Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 130, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 June 1915 — DARK HOLLOW [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

DARK HOLLOW

By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

(Copyright, 1014, toy Dodd, Mead A Companyl

SYNOPSia. A carious crowd of neighbors invade Hm mysterious home of Judge Ostrander, bounty judge and eccentric recluse, following * veiled woman who has gained through the gates of the high {double barriers surrounding the place. The woman has disappeared but the judge to found in a cataleptic state. Bela, his servant, appears in a dying condition and prevents entrance tn a secret door. Bela alee. The judge awakes. Miss Weeks •explains to Mm what has occurred during Ms eelsura He secretly discovers the {Whereabouts of the veiled woman. She ■proves to be the widow of a man tried before the judge and uiectrocuted for mur•der years before. Her daughter Is enW**ed to the judge’s son, from whom he Is {estranged, but the murder is between the Bovera she piano to dear her husband’s {memory and asks the judge's aid. Alone Un her room Deborah Scoville reads the newspaper dippings telling the story of •ttie murder of Algernon Etheridge by •John Scoville InDark Hollow, twelve {years before. The judge and Mrs. Scoville poet at Spencer’s Folly and she shows ihlm bow. on the day of the murder, she Bw the shadow of a man. whittling a ck and wearing a long peaked cap. like r husband's. Until long afterward she •did not know that her husband had not worn that cap on the fatal day. The {Judge engages her and her daughter iHeuther to live with him in his mysteri•ous home.

CHAPTER VII.

A Bit of Stool. "When are you going to Judge Outran der’s?” "Tomorrow. This Is my last free •day. So If there is anything for me to do. do tell me. Mr. Black, and let me 'get to work at once.” ‘There is nothing you can do. The matter is hopeless. I told you so the •other night, apd now. after a couple of days of thought on the subject I «m obliged to repeat my assertion. Tour own convictions in the matter, •nd your story of the shadow and the peaked cap may appeal to the public land assure you some sympathy, but for an entire reversal of its opinion you will need substantial and incontrovertible evidence. Find me something definite to go upon and we will Doubtfully she eyed hjm. "What you want" she observed at length, with • sigh, “is the name of the man who sauntered-down the ravine ahead of my husband. I cannot give it to you now, but I do not despair of learning It I have got to renew old acquaintances; revive old gossip; possibly, recall to life almost obliterated memories.” x Mr. Black, dropping his hand from ibis vest gave her his first look of unqualified admiration. “You ring true,” said he. “I have met men qualified to lead a forlorn Ihope; but never before a woman. Al,low me to express my regret that it is such a forlorn one.” Mrs. Scoville rose. Then she sat "down again, with the remark: T have a strange notion. It's a hard thing to explain and you may not understand me, but I should like to see, if it still exists, the stick —my husband’s stick —with which this crime was committed. Do the police retain •uch things? Is there any possibility of my finding it laid away in some drawer at headquarters or on some dusty shelf?”

Mr. Black was again astonished. Was this callousness or a very deep •nd determined purpose. "You shall see the stick if it is still to be found. I will take you to police headquarters if you will go heavily veiled. We don’t want any recognition of you there yet” “Mr. Black, you are very good. How soon—” "Now," he announced, jumping up to get his hat There was one little fact of which iMr. Black was ignorant—that the pojlice had had their eye on the veiled : lady at Claymore inn for several days mow and knew who his companion was the instant they stepped into headiquarters. In vain his plausible excuses for showing his lady friend the curiosities of the place; her interest in the details of criminology was well Sderstood by Sergeant Doolittle. Lerefore, when he saw the small, mocking eye of the lawyer begin to roam over the shelves, and beheld his jaw drop as it sometimes did when he ■sought to veil his purpose in an air of mild preoccupation, he knew what the next request would tje, as well as if the low sounds whjcli left Mr. Black’s Slips at intervals had been words instead of inarticulate grunts. He was, therefore, prepared when the question ■did come. “Any memorial of the Etheridge case?” “Nothing but a stick with bloodjmarks on it. That, Tm afraid, wouldn’t be a very agreeable sight for a lady’s ■ “She’s proof,* the lawyer whispered Un the officer’s ear. “Let’s see the The sergeant considered this a very interesting experience—quite a jolly Break in the dun monotony of the day. (Hunting up the stick, he laid it in the (lawyer's hands, and then turned his eye upon the lady. She had gone pale, but it took her but an instant to regain her equanimity and hold out her own hand for the AM so the three stood there, the men's faces ironic, inquisitive, won«lering at the woman’s phlegm if not 1 her motive; herd, hidden behind her HU, but bent forward ow the weapon ]

in an attitude of devouring interest Thus for a long, slow minute; then she impulsively raised her bead and, beckoning the two men nearer, she directed attention to a splintered portion of the handle and asked them what they saw there. “Nothing; just stick,” declared the sergeant “The marks you are looking for are higher up." “And you, Mr. Black?” He saw nothing either but stick. But he was little less abrupt in his answer. “Do you mean those roughnesses?” he asked. “That’s where the stick was whittled. You remember that he had been whittling at the stick— f “\NhoV‘ The word shot from her lips so violently that for a moment both men looked staggered by it Then Mr. Black, with unaccustomed forbearance. answered gently enough: “Why, Scoville, madam; or so the prosecution congratulated Itself upon having proved to the jury's satisfaction. It did not tally with Scoville’s story or with common sense I know. You remember—-pardon me —I mean that any one who read a report of the case, will remember how I handled the matter in my speech. But the prejudice in favor of the prosecution—l will not say against the defense —was too much for me, and common sense, the defendant’s declarations, and my eloquence all went for nothing.” "Of course they produced tho knife?" “Was ft a new knife, a whole one, I mean, with all its blades sharp and in good order?” “Yes. I can say that I handled it several times.” “Then, whose blade left that?” And again she pointed to the same place on the stick where her finger had fallen before. “I don’t know what you mean.”. The sergeant looked puzzled. Perhaps, his eyesight was not very keen. “Have you a magnifying glass? There is something embedded in this wood. Try and find out what it is.” The sergeant, with a queer look at Mr. Black, who returned it ’ r lth interest went for a glass, and when he had used it the stare he gave the heavily veiled woman drove Mr. Black to reach out his own hand for the glass. “Well,” he burst forth, after a prolonged scrutiny, "there is something there.” 'The point of a knife blade. The extreme point,” she emphasized. "It might easily escape the observation evfen of the most critical, without such aid as is given by this glass.’ “No one thought of using a magnifying glass on this,” blurted out the sergeant “The marks made by the

knife were plain enough for all to see, and that was all which seemed important.” Mr. Black said nothing; he was feeling a trifl-j cheap —something Which did not agree with his crusty nature. Not having seen Mrs. Scoville for a half-hour without her veil, her influence over him was on the wane, and he began to regret that he had laid himself open to this humiliation. She saw that it would be left for her to wind up the interview and get out of the place without arousing too much much attention. With a selfpossession which astonished both men, knowing her immense interest in this matter, she laid down the stick, and, with a gentle shrug of her shoulders, remarked in an easy tone: “Well, it’s curious! The ins and outs of a crime, I mean. Such a discovery ten years after the event (I think you said ten years) is very interesting.” Then she sighed: “Alas! it’s too late to benefit the one whose life it might have saved. Mr. Black, shall we be going? I have spent a most entertaining quarter of an hour.** Mr. Black glanced <rom her to the h«r- Then.

with one of his sour smiles directed towards the former, he said: “I wouldn’t be talking about this, sergeant. It will do no good, and may subject us to ridicule." The sergeant, none too well pleased, nbdded slightly. Seeing which, she spoke up: “I don’t know about that, I should think it but proper reparation to the dead to let It be known that his own story of innocence has received this late confirmation.” But the lawyer continued to shake his head, with a very sharp look'at the sergeant. If he could have his way he would have this matter stop just where it was. e’*• • • • •

“This Is my daughter, Judge Ostrander; Reuther, this is the judge.” The introduction took place at the outer gates whither the judge had gone to receive them. Reuther threw aside her veil and looked up into the face bent courteously towards her. It had no look of Oliver. They were fine eyes notwithstanding, piercing by nature, but just now misty with a feeling that took away all her fear. He was going to like her; she saw it in every trembling line of his countenance, and at the thought a smile rose to her lips. With a courteous gesture he invited them in, but stopping to lock one gate before leading them through x the other, Mrs. Scoville had time to observe that since her last visit with Its accompanying inroad of the populace, the two openings which at this point gave access to the walk between the fences had been closed Up with boards so rude and dingy that they must have come from some old lumber pile in attic or cellar.

The judge detected her looking at them. “I have cut off my nightly promenade,” said he. “With youth in the house, more cheerful habits must prevail. Tomorrow I shall have my lawn cut, and if I must walk after sundown I will walk there.” The two women exchanged glances. Perhaps their gloomy anticipations were not going to be realized. But once within the house, the judge showed embarrassment. “I have few comforts to offer,” said he, opening a door at his right and then hastily closing it again. “This part of the house is, as you see, completely dismantled and not —very clean. But you shall have carte blanche to arrange to your liking one of these rooms for your sittihg room and parlor. There is furniture in the attic and you may buy freely whatever else is necessary. I don't want to discourage little Reuther. As for your bedrooms —” He stopped, hemmed a little and flushed a vivid red as he pointed up the dingy flight of uncarpeted stairs towards which he led them. “They are above; but it is with shame I admit that I have not gone above this floor for many years. Consequently, I don’t know how it looks up there or whether you can even find towels and things. Have I counted too much on your good nature?”

“No; not at all. In fact, you simply arouse all the housekeeping instincts within me.” The judge, drew a breath of relief and led Reuther towards a door at the end of the hall. “This is the way to the dining room and kitchen,” he explained. “I have been accustomed to having my meals served in my own room, but after this I shall join you at table. Here,” he continued, leading her up to the iron door, “is the entrance to my den. You may knock here if you want me, but there is a curtain beyond, which no one lifts but myself. You understand, my dear, and will excuse an old man’s eccentricities?” She smiled, rejoicing only in the caressing voice, and in the yearning, almost fatherly, manner with which he surveyed her. “I quite understand,” she said; “and so will mother.” "Reuther," he now observed with a strange intermixture of gentleness and authority, “there is one thing I wish to say to you at the very start I may grow to love you—God knows that a little affection would be a welcome change in my life —but I want you to know and know now, that all the love in the world will not change my* decision as to the impropriety of a match between you and my son Oliver. That settled, there is no reason why all should not be clear between us.” “AU is clear.” Faint and far off the words sounded, though she was standing so near he could have laid his hand on her shoulder. Then she gave one sob as though in saying thir she heard the last clod fall upon what would never see resurrection again in this life, and, lifting her head, looked him straight in the eye with a decision and a sweetness which bowed bis spirit and caused his head in turn to fall upon his breast. “What a father can do for a child, I will do for you.” he murmured, and led her back to her mother. A week, and Deborah Scoville had evolved a home out of chaos. That is, within limits. She had not entered shs judge* rooms, nor even offered to

do bo. Later, there must be a change. So particular a man as the Judge would soon find himself too uncomfortable to endure the lack of those attentions which be had been used t<J tn Bela’s day. He had not even asked for clean sheets, and sometimes she had found herself wondering, with a strange shrinking of her heart, if his bed was ever made, or whether he had not been driven at times to lie down in his clothes.

She had some reason for these doubtful conclusions. In her ramblings through the house she had come upon Bela's room. It was in a loft over the kitchen and she had been much amazed at Its condition. In soma respects it looked as decent as she obuld expect, but in the matter of bed and bed clothes it presented an aspect somewhat startling. The clothes were there, tossed in a heap on the floor, but there was no bed in sight nor anything which could have served as such. It had been dragged out. Evidences of this were everywhere on the narrow, twisted staircase. A smile, half pitiful, half self-scornful, curved her lips as she remembered the rat-tat-tat she had heard on that dismal night when she clung listening to the fence,

and wondered now if it had not been the bumping of this cot sliding from st«p to step. Bu| no! the repealed stroke of a hammer is unmistakable. He had played the carpenter that night as well as the mover, and with no visible results. Mystery still reigned in the house for all the charm and order she had brought into it; a mystery which deeply interested her, and which she yet hoped to solve, notwithstanding its remoteness from the real problem of her existence.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Picture. Night! and Deborah Scoville waiting anxiously for Reuther to sleep, that she might brood undisturbed over a new and disturbing event which for the whole day had shaken her out of her wonted poise, and given, as it were, a new phase to her life in this house. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

She Had Gone Pale.

“What a Father Can Do, I Will Do for You."