Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1908-06-12


ing into the cab after his friend, spread
the sheet just wet from the press out
upon his knees.
"AhP' he calculated, this plot thick
ems with vengeance. Whom do you think
the murdered man isP'
| Il cannot guess"
1t is Vougeot, the detective whom the
project of police placed on the track of
Jules Chabot."
1t was not voluminous document, the
report of the trial and conviction of
Philip La Seur To be sure, no one from
a perusal of it could have argued the
identity of the prisoner in the case with
the Philip Graham of Belliers But were
the facts Cleaned from the evidence con-
clusiVe2 Certainly not. There were
points OF identity, however, which were
quite marked; the age of the prisoner
nearly corresponded with that Of the man
they were looking for he had not been
all his life in Paris he had neither father
nor mother living-but beyond that there
was little enough about his family his
tory. The court had offered to appoint
a lawyer to defend him, which offer the
prisoner had refused and had made a not
unable speech in his own behalf, which
in all likelihood had been the means of
sensibly influencing the court, for in
pronouncing sentence, the judge had ex-
pressed his regret that the prisoner had
misused his talents to commit the crime
with which he stood charged. Though
he examined all the papers connected
with the case, Cassagne was unable to
discover anything by which the identity
of the two persons could be more fully
established.
I'VE have yet the locket," he said, at
length, "hich perhaps may help U.S."
But it Is the locket of Henry, not
Philip Graham" said D'Auburon.
Il have not forgotten that" replied
the detective. But a family likeness is
a strong thing sometimes. This portrait
OF Henry Graham Is undoubtedly a good
likeness. Recollect that DIR. Mason, the
laundress, the janitor at Blols and the
priest at Belliers have all recognized it as
his portrait 1t was taken when he was
quite a young man. Sometimes father
and son, at the same age, very closely re-
semble each other. If there should be a
strong likeness between the portrait and
Philip La Seur whom should you take
the latter to be?"
"Why, Philip Graham, of course as we
have all along hoped; but what of that?
We have no portrait with which to COM
pare It,"
"You forget" replied Cassagne, "the
admirable collection Of photographs at
police headquarters"
(which is under the strict surveillance
of the project Of police. Do you SUD-
h. Ill
when our success means his defeat? Not
exactly; why, we could never get beyond
the door,"
II will take care of that" replied NJ
Cassagne.
M. Cassagne, on parting with his
friend, buttoned up his coat with the
air of a man who prepares himself for
energetic action, and passing across the
river, plunged into the most intricate re-
cesses of tie Latin Quarter. Before
crossing the river, however, he had stop
ped at fanous confectioner's and pur-
chased boz Of bon-boLs. What did NJ.
Cassagne want with such things?
Arrived at a house In the Rue Bat
tiney, NJ. Cassagne stepped inside the |
hallway and pressed his finger on a small |
white buttoI. The sound of an electric |
bell ringing upstairs was almost immedi- |
ately followed by a voice exclaiming
down the speaking tube:
WHO is there?"
as that Madame CIesson?" inquired
the detective, in a low but distinct voice.
at is"
Il am Alfred Cassagne. Let me come
upstairs. l want to see you about i'm
portant business"
A changing sound was heard, and a
black door which had hitherto prevented
ingress to the stairway, released by a
spring, swung slowly back upon its
hinges. The detective stepped on to the
stairs, and, closing the door after him
with some care, assembled to the second
story.
A small, dark-complexioned woman.
apparently about twenty-five years of age,
opened the door of one of the apartments,
and invited him to enter. The room was
neatly furnished and was evidently one
oil a suite. At table near one of the
a little girl sat doing sums on a
slate: She had the black hair of her
mother; beautiful, saucy, piquant
mouth; eyes of a deep, scintilating blue
and little figure that was the very per-
lection of childish grace She arose on
the entrance of the detective and ran
-Oward him, holding out both hands.
"Ah Papa Alfred, how do you do?"
she exclaimed. Have you brought me
lome bon-bons?"
"A kiss first" cried the detective, lift
ng her in his arms
Nile Celeste Cresson having complied
~ placing both arms around his neck
md putting her charming mouth to his, |
lie set her down on the floor and bade
Ter search for the bon-bons. in the course
# which she brought to light a great
many articles of Papa Cassagne's pecu-
lar calling, all of which she placed in ,
er apron, declaring she would never sur
ender them.
At length, having found her bon-bons,
er playmate was at liberty to address
imself to the young mother, who all
his time had been standing by clapping
er hands, and seemingly evincing as
luch delight, when u wig or a pair of 1
was unearthed from the depths {
the detectives capacious pockets, as
he child herself.
Nine. Rosa Cresson, from whose face
II trace of amusement had now vanished, 9
nd who sat easily in her chair prepared
, listen to the detective, was a woman
18th history. Married at an early age
nd cruelty deserted by her husband. she
ad been thrown upon her own resources.
here were many occupations open to her O
Y which she could have earned a living.
he could have found employment in
had she chosen, for she was
n expert with her needle. She could
ave taught the piano, or set up as a f