The Breckenridge news. (Cloverport, Ky.) 1876-1955, 1918-06-05

tNlneu HOW sOlitlninB ihhiittis Nui-
liable and incriminating-the roll Of
film. She glanced about, and seeing n
silver vase of roses, hurriedly emptied
the water out, wrapped the film in
oiled paper, and dropped 1t down
among the stems.
The Street of the Wise Virgins was
not near the palace. Even by walking
briskly she was in danger of being
late. The wind kept her back, too.
| Then, at last, the Street of the Wise
| Virgins and the fiacre, standing at the
curb, with a driver wrapped in rugs
against the cold of the February night,
and his hat pulled down over his eyes.
The countess stopped beside him.
"You are expecting a passenger
ayes, madame"
| With her hand on the door, the
countess realized that the fiacre was
already occupied. AS she peered into
| its darkened interior, the shadow re-
solved itself into cloaked and masked
figure. She shrank back.
ENTER, madame" said voice.
The figure appalled, her. 1t was not
sufficient to know that behind the
horrifying mask which covered the en-
tire face and head, there was a hui
man figure, human pulses that beat,
human eyes that appraised her. She
| hestated.
Quickly said the voice.
She got in, shrinking into corner
of the carriage. Her lips were dry
The roaring u terror was in her ears.
The door closed.
Then commenced a drive Of which
! sfterward the countess dared moi
think. The figure neither moved nor
! smoke. Inside the carriage rcigned the
most complete silence. Then the car
rage stopped and at last the shrouded
| figure moved and spoke.
Il regret. countess, that my orders
are TO blindfold you"
She submitted ungracefulIy, while
he bound a black cloth over her eyes.
! lie drew it very close and knotted it
behind. In the. act his fingers touched
her face, and she felt them cold and
clammy. The contact sickened her.
"Your hand, madame"
She was led out of the carriage, and
across soft earth, devious course
| again, as though they avoided small
obstacles. Once her foot touched
something low and hard, like marble.
Again, in the darkness, they stumbled
over u mound. She knew where she
was, then-in graveyard But
which? There were many about the
city.
An open SPACE, the opening of Il
gate or door that squeaked softly, a
Fight of steps that led downward, and
breath of musty, cold air, damp and
celarlike.
At last, still in unbroken silence, she
knew that they had entered Il large
space Their footsteps no longer
echoed and reechoed. Her guide
walked more slowly, and at last paus-
ed, releasing her hand. She felt again
| the touch of his clammy fingers as he
united the knots of her bapdages. He
took it off.
At first she could see little. When
her eyes grew accustomed, she made
out the scene slowly.
A great stone vault, its walls
broken into crypts which had con-
tanned caSkets of the dead. But the
baskets had been removed, and were
piled in a corner, and in the inches
swere rifles. In the center was pine
table, curiously incongruous, and on
it writing materials, a cheap clock,
and pile of documents. There were
two candles only, and these were stuck
in skulls-old brown skulls so infinite
ly removed from all semblance to the
human that they were not even hor-
rible. 1t was as if they had been used,
not to inspire terror, but because they
were at hand and convenient for the
purpose. In the shadow, ranged in
semicircle, were nine figures, all mo-
tionless, all masked, and cloaked in
black. They sat, another incongruity
on plain wooden chairs. But in spite
of that they were figures of dread
The one who had brought her made
the tenth.
Had she not known the past record
of the men before her, the rather opera
bouffe setting with which they "lose
to surround themselves might have
aroused her scOrn. But Olga LOscheB
knew too much. She guessed shrewd
ly that, with the class of men with
whom they dealt, it was not enough
that their name spelled terror. They
must visualize 1t. They had taken
their cue from that very church, in
deed, beneath which they hid. The
church, with its shrines and images
appealed to the eye. They, too, ap
pealed to the eye. Their masks, the
carefully constructed and upheld
mystery of their identity, the trappings
Of death about them-it was skillfully
done.
Still no one spoke. The countess
faced them. Only her eyes showed
her nervousness; she stood haughtily
her head held high. But like mos