Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume], September 05, 1908, Image 7

About Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916

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SATURDAY, September 5, 1908.
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How Many Loaves
can you make out of a sack of flour?
And how good is your bread?
These are the real tests that determine wheuier the flour
I- yon use is economical—not what you pay per sack
The greatest money-saving economy is guaranteed
to you in Zephyr Flour. You take no chances.
It must satisfy you perfectly and it must
make as many loaves to the sack as any
flour ever made—or you get your money back.
i: Tell your grocer to send you a 48
^.pound sack of Zephyr Flour today.
Use down to the middle of the
sack as nearly as you can
judge. Use it for all pur
v*
poses bread, cakes,
.i.pies, biscuits, every
thing you bake.
M. H. TULL1S, Ottumwa.
E. E. HILLES, Eldon.
|LOVE THE CRIMIINALl
Copyright, 1908, by J. B. Harris-Burland.
Entered at Stationers' Hall. All rights reserved.
But the problem before her was sot on a height to which no man dave
more than a question of self-sacrifice, lift his eyes
It was not at all clearto her as yet
that her marriage to William Tanker
lane would be of any real advantage
to John Shil. The matter resoved
Itself into a choice of evils. On the
one hand, her lover would lose his
liberty, perhaps even his life, and
whether he lived or died, his name
would be dishonored for all time. On
the other hand, he would lose the
woman he loved, and would stand no
cleaner in the eyes of his God.
And she had to decide the problem
without help or counsel from aqy liv
ing soul. No other person could know
the shame of her secret, and least of
all could she
seek
guidance from the
one man to whom a woman turns in
the hour of her trial. For John Shil's
Judgment would be certain and inevi
table. He would face the gallows rath
er than let her do this thing for his
Bake.
And so Laura Vane was left to de
cide her fate alone. She was a relig
ious woman, but in this matter GoJ"
seemed to have gone out of her life.
In vain she tried to persuade herself
that she ought to obey the dictates
of her conscience, and that it was the
duty of a Christian woman to serve
the cause of truth. In vain she told
herself that the man's crime would
still stand naked before the eyes of
his Maker. She knew well enough the
right from the wrong but in thai
'hour she blinded her eyes and step
ped her ears, and stifled the still
small voice that cried out to her. The
man she loved was in peril, and that,
fact blotted out everything else from
her mental horizon save the thought
that, if she saved him, she must be
lost to him forever.
And then again a more worldly
voice whispered in her ear. "Perhaps
he will be acquitted. There is but the
evidence of one man, and that man
an avowed enemy. The blow was
struck under great provocation, in de
fense of a woman's good name. At the
•worst there will be a verdict of man
slaughter." The voice spoke calmly
and logically, but it grew very faint
as fear pripped her heart. Even the re
mote possibility of a conviction was a
thing too terrible to contemplate. Sh3
knew well enough that innocent men
had sometimes been condemned to
death, and John Shil was certainly
not an innocent man.
She was deaf alike to the voice of
conscience and reason, and there only
remained a single thought to combat
the half-formed resolution in her
brain. Would her marriage to William
Tankerlane be of real benefit to John
Shil, or would the loss of her te
more terrible to him to bear than
shame or degradation, or death itself?
These were the questions she asked
herself again and again, and she could
find no definite answer to them.
The neglected fire burnt down to a
heap of gray -ashes and half-coasumed
logs of wood. A few patches of lull
red light still glowed in the embers,
but the rotftn was almost in otal
darkness. The shadows of the celling
had died away, for the whol-a apart
ment Was Itself one deep blur of shad
ow. Her face was scarcely visible
a mere patch of white against the
blackness.
And there In the silence and the
darknes a youn girl, on the thresh
old of life, with a great love in her
'strong, simple heart,-and with all the
world opening out before her jike
some gorgeous flower, resolve! to sac
rifice her mind, her body, perhaps
even her very soul, lest harm should
came to tbe man she loved. Such is the
love of women, foolish and illogical
perhaps, but stronger than death and
CHAPTER IV.
The next morning Mr. William Tan
kerlane called and received his an
swer.
"I have decided to marry you," said
the girl quietly. "It is the least of two
evils, atid I must accept it. Your own
common sense will tell you how much
happiness is likely to result from
such a union— either for me or
you."
"I am prepared to take the risk,"
he replied firmly, "and you know I
love you. Do not judge me hardly,
Laura I know that I am driving a
hard bargain, but I would do worse
things than that to gain you. Do you
realize what love means, how it grips
the soul, how It fires the mind to
madness, how it stifles conscience
and drives men to do that which hon
or forbids them to do? Do you under
stand that it is an angel with a flam
Ipg sword?"
"I understand," she said slowly,
"what love means." She spoke very
quietly, and there was not even a
tinge of passion or bitterness in her
voice. Her face was pale, but, save
for Its exceeding whiteness, It bore
no traces of the storm that had
wrecked her life. Yet, for all that,
both face and voice told William Tan
kerlane that she knew the true mean
ing of a great love, and that it was,
of very truth, an angel with a flam
ing sword.
He moved slightly towards her,
with passion burning in his eyes, and
with outstretched hands, as though
he would take her in his arms. But
she shrank back from him.
"I will marry you," she repeated
coldly, as though discussing a matter .n.
of business, "but only on this condi-
A sudden gleam came into the
man's eyes, and a look of relief
that you do not wish John Shil
know. .1 would suggest that we
should be married in London."
"Yes, London will do," she said
"and now you must swear to say
nothing of what you saw yesterday
afternoon in the Round Plantation.
Here is a bible I know you are not
a religious man, but I think you will
appreciate the solemnity of an oath."
He took the sacred book from her
hand, pressed his lips to it, and
swore the oath, adding as a rider the
words, "I swear to do this so long as
you agree to live with me."
The girl's white face flushed.
"I did not agree to any such condi
tion," she said sharply.
"No," he replied "but it is a neces
sary condition. You might leave me
at the church door and refuse to live
with me as my wife. That would be
a poor reward for my silence."
"Very weii,:i she exclaimed, "let It
be so. I will meet you in Loncirn in a
few weeks' time, if you will fix an
hour and a place."
He arranged the hour and the place
and then, fumbling unsteadily in his
pockets, he drew out four £5 notes.
"You will want money," he said
brusquely.
"I do not want your money," she
replied calmly.
If you are not
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pockets, and held out his hand. She
shook her head sadly and turned
away from him. She displayed neither
anger nor contempt in her refusal to
take his hand. It almost seemed as
though her spirit had been crushed
by the blow that had fallen upon her
life. The man was equally calm and
accepted the insult with good grace.
But he had conquered, and it is easy
for the victor to be gracious.
"They have not yet found the body
of Ben Holland," he said in a low
voice, and with these words he left
the room.
An hour afterwards Laura Vane
had climbed to the summit of Stone
wold Hills. She had ascended by a
path which lay to the south of the
road in which John Shil had encoun
tered Ben Holland, and had reached
a point nearly two miles to the south
west of Laverstone.
Shortly after William Tankerlane's
departure, she had fled from her fath
er's home as from a prison, foul with
the memories of what had passed
within its walls. As a rule she worked
hard all the morning, but now the
course of her life had been changed.
In a few hours that life had been
snapped into two parts, and the new
section of it had beei divided from
the old by a gulf which could never
be crossed. She had sought relief from
the shock and crash of the disaster
in sheer physical exercise. She had
climbed a thousand feet without
pause, and now, flushed and panting
with exertion, she stood with her
back against a gate, and looked out
across the valley of the Steyne.
It was a bright, sunnw morning, and
all the wide panorama beneath her
sparkled with light. The breath of
frost was in the air, and the white
kiss of it still lingered on the trees
and grass which the sun had not yet
the more distant parts of the scene,
reached. A faint mist, drawn out of
the ground by the warmth, hung over
and the great base of the hills which
bounded the far side of the valley
were Invisible. Only their summits
stood out clear in the sunlight, like
islands in a sea of vapor.
The little village of Laverstone,
gray and quiet, nestled among the
bare trees at the foot of the hills.
u,
he,s"!ok®
... ... straight, thin lilno lines into thestill
tion—thatthe marriage is kept a so
cret, and that no one, and least of all
John Shil, shall know of it until a
year after it has taken place."
,frT, ^chimneys rose in
straight, thin blue lines into thestill
atmosphere. It was a peaceful scene,
a perfect picture of the quiet content
of country life. But Laura Vane found
no peace in the contemplation of it.
For in the last ewenty-four hours she
had
flashed across his face. Both were
momentary, and escaped the notice
of the girl. She did not know that Wil
liam Tankerlane, for a very different
reason, had been about to make the
very same proposition.
"It is a reasonable condition," he
answered after a slight pause, "and I,. ..
will agree to it. I quite understand^ distant beat of a horses hoofs
t0'on
He thrust the notes back into his I them— oh, God, I cannot stay here, I
iearnt that the quiet village, set
under the clear sky, may hold the ele
ments of as grim a tragedy as was
even enacted in the seething dark
ness of a great city, and that, wher
ever men .and women congregate,
there are lust and cruelty and shame.
Her meditations were interrupted
the hard ground. A few minutes
later a rider appeared around a bend
In the bridle path. She saw at a
glance that it was John Shil, and that
he was riding furiously.
OTTUMWA COUKIEE
must go. You must see that I must
go."
"Yes," she replied, averting her
face, "I think It will be best for you
to go."
"1 can start life elsewhere," he Bald
fiercely, "In a new country, perhaps.
But I cannot breathe the air of this
place. I wished to tell you this at
once, and to ask you if you will marry
me within the next month, unless
unless anything should happen at the
inquest tomorrow."
She was silent, and looking out
across the valley of the Steyne, she
prayed silently for strength to carry
Out her purpose.
"Will you marry me, Laura?" he re
peated, laying his hand on her shoul
der. "You know what I am. I have told
you all. You did hot shrink from me
then. You spoke brave words of com
fort. I thought that perhaps you had
forgiyen me Laura, for God's sake
answer me!"
But still the woman was silent. She
had not the courage to speak the
words that would have to be spoken
to tell the lie that would have to be
told.
"Laura," he cried, "you 4°
n°t
mean
—you cannot mean that." He gripped
her hard by the shoulders with both
hands, and turned her face to his.
She closed her eyes with a little moan
of pain and would have fallen to the
ground but for the strong fingers of
the man who held her. But he could
read the answer in her white face.
She opened her eyes and he knew
the truth. He took his hands from her
shoulders, and looked away from her.
There were deep lines about his
mouth, and his face was no longer the
face of a boy.
And then the woman found the
strength to speak.
"I cannot marry you, Jack," she said
slowly. "It would be Impossible after
what has happened. This thing would
always lie between us. I have been
thinking over many things In the
night. I have decided that I can never
marry you. It will be best for both of
us to part, and part forever."
"Do you mean," he cried hoarsely,
"that you do not love me because of
—of this?"
"I still love you, Jack," she replied.
"I shall always love you, but our ways
must lie apart. A great shadow has
fallen on our lives, and I shall be in
the darkness as well as you."
For answer he reached out his hand
to open the gate so that he could
pass through and come to her side
but she laid her hand upon his arm.
Do not come this side of the gate,1
Vi r»n mA '1
nothing in my heart but love and pity
for you. Yet if I married you, this se
cret, shared by us two— by us two
alone— would divide us so surely, so
completely, that life would be hell to
both of us. Good bye, my dear lover!"
She held out her hands to him and
he pressed his lips to them. Then the
madness of a great passion seized
him. He loosed his fingers, and, grip
ping the gate with both his hands, he
exerted Ms enormous strength and
literally tore the woodwork away
from its Iron hinges. It came apart
with a loud crack of splintering wood,
and be flung the fragments far from
him on to the grass. The whole action
was instantaneous,'brutal, terrible to
witness. Before the girl could move
from the spot on which she stood, he
had clasped her In his arms and was
covering her face with passionate
kisses.
"You are mine," he cried hoarsely,
"and I will hold you against all the
world— ay, In spite of yourself, in the
face of every obstacle. You love me,
and I will do anything to make you my
wife. I will suffer anything. I will r^k
anything. You are mine, Laura till
death."
He drew rein on the other side of think that by this means you will turn
the gate and flung himself from his
horse. The animal's jaws were white
with foam, and the man himself was
sweating profusely but in spite of his
exertion his face was very pale. It
seemed to Laura Vane that he had
aged in the night.
"I called at your house," he said
hurriedly "they told me you had gone
for a walk in the hills. I followed you
here, for I knew you would not go by
the other palh. I have been thinking
things over in the night I have much
to say to you."
"I, too, have been thinking things
over in the night," the girl replied
slowly.
"I must leave here," he continued
breathlessly, "but not at once— that
would arouse suspicion— but as soon
as possible. I can get work elsewhere.
I have some money saved up. I must
leave the place Is like a prison to me.
They have just brought In the body
of Ben Holland. I passed them In the
street I had to stop and ask what had
happened. They showed me his face
the eyes wer§ still open, the look In
The girl trembled In hl§ arms, but
her courage was great In the hour of
her temptation.
"I have said that I will not marry
you," she replied softly, "and nothing
you can say or do will force me to go
back on my word."
"Nothing?" he asked, straining her
to him in his powerful arms. "Are you
sure, Laura?"
"I am sure," she replied quietly. "I
am quite, quite sure, Jack."
He let' go of her, and striding away
a few paces, came back to her sido.
"If your decision 1? final," he said
in a hard voice, "my life is nothing to
me. I am yours, and if you cast me
away from you, I am nothing. I will,
therefore, act the part of an honorable
man and make peace with my own
conscience. Tomorrow at the Inquest
which is to me held on Holland's
body, I shall speal- the truth. I shall
tell the jury what happened and leave
them to judge whether I am amur
derer. Do you understand me, Laura?"
"1 understand you," she replied.
"You are using this as a threat. You
me from my purpose. But you are
mistaken, Jack. I will only tell you
that you have fallen in my estima
tion. You know how much your life—
your happiness, means to me, and
knowing this, you use your knowledge
to achieve your own desires."
He was silent and bower his head.
"Jack," she said softly, "you are
still the loyal, true hearted Jack
whom I promised to marry so short a
time ago?"
He raised his eyes to hers, and his
cheek flushed with shame. Then he
took hold of her hand, very tenderly,
and raised it to his lips.
"Forgive me," he said gently, "for-
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give me, my own dear sweetheart. I
am always your loyal lover. I will
serve without questioning. Good ble, »n the mud.
dear heart."
"Good bye," she
God bless you!"
answered, "and
For a few moments he held her
hand to his lips. Then he dropped It,
turned suddenly on his heel, sprang
into (he saddle and dug the spurs into
the horse's sides.
The animal sprang forward, stum
bled, regained its feet/ and in a few
moInent8 both h0VBe and rtder
had
disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER V.
That same afternoon the bite of the
frost vanished from the air, and a
soft sou'-westerly wind began to hur
ry up a battalion of dark clouds from
the fastnesses of the Welsh moun
tains. By five o'clock in the evening
the wind had increased to half a
gale, and the rain came sluicing down
on the Stonewold hills. The gutters
In the rough, stony roads became
streams of water, and, at the foot of
the hill, the village brook roared
through the single street like an Al
pine torrent fed with melting snow.
she said. "Do not make the parting jnterview with Laura Vano in
harder for me.
He dropped his hand from the
latch and laughed bitterly.
"This gate, then," he said with a
ghastly smile, "Is the symbol of life
that Is to be. But I could break It
down I could wrench it from its
hinges and splinter it, and reach your
side. Laura, tell me what 1b this bar
rier between us, and why, If you still
love me, you will not marry me?"
"I have told you," nhe replied. "Can
you not understand? You have made
our marriage Impossible. There is
Few people were abroad that night
but William Tankerlane, who had
sought relief from the mental strain
..........
a long ride round his father's estate,
was returning home down the very
road where John Shil had encounter
ed Ben Holland the day before.
As he neared the Round Plantation
he emerged from the shelter of a high
bank, and encountered the full vio
lence of the storm. Both steed and
rider staggered as the wind struck
them and the rain lashed them like
a whip. The horse became nervous,
and stumbled more than once on the
wet, loose stones in the path. It was
so dark that Tankerlane could hardly
se0 hl8 hand before hls facei and
when he reached the gate of the plan
tation and alighted to open it, lite de
cided to lead .the horse through the
wood until they reached the broadet
and smoother road beyond it. He re
membered the quarry with the bro
ken rail.
He moved slowly and cautiously
along the path with one hand on the
reins. The trees afforded some shel
ter from the wind, but showers of
water came from their branches as
he brushed against them, and he was
drenched to the skin.
Then suddenly the horse stopped,
and no persuasion on the part of the
master could induce him to budge an
inch. Threats, soft words, blows,
were all of no avail. The animal
might have been turned into an image
of stone.
Tankerlane knew the ways of
horses well, but In this case he could
not tell whether the beast had stop
ped from sheer obstinacy or from
fright or from that instince for un
seen danger which belongs to so many
of the members of the animal king
dom. He let go of the reins and tried
to light a match, but the wind was
too strong. There was a momentary
flare and sputter, and before he could
see anything of his surroundings he
was again enveloped in darkness.
He stretched out both his hands.
On one side he felt the wet bushes
on the other he touched nothing. He
moved away from the wood cautious
ly, step by step, holding his hands be
fore him. When he had taken three
steps, his Angers came in contact
with a wooden rail. And then he knew
where he was.
Tankerlane was not a superstitious
man, but he shivered as he felt the
damp wood beneath his touch. Slow
ly he moTjed down the hill with his
hand on the rail until he came to the
end of It. Then he retraced his steps
and walked up the steep path till he
'came to a jagged and splintered piece
of timber. Beyond that there was
empty space. He stretched out his
hand, and, moving towards the wood,
touched the cold muzzle of the horse.
The animal had stopped exactly op
posite the place where Ben Holland
had gone down to his death.
He laughed aloud, as If at his own
fears. He at any rate had not sent the
wretched man to his doom, and had
no reason to shun the spot. Then, as
he stood there in the darkness, with
the wind roaring over his head, he
remembered that he had let the- man
die to serve his own purpose, and
that the victory he had won that very
morning had been gained by another's
crime. He caught hold of the reins
once more, and tried to drag his horse
down the slope. But the animal still
refused to move.
He decided to leave It, and make
the rest of the journey on foot, at the
same time resolving to get even with
the horse the next time he was
aseride of it. He knew well enough
that If he got Into the saddle at that
moment, he could overcome the ani
mal's fear or obstinacy. But few men
would have cared to undertake such
a task in the darkness. The narrow
path and the precipice which bounded
It on one side were enough to give
pause to the boldest rider. A slip, a
stumble, a sudden swerve at the
touch of the spur, would perhaps
jmean death. He gave the animal three
stinging blows with the whip, and,
letting go of the reins, walked down
the hill.
Before he had gone more than fifty
yards, however, he caught sight or a
faint gleam of light among the trees.
It disappeared almost instantly.
"Poachers," said Tankerlane to
himself. He stopped and listened.
There was a sound of someone mov
ing in the undergrowth, and the noise
came nearer and nearer to him. It
was quite evident that the man,' who
ever he was, had no wish to avoid
him, or else was ignorant of his pres
ence.
In a few moments someone came
crashing out of the bushes, and stum
bled into his very arms with a cry of
terror. Tankerlane gripped him by the
collar. The fellow was small and help
less in his powerful grasp. But it was
possible that he had a knife about
him.
"Poaching, eh?" said Tankerlane,
swinging the man off his feet and
forcing him face downwards on the
ground. Something tinkled on the
stones.
"Poachln'?" the man spluttered.
"No, swelp me bob, guv'nor. Oi tell
yer strite, oi'm an honest man. Leave
go, yer chojsin' me. Can't a pore, 'ard
working feller tike shelter from the
bloomin' rain. Leave go, I say," and
he squirmed and struggled helplessly
Tankerlane knew at once from the
man's accent that, he was not a na
tive of those parts. Then he caught
sight of a tiny yellow gleam on the
ground— a mere speck of light in the
darkness. He stretched out his left
hand and touched the hot metal of a
small lantern. He picked It up by the
handle, and, thrusting It Into the
man's hand, hauled hi mto his feet.
A dark lantern, eh?" he exclaimed.
"Turn the light on and let me see who
you are. I am the owner of these
woods, and you have no business in
them at this time of night."
"I tike my oath, guv'nor," the man
whined.
"Turn on the light," Tankerlane
said sternly. "I shan't hurt you, and
I'll give you a job and half a sover
eign if you'll do It."
The man turned round tho slldo of
the lantern and a shaft of yellow
light streamed out into the darkness.
It fell on Tankerlane's face and a
small circular patch of wet bushes
and sparkling raindrops. Tankerlane
took the lantern from the man's hand
and examined his prisoner.
The fellow was a thin, undersized
specimen of a man and he presented
a miserable appearance as he stood
shivering in his ragged and soaking
clothes. HiB face was pale and ugly,
and covered with a three weeks'
growth of dlrt.y yellow hair. His small,
bloodshot eyes blinked nervously in
the light. His whole aspect was that
of a man caught in the act of com
mitting a felony. Tankerlane noticed
a piece of thin wire sticking out from
one of the torn pockets.
"A snare, eh?" he said. "Well, it
doesn't matter. I've a horBe here just
behind me. The devil won't move
frightened of something. I'll give you
half a sovereign If you'll stand by him
till I send a groom up from the court."
The man did not answer, but his
teeth chattered as he looked nervous
ly behind Tankerlane in the dark
ness.
"Well, you scoundrel?" said Tanker
lane, giving him a shake to quicken
his powers of speech.
"Make it a quid, guv'nor," the man
whined.
"Be hanged to you," replied Tan
kerlane. "You may think yourself
lucky I'm not giving you over to the
police."
"The 'orse stopped, did 'e?" said
the man. "Oh, the 'orse stopped. The
blessed hanlnsal 'e seed mor'n we
'uman belngB 'e stopped there, by the
rile, the broken rile. Oh, 'e stopped,
did 'e, and you arsk me to stay there
for 'arf a thick 'un, where the bloom
in' 'orse seed "Im?"
"What are you drivvellng about, you
idiot?" said Tankerlane, sternly. "If
you don't go and stand by the horse,
I'll take you down to the police sta
tion."
The man cringed and cowered be
fore Tankerlane's angry voice.
"It's worf a quid, guv'nor," he re
peated with chattering teeth "if you
knew what I knows about that 'ere
bloomin' rile, you'd mike it a quid."
"Don't be a fool," replied Tanker
lane firmly. But his words belled his
feelings. Fear came to him out of the
darkness and laid her cold hands
upon his heart. Perhaps the man's
terror was Infectious. Perhaps Wil
liam Tankerlane was afraid of some
thing more tangible than the ghost
of a dead man.
"And what do you know about the
rail," be continued, "that I do not
know, that everyone does not know?
Ben Holland, half drunk, fell against
it last night, and it broke away with
his weight. We all know that. But
only a miserable, whining hound like
yourself would be afraid to wait half
an hour by the place where a man met
with an accident."
"An accident, guv'nor," said the
trembling wretch with a sickly grin.
"What'd yer say, If it were no bloom
in' haccident, after all?"
A look of fear came into Tanker
lan's dark eyes, but his face was in
the shadow, and the poacher saw
nothing.
"I should say," replied Tankerlane,
"that you had probably been dring
ing. But you had better explain your
self, and be quick about It— unless
you want to spend the night in the
village lock-up."
"Look 'ere," said the man, "yer a
big man, and mebbe I'm a mean little
cur, but my motto is, 'Alius mike
friend3 with tho little 'uns.' They can
bite, guv'nor."
"You'll find the big ones can kick,
if you don't get to the point."
"The point is," said the man, "that
I knows yer, and I knows yer 'ate a
gentleman callied Mr. Shil like plzen.
And I knows yer'd give me a trifle if
I could make things unpleasant for
that same Mr. Shil. That's what I
knows, but what I wants to know Is
'ow much?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand you,"
said Tankerlane, "but you'd better ex
plain," and he shook the little man
rto
7
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savagely, as though he would choke
the life out of him.
•"Ere, 'ere, guv'nor," the fellow
gasped. "Leave go, I say, leave go."
"It'll warm you up," replied Tanker
lane brutally "but now then
speak out and speak the truth, or 1.11
find a way to make you."
"'Ow much?" spluttered the man.
•"Ow much'll you give give me if I go.
down to the hlnquest tomorrow and,
speak the troof?"
"What Is the truth?" Tankerlahe
asked quietly. But he knew well
enough, and cursed the fate that had
put his secret in another's hands. The
man did not answer.
"Look here, my fellow," Bald Tan
kerlane abruptly, "I've had enough of
this nonsense. I'm going to take you
down to the village," and he commenc
ed to drag the man down the steep
path by the scruff of his neck
"I'll speak, guv'nor I'll speak."
"Well," asked Tankerlane, loosen
ing his grip on the man's collar.
"It's like this, guv'nor, I'm a pore
man, and what I knows is worf money
to you. But you're a gentleman, and
you'll see as a pore man don't lose,
nothing by beln' an honest man, and
tellln* the troof, the gawspel troof,
mind you."
"Get to the point."
"Well," said the man In a low voice,
"I was 'ere last evenln' a settln' of a
snare and I seed Mr. 'Olland go over
the cliff and I seed 'oo knocked 'im
over and I seed 'oo let 'im 'ang there
wivout 1 If tin' an 'and to solve 'im. And
if that ain't murder, my name ain't
'Enry Blurton."
You saw this queried Tanker
lane in a tone of well-stimulated sur
prise and horror, "and yet you did not
come to the man's assistance. You
heard him call for help, and yet—"
"I didn't say 'e called for 'elp, guv'
nor," said the man with a sharp look
In his little eyes. Tankerlane bit his
lip, and was glad that his face was in
the darkness.
"I suppose he did call for help," he
replied, "if he was, as you say, hang
ing over the edge." He wondered how
much the fellow knew. The wood was
traversed by many narrow paths. He."
himself had watched the tragedy from
one of these at a point close to where,
it joined the one leading past the,
quarry. He had entered the wood!
from the north side, and had quietlyj
retraced his steps, unseen by Johoj
Shil. It was necessary to find out at!
once whether this other spectator
had consealed himself.
Tell me your story," he said, after
a short pause, "it may be worth mon
ey to you." He loosened his grip on
the man's collar. It was not likely
that he would try to escape while
there was a chance of making mon
ey.
The man told his narrative, and It
agreed substantially with what Tan
kerlane knew to be the facts. It was
also clear that the scene had been
witnessed from the other side of the
road, and that therefore It was ex
tremely Improbable that Blurton had
seen the second spectator of tho
crime. This supposition was support
ed by the fact that Tankerlane had
not seen Blurton. So far, at any rate,
Tankerlane was In the position of ad
vantage. He quickly decided on a
course of action.
(To be continued.)
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FAIRFIELD GETS
SOMEBAD CHECKS
Fairfield. September 8.—(Special)—*
Cashing worthless checks within
the shadow of the bank upon which|
they were drawn, a man giving his
name as W. N. Boone and his residence
as Chicago, practiced one ot the
oldest deceptions that has been
known in Fairfield for years. There
were two of the checks, each on the
First National bank and each signed
by himself.
The first transaction was performed
at M. H. Cuddy's clothing store, where
he purchased a complete outfit of
clothing, tendering in payment a {21
check. It was accepted and a short
time later Boone entered the store to
show the salesman how well his new
clothes, fitted. Jokingly he asked i£
the check was good, and was told It!
had not yet been taken to the bank.
In payment for a room and twa
meals at the' Leggett house he offered!
a $10 piece of paper and received thel
balance In change. The very fact that]
the First National bank was within a|
stone's throw, coupled with the dellb-j
erate actions of the man disarmed aid
suspicion. 1
By the time the deception was ris-l
covered he was out of town. Officers
are -on his trail.