Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 225, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 February 1929 — Page 9

FEB. 7, :<J29_

CHAPTER Vll—(Continued) Ruth struggled in his arms, hid her eyes against her elbow. "My fault! I—l screamed! If only I hadn’t screamed, Jack! I won’t have to tell the police, will I, Jacic? I’ll lie! I’ll lie, Jack! Nobody will have to know! I’ll lie!" The man seized her roughly, shook her a bit to stop that hysterical babbling. "Shut up, Ruth! Do you hear me? —stop it, I say! You’ve got to get hold of your nerves, darling! "Oh, my God!” he cried, pressing his cheek hard against the golden curls. "Listen, Ruth! The man deserved to be shot. Hold fast to that, darling; He deserved it, I tell you! There’s only one thing for you to member —that we love each other. Now, we’ll go—over .there to the window across the airshaft, “and face this thing together. Take my arm. darling. Hold tight!” The two corridors seemed infinnitely long stretching away like interminable paths in a nightmore, but at last they were in their own office again. She laid her head on her' desk, pillowing it on her crossed arms, while Jack, in a brisk, businesslike voice, called police headquarters. Fragments of his conversation pierced the swirlin', chaos of her mind—“ Yes, Borden! B-o-r-d-e-n. Henry P. Borden. Murdered in his office, suite 712, the Starbridge {ay ward speaking ... Os course || shall stay until police arrive.” ana A S from a great distance, Ruth fv heard him turn the knob of mr. door which she had closed up'm the thing which had been jfiandsome Harry” Borden. f He must be looking ... Oh, how could he? His automatic gone from the drawer of his desk. . . . That heavy briefcase which he had not let out of his possession after he hrd returned to her at luncheon, during the whole of the matinee. . . . "Check your hat and coat and bag, sir . . . ” Jack’s scowl at the boy, his curt refusal. . . . And all the time even when they were holding hands across the briefcase, that horrible thing of blue steel had been there. Oh, no, no! Ruth wrenched her mind back, forced it to reconstruct the events of Saturday afternoon. But that, too, was more than her mind could bear, without shuddering away and being dragged back. . . . Her bruised lip. Jack’s white-hot anger against r.orden, his refusal to believe that' it had not been Borden who had hurt her. . . . His threats, insanely uttered in the presence of Micky Moran, the elevator operator. . . . She had had to hold him back with all her strength to keep him from forcing his way into Borden’s offices. . . . His declaration that he had forgotten the theater tickets, his return to his office to get tnenu Had he really forgotten them, or had he intended to do what—oh, she mustn’t say, it, even to herself! Again that agonized wrenching of her mind, to bring it back to the subject, no matter how horrible it was. .I . Had Jack seen Borden across the airshaft? Oh. God, why had the architect set two windows exactly opposite each other, so terribly close? . . . Had Jack furiously delivered an ultimatum to Borden about her? Had they quarreled then, so that Jack’s fury became insanity? What easier than to snatch his automatic from the drawer of his desk and fire at Borden, drawn to his own window by the quarrel? Suddenly Ruth’s small body was galvanized with purpose. If Jack had done it for her—for her! He had committed a deadly sin, but he had done it to protect her. And now, before the police came, she could do something for him. "Where are you going, Ruth?” Jack demanded harshly. “Stay out of there! It’s no sight for your eyes. Stop, I tell you!” "Oh, let me go!” Ruth sobbed, tearing at his hands. “I’ve got to go! I’ve got to do it before the police come! Don’t you—understand?”

THENEIY Saint-Sinner ByJJnneJlustJn

There! She heard it again “Crvstal! Crystal! Are you there? It’s Harry Blaine. Crystal!” Odd how real it seemed. Crystal's fevered brain marveled. She seemed to be awake, too. Slowly, with terrible effort, the sick giri raised her hot. aching body, supporting herself upon an elbow. Experimentally, she raised the other hand and pressed hard upon her bandaged wound. She felt the stiffness of bloodcaked fabric, then the sharp answer of pain zigzagging through her head. She was awake! Out there, calling to her, was Harry Blaine. If, out of all the world. Crystal could have chosen her rescuer, the man would have been Harry Blaine, because he liked and understood her. and now—oh, now! —he was there, calling! In a frenzy lest he give up in discouragement and go away, Crystal flung herself off the cot, dragged her stiff, hot body toward the door. She knew she could not make him hear her weak voice if she called from the cot. “I’m here, Harry!” she gasped, as she dragged herself up by the knob of the door. "I’m—locked—in!” All her strength went into the effort, and before the first blow which was to break open the door was aimed against it, the girl slumped to the floor. She had presence of mind enough to inch away from the door, as the reported hurled his body against it, once, twice, three times. When the lock gave, and Harry Blaine catapulted into the dark 100 m, his foot struck her outflung arm. /l moan of pain told him what he had done, sent him to his knees.

"Do what? Are you crazy? Please, darling, get control of yourself! It wasn’t your fault, really! The man deserved to die—” "Don’t say that again! I can’t bear it!” Ruth screamed. "Don’t i you realize?—l’ve got to close the window before the police come!” He let her go, lor her strength ; for the moment was greater than ; his, for she flung herself upon the connecting door, tore at the knob I until it yielded, stepped in—then ; stumbled backward into Jack’s arms. "The window’s closed, Jack! Closed! Do you hear? Closed! Oh, God. I thank thee! Forgive me, Jack—” There was a loud knock upon the outer door, followed immediately by the turning of the knob. The police had arrived to inquire into the death of “Handsome Harry” Borden. CHAPTER VIII IN the brief instant between the turning of the knob of the outer door and the entrance of the police, Ruth had time to get control of her nerves. For fear so horrible that she now wondered how she had been able to bear it had been lifted from her mind and heart. The window of Borden’s private office, opening upon the airshaft, and directly opposite to Jack Hayward’s window, was closed. How could she, even for a moment, have believed her man was guilty of murder? Her reasoning was exquisitely cleat and simple: The only way. Jack Hayward could have shot Borden was through the window. She herself had left Borden’s door locked, because of his deadly fear of holdup men or the assaults of lcss-crazed investors in his stocks. Borden would never in the world have unlocked it for Jack Hayward, for it was his custom, she knew, to demand to know who wanted to see him, if he was alone and unprotected in his office. The only person, probably, whom he had admitted was his wife, whom he was expecting, and she undoubtedly had already called before Jack’s return to his office to get the forgotten theater tickets. "Henry P. Borden’s offices?” an aggressive voice demanded unnecessarily, for the name was painted on the door. “What’s happened here?” Ruth Lester was still standing in the protective circle of Jack Hayward’s arm. She looked curiously, no longer afraid, at the officer in plain clothes who was addressing her. Behind him stood two policemen in uniform, but Ruth scarcely saw them. The detective towered over her—a gigantic man, at least six feet three inches tall and broad in proportion. He looked as if he had grown grizzled in the service of justice, but was still not satisfied, getting a savage joy out of running criminals to earth. “I am John C. Hayward—offices in this building, and this is Miss Lester—Ruth Lester, secretary to Mr. Borden, who is—in there. Murdered,” Jack answered the detective quietly. “I’m Detective Sergeant McMann,” the huge man completed the strange Introductions curtly. “Move aside, please. Let’s see him. Who discovered the body?” “I did.” Ruth whispered, horror of that thing inside swooping down upon her again. "I—l got to the office this morning at 9:15, and—found him there.” “You’ve been in there, too?” McMann jerked his head at Jack. “Just looked in. I didn’t touch anything,” Jack answered. “Except the door knob. No good having it photographed for fingerprints since both of you’ve touched it,” McMann answered as he grasped the knob in his own hands. Another jerk of his head indicated that the two uniformed policemen were to enter the room behind him. n * n RUTH and Jack stood ande to let the three of them pass, then watched from the doorway. The detecive stopped just inside the door and gave a keen, searching glance about, apparently less interested in the body on the floor near the window than in what he hoped to find in the room.

“Crystal! For God’s sake, speak to me if you can, Crystal! Are you hurt?” The reporter drew out a flashlight. For a moment he did not have the courage to press the button and release the light which might reveal unspeakable horrors. When he did force himself to do so, the brilliance of the sudden light made Crystal shrink and close her eyes. It was a ghastly sight that met the boy’s horrified eyes. The girl’s brown hair, which he had never seen without its deep, precise marcel waves, was a tangled mat above the blood-soaked pink silk undergarment with which she clumsily had bandaged her wound. With her eyes closed, she looked dead. Those great, hazel eyes which Crystal had made so much of, fluttering the mascaried lashes, coyly twinkling their lure at any man who would look at her. Tears had cut paths down the dried coating of blood on cheeks which he had never seen without a heavy overlay of powder and rouge. The heavily lip-sticked, Cupid’sbow mouth was replaced by wide, fever-cracked lips, snarled back in a hideous grimace of pain over the broad white teeth of which Crystal had been so proud. The short lashes, innocent of mascari now fluttered apart, blinked again at the impact of light; then the hazel eyes focused upon him with the piteous appeal of a stricken animal’s. * “So glad—you came. Wanted—you," Crystal gasped weakly. (To Be Continued)

“What are these crumbs and peanuts doing on the rug?” he demanded, whirling tipon Ruth. "Oh!” she gasped, guiltily. “I—l must have dropped them when I saw—Mr. Borden. I—l was going to feed the pigeons the first thing this morning because I forgot to Saturday and I thought—” “What pigeons?” - Ruth’s tremulous voice explained: “This is the top floor of the building. A flock of pigeons nest on the roof and I’ve been feeding them at noon for several weeks. I—l was so startled at seeing—Mr. Borden—when I opened the door that I dropped the little glass bowl full of crumbs and peanuts.” “Hmm!” McMann beetled his eyebrows at her, then strode about the room, his eyes searching the floor, the walls, the desk. Then, at last, after so long a time that Ruth felt like screaming to him to get it over with, he went and knelt beside the dead man’s body and lifted the outflung right hand, whose fist, Ruth noticed for the first time, was clenched convulsively. “Stiff,” McMann pronounced. “Dead a good many hours, I’d say. Shot through the heart. Must have died quickly, but Dr. Nielson will tell us that, Rand—” he addressed one of the policemen—“put in a call for headquarters. "Tell the chief it’s murder all right, and to send Dr. Nielson over right away. And.Biggers, you stand outside the door in the hall and keep the crowds away. The news will go through the building like wildfire, once it gets started. Did you spill it?” he demanded of Ruth. She shook her head. "I told no one but Mr. Hayward. I went to him immediately after—after I saw Mr. Borden. Mr. Hayward has offices on this floor, around in the next wing. We are—engaged to be married. That’s why I went to him.” “That so,” McMann’s little, squinted gray eyes studies the pair in the doorway. He seemed about to ask some question concerning their relationship to each other or to the dead man, and then, to Ruth’s great relief, to decide upon a query of more immediate importance. "Did Borden keep any money or valuables in the office? Do you know what he had on him Saturday? Looks like he must have been murdered as long as Saturday.” “I know that he had SSOO in tens and twenties,” Ruth answered steadily. “He had me go to the bank to get it for him, as he was going to Winter Haven for the week-end. “His train was to leave’ at 2:15. I don’t know how much more he had. I caught a glimpse of a yel-low-backed note in his wallet when he put the SSOO in, but I didn’t see the denomination. He also had a pair of railroad tickets with a Pullman drawing room ticket, which he had had me buy for him.” tt u AS she spoke, the detective was searching the pockets of the dead man’s coat, trousers and vest. “Here are the tickets O. K. And some loose change in a pocket. But there are no banknotes at all. ... Hmm! Looks like robbery.” There have been a number of holdups in the building in the last few weeks,” Jack volunteered. "Someone who knew Miss Lester to be Mr. Borden’s secretary may have seen her cashing the check for SSOO and—” “I’ll do the maybes on this job, thanks!” McMann interrupted narshly. "Now, Miss Lester—by the way, any relation to Colby Lester, the lawyer?” Tears sprang into Ruth’s eyes. "He was my father.” McMann’s glinting eyes were gentle for a moment, as they took in the small figure. "Sorry, Miss Lester! I had no idea. Do remember the boys saying he had a kid—l mean a daughter—that he was crazy about. “Now, child, in your own words, tell me all you know about this business. When you last saw Borden, everything of importance that had happened Saturday, anything you can think of to help me.” “Please, may I sit down —in my own office?” Ruth faltered. The detective took a chair beside Ruth’s desk, making 1 notes on sheets of yellow paper, as the girl told her story. “Saturday is always a quiet day, since it is a half holiday,” Ruth began, her hands tight locked on the desk before her, her brows knit in an effort at concentration. "I arrived first, at half-past nine, then Benny Smith, the office boy, came in—” “Where is he now?” "He hasn’t come in yet,” Ruth admited. “He sometimes soldiers on the job when he knows Mr. Borden is out of town. He was to go away for—” “The boy’s address?” McMann demanded, pencil poised. “Why, I don’t know,” Ruth acknowledged reluctantly. “I have an old address on file, but his family moved the first of January I told him to give me his new address, but someone interrupted, and _’m sure he didn’t.” “Guess he’ll stroll in later.” McMann dismissed the office boy. “Now go on, please. When did Borden come in Saturday?” “About 10, as usual. Some woman, who would not give her name, had just called for him on the phone, and I told him, describing her voice. He knew who she was, but he didn’t mention her name.” u n “Tj'VER hear her voice before?” XI/ McMann was instantly alert. "She had called several times during the four months I worked here," Ruth answered. “Once I put her through to Mr. Borden, and he told me to remember her voice and never do so again. She has a beautiful, throaty contralto. . . . Yes, I’d know it if I heard it again, over the phone anyway.” “All right. Go on.” “Mr. Borden dictated for about half an hour.” “Any trouble between you and Borden. Miss Letser?” McMann pounced. ’(To Be Continued)

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

When Regulus and his embassy Irom Carthage arrived in Rome, Regulus was loath .o give his opinions on continuing the war with Carthage until commanded by the Roman Senate to do so. Standing in the Senate he urged that the war with C 'rthage go on until Carthage be conquered. ,-r, Mr HCA. Thfjufti SpMid BwriMteg i PuteiKwt * Th. Sm* Mp. Caff***-

By Ahern

His counsel prevailed. The Carthaginian embassy returned home, and with them, true to his word went the resollut,,rkrt. J

OUT OUR WAY

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The banks of the Tiber were crowded with his fellow-countrymen when Regulus embarked on the ship that was to bear him his death.

SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BKAUCHEB

Facing certain death upon his return to. Carthage, he did not flinch. He was a Roman and he had done his duty as he saw it. Cruelty the Carthaginians, overlooking the nobility of spirit-that had prompted his act, . put him to death. But his name lives on as a watchword of loyalty and sacrifice. . (Next: The Brave Apprentice) r |in _-L*2r

PAGE 9

—By Williams

- i.v Aluriiu

By Blosser

By Crane

By Small

By Cowan