text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/137

Finally, he picked up the telephone and called Nick Nelson, who got around to him in the shortest possible time.

“Well,” Barham said, after they had discussed matters of lesser moment, “now, out with it, Nick, all about Maddy. Tell me the worst. As you know, very frequently other people know more about a man’s wife than he knows himself.”

“I’ll tell you, Drew,” Nelson said, gravely, “because you ought to know. To begin with, Maddy played Bridge for far higher stakes than you ever dreamed she did. She would lose hundreds, sometimes thousands, in an evening.”

“Maddy! Thousands!”

“Perhaps not often thousands, but almost always hundreds. She was what they call born to bad luck—always held miserable hands”

“Oh, come now, Nick, hands even up in the long run.”

“Not always. Not with some people. But, anyway, Maddy was an erratic player, and a wild one. If she won a pile, she’d raise the stakes and lose it all on a final hand, or something like that. She had all the impulses of a born gambler—she must have had a gambling ancestor—and yet, she always paid.”

“How could she?”

“That’s just it. She borrowed at first, Drew, from all her friends. Her funny code of ethics let her owe a loan, but not a card debt.”

“She wasn’t unique in that respect.”

“No; well, when she could borrow no more, when she had exhausted her mother’s generosity—and purse, probably—she resorted to—I can’t say it, but she knew secrets about her woman friends that she threatened to tell unless they paid her.”

“Blackmail!” and Andrew Barham gasped in horror.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/137


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/138

“You needn’t use the word. It seems Maddy was just gay and laughing about it. She’d run in to see a friend, she’d hint of something she knew—and then she’d ask for a loan of a few hundreds—or more, according to the importance of the secret.”

“How did she learn these things?”

“Oh, every woman knows her neighbors’ secrets—and they often hold them over each other’s heads, as a rod in pickle. But they rarely get money on them—they’d be afraid.”

“Maddy knew no such thing as fear.”

“No. But she didn’t realize that what she was doing was really a crime. Well, then, maybe instead of paying her, some woman would tell a bit of scandal about some other woman—that would give Maddy a fresh start. Any way—that’s the way things were.”

“How did you learn it all?”

“Emmy Gardner told me. She came to me in real distress, fearing Maddy would get into trouble. Emmy asked me to come to you about it—but I didn’t think it was my business to do so. I didn’t know whether Emmy was actuated by real concern for Maddy, as she pretended, or whether in it was but malicious revenge on her own part.”

“Good old Nick, for telling me now. The next thing is to keep it secret. Can that be done?”

“From whom?”

“From everybody who doesn’t already know it. But, primarily, from Mrs. Selden. I hope she’ll never find it out. She idolized the child, and it would grieve her so deeply.”

“We can probably keep it from her—unless some busybody tattles.”

“Claudine knows?”

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/138


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/139

“I’ve been told that Maddy used her schemes on Claudine”

“No!”

“So Emmy said; but the details don’t matter so much. Drew. You can fix Claudine more easily than any one else.”

“This explains a horrible note I got from a Mrs. Gibbs—saying she is a creditor of Maddy’s.”

“Well, ask her for a statement. Those women will be glad to keep still for fear something might come out about themselves. What I’m worried about is this murder trial.”

“Trial? How can there be a trial with no one to try?”

“I mean the murder inquiry. The plans of the police include only two main issues; to find Locke and to learn all about Madeleine’s past.”

“Why the latter?”

“They think it will give them a line on the motive for the murder, and perhaps a hint as to the murderer.”

“Wasn’t it the artist?”

“Maybe and maybe not. I’m interested in that chap. Drew. Do you know, after the murder—I mean, supposing for the moment that he was the criminal—after the deed, he calmly walked downstairs, gave his masquerade costume to his servant, put on his hat, and walked out of the front door, saying to the doorman he’d be back in a few moments! Did you ever hear of such colossal nerve?”

“Never! How could he? Perhaps he didn’t do it, after all.”

“And then—he went out to Fifth Avenue, and climbed up to the top of a bus and went off.”

“How do they know all this?”

“It seems somebody saw him—some woman who lives next door, I believe, and she was watching the revelers that night.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/139


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/140

“And they’ve never seen or heard from him since?”

“I believe not—unless since I’ve seen the people down there.”

“You speak as if you knew them.”

“No, but I saw several at the inquiry, and they’re not bad at all.”

“What do you mean by not bad? I don’t suppose they’re Hottentots.”

“No; but they seem really interesting. Seem to have more—personality, more brains, than some of our own crowd.”

“They wouldn’t have to be overburdened at that.”

“I know it. And they say—that is, Mr. Jarvis told me, that Locke is a very worth-while chap.”

“Not a heavy villain, then?”

“No; sort of a dreamer, and rather intellectual. Says he’s a good pal”

“Look here, Nick,” Barham interrupted him, “if Locke didn’t kill Maddy, who did? Could it have been any one that is mixed up in this other matter? This blackmail—yes, I will use the word. I never mince phraseology! My wife did blackmail her friends—and in so far as I can, I’m going to make good her debts and hush up the whole matter. I am responsible for everything Maddy did—just so far as I can be responsible. Now here’s my point. If it could be that somebody who had been her victim is at the bottom of this murder business—then I don’t want it found out. See? I’d rather Maddy’s murderer should go unpunished than that Madeleine’s name should be dragged through a trial and all that, whereby her life secrets must be laid bare.”

“I see,” and Nelson thought deeply. “But, Drew, it is impossible, as I see it, with the murder occurring down there, as it did, there should be any connection between it

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/140


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/141

 and the Bridge business. No, it couldn’t be. The more I think it over, the more I think there was some mistake. I mean Maddy was thought to be some one else—the blow was intended for another woman.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. It might be,” and Barham looked hopeful. “It would be awful enough, but I’d liefer that, Nick, than to know that somebody really wanted Maddy’s life.”

“Well, the thing to do is to get Locke. Then, if he’s the good sort that Jarvis thinks him, and if he didn’t do it, he can doubtless help us a whole lot.”

“But if he didn’t do it, why is he hiding?”

“There you go again—round the circle! I don’t know, I’m sure—but there could be reasons. Say he’s innocent, but there’s circumstantial evidence against him. Say he’s innocent, but he’s shielding somebody else. Say he met with foul play himself.”

Barham nodded. “Ingenious but not very plausible. However, I doubt if he’ll ever be found. And, in that case, they’ll drop the whole matter, won’t they?”

“Not so long as they can think of some other way to look. That Hutchins is an alert sort, and Dickson is a smart man. Also, they’re interested. It’s an unusual case—and a picturesque case. Forgive me, Drew, but you’re so sensible, I’m sure you can see for yourself, that a mystery culminating in the death of a society belle, is more intriguing than an ordinary case of murder. Then there is Pearl Jane.”

Barham looked up. “Who’s she?”

“She’s the Miss Cutler I spoke to you about. Did you ever hear such a name? Pearl Jane! Well, it seems she was found bending over the body and there was blood on her sleeve—also there was blood on Locke’s sleeve”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/141


text:
Page:Holy Bible Berean Standard Bible.pdf/89

'''Exodus 12:35 as a permanent statute for the generations to come. For seven days you must eat unleavened bread. On the first day you are to remove the leaven from your houses. Whoever eats anything leavened from the first day through the seventh must be cut off from Israel.

On the first day you are to hold a sacred assembly, and another on the seventh day. You must not do any work on those days, except to prepare the meals—that is all you may do.

So you are to keep the Feast of Unleavened Bread, for on this very day I brought your divisions out of the land of Egypt. You must keep this day as a permanent statute for the generations to come. In the first month you are to eat unleavened bread, from the evening of the fourteenth day until the evening of the twenty-first day. For seven days there must be no leaven found in your houses. If anyone eats something leavened, that person, whether a foreigner or native of the land, must be cut off from the congregation of Israel. You are not to eat anything leavened; eat unleavened bread in all your homes.”

Then Moses summoned all the elders of Israel and told them, “Go at once and select for yourselves a lamb for each family, and slaughter the Passover lamb. Take a cluster of hyssop, dip it into the blood in the basin, and brush the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe. None of you shall go out the door of his house until morning.

When the LORD passes through to strike down the Egyptians, He will see the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe and will pass over that doorway; so He will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses and strike you down.

And you are to keep this command as a permanent statute for you and your descendants. When you enter the land that the LORD will give you as He promised, you are to keep this service.

When your children ask you, ‘What does this service mean to you?’ you are to reply, ‘It is the Passover sacrifice to the LORD, who passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when He struck down the Egyptians and spared our homes.’”

Then the people bowed down and worshiped. And the Israelites went and did just what the LORD had commanded Moses and Aaron.

The Tenth Plague: Death of the Firstborn

Now at midnight the LORD struck down every firstborn male in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh, who sat on his throne, to the firstborn of the prisoner in the dungeon, as well as all the firstborn among the livestock.

During the night Pharaoh got up—he and all his officials and all the Egyptians—and there was loud wailing in Egypt; for there was no house without someone dead.

The Exodus Begins

Then Pharaoh summoned Moses and Aaron by night and said, “Get up, leave my people, both you and the Israelites! Go, worship the LORD as you have requested. Take your flocks and herds as well, just as you have said, and depart! And bless me also.”

And in order to send them out of the land quickly, the Egyptians urged the people on. “For otherwise,” they said, “we are all going to die!” So the people took their dough before it was leavened, carrying it on their shoulders in kneading bowls wrapped in clothing.

Furthermore, the Israelites acted on Moses’ word and asked the Egyptians for articles of


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/142

“Locke’s sleeve! Why, you haven’t told me half! Locke’s sleeve!”

“I mean the sleeve of the costume he wore at the ball. The monk’s robe—not his own coat. You see, he flung the robe to the Chinese servant as he left, and they afterward found a smear of blood on the front of it.”

“What do the Square people think about their fellow artist? Do they suspect him?”

“They seem not to know much about him. They seem not to know much about one another. As Jarvis says, they keep pretty much to themselves and when they get together for an occasional hobnob, they just talk shop.”

“I see.” Barham didn’t appear deeply interested.

“And then, too, it seems this Locke is in the habit of going off on sketching trips or something and staying for days at a time.”

“I suppose all that’s in my stenographer’s report—I’ve not had time to read it yet. Now, Nick, as to hushing up this miserable business of Maddy’s. Shall I go to see the women, and beg or bribe them to keep still about it?”

“Can’t I go for you—I hate to have you subjected to”

“I don’t care what I’m subjected to—and, of course, you understand, it’s for her sake—hers and her mother’s. I could bear it, if I had to, the nine days’ wonder and all that—but I can’t have my dead wife’s name held up to scorn if I can prevent it by any possible means. Any suggestions, old chap?”

Nelson looked at the man before him. Barham’s fine face was set in that firm way his friends knew so well. Not so much stubbornness as bulldog determination and per severance. Nelson knew that Andrew would move heaven and earth so far as he was able, to save his wife’s reputation.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/142


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/143

And it would be a terrible thing to have such a stigma on her memory. It would have been bad enough had the story been made public while she was alive, but to be disclosed after her death, and to fall heavily on the already overburdened soul of Andrew Barham, would, Nelson felt, be almost too much for the man.

Yet Barham’s face seemed to indicate that he yet hoped to cope with this trouble. It seemed to gleam with a will power that would find some way to meet the enemy, to brave the impending disaster, to conquer the danger.

His strong white teeth were set together with a certain forcefulness of his lower jaw, that betokened to Nelson’s keen eye not only a decision but a desperate will to make good that decision.

“No positive suggestions, Drew,” Nelson said, in answer to his query; “merely a negative suggestion not to go ahead faster than need be. It’s not at all certain that those women will tell—anything. More likely, they won’t. Why would they? Everything they say against Maddy would implicate themselves.”

“But others—those who know about it—yet are not deeply involved”

“Oh, give them the benefit of the doubt. I don’t believe they would tell just to make trouble”

“I know them better than you do, Nick. I’ve heard Maddy and her mother talk gossip until my hair fairly stood on end, at the tables, of woman’s inhumanity to woman. Yet, your advice is good in the main. I’ll go slowly, but I’ll find out and pay such debts as that the Gibbs woman speaks of; and I’ll call on Emmy Gardner and Rosamond Sayre—they were Maddy’s nearest friends, and see what they can do to help me.”

“And ask them to try to keep the whole matter from Mrs. Selden.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/143


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/144

“Yes; now, the thing is, the police. Do you suppose they’ve any inkling of this thing as yet?”

“Can’t say. All I know is, they’re trying to probe into Maddy’s secrets, and—it’s a house of cards.”

“Yes; in more senses than one!” and Barham smiled ruefully at his melancholy joke. “Well, I can’t sit still—I chafe at restraint or inaction. Let’s call up that Hutchins and ask him. You do it.”

Not anxious for the job, but ready to help his friend, Nick Nelson called up the detective.

Hutchins didn’t know Nelson was at Barham’s house, and was asked to speak freely.

“Well, yes,” he said, as Nick intimated his interest. “I did get a line on that matter. It seems the lady was—well, she was pretty rash in the measures she took to—to replenish her exchequer! I’d rather not say these things over the telephone—I’d rather not say them at all—but as Mr. Barham’s counsel, you’ve a right to know—yes, Mr. Nelson, I did find out some things, and when you want to see me, I’ll come and talk to you about ’em.”

“Tell him to come to-morrow,” Andrew directed, as, with his hand over the transmitter. Nelson reported. “At your place.”

So Nelson asked the detective to come to see him next day—and, incidentally asked him to keep the matter to himself, at least until they could confer over it.

“Never fear! I won’t say a word, till I have to. It knocked me fair between the eyes! I never heard of such a thing before. No wonder what happened, did happen!”

Nelson hung up the receiver, and turned to Barham with a troubled face. He repeated his whole conversation with Hutchins, and said:

“I begin to think, Drew, that it was something to do with all that, that brought about Maddy’s fate.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/144


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/145

“But how, how, Nick, could any of our crowd be mixed up with that painter? You don’t think he was a gambler, do you?”

“Oh, Lord, no. Jarvis says he doesn’t think Locke knows one card from another. Those people never play cards.”

“Then how, or why, would any of that lot have anything against Maddy?”

“I can’t see that they could—but some one else might have planned to meet her there.”

“Who knew she was going? Why did she go? How did she know of the place? Why”

“Let up on that, Drew. We know she did go there, willingly, and purposely.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/145


text: Page:William Z. Foster -Organize the Unorganized.djvu/32


text:
Page:Holy Bible Berean Standard Bible.pdf/90

'''82 silver and gold, and for clothing. And the LORD gave the people such favor in the sight of the Egyptians that they granted their request. In this way they plundered the Egyptians.

The Israelites journeyed from Rameses to Succoth with about 600,000 men on foot, besides women and children. And a mixed multitude also went up with them, along with great droves of livestock, both flocks and herds.

Since their dough had no leaven, the people baked what they had brought out of Egypt into unleavened loaves. For when they had been driven out of Egypt, they could not delay and had not prepared any provisions for themselves.

Now the duration of the Israelites’ stay in Egypt was 430 years. At the end of the 430 years, to the very day, all the LORD’s divisions went out of the land of Egypt. Because the LORD kept a vigil that night to bring them out of the land of Egypt, this same night is to be a vigil to the LORD, to be observed by all the Israelites for the generations to come.

Instructions for the Passover

And the LORD said to Moses and Aaron, “This is the statute of the Passover: No foreigner is to eat of it. But any slave who has been purchased may eat of it, after you have circumcised him. A temporary resident or hired hand shall not eat the Passover.

It must be eaten inside one house. You are not to take any of the meat outside the house, and you may not break any of the bones.

The whole congregation of Israel must celebrate it. If a foreigner resides with you and wants to celebrate the LORD’s Passover, all the males in the household must be circumcised; then he may come near to celebrate it, and he shall be like a native of the land. But no uncircumcised man may eat of it. The same law shall apply to both the native and the foreigner who resides among you.”

Then all the Israelites did this—they did just as the LORD had commanded Moses and Aaron. And on that very day the LORD brought the Israelites out of the land of Egypt by their divisions. The Dedication of the Firstborn (Deuteronomy 15:19–23)

Then the LORD said to Moses, “Consecrate to Me every firstborn male. The firstborn from every womb among the Israelites belongs to Me, both of man and beast.”

So Moses told the people, “Remember this day, the day you came out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; for the LORD brought you out of it by the strength of His hand. And nothing leavened shall be eaten.

Today, in the month of Abib, you are leaving. And when the LORD brings you into the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Hivites, and Jebusites—the land He swore to your fathers that He would give you, a land flowing with milk and honey—you shall keep this service in this month.

For seven days you are to eat unleavened bread, and on the seventh day there shall be a feast to the LORD. Unleavened bread shall be eaten during those seven days. Nothing leavened may be found among you, nor shall leaven be found anywhere within your borders.


text: Page:William Z. Foster -Organize the Unorganized.djvu/1


text: Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/362


text:
Page:Calcutta Review Vol. II (Oct. - Dec. 1844).pdf/329

324 who are regarded by themselves as well as by others, both in respect of condition and capacity, as quite beyond the reach of the simplest forms of literary instruction.”

It next becomes a matter of peculiar interest and importance to inquire in what castes or classes of Hindu Society vernacular education is chiefly found, and in what classes it becomes increasingly deficient. The following enumeration of the castes of the Hindu scholars and of the number belonging to each, in the city and District of Moorshedabad, may, with certain unimportant variations, be viewed as an average specimen of other Districts:—

In three of the districts surveyed by Mr. Adam, the number of Brahman scholars greatly preponderates; in two of them, the Kayasthas stand next, and in a third, nearly so; while in South Behar there are three castes, and in Tirhoot not fewer than seven castes, each yielding a greater number of scholars than the Brahman caste, to which they are so greatly inferior in social estimation. And here Mr. Adam supplies us with a profound, if not original, reflection, when he suggests, that a consideration of the castes by which vernacular instruction is chiefly sought, not merely indicates the manner of its distribution among them, but also furnishes “one of the tests that may be supplied to judge of the integrity of native institutions and of the comparative condition of the people in different districts.” Respecting the division of Hindu Society, Mr. Adam thus writes:—

Hindu society, on a large scale, may be divided into three grades; first, Brahmans, who are prohibited by the laws of religion from engaging in worldly employment, for which vernacular instruction is deemed the fit and indispensable preparation; second, those castes who, though inferior to brahmans, are deemed worthy of association with them, or to whom the worldly employments requiring vernacular instruction are expressly assigned; and third, those castes who are so inferior as to be deemed unworthy both of association


text:
Page:Samuel Gompers - Out of Their Own Mouths (1921).djvu/217

 Rh Also Kautsky of Germany and De Brouckere of Belgium, after visiting Armenia, recommended military intervention and Huysmans, Secretary of the Second Internationale sent the appeal to that effect to the Socialist parties affiliated with that Internationale (including the British Labor Party). As between Turkish and Bolshevist armies and those of Great Britain and France, not only Georgia and Armenia, but also MacDonald, Kautsky and Huysmans were for the armies of the capitalist governments—a far cry from the summer's policy of assisting in the forcible Sovietizing of Poland!

The French labor unionists, especially, are lucid, consistent and outspoken. The Executive of the C. G. T., the French Federation of Labor, issued an appeal to French workmen to remain faithful to the union labor movement as against the Communist element that recently split the Socialist Party at Tours, and on February 15th (1921) this Executive was re-elected, though by a narrow margin—Moscow having spent millions of dollars in an attempt to purchase the Congress. In a long manifesto the Federation Executive charged the Communists with the intention of "destroying international syndicalism that comprises 27,000,000 workers," and asked labor to support a program of social improvement, rather than "personal ambitions and greeds."

The Federation Council squarely accepted Lenin's declaration of a war to the finish and authorized Jouhaux by a vote of 103 to 3, with twenty-two abstentions, to take any necessary measures (including expulsion) against any members who obeyed the orders of the Third Internationale and organized nuclei of Communists for the purpose of throwing out all non-Bolshevist


text: Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 2.djvu/203


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/146

Nelson had gone home, Barham sent for Claudine.

“How is Mrs. Selden?” he asked first.

“She’s a little calmer, sir. But now and then she has a spell—oh, a spell! Half hysterics, half grief. And—I’m sorry, Mr. Barham, but I can’t stay on.”

“What, Claudine, you would desert at this awful crisis?”

“I should never have left Madame Barham, I loved her. But Madame Selden—I do not love.”

“But stay for a time, Claudine, for my sake. What could I do with Madame Selden, without you? She wouldn’t take kindly to a new maid, I’m sure. Stay a month longer, Claudine, at double wages, will you?”

“Yes, Monsieur, I’ll do that. Don’t think me mercenary, but, I want to save up the money for—for”

“I know, Claudine, you’re to be married. Now, tell me, did my wife owe you money—aside from your wages?”

“Yes, Monsieur,” Claudine said, after a slight hesitation.

“How much?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“Whew! Where did you ever get so much?”

“It was my savings. Madame said if I would lend them for a little bit, she would return it with a large fee—bonus.”

“You will be paid, don’t worry. Claudine, did she say anything else? Did she ever say that if you didn’t lend her what she wanted, she”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/146


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/147

“Yes, Monsieur.” The maid spoke very simply. “She did. I understand—I knew it was a wrong—but what could I do? She knew something—ah, it was the tiniest peccadillo—but it was my Carl. He—he”

“Never mind, Claudine, I don’t want the details. Now, if I pay you double what Madame owed you, and double wages, will you stay with Madame Selden for a time—say, until your marriage, and also—say no word to any one of—of Madame Barham’s affairs?”

“I will—yes, Monsieur, I will.”

“Very well. Now, one thing more, Claudine. Who knew that Madame Barham was going to a fancy dress party that night?”

“Nobody—not even Madame Selden. Ah, yes, Madame Sayre came over—but for a moment, while I was dressing Madame, and perhaps she knew; I don’t know as to that. When Madame Sayre came, my Madame bade me leave the room.”

“I see. Very well, Claudine, you may go. Remember all I have said.”

Alone again, Barham gave himself up to thought once more. The man did little else but think these times. He had canceled his business engagements, he read not at all, he refused himself to all but the most insistent callers, and though kind and deferential to his mother-in-law, he saw as little of her as possible.

Marcia Selden forgave him this, for she was now deeply engrossed in going over her daughter’s possessions. Barham had given her all of Madeleine’s personal belongings, even her jewels, and it was no inconsiderable gift. He had recommended that some souvenirs be presented to friends, but this was merely suggestion, all decisions were to be Mrs. Selden’s own.

She was like a child with a new toy, and kept Claudine

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/147


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/148

 busy making frequently revised lists of the beneficiaries.

It was a troublesome process, for no sooner did Marcia Selden decide on a gift, than immediately the thing took on a new value in her eyes, and she wanted to keep it for herself.

Barham, discovering all this, thanked his lucky stars that he had chanced to provide her with such an absorbing occupation, as it left him more time to himself—more time to think.

After hearing of Rosamond Sayre’s call on Madeleine the night of the masquerade, he determined to see her, for there might be some bit of information to be gleaned from her.

The appointment to meet the detective at Nelson’s was not until four o’clock, so he telephoned Rosamond to ask for an interview before that.

She graciously consented to see him, which surprised him a little, as her note to him had been really a formal expression of sympathy.

As he neared her house, however, he found himself dreading the call he had come to make.

Yet, when they met, Rosamond’s manner put him quite at his ease, and he was glad he had come.

“You dear man,” she said, holding out both hands. “I’m glad to see you—do sit down. I’ve wanted to tell you in person how sorry I feel for you, and how I wish I could do something to help.”

“No, Rosamond—there’s nothing any one can do to help. I’m grateful for sympathy, of course—but—the truth is, nothing helps. The awfulness of the whole thing is beyond all help. Now, let’s be frank. I’ve come to ask you a straightforward question. You played Bridge a lot with Maddy, didn’t you?”

“All the time, practically.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/148


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/149

“Did she—did she ever borrow money from you?”

“All the time—practically.”

“Pay it back?”

“Not always—sometimes.”

“And—Rosamond, you’ve no idea how hard it is for me to say this—but I must—if you didn’t lend it—did she ever threaten”

Mrs. Sayre gave a broken little laugh.

“Of course she did, Andrew. She used to threaten all of us. You see, Maddy played in horrible luck, and she always wanted to recoup. But, good gracious, man, don’t take it so to heart! That was nothing, that she should say she’d tell our little secrets if we didn’t lend her a hundred or two. Why so upset over it?”

“But—but, Rosamond, it isn’t so trifling a matter as you say. There’s—there’s a pretty bad name goes with that sort of thing.”

“Oh, well, don’t use it in connection with Maddy. Forget it, Drew, nobody is going to hold it up against her. Especially now—the poor girl is gone. Have you any—any idea”

“Who killed her? No, not the slightest. And that’s another thing, Rose. Claudine says you were over at the house that night, and up in Maddy’s room while she dressed. Did she tell you where she was going?”

“I was only there for a minute—and—well, I may as well tell you, she called me over to ask me for some money.”

“She did! And you let her have it?”

“Oh, yes, that is, I agreed to take it to Emmy Gardner’s for her. I did so—but the poor girl never came to get it.”

Barham mused. “What did you think that night, when she failed to come?”

“I—oh, I didn’t think much about it. Maddy always did as she liked. Harrison went with me, and we spoke of

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/149


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/150

 Madeleine’s absence, but we didn’t think of it seriously at all.”

“No, I suppose not. Didn’t she tell you, Rose, that she planned to go to the Locke place before she went to Emmy’s?”

The man looked at her earnestly, as if much depended on her answer.

But Mrs. Sayre said, “No, I don’t think she did. No, I remember now—she said she was going on an errand first, but she didn’t say where.”

“And didn’t she have on that fancy dress?”

“No; she only had a kimono—a mere dressing gown.”

“And you came right home, from our house—and you went right to the Gardners’? Forgive me if I seem inquisitive—I’ve a notion in my head.”

“I came home, and dressed,” Mrs. Sayre said, striving to remember. “Then I went down to my dressmaker’s for a few minutes for an important fitting, and then I came back and picked up Harrison and we went to Emmy’s.”

“What time did you get there?”

“A little after eleven—I remember we were the last to arrive. Why all the catechism, Drew?”

“Nothing,” and his brows came together in perplexity. “I just want to find somebody to whom Madeleine mentioned that artist chap. How did she come to go there?”

“Can’t you imagine?” and pretty Mrs. Sayre wrinkled her own brows in similar puzzlement.

“No, I simply cannot. I never supposed she knew such people.”

“What do you mean by such people?”

“People outside her own circle or circumstances.”

“Well, apparently she did. What are you going to do, Drew, as to finding out”

“The truth? I’m not obliged to do anything, Rose, the

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/150


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/151

 police have it in charge. And to tell you the truth, I believe I’d rather never know the murderer than to have Madeleine’s past dragged out to the light and all this miserable Bridge business made public.”

“I don’t blame you!” and Mrs. Sayre nodded her head, emphatically. “I should think you’d very much rather have the whole affair hushed up and utterly forgotten. Do have it that way—Drew, all Maddy’s friends would prefer it, I know.”

“It isn’t up to me to decide,” Barham said, with a sigh, and soon thereafter he took his leave.

“I still can’t find out where Madeleine heard of Locke,” he mused, as he went on to Nelson’s office. “I can’t seem to find out anything! Well, there’s one thing I am sure of!” and by that time he was at the door.

“Well, Mr. Barham,” Hutchins said, “your reward offer has borne fruit already.”

“What, you’ve found Locke?” and Barham showed real interest.

“Not quite, but a man has put in an appearance who claims to be Tommy Locke’s brother.”

“Has he a brother?”

“According to this chap he has. But between you and me, I ha’e ma doots. You see, any one can lay claim to the relationship and, since Locke isn’t here to pass on it, who’s to prove or disprove it?”

“Can’t you wait a bit, and see if Locke turns up?”

“Just what we’re going to do. Now, Mr. Nelson, suppose you tell Mr. Barham your plan.”

“Why, Drew, I’ve been thinking that I might go down to the Locke place and rake over everything. I know the detectives have done it, but I think I might find some clue they overlooked.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/151


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/152

Barham gave a slight smile. “I remember hearing a man of your stamp say, not long ago, that he had no detective instinct.”

“That’s just it,” cried Nelson, triumphantly, “I believe a man with common sense and a good pair of eyes in his head might find out more than one of these transcendent sleuths.”

“It doesn’t sound much to me—but if you’re anxious to go, go ahead. What, exactly, are you going to look for? Footprints?”

“No.” Nelson refused to smile. “No, but I believe in among Locke’s letters or papers”

“He hasn’t any,” said Hutchins.

“Well, that’s suspicious in and of itself. If that man tore up or destroyed all his papers the day before he dis appeared, then that proves, to my mind, that he meant to disappear. There’s that.”

“There’s that,” Andrew agreed. “But where does that get you?”

“That’s what I want to know, Mr. Barham,” Hutchins said.

“Oh, well,” Nelson gave in, “if you two are both down on my plan, I’ll give it up. What better can either of you propose?”

“I propose we give it all up,” Barham said, speaking gravely.

“The whole hunt?” exclaimed Hutchins; “withdraw the reward?”

“Well, Mr. Hutchins, let us put all our cards on the table. You have found out, I understand, some very damaging information against my wife. Please do not try to spare my feelings. I can meet the blow. I am prepared for it. Just how much did you find out?”

“Since I know you want me to be frank, I will simply

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/152


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/153

 state that I learned that Mrs. Barham was in the habit of using a form of society blackmail to extort money from her friends.”

“From what I have learned, I believe that to be the truth.”

Barham spoke with an infinite sadness in his voice, but with his head erect, and face impassive, as if he cared for no word of regret or sympathy from any one.

It was true that the man’s sensitive pride revolted at the thought of any pity or even kindness. He preferred to bear his burden alone, and except from his very few near and dear friends he wanted no recognition of the state of the case, beyond the bare facts that must be faced.

“First, Mr. Hutchins, I shall ask you to keep this matter from Mrs. Selden, if it be possible. I think I am within my legal rights as well as ethical in asking this. She is an old lady and devoted to her daughter’s memory. The grief of such a disclosure would almost kill her.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Barham, she shall never learn it from me—or from any of our people.”

“Next, I should like to hush up the whole affair. If this is not possible—with the full consent of the police—then I am ready to face the music—to let the law take its course. But, I am quite prepared to pay a goodly sum to have the case forgotten—and this is in no sense compounding a felony, or even doing anything dishonorable. It is merely an expression of my willingness to let the murderer of my wife go free, in order that the wrong-doing of my wife may not be made public. Is there a chance of that, Mr. Hutchins?”

“Not a chance!” the detective shook his head. “Of course, the plan you propose is out of the question, as you yourself would see, if you thought over it a little more. Also, the machinery already set in motion cannot now be

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/153


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/154

 stopped. The posters are out, offering a reward of Ten Thousand Dollars for the capture of the murderer, or any information that leads to that result.”

“Not for the finding of Locke?” asked Barham.

“No; I received your message in time to omit that part of it.”

“Yes, I changed that,” Barham said, in answer to Nelson’s unspoken question. “You see, it can do no good to get Locke, if he isn’t the murderer. I mean, it isn’t worth ten thousand dollars to get him just to talk to.”

“No,” Nelson agreed. But he didn’t quite understand. Surely, Barham had been most anxious to capture Locke.

“Now, go ahead with your hunt,” Barham said, “and, look here, Nick, I rather cotton to that plan of yours to go and search the Locke apartment—and I believe I’ll go with you.”

“Good!” Nelson cried. “I’m sure it is a good idea, and I do believe we might find something of interest if not evidence. Shall we go now?”

“Would it be better to go at night?”

“No,” Hutchins said, “let’s go now—let’s all go. I’d like to see how you people work.”

“I don’t dignify it by such a high sounding term as that,” Nelson smiled. “More like playing at detecting. But there’s always a chance.”

So the three, in Barham’s car, went down to the studio of the missing Thomas Locke.

The place looked much as it did the day Nelson attended the inquest there, but not much as Barham had seen it the night of the Bal Masque. Then it had been gay with lanterns and flowers. Now it was in its plain, everyday furnishings, and, though properly in order, and tidily cleared up by the Chinaman, yet he had not been allowed

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/154


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/155

 to sweep or dust, lest he disturb what might eventually be clues or evidence.

“Uninteresting place,” Barham said, glancing round the studio. “No color—no atmosphere.”

“Now, I like it,” Nelson said. “It is restful compared to the glaring and tawdry effects in many such places.”

“Well, go on with your sleuthing, Nick, I’ll watch you,” and Barham sat down in one of the fireside chairs.

Nelson looked a little at a loss, but began to make a raid on a desk that stood in a corner.

“Here’s a big bunch of letters, Drew, you look these over, while I dig up more.”

But inside of ten minutes Barham informed him that the sheaf contained nothing at all but receipted bills for canvases, paints and brushes.

Nor did further search produce anything of more importance. Nelson went back to the smoking room—and, disinclined to go there again, Barham remained in the studio. Hutchins followed Nelson, hoping to get a grain or a nugget of information.

Left to himself, Barham opened a few of the cabinet drawers. Nelson had been through them all and, as he said, they held nothing but painting things or trifling knickknacks.

“Where’s the Chinaman?” Nelson asked, as they returned to Barham.

“It’s his day off,” Hutchins explained. “Though he has most days off now. He doesn’t seem to know what to do. You know he heard from Locke, Mr. Barham?”

“No, did he?”

“Yes, and Locke said he could pay the small bills—the Chink has petty cash—and that he, Locke, would settle the larger accounts.”

“Then, Mr. Hutchins, you must realize that Locke will

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/155


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/156

 never return. To my mind, it is self-evident that though he is near by—at least, in the city—he is clever enough to remain hidden.”

“Not necessarily in the city,” said Nelson. “He may have telephoned on a long distance.”

“Right,” Barham agreed. “At any rate, he is quite capable, as it looks to me, of taking care of himself, and keeping in hiding as long as he chooses. I think, if you please, Mr. Hutchins, I will take a look in the den. I hesitated, as it is a place of painful associations, but there is a chance I might see something of informative value.”

But when Andrew Barham stood in the little room, at the very spot where his wife was, doubtless, felled to her death, he could see no shred, no bit of evidence.

The tears were in his eyes as he turned away.

One of the heavy bronze book-ends still stood on the table, the other had been taken away by the police as the weapon of murder.

And then, still in a spirit of investigation, the three went into Locke’s bedroom and bathroom. Nothing met their eyes that offered any ground for surmise or conclusion. Slowly they retraced their way downstairs.

“Come on, Drew,” said Nelson, as he followed the detective down.

“In a minute,” Barham replied, pausing for another glance into the den.

It was by no means a morbid curiosity, but there were many conflicting feelings in Andrew Barham’s mind just then.

He wondered.

On the way home in the car—Hutchins having remained, behind—Barham said, “I can’t see, Nick, that the police are making any headway whatever. I can’t see but Locke

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/156


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/46

 looked at Van Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod.

"Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please."

The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him.

"Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear."

The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in Van Aldin. There was charm in it—there had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Derek Kettering was thirty-four, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribably boyish in it.

"Come in," said Van Aldin curtly. "Sit down."

Kettering flung himself lightly into an arm-chair. He looked at his father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement.

"Not seen you for a long time, sir," he remarked pleasantly. "About two years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet?"

"I saw her last night," said Van Aldin.

"Looking very fit, isn't she?" said the other lightly.

"I didn't know you had had much opportunity of judging," said Van Aldin drily.

Derek Kettering raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, we sometimes meet at the same night club, you know," he said airily.

"I am not going to beat about the bush," Van Aldin said curtly. "I have advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce."

Derek Kettering seemed unmoved.


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/157

 has them just where he wants them—if he wants them anywhere.”

“Where does he want them?”

“Oh, I mean, he has things all his own way. Apparently, he means never to come back. There’s not a thing in the place of value—that’s what I noticed especially—there’s not a personal thing that he could possibly care for—oh, of course, there are his pictures—but I can’t imagine any one caring greatly for those.”

“Mere sketches, they looked to me—and yet, I rather liked them. Good, soft coloring, and all that.”

“All alike, weren’t they?”

“Pretty much. Well, granting Locke is out of it, and his stuff there, as you say, of no value, then—don’t you see, the police are going to concentrate all their efforts on finding out something in Madeleine’s past life that will explain the murder.”

Barham sighed deeply. “Of course they are. Of course I see it. And that’s where you come in. What can we do to stop them?”

“I can’t think of anything. Your offer of money went nowhere.”

“Nowhere at all. I suppose we can’t build up a man of straw for them to hang their suspicions on.”

“And it isn’t that now, Drew. Just now, they’ve enough of that scandal about Madeleine to whet their appetites for more. They’re like a pack of vultures; they want to get a lot of back history”

“Oh, I say, Nick! That might apply to a newspaper, a yellow one—but not to the police!”

“Well, to these detectives. They’re so eager to get a feather to stick in their cap, that they’d go any lengths to dig up horrid old gossip to help along!”

“But, if the horrid old gossip chances to be the truth—

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/157


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/158

 as it is in this case, who can blame them? Lord knows I want to hush up the whole affair—but if it can’t be done, it can’t.”

“Then you think it must all come out?”

“Looks so. I can hush up the women—not one of that Bridge pack but would keep her mouth shut for a few hundred dollars. And they have an affection for Maddy, too. They hadn’t so much when she was alive, but now they’re tender toward her memory. It’s the police who will make the trouble—and the reporters—and worst of all, the exaggeration. If they’d tell the truth—that would be bad enough. But they’ll multiply everything by four and then double it.”

“Yes, I suppose they will. Did you notice that picture of the girl—on the side table in the den?”

“No; what girl?”

The one I told you about, with the queer name—Pearl Jane. She had bobbed hair—rather curly.”

“No, I didn’t see any such picture.”

“Oh, well, I think I set another picture over it, as I was digging about. That’s why. Wild goose chase, going down there at all. But I really thought we might turn up something.”

“There’s no chance for clues, Nick, if that’s what you mean. Whoever killed Maddy was too clever to leave a clue. That much is evident to me.”

“Yes, and to me, too,” said Nelson.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/158


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/47

 "How drastic!" he murmured. "Do you mind if I smoke, sir?"

He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added nonchalantly:

"And what did Ruth say?"

"Ruth proposes to take my advice," said her father.

"Does she really?"

"Is that all you have got to say?" demanded Van Aldin sharply.

Kettering flicked his ash into the grate.

"I think, you know," he said, with a detached air, "that she's making a great mistake."

"From your point of view she doubtless is," said Van Aldin grimly.

"Oh, come now," said the other; "don't let's be personal. I really wasn't thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You know my poor old Governor really can't last much longer; all the doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be châtelaine of Leconbury, which is what she married me for."

"I won't have any of your darned impudence," roared Van Aldin.

Derek Kettering smiled at him quite unmoved.

"I agree with you. It's an obsolete idea," he said.

"There's nothing in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and, after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again, and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her."


text:
Page:Calcutta Review Vol. II (Oct. - Dec. 1844).pdf/326

Rh sacrifices which they make to accomplish the object. But, for emoluments so lean and so meagre, what qualifications can the teachers be expected to present? If it be an universal law that the price of a commodity may fairly be allowed to determine its intrinsic or relative or conventional value, what can be the value, intrinsically, relatively, or conventionally, of qualifications everywhere estimated and hired at a rate so low as those of the vernacular schoolmaster of Bengal and Behar? Accordingly, it is the fact, that, however low the emoluments in question are, in comparison with those to which competent men might be justly considered entitled, they can scarcely be said to be lower than the paideutic qualifications or marketable commodity of which they may be regarded as the pecuniary equivalent. The following is the result of Mr. Adam’s extended observation on the subject:—

"“The teachers consist both of young and middle aged men, for the most part simple minded, but poor and ignorant, and therefore having recourse to an occupation which is suitable both to their expectations and attainments, and on which they reflect as little honour as they derive emolument from it. They do not understand the importance of the task they have undertaken. They do not appear to have made it even a subject of thought. They do not appreciate the great influence which they might exert over the minds of their pupils, and they consequently neglect the highest duties which their situation would impose if they were better acquainted with their powers and obligations. At present they produce chiefly a mechanical effect upon the intellect of their pupils, which is worked upon and chiselled out, and that in a very rough style, but which remains nearly passive in their hands, and is seldom taught or encouraged to put forth its self-acting and self-judging capacities. As to any moral influence of the teachers over the pupils—any attempt to form the sentiments and habits, and to control and guide the passions and emotions—such a notion never enters into their conceptions, and the formation of the moral character of the young is, consequently, wholly left to the influence of the casual associations amidst which they are placed, without any endeavour to modify or direct them. Any measures that may be adopted to improve education in this country will be greatly inadequate if they are not directed to increase the attainments of the teachers, and to elevate and extend their views of the duties belonging to their vocation.”"

It may, last of all, be stated, that, the average age of all the teachers throughout Bengal and Behar is 38.

4. The scholars; their class and caste, initiation and period of attendance.—It is at once interesting and important to learn what classes and castes of the Native community aspire to confer the benefits of a scholastic education on their children. Apart from certain wild mountain tribes, which are usually regarded as a remnant of the aborigines of the soil, but which numerically constitute but an infinitesimal fraction of the dense mass of native inhabitants, the vast body or bulk of the people naturally divides itself into the two great classes of Muhammadans and Hindus. And the first question is, which of these two classes furnishes


text:
Page:NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE SURVEY 18; CZECHOSLOVAKIA; THE SOCIETY CIA-RDP01-00707R000200110015-7.pdf/36

 APPROVED FOR RELEASE: 2009/06/16: CIA-RDP01-00707R000200110015-7

systematic controls and restrictions in accordance with Marxist theory. Artists and writers were subsequently unionized, mainly within the state-controlled Creative Artists Union and the various writers' and journalists' unions, and for the most part they received their salaries from state institutions and publishing houses. Repression and control reached its peak in the period immediately preceding and following the death of Stalin in 1953. Besides imposing "socialist realism" and "administrative measures," such as police interference and censorship, the regime denied writers and artists the Western cultural influences that had nurtured them in the past. In Slovakia, the struggle against "bourgeois nationalism" resulted in the arrest of several prominent intellectuals, including Gustav Husak, the present party leader. During the cultural thaw in the mid-1950's, writers and artists sought a more liberal attitude on the past of the regime, but there was no unrest comparable to the uprisings in Poland and Hungary in 1956. A limited relaxation of restrictions permitted the importation of some contemporary Western literature and films, and some artists began to shun socialist realism and follow the lead of avant-garde artists in the West. However, the campaign beginning in June 1958 to complete the development of a socialist state brought a restoration of ideological restrictions that prevailed until the 12th Party Congress in December 1962, when party boss Novotny reluctantly abandoned some of his repressive controls.

The Fourth Congress of the Czechoslovakian Writers' Union in June 1967 marked the beginning of a true liberalization drive by a significant number of intellectuals: many speakers ignored the party's planned program, and attacked the regime's political and cultural policies. Novotny's failure either to crush the opposition of the intellectuals or to initiate reforms that would satisfy at least some of their demands was a key factor in his downfall the following January. Subsequently, during the 8 months of the Prague Spring, almost every aspect of Czechoslovak culture flourished. Censorship was ended and free expression was permitted. Czechoslovak writers and artists were allowed greater contact with their colleagues in other countries, and national culture was again exposed to Western influences. The creative artist in Czechoslovakia explored to a greater degree the techniques, methods, and theories that formerly were officially denied him: ideological neutralism, "ideal-less" light entertainment, formal experimentation, "cosmopolitanism," symbolism, abstractionism, "art for art's sake," and similar "bourgeois ideologies and elements."

A new period of cultural repression began after Dubcek's fall and Husak's acquisition of power. Prominent artists were dismissed from their jobs and unions, and eventually from the party to complete their professional and social ostracism. Some were jailed. In late 1970 the regime drafted legislation designed to complete the state's control over cultural institutions. A new theater law was drawn up providing for government support for theaters producing "politically involved" (pro-Communist) plays and for staging works by authors from the Soviet Union and other Communist nations. A state-controlled music program was implemented, with emphasis on youth education. However, noting a decline in cultural standards in 1972-73, the regime has tried to reintegrate into the unions talented but alienated artists, who must prove themselves through "committed" works. To date, few respected intellectuals have responded. Instead, denied freedom of expression, artists revert to subdued cynicism, using satire, derisive humor, bitter allegory, innuendoes, and disrespectful allusions.

1. Literature

According to official itnerpretation, contemporary literature is the offspring of the socialist revolution. In fact, however, the roots of Czechoslovak literary tradition are found in religion and nationalism, and are strongly influenced by Western European traditions as well. The first literature, the translation of scripture into old Slavonic by the missionaries Cyril and Methodius appeared in the ninth century. High quality illuminated manuscripts, combining art and literature, became a primary form of cultural expression in the Middle Ages, and religious dramas were also part of the literary heritage until the 14th and 15th centuries when the writings of Jan Hus, Petr Chelcicky, and Thomas of Stetny on moral and religious questions appeared. The translation of the Kralice Bible, published in the 16th century, was the culmination of religious prose and became a model for classical Czech. Religious upheavals in the 17th century brought a literary decline although Jan Komensky (Comenius), in exile, wrote philosophical works in Latin and Czech.

The nationalistic and Western European roots of Czechoslovak literature developed in the 18th and 19th centuries. The most famous literary figure of that time was Frantisek Palacky, who wrote extensively on the nationality question and the concept of a national past. Called the "Father of the Nation," Palacky is best remembered for his The History of the Czech Nation, which is regarded as a classic. Other noted

30

APPROVED FOR RELEASE: 2009/06/16: CIA-RDP01-00707R000200110015-7


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/159

was proving a puzzle to the police.

As his wages were paid to the end of the month, his notion of duty kept him at his post until the expiration of that time. Then, he explained, he would go away and get another place—unless he had different orders from Mr. Locke in the meantime.

“You are in touch with him, Charley!” Hutchins accused him.

“Touch?” said the Chinese, blankly.

“You hear from him. He writes you? Telephones you?”

“No,” said Charley.

But Hutchins believed he lied.

Since the caretaker was there, however, Glenn continued to stay in the studio apartment day and night. This would continue until the end of the month; then, if Locke had not been heard from, the house agent said he should lock up the place until the paid-up rent had expired and then rent it to some one else.

So matters seemed to be shaping themselves to a general permanent arrangement of forgetting Tommy Locke.

Yet there was nothing else to do. Hunt was being made, search was being kept up, yet there was no sign of the missing man, except the vague reports of his telephoning his servant and friends. Nor could these be verified.

Henry Post declared he had not heard from Locke.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/159


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/160

 Kate Vallon said she had not, while little Miss Cutler refused to answer questions about it.

Charley was equally taciturn, and Hutchins despaired of ever finding out anything.

But the very day after Nelson and Andrew Barham had visited the studio, Charley, who was tidying up, suddenly gave an exclamation.

“What’s doing?” ashed Glenn, who sat by, reading a paper.

“Nothing, sir,” and the Oriental’s face was a blank.

“You Chinese rascal, you’ve found something. Tell me what, or I’ll have the law on you!”

“Nothing, sir.”

And “nothing, sir,” was all Glenn could extract from the wily Charley. He watched him closely all day, but could get no inkling of the discovery he had made, if any.

The only effect it seemed to have was to make the Chinaman do some searching on his own account. Several times through the day, Charley sneaked into the studio or den or the bedroom, choosing opportunities when Glenn was elsewhere, and swiftly pulled out drawers, opened cupboards and rummaged in boxes.

When Glenn came upon him, he immediately looked as innocent as a cherub, and pretended to be emptying an ash tray or picking up papers.

“You’re a caution, Charley,” Glenn said. “I wish I could see into that carved ivory dome of yours.”

“Yes, sir,” said the imperturbable one.

That afternoon Charley dressed himself in street clothes and went forth on errands. Returning, he informed Glenn that he had been to pay the caterer’s bill and also the house agent’s rent.

Glenn looked at him, astonished.

“Where’d you get the money?” he asked.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/160


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/161

“Found in—in cubby drawer,” and Charley pointed to a certain pigeonhole in Locke’s desk.

“What? How’d it get there?”

“Misser Locke—he put.”

Apparently the Chinese was greatly enjoying the other’s amazement. Though his yellow face was grave, the slant eyes were flickering with sly interest.

“Mr. Locke put it there! Are you crazy?”

“No clazy; no, sir.”

“How do you know he put it there?”

“Note say so. Note to Charley.”

“A note to you? Come, now, this is too much. Have you seen Mr. Locke?”

“No see Misser Locke, but get note. He put.”

“He put! You— You’ll be put—in jail if you”

“Just for ’cause pay bill? Good bill?”

“Let me see your note.”

“All burn up.”

“Look here, you. Do you mean you found money and a note there, that weren’t there before? That Mr. Locke has been here—and left money for you to pay his bills?”

“Thass right. Money for me, for Caterman, for Agent man. Dassall.”

“Well, next time he comes”

“He no come more. He good-by.”

“Oh, he’s good-by, is he? Well, I think you’re making up this whole yarn. That’s what I think.”

“Yes, sir.”

But Glenn didn’t think so, he knew better. Though not for a moment did he believe the money or note had been found in that pigeonhole. He concluded Locke had gone to Charley’s home—the Chinaman went home nights—and Glenn was sure that Locke had been to see him, and by judicious payment had stopped his mouth from undesired

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/161


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/162

 disclosures. Anyway, Glenn decided, that was all he could make of it.

He called up Hutchins but failed to get him, and he went to bed that night with one ear alert, hoping “Misser Locke” would pay another call.

But his hopes were not fulfilled, and next day he told Hutchins of Charley’s story.

“I know,” Hutchins said, staring at Glenn. “There’s something else doing, too. It seems Henry Post and that Miss Vallon have each had a letter from Locke. They were ready enough to tell of it, ready, too, to give us the letters. But, confound it, how has that chap the nerve to stay around here”

“A letter doesn’t mean he’s around here.”

“No, nor does a telephone call. But if he put that money where Charley says he did, he must be in this vicinity.”

“Oh, I don’t believe the Chink. Locke sent him that money by postal order or something like that”

“That’s neither here nor there, anyway. The point is, that apparently Locke has no intention of returning to this place at all. Now, if that is so, he’s staying away because he is guilty. If he were an innocent man, why wouldn’t he return and help straighten things out? I can’t see it any other way than that Locke did know Mrs. Barham, and did kill her. His very coolness and nerve in writing letters and telephoning and all that, proves the possibility, the probability of his being just the sort who would commit a murder, and then walk out the front door, saying, ‘Back in a minute.’”

“That’s all so,” and Glenn tried to look wise. He was an humble underling, and he was secretly elated at being thus talked to by the great Hutchins.

“Of course it is,” Hutchins went on. He was really only

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/162


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/163

 thinking aloud, and used Glenn merely as a target for his speech. “So I’m more than ever convinced that Locke is our man, and that his murder of Mrs. Barham was premeditated and prearranged. Now, here’s that Yellow Streak again! What is it, Charley?”

“I talk you, alone, Misser Hutch.”

“No, I don’t think you will. You’ll talk to me right here before Mr. Glenn. He’s my brother and my father and my grandmother.”

“Yes, sir. Then, Misser Hutch, I ask you help me. I know things.”

“Oho, you do! Well, Charley, if you know things, I’m the man to help you. And whatever you know, out with it. You may forget it.”

“No, I no forget.”

The Chinaman was serious now, and obviously deeply troubled.

Hutchins winked at Glenn but said no word, fearing to disturb Charley’s thoughts—which, on the whole, promised to be interesting when divulged.

“I have errand to do for Misser Locke,” he said at last. “I no can do—alone.”

“All right,” Hutchins said, cheerfully, “I’ll help you. Do we start now?”

But Charley looked graver still, and shook his head.

“It’s to the lady,” he divulged. “The pretty little lady.”

“Miss Cutler?” Hutchins guessed.

“Yes, Missee Cutler.”

“See here, Charley, is she Mr. Locke’s girl—you know—sweetheart?”

“I donno. But Misser Locke he want his—his jewel thing—his Luckee—and Missee Cutler—she got it.”

The secret came out in a burst of confidence, and his tale

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/163


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/164

 told, Charley wilted. His waving arms fell limp, and his excited face returned to its normal stolidity.

Hutchins held himself in, and strove to answer casually.

“Oh, yes—that’s easy. Miss Cutler has Mr. Locke’s jewel—a lucky piece, you say? And Mr. Locke wants it. Of course he does. He’d have no luck without it. Well, let’s go and get it from Miss Cutler. Or did he give it to her? Is it hers now?”

“No! Oh, no!” Charley fairly shuddered. “He not give it to her. She take it—Missee Cutler take it—from—from—dead lady!”

Charley’s eyes now glowed with horror, even fright. But whatever the meaning of this strange story he was telling, he was certainly in earnest. There was no slyness now—no roguery. The man was deeply stirred by some emotion—some sense of duty.

Hutchins’ own calm gave way.

“Miss Cutler took it from the dead lady! From Mrs. Barham? What are you talking about?”

“Go easy,” Glenn warned him. “He’ll shut up or bolt, if you’re not careful.”

“Right, Glenn,” and Hutchins put a guard on his impatience.

“When did she take it Charley?” he asked. “When did Miss Cutler take the lucky piece from Mrs. Barham?”

“After—after she dead—oh, oh!” His long, yellow hands flew up and covered his eyes. Clearly, he was envisioning a horrible memory.

Hutchins’ mind worked like lightning.

“Charley,” he said, “who killed the lady? Who killed Mrs. Barham? Did Mr. Locke do it?”

But no answer came. The slant eyes seeemed [sic] to be of glass, so meaningless, so unalive they became.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/164


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/165

“If he knows, he won’t tell,” Glenn urged. “Get at it in a roundabout way.”

The next day, Hutchins realized that he was taking advice from an humble inferior, but at this moment the suggestion seemed good to him, and he acted on it at once.

“Yes, Charley,” he said; “yes—about that lucky piece, now. Was it a jewel?”

“Donno what you call. But like a flyaway. All same, dead lady had him in her hand.”

“After she was dead?”

“Yes, sir. Then I see Missee Cutler take him out of dead lady’s hand, and put him away, in her blouse. So.”

Charley tucked his hand into his house jacket, with quite evident imitation of a woman concealing a treasure trove in her bodice.

“Charley,” Hutchins looked at him sternly, “why are you telling this now? Is it true? If it is, why didn’t you tell at first?”

Charley looked troubled.

“I like Missee Cutler—but,” he sighed deeply, “I like my Misser Locke more. You make Missee Cutler give me lucky piece for my Misser Locke?”

“I will, indeed—if she has it. You say you saw her take it—from—here, Charley, come into the den and show me.”

Hutchins led the way and Charley obediently followed. Glenn, after them, wondering if they were on the verge of an important revelation or if the Chinaman had them “on a string.”

“Now,” Hutchins said, watching Charley steadily, “Where was Mrs. Barham—the dead lady?”

“Here,” and he indicated the spot where Madeleine had been found.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/165


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/166

“And where was Miss Cutler? How?”

“So,” and the Chinaman crouched over the place as one might who was intently examining an unconscious body. With his long yellow fingers, he made motions of extracting a small object from the hand—and so graphic was he that Glenn was horrified.

“Missee Barrum here,” and Charley explained, as if he feared his dumb show was not intelligible; “Missee Cutler lean over—so—and pick Luckee from dead lady’s fingers.”

“Where were you?” Hutchins asked, sternly.

“Here,” and Charley rose and hurried to the little back hall. Then, standing just outside the partly open door, he peeped around it, as if spying on the scene he had just portrayed.

“I can’t seem to think this is all made up,” Hutchins said to Glenn, in a breathless aside, “and yet it is incredible. Do you suppose Pearl Jane”

“Killed Mrs. Barham? I do not!” and Glenn looked positive “But I believe this dumb show business. Charley never invented all that. Moreover, Locke is after that lucky piece—or whatever it is—and Charley, who is all devotion to him, wants to get it for him.”

“When you get it, Charley,” Hutchins said, “how will you get it to Mr. Locke?”

But now the shrewd look returned. “I do,” was all the reply Hutchins could obtain. `

“I was pretty sure that girl was mixed up in the affair somehow,” Hutchins said, reflectively, as he looked at Glenn.

“She could be mixed up in it and yet be entirely innocent of crime,” Glenn persisted, for his heart had been caught in the tangles of Pearl Jane’s bobbed hair.

“She could. And if you feel that way about it, you’d better not go with me over to her place—which is where

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/166


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/167

 I’m going right now. You’d better not go, anyway, as I propose to take Charley, and if we leave this place unguarded, friend Locke may come in and camp here.”

“No such luck,” returned Glenn, “I wish he would. But I’ve no desire to go and see or hear you bait that young woman.”

“I know you haven’t. But, listen here, Glenn. That young woman was found by me, crying, in that closet in that back hall there. She had a smear on her sleeve that looked to me like blood. When I went to see her a few hours later, she had washed the stain away—I saw the mark of it left. She said—or, rather Miss Vallon said, they had washed away a few drops of cocoa. Somebody else said, it might have been a red smear from a lipstick, every woman carries those nowadays. But I say, if that smear was lipstick or rouge or cocoa, why were they in such a hurry to eradicate it? Why did they notice it at all? Also, in that same cupboard was the monk’s robe, which Locke had tossed to Charley and which Charley had hung up there. That, too, had a smear of blood on it. Now, add the fact that Charley saw Miss Cutler bending over the body, that he saw her take something from the dead woman’s hand and conceal it in her bosom, add the fact—or, at least, my strong conviction that Miss Cutler has had one telephone message—if not two—from Locke, since his disappearance, and, perhaps romancing a little, remember that the girl was in love with Locke and may easily have been jealous of this strange woman—perhaps no stranger to her—oh, well, there’s enough, to my way of thinking, to get busy on.”

Glenn had nothing in particular to reply to all this, and taking Charley with him, Hutchins started off to see Pearl Jane.

But her little place was closed and locked. Nor was

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/167


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/168

 Miss Vallon at home. The janitor said the two ladies had gone away together, and had left word they would be back in two days.

“If ever!” exclaimed Hutchins, when he heard this. He was angry, for he feared that, like Locke, the two women had gone for good and all.

The janitor reassured him, however, saying the two frequently went off for a couple of days, and he was positive they would be back the next day but one.

Hutchins had half a mind to get a warrant and search Pearl Jane’s rooms, but he wasn’t quite sure enough of the credibility of Charley’s story.

At any rate, no one else knew of it, and if he could make the Chinaman keep quiet, and could pledge Glenn to secrecy, the matter could await the return of the two women.

So he told Charley that if he said no word of it all to any one, that probably the lucky piece would be recovered. But if he told—there was no chance of it.

This made the boy promise, and Hutchins believed he would keep his word.

Glenn, too, agreed to be silent, and Hutchins turned his attention to the Barham side of the question for the next forty-eight hours. It was his plan to work from Locke to Mrs. Barham and back again, hoping to get some data on one side that would dovetail with facts on the other.

Glenn slept soundly that night. He was not a heavy sleeper, usually, but after any mental excitement, he felt exhausted, and glad of a good rest.

Though on guard in the house, he was not required to stay awake at night, Dickson deeming it highly improbable that any intruder would put in an appearance.

Nor had any one done so, to Glenn’s knowledge, though Charley’s story of finding money and a note in the desk

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/168


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/169

 looked like it. But Glenn doubted the details of the story and felt sure the Oriental had made up that part and had really received the messages by mail or in some such way, at his own place.

And so, when, toward morning, Glenn heard a faint sound, which awoke him, he didn’t, at first, think it might mean anything of interest.

He listened, however, but he heard nothing more.

A moment later he saw or thought he saw a mere speck of light as if from a pocket flashlight held by some one in the den.

Glenn was a good watchman, and his getting up out of bed was absolutely noiseless. So was his progress across the room and into the little back hall. From here he could see—even as Charley had seen—the spot where the dead body had been found. And there, bending over, as Pearl Jane might have bent over, was a dark figure—a man, searching on the floor.

The tiny flashlight gave but a point of light, but by its single ray, the intruder was intently, eagerly looking for something.

Awaiting his time, Glenn continued to watch. The man’s motions were so slow, his actions so deliberate, the policeman felt sure he could spring at him when he got ready, and still catch him unawares.

The man’s back was toward Glenn, but he felt certain it was Locke. He could see dark hair, rather long, be neath the soft, dark hat. He caught sight of a flowing tie—these things, he had been told, spelled Locke.

Slowly, still, the man turned to the nearby table. This was getting pretty close to Glenn’s hiding place, and he concluded the time was ripe.

The man reached for something on the table, and at

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/169


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/170

 the same movement Glenn burst in upon him, crying, “Hands up, Mr. Locke! Come quietly, now.”

The man raised an astonished face, and at sight of Glenn, tousle-haired, wild-eyed, and clad only in pajamas, gave way to an irrepressible smile, exhibiting two gold eye-teeth and then, quickly snapping off his little flashlight, he sprang aside, and made for the studio door.

But Glenn was too quick for him, and though it was pitch dark he was guided by the sounds, and the policeman slammed the door shut just before the other reached it.

At bay, the intruder met Glenn in a hand to hand fight—by no means a desperate one, but both men were in earnest and the wrestling was steady and forceful.

Glenn found his opponent was holding his own, and, incidentally edging nearer and nearer to the hall door, which, if he gained, would let him down the front stairs.

This Glenn aimed to prevent, but, finally by a sudden push, the stranger sent the policeman flat against the wall, winded and off his balance.

He recovered in a moment, but by that time the other had gone through the hall door, slammed it behind him, and could be heard running down the front stairs.

As Glenn opened the door at the top of the stairs, he heard the street door flung open, and when, after the shortest possible interval he himself was down at the street door, and running down the steps, no one was in sight.

Baffled, he looked one way and another, and just then Briggs came along on his beat.

“What’s up?” he cried.

“Locke! Chase him!” Glenn cried; “he just got away!”

“Locke!” Briggs echoed. “Which way?”

“I don’t know—he just ran out this door”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/170


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/171

“He never did! I should have seen him. Where was he?”

“In the house—upstairs—he fought me” Glenn suddenly awoke to the fact that he was too unconventionally clad to appear on a front stoop, and made for the house door again.

“Chase him, Briggs,” he urged.

“Aw, chase yourself,” Briggs returned. “’Twas a nightmare you had. Go back to bed.”

“No, it was no nightmare,” Glenn returned, “but I know what did happen. He fooled me! He slammed this door open—and then ran back through the hall and out that way. We’ve lost him!”

“You poor fish!”said Briggs.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/171


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/48

 "I am serious, young man," said Van Aldin.

"Oh, so am I," said Kettering. "I am in very low water financially; it will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth divorces me, and, after all, if she has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give you my word of honour that the old man can't possibly last out another eighteen months, and, as I said before, it's a pity Ruth shouldn't get what she married me for."

"You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position?"

Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement.

"You don't think it was a question of a love match?" he asked.

"I know," said Van Aldin slowly, "that you spoke very differently in Paris ten years ago."

"Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you know—rather like an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf, of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English home-life with a beautiful wife who loved me."

He laughed again, rather more discordantly.

"But you don't believe that, I suppose?" he said.

"I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money," said Van Aldin unemotionally.

"And that she married me for love?" asked the other ironically.

"Certainly," said Van Aldin.

Derek Kettering stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded reflectively.

"I see you believe that," he said. "So did I at the


text: Page:The Chace - Somervile (1735).djvu/98


text: Author talk:I. A. Blackwell

title: Author talk:I. A. Blackwell


text:
Page:The art of kissing (IA artofkissing987wood).djvu/1

 {| cellpadding="1" style="margin:1em auto;"
 * rowspan="2"| LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO.
 * }
 * }
 * }


text: Page:The art of kissing (IA artofkissing987wood).djvu/2


text:
Page:Calcutta Review Vol. II (Oct. - Dec. 1844).pdf/327

322 proportionally the largest number of pupils? Or, which of them possesses the larger comparative degree of cultivation?

In order to settle this point, with any degree of satisfaction, it is clear that we must ascertain the relative proportions of the Musalman and Hindu population. And this is the more necessary, as hitherto the most erroneous impressions have prevailed on the subject. Indeed, it may with truth be affirmed, that ignorance of India, its affairs and people, has heretofore been the rule, and accurate or even approximately accurate information, the exception. Of this a singular instance has been irrefragably established by Mr. Adam. Before visiting Rajshahi, he had been led to suppose that it was “a peculiarly Hindu district.” Hamilton, on official authority, states the proportion to be that of two Hindus to one Musalman; and the statement has been transferred, without question, into the various publications of the day. Now Mr. Adam ascertained, with a precision that defies all challenge, that in the selected or model Thana of Nattore, the proportion was exactly reversed—there being actually two Musalmans to one Hindu! In other five thanas he found the proportion of Musalmans to Hindus to be somewhat larger than even in Nattore; while in other four, it was still more in excess of the latter, amounting to not less than three Musalmans to one Hindu. Thus the aggregate average of the entire district or Zillah is that of seven Musalmans to three Hindus, or considerably more than two to one. How an impression so very contrary to the truth could have gained ground among the European functionaries Mr. Adam thus endeavours to explain:—

"“The Hindus, with exceptions of course, are the principal zemindars, talookdars, public officers, men of learning, money-lenders, traders, shopkeepers, &c., engaging in the most active pursuits of life, and coming directly and frequently under the notice of the rulers of the country, while the Musalmans, with exceptions also, form a very large majority of the cultivators of the ground and of day labourers, and others engage in the very humblest forms of mechanical skill, and of buying and selling, as tailors, turban makers, makers of huqqa-snakes, dyers, wood-polishers, oil-sellers, sellers of vegetables, fish, &c., in few instances attracting the attention of those who do not mix much with the humbler classes of the people, or make special inquiry into their occupations and circumstances.”"

Elsewhere, as the general result of the whole of his researches, he speaks of “the greater degradation and ignorance of the lower classes of Musalmans when compared with the corresponding classes of the Hindu population,,” [sic] as a simple, undeniable, matter of fact.”. [sic]

Let us now present, at one view, the proportions of the Musalman and Hindu population in all the districts investigated by Mr. Adam:—


text:
Page:The art of kissing (IA artofkissing987wood).djvu/3

 {| cellpadding="1" style="margin:1em auto;"
 * rowspan="2"| LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO.
 * }
 * }
 * }


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/172

Hutchins heard of the nocturnal visit, he merely raised his eyebrows.

“I told you he was a slick one,” he said to Glenn. “I don’t blame you, though—you did your best. But he had the advantage in knowing the ways of his own house, and being able to run around in the dark.”

“Aw, I know this house well enough,” Glenn declared. “I haven’t lived here a week or more without knowing where the doors and halls run into each other, and all that. But it was his fighting that put me out of commission.”

“Jiu-jitsu?”

“Not a bit of it. But skillful, clever wrestling—like a professional. Why, I hadn’t a show. He didn’t hurt me a bit, but he just, well, he just sort of set me on one side. Then, as you say, he did know, even in the dark, just where he wanted to get to—and he got there.”

“And fooled you beside.”

“Yes, and fooled me beside. Of course, when I heard the front door slam open, I supposed he went out that way. And there, little cutie had swished the door open, with a flourish of trumpets, and then he had whisked himself through the house, and out at the good little old back door—so he had! Had the nerve to leave that flyinglying [sic] open behind him, too!”

“Don’t worry, Glenn, if you had caught him you couldn’t have held him, and if you’d locked him in—he’d have got

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/172


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/173

 out! I tell you he’s as bright as they come—if he is an artist.”

“Well, what next? He’ll not come here again.”

“How do you know? Did he get what he was after?”

“What was he after?”

“I don’t know. What did he get?”

“I don’t know that he got anything. But I haven’t looked around at all. I was so sore—mentally, not physically—that I just went back to bed—and I’m only just through my breakfast now.”

“Let’s give the place the once over. I don’t think there was anything of value for him to take—but he was after something and we may get a line on it.”

“Why, of course, he was after his lucky piece—as Charley calls it.”

“Yes—if it was Locke.”

“If it was Locke? Who else in thunder could it be?”

“Might be lots of people. Hello, what’s this?”

The two had wandered through the studio, looking for any bit of evidence and finding none, and now they were in the Den. On the floor in a corner lay a strange looking object.

Hutchins picked it up and held it out at arm’s length.

“Well, I’m blowed!” he ejaculated, though he rarely gave way to such elaborate expletive.

But the occasion seemed to justify it, for the thing he held up to Glenn’s view was a wig of rather long, black hair.

Glenn’s eyes grew big and round as he gazed.

“That’s it!” he cried; “I grabbed him by the hair once, and it seemed to slide! Gave me the creeps! I’d forgotten that. My heavens, Hutchins, what does it mean?”

“It means,” the detective said, slowly, “well, it might mean something else, but I’ll say it means that your friend

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/173


text: Page:The art of kissing (IA artofkissing987wood).djvu/4


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/174

 of last night wasn’t Locke at all, but somebody rigged up to look like him.”

“Yes—that must be it. An ordinary burglar, disguised as”

“No, by no means an ordinary burglar! Rather a most extraordinary one! One who was so bent on getting in here that he made up to look like a man for whom a reward is offered! That’s going some!”

“But it must have been Locke—for he came in with his own night key—that is, he must have done so, or how did he get in?”

“Well, a chap smart enough to make up like Locke is smart enough to get a key somewhere or somehow. But, why? why?—that’s what I can’t understand. It can only be that there is some incriminating evidence still here regarding that murder. Nothing else would bring about such elaborate preparations.”

“Mightn’t be elaborate. Just slapping a wig on your head isn’t such a great game.”

“No; but this is just like Locke’s hair”

“How do you know—except by hearsay?”

“That’s so, Glenn, I don’t. But all the descriptions of Locke sound like this thing looks.”

“It was Locke, Hutchins, I saw his two gold teeth gleam. I’ve heard over and over again about those two gold teeth.”

“So have I. Well, no burglar could carry disguise so far as that. It must have been Locke. I have it. He’s had his hair cut, to escape detection, and coming back here, he put on a wig to be different from what he really is now.”

“Pretty good—but not good enough. I’ll tell you! It was that brother of Locke’s. He’d likely have gold teeth,

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/174


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/175

 too, such things run in families—and he impersonated his brother to get something here in the house.”

“I never thought that brother person was really a brother,” Hutchins said, gloomily. Things were getting beyond his ken.

“Where’s the girl’s picture?” Glenn cried, looking around. “Ha! It was Locke—he took the picture—the painting of the Cutler girl! That’s what he was after! Oh, these young lovers!”

“Bah, I don’t believe it. It’s too foolish. What was it. A photograph?”

“No; a little painting—pretty—almost like a miniature. I think Locke painted it himself”

“I think he didn’t. He paints landscapes”

“Some artists do both. Well, maybe he didn’t paint it—but it’s gone, and I’ll bet he took it. He stopped at that table—where it stood—the last thing before he left the room.”

“Maybe he took it then—but it’s of small importance. The fact that Locke is in love with the little Cutler girl—or she with him—hasn’t much to do with our finding the murderer of Mrs. Barham. That’s what I’m after.”

“Well, I think this wig business and this fellow that broke in last night are important matters. And I’ll bet old Dickson’ll think so too. Don’t pass it up, Hutchins—sleuth it out. If it was Locke why did he come, and”

“And if it wasn’t Locke, why didn’t he? But I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Put it up to Charley. See if he knows anything about it. Maybe Locke always wore a wig. Maybe he wanted to affect that long hair business and couldn’t do it on his own.”

Charley came at their summons and gazed stolidly at the wig when asked to observe it.

“Whose is it, Charley.”

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/175


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/176

“Donno.”

“Is it Mr. Locke’s?”

“Donno.”

“Did Mr. Locke ever wear a wig? Come, you must know that?”

“Donno.”

And even threats of jail, or intimations of worse punishment could not move the Chinaman to admit any knowledge of the wig or even the slightest interest in it.

Nor did Dickson seem as much impressed as Glenn thought he would be.

He opined it might have been some sneak thief, who had donned a wig merely to disguise his own appearance, or it might have been a curiosity seeker, of whom there were plenty about. He could see no explanation of Locke’s presence there, for if he wanted to come to his own house as secretly as all that, he would have disguised himself—not attempted to look like himself.

But Glenn persuaded Hutchins to take the wig with him when he went to see Miss Cutler—for, he said, she could tell whether it’s really like Locke’s hair or not.

“It’s a mighty fine wig,” Glenn went on, “and it was made in Paris—see, here’s the maker’s mark.”

“That’s nothing,” Hutchins scoffed, “all good wigs are made in Paris. It’s a very expensive affair, too, which proves that it never was made merely to look like Locke on a midnight marauding expedition. That wig was made for a special customer, and for a special purpose. It has since fallen from such high estate, and is, most likely, the property of an artist’s model, who is posing as Hamlet or a Wandering Minstrel. By the way, like as not, it was worn here at the masquerade. Then when friend burglar

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/176


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/177

 started upstairs, he saw it, somewhere about, and clapped it on his head by way of disguise.”

“Oh, you can make up fine-sounding gabble, but if you’d seen that chap, as I did, bending over that spot in the den—you’d know he was no burglar—he was Locke himself, or somebody who wanted to appear to be Locke.”

“You said that before,” and Hutchins grinned at Glenn, as he registered extreme weariness.

All the same, when Hutchins set out for his interview with Pearl Jane, he did carry the wig with him, and he did hope to learn something about it from the girl.

She didn’t want to see the detective at all, but he had told her over the telephone that she must, and that she must see him alone. He gave her no choice in the matter and advised her to be at home when he called, which would be immediately.

So he found her waiting for him, and, while she was calm, yet he could note an undercurrent of nervous excitement, and a frequent tremor of overwrought nerves.

“Now, Miss Cutler,” he began, not at all unkindly, but decidedly, “I can’t help feeling you’ve not been entirely frank with me when we have talked together. This time, I hope you will be—for I may as well tell you that unless you are, you may be questioned by other people who will not be so patient with you as I am.”

“What do you want to know?” and Pearl Jane struggled hard to preserve her composure.

“First—what did you take from the hand of the—of Mrs. Barham, that night as she lay on the floor of the smoking room?”

Pearl Jane grasped her throat to stifle a cry.

“Now, don’t do that,” and Hutchins spoke a bit sharply. “Hysterics won’t get you anywhere. You’ve tried them

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/177


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/178

 before. Don’t scream, or burst into tears, for if you do I shall only wait till you’re over it.”

“Aren’t you perfectly horrid!” and the gray eyes flashed angrily at him.

“Yes, I have to be—to keep you from being so! Go on, now, answer that question, so we can go on to the next.”

“I didn’t take anything”

“Look here, my dear young lady, let me say from the start, falsehoods are barred. If you’re just going to tell stories, you can tell them to some one else. I’ve no time nor inclination for anything but the truth. I think I’d better take you over to the police station for a hearing.”

“No, no—I’ll tell the truth. But—but skip that question—ask me the next one?”

“This is the next,” and Hutchins looked grave. “Did you kill Mrs. Barham?”

“No, no, no!” and again hysterics were imminent.

But the face she raised to Hutchins was so imploring, and withal so appealingly sorrowful, that Hutchins was forced to modify his manner a little.

“I don’t believe you did,” he said, heartily, after a deep look into her eyes, “now, have you any idea who did?”

“That I refuse to answer,” and now the eyes flashed. “You can take me to the station or to prison or you can take me to the electric chair—but I shall never tell you if I suspect any one—any one at all!”

She lay back in her chair rather exhausted at the vehemence of her own speech.

She looked very young, she seemed very alone—but underneath her young helplessness there seemed to be a strong power of will that Hutchins began to see was unbreakable.

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/178


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/179

“You care for him as much as that, then,” Hutchins said, his voice sinking to a whisper.

“Yes,” said Pearl Jane, and her face glowed with a soft flush.

Then realizing that she had been trapped, she flew at him like a young tigress. “How dare you? You think that is fair—right—to trap me into an admission. Mr. Hutchins, you are more guilty of falsehood than I! You have no right to”

“There, there, Miss Cutler, yours is an open secret. You couldn’t keep it if you wanted to. Now, let me tell you, that it will be better for Mr. Locke in the long run, if you will be frank about him. Are you engaged to him?”

“No.”

“Do you—or did you expect to be?”

“Those are questions you’ve no right to ask.”

“Very well, perhaps I haven’t. Now, Miss Cutler, do you know whose this is?”

He flung off the paper, and held up the wig suddenly before her astonished eyes.

She gazed at it as if hypnotized. She wasn’t scared—she seemed not to be over-curious, but she looked at the thing with a mild wonder, as a child at a curious novelty.

“Where did it come from?” she asked, and gave a puzzled smile.

“Of whom does it remind you?”

“Of Mr. Locke. It is exactly like his hair.”

“Do you think it is his hair? I mean, do you think he wears a wig, continually?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. I don’t know, I’m sure, but I do know that’s Tommy Locke’s hair, or just exactly like the hair I’ve always seen on his head. Oh, nonsense!

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/179


text:
Page:The Reshaping of British Railways (Beeching Report).pdf/26

 It should be clearly recognised that the problem presented by the London suburban rail services is not one which the railways can solve alone. Their problem is part of the whole problem of London congestion, and measures which would improve their situation, such as staggering of hours and dispersal of employment to the periphery of the metropolitan area, are beyond their power and responsibility. Also, unless the control of fares in the London Traffic Area is exercised with more regard to the true nature of the problem, the position will be further worsened by the continued suppression of normal economic forces.

Suburban Services Outside London

No city other than London is nearly so predominantly dependent upon suburban train services. All of them are served by public road transport which carries a high proportion of the total daily flow, and the movement and parking of private. transport is still sufficiently free to make it a possible alternative to rail. Also, none of the services is loaded as heavily as many London services.

As in the case of London, fares on these services feeding other cities are low, sometimes very low, and none of them pays its way. There is no possibility of a solution being found, however, merely by increasing or by reducing fares. Increases in fares on rail services alone would drive traffic to available alternative modes of travel and yield little increase in revenue, if any. Decreases would increase traffic, but short peak periods of traffic at even saturation level would not support the services with fares lower than at present. Therefore, if the services are to be regarded as essential, the municipalities concerned must join with the railways and bus interests to evolve a co-ordinated system of services, with due regard to the economics of both forms of transport. It is, for example, illogical to operate subsidised municipal bus services in competition with unprofitable railway services, without any attempt to co-ordinate them.

If, on the other hand, the services are not regarded as essential and coordination is not found possible, the sound commercial course is for the railways to risk pricing themselves out of the business and then, if necessary, close the services.

The right solution is most likely to be found by 'Total Social Benefit Studies' of the kind which are now being explored by the Ministry of Transport and British Railways jointly. In cases of the type under consideration it may be cheaper to subsidise the railways than to bear the other cost burdens which will arise if they are closed. If this happens, however, there should be no feeling that the railways are being propped up by such a subsidy because of a commercial failure.

Mails and Parcels

The regular passenger train services are the principal means of conveyance for Post Office parcels and letter mails, as well as for the railways' own parcels service.

Schedules of services, agreed with the Post Office, are laid down for the conveyance of the majority of letter mails, and extend over seven days of the week. Also, Post Office letter sorting vehicles run nightly on some routes, the average number per week being 80. Letter mails are loaded into and unloaded from train vans by Post Office staff, and are transferred by them at intermediate stations if necessary.


text:
Page:More lives than one.djvu/180

 No, I don’t believe he wears a wig habitually. Why should he? He’s a young man.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know exactly. We’ve judged him at twenty-eight or twenty-nine. That’s not old enough for a wig!

“It is in the case of some people. Why do you smile?”

“It’s so funny. If it is his—and if he hasn’t another, and has lost this—how queer he must look. Do you suppose he is bald?”

Miss Cutler shook her own short, thick locks, and then she became serious again. “Where did you get it?” she asked.

Hutchins told her the whole story, and asked her opinion.

“No, it wasn’t Tommy,” she said; “it was some of the boys dressed up for a prank. It doesn’t seem funny to you, I daresay, but the boys do ever so many things that they think are funny, but no one else does.”

“But this funny person took your picture—the little one in the den.”

“That one! Why, that is one of Mr. Locke’s chief treasures. Jamieson painted that—how dare anybody steal it! Can you get it back?”

“But perhaps it was Mr. Locke himself who took it. He would have a right to, you know.”

“Yes,” and again she blushed that soft, pretty pink.

“Where’s his lucky piece?” asked Hutchins, suddenly. It was his theory that these suddenly sprung queries brought results before the victim was aware of it.

“What lucky piece?”

“The one you took from Mrs. Barham’s hand.”

He could see the effort she made—but this time it was successful. She conquered her emotion, she controlled her voice and she said calmly, “Mr. Hutchins, you spoke

title: Page:More lives than one.djvu/180