New Britain Herald Newspaper, January 30, 1929, Page 12

iridescent breast gleaming in the sun- morning, circled warily. above the open window, then fluttéred to the white stone ledge. The tiny head jerked back and forth, a brilliant black diamond of an eye cock- ed suspiciously, as the little feet pattered just out of reach of the white hand extended invitingly, r})all.m lll‘x::u:l;! i ‘Saf ou old humbug!” the girl laugl y. Ritz ::!' %"m sure | don’g look so different this morning that you don’t know me! Is it because I have no crumbs to give you, greedy?” The black pigeon stood still on his little red sealing-wax feet and studied the girl, his graceful head cocked consideringly. Then, as if reassured, the gleaming black wings spread to the cold sunshine, and a figotl;(l!’ lx}tertghose tiny red claws were igh ipping Ruth Lester’s forefinger. y mmtl}i'f':lhggm been waiting for a signal from their leader, the black pigeon which Ruth had named Satan, a flock of pig- eons whose home was the roof of the seven-story Starb: Building, came swooping down upon the broad ledge 31 e window outside the private office of “Handsome Harry Bo?- den, to pay court to the suddenly revealed beauty of Borden's rivate secretary. 2 5 Ruth with an exultant laugh, spread her arms wide, leaning far out of the window. In a moment she was a living pigeon perch. On her little white hands, along her arms, on her small shoulders, even on her golden head. Brown pigeons, splotched with white; blue- grape pigeons, with enchanting breasts of bronze and gold and purple; black-and-white pigeons; white pigeons—no, only one pigeon that was pure white and only one —Satan—that was inky black. ¢ 'An exclamation made the girl raise her eyes, but did not startle her, for she had been expecting it. Directly across the narrow airshaft that separated two wings of the Starbridge Building, a broad window, exactly like the one from which Ruth leaned, framed a young man’s head and torso, The January sun, which was really quite cold, seemed to the girl to gather all its shivery rays and concentrate them, for borrowed warmth, upon the coppery-brown head. of Jack Hayward. Ruth leaned further out of the window, ir arms reaching toward the man who looked like a sun-god to her, the man to whom she had just become engaged. J ously, the pigeons took wing and fluttered indignantly away—all but the black pigeon, which clung stubbornly to her finger, his beady black eye flashing in:m Ehe‘gxrl to the man. “Oh, beautiful!?” Jack called softly. “Little snow princess with the sun in her golden hair! You're too beautiful! Go put on your big yellow spectacles and slick back your hair. Tm jealous even of Satan, and he's jealous of me! Look! 1 believe he'd like to peck my eyes out!” p Ruth laughed, then very gently, so as mnot to frighten “Satan” away, she reached into the pocket of her sweater. In a moment she was holding the .ltruleint pigeon against her breast, as her quick, deft little fingers wrapped a slip of paper with a typed message—*I love you”—about one of the tiny red legs, securing it with a bit of the black silk thread which she kept in the office for darning runs in the sober stockings she had always worn to work until today—today! “If you have any bread crumbs, Mr. Hayward,” she laughed, “you may be able to learn something to your advan- tage.” And she let the black pigeon flutter away. gl’hen, because she heard the door of the outer office, where she was supposed to be opening the moming mail, she drew in her head, bringing a glittering, imprisoned mass of hair into the soberly but richly furnished A black pigeon, its shine of the January impetuously, her room where “Handsome Harry” Borden conducted a business which had need of every artificial aid to make it appear respectable. For Henry P. Borden was one of those financial vultures that pray upon the cupidity of men and the credulity of women who have -earned savings or pathetic little legacies to invest. His favorite boast to the wleek-haired, eollegiate-looking young stock salesman who worked for him that he was “always with- in the law,” but Ruth, in growing disgust, had come to hope that the law would not always be so obligingly elastic. But now—now!—there was no need to worry about Harry Borden’s crookedness or about his offensive private life, or about anything in the world. For since exactly 12 o'clock last night she had been engaged to be married to John Carrington Hayward, who was listed on the bulletin board of the Star- bridge Building as “Insurance Broker.” Broker! The dear, de- lightful boyishness of that title, Ruth thought tenderly. Brok- er!—when Jack hardly made enough selling life insurance to pay the rent on his suite of two small offices! 3ut she loved the courage with which he stubbornly kept them, the boyish u;ckmreness of future success which made him splurge now on “ront.” : . % “Hullo, Ruth! Any mail for the future president of the Unit- edfsutes’!" a cocky, nasal young voice called from the outer office. Ruth smiled, a dimple which she did not have to repress any longer tugging at the corner of her adorable little mouth. Then she stepped through the door that divided Borden's private of- fice from the big outer office which served as a reception room and as an office for Borden's secretary and messenger boy. Benny Smith, 17, and just beginning to be very girl-con- scious, was sprawled in Ruth’s little narrow-backed swivel chair, pawing the pile of mail on her desk. His sandy hair was still wet from its morning brush, his big ears very red from the scrubbing to which they were not yet accustomed. He had told her recently, in a burst of confidence, that he was using freckle cream on his speckled cheeks and neck. The dear! He'd be asking some girl to marry him soon, just as Jack Hayward had asked her last night. . . . “Nothing from your girl this morning, Benny,” Ruth called out, in the meek, repressed little voice which had been so nec- essary a part of the disguise she had temporarily discarded. “Girl? Who said I had a girl?” Benny sputtered, whirling about in the little swivel chair. Then he saw Ruth and his prominent eyes glared until Ruth, coloring and laughing, was afraid they would pop from his head. '(;J?e gosh!” he exploded at last. “All right! I bite! Who are vou? “Don’t be silly, Benny! It's just Ruth Lester, of course—" “Jul-yus Caesar!” Benny breathed. “It’s just Ruth Lester, of course,” he mimicked her precise, repressing little voice. “Gosh! What have you went and done to yourself, Ruth? Be yourself! I ain’t feelin’ so strong this mornin—" . Ruth laughed. “That’s what I'm doing at last, Benny! I'm be- ing myself! Do you like Ruth Lester herself?” elbow as if to ward her off. “Gosh, woman! Turn them lamps off me! You'll blind me! Where’s your specs? And say, what have you done to your hair?” Ruth’s little white hands, which she had never been able to disguise, fluttered to her golden curls, fluffed them. “Nothing | —but turn it loose!” she laughed. “It’s really too long to be worn as a bob—" “But gosh! You didn't have to slick it back till your head looked like a yellow onion, and serew it into a little knob on your neck,” the office boy protested, curiously angry with her. “I used to think your hair'd pull your eyebrows out by the roots. Say! Mavbe that was what give you that scared rabbit look—your hair skinned back like that, pulling at your eye- [ Mlndthemblxyeuowqhulpmofymmod%w of your face. Gee!” he marveled again. “But, listen! you do to your face? It looks different, too, not pale and . & opened the top drawer of her desk and took out a box of powder, which she showed him triumphantly. “See! Rachel- tinted powder, very heavy. See how yellowish it is? Plenty of that dnn)ed on and my milk-maid complexion was success- tully hidden. But—I've got to get to work, Benny! Be a good infant and get me some water for my sponge, and a bunch of pencils, won't you?” “Listen, Greta Nissen!” Benny sputtered. “You ain't going to shut up’md not slip me the low-down on why you donme it, are you?” “Greta Nissen?” Ruth raiged her eyebrows and gave him the tull, enchanting beauty of her limpid blue eyes, “My ervor!” Benny backed away, again with that crooked- elbow gesture of warding her off. “Greta Nissen or no other movie star can’t hold a candle to you. “] heard that red-headed riot across the hall say that Ruth Ruth at'd |love with girls that k held this job for four months. Men don't go round falling in ook like washouts in spectacles.” “One man did, Benny!” The er, which had begun to grind again, stopped with & j “Hey! Spell that out, will you? You ain’t gone got engaged, have you?—Or—or is it ‘Handsome Harry’ Boyden?” And the boy’s freckled face turned a sudden dull crimson. “Guess I mighta knowed that ‘Handsome Jarry’ wasn’t missin’ nothin'—Gosh!” The last word was a wail of adolescent misery. 4 “Don’t be absurd, Benny!” Ruth cried, in'what she thought was a sharp voice. Then she rose, drawn to her feet by the boyish agony in Benny's face, and went to him. She tilted his quivering chin with a forefinger and smiled shyly into his eyes. “It isn't Mr, Borden, Benny, It's—can {oq keep a . secret, Benny? I'm engaged to Mr. Hayward. It just happened last night and oh, Benny, I'm s0 happy I don't think I can bear it!” The boy did a surprising thing then. He seized the finger which had tilted up his chin and pressed it hard against his lips, while a blush ran in crimson waves from his throat to his brow. “Oh, beautiful!” Jack called softly. “Little snow princess with the sun in her golden hair! You're too beautiful " Lester wouldn't be a bad-looking girl if someone'd slip her a little info. about how to dress and make up that sickly little | “Won’t you say you're glad, Benny?” Ruth coaxed tenderly. “Oh, sure!” the boy mumbled. “Sure I'm glad! Why not? face of hers. Boy howdy, but I hope I'm on deck when she He's a great guy—best-looking man in the Starbridge Build- lamps the wow you turned out to be! Gee!” “Scatter, Benny!” Ruth commanded, her cheeks very pink, her blue eyes brimming with tender mirth. “Remember, this is Saturday. I've something else to do than to listen to you sput- ter ‘Gee!” and ‘Gosh ! down my neck. No, I'm not going to tell you why I did it! Take these pencils and put a long point on each of them, please.” Her competent hands began to open the big stack of mail. Only one letter marked “Personal” this morning—another of those big square, orchid-tinted envelopes with the distinctive, angular handwriting in violet ink. The handwriting of a wo- man of culture and strong character, Ruth had decided long since. The pencil sharpener had been grinding furiously, but now the sound dragged, stopped altogether. “Say, Ruth! I guess I ain’t so dumb! I know why you made up to look like a slavey in specs and long dresses.” “Clever boy!” Ruth laughed. “You done it so's you could keep your job!” Benny deduced triumphantly. “You knew that the minute Handsome Harry’ lamped you he'd fall for you like a ton of bricks. Bet that's the reason, too, that you've worked so many places since you got out of business college—ain’t it?” “Benny, you've been meddling in my desk again!” “Aw, I ain't either! I just happened to see a bunch of let- ters of recommendation clipped together and I glanced over ‘em,” Benny protested. “Say, they had me goin’ sure! I couldn’t | figger out why a whizz of a steno like you should work two or three weeks in a job and then blow, and why the guys you worked for give you such swell recommendations if they didn't want to keep you.” “Shut up, Benny, and get to work!” Ruth scolded. “Yes, sir, 'at’s the ticket, sure’s as you're born!” Benny ap- plauded his own powers of deduction. “Gosh! I can just imag- ine! Married man hires you—and who wouldn’t? I'm asking you! Wifey blows in, lamps new secretary. Wham! ‘Either she i goes or I go!’ wifey lays the law down. ’Nen—‘I'm awful sorry, | Miss Lester, but—er—necessary to retrench, do without a sec- Benny rose slowly from Ruth’s chair, then lifted a crooked | retary for a while. Of course, best of recommendations—’ All ‘at stuff! Am I right, fair frail?” Benny concluded, with an Lr:{pudence he had never been interested enough to show her ore. ing. Gee! What a swell pair you two will make!” He gulped back his tears manfully. “But say, Ruth, you'd better douse the glim before ‘Handsome Harry’ surges in. I'm tellin’ you—" “Talk English for a change, Benny!” Ruth laughed. “ ‘Douse the glim'—?" ) “Put on them yellow specs of yours and slick back your hair like you been wearin’ it,” the boy urged, with a curious sort of desperation. “Honest, Ruth—" “Mr. Borden’s affections are so thorouchly engaged at present that I don’t think we need worry,” Ruth laughed. “But ito please you, Benny, I'll revert to the ‘Lillian Gish-in-spec- tacles’ role.” She was reaching into the top drawer of her desk for the big, yellow-lensed, horn-rimmed spectacles which made her blue eyes look a sickly, pale green, when the telephone rang. “Main 8500,” she announced. Then, after a pause during which she raised her eyebrows significantly as she glanced over her shoulder toward Benny, “No, Mr. Borden is not in. . . . I don’t know. I'm sorry. . . . What name shall I say?. . . Oh, thank you!” She nung up the receiver and shrugged. ".The woman with the lovely contralto voice. I wonder who she is. I put Mr. Bor- den on the line once when she called, and he told-me to re- member her voice and never do it again. Some old flame, I uppose. X She pushed back the telephone and was reaching for the dis- guising spectacles, when the outer door opened and Henry P. Borden stepped into the room. Ruth whirled toward her desk in her swivel chair, so that not just yet should he see the transformation with which she had chosen to celebrate her engagement. She had not meant him to see, had intended to have the golden curls pulled into a \tight knot, exposing her ears and elevating her golden-brown eyebrows, had intended to peer up at him as usual through the disfiguring yellow lenses. “Morning, Miss Lester. Anything important?” yBorden was striding toward the door that led into his pri- vate office, not vouchsafing a look at that pallid little secretary whose only appeal to him was that she was an incomparable secretary. Henry P. Borden, known along the city’'s White Way as Ruth’s golden head nodded slowly. Yes, Benny was right. No |“Handsome Harry” Borden, deserved both the adjective and boy of 17 could know how terribly accurate his slangy version [the slight sneer with which it was accompanied. For hand- of her past as a business girl was. some he undoubtedly was, in a bold, striking, black-and-white “Do shut up, Benny! If you don’t let me do my work I'll \way. If he had chosen the movies instead of dubious finance spank you.” “Huh!” Benny snorted. “I'd make two of you. Bet you don’t weigh more'n 90 pounds. Gosh! You even look littler in that cute little short skirt. Them sad rags you wore made you look two inches tealler, and just plain skinny. And you ain’t skinny at all, you're just—just right! But I ain’t surprised that you've las a career he would inevitably have been cast as the “heavy,” ibut invariably as a drawing-room, silk-hat type of villain. He was tall and large, but not at all fat. Sleek, thick black .hnir, into which 40 years of self-indulgence and at least 20 years of fast living had not introduced a single strand of white. Bold, wide black eyes, which had a trick of staring at a wo- IGEO ANNE AUSTIN man until her heart fluttered and her cheeks went either pale - oreflmmAmbbébhckmutnbe,whidn Borden was too wise to wear small. rdinarily white skin, for 2 man, de- spite the thickt:mwth of beard which he shaved close twice a day. Rather thick but well-shaped red lips, always slightly moist, as if he had just mn.m.ml‘:icip-fing tongue over them, “Nothing very important, Mr. Borden,” Ruth answered, with- out turning her head. Oh, if he would only go on into his office and close the door! ; ulllzult Borden paused, his hand on the knob of his door. “Any Pr Ruth’s hands shook a little as she adjusted her spectacles with fumbling haste over ears which were now covered with gleaming golden curls. “Only one,” she answered, in her meek, timid little voice, “The woman with the beautiful contralto voice. I asked her if she would leave her name, but she said no.” She rose, gathered up the mail, the orchid-tinted letter topping the stack, and faced her employer. < “That voice may sound beautiful to you, but believe me, I'd rather listen to a riveting machine— Hullo! What have you doie.tg younsegi?t:;‘ had d Harry enny one, Borden took her in, from the top of her curl-crowned head to the toes of her enchanting m%e umpa.e‘l 4 uth pursed her mouth, and looked as much as possible like the mouse-like little creature he had become ml:lo:tomed'tn and had ignored, “It—it's the clothes, Mr, Borden. I—I saved some of my salary, and— But please, Mr. Borden, there's a letter from Hendrickson in Chicago. He’s sold 10,000 shares of that Ni u-gas stock, in spite of what the chemist reported—" The potential lover vanished and the shady financier took his place. “Hendrickson’s a fool, but a good stock salesman. Wire him to—" They passed on into Borden's private office, and as her em- ployer gave her instructions regarding Hendrickson, Ruth laid th':e stack of opened letters, topped with orchid-tinted “Person- al” envelope, upon the immaculate green blotter of the flat- topped brown walnut desk, Before she reached her chair on the opposite side of the desk Borden flipped the orchid letter aside, with & muttered oath, then stuck it, unopened, in the breast pocket of his vest, “I wonder if he ever answers one of them, and why she kee) g;lo .:lvr:lfl:z htlm bogkhteo dfie;n’ltl," Ruthl reflected, then looked lxl’; g om her notel nd her employer’s eyes regarding he! quizzically, calculatingly. ik . i S “Little Miss Cinderella in person!” he chuckled. “Funny what a permanent wave and & box of rouge will do for a girl.” “Yes, Mr. Borden,” Ruth answered in her meek, timid voice —the one last scrap of disguise, except for the yellowish spec- tacles, which was left to her. What luck that he thought her Eurls h'ld come cut of a machine, her complexion out of a box! ‘There’s an urgent letter from Nathan .n Los Angeles, He's demm)dmg a larger commission on Bakersfield Oil, since the new field is failing. What shall I write him?” . = l?ordyn consenited to be lured into dictation. “Write me out a check for 500 cash,” the promoter said at !‘nt, flinging his personal check book across the desk to her, '‘And go to the bank yourself, won’t you? Then stop at the sta~ tion and get me a drawing-room and two round-trip tickets for Winter Haven—train leaving at 2:15 this afternoon. Wire the Hotel Winter Haven for a suite—best in the house. Reserve the rooms in the name of Mr. and Mrs. H. P.—let's see—what other surname begins with a B?” ; ":Bentqn ?” Ruth suggested, in a small, innocent voice. 'All right, But make a note of it on the ticket envelope for me, please. Guess who Mrs. Benton will be, Cinderella?” 1—I think I'd better not know, don't you, Mr. Borden?” Ruth answered, in her timid, ghostlike littie voice, “Here’s the check. Will you sign it please, and I'll go to the bank right away, before it's jammed.” Borden chuckled, grasping the “Ifiit}tlle grm;‘ea-and-prisml ” small hand which extended the check. “You know—I beli you've been stringing me! I don’t think you're half the ti:uY; little rabbit you've been pretending to be.” He drew hard on her hand, so that Ruth’s small body was strained against the desk. “Come on! Let’s see how you really . Ioo‘l‘(! Take off those big spectacles and let me see your eyes—" thegleaMse, Mr. Borden!” Rut.!ll( g'fiped. “I—I can't see without . My eyes are very weak. They—they bli glasses,” she lied desperately. TR N S * - . It was Benny who ended the scene, a stormy-faced, sullen Benny who jerked open the door as if he had bezn liste'ning at the keyhole. “What the devil—?” Borden began furiously. Bfinny swung the door shut and slouched against it, sullenly defiant. “There’s a guy out here wantin’ to see you. Says him - and his wife’s been jipped outa their life savings—" Borden stared at the boy as if he thought Benny had sud- denly grown crazy. Then the dark blood of anger stained his peculiarly white skin. “Get out of here, or I'll shake your teeth down your throat! And get rid of that man, whoever he is. You know I never see a person of that sort. . . . Wait! You'd better handle him yourself, Miss Lester. Here! Don’t forget the check! Five hundred, in tens and twenties. Here's a fifty to get the drawing-room and tickets. I want to have at least 500 in ready cash, and this fifty is too big a bill anyway.” The promoter had drawn a handsome brown leather wallet from his pocket, and as he extracted the fifty-dollar bill, Ruth caught a glimpse of another yellow-backed bank-note, but did noi:ee its c}llmnination. v ter, a -voiced, flinty-eyed man would be d i of Ruth Lester a minutely detailed recital of everyerenv.e:‘: r:fi that fatal Saturday morning, expecting prodigious feats of memory of her. Then, everything would be of importance, for murder would have made it so. But now nothing seemed im- ]é:l:dlnt to Rutbl; I%e’_ster fbm. thatl she was free to leave Harry en’s private office, free to close the door i i bOI;} l;luk ey&;. " upon his staring, ot even the old man who was tremulously reiterating his story of terrible and crushing financial Ioss’through oge of then. She eased him out of the office as gently as possible, her ears deaf to his muttered threats against Harry P. Borden. In less than three hours she would join Jack Hayward at the elevator, go to lunch with him to celebrate the engagement which had taken place last night. By this time Jack had captured the black pigeon, had robbed “Satan” of the little love message she had wrapped about the tiny red leg. She smiled at the absurd irony of it. The pigeon which Jack had insisted should be called “Handsome Harry,” because after all, “Satan” " and “Handsome Harry” were synonymous, had been forced into the role of lovers’ messen- iger. If “Handsome Harry” knew that! Ruth laughed softly as she left the office to fulfill Borden's commissions, (TO BE CONTINUED) = - ® Murder is only & few hours away in this thrilling mystery. Don’t miss the chapters to come.