Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-09-16
Isn't anything ever going to happen?" he de-

manded.
The guard didn't say
You'll never convict yourself your own
statement Hatch burst out again in disgust
He stretched out a couch, bored by the same
which had characterized the last few hours
of his adventure. His attention attracted by
movement at the door, and he looked up. His
guard heard, too, and with revolver in hand to
the door, carefully unlocking it. After few hur-
red1y whispered words he left the room, and Hatch
meditating instant rush for window when
the woman entered. She had the revolver now. She
deathly white and gripped the weapon menac-
ingly. She did not lock the door-only closed it
but with her own person and the attention COM
pelng revolver she blocked the way.
What is it now?' asked Hatch YEARLY.
"You must not speak or call, or make the slightest
sound, she whispered tensely. If you do I'll kill
you. Do you understand"
Hatch confessed by a nod that he understood.
He also imagined that he understood this sudden
change in guard and the warning 1t was because
some was about to enter or had entered the
house. His conjecture was partially confirmed
instantly by distant rapping on door.
Not sound, now !! whispered the woman.
From somewhere below he heard the sound of
steps as one of the servants answered the knock.
After short wait he heard two voices mumbling.
Suddenly one was raised clearly.
Why, Worcester can't be that far" it pro-
tested irritaby
Hatch knew. 1t was The Thinking Machine The
woman noted change in his manner and drew
back the hammer of the revolver. The reporter
the idea. He didn't dare call. That would be
suicide Perhaps he could attract attention, though
drop key for instance. The sound might reach
One hand was in pocket, and slowly he was drawing
out key. He would risk it. Maybe
Then came new sound. 1t was the patter of
small feet. The guarded door pushed open, and
a touse-headed child, boy ran in.
Mama, manual" he called loudly. He to
the woman and cutched at her skirts.
"Oh my baby! what have you done?" she asked
pteously. 1--WE are lost LOST"
Me faid,' the child went
With the door-his avenue of possible escape
open. Hatch did not drop the key Instead, he
gazed at the woman, then down at the child. From
below he again heard The Thinking Machine
How far is the track, them
The servant answered something. There
sound of steps, and the front door closed. Hatch
knew that The Thinking Machine had come and
gone; yet he strangely calm about it, quite
himself despite the fact that nervous finger still
lay on the trigger of the pistol.
From his refuge behind his mothers skirts the
boy peered around at Hatch shyy. The reporter
gazed, gazed all eyes, and then convinced. The
boy Walter Francis, the kidnapped boy whose
pictures being published in every newspaper of
dozen cities. Here stOry-the Story-the
superlative story.
Mrs. Francis, if you wouldn't mind letting down
that hammer" he suggested modest1y. Il assure
YOU | contemplate harm, and you-you are
very nervous"
You know me, them she asked.
"Only because the child there, Walter, called
you mama"
reck1ess1y that Hatch Involuntary lodged. And
then came scene, with tears in it, and all
those things which stir men, reporters. Finally
the woman dropped the revolver on the floor and
swept the boy up in her arms with gesture of in
finite tenderness. He cuddled there, content At
that moment Hatch could have walked out the door,
but instead he sat down. He was just beginning
to get Interested
"They sha mt take you'll sobbed the mother.
There is immediate danger" the reporter
assured her. The who came here for that pur-
pose has gone. Meanwhile if you will tell me the
facts, perhaps-perhaps 1 may be able to be of