Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, January 17, 1917, Page 2

i nt SAS = 1 ‘ 1 } pres Novelized From the of the Same Name Copyright, 1916, by Lymp's® MRS RUDERT HUGHES Motion Picture Play by George Kleine Adelaide M. Hughes SYNOPSIS nt Stafford, banker « railroad ate, With his sixteen-y ter, Gloria, is wintering who chat under verness frorr with her night and surf where lost in the hands of rescued a had offer a Gloria falls in ve with her rescue neau. Five years later she | and meets Freneau at the tt! tention having been oceup sister-in-law he "| | Gloria fee Royce « in thwa warns | woman Hort sleighing with Gloria witho knowledge It results i pre whe family be au when tt Royce is sum suffering Fre he approach Doctor of his condy neau's betr with dire 5 ria’s brothe he plans a trap SEVENTH EPISODE Freneau in his office going Morning's mall we Her b > becomes # wife | over the in a beastly tem- per. He snapped at his clerk when that cheery young man wished him a bright “Good morning He made short work of the mildly flirtatious stenographer's attempt to begin the day breezily for him The air of the office was clouded with Freneau’s gloom when his yart- ner, Mulry, entered gayly and staffed | him on the back The clerk and stenographer paused expectant, but before he spoke to Mulry, Freneau snarled to them: | jet out and stay out till I send for you” They got out. Mulry was amused at his friend's bad temper. He chuckled; “Wrong aide of the bed this morning, old bear? What seems to be your little trouble now?” ] Freneau told him that Lois Stafford, | whom he was attempting to get rid of, had learned of his engagemeat to her sister-in-law Gloria, and had begome unmanageable. wt i “She threatened that, 41 gave| up my proposed mar will con- | fess the whole affair » A then kill her- self.” | Principally thi ant to Mulry that; the firm wou',*have to refund the large sum of “f Freneau had just borrowed Her Eyes Beamed With Tenderness. strength of the engagement. Mulry began pacing the floor also, chowing his cigar. At last he chewed out an idea that pleased him. “You make the trip to the branch offices in my place, and take your fair tormentor along. Perliaps you can ap- pease her and get her into a reason- able state of mind.” Freneau did not care for the scheme. He shook his head in derision. Muliry “At least it would gain time for us.” “No, it’a out of the question; try again,” Freneau snapped. “She is go- ing to the Catskills for a week and she insists on my tagging along.” Mulry rubbed his head. His massage seemed to conjure up another idea, for he began to rummage through his desk. He beckoned Freneau to come @ver to him and held up delightedly a | | what would | somewhat handful of miscellaneous papers. Free- man looked and saw merely number of sheets of writing paper and envel- opes from various big hotels about the country. They x T stop at to him 1 I always ho’ » these letterheads and write love letters on them to your sick fi I take them with me and mail them different towns I make. Then d will think you are there a th himself in so complex a web of in trigue and wrongdoing that the prob. lem of escape was ever more complex. “Who knows? If Gloria had been a woman when he first saw her, the | woman she now was, instead of the child then, she might have saved his nd his life. I he had to take the present as the past gave it to him, and hope for a future of more straight forward life. Late that night in his apartment Freneau started the batch of love let ters and te ums for Gloria. He be came interested in them, and so car ried away by the fervor he infused into them that early dawn and his valet found him asleep at last with his head resting on sheets of paper that bore such messages as “My darling Gloria As I tele graphed you, I arrived safely, but missed you terribly sence will seem an eternity.” was on a letterhead of the Hotel Ten Eyck in albany. Others | were from other hotels. The last one he had written was on the paper of the Fort Pitt hotel, Pittsburgh In it he said: “The eternity of this long week is over I return tomorrow to your arms,” He sealed the letters, wondering be the answer to them. He took them to the office, and the next day when Mulry took his train to Albany he carried with him these letters. He was well pleased with the | network of lies that he and Freneau had woven to deceive Gloria. But it is much easier to carry out plots in fiction than in fact. . . - . . . . David, Lois, and her father, Judge Freeman, were going to tbe opera that night and they stopped to see Gloria on their way. Gloria was sitting up on her chaise longue, still pale and weak. She submitted, rather than invited, the in-law kiss that Lois brushed over her cheek. | Then she turned to David and pouted: “Oh, dear, some people have all the luck. You are going to hear Geral- dine Farrar in ‘Madame Butterfly,’ while I must lie here doing nothing. They won't even let me read, the stin- gy old things!” she made a moue at ber nurse. “And I do despise to be read to. Just wait until 1 get out of their clutches, I'll make up for this; I'll be Madame Butterfly all over the place.” David smiled at her innocence in the allusion to Butterfly, but neither he nor Gloria knew that Lieutenant Pinkerton was a white woolly lamb compared to Gloria’s own lover, Fre- neau. Lois bad moved away from Gloria toward the bedside table, where a framed photograph of Freneau looked tauntingly at her. A jealous desire for possession came over her. She longed to take the image of the man from Gloria as well as the man himself. The whim became immediately a necessity to her, She glanced across at the group about Gloria. No one was looking her way. A smile curled at the corners of her lips and a tri- umphant gleam shot for a moment into her handsome, sullen eyes as she alipped the, picture into her opera bag. Lois was utterly maddened and des- | | dropped in unexpectedly. THE CASPER DAILY TRIBUNE Perate in her passion for freneau now, for the knowledge that she was to lose him made her utterly ruthless to her- self as to all who might stand in the way of her last days with him. She must be alone with Freneau uninterrupted to plead with him to give up Gloria and to run away with her—or, failing that, to get back her letters and gain time to reconstruct her life and recover from her loss. She carried the stolen photograph with her to the opera and laughed as she imagined Gloria’s frantic search for it. The next morning, as she was going over Freneau’s letters, her father One of Fre- neau'’s envelopes had fallen to the floor unnoticed by Lois. The judge stooped to pick it up for her. He saw Freneau's name and, trained as he was in the wiles of criminals, he suspected Lois at once and flatly accused her of an intrigue with Freneau. She mere ly flounced away in a temper, saying “I am old enough to take a lot of its paper and enve ? And what have your par I 9us habits to do with our pres lent trouble?” queried Freneau pa ' y was disgusted. “Why, don’t] you poor Don Juan? You| Meanwhile you can go away to the Catskills and meet your troublesome 1 if you can’t rig up some story to get your letters back from her and | keep her untli after your mar , | riage, why re not the little bright eyes I always took you for. See now?” Freneau did see. Hoe was not en thusiastic, but this seemed the only | possible way to tide over the present reef in his way to the harbor of mat rimony Freneau was dishonorable. Freneau was unmistakably an adventurer and what the world calls a cad, but he was born of gentle people; he had good blood in his veins, as his worldly graces showed. He truly adored Gloria and wanted only her There was sharp torment in the agonies he en dured fearing the loss of her through his previcvs sins, His punishment was not far off and he was to meet it with neither peaceful thoughts nor clear conscience He had enmeshed This week of ab-| me alone,” Lois said, and burst into tears. | Again her father left her, his anxiety greater than before. . . . . . . . lof y If. If you want to belie ir own daughter he left Judge Freeman dumbfounded and distracted. In the afternoon, while David at his office, the worried father again visited Lois to try softer rds. In the hall he met her house- man carrying a trunk downstairs for the He Wondered What Would Be the Answer. express. Freneau had advised Lois to send her baggage by train and motor up with him to the Catskills. Judge Freeman took the liberty of reading the tag on that trunk He saw that it was checked to Blendike, a village in the Catskills Going to Lois’ room, he questioned her. She answered that as David was going away that evening she thought she would run out to Lenox to visit Aunt Kate. Aunt Kate has gone to Florida, as know,” her father answered sternly. ‘1 forgot, but anyway, I have to get off by myself for a few days; my nerves are in ribbons. Please leave you When Doctor Royce made his morn- | ing call on his beloved patient, Gloria, he found her still progressing toward complete recovery from her illness But her spirits did not seem joyous as | they should be. He thought bitterly that this might be due to his orders that she should not be allowed to see Freneau. He told her that he with drew the embargo and her rapture confirmed his fears. That afternoon he chanced to be passing David Stafford’s home just as David stepped from his car. David greeted him warmly and sisted on &is coming into the house. Royce was out of his coat and hat before David had finished glancing at some letters the butler gave him. As he felt thor oughly at home here, Royce went ahead to the living room. He thought he heard a murmur of voices. Parting the curtains, he saw something that | Then she felt it safe and she departed made the blood pound in his temples. Lois’ arms were about Freneau and his around her. Royce heard her say- ing: “At midnight by the pavilion, near the soldiers’ monument. I'll be there. Don't fail me.” . Royce dropped the curtains noise lessly and stepped back as David ap- proached, talking briskly. Royce was thankful for the sound; it would give the guilty pair time to separate and spare David a hideous knowledge, at least for the time being. Royce and David entered, and Lois greeted her husband warmly. Royce sickened at the sight. He would not speak, but he refused Freneau’gfhand. Freneau, a trifle jolted, said “that he had dropped in to inquire about Gloria. After a few minutes he left. Royce said that he would go along, as he had something to discuss with Fre- neau. He told David that he would see him later, and for very pity did not look him in the eye. But he gave a meaning look of wonder at her evil recklessness. Then he followed Freneau with wrath boil- ing in his heart. Without waiting for an invitation, he jumped into Freneau’s car, and as soon as it was under way Royce burst forth “You infernal hound! fou could’t . play fair if you tried, could you? And you wouldn’t, would you? But now you've got to give up Gloria and get on the other side of the globe or you'll wish you had never been born. I know what you are up to and I advise you not to undertake it. I mean it. I warn you that I will stop at nothing to prevent you from wrecking both of those homes.” A spark of manhood flickered yet in Freneau’s soul, and he attempted to explain in some part his own helpless- ness, but Royce cut him short. The facts as he had seen them permitted no explanation. “Of course you won't listen; you want Gloria yourself. You are only too anxious to get me out. of the way. But don’t let your jealousy drive you absolutely insane.” Royce stopped the car and got out. “I've warned you,” was his parting shot. | All the rest of the day Royce pon- dered over where his own duty Gn matter lay. He could not tell Gloria what he had seen. The shock might have thrown her back into aj fever. He could never bring himself to smirch her love and young. faith | in his rival’s honor. He could not put the responsibility and the horror of full knowledge on his friend David, nor cast the burden on David's old fa ther. It was not Royce’s nature to shift responsibility on other shoulders. He tried to clear his brain by for- getting. He took up a medical book tudy, but between his eyes and page came a vision of Freneau as n. It laughed and a mocked at him, seeming to say: I will destroy Gloria and Lois and sering sat David, and you cannot stop me.” Royce jumped up and closed his book, a look of set purpose coming to his grim face. It was nearly midnight when he took from the drawer of his desk table a revolver and slipped it into his pocket. When Royce had met David, David had not told him that he was leaving town for a week. David was not sure what would happen, and Lois was the only one he wanted to deceive. She was so badly duping him that she had no thought of his returning the com- pliment. It was difficult for him to play the part he had assumed, and if she had been more on the alert she would have seen the constraint in his manner, She played her own role with the ease of long practice. There was noth- ing sincere about her except her joy in David's departure. She thought that nothing in the world could have been more opportune. But she wanted to make sure that no accident befell him. She did not want him to miss that train. She went to the Pennsylvania sta- tion with him, acting the heartbroken, deserted wife with all her art. She bade him good-by at the gate and when he went down the stairs to the train underground she still would not leave till she saw the roofs of the cars move off into the tunnel and the porter who carried David's baggage come back. from the station with a sigh of deep relief. If she had been a little less impa- tient she would have seen David re- turn through the gate after the train had pulled out. David, making sure that she had not caught sight of him, took his miserable doubts with him to one of his clubs. Judge Freeman found him there, and. noting his expression, asked him what had kept him from taking his train. When David saw his father-in- law the smoldering of his trouble burst into flame, He snatched the anony- mous‘ letter from his pocket and was on the verge of showing it. But he withheld it, though he could not check the bitter words: “If this letter is true I may have to kill a man.” An icy hand seemed to grip at the Judge's heart. He knew without see- ing it what that letter said. He put his hand on David's arm and was about to speak, when a man slapped him on the back. He turned to face the club’s most notorious bore, nick- named the “White Man’s Burden.” The fellow was fat and even more im- pervious to snubs than usual, as he had been drinking ‘heavily. Judge Freeman tried to escape him, but as the Burden had him clasped by the lapel of his coat it was impossible to get away at once without knocking him down. So the judge stood the repetition of an ancient story as well as he could, waiting only for the loos- ening of the grip on his coat, which came with the roar of laughter the Burden emitted at the end of his yarn. The judge turned to rejoin David, but found him gone. He started at once in terrified pursuit. David meanwhile had fled to his own house, where he watched on the out- side, eavesdropping on his own prop- erty. Presently he saw Lois silhouet- ted against the light in her own room. She was taking off her hat and coat. The poor young man felt calmed of his fears. She was home. She was taking off her things and she was alone, It was bitter cold in the street, so he returned to his club in chastened mood, calling himself names and glad that he owed Lois an apology. He did not quite dare to face her with it just yet. He would watch her another day. David had seen Lois divest herself of hat and coat, but had been too eas- fly reassured, for she exchanged them for a fur hat and coat, in the pocket of which she had slipped Freneau’s letters. Judge Freeman, arriving fifteen minutes after David had gone, rang the bell and was admitted by Lois’ butler, who told him that she had left the house on foot a few moments be- not turn. The judge dashed off, leaving the butler to shake his head over the scandalous proceedings of his house- hold. . ° . . . . . Gideon Trask, the bargeman, had infinite patience in pursuit of his re- veuge, but so far he had been unre- warded. Unable to run down Freneau elsewhere, he picked on the Pierpont Stafford home as the most likely and also the most fitting place to accost him. It was there that he had first seen Freneau in New York. He stood by the iron-barred gate, watch- ing, until a policeman drove him away. Then he crossed Riverside drive to the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ monument and resumed a more distant watch over the house. Freneau was indeed there; he had come to bid Gloria good-by. He told her he was leaving on a midnight train. Gloria was reclining on the chaise longue, exquisitely attired in an ivory- colored lace peignoir, white swansdown which trimmed it no whiter than her own fair skin. Her beautiful hair, drawn lightly into a knot at the top of her little head, made her look more like a child playing at being grown-up than she had a right to look with all her twenty-one years. Freneau had paused a moment at the door when he entered to enjoy the charm of her, then he crossed to her side with all a lover’s eagerness. Her eyes beamed on him with tenderness as she welcomed him and gave him her lips ‘How much do you love me?” she queried, measuring an infinitesimal space with her tiny hands, “that much?" then, stretching her two arms wide and purring forth her musical laugh—“or that much?” Freneau came within the circle of her arms and, holding her to him, ex- claimed: “The width of the whole world is not big enough to measure my love for you.” And he meant it. Releasing her tenderly to her pil- lows on the couch, he continued: “I've had such a wonderful day on the mar- ket, Gloria. I cleared up a pile. By Jove, it was thrilling. If I can only keep this up you won't have to be ashamed of your poor husband. And, thank God, I shall have you to work for. Just see what I’ve brought my little mascot with the first spoils of war.” He tossed a leather case into her lap. Opening two shrinelike doors, Gloria gurgled in delight at the string of pearls withi She made him clasp them about her throat. Then she leaned forward to thank him with a kiss; she saw the corner of a large sealed envelope in his inner pocket. “What's this? More business, or love letters?” A dull mottled red began to surge up Freneau’s face. She spoke so much truer than she knew. It was the packet of letters he was taking to Lois. He had pocketed them to make sure that he should not ler re them behind. “Inst business documents connected with my trip,” he said, as naturally as he could. Gloria accepted the explana- tion in perfect faith. It did not occur to her to suspect him of any deceit. He Saw Something That Made the Blood Pound in His Temples. She put the envelope back in his pocket, making a little gesture of dis- gust: “Ugh! I hate your old business! How long must you be away?” “One whole week, dearest little love,” he murmured brokenly. “I’m afraid it will never pass for me, but take good care of your precious self, and get. those wonderful roses back in your cheeks. I will write and tele- graph you every day.” a Then his face darkened and he hung his head before her as he added: “I can’t give you any address to write to me, as I shall be Jumping about so, but T'll telephone you.” When the hour grew late and the nurse began to frown he told her he must leave. She stood up sadly and they clung together for a last embrace. Freneau went to his rooms in anew mood. Gloria’s trust had touched him more than Royce’s threats. He was furious at himself and at Lois. He started to the telephone to call hor up and tell her to do her worst, he would not go away with her. As he was about to take the receiver off the hook he looked at his watch. It was too late; she would ‘have started for their trysting place by now. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and loathed the face he saw. He yowed the bands of | he would carry no further the chains of intrigue. ‘On his way to the little classic stene pavilion near the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ monument, where Lois had agreed vs meet him, his car broke down. He took that as a further reason for not making the journey. He left the chauffeur to/ correct the trouble and went ahead on foot. Gloria had retired after Freneau left her, but lay tossing about on her pil. lows unable to sleep. The moon was She Wanted That Picture. pouring white glamour in her window, The night nurse, sitting upright by her bed, was sleeping soundly. She had won Morpheus because she was spurn: ing him instead of courting him Gloria determined to try the same method herself. Doctor Royce, who seemed to think of everything, had, during her illness, made her a present of a pair of binoculars. She had been able tc while away many tedious hours with them watching the traffic on the drive and boats on the river. Now she slipped into a negligee and slippers quietly, not to disturb her sleeping sentinel. She took up the binoculars and moved to the window The moon cast such a glow on the river that she drew in deep breaths oj delight. The columns of the monu ment stood in the foreground like marble trees clustered about a little temple. Suddenly her attention was caugh' by the curious behavior of a man whc seemed to be skulking about the monu ment. He had his hat pulled dowr and his overcoat collar pulled up an¢ she could not see his face. He wat apparently waiting for someone. She saw him take from his pocket some thing that looked to her like a re volver. Gloria was greatly excited Before she could decide what to dc the skulker walked away. She saw another man come around the columr and crouch down for a moment. She put up the glasses to see more clearly. The figure moved forward be neath a street lamp and Gloria could see distinctly a wild and bearded face A shudder went through her; uncon sciously she drew her robe close: about her. Turning her glasses down the drive she saw a third man approaching. He looked vaguely familiar. Coming clos er, he stopped to light a cigar. It wast Freneau! She realized it with astonishment | She wondered if he had missed hit train. He saw that she looked out o: her window. Before she could wave te him a figure sprang from the shadowt and leaped upon Freneau, long hands clutching his throat. Gloria tried to cry out. She coul¢ not make a sound. Subconscious! her hands kept their grip.on the binoc ulars and held them to her eyes tha’ she might see the whole of the tragi« spectacle, The struggle that ensued seemed im Possibly unreal. Surely she was i some hideous nightntare. But the figh went on. No policeman arrived to in terfere. Then suddenly it was over She saw Freneau’s mp body fall tc the ground, saw his enemy raise his hands toward the sky and then hurr; away. And still Gloria could not give ven! to her terror, she could only watct helplessly. Now the first man she ha¢ seen came back along the drive, saw Freneau's body, knelt down quickly and listened to his heart. Gloria wat sure that he would help her lover She continued to gaze, though hei strength was ebbing away. Instead of rendering aid, the shad owy figure began to ransack Freneau’t pockets. Hé found the envelope of let ters and put them in his own pocket Then, startled by the approach of s third man, he also vanished. The third man came on openly Gloria felt sure that she would either waken from her nightmare or that aid was at hand. She used all her will tc control her reeling senses. The newcomer did not even see Fre that he would redeem his soul. Hej through the silence of the Stafford would begin at once. He would meet Lois ac the pavilion and tell her that | home. , (TO BR CONTINUED.) ; — 4s