The Socialist press., 1915-09-18
RX3 $
 > HORACE HAZELTINE


 point concerning matters of national and social import. For the time be- ing my consideration of Cameron and his strange problem was suspended. Now and then the subject recurred to me. dragged into the mental light on the train of Evelyn Grayson; but al most Immediately 1t was buried be- meath a question of editorial policy or debate regarding a contract for crease in price.
 When. however, my business day was ended. and I had boarded the train for Greenwich, the whole in- volved enigma spread itself again before me, demanding attention. And in the midst of 1t. dominating it. stretching his great shadow over 1t to the farthest limit, appeared that frowsy red giant, Murphy, a mystery within a mystery: for. though he seemed to pervade it, there was no point at which I could discover him ,, quite touching it.
 In vain tried to detect a real con- nection. started with the letters. They bore no single characteristic mark of this uncouth creature. AS an artist he might have devised the curi- | ous silhouette signature, but there was something about that-some cum ming, inventive subtlety--which could not reconcile with the ogre had played upon, stung to anger and aroused to curiosity
 That he could either have con- ceived or executed the ruin of the portrait I did not believe possible. | The conception. like the letters and the signature, bore evidence of a craftiness too fine for such as he; and to fancy him, mammoth that he was. stealing unobserved into Cameron's stury, was to fancy the incredible. And so, though the impression Of intimate relationship persisted, could find no point of contact, closer or more definite than through his servants rife practice, which after all might have been quite without mo- tive.
 There was little. therefore, in the lluS Ol ItdSOIl, lo SolSlCl M OI any knowledge of the matters which had so disturbed us. And yet, as I have said. felt intuitively that he possessed an intimate acquaintance with the whole affair
 | At the Greenwich station, found my touring car waiting; my mother | in the tonneau. My chauffeur touched his cap as I approached. You may drive. Francois" I said, and took the place at my mothers | side.
 You look tired, Philip" she an- nounced when I had kissed her. Was 1t very warm in the city," Her eyes were ever quick to note infinitesimal changes in my appearance of we'll being.
 Not uncomfortable, I answered, indulgently q had a very busy day, though. But I'm not the less fit be- cause of it."
 we have had some little excite l ment here," she hastened, eager to give me the news. "Old Romney called you up on the telephone about noon. I happened to answer it, my self, and when l told him you were in New York. and would not be back until six, it just seemed he couldn't | wait to unburden himself Won't you please tell him, Mrs. Clyde he said, that MT. Murphy's Chinaman was found at daybreak this morning. lying dead. just outside Murphys back door?'"
 Found dead!" I cried. in amaze | ment.
 That is what he said. Then he added that the poor fellows head had been crushed with some heavy instru- ment, and that MT. Murphy had been arrested on suspicion and was in the Cos Cob lookup"
 For full minute, think, sat in silent amaze. Then theories and con- lectures in infinite variety gave chase, one after the other, through my excited brain. But 1t was more than ever difficult, 1 found, to reach anything like a satisfactory conclu- sion concerning the position the now lifeless Celestial and his accused mas ter held in the chain of mysteries wished so much to solve. That they were both of them more or less i'm portant links, however. I had small doubt.
 Did you know MT. Murphy?" my mother asked. And all at once ] realized that her question was 8 repetition. In my absorption had not needed the original inquiry.