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The man, with his arms stretched out to the girl, his face white and haggard, full of despair.

"I do," said the man, "God help me! Mélikoff's life was as safe as yours or mine; God help me!" so at least I thought then. But what were the fellow's intentions toward Nadine? That he meant to hand her over-I never doubted it a moment. And then, my friends, the unexpected happened. Klafsky broke down.

Just as he said this, the moon broke from behind the clouds; the rays fell across the path, illuminating it as with a search-light. At the door of the pavilion stood the two close together. The man, with his arms stretched out to the girl, his face white and haggard, full of despair-and she, gazing up at him like a startled bird. A strange scene, gentlemen!

The Count hesitated.

Whether it was the look of adoration and loyalty in the girl's eyes, or whether it was his conscience awakened at last-heaven only knows! Suddenly he buried his head in his hands. It was the most intimate, the

most searching, the most terrible confession. so sudden, so near! Everybody sprang to He told her everything, he bared his life to his feet in horror! And there lay Mélikoff her, he never spared himself for a single with his arms across the table!" second; and the girl stood there stock still and gasping. It was as if he were thrusting a knife into her heart.

Those two figures in the moonlight I shall never forget. The shadowy path, the black outline of the mountains beyond, the pallor of their faces standing out against the darkness-and that voice, tense, low, broken, like a cry through the night. The tragedy of the situation, the hopelessness, seemed to catch him by the throat. From the first syllable to the last the girl scarcely breathed; but her face spoke for her. He looked into it, read and accepted the verdict. For a moment or two the silence was ghastly.

"Gentlemen," said Nicot, "what you would have done in my place I don't know, but crouching there hidden, watching those two, listening to what was never meant for any ears but hers, I felt like a thief. For any third person to be present unknown at such a scene as that-it seemed abominable, like desecration. You may blame me, perhaps, in the light of what followed. I turned my back on them and stole away without a sound.

What happened afterward up there in the night no one knows, no one ever will know. Whether she forgave him, whether she won him over, whether he paid it as the price of her love, or whether he tried to prevent her and couldn't! I have puzzled over that question for years, and am no nearer the solution. One hour exactly after I reached the hotel, Reuss came rushing in pale as a ghost, with his eyes almost starting out of his head.

"Well-" For a moment or two the Count was silent. "That was Reuss' report, word for word, and the rest of the story you know, gentlemen. It was all in the papers. Nadine was arrested, Klafsky disappeared. Mélikoff, poor fellow-he deserved it, but then

"Dead?" exclaimed DeJong.

"No, no!" said the Count impatiently, "Didn't you read the account, my friend? No more dead than you are! As a matter of fact it was fright that knocked him over. Any military man will tell you, in battle sometimes it happens that way. Mélikoff, the old sinner-his life had been threatened a score of times; and when he heard the crack, of course he thought he was gone, and fainted away out of sheer terror. That ball-" the Count laughed, "why didn't it kill him? . . . My friends, that ball was a blank cartridge."

"What?"

"No, you don't say!"

De Jong and I both gave exclamations.

"Exactly. That part of it wasn't mentioned in print. The fact never got out, but it's true for all that. The whole affair was hushed up by the authorities there in Interlaken. Nadine was whisked away. And then, forty-eight hours later, all Europe was ringing with the news. You remember? The news, the secret, gentlemen, that only her ears and mine had heard -Klafsky's confession.

"You read all about it, didn't you? The Russian government was furious. They had lost one of their best agents. Their

"Great heaven, Nicot-have you heard trump card was taken, their hand forced,

what's happened?"

"Mon Dieu! . . . What?"
"Mélikoff has just been shot!"
"Shot?"

"At the Kursaal, right in the midst of the music! Every one was very gay, drinking their beer and listening to the jodlers. I had been watching the General all the evening. He was with a large party, very near me; and the table behind, number twenty-four was empty; the only unoccupied table in the place! All of a sudden came the crack of a revolver, from somewhere right out of space it seemed-so sharp,

their trick exposed. Naturally they vowed vengeance. As for the Revolutionists, they were roused to a man! The entire party, especially those who had followed Klafsky's leading, when they realized-imagine! Twelve years they'd been his dupe, they'd been playing his chess games. Imagine what they must have felt! Heavy tragedians in spirit, and all their dramas, thanks to Klafsky, one after the other, turned into a farce! They were mad, they were crazy! If they could have gotten their fingers on him-sacrement, they'd have torn him to pieces!"

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Drawn by S. Ivanowski.

Everybody sprang to his feet in horror! And there lay Mélikoff with his arms across the table!"-Page 210.

We all instinctively gave a shudder. The Count glanced behind him.

"Yes, between you and me, we don't know of course, but with Nadine in prison— I may be wrong!"

"You mean," said DeJong thoughtfully, "if Klafsky were alive, he wouldn't have deserted her?"

"Just that," said the Count, "and yet the extraordinary part of it is, the part that bothers me the most-I can't believe it of her, and I won't-and still it's the only thing to believe. Who was it told the secret? It wasn't Klafsky, it wasn't I, so it must have been

"No," said Tony, "not necessarily."

"How then, my dear sir?" The Count leaned forward and his face was flushed. "You don't suppose for a moment that Klafsky himself"

"No, no, I don't!”

"Or that I-parbleu, man!"

"Of course not!" DeJong laughed, "Not you, Count-not you. But that night, you and Reuss talked it over, I daresay?"

"We did-yes," said Nicot.

"Great Scott, Tony!" I broke in with an exclamation, "I believe you're right, man! Why that would explain thenthink for a moment, Nicot! The news came out in the German papers first. You must recall that? I wondered at the time why an incident in Switzerland—”

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There was silence for a moment around the table, and then DeJong lifted his glass suddenly.

"Gentlemen," he said, "in August, three years ago, two Russians were found hidden in the hold of a merchant ship. They were stowaways, a man and a woman; and how they got there has always been a mystery. I was captain at the time, and the ship was on its way to America. They were brought before me, and they told me their story. The choice was mine to make. They were utterly at my mercy, and they both knew it.

"Two roads stretched before them. The one led to Siberia, a life of torture, a death of misery. The other to America, freedom with the chance to start afresh. "Here's to the Chess Players! better life beyond the sea!"

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THE YOUNG SINGER

By Tertius van Dyke

O HOW many songs will you make, my lad,

And when will your task be done?

I have dreamed me a dream of the long, brave years,

And my task is just begun.

And where will you find a theme, my lad,

Since the world is no more young?

While the man and the woman hope and seek
There's always a song unsung.

THE CALL OF BROTHERHOOD

By Corinne Roosevelt Robinson

HAVE you heard it, the dominant call
Of the City's great cry, and the Thrall
And the Throb and the Pulse of its Life
And the Touch and the Stir of its Strife,
As amid the dread Dust and the Din
It wages its battle of Sin?

Have you felt in the crowds of the street
The echo of mutinous feet

As they march to their final release,

As they struggle and strive without Peace?
Marching how, marching where, and to what?
Oh! by all that there is, or is not,

We must march too, and shoulder to shoulder!
If a frail sister slip, we must hold her,
If a brother be lost in the strain

Of the infinite pitfalls of pain,

We must love him, and lift him again.
For we are the Guarded, the Shielded,
And yet we have wavered and yielded
To the sins that we could not resist.
By the right of the joys we have missed,
By the right of the deeds left undone,
By the right of our victories won,
Perchance we their burdens may bear,
As brothers with right to our share.
The baby who pulls at the breast

In its pitiful purpose to wrest

The milk that has dried in the vein,

That is sapped by Life's fever and drain;

The turbulent prisoners of toil,

Whose faces are black with the soil
And scarred with the sins of the Soul,
Who are paying the terrible toll

Of the way they have chosen to tread,
As they march on in truculent dread-
And the Old, and the Weary, who fall—
Oh! let us be one with them all!

By the infinite fear of our fears,
By the passionate pain of our tears,
Let us hold out our impotent hands,
Made strong by Jehovah's commands,
The God of the militant Poor
Who are stronger than we to endure,
Let us march in the front of the Van
Of the Brotherhood Valiant of Man!

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