Indianapolis Times, Volume 40, Number 252, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 March 1929 — Page 8

PAGE 8

CHAPTER XXXlV—(Continued) “Then maybe she induced Borden, by threats of some sort, to grant her an appointment, told him she was in the building and would be right up, then armed herself with your gun, went to his office, was admitted because he was expecting her, found he was armed too, and shot him just as he was about to shoot her, Borden’s bullet going wild—out of the window. How’s that?” Ruth included triumphantly. "Flr,\” Jack smiled mirthlessly, “except for one or two minor details. Why should she take the gun with which he had tried to kill her? Why close the window?” “But Rita Dubois insists that the window was'still open when she was there between two-ten and twothirty,” Ruth pointed out. “And Ritz also insists,that Borden was alive,” Jack reminded her. “If RLa is telling the truth, our whole case against poor Martha Manning topples, unless we conclude that Borden told Miss Manning not to come until half-past two or even later—realizing, as he did, that she had already made him miss his train, and that he would have to deal with Rita, between train time—2:ls—and 2:30. “But if that’s the case, where was Martha Manning after she concluded her telephone quarrel with Borden at 2:10, and until half-past two? In my office all that time? So far as I know, no one has told of seeing a stranger on the seventh floor all afternoon, and neither Otto Pfluger nor Micky Moran said anything about bringing such a woman to the seventh floor.” u a ft “QHE could have walked up, of course—part of the way, at least,” Ruth offered tentatively. “But—Letty went into your offices for the second time to clean them at half-past two. I’m sure she would have told Mr. McMann if she had seen any one coming out of your office or in the corridor. , “But, Jack, there’s no getting around it; some woman, Martha Manning, or some other woman, was in Gorden’s offices Saturday—besides Rita, Mrs. Borden, Minnie and myself, I mean, for, as McMann puts it, she left her calling card on the glass panel in the door between the private office and the outer of-fice-three clear fingerprints. “The only fingerprints on the glass panel, which the windowwasher had cleaned late Friday afternoon. Maybe she had a key to Mr. Borden’s office—but no, that’s impossible, for Mr. Borden had the lock changed after I started to work for him only four months ago, and all that time he has refused even to talk over the phone with the woman of the contralto voice. . . . “Oh!” she sighed suddenly, and slumped in a pathetic little heap. “I’m so ghastly tired I can’t think.”

"You’re going to bed, darling,” Jack commanded, contrition and compassion in his voice ‘ and eyes. "I could do with a little sleep myself, and it’s a shame to keep my poor ‘shadow’ standing out there in the cold so long. He’ll be all the better for taking his ‘dog’ for a walk on the leash. You’re going to the scene of the crime tomorrow morning, I suppose?” "Me?” Ruth laughed shakily. "Why, I’m going to take charge of the investigation!—after I’ve done one errand —with my own ‘shadow’ trailing me. . . . No, I won’t tell you what I intend to do. Go along. I want to —pray, and then to sleep. Good night, my darling. I love Son.” CHAPTER XXXV PERHAPS it was because she was so tired and suddenly so sleepy that the prayer for help which Ruth Lester addressed, with child-like faith, to her Heavenly Father, ended in an extremely unorthodox manner, designed to confound a less understanding God than the One in which she believed. For her last words, before sleep settled upon her, like a smothering eiderdown comfort, were: “Please come back to me, daddy.. I’m not clever enough to save Jack without your help. It’s just the kind of case you always loved. You could make all the pieces of the puzzle fit. Corns back and laugh at me for being so stupid—so stupid—” And with miraculous suddenness, part of that drowsy, naive prayer was answered. Subconsiciously Ruth Lester knew that she was dreaming, that her actual body—aching with fatigue—was lying on her couch bed in her tiny bachelor-girl apartment, that her adored father, Colby Lester, always referred to as “the famous

THE NEW Saint-SiMor

RyJJnneJlustin ®2B4yNEAS!3Via.INC-

It. was the shock of relief, not of horror, which so completely unnerved Faith Hathaway. She, even more accurately than Tony Tarver, had read the storm signals in Cherry's too-bright eyes, her flushed cheeks, her shamelessly open flirtation with Alan Beardsley. From the first moment of knowing that the three members of the triangle—Cherry, her husband, Nils Johnson, and her ardent admirer, Alan Beardsley—were closeted in the sun parlor, Faith’s horror-stricken imagination had been picturing every conceivable denouement—except the one she had just witnessed For the two men who might have been incited to a fist fight or to murder by Cherry’s conduct had emerged from the sun parlor—smiling! What in the world had happened? Faith wondered, as she clung weakly to her husband. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make Cherry flee from the party and the house. “Don’t worry, sweet!” Bob whispered urgently, as he half carried her along whh him in the dance. “She’ll be back . . . Better see about eats, radn’t you, honey?” She wished all of them would go now. Release came sooner than Faith could have hoped for. George Pruitt,

criminal lawyer,” was dead. But her prayer was being answered, and what did it matter that it was only a dream? But she piustn’t wake up too soon. . . . The dream was a kindly one, not fantastic or absurd. She was back again in her father’s library, curled kittenwise in his arms, watching with fascinated blue eyes as his long, slim fingers arranged and rearranged bits of a jig-saw puzzle spread out on the desk before him. “What is that big, square-shaped piece, daddy?” she heard her own -voice inquiring, as those expert fingers made a quick rearrangement of the pieces of the jig-saw puzzle. “That, infant?” She distinctly heard his beloved, familiar chuckle. “Why, that’s the orchid-tinted letter, of course —” Perhaps, Ruth mourned later, if she had not cried out so sharply at that she would, not have awakened, would have seen the complete solving of that jig-saw puzzle under the expert manipulation of Colby Lester’s fingers. But she did wake up, with her own exclamation of selfdisgust and her father’s last words ringing in her ears. ft ft v WITH the sharp clarity of mind and memory which comes in the small hours of the night, Ruth recalled every detail of a scene which she had forgotten throughout the dreadful first day of the police investigation into the murder of Henry P. Borden. She saw again the large, square, orchid-tinted envelope, with its distinctive, angular handwriting in violet ink, saw herself seated at her desk in the outer office of Borden’s suite, sorting Saturday morning’s mail, laying aside unopened the exotic missive marked “Personal”; saw, later, the gesture of repulsion and anger with which Henry Borden flicked the unwelcome letter across his desk, then heard again the muttered oath with which he picked it up and thrust it, unopened, into the breast pocket of his vest. In her excitement, Ruth sat straight up in bed, her hands clasped to her wildly beating heart. Where was that letter now? She had seen Detective Sergeant McMann go through the murdered man’s pockets, could clearly recall now every item he had taken from them. And no orchid-tinted letter had been among them! Had Borden, some time between his receipt of the letter and his death, taken it out of his vest pocket, read it, torn it across and tossed it into his wastebasket?

Certainly he had not done so before she herself left the office at twenty minutes after one, for her last act of service to the man who had been murdered had been to help him clear his desk of accumulated memoranda and advertising matter issued by other promoters on stock as dubious as his own. She had tossed the worthless papers into the empty wastebasket which stood beside his desk. Perhaps he had read the letter and thrown it away after she had left, but if so, it was the first of the orchid-tinted letters, of which he had received several during the four months she had worked for him, to find its way into his office wastebasket and thence, possibly, into the possession of a curious reader. But if it had not gone Into the basket and been taken out, with the rest of the papers, by Minnie Cassidy, where w r as it now? If, as McMann seemed to believe, Rita Dubois had robbed his dead body, why should she also steal a letter written to Borden by another woman? There was no possibility that Rita herself was the writer. The orchidtinted envelopes marked “Personal” had been coming to Borden’s office long before he had ever met and fallen in love with the dar-.cer. If Mrs. Borden had killed her husband before Rita’s arrival and robbing of the body, she could not nave known of the existence of the letter, could have had no motive for taking it if she had known, for the letter had not been written by Elizabeth Borden. Ruth knew the discarded wife’s handwriting very well, had seen her small, delicate, precise signature each month as an indorsement of Borden’s check for separation allowance. Suddenly the obvious course of action occurred to the e.ticted girl. There was no use in puzzling and worrying over the letter flow, but tomorrow morning. . . . She lay back on her pillows, welcomed the waves of sleep which immediately began to dull her brain,

dterminedly corraling his sister, who was evidently enjoying the submerged draffia and was loath to leave, led in the breaking up movement. As he took Faith's hand and uttered the conventional phrases, his small, deep-set black eyes gave her a mute message of undying loe and sympathy. And Faith felt comforted, for although she was not in love with him and never had been, his unfaltering devotion was precious to her. With a friendly courtesy that held no hint of restraint, George Pruitt offered Alan Beardsley a lift to his hotel. When the three had left, Nils Jonson addressed his sis-ter-in-law with unassumed cheerfulness: ‘May I phone for a taxi, Faith? I rather thinkk Cherry has left Rhoda and me stranded.” “I’ll drie you home,” Bob offered, and overrode their objections with such vigor that Faith smiled. She knew he was jumping at the chance not to be present if—or rather when—Cherry should return, vowing she had come “home.” and never wanted to see her husband ’-' aln ' iTo Be Continued)

for maybe Colby Lester, her father, would come to her again. . . . • Colby Lester did not come again that night, but the next morning his daughter woke, feeling strangely happy and comforted, quite equal to performing the two errands she had set herself—without benefit of police sanction—and then, as she had impudently expressed it to Jack Hayward the night before, to taking charge of the investigation into the murder of Henry P. Borden! tt tt a WHILE she was dressing, a sudden thought occurred to Ruth, and she ran to the front window of her tiny apartment. As she had expected, she saw a man strolling leisurely up and down the sidewalk across the street from her apartment house, his head turning now and then to glance casually toward the cheaply pretentious entrance. Ruth blew a finger-tip kiss to the unconscious watcher, laughed exuitingly, then whirled back to her dressing-table. “I’m going to lead you'an awful chase, dear, obvious old ‘shadow’!” she promised them. And she kept her promise. Twice, as the detective’s taxi drew almost abreast to her, the girl thought she was going to be stopped and questioned, but undoubtedly the man had his orders not to jerk on the leash. The first was not a long trip. Ruth’s taxi drew up before an old but dignified apartment house in one of those side streets which offer their residents an impeccable address—the kind of address which makes department store saleswomen look at the owner with interest and respect. “Please wait. I shan’t be long,” Ruth directed her driver. “Mrs. Borden is not seeing any one, miss,” the uniformed doorman told her, when she asked to be announced over the house telephone. “Please get Mrs. Borden on the phone, and tell her that Miss Ruth Lester wants to see her on a matter of vital importance,” Ruth directed crisply. Three minutes later Borden’s widow and his secretary confronted each other in the large foyer of Mrs. Borden’s apartment. Deep shadows from a sleepless, grieving night lay like black moth wings tjeneath- the widow’s eyes, and accentuated the ghastly pallor of her face. Before Mrs. Borden could frame her dignified protest at the intrusion, Ruth put the question she had come to ask: “Mrs. Borden, won’t you please tell me what you know about Martha Manning?” At the name, color flooded her pale face and her eyes flashed angry fire. Ruth was almost sorry she had come. . . .

“How dare you mention that woman’s name to me?” Mrs. Borden gasped, her hand at her throat, as if the words were choking her. Then, by a visible effort, she regained a measure of control: “I—don’t know whom you mean, or why you ask, Miss Lester! If Mr. McMann has any further questions to ask me—” “Oh, please, dear Mrs. Borden!” Ruth pleaded. “I know you want to protect your husband’s—past from the newspapers, but—he is dead, and it is your duty to tell anything you know which might help—” “I have nothing to say to you, Miss Lester,” Mrs. Borden interrupted coldly. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Borden,” Ruth said gently, “and I want you to know that you have my—my deepest sympathy,” and without waiting for a reply, she reached for the knob of the door by which she had entered. tt tt tt HER question had been answered, far more completely than the murdered man’s widow could suspect. Ruth knew now why Mrs. Borden had refused on Monday to identify “the woman with the contralto voice.” The mother of Harry Borden’s legitimate children would die before she would admit, and thus publish to the world her knowledge of the existence of an illegitimate halfbrotner of those children. How dreadful a burden that knowledge must have been all these years. . . . It was a saddened, subdued girl who gave the next address to the taxi driver.

“That gyp cab’s following us, with a dick inside,” the driver told her, out of the corner of his mouth, as she climbed into her taxi. “I know,” Ruth smiled at him reassuringly. “The ‘dick’ is only doing his duty. There won’t be any trouble.” The driver shook his h.'ad, hesitated about starting his motor. “I don’t want to get mixed up in nothing, Miss—” “Very well,” Ruth agreed cheerfully, preparinng to disembark. “If you don’t w r ant to drive me. I’ll get the ‘dick’ to take me in his cab. I’ll save taxi fare.” "Guess it’s all right,” her driver concluded, grinning at her impudence. This time the trip was a long one, so long that Ruth cast more than one anxious glance at the meter, but at last she reached her destination—the suburban grocery store over which Minnie Cassidy lived in two cheerless rooms. Ruth had made the trip once before—on Christmas Day—to visit the old scrubwoman, temporarily bedridden with rheumatism. Entrance was through the mean, dirty little store, inefficiently run by Minnie’s son-in-law, w r ith the help of the girl, Rose. “Hello, Rose!” Ruth greeted the Dretty, untidy girl behind the counter “I want to see your mother.” “She’s upstairs, Miss Lester. Bud isn’t here, and I’m alone in the store. Would you fiiind going up alone?” a a n UTH found Minnie Cassidy putIV tering about a disordered kitchen “Good land, child! What brings ye here?” Minnie greeted the girl. “Here take the weight off your pretty feet! . . . Phut! Don’t bother! That’s only the cat’s saucer and it was cracked anyway. . . . Now. what’s Tommy McMann been up to? Has he arrested your young man. and do ye think old Minnie can help ye out?” (To Be Continued)

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

I# -’f-TY WSS OOT>,u~UMT fcf GREAT HEAUEtJS-, MAkf^ f 0 , . tllpr IS MATTAiR If WIS MAS-reRPIECE, JL SKtoLL-w fgjjl VOEETM Ig, TU£ SfATUC IS KoPPS tad Til great vilsTad t? ? -You have r* * f mum* Poo* W _HE 6 roaU,~ ) ™ PtLL(iJ6S‘k'oLL / m SoB, LAKiU { A r p Jl coa-rH-n/J // SPEAK,IS HE < TURU'nr around, B L <3Ol (J <5 <TU)OOIJ ) BEPoRE VOii coUpuse "y/ \ ifiEETH A TiT ? < rr's arT v/iORaToUs-/ jrrmy/v7 *J > . ' AUd TilE STaTuE. V II , / A/> MiIST "REST OU

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

f C WGTS TH BAO AWGEEIA'aA WELL,THERES OhETttWG ABQhT I OrtT* NEWS,B\DO\E? BUSIES WOMAN, THIS RfVLKET Ov YOURS, SO6HR- i VHRO- • YOB LOOK ALL 1 ChESS I’m A ( \E TH’ WOLE GETS TOO ClOSt TO 1 PLEASE (fk BOTHERED _J WARHOLS! U CANT TH’ DOOR YO\i CAM DRA6 'tM IN, BE VW, ~ti r — l ATO TWO N'TWO AM* MAKE /^SERIOUS SI ? AN’GET ANYTHING h.

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

njSJtNS SAID flion Far IS f_. A % f CSAU-y., OfOCUs AARRy 6MEB.Y7IMMS _____ ITTDVNpece f X STILL CAH AAEDLy / A6BC IS COLO AMO SET -me Jf? BELIEFS TAN ON AKy OEAD,7AEpe TUE boat for { vwa/ ‘to a place ) F'-ower's ape in AND JAONOLULO T7X&Q&S I AND TWs.

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

f'jOST To SHOW DOT BYGONES ISS ADMIRAL OLD BOV, DEC GREATEST HONOR. \ COUNT, H TIRADE STUFF MtT FULL SPEED AHEAP. IN All KAMDEIABRA 'SS VOURS— i GIF *T To \ VOU’RE / \ ANN MINUTE COMES PER KING. j-S TOO. -6V JOE. 1 lET VOU SE HIS MAJESTYS l A Mk"' — 7—

salesman sam

£ jfOOSH.IVI RLL IN FRoM HURLIN’ N (_ 7MW i, si-UUS, h WAM, STILL CURVES _ How oo V STACK UP ye. rINT6.NT ON WITH H(\, f'MSTeR 3'OHNSON'? PLftTINCr BICr ‘ /ra. S LCAGrOE Base.- —TOY — ■ x in taApa // V ya pitch, MesstTA nillllllilli, FLORIDA. AND ' \ TW OUT RS 9 fiZU UAMECXATeCt' A 0.. Tgl // / Goes INTO A ■ —' ....... . y?

MUM ’N POP

RYOU JUST ANSWER \T HELLO, HELLO - WHO? yourself! honestly PoP LOH HELLO! gosh it’s good to) [ yJHOiST T'OU’RE GETTING. SO YOU ' HEAR YOUR VOICE l WILL I ? OH THAT J XPECT ME TO WAIT ON YOU BABY l ANY TIME YOU BAY. ] | ? I

J?HE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE

While escape fur Marie Antoinette was being planned ' forego nations declared war on France. The people Her friends determinad blamed Mane for bringing war upon them and the de- t 0 act t 0 save Marie , but mands for her blood became stronger. The guards te take th e children wit h placed in charge of the unfortunate queen were in- her was out of the ques _ creased. 3-n + - Vl HtA. Through SpMt PermgMws (A the Patfaners qj Tlw Book el Knewieoga, Cjiyr.;-'-

By Ahern

OUT OUR WAY

[ DM, RE/= JUST OME OF THEGE: \ KlNiO —GOES ALOkiGr UKE. THIS— 6M-2-2-2-BIUAH, g WHE.M AMWTT'WCt ’ZIPS pjj PAST Him HE WAKES oP AM* -TH'wKS he's BsisiOr | \ shot aT. JosT amoTher* \<Xc~ —ir \ HvMEMTV-Ta/o CNJ A FORTV” }_ji )| \ fivE FRAME. Rip VAM P==r-rrz== V VAfiMVfLE WITH A | ... I 'ma.u..>T.orr. WHY MOTHERS GsT GRAT. v, ;

1 SWELLi™*" PrtCJtD rt 1 o\DW't rf\ IUMS Off? PI -X'i- Htwt . | I

VNHAT plane is If 7AATS a M/kIL plans) f LOOk! CNER. 7A6R6 W PERHAPS"|T ByT 7TYcr? took’ Wc. f -L&o, pilot, rrs all black-do w is-but leo VNAM6O WS HAND Jf ]S * FLVEa AMO YOO 7AINK 7AAT'S A AT OS.'/ JL ME PROBABLV KNOWS , A STORM? / ( Y?JtYLi Mm II . .<&•' '■ C 'yr me. ~ y

Y OH, MAJESTIC MAJESTY WHOOPS*. IT'S (f CAll OUT THE GUARD! \ N IT IS ADMIRAL UtMSEIF, WHO VISWES / AT 'EM, MEN-DOWN \ AND A MERRY LITTLE ITo PLAN SOLDIER MIT /l NITU THE CURSED / \ WAR NAME WE. ruT GEE Will \ y voo. r €r\ enemv. , —- —f i'm deginin'to \ 7 Y I THINK THIS ISN'T ) 1 7 \7®"4 R 7“ o yjt m <n^ L PV WCA SCRVICC. IWC.‘ WCO. U. >?PAT. OfT. 1 J

e>S 60LLH, HOWDY IP NViHT-eR-ftH- V Oh, \ ROGER TWO \T WASN'T FOR <M_ ) WHW (WRE. THEY CLOWNS ON (A TeAtA v/// SCMftCHT p,N' NICK / STftNOIN’ IN HVT IS 6.NOUG-H t ACTROCK, WAT , WALTR

WHO WAS \T -AV TICKLED? YOU’D -THERE’S NO NOT THAT I CARE ONE RAP 1 WOMAN? YOU 1 KNOW THE REASON TRYING ANY MOPE./ WHO IT WAS -IT'S -\tfE / SEEMED AWFULLY,/ IF ID TELL YOU WHO YOU’D NEVER, yj PRINCIPLE OF ThETwnG. \ TICKLED To r —■[ IT WAS. DON’T YOU GUESS IN A s' l HOLD.NG. OUT ON ME JUST J HEAR FROM/ \ WISH YOU'D ANSWERED MILLION YEARS J / SHOWS UP A MEAN STREAK. IN J AA (YOUR NATURE. THAT^tvE^/ j, o,}i!w£ r giS2 ife

_ . _ Madame Elizabeth, sister of the dead king, promised The queen at first re- Marie that she would take good care of the children, lected the proposal that asß urmg her that she was the .only one threatened and she leave her- c *V ld f*fV 1 that the children would be safe. Marie struggled with was explained tha ey nerself. and finally decided to flee. s-n be safe. * J m (To Be Continued) J

SKETCHES BY BESSEY. SYNOPSIS BY BRAUCHEfI

.MARCH 11, im

—By William*

—By Mcrtin

By Blo>

By Crane

By Small

By Cowan