The Huttig news., 1917-07-14

tlline. by now they should be at the country club, and halfway around the links. The car, with its changed li- cense plates, would be standing in the eminently respectable country club garage.
 Ward had risen. He lowered far above Eliner. Because of his heavy shoulders, he never looked his full height. Boroday in the corridor. stole a moment from his anxieties to find the young clergyman every iEch of a man, and to throw him the grudging admiration of defeated middle-age for youth and vibrant life.
 'sThen I shall not send for the rec tor?"
 Please, mo-"
 "Is there anything at all that I can dor.
 Do the-the police know about this?"
 "Surely. I suppose you have been told what happened"
 ''They will tell me nothing"
 There was car coming up the hill, That would be it. Boroday eased his aching arm. He did not dare sling, but the hand was thrust in the pocket of his coat. If only the hemorrhage did not start again He braced him. self and watched.
 Tt was robbery, you know that?" said Ward, in the library. lie picked his words carefully. As I got the o fa itc.x t., h, hut taiz Was held up near the Record office. Your father had stepped to the curb to hail the taxi, and-it happened then, a-a stray bullet from one of the bandits guns"
 Boroday, eyes on the car, heard the statement, and, with the chief coming Up the steps from the road to the gar den, took the time to repudiate 1t.
 Pardon f' he said. Tt WAS not a weapon in the hands of the bandits. It was the revolver of the bank messen- ger"
 Ward turned in surprise. Boroday's eyes were fixed on Elinor's, with reas- rdctor was not subtle, but he had curious feeling of something behind all this. He was uncomfortable.
 kI trust" he said earnestly, "that tn 1e various outrages VIII be at an end now. Surely the police"
 Possibly" The anarchists gaze wandered to the garden, where even then the chief was making his way to- ward the house. "Qf course, these bandits are trained men of unusual intelligence. If the police Were of in- telligence to cope with them"
 "Yes?"
 'They would not be on the force. at meager salaries and petty graft. They would be"--he shrugged hls shoulders -"bandits themselves, very possihly.'
 Ward left after that-left with an uncomfortable feeling of having got nowhere, He was convinced of one thing, death, which for him was an open gateway, was for this girl closed and fastened door. And he knew something else. No other woman had ever so profoundly impressed him as this girl who without hope i'll her grief met it with a high head and courageous eyes.
 He felt certain comfort ir one thing. Elinor had made a concession. and Hilary Kingston, lavish giver to the parish poor, was to be buried from Saint Jude's.
 The chief met Mir. Ward on the ter race and took off his hat. Boroday, in the dim hall, felt certain sense of content. Nothing could have been more suspicious, could have set his stage better for his little drama, than the presence of the young clergyman. The whole scene gained tone, decorum.
 The chiefs visit was short. They had followed the bandits car and lost it, and finG;ng himself in the neighbor- hood
 "Be assured" he said to lGlinor, in his best manner, that we'll not rest until this thing is cleared up. The community'-he cleared his throat "the community will not lose one of its best citizens without violent pro- test"
 With the coroner he went up the stairs and into old Hilary's room. The chief glanced about while the nasty examination was being made.
 "Nice room," he said. But jolly lot of good it does the old gentleman now! Nice little girl downstairs, too. Eve seen that chap in the hall some where"
 The coroner drew the sheet over old Hilary's peaceful face.
 "The preacher? They all look alike. It's the vest and the collar"
 "The other man, with the accent. German. take it, or-Russian."
 Boroday was waiting for them at the foot of the staircase. In the H. brary was a tray, with drinks and sandwiches. The shades had been l lowered.
 The chief ate and drank. And as often as he raised his glass he looked at the Russian over 1t. At last.
 Haven't we met somewhere, MT. "Boroday. I rather think not"
 4f n I'll