The Delta independent., 1915-12-10

L
| He was witty, clever, good looking,
with real talent back of his popularity.
| The young married people and their
| juniors never omitted him from their
| frolics: he had perfect right to play
with them. His family history was
very good, so good in fact, that his
capability of taking care of himself,
of standing on his own legs, made him
rather interesting to know.
He danced well. never went beyond
moderation in tipping paid his losses
and took his gains at cards with an
equanimity of heart and countenance
! truly oriental The old men liked
him for his manliness and indepen
dence; and the dowagers eagerly
courted his favors, for like all artists
he was an exceedingly well-informed
gossip. He had the faculty of leading
them to the very lip of the precipice
and then swerving them back before
they had time to look over. The most
amiable kind of gossip, always prom
Using to disclose something and never
doing it; and having a good deal of
quiet fun out of 1t without harming
anyone.
Every man who does one thing we'll
| has a craving to do another mans
work badly Forbes was always hun
gering for detective work. He longed
to pick up the tangled skein. unravel
II. rescue the heroine. march the viii
lain to jail and all that. Heaven is
witness of the plots for detective
stories he has offered me! He has,
believe, the best library of detective
seton in town. Well, his longings
went unsatisfied. The only thing like
detective work he ever did success
fully was to recover the new paint
tubes before the dachel poisoned him
self
He walked uptown, wondering who
the mysterious burglar could be. He
searched carefully among his large ac-
quaintance, principally among the men
ne disliked; but even then there was
nothing tangible. Lots OF buffers
gambled and didn't pay their debts
and never went to Jail for it If only
he had a clue OF some sort to start
with, He knew that he had the abili-
ty: and il was a shame he could find
no outlet. I'll give him credit for pos
sessing the chiefest attribute of all
great detectives-hope.
He continued on, whistling an air
from one of the popular operas. His
thoughts, ever volatile. shifted from
plots Of criminals to the purblindness
of the general run of art editors, and
their more or less sloyenly minions.
the three-color process printers; to
the pretty girl he had met at Cannes
| last winter; to the campaign tonight
at poker. For once he was going to
play 'em close; he would keep out of
every pot that dealt him no two-spot;
and when he got real hand, he would
play it hard. With deuces wild even
an open player like himself had a
chance once in a while. He turned a
corner. still whistling. The girl with
the copper-beech hair; supposing she
never went by again? Could he pos
sibly do her from memory?
Forward with swinging stride.
twirling mis- cane and sometimes strik-
ing the ferrule against the tagging,
pleased with the spangle of answering
/ sparks; on toward the big drama. For
he was only an implement of fate,
chosen haphazard TO accomplish a
destiny not his own.
The Dryden was a new apartment
house, built especially for persons who
had plenty of money and too small
family for the upkeep of large house.
They were given all the comforts of
home; Wallets. maids, cooks, walters
and bellboys, more like private hotel.
There were ten apartments, five on
each side of the ornate marble en-.
trance. Forbes ran eagerly up the
steps; the doorboy swung open the
door.
Mr.. Jillsons apartment, please"
Third floor, left, sir"
"Ah,"
Forbes made for the stairs. The
elevator (called lift here) was up, and
he was too impatient to wait. Besides,
he wanted to surprise the boys, melo-
dramatically. He scarcely paused at
the first landing. He would rather
play poker than eat And in his en-
uberance he failed to hear the warn
ing call from the doorboy, who had
come on that day and was not yet &C.
curately versed in the topography and
occupancy of the apartments. Forbes
continued his rapid ascent, two steps
at time. He wanted to be at the
door at precisely eight. like that old
chap what's-hisname in "Rounc the
World in Eighty Days"
He tiptoed into the private hall, the
outer door being unlocked. There
was light over the transom. He
could see them in his minds eye:
Jillson, Wheedon. Jones, Carlyle, Mil
Ter and Crawford, peering into their
hands, their faces like Buddha gods
He listened. Not sound. In the