The Milwaukee Leader

BY DOROTHY DOUGLAS.

Lysette De Smythe gazed about her magnificent apartment at Hollywood and yawned prodigiously. A second later she yawned again, neither discreetly nor quietly but openly and defiantly.

Lysette was bored almost to extinction with her life as a star of the movie world. She was fed up with being someone she was not and was longing to find her way out of the public eye for a change and be just her simple regular little self—Eliza Smith—as the birth registry in her native village would show.

Eliza had been snatched into the whirl of the movie world from her position in a small department store in a Long Island town. A well-meaning friend had been thoughtless enough to send her photograph to a beauty contest and before Eliza quite realized what was happening she was out among the greater and lesser stars of Hollywood. Her name was swiftly changed to Lysette De Smythe and a wonderful past, with Russian crowned heads and escapes from terrorized countries, was made up for her.

Her salary naturally was magnificent, and Eliza quite appreciated that side of the life, as it would insure a comfortable future.

But that she must sever the cords that bound her to the public eye and for a short time live completely and utterly alone with her thoughts and perhaps a bungalow apron and some dusters was a self-evident fact.

The shack that she had insisted on retaining when stardom washed her away from the shores of Long Island was a tiny dwelling that lay half on and seemingly half off the cliff that surrounded the bay near her home town. She would sneak out there all by herself as quietly as any mouse, under cover of darkness, and not a soul in the world should know she was there.

So Eliza, having shaken Lysette, crept in, under the shadow of a moonless evening to her shack.

The shack was quite isolated from any main roadway and sheltered veranda hung right on the edge of the cliff and afforded her nothing but a glorious view of the sound. With that very precaution she need not be discovered by even a strolling tramp.

But the eyes of the law are eagle-like, and on the third glorious evening of Eliza's exquisite freedom from public notice she heard stealthy footsteps approaching. Some one knocked at the door and she held her breath and budged not an inch. Perhaps caller would go away and mind his own business.

But that didn't happen. As she stirred a most heavenly Irish stew Eliza knew that door was being smashed by heavy lunge of some one's shoulder.

Being feminine and sensitive she did the most likely thing under such circumstances. She fluttered down like a crumpled rose crushed by a cruel wind and lay unconscious on the floor.

Special Constable Winwood stood aghast at the sight of crumpled rose and stepped forward to do what any sensitive male would do under the circumstances. He picked her up in his arms and to say he was agitated but feebly expresses his emotions.

Eliza's tawny head responded happily to the comfort of blue broadcloth of uniform that covered Constable Winwood's chest and, very cautiously widening the slit beneath her heavy lashes she permitted her glance to embrace a bit more of the man whose arms she so comfortably rested. Crinkly auburn hair, cleft chin and splendid eyes deepest blue. Eliza almost decided to faint again.

But realizing that she must sooner or later leave this comfortable abode of arms she stirred slightly and gave Winwood the full glory of wide-open eyes.

He was much pleased at the sight of her open eyes.

He was completely at a loss for words but curiously enough he unconsciously tightened hold on the lovely burden. If this was a burglar he must hold her fast. If she wasn't—that didn't seem to alter his intentions.

Eliza smiled.

"You think I'm a burglar—I'm not. I'm one of those salaried movie stars, and—" raised a wicked left eyebrow that quite startled Winwood, so curiously did it alter her face "carry rather heavy insurance against broken bones"

Winwood grinned, showing row of fine white teeth and lessened the clutch he had maintained during the conversation.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you—I wasn't thinking—I—"

"I don't think there are any bones fractured," laughed Eliza sweetly and gazed anxiously into Winwood's eyes. "And will you forgive me if you will promise faithfully not to let a soul know that I am here. Will you do that—for me?"

Winwood would have promised anything with those eyes gazing into his own but, being a man of the law, he, too, had trick up his sleeve.

"Secrecy—under one condition," he said looking into those limpid eyes.

"I am to be allowed to come for a few minutes every evening—just to see that you are O K."

Eliza flushed and even as she did so she had a vision of languid Lysette De Smythe fading swiftly into the reality Eliza Smith, and she smiled wonderfully at the vision.

"We might even stretch a few moments—if it seemed expedient," she told him softly

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