“You may contradict me as flat as a flounder, Eunice, but that won’t alter the facts. There is something in telepathy—there is something in mind-reading—” “If you could read my mind, Aunt Abby, you’d drop that subject. For if you keep on, I may say what I think, and—” “Oh, that won’t bother me in the least. I know what you think, but your thoughts are so chaotic—so ignorant of the whole matter—that they are worthless. Now, listen to this from the paper: ‘Hanlon will walk blindfolded—blindfolded,

Perhaps no factor is more indicative of the type of a home life than its breakfast atmosphere. For, in America, it is only a small proportion, even among the wealthy who ‘breakfast in their rooms.’ And a knowledge of the appointments and customs of the breakfast are often data enough to stamp the status of the household. In the Embury home, breakfast was a pleasant send-off for the day. Both Sanford and Eunice were of the sort who wake up wide-awake, and their appearance in the dining-room was a

Bowing in response to the mighty cheer that greeted his appearance, Hanlon stood, smiling at the crowd. A young fellow he seemed to be, slender, well-knit and with a frank, winning face. But he evidently meant business, for he turned at once to Mr. Mortimer, and asked that the test be begun. A few words from one of the staff of the newspaper that was backing the enterprise informed the audience that the day before there had been hidden in a distant part of the city a penknife, and that only the

“And that’s my last word on the subject.” Embury lighted one cigarette from the stub of another, and deposited the stub in the ash-tray at his elbow. It was Sunday afternoon, and the peculiar relaxedness of that day of rest and gladness had somewhat worn on the nerves of both Sanford and Eunice. Aunt Abby was napping, and it was too early yet to look for their expected visitor, Hanlon. Eunice had been once again endeavoring to persuade her husband to give her an allowance—a stated sum, however s

“Just this, Mrs. Embury, the impossibility of my being blindfolded. As a matter of fact, it is practically impossible to blindfold anybody, anyway.” “Why, what do you mean?” interrupted Hendricks. “Why is it?” “Because the natural formation of most people’s noses allows them to see straight down beneath an ordinary bandage. I doubt if one child out of a hundred who plays ‘Blind Man’s Buff’ is really unable to see at all.” “That’s so,” said Embury, “when I played it, as a kid, I could always see

“Don’t you call her ‘that Desternay woman’!” “I’ll call her what I please! And without asking your permission, either. And I won’t have my wife playing bridge at what is practically a gambling house!” “Nothing of the sort! A party of invited guests, in a private house is a social affair, and you shall not call it ridiculous names! You play for far higher stakes at your club than we ever do at Fifi Desternay’s.” “That name is enough! Fancy your associating with a woman who calls herself Fifi!” “S

“I have never been so mystified in all my life!” Dr. Harper spoke in a perplexed, worried way, and a puzzled frown drew his shaggy eyebrows together. Though the family physician of most of the tenants of the large, up-to-date apartment house, he was of the old school type and had the kindly, sociable ways of a smalltown practitioner. “I know Sanford Embury, bone, blood and muscle,” he said; “I’ve not only been his physician for two years, but I’ve examined him, watched him and kept him in pink o

When after the autopsy, Dr. Harper announced that it was necessary to send for the Medical Chief Examiner, Eunice cried out, “Why, what do you mean? He’s the same as a Coroner!” “He takes the place of the Coroner, nowadays,” rejoined Harper, “and in Dr. Marsden’s opinion his attendance is necessary.” “Do you mean Sanford was murdered?” Eunice whispered, her face white and drawn. “We can’t tell, Mrs. Embury. It is a most unusual case. There is absolutely no indication of foul play, but, on the ot

Of the two detectives who arrived in response to the Examiner’s call, one almost literally fulfilled Eunice’s prophecy of a rude, unkempt, common man. His name was Shane and he strode into the room with a bumptious, self-important air, his burly frame looking especially awkward and unwieldy in the gentle surroundings. His companion, however, a younger man named Driscoll, was of a finer type, and showed at least an appreciation of the nature of the home which he had entered. “We’re up from the ho

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Eunice Embury cried, stepping back from the advancing figure of the burly detective. “Go out of my house—Ferdinand, put this person out!” The butler appeared in the doorway, but Shane waved a dismissing hand at him. “No use blustering, Mrs. Embury,” he said, gruffly, but not rudely. “You’d better come along quietly, than to make such a fuss.” “I shall make whatever fuss I choose—and I shall not ‘come along,’ quietly or any other way! I am not intimidated by your absurd

“Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Shane, Mrs. Embury is a dear friend of mine—a very, very dear friend—and I’d so gladly go to see her—and comfort her—console with her—and try to cheer her up—but—well, I asked her last night, over the telephone, to let me go to see her to-day—and—she—she—” Mrs. Desternay’s pretty blue eyes filled with tears, and her pretty lips quivered, and she dabbed a sheer little handkerchief here and there on her countenance. Then she took up her babbling again. “Oh, I don’t mean she w

In an office building, away downtown, a little old lady stood in the lobby studying the great bulletin board of room numbers. “Can I help you, ma’am?” asked the elevator starter, seeing her perplexity. “I want Sykes and Barton, Scenic Sign Painters,” she said, positively enough; “but there are so many S’s, I can’t seem to find them!” “All right, ma’am; here they are. Sixth floor, Room 614.” “Thank you,” the old lady said, and entered the elevator he indicated. She seemed preoccupied, and made no

One of the handsomest types of American manhood is that rather frequently seen combination of iron-gray hair and dark, deep-set eyes that look out from under heavy brows with a keen, comprehensive glance. This type of man is always a thinker, usually a professional man, and almost invariably a man of able brain. He is nearly always well-formed, physically, and of good carriage and demeanor. At any rate, Fleming Stone was all of these things, and when he came into the Embury living-room his appea

However he decided quickly, it must be done, so he said, diplomatically, “This is awful int’restin’, Miss Ames, and I’m just dead sure and certain Mr. Stone’d think so, too. Let’s go out and get it off where he c’n hear it. What say?” The boy had risen and was edging toward the door. Rather than lose her audience, Aunt Abby followed, and in a moment the pair appeared in the living-room, where Fleming Stone was still talking to Eunice and Mr. Elliott. “Miss Ames, now, she’s got somethin’ worth te

The journey ended at the rooms of Marigny, the psychic recommended by Willy Hanlon. As Fibsy, his bright eyes wide with wonder, found himself in the unmistakable surroundings of dingy draperies, a curtained cabinet and an odor of burning incense, he exclaimed to himself, “Gee! a clairviant! Now for some fun!” Aunt Abby, apparently aware of the proprieties of the occasion, seated herself, and waited patiently. At a gesture from her, Fibsy obediently took a seat near her, and waited quietly, too.

“It’s this way, F. Stone,” said Fibsy, earnestly, “the crooks of the situation—” “The what?” “The crooks—that’s what they call it—” “Oh, the crux.” Stone did not laugh. “Yessir—if that’s how you pronounce it. Guess I’ll stick to plain English. Well, to my way of thinkin’, the little joker in the case is that there raspberry jam. I’m a strong believer in raspberry jam on general principles, but in pertikler, I should say in this present case, raspberry jam will win the war! Don’t eat it!” “Though

An important feature of Fleming Stone’s efficiency was his ability to make use of the services of others. In the present case, he skilfully utilized both Shane and Driscoll’s energies, and received their reports—diplomatically concealing the fact that he was making tools of them, and letting them infer that he was merely their co-worker. Also, he depended greatly on Fibsy’s assistance. The boy was indefatigable, and he did errands intelligently, and made investigations with a minute attention to

“Alvord, you shock me—you amaze me! How dare you talk to me of love, when my husband hasn’t been dead a fortnight?” “What matter, Eunice? You never really loved Sanford—” “I did—I did!” “Not lately, anyhow. Perhaps just at first—and then, not deeply. He carried you originally by storm—it was an even toss-up whether he or Elliott or I won out. He was the most forceful of the three, and he made you marry him—didn’t he now?” “Don’t talk nonsense. I married Sanford of my own free will—” “Yes, and in