• “/KATHLEEN NORRIS • \jM /
©NORRIS W.N.U.REICAS*
THE STORY SO FAR: An orphan,
Charlotte (Cherry) Rawlings knows al
most nothing ot her early history when,
acceding to the wishes of her guardians.
Judge Judson Marshbanks and Emma
Haskell, she becomes the secretary to
Mrs. Porteous Porter, wealthy San Fran
ciscan invalid. Busy as she is, Cherry
sees the Judge from time to time and
meets the members of his household;
his dictatorial old mother; Amy Marsh
banks, debutante daughter ot his dead
brother, Fred; and Fran, his gay young
second wife. Shortly afterward Cherry
learns, through Emma, that her mother
(never married) had been Emma’s sis
ter, Charlotte; that her father had been
the Judge’s brother, Fred—Amy’s father
—and that, shortly after Cherry and Amy
were born. Cherry’s mother had switched
the two babies! Poor Cherry Rawlings
is really the rich Amy Marshbanks. The
Judge confirms the amazing story, but
to protect Amy his mother burns certain
papers that would have proved it to he
true. Meanwhile, Cherry had fallen In
love with Kelly Coates, a young artist
(who for a time had been infatuated
with Fran Marshbanks); and Amy is
determined to marry Count Mario (Go
go) Constantino. Cherry is Jealous when
Fran Intimates she had lunch with Kelly
at his Sausalito studio, but he tells her
he hasn't seen Fran In weeks. Old Mrs.
Marshbanks tells Cherry she resents her
presence in the house. Judge Marsh
banks Is shot to death in his library
and everybody in the house is under
suspicion. Kelly finally convinces Cher
ry that he is over his infatuation for
Fran and she agrees to marry him. Amy
marries Count Gogo in Reno. Cherry
discovers there are gunpowder marks on
Fran’s negligee. The police find love let
ters Kelly wrote to Fran.
Now continue with the story.
CHAPTER XVI
“This is the first I’ve heard of
this,” said the old woman, in a
voice of desperate resignation.
“I only knew of it myself yester
day. I’d put them in a place that
seemed absolutely safe. They fer
reted them out.”
Cherry had finished. She went to
take the chair opposite the older
Mrs. Marshbanks at the fire.
“Hello, everyone!” Kelly Coates
stood in the doorway.
Cherry’s heart gave a great
spring, began to tremble with fear
and pain. Oh, she did not want to
see Kelly this morning, not after
Fran’s story of the letters, not after
the wonderful day he and she had
had together at Topcote!
She would have escaped, but there
was r.o escape. He came in, greet
ing Fran and old Mrs. Marshbanks
and Gregory, catching Cherry’s
hand as he stood beside her, but
with no other look or greeting, and
spoke at once of Amy’s elopement.
He hoped it had not too much dis
tressed her grandmother.
“I don’t know any good of him!”
Mrs. Marshbanks said of Count Go
go, visibly touched by Kelly’s solici
tude in spite of her stiff manner.
“At all events, Amy is a deter
mined young lady and knows her
own mind. She may mold him into
just the husband she wants," Kelly
said comfortingly. And then to
Fran: “You telephoned that you
wanted to see me about some
thing?”
“Could we talk for a few minutes,
Kelly?” Fran asked, rising. “Some
thing has happened,” Cherry heard
her say as they went away together,
“and I don’t know how serious it
may be.”
Cherry's own heart sick with ap
prehension, she went through the
gloomy big halls up to her own room
a few minutes later. It seemed to
Cherry that life would never be
right and happy again. She was try
ing to master her tears when May
came in with the message that Mr.
Coates would like to see her a mo
ment.
Kelly looked at her a moment,
then squared her gently about with
his big hands and asked her why
she had been crying.
“I’ve felt—so horrible!” Cherry
faltered, fresh tears welling in her
eyes. She could not face him.
“What about, now, Marchioness?
Nerves? Is all this beginning to get
you?”
“Oh, Kelly, I’m so wretched about
those letters! I knew—of course I
knew,” Cherry faltered, “that you
were fond of Fran; I knew that
just as soon as I met her, or you!
But it hurts me so—it hurts me so—
when I was so happy thinking that
you and I would be together—to
have this happen now! To have the
police get them and the newspa
pers; it spoils everything!”
“Why does it spoil everything?”
he asked gravely, still holding her
lightly with both hands behind her
shoulders. “Look at me, Cherry.
This doesn’t spoil anything. Do you
mean that you don’t want to come
to Sausalito now?”
She smiled up at him through
tears.
“Oh, Kelly, but it makes it all so
horrid!” she said, even though hope
was dawning in her voice.
“Cherry, you just said that you
knew I’d cared—or that at one time
some months ago, I thought I was
crazy about Fran. I never asked
her to come to Sausalito and run
me; I never thought of her doing
any such thing.”
“Didn’t she tell you about the let
ters?”
“Of course she did.”
“You—you comfort me by just
s-s-saying anything!” Cherry said,
laughing with wet lashes. She seat
ed hersett in a big fireside chair,
and Kelly came to sit on the broad
arm, holding tight to her hand.
“Let’s have it. What about the
letters?”
Ml
afS w’■ *. A
W Vi * WF PJ jl A
I had to tell them, Kelly she said breathlessly, apologetically.
“She had them, Kelly. And a day
or so ago the police found them.”
“So what?”
“So what?” she echoed dazedly,
“Can’t they use them, Kelly? Can’t
they make it seem that perhaps if
you loved her . . . ?”
“Why,” Kelly said, “what on
earth do you suppose was in those
letters, dear? Plans for murdering
Jud Marshbanks?”
“You comfort me,” Cherry whis
pered, her eyes shut. “You don’t
know how you rest me, Kelly!”
He twisted about a little so that
he could get an arm around her.
“What was in them?” she asked
faintly.
“Well, I suppose the usual thing.
That I was—oh lord—perhaps that
I was happy in my new friendship
for one of the most fascinating wom
en I’d ever known,” Kelly said,
half amused and half impatient.
“There must have been more than
that because she was so fright
ened.”
“I’ll be damned if I know what
scared her,” he said, in a genuinely
puzzled tone. “She was beside her
self. ‘Kelly,’ she said, ‘it isn’t for
my sake but yours! Your career is
ruined.’ And she wanted me to take
her away. ‘Take me away and mar
ry me!’ she said over and over
again.”
“And what did you say?” Cherry
asked, paling.
“I said that I loved you.”
Her eyes filled again. Cherry
could not speak.
“Then she said that I didn’t know
what might happen,” the man pur
sued, still in the tone of one com
pletely bewildered, “and I asked
her what on earth she was afraid of.
She said, ‘You don’t know, you don’t
know how they sound! You’ve not
seen them for months.’ It was the
darnedest thing I ever knew.’ But
as for the police and the press ex
ploiting them and landing me in
jail, why, it’s just silly.”
“And you really don’t think there’s
anything dangerous in those let
ters?” Cherry asked on a long sigh.
“I know there isn’t. What gets
me is that she thinks there is.”
“It’s clearing, Cherry. Get on your
coat and rubbers and tie something
over your head. We’ll go for a
walk.”
“If I can keep my feet on the
ground!” she said, adding in a long
ing tone, “Oh, Kelly, it’ll be so good
to get out of this house some day
and into the free, open air and to
forget everything that’s gone on
here!”
“Don’t you think sometimes of the
fact that if things had gone just a
little differently you might be a
rich woman, Marchioness?” he
asked, as they walked along the wet
sidewalks, leaning against the wind.
“No; I never thought of it, really.
I wouldn’t want it. I’ll feel so rich
as your wife, Kelly,” Cherry said,
“that it would just be a bother to
me. Just to be over there, alone
with you,” she continued, gestur
ing towards the far hills, “there’s
no money in the world that could
tempt me to give up a minute of it!”
“It’s going to be a great adven
ture,” Kelly said.
“It’s going to be heaven! I can’t
believe it yet.”
They paced along together, fac
ing the wind.
“Oh, I’d forgotten, what with Amy
and everything,” Cherry said sud
denly. “Yesterday when I was in
Fran’s room, and she was showing
me the overnight case that the po
lice had broken open when they got
your letters, she went into the bath
room to take a shower and while she
was there the wind blew in through
her closet—and I went in to close
the window—and one of her dress
ing gowns blew against my hand,
and Kelly—she’d wiped a pistol bar
rel on it! No mistake. Grease and
gunpowder, and it was all puckered
up . .
“What are you talking about?”
the man demanded, interrupting.
“Fran had wiped the barrel of a
revolver on one of her dresses?”
“One of those negligees she wears.
And that was what she had on when
she ran downstairs that night—when
we’d all heard the judge shouting
and we all ran to our doors. The
minute I saw it I remembered it,
although I’d forgotten it until then.”
“Forgotten what?”
“That that negligee was what she
had on."
“But someone would have seen
MIDLAND JOURNAL, RISING SUN, MD.
her if she’d picked up the gun.”
“Not necessarily. We were all so
frantic! But, Kelly,” Cherry went
on impressively, laying a gloved
hand on his shoulder, “this is the
strange thing. Fran did have that
negligee on at first, but when the
police and the doctor and all the
others got there she didn’t. She had
on only her nightgown, for she was
shivering with cold, and one of the
maids went and got her an overcoat
from the hall closet.”
“Ha!” Kelly said, his brow knit
ted. “Sure of that?”
“I’m absolutely sure. The first
thing I saw when I opened my door
was that the halls were lighted, and
May and Molly and Helene, the oth
er maid, were coming down from
the upper floor, and Fran halfway
down the stairs saying it was noth
ing, that we mustn’t get excited,
and wearing that negligee. But
when the doctor and the police got
there, she didn’t have it on.”
“She could have run upstairs,
hung it up, and gone down again
without anyone’s noticing?”
“Easily—it was a madhouse for
a while. And nobody was watching
or checking.”
“She wiped that revolver on the
first thing that came handy, a fold
of her dressing gown,” Kelly formu
lated it slowly. “And then it oc
curred to her that the stain would
be a hard thing to get rid of. She
couldn’t count on anything she had
to clean it with ...”
“She grabbed that gun instinctive
ly and cleaned it before she real
ized that if those smudges were dis
covered matters would be worse
than ever,” Kelly continued. “So
she took the boldest course and as
it turned out the safest one. We’re
not far from Fisherman’s Wharf,
Cherry; how about an oyster stew?”
“Oh, Kelly, I’m starving!” She
laughed her old joyous laugh as he
caught her arm tightly in his, and
they went along together at a walk
that was almost a run.
The restaurant was as plain as
coarse linen and cheap chairs could
make it, but the fragrance of the
boiling crab kettles outside scented
the place appetizingly.
“Honestly, Kelly, is there one
chance in the world Fran did it?”
the girl presently said.
“I don’t think so. I’d swear she
didn’t have the nerve. But it strikes
me—it’s seemed to me all along—
that her position is that of someone
who knows something, or thinks she
does; she’s protecting someone. But
who? Amy? The old lady? I don’t
know . . . Here are our oysters.”
“It’s just one o’clock,”. Cherry
said, “and I think I’ll telephone
home that I’m not coming.”
When she came back she sank
into her chair, gripping the table,
trying to speak.
“Cherry, what is it? What’s the
matter?” Kelly stammered, catch
ing at her hands.
“It was Mullins,” she whispered.
“They want us to come straight
home. She said—she said she and
Jud had quarreled—over you. Fran
has confessed!”
When they went out onto the wharf
looking for a taxi, Cherry held Kel
ly’s hand tightly.
“Fran’s confessed, eh?” he said
more than once. “I wonder what
that means? Why does she drag me
in? She knows darned well that
whatever she’s up to I’m not in it.”
“But—she could say you were!”
“Yes, but that’s not enough.”
“Kelly,” she said, when they had
signaled a cruising taxi and were on
their way, “promise me something."
“Anything," he said.
“Promise me that no matter what
happens now, no matter how tan
gled things get, you and I are—for
ever and eternally—bound to each
other!”
“Why, my darling, my darling,”
he said, “my life is your life now.
Here we are!” he finished abruptly,
as the cab drew up at the imposing
Marshbanks doorway. “Now we’ll
try to see what all this is about.”
There were four officers there
now, instead of the usual one or
• two; Fran was there, too, silent,
very pale, tragic-looking, with her
white skin and raven-black hair.
“I had to tell them, Kelly,”
she said breathlessly, apologet
ically.
“I’m sorry. I thought for a while
that we could hide it. But I had
to tell.”
(TO BE CONTINUEDJ
rpKT TERNS
) SEWONGCOPCLE^
MX
First Clothes.
YES! These are clothes you can
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you haven’t sewn much before you
can make these. Bonnet, sacque,
wrapper, sleeper and bunting are
in one size only—but that size is
big enough for a baby of any age
up to six months.
• • •
Pattern No. 8324 includes 5 pieces, tn
one size only, for infants to six months.
Bonnets, sacque. wrapper, sleeper and
bunting require s?i yards 36 or 39-inch
material, 614 yards ribbon binding.
* Covering ’ Everything
The Lloyds of London, famous
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Theater managers in England
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One thing a soldier is afraid of
is a display of emotion. That’s
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rogatory. For example, he refers
to the silver eagles on his colonel’s
shoulder straps as “buzzards.”
But when he speaks of his favorite
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They’re first with men in the
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Squadrons* hK^ me-thevVe got
’’LAYINGTHE EGGS"
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for the Army man’s favorite | fl^jjjj&fl
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With men in the Army, Navy, rvou BET!
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AND PACKED J
CAMEL
Plenty of Variety.
YOU’LL be tempted to make
A dickies in several colors to
wear with this smart jacket suit.
If you do you will find that the
one suit will seem different every
time you change dickies. The
simple, comfortable lines of both
jacket and skirt are 'ever so be
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• • *
Pattern No. 8341 is in sizes 12. 14, 16,
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Enclose 20 cents In coins tor each
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Pattern No. Size
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" "
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Kellogg’s All-Bran Mnffim
1 tablespoon! . % cup milk
shortening ii 1 cup flour
Vi cup corn sjrrujj M teaspoon salt .
1 egg Jm teaspoons \ I
1 cup Kellogg's iPK baking powdeS
Cream shortening and com syrup
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Stir in All-Bran and milk, let soak
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Sift flour with salt and baking pow
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In moderately hot oven (400* F.)
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