Bonners Ferry herald. [volume], July 16, 1918, Image 6

About Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current

Image provided by: Idaho State Historical Society

                
THE
DESTROYING
ANGEL
By
LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
CHAPTER XVII—Continued.
—20—
At six that evening, returning to his
rooms to dress, Whitaker found an
other note waiting for him, In a hand
writing that his heart recognized with
a sensation of wretched apprehension.
He comprehended Its contents with
difficulty, half blinded by a swimming
mist of foreboding.
My Dear: I And my strength unequal
to the strain of seeing you tonight. In
deed. I am so worn out and nerve-racked
that I have had to consult my physician.
He orders me Immediately to a sanato
rium, to rest for a week or two. Don't
worry about me. I shan't fall to let you
know as soon as I feel strong enough to
see you. Forgive me. I love you dearly.
MARY.
The paper slipped from Whitaker's
trembling hand and fluttered unheed
ed to the floor. He sprang to the tele
phone and presently had the Waldorf
on the wire ; It was true, he learned :
Mrs. Whitaker had registered at the
hotel In the morning, and had left at
four in the afternoon. He was refused
Information as to whether she had
left a forwarding address for her
mall.
He wrote her immediately, and per
haps not altogether wisely, under
stress of distraction, sending the let
ter by special delivery in care of the
hotel. It was returned him In due
course of time, embellished with a pen
ciled memorandum to the effect that
Mrs. Whitaker hud left no address.
He communicated at once with Em
ber, promptly enlisting his willing
services. But after several days of
earnest Investigation the detective
confessed himself baffled.
"If you ask me," he commented at
the conclusion of his report, "the an
swer is she means to be let alone until
she's quite ready to see you again."
Whitaker raged. "She—she loved
me there on the island. She couldn't
change so quickly, bring herself to
treat me so cruelly, unless some in
fernal Influence had been brought to 1
bear upon her."
"It's possible, but I—"
"Oh, I don't mean that foolishness
about her love being a man's death
warrant. That may have something
to do with It, but—but—I conquered
that once. . . . No ; somebody has
got hold of her, worked on her sym
pathies, maligned me . . ."
"Do you object to telling me whom
you have In mind?"
"The man you suspect as well as I—
the one man to whom her allegiance
means everything—the man you named
to me the night we met for the first
time, as the one who'd profit the most
by keeping her from leaving the
stage 1"
"Well, if It's Mux, you'll know In
time."
6 "I'll know before long. As soon as
he gets back In town—"
"So you've been after him?"
"Why not? But he's out on the Pa
cific coast ; or so they tell me at the
theater.
Expected back about the
middle of July—they say in his office."
"Then that lets him out."
"But It's a lie."
"Well—?"
"I've Just remembered : Max was at
the FIske place, urging her to return,
the night before you caught Drum
mond at the bungalow. I saw them,
walking up and down In front of the
cottage, arguing earnestly: I could
tell by her bearing she was refusing
whatever he proposed. But I didn't
know her then, and naturally I never
connected Max with the fellow I saw,
disguised In a motoring coat and cap.
Neither of 'em had any place In my
thoughts that night."
Ember uttered a thoughtful "Oh?"
adding: "There may be something in
what you say—suspect, that Is. If I
agree to keep an eye on him, will you
promise to give me a free hand?"
"Meaning—?"
"Keep out of Max's way: don't risk
a wrangle with him."
"Oh—go ahead—to blazes—as far
as you like.
"Thanks,
Ember dryly wound up
the conference ; "but these passing
flirtations with your present-day tem
per leave me with no hunkering for
greater warmth." . . .
Days ran stolidly on Into weeks, and
these into a month. Nothing happened. (
Max did not return ; the whispered
mor played wildfire in theatrical cir
cles that the eccentric manager had
encountered financial difficulties Insu
perable. The billboards flanking the
entrance to the Theatre Mux contin
ued to display posters announcing the
reopening early In September with
musical comedy by Tynan Dodd; but
the comedy was not even in rehearsal
by September 15.
Ember went darkly about his vari
ous businesses, taciturn—even a trace
more than ever reserved In his com
munication with Whitaker—preoccu
pied, but constant In his endeavor to
enhearten the desponding husband.
Mary Whitaker made no sign. Now
and then Whitaker would lose patience
and write to her. He received not a
line of acknowledgment
Sometimes, fretted to a frenzy, he
sought out Ember and made wild and
unreasonable demands upon him.
These failing of any effect other than
ru
the resigned retort, "I am a detective,
not a miracle-monger," he would fly
Into desperate, gnawing, black rages
that made Ember fear for h's sanity
and self-control and caused him to be
haunted by that gentleman for hours—
once or twice for days—until he re
sumed his normal poise of a sober and
civilized man. He was, however, not
often aware of this sedulous esplo
nage.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Temperamental.
September waned and October
dawned In grateful coolness: an exqui
site month of crisp nights and enliven
ing days, of mellowing sunlight and
early gloamings tenderly colored.
Country houses were closed and the
aters reopened. Then suddenly the
town blossomed overnight with huge
eight-sheet posters on every available
boarding, blazoning the news:
JULES MAX
begs to announce the return of
SARA LAW
In a new Comedy entitled "Faith"
by JULES MAX
Theater MAX—Friday October 15th
But Whitaker had the Information
before he saw the broadsides In the
streets. The morning paper propped
up on his breakfast table contained
the Illuminating note tinder the cap
tion, "News of Plays and Players;"
Jules Max bas sprung another ai.cl per
haps his greatest surprise on the theater
going public of this city. The astute
manager has been out of town for two
months secretly rehearsing the new com
edy entitled "Faith," of which he Is the
author and In which Sara Law will re
turn finally to the stage. Additional In
terest attaches to this announcement In
view of the fact that Miss Law has au
thorized the publication of her Intention
never again to retire from the stage.
The opening performance of "Faith"
will take place at the Theater Max to
morrow evening, Friday, October 15.
Whitaker glanced up incredulously
at the date line of the sheet. Short
notice, Indeed: the date was Thursday,
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He . . . Turned and Saw His Wife.
October 14. Max had planned his
game and had played his cards cun
ningly, in withholding this announce
ment until the last moment.
After a pause Whitaker rose and be
gan to walk the length of the room,
hands In his pockets, head bowed In
thought.
Search as he would, he could dis
cover no rankling Indignation, nothing
but some self-contempt, that he had
allowed himself to be so carried away
by Infatuation for an Ignoble woman,
and a cynic humor that made It pos
sible for him to derive a certain satis
faction from contemplating the com
pleteness of this final revelation of
herself. Returning to the breakfast
table, he took up the paper, turned
to the shipping news, and ran his eye
down the list of scheduled sailings:
nothing for Friday; his pick of half
a dozen boats listed to sail Saturday.
The telephone enabled him to make
a hasty reservation on the biggest and
fastest of them all.
He had just concluded that business
and was waiting with his hand on the
receiver to call up Ember and
nounce his departure, when the door
bell Interrupted. Expecting the waiter
to remove the breakfast things, he
went to the door, threw it open, and
turned back Instantly to the telephone.
As his fingers closed around the
celver a second time, he looked round
and saw his wife. . . .
His hand fell to his side. Otherwise
he did not move. But his glance was
that of one incuriously comprehending
the existence of a stranger.
The woman met it fairly and fear
lessly, with her head high and her Ups
touched with a trace of her shadowy,
illegible smile,
walking, very prettily and perfectly.
After a moment she Inclined her
head slightly. "The hallboys said you
were busy on the telephone. I insist
ed on coming directly up. I wish very
much to see you for a few moments.
Do yon mind?"
"By no means," he said, a little
stiffly but quite calmly. "If you will
be good enough to come In—"
He stood against the wall to let her
pass.
"I had to come this morning," she
explained, turning. "This afternoon
we have a rehearsal. . . ."
an
re
She was dressed for
bowed an acknowledgment.
Seated, she subj«»cted
He
"Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you.
f him to a quick, open
arming In Its naive honesty.
"Hugh . . . aren't you a bit thln
ner?"
"1 believe so." He had a match for
that Impertinence; "But you, I see,
have come off without a blemish."
"I am very well," she admitted, un
perturbed. Her glance embraced the
room. "You're very comfortable here."
"I have been."
"I hope that doesn't mean Fm In
the way."
"To the contrary; but I sail day
after tomorrow for Australia."
"Oh? That's very sudden, isn't It?
You don't seem to have done any pack
ing. Or perhaps you mean to come
back before a great while?"
"I shan't come back, ever."
"Must I believe you made up your
mind this morning?"
"I have only Just read the announce
ment of your opening tomorrow night."
"Then ... I am driving you out
of the country?"
Her look was Impersonal and curl
appraisal, dl»
OU8.
His shoulders moved negligently,
"Not to rant about lt," he replied: "I
find I am not needed here."
"Oh, dear !" Her lips formed a fu
gitive, petulant moue: "And It's my
fault?"
"There's no use mincing matters, Is
there? I am not heartbroken, and If
I am bitterly disappointed I don't care
to—in fact, I lack the ability to drama
tize It."
"You are taking It well, Hugh?" said
she, critical.
Expressionless, he waited an instant
before inquiring pointedly: "Well?"
Deliberately laying aside her light
muff, her scarf and handbttg, she rose:
equality of poise was impossible If he
would persist in standing. She moved
a little nearer.
"Hugh," she said In a voice of sin
cerity, "I'm awfully sorry—truly I
am I"
He made no reply ; waited.
"Perhaps I'm wrong," she went on,
"but I think most women would have
spared themselves this meeting—"
"Themselves and the man," he In
terjected dryly.
"Don't be cross, Hugh. ... I had
to come. I had to explain myself. I
wanted you to understand. Hugh, I—"
She was twisting her hands together
with a manner denoting great mental
strain. Of a sudden she checked and
dropped them, limp and open by her
sides.
You see," she said with the
apologetic smile, "I'm trying not to
act."
"Oh." he said in a tone of dawning
comprehension—"so that's it l"
"I'm afraid so, Hugh. . . . I'm
dreadfully sorry for you—poor boy I—
but I'm afraid that's the trouble with
me, and it can never be helped. I was
born with a ta;eut for acting; life has
made me an actress. Hugh . . ,
I've found out something."
appealed wistfully.
Ine."
He nodded interestedly.
"I'm just an actress, an instrument
for the music of emotions. I've been
trained to respond, until now I re
spond without knowing it, when there's
no true response here." She touched I
the bosom of her frock.
He said nothing.
With a half sigh she moved away
to the window.
"Of course you despise me. I de
spise myself—I mean, the self that
was me before I turned from a woman
into an actress. But It's the truth: I
have no longer any real capacity for
emotion, merely an infinite capacity
for appreciation of the artistic delinea
tion of emotion, true or feigned. That
. . . that Is why, when you showed
me you had grown to love me so, I
responded so quickly. You were in
love—more honestly than I had ever
seen love revealed. It touched me. I I
was proud to have inspired such a
love. I wanted, for the time being, to
have you with me always, that I might
always study the wonderful, the
beautiful manifestations of your love.
Why, Hugh, you even managed to
make me believe I was worth It—that
my response was sufficient repayment
for your adoration. . . ."
He said nothing. She glanced fur
tively at him and continued :
"I meant to be sweet and faithful
when 1 left that note for you on the
yacht, Hugh ; I was grateful, and I
meant to be generous. . . . But
when I went to the Waldorf, the first
person I met was Max. Of course I
had to tell him what had happened.
And then he threw himself upon my
compassion. It seems that losing me
had put him In the most terrible
trouble about money. He was short,
and he couldn't get the backing he
needed without me, his call upon my
services, by way of assurance to his
backers. And I began to think. I
knew I didn't love you honestly, Hugh,
and that life with you would be a liv
ing lie. What right had I to deceive
you that way. Just to gratify my love
of being loved? And especially If by
doing that I ruined Max, the man to
whom, next to you, 1 owed every
thing? I couldn't do It But I took
time to think It over—truly 1 did. I
really did go to a - sanatorium, and
rested there while I turned the whole
matter over carefully in my mind, and
at length reached my decision to stick
by Max and let you go. free to win the
heart of a woman worthy of you."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Her eyea
'I'm not genu
Hoping for the Best
A Chicago music and art critic who
is suing for divorce makes the predlc- I
tlon that "fifty years hence the men
of this country and the world will j
have to arise and band themselves to- |
gefhor to maintain their own rights."
We trust that they will attack no re
male prime minister, blow up no rail
way stations, and respect monuments
and art collections.—New York Sun. I
CREW OF A GERMAN SUBMARINE IN UNITED STATES PRISON CAMP
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The captured officers and crew of the German submarine U-58 are shown here just inside the first barbed-wire
gate at Fort McPherson, where they will be held in the war prison camp. They were made captives when our Jackies
rescued them from the sea after the destroyer Fanning sank the submarine. The officers In the group guarded by
the marines are Capt. Gustav Auberger, Lieut. Otto van Rltgeu, Lieut. Frederick Mueller and Warrant Officer Henry
Ropke.
SHADOW OF THE CROSS" AT CAMP MACARTHUR
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In this photograph of Camp MacArthur, Waco, Tex., the "Shadow of the Cross" is •
liscovered that the shadow
•ecu on every tent. There
crosses were caused by the
was considerable excitement among the beys until one
stovepipe and electric wire crossing on ttie top of each tent.
PRO-GERMAN WHITE GUARDS IN FINLAND
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This photograph shows men of the pro-Gerruan, White guard of Finland
with their machine guns trained down the principal street of Vasa.
COMMUNION IN A TRENCH DUGOUT
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American soldiers In France partaking of the communion In u trench
(logout which Is about sixty feet below the ground level
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GETTING AID FOR POLAND
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Working in harmony with the Young
Women's Christian association. Count
ess Laura do Gozdawa Turczynowica
is organizing the Polish Gray Samari
tans.
She Is pictured here in her uni
form ns a captain In that organization.
She Is also president of the Polish
construction committee and author of
"When the Prussians Came
land."
re
to Po
The Samaritans are all Polish
women recruited in the United States
to do nursing and social welfare work.
When their instruction is complete«!
they will go to Poland to do recon
' structlon work or to
i pltnls.
serve In the hos
Tuberculosis Not Rampant.
The alarm about the
prevalence of
among French soldiers ap
("ars in hat «• la 'nu unfounded, for Maj
Kdward Bist, who has special charge
of of tuberculosis, announces
that less than 20 per cent Of the SOI
I dlers discharged ns tuberculous In th.
first year of the war actnniiv ft *
1 berculosis. J naa
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