Lincoln County leader. [volume] (Toledo, Lincoln County, Or.) 1893-1987, 1914-08-07
CHAPTER Iv-Contlnued.

Ing out again. The truth Is, Abby, II
years, long enough for people to for
get me, might reconsider. But 1t
should be under another name. They
envy us millionaires. Why, we are
the lonesomest buffers going. We dis
trust every one; we fly when a wom-
an approaches; we become mono
maniacs; one thing obsesses us, every
body is after our money. We want
friends, we want wives, but we want
them to be attracted to us and not to
our money-bags. oh, pshaw! What
plans have you made in regard to the
search?"
Gloom settled upon the artists face.
i've got to find out what's happened
to her, Ted. This isn't any play. Why,
she loves the part of Marguerite as
she loves nothing else. She's been
kidnapped, and only God knows for
what reason. 1t has knocked me silly.
Just came up from Como, where she
spends the summers now. ! was going
to take her and Fournier out to din.
ner."
who's Fournier?"
"Mademoiselle Fournier, the COM
poser. She goes with Nora on the
yearly concert tours"
"Pretty?"
Charming"
81 see," thoughtfully. what part
OF the lake; the villa d'Este, Cadenab-
bia?"
"Bellaggio. Oh, It was ripping last
summer. She's always singing when
she's happy. When she sings out on
the terrace, suddenly. without giving
anyone warning, her voice is wonder
full. No audience ever heard anything
like It,"
81 heard her Friday night | dropped
In at the opera without knowing what
they were singing. / admit all you
but stick to the whim."
But you can't fake that chap with
the blond mustache," retorted Abbott
grimly. Lord, wish had run into
you any day but today. I'm all in. |
can telephone to the Opera from the
studio, and then we shall know for a
certainty whether or not she will re-
turn for the performance tonight II
not, then I'm going in for little de.
tective work"
ABBY. 1t will turn out to be the
sheep OF Little Bo-Peep."
Have your own way about It,"
When they arrived at the studio Alb
bott telephoned promptly. Nothing
had been heard. They we're subst-
tuting another singer.
Call up the Herald" suggested
Courtlandt.
Abbott did so. And he had to an.
Bwer innumerable questions, questions
which worked him into a fine rage;
who was he, where did he live, what
did he know, how long had he been in
Paris, and could he prove that he had
arrived that morning? Abbott wanted
to fling the receiver into the mouth Of
the transmitter, but his patience was
presently rewarded. The singer had
not yet been found, but the chauffeur
OF tho mysterious car had turned up
in a hospital, and perhaps by
night they would know everything.
The chauffeur had had bad accident;
the car Itself was total wreck, In a
ditch. not far from Versailles.
"There!" cried Abbott, slammlng
the receiver on the hook. "What do
you say to that?"
THE chauffeur may have left her
somewhere, got drunk afterward, and
plunged into the ditch. Things have
happened like that. Abby, don't make
camels hair shirt out OF your paint.
brushes. What pother about a sing.
er! II It had been a great inventor, a
poet, an artist, there would have been
nothing more than a two.llne para.
graph. But an opera singer, one who
entertains us during our idle eve.
nings-ha! that's a different matter.
Set instantly that great municipal ma.
chinery called the police in action
sell extra editions on the streets.
What ado!"
What tho devil makes you so bit.
teri"
| WAS bitter? thought ! was
philosophizing." Courtlandt consulted
| his watch Half after four. "Come