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
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To Incline Toward Mercy.
Jim had been far from a good hoy
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he reallccd the fact fully. Helng well
acquainted with the working# of fam
ily discipline, he assayed a little di
plomacy.
"Khali you tell father about mo?"
be inquired of his mother.
"Certainly I shall tell him," respond
ed his mother, with sorrowful firm
ncM.
"Shall you tell him before dinner or
after dinner?" asked the culprit.
"After dinner," was the announce
ment.
"Mother," and Jim save a wiggle
of anticipation, "couldn't you have a
blueberry pudding for his dessert?
Couldn't you do that much for me,
mother?" —Youth's Companion.
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