win — — ^

[?]

~" "I Bay, Ted," called out the artist, j "what did you mean by saying that ( < you were a Dutchman?" Oourtlandt pauseu so that Abbott t might catch np to him. "I said that 1 1 was a Dutchman ?" "Yes. And It has just occurred to ' Be that you meant something." ' "Oh, yes. You were talking of Da ' JToscana? Let's call her Harrigan. It '

When They Arrived sj the 8tudlo, Abby Telephoned Promptly.

will save time, and no one will know to whom we refer. You said ehe was ■ Irish, and that when she said a thing she meant it. My boy, the Irish are I notorious for claiming that. They j often say it before they see clearly, j Now, we Dutchmen— it takes a long time for us to make up our minds, but when we do, something has got to j bend or break." "You don't mean to say that you are going to settle down and get mar- I Tied?" "I'm not going to settle down and | get married, if that will ease your mind any." "Man, I was hoping!" "Three meals a day in «the same house, with the same woman, never appealed to me." "What do you want, one for each meal?" "There's the dusky princess peeking out again. The truth Is. Abby, if 1 could hide myself for three or four years, long enough for people to forget me, I might reconsider. But It should be under another name. They «nvy us millionaires. Why, we are •the loneeomest duffers going. We distrust every one; we fly when a woman approaches; we become monomaniacs; one thing obsesses us, everybody is after our money. We want friends, we want wives, but we want them to be attracted to us and not to our money-bags. Oh, pshaw! What /plans have you made In regard to the jaearch ?" Gloom settled upon the artist's face. "I've got to find out what's happened ;to her, Ted. This isn't any play. Why. she loves the part of Marguerite as ahe loves nothing else. She's been kidnaped, and only God knows for what reason. It has knocked me silly. I Just came up from Como, where she opends the summers now. I was going to take her and Fournler out to dinner." "Who's Fournler?" "Mademoiselle Fournler, the composer. She goes with Nora on the yearly concert tours." "Pretty?" "Charming." "I see," thoughtfully. "What part , of the lake; the Villa d'Este, Cadenab- ] bla?" "Bellaggio. Oh, It was ripping last summer. She's always singing when j she's happy. When she sings out on the terrace, suddenly, without giving j anyone warning, her voice Is wonder- i ful. No audience ever heard anything j like It." • j "I heard her Friday night. I dropped in at the opera without knowing what they were singing. I admit all you say In regard to her voice and looks; but I stick to the whim." "But you can't fake that chap with the blond mustache," retorted Abbott grimly. "Lord, I wish I had run into you any day but today. I'm all in. I can telephone to tbe Opera from the stndlo, and then we shall know for a certainty whether or not she will return for the performance tonight If not, then I'm going In for a little detective work." "Abby, It will turn oat to be the sheep of Little Bo-Peep." "Hare your own way about It" When they arrived at the studio Abbott telephoned promptly. Nothing had been heard. They were snbetlj tells* another stusr.

! "Call up the Herald,"' suggested j , Courtlandt. i : Abbott did so. And he had to an- - ' innumerable questions, questions j which worked him lnio a fine rage; ! who was he. where did he live, what i i did he know, bow long had he been In | . ! Paris, and could he prove that he had j i arrived that morning? Abbott wanted j < fling ftie receiver Into the mouth of i ' iue transmitter, out nts patience was : i presently rewarded. The singer had ] 1 | not yet been found, but the chauffeur] j i ' of the mysterious car had turned utf ; : . . . In a hospital, and perhaps bj( | i | night they would know everything, I i j The chauffeur had had a bad accident; j i ! the car itself was a total wreck, in a . ditch, not far from Versailles. ; | "There!" cried Abbott, slamming j the receiver on the hook. "What do j you say to that?" "The chauffeur may have left her somewhere, got drunk afterward, and , plunged into the ditch. Things have happened like that. Abbyv dont make a camel's hair shirt out of your paintbrushes. What a pother about a sing- ; er! If It had been a great inventor, a poet, an artlBt, there would have been nothing more than a two-line paragraph. But an opera elnger, one who entertains U6 during our Idle evenings — ba! that's a different matter. ; Set instantly that great municipal machinery called the police in action; sell extra editions on the streets. What ado!" "What the devil makes you eo bib 'Was I bitter? I thought I was philosophising." Courtlandt consulted his watch. Half after four. "Come over to the Maurice and dine with me tomorrow night, that is, If you do not find your prima donna. ' I've an engagement at five-thirty, and must be off." "I was about to ask you to dine with me tonight," disappointedly, i "Can't; awfully sorry. Abby. It was only luck that I met you In the Luxembourg. Be over about seven. I was very glad to see you again." Abbott kicked a broken ease! Into a corner. "All right. If anything turns up I'll let you know. You,'re at the Grand?" ] "Yes. By-by." "I know what's the matter with him." mused the artist, alone. "Some j woman has chucked him. Silly little fool, probably." Courtlandt went down stairs and out ' Into the boulevard. Frankly, he was beginning to feel concerned. He still . held to his original opinion that the diva had disappeared of her own free will ; but If the machinery of the 'police had been started, he realized that his own safety would eventually be- j come Involved. By this time, he rea- j soned, there would not be a hotel In Paris free of surveillance. Naturally, | blond strangers would be In demand. | The complications that would follow his own arrest were not to be ignored. He agreed with bis conscience that he i had not acted with dignity in forcing his way into her apartment. But that night he had been at odds with convention; his spirit had been that of j the marauding old Dutchman of -tbe seventeenth century. He perfectly well knew that she was In the right as far as the pistol-shot was concerned, i Further, he knew that he could quash any charge she might make In that direction by the simplest of declara1 Hons; and to avoid this simplest of , declarations she would prefer silence i above all things. They knew each oth- . er tolerably well. It wbb extremely fortunate that he had not been to the hotel since Saturi day. He went directly to the war of- ; flee. The great and powerful man there was the only hope left They had met some years before In Algiers, where Courtlandt had rendered him a ■ very real service. i "I did not expect you to the minute," the great man said pleasantly. "You will not mind waiting for a few minutes." t "Not In the least Only, I'm in a - I deuce of a mesB," frankly and directly. "Innocently enough. I've stuck my t head Into the police net." i "Is It possible that now I can pay i j my debt to you?" ; "Such as It Is. Have you read the - j article In the newspapers regarding ; j the disappearance of Signorlna da TosI cana, the singer?" 1 "Yes." t "I am the unknown blond. Tomori row morning 1 want you to go with me ; : to the prefecture and state that i was | with you all of Saturday and Sunday; i that on Monday you and your wife t dined with me, that yesterday we went ) to the aviation meet, and later to the Odeon." b "In fcrief, an alibi?" smiling now. a "Exactly. I shall need one." e "And a perfectly good alibi. But I f have your word that you are in noi- wise concerned? Pardon the question, but between us it Is really necessary 8 If I am to be of service to you." "On my word as a gentleman." "That Is sufficient." h "In fact, I do not believe that she I has been abducted at all. WU1 you k let me vine your pad and past for a minute?" \

) ~ The other pushed over the required 1 articles. Courtlandt scrawled a few | words and paaeed back the pad. ! "For me to read?" "Yes," moodily. ; The Frenchman read. Courtlandt watched him anxiously. There was not even a flicker of surprise in the | official eye. Calmly he ripped off the sheet and tore It Into bits, dlstribut- ] ing the pieces into the various waste ! baskets yawning about his long flat J desk. Next, still avoiding tbe younger i man's eye, he arranged his papers neatly a On locked them up in a huge | safe which only the artillery of the German army could have forced. He then called for his hat and stick. He j beckoned to Courtlandt to follow. Not { a word was said until tbe car was I humming on the road to Vincennes. "Well?" said Courtlandt, finally. It ! was not possible for him to hold back , tbe question any longer. "My dear friend, I am taking you out to the villa for the nlghL" j "But 1 have nothing . . j "And I have everything, even fore- [ sight. If you were arrested tonight it ■ would cause you some Inconvenience. 1 am fifty-six, some twenty years your senior. Under this hat Qf mine 1 earn' a thousand secrets, and every one of these thousand must go to the grave with me, yours along with them. I have met you a dozen times since those Algerian days, and never have you failed to afford me some amusement or excitement. You are the most i interesting and entertaining young man I know. Try one of these cigars." Precisely at the time Courtlandt stepped Into the automobile outside the war office, a scene, peculiar in character, but inconspicuous In that it did not attract attention, was enacted | in the Gare de 1'Est. Two sober-via- | aged men stood respectfully aside to ' permit a tail young man in a Bavarian hat to enter a compartment of the second class. What could be seen of tbe young man's face was full of smothered wrath and disappointment. \ How he hated himself, for his weakness, for his cowardice! He was 4ot i all bad. Knowing that be was being watched and followed, he could not go to Versailles and compromise her, use1 lessly. The devil take the sleek demon ' of a woman who had prompted him to commit so base an act! ' "You will at least," he said, "deliver that message which 1 have intrusted ! to your care." "It shall reach Versailles tonight. ! your highness." The young man reread the telegram ' which one of the two men had given ! him a moment since. It was a com- * ] mand which even be, wilful and dis- ' I obedient as he was, dared not ignore. 1 He ripped It into shreds and flung ' them out of the window. He did not ' apologize to the man into whose face ' the pieces flew. That gentleman red- ' I dened perceptibly, but he held his 3 tongue. The blare of a horn announced | the time of departure. The train i moved. The two men on the platform " saluted, but the young man Ignored the salutation. Not until the rear car 3 disappeared in the hazy distance did ' the watchers stir. Then they left the 3 station and got into the tonneau of a touring car, which shot away and did 1 not stop until it drew up before that Imposing embassy upon which the '* French will always look with more or * less suspicion. CHAPTER V. The Bird Behind Bars. The most beautiful blue Irish eyes in the world gazed out at the dawn 5 which turned night-blue into day-blue r and paled the stare. Roeal lay the un- ' . dulating horizon, presently to burst Into living flame, transmuting the dull steel bars of the window Into fairy I' gold, that trick of alchemy so futllely sought by man. There was a window " at the north and another at the south, likewise barred; but the Irish eyes never sought these two. It was from the east window only that they conld 7 see the long white road that led to Paris. The nightingale was truly caged. But the wild heart of the eagle beat ® In this nightingale's breast, and the * eyes burned as fiercely toward the east as the east burned toward tbe west. Sunday and Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday, today; r' and that the five dawns were 6lngu- ® lar In beauty and that she had never in her life before witnessed the cre- ^ at ion of five days, one after another. made no impression upon her sense of 1 the beautiful, so delicate and receptive ir ordinary times. She was conscious that within her the cup of wrath was overflowing. Of other things, euch as eating and sleeping and moving about In her cage (more like an eagle Indeed than a nightingale), recurrence had blunted her perception. 7 "Oh, but he shall pay, he shall pay!" she murmured, striving to loosen the' bars with her small, white, helpless a hands. The cry seemed to be an aria etta, for through all theae four maddening days she had voloed It — now low and_d— gly with hate, now fall-

eoha of despair "Will yoe never j I come, eo that I may tall you bow base j and vile yon are?" ahe further »d t dreaeed the eaat. ] 1 She had waited for his appearance ^ on Sunday. Late in the day one of the t Jailers had Informed her that It waa impossible for the gentleman to come ' before Monday. So she marshaled her ! army of phrase*, of accusations, of de- J nun clarions, ready to smother him 1

"Oh, but He Shall Pay, He Shall Pay."

with them the moment he came. But j he came not Monday, nor Tuesday, ' nor Wednesday. The suspense was to her mind diabolical. She began to understand; he intended to keep her - there till he was sure that her spirit . was broken, then he would come. Break hereplrlt? She laughed wildly. He could break her spirit no more easily than she could break these bars. To bring her to Versailles upon ! ' an errand of mercy! Well, he was ' capable of anything. She was not particularly distressed j because she knew that it would not be 1 possible for her to sing again until the ' following winter In New York. She I ' had sobbed too mnch, with her face j 1 burled In the pillow. Had these sobs ' | been born of weakness, all might have j ; been well; but rage had mothered ] tbem, and thus her voice was in & ! • very bad way. This morning she was I " noticeably hoarse, and there was a • break In tbe arietta. No, she did not 1 fret over this side of the calamity. The ' sting of It all lay In the fact that she had been outraged in the matter ol 1 personal liberty, with no act of re ' prlsal to ease her immediate longlnj J Nora, as she stood in the full mora 1 lng sunlight, was like to gladden th« eyes of all mankind. She was beauti • ful, aDd all adjectives applicable wt>ul< but serve to confuse rather than U 1 embellish her physical excellence. Sh( 1 was as beautiful as a garden rose is needing no defense, no ramparts o: ' cloying phrases. The day of poets ll gone, otherwise she would have beei 1 sung in cantos. She was tall, shapely 1 deep-bosomed, flne-sklnned. Critics 3 in praising her charms, delved InU mythology and folk-lore for com pari ' sons, until there wasn't a goddess lef 1 on Olympus or on Northland's lc; 1 capes; and when these Images becann 3 a little shop-worn, referred to certaii masterpieces of the old fellows whi J had left nothing more to be said li 1 oils. Nora enjoyed it all. 9 She had not been happy in the sele< J tion of her stage name; but she hai chosen Eleonora da Toscana becaus 1 she believed there was good luck li 0 it. Once, long before the world knev , ,

r of her, ehe had returned home from Italy unexpectedly. "Molly, here's j Nora, from Tuscany!" her delighted j father had cried; who at that time had a nebulous idea that Tuscany was 1 somewhere In Ireland because it had a 8 Celtic glng to it. Being filled with love i n of Italy, its tongue. Its history. Its 0 physical beauty, she naively translated "Nora from Tnscany" into Ital- , lan, and declared that when she went - upon the stage she would be known 7 by that name. There had been some 1 7 smiling aver the pseudonym; but | " Nora was Irish enough to cling to it. l* By and by the great music-loving pub- j 18 lie ceased to concern Itself about her ® name; It was her fresh beauty and her wonderful voice they craved to see 0 and hear. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, princes and a' princesses — what is called royalty and nobility in tbe newspapers freely gave 10 her homage. Quite a rise in the world 10 for a little girl who had once lived in 10 a shabby apartment in New York and J run barefooted on the wet asphalts, • summer nights! u" But Nora was not recalling tbe 'r happy scenee of her childhood; indeed, no; she was still threatening r' Paris. Once there, she would not lack for reprisals. To have played on her ! e pity! To have made a lure of her , 18 tender concern for the unfortunate! 18 Never would she forgive such base18 ness. And only a little while ago she 1 had been as happy as the nightingale 1 to which they compared her. Never :e had she wronged anyone; she had been kindness and tboughtfulness to all with whom she had come in oontacL ie' But from now on! . j . Bar finis gera tightened round the here. She -1- might have poeed as Dido when she d- learned that the noble * trial was w deed. War, war; woe to the Methe who U- fluttered a boa t her bead hereafter^

I From out the bright morning, somewhere, had come weariness, and with this came weakness, end finally, tears. She heard the key turn In the lock. had never come eo early before. was astonished to see that her Jailer did not cloae the door es usugL pat down tbe breakfast tray on the table. There waa {ea and toast end fruit. "Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible mistake." said the man humbly. "Ah! So yon have found that oat?" j she cried. — "Yea. You are not the person for whom this room was Intended." Which was half, a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical ae It may seem., "Bat yohr breakfast in peace. "You are free, mademoiselle." -Free? You will not hinder me If I walk through that door?" "No, mademoiselle. On the contrary. I shall be very glad, and so Jrfll | my brother, who guards -yon at night. I I repeat, there hea been a frightful mis- i take. Monsieur Champeatix ..." I "Monsieur Champeaux?" Nora was : bewildered. She had never heard this j name before. "He calls himself that," was the diplomatic answer. All Nora's suspicions took firm j ground again. "W1H you describe this ' j Monsieur Champeaux to me?" asked I the actress coming into life. "He Is short, dark, and old, made- 1 mol8elle." "Rather is he not tall, ^blond end j young T' ironically. The Jailer concealed what annoy- ' ance he felt. In his way he was Just ! | as capable an actor as ehe was. The | I accuracy of her description startled ; | him; for the affair had been carried | i out so adroitly that he had been posli tive that until her real captor ap- | , pea red she would be totally .in the ; dark regarding his Identity. And here | ' she had hit it off in less than a dozen i words. Oh, well; it did not matter ; now. She might try to make it un- j pleasant for his employer, but he doubted the ultimate success of her , attempts. However, the matter was at j an end as far as he was concerned. I | "Have you thought what this means? It is abduction. It Is a crime you have 1 I committed, punishable by long impris- | onment." "I have been mademoiselle's Jailer, not her abductor. And when one Is ; poor and in need of money!" He shrugged 1 "I will give yon a thousand francs for the name and address of the man 1 who instigated this outrage." : j Ah, be thought; then she wasn't so ■ sure? "I told you the name, mademoi1 sells. As for his address, I dare not

"Have You Thouflht What This Means? It Is Abduction!"

give It, not for ten thousand franco. J Besides, I have said that there has been a mistake." "For whom have I been mistaken?" "Who but Monsieur Cbampeaux's I wife, mademoiselle, who is not In her right mind?" with inimitable sadness. • i "Very well," said Nora. "You say ■ 1 that I am free. That lo all I want, i freedom." 1 | "In twenty minutes tbe electric tram • leaves for Paris. You will recall, mademoiselle," humbly, "that we have . taken nothing belonging to you. You have your puree and hat and cloak. I The struggle was most unfortunate. 1 1 But, think, mademoiselle, think; we thought you to be insane!" I "Permit me to doubt that! And you I are not afraid to let me go?" > I "Not in the least, mademoiselle. A ' mistake has been made, and in telling 1 you to go at once, we do our best to I rectify this mistake. It Is only five • minutes to the tram. A carriage 1b at the door. Will mademoiselle be pleased s to remember that we have treated her j ■ . with the utmost courtesy?" 5 i "I shall remember everything," j t ominously. r ! "Very good, mademoiselle. You will r be In Paris before nine." With this ! he bowed and backed out of the room - as though Nora had suddenly made a . > distinct ascension in the scale of Im- . » portance. r "Wait!" she called. > His taoe appeared in the doorway "Do you know who I am?" -•laoe this morning, madsmoiaeQa." » ■ "That is an." I ' Ftwel Her reins ttegM with • strange anltattoa. He k*4 k*t fc * » — e rage «al hed^bee em s atetei irf tte

Parte. Her bands trembled TiokmOy! as ahe pinned on her hat. and ahe wuflf not greatly concerned as to the angtei She snatched up her puree and <-!oak» and aped out Into the street. A phaei ton awaited her. "The tram." ahe said. {- "Yes. mademoiselle. ■*" « R "And go quickly." She would ao^ feel safe until she waa in the trata.^1 A face appeared at one of the wfl^ j dows. As the vehicle turned tbe corner, the face vanished; and perhaps that particular visage disappeared forever. A gray wig came off. tbe little* gray side whiskers, the busby graj{ eyebrows, revealing a clever face. iu*| more than thirty, cunning, bnt humorously cunning and anything bnt ecomn | drelly. The painted scar aslant thai nose was also obliterated. Wttlfl haste the can thrust tbe evidences ofl I disguise Into a traveling bag, ran bera( | and there through the rooms, all bared and unfurnished save tbe one with th* ' bars and the kitchen, which contain^ ! two cota and some cooking uteosllu | Nothing of importance bad been lefV | behind. He locked the door and rate all the way to the Place d'Ai mteJ catching the tram to Paris by a frao- ! tion of a minute. All very well done. She would hea j In Paris before 'hq police made anyi I definite move. The one thing that disj turbed him was the thought of the I blockhead of a chauffeur, who had god j drunk before his return from Ver-i ■ sallies. If he talked; well, he coul® . ' say nothing beyond the tact that be^ i ! had deposited the singer at the house as directed. He knew positively notb-i I ; lng. • ; The man laughed softly. A thoo-» - I sand francs apiece for him and Ani toine. and no possible chance of be-i lng discovered. Let the police fin® ' I the house in_ Versailles; let then* ' ' trace whatever paths they found; the) ' agent would tell them, and honestly* > | that an aged man had rented thm r house for a month and had paid himl t In advance. What more could thu» agent say? Only one bit of puvxjo < ? ' ment: why hadn't the blond atrah&ri s 1 appeared? Who was be, In truth, an® - what had been his game? All thite waiting and wondering, and then a|* '. curt telegram of the night before, say- • lng, "Release her." So mnch the bet-* B ter. What his employer's motives were» did not Interest him half so much a* s the fact that he had a thousand franc* » In his pocket, and that all element ofl danger had been done away with* d True, the singer herself would move I* heaven and earth to find out who ha® t been back of the abduction. Let her make her accusations. He was out| make accusations, ne was uui*

of it _ "Mademoiselle," said the great po* liceman soberly, "this Is a grave acq cusation to make." "I make It, nevertheless," replle® Nora- She eat stiffly In her chair, her face colorless, dark circles under her eyes. She never looked toward Court* landL "But Monsieur Courtlandt has ofJ fered an alibi such as we cannot Ignore. More than that, his integrity is vouched for by the gentleman aC his aid*.- whom doubtless mademoiselle recognizes." Nora eyed the great man doubtfully* "What is the gentleman to you. ehe was interrogated. "Absolutely nothing." contemptn-J flusly. The minister inspected his rings. "He has annoyed me at variou* times." continued Nora; "that is all. Anri his actions on Friday night warrant every suspicion I have entertained against him." The chief of police turned toward the bandaged chauffeur. "You recognize tbe gentleman?" j "No. monsieur, I never saw him be- ! fore. It was an old man who engaged j "Go on." "He said that mademoiselle's eld I teacher was very 111 and asked for asI slstance. I left mademoiselle at tha j bouse and drove away. I w-as hired j from the garage. That is the truth, monsieur." I Nora smiled dlsbellevlngly. Doubtless he had been paid well for that lie. "And you?" asked the chief of ra's chauffeur. "He is certainly the gentleman. mo» | Sieur. who attempted to bribe me." "That Is true." said Courtlandt with utmost calmness. ! "Mademoiselle. If Monsieur Court, j landt wished, he could accuse you of attempting to shoot him." 1 "It was an accident. His sudden appearance in my apartment frightened me. Besides. I believe a woman who ! lives comparatively alone has a legal | and moral right to protect herself , from such unwarrantable Intrusions. I wish him no .physical injury, hut I [ am determined to be annoyed by him . no longer." ( To he continued.) • . . 1 There Is more Catarrh In this section of the country than oil other diseases put , together, and until the last few y ..-a was supposed to bo Incurable. For n great 1 many years doctors pronounced It a local . disease and prescribed local remedies, and by constantly falling to cure with 1 cai • j treatment, pronounced It Incurabl;. Science has proven Catarrh to bo a constitutional disease, and therefore require® constitutional treatment. Hail's Catarrh r Cure, manufactured by F. J. C.cncy 4b Co.. Toledo. Ohio, is the only Constitutional cure ou tho market. It is tahen Internally in doses from 10 drops to a tea- , spoonful. It acts directly on the Vood and mucous surfaces of tho system. They offer ono hundred dollars for an- < It I a">a tor fJrcal*r* ' I A44rees! T. J. Mil k T A Otk. <X i ■aUbyDranfats.no- < ■ste— ITsF— t «fls4sv«s— fa W J