Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-02-26
Continued from page 10

IF she's out of town." he replied, I'D do
what l could; do anything in reason, except,
of course, to leave the city just at present.
God knows my whole career may depend on
my being here now every minute!'
"Exactly!' said Alice, and that was her
final word with the man, but not her final
disgust:
She sounded nearly every man who had
hung on Thurley's words and moves while
flowers and speeches were the price. There
was none in them all, she felt convinced,
with the manhood, the courage, and the self
denial to risk his comfort far less risk his
Life, should the @Princess' require such sacri-
fee to defend her, perhaps from death.
In the final analysis not few regarded
Thurley as already the prize, and therefore
the charge, of the young Grand Duke Karl
Wilhelm. They would gladly firt with his
affianced bride; but her dangers were all for
him.
TT was late when Stuyverant telephoned at
last that faint star of hope had risen.
His message was brief and excited, the merest
statement that hint had arrived at the
Baron's headquarters and that anything
further that might develop would be phoned
in later on. He was going, Robley added,
to a place far out from Manhattan, to in
vestigate vague report which might prove
utterly groundless.
1t was late when he started in his car, with
his man in the drivers seat. He had ascer-
tanned that no railroad trains ran nearer
than fifteen miles or more to the west OF
North Winog. He was dressed in furs which
differed but slightly from those of his mech
anician. Wolfskin robes we're heaped in the
tonneau, if occasion should arise for their
use.
Their lamps were lighted on the ferryboat.
Half an hour later, with nearly four clear
hours ahead of them in which to cover a
distance calculated at something under sew
enty miles, the car was going like huge
projectile over roads hard as flint.
The darkness descended swiftly. The
night was moonless; but. the film of snow
that lay on all that lifeless world reflected
defining the pike. For more than quarter
of the distance the big device of modern
power and velocity shot through villages,
past fields, and over bridges like a thing
made glad by its own sheer might and per-
lection. Then it blew out tire-and long,
heart racking siege of disaster had been
ushered in, as if at the reckoning of Fate. A
cylinder began to miss; then the gears Of the
intermediate speed were stripped out One
crushing, delaying complication after an
other arose. The great machine, now racing,
every known depravity Of steel and spark
and gasolene. Another tire went the way
of ruin. Impatiently, wildly, Stuyverant
strove to redeem lost time; but in vain. 1t
was one interminable series of delays, re-
pairs, and exhausting efforts to keep the ma
chine on its legs.
How they limped along toward North
Winog, Robley could never have told. 1t
seemed veritable nightmare of helpless
ness, wherein he struggled furiously to get
ahead, only to be baff1ed, hindered, stalled,
by things intangible that may not be en-
gagged and overcome.
TT was midnight and past when they came
at last to the village. They had gone
astray from the road, among their other ac-
cidents, and expended an hour getting back.
The little settlement in which they found
themselves at last seemed part of the
frozen world. Not light was shown
from any house, where all appeared like
spectral things, merely mockeries of mems
abodes.
Leaving his man in charge of the car,
Stuyverant fastened off at once to find the
abandoned mill. He came there at last, dis
covering an empty old ruin through which
the wind was bowling dismally. There was
nothing about the structure to give him the
SLIGHTEST oI1idcnca ar a hint as tO what he