The Tomahawk., 1916-04-20

put you to this trouble. You will OBJ.
serve that I am not very presentable.'
The side door swung open. In the
dimness Of the half-closed apartment
Average Jones saw a man huddled in
chair He wore a black skull cap.
So far as identification went he was
safe. His whole face was grotesquely
blotched and swollen. So, also, were
the hands which rested on his knees.
BE at peace" he said. 1T is not.
contagious. You can find your way
out? bid you good evening, SIR
Now 1 wonder" unused Average
Jones, as he jolted on the rear plat
form of an Eighth avenue car, "by
what lead I could have landed that
Job. 1 rather think I've missed some
thing"
All that night, and recurrently on
many nights thereafter, the poisoned
MERCY" on the cabinet lurked trou-
blously in his mind. A few days later
he made his way to the Cosmic club
one afternoon. There, as he had forD-
seen, he found Robert Bertram.
Can l detach you from your usual
bridge game this EVENING"" he de-
manded of that languid gentleman.
VERY possibly. What's the induce
ment?"
"Chapter Second of the Bellair street
advertisement. I've told you the first
chapter. You've been the god-outside-
the.machine so far. Now, come on in. ="
Together they went to the Green
wich village house. The name "Smith"
had disappeared from the vestibule.
The landlord turned out to be a
German landlady, who knew little con-
corning her late ground-foor tenant
and evinced no interest in the sub
ject. The "perfessor," as she termed
"Smith,' had left no address. Mrs.
Marion in the other ground-floor fiat
had tried to be acquai nted with him.
Not much luck, she thought.
Mrs. Marion was voluble, ignorant,
and a willing source Of information.
THE perfessor? Sure! I knew'm-
Twas me given the nante. He was
Mejum. A big one; one Of the kind
it comes to, nacheral. Spirit-rappin's!
Somethin' fierce! My kitchen window
is on the airshaft. Sos his. Many's
the time in the still evenin's I've
heard the rap-rap-rappin' on his win
dow an on the wall, but mostly on the
window. Blip! out Of the dark. It'd
make you just hop! And him sittin'
quiet and peaceful in the front room
all the time And once seen him with
his materializin' wand, sittin' in the
room almost dark"
Ills what?"
"Materializin' wand. Spirit-rod, you
know. AS tall as himself and all shiny
and slick 1t was slim and sort O.
knobby like this wood-what's the
name Of it, now?-they make fish
poles out Of Only the real big bugs
in spiritualism use 'em. They're dan
gerous. You wouldn't catch me touch
in it or goin' in there even now.
says to Mrs. Kraus, says"
And so the stream of high-pitched,
eager talk flowed until the two men
escaped from it into the vacant apart
ment. Going to the kitchen through
doors on straight line with the front
room, Average Jones inspected the
window. The glass was thickly marked
with faint, blush blurs, being indeed,
almost opaque from them in the mid
die of the upper pane. Below the
window was considerable amount of
crumbled putty, which he fingered
with puzzled curiosity.
In the front room a mass Of papers
had been half burned. Some of them
were local journals, mostly the Eve
ming Register. A few were publica-
tons in the Arabic text.
"Oriental newspapers" remarked
Bertram.
Average Jones picked them up and
began to fold them. From between
two sheets f1uttered very small bit
Of paper, narrow and half curled, as
if from the drying Of mucilage. He
lifted and read it.
Here we are again, Bert" he re-
marked in his most casual tone. THE
quality Of this Mercy is strained, all
right"
The two men bent over the slip,
studying it. The word was, as Aver
age Jones had said, in a strained, ef-
fortful handwriting, and each letter
stood distinct. These were the char
acters:
-