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Burlington College would also construct about 25 private homes, a lakeside pavilion, a building for an urban agriculture program and a pair of roads that would connect to North Avenue. The unused half of the 85,squarefoot, year-old former orphanage that dominates the property would get a major face-lift.

To make it all happen, Burlington College will have to clear a series of financial, political and demographic hurdles. One stumble could threaten the whole plan. Money presents the biggest challenge for a college with a tiny endowment and the towering debt it incurred to move from a 16,square-foot space at the intersection of North Avenue and North Street to the acre lakeside expanse.

The school is seeking an arrangement like the one between the University of Vermont and the Redstone Commercial Group, which built on-campus housing units under a long-term ground lease, according to Chief Financial Officer Bill Breen. That price might be right for some real estate firm interested in helping the college build market-priced housing on one of the last large privately held parcels of undeveloped land in the Queen City.

But even if Breen manages to pull off the complicated financial transaction, neighbors could tie up the building plan, which is focused at the southern end of the property. Plunkett has invited neighbors to the college on June 21 to hear details about the expansion plans. And later this month, Burlington College will present. In seeking to grow its student body from to undergraduates during the next 10 years, the college will be sailing into powerful demographic headwinds that have blown away enrollment projections for the University of Vermont, St.

A shrinking pool of high school graduates, along with intensified competition from colleges offering luxury amenities, is producing student — and tuition — shortfalls at institutions much better endowed than Burlington College. Within that sizable market segment, Plunkett adds, Burlington College will focus on the.

Armando Vilaseca and physicianpsychologist Joel Miller, husband of former state senator and Jogbra entrepreneur Hinda Miller. The college has also been strengthening its ties to Jay Peak co-owner and superdeveloper Bill Stenger, who gave the commencement address a week ago to a graduating class of 50 students.

Although it appears stable at present, Burlington College has a history of staff and faculty turmoil. There has been considerable turnover among staff in the two years since Jane Sanders was eased out of the presidency in a settlement negotiated with Dantzscher. About half of the 36 current full-time employees, including faculty, are relatively recent hires.

Burlington College is left unranked in the much-consulted U. But the school is finding a niche. A film studies program, for which the college is best known among locals, attracts. A craftsmanship and design program, which consists mainly of instruction in woodworking at a facility in Fairfax, is operating at full capacity, Plunkett reports. Forty-one years after its founding as the Vermont Institute of Community Involvement, Burlington College remains focused on civic-engagement initiatives such as public lectures, film showings and conferences.

It also runs popular study trips to Cuba. Former president Sanders notes that the development plan unveiled last week is similar in many respects to a blueprint drawn up during her seven-year tenure.

If anything, she suggests, the proposal to house students on campus may be too modest. In , they ponied up to repair it after a fire; in the s, they undertook an extensive restoration. The digital theater celebrates its grand opening weekend starting on Friday with free popcorn and no surcharge for 3-D showings of Star Trek Into Darkness. Organized by Burlington artist Paul Aschenbach , the collaborative undertaking did have an international character, Pond recalls, with sculptors traveling to Burlington from Japan, Norway, Scotland, Germany, Canada and the country then known as Czechoslovakia.

The artists agreed to carve the two dozen granite blocks individually and to arrange them in a pattern that mirrored the Adirondacks and also mimicked the Green Mountains and their foothills. The pieces gradually rise in size, with the smallest closest to the lake and the largest farthest from it.

Pond says the makers of the public art project intended it to be a permanent monument signifying resistance to commercial development on the waterfront. Some of the originally white pieces have been defaced with green-streaked monster skulls painted on a blood-red background. Like Pond and Owens, Kraft laments the disfigurement of the sculpture project.

Something has to be done with the untitled array soon, because the city expects to break ground in September on Waterfront Access North. Utility lines filigreed above the site will be buried, and the city will excavate the ground for a new storm-water system. But city officials have nixed that plan, warning that the permits needed from layers of government agencies would take years to obtain — if they could be obtained at all.

The likeliest outcome, Owens suggest, is relocation of the sculptures to an area a couple of hundred yards to the north, formerly occupied by a set of oil tanks. Transporting them even a relatively short distance would be costly as well, Kraft adds.

MELROD — with cameos from a slew of famous cartoonists — is now available on iTunes and most video-on-demand platforms. Up this month are Student, a modern version of Crime and Punishment set in Kazakhstan; and The Parade, in which a gay activist calls on the muscle of a Serbian crime boss to protect an embattled Pride celebration in Belgrade.

Department of Justice, District of Vermont. The PSA, which originally aired on WCAX, packs maximum creep value into a minimalist package — the predator appears only as glimpses of a darting eye and fingers on a keyboard. Pond urges that the artwork henceforth be treated with the respect it has been denied for most of its history.

The pieces should be cleaned by sandblasting and then coated with a graffiti-resistant material, she suggests. She notes that on the evenings of the vernal and autumnal equinox, the setting sun shoots its rays exactly along a pathway at the center of the installation. That Stonehenge effect draws Druids to the waterfront every March and September, although the monster skulls and satanist symbols surely harsh their mellow. The episode synopses promise plenty of drama: Can a teen soap about family-planning issues in the Northeast Kingdom be far behind?

The Parade, Tuesday, June 25, 7 p. Student Loans Fill the gaps that federal aid can leave behind, with financing options to help you achieve your dreams—while feeling good about your future. Cage also wrote music to be played on instruments.

How conventional of him, one might think. As written, the pieces are without musical staves, bars or, in some cases, notes; the final piece must be discerned largely by looking at the grain of five double-sided pieces of plywood. The bells are stationary, but their clappers are wired to a tiered keyboard of wooden batons that one plays by striking them with fists and feet. Carillons were invented in for churches in the European lowlands of Belgium, Holland and northern France to showcase their increasing wealth.

Norwich University acquired its carillon in , and Middlebury College has had one since Matthew, 78, has been the carillonneur at both for the past 27 years. At Norwich, people bring lawn chairs and blankets. Her old office was 20 feet from the carillon. Cage would be pleased. Matthew will also kick off a series of six carillon concerts this summer at Norwich beginning July 6. In concerts, Matthew plays everything from Bach to ragtime, including his own ragtime compositions.

The second half of his Cage program hints at the extent of his repertoire. Reconstruction, Assimilation, or Synthesis? The fourth piece involved even less agency than the third, according to Matthew: Wherever a note landed, that was the piece. All at Mead Chapel, most at 5 p. Not to go all environmentalist on you, but working out is inherently energy intensive, typical of how we do things in the developed world.

We consume more food energy than we need, burn. This idealistic trio had the same thought as you, Lee: This proved to be problematic, as the following statistics from the paper suggest: Estimated capturable energy from abovementioned elliptical machines per year: Item 1 as a percentage of item 3: Estimated value of captured electricity per year: Cost to retrofit elliptical machines with energy-harnessing devices: Payback period for above retrofitting investment: True payback period, discounting for cost of funds: Expected service life of elliptical machines: Trying to capture workout energy makes no economic sense.

Others looking into this question have come up with equally discouraging results. Powering the entire U. The Berkeley authors spin this unpromising fact set as best they can. Sure, we can try to capture some of that wasted work, but even if we ignore the practical problems encountered by the Berkeley authors, the second law of thermodynamics tells us these efforts are inevitably doomed — however many.

I should just stay in bed. You say you absolutely must have high-tech gym equipment? Then at least use the selfpowered kind. Go outside and run. Is there something you need to get straight? Write cecil adams at the chicago reader, 11 e. Good News Garage repairs and awards donated cars to people in need. Since , Good News Garage has provided reliable vehicles to more than 4, families throughout New England.

Instead, keep your umbrella handy and suck it up. What do you think keeps this place so damn green? Cooler, wetter years might threaten corn, Zuckerman says, but they can also bring bigger broccoli, better lettuces and abundant herbs. If we get too much more rain, flooding may be a concern. And the protracted downpours have many a climate-change watcher worried about the bigger picture. But before you start building an ark or contemplating a move to Las Vegas, listen to both local TV-weather wizards, who say this weather pattern is just sort of abnormally normal.

Regardless of the current orientation of the jet stream, Sadowsky says Vermonters are not necessarily doomed to wear rain boots all summer. And it can lead to more algae and bacteria. Loosening the soil can also help get oxygen to the roots. It is inappropriate for a teacher to frig a student, a breach of professional ethics and maybe a firing offense. If convicted, does Yaranga deserve 20 years in prison and lifetime registration as a sex offender?

No, it is not. No, she does not. Are the Burlington High students Gala Benefit 8v-vtfamilypharmacy The students are as safe today as they were the day before Yaranga and X. Most important, is X. Annual Flynn membership sexual exploitation? No, he is not, except, again, in the legal Sponsors sense.

Yaranga was an authority figure. But there is no indication with special thanks to that she used him against his will — a Media real-life definition of exploitation.

Statute denies him that capacity. But he is not a child, and everything he has said indicates that www. What harm would have come to him? Probably little more than a bruised heart.

He is a victim now — of the law enforcement and child protective systems. We know this story by heart. A respected adult has sex with an older teen. Emergency meetings are held; policies are reviewed. Endless reenactment of this ritual confers on its logic a consensus of truth. Inappropriate is harmful and immoral.

The case of Giovanna Yaranga is like an inquisitional tribunal: This one has it. In violation of a court order prohibiting her contact with X. Administrators and counselors will spend the summer working out ways to encourage kids to rat more readily on their peers and faculty.

Like those of the Inquisitions, police records in the case have the rhythms of religious confession, and also of pornography. I noted however that when X. Got a comment on this story? To engage in sinful sex, even if coerced, was to sin. Thus, to accuse was to confess.

Like the accused, the accusers fell before the holy officers and begged for exoneration. The strategy did not always work. Some things have improved. Instead of the presbyter, today we have the child protection agent. We do not employ the strappado to extract confession. But we may imprison nonviolent sexual transgressors until death. We still legislate private morality and mobilize religious shame to enforce the law. This is effective, since, God knows, we are all sinners.

Before Chapman and Stone, X. He cried that he had let his parents and friends down. And when he raised his hand to swear his testimony was true, he felt compelled to unburden himself further: Extracting the truth requires a little cajoling, a little threatening.

Chapman and Stone chatted up the boy about school, sports and friends. They showed him they were on his side. Then they got down to business. They reassured him that he was not at fault. Nevertheless, they implied that he had done something very wrong. Now the boy had a choice: Be a liar or a betrayer, possibly an apostate. He may not be at fault, but he is guilty.

And he is being punished. Once accused, people were imprisoned, sometimes for decades before a ruling was made. Even if they confessed, they were tortured for further confession. Hoping to satisfy their tormenters, and unaware whether fresh accusations were being made, they offered escalating confessions.

The charitable interpretation is that this sprawling campus — all brick buildings, winding lanes and mature, leafy trees — was founded at a time when the care of children and adults with developmental disabilities seemed best executed within the walls of an institution.

But by the s, Vermont advocates for disabled individuals had soured on the idea of warehousing people in a facility cut off from the rest of the community. This is my home. Kevin Birchmore, owner of the McKernon Group. Birchmore, who grew up in Brandon, remembers the haze of light pollution the old BTS cast in the distance. But the campus he encountered in the s was a very different place: After a few short years of standing dormant, the buildings were falling into disrepair.

There were deals to be had, especially as the state dropped its asking prices for various buildings. The state tried for years to sell off BTS in one big chunk. At one point, it brought in a Boston real estate firm to market the property, but the effort failed. A local construction company, the McKernon Group, bought several other properties the following year. Building by building, the former training school shed its institutional image in favor of a hodgepodge of uses.

Vandals stripped the building of its copper pipes and plumbing. Some of the old Plexiglas windows are cracked or broken, and those that remain intact scarcely keep out the elements.

Today it houses a washing factory for the Vermont Fiber Mill, which turns fiber into batts, roving, yarn and felt. While the path forward seemed clear for its former residents — who were moved out of the institution and into individualized, community-based living arrangements — the fate of the buildings they left behind was less certain.

There was talk of a college campus. A few officials floated the idea of a correctional facility — a proposal that bombed among locals.

The state even approached real estate developer Peter Holmberg, who had worked on the Wake Robin seniorliving facility in Shelburne, and suggested creating a retirement community. The campus is still better known to longtime locals as the Brandon Training School — the last in.

After 20 years, Park Village is almost entirely occupied. The owners of one of the most recent projects, a new music and arts center see accompanying story on page 30 are taking on the ambitious renovation of a 52,square-foot former infirmary. Today, all the buildings on the former BTS campus but one — Building J — have been overhauled and put to new use.

It will take deep pockets and some imagination. The one-time dormitory, which housed some. Outfitted with fresh drywall and new plumbing, the place feels clean and industrial. But wander a bit farther into the building, and the landscape changes. Bratton peeks into one of the bathrooms, where handicap-accessible bars still line toilet stalls without doors. Old water fountains are still mounted in nooks along the hallways.

The ceiling tiles had turned. Wallpaper sagged in the hallway corridors. Name tags on a few of the doors identify inhabitants long gone: Falk — but experts increasingly realized that it might not offer its residents the best option for care. Two or three staff members would tend as many as 25 residents at a time, she remembers. A few pleasant memories — of dances, a teenage romance and parades and wagon rides — are today outweighed by his complaints about the food and the.

Becky Guyett, now interim director of the Office of Public Guardian in the Division of Disability and Aging Services, says that the atmosphere improved through the s, when she worked at the school: Residents had more privacy and could help make their own meals.

Services at BTS increased as medical and mental health professionals learned more about treating individuals with developmental disabilities — but so did costs. Better care meant additional facilities, educational programs and staff. In its last decades, BTS became enormously expensive to run. The former farm kept some of its agricultural roots; children at the school helped milk cows, tend pigs and chickens, and produce maple syrup. Some suffered from severe Down syndrome, cerebral palsy or autism.

Others had what experts now recognize as posttraumatic stress syndrome. Brace wanted to move out of BTS, and the so-called Brace Decree set in motion a year timeline for. Bascom of the Division of Disability and Aging Services. State employees, including Falk and former deputy commissioner of the Department of Disabilities, Aging and Independent Living Theresa Wood, spent years helping residents make the transition from the institution to other living arrangements.

Some went to small group homes, which housed four to six residents. Before that, Vermont sent some of its disabled children to out-of-state facilities. But families wanted their kids closer to home, and the cost of outsourcing care was mounting. In , the state acquired a nearly acre farm just north of Brandon, a former horse-breeding and racing operation. The new school initially took in 45 children, many of whom were previously living at institutions in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Massachusetts.

On the positive side, the institution provided a much-needed alternative to local poor houses and poor farms. With many families ill equipped to handle children with special needs, and public schools closed to individuals with disabilities, BTS offered the rare chance for specialized training and care.

But Vermont in the early 20th century was also home to a strong. So is an X-ray room. The couple had resolved to transform the building into a haven for the arts. Since the institution closed its doors in , the building had sat empty, prey to vandals and desecrators — never mind the detritus left behind. The lower level is clean now, Sutton says, but not yet presentable enough for a tour.

Compass sits at the southwestern edge of this leafy campus, now called Park Village. To reach it you must enter from the north and wend around a curving drive from which Compass is not visible, keeping your eyes peeled for the small, temporary signs that guide the way.

The land slopes downward, so the front of the brick building appears as a flat, single-story structure. That face is deceiving. The back, which opens onto a broad cleared area surrounded by woods, reveals two levels and a much larger size. Only when you go inside does the enormity of the building begin to sink in: Compass Music and Arts Center has spawned a foundation — a nonprofit branch that will enable the Suttons and their board to apply for grants to help carry out their ambitious mission.

That, broadly, is to support local arts education and development. And, not least, the Suttons intend this erstwhile infirmary to be a welcoming destination for their new neighbors in Park Village. And some of them have already wandered in. But by , the label was successful enough that he left his job as a commercial and property attorney to focus on it full time. Divine Art merged with several of cross shape, with long wings to the right and left, and other labels over the next few years, and it now offers a a huge former cafeteria — now a gallery — in the middle.

Besides, way and I went the other; he thought renowned folk artist Warren Kimble had recording studio, and I thought classroom vacated his studio just outside town, on space.

Despite the mess, a dream was born. Already For now, the Suttons plan to keep Brandon Music finished are the gallery — which opened with a recep- going, too.

A grand that creepy basement inspires. Edna Sutton also envisions piano and a cluster of mic stands occupy one corner of the. Edna is considering poetry and creative-writing readings and workshops and has scheduled a monthlong reading series to begin in August. She works closely with the board and will become its president this week. Neither Edna nor Stephen Sutton seem to be planning retirement any time soon. The board is active, and the Suttons have hired Kathryn Marshall as exhibits director for Compass.

The current exhibit most visibly expresses the potential of the arts center so far. In that former cafeteria, with its white walls and terra-cotta-tiled floor, new freestanding display units now hold large-scale paintings by Boston-based artist Roger Book.

The old room that was once filled with institutional tables and chairs has been transformed into a clean, minimalist and loft-like gallery. The acoustics, he says, are superb. Stephen recently acquired a pile of recording-studio equipment, which joins his own devices for audio restoration and the remastering of old recordings. He does intend to move his phonograph museum to the new facility from its current cramped lodging beside Brandon Music.

The music includes recordings from Divine as well as other labels, Stephen says: Bascom recalls how desolate the a tax-free wage to house and care for a developmentally disabled individual; think campus was when she wandered around foster care for adults. But there was something really originally hoped. But ultimately, she be- disturbing about it. He their homes to former and Birchmore have residents. When the couple took possesTraining School is closing for good.

The Suttons happy to see them. Housing Trust of Rutland County is It took 20 years, but today that deputting the finishing touches on a new scription applies to the Brandon Training housing development in the former School as a whole. They include criminal background checks for companies looking to hire new employees, loss prevention for retail outlets, internal probes of fraud or industrial espionage, and security and threat assessments.

Barton and Bobee also help individuals find lost family members and spy on spouses suspected of marital infidelities or reneging on child-support payments. Following the spate of embezzlement cases that have plagued Vermont in recent years, Barton and Bobee have occasionally been hired by companies to investigate internal thefts — then to make evidence of the offenses, as well as the offender, quietly go away.

In an age when police dramas and reallife crime documentaries are ubiquitous on television, Bobee says she often has to disabuse her clients of the notion that such investigations will be quick or easy. Some cases can take months, even years, to resolve. Bobee and Barton both entered the field after decades of working in law enforcement. They honed their sleuthing skills in the pre-internet era, before people assumed that anyone could be tracked down with a few keystrokes and mouse clicks.

In many respects, these private eyes still do their work the old-fashioned way: However, for both safety and liability reasons, neither carries a gun. Indeed, Bobee and Barton both say one of the more interesting aspects of their work is trying to devise clever — but legal — ways of acquiring the information their clients want.

Barton recalls one case involving a family that had lost track of an elderly relative, whom they believed was living in a nursing home somewhere in Chittenden County.

Because of federal health care privacy laws, the nursing home would neither confirm nor deny that the woman resided there. Barton had to find another way of confirming that info — without breaking the law. She got a bouquet — and the family found its lost aunt. Alas, Bobee later discovered the child had died in infancy, so she had the sad duty of informing her client that her lost sister was also deceased.

Other cases, Bobee notes, have happier endings. Barton recalls one case involving a high school graduation ring, which had been discovered by construction workers in Newport as they were laying a new sewer line.

When the workers pulled out the old pipe, the ring dropped on the ground. Although it was engraved. Barton left law enforcement in the late s to work as the security director for the Mount Snow resort and ski area. The business quickly expanded into other industries, including retail, banking, manufacturing and utilities. Investigative work has certainly changed over the years, Barton says, and not only because of the advent of the digital age.

These days, private eyes need to know not only whom their clients are seeking but why. According to court records, Youens hired an internet-based private investigative firm to learn everything he could about the object of his obsession, including www.

Armed with that information, Youens drove to her workplace on October 15, , and fatally shot Dorset Street, S. Burlington, VT her as she left work, then killed himself. It keeps them busy — physically and Chocolate Preview mentally. In this case, the Barton Agency had no paying client — just an unsolved riddle.

It took more than six months, Barton says, but after searching through Social Security records, he eventually determined that the ring belonged to a woman whose husband had been a doctor in Newport.

She was living in North Carolina under a new married name. The Newport class ring case highlights one of the less glamorous aspects of the job, Bobee says. The Brattleboro native started in an era when female cops had very short career ladders. In fact, she met her current business associate while working as a meter maid for the Brattleboro Police Department.

Bobee was later promoted to office administrator, where she supervised clerks, dispatchers and parking-enforcement officers. The two became fast friends and have remained so ever since. Though his new headquarters were cheaper, Hancock also found the arrangement challenging. That membership fee gave him access to Wi-Fi, a printer, a bathroom, a kitchen, a couch — and an office full of other creative types like himself.

He also hired two Champlain College students as paid. Rather than spring for a larger office, Hancock made both of them members of Local The coworking movement began in San Francisco in the late s, fueled by software developers who could work from anywhere. The concept has since spread around the world.

Study Hall is Local Someone who needed realtors and IT professionals. Hall Collective, a coworking space forLatka, who lives in Shelburne with merly known as Three West Collective, his wife and two sons, says many of the just down the street from O2 at members have small children at home or College Street. Unlike Local 64 and O2, are newcomers to Vermont. Her client base is still in.

New York City, Latka says, but she prefers to work from Burlington. They also share a small conference room. Graphic designer Jackson Latka opened the Collective in , after trying and failing to find an affordable office of his own.

A former Burton Snowboards designer and a pair of digital strategists are among those who share the space. VCET also runs its own coworking space for startups in Middlebury. Its 10 members work on agricultural as well as digital projects. None of them pay rent, but all are required to share their skills with the group. Bradbury sees coworking spaces as an ideal solution to the problem of vacant second-floor retail spaces in small towns. The state could support 15 to 20 such spaces, Bradbury suggests: Peter Shumlin that the state supports coworking.

Business has contracted for the internationally known firm, which closed its New York City office in the past few months. Chief creative officer Michael Jager says company leadership decided to shrink its internal footprint after realizing it was using the 11,square-foot second floor to house just 14 employees. So JDK moved its workers upstairs and began renting out its offices. After two weeks, seven of the 20 spaces have been taken.

Deskmag estimates there are now more than coworking spaces in the U. All coworking spaces invite members to share resources. Hancock is one of 32 Local 64 members, a crew that includes writers, online marketers and illustrators from all over central Vermont. A fellow Local 64 member recently roped Hancock into running a 5K fundraising race, for example — his first in 30 years, he says. Its founder, game producer Edmar Mendizabal, is a member. The group hosted a luncheon for lawmakers at Local 64 last fall and staged a gaming showcase at the Statehouse in January.

Hancock has hired other members to work on his projects. All have access to Wi-Fi, as well as a kitchen and a conference room that seats Mincar, an IT consultant, created O2 back in in part because she needed her own office space. She partnered with real estate developer David Farrington to open her first location at Main Street. O2 will take over an upstairs floor of Main in the next few months.

The clip was filmed in One of the riders — Shaun White — became one of the best snowboarders in the world, winning nearly every major competition and taking gold at the Vancouver Olympic Games. The other rider, Hartland native Kevin Pearce, spent the Vancouver Olympics in a hospital bed, recovering from a traumatic brain injury he suffered just 49 days before the games.

Kevin is the son of noted glassmaker Simon Pearce. Walker and Pearce met at a Nike conference where she was mentoring; he was still in the early stages of his. The visual record of his near-fatal accident is sickeningly sharp. That makes it tough to watch. The accident in Park City left him in a coma for about a week. He woke up unable to communicate, surrounded by his tight-knit family, which marked his progress in terms of finger twitches or eye blinks.

Even when Pearce managed to walk unaided, progress remained slow. Walker skips none of this in her film. In one scene, Pearce goes in for his two-year checkup and meets another TBI patient — Grant Russum, a one-time snowboarding enthusiast who can do little more than mumble a few words from his wheelchair.

Kevin Pearce is quick to recognize the role his parents and his three brothers, Adam, Andrew and David, had in his recovery. Walker spends a substantial amount of time with her camera on David, who talks eloquently about his own struggles with Down syndrome.

During interviews after shooting The Crash Reel, Walker said she knew as soon as she met Pearce that she would make his story into a film — even though no one knew how the ending would look. Kevin Pearce and his family were similarly eager to make something happen. Like most action-sports athletes, Pearce and his Frends can recite a laundry list of severe injuries. Thanks for submitting your photos and voting for the finalists.

The Crash Reel, saturday, June 22, 7 p. I was never really successful at anything else in life, so to have snowboarding and to be at such an elite level was just … incredible. While the filmmaker has taken on the social-media aspect of the campaign, Pearce wants to make the effort even bigger, and he speaks fervently about what he aims to convey.

Apply graduate-level knowledge immediately into your early childhood education classroom or center. These 2-story homes are flexible and spacious, energyefficient and green certified, with all of the Snyder quality you love. Open Thursday through Monday or by appointment. Combining academic excellence with a low residency requirement.

Connect with your local early childhood education community more deeply. Champlain College has been providing quality education since Where do you find perfect pizza every single time? Which mechanics do you trust to fix your car? Which local hip-hop act kicks the most ass? Seven Days staffers will select the top contenders and then toss the final vote back to you, via our Facebook page.

Head over to sevendaysvt. Box , Burlington, VT Voting closes on Friday, June 21, at 5 p. Please be as specific as possible — and choose wisely! Best new restaurant opened in the last 12 months. Best craft brewery Best locally owned ice-cream company Best coffee shop Best large live-music venue Best small local-music hot spot Best place to play pool Best up-and-coming musical performer Best unsigned band Best standup comedian Best club DJ Best visual artist Best Church Street performer Best local clothing designer Best local jewelry designer Best art gallery Best movie theater Best theater company Best performing-arts venue Best public golf course Best cross-country ski area Best place for a weekend getaway Best day trip with the kids.

Best broadcast journalist TV or radio Best radio DJ Explain in a sentence or two why this person deserves the Daysie. Best facial hair on a Vermonter attach a photo. Best tattoo on a Vermonter attach a photo 5. Best-dressed Vermonter attach a photo 6.

Cutest couple in Vermont attach a photo. Ballots with fewer than 50 answers will not be counted. Campaigning to win is great, but duplicating ballots or otherwise cheating the system is just mean. Nominees must be in Vermont.

Find out the winners in our special Daysies issue on July 31! Vote online at sevendaysvt. Or mail your Daysies picks to Seven Days, P. In many small Vermont towns, this might be more discouraging than enticing. While the late, beloved restaurant was known for its kitsch, both the food and the ambiance at the Inn reflect more artistic sensibilities.

Mere whimsy would be beneath owners and partners Nick Barletta and Scott Pasfield. During seven months last year, they transformed the former Inn at Trout River from an exploded Victorian tea cozy into a masculine-chic hunting lodge, complete with Dining room at the Inn Germanic mounted antlers, crewel-adorned armchairs and even a couch stenciled with silhouettes of automatic weapons.

Last December, the couple opened it with their chef friend Wil Crutchley, who was visiting briefly from New York City, at the helm. He offered a tapas menu. What are you doing?

Since selling her restaurant in , Warden had been bopping around from spots such as Anne Amie Vineyards in Carlton, Ore.

In Warden, Barletta and Pasfield found a creative mind to suit the individually themed rooms Pasfield had handstenciled with trees, flowers and snowflakes to represent autumn, spring and winter. The chicken livers were her idea. The starter presents the offal with shiitake mushrooms and caramelized onions, all rolled in a silky robe of Marsala cream sauce.

That international fusion is exactly the point. It has aged well. Warden calls another appetizer Swedish-Southern fusion: Homemade crackers and a blob of cilantro pesto help diners construct something. Her banana cream pie was her signature dessert at Luna Lunch service will start once the owners have worked out all the kinks. Debra Maisel hopes diners of all diets will try her food.

Among the fish dishes are pan-seared halibut with maple mustard and a pistachio crust; and zucchini-wrapped, pan-seared scallops in a maple-balsamic reduction. Burgers, salads and homemade cheesecake round out the menu.

Locals may be even more excited when they learn about Thursday nights at the Mad River Grill. They include tofu-filled wontons, crispy scallion pancakes with sweet-chile dipping sauce and a Peter Maisel original known as the Galaxy Roll. It consists of a tortilla filled with portobello mushrooms, mock Canadian bacon, carrots and cabbage with a Thai-influenced sauce. Based on their Luna 61 menu, diners can also expect dishes ranging from ravioli to seitan piccata to a sweet-potato enchilada to meat-free sloppy Joes.

Desserts are an important part of the package. Dinner out at a midrange price point can be hard to find in a ski town.

For years, Burlingtonians have bemoaned the lack of a fully vegetarian restaurant in the city. When their daughter settled in Burlington after school, the family decided their restaurant concept should follow suit. Peter Maisel, armed with a degree from the Natural Gourmet Institute, creates dishes that globe hop from. Plus, our staff cares and is ready to help you sell your stuff. You know Seven Days. Though both owners contribute ideas to the menu, Pasfield and Warden share a particularly special culinary relationship.

Those fluffy, honeyed pastries appear on a small plate of fried chicken that debuted on the summer menu last week. On the plate he indicates, organic, free-range chicken thighs are fried to a surprisingly dark crispness, but not overcooked. The batter combines Buffalo sauce and honey in a sweet, zingy jacket that crackles with flavor and crunch.

Besides the biscuits, dillflecked garlic mashed potatoes and long-cooked carrots and yellow peppers come alongside. Barletta and Pasfield originally bought their house near the Canadian border as a second home where Pasfield could indulge his love of skiing while Barletta unwound after a long week as the vice president of operational risk at American Express.

He now lives in Vermont fulltime, while Pasfield comes and goes for photographic assignments. In Montgomery Center, the pair found a group of neighbors more like them than they expected. Barletta, in particular, has become a pillar of the community as a member of numerous Montgomery Center organizations.

The Inn hosts town events such as the monthly Celebration of Expressive Arts, featuring music, visual art and drama produced by locals.

Pistou and Bluebird Tavern will also have representatives at Stowe, suggesting some cloning is indeed going on. Ticket prices vary by event. Follow us on Twitter for the latest food gossip!

We will now be open every day except July 4th through Labor Day! Come check out several new items along with old favorites! Pick-up or delivery only. The soft, lemongrass-flavored meatballs, drizzled in homemade hoisin sauce, are addictive on their own, but a tangy rice-noodle salad dotted with mint and cilantro makes the dish.

She reels me in. She says menus have to function in a certain way. And bartender Lily Powers, a former chef, is just as likely to use local produce in the drinks.

Take, for example, a recent tipple made from a combination of floral St. Germain, fresh cilantro and ginger.

For now, most raw materials come from Black River Produce. Last winter, Mahe purchased Park Squeeze, the. In the 11 years since he opened his first Vergennes restaurant, the Black Sheep Bistro, the indefatigable chef has exported his approachable yet sexy brand of food and drink to five more places. It opened in May. Mahe and the contractors he works with are gifted when it comes to creating ambience. The bottom floor holds a sunny, luncheonette-type room with a counter in the front window for people watching.

A soaring, beamed room has a sculpture of a rhinoceros running along one brick wall and a reconstructed, carved s Dutch bar along another. Subtle, thoughtful details — such as the mesh curtain separating a portion of the bar from the dining area — segment the space; a spiral staircase adds visual punch.

For all this airy largesse, Park Squeeze seats just 60 people on two floors the third houses offices. On the first night I visited, all of those seats were filled at 6: Many of the people I watched enter that evening seemed to know the servers, someone else in the room, the chef or all the above.

Indeed, when I tried to enlist diners for comment, a few declined. Barely a month into its existence, Vergennes residents seemed to be. Yankee restraint, the dish might really sing.

Every other item on the plate was pitch-perfect, though, from the singed fingerling potatoes to the crisp-tender broccoli. A dollop of date chutney was a nice touch.

Though the melted cheese was ample, the crust crisp and the pepperoni tasty, its ponderous brownish tomato sauce lacked brightness and weighed down the pie like an anchor. I could eat that again and again. Either could fill you for lunch and dinner. The lemon-hued coconut pudding, one of the four desserts here, came in a tall glass topped with a festive sprinkle of toasted coconut flecks.

Not too sweet and subtly citrusy, it had a fun consistency hovering between solid and liquid. When I was a kid, my parents took me to their favorite candlelit Italian bistro on Friday nights. Though my dad worked as a printer and my mom stayed home, it was cheap enough that we were able to eat there weekly. Park Squeeze is that kind of place, sans checkerboard tablecloths and wax-covered Chianti bottles.

And it was more than enough food for three people, since we took plenty of it home. Park Squeeze needs to be tasted in context. All these must be primed and ready to go in the kitchen, judging by the speed with which they appeared.

Once our orders were in, the dishes started flowing within five minutes, and the servings were generous. Each crisp, nut-brown ball contained gooey innards of cheesy, carby goodness, better still when dragged through a ramekin of savory tomato sauce.

The suppli and turnovers seemed designed to augment a night of drinking, as did the nachos, poutine and wings. In keeping with that theme, the bar has plenty of craft beers, plus a handful of South American wines on offer. The bigger plates on the menu were more uneven.

Chef de cuisine Justin Patras draws on his Greek traditions to produce some interesting flavor juxtapositions. It sounds scrumptious, but the kitchen had laced the meat with something — allspice? With a little more. Live models inspire studies of line work and shading. Vermont Institute of Contemporary Arts, Chester, p. Spark Arts, Burlington, p. Twomonths of studying under Josie Leavitt culminates in a live show for rookie comedians.

FlynnSpace, Burlington, 7 p. Diners get to know their neighbors at a low-key, buffet-style meal organized by the Winooski Coalition. Free; children under 16 must be accompanied by an adult; transportation available for seniors.

North and West African rhythms played on traditional instruments lead a multicultural celebration of creative movement. All Souls Interfaith Gathering, Shelburne, p. Melly Bock leads participants through ancient and modern choreographed movements set to international music. No experience or partner required.

Fletcher Free Library, Burlington, 7: Instructor Melly Bock welcomes ladies of all ages to participate in a long-term exploration of Greek and eastern European dance. Participants must attend 10 sessions over the next 13 months. Fletcher Free Library, Burlington, 5: Folks explore grounds featuring a Gothic Revival historic house, formal gardens, interpretive exhibits and walking trails. Justin Morrill Homestead, Strafford, 11 a. Catamount Arts Center, St. As its name implies, Great Small Works — the award-winning, New York Citybased company formed by Bread and Puppet Theater alums — has a repertoire ranging from large works to miniature masterpieces such as the Traveling Toy Theater Festival.

The Marbleworks, Middlebury, 9 a. Shoppersseek prepared foods and unadorned produce at a weekly open-air affair. Info, , info willistonfarmersmarket. Then Chris Wilson follows her into space. Bond 46 What was this fantastic creature out of another dimension, that snatched men into nothingness? Ki Patterson wanted to find out. What danger could there be in trying to face it? Then Webb Saunders found a weird cavern in Utah. Davis, Editor, Raymond A. Wa do not accept responsibility for the re- turn of unsolicited manuscripts or art- work.

Any copy accepted is subject to vavision or changes to meet the require- ments of this publication. Payment for manuscripts and illustrations will be made at our current rates. The names of all characters that are used in short stories, serials and semi-ffetion articles that deal with types are fictitious.

Use of a name which is the same as that of any living person is accidental. Entry as second-class matter applied for at the Post Office. Back cover painting by Frank R. Even with ancient guns they attack the Science Palace. How their hate has misled them! That shot was intended for you. But for my wife, I could have wished the fellow had been a better marksman.

My people hate me, Sanders — my people whom I love and to whom I have tried to be a father. But them I cannot blame. They have been deceived by lies. It is toward those who knew the truth, who lived closest to me, and for whom I did the most that I feel any bitterness.

Every day they are deserting me, Sanders — the rats and the sinking ship. I am sure of only a few of you — I could count my friends tonight upon the fingers of one hand. It was the first of May preceding that historic second which wiped the science dynasty from the rule of Assuria.

For a month the Science family had virtu- ally been prisoners in the summer palace upon the outskirts of the Capitol, but they had been unmo- lested and their personal safety had seemed reason- ably assured until this morning. For years the voice of the agitator and the malcon- tent had been heard with increasing emphasis throughout the length and breadth of the Country.

During the early weeks of April the Capitol had been a hotbed of revolution which had rapidly merged into the chaos of anarchy. And then had come this first of May, when the rabble from the low quarters of the city, drunk with liquor and with blood lust, had derided the weaklings at the head of the revolution, and screaming for blood and loot, had marched upon the Science palace with the avowed intention of assassinating the Science family.

All that day they had howled and hooted about the palace, held in check only by a single military unit which had remained loyal to the Scientists — the For- eign Corps, recruited among foreigners, and with few exceptions, similarly officered. But there is just a faint possibility that we may be able to remove the baby boy.

I have given the matter a great deal of thought, sir. I have a plan. It entails risk, but on the other hand, to permit the boy to remain in this build- ing another twelve hours would, I am confident, prove fatal. Several of them are married men, and their wives are here with them. One of these women, the wife of a Lieut. Donovan, gave birth to a son two days since. She is a strong and healthy young woman and could be moved without materially endangering her health.

For all the people know, she may have had twins. No one may escape. Not a day passes but that several desert to the enemy. We are close pressed. Only a miracle can save The Foreign Corps from absolute extermination.

It would not seem strange, then, to the revolutionists, should Lieut. Donovan desert to them, for the sake of the safety of his wife and children. He was a slender, dark man, apparently in his early thirties. His eyes were large and dreamy and set rather too far apart, while, in marked contrast to them, were his thin, aquiline nose and his straight and bloodness lips. Presently, how- ever, the Science Ruler spoke. I have implicit confidence in your loy- alty, and because of that I am going to place within your hands tonight the future of Assuria and the safety of my son.

The mob seeks my life and that of my wife, and of Alexander. Even if I could leave the palace I would not. My wife, on account of her con- dition, cannot, but Michael believes that we can smuggle the boy away where he may remain in safety and seclusion until the deluded people have recovered from the madness which grips them now. Terrance Donovan, a young Irish soldier of fortune who had been a Lieutenant in The Foreign Corps for better than a year.

Michael explained the plan to the officer. Go to America where funds will be sent you periodically for the care and education of the boy.

From time to time you will receive instructions from us, but you will make no reports unless re- quested, nor attempt in any way to communicate with us, for only by maintaining the utmost secrecy may we hope to preserve the boy from the vengeance of the revolutionists. To prevent suspicion from attaching to you in any way upon the other side you must pur- sue some calling that may at least partially account for your income.

No other must ever know until you receive authoritative word from As- suria that the time is ripe for his return to his peo- ple. Not even the boy himself must know that he is other than your son.

Do you understand fully and do you accept the commission? Twenty-four hours later the rabble overcame the remaining guards and forced its way into the Science building. The fate of the Science Ruler and his wife is not known — their bodies were never found.

The rage of the revolutionists when they discovered that the infant son had been spirited away was un- bounded. But all this is history. TT was the sixteenth of May, two weeks after the fall of the Science Rule, that a tiny, muffled figure, with a weight at its feet, dropped from the strato- sphere liner Colossic bound for New York. The Atlan- tic, below, received it.

Watching, with tragic eyes, stood a young Irishman. At his side, sobbing softly, his wife clutched a little baby tightly to her breast. The doctor has ordered absolute quiet. It was not a dictatorial, or an unjust rule, since by scientific means, the lot of the people was materially bettered. Under the Science Rule, the country grew prosperous, and it seemed that happiness should certainly have been the lot of the people. Robots took the place of pilots in stratosphere planes, industry became a mass of entangling robot factories, and severe economical upheavals resulted.

However, each time, balance was restored, at least to the financial structure of the nation. But morally, the people became undermined. They had too much leisure time. In short, science had come to a continent whose people were not intellectually ready for it. They seethed beneath its irksome perfection.

They yearned for something, they knew not what. And finally, came revolt. Machine was turned against machine, and as is the case with machines, when the human nerve center is cut, chaos resulted. Driven to retreat when power beams failed, the Foreign Corps finally succumbed to such ancient weapons as rifles and flame guns. A few short days of fierce fighting and the Science Rule was at an end, perhaps forever on the European continent.

Once more Europe returned to its ancient ways, but whether they would follow the lead of still American America, the ancient, but still young in spirit, democracy, is for future historians to record. In America, science serves, it does not rule. When they returned to the den again there was a hint of moisture on the lashes of both men. Your chief told me where you were.

No one in the department believes Mr. Thorn to be more than a visionary philanthropist with conserva- tive socialistic leanings. His son is as much mystified as we, and almighty worried, too.

We came down from their summer place yesterday on Mr. I can scarcely turn around without finding him behind me. I think he suspects me and is watching me accordingly. Glassock and her daughter — the Peabody Glassocks of Phila- delphia, you know — and John Saran and his daugh- ter.

As far as the Glassocks are concerned they are out of my reckoning entirely — but the Sarans are dif- ferent. The latter grinned back at the older man, and flushed a little. He has done everything to aid me. Not a soul in the house knows who I really am. Awe inspiring was this greatest city of Earth.

Here, unlike Europe, and Asia, science had truly served, and not in a century had war come to America. America was impregnable; democracy and science together were unassailable. And the vast majority of the thirty-four millions were happy and contented. Still, there were elements that intruded, that needed delving into. This was the missiori of the Secret Service. Just such an element was the situation that now confronted Macklin Dono- van. Thorn, a man with millions, and Saran, a man with a purpose.

What was that purpose? American democracy needed to know the answer to such ques- tions. The air-taxi dropped at last to a high tower, higher than the majority bespeaking the wealth of its own- ers. Only one other tower in the vicinity could be compared with it, and that was a mile away. Twin needles of stone and steel they were, piercing the lower clouds and dwarfing the lesser giants around them.

Macklin Donovan stepped out on the landing roof, and dismissed the taxi. Then he walked toward the ornate and luxuriously built pent house that graced the very spire of the building. Instantly the butler turned away.

As he advanced into the room he drew his cigarette case from his pocket and let it drop to the floor behind him. With a laughing exclamation at his awkwardness he turned quickly to pick up the case, permitting his glance to pass swiftly toward the door- way.

Greeves was standing in the shadow of the hall- way, a finger raised. As Donovan turned back toward the room he was still smiling— but he was the only one who knew why. Shall be glad to get out of this heat.

Why in the world you wanted to drag us all down here this time of year is quite beyond me. Make us all suffer for nothing — absolutely nothing! As a matter of fact I tried to persuade you not to come. I know how you hate the city in summer. Donovan was certain that the Assurian had shot a quick warning from those deep-set, somber eyes. You just ask that to annoy me. But then it is a wise nephew who knows his own aunt, these days. Near it she turned and faced her brother.

Macklin Donovan was visibly ill at ease for an in- stant, but he laughed it off quickly. Percy Thorn appeared bored and irritated. Could looks wither, Mrs. Peabody Glassock would have assumed the di- mensions of a peanut, but she did not even guess that Percy Thorn was looking at her. Saran cast a quick glance at his daughter, caught her eye, and directed a furtive and very meaningful look toward Miss Glassock and Donovan. Nariva Saran merely raised her delicate brows.

A little later the three women went to their rooms to dress. Saran excused himself presently and was soon followed by the elder Thorn. Then Percy Thorn turned to Donovan. I want to know. Things are coming to a head mighty quick. When he had gone Donovan walked quickly to the doorway leading to the hall. As he did so the heavy hangings before a doorway on the oppo- site side from the library moved, but the hall was dark and Donovan did not see the movement.

He had scarcely reached the doorway when his attention was attracted by the sound of light footsteps on the stairway above. Turning quickly, he saw Nariva Saran descending. She halted almost at the instant that he turned, but immediately resumed her down- ward course.

Had he surprised her? Would she have turned back had he not discovered her? He realized now why she might have wished to turn back, unseen — she was in aegligee. A very beau- tiful creation that set off her dark loveliness bewitch- ingly. Donovan stood with one hand upon the newel post as the girl descended — his back toward the hall doorway.

Ah, there it is! As she returned to the stairway, where Donovan still stood, she paused on the lower step. Donovan was aware of a very delicate and delectable fragrance about her. The girl smiled and opened the bag again. The Science Ruler of Assuria before he was assassinated gave it to my — to a friend of my father.

There is no more like it in all the world. It is very old and has never been uncorked, yet it per- meates whatever it comes in contact with.

I just took it from my trunk today — you did not notice it be- fore? Suddenly he placed his hand upon hers. The heavy hangings upon the opposite side of the hallway moved. He clung to her. Donovan looked after for a moment with puzzled eyes, and then, passing his palm slowly across the back of his neck, he slowly ascended the stairs toward his room.

Glassock sat before a , dressing table appliqueing her face. I should think the Thorn millions would be enough. Thorn I can expect nothing more than my dower rights in the event of his death, since Percy will inherit the bulk of the fortune; while Mr. In the door- way of her closet stood John Saran. He, too, was scowling. The girl made no reply. Then he stepped back into the closet and closed the door. Nariva, her head upon one side, listened for a mo- ment, then, almost fiercely, she pressed the back of her hand to her eyes, as one in pain.

As she passed him Nariva Saran raised her brows questioningly and the butler replied with an almost imperceptible inclination of his head.

It was his busi- ness to notice such trivial occurrences and this one did not escape him. Reasoning from this premise it was not strange that he should seek to ingratiate himself with the girl, that through her he might gain the knowledge he sought. To this end he sought her companionsip. The result had been that not only had he been unable to connect her with any of the activities that he believed chargeable to the band under investigation, but he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.

Fifteen minutes later Greeves made the rounds of the lower floor, turning off all the lights with the ex- ception of a small night lamp in the front hallway and a second small lamp in the library, which was the last room to which he gave his attention. He left a light on the landing about half way up the stairs, but shut off all those in the hallway on the second floor, which was, however, slightly illuminated by the light from the landing.

These duties attended to he paused for a moment in the center of the hall, apparently listening. He looked quickly first in one direction and then in the other, after which, seemingly satisfied, he ascended the second flight of steps to the third floor where were located the apartments of the family. Ordinarily a small passenger elevator was used to reach the upper floors, but this was temporarily out of commission while undergoing its annual summer overhauling dur- ing the absence of the family at Three Gables.

This stairway was near the rear end of the third floor hallway. Directly opposite it was a small, dark closet wherein were kept a various assortment of brooms, brushes, mops, dusters, vacuum cleaners, and similar paraphernalia. Greeves turned out all but a single light in the third floor hall, walked to the foot of the stairway, paused, listened, and then, turning quickly, crossed the hall silently, opened the door of the dark closet entered it and closed the door after him.

Outside this window was a narrow iron balcony identical with those outside every other window on this floor, both front and rear. These balconies did not connect with those adjacent to them, being separated by a space of about three feet. Except for the lights of the vast city far below, and the giant twin tower a mile away, the penthouse might have been on a country estate. He was not particularly interested in the book he was reading — it did not hold his atten- tion.

It was better than nothing however in assisting him to pass the time until the household slumbered, for he had a suspicion that something might transpire thereafter that would prove of interest to him and to his chief in Washington.

He had been sitting thus for about an hour, when his eyes alighted upon a folded paper lying on the threshold partially inside the room. It had not been there a moment before, of that he was positive. There had been no sound — the paper had not been there one minute — the next minute it had.

That was all there was to it. In the instant that he discovered the thing he leaped quickly toward the door with the intention of throwing it open; but before his hand touched the knob he thought better of his contemplated act and, instead, stooped and picked up the paper.

Whoever put it there did not want to be seen. Perhaps it would be better to humor them, temporaxily at least. Standing near the door he opened the message and read its contents, after which he was glad that he had not yielded to his first impulse to rush into the hall in an effort to discover the messenger.

The note was in a feminine hand and read: Please come to my room at quarter past two. I have something to tell you. It must be that. It must be something urgent. What- ever it was it was all right — he could trust her — of that he was quite sure. He glanced at his watch. It lacked about five minutes to quarter past. Before leaving his room he turned to his dresser from which he took a needle pistol. Walking toward the hall door his gaie fell upon the table. He came to an abrupt stop and, wheeling, took a hurried survey of the room, for prqjped against the reading lamp was a square blue envelope that had not been there when he had quitted the room a few minutes before.

Sna,tching it up he saw his own initials crudely printed upon its face. The flap, which was but freshly sealed, he tore open, revealing an ordinary square correspondence card, upon which was printed in the same rude hand a single word: His hall door was locked.

It was exactly quarter past two. Slipping the blue envelope and the card into his pocket he crossed the room to the hall door. As he laid his hand upon the knob the faint report of a needle pistol came to his ears, followed almost immediately by the sound of a body falling, and the piercing shriek of a woman. At the head of the stairs leading to the library he stumbled over a huddled heap covered by a dress- ing gown.

It fires a tiny, needle-shaped pellet, using compressed air as its propelling force. Glassock and her daughter. Too, it might also have been fired from the doorway of the room occupied by John Saran. Some of these things came to him as suspicions at the moment, to be verified by investi- gation later. But above all else there loomed above him like a hideous spectre the appalling fact that the needle had been fired precisely at quarter past two. Saran was the first on the scene, followed quickly by Percy Thorn and Greeves.

It was Saran who switched on the lights. Donovan pointed at the huddled form lying on the floor, the head and face of which were hidden by the large collar of the dressing gown as the body had slumped to the floor. Glassock now came from her room, and be- hind her was Genevive, while servants were pouring from the upper floors. Donovan stooped and drew back the collar of the dressing gown. A scream broke from the lips of Mrs. Donovan knelt beside Percy and turned the body over on its back, opened the dressing gown and the shirt and placed his ear above the heart.

They were all looking at him, eyes filled with suspense. Donovan shook his head, sadly. Percy, we shall have to leave the body here until they come. You had better go and prepare your aunt, and prevent her coming down until after the police have been here. I shall remain here. The rest of you may go to your rooms, or not, as you wish. There is nothing that anyone can do until after the police come. Greeves ran quickly down the stairs to the library to the telephone.

Donovan looked about him. Where was Nariva Saran. There was no response. She knocked again, more imperatively. Donovan turned toward Saran. He was no longer the suave young society man. Instead, his voice cut like steel, and in it was the ring of steel.

At sight of Macklin Donovan she voiced a little cry that she tried to smother, and her eyes went very wide. Thorn — it must be a terrible mistake! It was laid upon the couch, near an open window. Then Terrance Donovan returned to the library. Glassock was there, and Genevive. Percy Thorn sat on a sofa beside his aunt, who was weeping softly, trying to comfort her. Saran stood before the cold fireplace smoking a cigaret.

There were three burly police officers and some of the maids and housemen also, the latter standing near the hall doorway as though momentarily expecting to be ban- ished.

Nariva was not in the room. Thorn lying where you found him, but on his face. It was necessary for me to turn him over to examine him for signs of life — otherwise the body was not disturbed.

Thorn was intended for another. Somehow this chance shot had gone home. Donovan was standing over the body of Mr. Thorn as I came from my room. The hall was but dimly lighted, yet sufficiently to permit me to see Mr. He was putting some- thing in his hip pocket as I opened the door of my room.

The effect of this second surprise was almost equal to that of the first. The chin of Mrs. Peabody Glas- sock dropped for an instant, then she smiled super- ciliously. Glassock appeared slightly groggy, but she was still in the ring. Terrance Donovan eyed the Assurian. He seemed to regret that he had made the charge. He smiled deprecatingly and spread his palms before him with a shrug.

I gave the matter no thought— scarcely believed it, in fact, until you arrived here tonight. CARAN was evidently nonplussed by the question. He realized his mistake instantly, but it was too late to remedy it.

He sought to cover his confusion by a show of anger. I demand that some other of- ficer pursue this investigation. Glassock, but she said it in a small voice — she was weakening. He nodded to Lieutenant Donovan and crossed to his side. The two men whispered togirther in low tones for a few minutes, then Captain Bushor pointed a large fore- finger at John Saran. Macklin Donovan of the mur- der of Mason Thorn? Donovan went to his room, took a piece of paper from his pocket and burned it.

Saran had spoken the truth, but how had he known? If the pistol is not in his possession now it may be in his room. He should be searched and so should his room. I have said right along that he had a low face.

Captain Bushor was searching Macklin for a weapon — which he did not find. See that no one leaves the room, McGroarty. One of the policemen stepped into the adjoining room. T TPON the left of the landing half way up the stairs was a tall pier glass. He was upon the point of telling Bushor what he had seen when there flashed to his mind the realiza- tion that all the women in the house, save one, were in the library below, and that one was Nariva Saran.

An instant later they reached the head of the stairs in full view of the entire hallway. There had been no opportunity for whoever had entered his room to leave it. The hall had been lighted when last he passed through it after the officers had come, but now the lights were extinguished, the only illumination coming from the landing on the stairway.

Who had extin- guished them, and why? Possibly what he had just seen reflected in the mirror explained why. Just inside the doorway was a switch. Macklin pressed this switch and the room was flooded with light.

Captain Bushor crossed to the dresser and opened the upper left hand drawer, in which he rummaged for a moment. Macklin Donovan knitted his brows. Nowhere could he find a pistol. Saran was quite evidently restraining a de- sire to speak, only with the greatest difficulty. At last he could hold his peace no longer.

Macklin glanced quickly toward the bed, the covers at the foot of which, he noticed for the first time, were disarranged, as though they had been pulled out from the side and hastily tucked in again. Bushor crossed to the bed and pulled the coverings aside. One by one he removed and shook them. Finally he turned the mattress completely off the springs.

Saran was almost standing on tip-toe. All the time that the search had been going on Dono- van had been awaiting the discovery of the person he had seen enter the room only a minute ahead of them.

As every nook and cranny was examined without re- vealing any hidden presence he was reduced to a state of surprise fully equaling that which Saran had re- vealed when no pistol had been discovered beneath the mattress.

Walking to one of the windows he looked out and examined the roof along the front of the penthouse — there was no one there. They returned to the library just as the officer who had been detailed to find Greeves entered the room. He turned to the company in the room. Which will it be? Genevive paused beside him. Percy Thorn, assisting his aunt, followed them.

Donovan shook his head. It was evident that she wanted to speak to him. She held a finger to her lips, enjoining silence, at the same time motioning him toward her. He had taken but a couple of steps in her. Simultaneously Nariva stepped back into her room and closed her door. I but wished to stop and inquire. Perhaps you can enlighten me. Again in his room, Donovan threw himself into an easy chair beside the table, and sat pondering the occurrences of the night.

That which occupied him 'most was a mad effort to discover some means of removing all suspicion connected with the attempt that he believed had been made upon his life by Nariva Saran. He did not want to believe it. Yet, try as he would to reach another, the conviction re- mained unalterable that she had attempted to lure him to his death, and that by chance only Mason 'Thorn had approached her door at the very instant she had expected Donovan.

But he could not explain away her evident surprise when she had discovered him alive; he could not explain why she had been the last to come to the hall after the firing of the fatal needle; he could not explain why she and Greeves alone of all the com- pany had been absent from the library during the police investigation. His judgment told him that she and Greeves and Saran were at the bottom of the plot to kill him, yet but just now when she had attempted to speak to him Saran had prevented.

Then there was the memory of those almost tragic words that still were ringing in his ears: What did it all mean? Abruptly his eyes glued upon the floor at the bottom ; of the closet door, beneath which a piece of paper was slpwly being pushed into the room. He made no noise as he moved— none until his hand fell upon the knob and then, in the same instant, he flung the door wide. The closet was empty! He entered it and examined every inch of it.

It was absolutely empty except for a couple of suits that he had hung in it the day before. Like all the other closets in the house it was wainscoted with cedar to the same height that the rooms were paneled in various ornamental woods.

Hair crawling on his scalp with eerie pricklings, Donovan came from the closet and locked the door, leaving the key in the lock. Then he stooped and picked up the bit of folded paper. Suddenly his attention was attracted by what seemed to be a shuffling sound from one of the balconies before the windows on the opposite side of the room. Cautiously he raised his eyes. The light from the reading lamp illuminated the table, the chair beside it, and a little area of the floor surrounding the two, leaving the balance of the room in a subdued light.

Beyond the table was the window from which the sound seemed to come. As he watched he thought that he saw something move upon the balcony just outside. He remained very quiet, apparently examining the paper in his hand, his eyes barely raised to the win- dow;.

Again he saw the movement without — a human hand clutching. There was the hiss of a needle gun. The hand dis- appeared. The tinkle of metal on stone. Silence; Donovan leaped for the window, threw it open and stepped out onto the balcony.

A rich Irish voice rose from below: Its owner was one of the officers left to guard the rear of the house. He said nothing about the figure on his balcony, for he had determined to ferret out the mysteries of that night unaided. He stooped and examined the stone floor of the balcony. He picked it up and carried it into his room.

He could hear people run- ning through the hall, aroused and alarmed by this second disturbance. He heard the gruff, low tones of the police, and the high, frightened voices of women. He carried the dagger to the table and held it close to the light.

It was a weapon of foreign make, its velvet grip bound with cords of gold. A faint fragrance was wafted to his nostrils. For a moment he stood thus, then he turned and walked quickly to the door, opened it and stepped into the hall. He wanted to see who was there — or, more particularly, who was not. They were all there — Saran, Nariva, the Glassocks, servants and police. Percy Thorn came down a moment later, his aunt be- hind him. Greeves alone was absent. No one seemed able to know anything and Donovan kept silent as to what had transpired upon his balcony and within his room.

Tired, haggard, nerve wracked the occupants of the penthouse returned once more to their rooms. Mack- lin threw himself upon his bed, fully dressed, after switching off the lights. He did not intend to sleep. He had an idea that Greeves was there and he wanted to make sure.

But he was very tired — almost exhausted — and he dozed before he realized the danger. It could have been for but an instant before his sleep was shattered by a piercing scream.

As he did so, from the closet door on the opposite side of the room a pistol hissed in the dark and a needle sang by his head.

As he had no weapon he could not return the fire, but he sprang to the switch and turned on the lights. Then he wheeled and faced the closet door. It was closed and the key was still upon the outside, where he had left it. He crossed the room and tried the knob — the door was locked! Entering the hall again he found it filled with nervous men and terrified women. Everyone was talk- ing at once. Only the police were near normal, and even their nerves were a bit on edge. Lieutenant Terrance Donovan was among them.

The others crowded in their rear. Lieutenant Donovan opened the door and fumbled for the light switch. His son stepped past him and found it, flooding the room with light. There, on the floor, his body in the room, his legs extended into the closet, lay John Saran upon his back, blood running from a needle wound in his forehead. Macklin Donovan turned and ran toward the hall. Macklin knocked upon the girl's dodr — there was no response.

He knocked again — louder. Motioning the others aside he stepped back, paused, hurled himself against the door with all his weight, striking it with a shoulder. The bolt and keeper tore through the wooden frame and the door swung inward. A single lamp burned upon a table. The room was empty, as were the dressing room and bath and closet.

He looked blankly at his father. The older man shook his head. It was closed — they had left it open. The elder Donovan tried the knob, then he stooped and looked through the key hole.

The huge Irishman had to do little more than lean against the door to send it crashing into the room. Terrance Donovan scratched his head, then he turned and looked accusingly at the company clus- tered in the dooway. A wide eyed, terrified house maid was sobbing, hysterically. The house is haunted. Greeves half a dozen times? I suppose poor Mr. There are officers all around the penthouse — you will be perfectly safe there.

The others appeared to feel similarly, for they moved toward the stairway and down to the library in a huddled group. There were no stragglers. They had vanished as utterly as though they had never existed. Macklin shook his head. I found it in the library table. Both the officers were sleepy and in a few minutes were half dozing. Macklin was listening and thinking. He was trying to figure some explanation that would account for the mysterious disappearance of two liv- ing inmates of the penthouse and a dead man.

He must know something else, then. He wheeled around, facing the two officers. Neither one of them had moved, and their deep, regular breathing attested the fact that both were asleep. In the middle of the floor, between Donovan and one of the officers, lay a bit of paper folded into a small cylinder about which was a rubber band.

Donovan rose and stepped quickly to the window. There was no one on any of the balconies. Then he turned to the closet door which he found still locked and the key on the outside where he had left it. He moved on tip toe to avoid arousing the officers, and thus he investigated both his room and the bath.

Finally he returned to the room where the policemen still slept and picked the piece of paper from the floor. As he unfolded it he expected to find the usual mess- age — Beware; but this was something different. Get out of this room. One of the officers awoke just as Macklin was stuf- fing the paper into his pocket.

The sound they had heard was a subdued crackling noise. Against the silence of the night, and coming as it did from the vacant room in which Saran had been murdered, it induced an impression of uncan- niness that made both men shiver, innured though they were to dangers and to mysteries. Behind Dono- van came the policeman and as the former laid his hand upon the knob of the door the other officer awakened.

Observing their silence and their stealthy move- ments at a glance he arose and followed them with equal quiet. Macklin was in the lead. He had reached the frame of the door and was on the point of looking into the interior of the room when a figure stepped from it into the hall. Instantly Macklin seized it — it was Greeves. I have been in my room. The man was evidently very much in earnest, but what motives prompted the warning? Donovan had his own opinion — the gang wanted to keep him out of that room for some particular reason and they were trying to frighten him out, first by the note and now by means of Greeves.

He saw that the butler was out of breath and that his clothing was soiled here and there with dust and cobwebs. Donovan; but I have some other duties to attend to. Greeves dodged him and started to run. The big Irishman jumped in front of the fugitive and held out both ponderous hands to seize him.

It was a foolish move, for it left his chin exposed; but then who would expect a middle-aged butler to be so rough? Greeves struck the policeman once without even pausing and as the latter slumped to the floor the butler leaped across his body to the stairway. Just as he turned into it Macklin drew his gun and fired, at the same, time leaping in pursuit with the sec- ond policeman at his heels.

Macklin fired again as he reached the foot of the stairs and saw Greeves dis- appearing at the turn half way up. Donovan was young and active. He went up those stairs three or four at a time, but when he reached the top Greeves was nowhere to be seen. Followed by the officer, Donovan ascended at a run to the fourth floor — no Greeves. He searched every apartment there and even found the scuttle that led to the roof, but that was fastened upon the inside, pre- cluding the possibility that Greeves had escaped in this way, even had he had time to do so in the short interval of his lead over Donovan.

Young Donovan narrated the incidents of the last few min- utes to his father. Donovan senior scratched his head. Before their eyes could become ac- customed to the darkness he recrossed the room to the door and stepped out into the hall, making no noise.

In equal silence he crossed to the door of the room he had formerly occupied. Stealthily he turned the knob and opened the door. The darkness within was solid except for the two rec- tangular spaces that were the windows — areas that were but faintly visible against the deeper darkness of the room. As he stood just inside the door listening, he thought that he discerned something moving on one of the balconies — just a vague suggestion of a figure without, definite form or shape.

It riveted his atten- tion and held his eyes. Very softly he reached behind him and closed the door, fearing that one of the offi- cers in the room across the hall, missing him, might switch on a light that would be sure to reveal him standing there in the doorway. Drawing his pistol he moved slowly forward toward the window — inch by inch he moved, fearing that the slightest noise might frighten away whatever haunted his balcony.

He had crossed to about the middle of the room, when, without warning, the narrow beams of a flashlight burst from the closet full upon the window toward which he had been creeping.

Macklin Dono- van came up standing with a gasp as his eyes rested upon what the beams of the flashlight revealed beyond the window— -a face pressed close against the pane — the face of Saran, the dead man, with the blood upon its forehead. Almost instantly the face vanished toward the left and then the flashlight swung slowly about the room, coming closer and closer to Macklin Donovan. His first impulse was to flee — there was something so un- canny about the silence and the seeming inevitableness of that grisly light searching him out in the darkness of the chamber of mystery.

Then he sought to keep ahead of it, but at last it drove him into a corner where he halted and held his pistol ready. An instant later the light touched his face and stopped upon it, blinding him. Then it was that he raised his weapon arid fired point-blank into its fiery eye. Instantly the light dis- appeared. A moment of silence was followed by a weird crack- ling sound, coming, apparently, from the interior of the closet — then silence again.

Donovan sprang through the darkness for the closet door. Fumbling for the knob, he found it; but the door was locked, and the key, which had been on the outside, was gone.

CHAPTER VI The Mystery of the Closet CLIGHTLY bewildered by the rapidity with which - the events of the past few moments had followed one another, and dazed by the Inexplicable mystery of the weird light that had felazed through the panels of a locked door, Donovan hesitated briefly as he sought to adjust his reasoning faculties to the improb- abilities of the facts that confronted them, and select a plan of action.

Long since had the call of duty merged with an over-mastering urge to discover the fate or the where- abouts of Nariva Saran, and to determine.

Just how far she was involved with Greeves and Saran he could not know, and now the shooting of Saran had helped to upset whatever theories he had commenced to en- tertain relative to the connection existing between the three.

Who, then, had shot Saran? The fact that he had seen and recognized his face at the window but a moment since, would have, under or- dinary circumstances, settled that question definitely; but the circumstances of the past few hours had been anything but ordinary.

If Saran were not dead, it was reasonable to assume that if he could find him, he could find Nariva, also, since the most natural con- jecture would place father and daughter near one another.

But where to search for them! They had not left the Thorn Building, yet they were not in the Thorn penthouse. Already had the place been searched until there remained no unrevealed hiding place where even a cat might have concealed itself successfully from the searchers. There remained but a single tenable conclusion — all others were prepos- terous, unthinkable, verging upon the demoniacal. Sane judgment assured him that Saran was not dead — that the face he had seen at the window must have been the face of a living man, and that that man was John Saran.

The thing to do, then, was to follow. He walked quickly across the room, raised the win- dow, and stepped out upon the balcony. The appari- tion, or the man, whichever it had been, had disap- peared to the left, so toward the left Donovan looked. Three feet away was the balcony before the windows of the dressing room and bath, beyond that, at similar intervals, the balconies of the adjoining rooms. Below was the small garden between the rear of the pent- house and the landing deck of the skyscraper, whereon rested two ships — the police ship and the Thorn ship.

There he paused for a moment, listening. Hfc heard nothing other than the subdued night noises of the city from far below. A mile away loomed the twin tower, a giant search- light sweeping the sky in ceaseless grandeur. Cautiously he made his way to the nearest balcony. The window letting upon it was wide open. Within was darkness and silence. He threw a leg over the sill and drew himself into the interior, silently. His feet dropped softly to the floor and he stood erect.

Eerily he sensed the room was not unoccupied. Of that he had startling proof immediately. From out of the darkness at his left came a low-toned whisper. He walked with his left hand extended before him, in his right his needle gun.

It was lit with a dim radiance, seeming to glow from the very walls. Ad- vancing cautiously, he entered, his weapon ready. The voice was no longer in evidence. Donovan rapped with his knuckles sharply at the walls, but they were solid all around.

His knocks gave forth no hollow sounds, only muffled solidity of tone. Several coat hangers caught his eye. In the odd glow that still permeated the place, like a sort of after-vision, one of them seemed to shine with a light all its own. He reached up, touched it. He grasped it and pulled. Instantly he let go.

All about him a weird blue light shone, and a strange crackling noise came. A sec- ond, then it was gone, and he was plunged into utter darkness.

Behind him the closet door was closed, and he backed hastily against it before he realized the fact. Bewildered he whirled, ready for a trap, and his hand shot to the knob. The door was not locked. It opened under his thrust. Simultaneously a door at the far end of the room opened, revealing the figure of a large man silhouetted against the doorway of a lighted room across a hall.

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