Thursday, April 28,19H
G&SSE
WOMAN
SECOND INSTALMENT
SYNOPSIS: Amos Ethridge is
found murdered in a country lane
with a erode cross of twigs on his
breast and a scented sheet of note
paper in his pocket. He was the
richest man In the state with power
and Influence enough to make him
self a candidate for Governor. With
death came hints of an un
savory private life, of wronged) wom
en and betrayed husbands and fa
thers who had reason to wish him
dead. There was also a powerful se
cret political organisation ..opposed
to him. .. . Mary Holmes, called
the goose woman" by newspaper re
porters. lives nearest the scene of
the crime on a small chicken farm.
.. . Gerald Holmes, her talented
young artist son, has been befriend
ed by the murdered Ethridge.
The mystery of the murder, by
the way, still remained unsolved.
The clues left by the slayer of Amos
Ethrldge were so slender that no
progress had been made In piecing
them together, and, naturally, the
ories of various sorts began to be
advanced. Several of the Chicago
papers declared that the cross of
twigs on the dead man's breast
proved it to be a Klan outrage, «nd
this explanation was generally ac
cepted, for Westland was a strong
hold of the secret order and Eth
rldge was a bitter enemy of the or
ganization. What is more, an im
pressive demonstration had recently
occurred here. There had been a
parade and a midnight conclave at
which scores of new members had
been initiated. Special trains had
been run from distant points, hun
dreds of automobiles had assembled,
thousands of robed men had gather
ed in the light of a tremendous
fiery cross erected on a hill just out
side the city limits.
Out of this occurance had sprung
a bitter political quarrel, for Amos
Ethridge had boldly proclaimed
through the press that the Governor
was an avowed member and that
the conclave had been planned with
his knowledge and consent. Eth
ridge had gone further; he had
charged that the entire machinery
of law enforcement had been be
trayed, delivered over to the Invis
ible Empire. He had promised to ad
duce irrefutable evidence, proof pos
itive. when the time came. His ac
cusations had met with a tremen
dous popular response and, as a
matter of fact, it was largely as a
result of this outspoken support
that he announced his intention to
rim for Governor at the coming
election, pledging himself, if suc
cessful, to wage relentless war upon
the hooded order and to restore the
government to the people.
Threats against life had followed.
He had received warnings fore
casting much the same end as had
actually overtaken him. His murder
upon the very eve of the campaign
convinced most people that the
charges voiced by the Chicago
newspapers were indeed sound.
But those charges were not so
readily accepted by the citizens of
Westland. Amos Ethrldge had been
a great man locally and during his
lifetime his power had been such
that few of his neighbors dared
speak a word against him, but, now
that he was dead, tongues began to
wag. Prom various quarters there
arose a hissing of scandal. People
voiced openly what they had never
ventured to more than whisper—
viz., that Ethridge's private life had
not been above reproach, that there
were chapters in it which would not
bear the light of day, and that the
authorities would have to look fur
ther than the secret order in order
to find his slayer. What about that
"Thursday" note that had been
found in his pocket? There was
more than one husband or lover,
yes, even more than one father, in
Westland who smarted under a
sense of outrage and who had rea
son to thank God the millionaire
was dead. Let the police discover
what woman's fingers had penned
that note, then perhaps the mystery
could be solved. It was even whis
pered that out of the solving there
might result a scandal more painful
to the community than its present
sense of loss, and that under the
circumstances It might be the part
of wisdom to let sleeping dogs lie.
Such came to be the general feel
ing in Westland.
As the days crept by and no ar
rests were made, certain citizens be
gan to nod and to speak guardedly
of "influence." The out-of-town
correspondents heard these whis
pers and promptly wired them in.
As a result a special prosecutor was
apponlted by the state and he came
on to take charge of the investiga
tion.
On Thursday evening, a week af
ter the crime, Gerald Holmes drove
his new car out the road towards
his mother's farm It was early,
nevertheless It was quite dark. As he
crossed the bridge at the Italian
settlement he noticed that his right
headlight suddenly went out, just
as It had gone out a week previous
ly at this precise point. Tonight he
did what he had done on that oth
er occasion; he stopped, got out,
and went around to the front of the
car to investigate. Gerald did not
pretend to much knowledge of au
tomobiles, but this coincidence, it
seemed to him, proved precisely
what he had told the dealer; to wit,
there was a loose electric connection
somewhere and a certain sort of jar
destroyed the contact, dislocated
something or other. The dealer had
promised to have it fixed but—well,
this WB4 a sample of his work. Fine
way to turn out a brand-new car,
even a cheap oqe!
Gerald shook the lamp gently, but
it appeared to be rigidly attached
to fts support and the bulb did not
relight. He was afraid to shake it
too hard, for fear of pulling it off—
this was no rugged, hand-made, for
eign car. Then he fingered aimless
ly at the wire beneath the lamp, but
that, too, was disappointingly se
cure. He reasoned that the wire
must rim in under the hood of the
machine and somewhere attach it
self to a battery or a dynamo or a
generator or something, so he
stepped back, lifted the bonnet, and
peered inside. He could make out
very little indeed, even with the aid
of a match, and recognized nothing
that could by any possibility be
considered a dynamo or an electric
lighting plan. The vital organs of an
automobile, it seemed to him, were
unnecessarily complicated; he would
have considered many of them ut
terly useless except for the fact that
here and there "things" were re
volving. He quickly discovered sev
eral wires, any one of which might
be the cause of his trouble, so,
striking a second, then a third
match, he gingerly tested them. He
had not gone far when he uttered a
grunt and jerked his hand away,
incidentally bumping his «lbow
against something sharp and hard.
Automobiles are full of painful cor
ners. He dropped the match and
swore, whereupon he heard sub
dued laughter and through the
gloom discovered a couple of figures
near by.
"Do you fellows know anything
about automobiles?" he inquired.
There came an answer in Italian,
so he confessed, ruefully; "Well,
neither do I. I can drive 'em, but I
can't fix 'em."
He closed the bonnet, passed back
through the glare of his good head
light, and, stepping into the car,
drove on. It was a relief to note
that the car ran as well with one
light as with two. Some car! This
little buggy might have her faults,
but he loved her, just the same. It
was the first automobile he had ever
possessed and his pride of owner
ship was inordinate, for it repre
sented a terrible extravagance. It
was a lovely shade of blue, too, the
particular shade he adored, and he
would have immensely enjoyed
showing it to his mother. That,
however, was impossible. He could
never make her understand. Invol
untarily, he fetched a deep sigh and
shook his head.
instead of proceeding on past the
poultry farm and parking his ma
chine in the grove near the entrance
to the Ethridge lane, as he had done
\ week previously, he turned in
a break In the fence before
reaching the farm, and killed his
motor under a wide-spreading tree.
It was barely possible that the po
lice might be watching the scene of
the tragedy, and in any event it was
not a nice place to be on a dark
night. Gerald hated dark colors,
dark nights, dark deeds, and the
thought of what had occurred a
week ago tonight In that lane, half
a mile ahead, gave him a sick feel
ing. He felt Jumpy as he set out
across the open pasture land to
wards the lights of his mother's
cottage, and more than once he cast
apprehensive glances back of him or
stopped to listen.
Soon the familiar outlines of
chicken houses and runs appeared,
then a dog barked. It was Jack, the
old Airdale. The dog recognized
Gerald's voice and greeted him with
extravagant affection when the
young man dropped down inside the
fence. Mrs. Holmes had heard the
disturbance; she opened the kitchen
door and peered out, inquiring
guardedly:
"Is that you, Jerry?"
"Hello, mother!" Gerald entered
and closed the door behind him,
then stooped to kiss the woman's
upturned lips. When his face was
within a hand's breadth of hers he
checked the movement and cried,
reproachfully. "Oh. mother!"
Mrs. Holmes answered petulantly:
"Very well! Don't kiss me If you
don't want to. But lor Heaven's
sake don't start in with a temper
ance lecture!" There was a moment
of silence, then: "You don't under
stand what It Is to live all alone, in
a place like this. You're never lone
some. You have people to talk to.
You see things and hear things—"
"All right, mother. I won't lec
ture. But you know how I feel about
—drinking." The young man bent
his head and pressed his lips to the
woman's cheek.
"When did you get. back from
Chicago?"
"Today. This afternoon/'
"Have a good trip?"
"Yes. They liked my drawings
and gave me some more work. I
got a new story to Illustrate, too.
But—l was all broken up over the
murder, of course! I left here the
next morning, you remember? I
didn't hear of it until that afternoon
—then just the bare account. Gee!
It was a shock. I felt as If I ought
to get on the train and come right
back. I wanted to be here for the
funeral, too. but—l couldn't get my
money In time and I didn't dare try
to borrow from that editor."
Mrs. Holmes smiled faintly, al
most sneeringly. "The funeral went
off all right without you."
"You don't understand how I felt
toward* Mr. Ethrldge. You never
liked him. after what he did for me.
but I did, for he gave me my start;
THE ELKIN TRIBUNE, ELKIN, NORTH CAROLINA
made it possible for me to have a
Interest themselves In a ragged, ob
scure young—"
"In the son of a 'goose woman'l"
Mrs. Holmes broke in. "Of course
you read the papers and saw what
they called me?"
Gerald flushed. "Yes. Yes, I read
—everything." v.
"The rotters! Well, you're not
ragged now,, are you?" Mrs. Holmes
stared at her son, and in her gaze,
oddly enough, there were both pride
and resentment. As an artist she
hated Gerald, as a man she—well,
he was her son, blood of her blood.
What she beheld was a handsome
youth—a boy of sufficient good
looks and charm of manner to
warm any mother's heart. Gerald's
face was frank and sunny; it was
unusually expressive, too, but cur
tained with that veil of conscious
repression common to supersensitive
people; it was the eager, dreamy
face of an artist, a writer, a musi
cian. The boy's faults and his weak
nesses. Mary Holmes well knew,
were the faults and the weaknesses
of most dreamers.
She had never dared to analyze
very closely her feelings for this
child of hers—it is doubtful if she
would have succeeded very well had
she tried—for ever since she had
nursed him at her breast she had
housed within her emotions that vio
lently clashed. They were times
when he filled her with a great sat
isfaction, a sublime contentment,
then again times when she hated
him fiercely—yes, hated him! There
were occasions when she lavished
upon him a sort of savage affection
—these occasions were rare, by the
way—and again occasions when she
treated him with a cruelty that was
positively feline. Nearly always,
however, her feelings were mixed
and he excited that distressing war
fare within her bosom. He was at
once her comfort and her torture,
her blessing and her bane.
"Gee! It gave me a fright to real
ize that I hadn't been gone from
here for half an hour—an hour at
most—when it happened." Gerald
went on. "Why, I might have been
involved in it!"
"You? Nonsense! Whoever killed
Ethridge drove up In an automobile
and left it standing in that pine
grove across from the lane. I saw
the tracks the next morning."
Young Holmes started; he eyed his
mother apprehensively. "By the way,
you must have met Mr. Ethridge on
your way back to town?"
"N-no!"
"You must have met him. You
couldn't have had time to walk to
the end of the street-car line before
he came along. It didn't seem to me
you'd been gone ten minutes when
I heard his car pass and then the
shots. Of course, it was longer than
that—"
"Have you talked to the police?"
"Certainly! They questioned me
the morning of the murder and
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career. Not many rich men would
they've been here a couple of times
since."
"Did you—tell them about those
—those automobile tracks? I sup
pose of course they noticed them?"
Mrs. Holmes nodded. "Bure! You
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"Have they formed any suspi
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(Continued Next Issue)
Read Tribune Advertisements!
Mrs. Jean Mullin of Valla City.
NCb., reported the theft of her car
to police, stating that the thief had
gotten a bad bargain. The machine
had two flat tires, a dead battery,
no water in the radiator, and hadn't
been moved since Christmas.