Author of "In the Onyx Lobby," "The Man Who Fell Through the Earth," Etc....

Even when Peter Crane was a baby boy, with eyes the color of the chicory flowers that grow by the wayside along New England roads, and hair that rivaled the Blessed Damosel's in being "yellow like ripe corn," he was of an adventurous disposition. His innocent face was never so devoid of guile, his winning smile never so cherubic as when he remarked that he would "jes' run froo the front gate a minyit," and the next instant he was out of sight. Far afield his roving spirit led him, and much scurr

It was late in July before Peter Boots marshaled his merry men and let himself be marshaled by the guide, Joshua, on the trip of exploration and recreation. A liner took them as far as Newfoundland, and at St. John's, a smaller steamer, the Victoria Lake , received them for their journey farther North. This ship belonged to a sealing fleet and also carried mails. It was not especially comfortable, and neither staterooms nor food were of the best. But Peter was discomfort-proof, and his negligenc

Given three good-natured young men, a satisfactory guide, a stretch of Labrador wild, and no cares of any sort, it is not surprising that the happy days and weeks followed one another into the maw of Time, until the date of departure for home drew near. "I'd like to stay here forever," declared Blair, as he filled his pipe and stretched luxuriously before the fire. "Civilization has lost all charm for me." "Go away with you!" scoffed Peter Boots, "that's a fine, ambitious spirit to show, and you

The steamer from Newfoundland that brought Shelby and Blair to New York arrived during Christmas week. The two men, however, were far from feeling holiday cheer as they reached the wharf and faced the hard trial of telling Mr. and Mrs. Crane of their son's death. But it had to be done, and they felt it their duty to lose no time in performing the sad errand. No one met them at the steamer, for its hour of arrival was uncertain and they had discouraged their friends from the attempt. Indeed only

Blair's first interview with Carly Harper was painful for both. The Cranes had told her of Peter's death, but the sight of Blair seemed to bring home to the girl a further and more vivid realization of her loss. "I wish now I'd been kinder to him," she said, her voice quivering. "Oh, come now, Carly, I know you weren't unkind." "No; but I wouldn't—wouldn't do what he asked me——" "Never mind, dear; I think I know what you mean, and, let me tell you, old Peter was happy enough—about you. He seemed

"Old man Crane's gone nutty," Shelby remarked. "Been going for some time," agreed Blair, and McClellan Thorpe nodded his head decidedly. The three sat in the studio apartment occupied by Blair and Thorpe, who had just returned from dining at their club. Shelby had come home with them, but was soon to leave to keep an engagement. "You'll scarcely believe what I'm up to to-night," Shelby went on, "I'm going to a séance with Mr. Crane." "I say, Kit," remonstrated Thorpe, "I don't think you ought to

It was doubtless owing to Benjamin Crane's attitude regarding his son's death that the home did not present more the aspect of a house of mourning. Both Crane and his wife were not only resigned to Peter's fate, but they seemed positively happy in what they believed to be continued communion with his spirit. As Mrs. Crane said, "When Peter was a child the gypsies said he would go away and be lost, but he would return to us. He has done so, he is doing so—why should we grieve? He tells us he is h

Gilbert Blair was a lovable sort of chap, one of those fine, gentle natures that will put up with annoyance rather than annoy another. Although he would have preferred to live alone, yet it was greatly to his pecuniary advantage to have Thorpe share his place, and, on the whole, they got on fairly well. But, being of different habits and temperaments, the details of their home life were not always harmonious. Blair was methodical, liked his drawing implements and sketches kept in order, and the

Nor did Thorpe's nerves grow calmer. Both Mrs. Crane and Julie tried to soothe him, but he was jumpy and his mouth twitched spasmodically. The women endeavored to change the subject and talked of other things, whereupon Thorpe sat, brooding,—his dark, handsome face strained and despairful. "Now, McClellan," Julie said, at last, decidedly, "it's awful enough, goodness knows, but I'll go crazy if you sit there like that any longer! Let's think what's to be done. In the first place, there's Carly t

The few days following Gilbert Blair's death were like a nightmare to his friends. A search of his papers had revealed a probable address of his mother, but a telegram sent there had as yet brought no reply and though a letter was despatched, no answer could be expected to that for a week or more. Meantime, by general consent, Benjamin Crane took charge of Blair's affairs. The funeral took place in an undertaker's establishment and the body was placed in a receiving vault, until Blair's people c

Much as Benjamin Crane desired to believe in Thorpe's innocence it was difficult for him to do so, after the disclosure of the medium, Madame Parlato. In her powers he had absolute faith, of her honesty and sincerity he was entirely confident, and it was largely the accounts of her séances that made the bulk of his book about his son's communications with him. The séances were frequent, still, and at each one he gained more material for use in a second book. The book, the one already published,

"Well, Julie, my little girl, the jig is up." Thorpe spoke despairingly, and Julie knew only too well what he meant. "They're—they're going——" "Yes, they're going to arrest me. This is the last call I can pay you." Julie didn't break down and cry, nor indeed did she show great emotion of any sort. She set her curved red lips firmly and said, with an air of determination: "I'm not sure, Mac, that it isn't better so. I mean now we've something definite to work against. Father's going to get that M

Kit Shelby's play was a wonderful success. Though a motion picture, it was one of the finest ever produced, and no expense had been spared to make it the sensation of the season. It was called "Labrador Luck." The Crane family attended the opening night, as, indeed, all Shelby's friends did, and the verdict was unanimous that never had such a beautiful and finished play been screened. The scenes of ice-bound Labrador were picturesque and fascinating, while the plot was ingenious and thrills plen

Among the passengers disembarking from a steamer at a Brooklyn pier was a tall, gaunt man, who walked with a slight limp. He was alone, and though he nodded pleasantly to one or two of his fellow passengers, he walked by himself, and all details of landing being over, he took a taxicab to a hotel restaurant, glad to eat a luncheon more to his taste than the ship's fare had been. He bought several New York papers, and soon became so absorbed in their contents that his carefully selected food migh

"Well, Mr. Douglas, what can I do for you?" Benjamin Crane spoke cordially, and smiled genially at the young man who had called on him in his home. "You can turn me down, sir, if you like, or, if you'll be so kind, you can give me a few details of these strange experiences of yours in occult matters." "Are you a reporter?" "I am, but also I want to be something more than that. And in this case I want to write up these things for a special article, and a personal interview would help a lot." "Wel

The Blair case had come to a standstill. Although the police were still making investigations, they were fairly well satisfied that Thorpe was the guilty man and since he was jailed and awaiting trial, they rested on their laurels. Pennington Wise was by no means sure of Thorpe's guilt, and Zizi was certain of his innocence, but though these two were working hard, as yet they had found no other definite suspect. "But you must, Zizi," wailed Julie. "You know as well as I do that Mac never killed

Never during her association with Wise, had Zizi wanted him so much as she did at present. The situation, she felt, was too big for her to handle, and the contradictory conclusions forced upon her bewildered her. Public interest in the Blair murder had waned, or at least it was waiting for the trial of McClellan Thorpe, and while the police were ready to listen to any new evidence or theories, none seemed to be forthcoming. Julie was in despair, feeling that the great Pennington Wise was making

Peter Boots arranged and rearranged his plans for the séance many times. Though still living under the name of Louis Bartram, he had cast aside fear of having his real identity discovered, pretty sure, now, that it must come sooner or later. His present concern was with the discovery of Blair's murderer, and thereby the freeing of his sister's fiancé. These accomplished he would consider the case of his own restored identity, if it were not by that time a foregone conclusion. Pennington Wise cam