MURDER By An I
ARISTOCRAT I ^
1
Evelyn or Janice had cer
tainly been the last person
to see Bayard alive. I could
Got believe that Janice with
er loveliness and her youth
and her charm had killed
Bayard. And Evelyn would
have had to have a very ur
Eent motive for murdering
im; It would have had to be
a motive that even her gift
for expediency and her ex
tremely practical intelligence
oould discover no other pos
sible way to satisfy. And while
It’s true that a woman like
Janice, passionately and hope
lessly in love, may be impelled
to do extraordinary things—
still I don’t know that she
need take to manslaughter as
a relief for her feelings.
But there was the time and
opportunity Janice had had— ,
there was the egg basket and ;
the revolver and that com
promising episode In the kit
chen the very next morning
following the murder. There
was no escaping the deduction
that she’d known the revolver
was in that basket and that
she’d gone to the refrigerator
either to be sure it was still
undetected or to remove It to
a safer place.
A dozen pictures of Janice
returned to me: The fright
ened, beautiful girl in soft
yellow chiffon, bravely hold
ing her fright in leash and
showing me into Bayard That
cher’s room; the slim child In
green dimity working among
the flowers, herself lovelier
than any of them; the tor
tured woman with the spent
white face leaving her love
and her lover without sur
render there at the foot of
the stairs, with the still sum
mer night and the moonlight
and shadows and the scent
of the roses outside. And there
was her letter with its pride
and pain and honesty. And
there was the girl of the aft
ernoon, happy and warm in
spite of herself because Allen
was there beside her, and
holding that dark red rose to
her cheek as if that were the
one thing she might caress.
No, it couldn’t be Janice.
Yet Bayard Thatcher had
certainly been murdered. I al
ways came back to that.
Twilight was coming on
when I went downstairs. That
night dinner was a silent and
a rather dreadful meal. Those
desperate efforts to keep up
appearances had flagged from
very weariness with the long
and trying day, and I daresay
everyone dreaded tomorrow’s
ordeal. Tomorrow, when they
would lay Bayard’s body away
with those other Thatchers,
and would know, every one
of them, that In their small
circle was that one who had
murdered him. No, it was no
pleasant thing to anticipate,
and there was no escaping it.
There were, even, no more
telegrams to be opened and
read and discussed with a de
termined pretense of the or
dinary and the commonplace.
Flowers, however, had begun
to come with the arrival of |
the evening train; they had
been stored in tubs of cold
water in the summer kitchen,
but among them were lilies
whose cloying fragrance had
filled the house before the
sheaf was removed, and which
now clung to everything, a
ghostly notice of the ordeal
to come.
To my surprise Janice was
white and tired and failed to
catch the occasional effort
Evelyn made to introduce
some safe topic of conversa
tion. The meal was half over
before I discovered why;
somehow, I had expected her
to be greatly relieved from
alarm and anxiety by the re
turn of her letter and to show
It in her face and bearing.
But. possibly from not having
had an overwhelming amount
of experience in such mat
ters, I am rather clumsy. I
had not perceived that her
distress and anxiety as to who
Patron Shot at Waiter,
Then Robbed Car Driver
Kansas City. — rup>— "Snappy
lerrtce” was the motto of J, R.
Brookshire waiter in a downtown
lunchroom hare. So when a sup
posed customer entered a few
nights ago. he snapped into action.
Hastily he reached under the coun
ter to fill a glass of water.
Instantly the customer whipped
out a pistol and firrd The bullet
unaxlv d into the wail not far
from B.ooluhirc • head aa he
I
had read her letter would be
greater than her relief at get
ting it into her own hands
once again. After all, it might
; have been kinder to tell her.
After dinner we sat out on
: the porch in the quiet, deep
ening summer night. There
was very little said. The
greens of the lawn lost them
selves in shadow: the cigarets
became small red spots of
light; the street lights away
down at the corner made the
trees loom huge and black and
far away, with leaves edged
in light silver where the light
touched them. The moon came ;
up finally; the dusk was lost,
and the shrubs and trees stood
out black against the white
lawn, and white strip of road.
The moon, I thought idly, was
at its full.
After a long time Evelyn
murmured something about
going home, and Adela stirred
to say, out of the darkness
beside me, that she’d like
them to stay there again for
the night. There was no ap
peal in her deliberate voice,
but I felt she wanted Hilary
and Evelyn near her. Evelyn
agreed at once.
“Allen won’t mind staying
over at the house alone," she
said. “But I’ll want a few
things from home. Allen, will
you take the car over and ask
Julia to pack my overnight
bag. Tell her to put in that
new white silk. The crepe with
the long sleeves; she’ll know
the gown I mean. And the
white hat that goes with It.
And gloves. Tell her to fold the
silk carefully, I don’t want to
have to press It. We’d better
wear white tomorrow, Janice.
Adela will wear black with
her long crepe veil, but I
think plain white summer
dresses with white hats would
be better for us to wear. Peo
ple will like it. Do you mind,
Allen?"
“I hope I get the right
things,” said Allen, rising from
the step. Against the moon
lit lawn his tall figure looked
strong and full of life and vi
tality. His cigaret was a small
red comet across the lawn,
and he said:
"Better come along, Janice.
The drive will do you good.”
“Oh, no. No,” said Janice.
There was a hint of panic in
her voice. Of what had she
been thinking, I wondered, as
she sat there so quiet in the
shadow of the clematis vine
and watched Allen In the
moonlight, and felt the soft
summer night and wanted,
perhaps, the touch of his
hands and his arms and his
mouth. Poor Janice, who knew
so well what love could do.
But perhaps Allen suffered
more when he thought of
Dave. Dave! With some cha
grin I reminded myself that
my morals were tottering—
morals which had served me
well for longer than It’s neces
sary to mention. There was
Dave, too, to be pitied; Dave
whose wife no longer loved
him; Dave whose friend was
treacherous. Dave, who, by all
rights, ought to be pitied more
than any of them. But for the
life of me I could not feel par
ticularly sorry for Dave; per
haps it was owing to his curi
ous detachment; his enig
matic lack of interest in his
lovely wife, his morose si
lences, his somber, withdrawn
look.
Wearily I found myself
again In that hopeless circle
of speculation and resolved to
leave It at least for the night.
But I was not permitted to do
so; one of the strangest things
about the Thatcher case was
the Inexorable destiny which
dragged me into every phase
of It.
Evelyn, too. may have
caught some meaning note In
Janice's voice, for she rose.
“Perhaps I'd better go along
after all,” she said firmly.
•'We’ll be awfully hurried to
morrow morning, and I’d bet
ter be sure I have everything.
ducked. The customer fled, kid
naped a tax tea ii driver. and
robbed him of M 75.
And Brookshire's movement* as
ha waited on his next customer
were far from snappy
Vice Consul Has Easiest
Job in America, She Says
San Francisco — »UF« — Seno
rtta Teres! t a Arguello, M V'.ce
Consul for Nicaragua in San
Francisco, thinks she has the eas
iest job in America
’All I tiara U do la attend
I'll bring your things, too,
Hi'ary. I think I know what
you’ll want.”
The sound of the car shook
the still night. Janice had
shrunk back into the shadow
of the vine. “Such a few mo
ments,” she had said, “out of
all the years. All the rest such
a dreadful waste.”
Adela stood.
“I’ll say good night,” she
said. “As Evelyn says, we’ll be
hurried in the morning ” She
sighed. “I only hope no one
says anything about our hur
rying the funeral so. It doesn’t
seem fitting not to wait—but
tomorrow’s Sunday—perhaps
they’ll think—” She checked
herself and said in a more
collected way, “Will you come
with me, please, Miss Keate?
I am very tired.”
I went with her, of course.
She did look dreadfully weary.
I was giving her a back mas
sage when someone knocked
at the door. At Adela’s word
Florrie entered.
“Well, Florrie, what is it?”
asked Adela.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,
Miss Adela,” and Florrie. “But
I thought you might have
some aspirin. I’ve got one of
my bad headaches. And I don’t
want to be sick for tomorrow,
ma’am. There’ll be a lot to
do.”
‘‘Why, certainly, Florrie.
There ought to be some in the
medicine chest, there in my
bathroom. Go and look.”
But there wasn’t, it de
veloped, and Adela sent Flor
rie to Janice’s room.
“I’m sure she has some.
Just look in the medicine
chest in her dressing room.
She always keeps it on hand
for Mr. Dave’s headaches.”
Florrie went away. It was
perhaps five minutes later
that she returned. At first
sight of her eyes, shining a
little, and that odd look of
malice in her usually stolid !
face, I straightened up and
looked at the thing she held
in her hands. It was a small
white felt hat. Adela looked,
too, and became an old, old
woman before my very eyes.
“I thought I ought to bring
this to you, ma’am,” said Flor
rie, her voice shrill with a
kind of ugly triumph. “I saw
It accidentally. It was stuffed
back of the radiator in Miss
Janice’s dressing room,
ma’am. Right there below the
medicine cabinet.”
I have never .before or since
admired Adela as I did at that
moment. She said:
‘‘Give it to me, Florrie. Miss
Keate, haven’t you some as
pirin for her?”
I did have: A large boxful
of tablets. A pasteboard box
Into which I had tumbled the
tablets for convenience and
which I had labeled. It was
in my small instrument bag,
and I got it at once and
thrust box and all into Flor
ae's hand and told her not
to take too many of them.
“Yo» may go now. Florrie,”
said Adela. Her bluish lips
looked stiff, and her eyes like
Ice. The girl went; she looked
frightened.
Adela did not try to dis
semble before me. I suppose
she knew it was no use. I
looked at the small hat.
It was the hat Janice had
worn the previous afternoon; i
I knew it at once. And I re
membered with frightful
clarity that she had worn it
when she entered the house
alone, not more than 10 min- :
utes before Bayard was found
murdered. And that when, at
the alarm, she had appeared
in the library beside us all
she had worn no hat.
But on the white brim of
that small felt hat were four
red-brown smudges. I have
seen dried blood too often not
to recognize it immediately.
Adela said stiffly:
“Take it. Nurse-”
And at that very instant
there was a knock on the
door, and without waiting for
a reply it was pushed open.
I Janice stood on the thresh
! old.
Her dark eyes went to me
and then to Adela and then
; fastened upon the hat. It was
not nice to see the loveliness
leave her face; to see it be
many parties ' She explained.
Dr. M««ntelfagre. I he consul gen
eral. doesn't care for the many
parties to which the consul Is in
vited. so I go instead '*
Her pretence is always welcome
to other consular represents Uvea
here because Senortts Argurlis is
tall, slim and beautiful. She ta
the only feminine consular offi
cial stationed hare
DOfl'H Lift?—IT TMM
Knoxville. Tenn — Toodles may
have led a dog * Hie in her IT ysara,
but during that time, thought to
be a record age for one of her
come a stiff, strained white
mask, hiding terror.
CHAPTER X
Many times during my stay
in the Thatcher home I was
astonished at the Thatcher
capacity for utter silence. Ut
ter and complete silence at
times when an ordinary per
son would have burst into
frenzied explanations. But I
was never more taken aback
by that baffling trait than
when Janice merely looked at
that bloodstained little hat,
that dreadful witness against
her, for a long moment, and
then said:
• What are you doing with
my hat?” Her voice was quite
steady, but then I had seen
something of her powers of
self-control. And her face was
still white and drained of life.
‘‘Your — hat,” said Adela
with difficulty. It was not ex
actly a question or a state
ment; it was just the utter
ance of words in a curiously
tentative way. She offered, I
thought, a chance for Janice
to deny the hat.
But Janice said, ‘‘Why, cer
tainly. You know it’s my hat.
What are you doing with it?”
“It was—found,” said Adela.
She looked shrunken and ter
ribly old. ‘‘It was found and
brought to me.”
“Who found it?”
“Florrie.”
“Oh,” said Janice. “Oh.
Florrie. Florrie seems to be
taking quite an interest in
my affairs lately. Well, if you
are quite through with it, I’ll
take it.”
She walked swiftly to the
bed and picked up the hat. I
noted that her slender fing
ers seemed to avoid touching
the brim; that brim that
showed where four fingers had
touched it and had left so
ugly a mark of their pressure.
To complete my bewilderment
she bent over Adela, kissed
her cheek lightly, said, “Have
a good night, darling. Don’t
worry about tomorrow,” and
turned away. At the door she
remembered my presence and
said over her shoulder, “Good
night, Miss Keate.”
She said it coolly, her dark
eyes unfathomable, her slen
der figure erect, her chin up,
and the tell-tale little hat
crushed in her hand. Then she
closed the door firmly behind
her, and Adela sighed.
“You see, Miss Keate, we
were wrong. We both leaped
to an unjust and horrible con
clusion. Or not so much a con
clusion as a very dreadful sus
picion. It only goes to show
how one’s nerves may trick
one. We are both unstrung by
the dreadful and shocking
circumstances of Bayard’s
aeptn. He was Kiuea uy a
burglar, and we know it. And
yet merely the sight of—the
sight of-” She could not
say the word and substituted,
“merely the stain on Janice’s
hat made us both fear-”
Deep waters here, Adela. And
she realized it. For she
checked her words to cough
delicately, to hunt for a hand
kerchief, to ask me for a
drink of water. And finally
to resume:
“Absurd of us. When there
are so many ways that could
happen. Of course. I know my
own family. I know none of
them are capable of—that
Janice is not—that she could
not-” She stuck again. Poor
Adela, she could not bring
herself to voice her thought.
As for me, I should have
been much happier if Janice
had said something — any
thing— to explain that hat.
Her silence was almost as
damning as the bloody fing
erprints; more so, in fact, for
I felt if there’d been an in
nocent explanation she would
have given it.
And the grim little Incident
brought rather forcibly to
my mind the danger in which
I stood. I. the stranger; I, the
outsider. I said quietly:
“By the way. Miss Thatch
er, you won’t need me past to
morrow. I can return to the
hospital after the funeral.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
.. -— »» I ■■■■
Too Early, In Fact.
From be Moat ifue
•’You're alwayt late Why. you
were late on our wedding day. ’
"But not late enough "
breed, the mixed collie and water
spaniel baa had a good time The
dog. property of Mr*. MUUe E
Ridgeway, la still living, but she is
atone deaf. Judged on the usual
baais that one year of a dog * life
is equivalent to five year* of a
human's. Toodlet is now SO year*
old.
To His Credit.
From Toronto Telegram.
"Look heir. waiter. IVe been
waiting half an hour for that atcak
I ordered "
•Yea. ur. I know. air. Life would
be worth living if everybody waj u
patient at you are ’
SUMMING UP WISDOM
And lie la oft the wisest man who
Is not wise at all.—Wordsworth.
STOP WITH SYMPATHY
Don’t mingle your syacputliy with
advice.
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WAY TO / \ SUOS— RINSE— I
WASH I I AND LET THEM \
(OISHES?/ (OWN DRY.THERES)
V-■sr-' ^ NOTHING TO IT J
^JOHN, DEAR — JUST A
LOOK AT THIS NEW WAT ]
TO WASH DISHES. IT'S /
I SIMPLY WONDERFUL ! ^
GREASE SLIPS RIGHT f
OFF IN THESE CREAMY )
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And Rinso is so easy on the hands. Easy
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I NOTHING' CAM
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TAKES A MUD BATH
AT “SIXTY”
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