“Stop that!” she cried out. “Who are you, anyway?”
The lights were suddenly turned on. Quest threw off his disguise.
“There you are,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Ingenious, but one ought to have seen through it long ago. The stroke of genius about it was that as soon as he had used a dodge once or twice and set you thinking about it, he dropped it.”
The door was suddenly opened and French entered.
“Beaten!” he exclaimed tersely.
“You haven’t found him?” Quest asked.
French shook his head.
“We’ve searched every room, every cupboard, every scrap of the cellar in the house,” he announced. “We’ve been into every corner of the grounds, searched all the place inside and out. There’s no sign of the Professor.”
Quest pocketed the diary.
“You’re perfectly certain that he is not in this house or anywhere upon the premises?”
“Certain sure!” French replied.
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, we’d better get back,” he said. “You come, too, French. We’ll sit down and figure out some scheme for finding him.”
They made their way to the front door and crowded into the autos. The two men left with marked reluctance. The two girls had but one idea in their heads—to get away, and get away quickly.
“Do start, please,” Lenora begged. “There’s just one thing in life I want, and that is to be in my own room, to feel myself away from his world of horrible, unnatural mysteries.”
“The kid has the right idea,” Laura agreed. “I’ve had enough myself.”
They were on the point of starting, the chauffeur with his hand upon the starting handle, French with the steering wheel of the police car already in his hand. And then the little party seemed suddenly turned to stone. For a few breathless seconds not one of them moved. Out into the clammy night air came the echoes of a hideous, inhuman, blood-curdling scream. Quest was the first to recover himself. He leaped from his seat and rushed back across the empty hall into the study, followed a little way behind by French and the others. An unsuspected panel door which led into the garden, stood slightly ajar. The Professor, with his hand on the back of a chair, was staring at the fireplace, shaking as though with some horrible ague, his face distorted, his body curiously hunched-up. He seemed suddenly to have dropped his humanity, to have fallen back into the world of some strange creatures. He heard their footsteps, but he did not turn his head. His hands were stretched out in front of him as though to keep away from his sight some hateful object.
“Stop him!” he cried. “Take him away! It’s Craig—his spirit! He came to me in the garage, he followed me through the grounds, he mocked at me when I hid in the tree. He’s there now, kneeling before the fireplace. Why can’t I kill him! He is coming! Stop him, some one!”
No one spoke or moved; no one, indeed, had the power. Then at last Quest found words.
“There is no one in the room, Professor,” he said, “except us.”
The sound of a human voice seemed to produce a strange effect. The Professor straightened himself, shook his head, his hands dropped to his side. He turned around and faced them. He was ghastly pale, but his smile was once more the smile of the amiable naturalist.
“My friends,” he said, “forgive me. I am very old, and the events of these last few hours have unnerved me. Forgive me.”
He groped for a moment and sank into a chair. Quest fetched a decanter and a glass from the sideboard, poured out some wine and held it to his lips. The Professor drank it eagerly.
“My dear friend,” he exclaimed, “you have saved me! I have something to tell you, something I must tell you at once, but not here. I loathe this place. Let me come with you to your rooms.”
“As you please,” Quest answered calmly.
The Professor rose hastily to his feet. As he turned around, he saw French concealing something in his hands. He shivered.
“I don’t need those!” he cried. “What are they? Handcuffs? Ah, no! I am only too anxious to tell you all that I know. Take care of me, Mr. Quest. Take me with you.”
He gripped Quest’s arm. In silence they passed from the room, in silence they took their places once more in the automobiles, in silence they drove without a pause to Quest’s rooms. The Professor seemed to breathe more freely as they left the neighbourhood of his house behind. He walked up the stairs to Quest’s library almost blithely. If he was aware of it, he took no notice of French and the two plain-clothes men behind. As he stepped into the room, he drew a long sigh of relief. He made his way at once to his favourite easy-chair, threw off his overcoat and leaned back.
“Quest,” he pronounced, “you are the best friend I have in my life! It is you who have rid me of my great burden. Tell me—help me a little with my story—have you read that page from theMedical Journalwhich Craig has kept locked up all these years?”
“We have all read it,” Quest replied.
“It was forged,” the Professor declared firmly, “forged by Craig. All the years since, he has blackmailed me. I have been his servant and his tool. I have been afraid to speak. At last I am free of him. Thank God!”
“Craig, after all,” French muttered.
The Professor sat with a faint, wistful smile upon the corners of his lips, looking around at all of them. His face had become like the face of a child, eager for sympathy and kindness.
“You will trust me, I know,” he continued. “You will believe me. All my life I have laboured for science. I have never been selfish. I have laid up no store of gold or treasure. Knowledge has been my mistress, knowledge has been my heaven. If I had been a wise man, I would have ridden myself of this hideous burden, but I was foolish and afraid. I wanted to pursue my studies, I wanted to be left in peace, so I let that fiend prey upon my fears. But now—now I feel that the burden has rolled away. I shall tell you my story, and afterwards I will do great things yet, great things for science, great things for the world.”
They listened to him, spellbound. Only Lenora stood a little apart with a faint frown upon her forehead. She touched Quest on the shoulder.
“Mr. Quest,” she murmured, “he is lying!”
Quest turned his head. His lips scarcely moved.
“What do you mean?” he whispered.
“He is lying!” Lenora insisted. “I tell you there’s another creature there, something we don’t understand. Let me bring the Electro-thought transference apparatus; let us read his mind. If I am wrong, I will go down on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”
Quest nodded. Lenora hastened to the further end of the room, snatched the cloth from the instrument and wheeled down the little mirror with its coils and levers. The Professor watched her. Slowly his face changed. The benevolence faded away, his teeth for a moment showed in something which was almost a snarl.
“You believe me?” he cried, turning to Quest. “You are not going to try that horrible thing on me—Professor Lord Ashleigh? I am all broken up. I am not fit for it. Look at my hands, how they shake.”
“Professor,” Quest said sternly, “we are surrounded by the shadow of some terrible deeds for which as yet there is no explanation. I do not say that we mistrust you, but I ask you to submit to this test.”
“I refuse!” the Professor replied harshly.
“And I insist,” Quest muttered.
The Professor drew a little breath. He sat back in his chair. His face became still, his lips were drawn closely together. Lenora wheeled up the machine and with deft fingers adjusted the fittings on one side. Quest himself connected it up on the other. The Professor sat there like a figure of stone. The silence in the room was so intense that the ticking of the small clock upon the mantelpiece was clearly audible. The silent battle of wills seemed like a live and visible struggle. The very atmosphere seemed charged with the thrill and wonder of it. Never before had Quest met with resistance so complete and immovable. For the first time the thought of failure oppressed him. Even that slight slackening of his rigid concentration brought relief to the Professor. Without any knowledge as to the source of their conviction, the two girls who watched felt that the Professor was becoming dominant. And then there came a sudden queer change. The intangible triumph of the Professor’s stony poise seemed to fade away. His eyes had sought the corner of the room, his lips quivered. The horror was there again, the horror they had seen before. He crouched a little back. His hands were uplifted as though to keep off some evil thing.
“Craig!” Lenora whispered. “He thinks he sees Craig again!”
Quest held up his hand. He realised that this was his moment. He leaned a little farther forward. Sternly he concentrated the whole of his will power upon his task. Almost at once there was a change. The Professor fell back in the chair. The tense self-control had passed from his features, his lips twitched. Simultaneously, the mirror for a moment was clouded,—then slowly a picture upon it gathered outline and substance. There was a jungle, strange, tall trees, and brushwood so thick that it reached to the waists of the two men who were slowly making their way through it. One was the Professor, clearly recognisable under his white sun helmet; the other a stranger to all of them. Suddenly they stopped. The latter had crept a yard or so ahead, his gun raised to his shoulder, his eyes fixed upon some possible object of pursuit. There was a sudden change in the Professor. They saw him seize his gun by the barrel and whirl it above his head. He seemed suddenly to lose his whole identity. He crouched on his haunches, almost like an animal, and sprang at the other’s throat. They could almost hear the snarl from his lips as the two men went down together into the undergrowth. The picture faded away.
“Dr. Merrill!” Lenora faltered. “Then it was not wild beasts which killed him.”
Almost immediately figures again appeared in the mirror. This time they saw the Professor in bed in a tent, Craig sitting by him, a violin in his hand. A native servant entered with food, which he placed by the bedside with a low obeisance. Slowly the Professor raised himself in bed. His face was distorted, his mouth curved into strange lines. With a sudden spring he seized the native servant by the throat and bore him back upon the floor. Craig passed his arm through his master’s and, exerting all his strength, dragged him away. They saw the man run terrified from the room, they saw Craig soothe the Professor and finally get him back to bed. Then he seized the violin and bent a little forward, playing softly. Slowly the Professor relapsed into what seemed to be a sleep. The scene faded away, to be replaced almost immediately by another. There was a small passage which seemed to lead from the back entrance of a house; the Professor with a black mantle, Craig following him, pleading, expostulating. They saw the conservatory for a minute, and then blackness. The Professor was leaning against a marble basin. There was nothing to be seen of him but his eyes and hands. They saw him listen, for a moment or two in cold, unresponsive silence, then stretch out his hand and push Craig away. The picture glowed and faded and glowed again. Then they saw through the gloom the figure of a woman approach, a diamond necklace around her neck. They saw the hands steal out and encircle her throat—and then more darkness, silence, obscurity. The mirror was empty once more.
“Mrs. Rheinholdt’s jewels!” Lenora cried. “What next? Oh! my God, what next?”
Their eyes ached with the strain but there was not one of them who could even glance away from the mirror. It was Quest’s study which slowly appeared then. The Salvation Army girl was there, talking to the Professor. They saw him leave her, they saw him look back from the door, a strange, evil glance. Then the secretary entered and spoke to her. Once more the door opened. The hands were there, stretching and reaching, a paper-weight gripped in the right-hand fingers. They saw it raised above the secretary’s head, they saw the other hand take the girl by the throat and push her towards the table. A wild scream broke from Lenora’s lips. Quest wavered for a moment. The picture faded out.
“Oh, stop it!” Lenora begged. “Haven’t we seen enough? We know the truth now. Stop!”
The criminologist made no reply. His eyes were still fixed upon the Professor, who showed some signs of returning consciousness. He was gripping at his collar. He seemed to have difficulty with his breathing. Quest suddenly braced himself. He pushed Lenora back.
“One more,” he muttered. “There’s something growing in his mind. I can feel it. Wait!”
Again they all turned towards the mirror. They saw the hallway of Ashleigh House, the pictures upon the walls, they could almost feel the quiet silence of night. They saw the Professor come stealing down the stairs. He was wearing the black velvet suit with the cowl in his hand. They watched him pause before a certain door, draw on the cowl and disappear. Through the opening they could see Lord Ashleigh asleep in bed, the moonlight streaming through the open window across the counterpane. They saw the Professor turn with a strange, horrible look in his face and close the door. Lenora burst into sobs.
“No more!” she begged. “No more, please!”
Suddenly, without any warning, Laura also began to sob hysterically. French mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. His face was unrecognisable. He had lost all his healthy colour, and his lips were twitching. Quest himself was as pale as death, and there were black rims under his eyes.
“We’ve had enough,” he admitted, swaying a little on his feet. “Undo the other band, if you can, Lenora.”
He leaned forward and released their victim. The whole atmosphere of the place seemed immediately to change. Lenora drew a long, convulsive breath and sank into a chair. The Professor sat up, and gazed at them all with the air of a man who had just awakened from a dream. His features relapsed, his mouth once more resolved itself into pleasant and natural lines. He smiled at them cordially.
“Have I, by any chance, slept?” he asked. “Or—”
He never finished his sentence. His eyes fell upon the mirror, the metal band lying by his side. He read the truth in the faces still turned towards him. He rose to his feet. There was another and equally sudden change in his demeanour and tone. He carried himself with the calm dignity of the scientist.
“The end of our struggle, I presume?” he said to Quest, pointing to the metal band. “You will at least admit that I have shown you fine sport?”
No one answered him. Even Quest had barely yet recovered himself. The Professor shrugged his shoulders.
“I recognise, of course,” he said gravely, “that this is the end. A personin extremishas privileges. Will you allow me to write just a matter of twenty lines at your desk?”
Silently Quest assented. The Professor seated himself in the swing chair, drew a sheet of paper towards him, dipped the pen in the ink and began to write. Then he turned round and reached for his own small black bag which lay upon the table. Quest caught him by the wrist.
“What do you want out of that, Professor?” he enquired.
“Merely my own pen and ink,” the Professor expostulated. “If there is anything I detest in the world, it is violet ink. And your pen, too, is execrable. As these are to be the last words I shall leave to a sorrowing world, I should like to write them in my own fashion. Open the bag for yourself, if you will. You can pass me the things out.”
Quest opened the bag, took out a pen and a small glass bottle of ink. He handed them to the Professor, who started once more to write. Quest watched him for a moment and then turned away to French. The Professor looked over his shoulder and suddenly bared his wrist. Lenora seized her employer by the arm.
“Look!” she cried. “What is he going to do?”
Quest swung round, but he was too late. The Professor had dug the pen into his arm. He sat in his chair and laughed as they all hurried towards him. Then suddenly he sprang to his feet. Again the change came into his face which they had seen in the mirror. French dashed forward towards him. The Professor snarled, seemed about to spring, then suddenly once more stretched out his hands to show that he was helpless and handed to Quest the paper upon which he had been writing.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he exclaimed. “Here is my last message to you, Sanford Quest. Read it—read it aloud. Always remember that this was not your triumph but mine.”
Quest held up the paper. They all read. The Professor’s letters were carefully formed, his handwriting perfectly legible.
“You have been a clever opponent, Sanford Quest, but even now you are to be cheated. The wisdom of the ages outreaches yours, outreaches it and triumphs.”
“You have been a clever opponent, Sanford Quest, but even now you are to be cheated. The wisdom of the ages outreaches yours, outreaches it and triumphs.”
Quest looked up quickly.
“What the devil does he mean?” he muttered.
The Professor’s arms shot suddenly above his head. Again that strange, animal look convulsed his features. He burst into a loud, unnatural laugh.
“Mean, you fool?” he cried, holding out his wrist, which was slowly turning black. “Poisoned! That is what it means!”
They all stared at him. Quest seized the ink bottle, revealed the false top and laid it down again with a little exclamation. Then, before they could realize it, the end came. The Professor lay, a crumpled-up heap, upon the floor. The last change of all had taken place in his face. His arms were outstretched, his face deathly white, his lips faintly curved in the half amiable, half supercilious smile of the savant who sees beyond. Quest stooped over him.
“He is dead,” he declared.
Quest swung round in his chair as French entered the room, and held out his left hand.
“Glad to see you, French. Help yourself to a cigar.”
“I don’t know as I want to smoke this morning just at present, thank you,” French replied.
Quest laid down his pen and looked up. French was fidgeting about with his hat in his hand. He was dressed more carefully than usual, but he was obviously ill at ease.
“Nothing wrong, eh?”
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” French admitted. “I just looked in—”
Quest waited for a moment. Then he crossed his legs and assumed a patient attitude.
“What the dickens did you look in for?” he asked.
“The fact of it is,” French explained, “I should like a few words with Miss Laura.”
Quest laughed shortly.
“Why on earth couldn’t you say so?” he observed. “Never knew you bashful before, Inspector. She’s up in the laboratory. I’ll ring for some one to show you the way.”
Quest touched the bell and his new secretary entered almost at once.
“Take Inspector French up into the laboratory,” Quest directed. “See you later, French.”
“Yes—perhaps—I hope so,” the Inspector replied nervously.
Quest watched him disappear, with a puzzled smile.
Then he sat down at his desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write:
“My dear Inspector,“I am taking this opportunity of letting you know that out of deference to the wishes of the woman I hope soon to marry, I am abandoning the hazardous and nerve-racking profession of criminology for a safer and happier career. You will have, therefore, to find help elsewhere in the future.“With best wishes,“Yours,“Sanford Quest.”
“My dear Inspector,
“I am taking this opportunity of letting you know that out of deference to the wishes of the woman I hope soon to marry, I am abandoning the hazardous and nerve-racking profession of criminology for a safer and happier career. You will have, therefore, to find help elsewhere in the future.
“With best wishes,
“Yours,
“Sanford Quest.”
He left the sheet of paper upon the desk and, ringing the bell, sent for Lenora. She appeared in a few moments and came over to his side.
“What is it, Mr. Quest?” she asked.
He gave her the letter without remark. She read it through and, turning slowly around, looked at him expectantly.
“How’s that seem to you?” he asked, reaching out his hand for a cigar.
“Very sensible indeed,” she replied.
“It’s no sort of life, this, for a married man,” Quest declared. “You agree with me there, don’t you, Lenora?”
“Yes!” she admitted, a little faintly.
Quest lit his cigar deliberately. Then he enclosed the letter in an envelope and addressed it to Inspector French.
“You’d better deliver this to the Inspector,” he said, “in case he doesn’t call round here on his way out.”
He handed her the note. For a moment she looked at him, then she turned quickly away.
“He shall have it at once,” she said in a low tone.
Quest watched her cross the room. She opened the door and passed out without a backward glance. Then he shrugged his shoulders, hesitated for a moment, and followed her. He heard the door of her apartment on the next floor close, however, and made his way to the laboratory. He entered the room softly and paused upon the threshold. His presence was altogether unobserved by the two people who were standing at the other end of the apartment.
“I say, Miss Laura,” the Inspector was saying, “this has got to come sometime or other. Why don’t you make up your mind to it? I’m no great hand at love-making, but I’m the right sort of man for you and I think you know it.”
“This,” Quest murmured to himself, “is where Laura boxes the Inspector’s ears!”
Nothing of the sort happened, however. There was a queer, a mystifying change in Laura’s expression. She was looking down at the floor. Suddenly her face was hidden in her hands. The Inspector threw his arms around her.
“That’s all the answer I want,” he declared.
Quest stole softly away. As he regained the door of his study, Lenora, dressed for the street, hurried out. She tried to pass him but he laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“I was just going round to Mr. French’s office,” she explained.
“That’s all right,” Quest replied. “The Inspector’s here. You can leave the note upon the table. Hi, Parkins,” he called out to his secretary in the next room, “get my hat and coat. Come back a moment, Lenora.”
She turned into the room a little unwillingly and leaned against the table. Quest stood by her side.
“Lenora,” he said quietly, “that was kind of a brutal note I told you to give to French, but I thought you’d understand.”
She raised her eyes suddenly to his.
“Understand what?” she whispered.
The secretary entered the room, helped Quest on with his coat and handed him his hat.
“If you are quite ready, Lenora.”
“Ready?” she exclaimed. “Where are we going?”
Quest sighed.
“Fancy having to explain all these things!” he said, taking her arm. “I just want you to understand, Lenora, that I’ve waited—quite long enough. Parkins,” he added, turning to his secretary, “if any one calls, just say that my wife and I will be back early in the afternoon. And you’d better step upstairs to the laboratory and give my compliments to Inspector French, and say that I hope he and Miss Laura will join us at Delmonico’s for luncheon at one o’clock.”
“Very good, sir,” the man replied.
Lenora’s face was suddenly transformed. She passed her arm through Quest’s. He stooped and kissed her as he led her towards the door.
“You understand now, don’t you?” he whispered, smiling down at her.
“I think so,” she admitted, with a little sigh of content.
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
Book: The Lonesome Pine
THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The “lonesome pine” from which the story takes its name was a tall tree that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but thefoot-prints of a girl. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder chase than “the trail of the lonesome pine.”
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as “Kingdom Come.” It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often springs the flower of civilization.
“Chad,” the “little shepherd” did not know who he was nor whence he came—he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery—a charming waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains.
A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner’s son, and the heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened “The Blight.” Two impetuous young Southerners’ fall under the spell of “The Blight’s” charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the mountaineers.
Included in this volume is “Hell fer-Sartain” and other stories, some of Mr. Fox’s most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
Book: The Harvester
THE HARVESTERIllustrated by W. L. Jacobs
“The Harvester,” David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl comes to his “Medicine Woods,” and the Harvester’s whole sound, healthy, large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point of life which has come to him—there begins a romance, troubled and interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality.
FRECKLES.Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford
Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with “The Angel” are full of real sentiment.
A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda.
The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage.
It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages.
AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by Ralph Fletcher Seymour.
The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all.
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Book: Lavender and Old Lace
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.
A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love to the young people on the staff of a newspaper—and it is one of the prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * * a rare book, exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, of tenderness, of delightful humor and spontaneity.
A SPINNER IN THE SUN.
Miss Myrtle Reed may always be depended upon to write a story in which poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever and entertaining book. Her characters are delightful and she always displays a quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos which give a touch of active realism to all her writings. In “A Spinner in the Sun” she tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of romance.
THE MASTER’S VIOLIN.
A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuoso is the reverent possessor of a genuine “Cremona.” He consents to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth has led the happy, careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American and he cannot, with his meagre past, express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life and all its happy phases as can the master who has lived life in all its fulness. But a girl comes into his life—a beautiful bit of human driftwood that his aunt had taken into her heart and home, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give—and his soul awakes.
Founded on a fact that all artists realize.
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May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
WITHIN THE LAW.By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana.Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke.
This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for two years in New York and Chicago.
The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman’s revenge directed against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent.
WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY.By Robert Carlton Brown.Illustrated with scenes from the play.
This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is suddenly thrown into the very heart of New York, “the land of her dreams,” where she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers.
The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in theatres all over the world.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM.By David Belasco.Illustrated by John Rae.
This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.
The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal powerful, both as a book and as a play.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.By Robert Hichens.
This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.
It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
BEN HUR.A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace.
The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on a height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere of the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic success.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid in New York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor.
The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which show the young wife the price she has paid.
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MADAME X.By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy.Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.By Robert Hichens.
An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
THE PRINCE OF INDIA.By Lew. Wallace.
A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with extraordinary power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its tragedy with the warm underglow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is a great dramatic spectacle.
TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY.By Grace Miller White.Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy.
A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the season.
YOUNG WALLINGFORD.By George Randolph Chester.Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh.
A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of which is just on the safe side of a State’s prison offence. As “Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford,” it is probably the most amusing expose of money manipulation ever seen on the stage.
THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY.By P. G. Wodehouse.Illustrations by Will Grefe.
Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of “A Gentleman of Leisure,” it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers.
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.
GRET: The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle.Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for this strong original story. Gret is the daughter of the camp and is utterly content with the wild life—until love comes. A fine book, unmarred by convention.
OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland.Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.
Dr. Lavendar’s fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of all, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine, healthful and life giving. “Old Chester Tales” will surely be among the books that abide.
THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam.Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.
The dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great aunt, an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of babies was something at which even the infant himself winked. A delicious bit of humor.
REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell.Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.
The heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them, are told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the childish heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish mind.
THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurston.Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
An Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a true conception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the tragic as well as the tender phases of life.
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY’S. By George Barr McCutcheon.Illustrated by Harrison Fisher.
An island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale, and an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most complicated plot. One of Mr. McCutcheon’s best books.
TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris.Illustrated by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.
Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another little boy to that non-locatable land called “Brer Rabbit’s Laughing Place,” and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play their parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience.
THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson.With frontispiece.
An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman’s soul—a woman who believed that in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds instead the utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away.
LYNCH’S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick.Illustrated by Geo. Brehm.
A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful and simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings of her father, “Old Man Lynch” of Wall St. True to life, clever in treatment.
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
THE MUSIC MASTER. By Charles Klein.Illustrated by John Rae.
This marvelously vivid narrative turns upon the search of a German musician in New York for his little daughter. Mr. Klein has well portrayed his pathetic struggle with poverty, his varied experiences in endeavoring to meet the demands of a public not trained to an appreciation of the classic, and his final great hour when, in the rapidly shifting events of a big city, his little daughter, now a beautiful young woman, is brought to his very door. A superb bit of fiction, palpitating with the life of the great metropolis. The play in which David Warfield scored his highest success.
DR. LAVENDAR’S PEOPLE. By Margaret Deland.Illustrated by Lucius Hitchcock.
Mrs. Deland won so many friends through Old Chester Tales that this volume needs no introduction beyond its title. The lovable doctor is more ripened in this later book, and the simple comedies and tragedies of the old village are told with dramatic charm.
OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland.Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
Stories portraying with delightful humor and pathos a quaint people in a sleepy old town. Dr. Lavendar, a very human and lovable “preacher,” is the connecting link between these dramatic stories from life.
HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE. By E. P. Roe.With frontispiece.
The hero is a farmer—a man with honest, sincere views of life. Bereft of his wife, his home is cared for by a succession of domestics of varying degrees of inefficiency until, from a most unpromising source, comes a young woman who not only becomes his wife but commands his respect and eventually wins his love. A bright and delicate romance, revealing on both sides a love that surmounts all difficulties and survives the censure of friends as well as the bitterness of enemies.
THE YOKE. By Elizabeth Miller.
Against the historical background of the days when the children of Israel were delivered from the bondage of Egypt, the author has sketched a romance of compelling charm. A biblical novel as great as any since “Ben Hur.”
SAUL OF TARSUS. By Elizabeth Miller.Illustrated by André Castaigne.
The scenes of this story are laid in Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome and Damascus. The Apostle Paul, the Martyr Stephen, Herod Agrippa and the Emperors Tiberius and Caligula are among the mighty figures that move through the pages. Wonderful descriptions, and a love story of the purest and noblest type mark this most remarkable religious romance.
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated.
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Delia Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip’s jealousy of Dr. Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many lively and exciting adventures.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
THE RANGE DWELLERS
Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull page.
THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the cowboys of the West, in search of “local color” for a new novel. “Bud” Thurston learns many a lesson while following “the lure of the dim trails” but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
THE LONESOME TRAIL
“Weary” Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional city life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large brown eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
THE LONG SHADOW
A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game of life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to finish.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
CYNTHIA’S CHAUFFEUR.Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
A pretty American girl in London is touring in a car with a chauffeur whose identity puzzles her. An amusing mystery.
THE STOWAWAY GIRL.Illustrated by Nesbitt Benson.
A shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating officer, and thrilling adventures in South Seas.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS.
Love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance.
THE MESSAGE.Illustrated by Joseph Cummings Chase.
A bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a buried treasure. A thrilling mystery develops.
THE PILLAR OF LIGHT.
The pillar thus designated was a lighthouse, and the author tells with exciting detail the terrible dilemma of its cut-off inhabitants.
THE WHEEL O’FORTUNE.With illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg.
The story deals with the finding of a papyrus containing the particulars of some of the treasures of the Queen of Sheba.
A SON OF THE IMMORTALS.Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
A young American is proclaimed king of a little Balkan Kingdom, and a pretty Parisian art student is the power behind the throne.
THE WINGS OF THE MORNING.
A sort of Robinson Crusoeredivivuswith modern settings and a very pretty love story added. The hero and heroine, are the only survivors of a wreck, and have many thrilling adventures on their desert island.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE,By Zane Grey.Illustrated by Douglas Duer.
In this picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago, we are permitted to see the unscrupulous methods employed by the invisible hand of the Mormon Church to break the will of those refusing to conform to its rule.
FRIAR TUCK,By Robert Alexander Wason.Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood.
Happy Hawkins tells us, in his humorous way, how Friar Tuck lived among the Cowboys, how he adjusted their quarrels and love affairs and how he fought with them and for them when occasion required.
THE SKY PILOT,By Ralph Connor.Illustrated by Louis Rhead.
There is no novel, dealing with the rough existence of cowboys, so charming in the telling, abounding as it does with the freshest and the truest pathos.
THE EMIGRANT TRAIL,By Geraldine Bonner.Colored frontispiece by John Rae.
The book relates the adventures of a party on its overland pilgrimage, and the birth and growth of the absorbing love of two strong men for a charming heroine.
THE BOSS OF WIND RIVER,By A. M. Chisholm.Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson.
This is a strong, virile novel with the lumber industry for its central theme and a love story full of interest as a sort of subplot.
A PRAIRIE COURTSHIP,By Harold Bindloss.
A story of Canadian prairies in which the hero is stirred, through the influence of his love for a woman, to settle down to the heroic business of pioneer farming.
JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS,By Harriet T. Comstock.Illustrated by John Cassel.
A story of the deep woods that shows the power of love at work among its primitive dwellers. It is a tensely moving study of the human heart and its aspirations that unfolds itself through thrilling situations and dramatic developments.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE,By Jean Webster.Illustrated by C. D. Williams.
One of the best stories of life in a girl’s college that has ever been written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable and thoroughly human.
JUST PATTY,By Jean Webster.Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows.
THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL,By Eleanor Gates.With four full page illustrations.
This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A charming play as dramatized by the author.
REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM,By Kate Douglas Wiggin.
One of the most beautiful studies of childhood—Rebecca’s artistic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal dramatic record.
NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA,By Kate Douglas Wiggin.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday.
REBECCA MARY,By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.
This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing.
EMMY LOU:Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin.Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton.
Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She is just a bewitchingly innocent, huggable little Maid. The book is wonderfully human.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
Full of the real atmosphere of American home life.
THE HAND-MADE GENTLEMAN.With a double-page frontispiece.
The son of a wash-woman begins re-making himself socially and imparts his system to his numerous friends. A story of rural New York with an appreciation of American types only possible from the pen of a humor loving American.
DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES.With illustrations by Arthur I. Keller.
A tale of the North Country. In Darrel, the clock tinker, wit, philosopher and man of mystery, is portrayed a force held in fetters and covered with obscurity, yet strong to make its way, and widely felt.
D’RI AND I:A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War with the British.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
“D’ri” was a mighty hunter, quaint, rugged, wise, truthful. He fights magnificently on the Lawrence, and is a striking figure in this enthusiastic romance of early America.
EBEN HOLDEN:A Tale of the North Country.
A story of the hardy wood-choppers of Vermont, who founded their homes in the Adirondack wilderness. “Eben,” the hero, is a bachelor with an imagination that is a very wilderness of oddities.
SILAS STRONG:Emperor of the Woods.
A simple account of one summer life, as it was lived in a part of the Adirondacks. Silas Strong is a woodland philosopher, and his camp is the scene of an impressive little love story.
VERGILIUS:A Tale of the Coming of Christ.
A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman Patricians whose great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding the birth of Christ.
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York