The Sentinel=record., 1914-10-25
Copyright, 1914. by Louis Joseph Vance

He demonstrated his return to COM
mon sense by making round break
fast in Grand Central station before
looking up the residence of Digby in
the telephone directory.
The information he gathered from
the voice that answered the name of
Mr.. Digby over the telephone shook
only momentarily Barcus' innate con-
viction that intimate acquaintance
with battle, murder and sudden death
was the inevitable reward of associa-
ton with this friend of his heart.
ALAN being married to Rose Urine
in Jersey City at this very minute!"
he breathed specifically as he emerged
from the booth memorizing the ad'
dress of the alleged officiating clergy
man. Il don't believe It; it's too sud
den"
Forthwith he engaged a taxicab to
convey him to Jersey City, at top
speed, for an exorbitant reward.
: And when, from the forward deck of
a ferryboat. he beheld dense volume
of smoke advertising a conflagration
on the Jersey shore, not far from the
waterfront, he shook a moodily ea-
gacious head.
somehow" he declared hes missing
bet for once-and I'm a sorry failure
as prophet of woe and disaster!"
There was as much intuitive appre-
hension as humor responsible for this
remark; witness the fact that, on land
ing, he risked the delay required to
turn aside and have look at the fire.
1t peoved to be situated in the heart
of a squalid slum-a wretched tene-
ment of the poorest class, whose roof
had already fallen in and whose walls
were momentarily threatening to go
by the time Barcus arrived on the
scene.
AT considerable distance from him
small disturbance had broken out
a clamor of protesting voices lifting
about the rumor of the mob--as
number of men, case-hardened roughs
one and all, began to force their way
in a V-shaped wedge through the
throng, making toward it's very heart,
the point on the fire-lines nearest the
burning building.
What this meant Mr.. Barcus had
not the slightest idea. But his atten-
ton was first distracted by the maneu-
yer, then fixed by the face of man
who was following in the hollow of
the Van evil white face that seemed
somewhat vaguely familiar, somehow
reminiscent of something strange that
had happened in the history of Mr..
Barcus.
At the same time, at the point where
the V had paused, wild uproar lifted
up and, coincidentally, wilder confu-
sion became noticeable. A cry was
audihle-"Firebug! Lynch him! Lynch
him! Lynch the firebug and at
| this the mob turned as one man and
streamed away In pursuit of an In
visible quarry, who chose to attempt
his escape by a route directly oppo-
site to that which would have led him
within view of Mr. Barcus.
Startled, and of a sudden persuaded
that there might have been more in
his bunch" than was sanely to be
credited, Barcus started up and was
on the point of stepping out of his
cab, If with a rather aimless purpose
when he was stayed by sight of that
evil white face returning the way ii
had come--still in the hollow of the
flying V, which now made faster prog
ress, thanks to the disorganization oil
the mob by the chase of the alleged in
cendiary.
And now, Barcus saw. the man OF
| the white face was not alone. There
was someone with him-someone
whose head was bent and face con
| cealed, but who seemed to be femi
| nine.
And so, Barcus argued, why might
1t not be Rose Urine. suffering new
persecution at the hands of her unnat
ural fathers creatures?
He was too far away to make sure
and attempt any Interference: but he
pointed White Face out to his chauf.
| feur as the V reached a touring car
on the edge of the mob and the woman
was lifted in tunresisting and appar-
emily in a dead faint, and when the
touring car swung round and picked
up its heels, the taxicab of Mr.. Barcus
trailed 1t as unostentatiously as If 1t
was pertinacious shadow.
Ten minutes later, from the rear
deck of a ferryboat in midstream-a
boat bearing back to New York not
only the touring car of White Face,
but the cab of Mr. Barcus-the latter
gentleman formed one of small but
interested audience witnessing an in
cident of uncommon character.
He saw a young man, hatless, coat
less, almost shirtless, tear down to
the edge Of one of the Jersey wharves,
his heels snapped at by ravening
rabble, jump aboard square-rigged
vessel which lay moored there, and
execute a maneuver of despair by
climbing up the rigging In a hopeless
attempt to escape his prosecutors.
They we're too many for him, and what
was worse they were headed by a
squad of police apparently as grimly
bent on comprising the destruction OF