Indianapolis Times, Volume 38, Number 115, Indianapolis, Marion County, 19 August 1926 — Page 8

PAGE 8

“The VANITY CASE” A Tale of Mystery and Love - By CAROLYN WELLS—-

BEGIN HERE TODAY In Harbor Gardens. Lonsr Islands. In an elaborate bungalow. lived PERRY HEATH and his wife. MYRA. At the time the story opens the Heaths were entertaining as house guests: LAWRENCE INMAN, a distant relative of Myra's and. aside from Perry, the only heir to her considerable fortune. and BUNNY MOORE, young, vivacious, golden-haired, an old friend of Myra's. Myra Heath was a peculiar woman. She was cold, sarcastic. She did not love her husband, hut seemed enamored of Inman. She never used cosmetics or dressed in colors. In fact, her hatred of color amounted to a passion. She collected rare old bottles and her latest was a whisky bottle which she was quite proud of. but which aroused her artistic husband TO scorn. There is a growing intimacy between Perry Heath and Bunny. Myra, becoming provoked, declares that she has made her will in favor of Inman, cutting Perry off. _ . „ That night after Bunny and Inman retire. Myra Heath alludes mysteriously to n erry's “secret.” When Perry goes to bed, Inman comes down stairs and lie and Myra are discovered in each other s arms later by Perry. _ The next morning, Mrs. Prentiss, who lives next door, was telling her nephew, Todhunter Buck, of some mysterious lights she had seen the night before in the Heath bungalow. While they are talking a loud scream from the Heath homo interrupts their conversation. Katie, the maid, had found Myra's body, the face beautifully made up with cosmetics, in the studio. The butler finds Perry Heath's room unoccupied and awakens Inman. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER V (Continued) Herrick’s excitement made him incoherent, and without waiting to dress, Inman flung on a dressing gown, over his pajamas, and pushing the man aside, hurried down the stairs. He went straight to the studio, and gave a gasp as he looked down at the prostrate figure on the floor. The two candles were still burning, but they were sputtering and almost burnt out. Myra lay in a composed position, but with strange accessories. Her gown, the one she had worn the evening before, was of white georgette, sirrVply made. But across the bodice, now, was flung the deep crimson scarf that was Bunny’s. Round her neck was a'heavy string of larg’b, almost barbaric beads, of red and gold. Instinctively, Inman glanced up at a light sconce, where these beads usually hung, as a sort of decorative touch. Their place was empty. Had Myra decked herself in these things? He gazed at he” face. Always beautiful," in her ca'm pale way, she was fare more so now, with the color on cheeks and lips, with the dark touches that made her eyes look large and striking, and with the scarf of American beauty red, enlivening her white dress. And the candles —two of those from the long studio table, standing in their brass candlesticks at her head and feet, still faintly alight, but just ready to flicker out, these gave the effect of a shrine or a strange ceremonial of some sort. ‘‘Oh, my God!” Larry groaned, as a man will, who does not know what else to say. “She’s been killed, Mr. Inman, sir,” said Herrick, as he pointed to a great contusion on Myra’s left temple. This was not noticeable at glance, for the head was turned to thrft side, and the hair was a bit fluffed out as if to hide it.

Inman looked, then turned away In horror, and ran from the room. Herrlclc followed him, and they faced one another as they stood in the lounge. “What must we do, sir?” asked the man, and Inman stared at him speechlessly. “But we must do something,” Herrick urged, allowing himself the familiar pronoun by reason of the great stress of the occasion. “Yes, yes,” Larry roused himself to answer. “Yes, I suppose we must.” “Where is Mr. Heath, sir?” Herrick went on, anxiously. “Lord, I don't know. Where can he be? He must be around somewhere.” "No, sir, he ain’t. Why, he’d be right here, if he was. Now, what about Miss Moore?” “Miss Moore? Oh, yes,—well, jvhat about her?” “Why, sir, she ought to be —er — warned a bit, don't you think?” “Yes, yes, certainly. Warn her, Herrick, warn her, by all means,” Herrick stared. “It’s not for me, sir. I’ll send Mrs. Pierce or one of the maids.” "Yes, do. That’s right,—Mrs, Pierce or one of the maid3.” Herrick shook his head. Mr. Inman was a broken reed. And with Mrs. Heath dead and Mr. Heath absent. what was to be done? “Do you think, sir,” he said, forcing himself to suggest, “that we ought to call a doctor, or ” “A doctor? Oh, yes,—a doctor. Why,—why, Herrick, she's dead.” “I know, sir, but it’s most generally done in such cases. Oh, I wish Mr. Heath would come!” “I wish so, too. I’m—l’m no good in a matter like this. I’m no good, Herrick.” * * "No, sir," said Herrick, sincere for once. “Well, then, suppose I telephone for Doctor Conklin, he's the family physician.” “Yes, do, —do that, Herrick, at once.” “Yes, sir. And I'll send tarter, the ladies' maid, to Miss Moore, and she .can tell her, you see.” “I see.” “And you, sir, yourself, you'd better dress, for there'll be people coming, you know.” “Why, yes,—” Inman looked down at himself as if surprised at his garb. “Yes, certainly. I will.” • He went off to his room, and, closing the studio door, Herrick went to the telephone. He summoned Dr. Conklin, who prbrftlsed to come over at once. Then, with a swift glance about, Herrick pulled open a drawer in the big table, and from a loose pile of small bills, and a box containing silver coin, he helped himself rather liberally, stuffing the money in his pocket. He eyed what was left with the air of a connoisseur, derided it was as little as he safely dared leave, and closed the drawer again. Then he turned his attention to the dead woman, and silently contemplated the strange details af Myra Heath’s appearance. Never before had he seen his mistress with artificial color on her cheeks or lips; never before had he seen her wearing a crimson scarf;

never before, to his knowledge, had shb worn a string of ygaudy beads. It was beyond his powers of divination to fathom these mysteries. And then, at her feet, propped against the candlestick that stood there, he saw the card which he had seen many times before, —the ornate pen and ink work that bore the legend, “The Work of Perry Heath.” * * • CHAPTER VI To Herrick this carried no sinister suggestion, he merely thought the card had been dropped there and was about to pick it up when there seeped through his bewildered brain a vague memory that one should not touch things on the scene of a mysteribus death. /' So he restrained his impulse to blow out the last feeble flicekreings of the two candles, and, instead, raised the shades of the back windows to let in the daylight. Then, patting his pocket with a soft sigh of satisfaction, he went out of she room and sought the other servants. He found them in the pantry, agog with excitement at the tales of Katie and Mrs. Pierce, but not daring to report for duty until summoned. Herrick was unstrung himself, but kept his head, and assumed an extra engnity as he isseu dorders. “No gossipping now," he said; "Mrs. Pierce, you go on with getting the breakfast ready. We’ve no call to neglect our work. Carter, you go up to Miss Moore’s room, and —and —well, you do the best you can. Tell the young lady that Mrs. Heath has—has —say. she’s had an accident—yes, that will do, an accident. And get Miss Moore to dress at once, for the doctor is coming and after that goodness knows what goings on there will have to be!” . “Oh—l can’t toll Miss Buihny!” Carter burst into sobs. “Poor Mrs. Heath—are you sure, Herrick, she’s —dead? Let me see her." "No, nobody, must go into that room till the doctor comes, —or Mr. Heath.” “Where is Mr. Heath?” exclaimed Carter. “I don’t know,” Herrick said, slowly. “There’s a lot to be learned yet. You go along, Carter, get Miss Bunny dressed and take up her bi'eakfast. I'm at my wit’s end! Nobody to # boss—or, anything; Mr. Inman. he's all flabbergasted like, —I wish Mr. Heath would come back — wherever he's gone!" Carter obeyed the orders of her superior, and taking a tray with coffee and rolls, started for Bunny’s room. But even as she tapped at the door, she heard the sound oil wild sobbing within. No summons bade her enter, and after another knock, Carter opened the door and went in. Bunny was huddled in a forlorn heap in the middle of her bed, and was crying bitterly. “There now, tier now, Miss Bunny,” Carter said, moved to pity at the sight of the girl’s intense grief, “take a sup of coffee, d&—” With an air of bewilderment, Bunny looked up tin the maid’s face, and docilely took the cup she proffered. As she swallowed, she looked over the rim of the cup at Carter. “What is it?” she whispered. “What’s all the excitement about?” ’Well, Miss, you see, Mrs Heath, she—she isn’t so well.” “Not well! Myra! What do you mean?” “She’s —she's had an accident, ma’am.”

“Accident! What sort of accident?” “She—” but Carter's powers of vague prevarication were limited, and she blurted out, “why, she's dead, ma’am!” "Dead!” said Bunny, not hysteri rally, but with an awed, dazed air, her intent gijfee fixed on Carter's face. “Yes, ma’am,” the maid returned, ready, the Rubicon crossed, to dilate on the subject. “Dress me," Bunny said, almost sharply. “Never mind the bath, give me my clothes.” And in utter silence the girl rapidly donned her garments. A plainly tailored white voile gown was forthcoming and Bunny pUt it on, adding a nbcklace of small jet beads. “Do you know where Mr. Health is, ma’am?" said Carter, timidly, but determined to raise the question. “No, how should I? Isn’t he about?” “No, ma’am, Herrick can’t find him anywhere.” “Oh, he’s around somewhere, of course. No, I don’t want any more coffee. Where is—is Mrs. Heath?" “Oh, ma’am, she’s In the stujo—she’s—” “Never mind, Carter, I’ll go down now.” Bunny went slowly downstairs, pausing on every step. Just as she reached the lounge, Dr. Conklin ' entered. He was a brisk, alert sort of person, with sharp, penetrating eyes and a quick, jerkiness of movement. Though he had turned toward the studio, he paused at sight of Bunny, and looked at her inquiringly. “Belong here, do you?" he said, shortly. “I am a guest of the Heaths,” Bunny returned, a little brusque, because she was not accustomed to such abrupt manners. "Oh, you are. Where Is Mr. Heath? What am I wanted for, anyway?” Herrick, who had admitted the doctor, said, respectfully: “If you will come this way, sir." He led the way to the studio, and Dr. Conklin walked in silence after him. , Bunny fallowed timidly, and with hesitating steps. She saw the doctor pause suddenly as he reached the studio door, and clench his hands, while his face took on a look of horror. But he said no word, and strode over to the body that lay on the floor. The candle had gone out; a black wick fallen over in a small pool of melted wax being all that remained in each tall candlestick. For a few seconds the man’s piercing eyes took in the details, the card propped against one candlestick, the bizarre effect of the gay-

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colored beads and scarf, the glaring tints of the make-up on the dead face, and the terrible wound on the temple, that was visible only in part. Quicklyf then, he stooped and gently turned the head the better to examine this abrasion. It was obvious to him at once that death had resulted from a sudden and powerful blowy delivered by a strong hand. Also, the weapon used was in evidence. Beside the fractured skull lay the broken fragments of a Ijrown bottle of thick, heavy glass. About to pick these up, Dr. Conklin thought better of it, and contented himself with looking closely at them. "A brutal job!’ he said, indignantly. “This woman was struck on the temple with this heavy bottle, and killed almost Instantly! Who did it?” His question was addressed to no one in pa,rticular, but as he raised his eyes, he discovered he had several auditors. Bunny, wide-eyed and white-faced, had sunk into a chair, and was clutching at the window curtain nearest her. Larry Inman had come in also, and stood, against the mantel, his face set and horror-stricken. Herrick was Inside the room, on duty, but thtt other servants were hovering Just outside the studio door, all more or less moaning theii grief or murmuring their opinions. “Where is Mr. Heath?” the doctor asked, rising from his examination. “Who is in charge here?” There was a moment’s silence and then Inman said, "We do not know where Mr. Heath is, doctor. He has not been seen this morning at all. In his absence I suppose I would better assume charge of things. I am a cousin of Mrs. Heath's. Is it —is it—ntUrder?” Though he balked at the terrible word, every one listened breathlessly for the answer. “Murder? Yes! Os the most brutal, dastardly type! Where is this woman’s husband?” He turned to the butler, who shook his head. “Nobody knows, sir. Mr. Heath was here last night, but he is not here now. His bed seems not to have been slept in.” “Well, the further proceedings are not for m* to conduct. I will tell tne police, and they will take charge. Mr. Inman, will you call up the Harbor Park police station?” But Inman turned this task oveiw to Herrick. For one thing, Larry had no intention of taking orders from the family physician, and, too,

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ho was much shaken as to nerves, and it was more than he could face, to call in the police to investigate the death of Myra, his beautiful cousin! Ho made no apology for shifting the errand to another, and turned

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The name* in shl story are purely fictitious and are not to be taken aa rt ferring to any particular person, place o r fire..

CHAPTER LXVT "You!** she gasped. “You! John Manners!” He nodded without a word. They stood for a full minute, looking at each other, before Mary Rose recovered herself. “Won’t you come in?” she asked, and she led him into the little back parlor that was shining with ness and sweet with the smell of late roses from her own garden. What in the world had he come for, she wondered. Perhaps he had heard that she had left Cornelius Tuydeman’s office and wanted her to go back to work for him. “Well, I won’t!” she said to herself set foot in his office again!” Suddenly she realized how dreadful she must look in her shabby, soiled dress, her torn apron and patched shoes. She gave a nervous little laugh. “I must look like Cinderella!” she exclaimed, and crossed the room to the dim old mirror above the mantel. She began to pull the hairpins from her haid and to fluff it over her ears. / “I've brought you the little glass slipper,” he said, and if he tried to make his voice light and flippant he did not succeed. Mary Rose turned and faced him. “What do you mean?” she asked in that straightforward way of hers. John shifted on his feet. ‘Maybe the fairy tales have changed since I was a kid," he answered. “But when my mother told me the story, the Prince brought Cinderella the glass slipper when he asked her to marry him —that’s all.” He gulped. “You understand, I know I’m no Prince,” he went on, after a pause. “I know I’m an awful dub, but—-

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES—By MARTIN

FRECKLES AND lIIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

solicitously to Bunny, as he saw her face blanch afresh at the police call. I>r. Conklin looked at the pair curiously. They were not at all friendly in their attitude toward’ him, and he wondered why. (To Be Continued.)

will you marry me?” The familiar room seemed to whirl around Mary Rose like a spinlnng top. "Will I what?" she asked, and didn’t hear the sound of her own voice. ‘ ‘I want you to marry me.” She heard what he said plainly enough. And she walked away from him sat down in an old rocker on the other side of the room. She knew just what she was doing now. "No. I won’t,” she said clearly. “I wouldn’t many you If you were the last man on earth! You believed that tale that Flossie told you about me and—-Tom Fitzroy! You never gave me a chance to explain things to you!” “But what she told me must have been the truth. She said you were going to marry him, and you did marry him!” he said helplessly. “But I love you, anyt^py —” Mary Rose raised her little fist. “I can do without that sort of love!” she cried. "I don’t want the kind of love that doesn't trust me—doesn’t believe me!” He groaned and put his dark head down into his hands. ‘I do trust you!” he told her. “But it was so easy to think that you didn't really give a darn about me— I’m such a dub and you’re the loveliest thing on earth.” “If he thinks that about me when he sees me looking like this, he must really be in love with me!” Mary Rose told herself and she smiled. She came close to him and bent over him. “Put I do love you—l always have loved you better than anything on earth. And I’m afraid I always will,” she said softly, but he didn’t move. “You must have known I married poor Tom because he was dying,”

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she went on in that same soft voice. “The night he—went away and was hurt, I had told him I, never could marry him. He knew I loved you. He guessed it.” She stood there, when she had finished, longing to put her arms around him. so that she ached with that longing. But she hardened her heart against him. "You’d better stick to your Doris Hinig," she said bitterly. “I saw by the mo/ning paper that she was home from Europe! You'd better marry her because I never will!” "She won’t marry me." his voice was low and muffled. She* had to bend her head to hear what he was saying. "She knows what you can't seem to get through your head—that I want you and nobody but you.” He stood up suddenly, with his arms straight at his side. “You remember that letter you tore up—the one I sent to you, right after your husband died?” he asked, and she nodded. "That letter was no letter of condolence,” he told her, shaking his head. ‘T had no business writing it. It was a love letter to you—” She kept still and he went on: “It was Doris who showed me that piece In the paper, about your marriage to fitzroy in the hospital —and that morning she told me she never would marry me. You see, 1

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went all to pieces over that, newspaper clipping." / Mary Rose raised her eyebrows. She couldn't imagine the dignified John going to pieces over anything. And yet he was shaking now like a leaf. He had no dignity now! There was the softness of pity in her eyes as she looked at him and the Eternal Mother that is in every woman longed to comfort him —and the love that she had always had for him made her want to stretch out her arms and give herself to him. But she didn't move. "Mary Rose,” he said to her, “what is the use of all this? The mean little suspicions and the -misunderstandings and all the rest of it? Tell me the truth. Does anything matter so very much to you except the feeling you say you have for me?” She wouldn’t answer. “Suppose Flossie did tell me a lie and I believed it?’’ he pleaded for himself. “Can’t you see that it was my jealousy of Fitzroy that made me believe It? When he came down to the office, I used to want to throw him out on his head—” "Hush!" She raised her hand. “Hush—he’s dead, remember!” But it was not of Tom that Mary was thinking. All at once she saw clearly the mischief that Flcytsie had done the last few months. She had been the cause of Sam’s leaving

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the Dexter Company, and of Mary Rose's leaving, and even of poor Miss Mat-Far lane's brokenhearted going. And now the lie*she had told John Manners rose between them like a flaming sword —keeping him away from Mary Rose. “I don't know why I do this fool thing!” she sobbed, furious with herself for breaking down. 'l'm tired, I guess. We—we’ve been c-cleaning house all week 1-long—” “I know Avhy you’re crying,” heard him say, and then she was in his arms—in his arms where she had longed to be for endles months and months and months. He pressed her head back against his shoulder, and looked down at the grimy, tear stained face—the face he had said was the loveliest in the world. “Next time you clean a house, it'll be my house,” he whispered. “Tell me the next time you clean a house —lt will be my house—and yours!” “It will be your house —and mine!” she whispered, and then her lips closed. She raised them like a flower to his face. And at last she knew what it is like to be close held by the man you love —and the wonder and the glory that there is in his kiss. (The End)

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