The Tomahawk., 1916-03-09
by Charles Edmonds Walk

deed, Helen laughlngly told her nos
tess as much when that lady offered
to relieve her of his embarrassing
presence Mrs. Miller-Crosby was her
self shrewd woman.
my dear!" she protested in hor-
rified whisper. you don't suspect.
Why, he is Harry Butler son
Of Ferdinand
Said Helen soberly:
Il sincerely trust that no occasion
will arise for me to suspect anyone
here. 1t simply occurred to me that
by attaching one man tonight I can
avoid seeming rude to others; Mr..
Butler is less dull than some l have
been obliged to be pleasant to, that is
ALL"
Observing that Harry Butler was
waiting close by, she excused herself
and rejoined him.
Lets get out of this crowd" said
he. "Here-this way" And he guided
her deftly through the outer fringe of
dancers.
In the conservatory they found
seat amongst a screen of palms and
hanging baskets of orchids. Butler
laughed nervously.
What do you think" he abruptly
began, there are detectives here to-
night-right among the guests, by
Jove! Nobody has any idea who they
are. Why, you might be one
yourself!"
Helen was so taken unawares that
she could not find words for moment,
so surveyed the other in silence. She
knew that another Sutherland opera
tive, Ferndale, was present tonight,
and wondered whether he had been in
discreet.
But Harry Butler revealed the
source of his information.
Jack told me-" Jack was Mr.. Mil
ler-C Crosby, whom Helen mentally
blessed.) But he wouldn't point 'em
out. Mighty mysterious about it. Told
me not TO mention it to anybody else
The girl had recovered herself. She
favored the young man with one Of
her rare smiles.
"And of course you haven't" said
she dryly.
"Why, no; of course not. Only to
you You know, there's been NO big,
swell affair this winter unless some
body's jewels have been stolen. Raj
1es, you know"
For some unexplained reason Helen
was on tenterhooks. alert, keyed up
with expectancy, as if something un-
common were about to happen.
And at that very instant something
did happen. A woman screamed-a
piercing, agonizing scream that
shrilled above the snurmur of voices,
above the sound Of dancing feet and
the throbbing strains CT the orchestra.
The two started FROM their bench.
The scream was near at hand. just in
side a doorway opening upon a short
gallery that connected with the Ia
dies Gressing-room. It rose ir a climax
Of mortal terror. Then came the
sharp, electrifying crack of an auto
matte pistol.
One-two-three-fOu shots. :.
A clatter of running feet. ST.
leEce.
While the outburst still thrilled
every hearer Helen was Fastening to
the dressing rccm Within that brief
period the tumult had begun and end
ed. Her companion was left behind.
forgotten. DumfoundeG men were
pouring in from the supper and oall
rooms. But she was just an instant
ahead Of the first arrival; just in time
to witness what the others missed.
In the corridor a max running to-
ward the conservatory ccllided with
her in a headlong fashion that nearly
swept her from her feet. In the flash
ing vision she had of him she saw
that he was dressed formally; that.
save for two extraordinary details, he
might have been any one Of the male
guests
But his right hand gripped big
automatic pistol, and his features
were concealed by black mask.
She recollected Harry Butler, then,
with little pang of alarm; yet, he
must take his chances. And surely.
after the shooting, ne would not al
low a masked man to pass him in the
conservatory without making an ef-
fort to stop him.
Her delay was only momentary. In
the dressing-room she first noticed
that window was wide open, through
which an icy wind was billowing the
curtains. Upon the floor lay a man
and woman, motionless, apparently
lifeless. The woman she did not
know; but the man was Ferndale, the
other Sutherland operative. His right
hand still clutched a blue-barreled au-
tomato.
Helen turned first to him, where
two or three of the men Joined her,
and knelt beside him. A larger group
of both men and women gathered ex-
citedly about the woman on the floor.
Experienced in such emergencies,
the girls deft fingers soon ascertained
that Ferndale was not dead; that the
blood CLOTHING one side of his head
was merely from a torn scalp where a
steel-iacketed bullet had pIOWed it's