The Syracuse Journal, Volume 7, Number 9, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 25 June 1914 — Page 4

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B. &0, Time I able. EAST WEST No. 16 —12:44p, m No. 17 —6‘:l9a.xn No. 8 — 2:05 p. nt No. 15 —4:40 a. ni No. 18—- 7:35 p. m No. 11 —2:20p. in No. 6 — 8:45 p. m No. 7 —1:45 p. tn No. and No. 12. due at 9:iß. il DR. J. D. SCOTT I i i Dentist h i i NAPPANEE. -i- INDIANA | Phone No. 8

Be ©me . OF I By MARY ROBERTS RINEHART ; . Copyright, 1913, by the Bobbs-Merrill Company ...—ii—Hi ...i 11, 1 ■ ■ • I “Perhaps she dropped it in the water.” j He looked at me and smiled. “And , why would she do that?” he asked ; mockingly. “Was it out of fashion?” | “That’s Mrs. Ladley’s coat,” I persisted, but Molly Maguire jerked it < from me and started away. He stood* ; there looking at me and smiling in his ] nasty way. “This excitement is telling on you, Mrs. Pitman,” he said coolly. “You’re too emotional for detective work.” < Then he went in and shut the door. When I went downstairs Molly Ma- ; guire was waiting in the kitchen and j had the audacity to ask me if I , thought the coat needed a new lining! , It was on Monday evening that the strangest event in years happened to : me. I went to my sister’s house! And . the fact that I was admitted at a side entrance made it even stranger. It ( happened this way: , Supper was over, and I was cleaning up, when an automobile came to the door. It was Alma’s car. The chauf- ! feur gave me a note: * Dear Mrs. Pitman—l am not at all well and very anxious. Will you come to see ' me at once? My mother is out to dinner. | and lam alone. The car will bring you. | Cordially, LIDA HARVEY. I put on my best dress at once and ■ got into the limousine. Half the ( neighborhood was out watching. 1 leaned back in the upholstered seat. , fairly quivering with excitement. This | was Alma’s car; that was Alma’s card case; the little clock had her monogram on it. Even the flowers in the ( flower holder, yellow tulips, reminded ( me of Alma, a trifle showy, but good to ( look at And I was going to her bouse. I was not taken to the main entrance, but to a side door. The queer dreamlike feeling was still there. In this back hall, relegated from the more ; conspicuous part of the house, there were even pieces of furniture from the old home, and my father’s picture in an ( oval gilt frame hung over my head. 1 had not seen a picture of him for twen- j ty years. I went over and touched it gently. “Father, father!” I said. Under it was the tall ball chair that 1 had climbed over as a child and had stood on many times to see myself in the mirror above. The chair was newly finished and looked the better for its age. I glanced in the old glass. The chair had stood time better than I. 1 was a middle aged woman, lined with poverty and care, shabby, prematurely gray, a little hard. 1 had thought my father an old man when that picture was taken, and now I was even older. “Father!” I whispered again and fell to crying in the dimly lighted hall. Lida sent for me at once. 1 had only time to dry my eyes and straighten my hat Had 1 met Alma on the stairs I would have passed her without a word. She would not have known me. But 1 saw no one. Lida was in bed. She was lying there with a rose shaded lamp beside her and a great bowl of spring flowers on a little stand at her elbow. She sat up when 1 went in and had a maid place a chair for me beside the bed. She looked very childish with her hair in a braid on the pillow, and her slim young arms and throat bare. ‘fl’rn so glad you came!” she said, and would not be satisfied until the light was just right for my eyes and my coat unfastened and thrown open. “I’m not really ill,” she informed me. “I’m—l’m just tired and nervous, and —and unhappy, Mrs. Pitman.” “I am sorry,” 1 said. 1 wanted to lean over and pat her hand, to draw the covers around her and mother her a little—l had had no one to mother for so long—but 1 could not. She would have thought it queer and presumptuous—or no, not that. She was too sweet to have thought that “Mrs. Pitman,” she said suddenly, “who was this Jennie Brice?” “She was an actress. She and her husband lived at my house.” “Was she—was she beautiful?” “Well,” I said slowly, “I never thought of that She was handsome, in a large way.” “.Was she young?” “Yes. Twenty-eight or so.” “That isn’t very young.” she said, looking relieved. “But I don’t think men like very young women. Do you?” “I know one who does,” I said, smil- ! ing. But she sat up in bed suddenly ’ and looked at me with her clear, childI Ish eyes. ’ “I don’t want him to like me,” she ! flashed. “I—l want him to hate me.” ’ “Tut tut! You want nothing of the sort” “Mrs. Pitman.” she said. “I sent for you because I’m nearly crazy. Mr. Howell a friend, of that woman. He has acted like a maniac since she disappeared. He doesn’t come to see 1 me. he has given up his work on the J paper, and I saw him today on the i street—he looks like a ghost” ) That put me to thinking. “He might have been a friend,” 1 ■ admitted, “although aa far as I know he was never at the house but once, , and then he saw both of them.” “When was that?” | “Sunday morning, the day before she k disappeared. They were arguing some | thing.” Rexall Store | —Fine line of initial box stationf ery at F. L. Hoch’s.

CHAPTER VIII. |HE looked at me attentively. I “You know more than you I are telling me, Mrs. Pitman,** I she said. “You-do you think

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Jennie Brice is dead and that Mr. Howell knows—who did it?” “I think she is <i ead - and 1 P o * slbly Mr. Howell suspects who did it He does not know, or he would have told the police.” “You do not think he was-was in love with Jennie Brice, do you?” “I’m certain of that” I said. “He is very much in love with a foolish girl, who ought to have more faith in him than she has.” > She colored a little and smiled at that but the next moment she was sitting forward, tense and questioning again-“If-that is true, Mrs. Pitman,” she said, “who was the veiled woman he met that Monday morning at daylight and took across the bridge to Pittsburgh? I believe it was Jennie Brice. If it was not, who was it?” “I don’t believe he took any woman across the bridge at that hour. Who says he did?" “Uncle Jim saw him. He had been playing cards all night at one of the clubs and was walking home. He says he met Mr. Howell face to face and spoke to him. The woman was tall and veiled. Uncle Jim sent for him a day or two later, and he refused to explain. Then they forbade him the house. Mamma objected to him anyhow, and he only came on sufferance. He is a college man of good family, but without any money at all save what he earns. And now”— I had had some young newspaper men with me. and I knew what they got. They were nice boys, but they made sls a week. I’m afraid I smiled a little as I looked around the room, with its gray grass cloth walls, its toilet table spread with ivory and gold and the maid in attendance in her black dress and white apron, collar and cuffs. Even the little nightgown Lida was wearing would have taken a week’s salary or more. She saw my smile. “It was to be his chance,” she said. “If he made good he was to have something better. My Uncle Jim owns the paper, and he promised me to help him. But”— So Jim was running a newspaper! That was a curious career for Jim to choose—Jim, who was twice expelled from school and who could never write a letter without a dictionary beside him! I had a pang when I heard his name again after all.,the years, for I had written to Jim from Oklahoma after Mr. Pitman died asking for money to bury him and had never even had a reply. “And you haven’t seen him since?*' “Once. I—didn’t hear from him, and I called him up. We—we met in the park. He said everything was all right, but he couldn’t tell me just then. The next day he resigned from the paper and went away. Mrs. Pitman, it's driving me crazy, for they have found a body, and they think it is hers. If it is and he was with her”— “Don’t be a foolish girl,” I protested. “If he was with Jennie Brice she is still living, and if he was not with Jennie Brice”— “If it was not Jennie Brice then I have a right to know who it was.” she declared. “He was not like himself when I met him. He said such queer things—he talked about an onyx clock and said he had been made a fool of and that no matter what came out I was always to remember that he had done what he did for the best and that —that he cared for me more than for anything in this world or the next.” “That wasn’t so foolish!” I couldn’t help it I leaned over and drew her nightgown up • over her bare white shoulder. “You won’t help anything or anybody by taking cold, my dear,” 1 said. “Call your maid and have her put a dressing gown around you.” I left soon after. There was little 1 could do. But I comforted her as best I could and said good night My heart was heavy as I went downstairs. Fortwist things as I might it was clear that in some way the Howell boy was mixed up in the Brice case. Poor little troubled Lida! Poor distracted boy! I had a curious experience downstairs. I had reached the foot of the staircase and was turning to go back and along the hall to the side entrance when I came face to face with Isaac, the old, colored man who had driven the family carriage when 1 was a child and whom I had seen at intervals since I came back pottering “You are making a mistake; I am not ‘MiM-Bfesl'** around Alma’s house The old man was bent and feeble. He came slowly ’ down the hall with a bunch of keys in his hand. I had seen him do the same thing many times. He stopped when he saw me, and 1 shrank back from the light, but he had seen me. “Miss Bess!” he said. “Foh Gawd’s sake, Miss Bess!” “You are making a mistake, my friend," I said, quivering; “I am not ‘Miss Bess!”’

* He came close to me and stared into my face. And from that he looked at my cloth gloves, at my coat, and he shook his white head. “I sure thought you was Miss Bess,” he said and made no further effort to detain me. He led the way back to the door, where the machine waited, his head shaking with the palsy of age, muttering as he went. He opened the door with his best manner and stood aside. “Good night, ma’am,” he quavered. I had tears in my eyes. I tried to keep them back. “Good night.” 1 said. “Good night. Ikkie.” It had slipped out, my baby name for old Isaac! “Miss Bess!” he cried. “Oh, praise Gawd, it’s Miss Bess again!” He caught my arm and pulled me back into the hall, and there he held me, crying over me. muttering praises for my return, begging me to come back, recalling little tender things out of the past that almost killed me to hear again. But I bad made my bed and must lie in it I forced him to swear silence about my visit; I made him promise not to reveal my identity to Lida; and I told him—heaven forgive me—that I was well and prosperous and happy. Dear old Isaac! I would not let him come to'see me. but the next day there came a basket with six bottles of wine and an old daguerreotype of my mother that had been his treasure. Nor was that basket the last The coroner held an inquest over the headless body the next day, Tuesday. Mr. Graves telephoned me In the morning and I went to the morgue with him. I do not like the morgue, although some of my neighbors pay it weekly visits. It is byway of excursion, like nickelodeons or watching the circus put up its tents. I have heard them threaten the children that if they misbehaved they would not be taken to the morgue that week! I failed to identify the body. How could I? It had been a tall woman, probably five feet eight, and I thought the nails looked like those of Jennie Brice. The thumb nail of one was broken short off. I told Mr. Graves about her speaking of a broken nail, but he shrugged his shoulders and said ■nothing. There was a curious scar over the heart and he was making a sketch of it. It reached from the center of the chest for about six inches across the left breast, a narrow thin line that one could hardly see. It was shaped like this: P-* I felt sure that Jennie Brice bad had no such scar, and Mr. Graves thought as I did. Temple Hope, called to the inquest, said she had never heard of one, and Mr. Ladley himself, at the inquest, swore that his wife had had nothing of the sort. I was watching him, and I did not think he was lying. And yet the hand was very like Jennie Brice’s. It was all bewildering. Mr. Ladley’s testimony at the inquest was disappointing. He was cool and collected: said he had no reason to believe that his wife was dead and less reason to think she had been drowned; she had left him in a rage, and if she found out that by hiding she was putting him in an unpleasant position she would probably hide indefinitely. To the disappointment of everybody, the identity of the woman remained a mystery. No one with such a scar was missing. A small woman of my own age, a Mrs. Murray, whose daughter, a stenographer, had disappeared, attended the inquest But her daughter had had no such scar and had worn her nails short because of using the typewriter. Alice Murray was the missing girl’s name. Her mother sat beside me and cried most of the time. One thing was brought out at the inquest—the body had been thrown into the river after death. There was no water in the-lungs. The verdict was “death by the hands of some person or persons unknown.” Mr. Holcombe was not satisfied. In some way or other he had got permission to attend the autopsy and had brought away a tracing of the scar. All the way home in the street car he stared at the drawing, holding first one eye shut and then the other. But, like the coroner, be got nowhere. He folded the paper and put it in his notebook. “None the less, Mrs. Pitman,” he said, “that is the body of Jennie Brice. Her husband killed her. probably by strangling her. He took the body out in the boat and dropped it into the swollen river above the Ninth street bridge.” “Why do you think he strangled her?” “There was no mark on the body and no poison was found.” “Then, if he strangled her, where did the blood come from?” “I didn’t limit myself to strangulation,” he said irritably. “He may have cut her throat" “Or brained her with my onyx clock,” I added with a sigh. For I missed the dock more and more. He went down in his pockets and brought up a key. *Td forgotten this,” he Said. “It shows you were right—- ■ that the dock was there when the Ladleys took the room. I found this in the yard this morning." It was when I got home from the inquest that I found old Isaac’s basket waiting. I am not a crying woman, but I could hardly see my mother’s picture for tears. Well, after all, that is not the Brice story. lam not writing the sordid tragedy of my life. That was on Tuesday. Jennie Brice had been missing nine days. In all that time, although she was cast for the piece at the theater that week, no one there had heard from her. Her relatives had had no word. She had gone away, if she had gone, on a cold March night, in a striped black and white dress with a red collar and a red and black hat, without her fur coat, which she had worn all winter. She had gone very, early in the morning or during the night How had she gone? Mr. Ladley said he had rowed ha- to Federal street at half afta- 6 and had brought the boat back. I After they had quarreled violently all night and when she was leaving him, wouldn't allowed, her to take

herself'a way? Besides, the*poUce had found no trace of her on an early ’ train. And then at daylight, between 5 and 6, my own brother had seen a woman with Mr. Howell, a woman who might have been Jennie Brica But if it was, why did not Mr. Howell say so? Mr. Ladley claimed she was hiding in revenge. But Jennie Brice was not that sort of woman. There was something big about her, something that is found often in large women—a lack of spite. She was not petty or malicious. Her faults, like her virtues, were for all to see. In spite of the failure to identify the body Mr. Ladley was arrested that night, Tuesday, and this time it was for murder. 1 know now that the police were taking long chances. They had no strong motive for the crime. As Mr. Holcombe said, they had provocation. but not motive, which is different. They had opportunity, and they had a lot of straggling links of dews, which in the total made a fair cijain of circumstantial evidence. But that was all. That is the way the case stood on Tuesday night, March 13. Mr. Ladley was taken away at 9 o’clock. He was perfectly cool, asked me to help him pack a suit case and whistled while it was being done. He requested to be allowed to walk to the jail and went quietly, with a detective on one side and. 1 think, a sheriff's officer on the other. Just before he left he asked for 8 word or two with me, and when he paid his bill up to date and gave me an extra dollar for taking care of Peter 1 was almost overcome. He took the ’ manuscript of his play with lilm, and I remember his asking if he could have any typing done in the jail. I had sever seen a man arrested for murder before, but I think he was probably the coolest suspect the officers had •ver seen. They hardly knew what to make of it Mr. Reynolds and 1 had a cup of tea after all the excitement and were sitting at the dining room table drinking it when the bell rang. It was Mr. Howell. He half staggered into the hall when I opened the door and was for going into the parlor bedroom wlth)Ut a word. "■ "Mr. Ladley’s gone, if you want Mm,” I said. I thought his face cleared. “Gone!” he said. “Where?’ “To jail.” He did not reply at once. He stood there, tapping the palm of one hand with the forefinger of the other. He was dirty and unshaven. His clothes looked as if he had been sleeping in them. “So they’ve got him!” he muttered finally, and turning, was about to go out the front door without another word, but I caught his arm. “You’re sick. Mr. Howell.” 1 said. “You’d better not go out just yet" “Oh. I’m all right” He shook his handkerchief out and wiped his face. I saw that his hands were shaking. “Come back and have a cup of tea and a i}lice of homemade bread." He hesitated and looked at his watch. "I’ll do it Mrs. Pitman.” he said. “1 suppose I’d better throw a little fuel into this engine of mine. It’s been going hard for several days.” He ate like a wolf. 1 cut half a loaf into slices for him. and he drank the rest of the tea. Mr. Reynolds creaked up to bed and left him still eating, and me still cutting and spreading. Now that I had a chance to see him 1 was shocked. The rims of his eyes were red, his collar black and his hair hung over his forehead. But when he finally sat back and looked at me his color was better. “So they’ve canned him!” he said. “Time enough, too,” said L He leaned forward and put both his elbows on the table. “Mrs. Pitman.” he said earnestly. “I don’t like him any more than you do. But he never killed that woman.” “Somebody killed her.” “How do you know? How do you know she’s dead?’ Well. I didn’t, of course—l only felt it “The police haven’t even proved a crime. They can’t hold a man for a supposititious murder.” “Perhaps they can’t but they’re doini it,” I retorted. “If the woman’s alive she won’t let him hang.” “I’m not so sure of that” he said heavily and got up. He looked in the little mirror over the sideboard and 1 brushed back his hair. “I look bad enough,!’ he said, “but I feel worse. Well, you’ve saved my life, Mrs. Pitman. Thank you.” 1 “How is my—how is Miss Harvey?’ ■ I asked, as we started out. He turned and smiled at me in his boyish way. 1 “The best ever!” he said. “I haven’t seen her for days, and it seems like ’ centuries. She—she is the only girl in the world for me, Mrs. Pitman, al- . though I”— He stopped and drew a long breath. “She is beautiful, isn’t . she?’ i “Very beautiful,” I answered. “Her mother was always”— “Her mother!” He looked at me t curiously. “I knew her mother years ago,” I t said, putting the best face on my mis- , take that I could. “Then I’ll remember you to her. If ‘ she ever allows me to see her again. ’ Just now,l’m persona non grata.” 1 “If you’ll do the kindly thing, Mr. Howell,” 1 said, “you’ll forget me to her.” | He looked into my eyes and then > thrust out his hand. i (To be continued—) —The Mexican product problem is difficult to solve, but the flour i problem is easy—-GERBELLE and i NEVER FAIL • —Underwear for every member of the family. A. W. Strieby & i Son. i —Pleasing patterns in 8-cent wall- ■ | paper at the Quality Drug Store. ‘ i . I | , ; . ; ’ I [ ’ • * J. W. ROTHENBERGER : Undertaker : l SYRACUSE. t * IND. I ■BN—

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