Evening Star Newspaper, December 29, 1929, Page 75

it e — [ m— = THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, DECEMBER 29, 1929. of this quarrel. To her it was a blessing, for her fingers were again in the side pocket, working, working with the tread . . . and all that time her ears were straining at the hushed dialogue outside. “Don’t let’s bump her off, Pete, if she’ll listen to reason 3 At that chilling suggestion of death Doll might have pleaded for her life. But she was concerned in her own drama. She had opened the seam at last, and her hand had gone down, deep, deep into the lining. She grasped at the thing she found, pulled it out. A handful of pale perfect bubbles shimmered faintly in the half light. Just a glimpse, then she dropped her find down the yoke of her dress. She wasn't afraid it would work its way through, fall to the floor, she knew the geography of that old dress. 5 “What could you do, huh?” Joyce was grum- bling. “She’s stuck on committing suicide, that kid.” “Let me talk to her, Pete. Sometimes a woman—"" Mrs. Harmsworth came in and closed the door. *“This is a hard-boiled bunch,” she whispered. “I don’t like it any better than you do, but here we are. Listen. They're both killers. You've got one chance. I'm saying this for your own “Thank you, Mrs. Harmsworth. Do you speak @s a detective?” “No.” She paused. “That racket’s played out. But, let me tell you, they won’'t make any noise when they decide to bump you. Why don’t Yyou give them the coat and beat it?” Doll had backed away a step. From overhead an electric bulb dangled. “It isn't worth much now, Mrs. Harmsworth. Those men handled it pretty rough and——" The room glared with light. Doll had switched on the bulb. With a shrug she threw off the coat, let it fall to the floor. Mrs. Harmsworth pounced on it, thrust her hand inte the wounded pocket, groped through the lining, shook it, tore it. Then, a discarded mop, she cast it aside. “You were looking for the string of pearjs you stole from Tanquay’s, weren’'t you?” asked Doll innocently. “But they're gone—they’re——"" Doll clicked off the light. She didn't want the men outside to come roaring on the scene. And she had invented a little fairy-tale plot for fooling ogres. “If you'd asked me in the first place,” said she, “it would have saved you a lot of trouble. ‘Will you promise to go? If you stay here much longer, you'll be caught. I warned a friend at . Meadowbrook™—this was at random—“and the cops have got your number——" “Monk’s just changed the license plates,” rather breathlessly. “Good. Then you've still got a chance to get away.” “Not without those pearls. If they can't get them, they’ll get you. I know Monk, I know Pete ” “Listen.” Very confidentially Doll whispered, *I tucked them under a back seat in the car. That ought to be convenient for you. You and your friends have just about time to pull out = Her words were wasted in the dusk; Mrs. Harmsworth had glided out of the door. There was a gruff challenge in the hall, then the woman’s reply:: “She’s willing to give up. Go get the coat.” Doll thought of locking the door. But there was no key. And nobody attempted to break in. Feminine heels went tapping down the stairs. . “Hey, what’s the idea?” That was Joyce, calling after the fugitive. Then, “Monk! Monk!” in a muffled tone. As big feet were pounding toward the lower floor Doll could hear the rasp of a lock. Mrs. Harmsworth had betrayed her gang, shut them in, appropriated their car. The listener up stairs was startled by sounds of breaking glass. Running to a front window Doll raised the shade and peered out just in time to see the big sedan leaping through a vacant lot toward an- other street. The two men in the road turned and made rapidly toward the house. Their pris- oner thought of scuttling somewhere, but her knees were queer. She managed to turn on the electric bulb and struggled with a window sash. It came up six inches, stuck, She was too weak for another effort. Then the door flew open and Joyce and Monk, pale and savage, stood scowling into the full light. Their expressions changed to blank won- derment. A scared little woman stood by the window, her hand trembling as she held up a string of magic bubbles, which glittered tempt- ingly in the light. “Chee, she’s got 'em!” quavered Monk. But Joyce, without a word, was coming on. It was automatic with Doll; the string of pearls swished like a lariat as she tossed them through the small opening under the window. Like beams they clattered on the porch roof outside. “DOUSE that light.” Joyce’s tone was quiet, unemctional. He got his arm under the window sash, raised it a little. It stuck again. Monk switch>d off the electric bulb; in the sud- den gloom he towered over her, threatening. Then strength came back to her, Like a cornered cat she darted forward, almost gained the door when her feet were entangled in some- thing soft. The sable coat, just where it had fallen. She sprawled forward on all fours . . . she couldn’'t get up. Queer, shocking noises were all around her. Thunders roared, light- nings flashed, men ran, broke things. She slumped down again, too tired to think of anything more The room seemed full of policemen. Wonder- ful. There couldn’t be too many policemen. Doll smiled weakly. “She’s coming around all right” She clung to the man who said this. She knew it was Hector. Then she heard somebody mention the coroner. “For me?” she thought vaguely. “Are you hurt, dear?” “I'm all right, Hec. I'm fine, bringing the coroner for?” “Monk Slovak. White Eye Mack’ll need him too pretty soon.” A large man in a captain’s uniform leaned down, patted her paternally, “I guess the little Iady was scared.” Who're they T “Doll!” Like a cry for help. “Where did these come from?” “Doll, honey.” Hector's arm was across her shoulder. “What possessed you to come out here with that coat?” Impatiently she shook him away. was told. I did it exactly.” “But who told you?” “Mrs. Harmsworth. She came in at 2, handed me the coat and said to take it to Meadow- brook and——" “But, honey, You've never even seen Mrs. Harmsworth.” “Hec, are you crazy?” “Maybe. But Mrs, Harmsworth didn't have time to come near you. She started uptown to see you, but we notified the doorman at Tan- quay’s to send her right upstairs to Mrs. Ren- nard’s apartment on the second floor, There was & big robbery staged there a little before 2.” This was confusing. Then rapidly in her mind, while the police parleyed among them- selves, she brought together two broken links. Surely the man at Meadowbrook had spoken glibly about Mrs. Harmsworth. How did he get the name?” “What was it she stole?” asked Doll languidly. “Pearls,” up spoke Mr. Riley. “A hundred uult fifty thousand dollars’ worth. And a fur coat.” "The young policeman sadly displayed the damaged sables. A little light was coming to Doll, “It’s plain enough what happened,” said Hec- tor. “This is a typical White Eye Mack job. He got that blonde crazy about him—-" “Was her name Lou?” broke in Doll. “How’d you know?” Everybody seemed to be asking that, “She was out here with those—what you call ‘IdidasI ‘em—crooks. I told her to steal the car and get away.” “And the pearls with her,” grunted the cap- tain. Doll didn't like him for that severity. He went rapidly out of the room, to find a tele- phone perhaps. But a tall lieutenant was hark- ening to Hector's words, “This was Lou Bennet’s first big job. The minute she got away and began sneaking down stairs she grew afraid that somebody’d recog- nize that coat. So she went into the check room——"" “And handed it to me,” supplied Doll. “But I can’t understand——" Then Hector explained and Doll was glad to see the captain come back to listen, It was an interesting case as Doll heard it that evening while policemen waited for a coro- ner and scraps of information flitered in to the little front bed room of No. 3 Glen Eden Addi- tion. And what she learned grew with subse- quent events into this complete picture: Cheever's Detective Bureau was partially re- sponsible for the jewels of a Mrs. Bolingbroke Rennard, living in a fine apartment two floors above Tanquay’s Restaurant. Mrs. Rennard, absentminded and in poor health, was in the habit of dropping jewels as a child drops its rattle, Lou Bennett, who came twice a week from a beauty specialist, could not help observ- ing Mrs. Rennard’s careless habits with a string of pearls. She might have remained honest, this Lou Bennett, had she not met a most presentable person who passed in the upper world as Mr, Joyce and in the under as White Eye Mack. He rehearsed Lou carefully. He hadn't wanted the sable coat; indeed, the coat had proven the undoing of White Eye's gang. Lou was merely Nations Want No More Wars, Continued from Fourth Page of God than the monks of Ettal, the neighbor- ing Benedictine monastery, where was written the first text of the “Passion Play.” And Aloys Lang, skeptical though he is of the rest of the world and pessimistic of its future, has a pro- found and loyal faith in the goodness of his own village, He was asked what he thought of thie younger generation. “Here in Oberammergau,” he replied, “they are a God-fearing, well-behaved, moral lot. The young folk work hard, do their duty by the community, by the church and by them- selves. I do not know how the young folk are in other parts, but here there is nothing to criticize.” A model town. But worldliness is by mno means completely submerged, Just as Aloys Lang, like a sensible business man, is preparing to make the most out of the economic opportunity presented by his election to the Christus role, 50 Anni Rutz, 23-year-old stenographer who was chosen to play Mary, is fully appreciative of the enhanced opportuni- ties for a good marriage that will come from her prominence. She is not even sure that it won't be a rich American! This anticipation is fully justified, for the history of the “Passion Play” shows that, where- as the men players usually play their parts for several decades in succession, the cast of women has to be renewed at each 10-year period. And this is not because the women age faster, but because, according to the rules of the “Passion Play,” no married woman may have a role, and soon after the curtain goes down on the last performance of a season the village church is the scene of one wedding after another. Long before the next season rolls around the entire cast of maidens is married. Tms rule introduces & sort of periodicity into the marriage customs of the village, Anni Rutz, a popular girl, said that she had intentionally put off marriage until the 1930 “Passion Play.” And her sister Maria, younger by two years and until the election the favorite candidate for the part of Mary, owed her loss of the role solely to her own impatience with the rules. For the Mary must not only be un- married, but may not even be engaged, and Maria Rutz, engaged three times, was refused the chief role on this account. Anni is modern enough to work in an office for her-living and old-fashioned and consistent enough to believe in leaving politics to the men. In this combination of industry and political indifference she is typical of the women of Oberammergau. where the wives and maidens work as hard as the men, but take no part in the management of affairs. The enfranchise- ment of women in Germany means nothing to Oberammergau. ‘The players are in the “Passion Play” for the love of the thing and receive little directly for their labors. What they get besides fame out of the “Passion Play” they must earn on the side with their woodcarving, pottery and other applied arts. What they get in salaries is too little to be reckoned as an important factor in their playing. The net profits, if any, from the “Passion Play” are divided into three parts: One for charity, one for village administration—which, of course, undergoes many extra expenses for the season—and the last third for the actors. This third, in turn, is divided among five classes of actors, according to the importance of their roles. But even the chief actors may hope to receive a maximum of but 2,000 marks for the entire season—that is to say, $500 for five months of steady playing, preceded by six months of exacting rehearsals, (Copyright, 1929.) e to snatch the pearls and wmieet her confederate in the west grandstand of Meadowbrook. But the Saturday of the polo game was not, it proved, White Eye’s lucky day. The dress re< hearsal was over and Lou, by appointment, went to Mrs. Rennard's apartment at half past one. The wealthy widow had come home very tired from a morning musicale. She was in a pet about her pearl necklace. The clasp had broken and, because Mrs. Rennard was by na< ture a scatterbrain, she had ripped open a pocket of her coat and dropped the treasure in. The lining, she thought, would be a safe place for it. She always wore heavy furs in the Fall, whatever the weather—her blood was thin, she was never warm. ND wasn't it clever of her to think of let- ing her pearl, run down intv the lining? She asked that of the girl whom she trusted and who stood before her, trembling. Lou was an amateur. But, when Mrs. Rennard asked if she would ring up Mr. Torrence, the jeweler, and have his man call at once for the broken necklace, Lou was again an actress; slyly hold< ing the receiver down, she had a long conference with a phantom Torrence, Then to the work so carefully planned. Mrs, Rennard was laid on her chaise longue and a “tie-up” made to cover her face. This “tie-up” consisted of a thickness of soft muddy prepae ration covered with layer on layer of hot towels, all so securely bandaged to the head that the wearer was blind as a mole. Lou made herself doubly safe by instructing her patient to relax for 10 minutes. Then she tiptoed into an ade joining dressing-room, where the sables lay across a chair. She was about to delve into the torn pocket when a maid went past a door and looked in. Bad conscience had Lou by the throat. There was only one way; take the coat with her and get into the pocket when she could. She glided out of the apartment, the garment over her arm; but in the hall outside people were waiting to go down in the elevator. Lou hurried down the stairs, hoping for a chance to dip into the lining and pull out the pearls, but a scrubwoman stood, bucket in hand, staring at her. And now she had gained a mezzanine, clut< tered with women at writing desks. She must have felt like a trapped animal, this bungling beginner; and, when she ran down to the ground floor she saw—or was it her conscience that saw—Mrs. Rennard’s sister in the dining room doorway. Then there was the left turn, leading into the big lounge. The check room! An amiable girl in uniform came forward to take the coat. She addressed Lou as Mrs, Harmsworth, and Lou Bennet invented rapidly. The girl was so oblig- ing. Lou, of course, had no intention of com= ing back. She telephoned White Eye, who was waiting in Mineola. Smothering his disgust, he fell in with her plan. And Lou was to meet him at No. 3 in Glen Eden Addition, where he had assembled his gang twice before. Doll Stoat, lying on the floor of the battered little bed room, gathered the fragments which soon were to become a complete composition, And all that time policemen were coming in, whispering, walking out. She had a feeling of having suffered so much, accomplished so little, And Hector’s discouraged murmur made it worse? “Cheever’s were responsible for the pearls” he said, and Doll was fishing for a reply when she noticed a policeman playing his electric torch over every corner of the room. Suddenly a ray of light went through the partly opened window. “Say, look here!” exclaimed the searcher. Policemen wandered over, peered, mumbled. ¢ “Capt. Smith,” said one, thing out there looks like—* “Like pearls,” said Doll. “I threw them ouf when those men tried to take them.” “Pearls?” The word echoed. But nobody was listening. With gunbutts and heels they were breaking the sash. A police- man crawled through and came back with a string of glowing bubble-jewels, “Is that where you threw them?" asked the captain. “I told you so,” she said. “You wouldn’t listen.” He was counting over the string one by one. He took it to the light. His look nare rowed. He gathered the pearls in his hands, rubbed them together, then appraisingly scratched them against his teeth. “Real pearls are gritty,” he said disconso- lately, as he brought down a scout-knife, ham« mer-like. A crunching sound rewarded the blow. The room was damp with discouragee ment. Then a lanky policeman appeared at the door and bawled solemnly, “The coroner’s here.” A blue procession passed out, leaving Doll with her Hector. “Oh, she moaned; “I've had to play so many mean tricks today——" “That’s all right. But I thought I'd die-w Yyou in the hands of those gorillas——" h;{i‘ ;l;:'t so :t:;:" Hec. But I—I tried se some g for you. And you 4 think I did—" i i i “Honey!” His protest was shallow. “But you'll do something for me now, won'y you, dear?” “I'll die for you, Doll.” “Hec, will you take all the credit for finding those pearls? I don’t want it. You can malg up something——" : “Honey, I don't want credit.” “It's business with you, Hec. Cheever's are responsible for those pearls. It won't help you wlfl; fhele):lr's. having me get the credit.” “But, ——" he hesitated at the ha truth—*“they’re not real pearls. Somehow t.l?:: gang has fooled us.” “Those?” she laughed satirically. “Thosq are mine. Don't you remember the fakes } 4 bought for $5? I was wearing them under my blouse. And I threw them out of the window to make that awful White Eye look the other way. But, when I say pearls—" From some hiding place under the yoke of her gown she fished out ooil after coil of link: — T of linked “Doll!” Like a cry for help. these come from?” - . “Out of that darned fur coat,” ghe murmured, A policeman came in to say that Mack was dead. That's the trouble with women, he “there’s some- “Where did thought, always keeling over wihen anything happens. (Copyright, 1929.)