Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 223, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 February 1929 — Page 11

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THIS HAS HAPPENED RUTH LESTER, beautiful secretary to ''HANDSOME HARRY BORDEN, suspects her employer of shady stock dealings and would resign but for a romance that springs up between her and JACK HAYWARD, whoee office is just across the narrow atrshaf*. from Bor- - den's. On a Saturday morning in January she informs BEYNY SMITH, office boy, of her engagement to Jack. When Borden comes In. Ruth hands him an orchid-tinted envelope which he Impatiently thrusts Into his pocket and f reels with an oath her Information hat the "woman with the beautiful contralto voice' called him. Ruth gets *SOO from the bank and two tickets with drawing-room for Winter Haven for Borden. RITA DUBOIS, night club dancer, who Is to accompanv Borden to the resort, ca'ls during the morning. Another caller is MRS. BORDEN, the promoter's wife and mother of his two children. Borden forces her to ask him for her monthly altmony on a certain date. Learning Borden Is busy, the wife agrees to return about 1:30. but before she leaves she glimpses a pistol In Ruth's desk. t When Rita leaves Borden waves goodby with the torn half of a bank note, reminding her of a certain bargain While Ruth is taking Borden's nictation he makes a plavful pass at her and she screams, jack In the opposite office hears hr.r and becomes vtofentlv angry at Borden. She meets Jack" for luncheon but forgets her bank book and rushes back to the office where she bruises her lip. She has a difficult time convincing Jack that Borden did not. hurt her. While they are iunchlng. Jack discovers he has left the theater tickets on his desk and he returns to get them. NOW CO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER VI JACK made an impatient get toward the waiter who had t ried to the table, order pad in ha„ /. “No dessert-. But you can bring the check. . . . What do you. mean— Borden?’’ he demanded of Ruth, in an odd, constrained voice, sis the waiter was removing dish of melted ice cream. “You—you look so queer that I thought you might have had a quarrel with Borden.” Ruth quivered, oblivious of the waiter’s presence. “Oh, Jack, what is the matter? Did you sec him?” Jack frowned, then poured himDelf a cup of coffee with a hand that trembled slightly. “Why should I see him? Watching Borden isn’t my favorite indoor sport!” He must have realized then how violent his voice was, for he \ftened it suddenly. “There’s nothing the matter, honey. I—just thought Id gather up some work to do over the week-end,” and he pointed to the well-filled brief case he had propped against the wall. “You're—going to work tomorrow?” Ruth asked slowly. Jack smiled at her, with oddly pale, taut lips. “Just during the day. We'll have our evening together. Sorry to have kept you waiting, sweetheart.” She tried gallantly to play up, though her heart felt like a stone in her breast. “Poor Letty! She’s like a ghost, isn't she dear? A drab, gray, old ghost, haunting a scrub paid and a mop. "Bpt 111 never forget Letty. You know, darling, it was your sweetness to old Letty that made me first realize that I loved you.” His smile became more natural, eager. “Yes? I thought you said last night you'd loved me since the first time you saw me, when you were feeding the pigeons” “Os course!” she noaded. almost happy again. “But I didn’t realize until the other day—Tuesday, wasn't it? How long ago It seems now!—when you were showing me your offices so proudly Remember? You'd sent Miss Hester out for a quart of chocolate, and you made poor old Letty have some, too.” a a a */AH, Letty and I are pals.” Jack V_y laughed. “Ever since her first day in the building, when I noticed that she was new. and told her I was glad to meet her, she's thought your precious Jack a ‘really remarkable fellow.’” "And he is!” Ruth cried., completely happy again. “Oh. Jack!” She caught her breath sharply on that beloved name. Then she laughed softly, her blue eyes limpid with love. "Darling. I'll never forget how comical you looked last night when I came back into the room without my spectacles, with my curls turned loose and that awful yellowish powder scrubbed off my face l —” “That was a mean trick to play

THE NEW Saint-Sinner ByJlnneJlustin *v**K***as*~

Twice on the seventy-five-mile drn e from Stanton to Beamish Harry Blaine was stopped by motorcycle traffic cops for speeding, and twice his reporter's badge and a guarded statement of his mission—that of following a clew as to the where abouts of kidnaped Crystal Hathaway—won him permission to continue as swiftly as Nils Jonson's very fast sedan could carry him. Lon Edwards’ amazing, frightening story had done away with all necessity for Harry's doing any preliminary detective work in the neighborhood of Beamish, where the ransom letter had been postmarked. It also had caused the reporter to have sickening doubts of the truth of the theory upon which he had been working—that Crystal Hathaway, for neurotic reasons of her own, had “kidnaped'' herself. It was a white-faced thoroughly frightened boy who bent low’ over the steering wheel, forcing the car to give every’ ounce of its power. Not frightened for his own safety, but for Crystal's. He had a loaded automatic in his pocket, and grimly hoped that he would have occasion to use it upon the fiend who had tortured Crystal so that she screamed. Conjuring up the scene in the shack by means of Lon Edwards’ story. Harry Blaine saw. in his mind’s eye as the sedan sped through the night, the girl of whom he had become genuinely fond struggling in the grip of her kidnaper. Saw’ her free herself momentarily, heard the scream torn from her thoat in an agonized effort to acquaint Lon Edwards and Grace Storm with her desperate plight; saw her strike the gun from tire kidnaper's herd, just as the fiend's c.th* r hand clamped over her mouth.

on a man!” Jack chided her tenderly. “Let him get himself engaged to one girl and then find himself saddled with an entirely different one!” "Are you sorry, darling?” she teased, the dimple tugging at the comer of her beautiful littfe mouth “I suppose I'll have to make the best of you,” Jack retorted. Then, to the waiter. “The check? Oh, Ruth, watching his face because she loved it so, saw a frown pass quickly over it as his eyes scanned the chccter And again joy fled from tier heart . . . She tried to grasp its flying wings: “Oh, no! Jack isn’t stingy! Why, he's the soul of generosity. I’ve seen him tip Lefcty and the elevator boys—” She turned away her eyes, lest she see that the tip was small. , . . She could not have borne that—not today! “Your brief case, sir!” the waiter called to Jack as he and Ruth were leaving. Jack accepted the heavy' bag with muttered thanks and Ruth thought he looked at it with distaste —disI gust even. “The poor dear doesn’t want to work, but feels that he has to, now that he’s an engaged man. planning to get married!” she deduced, trying to recapture joy. “Os course! That’s why the bill dismayed him. He wants to save for our home—now.” At the theater Jack refused the singsong offer, “Check your hat and coat and bag, sir. Check your hat and—” with a curt “No!” And he nursed the heavy’ bag on his knees during the entire performance of the play. The show they had chosen so happily the night before, when making their plans, proved a disappointment. It was a murder mystery. with the action taking place in a courtroom. Ruth had wanted to see it because of her familiarity with the law and with trial procedure, but unfortunately the district attorney looked something like her father, who had lost his life in a courtroom, and during the second act she burst into tears and cried so hard that people around them looked at her with impatient disapproval. “I think we'd better duck the rest of this,” Jack urged, his mouth tight and grim. “I never realized*— I'm not enjoying it any better than you are, darling. I’ve already guessed who the murderer is anyway—pretty obvious, and it’s rather a sordid way to spend our big afternoon.” “No. let’s stay,” Ruth choked. “I —I want you to get your money's worth.” When she had said it she could have bitten out her tongue. Her only excuse was that by this time she was so nervous and ill—she must be taking a dreadful cold!— that she hardly knew what she was saying. # a a THEY sat through the third act, hands touching only once. And she had dreamed all morning of that glorious opportunity for holding hands! “Let's go to the savings bank first then on to my apartment for dinner,” Ruth suggested, almost timidly, when they left the theater. “I want to cook for you—to get into practice.” “That's the spirit!” Jack applauded, but the smile on his lips scarcely touched his eyes. What—oh, what had happened? Ruth wondered desperately. But in the bank, open Saturday afternoons for savings bank depositors. he seemed more himself again, teasing her about her thriftiness. and gallantly relieving her of her handbag while she made out her deposit slip and endorsed her salary check. "Peeking to see what kind of lipstick I use?” she laughed at him, when she left the teller’s window. Jack closed her little brown leather handbag and flushed aa if he had been caught in the act of stealing. “Just curious to see what a girl stuffs into a handbag,” he grinned at her.

Cold sweat was breaking out on his grim, white face as Harry Blaine turned the car into the lane that led to Peter Hillday’s shack in the woods. The cabin was a popular retreat both summer and winter. Young Peter Holliday, son of old Peter Holliday, publisher of the Staton Press, on which Harry worked, spent almost every w’eek-end there, for fishing in the spring, summer and fall, and hunting after the season opened in November. Harrv himself had helped chop the gfeat pile of wood stacked against the rear wall of the cabin now, Harry swerved the car sharply from the end of the lane toward the shack, his front bumper striking with a dull report against the wooden coping of the well. Cursing himself for a fool not to have killed his-engine in the lane and walked to the shack, so that the kidnapers, if they were still guarding their captive, might not be warned of his approach, the reporter tore open the door of the car, and. with drawn and cocked pistol, ran to the porch. There no light in the shack, no smoke rising from the chimney. He had remembered to possess himself of Niles Jonsor’s flashlight. What scenes would it reveal,” “Hello! Hello! Open in the name of the law!” The boy was too frightened of what he should find inside that dark, silent shack to smile at hir melodramatic demand. There was no answer. After waiting a moment, he shouted urgently, terro making his voice harsh: “Are yo’ there Crystal? Crystal! It’s Harr Blaine!” (To Be Continued)

"I never saw one that didn't look eady to burst. I noticed that the ittle inside mirror broke when you lropped your bag in the hotel dinng room. Are you superstitious?” Ruth shivered. “Seven years bad uck. you mean? Pooh! You can't scare me! I've just entered on seven years divine luck—and seven more and seven more—and seven more—” she chanted. Jack’s mobile, sensitive face went grave again, almost shadowed, “Please God you’re right, dear.” And do what she would that evening and the next, Ruth Lester could not long keep the shadow of trouble, even fear, out of her lover’s eyes. True, he ate the dinner that she cooked for him. and praised her culinary art extravagantly. But after the dishes were washed and restored to the tiny cupboard in the miniature kitchenet, he slumped into gloom again, forgetting to kiss her for as long as half an .lour at a time. She spent most of Sunday in bed, but contrary to her fears, an actual cold did not develop. There just that odd shiver that ran along her nerves at the most unexpected moment. * # a SUNDAY evening they ate dinner in the little restaurant to which Ruth had taken Jack the first time they had ever eaten together, in obedience to his whimsical request that she show him where she got such potent crumbs that the black pigeon would eat out of her hand. “Oh, Jack, the poor pigeons!” Ruth remembered the birds contritely. “I was so happy yesterday that I forgot to buy peanuts to feed them before I left for the week-end. “I meant to do it when I was out getting Mr. Bordens’ money and tickets. Poor Satan! Do you think he’ll starve to death before Monday? I’ll take a lot of crumbs with me in the morning ” “I don’t like ‘that black pigeon!” Jack surprised Ruth by saying the absurd words grimly. “He looks too much like his namesake, Handsome Harry!” “Darling!” Ruth laughed. “I do believe you’re jealous of the black pigeon! He's a greedy scamp, but have you noticed how the little white pigeon adores him? “She’s never far from his side, although she’s too timid to eat out of my hand yet. I wonder if most of the pigeons aren’t ladies who are in love with Black Satan. “He struts about as if he were the lord of creation ... I wonder, too,” she mused, “how Rita Dubois is enjoying the week-end. I know she doesn’t really care for Harry Borden ” “Let’s not talk about that man again!” Jack interrupted vehemently. Then, ag Ruth’s delicate little face flushed and quivered: “Sorry, darling! I’m all on edge Keyed up, I suppose, to my new responsibilities. “Shall we go out to Grandbury with Cowan next Sunday and look at the lots? Oh, Ruth! I. do love you so! Forgive me for being so difficult last night and tonight. I—lots on my mind. Got to plan a future for Mr. and Mrs. John Carrington Hayward. Love me? Say it, Ruth!” It was not until she was dressing to go to the office Monday morning that Ruth realized Jack had not reminded her of her promise to resign her position as Harry Borden’s secretary. “But—why should he remind me?” she reasoned. “He knows I’ll keep my promise, and I can understand his not wanting to talk about it.” She arrived at the office at 9:15, though Borden never required her presence until half past. And his train was not due from Winter Haven until 12:10. There was a great pile of letters on the floor, beneath the slot in the door, but there was something Ruth had to do before she opened, read and sorted the mail. She had not forgotten the pigeons this time. Benny Smith had not arrived, although he was supposed to open the offices at 9 o’clock sharp. Os course he was taking advantage of Borden's absence. Ruth look the dried sponge out of the little glass dish on her desk, then emptied into it an envelope of peanuts and a larger package of crumbs. Satan and his harem should have a feast and not have to wait until noon for it, either! Smiling, she opened the door between her office and Borden’s private office and, with the glass dish in her hand, stepped across the threshold. The ghastly spectacle that met her eyes robbed her of all power of motion for the moment, and the pigeons of their meal. The glass dish fell to the floor, the peanuts and crumbs scattering upon the thick velvet rug. . . . But Ruth did not see tlr.m. for her eyes were fixed in a trance of hor*or upon the thing that lay near the window on the floor. (To Be Continued) A murder in Harry Borden's office. And the victim —but read the next chapter. FORMER KLAN LEADER LOSES WIFE IN COURT Mate of Joseph Huffington Charges Nagging and Quarreling. Bu Times Special EVANSVILLE, Ind.. Feb. 5. Joseph Huffington, former Ku-Klux Klan organizer here, is no longer a married man. Exactly sixty days after filing a divorce suit—that length of tine being the minimum required bj law—v decree was granted to Mrs. Mary Moyne Huffington. According to the wife, Huffington vas “very high strung and nervous. Te nagged and quarreled until it ’came impossible to live with him.” Mrs. Huffington was granted cus’dy of a daughter, Joanne, 5, and .lufflngton agreed to pay $5 a week for support of the child.

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OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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THE BOOK OP KNOWLEDGE

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By Ahern

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OUT OUR WAY

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SKETCHES BT BESSET. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCHEi

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—By Williams

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By Crane

By Small

By'Cowar