New Britain herald., 1924-09-12

VOu seek new type Of det",liNe story l something unhacknele eu, Suln@iAing diff fering from the murder clue underworld stuff? Very good. I beg to submit the case of the brazen serpent and the mysteri- ous heather who wore spectacles.
 It is true that for some years poor devils of authors have racked their brains invent ing unhackneyed' detective stories; have delved into realms of science and art and magic and even humanity; and have in the end accomplished nothing. How should they? From the time the first detective story was written-you will find it in the Book of Genesis-the model has not been improved upon. That model reached up into heaven and down into hell, and cen tered its plot upon stolen apple. Nothing could be simpler: nothing could be more comprehensive, Imagine the fine simplicity of that stolen apple as a plot motive. murder would have spoiled the whole story. real detective yarn, then, must involve one who detects. Let us look at Bixby Thornton his work in this matter of the brazen serpent is remarkable in the annals of detection. He was quiet man, with years of experience in the narcotics squad of the revenue service. He confded in no one except his wife a mute, inglorious Watson of the hearth who kept no records.
 When John Duck appeared upon his hori- zon Thornton was enjoying his annual va cation. and the police very gladly let him, as a Federal man, work upon the mystery. Thornton, in fact, first discovered the thing.
 He was letting himself in at the side door. Something warm splashed on his hand, and as he stepped into the dimly lighted vestibule he saw that it had made A crimson splotch He stared at it duly for a moment; then stepped back outside, leaving the door open. There in the light, half washed from the stones by the evening rain, was thin seepage of red.
 It came, of course, from above Thorn. ion saw that there was light in the oriel windows where the Chinaman lived, on the second floor For moment he was op- pressed by the hideous thought that John Duck had cut his throat and was lying up there in the peak of the room by the oriel windows-
 Then he saw. as he looked up, futter of the blinds, an up and down movement as they were drawn more closely. Browning he passed into the house rubbed his hand dry on his overcoat and said nothing Of the odd occurrence to his wife.
 THE house in which Bixby Thornton lived l had been built some time in the eighties and was just of Gramercy Park. Thornton did not live here because of the historic atmosphere it mattered nothing to him that the Players Club was stone s throw srav or that his house had lately been the residence of a real poet, He lived here be- c.uss the rent was low and because the upper floor could be steadily subeased to John Duck at profitable figure
 It was dingy old house, full of disre pair and genteel negligence There was ar elevator which had normally but three stop --hasement. first floor and second floor Sot infreouently, however. the elevate would halt en route. and only certain cun rirv shake of the cable would persuade i to continue its course. Even John DucE rbo had been established in his presen ouortsrs long before Thornton took eve tb. bouse. usually preferred the stairs.
 Jobn Duck was something of genis mystery. A small, urbane man. slight ,.Hron in hue he wore large round specta c1es edged with black shell On the stree h. always wore an English walking suit what he wore in his rooms nobody knew He was invariably dapper, smiling, polite,
 Bixby Thornton had seen John Duck rooms only once He had gained confuse impression of heather deities, gilded and un pIessant: of the largest chamber, that whic contained the oriel windows jutting over tf eide entry. furnished with work bench an rstorts. bottles and chemical apparatus; an of a large serpent of brass which bore
 crystal ball in one claw. At least, he men