Newspapers / The Chatham Record (Pittsboro, … / May 2, 1929, edition 1 / Page 7
Part of The Chatham Record (Pittsboro, N.C.) / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
THURSDAY, MAY 2, 1929. E! | Copyright by Geo. H. Doran Company WNU Service SYNOPSIS Events of the story, from June to September, as set forth in the journal of William A. Porter, professor of Eng lish literature: jl T >E—The professor’s uncle. Horace died under somewhat mysteri ous circumstances at his home. Twin > Hollows, which is now Professor Por " ter's property. Jane, the professor’s w ife. has psychic qualities. She insists Uncle Horace, then dead for a year, was at his class reunion, and a snap shot she takes seems to prove her i-isrlit. Cameron, a fellow professor of Porter’s and president of the Society for Psychical Research, inclines to the idea of psychic photography. Mrs. Porter shows a pronounced disinclina tion to spend the summer vacation at Twin Hollows. A letter Horace Porter had been writing at the time of his sudden death, reveals he had been in terested in spiritualism and makes mention of some implied “danger.” and of the “enormity of an idea.” A “small red lamp” is also mentioned. Mrs. Porter's reluctance to live at Twin Hol lows cannot be overcome, and, with Edith. Porter's niece, they take up their residence in the Lodge house of the estate. Warren Halliday. in love with Edith, comes to live in a boat house near the Lodge. A reference Pro fessor Porter had once made to a cer tain cabalistic design returns to plague him He finds In the village a super stition that there is something mys terious about the red lamp. There are mysterious happenings, and Mrs. Por ter is sure Uncle Horace’s spirit is hov ering about them. A number of sheep are killed in the vicinity, by some un known person. July 7. Another day has gone by, and I am still at large. Free, I suppose in order that I may eventually again sally forth, some dark night, with my piece of chalk and another knife —for has not Greenough my original one? —to kill more sheep; if indeed there be any remaining for slaughter; or to stab an<l throw overboard another hapless boatman. The plain truth is that 1 am sadly upset. Even wliat before seemed a ! plain and obvious duty, to go to the other house tonight and tell Mr. Bethel on his arrival the exact situa tion, has been all day a matter for most anxious thought. It had seemed quite simple before. 1 would say to him: ‘Sir, I have rented you this house. True, I warned your secretary of certain unpleasant qualities it is supposed to have, but I must also warn you. The building is reported to he haunted. I do not believe this, nor will you, but I feel that I must tell you.” Or again: “There is also a popular—or unpop ular—idea that some recent sheep killings around the vicinity are some how connected with this haunting. The police do not think so, but the more ignorant of the natives do. If this alarms you, I am prepared to pay back your money to you.” Not quite in this fashion but with a similar candor, I have been prepared to clarify my relations* with my new tenant. But now what happens? Will Greenough, for instance, credit my en tire disinterestedness? Will he not rather believe that I have given but one more evidence of my essential lunacy? Would I not myself, only a few weeks ago, have distrusted any individual who came to me with such a tale? After all, 1 have told young Gordon. At least I have that to my comfort if anything happens .... I have seen Bethel, and I have not told him. He gives me every impres sion, in spite of his infirmity, of being able to look after himself, and after tonight’s experience he is welcome to do so. Let him have his raps and his footsteps; let him find his tea-kettle on the floor, and hiS faces in the pan try. Let him freeze in cold airs or stew in his own juice. I have done my part. His car drove In at eight-thirty, and 1 followed It along the drive. True to her agreement, Annie Cochran had only waited until seven and then had taken a firm departure, and I daresay this threw him into the exercrable temper in which I found him. The secretary had assisted him into the house, and I found him in the library, with only one lamp going, huddled in a chair among a clutter of wraps, and introduced myself. He barely acknowl edged it. “Where the devil’s the servant?” he barked at me. “I thought there was a woman, or somebody.” “There is a very good woman,” I ? aid, “but she goes home before dark. That is,” I corrected myself, “she leaves early. I told your secretary that.” “Do you suppose she’s left a fire? Gordon!” he called. “Go and see if there’s a fire. I want some hot water.” He fumbled in a pocket and brought nut what I fancy was a beef cube or ■some similar concoction, and sat with it in his hand. “Which way does the house face?” he asked, suddenly. “East. Toward the bay.” “Then I want a back room. Don’t •ike the morning sun. Don’t like any- Uhng in the morning.” he added, and I peered up at uie through his spec -1 tacles. peereu up at me tnrougn ms spec -1 tacles. Young Gordon returned then with a cup of hot vvater and a spoon, and Mr. Bethel favored me with little or no further attention. He has but one ‘usable hand, and t-he secretary held i the cup while be stirred the tablet in it. Only once did he favor me with j direct speech during this proceeding. | He glanced up as I stood—he had not asked me to sit down—and said: “Been having some sheep-killing around here lately, haven’t you?” 1 may have flushed slightly, but 1 doubt if he could see it, although his eyes were on me. “Yes,” I admitted. “Saw it in the papers,” he said, and went back to his broth. Then if ever was my time to plunge, but to save my life I could not do it. That truculent, childish old man, one leg stretched out before him in the re laxation of partial paralysis, one hand contracted in his lap with the tonic spasm of his condition, taking soup under the direction of a pasty-faced boy who grinned at me above his white head, was no recipient of such information as I had to give. And ho allowed me no further opportunity; the cup empty, he indicated that he wished to go upstairs, and with a nod in my direction he shuffled out, Gor don supporting him on the infirm side. I followed them to the foot of the stairs, and part way up, pausing for breath, he must have suspected my presence there for he turned and looked down. “What do you think is behind this sheep-killing?” he said. Just that. Not good-night. Nothing whatever about the house; nothing about my presence or my approaching departure. “Who’s killed them?” he rasped. “Some maniac, probably.” “A maniac!” he barked, and steady ing himself by Gordon, twisted around so he could see me the better. “Re ligious tomfoolery, eh? The Blood of the Lamb!” He cackled drily, staring down at me. Then he turned, without another word, and went on up and out of my sight. July 8. I am, I am convinced, under espion age. Old Thomas is too frequently in view, as he patters around his day light tasks, and tonight I have a dis tinct impression that some observer who takes an interest in my move ments is outside, watching my win dow. Jock believes this also. He is restless, moving from the passage into my room and back again, and twice, standing near me, the short ruff on the back of bis neck has risen. Halliday brought me today further details about Carroway’s disappear ance: “The hotel clerk ran down to the piers,” he says, “and he heard the en gine going for some time. The boat didn’t start up the beach, but out into the bay, as if Carroway felt the other man had a good start of him. and was trying to cross the bay. Then he either lost the sound of the engine, or it stopped. “He waited on the slip for a half hour or so and then went back to the hotel. Greenough came in about that time and called up Starr, and they went together to the town slip. But Greenough Decided to Go Out After Him. Carroway hadn’t shown up, and after a time Greenough decided to go out | after him. “They found the boat pretty well out in the bay—the tide was going out—and empty. They looked around, as well as they could, then Starr got into it and brought it back. But here’s the part they’re not telling: Peter Geiss says Greenough got some waste and wiped something off the top of the engine box.” “He didn’t see what it was?” “They wouldn’t let him near the boat, hut he says it was the circle again.” j Os any other details there are ap parently none. Bob Carroway has ap parently gone the way of all flesh poor lad. And while Greenough or some emissary of his watches me from my own drive, the murderer is perhaps concocting some further deviltry. In the meantime a veritable panic , has, according to Halliday, seized the countryside, and of this we have cer tain evidence ourselves. The road be yond the Lodge gates, usually a pro ; cession of twin lights, is tonight dark and silent. No motor boats with re turning picnic parties rumble across the water, throwing us now and then a bit of song. The fishermen, starting out at three in the morning, are going armed and in fear of their lives. And each man suspects the other. THE CHATHAM RECORD, PITTSBORO, N. C. Jane’s attitude these days is curi ous. She is quite convinced, for in stance, that she had a premonition of Carroway’s death the night she sent me to the slip. As she has no idea that this premonition of hers may be most unpleasant in its consequences to me, today I got her to talk about it. “Just how did it come?” “I don’t know. I had been asleep, I think. Yes, I know I had. I wak ened, anyhow, and I seemed to be looking at the slip. There was some ■ body there, kneeling.” “Kneeling? Saying his prayers, you mean?” with a recollection of the altar. “I think he was feeling for some thing, under the float.” There is a certain circumstantial quality to this, one must admit. He had been seen and was being fol lowed, and his knife for some reason was still where he had left it. Oi What Is More, Jane Sees a Face. rather, It was not there, since Halli day had that day found it and taken It away. Had it not been for that, poor Carroway might have met his end there on our slip, and not later. But the knife was gone, and there was nothing left but flight. Just where that flight began no one can say. It seems incredible that he had left his boat moored directly be low our boat-house, with Halliday so close at hand. It seems more likely that he ran up the beach away, and that—well, de inortuis nil nisi bonum. Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that Carroway could more easily have followed nim by one of the row boats from our slip, than follow the method he did, with the loss of time involved. Still, I myself would not have started out unarmed after a killer, even of sheep, unless I had first raised the alarm and was fairly sure of assist ance to follow. “But I don’t see,” I said to Jane, “why you felt that there was anything ominous in this dream of yours, or whatever it was.” “I never have them without a rea son.” There may be one comfort to the superstitious in all this; not once, since the night when we lighted the red lamp in the pantry, has it— Midnight: l have just had rather a curious experience, and 1 am still considerably shaken. I had m> more than written the above words when i glanced out the window, and distinctly saw a small red light through the window of the den in the main house. My first thought, so certain was I that tiie lamp was carefully hidden in the attic, was of fire. Long before 1 had seen Mr. Bethel’s light, in the mom above it. go out, and soon after that young Gordon’s had been like wise extinguished. \ went quickly to my window and leaned out. So dark is the night that it hangs outside like an opaque cur tain. and as the light almost immedi ately disappeared, I was left staring into this void, when suddenly Jock on the staircase landing gave vent to an unearthly howl. The next moment I heard, under the trees and toward the house, the short dry cough of cardiac asthma, and smelled the queer unmistakable odor of Uncle Horace’s herbal cigarette. I have reasoned with myself for the last ten minutes or so. All the evi dence is against me; Greenough may be watching me, or having me wattled, and some poor devil out under the trees is suffering from the night air Or old Mr. Bethel, unable to sleep, has somehow dragged himself out for a midnight airing under the trees. But I saw the lamp. And it is locked in the attic. I myself put it there, and at this moment have the key. (CONTINUED NEXT WEEK) $ A SCOTCH INDIAN A Scothman walked into a tele graph office and, picking up a blank, asked the, “How much will a mess age to Chicago cost?” “Twenty-five cents,” replied the clerk, “for the first ten words and 5 cents for each additional word, and no charge for the signature.” “All right,” said the canny Scot “send my signature.” “I’d be glad to, what is it?” After a moment’s hesitation, the Scot answered, “Well, I may not look it, but I’m an Indian and my name is ‘I Won’t Be Home Till Fri day.” —Forbes Magazine. 3> Driving power averts over-drafts. —Forbes Magazine (N. Y.) 0 With a cigarette as good as Camels the simple truth is enough Camel . WHY CAMELS ARE THE BETTER CIGARETTE Camels are made of the choicest to haccos grown cured and blended mfg with expert care. Camels are mild and mellow. ~ The taste of Camels is smooth and fig satisfying. Jfu CS 7 Camels are cool and refreshing. wjPSJ .The fragrance of Camels is always Ucfz J pleasant, indoors or out. They do not tire the taste nor leave any cigaretty after-taste. f © 1929, R. J. Reynolds Tobacco '*****^^£^3 Company, Winston-Salem, N. C. I j l ' Jor Economical Transportation | dlf^ j New Six Cylinder I since |j/ Again, Chevrolet surpasses dcr cars than any other B*7 its most brilliant record of manufacturer has ever built I I the past by producing over in an entire year! A ride in f 500,000 six-cylinder Chevro- this sensational new Six is a * lets in four months—a revelation—come in and let 1 greater number of six-cylin- us give you a demonstration. \ fi&AD STER ~ ....’525 The COACH Ste LANITu . ....’725 | PHAETON .. ....’525 Delivery.. ....‘595 / S*UPE ’595 SVJS J£“^\...’4oo * ’675 S ' &BL* ‘545 \ The Sport QC All prices f o. b. factory TheiA Ton 1 CABRIOLET DVD Flint. Michigan Chassis with Cab .. OjU ) COMPARE the delivered price as well a3 the list price In f considering automobile values. Chevrolet’s delivered \ prices include only reasonable charges for delivery and j financing. \ r *' ECONOMY MOTOR CO., / Siler City, N. C. * STOUT MOTOR CO. CHATHAM CHEVROLET CO. { Goldston, N. C. I Pittsboro, N. C. \ A SIX IN THE PRICE RANGE OF THE FOUR FOREIGN TRADE GAINING As regards American foreign trade, the year 1929 is starting in a manner calculated to afford renewed encouragement and stimulus to our international merchants. Thus far figures show substantial gains over 1928. During January and Fefruary we sold to foreign countries $915,611,- 000 worth of goods, against $764,- 528,000 worth during the corre sponding months last year. This is almost exactly a 20 per cent, increase —a most gratifying rise, which, if it should be continued throughout the year, would mean a billion-dollar growth in our sales to those markets lying beyond our borders. Naturally, it would be futile to attempt a pro phesy as to whether the present pace can be maintained; there are too many incalcuable factors in the sit uation. But there would appear to be at least a possibility that our total foreign trade—exports and imports —during the present calendar year may greatly exceed that of any pre ceding 12-month period other than the wholly abnormal years 1919 and 1920. —F. Lamont Peirce, in Forbes Magazine. • PAGE SEVEN
The Chatham Record (Pittsboro, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
May 2, 1929, edition 1
7
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75