile was actually expan-
sive. A little later he met Kelly and Clancy.
“Well, boys,” he cried, throwing away the stump
of his weed and lighting a fresh one, “what luck?”
“Good and bad,” said Kelly, taking the initiative
in replying.


314 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“Simply wait for his return,” was the calm re-
ply. “He'll come back to New York. They al-
ways do. I was at the station to-night, but he did
not arrive. I've got a man on my lookout now, but
I won't anticipate any results to-night. From what
I have learned of Avondale's tastes and habits, he'll
travel on the Colonial Express. I want you two to
be there to-morrow evening. Here's a description
of the man and his photograph. If he comes in on
that train, get him.”
“You bet I'll get him!” retorted the detective.
At the same hour the following night a taxicab
drove up to Barnes' apartments, and Kelly and
Clancy alighted, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered,
athletic fellow with curly hair and a slight blonde
mustache.
“Barnes,” said Kelly, “I want you to meet Mr.
Guy Avondale.”
“Charmed,” responded the young fellow grasp-
ing the proffered hand, “although for the life of me
I can't understand why I am given the pleasure.”
“I want you to make a visit with me,” said Barnes


The Baritone Singer 317
was from Boston, telling me that my brother was
at the point of death. I decided to postpone seeing
Mr. Fulton. I took the first train. Fortunately
my brother rallied and is now on the road to re-
covery. I returned and here I am.”
“My friends,” exclaimed Barnes, as Avondale
finished, “you have heard the 'truth. Mr. Avon-
dale is perfectly innocent of any wrong. I have
the real culprit in that room now.”
They looked at him in perfect amazement.
“Come with me,” commanded the veteran.
They followed him into the apartment. An ob-
ject stood in the center of the table covered with a
cloth.
“Here's the cause of all the trouble,” cried
Barnes.
With that, he threw off the cover, revealing a
phonograph. He gave the lever of the machine a
twist and immediately the apartment was filled with
the strains of
“The sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home,
In my old Kentucky home, far away.”


318 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
It was in Avondale's best voice. A cry of de-
light greeted the old song. Marie flew inte the out-
stretched arms of the young singer.
“Can you ever forgive me?” she cried.
“I can and will,” he said magnanimously, “but
I'll never make another record for your uncle's
phonograph.”
“The thing's as plain as day,” remarked Barnes,
ignoring this flagrant exhibition of love. “Your
uncle was suddenly seized by an attack of vertigo,
and, in falling, he grasped the table cloth, throwing
the books and papers all over the floor, and cata-
pulting one missile straight into the picture on the
wall. His head struck the fender and resulted in
concussion of the brain. That was the real cause of
his death, and it will be so certified by the coroner's
physician.”
“Will this mean a marriage?” queried Clancy,
curiously, as they trudged down the avenue.
The old man chuckled softly.
“If I were as sure of Heaven as they are of
matrimony, I'd be a happy man!”


XII
ADVENTURE OF THE AMSTERDAM
ANTIQUES
“Every day in the week,” soliloquized Barnes,
lounging idly by the window of his Washington
Square apartments, and watching the play of the
light and shadow on the beautiful Arch, “I am com-
pelled to settle a conflict between inclination and
duty. Duty wins, of course, but I must confess
that it's becoming a bit irksome. What happens
this morning? Why, I buy a rare first edition of
Petroleum V. Nasby’s “Swingin' Round the Circle,'
and before I have even a chance to look it over I
get a hurry call from the Custom House to clean
up a problem concerning stolen antiques. I'm no
slave. Why should —”
“I beg your pardon, Chief,” interrupted Clancy,
“but were you talking to me?”
319


320 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
Barnes wheeled around and faced his assistant.
“No, but I'm willing.”
“What's the case?”
“Stolen antiques. It's in the line with the theft
of famous copes and altar cloths brought over here
by sacrilegious rascals and sold to suddenly rich oil
and steel men to adorn freak mansions. In this
instance, it happens to be a case of small ivory carv-
ings made by the famous artist, Artus Quellinus, of
Antwerp. They were pilfered from the Museum in
Amsterdam, taken in daylight from the place where
they have stood for years, just beneath the celebrated
painting of the ‘Night Guard’ by Rembrandt.”
“Any clews?”
“None worth talking about. The confidential
agents of the Treasury Department in London,
Paris, and Amsterdam have been on the case, but
the best they can say is that they believe the thief is
on his way to the United States, and that, in
their opinion, he has taken passage on the Eagle
Point.
“Why, that's due this afternoon!”


322 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
“something always turning up to compel me to take
the straight and narrow path of duty, when all of
my natural inclinations urge me to wander on the
broad road which leads to joy and destruction. But
it's all right, Clancy, I'll take the case.”
Having unburdened his mind of these moral re-
flections, Barnes retired to a corner of the room and
calmly considered the facts in the case of the Am-
sterdam Antiques. Afterwards he spread out two
decks of cards for a variation of the ever-present
Solitaire, this time called “The Sickle.” The kings
took no part in the game, but were put aside as they
appeared, and were used only to make an orna-
mental handle for the “Sickle.” The old man pot-
tered over the game for a full hour. At its con-
clusion, he arose with a grunt of satisfaction.
“My mind's now as keen as the edge of a sickle,
Clancy,” he laughed, “and the villain who gets in
my way is likely to be cut down without pity.”
As they talked, Forward, the legal friend of the
detective, entered, his bright, clean-shaven, clear-cut
face wearing an air of eager expectancy.


The Amsterdam Antiques 323
“You’re just in the nick of time,” cried the old
man; “we’re going out on a case.”
A cloud of disappointment eclipsed the sunny look
on the young lawyer's countenance.
“That's too bad,” he said. “I'd made all ar-
rangements to go down to the wharf to meet an old
friend of mine who is expected to arrive this after-
noon.”
“Oh, well,” remarked the old man, “go ahead
and meet the friend. Clancy and I'll try to handle
this case.”
“But it's not that,” persisted Forward, “I wanted
you and Clancy to go with me and meet Miss
Bangs —”
“Oh,” chortled the Chief, with an arch look, “so
it's a Miss.”
Forward colored slightly. He spoke with some
dignity.
“Miss Bangs is a very, very old friend. We were
children together. I thought it would be a nice thing
to extend her a little courtesy — you know what I
mean. To expedite the examination of her baggage


326 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
would be possessed of six ivory antiques stolen from
the Amsterdam Museum.
From out of the mass of passengers on the deck,
one figure gradually became distinguishable. It was
a small girl with a big black pompadour, surmounted
by a much bigger and much blacker hat. Her eyes
were a jet black, her nose aquiline, her mouth and
chin bewitching but determined and her complexion
an indescribable olive. The moment the gang plank
was thrown out, Forward rushed up with the speed
of a sprinter, never stopping until he stood directly
in front of the small symphony in black.
He grasped her two hands with boyish enthusiasm,
crying out:
“Bernice, it's jolly good to see you home again!”
She smiled feebly.
“Mr. Forward, you'll have everybody looking at
us.”
The lawyer dropped her hands as abruptly as he
had seized them.
“Mr. Forward,” he said sharply. “So it's Mr.
Forward now, is it, Miss Bangs?”


The Amsterdam Antiques 327
“Oh, Jack,” she cried, reproachfully, “you're so
silly.”
“Ah, that's better,” he exclaimed, the familiar
name bringing the sunshine back to his face. “Now
tell me all about yourself.”
She was looking uneasily toward the other side
of the boat. He followed her eyes and his glance
fell upon a silk-hatted and frock-coated foreigner.
The man smiled at the girl and, as he did so, be-
trayed a set of teeth whose whiteness made them
comparable only to a string of glistening pearls.
• Bernice turned to the lawyer with some show of
embarrassment.
“Mr. Forward, I want you to meet the Baron de
Scheldt. He — he has been very kind to me dur-
ing the voyage.”
The Baron removed his hat and bowed most
obsequiously. The lawyer nodded stiffly. He
fought down a most unreasoning desire to choke the
foreigner to death and throw his body into the dirty
river. As the man moved away, Forward turned
to the girl bitterly.


334 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
They proceeded to the Customs House together, and
after a few casual inquiries concerning the sus-
pected trunk that Clancy had sent to the warehouse,
Barnes turned to his companion and said:
“I’m going to ask you a favor.”
“What is it?”
“I want you to call on Miss Bangs. I'll go with
you.”
Forward looked aghast.
“My dear Barnes, the idea is preposterous. You
surely give me credit for having some self-respect.”
The Chief eyed him coldly.
“If you don't go, I'll think you've a streak of yel-
low in you.”
Forward laughed nervously.
“How absurd . I can't for the life of me, see
where the question of courage comes in.” -
“I do. You're an American. Do you propose
... to sit down and let a Baron — with a ‘made in
Germany' stamped all over him — beat you at the
game of love?”
“But the thing seems too utterly ridiculous for


336 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
very seriously to his companion, and by the time
they had walked up the high brown stone steps of
the fashionable house the lawyer seemed quite com-
posed.
The Chief handed his card to a colored servitor.
The servant reappeared in a few minutes and bade
him go up stairs to the library. It was a long noble-
looking apartment, the walls lined with book-cases
and fine paintings.
Bernice Bangs, who was at the far end of the
room, advanced to meet him with a gracious smile on
her face.
“How kind of you to call on me, Mr. Barnes.”
As she saw Forward coming behind the Chief, the
smile slowly died from her lips.
“How do you do,” he said lamely.
“How do you do,” she replied in a colorless voice.
At this moment the visitors beheld the Baron in
the rear of the room. He had apparently been talk-
ing to Miss Bangs and he did not appear to relish the
interruption. He was in street attire, with a long
storm ulster.


338 Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes
shadow. He raised it, there was a sharp report, a
little curling puff of smoke, and Forward's right
arm, which had been stretched across the doorway,
fell limply to his side. The Baron dashed past the
lawyer and down the wide staircase toward the front
door.
Barnes went after him like a flash. The fugitive
gained the street with the Chief in hot pursuit.
In the meantime Forward was facing Bernice.
She noticed that his face was growing pale.
“I beg your pardon,” he said in a disjointed way,
“I am sure I —”
A sharp twitching of the face cut his words short.
She dropped her reserve as if it were a mask and
said quickly:
“Are you hurt?”
“Oh, no,” he began carelessly, “I —”
He paused. The room began to reel. There was
a dreadful buzzing in his head. He could no longer
see her face. Everything went black. He dropped
at her feet unconscious.
She caught at his coat as he fell and it slipped off.


“Forward's Right ARM . . . FELL LIMPLY to His side”


The Amsterdam Antiques 339
A blood-red spot, the size of a penny, appeared and
slowly grew as if by magic, staining the white shirt
sleeve.
She gave a shriek of horror.
“Oh, Jack!” she screamed. “Oh, Jack, speak
to me.”
He lay silently unanswering. The next instant
his head was pillowed in her right arm and she was
stroking his face and begging him to tell her that
he would not die. Barnes, reëntering the room,
took in the situation in a glance.
“A reconciliation,” he chuckled.
“Oh, Mr. Barnes,” cried Bernice, frantically,
“get a doctor quickly! I'm afraid Jack's dying.”
The old man was on his hands and knees at once.
“Get me a basin of hot water at once. After
that some court-plaster and bandages. A sip of
brandy, too, if it's handy.”
She rushed from the room in a dazed sort of
way, delighted to be of service. In the meantime,
Barnes tore away the shirt sleeve and made a more
thorough examination of the wound.


The Amsterdam Antiques 341
Barnes laughed outright, in the hearty way he had
when he was perfectly happy.
“Postpone this nonsense,” he said, “until the doc-
tor has finished his work.”
“Are you a doctor?” she queried.
“No,” he admitted, “only one of those first aid
to the injured fellows.”
In a few minutes the wound was washed, dressed
and bandaged, and Forward was seated in a com-
fortable arm-chair in all the joy of quick con-
valescence.
“All he needs,” said Barnes, roguishly, “is good
nursing. If he gets the right kind of attention he
will be all right in a week or two.”
“I’ll nurse him myself,” she announced, em-
phatically. “I’m the cause of all this and my place
is by his side.”
The Chief seized his opportunity.
“Miss Bangs,” he said gently, “I want you tell
me all you know about the Baron — in as few words
as possible.”
She flushed.


OF BROMLEY BARNES
: §§ 3y George Barton §
Author of “The Mystery of the Red Flame,” “The
World’s Greatest Military Spies and Secret
Service Agents,” etc.
Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
$
Mr. Barton first “broke into print,” as the saying
goes, with a mystery story entitled “The Scoop of the
Session,” which was published in Collier's a number of
years ago, and has the reputation of having written
more short detective stories than any other writer in
the United States.
In this new book Mr. Barton sets forth in absorbing
fashion the Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes,
retired detective, but whose interest in the solution of
baffling cases in public and private life is just as keen
º
º
as in his days of active Government service.
Worried and harassed Government officials, also per-
plexed and anxious private individuals, seek the services :
of the astute detective in national problems and per- :
:
sonal matters, and just how the suave and diplomatic &
Barnes clears away mysteries makes a story that is :
º
º
&
mighty good reading.
sº sºººººººººººººººººººººººººº. ----------


THE MYSTERY OF THE
RED FLAME
#& 3y George Barton
Author of “The World's Greatest Military Spies and
Secret Service Agents,” etc.
Lº
:
Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
$
º
º
T
ſº
TAKE the glorious red flame diamond from the #
museum at Rio de Janeiro, a wily Brazilian rascal, as
º
º
º
[.
º
º
conceited as he is clever, romantic as well as a rogue, a
little-talking but much-doing American Secret Service #
man, a diamond merchant whose activities won't bear a º
customs inspector's searchlight, and of course a beauti– :
º
ful girl! Imagine them all interested intensely in the
diamond and most of them in the girl. It is evident :
that these ingredients are ideal for the thrilling mystery &
tale, especially when the author is a newspaper man
whose hobby is the study of crime and criminals. --
THE MYSTERY OF THE RED FLAME is the #
story par excellence to be read in conjunction with the 3.
shaded lamp, the arm chair and the open fire!


Selections from
The Page Company’s
List of Fiction
WORKS OF
ELEANOR H. PORTER
Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book (400,000)
Trade Mark Trade Mark -
Mr. Leigh Mitchell Hodges, The Optimist, in an editorial for
the Philadelphia North American, says: “And when, after
Pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is
going to take “eight steps' tomorrow — well, I don’t know just
what you may do, but I know of one person who buried his
face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness
and got down on his knees and thanked the Giver of all
gladness for Pollyanna.”
POLLYANNA GROWS UP: The Second GLAD Book
Trade Mark (200,000) Trade-Mark
When the story of PollyANNA told in The Glad Book was
ended, a great cry of regret for the vanishing “Glad Girl”
went up all over the country — and other countries, too. Now
Polly ANNA appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted,
more grown up and more lovable.
“Take away frowns! Put down the worries! Stop fidgeting
and disagreeing and grumbling! Cheer up, everybody Polly-
ANNA has come back!” — Christian Herald.
-
-
The GLAD Book Calendar
Trade-Mark
THE POLLYANNA CALENDAR
Trade Mark
(This calendar is issued annually; the calendar for the new
year being ready about Sept. 1st of the preceding year. Note:
in ordering please specify what year you desire.)
Decorated and printed in colors. $1.50
“There is a message of cheer on every page, and the calen-
dar is beautifully illustrated.”—Kansas City Star.


2 THE PAGE COMPANY'S
WORKS OF ELEANOR H. PORTER (Continued)
MISS BILLY (19th printing)
Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by G. Tyng - - - $1.50
“There is, something altogether, fascinating about “Miss
Billy, some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to
demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment
we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page.”—
Boston Transcript.
MISS BILLY'S DECISION (12th printing)
Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by Henry W. Moore. $1.59
“The story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty
of action and humor. Miss Billy is nice to know and so are
her friends.”— New Haven Times Leader.
MISS BILLY — MARRIED (Ioth printing)
Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a
painting by W. Haskell Coffin.
$1.50
“Although Pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, Miss
Billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just
as much ess. She disseminates joy so naturally that we
wonder why all girls are not like her.”— Boston Transcript.
SIX STAR RANCH (20th Printing)
Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by R. Farrington Fºº,
$1.
“‘Six Star Ranch' bears all the charm of the author's genius
and is about a little girl down in Texas who practices the ‘Polly-
anna Philosophy' with irresistible success. The book is one of
the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of the Polly-
anna books has done. It is a welcome addition to the fast-
growing family of Glad Books.”—Howard Russell Bangs in the
Boston Post.
CROSS CURRENTS
Cloth decorative, illustrated. $1.25
“To one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its
sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal.”
– Book News Monthly.
THE TURN OF THE TIDE
Cloth decorative, illustrated. $1.35
“A very beautiful book showing the influence that went to
the developing of the life of a dear little girl into a true and
good woman.”– Herald and Presbyter, Cincinnati, Ohio.


LIST OF FICTION 3
WORKS OF
L. M. MONTGOMERY
THE FOUR ANNE BOOKS
Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (43rd printing)
“In “Anne of Green Gables' you will find the dearest and
most moving and delightful child since the immortal Alice.” —
Mark Twain in a letter to Francis Wilson.
ANNE OF AVONLEA (28th printing)
“A book to lift the spirit and send the pessimist into bank-
ruptcy!”—Meredith Nicholson.
CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA (7th printing)
“A story of decidedly unusual conception and interest.”—
Baltimore Sun.
ANNE OF THE ISLAND (12th printing)
“It has been well worth while to watch the growing up of
Anne, and the privilege of being on intimate terms with her
throughout the process has been properly valued.” – New
York Herald.
Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
THE STORY GIRL (10th printing)
“A book that holds one's interest and keeps a kindly smile
upon one's lips and in one's heart.” – Chicago Inter-Ocean.
KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD (11th printing)
“A story born in the heart of Arcadia and brimful of the
sweet life of the primitive environment.”—Boston Herald.
THE GOLDEN ROAD (6th printing)
“It is a simple, tender tale, touched to higher notes, now
and then, by delicate hints of romance, tragedy and pathos,”—
Chicago Record-Herald,


LIST OF FICTION 5
NOVELS BY
MARY ELLEN CHASE
THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY
Cloth 12mo, illustrated by E. Farrington Elwell.
$1.50
“‘The Girl from the Big Horn Country’ tells how Virginia
Hunter, a bright, breezy, frank-hearted “girl of the Golden
West’ comes out of the Big Horn country of Wyoming to the
old Bay State. Then things begin, when Virginia—who feels
the joyous, exhilarating call of the Big Horn wilderness and
the outdoor life— attempts to become acclimated and adopt
good old New England “ways.’” — Critic.
VIRGINIA, OF ELK CREEK VALLEY
Cloth 12mo, illustrated by E. Farrington Elwell.
$1.50
“This story is fascinating, alive with constantly new and
fresh interests and every reader will enjoy the novel for its
freshness, its novelty and its inspiring glimpses of life with
nature.” — The Editor.
NOVELS BY
MRS. HENRY BACKUS
THE CAREER OF DOCTOR WEAVER
Cloth decorative, illustrated by William Van Dresser. $
1.50
“High craftsmanship is the leading characteristic of this
novel, which, like all good novels, is a love story abounding in
real palpitant human interest. The most startling feature of
the story is the way its author has torn aside the curtain and
revealed certain phases of the relation between the medical pro-
fession and society.” — Dr. Charles Reed in the Lancet Clinic.
THE ROSE OF ROSES
Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color.
$1.50
The author has achieved a thing unusual in developing a love
story which adheres to conventions under unconventional cir-
cumstances.
“Mrs. Backus' novel is distinguished in the first place for its
workmanship.” — Buffalo Evening News.
A PLACE IN THE SUN
Cloth decorative, illustrated by William Van Dresser. $
1.50
“A novel of more than usual meaning.” – Detroit Free Press.
“A stirring story of America of to-day, which will be enjºyed
by young people with the tingle of youth in their veins.” –
Zion's Herald, Boston.