Exeter Advocate, 1908-09-03, Page 21
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A House of Mystery
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OR. THE GIRL iN BLUE
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CH:\PTER XXIV.—(Cont'd) in sudden remembrance. Then, for
a few seconds, she remained in si-
lence. It seemed as though the fact
that I had recognized her had some-
what confused her.
"But I' am extremely glad that
we have met at last," I assured her.
"I have, times without number,
hoped to have the opportunity of
thanking you for the great services
you once rendered me."
"I find with satisfaction that al-
though six years have gone by you
have not forgotten your promise
made to tae," she said, her large
serious oyes fixed upon mine.
"I gave you that promise in ex-
change for my life," I remarked, as
at her suggestion, we turned and
walked out of the station.
"And as acknowledgment of the
service you rendered by preserving
secret your knowledge of the events
of that terrible night I was enabled
tc render you a small service in
return," she said. "Your sight. was
restored to you."
"For that, how can I sufficient-
ly thank you 1" I exclaimed. "I
ewe it all to you, and rest assured
that, although we have not met un-
til this evening. I have never fiir-
gotten—nor shall I ever forget."
She smiled pleasantly, while I
strolled slowly at her side across
the station -yard.
To me those moments were like
a dream. Edna, the woman who
had hitherto been a strange ghost
of the past, was now actually be-
side me in the flesh.
"I have received other notes mak-
ing appointments --the last, I think,
a couple of years ago," I observed
after a pause. "Did you not meet
the then?"
She glanced at me with a puzzled
expression. Of course she knew no-
thing of those los(, years of my life.
"Meet you(" she repeated. "Cer-
tainly not."
"Who met nie, then?"
"I really don't know," she an-
swered. "This is the first time I
have approached you, and I only
come to you now in order to ask
you to grant me a favor—a very
great favor."
"A favor! What is it?"
"I cannot explain here, in the
street," she said, quickly. "If you
will come to my hotel I will place
the facts before you."
"Where are you staving ?•'
"At the Bath Rotel, in .\rlings
ton Street."
I knew the place well. It stood
at the corner of Arlington Street
and Picadilly. and was an eminent-
ly respectable, old-fashioned place,
me. patronized by a high-class clientele.
An involuntary cry of surprise . "And you are alone ?" i inquir-
escaped my lips. The encounter ed. thinking it strange that she
w•as sudden and astounding; lint in should thus ask me to her hotel.
that instant, as I rushed forward to "Of course. 1 have come to Lon
greet the newcomer, 1 knew myself don expressly to see you," she re -
to be pn the verge of a startling sponded. "I went down to Bud -
and remarkable distc+eery. leigh-Salterton two days ago, but I
ascertained at Denbury that you
had left suddenly."
"Whom d'd you see there?" I in-
quired. touch interested.
"Your butler. He told me some
absurd story how that you had be -
At length, at Blackfriars Bridge,
I retraced my steps, and some twee-
t;• minutes later, as 1 took my key
from the hotel bureau, the clerk
handed me a note, addressed to
"Burton Lawrence, Esquire," the
fictitious name I had given. It had
leen delivered by boy -messenger.
Then I was discovered! My heart
leapt into my mouth.
I tore open the envelope and read
its contents. They were brief and
to the point.
"The undersigned will be oblig-
ed," it ran, "if Mr. Burton Law-
rence will he present this evening
at eight o'clock, in the main -line
broking -office of the Brighton Rail-
way. at Victoria Station. An in-
terview is of very pressing import-
ance."
The note was signed by that single
word which had always possessed
such mysterious signification, the
word "Axel."
Hitherto, in my old life long ago,
receipt of communications from that
mysterious correspondent had caus-
eu me much anxiety of mind. I
had always feared their advent;
now, however, I actually welcomed
IL even though it were strange
and unaccountable that the un-
known writer should know my
whereabouts and the name beneath
which I had sought to conceal my
identity.
I made a hasty dinner in tho cof-
fee -room, and went forthwith to
Victoria, wondering whom I should
meet. The last time I had kept
one of those strange appointments
on that summer evening long ago
in Hyde Park, I had come face to
face with the woman I loved.
\\mold that I could meet her now
I entered the booking -office,
searching it with eager eyes. Two
lines of persons were taking tickets
at the pigeon -holes, while a number
of loungers were, like myself,
awaiting friends. Beyond, upon the
platform, all was bustle, as is usu-
al at that hour, when the belated
portion of business London is bound
for the southern suburbs. From
that busy terminus of the West
End trains were arriving and de-
parting each moment.
The big illumined clock showed
that it. was yet five minutes to the
hour. Therefore I strolled out up-
on the platform, lounged around
the bookstalls, and presently re-
turned to the spot indicated in the
letter.
As I re-entered the hooking -office
my eager eyes fell upon a figure
standing before tne—a well-dressed
figure, with a face that smiled upon
The
one.
At the moment when my eyes first come temporarily irresponsible for
fell upon the figure standing pilti- your actions. and had disappeared,
eptly in the hooking -office await- leaving no address."
ir.g roe, I halted for a second in un- ''And you came to London?"
certainty. The silhouette before "Of course."
me was that of a youngish, brown- "And how did you find nut where
haired, and rather good-looking I was hidden, and my assumed
woman, neatly dressed in de$d. 'nettle 1"
black, wearing a large hat and a She smiled mysteriously.
feather boa round her neck. "It was easy enough, I assure
By the expression of her fate I von. A man of your influence in
saw that she had recognized nie. I the City. well known as you are,
bad, of course, never seen her be- has considerable difficulty in effec-
fore. yet ber persunal' appearance tivelv eii*eealing his identity."
—the grey •eye. _ and brown hair— Rut who told you where I was
were exactly similar to those de- staving?" I demanded.
sc ribed so minutely on several •oe- "Nobody. I discovered it for my-
casions.by West, the cab -driver. I self."
regarded her for a moment in si- "And yet the police have been
lent wonder, then advanced to meet searching for me everywhere. and
her. - have not yet disenvered me!" I re -
She vap jtlune other tha0 the tin- marked(, surprised.
,
krownl w )aa who lead iaved my "The police have one method."
life on that fateful night at The she said. "f have an entir'ly dif-
Boltons—the mystcri•'n Edna! ferent ane."
As i raised my hat she bbwed "Tell me ane thing." 1 said. halt -
gracefully, and with a merry smile, ing in our walk. for we were Al -
said— ready et, the remmeneemnnt of Vire
"I fear that, to yont. Ilijttm a toria Street- that etreet •loon whist.
stranger. I recognize you, hew- I had wandered blindly en thst
Iter, as Mr. Heaton." ' eir►ht lrntr ago when i had Zest me -
"That is certaialy my name." 1 Rrlf—"to11 me far what r'nsen these
responded, still puzzled. "And previous apn.,intmente were merle
t.•n feel(, our recognition is, I he- „ith me at fir'.s'•nnnr (latee At
liar ntiitaal -yen' Are Edna." V'ine's fres. at 1?nstheurnc. and
She Klaneed at me quickly. aselsnv-been t"
though suspicious. "How did you "You kent there.•• she replied
know that '" she inquired. "ton ''\',,,, .deep• kno'v
have never seen me before. You wee, that's iest it " 1 *aid. "Of
were tt•tally blind on the last oc- e'.l'- ". 1 don't " ""1 v-', to girt,
Caul n we inet." r•,'J .', nn fn ah,t T env- it en„n.te
I r•'•' •eni/d you froin your de- inn nh�•••A I/,11• T t,,,.•e ei.e:,tetett•
scriptione I answered with a light t,,, trn•,•rlset•.e irnenin', ti, -.en sn-
leugh t ointmeets tweet tt,n non et (ver.
• tfy description ,.he etheed in xenor nets) end T nm t• ,tile• ;enr,r,
a tape of distil). t alarm set „t have,. met tn;•h.,•I.• "
"Yes. the description sit ell
e'en 1,...1 is f ees /oft :., .1..
%nu be the cabman who drove me f
1.7,0 tt-ifti •(,,ten grey et-ne f, 1'.01 or
hemi, on that ►nem arable morning
"WI! Of course,"
CHAPTER XXV.
encounter was a startling
she ejaculated " "I bogie to think that what the
butler told me contains home "Well, and what du you wish tol Total cost, $18.78. ROAST R 1
truth," she observed bluntly. `tell me this evening?" Dressed weight, 212.5 pounds. BEEF INDICTED
"No," 1 protested. "My mind is She. was silent fora moment toy Selling price, at 12c. per pound,
in no way unhinged. I am fully i ing with her rings. Sees 50.
aware of all that transpired at The "1 want to appeal to your gen- r.,fit, $472.
Coltons, uf---" l erusity. I want you to assil'
st rue." the profit on each chicken does
"At Tho Buttons!" she interrupt -not appear very large, yet, at the
ed, turning a trifle pale. "Whatsante time, one must consider that
to you mean?there is a gain of $6.72 for the work
,� or we consider an amount over
tOc. per hour. This is nut an un•
usual lot of chickens. Many chick-
ens have made greater gains than
were made in this trial. There is The roast beef of old Englund re-
treating in the trial, no far as I ce►ved a severe blow at t sectional
know, but what can be accomplish- meeting of the British Medical
ed by anybody. Congress, at Sheffield, the other
To market thin chickens is waste- • clay.
ful, and it appears to me that there Lieut. -Col. Davies, professor of
is at least sufficient margin of pro-
fit to pay a reasonable wage.
"1n what wanner 1"
".\s before."
'•.1s before!" I repeated, greatly
"l)f the crime enacted at that • surprised. "I have nu knowledge
., c f having assisted you before."
house—in The Boltons. "What?" she cried. "Is your
memory so defective that you do
not recollect your transactions with
those who waited upon you—those
who kept the previous appointments
of which you have spoken 1"
"I assure you, madam," I said,
quite calmly, "I have nut the least
idea of what you mean."
"Mr. Heaton!" she cried. "Have
you really taken leave of your sen-
ses 1 Is it actually true what your
butler has said of you—that on the
day you left Denbury you behaved
like a madman ?"
"I ani no madman !" I cried with
considerable warmth. "The truth
is that I remember nothing since
cno evening, nearly six years ago.
when I was smoking with—with a
friend—in Chelsea, until that day
to which niy servant has referred."
"You remember nothing 1 That
:e most extraordinary."
"If strange to you, madam, how
much more strange to me i I havo
told you the truth, therefore kind-
ly proceed to explain the object of
these previous visits of persons you
have apparently sent to me."
"1 really think you must bo jok-
ing," she said. "It seems impos-
sible that- you should actually be
unaware."
"I tell you that I have no know-
ledge whatsoever of their business
with me."
"Then if such is really the case,
let nie explain," she said. 'First,
I think you will admit that your
financial transactions with our Gov-
ernment have brought you very
handsome profits."
"I am not aware of having had
any transactions with the British
Government," I answered.
"I refer to that of Bulgaria," she
explained. "Surely you are aware
that thre ugh my intermediary you
have obtained great concessions—
the docks at Varna, the electric
trams at Sofia. the railway froin
Tirnova to tho Servian frontier, not
to mention other great undertak-
ings which have been floated as
cc:mpanies, all of which are now
oarieng handsome profits. You
cannot be ignorant of that!"
(To be Continued.)
She held her breath. 1'lainl • she
was not before award that Ihad
discovered the spot where tho tra-
gedy had taken place. My words
had taken her by surprise, and it
was evident that she was utterly
confounded. My discovery I had
kept a profound secret unto myself,
and now. fur the first time, had re-
vealed it.
Her face showed how utterly
taken aback she was.
"There is some mistake, I think,"
she said lamely, apparently for
want of something other to say.
"Surely your memory carries you
back to that midnight tragedy !"
I exclaimed rather hastily, for I
saw she would even now mislead
nie, if she could. "I have discov-
ered where it took place—I have
since re-entered that room !"
"You have !" she gasped in the
low, hoarse voice of one fearful lest
her secret should be discovered.
"You have actually re -discovered
the house—oven though you were
stone blind !"
"Yes," I answered.
"How did you accomplish it 1"
I shrugged my shoulders, answer-
ing, "There is an old saying—a very
true one—that 'murder will out.' "
"But tell Inc more. Explain
more fully," she urged in an ear-
nest tone.
I hesitated. Next Instant, how-
ever, I decided to keep my own
counsel in the matter. Her readi-
ness to deny that the events occur-
red in that house had re -aroused
within me a distinct suspicion.
"It is a long story, and cannot
be told here," I answered evasive-
ly.
"Then come along to the hotel,"
bo suggested. "I, too, have much
to say to you."
I do not know that I.aliould have
cboyed her were it not for the
mystery which had hitherto veiled
her identity. She had saved my
life, it is true, and I supposed that
I ought to consider her as a friend,
yet in those few minutes during
which I had gazed upon her a curi-
ous dislike of her had arisen with-
in me. She was, I felt certain, riot
the straightforward person I had
once believed her to be.
Not that there was anything in
ber appearance against her. On the
contrary, she was a pleasant, smil-
ing, rather pretty woman of per-
haps thirty-five, who spoke with the
air and manner of a lady, and who
carried herself well, with the grace
of one in a higher social circle.
After a few moments' hesitation
my curiosity got the better of my
natural caution, and I determined
to hear what she bad to say. There-
fore we drove together to Bath
Hotel.
In her own private sitting -room,
a cosy little apartment overlooking
Piccadilly, opposite Dover Street,
she removed her big black hat, drew
off her gloves, and having invited
ire to a chair. took one herself on
the opposite side of the fireplace.
Her maid was there when we enter-
ed. but retired at word from her
mistress."
"You, of course, regard it as very
curious, Mr. Heaton, that after
these six years I should again seek
you," she commenced, leaning her
arm lightly upon the little table,
and gazing straight into my face
without flinching. "It is true that
once 1 was enabled to render you
o service, and now in return I ask
you also to render me one. Of
course, it is useless to deny that a
secret exists between us—a secret
which, if revealed, would be dis-
astrous."
"To whom?"
"To certain persons whose names
need not be mentioned."
"Why not?"
"Think," she said. very gravely.
"Did you not promise me that. in
return for your life when you were
blind and helpless, you would make
no effort to learn the true facts 1
It seems that you have already
learnt at least one—the spot where
the crime wits committee(."
"I consider it my duty to learn
what I can of this affair." I an•wcr-
td determinedly.
She raised her eyebrows with an
expression of surprise, for she saw
that i was in earnest.
"After your vow to me?" she a corn field, and were put in the
asked. "Remember that, to ac fattening crates October 1st. These
knowledge my indebtedness for that were the cull birds—those that we
did not want to use in our laying
or breeding pens. We are keeping
a number of June chickens as egg-
ttnty i'i possession of that sense that ' producers for 1904. There were 12
was lost to yn.'' chickens of each of the following
"1 aeknnwledge that freely,„
1 breeds: Barred Plymouth Rocks,
W
\1 bite Plymouth Rocks, hite Wy-
andottes. Buff Orpington s, and
Rhode Island Reds. These chirk-
"t. 1d tee that yon were not
chick -
"Voir ens could not have been worth
the writer of those letters signet( more than 4 cents per pound. live
owit))a neetidonvm." weight. when taken from the corn-
” and that is true. 1 was not the
erten! writeOmelet) r. eveOmelet)1 mat
have rewire! them to he written "
"Having then tleeeit•e•I inn, hew
can e•,t hop' that i can be free with
eso
"1 .nee." .be nesse-red. "that
R'•ght dereetiei hes been neeretary
to e• -..tree the • t ..
"'„-e se-- .t -,f the crime 7"
She nodded.
444-e-•••••+++++•••••••+++•4 About the Farm
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FATTENING CIIICKENS.
The following remarks on fatten-
ing chickens are taken from the
1007 annual report of W. H. Gra-
ham, Poultry Manager at the On-
tario Agricultural College:
Owing to the high price of feeds,
we made some changes in our ra-
tion for fattening the chickens. The
cheapest palatable ration we could
find, locally, was one composed of
equal parts of ground corn, low-
grade flour and middlings. This
mixture cost 81.30 per hundred
pounds. The gains made by the
birds were not equal to those made
in previous seasons when oats and
buckwheat were fed along with the
corn, nor yet was the quality of
flesh as good. The birds did not
dress as white as we usually have
them. Sour skim mbutter-
milk
or was used for wetting the
ground grains.
Many of the dealers in dressed
pc ultry complain of the thin chick-
ens that are sent to market, and 1
have noticed that on many of the
local markets the birds offered for
sale were anything but fleshy, and
the method of dressing was very
bad. Scalded, thin chickens. where
the skin is mostly torn off, are cer-
tainly unsightly, and. further, they
decompose more quickly than those
which are dry -picked. All birds of-
fered for sale, where they have to
Le kept a few days, should bo dry -
plucked.
it may be of interest to know
what it costs to fatten chickens, and
what the difference is between the
cost price anti the selling price.
The following table gives the re-
sults in fattening 00 chickens
hatched between June 15th and
July lst. Tho birds were reared ;n
vow, f searched for the one !Meet -
Mist who could reetore your sight.
Tc, my efforts. Mr. Heaton. you are
answered. "Yet, even in that you
have sought to deceive me."
"Hutt 7"
field. They were sold. when fatten-
ed. for 12e to llc per pound.
Weight when put in the crate,
lel 5 pounds.
Weight after three weeks' feed•
ing, 252 pounds.
Grain consumed. 249 25 pennds.
Milk consumed, 517 pounds.
Cost of feed, $4.241
Chickens cost, at k pound., live
weight, •14.6$.
RECEIVES BLOW AT TIIE BRIT-
ISH MEI)I('.11, ('ea(iRESS
Ileums
I'ivh and ('becee Alcohol
leruicinu, iu Su o.
('Uses,
LIVE STOCK NOTES.
hygiene at the Royal Army Medical
College ; Major It. J. Blackburn,
Major G. S. Crawford, both of the
Royal Army Medical Corps, and
Cleanliness, warmth and fresh, Capt. W. Sinclair, 1f,.A.M.C. (mi -
clean drinking water are all big litia), in papers read in the section
helps in starting the little chicks on devoted to the array, the navy and
the right road where it is our duty ambulance work, all agreed that
to keep them. abundance of meat was quite un•
necessary, and that cheese and fish,
Keep the young colts growing if
I'
they are expected to become as uth of whichwere cheap, wore ex -
large or larger than their parents. Cellons and nutritious food.
A colt once stunted may afterwards Major Blackburn said that ex -
be made fat, but it can never be periments had rather upset. the po-
made to grow as large as it other- pular notion that roast beef was
wise would. the solid foundation of the British
Fall preparation is necessary to
successful management in the
spring. The new bee year, or pre-
paration for it, must begin before
the old one ends. If colonies go in-
to winter quarters without a queen,
without sufficient stores, or reduced
iu number, half or perhaps the
whole of the noxt year passes be-
fore they have gained their normal
strength.
The sow is at her best after far-
rowing the second litter until she
is six years old. First litters are
seldom profitable, being neither
numerous, nor the sow well enough
developed to be able to supply milk
sufficient to grow them properly.
There may be exceptions, however,
but this is the rule. Retain as
breeders only sows that have prov-
ed themselves to be good sticklers,
as only these will grow a litter pro-
fitably. There is as much difference
in sows in regard to giving milk as
there is in cows.
FARM NOTES.
The man who manages a small
farm, first, to supply his family all
that he possibly can for their sup-
port and comfort, and then chooses
wisely some specialty for a money
1•roduct, will, as a rule, be found
prosperous even in hard times.
The fittest farmer is the empha-
tic. fanner. Weakness, imbecility
and lack of purpose cannot win in
the race with competition. We can-
not cast aside competition. We
can set aside old and unsuccessful
ways if we will. New plans must
be quickly put into practice. All
business -men put the best brains
into the study of cost. The sav-
ings will often snake good divi-
dends. I mpruved methods will lead
t:s to profit. Few acres well tilled
will always pay more than many
half tilled.
If you will only make gilt -edge
butter you can safely rely upon re-
ceiving froin reputable commission -
houses the same prices they pay for
all butter of that quality. When
you go into those commission stores,
however, with a tub of butter for
sale and the merchant takes a long
butter tryer, "plugs" it down
through to the bottom of the tub,
brings it up, smells and tastes five
or six different colors of butter and
•ar many different smells and tastes,
he will then. for your information,
tap a tub of pure creamery butter
and show you a sample more per-
fect in every respect. You will no
lenger wonder why you cannot get
the top price for your butter. You
must go right back home and strive
for greater perfection.
MAN I.Y.
A man does his courting in the
fierier and then expects his wife
to be an expert kitchen mechanic.
A FAMILY JAR.
"So you want to bo my son-in-
law. do you 1"
' ('an't say that I do; but I want
r., marry your daughter, and I sup -
l.. a there's no way to avoid it."
Some sound arguments consist
mainly of loud talk.
Contentment and ambition have
nothing in common.
Some people act as if they had a
corner on goodness.
army.
How "Tommy Atkins" might deal
with such a change in his diet as
that suggested was indicated by
Lieut. -Col. Fotlieringham, of Can-
ada, who spoke nut of the fulness
of hes own experience.
WASTE OF CHEESE.
Liout.-Col. Fotheringham agreed
that cheese had an extreme value
as an article of food. An attempt
had been made to introduce it into
the rations of the Canadian soldi-
ers, but they wore palpably not
cheese -eaters, and the savory item
had to be abolished because of the
abominable waste that went on.
It was urged that the revision of
soldiers' rations should provide for
a butter supply of fish, while a
bread and cheese supper would pre-
vent a great dual of unnecessary
drinking.
Buckets of cold water were also
poured on alcohol in the sante sec-
tion by Major I'redmore, who,
speaking from a long experience in
India, said he had proved that non-
drinkers wore far more inununo
from sunstroke than those who did
drink alcohol.
Major Blackburn, after pointing
out that he held no brief for total
abstainers, said experience had
taught him that not only was alco-
hol best let alone by the soldier, but
even in the hospitals its use, even
on scientific grounds, could rarely
he justified.
SAILORS AND RUM.
Alcohol was not a preventive of
cold, and tots of rum to our sailors
were not only needl as. but actin
ally pernicious. •
Tho various paper ud r+peakcrs
in the discussion agreed that alco-
hol was not good for long or sus-
tained effort.
Dr. J.:ri'es Kingston Fowler, dean
of the faculty of medicine in the
University of London, and presi-
dent of the Medical Society of Lon-
don in the course of an address on
the subjeet of "Medicine," said ho
looked to a more general use of
sanatoria for a variety of affections
other than tuberculosis.
"As the advantages of an open-
air life, combined with careful me-
dical supervision. become better
known," said I)r. Fowler, "the sea
soyagc. which so often means life
in a windy passage on dock and e
stuffy cabin below, and the hotel
at it health resort on the Continent,
where influenza. perhaps, is rife,
nil( be replaced by sanatoria."
SORRY. BUT—
"Gumbolt and 1 have made a bet
and agreed to leave it to you. Ho
says a drowning man gets his lungs
full of water, and i say he doesn't.
Which of us is ri,;ht 1"
"What are the terms of the wag-
er ?"
ag•er1"
"The loser is to pay for a dinner
for the three of us." •
"H'm-1 never knew Gurnbult to \
pay a bet. You lose."
Young Mother ----"The doctor
thinks the baby looks like roe."
Visitor—"Yes; i wanted to say so,
hut feared you might be offended."
Benevolent Old (lent—"1 am sor-
ry, Johnny, to see you have a black
eye." Prorniying Youth --"You go
home and be Burry ft r year own lit-
tle boy—he's got r .:" 1
SHREDDED WHEAT
It is a natural food and with milk or creast anti
fresh fruits is an ideal diet in warm weather.
BRINGS THE GLOW OP 1'111AI.TH TO WAN CKE:6KS
i •i ss ■T ILL 11E 4 OMR