Had New Illington been part of an empire instead of one of the most important cities in the greatest republic in the world, the cry “The King is dead! Long live the King!” might well have resounded through its streets on that bleak November morning when Pennington Lawton was found dead, seated quietly in his arm-chair by the hearth in the library, where so many vast deals of national import had been first conceived, and the details arranged which had carried them on and on to brilliant consummat

For two days Anita wandered wraithlike about the great darkened house. The thought that Ramon was keeping something from her––that he and her dead father together had kept a secret which, for some reason, must not be revealed to her, weighed upon her spirits. Conjectures as to the unknown intruder on the night of her father’s death, and his possible purpose, flooded her mind to the exclusion of all else. In the dusk of the winter afternoon she was lying on the couch in her dressing-room, lost in

A man stood upon the threshold: a man of medium height, with sandy hair and mustache slightly tinged with gray. His face was alert and keenly intelligent. His eyes shrewd, but kindly, the brows sloping downward toward the nose, with the peculiar look of concentration of one given to quick decisions and instant, fearless action. His eyes traveled quickly from the young girl’s face to Ramon Hamilton, as the latter advanced with outstretched hand. “Mr. Blaine, it was fortunate that we found you at

Henry Blaine, the man of decision, wasted no time in vain thought. Instantly, upon his discovery that the signature of Pennington Lawton had been forged, and that it had been done by an old and well-known offender, he touched the bell on his desk, which brought his confidential secretary. “Has Guy Morrow returned yet from that blackmail case in Denver?” “Yes, sir. He’s in his private office now, making out his report to you.” A moment later, there entered a tall, dark young man, strong and muscu

Henry Blaine sat in his office, leisurely turning over the pages of a morning newspaper; his attitude was one of apparent idleness, but the occasional swift glances he darted at the clock and a slight lifting of his eyebrows at the least sound from without betokened the fact that he was waiting for some one or something. His eyes scanned the columns of each page with seeming carelessness, yet their keen glances missed not one significant phrase. And suddenly his gaze was transfixed by a paragrap

The little paragraph in the newspaper, which, irrelevant as it would seem, had caught the keenly discerning eye of Henry Blaine, grew in length and importance from day to day until it reached a position on the first page, and then spread in huge headlines over the entire sheet. Instead of relating merely the incidents of a labor strike in a manufacturing city––and that city a far-distant one––it became speedily a sociological question of almost national import. The yellow journals were quick to

The next morning, when Ramon Hamilton presented himself at Henry Blaine’s office in answer to the latter’s summons, he found the great detective in a mood more nearly bordering upon excitability than he could remember having witnessed before. Instead of being seated calmly at his desk, his thoughts masked with his usual inscrutable imperturbability, Blaine was pacing restlessly back and forth with the disquietude, not of agitation, but of concentrated, ebullient energy. “I sent for you, Mr. Hami

Morrow, meanwhile, had slowly become aware that he had a problem of his own to face, the biggest of his life. Should he go on with his work? In the event that James Brunell proved, indeed, to be guilty of the forgeries of which he was suspected by the Master Mind, it would mean that he, Morrow, would have betrayed the father of the girl he felt himself beginning to care for. Dared he face such a tremendous issue? His acquaintance with Emily Brunell had progressed rapidly in the few days since hi

Guy Morrow, after a sleepless night, presented himself at Henry Blaine’s office the next morning. The great detective, observing his young subordinate with shrewd, kindly eyes, noted in one swift glance his changed demeanor: his pallor, and the new lines graven about the firm mouth, which added strength and maturity to his face. If he guessed the reason for the metamorphosis, Blaine gave no sign, but listened without comment until Morrow had completed his report. “You obeyed my instructions?” he

The disappearance of Ramon Hamilton, coming so soon after the sudden death of his prospective father-in-law, caused a profound sensation. In the small hours of the night, before the press had been apprised of the event and when every probable or possible place where the young lawyer might be had been communicated with in vain, Henry Blaine set the perfect machinery of his forces at work to trace him. It was dawn before he could spare a precious moment to go to Anita Lawton. On his arrival he fou

All during that day and the night which followed it, the search for Ramon Hamilton continued, but without result. With the announcement of his disappearance, in the press, the police had started a spectacular investigation, but had been as unsuccessful as Henry Blaine’s own operatives, who had been working unostentatiously but tirelessly since the news of the young lawyer’s evanescence had come. No one could be found who had seen him. When he left the offices of the great detective on the previo

It was a haggard, heavy-eyed young man who presented himself at Henry Blaine’s office, early the next morning, with his report. The detective made no comment upon his subordinate’s changed appearance and manner, but eyed him keenly as with dogged determination Guy Morrow told his story through to the end. “The letter––the cipher letter!” Blaine demanded, curtly, when the operative paused at length. “You have it with you?” Morrow drew a deep breath and unconsciously he squared his shoulders. “No,

“ D on’t spare them now. Get the truth at all costs.” With the last instructions of his chief ringing in his ears, the following morning Guy Morrow set out for Brooklyn, to interview his erstwhile friends, the Pennolds, in his true colors. Mame Pennold, who was cleaning the dingy front room, heard the click of the gate, and peered with habitual caution from behind the frayed curtains of the window. The unexpected reappearance of their young banking acquaintance sent her scurrying as fast as her

Guy Morrow’s resolve to find Emily Brunell at all costs, stirred him from the apathy of despair into which he had fallen, and roused him to instant action. Leaving the house, he went to the nearest telephone pay station, where he could converse in comparative privacy, and called up Henry Blaine’s office, only to discover that the master detective had departed upon some mission of his own, was not expected to return until the following morning, and had left no instructions for him. This unanticip

Henry Blaine was allowed scant opportunity for reflection, in the hour which intervened between his telephone message to Anita and the time of his appointment with her. Scarcely had he hung up the receiver once more when his secretary announced the arrival of Fifine Déchaussée. Had not Blaine been already aware of her success with Paddington, as the scene in the park an evening or two previously denoted, he would have been instantly apprised by her manner that something of vital import had occur

“ P addington’s on the run!” Ross, the operative, announced to Henry Blaine the next morning, jubilantly. “He left his rooms about an hour after I got back on the job, and went to Carlis’ office. He only stayed a short time, and came out looking as black as a thunder-cloud––I guess the interview, whatever it was, didn’t go his way. He went straight from there to Rockamore, the promoter. I pretended an errand with Rockamore, too, and so got into the outer office. The h

Precisely at the hour of eight that night, a huge six-cylinder limousine drew up at the gate of Number Twenty-six Maple Avenue. Half-way down the block, well in the shadow of the trees which gave to the avenue its name, two more cars and a motor ambulance had halted. Doctor Alwyn, who had been excitedly awaiting the arrival of the detective, was out of his door and down the path almost before the car had pulled up at his gate. Within it were three men––Blaine himself and two others whom the Doct

“ Y ou are ready, Miss Lawton? Nerves steady enough for the ordeal?” asked Blaine the following morning. “I am ready.” Anita’s voice was firm and controlled, and there was the glint of a challenge in her eyes. A wondrous change had come over her since the previous day. With the rescue of the man she loved, and the certainty that he would recover, all the latent, indomitable courage and fighting spirit which had come to her as an heritage from her father, and which had made of him the ruler of me

“ T here’s a man outside who wishes to speak to you, sir. Says his name is Hicks, but won’t tell his business.” Blaine looked up from the paper. “Never heard of him. What sort of a man, Marsh?” “Old, white-haired, carries himself like an old family servant of some sort. Looks as if he’d been crying. He’s trembling so he can scarcely stand, and seems deeply affected by something. Says he has a message for you, and must see you personally.” “Very well. Show him in.” “Thank you for receiving me, si

“ B ut I don’t understand”––Guy Morrow’s voice was plaintive, and he eyed his chief reproachfully, as he stood before Blaine’s desk, twisting his hat nervously––“why you didn’t nail him! You’ve got the goods on him, all right; and now, just because you only had him arrested on a charge of assault with intent to kill, he’s gone and used his influence, and got himself released under heavy bail. Oh, why won’t you go heeled or guarded? We can’t afford to lose you, sir, any of us, and now he’ll do fo

Just as in autumn, the period of Indian summer brings a reminiscent warmth and sunshine, so sometimes in late winter a day will come now and then which is a harbinger of the not far-distant springtide, like a promise, during present storm and stress, of better things to come. Such a day, balmy and gloriously bright, found four people seated together in the spacious, sunny morning-room of a great house on Belleair Avenue. A young man, pale and wan as from a long illness, but with a new steadiness