Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1928-10-28


mo, I'm afraid I can't take much
interest in your desperadoes, Benskin."
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EOR a week or more Benskins activ-
tiles we're directed In a somewhat
peculiar fashion. He spent his after
moons and the greater part of the
mornings wandering about Grosvenor
Square, Park Lane, Berkeley Square
and the other fashionable regions of
the West End. He displayed an inordi-
nate curiosity concerning any palatial
edifices in these districts that boasted
a courtyard behind, and he contin-
ually referred to snapshot that he
carried in his pocket.
Whatever may have been in his
mind, however, he met with no Sue
cess. The snapshot he had extracted
from the waStebaSket in the sitting
room of the Small House was. without
a doubt. snapshot of the back quar-
tiers of London mansion of very con-
siderable size. He failed, however, to
identify it.
The first progress on a quest that
even to his obstinate mind. seemed to
be hopeless, came to him by accident.
He was having tea with an acquaint-
ance after watching the polo at
Ranelagh one Saturday afternoon.
when woman and girl passed across
the lawn.
You know every one, Percy" said
Benskin. Tell me who the woman
is with the pearls and French gown
the one with the rather pretty, athletic
looking grip"
Benskin's vis-a-vis said:
She's an American. Mrs. Tusset
Brown. Just taken a house in London.
Millions and millions and millions.
row."
DO you know the girl with her?"
Benskin inquired
Know her by sight, but forget her
name. the other acknowledged.
whereabouts is Mrs. Husset Browns
Number lab Curzon street-used
TO be called the Millionaire's Nest.
Want card for her do tomorrow
dozen'
I'D like one," Benskin accented
DO you mind if clear off? They
seem to be drifting this way, and I'm
not keen about being recognized"
Benskin drove back to town ard
pulled up at thu corner of Shepherd
Market He pluiSyed into the network
OF streets behind. and in a very few
moments his curiosity was gratified.
He glanced once more at the snap
shot before he replaced it in lis
pocketbook.
OUTSIDE the gorgeous sleeping apart
ments of Mrs. Husset Brown. COM
fortably esconced in an easy chair, sat
Mr.. Peter Bracknell, the famous de-
tective from New York, who was
never more than fifty yards from his
august mistress and whose boast it was
that not for ten years had she lost a
single jewel His dark eyes we're clear
and sleepless. His senses were fully
awake.
The stairs to the sacred apartment
were lighted and visible. Upon the
table within easy reach was a six
shooter, stale from disuse. But
outside the house, up that long gray
stretch of perpendicular stone, strange
things were happening. It.
Mr.. Bracknell, in the corridor,
smiled He was reading an account of
a ball game. Mrs. HuSSet Brown slept
soundly. She heard nothing of the
creaking window, purposely left ajar,
now little more and a little more
open. The increased current of cold air
failed to wake her.
A form crept into the room, a little
slit of white where the face might have
been-nothing else-the costume of an
acrobat Mrs. Husset Brown began to
snore. Outside. Mr.. Bracknell chucklsd
A wonderful home run, thatl And up
to the side of the bedstead stole the
slim black figure.
There was the snip of pair of
scissors. the looSening Of key from
limp wrist, the swinging open of a
safe door. There they were! Emeralds
that had graced the throne of a queen
out of the window into the bowl of
darkness. Silence? The aim had been
good. Back again. Diamonds! Down
they sparkled and glittered through the
blackness. And once more they reach
ed their goal Back again.
There were the pearls of a great
empress. Out they went-again to
their goal. A handful next time
lightly treated. but the diamond brace
let had taken years to match and
royal crown was the poorer for the
emeralds in the great pendant.
Finished
Outside there was the faint sound of
the striking of match as Mr. Brack-
nell lighted another cigar. Mrs. Hus-
set Brown groaned in her sleep. The
safe door swung to on its we'll oiled
hinges. Back again into the darkness
a figure stole, the window was pushed
gently to its former angle, never
moments hesitation, over the Veranda,
hand over hand by the Silken cord. a
pause on the next balcony to release
the grappling-iron, crawl along a
perilous cornice, a seconds lingering
on balcony. another descent, a
sprawl against the wall, slow lower
ing, brick by brick
Again the graphing hook Another
swing through the air, pause, the slim
left hand gripping the iron of the bot
tom DaIcony, the release OF the nook, q
light jump to the ground.
MY cloak, Alan!" the breathless fig
ure whispered.
But it was neither her cloak nor
Alan's hand that held her. The light
from a torch flashed out momentarily.
The throb of the motor behind the wall
was there, but 1t was a different note.
In that Spasmodic illumination she
looked into the face of the man who
had Numbered through the French WIN
dows of the cottage at Cawston and
whose life she had, without doubt,
saved.
so you we're hunting us, after ALL"
she whispered.
Sheer luck" he murmured "Here!"
He picked up her cloak and wrapped
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