Evening star., 1922-07-27

Il don't understand it myself" he
said. Il suppose lots of people must
think it il the fault of the jockey,
but have certainly earned my salary
lately with that Ally. don't know
what's the matter. I've done the
best l can. but in spite Of it there's
something wrong"
He spoke with an air of genuine
worry, and, although l tried hard, l
must confess that / found 1t impossi-
Bile to tathom him.
''The filly," he added, "has her regu-
lar workout and the regular feed,
and yet she seems to be all tired out
most OF the time. Even the veteri-
naries can't seem to find out whass
the matter"
An awkward silence followed, dur
ing which both Kennedy and myself
endeavored to conceal our ignorance
OF horses by saying nothing about
them. Finally McGee rose and ex-
cused himself, saying that he would
be back soon.
There were still a few minutes be-
fore Murchie would be likely to re-
turn. Without saying a word, Ken
nedy rose and opened the door which
led into the stables. Across the lawn
in the center we could see mans
figure rapidly retreating through the
main entrance. and, somehow or
other. l felt that at the sound of the
opening of our door he FASTENED his
pace.
Kennedy walked quickly around the
circle of box stalls until he came
again to Lady Lee. He entered the
stall and locked the famous racer
over carefully. / was wondering
what. If anything, he expected to find.
when almost before l knew 1t. saw
INTO her neck and withdraw a few
drops of blood.
Lady Lee reared and snorted. but
Kennedy managed to quiet her. He
returned the hypodermic with these
fow drops of blood carefully into its
case again and we made our way
back to the office.
few minutes later the drone of
Broadhurst's car told US that Murchie
had returned. We resumed the talk
about horses. upstairs in Murch:e's
own apartment, which consisted of
living rooms, library and bath. 1t
was a luxuriously appointed place, in
keeping with the tastes OF its occu-
pant. We sat down in the library.
l was quite interested in looking
about me. For one thing, Murchie's
IDEA of art seemed to be curious
blending of horse and woman. There
were pictures of all the string of
Broadhurst winners interspersed with
Venuses and actresses
On little table noticed, at length,
a colored photograph in an oval gilt
frame. 1t was of very beautiful
girl. She was something over me-
dium height, with a fine figure, golden
hair and deep-blue eyes. Somehow 1
recalled that had seen that face be-
fore, and when l caught Kennedy
looking at it from time to time 1 was
certain of it.
Suddenly it flashed over me that
the picture had been published in the
Star. 1t was Cecilie Stafford. 1 re-
membered having read of Murchie's
ment with a pretty young stenog-
rapher whom he had met at the horse
show couple of years before.
The talk ran along about horses
still. but l noticed that Kennedy was
even more interested in Murchie's
pictures. now, than in his converse
tion. In the place of honor, over the
mantel. hung a portrait. in an artis
tic panel. of slender girl with dark
hair and hazel eyes. with soft,
swan-like throat and neck and a
somewhat imperious manner Of carry
ing her head
l followed Craig's glance across the
room. There, in frame upon the
wall in a corner. hung an enlarge
ment OF a group photograph. 1t was
OF a middle-aged woman, a little boy
and little girl. Then 1 remembered
the whole story.
At the time of his elopment Murchie
had wife living. Since then he had
been divorced. Although he had
promised to marry Cecilie when the
divorce was obtained, he was now
engaged to marry a wealthy girl,
Amelie Guernsey.
Broadhurst returned shortly for US
and we made another tour Of the sta
bles. on the outside. including che
quarters of the innumerable employees.
Finally, at a hint from Kennedy that
we had seen enough for the present,
Broadhurst motored back to the city
with US.
laboratory, we walked down Broad
way until we came to a hotel much
frequented by the sporting fraternity
We entered the restaurant, which
was one of the most brilliant in
white-light region, took seat at a
table, and Kennedy proceeded to in
gratiate himself with the waiter. and.
finally, with the head waiter. At last,
l saw why Kennedy was apparently
wasting so much time over dinner.
DO you happen to know that girl.
Cecilie Stafford, that Broadhurst's
trainer, Murchie. eloped with?" he
asked.
The head waiter nodded.
Il used to know her." he replied.
She used to como In here a good
deal. but you won't find her in the
Broadway places any more these
days. She's more likely to be over
on Eighth avenue" He mentioned
the name Of a cabaret saloon
Kennedy paid the check and again
we started out. We finally entered a
place, down in a basement, and once
more Kennedy began to quiz the
waiter.
This time he had no trouble
Across the room the waiter pointed
to a girl seated with a young fellow
believe what 1 saw. The face had
the same features as that Of the pho
tograph in the oval gilt frame in
Murchie's apartment, but 1t was not
the same face.
AS / studied her I could imagine
The months of waiting for Murcnie
to marry her and his callous refusal
had been her ruin. Cecilie had learn
ed to drink and from that had gone
to drugs.
Her mirror must have told her that
she was not the same girl who had
eloped with Murchie. Her figure had
lost it's slim, beautiful lines. Her
eyes were smaller and her lips were
heavy. Her fresh color had disap-
pearedL She had gray. pasty look.
All she had-her beauty-had van
ished.
Murchie had been divorced and was
about to marry-but not Cecilie. It
was to q young and lovely girl with
such q face of innocence as Cecilie
had when Murchie had first dictated
q letter to her in the office at the
horse show and had fascinated her
with his glittering talk Of wealth and
ease. The news Of his engagement
had driven her frantic.
Curiously enough. the young fellow
with her did not seem to be dissipated
in the least. There was. on the con-
trary, an earnestness about him that
one was rather sorry to see in such
q place. In fact, he was a clean-cu
young man, evidently more Of q stu
liant than n snort. He remfndad ma