The Bismarck tribune., 1924-08-14
+ i'z1AUllnA AinSleX
@MaSeK 'IhfSt
Copyright 1914 NEA Service Inc
THE JEWELED CASKET
Copyright 1914
BEGIN HERE TODAY


John Ainsley, man of education
and breeding, becomes master crook
-preying upon other thieves. Amidst
all the afternoon traffic on Fifth
=. Avenue he knocks down man whom
he sees brutally rubbing a hunch-
backs hump, and then runs.
At an auction Ainsley makes a
small purchase of tapestry and then
sits back and watches the proceed
ings. The auctioneer holds up gol-
den box, studded with jewels, that
had been made for multimillion-
aire of vulgar tastes. The box is
sold for $65,000 to Marcus Anderson,
a man who became, during the war,
one of the richest men in the world.
NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY
I stayed awhile longer, watching
less valuable things as they were auc-
| toned Oft, but l noticed no one pres
ent who seemed to offer me chance
of future profit. They were all de-
cent, well-bred folk, and it is not
| upon these that l wage my warfare.
! No gentleman or lady need ever fear
the activities of John Ainsley. There
| are enough vulgarians in the world
for me to prey upon.
So l left. l dismissed Anderson
| from my mind. After all, l need an
opportunity for the exercise of my
talent, and there was no opportunity
here.
1t was sheer accident that made
me lunch that day at the Mirabeau.
The winelike air and the bright sun
made me continue down the Avenue
as far as Washington Square, and
then / discovered that was hungry.
The Mirabeau, the resort of lovers of
good food, was the nearest place.
dropped in there, surrendered myself
to the discretion of the voluble
French waiter who attended me, and
began hearty meal.
paid little attention to my fellow
guests, an almost evenly divided mix
ture of Bohemians, business men and
Frenchmen. I notice that those who
scrutinize their neighbors in public
places invite an equal scrutiny, and
so l keep my eyes upon my plate.
am content that few people know me
by sight, and that still fewer know
me by the name under which 1
choose to masquerade.
But waiter stumbled against me,
and in acknowledging his quick apol-
ogy, looked up. Just beyond him I
saw two people. One was the hunch-
back whose humiliation-althou
he had not at the time seemed aware
of it had resented today. The
other was the most dangerous man
in Europe, the man whom l had out
witted months ago, Monsieur Ar
mand Cochet, known to the under
world and the police of Europe ,as the
master criminal leader of the'world,
the White Eagle.
Myself? All, 1 say that Cochet is
the greatest criminal leader. ] work
alone, needing no gangsters to carry
out my orders, using no machinery
save my own hands and mind in the
achievement of my triumphs. Also,
if more need be said on the question
of the relative abilities of the White
Eagle and myself, you who have read
my memoirs will remember the af-
fair of the Club Of One-eyed Men, and
will not have forgotten that I scored
off the White Eagle in that instance.
For that matter, l knew that the
White Eagle had not forgotten it,
and while may lay claim to 1t least
an ordinary courage, will confess
that, as I met those fierce blue eyes,
panic assailed me.
The great curved beak which was
his nose and which, in conjunction
with his white hair, had given him
his nickname; the wide mouth, thin
Tipped, with a sneering droop at one
corner; and the 1.-the body, still pow
erful despite his years-these filled
me with fear that l had never
known before. And / have seen the
gray-clad boche leaping down into
the trench where I was standing.
And then was able to Danish fear.
For I remembered that the White
Eagle did not know the face of the
man who had tricked him months
ago. True, one of his followers knew
me, but men are rarely recognized by
descriptions. And even as gave
myself this assurance, the White
Eagle glanced carelessly away. and
he and his companion followed the
waiter to table.
I heard them state that they were
expecting third person, and I took
the chance that that third person
was not the one-eyed follower of the
White Eagle who knew me by sight. |
For where the White Eagle flew, !!
there must be prey. had robbed
him of his quarry before; / might do
it again.
And this was game worthy of |
my talent. Robbing stupid profiteers !
hardly. gave me excitement. But |
snatching meat from the talons of |
the White Eagle was mans sport.
I smiled as I thought of the elaborate
organization ruled by NJ Cochet.
What triumph if once again could
make that, organization work, not
for its master, but for myself.
Fear counseled me to pay my
check and quietly depart. Pride told
me that if I continued, the easy road !
my genius would desert me-. called
myself an artist: in my heart knew
that was worthy Of that title. But |
the artist who of deliberate choice
paints pot-boilers ceases to be an ar |
fist. I had wished to rob Anderson,
a gross. stupid man without wit to
cope with me it ! decided to assail
his security. Had snatched Ander-
sons box. it would have been an act |
of common robbery. :,
Yet had for a moment considered |
Jo:n~ %Lnk .,or,, &l,;u~ uyh,,9 po