Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 283, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 April 1931 — Page 11

APRIL 7, 1931

!MAD- MARRIAGE!' j fy LAURA LOU BROOKMAN Author of HEART (ffitfißy,'etc?

. err.lN HIRE TODAY QYPbV MrBRH>3. 19-vear-old typist In & Hew York office, marries JIM WALLACE the day after she meets him at the home of her wealthy cousin. ANNE TROWBRIDGE. Gvnsv has been Jilted by ALAN CROSBY. back from a vear and a half In Paris and Wallace's flanoee has broken their engagement. There Is no romance In the union. Wallace Is a young lawyer. They go to his home in Forest City, where hla relatives are antagonistic to Omsy and snub her. . . , . Jim undertakes the defense of NINA ROBERTS, accused of murdering her onDiover. DR. FOWLER. The caae la sensational with crlcumstantlal evidence stronglv against the girl, and Gvnsv becomes deeply Interested In It. NOW GO ON WITH THE BTORT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. Gypsy’s throat ' was parched. “That would be fine” she agreed, "and will you get me a glass of cold water?” Matilda returned with the tumbler. While Gypsy was drinking It, the cook rearranged the shades at the windows to keep out the afternoon sunlight. Then she went downstairs. In ten minutes she was back with a tray. There was a steaming bowl of beef broth cooked with vegetables and rice. Under a china cover was a plate of golden buttered toast and beside it a pot of tea. “Is there anything else that I can get you, ma’am?” “Nothing more,” Gypsy said. “I didn’t know. I was hungry, but this looks delicious. Oh—l would like another handkerchief.” While she finished the broth and drank her tea, Matilda chattered about affairs in the kitchen. Sam and Cora had bought a radio. Harriet had come up from Miss Wallace’s tp borrow the vacuum cleaner. The rolls had been slow rising, but they were In the oven now. “Art you feeling better now?” Matilda asked as she took the tray. Gypsy stifled a sneeze. “Much better,” she said. “Has anyone telephoned?” “No, ma’am.” “Mr. Wallace didn't send any message?” Matilda said he had not. She departed a moment later, closing the door after her. Gypsy stayed in bed drowsing until 5:30. Her head no longer ached and though her throat was feverish she felt much better than in the morning. She dressed in warm clothing and spent a painstaking half hour before the table trying to cover up with rouge and powder the marks of illness. a a a DOWNSTAIRS the front door slammed and she knew that Jim was home. A moment later she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Gypsy turned and left the room. He was half way up the flight when she reached the head of the stairs. “Gypsy—do you think you should be up?” “Oh, yes. I’m practically well now. Did anything happen today?” While she was speaking she knew that something had gone wrong, Jim’s face was worn and gloomy. He had looked tired for days, but this was worse. What is it, Jim?” she asked quickly. "Come on downstairs,” was all he answered. When they reached the living room he pulled a chair forward for her. Gypsy sat down. Jim paced across the room and then swung around. He drew a deep breath. “ Well,” he said shortly, “it’s all over now! They’ve licked me.” ‘ But you can’t mean that! Tell me what happened.” “It’s over, Jim repeated. “I’m glad you wern’t there to hear it. After Bennet’s performance today, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets the chair.” “Oh, Jim—no!” “He had three witnesses,” Jim went on, “—technical expert —who testified that it couldn’t have been suicide. Tough birds to cross-ques-tion. “Os course Parker was there and he insists Fowler fired the gun. It’s give-and-take as far as the evidence goes, but the high-sounding titles these imported experts have impressed the jury. I watched them and I'm sure of it.” “Oh, but Nina —” Jim turned and walked toward the window. When he spoke again his voice sounded strange. “She’ll have to pay for it, I gues,” he said, “whether she did it or not." He sank into a chair. Neither of them spoke for a long interval. Then Gypsy asked, “How much longer will the trial last?” “Can't tell if Bennet has anything more up his sleeve or not. I

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haven’t. It will probably go to the Jury tomorrow.” Dinner was a somber meal. Jim’s shoulders seemed heavy with the consciousness of defeat. He said little. Gypsy had forgotten her aching throat, but she could not wipe from memory the vision of Nina Roberts’ frightened face. She thought of the letter locked away upstairs—the letter to Nina’s sweetheart. Would she have to send it? Jim pushed away his chair after he had barely tasted the dessert. “Think I’ll go to the library,” he said. “You don’t mind?” The girl shook her head. After he had gone she sat for a while and then went into the living room. There were newspapers on the table with sensational headlines. Gypsy barely glanced at them and climbed the stairs to her room. She changed her dress for a quilted, lemond-colored bathrobe. Then for a long time she sat and stared at the floor. At last she turned down the covers and slipped into bed. Next morning Gypsy announced that though her cold was better, she thought it would be unwise to visit the courtroom. Jim looked relieved. "Sensible idea,” he said, “no use taking risks.” She stood beside him in the hall while he jammed on his hat. “Jim,” Gypsy said in a low voice, “I do hope things will go better today.” “Hope so. If there’s a verdict I’ll telephone.” “Yes, do.” Twenty minutes later she was in a taxicab driving east. The cab halted before a low brick bungalow and Gypsy stepped to the sidewalk. “Walt for me,” she told the cab driver. a a a A YOUNG girl in a soiled apron, answering Gypsy’s ring, looked out doubtfully through the partly opened door. “Does Mrs. Fowler live here?” Gypsy asked. “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t know if you can see her.” “You don’t understand. Please tell her that I ” “Oh, you are the nurse?” The door opened then and the girl stepped back for Gypsy to enter. The pause was barely perceptible. Then Gypsy nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I’m the nurse. Will you tell Mrs. Fowler I’m here?” A child’s cry, fretful and highpitched, rent the air, and the girl turned. “I’ll tell her you’ve come,” she said, and disappeared through a doorway. Gypsy had time to inspect the room. It ran the width of the house with a group of windows making a window seat facing the street. The room was Well furnished, thought it had particular distinction. There was a piano at the far side, a piece of Chinese embroidery thrown over its top. The furniture was a matching “set” of heavy, overstuffed design with here and there a piece of mahogany. The rug looked expensive. There were newspapers in an untidy heap on the davenport and Gypsy caught glimpses of the black headlines describing the Roberts trial. It must have been a day or two since the room had been dusted. Gypsy noticed that there were ashes in the tray beside the davenport. At the sound of footsteps the girl arose. Mi's. Fowler—she recognized her immediately—appeared in the doorway. The woman’s face was drawn and worn. Her hair was knotted back carelessly. She looked older than when ‘Gypsy had seen her in the courtroom. “You’re Miss Thompson?” she said to Gypsy. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, but I’m glad you’ve come. Bobby’s feverish and I can’t make him lie quiet. Shall we go Gypsy interrupted. “Just a minute, Mrs. Fowler,” she said. “I’d better tell you at once I’m not the nurse.” “Why, what do you mean?” “I’m not the nurse—Miss Thompson or whoever it was you expected. I’ve come to see you about something terribly important. “I couldn’t tell anyone else and I thought it was best to let the girl misunderstand.” The woman’s face had hardened. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And what do you want here?” Gypsy spoke in a lower voice: “I’m Mrs. Wallace,” she * said. “I

saw you in the courtroom the other day. My husband is Nina Roberts’ attorney—” Mrs. Fowler put up one hand to stop her. “I can’t listen to you,” she said. “Upstairs my little boy is lying sick—maybe dying! I’ve got to go to him. You’ll have to leave.” a a a IT was terrible to see the woman’s agony. This was nothing like the fainting spell in the courtroom. “But I can’t go until I’ve told you ” Gypsy began. The ring of the doorbell interrupted. Mrs. Fowler hesitated. Then she opened the door. A pleasant soprano voice spoke. “I’m Miss Thompson,” the voice said. “Dr. Rogers sent me to take care of the little boy.” “Please come in.” A young woman in a blue suit, carrying a small suitcase, entered. She smiled at Gypsy. “How is the child now?” the nurse asked. “When I left him,” Mrs. Fowler said, “he was quieter, but I don’t know how long it will last. Will you come upstairs?” The two disappeared and Gypsy sat down, frowning. It must be now or never. Mrs. Fowler would have to listen to her! Twice she heard the child crying. It must have been ten minutes before the woman returned. Mrs. Fowler had *been weeping. She came directly to the girl, fixing her frightened eyes on Gypsy’s. “What is it you want?” she asked. Out of the unknown, inspiration had come to Gypsy. It was not what she had intended to say. It was intuition—born in that brief instant Mrs. Fowler had paused on the threshold. There was no time to consider. Gypsy stood up. Her voice was hushed. “I’ve come to tell you that they know!” she whispered dramatically. “Who? What do you mean?” “I’ve come from the trial—Nina Roberts’ trial,” Gypsy went on breathlessly. “I’ve come to tell you they know she didn’t do it. They’ve got the whole story. Everything! I’ve come to warn you—!” a a a FOWLER’S eyes were Elassy. She was staring at the girl. Gypsy, sure she was right, went on relentlessly: “Go to my husband and tell him the truth!” she whispered. “Only hurry! He’ll help you. They’ll be easier on you if you confess. “Tell them he was cruel to you. You’ve got a chance if you hurry. No one will ever know that I’ve been here. I promise you they’ll never know.” Mrs. Fowler had buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders rocked. When the words came they were Indistinct: “He threatened to kill Bobby!” she moaned. “I—l had to do It!” Gypsy put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Tell them that,” she said. “They’ll be easy with you. Did he—strike you?” (To Be Continued)

STICKERS A --2 --3 < --6 —8 —f- IO II L-L,2 A lantffady has three lodgers. Strath bums 2 inches of his candle each night. Turner bums 3 inches and Gabriel 5 inches. What is the smallest number of 12-inch candles that the landlady can manipulate so as to serve the lodgers night after night and have her stock bum out completely the last night, without any waste left over? -r

Answer for Yesterday

I ] aaMMswi aaaitiausik Mil J i The above diagram shows bow the positions of three matches can be changed so that the five original squares become four. The dotted lines indicate the positions of the three matches that were used to form the upper left square. .

TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION

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The old man led Tarzan to a window. “Look,” he directed, pointing to a strange, flat tower rising high above the other sections of the palace. “The woman is probably somewhere in that tower; but as far as you are concerned she might as well be*t the north pole.” Th* apeman's keen eyes took in every detail of the prospect before him. Seemingly satisfied, he turned rpon the old man: “Blood ties are strong. We are the only men of our race in this valley. Perhaps you will betray me, but I tielieve I can trust toil”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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“If you want to escape,” he continued, “come with me.” The old man shook his head. “No,” he answered, “it is hopeless.” “Good-bye then,” grinned the ape-man, and swinging out of the window he clambered toward the roof below, along the stout stems of the ancient ivy. The • old man watched him make his careful way toward the tower of mystery where he hoped to find and liberate LA. Then the old fellow turned and hurried rapidly down the crude stairway that dropped ladder-like from the of the room. All the time he mumbled some queer jargon to himself.

—By Ahern

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About an hour later Tarzan reached the tower’s joof. It had many openings covered with heavy tapestries. He drew one aside, peered cautiously down and lowered himself into a large, bare chamber. Sounds of life now came up to him and again the air was fragrant with that peculiar incense. This was to prove the ape-man’s undoing, for otherwise his keen nostrils would have detected the scent of a nearby who stood behind one of the hangings. Re saw Tarzan approach and watched him wit* superstitious terror.

OUT OUR WAY

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—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Finding a stairway. Tarzan softly descended No sooner had he passed out of sight, than the black watcher leaped to his feet and scurried madly away. Now on the fourth Unking Tarzan came abruptly upon an enormous slave, armed with a huge spear. Wide-eyed the slave beheld the ape-man Jump lightly from the stairway. Finally he found words to speak. “Are you searching for the white she, your mate?” he asked. “I know where she is hidden Follow me,” Tarzan was suspicious. How had the fellow v Knov.n his motive? How came he in the ape-man’s path?

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blower

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin