Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1896-06-18


Our train had been snow-bound 70,
nearly two days. At first most of us wer,
very naturally restless and impatient
but as the hours drfted by, we grew
phifosophcally resigned. Two of the
trainmen. together With several passen
gers, had volunteered to fight their wa.
to the nearest station and bring relief; sc
there was nothing to do but occupy oui
minds with cards, conversation and smoke
and try to forget that our stomachs had
been put on short allowance.
With this aim several inen gathered AZ
one end of the smoker and took to spinnna
yarns, first humorous, then of adventure,
and finally drifting into what are known
as detective stories" There were fiva
of us besides myself; two drummers, one
from New York and one from Chicago; q
Frenchman, who had been doing" the
country; fussy old gentleman on his
way east to attend his daughters wedding
Which he was pretty reasonably sure to
miss, and n gnunt. powerfully built man,
with sombre, nervous face and gray
hair, who suggested crcss between a
New York stock broker and Kentucky
colonel.
The Pnpchman, one of the best com
panions, by the by. ! ever met had Just
concluded. amid an avalanche of wclrdy
nccentuatcd English and cyclone of gcs-
ticuation, "true" story of the most pro-
nounced Gahoriau type, when our sombrc
nondcscrpt cleared his throat. He had
shown no interest whatever in the humor-
Gus tales of the drummcrs. and thad paid
but little more attention when the theme
shifted to travel and adventure. The de-
tcctive vein seemed. however, to rouse
him somewhat. though hitherto he had
evinced no disposition to bear his share of
the telling. Therefore. when he did speak,
we all turned to him with the greater nlac-
rty.
81 suppose some of you will recall the
name of John Phillips?" he said, looking
around.
"The big detective who died n few years
ago? Sure! put in one of the drummers.
eyes" continued the first speaker; "the
greatest. perhaps the only really great de-
tectve this country has over produced"
"Lct mo see-but was he nm Americana"
] asked. at seems to me l hchd once
that he was an Italian"
"No. His father was a Neapoltan.
Sebastian Phillips-the name was orig.
inally Phillippi." went on the other. Csc
bastan came TO New York when quite
young, married Southern woman. and
went into the business of importing fruit
from Sicily. His son was born here and.
when old enough made several voyages on
his fathers ships. They tell how he had
quarrel with one of the captains once,
deserted at Mcssina, and wasn't heard of
for over a ycar-lived among the peas
ants in the interior. So. you see, he was
an adventurous young fellow, even in
those days; but the experience was just
what was needed to make him what he
afterwards became. Take the subtle in
tclligence of an italian. and ndd to it an
American mother and an American edu.
cation topped off with several years of life
right down among the lower classes and
you've got the best foundation for Il good
detective that | can Imagine"
"Well. he was n good one interrupted
drummer No. Q. Somebody told me once
but, pardon me, sir"
Il was going to tell you of perhaps tho
most remarkable case that John Phillips
ever unravelcd," said the sombrc man.
Lets have it by all means" came from
us in chorus, in which the offending
drummer joined heartily. The sombre
man leaned back in his seat, half closed
his eyes and began:
A number of years ago / was residing
with an elder brother at n certain village
situated on the Hudson river not far from
the northern end of the Palisades. Our
family was composed of my brother Rob
ert, his daughter Mary, myself and a
negro servant of the name of Pompey
Augustus Anderson. My brothers wife
had died shortly after the birth of my
niece, who was, at the time speak Of n
remarkably handsome though delicate
girl She was clever, too, and, at times,
erraticaly brilliant; but she was a crea-
ture of strange moods, and there We're