The Washington times., 1913-11-11


r. carefully. but he was in a fever
i of impatience to reach the end.
The chance remark of Susan
Finley's mao been repeated even more
emphatically by Mrs. Brownell, If un-
consciously His undreamed-of conjec-
ture was assuming more than the pro-
portions OF mere possibility.
At the South Station he found that
there was a night train which would
take him part of the way on his jour
ney to the obscure little Lookoff noun
tain station. and after a dinner at a
nearby hotel, and a wait of an hour or
two, he boarded the sleeping-car and
prepared to obtain what rest he could,
in preparation for what lay before him.
Sleep was out of the question, how
ever. The rumble and motion Of the
train, the snores and restlessness Of his
Tellow-pasSengers, above all, the ten
sion to which he himself was keyed up,
kept his eyes wide open and the
thoughts and conjectures racing
through his brain.
At one moment he rallied mentally
at himself for not having left to the
police the obvious routine work he
had been engaged in for the last week,
and gone at once to delve in the
past for the heart of the mystery. At
the next, he realized that without his
private knowledge Of the partial iden-
tification OF the missing maid by Philip
Merriman and Bertram Goodan the
police would have been powerless to
connect her with Miss Muriel Ken
nedy, and that without his own dis
coYery of the disposition of the unfor-
tunate Mrs Van Rensselaers jewels
he himself would have been devoid of
a clue to what he might hope TO find in
her girlhood's home, and his aimless
questionings might have resulted in
nothing
In the bitter cold of an early Septem-
Der dawn, he alighted at a junction high
in the mountains, with a bleak two
hour wait before him. He obtained
some hot coffee and bread At a nearby
house, and waited, with what patience
he could muster, for the train which
would bear him to his destination.
When il came, he found to his dis
may that he would be compelled to
change again, and then fairly crawl up
the mountainside. behind a gruntinS
little traction engine. So II was nearly
noon before he at last stood on the
broken-down platform at Lookoff noun
tain.
The sole individual in sight, lean,
leathery looking baggage agent, ap-
preached and asked if he was looking
for some one. He replied that he was
merely stopping off for a few hours.
on his way North, and asked who
lived in the scattered farmhouses in
the neighborhood.
BY judicious questioning he learned
that every house in the Immediately
surrounding country had passed into
the hands of strangers from other
parts during the last 10 or 70 years.
with one exception, and on that lonely
farm dwelt an old man. half-witted
and bedridden, with the daughter OF
his nearest neighbor coming in every
day to do for him
They'd send him to the poor farm
over to jackson. only they cal'lae he's
an he might leave ii to some Of 'em
when he dies. I don't guess he's got
a cent, but he was allus powerful close
listed OIL Zeke Stoner was, an he did
own a good deal O. land around here
once"
And where is Jackson?" asked
Yorke casually.
Fourteen mile over tn mounting" /"
was the answer. Nearest village in
S0-odd mile"
How can I get there? Is there any,
where here i can hire rig and a man
TO drive me over?"
WHY didn't yer say We wanted to go
TO jackson" his informant demanded
disgustedly. "Or man Fairweather
lives in that white house, there, with
the red barn. He'll likely drive We over"
Yorke proceeded to the house indi-
Gated. and after an Introductory 1dick-
err he was soon creeping up the noun
tain road behind a pair of sprung
kneed. hollow-backed hill horses
How big a place is Jackson?" he
asked his driver.
Old man Fairweather, scratched his
head ruminatively with the butt end
Of his whip.
wal. pretty big, The emitted at last.