Crawfordsville Weekly Journal, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 27 April 1894 — Page 6

THE OLD HILL MYSTERY.

By Arthur W. Marchmont. B. A.

Author of "Miser Hoadley's Secret," "Mad elinc L'owcr,""liy Wliose HHIHI,"

"Isa," &c. &c.

LCopyrijrht, 1802, by the Author 1

CHAPTER XVI.

THE

MriiDElV

AT THE MILL.'

'•"Well, Mary," said one of the girls who inet her in the raillyard just after she left the oilicc, "what arc you going to do this holiday time?" "I hadn't thought about the holidays," answered Mary. "What with the strike, being1 ill, and one thing1and another, I'm in no grand spirits for holiday making."

Mary had forgotten that it was "Whitsuntide, and that the mill was to close after that day—the Friday—until the following Wednesday.

Late in the afternoon she saw Tom, and was tlie witness of a scene between him and Mr. CoodeandGorringe. Mary was passing near the oflice when the door was thrown open suddenly and with some force from within, and Mr. Coode, Gorringe and Torn appeared on the threshold.

They were all more or less angry, and Tom was speaking very fast and gesticulating violently. "I have given you the only answer I shall give you, Roylanee," Mary heard Mr. Coode say, "and nothing you can now say will alter it." "I say it's a plot, a downright infamous plot to ruin me and I have a right to have all particulars given to me." "Don't make a scene hers in the mill, or I'll have you put out," said Mr. Coode. "You're not going to bully me into doing just what you want. I tell you again, I am considering what course to take. I have not settled yet what line is best but you have not explained any of the circumstances which these papers show against you." He drew some papers from his pocket as he spoke, and shook them toward '•Tom. "And I shall not give you another opportunity of doing so, unless it is before the magistrates. I don't say I shall take such a step, and I don't say I shall not. These papers are ample proofs if I want them but I Khali not decide until after the holidays."

As he held the papers towards Tom latter made a hasty ctep forward, and endeavored to snatch them from his grasp. But the other moved back as hastily, and avoided him. "That attempt on your pare only confirms me—" "I want to see what you call the proofs," cried Tom, here breaking in to explain his attempt. "That may or may not be true I am not going to argue. Now you had better go away. I don't want to do you more harm than necessary. Tour father worked for me for many years, and for his sake I wish to do nothing* harsh. Therefore, you understand, I shall make r.o decision till. Monday cr Tuesday. This is Saturday. If by then you have left the place, probably no more will be heard of the matter if you are still here, and persist in coinivng to the mill, or showing your face in the village, then you can reason for yourself what, my course will be. You'll be sorry then you did not accept the offer." "I shall not run away, don't you fear. I tell you for the fiftieth time, the whole thing is a plant, and I have had no more to do with your money than the mill chimney has and that man knows it." He pointed to Gorringe, his finger shaking with rage. "It is nothing but a cowardly attempt to disgrace me and drive me from the place. But I won't go, do you hear? I won't go. Or if I do, it'll be after there's been something to go for."

At this point the door of the office was shut, and Tom was left alone on the outside. After muttering for a minute he turned on his heel and swung out of the mill, across the yard, and through the gates at a quick pace, his face wearing an angry and dejected look, which went to the girl's heart.

She called him by name, but he did not hear, and then she hurried back to the room where her lctoms were, and getting her hat and shawl went after him in order to try and console him. She did not overtake him before he reached his cottage, and when she went in he was sitting woe-begone and miserable, with his head resting on his arms, which were stretched out before him on the table.

Mary laid her hand on his shoulder, and called him by name. He raised his face, all haggard and worn and miserable. "TheyVe beaten me, Mary. I don't know how they've done it, but they've got the 'proofs of my having robbed them, and I swear to Heaven I'm as innocent as a youngster. They've turned me out of the mill, and ordered me to leave the village, or else they'll prosecute me. It makes me mad to think of it." "I heard Mr. Coode, Tom," said the girl, "and am glad you told him you weren't to be driven away. The truth will come out in the end. What do you mean by having proof?" "I don't know what they've done, or how they've done it, lass but the money in the mill accounts is short by thirty or forty pounds. I mean that which has passed through my hands. There are the papers which show I had it, and there's nothing to show what I did with it. It's as clear as daylight to look at. It staggered me, mj'self but it's all a lie from A to Z. I'm no thief. I'm no saint, maybe but I haven't dropped to stealing. Though, for all the chance I've got of having the thing cleared up, I might as well be a thief. But I'll face it out." "Well said, Tom," exclaimed Mary. "Weill facfi^Ji.. together, lad. __Ymr

trouble shall be mine too, my dear we'll meet it hand in hand. If they (drive you away, they shall drive me with yoiu but we'll fl^ht against it as long and .as hard as we can."

Tom was touched by her words and the loving confidence of her tone and drew her to him and kissed her. "You're a good lass, Mary butthis'll be a sore pinch for you—greater, maybe, than you see yet. They'll beat me in the end, as they've beaten me so far. Therc're too strong for me, lass," he said, the momentary light her words of confidence had kindled flickering out in his dejection. "Not they, lad. We've truth on our side, and Heaven won't let the innocent be wrongfulh nunijshojV' "lleaven will have to work something like a miracle, then, to cope with this business," answered Tom, despairingly. "1 wish you'd tell me what has passed between you all to-day." "1 saw Gorringe, and lie told me the charges Inst night, saying all the papers had been sent to Mr. Coode. 1 went to Mr. Coode's place and then found he had come here. I came back to Walkden Bridge, and saw the two together at the mill. They laid the papers before me—my receipts for the money, and the accounts I had given of the money.' They were short while some of the entries I made are for payments which the people swear they've never received. It's all so plain that if I didn't know I'm innocent I should believe the papers against myself. Old Coode said he hadn't the slightest wish to believe me anything hut innocent, but what could he think in the face of the proofs? Then he urgad me to go away quietly. But I wouldn't agree. I was violent. I was mad. I could have smashed everything in the place in my rage. I told him 1 wouldn't go and that if he liked to lock me up for what I'd never lone, he might. But he urged me. He was as kind as a man could be to one whom he thought a thief. 'What could I do in Walkden Bridge when 1 wasn't allowed in the mill?' he asked. "Better go and try to make a new life of it somewhere else forget this, and try to Jive down the memory of it,.' But I won't go while the running away means a confession of an act that I haven't aone. Come what mav. I'll hold my ground." "Whose work is this lo _oi think, Tom?" asked Mary. "Some of the strike hands'. That's about the size of it, I expect. But I can't get at the secret. They've laid the plant with such devilish cunning that they've taken in Coode and Gorringe, and would take in tne very devil himself. But I won't run away and this he repeated several times, until it seemed almost as if he wished to strengthen the resolva by many protestations oi i*i, "Why not sea Mr. Coode alone? 5c is a just man, cr said to be so, and if you were to talk over tli2 whole of the matte:" quietly with him you might be able to persuade him what the truth is." "But I can't talir quietly about it. Besides, he wouldn't see r-ie alone, I expect." "Oh yes, ha .would if fcr nothing else than for your father's sake. Go to the irill and ask hi:'?. He's sure to be at the mill this evening, if he doesn't go back home tc Grange."

Ho agreed at length tc do as the girl wished, and a little later she went home, Tom promising to come to her as soon as he harl seen Mr. Coode.

He s*emed much calmer than when she left him. Mie was glad, very glad, that he Jis,d resolved not to run away from the trouble and her faith in Tom gave her a quiet undercurrent assurance that all would be well. And down in a corner of her woman's heart she was glad to think that at any rate she would have an opportunity of proving to him how true was her love.

After she had had some tea, Mary took a book and went up to her bedroom, the window of which overlooked the road, and she sat there to wait and watch for Tom's coming.

When dusk grew into darkness and the air began to grow chilly Mary closed the window and went downstairs, thinking it could not be much longer before Tom's arrival. Then it struck her that it might cheer him to have a bit of warm supper. Moreover, the preparation of it would occupy her while she waited, she thought, and help to make the time pass.

But when the meal was ready, and the clock pointed to ten o'clock, there were still no signs of Tom.

Eleven o'clock struck, and the sharp, quick strokes of the little drum clock, as she counted them, made her begin to feel anxious.

Where could Tom be? She looked regretfully at the meal she had made ready for him in vain and she sighed. She went outside again but this time it was as much to cool her hot brow as to look for Tom's coming.

At midnight she was, more anxious than before. Tom could not possibly be with Mr. Coode until suah an hour as this. But if not, where was he? Could they have locked him up?

The thought harassed her so much that at last she'felt she must find out for herself whether there was any ground for it. She resolved to go down to Tom's oottago and ascertain whether any tidings of him were to be obtained there.

The village was very still and dark as she hurried through it. As she passed the cottage where Savannah Morbyn lodged she saw a light in it and a sudden impulse prompted her to go and ask for Savannah and find out whether she had seen Tom.

She knocked lightly at the door. A woman came to the door holding a lighted candle above her head and, peering out. asked who it was. "It's me, Mary Ashworth, Mrs. O'Brien," said Mary."Is Savannah in?" 'Deed and she's not." answered the woman." She's away, and she'll not be comin' back till after Whitsuntide." "Thank 3rou. I happened to be passing, and, seeing a light, I thought I would ask her question. That's all. Good night."

The newsjyasa.ljttle relief to Marv.

Wherever Tom might be,it was certain he was not—but she chided herself for even harboring such a thought, and left it unexpressed.

She hurried on to Tom's cottage and found it all in darkness. At first she did not like to knock, but her anxiety overcame all her other feelings and she went up to the door. It was unlocked, however, and pushing it open she entered.

The old man, hearivig a noise, called out: "Is that you, Tom? Are you come back?" "No, Mr. Roylanee, it's me," said Mary, going into the inner room where he lay, "where is Tom?" "That's just what I don't know, my lass. I don't know wliatever's come to the Jad., ne, went out somewhere about eight or nine, I should think it was, and came rushing in half an hour ago all in a hurry-scurry. Stopped about five or six minutes, and then came to mo and said ho war, going off. 'Where are you going, lad?' I asked. 'Don't know, father, I'll let you know in a day or so. I am going away for the holidays.' But he didn't look like holidaying, not to my eyes. lie was all excited and trembling and shaking and pale, and 1 don't know what.. S'uiSS' "What's the matter, Tom?' I asked him. But he just said naught and he shook my hand and stooped and kissed me on the forehead—a thing he ain't done for years. 'What I'm doin', I'm doin' for the best,' he said. 'Don't think too hard on me!' Bless the lad, what could I think hard on him for? But before I could tell him that, he was gone."

What she heard multiplied Mary's uneasiness many times. She said quietly and soothingly: "Lie down, father, and try to get some sleep. I'll stop and see if Tom comes in."

She smoothed his pillows, made the bed more comfortable, shaded the lamp from his face and then sat down by the head of the bed to watch and wait.

She sat as still as sleep itself, thinking over what had been told her and wondering what it could mean. Had he determined to take Mr. Coode's offer and leave the town, after his many assertions that he would do nothing of the kind? If so, was Savannah in any way connected with his going away? That thought was like a dagger thrust.

She could not sleep. Her brain was too restless, too busy, too all-inquiring. She watched the darkness outside lift and lighten gradually and when the faint gray light came stealing in through the white blind, throwing up in dim outline the figure and then the features of the old man who lay sleeping on the bed, Mary rose and put out the lamp, and then watched the light as it broadened and brightened, and listened to the sounds of the dawn as they came in faintly from without.

The light was full and strong enough to show Mary the time by the small clock on the mantel board—six o'clock—when her ear caught the sound of the footsteps of those who were intending to begin their holiday early in the day.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the door of the cottage, making the girl start. Then a hand tried the door and. finding it open, some one came with a heavy step along the passage. "What is it?" asked Mary, going to meet the incomer, and speaking in a low voice so as not to wake the old old man. "I've come to tell Tom the news, lass," said the man, a neighbor, who was dressed in his best and going for his holiday. "The news?" said Mary. "A strange time for telling news, Mr. Bridge," she said, cheerfully. "Aye, and it's strange news to tell, lass, too. Some one got into the mill last night and killed old Mr. Coode. He was found dead this morning when Jake Farnworth went in." "Dead! Killed!" cried Mary, in a hushed, horror-laden voice. "Aye. killed, sure enough, with his face all battered and beaten out of shape and knowledge. It's naught but murder, that job."

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW THE WEAPON WAS FOTND. The news of the murder spread through the mill village and filled all classes of the people with consternation.

Mr. Coode had not, for some years, taken a very active part in the conduct of the mill but in former times he had been a well-known figure in Walkden Bridge—known to every one as a fair and just dealing if somewhat hard master. He had not been very popular, it is true but certainly no one in the place could have been supposed to harbor anything like sufficient hostility to wish for his death.

There was no doubt, however, that the cause of death was murder. The dead man's face had been battered out of all knowledge, while a terrible blow from behind had crushed in the skull with force enough to have killed an ox—so said the doctor.

At about six o'clock an engineer had gone to the mill to make some repairs, taking advantage of the engine being stopped for the holidays and as he had to pass the office, he chanced to see through the open door the signs of Bome confusion. He looked in and found that evidently something was amiss, as the chairs and office stools were overturned, a lamp that stood on the desk had been thrown down and broken, papers and books were scattered in all directions, and everything looked, as he said, "as if there had been a regular free fight."

Then, lying on one side of the office table that stood in the middle of the room, he had found the body of Mr. Coode. ne had rushed out at once and given the alarm, sending the first person he met for the police while he ran for the doctor.

Doctor and police arrived about the same time, and both had agreed as to the_cViyse_of death- Nobody could look

at the room without seeing that a struggle must have taken place, and no one could see the barbarous disfigurement of head and face without at the same time understanding the cause of death.

Reuben Gorringe was very soon on the scene, and immediately began to question all concerned in a searching, vigorous manner. He made the engineer, Jake Farnswortli, who had discovered the body, tell the whole of his story over again carefully, and he wrote it down from his dictation. "You say you found the office door open?" he asked. "Yes enough to let me see a chair lying on the ground and a paper or two near it. I could see as things weren't all right, and that made me push the door open wider," st.id the man. "Show me exactly how far it was open," said Gorringe, as if he thought na]ich of the noint.

The man went out and pulled the door within about six or nine inches of being completely shut. "That's about it, sir, as near as I can judge," said the man from without. "And I pushed it like this," and he showed the others what he had done. "That's strange," said Gorringe, looking very thoughtful. "Why strange?" said the doctor. &S "Why strange?" he echoed, turning and looking hard at the doctor. "Why, because I thought that door would shut of itself. That's all." "Don't see that it matters very much, Mr. Gorringe," said the police inspector, looking very profound. "Don't you? Well, perhaps it doesn't. But you see it may all depend on the position of that door to show whether the villain who did this did it deliberately and calmly, or whether he was flurried and nervous and so hurried the matter."

All through the impromptu investigation which Gorringe carried through, the rest were much impressed by the direct character of his questions and the clear method in which he elicited the facts.

When he came to deal with the doctor, he was searching in his questions. "Of course," said the doctor, with professional caution, "I cannot pledge myself until I have made an autopsy but there can be no reasonable doubt as to the cause of death. This fracture in the base of the skull," pointing to it, "would have killed the strongest man in the world it has crashed right into the brain. Either of these wounds in the face would also probably have been enough to cause death." "Virtually, of course, there can be no doubt that the blows either on the face or at the back of the head caused death?" asked Gorringe. ""Virtually, no doubt at all," said the doctor. "Not the slightest," agreed the police inspector. "That's clear as day." W' "Well, inspector, do you want 'to take charge of the place here, or of the body? I should like it removed'as soon as possible. If the doctor here makes the post mortem this morning and we get the inquest held for this afternoon, the jury can view the body and the room as it is and wo can have my poor old friend buried at once."

The other man agreed to this as an excellent arrangement, and with that they all went out of the office, Gorringe closing and locking the door after them. Before he locked it, however. he tried it once or twice to see whether, when it was shut, it would come open easily and without being touched by anyone. It would not, and this fact seemed to afford him matter for thought. "By the way," said the police inspector, "there's one thing I've very foolishly forgotten. What about the weapon with which this was done? I didn't see anything in the room." "Nor I there was nothing. But you can see to that when you go back to get the body away for the post-mor-tem," answered Gorringe. "Whatever the weapon was, if it was left behind it'll be there. What should you tMnk it was, doctor?" "Well, I can scarcely say without a closer examination of the wounds but I should think it was some bluntish instrument, with perhaps a knob or lump at the end. with a jagged odge. It looks like that." "Ah, well, I dare say it'll turn up good morning," and Gorringe walked away homewards to breakfast.

About ten o'clock, while Mary was sitting with old Mr. Roylanee, she was surprised by Reuben Gorringe, who walked in and started to find her there. •'You here, Mary?" he said. "Where's Tom?"

Mary looked at him quietly and earnestly, yet with fear in her eyes, and with very pale cheeks. "He is not at home," she answered. "Not at home! Why, where is he then?" "How can I tell?" answered the girl, with assumed indifference and motioning toward the old man to prevent anything being said before him. "This is a sad business, Mr. Roylance," said Gorringe. "I came in to see Tom, as I thought ,1 might want him at the mill. Never mind if he's out. I must see you at once," he added to Mary in an undertone. "Come into the other room."

Reuben Gorringe went into the next room, and she followed as soon as possible. Gorringe was looking at a book of Tom's which he put down as she entered. "Where is Tom?" he asked again. "Why has he run away?" "Wrhat do you mean?" she answered, indignantly. "How dare you to say he has run away—you,of all men?" "Why I, of all men?" he answered, looking at her keenly. "Because you yourself as good as told him to go away on pain of being prosecuted. I heard Mr. Coode when he said it yesterday. If he has gone in consequence of this, how can you come and ask where he is? Are you still so eager to prosecute?" "Mary, don't speak so harshly. I came this morning to see Tom and tell him that now this thing has happened he need have no further fear and this is my reception." He said this in an aggrieved tone.

"Well, 1 do not know where he is but I suppose he has gone away because you and Mr. Coode told him he'd be prosecuted. That seems the likeliest reason," answered Mary. "When did he go?" asked Gorringe. "Somewhere about eight o'clock last evening, I fancy," answered Mary, as unconcernedly as possible. "I did not see him after six or seven." "Must havQ been later than that, I fancy. He was in the village after that. Some one met liim near the Two Stories bridge after ten o'clock." This was a spot within fifty yards of the mill. "Well, I don't know. I don't think he can have been there, for I was on the lookout to see him." "You were on the lookout!" said Gorringe, sharply, looking quickly and searchingly at her. "Yes and I think I should have seen him." '•Well, he'd better come back, wherever he is, and whenever ho went," said Gor'ringe, significantly. "I'm sorry he's gone away I wanted him to have come up to the mill to run through the papers with me. I must go this terrible business has upset everything. Good-by."

He put his hat on and turned hurriedly away—so hurriedly that he knocked down the book at which he had been glancing. With a muttered exclamation at his carelessness he picked it up, and, instead of putting it back on the table, gave it into the girl's hands. "Oh, I beg your pardon," ho said, smiling. "I meant to put it down on the table but I am absent-minded this morning." "Never mind," answered Mary "I'll put it in its proper place on that shelf there." "I found it on the table," he said, as if excusing himself for having had it in his hand at all. "No matter," she answered.

She was sorry she had spoken sharply to him, for it was good of him to come to tell Tom that now there was nothing more to fear in the matter of the lost money. "What a pity Tom had not stayed to face it out. It looked now so much like guilt on his part to have left the place.

But over all her thoughts there brooded, like a dark cloud of gloom, the fear that there might be some other and more terrible reason for his having gone away. She herself had urged him to go and see Mr. Coode at the mil] and she asked herself with fear and trembling whether lie had gone there and if so what had passed between the two? Despite her utmost efforts she could not keep away that cold feeling at the heart which seemed to chill her blood, at the recollection of the wild words she had heard him utter about Mr. Coode and those who had wronged him about the money.

Then she thought of the book she held in her hand—a large albujp. Chancing to open it she turned tlie leaf where were the photographs of Tom and herself. All the circumstances of the time when it had been taken flashed into her memory. She closed the book with a sigh deeper than ever, and fastening the clasp carried the allium to the shelf on which it always rested.

As she put it back she noticed that some of the other books were out of place, and she tried to push them into line. There seemed to be something behind which prevented them from going into their proper places. She took down two or three to see what was the cause of their sticking out, and then saw a paper parcel lying behind them. "This is not like you, Tom," she whispered to herself, under her breath, as she took it out, and made room for the books on the shelf.

It was something very heavy, about eighteen inches in length, and was wrapped in strong writing paper. It had evidently been wrapped up hurriedly and when she looked closely at the paper she saw that it was some of that which Tom had been in the habit of using for his accounts for the sick fund—large foolscap sheets of thick white paper.

She felt it curiously all along, and it seemed to be square with a large knob at one end. It could not be anything very important, she thought, or Tom would never have left it where he had. Thinking this, she unfolded the paper.

Suddenly she uttered a cry. It was a short square bar of steel, with a fragment of a broken cog-wheel at one end. The broken end was stained with blood, and clinging to it were a number of gray hairs, and there was blood on the inner paper.

Mary stood gazing at the fearsome object almost like one spellbound. The air round her went dark and thick. She could scarcely breathe, and grew giddy. She thought she was going to faint. Then a sound of some one moving in the passage behind her recalled her from her fright, and she sought in stinctively to cover up the dreadful thing she had found.

But she was too late. Before she could hide it, or even hide the marks of the blood, Reuben Gorringe entered the room. "I forgot to say, just now, Mary," he began, then, changing his tone suddenly, he cried: "My God! Mary, what's that? What have you there?" and he hurried forward and took it from her scarce resisting hand, and scrutinized it minutely.

Then he lifted his eyes from the gruesome sight, and looked at the girl and each read the thoughts which it had stirred in the other.

(To Be Continued.)

ONE fare for the round trip to Kansas City, Leavenworth, Atchinson and St. Joseph, Mo., Laurence and Topeka, Kan., points in Southeastern Kansas and all points in Texas, May 29th also an excursion to all points in Arkansas and Texas on May 8tli, one fare for the round trip. Tickets good going on dates of sale as above and good to return 30 days from date of sale. Quick time and best of accommodations via the Wabash R. R. For further particulars call on Ticket Agent McConnell, Lafayette, Ind.

flOOSIER HAPPENINGS.

Information of Espeoial Interest to Indtanians.

A E. neck Murdered In Tndianapolis. INDIANAPOLIS, Ind., April 25.—Attorney Albert E. Beck, one of the brightest lawyers of the Indianapolis bar and Congressman Bynum's law partner, was murdered some time Wednesday night in his bed at the home of John Lame, at Ashland avenue and Twentieth street Mrs. Lame found the lawyer Tuesday morning with a bullet hole in his right temple and lier husband's revolver in the bed. The dead man's revolver was fouud in the dresser with all chambers loaded. The slats in the window shutter at Beck's room had been cut with a sharp knife. A door leading to his room from a porch was also found open. The crime is thus far a mystery. No possible motive has been suggested.

Mr. Beck was a widower, and boarded at the Lame house with his 20-year-old daughter, Miss Edith, who was. home from Depauw university on her vacation. The dead lawyer had an office in the Lombard building with Lawyer Henry T. Ertle. Just before going home Monday night Mr. Ertle was with Beck, and says the man was never in a better mood. tJJ

Kncli Accuses the Other of iMurticr. MU^ICIE, Ind., April 25.—Great interest was manifested Tuesday in the preliminary hearing of Frank Benadauin, Mike Gorman and William Watson, cli/rged with the murder of Attorney Baile}'. The state's evidence was concluded. As the case now stands Benadauin, the proprietor, and bis bartender, Gorman, each accuse the other of the murder, and very likely both will be bound over to the circuit court. Watson's home is at Sidne3', 0., where lie bears a good reputation. lie will likely be discharged.

Shot His Wife and llimseir. LEBANON, Ind., April 25.—Edward Workman, eldest sou of Rev. T. C. Workman, of the M. E. church, shot, and fatally wounded his wife and himself on the streets in this city Tuesday morning. The cause of the tragedy was jealousy. He fouud a letter his wife had received from another man and it so enraged him that when he met her on the street he began firing a revolver at her. She fell face downward. Workman then shot himself twice in the head. Both will die.

lSrakenmn Saves a Child's Lire. WALSASIT, Ind., April 25.—Thomas Collins, a freight brakemau on the Wabash, saved the life of a child in the yard here Tuesday. The engine of Collins' train was backing in on a siding, and the 9-year-old son of George l'feil ran up on to the track in front of the locomotive. Collins was riding on the brake beam. Seeing the peril of the child he held on with one hand, and, reaching down with the otl^er, lifted the youngster out of the jaws of death as the mother carno screaming down the track.

Cut Ills Mstor's Tliroat.

OSGOOD, Ind., April 25.—Henry Borgmau was arrested Tuesday for the murder of his sister. lie is 115 years of age and she was 20. The coroner's investigation showed that Borgman had been carrying on illicit relations with his sister and she revolted and he cut her throat. The murderer was taken to the jail at Versailles and it is rumored that a mob is gathering to lynch him. The Borginans lived near this town.

Big Fire at Franklin.

FRANKLIN,Ind., April26.—At1o'clock this morning the large flouring mill and elevator of C. W. McDaniel is burning and will be totally destroyed. Loss is estimated at $50,000 fully insured. McLaughlin's planing mill and the Merchants' hotel, just west of the mill, are in imminent danger and will probably be consumed, besides other buildings on the east side of the mill.

Wild Chase Is in Progress.

CROWN POINT, Ind., April 25.—While the Pan-Handle operator and agent were at dinner Tuesday a lame tramp entered the office, broke the lock on the money drawer, took £40 dollars in bills and then started toward Chicago. A deputy sheriff is on the trail of the tramp.

Anderson Women Go Slumming. ANDERSON, Ind., April 25.—Tuesday afternoon a slumming committee, composed of Mesdames S. E. Farmer, S. Cook and Bethany Noland, officers of the W. C. T. U., called at the sporting houses to ascertain the extent of the vices.

Held on a Charge of Forgery. RICHMOND, Ind., April 25. W. A. Richey, charged with forgery, was bound over to the circuit court. It is claimed that he forged the signature of the Standard Paving company oi Detroit, Mich., for which he worked.

Killed in Boiler Explosion. HUNDINGTON, Ind., April as.—A boiler explosion Tuesday destroyed the tile mill of Houser & Foutz. The fatalities were: Elmer Anson, killed, and David Houser and Adam Fouta fatally injured.

Nominated for Congressman. INDIANAPOLIS, Ind., April 25.—The Indianapolis (Seventh district) republican convention Tuesday afternoon nominated Charles L. Henry, of Madison county, for con err ess.

liaughey Bank Trial Remmed. INDIANAPOLIS. Ind., April 25.—The trial of the Haughey bank cases were resumed Tuesday afternoon. A. C. Harris, who was shot a week ago Tuesday, was not able to be in court, but the other attorneys for the defendants agreed that the trial should proceed.

¥oung Girl Elopes with a 81ranger. RIDGEVILLE, Ind., April 25.—Miss Daisy Nunemaker, 16 years old, of this place, the only child of George and Angelina Nunemaker, a highly respected and well-to-do couple, eloped Tuesday with a young man who was an entire stranger to the place.^