6 What Was the Good of Regrets? dDU pCETTKICDTOiQirAK? QUITE iHIDD DEGREE KLEIN Y w ARTHUR"HORNBLOW Y ILLUSTRATIONS BY PAY WALTER^ •COPYRIGHT, 1909, Br Q.W DILLINGHAM COHPANV u SYNOPSIS. Howard Jeffries, banker's son, under the evil Influence of Robert Underwood, •a fellow-student at Yale, leads a life of ■dissipation, marries the daughter of a -.gambler who died in prison, and is dis owned by l is father. He tries to set work ■and fails. A former college chum makes a business proposition to Howard which requires $2,000 cash, and Howard is broke. Robert Underwood, who had been re pulsed by Howard's wife, Annie, in his college days, and had once been engaged to Alicia, Howard's stepmother, has apartments at the Astruria, and is ap parently In prosperous circumstances. Howard recalls a $250 loan to Underwood, that remains unpaid, and decides to ask him for the $2,000 he needs. Underwood, taking advantage of his Intimacy with Mrs. Jeffries, Sr., becomes a sort of social highwayman. Discovering his true char act «-r she denies him the house. Alicia ret ivcs a note from Underwood, threat ening suicide. She decides togo and see him. Hi is In desperate financial straits. An dealers for whom he has been acting at; commissioner, demand an accounting. He cannot make good. Howard Jeffries culls in an intoxicated condition. He asks Underwood for $2,000 and is told by the hitter that he Is in debt up to Ills eyes. Howird drinks himself into a maudlin tondlCor. and goes to sleep on a divan. A < iller Is announced and Underwood draw a screen around the drunken slei-ii. r. Alicia enters. She demands a prcinise from him that he will not take his lite, pointing to the disgrace that would attach to herself. Underwood re fuses to promise unless she will renew licr patronage. CHAPTER Vll.—Continued. "I don't believe you intend to carry out your threat. I should have known from the first that your object was to frighten me. The pistol display was highly theatrical, but it was only a bluff. You've no more Idea of taking your life than I have of taking mine. I was foolish to come here. I might have spared myself the humiliation of this clandestine interview. Good night!" She went toward the door. Under wood made no attempt to follow her. In a hard, strange voice, which he scarcely recognized as his own, he merely said: "Is that all you have to say?" "Yes," replied Alicia, as she turned at the door. "Let it be thoroughly un derstood that your presence at my house is not desired. If you force yourself upon me in any way, you must take the consequences." Underwood bowed, and was silent. She did not see the deathly pallor of his face. Opening the door of the apartment which led to the hall, she again turned. "Tell me, before I go—you didn't mean what you said in your letter, did you ?" "I'll tell you nothing," replied Un derwood doggedly. She tossed her head scornfully. "I don't believe that a man who is coward enough to write a letter like this has the courage to carry out his threat." Stuffing the letter back into her bag, she added: "I should have thrown it in the waste-paper basket, but on second thoughts, 1 think I'll keep it. Good-night." "Good-night," echoed Underwood mechanically. He watched her go down the long • hallway and disappear in the elevator. Then, shutting the door, he came slowly back into the room and sat down at his desk. For ton minutes he Hat there motionless, his head bent forward, every limb relaxed. There ■was deep silence, broken only by How ard's regular breathing and the loud ticking of the clock. "It's al' utf," he muttered to himself. "It's no use battling against the tide. The strongest swimmer must go under some time. I've played my last card and I've lost. Death is better than going to jail. What good is life any way without money? Just a moment's nerve and it will all be over." Opening the drawer in the desk, he took out the revolver again. He turned it over In his hand and regarded fear fully the polished surface of the in strument that bridged life and death. He had completely forgotten Howard's presence in the room. On the thresh old of a terrible deed, his thoughts were leagues away. Like a man who is drowning, and close to death, he saw with surprising distinctness a kaleidoscopic view of his past life. He saw himself an innocent, impulsive school boy, the pride of a devoted mother, the happy home where he spent his childhood. Then came the association with bad companions, the first step in wrongdoing, stealing out of a comrade's pocket in school, the death of his mother, leaving home— with downward progress until he grad ually drifted into his present dishon est way of living. What was the good of regrets? He could not recall his mother to life. He could never rehab ilitate himself among decent men and women. The world had suddenly be come too small for him. He must go, and quickly. Fingering the pistol nervously, he sat before the mirror and placed it against his temple. The cold steel gave him a sudden shock. He won dered if it would hurt, and if there would be instant oblivion. The glare of the electric light in the room dis concerted him. It occurred to him that it would be easier in the dark. Reaching out his arm, he turned the electric button, and the room was Im mediately plunged into darkness, ex cept for the moonlight which entered through the windows, imparting a ghostly aspect to the scene. On the other side of the room, behind the screen, a red glow from tho open fire fell on the sleeping form of Howard .Jeffries. Slowly, deliberately, Underwood raised the pistol to his temple and fired. CHAPTER VIII. "Hello! What's that?" Startled out of his Gargantuan slumber by the revolver's loud report, Howard sat up with a jump and rubbed his eyes. On the other aide of the screen, concealed from his ob servation, there was a heavy crash of a body falling with a chair—then all was quiet. Scared, not knowing where he was, Howard jumped to his feet. For a moment he stood still, trying to col lect his senses. It was too dark to discern anything plainly, but he could dimly make out outlines of aesthetic furniture and bibelots. Ah, he re membered now! He was in Under wood's apartment. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to recall how he came there, and slowly his be fuddled brain began to work. He re membered that he needed $2,000, and that he had called on Robert Under wood to try and borrow the money. Yes, he recalled that perfectly well. Then he and Underwood got drinking and talking, and he had fallen asleep. CAMERON COUNTY PRESS. THURSDAY, MARCH 30. 1911. HP thought he hail heard a woman'* rolci>—a voire he knew. PerhapH that , "UK only a dream. Ho must have' been asleep nonie tlmn, because the lights were out and, seemingly, every | body had gono to bed. He wondered | what the nolao which started him | fould have been. Suddenly he heard j n groan. Ho listened Intently, but all was still. The silence was uncanny. Now thoroughly frightened, How ard cautiously groped his way about, trying to find the electric button. He had no Idea what time It was. It must be very late. What an ass he wan to drink so much! He wondered what Annie would say when he didn't return. He was a hound to let her sit up and worry like that. Well, this would be a lesson to him —It was the j last time he'd ever touch a drop. Of! course, he had promised her the same 1 thing a hundred times before, but this j time lie meant It. His drinking was always getting him into some fool scrape or other. He was gradually working his way j along the room, when suddenly he stumbled over something on the floor. t It was a man lying prostrate. Stoop- : lng, he recognized the figure. "Why—it's Underwood!" he ex claimed. At first he believed his classmate was asleep, yet considered It strange that he should have selected so un- j comfortable a place. Then It occurred to him that he might be ill. Shaking him by the shoulder, he cried: "Hey, Underwood, what's the mat ter?" No response came from the pros trate figure. Howard stooped lower, to see better, and accidentally touch ing Underwood's face, found it clam my and wet. He held his hand up in the moonlight and saw that it was covered with blood. Horror-stricken, he cried: "My God! He's bleeding—lie's hurt!" What had happened? An accident —or worse? Quickly he felt the man's pulse. It had ceased to beat. Under wood was dead. For a moment Howard was too much overcome by his discovery to know what to think or do. What dreadful tragedy could have hap pened? Carefully groping along the mantelpiece, he at last found the elec tric button and turned on the light. There, stretched out on the floor, lay Underwood, with a bullet hole in his left temple, from which blood had flowed freely down on his full-dress shirt. It was a ghastly sight. The man's white, set face, covered with a crimson stream, made a repulsive spectacle. On the floor near the body was a highly polished revolver, still smoking. Howard's first supposition was that burglars had entered the place and that Underwood had been killed while defending his property. He remem bered now that In his drunken sleep lie had heard voices In angry altered tion. Yet why hadn't he called for assistance? Perhaps he had and he hadn't heard him. He looked at the clock, and was surprised to find it was not yet mid night. He believed it was at least five o'clock in the morning. It was evident that Underwood had never gone to bed. The shooting had oc curred either while the angry dispute was going on or after the unknown visitor had departed. The barrel of the revolver was still warm, showing that it could only have been dis charged a few moments before. Sud denly it flashed upon him that Under wood might have committed suicide. But it was useless to stand there theorizing. Something must be done. He must alarm the hotel people or call the police. He felt himself turn hot and cold by turn as he realized the serious predicament in which he himself was placed. If he aroused the hotel people they would find him here alone with a dead man. Suspi cion would at once be directed at him, and it might be very difficult for him to establish his innocence. Who would believe that he could have fallen asleep in a bed while a man killed himself in the same room? It sounded preposterous. The wisest course for him would be to get away before any body came. Quickly he picked up his hat and made for the door. Just as he was about to lay hand on the handle there was the click of a latchkey. Thus headed off, and not knowing what to do, he halted in painful suspense. The door opened and a man entered. He looked as surprised to see How ard as the latter was to see him. He was clean-shaven and neatly dressed, yet did not look the gentleman. His appearance was rather that of a serv ant. All these details flashed before Howard's mind before he blurted out: "Who the devil are you?" The man looked astonished at the question and eyed his interlocutor closely, as if in doubt as to his identi ty. In a cockney accent he said loftily: "I am Ferris, Mr. Underwood's man, sir." Suspiciously, he added: "Are you a friend of Mr. Underwood's, sir?" He might well ask the question, for Howard's disheveled appearance and ghastly face, still distorted by terror, was anything but reassuring. Taken by surprise, Howard did not know what to say, and like most people questioned at a disadvantage, he an swered foolishly: "Matter? No. What makes ycu think anything is the matter?" Brushing past the man, he added: "It's late. I'm going." "Stop a minute!" cried the man servant. There was something in Howard's manner that he did not like. Passing quickly into the sitting room, he called out: "Stop a minute!" But Howard did not stop. Terror gave him wings and, without waiting for the elevator, he was already half way down HIP first •talrcaan wtmn he heard HIIOUIH behind him. "Murder! Stop thief! Stop that uian! Stop that man!" There was 11 rush of feet und hum of voices, which made Howard run all the faster. Ho leaped down four steps at a timu In his anxiety to get away. Hut it was no easy matter de scending so many flights of stairs. It took him several minutes to reach the mnin floor. Hy this time the whole hotel was aroused. Telephone calls had quick ly warned the attendants, who had promptly vnt for the police. Hy the time Howard reached the main en trance he was intercepted by a mob too numerous to resist. Things certainly looked black for him. As ho sat, white jjnd trembling, under guard in a corner of the en trance hall, waiting for the arrival of the police, the valet breathlessly gave the sensational particulars to the rap idly growing crowd of curious on lookers. He had taken his usual Sun day out and on returning home at midnight, as was his custom, he had let himself in with his latchkey. To hiß astonishment he had found this man, the prisoner, about to leave the premises. His manner and remarks were so peculiar that they at once aroused his suspicion. He hurried into the apartment and found his master lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood. In his hurry the assassin had dropped his revolver, which was lying near the corpse. As far as he could see, nothing had been taken from the apartment. Evidently the man was disturbed at his work and, when sud denly surprised, had made the bluff that he was calling on Mr. Under wood. They had got the right man, that was certain. He was caught red handed, and in proof of what he said, the valet pointed to Howard's right hand, which was still covered with blood. "How terrible!" exclaimed a woman bystander, averting her face. "So young, too!" "It's all a mistake, I tell you. It's all a mistake," cried Howard, almost panic-stricken. "I'm a friend of Mr. Underwood's." "Nice friend!" sneered an onlooker. "Tell that to the police," laughed another. "Or to the marines!" cried a third. "It's the chair for his'n!" opined a fourth. Hy this time the main entrance hall was crowded with people, tenants and passersby attracted by the un wonted commotion. A scandal in high life is always caviare to the sensa tion seeker. Everybody excitedly in quired of his neighbor: "What is it? What's the matter?" Presently the rattle of wheels was heard and a heavy vehicle driven furi ously, drew up at the sidewalk with a jerk. It was the police patrol wagon, and in it were the captain of the precinct and a half dozen police men and detectives. The crowd pushed forward to get a better view of the burly representatives of the law as, full of authority, they elbowed their way unceremoniously through the throng. Pointing to the leader, a big man in plain clothes, with a square, determined jaw and a bulldog face, they whispered one to another: "That's Capt. Clinton, chief of the precinct. He's a terror. It'll go hard with any prisoner he gets in his clutches!" Followed by his uniformed myr midons, the police official pushed his way to the corner where sat Howard, dazed and trembling, and still guard ed by the .alet and elevator boys. "What's the matter here?" demand ed the captain gruffly, and looking from Ferris to the white-faced How ard. The valet eagerly told his story: "I came home at midnight, sir, and found my master, Mr. Robert Under wood, lying dead in the apartment, shot through the head." Pointing to Howard, he added: "This man was in the apartment trying to get away. You see his hand is still covered with blood." Capt. Clinton chuckled, and expand ing his mighty chest to its fullest, licked his chops with satisfaction. This was the opportunity he had been looking for —a sensational murder in a big apartment hotel, right in the very heart of his precinct! Nothing could be more to his liking. It was a rich man's murder, the best kind to attract attention to himself. The ' sensational newspapers would be full of the case. They would print col umns of stuff every day, together with his portrait. That was just the kind of publicity he needed now that he was wire-pulling for an inspectorship. They had caught the man "with the goods"—that was very clear. He promised himself to attend to the rest. Copviction was what he was after, He'd see that no tricky lawyer ! got the best of him. Concealing, as well as he could, his satisfaction, he drew himself up and, with blustering show of authority, immediately took command of the situation. Turning to a police sergeant at his side, he ; said: "Moloney, this fellow may have had an accomplice. Take l'our officers and watch every exit from the hotel. Ar -1 rest anybody attempting to leave the 1 building. Put two officers to watch the fire escapes. Send one man on 1 the roof. Go!" •*Ves, sir," replied the sergeant, as he turned away to execute the order. ' C*pt. Clinton gave two strides for ward, ancl catching Howard by the col lar, jerked him to his feet. "Now, young feller, you come with me! We'll go upstairs and have a ' look at the dead man." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Thrust Upon Them. > Some men are born rich, some ■ achieve riches and some enter the po - litical arena.—Harvard Lampoon. To Incline Toward Mercy. Jim had been far from a good hoy during the day and toward nightfall he reallccd the fact fully. 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