The Pulaskian., 1917-01-12


 etary loss was an inconsiderable thing to a man with an interest in mines in the Owen Stanley country. He said nothing. Drummond's name remained untarnished, save in the knowledge of few.
 Of these, Martin Ember was one. Whitaker made point of hunting him 1 up. The retired detective received con- 1 tirmation of his surmise without any amazement
 You still believe that he's alive?"
 Implicitly" Ember asserted with conviction
 Could you find him, if necessary ?"
 "Within day, I think Do you wish me top
 Ember permitted Whitaker to con- sider the matter in silence for some moments. Then. Do you want ad- vice?" he inquired.
 'Well?e
 Hunt him down and put him behind the bars" said Ember instantly. Whats the good of that?" "Your personal safety" "How?'
 'With you out of the way, he could come back without fear" Ember permitted another pause to | lengthen, unbroken by Whitaker. Shall I try to find him for you?" he said quietly, in the end. "No," Whitaker decided. "No Let him alone-poor devil!" Ember disclaimed further responsi- bility with movement of his shoul- ders.
 'But my wife? Could you find her as readily?"
 Possibly" the detective admitted cautiously. "But don't mean to-"
 'Why not?'
 Principally because she doesn't want me to. Otherwise she'd let you know where to look for her.
 True"
 These fragments of dialogue are from conversation that took place in the month of June, nearly seven weeks after the farewell performance at the Theatre Max. Interim, Whitaker had quietly resumed his place in the life of the town, regaining old friendships, renewing old associations. The mild excitement occasioned by his reappear- ance had already subsided; he was again an accepted and substantial fac tor in the society of his kind.
 Gradually he began to know more hours of loneliness than suited his tastes. His roomS-the old rooms over looking Bryant park regained and re- furnished much as they had been six years before-knew his solitary pres ence through many a long evening. July came with blistering breath and he took to the Adirondacks, meaning to be gone a month. Within ten days he was home again, drawn back ire sistibly by a strange, unsuitable crav- ing of unformulated desire. Town bored him, yet he could not seem to rest away from it.
 He wandered in and out, up and down, an unquiet, irresolute Soul, tre- nendously perplexed.
 There came one dark and sultry night, heavy beneath skies overcast, in
  in the middle of stupid performance, and walked the streets till long after midnight, courting the fatigue that alone could bestow untroubled sleep On his return sleepy hall-boy with wilted collar ran the elevator up to his tenth-fioor landing and, leaving him fumbling at the lock of his door, dropped clankingly out of sight. Whit aker entered and shut himself in with the pitch -blackness of his private hall.
 He groped along the wall for the electric switch, and found only the shank of it, the hard rubber button having disappeared. And then, while still he was trying to think how this could have happened, he sustained murderous assault.
 A Iaiscalculation on the part of the marauGer alone saved him. The black jack Cor whatever the weapon was) missing his head by the narrowest shave, descended upon his left shoul- der with numbing force. Notwith- standing his pain and surprise, Whit aker rallied and grappled, thus escap- ing second and probably more deadly blow. VI
 But his shoulder was almost useless, and the pain Of it began to sicken him, while the man in his grip fought like devil unclaimed.
 For some minutes the night was rem dered wild ..nd violent with the crashes of overthrown furniture and the thud and thump of struggling bodies. Then Whitaker broke free and plunged ia what he imagined to be the direction of dresser In which he kept revolv-