The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 24, 1904, Page 2

HE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CAL! CTHIS is the third install- ment of Miriam Michel- son’s noted movel, “In the Bishop’sCarriage,” which began in The Sunday Call on 1 July 10, and will be com- pleted upon July 31. On August 7 will begin a novel by that sterling romancist. Max Pemberton, entitled “Doctor Xavier.” It is a mystery story of gradually accumulating interest, and one that will hold the atten- tion from the very start. As with “The Bishop's Car- riage,” “Doctor Xavier” will he published in four install- ments, thus giving to readers of The Call one of the very best of the popular books of the day, ordinarily selling for $1 50, for twenty cents. s, Merrill & Co.) get out of t I Obermuller, as he cam a few . about yourseif. a bad lot you saw the purse.” “Yes, I saw it. But it hasn’t proved anything to be but this: you're cent, Nance, or you're crazy the first, I t to stand tle girl. If it's the second—go: T've got to stand by you harder over" Can you see me sitting there, in the bright, bare little room ric lights, still in my 1d big white hat, my pre fallen on the floor beside n white ctive Morris feeding on my mi But I could feel, too, a wine poured into me g fellow’s voice. up to him and he »cent and can prove it, I'll get even with t to do something for Well, if you wont to help me, don't the g like criminal 1 I know.” rushed to m ce. Nance ward! Me, show- —me, whimper- i puppy—me— f the blood You I smiled up at him, “] never did enjoy getting caught.” Hush! But that's better. . . Tell me now— buzzer sounded. The blue-eyed detective g up and came over to E Chief's ready,”™ he said. “This stopped Obermuller at the ac But he pushed past them. nt to say just a word to you, he said You remember me. X rmuller of the Vaudeville. If y nd those fellows out and let n 2k to you just one moment, I'll Je vou alone with Miss Olden.” he ef nodded to the blue-eyed we a4 shut the deor behind ther I w to call your at- tentic 0 8 rdity and unrea- sonabie of ~this thing,” Ober- mu d. leaning up against the & tesk L he threw out his let nd with that big open gesture of his d to ask you to bear in mind, no matter what appearances may be, that Miss Olden is the most talented 8 1 the stage to-day; that in a very short time she will be at the top; t now ghe is not suffering for y; that she’s not a high- determined, hard-working I and that if she did feel taking a plunge, she knows that lik £he uld get ail she wants from me I’ven if you can’t pay salaries when they're due, Obermuller.” The Chief &ripned under his white mustache. s A NI RT3 A S I YRR A S TR T “Even though the Trust is pushing me to the wall; going to such lengths that they're liable criminally as wall as civilly, if I _could only get my hands on proof of their rascality. It's true 1 can't pay salaries always when they’re due, but I can still raise a few hundred to help a friend. And Miss Olden is a friend of mine. If you can prove that she took this money, you prove on that she’s gone mad, but you don” 5 “All right, Obermuller. the lawyer for the defense. That'll come later—if it does come. I'll be glad to bear in mind all you've sald, and much that you haven't.” “I'm going to ask you a lot of ques- tions, Miss Olden,” the old Chief said, when we were alone. “Sit here, please. Morris tells me you've got more nerve than any woman that’s ever come be- fore me, g0 I needn’t bother to reassure you. You don’t look like a girl that's easily frightened. I have heard how you danced in the lobby of the Man- hattan, how you guyed him at your flat, and were getting lunch and hav- ing a regular picnic of a time when—" When he found tkat purse.” You're not actly. Now, why did you do all that?" “Why? Because I felt like it. I felt gay and excited and—" “Not dreaming that the purse was sure to be found?” “Not dreaming that there was such a purse in existence except from the de- tective's say-so, and never fancying for an instant that it would be found in my flat.” “Hm!” He looked at me from under his heavy wrinkled old lids. You don’t get nice eyes from looking on the nasty things in this world, Mag. “Why,” I cried, “what kind of a girl could cut up like that when she was on the every edge of discovery?” “A very smart girl—an actress; a good one; a clever thief who's used to bluffing. Of course,” he added softly, “you won't misunderstand me. I'm simply suggesting the different kinds of girl that could have done what you did. But, if you don’'t mind, I'll do the questioning. Nance Olden,” he turned suddenly on me, his manner changed and threatening, “what has become of that three hundred dollars?’ “‘Mr. Chief, you know just as much about that as I do.” I threw up my head and looked him full in the face. It was over now—all the shivering and trembling and fear- ing. Nance Olden’s not a coward when she’'s fighting for her freedom; and fighting alone without any sympathiz- ing friend to weaken her. He returned the look with interest. “I may know more,” he said insin- uatingly. a2 o) “Possibly.” ders. No, it wasn’'t put on. There never vet was a man who bullied me that didn’t rouse the fighter in me. I swore to myself that this old thief-catcher ghouldn’t rattle me. “Doesn’t it occur to you that under the circumstances a full confession would be the very best thing for you? I shouldn’t wonder if these people would be inclined to be lenient with you if you'd return the money. Doesn't it occur—" “It might occur td me if I had any- thing to confess—about this purse.” “How long since you've seen Mrs. Edward Ramsay?” He rushed the question at me. 1 jumped. “How do you know I've ever seen her.” “I do know you have.” “I don’t believe you.” “Thank you; neither do I believe you, which is more to the point. Come, answer the question: how long is it since you have seen the lady.” Ilooked at him. And then I looked at my glove, and slawly pulled the fingers inside out, and then—then I giggled. Suddenly it came to me—that silly lit- tle insane dodge of mine in the Bishop's carriage that day; the girl who lost her 1 shrugged my shoul- “« [r MrGE T OCCUR | 20722 o7 7 200 XY THING 70 CONFESS —ABO/T, T ALS PURSE” name; and the use all that affair might be to me if ever— + “I'll tell you if you'll let me think a minute,” I said sweetly. “It—it inust be all of fifteen months.” “Ah! You see I did know that you've met the lady. If you're wise you'll draw deductions as to other things I know that you don't think I do. * * * And where did you see her?” .“In Ner own home.” “Called there,” he sneered, ““alone?” “No,” I sald very gently. I went there, to the best of my recollection, with the Bishop—yes, it was the Bich- op, Bishop Van Wagenen.” “Indeed!’. I could see that he didn't believe a word 1 was saying, which made me - happlly eager to tell him more. “Yes, we drove up to the square one afternoon in the Bishop's carriage—the fat, plum-colored one, you know. We had tea there—at least, I did. I was to have spent the night, but—" “That's enough of that.” I chuckled. Yes, Mag Monahan, I was enjoying myself. 1 was having a run for my money, even if it was the last run I was to have. “So it's fifteen months since you've seen Mrs. Ramsay, eh?” “Yes.” He turned on me with a roar. “And yet it's only a week since you saw her at Mre. Gates"."” “Oh, no.” “No? Take care “That night at Mrs. Gates’ it was dark, you know, in the front room. I didn't see Mrs. Ramsay that night. I didn’t know she was there at all till: ™ “Tfll later T was told.” “Who told yo! “Her husband. He threw down his pencil. “Lock here, this is no lark, young woman, and you needn’t trouble your- self to weave any more fairy tales. Mr. Ramsay is in a—he’s very ill. His own wife hasn't seen him since t lel g:gm, so you'see you're lying useiessly. R’;llly! Syo Edward dan{ L baclv( to Mrs. Cates’ that night. l'ut.l Tut After his telephone mesadgnfl too! “Now, assuming your inno the theft, Miss Olden,” what theory; how do you account for the presence of that purse in your flat? Now, you've hit the part of it that really puzzles me. . How do Yflu’wac- count for it; what ig your theory” He got to his feet, pushing his chalr back sharply. i “My theory, if you want to know it. Is that you stole the purse; that your ce of is your friend Obermuller believes you aid; that you got away with the three hun- dred, or hid it away, and—" “And what a stupid thief I must be, then, to leave the empty purse under my lounge!" “How do you know he demanded sharply. “You said so. * * * Well, you gave me to understand that it was, then. What difference does it make? It would be a still stupider thief who'd leave a full purse instead of an empty one under his own lounge.” “Yes; and you're not stupid, Olden.” “Thank you. I'm sorry as much for you.” I couldn’t help it. He stupid. The idea of telli Fred Obermuller believed me guilty! The idea of thinking me such a fool as to believe that! Such men as that make crimina They're so fat-witted you positively ache y 50 tempt you it was empty? Miss I can't say such a me that vas to pull the wool over their eyes. Oh, men 1cy Oldens. w a blast at his speak- ing-tube that made his purple cheeks seem about to burst My shoulders shook as I watched him, he w so wrathy. And I was still laughing when 1 fol- lowed the detective out into the walt- ing-room, where Obermuller was pac- ing the floor. At the sight of my smil- ing face he came rushing to me. “Nance!” he cried. “‘Orders are, Morris,” came in a bel- low from the Chief at his door, “that no further communication be allowed between the prisoner and— Phew! All the pertness lea®ed out of me, Oh, Mag, I don't like that word. It stings—it binds—it cuts. 1 don’t know what I looked like then; 1 wasn’t thinking of me. I was watch- ing Obermuller’s face. It seemed to grow old and thin and haggard before my eyes, as drained out of it. He turned with exclamation to the Chief and— And just then there came a long at the telephone. Why did 1 stand when you're on your way 1 was bound for, when you know th before yow'll set foot in this bright little room again, the he half a dozen cities’ will have sc clean every hiding place yo when your every act will be —and—oh, then. you W t for anything—a world; even a telephone only be bringing in like you bound, there? Oh M himself went he growled to get b Long Distance ? St. Francis—that's the jag wa that isn’t it? Who Who? Ramsay I caught O d. “Idon’t h Chief poared es, we've got the thief, but the money—no, we haven't got th money. The deuce you say! Took yourself? Out of your wife's purse— yes.* * * Yes. But we've got the —What? Don't remember W you—" “Steady, Nance,” whispered Ober- muller, grabbing my other hand. I tried to stand steady, but every- thing swayed and I couldn’t hear the rest of what the Chief was saying. though all my life seemed condensed into a listening. But I did hear when he jammed the receiver on the hook and faced us. “Well, they've got the money. Ram- say took the purse himself, thinking it wasn’t safe there under the spread where any servant might be tempted who chanced to uncover it. Youl ad- mit the thing looked shady. The reason Mrs. Ramsay didn’t know of it is be- cause the old man's just come to his senses in a hospital and been notified that the purse was missing.” “I want to apologize to you, Chief,” I mumbled. “For thinking me stupid? Oh, we were both—" - “No, for thinking me not stupid. I am stupid—stupid—stupid. The old fel- low I told you about, Mr. O., and the way I telephoned him out of the flat that night—it was—" “Ramsay!” I nodded, and then crumbled to the floor. It was then that they sent for you, Mag. Why didn’t I tell it straight at the first, you dear old Mag? Because I didn’t know the straight of it then my- self. I was so heavy-witted I never once thought of Edward. He must have taken the bills out of the purse and then crammed them in his pocket while lounge he was waiting there the and I was pretending and— But it's best as it is—oh, Think, Mag. Two people who k —who knew her, mind—believed in Nancy Olden in spite of appear Obermuller, while we were in the of it, and you, you dear girl, while I was telling you of on to When Obermuiler for me 1 thought he wanted see me about that play he’s writin which I'm to star—when the pigs begin to Funniest thing he that man, Mag. He knows get boekings for any piay on ea that if he did they'd be canceled and any old excuse thrown at him as soon as Tausig heard of it and could pu mn the screws. He knows that there isn't an unwatched hole in theatrical Amer- ica through' which he can crawl and sent to world abe ut an't he pull me and the play in after him. And yet he just can’t go work: it. He loves it, Mag loves it as Molly loved that c her' nursing it and left her feeling that d of hers that kept the years of its life, e world had been robbed of everything there was for a woman to do when it die Obermuller told me all the plot. In fact, he's worked it out on me. I know it it wanted it to be, and,as ving to be. He tells t about me; that it wil a comedy d a pla we'll make such a hit— together—that * * And then he remembers that there's no chance; not the ghost of and he falls to swearing at the Trust. “Don’t you th Mr. O.,” I said, as he began again when I came into his office, “that might be as well to quit cursing the Syndicate got one you've something new to say or something different to rail about? It seems to me a man’s likely to get daffy if he keeps harping on— “Oh, I've got it all right, Nance, be sure of that! I've got something ferent to say of them and something new to swear about. They've done me up; that's all. Just as they've fixed Iringer and Gaffney and Howison.” “Tell me.” He threw out his arms and then let them fall to his side “Oh, it's easy,” he cried, “so easy that 1 er thought of They've just bought the Vaudevile out of hand and served notice on me that when my lease expires next month they'll not be able to renew it, ‘unfortunate- ly’! That's all No:; not quite. In order to kill all hope of a new plan in me they've just let it get to be un- derstood that any man or woman that works for Obermuller needn’'t come round to them at any future time. “Phew! A blacklist.” “Not anything so tangible. It's just a hint, you know, but it works all right. It works like—-—" “What are you going te do; what can you do?” “Shoot Tausig or myself, or both of us.” “Nonsense!” “Yes, of course it's nonsense, or rather it's only what I'd lik > do. * * * Butthat's not the ques- tion. Never mind about s what are you going to do? He looked straight at me, v ting. But I didn’t answer. I was thinking. “You don't realize, Nar t those fellows are ca N Gaffne told me, before he p and went West, that here ws uine signéd conspiracy among then to crush out us independents, I laughed at him. ‘It's a dream ‘Forget it ‘It's no dream, as find out when your turn come he shouted. ‘It's a f. more, Iringer to his face he _knew ther ment in existe great Tausig himself, of the Pacific circuit cago, and Weinstock of M binding themselves to force us f to the wall, and specifying the per cent of profit each one of 'em should get on any increase of business; to blacklist once with