The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-10-14
THE BUTTERFLY ORCHID
 BY I ALLAN DUNN

swamp and abolish the mOSqulloeS-' But you won't, and so I have to Work and brew and stew to save my friends
 With an eye that, though friendly, keenly appraised the visitors, he wait ed for the sheriff's introduction. After it was made he spoke cordially:
 You'll be hungry. I heard my satellite shooting just now. I think he'll be bringing in something for a different sort of stew, or perhaps a fricassee. You'll share it?"
 For all his courtesy. Cairns could see the man was alive to what the advane of strangers might mean. And he thought the kindnest way was the shortest
 "Mr. Hardin," he said, "I am de- tective. and I come here profession ally. You were a friend of a man named Barnes, who went into Brit ish Guinea looking for the Butterfly Orchid He glanced meaningly at the glass case. Hardin made no at tempt at denial.
 "A friend of Barnes," he replied. fSay rather his alter ego. For Barnes is dead and something of him visits me-dwells in me. Look you." he went on, something of the glaze of incipient insanity in his eyes, Barnes made a man out of me, who was sodden drunkard. made me something to the woman who had, God help her, loved and married me. It was no easy job. First, he saved my life by plucking me from the juggernaut a train that I was too drunk to dodge, and then he saved what was left of my soul. Barnes was a man." He picked up a faded photograph in a tarnished frame and gave 1t ! I~Ii IT, latter gasped a little and then passed it on to Blatchiey. The lawyer stared | at ii dumbly, but made no comment. But the pieces of the jig-saw puzzle were assembling fast. The reason for | Forsythe's dislike of .Blatchley; for his aversion to Blatchley's features, was apparent. For the face of Barnes l might well have been a pnotograpn of the face of Blatchley There were differences, but the resemblance was 1 startling.
 This orchid your friend went af- ter" continued Cairns, was brought out of the jungle by MT. Forsythe | He, too, is dead. You know that?" Yes" replied Hardin simply. "We see the papers occasionally even ir | Scipio. And MT. Forsyt..e was a ia nous man."
 'tYou read an interview about him | in the New York .P1anet?' flash ed 1 Cairns. Hardin gave him a cunning ! glance that was sufficient. Hardir | had seen the interview in the Planet or some syndicated supplement. He had learned the habits of Forsythe. 'Forsythe was murdered by a man 1 named Henry Paxton,'' Cairns went | on inexorably. Did you know him ?? ''No, why? I did not know MT l Forsythe We read he was dead, but | nothing about a murder or a Mr Pax l ton.'
 There is use beating about the 1 bush. Hardin" said Cairns. "You | may not know Paxton, for there is no such person You may never have seen Forsythe, yet you are Paxton | and you killed Forsythe."
 l The druggists voice changed. Il was very quiet and steady. But he drew a quick breath before answer ing and licked his lips once or twice l "Ah' he said, "and do you know that?"
 Cairns picked up some sheets o1 manuscript lying on the table by some l books and glanced at them. It was a confirmation not vital but welcome | This is your handwriting" he chal 1 lenged. Then took the self-addresse6 envelope from his pocket, which Pax 1 f'orsythe's autograph. "The two scrpits are the same, Hardin. Thi: was to be returned to Quandos In l stead, substituted another envelope | Cairns stopped. Further he coul6 l not go. Yet he felt that he held il his hand the key to Forsythe's deatf at the hands of Hardin. Silence seem ed to pulse in the room. Then the little druggist sighed softly.
 |
 st1d. T am sorry that you are SC clever. For myself, life is ended Barnes is gone, Forsythe next, and must follow. But had found a 1nis 1 sion here among the Scipio swamps have been able to do some good''
 There are several things unfinished Things Barnes would have liked m, to do,' he said as simply as if Barne. was actually a part of himself "Bu Killed F'orsythe, admit that"
 Cairns was standing by the win dow The room suddenly appeared stuffy, and he opened the sash. 4 spray of yellow jasmine seemed tt | leap across the sill. Cairns picked i up and smelled the tiny trumpets | watching Hardin the while. The eye. Of Blatchley and the sheriff bulged awaiting the solution of the mystery
 Ihere was no other way to reacI l AiiAi' Sdlu 1drO1n- 'l knew that h. killed Barnes with poison dart Tn,
 Indians told me. They could no
 have made up such a story. The de
 tails do not matter. No one would ac sept them as sevidence Even Selwvl Tailed me. FoEsythe killed Barnes fo
 the diamonds. He might not hay stolen the orchid. That do not know
 But found the blooms growing wher
 Barnes was buried by his murderer
 hanging over the grave the Indian
 showed me, his floral reincarnatiou
 IT 1t had not been for the orchid
 could never have reached Forsythe.
 was poor-he was a millionaire.
 had no proof he could not have mock ed at But I frightened him. Aye I scared his soul.
 lie knew that some one knew
 and he was afraid. He surrounde, n1msef with wild dogs and guards
 he closed himself to all the world ne made-sure that no one not boun,
 oy his money could reach him.
 l wanted his life. But I wante,
 first the vindication of Barnes I di, not want money Perhaps Forsyth