HE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH,"

on the inner surface. During the early

crystal depths of the great bowl which the sophomores had re-named, "The Freshman's Bath Tub," probably due to the fact that so many freshmen had unwillingly bathed therein.

"You're right," said the Spider in a high, piping voice, "only-only"-he waited expectantly for the answer.

"He's wrong," broke in Fat's coarse voice.

"Now, boys, you mustn't mock the Professor," warned Skinny, shaking his finger in a serious mimic of Professor Scroggs himself.

Just then a window was slyly raised in

recitation room number six of Wheaton Hall and whose voice should they hear but Scroggs' who was talking to one of his classes in psychology. It was a thin, piping, feminine voice, for all the world. like the Spider's.

"He's right, fellow-students, onlyonly"

"He's wrong," chorused the class wearily. Old Archimedes Galileo Scroggs expected it that way and they never disappointed him. The class knew the answer well. It was always the same. He would ask some catchy question with two or more possible answers and then whichever way it was answered "was right, only-only-wrong." He droned the "only" out, as if to make the pupil appear the more foolish.

There wasn't a phychology student in the college but who would have willingly given his right hand to prove Archimedes' principle false just once.

* * *

On Agricultural Hill stood a great cylindrical vat which had been scaled off in cubic feet, inches and tenths of inches.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh," whispered the Spider, "not a word or we'll cut your throat," and he brandished a wicked looking knife.

"Gentlemen, this is an outrage," began Scroggs, as he tried to shake off the hands that held him fast.

"I see it must be your throat," hissed the Spider venomously, and Scroggs touched his Adam's apple. caught his breath as the cold knife

"No-no-I'll promise silence," he whispered weakly.

Ten pairs of ready hands and shoeless. feet bore Professor Scroggs to the Fountain of Youth. Once there, they tied his hands and feet securely, amid many self-smothered protestations.

"Fellow students-young men"-began Scroggs, "you shall every one suffer for this night. I, Archimedes Scroggs, will have you all up before the Council of Administration of the College."

"Shut-up," warned the Spider, in his ear, "do you want to drown? Be sensible and we won't kill you." The Spider then mounted a dry-goods box provided for that purpose.

"Gentleman," he began, "we are met tonight for the worthy purpose of disproving Archimedes' principle.'

Professor Scroggs groaned and tried to wriggle out of his bonds, but they held fast.

"I know you, young man," he cried aloud, "I know your voice. You shall suffer- blub-blub"_

At a signal from the Spider they had quickly plunged him into the Fountain at the shallow edge. His head bobbed up, spitting and sputtering.

"Now, if you'll be quiet, Mr. Scroggs, I'll administer the oath of office with my new pocket testament. Repeat after

me, sir:

"I, Professor Archimedes Galileo Scroggs-with my right hand on God's Holy Word-do hereby promise of my own free will-that I will NEVER seek revenge—upon any of the students-who kindly disapprove Archimedes' principle before me on the night of May 3rd, 1919, so help me God.'

Professor Scroggs, still sputtering and coughing, meekly took the oath.

"Sign here, to a statement of this same oath," said the Spider, producing a fountain pen and a flash-light, and untying Scroggs' right hand.

"This is black-mail, young man," began Scroggs.

"Sign here," broke in the Spider sternly, indicating the line.

Scroggs signed without further argument, his hand trembling from the chilly bath he had just taken. The Spider carefully deposited the pledge in his vest picket and then turned the flash-light upon the interior of the tub.

"All right, men, the water in the tub now reads four point nine. Just immerse Professor Scroggs and we shall see how much he actually displaces."

"Hold your breath for a few seconds, sir. Under he goes, gentlemen-water level is now seven point eight, a displacement of two and nine-tenths cubic feet. Did you hear that, Professor, two point nine cubic feet? How much do you weigh, professor ?"

"I weigh one hundred seventy-five, dressed as I now am," he coughed.

"I thought so," replied the Spider. "Gentlemen, he displaces two and ninetenths cubic feet of water weighing sixty-two and four-tenths pounds to the cubic foot, or a total of one hundred eighty and nine-tenths pounds of water. Since he weighs but one hundred and seventy-five pounds, when immersed in the water he is buoyed up by a force nearly six pounds greater than his own weight. According to Archimedes' Principle, he should float, gentlemen. Toss him into the middle of the Fountain and we shall see."

"No-no no-no," protested Scroggs. "This is an outrage. Fellow students, I appeal for help-help!"

Splash! In he went. Being tied so well, he sank quickly beneath the surface, yelling and struggling as best he could. of the faculty might now appear at any They rescued him at once. Some member moment. They pulled him to the shallow water where he cringed, chilled and thoroughly terrified, supported by Fat and Jimmy. The Spider was again on the dry-goods box.

"Gentlemen," he said, "Archimedes proved that a body immersed in a liquid is buoyed up by a force equal to the weight of the water displaced. Was he right, I ask you?"

There was no reply and the Spider waited the usual five seconds.

"Mr. Scroggs, sir, I put the question to you. Was Archimedes right?"

"Yes-yes" replied Scroggs weakly, "that is, I-er, I'm not so sure."

"The fact is, Mr. Scroggs, Archimedes was right, only-only"

There was a short silence. The Spider looked from Scroggs to the deep water. "He was wrong," faltered Scroggs, sadly.

In a prominent place on the walls of the Spider's apartments hangs a faded and water stained package of cigarettes with the seal unbroken. Upon being asked the cause therefor, the Spider will mutter two words (unless you happen to

guess the rest: "Scroggs' Bible."

M

ORNING PAPER, Mr. Brice? All about the big robbery," and the diminutive newsboy fairly shoved the flaming headlines before the eyes of the tall, slender man who had alighted from his motor at the entrance to a downtown office building.

"Give me all three, Jimmy," responded the quiet voice of his patron, as he exchanged a coin for the papers. Disappearing within the building the man was soon whisked to the twelfth floor, where he let himself into an office the door of which bore the non-committal words: "John Brice." Tossing aside his hat and coat, he seated himself before a huge roll-top desk and gave his undivided attention to the papers.

The headlines told of one of the most mysterious robberies in the history of San Francisco. Money and jewels had been stolen from the safe of William White, a wealthy merchant, under conditions that seemed impossible.

The robbery occurred between six and eight o'clock in the evening at a time when many of White's employees were still at work. It was the holiday season when business was at its height, and the office force was obliged to work overtime. The safe was located in Mr. White's private office, entrance to which could be secured only through a room occupied by a number of employees, and to which the general public had no access.

The head accountant, who had not left his desk during the hours mentioned, was positive that no one had entered the private office except Mr. White and his secretary. All of the employees were old and trusted men, and their every movement was easily accounted for.

Mr. White, and his secretary, went out to dinner together shortly after six, and at that time the valuables were intact in the safe, Mr. White having personally deposited the collections therein and turned the combination. Upon their return to the office shortly before eight, the safe door was found to be unlocked. Every article of value in the safe had disappeared, including some of Mrs. White's most costly jewels, temporarily deposited there for safe-keeping.

Brice read the accounts of the robbery in the different papers, all of which closed with the announcement that a reward of $10,000 had been offered for the apprehension of the thief.

"Another chapter to the same old story," soliloquized the man to himself. "I begin to see how it is done," and he turned to a drawer of his desk from which he extracted a bunch of clippings. These he read very carefully.

"Six robberies within as many months, and not one of them solved by the police." Summoning one of his assistants, Brice instructed him to secure each day from the police records a complete state

ment of every theft reported to the department, no matter how insignificant. Aside from these instructions, the detective made no definite move toward following these instructions. He felt it was to be a waiting game, with very slender clews, and he intended to play it alone.

As the reports were brought to him daily he scrutinized them carefully, but none arrested his attention until one day, about six weeks after the White robbery, his eye lingered over a paragraph which told of the theft of several small articles from the home of a prominent banker. According to the report, the thief had been frightened away before he could secure jewels of great value which were near at hand. His loot consisted of a few toilet articles and a silver picture frame containing a photograph of Mr. Goodhew, the husband of the woman whose boudoir had been entered.

"A clew at last!" exclaimed the detective as he finished reading the report. Descending to his waiting motor, Brice hurried to the bonding house of Goodhew & Company, where his card gained him instant admission to the private office of its president.

Mr. Goodhew stood very high in the business life of San Francisco, his firm handling many of the largest bond issues on the Coast. Owing to an accident suffered many years before, he walked with difficulty, and was seen but seldom by the general public. He went to and from his home in a closed motor, rarely visited the clubs of which he was member, and rather shunned coming into contact with people. His was the brain to plan work to be carried out by others, and consequently few knew him intimately, except his business associates and family friends.

a

When Brice entered, he saw seated at a broad, flat desk, a man of medium height, slightly gray hair and well-trimmed beard. A pair of fine dark eyes looked out in a questioning, though not unfriendly manner. Taking the proffered chair, Brice lost no time in stating the nature of his visit.

"Mr. Goodhew," he said, "I have just read the police report of the theft of some of your wife's articles. Though it seemed

to them that the thief was frightened away before he could locate the valuables which were within easy reach, I am convinced that he got just what he went after. Moreover, I believe his visit to your house was merely part of a plan to rob you again later, and if my conjecture is true, your loss then will not be an insignificant one. My interest in this affair, apart from a desire to spare you a loss, is to capture a thief who has recently committed a number of crimes in this city and for whose arrest large rewards are outstanding."

"And what is your plan?" quietly asked Mr. Goodhew, as the detective paused for a moment in his recital.

"It shall be as you say," responded Mr. Goodhew.

"By the way, Mr. Goodhew, is there any particular time during the month when you have on hand a larger amount of money than usual?"

"It depends largely upon the particular bond issue which we are selling. For instance: We expect a great demand for some municipal bonds which will be offered next week, at which time we shall doubtless have a large amount of cash to store in our vaults."

When Mr. Goodhew reached his office the next morning, he found awaiting him. a somewhat bent, mild-mannered old man who appeared to have always occupied a position of refined servility. He asked to be introduced to the employes as Chris Heidel and to be treated as one of them.

The advent of a new clerk was taken as a mere incident of the business, and Chris Heidel settled down into a model subordinate who did whatever he was told to do in a quiet competent way. Little attention was paid to him by his associates, but he, without showing any out

ward signs of attention, watched keenly all that transpired around him. In this way more than a week passed, and the day fixed for the sale of the municipal bonds arrived. The crowds were greater than expected, and all day long they thronged before the railing eager to exchange their earnings for the engraved bonds. From his desk the detective watched the thronging public, and the conviction grew in his mind that today he

must be all ears and eyes.

About four in the afternoon Mr. Goodhew summoned him to his office to say that he had just received an urgent telephone call to come home, that his wife had met with an accident and his presence was needed at once. Mr. and Mrs. Goodhew were known to be exceedingly devoted to each other, and in speaking of the occurrence the broker could not conceal his anxiety and was for rushing off at once. The detective, however, requested him to wait for a moment while he called up his home. In a minute he was talking directly to Mrs. Goodhew. She reported her health to be excellent and disclaimed any knowledge of a call being made for her husband to come home. To better assure Mr. Goodhew. Brice gave him the receiver and when the conversation was ended, he said in a decisive voice:

"Mr. Goodhew, the game is growing warm, and in order for us to catch our man we must seem to play in his hands. It will be necessary for you to obey the summons to leave your office, and to stay away until I call you. Suppose you go to the Pacific Club and remain there until I phone you. Then leave the rest to me."

a

Dropping his decisive air for the docile demeanor of the humble accountant, Brice returned to his desk and few minutes later Mr. Goodhew left his office. Shortly after his departure, the bent, limping form of the broker was again seen to enter the door and walk slowly to his own office. Almost immediately thereafter he reappeared in the outer office and limped toward the vault, disappearing within its dark confines. The clerk, whose duty it was to watch the vault looked up as he saw some one approaching, but recognizing his employer, resumed work.

But a strange transformation took place in the humble Chris Heidel, for no sooner had the limping figure disappeared within the vault than his own form straightened up and walking quickly toward the vault he took his position near the door just outside the line of vision of one coming out.

So quietly did he move that he attracted very little attention. He did not have long to wait, for within a few minutes the broker again appeared in the light and turned to go toward his office. Instead, he looked into the barrel of a revolver and was brought upright by the sharp command: "Hold up your hands!"

The startled clerks looked on in amazement for a moment before they could collect their wits, and then a murmur of anger and menace broke out among them, for they thought they were witnessing the hold-up of their own employer. Had not a couple of men rushed forward from among the crowd of bond buyers, the detective might have had difficulty in holding his prisoner and protecting his own life.

"Here, boys," the detective cried, addressing the two men who pressed forward to his aid, "handcuff this man." Then turning to the murmuring employees, he tore the wig from his head and explained who he was. His next move was to call up the club and ask Mr. Goodhew

to return.

When the broker appeared and confronted his bogus counterpart he could scarcely believe his eyes, so clever was the fellow's disguise. The prisoner had already been searched and his pockets were found to contain bank notes of large denominations taken from the vault. A call had also been made for the police wagon, which arrived closely upon the heels of Mr. Goodhew. Brice had dis

patched one of his own men to the telephone office in an attempt to locate the point from which the message to Mr. Goodhew had come.

While the police were in the midst of their examination of the prisoner at the station house, Brice's assistant returned to report that through over-confidence the man had called from his own apartment on Knob Hill. A hasty search of his