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THE GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS, CAIRO, GEORGIA.
*>
of Her Hand
e Barr M c Cutcheon
COPYMCftr, 19/2 BY GYOnctOArm WCUTCttfOrt ■ COPYMCT//r,/9/2 BY PODD,YfS/tD OOAf/WfY
Challls Wrandall IB found murdered In
j. road house near Nbw York. Mrs, Wran-
dull Is summoned from'the city and Iden
tities the body; A you tin woman who ac
companied wrandall to the Inn and sub-
Is suspected.
sequently dlsap]
— dull. It
and _
starts back tor Now York In an auto dur
lug u blinding snow storm. On the way
, she meets a young woman In the road
who proves to be the woman who killed
Wrandall;
CHAPTER II.—Continued.
“There was. nothing left fbr me to
do but that.’,’
“And why.did you rob film?"
“Ah, I had ample time to think of all
that. You may tell the officers they
will find everything hidden In that
farmhouse cellar. God knows I do not
•want them. I am not a thief. I’m not
so bad as that.” ‘ .
Mrs. Wrandall marveled. "Not so
bad as that!" And she was a murder-
ess, as wanton!
' "You are hungry. You must be fam
ished.”
“No, I am not hungry. I have not
thought of food.” She said it In such
a way that the other knew what her
whole mind had been given over to
since the night before.
A fresh Impulse seized her. "You
shall have food and 0. place where you
can sleep—and rest,”; she said.' “Now
please don’t say anything more. I do
not want to know too much. The least
you say tonight, the better for—for
both of us."
’ With that she devoted all of her at
tentlon to the car, increasing the
speed considerably. Far ahead she
could see twinkling, wlll-o’-the-wisp
lights, the first signs of thickly popu
lated districts. They were still eight
or ten miles from the outskirts of the
city and the way was arduous. She
was conscious of a sudden feeling of
fatigue. The chili of the night seemed
to have made itself felt with abrupt,
almost stupefying force. She won
dered if she could keep her strength,
her courage—her nerves.
The girl was EngliBh. Mrs. Wran
dall'was convinced of the fact, almost
immediately. Unmistakably English
. and. apparently of the cultivated type.
In fact, the peculiarities of speech
that determines the London show-girl
or music-hall character were wholly
lacking. Her volcp, her manner, even
under such trying conditions, were
characteristic "of the English woman
of cultivation. Despite the dreadful
’ strain under which she labored, there
were evidences of that curious se
renity which marks .thfe English wom
an of the better classes; an inborn
composure, a calm orderliness of the
emotions; Mrs. Wrandall was con
scious of a sense of surprise, of
wonder that increased as her thoughts
resolved themselveB into something
less chaotic than they were at the time
of contact with this visible condition,
For a mile or more she sent the car
along with reckless disregard for com
fort or safety. Her mind was groping
for something tangible in the way of
intentions. What was she to do with
this creature? What was to become
of her? At what street corner should
she turn her adrift? The idea of
handing her over to 'the police did
not enter her thoughts for an Instant,
Somehow she felt that the girl was,
a stranger to the city. She could not
explain the feeling, yet it was with
her and very persistent. Of course
there was a home of some sort, or
lodgPngs, or friends, but would he girl
dare show herself in familiar, haunts?
She found herself wondering why
tlie poor wretch had not made way
with herself. Escape seemed but of
the question. That must have been
clear to her from the beginning, else
why was she going back there to-give
herself up? What better way out of
it than, self-destruction. She ■ would
advise the girl to leave the car when
they reached the center of a certain
bridge that spanned the river! No one
would find her. . . ;
Even as the thought took shape in
her mind, she experienced a great
sense of awe,, so. overwhelming that
she cried out with the horror of it.
She turned her head for a quick glance
at the. mute, wretched face showing
white above the robe, and her heart
ached with sudden pity for her. The
thought of that slender, alive thing
going down to the icy waters—her
soul turned sick with the dread of it!
In that instant, Sara Wrandall—no
philanthropist, no sentimentalist—
made up her mind to give this-erring
one more than an even chance for sal
vation. She would see her . safely
across that bridge and many others,
God had greeted,the footsteps of this
girl so that she shouljl fall in with
the one best qualified*to pass judg-
am 1ms T4- Tima In ill ot corccn * O
brain, how much she had really Buf
fered.
Her blurred eyes turned once more
for a look at the girl, who Bat there,
just as she had been sitting for mlleB,
her white face standing out with al
most unnatural clearness, and as rigid
as that of a sphinx.
The girl spoke. “Do they hang wom
en In this country?”
Mrs. Wrandall started. “In some of
the stateB,” ,sho replied, and was un
able to account for the swift Impulse
to evade.
‘But In this state?” persisted the
other, almost without a movement of
the lips.
"They Bend them to the "electric
chair—sometimes,” said kfrs. Wran
dall.
There was a long silence between
them, broken finally by the girl.
"You have been very kind to me,
madam. I have no means of express
ing my gratitude. I can only sky that
shall bleBB you io ,my dying hour.
May I trouble you to set me down at
the bridge? I remember crossing one.
shall be able to—"
“No!" cried Mrs. Wrandall Bhrllly,
divining the other’s intention at once.
’You shall not do that. I, too, thought
of that as a way out of It for you
but—no, It must not be that. Give me
a few minutes to think. I will find a
way."
The girl turned toward her. Her
eyeB were burning.
Do you mean that you will help
me to get away?" she cried, slowly,
Incredulously.
“Let me think!” ,
“You will lay yourself liable—”
"Let me think, I say.”
“But I mean to surrender myself
to—”
An hour ago you meant to do It,
but what were you thinking of ten
minutes ago? Not surrender. You
were thinking of the bridge. Listen to
me now: I am Bure that I can save
you. I do not know all the—all the
circumstances connected with your as
sociation with—with that man back
there at the Inn. Twenty-four hours
passed before they were able to Iden
tify him. It Is not unlikely that to
morrow may put them in possession of
the name of the woman who went,
with him to that place. They do not
know it tonight, of that I am positive.
You covered your trail too well. But
you must have been Seen with him
during the day or' the night—”
The other broke in eagerly: “I
don’t believe any one knows that I—
that I went out there with him. He
arranged it very—carefully. Oh, what
a beast he was!” The bitterness of
that wail caused the woman beside her
to cry out as If hurt by a sharp, al
most unbearable pain. For an instant
she seemed about to lose control of
herself. The car swerved and came
dangerously near leaving the road.
A full minute passed before she
could truBt herself to speak. Then
it was with a deep hoarseness in. her
voice.
‘You can tell me about It later on,
not now. I don’t want to hear it. Tell
me, where do you live?"
The girl’s manner changed so abso
lutely that there could be but one In
ference; she was acutely suspicious.
ment on her. It was in that person'
power to save her or destroy her. The
commandment, “Thou shalt not kill,”
took on a- broader meaning as she con
sidered the power that was herB; the
power to kill.
A great relaxation came over Sara
Wrandall. It was as if every nerve,
every muscle in her body had reached
the snapping point aad suddenly had
given way. .For a moment.her hands
were 'weak and powerless; her head
fell forward. In an- instant she
conquered — but only partially—the
strange feeling of lassitude. Then she
realized how tired she was, how fierce
ly the strain had told on her body and
She Sank to the Floor in a Heap,
figure
Her lips tightened and her
seemed to stiffen in the seat.
"Where do you live?” repeated the
other sharply.
“Why should I tell you that? I do
not know you. You—’’
"You are afraid of me?”
“Oh, I don’t know' what to say, or
what to do,” came from the Ups of the
hunted one. "I have no friends, no
one to turn to, no one to help me.
You—you can’t bo' so heartless as to
lead me on and then give me up to—
God help ine, I—I should not be made
to suffer for what I have done. If you
only knew the circumstances. If :
only knew—”
“Stop!” cried the other, in agony.
Thq girl was bewildered. “You are
so strange. ■ I don’t understand—”
“We have but two or three miles to
go,” interrupted Mrs. Wrandall. “We
must, think hard and—rapidly. Are
you willing to come with me to my
hotel? You wlllbe safe there for the
present. Tomorrow we can plan some
thing for the future.”
"If I can only find a place to rest
for a little while,” began the other.
"I shall be busy all day, you will not
be disturbed. But leave the rest to
me. I shall find a way.”
It waB nearly three o’clock when
she brought the car to a stop In front
of a small, exclusive hotel not far
from Central park. The Btreet was
dark and the vestibule was but dimly
lighted. No attendant was In sight.
“Slip Into this," commanded MrB.
Wrandall, beginning to divest herself
of her own fur coat. "It will cover
your muddy garments. I am quite
warmly dressed. Don’t worry. Be
quick. For the time being you are my
guest here. You will not be ques
tioned. No one need know who you
are. It will not matter If you look dis
tressed. You have just heard of the
dreadful thing that has happened to
me. You—"
“Happened to you?” cried the girl,
drawing the coat about her.
“A member of my family has died.
They know it in the hotel by this
time. I was called to the death bed—
tonight. That Is all you will have to
know."
"Oh, I am sorfy—”
“Come, let us go In. When we
reach my rooms, you may order food
and drink.. You must do it, not I.
Please try to remember that It is I
who am Buffering, not you.”
A sleepy night watchman took them
up in the elevator. He waB not even
interested. MrB. Wrandall did not
speak, but leaned rather heavily on
the arm of her companion. The door
had no sooner closed behind them
when the girl collapsed. She sank to
the floor In a heap.
“Get up!" commanded her hostess
sharply. This was not the time for
soft, persuasive words. “Get up at
once. You are young and' strong. You
must show the stuff you are made of
now If you ever mean to show it. ■ I
cannot help you If you quail.”
The girl looked up piteously, and
then struggled to her feet. She stood
before her protectress, weaving like
a frail reed In the wind, pallid to the
lips.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured.
“I will not give way like that again
I dare say I am faint. I have had no
food, no rest—but never mind that
now. Tell me what I am to do. I will
try to obey.”
“First of all, get out of those muddy,
frozen things' you have on."
Mrs. Wrandall herself moved stiffly
and with unsteady limbs as she began
to remove her own outer garments
The girl mechanically followed her ex
ample. She was a pitiable object in
the strong light of the electrolier.
Muddy from head to foot, water-
stained and bedraggled, her face
streaked with dirt, she was the most
unattractive creature one could well
imagine.
These women, so Btrangely thrown
together by Fate, maintained an un
broken silence during the long, fumb
ling .process of partial disrobing. They
scarcely looked at one another, and
yet they were acutely conscious of the
Interest each felt in the other. The
grateful warmth of the room, the ab
rupt transition from gloom and cheer
lessness to comfortable obscurity, had
a more pronounced effect on the
stranger than on her hostess.
“It is good to feel warm once more,”
she said, an odd timidness in her scan
ner. “You are very good to me.”
They were sitting in Mrs. Wran-
dall’s bedchamber, just off the little
sitting-room. Three or . four trunks
stood against the walls.
“I dismissed my maid on landing
She robbed me,” said Mrs. Wrandall,
voicing the relief that was uppermost
in her mind. She opened a closet
door and took out a thick elder-down
robe, which she tossed across a chair.
“Now call up the office and say that
you are speaking for me. Say to them
that I must have something to eat,
no matter what the hour may be.
will get out some clean underwear for
you, and— Oil, yes; if they ask about
me, say that I am cold and ill. That
is sufficient. Here Is the bath. Please
be as quick about it as'possible.”.
Moving as if In a dream, the girl
did as she was told. Twenty minutes
later there was a knock at the door.
A waiter appeared with a tray and
service table. He found Mrs. Wran
dall lying back in a chair, attended
by a slender young woman in a pink
eider-dqwn dressing-gown, who gave
hesitating directions to him. Then he
was dismissed with a handsome tip,
produced by the same young woman
"You - are not to return for .these
things,” she said as he went out.
In silence she ate and drank, her
hostess looking on with gloomy inter
est. It was no shock to Mrs. Wran
dall to find that the girl, who was- no
more than twenty-two or three, pos
sessed unusual beauty. Her great eyes
were blue—the lovely Irish blue—her
skin was fair and smooth, her fea
tures regular and of the delicate mold
that defihes the well-bred gentlewom
an at a glance. Her hair, now in or
der, was dark and thick and lay softly
about her small ears and neck. She
was not surprised, I repeat, for she
had never known Challls Wrandall to
show intere'st in any but the most
attractive of her sex. She found her
self smiling bitterly as she looked.
But who may know the thoughts of
the other occupant of ’that little sit-
•\
tlng-roOm? Who can put herself In
the place of that despairing, hunted
creature who knew that blood was on
the hands with which she ate, and
wifoso eyes were filled with visions of
the death-chair?
So great was her fatigue that long
before she finished the lfaeal her tired
lids began to droop, her head to nod
In spasmodic surrenders to an over
powering desire for sleep. Suddenly
she dropped the fork from her fingers
and sank hack in the comfortable
chair, her head resting againBt the
soft, upholstered back. Her lids fell,
her hands dropped to the arms of the
chair. X fine line appeared between
her dark eyebrows—Indicative of pain.
For many minutes Sara Wrandall
watched the haggardness deepen In
the fach of the unconscious Bleoper.
Then, even as she, wondered at the
act, she went over and took up one of
the slim hands In her own. The hand
of an aristocrat! It,lay limp In hers,
and helpless. . Long,, tapering fingers
and delicately pink with the return of
warmth. 1
Rousing hersfelf from the mute con
templation of her charge, she shook
the girl’s shoulder. Instantly she was
No one will think of coming here.”
The girl rose. As she stopd before
her benefactress; she, heard ’her mur
mur a& if from afar-off: “Just about
your size and figure,” and wondered
not a little.
“You may sleep late. I have many
things to do and you will not be dis
turbed. Come, take off. your clothes
and get Into my bed. Tomorrow we
will plan further—’’.
"But, madam’,’’ cried the girl, "I
cannot take your bed. Where are you
to—"
If I feel like lying down, I shall
lie'there beside you.”
The girl stared. “Lie beside me?”
“Yes. Oh, I am nqt afraid of you,
child. You are not a monster. You
are juBt a poor, tired—”
“Oh, please don’t!- Please!” cried
the other, te’ars rushing to her eyes.
She raised Mrs. Wrandall’s hand to
her lips and covered it with kisses.
Long after she went to sleep, Sara
Wrandall stood'beside the bed, look
ing down at the pain-stricken face,
and tried to solve the problem that
suddenly had become a part of her
very existence;
"It Is not friendship," she argued,
fiercely. “It 1b not charity, it Is not
humanity. It's the debt 1 owe, that’s
all. She did the thing for me that I
could not have done myself because
I loved him. I owe her something for
that.” • • ,
Later on she turned her attention
to the trunks. Her decision was made,
With ruthless hands slle dragged gOwn
after gown from the '‘Innovations” and
cast them over chairs, on the floor,
across the foot of the bed; smart
things from Paris and Vienna; ball
gowns, tea gowns, lingerie, blouses,
hats, gloves and all of the countless
things that a woman of fashion and
goes abroad for that purpose and no
means indulges herself in when she
other to speak of. From the closetB she
drew forth New York "tailor-suits” and
other garments.
Until long after six' o’clock she
busied herself over this huge pile of
costly raiment, portions of which she
hhd worn but once or twice, some not
at all, selecting certain dresses, hats,
stockings, etc., each of which she laid
carelessly aside; an imposing pile of
many hues, all bright and gay and glit
tering. In another heap she laid the
somber things of black; a meager as
sortment'as compared to the other.
Then she stood back and surveyed
the two heaps with tired eyes, a curi
ous, almost BcOrnful smile on her
Ups. “There!” she said with a sigh
“The black ‘pile is mine, the gay pile
is yours," she went on, turning toward
tip sleeping girl. “What a traveBty!
Then she gathered up the soiled gar
ments her charge had worn and cast
them into the bottom of a trunk, which
she locked. Laying out a carefully se-’
lected assortment of her own garments
for the girl’s use when she arose, Mrs
Wrandall sat down beside the bed and
waited, knowing that sleep would not
come to her.
CHARTER III.
Hetty Castleton.
At half past six she went to the tele
phone and called for the morning
newspapers. At the same time she
asked-that a couple of district messen
ger boys be sent to her room with the
least possible delay. The bushed,
scared voice of the telephone girl
downstairs convinced her that news
of the tragedy was abroad; she could
imagine the girl looking at the head
lines with awed eyes even as she re
sponded to the call from room 416,
and her shudder as she realized that
it was the wife of the dead man speak
ing.
One of the night clerks, pale and
agitated, came up with the papers.
Without aB much as a glance at the
headlines, she tossed the papers on
the table. “I have sent for two mes
senger boys. It is too early to ac
complish much by telephone, I fear,
Will you be so kind as to telephone at
seven o'clock or a little after to my
apartment?—You will find the number
under Mr. WrandaH'B name. Please
Inform the-butler or Ills wife that they
may expect me by ten o’clock, and
that I shall bring a friend with me—a
young, lady. Kindly have my motor
sent to Haffner's garage, and looked
after. When the reporters come, as
they will, please say to them that I
will see them at my own home at
eleven o’clock.”
The clerk, considerably relieved,
took his departure In some haBte, and
she was left with the morning papers,
each of which She scanned rapidly.
The details, of course, were meager.
There was a double-leaded account of
her visit to the inn and her extraor
dinary return to the city. Her chief
Interest, however, did not reBt in
these particulars, but in the specula
tions of the authorities as to the iden
tity- of the myBterious woman—and
her whereabouts. There was the like
lihood that ehe was not the only one
who had encountered the girl on the
highway or in the neighborhood of the
Inn. So far as she could glean from
the reports; however, no one had seen
the-girl, nor waB there the slightest
hint offered as to her Identity. The
papers of the previous afternoon had
ubllijhed lurid accounts of the mur-
eK with all of the known details, the
name of the victim at that.tltne still
being a mystery. She remembered
reading the story with no little inter
est. The only new feature In the case,
therefore, was the Identification of
Challls Wrandall by his ’’beautiful
wife,” and the sensational manner in
which' It had been brought about.
With considerable interest she noted
the hpur that these dispatches had
been received from "special corre
spondents,” and wondered where the
shrewd, lynx-eyed reporters napped
while she .was at the inn. All of the
dlspat.cheB were timed three o’clock
and each paper characterized Its issue
as an "Extra,” with Challls Wrandall’s
name In huge type across as many
columns as the dignity of the sheet
permitted.
Not a word of the girll Absolute
mystery!
Mrs. Wrandall returned to her post
beBlde the bed of. the sleeper in the
adjoining room. Deliberately she
placed the newspaper on a chair near
the glrl’B pillow, and then raised the
window shades to. let in the hard gray
light of early morn.
It was not her present intention to
arouse the won stranger, who slept as
one dead. So gentle was her breath
ing that the watcher stared In some
fear at the fair, smooth breast that
seemed scarcely to rise and .fall. For
a long time Bhe stood beside the bed,
looking down at the face of the sleep
er,' a troubled expression in her eyes
"I wonder how many times you were
seen with him; and where, and by
whom,” were the questions that ran in
a single strain through her mind
"Where do you come from? Where
did you meet him? Who is there that
knows oj yoi/r acquaintance with
him?"
Her lawyer came In great haBte and
perturbation at eight o’clock, in re
sponse to the letter delivered by • one
of the messengers. A second letter had
of vadt experience, was not surprised
to,find her quite calm and renBonablo.
HO had come to know her very well
In the past few years. He had been
heh father’s lawyer up to the time of
thdt excellent tradesman's demise, and .
he had settled tho estate with such un-
usual dispatch that the heirs—there
wero many of 'them—regarded him as
an admirable person and—kept him
busy ever afterward stralgtenlng out
their own affairs. Which goes to prove
that, policy is often better than hon
esty.
j’l quite understand, my dear, tfiat
while it Is a dreadful shock to you,
you are perfectly reconciled to the—
erf-to the—well, I might say the cul
mination of his troubles,” said Mr.
Carroll tactfully, after she had re
lated for his benefit the story of tho
night’s adventure, with reservation
concerning the girl who slumbered in
the room beyond.
“Hardly that, Mr, Carroll. Resigned,
perhaps. I can’t say that I am recon
ciled. All my life I shall feel that X
have, been-cheated,” she said.
He looked up sharply. Something in
her, tone puzzled him. “Cheated, my
dear? Oh, I see. Cheated out of yours
and years of happiness. I see."
She bowed her head. Neither spoke
for a full minute.
“It’s a horrible thing to say, Sara,
but -this tragedy does away with an
other and perhaps more unpleasant al
ternative; the divorce vl have been
urging you to consider for so long.”
"Yob,-we.are spared all that,” she
id. Then Bhe met his gaze with a
sudden flaBh of anger In her eyee. “But
"The Black Pile Is Mine, the Gay
Pile Is YoursI”
gone by like, means to her husband’s
brother, Leslie Wrandall,, instructing
him to break the news to'his father
and mother and to come to her apart
ment after he had attended to the re
moval of the body to the family home
near Washington square. She made it
quite plain that she did not want Chai
ns Wrandall’s body to lie under the
roof that sheltered her.
Hie family had resented thulr mar
riage. Father, mother and Bister had
objected to her from the ^beginning,
not because she was unwort'hy, but be
cause her tradespeople ancestry was
not so remote as his. She found
curious sense of pleasure in returning
to them the thing they prized so high
ly and surrendered to her with suoh
bitterness of heart. She had not been
good enough for him; that was their
attitude. Now she was returning him
to them, as one would return an article
that had been tested and found to be
worthless. She would have no more
of him!
I would not have divorced him—never.
You understood that, didn’t you?”
"You couldn’t have gone on for ever,
my dear child, enduring the—”
She stopped him with a sharp excla
mation. "Why discuss it now? Liet
thp past take care of itself, Mr. Car-
roll. The past came to an end night
before last, bo far as l am concerned.'1
want advice for the future, not for tho
past." .
He drew back, hurt by her manner.
of
She was quick to see that Bhe had ’of
fended him.
“I beg your pardon, my best
friends," she cried earnestly.
He smiled. “If you,will take pres
ent advice, Sara, you will let go of
yourself for a spell and see if tears
won’t relieve the tension under-^”
"Tears!" she cried. "Why should I
give way to tears? What have I to.
weep for? That man up there In the
country? The cold, dead thing that
spent Its last living moments ’without
a thought of love for me? Ah, no, my
friend; I shed all my tears .while he
was alive. There are none left to be
shed for him now. He exacted his
full share of them. It was his pleas
ure to wring them from , me because
he knew I loved him. She leaned for
ward and spoke slowly, distinctly, so
that he would never forget the words..
“But listen to; me, Mr.’Carroll. Yota
also know that 1 1 loved him. Con you;
believe me when I say to you that X
hate that dead thing up there In Bur
ton’s inn as no one ever huted before?'
Can you understand what I mean? I
hate that dead body, Mr. Carroll. ,1
loved-the life that was in it. It was.
the life of him that I loved, the warm,,
appealing life of him. It has gone out..
Some one less amiable than I suffered,
at his hands and-r-well, that Is enough.
I hate the dead -body she left behind!
her, Mr. Carroll." '
The lawyer wiped the cool moisture
from his brow.
“I think I understand?’ he said, but
he was filled with wonder. 1 "Extraor
dinary! Ahem! I should say—Ahem!
Dear me! Yes, yes—I’ve never really
thought of it in that light."
“I dare say you haven’t," she said,
lying back in the chair as if suddenly
exhausted.
"By' the way, my dehr, have you
breakfasted?”
"No. I hadn’t given it a thought. .
Perhaps it would be better if I had
some coffee—"
"I will ring for a waiter," he said,
springing to his feet.
“Not how, please. I have a young •
friend in the other room—a guest who
arrived last night. She will attend,
to It when she awakes. Poor thing, it
has been dreadfully trying for her.”
"Good heaven, I should think so,”
said he, with a glance at the closed
door. "Is she asleep?"
“Yes. I shall not call her until you
have gone."
“May I inquire—’’
"A girl I mot recently—an English
girl,” said she succinctly, and forth
with changed the subject. "There are
a few necessary details that must bo
attended to, Mr. Carroll. That is why
I sent for you at this early hour. Mr.
Leslie Wrandall will take charge—
Ah!” she straightened up suddenly.
“What a farce It is going to be l”
(TO BE CONTINUED.^
■’ * t
m
■
Nature’s Wise Process.
In the case of aRflsh which take care
of their young, a curious adaptation of
natural law to circumstances is found.
Those which take the greatest pains
and care in sheltering their offspring
have the fewest eggs, perhaps less-
than 100'at a lay, while, on the other
band, species of fish which pay not the
slightest attention to their young pro
duce hundreds of thousands, and even
.Carroll, her lawyer, an elderly man millions of eggs, at a single lay.
II 11". : - ;