The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 3, No. 36, Ed. 1 Wednesday, July 21, 1915 Page: 2 of 4
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NORMAN DAILY TRANSCRIPT
m\K] S' EMERSON
vUl/N HOUGH
From 1l\e Scenario ^KGPACE CUNARD
COPyftJOHf. 19'c. fy WQIOHi A PAITERSON
FIRST INSTALLMENT
CHAPTER I.
The Cryptic Coin.
Kitty Gray, crack reporter on the
Evening Star, pulled out of her type-
writer the last sheet of paper and piled
It on the little heap of finished copy
which lay at her right. Then she
closed her desk, stepped to the ward-
robe and took her coat and hat.
Taking her little collection of copy
papei from the desk, with the privi-
lege of long tenure in office she walked
to the desk of the city editor, who, al-
though himself a married man, had all
this time without success tried to
look at the work before him and not
at the trim figure of Kitty Gray mak-
ing ready for her luncheon journey.
"When will you deign to return?"
asked he with a certain lapse in jour-
nalistic dignity.
"When I have a better story than
this guff—in the vernacular."
Kitty's favorite lunching place was
In one of the great department stores,
where women were made welcome and
comfortable, and she bent thither her
steps; but midway in her journey she
paused, as often she did, to gaze into
the window of the little antique shop
which occupied space in one of the
unimportant side streets.
Kitty Gray's eyes were arrested by
something that she saw—an object
which she did not recall ever before
to have noted in the window. It lay
close to the glass, just tilted back so
that it might be the better seen. It
apparently wae an ola coin or part
of one, curiously done In some dark
metal, probably silver badly oxidized
As Kitty bent down to examine it
more closely, she saw that the coin
bore au inscription, or what appeared
to be such—an inscription broken
across by the fracture which had di-
vided the coin Itself.
Her curiosity excited, Kitty Gray
stepped into the little shop, whose
proprietor she knew very well.
"Good morning, Mr. Mainz," she said
with the customary newspaper in-
version of the order of the day, "how's
business? Any new fanB, idols,
coins—?"
"Coins? Vot? Sure, I got somet'ing
new dot is olt. I choost t'ink of him.
He iss only a part of himselluf. Should
1 show him to you?" '
"Oh, maybe I saw it in the window,"
said Kitty, simling. "You mean the
broken coin?"
"Sure. Vait till I got him."
She took up the coin now from the
case, and some Btrange sort of thrill
came over her as she did so, she
could not tell why. What was its mes-
f sage, halting, broken, incomplete?
! Did it hold a story? What was the
story?
"It's odd. isn't it?" Baid she, and
laid It down again carelessly—with a
carelessness well feigned, for Kitty
Gray had bought antiques before now,
and knew well enough when to sup-
press interest.
"Odt? I should say it vas odt," re-
joined the old dealer. Kitty had picked
up an inlaid mother of pearl fan and
was studiously examining that now.
"How much?" asked she, holding up
the fan.
"For the broken coin?"
"No, the fan."
"I vant twelf tollar for him."
'Tor the coin?"
"No, for the fan. For the coin—vat
you glf me?"
"Why, what earthly use would I
have for a broken piece of metal like
that, Mr. Mainz?"
"Gif me for the fan eleven dollar,
und I make you a present of the
broken coin anyway."
Kitty Gray's heart gave a sudden lit-
tle jump. She would have given twice
eleven dollars for the coin itself, but
she made a good pretense.
"Eleven dollars is a good deal of
money," said she. "1 would have to
go without lunch for quite a while."
"You «re a goot sport, Miss Cray,"
said the old dealer. "I dank you very
mooch. 1 should wrap them up?"
"The fan—yes. Let me see the coin
again." She pushed across the counter
almost the last of the tightly folded
bills in her purse.
"Read the Inscription for me, and 1
knock off two tollars from the fan!"
said Mainz. "Vot is it? It is not Cher-
man, it is not Franzoesiscb, it is not
English. I am all those. But I could
not read him."
Kitty held before her the curious
object, a Blight frown puckering her
brows.
"Well, you see," said she, "it Is
broken right across on the right hand
aide—almost a third of the writing is
gone. It cays something about look-
ing for something under the floor, un-
der the pavement of some place of
torture or torment."
"Und vot next?"
" 'Thesaur'—that word's broken
across, but it muBt mean thesaurus'
—that means 'a collection'—a 'collec-
tion of value,' don't you know?
"The next line is one word; It's all
there—'Regis,' " she went on. "That's
plain. Rex'—'regis'—it means 'king's'
or 'oi the king.' 'The king's treasures'
"I'm down to the last words now. It
is curious—a proper name. It is only
the I,atin name of the kingdom of
Gretzhoffen! That's a little bankrupt
kingdom over in southern Europe, near
the Mediterranean. I know about it—
I did a story about it once, the time
the kingdom was trying to float a loan
in this country. I had to read up a
whole lot."
"I bet you could did it, Miss Cray,"
said Mainz, admiringly. "Veil, goot-
by. Come again und tell me vot you
find out, like a goot girl."
"Sure," said Kitty, and turned to
leave, her coin clutched tightly in her
hand. So intent was she on her pur-
chase that she did not notice Bhe had
dropped the package containing the
shell-ribbed fan. Vaguely missing
something as she emerged into the
open air, she turned back, and almost
ran into a man who had passed her
as she came out. He was a foreign-
looking Individual, dark of hair and
eyes and skin, strongly built, a figure
such as one would note. He bowed
now courteously enough as he handed
her the package she had let fall. Kitty
thanked him and hurried on her way.
This stranger entered the shop and
spoko in some foreign tongue to the
old dealer, who shook his head.
"No," said he, answering in English.
"I choost sold it to dot young lady
who vent out.
"Who is she? I know her very well.
She is on der papers. Better look out
or she put you in der paper sure. Miss
Kitty Gray vos an oldt frent of mine.
She read like a book vot vos on the
coin. Vy didn't you telephone—maybe
she sell it back to you—1 don't know.
She wouldn't sold it back to me, 1
know dot. Vot! you are going?"
CHAPTER II.
The Big Assignment.
Kitty Gray did not go to her usual
place for luncheon that day. Instead
she hurried into a nearby delicatessen
shop and bought a sandwich, which
she put in her handbag. After this
she hurried on back to the office. Ar-
rived there, without ceremony she
went again to the desk of the city edi-
tor, and silently laid down before him
her empty purse, her antique fan, her
sandwich and her broken coin.
Cutler looked up with professional
calm.
"Yes, Miss Gray? Why all this or-
derly array of fresh and interesting
objects?"
"That is my story," said she.
"What makes you think so? Are
you seeing things, MIbs Gray?"
"Look here."
Kitty picked up the coin and showed
it to him.
"See, it is broken quite across—more
than a third of It gone. The inscrip-
tion is Latin. It is not so much what
is on the coin—it is what is off of it.
PerhapB it commemorates something."
"Commemorates what, Miss Gray?"
"Precisely—what? That's the story!"
"By Jove!" Cutler was studying at
the inscription. " 'Sub' means 'under'
—what does it say?—under the bam-
boo tree?'"
"No, 'under the sidewalk' or the
'flagstone,' or 'floor.'"
"'Underneath the flagstone' or
'pavement' or 'floor'—'in the angle' or
'corner'—whatever that may be—
'chamber of torture'—'room of tor-
ments'—whatever it is—'there will be
found treasures'—'of the king'—!of
"—'Of Gretzhoffen!'" concluded Kit-
ty Gray. "You have not forgotten all
your Latin, have you. Mr. Cutler?
There is a story for you—If we can
only dig it out. There'd be an assign-
ment, wouldn't there? I'd rather do
that than society In the summer-
time."
Billy Cutler, time-tried news man,
grown thin and grim and gray in the
business, sat for just one moment in
thought. "Wait a minute, please,"
said he at length, and rose to leave
the room.
Kitty did wait nnxiously enough, for
what reason she could not tell. She
sat nt her own desk, the mysterious
broken coin tight clutched in her
hand. It Beemed an hour before she
saw the slender form of the city edi-
tor returning from the door which led
to the office of the manager and pub-
lisher of the Evening Star He looked
at her thoughtfully as he approached.
He held out a check.
"Three thousand dollars!" Kitty
Gray's eyes grew larger.
"Expense money. Three months'
vacation. Full powers as missionary
plenipotentiary of the Evening Star
to Gretzhoffen, ambassadress to any
old place you happen to think of,
Miss Gray. I never knew the old man
to go off his head before, but he has
this time."
• ••••••
Tugging at her heart the swift feel-
ing that she was leaving her usual
modest and safe line of life to ad-
venture upon something perhaps fate-
ful—perhaps indeed fatal—Kitty Gray,
sober-faced, turned from the door of
the Evening Star and walked slowly
toward the corner where customarily
she took her car for home.
She entered her apartment, cast one
glance about the first little room, and
then paused.
The rug in the hall was turned over
at one corner—was it by accident?
The pictures ail hung on the walls,
yet several were askew, and—the lit-
tle wall-safe back of one of the pic-
tures—which had held some small ob-
jects of little value, an old daguerreo-
type or two, some sliver spooiiB, a
few gold pieces which she had cher-
ished—had been broken open. Its
contents now lay upon the floor.
Amazed, Kitty stooped and picked
them up, one by one. Nothing was
miBsing—even the gold coins were
there. Nothing bad been harmed. But
who had done this, and why?"
CHAPTER II.
En Voyage.
The great liner Anne of Austria lay
in her slip at the dock, her giant
pulses Just throbbing now and*then.
Everywhere men and women were
hurrying to and fro in the customary
orderly confusion of the last few mo-
ments before the departure of an
ocean steamer.
Calmly Kitty Gray passed on her
way to the boat's office and asked for
her mail and her keys.
As she turned, she almost stumbled
against a man who had just hurried
aboard—a dark man, thickset, foreign
in appearance. She had the strange
conviction that she had seen him be-
fore.
Then she turned to settle herself
down in her quarters. So far as she
knew, she had not an acquaintance
on the boat.
Now, oddly enough, she recalled the
face of the stranger, the dark-visaged
foreigner whom she had met at the
ship's office. Surely It must have been
the same man who had handed her
her package when she dropped it in
the little antique shop! Why should
he be on board this boat? Why should
ho recognize her, remember her—for
he had! Trust a woman to know that
—ho had—he did. Yes, he had known
her. Again a cold feeling of appre-
hension clutched at Kitty Gray's stout
little heart.
She rose and tried to fling off her
depression by means of a visit to the
dining saloon. But for some reason
she felt she would be more comfort-
able—or safe-—in her own room.
Here she lay down upon the single
berth, which was directly beneath the
porthole.
She woke—she knew not when nor
why—woke with her eyes staring,
passing in her instant from sleep to
waking.
A face was looking in upon her! A
man had been looking at her, or try-
ing to look at her, as she lay asleep.
Kitty Gray's instinct spoke to her
some message—she could not tell
what. Swiftly she caught the chamois
bag from her bosom, and, emptying its
main treasures into her hand, placed
them in that other treasure house of
woman—her stocking. Again feeling
the drowsiness invoked by the fresh
salt air, at length she lay down once
more upon the little couch and re-
signed herself more comfortably to
slumber.
But again she woke—this time it
was with a scream of terror. She
had felt the touch of a hand. Some-
thing had tugged at her neck.
She raised her hand. The cham-
ois bag was gone—it was the jerk
of the broken silk cord that had
II %
. wi Ai; W
"I Choost Sold It to Dot Young Lady
Who Went Out."
awakened her! And there was the
hand that had done it. a strong, dark
hand, full-veined, hairy. It still
clutched the bag—it still was visible
at the porthole. A ribbon end had en-
tangled itself for just an instant in the
porthole fastening—an instant long
enough for Kitty to see what had been
the hand that bad committed this rob-
bery.
But who was the robber himself?
Quick as thought Kitty sprang to the
door, ran down the deck, out the next
deck door. The band was giving its
first saloon concert, and the decks
were sparsely tenanted, it Beemed. Far
off towards the bow a man was pass-
ing- what man she could not say. He
seemed neither to hurry nor to linger.
She could not make out who it was,
dared not hang upon him her own sus-
picion.
She turned to the captain now and
made report of what had happened
not once but twice; but even as she
went she smiled grimly to herself. The
"It's Odd, Isn't It?" She Said.
chamois bag was worthless—!t had
held only a kerchief, a bit of powder
puff, perhaps a little silver—nothing
more. Her real treasures—she knew
where they wera now.
The captain was outraged at what
he learned when at length she gained
admittance to his cabin. With marine
precision, he acted at once. From
that time on all through the voyage, a
boat detective stood at each end of the
passageway which led to Kitty's state-
room.
No trace of any other robbery could
be found, nor any clue by which the
intruder could be identified.
CHAPTER IV.
The Consul's Story.
The business of any true American
consul is to have known the father, or
at least some relation, of any caller
who comes from his own nation. Con-
sul Jethro Thompson of Ohio, cast
away in the melancholy enterprise of
representing the dignity of this repub-
lic in this small and none-too-well-
known principality of Gretzhoffen, was
glad—really glad—to see Miss Kitty
Gray. And he knew—really knew—
her father, or had done so at the time
when he was still living.
"It's a grand little place, isn't it—
Gretzhoffen?" said Kitty smiling. "I've
read about it—and written about it—
before now. But this isn't a vacation,
really. I am on a big assignment, Mr.
Consul. I may want your help—the
only trouble is, I don't know what I do
want to do—I am after a story, and I
don't know where it is or what it is!"
The gaunt, kindly old man smiled
at her. "Well, my dear, rest assured
that I will do all I can for you. And,
between us, we ought to start some-
thing, maybe; if it's stories you're
after, you've come to the place where
they grow, that's sure enough. Why,
Miss Kitty, the story of the king of
Gretzhoffen alone would fill a book."
"What do you know of Gretzhoffen,
anyhow?" he asked suddenly. "You
said you had written about it. I sup-
pose—"
"Well, you see," replied Kitty,
"when the big news story about the
proposed Gretzhoffen loan—its hawk-
ing about the street and its rejection—
when that came out I was put on the
assignment of looking into Gretzhoffen
in general. I remember that the old
king's name was Michael, wasn't it?"
"The one that died? Yes, Michael
the First. He was a good sort. His
death was the unluckiest thing that
ever happened for this poor little peo-
ple. He was a good man, King Michael,
and a strong one and a just. So much
cannot be said, I am thinking, of the
new incumbent of the throne, Michael
the Second.
'You see, this Michael the Second is
only a king in name, when it comes to
facts. He is only a little lieutenant.
He has been put on the job by a bigger
and stronger man—Count Frederick is
the real power behind the throne in
Gretzhoffen—a strong and handsome
man—be sure you don't fall In love
with him. What Count Frederick
plans no one knows. Perhaps he
has his own eye on the throne—we
can't tell what may happen. I say it
is a tense sort of place, Gretzhoffen.
But Gretzhoffen is broke. Michael, the
king, is broke. Count Frederick, the
Warwick of Gretzhoffen, also is broke.
That is why they tried to make a loan
in our own country.
"But they didn't seem to have the
collateral—no unused revenues—noth-
ing which had not been used or spent
or wasted.
"When Michael the First died, his
treasury disappeared. He was rich,
the old king was—rich in the name of
Gretzhoffen. But the crown jewels,
the imperial securities, the crown
treasures of all sorts, the imperial
mintage of every description—they
disappeared. There was rumor that
the old king hid his treasures some-
where, but that he left Borne sort of a
mysterious record by which they might
be traced. No one knows just what
was left for that record. It Is known,
however, or supposed, at least, that it
was put into the possession of an old
servant—one of the few men the old
king trusted. But this man finally
gave up some part of what he knew—
part of the proof, whatever it was—to
the new king, when he himself was
about to die.
"Between them, Count Frederick and
Michael the Second bankrupted this
kingdom, or at least Michael did. It
was their oyster, and they opened it
and scraped the shell.
"Now, in case the Count Frederick,
the big plunger, or his man Grahame,
or the little King Michael the Sec-
ond, should ever get hold of the re-
maining clue to the whereabouts of
old King Michael's treasury—pouf!
—you know what would happen then.
There would. Miss Kitty, to quote a
certain American ballad, 'be a hot
time in the old town' in that case."
"It's a story!" said Kitty Gray, draw-
ing a long breath. But a troubled light
came to her eyes at the same time.
"How will a fellow dig it out?" she
asked whimsically.
CHAPTER V.
The Encounter.
Meanwhile, during the interview Kit-
ty Gray had with the American consul,
a scene of other import was enacting
elsewhere in the Gretzhoffen capital.
In the interior of a white marble
fronted palace, perhaps a mile or so
distant from the humble quarters of
the American consulate, a tall, dark,
imperious man was pacing up and
down restlessly, his eyes now and
again turned upon the door of the
great apartment, as though he expect-
ed someone to enter. At length the
door did open. A soft-footed servant
appeared.
"Monsieur Roleau, excellency," he
announced.
"What, Roleau!" exclaimed the tall
man impetuously, as the visitor en-
tered. "What has kept you? The ship
docked hours ago. And have you got
it? Come, come, man!"
The individual addressed as Roleau
bowed deeply. "Excellency," he said,
"I came as soon as I could be sure I
would not be watched."
He was a man of dark complexion,
of strong and sturdy build, of broad
shoulders and deep chest—a man half
a giant, one would have said—but his
eyes dropped as they met the stern
gaze of him he addressed, as though
he might have been his master.
"You found it—you succeeded, then
—tell me!"
"Excellency—sire—yes."
The newcomer extended a hand
which trembled slightly. "I swear it
was in th bag"—he was offering a
little chamois bag tied with a ribbon
at the top—a bag which apparently
had been once suspended by the
broken silk cord attached to it.
"You say it was in this bag—then
why not now?"
The tall man caught the little re-
ceptacle from the other's hands—
ripped it wide—shook out the con-
tents. There fell into his hand upon
the table near which he stood, only a
few trinkets of a woman's toilet—a
little dainty handkerchief—a coin, yes,
a coin.
The tall man held this up in his
hand, his face distorted with rage. j
"What! a half-dollar of their cursed I
money! Curse you!" He half shrieked,
and as he did so flung the piece full
in the other's face, with such violence
that the skin broke under its im- j
pact.
"The coin!" went on the enraged [
speaker—"what do you mean? Do you
mock me, Frederick, your real mon-
arch? You shall die for this. Y'ou
have failed—you have not found it—
you have lost it!"
His own eyes half starting from his
head in his anger, he strode forward
and caught the throat of Roleau in
his two mighty hands, shaking him
as he would have shaken a child.
"Go!" he said, and flung him toward
the door.
It was as Kitty Gray, after leaving the
American consulate, was speeding to-
ward her hotel in her hired vehicle
that she caught sight of a man stag-
gering from the side entrance of a
great mansion house of white marble
front. He seemed to have escaped
from some calamity—from an attempt-
ed robbery or murder. Without paus-
ing to ponder upon propriety, she halt-
ed her vehicle and Bprang out, hasten-
ing over to the sufferer, who stood
at the edge of the curb.
"What is wrong?" said she. "You
are in trouble—you are hurt! Shall
I take you home—to some hospital—
to the hotel? Come in, you are wel-
come."
The man looked at her mutely, hes-
itating.
"Come, I will carry you where you
like." She had him by the arm now,
and unsightly as he seemed, hurried
him into the door of her own vehicle
and followed him.
"The Ritz, driver," she directed. And
so, in the role of Samaritan, v,tty
Gray made her second arrival thai
day at the stately hotel which she had
selected as her own abode.
All through the ride the man at her
side remained silent, suffering acute-
ly. He turned his face away. Again
there came to Kitty Gray the strange
feeling that she felt something which
she ought to recognize, she could not
tell what. In truth, sympathy had the
better of curiosity for the time. She
did not examine her strange compan-
ion closely, only speaking to him an
occasional word of sympathy and as-
surance. Suddenly remembering that
she did not know who he was, and re-
membering also that her own conduct
might be held as singular, she turned
her companion over to the head porter
of the hotel and hurried away to her
own room.
Apparently the disfigured stranger
remained at the hotel that night, for
when, at eleven of the following morn-
ing, Kitty Gray emerged, properly ar-
rayed for a morning ride, she saw
the stranger in the hotel lobby, his
face swathed in bandages. He seemed
to be waiting for lfer approach, spoke
to her some words in a tongue which
she did not understand—then changed
to French—and then to English.
"If mademoiselle would permit me,"
he said, "I might be of use, even as
1 am. I know the city. Might I act.
as courier for the time? I would
show my gratitude, if mademoiselle
regards it as proper for me thus to do
so."
Kitty Gray, actuated by no definite
purpose, but governed by the impulse
which she trusted in her trade, turned
suddenly toward the curb where stood
her hired motor car, and motioned
to the man to enter.
They passed on down the wide ave-
nue of the capital, a strange couple
enough. Kitty looked curiously about
her, studiously examining everything
she saw. Yes, the old city was beauti-
ful, with its long lines of green trees,
its stately edifices built by hands long
stilled in death. Soon she began to
find the need of a guide, and unobtrus-
ively the muffled figure at her side
quietly suggested the Information he
thought might be of service. He point-
ed out some of the other large hotels—
inansion houses of this or that court
official, the hall of justice, the city
hall, the great cathedrals, the royal
palace, the palace of the Count Fred-
erick.
"Yes," exclaimed Kitty Gray, "it
was here that I found you yesterday.
The hotel of the Count Frederick. I
know, yes, but why—how did you—"
Her companion suddenly raised a
hand, touched her arm gently, request-
ing silence.
A great car, splendidly equipped
and driven at rushing speed, came
out of the very side street on which
Kitty Gray had found her companion
on the previous day. In the car, his
gloved hand resting on his stick, sat
a tall man, erect, strikingly handsome
in his own way, imperious of air and
bold of gaze.
Kitty Gray did not notice that her
companion had shrunk back low into
the seat. Her own eyes met those
of the occupant of the advancing car.
Kitty Gray was young and mora
than a little handsome. She had
taken pains to turn herself out- well
as she might in view of the possible
surroundings she might meet on her
"You Shall Die for This."
strange quest. To the bold eyes of
the tall stranger she must have seemed
fair enough to look upon, for suddenly,
as he passed, he stared at her direct-
ly, bowed, raised his hat—yes, even
smiled.
"Who was that man?" demanded
Kitty Gray fiercely of her companion.
"He doesn't know me. And yet how
like he looked to pictures I have
seen. There was a man—an Interna-
tional spy, they said in our country—
some strange foreigner—at the time
of the Gretzhoffen loan fiasco. Yes.
the two faces are strangely alike. Who
is he?"
"Of the other I know nothing," re-
joined her companion; "but this—be
is the Count Frederick."
"Count Frederick—the pretender!"
"Hush, mademoiselle, for God's sake
hush! We do not dare—yob must not
dare."
"Follow!" said Kitty Gray sharply.
"Now tell me more."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
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Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 3, No. 36, Ed. 1 Wednesday, July 21, 1915, newspaper, July 21, 1915; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc113011/m1/2/: accessed July 8, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.