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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 24, 1922)
The Room on the Roof By Will Payne THE STORY THIS FAR: Nathaniel Harwood, a handsome lawyer of 44. Iiaa dissipated moot of the big fortune left him and hi* daughter by hie wife. To recoup he has practically engaged himself to Mrs. I.etitia Rrlknap, a widow worth III millions. Adolph Krom. a Minister looking lens grinder, and a “Fro/casor” Meiiunaa Interest Mar wood in an invention to produce mo tion picture* In natural color* ami la relief. They havo stolen this Invention from their former em ployer. Mnton Curlin. Harwood in stall* the workmen In the room on the roof, a curious retreat above his offfoea in a Chicago skyscraper. Sftainniuii fears Curlin, so Harwood finds a factory aft blow River, Mich., where Krom and Stein man work on the invention. In Slow River, Ills heme town, Harwood falls m love with young Elisabeth Malden. Elizabeth seen Carlin and his nephew. Robert Whiteside, eject ed from the factory. They had been seeking the eminent and plans stolen from Curlin by Krom and Stcii mu* ii Whiteside, young and I fearless, ‘dir* Elizabeth. Harwood takes Elizabeth to Chicago as his aerretury. Exploring the room on the roof. Elizabeth catches Curlin and Whiteside trying to break Into the sufe. she permits then* to leave when Whiteside points out they were merely seeking the rumen* and plans stolen from his uncle. HarmihhI'h sister. Sarah Otwell, in tro* luces Elizabeth to Chicago we drly. Harw mid proposes and Eliz abeth agrees to marry him. She re turns to Slow River to tell her mother. Sfeinniaii has disappeared, she learn* there. Again she meets Whiteside, still hunting the stolen camera He speaks slightingly of llarwmid. but apologizes when she tells him she I* to marry the lawy er. Elizabeth returns to Chicago. Har wood visits New York on business. Krom exhibits for Elizabeth the new motion pictures. Harwood re turns . Mrs. ltelkuap summons him. When he eonfesse* his engagement to Elizabeth, the widow, nngered. shows she knows lie is in financial difficulties. Elizabetli agrees to marry Harwood on Thanksgiving day, six weeks lienee. Krom sbovvs the new pictures for Harwood, then Insists the latter buy him out at once for cash. In tx drunken frenzy he killed Steinman and buried the body i u lie factory at blow River, I Kroui relates. SIXTH INSTALLMENT. Robert Whiteside Again. Ilarwood had been listening lat terly In a sort of ghastly chill. There was a horrible verisimilitude about the narrative as Krom slow ly unfolded it. The narrator s im pression of the affair, as only an unlucky accident made it all the worse. There was a slight perspir ation on the lawyer’s brow and up per lip—and somewhere within him a strong push, like a propelling hand. This push urged him to rise and declare: “If you're telling the truth you are a murderer, and I shall hand you over to the police!” Krom again put his hand to his brow and observed soberly "We can get the patent fixed up In a week if we push it right along. I’ll sell out to you for a song—compara tively.” The invention for a moment warn all in this fellow's hands. That could be made secure in a week. And it was implicit in the situation that Krom wouldn't have confessed the murder except that he expected Ilarwood to take his view of it—as an unlucky accident. To smash Krom was to smash the invention. The inner push subsided. “You can afford,” said Krom, "to pay me $250.000—especially as now you won’t have Steinman to settle with. That’ll turn the whole thing over to you. Of course I know it’s worth a lot more. But I gotta get away from here. I'm going to Ger many myself." Harwood then spoke for the first time "I'll agree to that if the pic tures come up to the samples you've shown me. when I get the pat ents." So that Inner push was defi nitely negatived—and Ilarwood was saying to himself. “Even if his story is true and he should ever try to turn this confession against me his affirmation w’ill not stand for a moment against my denial.” Then followed a sordid contention 1—both men with composed faces and controlled voices. Krom argued that the Invention was conu>leted Harwood had seen the proofs of that with his own eyes; Krom would turn the apparatus over to him and give him the technical descrip tions to be put into the applications for patent: Harwood would then pay Krom $250,000. This was Mon day: the payment should be made Thursday. uut Harwood countered; seeing the pictures and the apparatus was a different thin* from having the patents; somebody else might slip ahead of them before their patent applications were filed; besides he had no money in hand; his funds were all tied up; it would take him much longer than Thursday to raise 1250,000. In short, when the pat ents were in hand he'd pay Krom J250.000; but not before. They kept their faces straight and , their voices subdued, each sticking * to his point and each with a hatred tor the other. Finally Krom ob served nhl'gma ili-ally: "Well, seems no use arguing it any more. You say you’ve got an engagement. It's overdue now. But I got to have the money by Thurs day. That's sure" “I got to have the money by Thursday,” Krom had said. It was like that crucial moment In a poker game when & man must decide whether or not he will call what ho believes to be a bluff. Har wood, with a deep irritation, hard ened his resolution and decided to call. So he arose, his face com posed, and replied in a pleasant intonation. "My engagement is overdue. I must go.” He walked toward the door, his nerves hoping that Krom would call him back and open the way to an acceptable compromise. But Krom silently watched him go. Thinking unprintable things; and as Har wood disappeared he Kaid to him self in a burst of rage; ' You - -, I’ll trim you to the bone yet!” For at the end of the interview each man hated tho other. “Black guard! Cutthroat! I.iar!” Harwood was saying to himself as he went downstairs, his nerves in a jangle. Would Krom fly the track—perhaps taking the invention to Curlin? But Krom couldn’t l>e such a fool as to do that! Thus agitated, he stepped into the cabinet; and Bess, a loathing of Krom when he though about It. Ilut Krom wan such a liar! Would a man commit a murder liko that and confess like that? As the lawyer’s sanguine temper worked at the problem he began to iwrceivo quite clearly that a man wouldn't. Ho could ignore all that stuff about Steinman because it was a lie. What would Krom do next? Harwood mustn't weaken now; he must let Krom make the next move. This afternoon, or tomorrow, Krom would bo coming around. An hour after Harwood came down from the roof room lteaa was going out to luncheon. In the office —except at some moments when they were alone—Harwood still pre served the attitude of a benevolent employer. They never went out to luncheon together nor went home together. Sho understood that his strict propriety in that regard was a compliment to her—needing no instructress in proprieties to tell her that a young woman who received marked attentions of an unbusiness like nature from her employer would be offering herself as a sub ject for gossip. She left the office Each man hated the other. looking up. was struck with surprise at his dark face. “Hid you see them? Didn't you like them?" she asked quickly, won tiering. Harwood realized he had given himself away, and recovered his facial composure, saying: “O, yos; the pictures are fine.” But some explanation seemed necessary. “I'm worried about Krom. Bess.” he told her confidentially. “Doggone him! He drinks, you know. Of course, it’s important to keep him on the track until this job's fin ished. Can’t have him going off on a spree now. I was pitching into him about it.” From Aunty Prothroe’s report and otherwise Bess had gathered an idea that Krom had a weakness for drink. It was important that he couldn’t go on a spree now— or ever, for that matter; he was a very able man, which made it trebly a pity he should degrade him seif with drink. Harwood went on to Ills room in a turmoil. Would Krom try to jump the track now? The lawyer realized his own situation wan pre carious; his hold on the invention doubtful. If only tie had that ap paratus, especially the lenses, in his own hands! He had banked on the fact that Krom and Steinman could do better by dealing with him than by going to anybody else. He still banked on it. Krom must be sens ible enough to see that his own interest lay in dealing straight with Harwood; surely he’d get much more that way than by going to C’urlin, for example. First and last Harwood had put a good deal of money into this thing —chiefly by taking an option on that motion picture stock in New York after Bess telephoned about the new pictures. He had long sus pected that Krom was something of a grafter—overcharging him for ma terials and tools and the like; but that was a small game, n 1,'t yhe a couple of thousand dollars all told; the lawyer fairly ignored it. And Steinman! Harwood again felt that ghastly chill. Murdered "V1 buried in the cellar' There wa« alone, going out through the double glass doors of the big workroom into tho white tiled public corridor which ran along that side of the building. The elevators were just ahead of her. She pushed a button and waited for a car. and chanced to look down the corridor. Mr. Robert Whiteside was coming toward her from the further end of the corrider. A small blank door down there opened to the stairway room by which one could gain the root. That door ought to be locked on tlie Inside, yet he and his uncle had got In that way once. And he had solemnlypromised her not to go to the roof that way again. At sight of him she changed her intention of taking the next car down, step ping back and waiting, erect. She had something to say to him. He seemed not much embarrassed, as he came up, hat in hand, and his first words were, with a smile; "No, I haven't broken my parole. I only went to that door. It's locked.” "Is that why you didn’t break ths parole?" she asked coolly. His face sobered and he told her ruefully: "I'm always unlucky about you. I don’t seem to have much luck about anything lately. For fair' play you might give me a little boost. I'm licked you see—run over—ruled out. They always let a man explain— afterwards, why he kicked the hull the wrong way. That's only fair. You're going to lunch. Won't you come with me? Honestly, I'd like to tell you something. You could help me. with no harm to anybody.” Impudent? She would not say that it wasn't Impudent. Yet it was subtly the language of youth; there were the signs and passwords of a free masonry to which she inevita bly belonged. She had again the feeling that it wasn’t so much im pudence as open, boyish candoi— somehting about the campus in It. And she felt also, as before, that she could manage this young man with ease. I’ve something to say to you." she said. "You go to luncheon with me •> TTci- manner suggested that What Hhe had to say was hardly flattering; hut he instantly agreed, with a smile. She knew a small, unpros porous tearoom, called the Gat and Cherub, w hlch one reached In a wabbly ole vntor. The tearoom occupied the third floor because no other use could be found for that space in a building GU years old and already hopelessly antiquated. The food was indifferent, but the unprosper ous little establishment offered a pleasant contrast to the cluttered, noisy popular eating places there abouts. They found a table in u corner and gave an order. Then she told him: “I've looked in that safe in the roof room. There is nothing In It like the camera you described. There's no such article anywhere In that room. I thought of telephon ing you—in the hope that It might keep you out of Jail. But you'd giv en me your word not to go there again." He ignored the latter thrust for the moment, repeating, with Inter est, “So you’ve looked In that safe.” ‘Tve seen everything In it," she affirmed, “and everything in that room. There’s no such camera there." “Well, I’m glad to know that," he replied In thoughtful soberness. “I'll tell my uncle. I hope it will satisfy him.” "You mean you hope he’ll assume that I am telling the truth," she said, with sarcasm. Ho laughed frankly at that and admitted: “Yes, that’s what I hope. But there’s no telling what my uncle will assume. You see, I don't care a rap about this Invention any more. I wish it wan In Halifax. Ail T want Is to get back to my job In Montana. I’d just fairly started at it when I was called here." “Why don’t you go?” she asked bluntly. He gave hfr a baffled, embar rassed sort of smile: even a foolish sort of smile, and replied soberly: "Only reason is I’m afraid my uncle Will get into jail. Sounds ridiculous, I know. Sounds ridicul ous to me when I say it. lie’s cracked ub^ut this invention— sticks in his mind like a burr—ail gone off his head about it. He's an awfully bad tempered, cross grained old man'. He’s had this invention idea a long while—work ed over it, you know ; neglected his business for it. He thinks ICrom and Steinman stole it under his nose. Makes him perfectly un reasonable. you see. No telling what he might do. That’s why I’m sticking around. "I don't see w-hy you should.' she objected at random. "Well, there's nobody else," he replied in that simple openness. "He’s a regular grouch, all right enough. But he has another side. He took my mother and me In when we were helpless; I was only 8 then. He took care of us a long while when r.ord knows what would have become of us if he hadn't. He put me through school and college and technical school. Now he’s in the hole himself, you see. I wouldn’t really care a rap about the invention If he'd only forget it. But you saw that day up there at Slow River: he'd taken a gun along. Of course I didn't know that . Came mighty near shooting with it, too. You saw that.” Ihs round, blue gray eyes—under the forehead with the funny little horizontal crease in it—were re garding her gravely: his voice dropped a note: "He might even kill somebody. He’s threatened to when he was in a tantrum. Wha can I do except stick around? I'm the only person in the world who can do anything with him when it comes to this in vention—and I can't do any too much. But I can stick around and do what I can. He took me in out of the wet when I was a kid and couldn't help inyself—and my moth er. I know it sounds sort of ridic ulous; but that's the way it is." It didn’t sound ridiculous to Eliz at the moment. That Is, only the uncle Bounded ridiculous. "But he must know the law!" she protested. "Same’s a bulldog that's been chewed in the ear knows he must'nt fight,” Whiteside replied. "If he knew the law—to obey It—I'd be be packing up for Montana tonight. A man can get so all fired mad that he don't even know the way home. That's Uncle Simon when he gets to thinking that Krom stole his in vention.” She couldn't think of any further protest and drifted along a moment in silence. Then she said abruptly, as though it were quite understood between them: “You broke Into the factory at Slow niver that night—after I saw you.” "Yes.” ho replied promptly. "We broke in. That's the moat ridiculous part of it, you see. He's bound to do It: tells too he's going to- I know absolutely he will. I can quota him a pious text and stay at hom% or go along and try to keep lilta out of trouble. Perfectly ridlcu. lous. of course. Itut what can • fellow do?” "A madman ought to have a keep. Cr "' she declared warmly. Ho smiled and replied: ".Sure! And I'm elected! That's my job. The law can t do anything, you know, Before a commission In lunacy he'd l*e no more insane lhat I am. The crossgrained old boy has simply got that invention idea stuclc straight through his nut. You couldn't blast it out with dynamite. Thinking that his Invention’s go ing to be stolen under Ids nosa drives him wild. He's hound to get hia hands on that camera. He can't go to law about it because he can't prove anything. I was afraid he'd gone up to that roof room today. That’s why I was in the corridor. But evidently he hadn't gone up there, for the door was locked." For a minute she could find noth Ing to say. Then she remembered, and asked him: “What was it you had in mindt You said I might help you." "You've already done it.” he re plied. “It was about that blasted camera. There's no question at all that It's my uncles camera—at least I think so. Suppose Kroin stole it and had it up there in that roof room. Well, tho way I looked ut it there'd he nothing wrong about your telling me if you saw it ur» there. If I could get that camera located, you See. [ could Insist upon starting an action to recover it and ihutd get the whole thing into court. If I could get the thing into court I'd die happy. The court action would get my uncle's mind oil burglary and assault and battery. But you've already looked around up there." i neres no sum camera, she repeated. "Well," he said simply, “I hope that’ll satisfy my uncle.” She had to laugh at his unen. thusiastic tone, saying: "You think my work would go about ns far with your uncle as a Russian ruble.” He laughed also, and replied: Just about. Mine only goes as fjir as two rubles—when it cornea to this rotten Invention. I'm all shot up about my job in Montana. It was really a first rate opening " They fell to talking about his job, and after they parted Reas re membered, with some surprise, that they had left the tearoom laughing. Walking tack to the office she ob scurely felt that there is a great deal of laughter in the language of youth. Whiteside boarded a northbound car. Climbing the dirty stairs to the camera factory, anxiety about his uncle came uppermost In his mind; and as he stepped into the plain, cheap little showroom he was much relieved to see. through the half open door opposite, that the old man was at his desk. The young man looked good natured os he entered the dingy office, closing the door behind him, and sat down In the plain wooden chair near the dealt. “Well, uncle, I’v Anally got a report on that roofroom, one that we can bank on,” he announced cheerfully. The lank camera maker, Ills lean, red face drooping sourly in all Us lines, was regarding him with a kind of inveterate suspicion. The small, hot eyes, that looked so odd ly bald because there were sea rely any eyebrows above them, seemed to reject his report In advance. Whiteside knew that a circumstan tial account would be necessary, and began: "I told you. if you remember, that I told Miss Malden—Har woods secretary, you know—about I lie camera and gave her a sketcti of it so she could identify it.” I'urlin nodded grumpily. "Well, she's looked in the safe and all around the room,” Whiteside continued cheerfully. The camera isn't there." For a moment trim viewed hi* nephew with a kind of sour pity, as though he had given evidence of feeble mindedness. and replied, in a dry, matter of Act grumble "Of course, she'd hi' about it." "No.” Whiteside assured him ear nestly, “I'm sure she's telling the truth. I've got acquainted with her. you see. We've just been to lunch together. I told her that the cam era had been stolen from you. I'm sure she's telling the truth.” But that assurance made no more impression tipon the camera maker than the babble of a child. He re called that the young woman, whom he had seen once at the Slow River factory and once in thA roof room, was good looking. Possibly this addle pated young man hed been getting sentimentally Interested In her. At any rate, her testimony re garding the roof room seemed «» utterly beneath notice that Curtin turned back to his little red desk i» ah Par* HlfM-)