The Donaldsonville chief. [volume] (Donaldsonville, La.) 1871-current, 1911-08-19

I in vain she was known to dealers as
one of the most liberal collectors in
the world. She turned to a rosewood
desk and took up telephone.
| 'Gramercy, 9-7-4-6," she called.
! ''The Efingham ?-Mr. Ranscome,
please.-This Is Mrs. Missioner, MT.
Ranscome.-Yess | am at home
Can you come up for few minutes!
Thank you," and as she returned
the receiver to the hook, she explain
ed: "Ranscome is the oldest expert
in New York.
while we are about it, said Sands
| slowly, eve may as well call head
quarters" He reached for the tele-
phone, but his hand was stayed by
Dorothy's huttering fingers.
ooh, Bruxton," she said, please
don't call the police" and as his eye
brows went up, she added, i am SO
frightened"
81 wouldn't be hasty, Sands" said
Griswold. THE newspapers follow
| the sleuths, you know,
I'm not think of the newspapers,
replied Mrs. Missioner, "but maybe
we'd better wait for Mr.. Ranscome.
| You see,'' and there was perplexlty
in the glance that swept the group,
| this is no ordinary theft"
"Not burglary, you think?" asked
Griswold quickly. He had lighted his
cigarette, and, leaning back in coy
| corner of the inglenook, was smoking
with little abrupt. puffs that con-
trasted with the ease of his position.
He studied the widow coFertly
| through weaving wreaths.
''If burglar could reach this room,
I must reorganize my household she
murmured. She was gazing into the
flames. Her shoulders dropped, and
Sands, noticing her WEAKNESS
switched off the lights. The rainbow
sparkle of the jewel trays varied fan
tastically the pattern of the rug on
which they lay, but the background OF
! dusk rested her.
| "And there is no one you suspect?,
There is no one in the house can
suspect"
"You are to be congratulated" Girls
void commented, with smile dis"
creetly divided between sincerity ana
satire "And, of course, having such
an impeccabIe household"
eff I were you, Doris" Sands broke
In impatiently, "I'd send for the po-
lice at once" His slow logic had car
ried him to the fact that even now
the thief might be on the road to es-
cape. Little Miss March glanced at
him admiringly. Swift or slow OF wit,
the man of action appeals.
81 think Mr.. Sands is right, Mrs.
Missioner" she said softly. 1t fright
ened me at first, but Bruxton knows"
Advise me-" said the widow, her
satin slipper tap-taptapping the fen
der of FURNISHED brass. Il am not
testing when I say I am in the hands
Of my friends. All this Is more than
pulling .
''Puzzling!" echoed Dorothy. Its
mystery-and it's all very dreadful,
too" Sands looked at her, smiling.
There was eloQuence In those rare
smiles of his, much more than in his
speech. Not without cause did Wall
Street know him as Silent" Sands.
.eWhy not a private detective"
Griswold suggested. s.'It Is the best
way to recover stolen property.
"Mr. Ranscome, madam
A footman Of conventional pattern
stood on the threshold as If on a
pedestal and looked at Mrs. Missioner
from carven face.
Let him come up, Blodgett," she
responded The carven features
blurred into the background. A round
little man with the face Of dreamer
and the eyes of student entered, al
most on his toes. Mrs. Missioner
greeted him pleasantly, and as she
pressed the button that filled the
room with light again, she presented
him to her friends Mr.. Ranscome, !"
she added. is an expert Of experts.
Briefly the widow recounted the &C
cident in the opera box, the discovery
of the supposed Maharanee dia-
mond's worthlessness, and her sus-
picion as to the other stones Of her
necklace. During her recital Rams
comes glance caressed the gems in
the scattered trays, and it was by a
visible effort that he wrested his eyes
from them to look at the stones on
the table.
Are they real?" asked the widow.
The little man seemed not to hear
her.
did you say, madam. the Maharar
| nee diamond?"
"Yes," she answered, and waves Of
pain rippled across her face. ooh,
Mr.. Ranscome, think of it-think of
it," She clasped her hands SO tense
ly the rings upon them bit her flesh.
Think of it, Mr.. Ranscome!"
THE Maharanee!" he murmured-
say, rather, groaned In an undertone.
"a glorious jewel, a wonderful jewel,
queens jewel! Gone, did you say?
Absolutely gone-not trace Of it?''
With the fiat of his hand, he spread
| the smaller stones on the table strok-