Evening Star Newspaper, June 19, 1932, Page 75

NGTON, D. C. JUNE 19, 1932. 9 i > Thrilling Part He Played—By William H. Heath nt into the office, lighted a lamp that was on the two bottles from the cupboard. One contained a few ous tablets. He poured a quantity of these into an e other bottle contained strychnia tablets, -sixtieth of a grain of the poison. Gordon poured desk and mechanically counted out 60. There were left, which he replaced in the bottle, as he did so ntarily out of the window by the desk. p face looking up at him, a very white face, childish, ined, with wildly beautiful black eyes. It was Nelly tepped backward into the darkness and disappeared. 4 (% “He went back to the office and, with mortar and pestle, crushed the strychnia tablets into powder and folded the powder neatly in paper. When he returned to the living room Warrener rose and took the medicine from his hand. “ ‘Probably you will arrange for an opera- ticn immediately, perhaps tomorrow, when Lind will be here, cr the next day?’ War- rener nodded. ‘Then,’ continued Gordon, ‘these tablets will be enough for you. If they aren’t effective (he knew, of course, they wouldn't be) take the powder; it dis- solves readily in any aquaeous substance.’ “After Warrener had gone, Gorden went to the ell, 1in which office and waiting room were located, to lock the doors. He was surprised to find the outer door ajar. He clesed it and passed into the office. As he stcpped something crunched beneath his fect. It was a broken bottle, the bottle which he had left on his desk and which had contained the poison tablets. The floor was covered with linoleum; there were few cracks into which a tablet could fail. He dragged the desk from its pcsition; there was only dust beneath it. He searched in every crevice and corner of the room. Ha could find but 10 of the poison tablets. He thought he had crushed or overlooked the others Amgcs, thinking he was chilly, threw ancther log on the blaze. “And the ncxt day,” Carlton continued, “into this room came Gordon. Here. Isn’t this the cottage that Harold Worthington once owned. You know him, the author?” Jack pulled at his cold pipe, ncdded. The judge sat utterly motionless. The rest of us stared about the room that had sheltered the murderer, the rocm in which the shadows seemed more numerous and blacker than before, the room arcund which the wind shrieked and against which the rain pounded. “Worthington was a friend of Gordon,” Carlton continued. “They had been in college together and had traveled in Europe together. Each year they spent a few weeks together.. “Girdon was happy—and foolish—and mad. Never did it occur to him that the police might trace the poiscn that killed Warrener. Never did it occur to him that he was standing be- neath the gallows. He realized only that now no man stood between him and Sara. “On Sunday, rain kept them indoors. The moming dragged somewhat for Gordon, who missed the Sunday papers, which wouldn’t arrive until Monday. “After breakfast on Monday morning Worth- ington went to the mail-box and got the Sun- day papers. *‘Here's something that will interest you,’ he said to Gordon. Then he read alcud: “Girl Accused of Murder! Held for Slaying Man who Jilted Her”. " ORDON rose slowly, took the paper, stared at the headlines. Nellie Lindsay in jail for murder! Without a word, he left the rocm. In the living rocm a quarter of an hour later Worthington found him standing before the fireplace, staring at the reluctant fire and crushing the paper in his fist. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but I must go away.’ “At 4 o'clock that afternoon he reached Brampton, the county seat. On his way to the county solicitor’s office he passed the jail and saw Sara at the entrance. He stopped his car, intending to speak to her, but she turned away without seeing him. At first he failed, dully, to account for her presence in Brampton. But suddenly recollected that Nellie was in the Brampton jail. Sara was undoubtedly in town to see her. He gazed after Sara as she passed down the street. Her bronze hair gleamed in the sun. Her vcice reverberated in his ears. “Gordon found Clayton the county solicitor, in his office, with the sheriff and a newspaper man. “I want to ask you about the Warrener case,’ he said to Clayton. ‘I see by the papers that Miss Lindsay is held for killing him.’ X “Clayton ncdded. “There is no question of her guilt. The sheriff’s brother is representing her. He will tell you that I am speaking correctly.’ “Gordon looked toward the sheriff, who nodded deliberately. “‘How did she kill him?’ asked the doctor. “‘She gave him strychnia in his coffee.’ “Then the picture of Nellie Lindsay, which he had received that night in Lind's office, recurred, and her frail beauty became idealized. “‘I have come,’ he said, slowly, ‘to tell you that I killed Herbert Warrener.” “Then he told how he had supplied Warrener with poison, and Clayton asked: ‘How much did you give him?’ “Gordon answered without hesitation: ‘One grain.’ ‘‘Are you aware,’ continued the lawyer, ‘that not less than two grains were administered to Warrener?’ “For a moment Gordon hesitated. Incidents which had been obscure were suddenly clear: The face at the window, the missing tablets . . . * ‘It was,” he said, ‘I am positive, two grains that I gave him.’ “Thus Gordon sp>ke to the prosecutor. And then the prosecutor told him what few knew then. Nellie was insane, hopelessiy so. Prob- ably had been for months, since Warrener and her aunt had ended her romance. But it wouldn’t have made any diffrence if Gordon had kncwn she was mad. He, too, was mad— not legally so, like her—yvet mad; but he would not, could not, have kept zient after Nellie had been accused.” Carlton looked about the group, from member to member, earnestly; as if eager to c-nvince us there was a bit of good in Gordon; lastly at the judge. “Gordon was ably defended,” Carlton ccn- tinued, waving toward the judge, “and the fact that he confessed and that Nellie was involved in the case, too, won him what the public called leniency. He got twenty years—twenty years; and because he was a good prisoner, he was pardoned after serving twelve years; pard-ned eight years ago. “And this,” he turned to Bill, “‘gives one ans- wer to your question.” Bill opened his mouth to speak, but Carlton wesn't through talking: “It gives an answer to your questicn, but another question is left unanswered. The story I have told is not complete. Warrener is dead, Nellie is in the madhouse, Gordon went to prison. But Sara Lee—where is Sara Lee?"” Slowly the judge rzised himse!r to an erect position. He looked over Carlton from head to foot with the scorn one reserves for vile things. His stare seemed t> infuriate Carlton; the doctor yose on his toes, clinched his teeth, drew his breadth actually in gasps through set teeth. Here, suddenly, was a drama none of us had expected. Then the judge spoke. “She is dead,” he said. “Dead! Dead!” Carlton literally shrieked. You lie!” *She died eight years ago.” Carlton trembled, like a man with a chill His face was deathly white with fury, we thought. “You are lying to me!” he yelled. “Lying!” The judge rose, took from his pocket a black book and from the book a clipping which he handed to Carlton. “I wouldn’t bother lying to a thing like you,” he said quietly. “I repeat. She is dead—dead to you—and has been for at least eight years. There's no news in this for you, but read it just the same to see if your twisted brain can grasp a fact.” Carlton grabbed the clipping, barely glanced at it, tore it in bits. “You'll tell me where she is and tell me now,” he shouted, or——" He leaped at the judgse, with hands talon-like, as if to throttle him; leaped, cursing, then suddenly gasping. The judge swiftly sidestepped and Carlton crashed to the floor. HE surprising and dramatic denouement of Carlton’s narrative had dazed us. The judge made no move toward the fallen man and, for a moment, no one did. Then Jack went to him, rolled him over. His eyes were open, but fixed. He was motionless, limp, life- less. The stranger in our group was dead. Jack rose. “He's done,” he said. “Must have been his heart.” The judge nodded. “Put that blanket over him,” he directed. “And some one must go to town and report his death to the authorities. You know, of course, who he was.” Amos covered the body with a blanket and Bill put on his rain coat. “I'll go to town,” he said. “He’s Gordon,” said Jack. “Is it true, judge, what you told him?” “Yes—and no,” the judge replied. “After the Warrener case,” he continued, “Sara went away. She had no relatives in Clovelly and no ties there. She went to the Middle West as a teacher. There I ran across her more than eight years ago. She had kept no contacts with the East or with persons she had known before the murder. Quite success- fully, she had made for herself a new life; only her name remained of the past. And I was the first figure out of the past that she had met. “After Gordon was relecased from prison, he tried to find Sara, but he got no trace of her until recently. Shortly before I left for the East a letter came that related some of anis efforts to find her and how, finally, he had blundered onto a clue in a teachers’ agency. His letter came by registered mail, and it was forwarded scveral times before it reached her. When it arrived, Sara was out and a mawd signed the receipt which went back to Gorden with just the information he wanted. “Sata was frightened. She knew Gordon as I knew him—for a mad and ruthless killer. “Sara came East,” the judge went on, “when I did. She had not planned to, but we knew Gordon would go West as soon as he learned his letter had reached her. When he learncd her whereabcuts he was ill in a hospital; his heart was very, very bad. He left the hospital before he should, went West, to Sara's home. There he learned only that she had gone East and that her home was also mine. So he re- turned East.” The judge turned to Amos. “You recall, Amos, that ycu introduced me to Carlton in vour store? He recognized me, of course. And I knew him, but didn't tell him so. He hada't been able to find Sara, but was sure I knew where she was. So, when the hunting trip was arranged, he eagerly attached himself to the party. “And he told this story tonight partly, I suspect, as a sort of defense of himself and partly to irritate me; perhaps to draw me out, to make me talk; or perhaps the telling wos just more of his madness. Actually, the tellin; was fatal. His heart was in such shape that excitement or sudden and greal emotion would kill him—and did.” “But, judge,” asked Jack, “that clipping you showed him? What was it? It seemed to be the finishing factor in exciting him.” “That? As I tcld him, it was no news to him; just the account of the marriage of Sa:a and me—eight years ago. It was a sort of mad- dening reminder of his impotency.” “And it did the job—or helped,” remarke 1 Jack. He and the judge exchanged a glanc~ which I was slow to understand. Then the judge said: “The worst act of my career wus the successful defense of Walter Gordon.” He looked at each of us slowly, in twn. “Have you thought,” he asked, “how much my life would have been worth on a hunting trip— with him?” He threw his cold cigar into the fire, lightcd a fresh one and turned to Bill. “I'll go into town with you,” he said, “I must send a mes- sage to my wife.” (Copyright, 1522) On Being Two Leaps Ahead of Nozw By George Ade T befell that in the good year 1890, one Ernest Padgctt resided in a Jumping-Off- Place and Fly-Speck on the map known as Pleasant Valley, for no good Reason. Any one who had been Elsewhere would have said that Plesant was a sure Cackle and the Valley was simply in the Landscape. Ernest was just ready to-give up wearing Made-Overs, whittled down from OIld Duds, discarded by his Pa, and appear in Hand-Me- Downs and long Pants, with a pair of Galluses thrown in. He had never seen more than Two Bits in Currency at one Time and rubbed his Gullet with Goose-Goose when he had Quinsy. He was just a small-town Runt whose Hair wculdn't comb down and little did he suspect that anywhere in the whole wide World was there such a Thing as a Manicure Set. More or less of a Goof, Oaf, Bumpkin and Yokel. Now it happened that one Morning this same Urchin arose from his Straw Tick and slipped into about 80 cents worth of Raiment and looked out of the window at the old- fashioned Flowers, the Bungalow for the Hogs and the sweep of tall Hickories around the bend in the Crick and he thought the View was Swell. He went down to breakfast and listened meekly while Ma burned him up for not having washed his Feet the Night before. One thing about Youth-——getting panned never upsets the old Appctite. Ernest stowed away three enormous Slabs of home-made Bread smeared with Apple Butter and drank two full Portions of Cow's Milk. The Bread had been cooked in the Kitchen Oven and the Cellar had one Shelf of Apple Butter made at a total Cost of Nothing per Jar from the PFruit which had fallen in the east Orchard. Bossie and Kate had contributed the Lacteal Fluid. When the First of the month arrived, the Padgett's never had to moan over a Walloping Bill from the Grocery. FTER he had picked up a few Potato Bugs, on Orders from Headquarters, he saunted over to the Crick and captured a Craw-Dabber and tied a string to one of the big Claws and otherwise communed with Nature. Later he surveyed the manifold Charms of Main Street. The whale-bone Corsets and feathered Hats in the Show Window of Walton's General Store had never seemed more entrancing. In front of the Bon-Ton Rest- aurant a Bunch of Bananas gleamed in Gold- en Splendor. The wooden Indian advertising Ed Braley's Cigar Store was the ultimate in Sculpture. Life was just one Thrill after Another. About 9.30 came the High Spot. Puffing and snorting from the low-hung Eastern Horizon came the Iron Horse! It was almost as large as a present-day Truck and had a Funnel on top—also a Bell with a lot of metallic Clangor. All the whiskers in Town were on the Depot Platform. O, the Hurrah and Hullabaloo! From the Baggage Car an Ice-Cream Freezer and from the Day Coach two popular Drummers with their Sartorial Elegance protected by Linen Dusters. “All aboard!” \ See the Conductor with the Gold on his Cap! He is wig-wagging the dirty-faced Potentate leaning from the Cab and Clutching the Throttle! Aha! A grand Total of one Passenger does a flying Leap for the Platform. There is a grinding of Wheels and Number Six is moving toward Weldon Junction, away out youder ten miles toward the Setting Sun, in the Land of the Great Unknown! No won- der the Pulses Tingle and all the Citizens, young and old, are sated with Enjoyment as they trail toward the Post-Office to get their Copies of The Fireside Companion. Just a couple of Games of Duck on the Rock and then it was time for Dinner. This important Meal came at Ncon instead of along about Bedtime. It was not served. Vittles were piled up on the Oil Cloth and any one who didn't have a good Reach was liable to starve to Death. Mother had killed a Hen that was beginning to limp and surrounded the opulent Carcass with about 100 yards of Noodles. To the north a Pyramid of Mashed Potatces. To the East & stingy half-bushel of Cottage Cheese. A short distance South a Huddle of Sody Biscuit and encugh Gravy to float a Skiff, Jellies, Jams, Cukes, Radishes, etc., to complete the Glorious Ensemble. Pie for Dessert but no one ever called it Dessert. It was a wedge—not a narrow Triangle. What of the Afternoon? The digging of Worms. Two drizd-up Sunfish strung on a Willow Twig. A game of Two-Old-Cat. Light Refreshments consisting of Green Apples. Much splashing at the ole Swimmin’ Hole and Ernest finds his Hickory Shirt tied into a Hard Knot, A ride on the Dray owned by Art Hemminge way. Out to the Slaughter House to see Elmer Fry soak a Heifer on the Bean with a Sledge. It is toward Sundown and Our Hero is heading for the Parental Dump. Across from the Lutheran Church is G. A. R. Hall, with the Flag of our Country draping the Doorway. Ernest stops and regards with Affection, what a certain kind of Wind-Bag calls Old Glory. He begins to surge beneath the Hickory Shirt, He feels an Apostrophe coming on. This is not what he said but what he would have said if he could have given Voice to the Patriotism welling up from the region of the undigested Green Apples and engulfing his very Soul: “Oh, starry Emblem, you are the Works! What a Priviledge to be born beneath thy ample Folds! How fertunate I am to find myself in a Land of Plenty, where Men are brave and our Rulers are incorruptible, and every Heart beats true to the Red, White and Blue! Oh, Gosh!” After which he wended his way through the Dusk toward his Cornmeal Mush and Milk. ET us now imitate the Talkies and make a long Jump from one Scene to another. It is 1932. Once more we discover Ernest Padgett, only now he is past 50 and_ wears a Check Suit with a Yellow Tie and puts Smellem on what is left of his Hair, so the Rounders call him Ernie. The older they get in Our Set, the more juvenile the Titles. Ernie works the rusty Hinges a couple of times and then crawls off his $125 Box Mate tress and teeters on a $600 Bokhara Rug. The old Dogs are not all there. He 1s a little hurty in the Gams. Just twenty Years ago a Board of High Brows compiled a new Standard Dictionary. It has 2750 Pages of Words and an average of 80 Words to the Page, or a Grand Total of 220,000 but even all of these Words would not suffice to describe the Pajamas worn by Mr. Padgett, commonly known at his Clubs as Ernie the Sport. He looks out of the Win- dow at Architecture worth a few Billions and a famous Park and says, “O, Shucks!” Same old Vista. An imported Menial, with a Face like a Welsh Rabbit that has settled down and got cold comes in and helps him Dress. Also to collaborate on the Mental Effort required to select Shirt, Socks, Tie and Handkerchief from the vast Assortment. Yes, this is the same Ernest Padgett. These things happen in the Home of Opportunity. Most of the - Male Adults you see going into Beauty Parlors were brought up in the Sticks and could tell all about Stone Bruises, Shoveling Snow and sleeping Three in a Bed. Ernie had Berries in a crystal bowl sur- rounded by Ice but the special Blend of Coffee wasn't hot enough to suit His Majesty and the toasted Kidneys were overdone, so he howled like a Siberian Wolf and said he couldn’t get no service nohow. If he barked at the Chauffeur it was because he felt humiliated to be riding around in a $4,200 Six when he was entitled to a $6.000 Eight. Life was just one Hardship after another. He sat at a glass-top Desk the size of a Billiard Table and dictated grouch Letters to Miss Fortescue, with Nose-Glasses, who had been trained $0 pamper him as if he wered. pet Semirham. Getting in to see this Bird was Comtinued on Tenth Page