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THE CYLIXDER'S SECRET
73
route I usually take. I cannot recall all the little things I may have done last night."
' ' Remember that, boys. He cant recall all the things he done. Come on — show us the way, then."
Nell stepped out of sight behind a portiere, and let them pass. Then, with a shudder, she stepped into the study.
With calm deliberation she looked over the pieces of evidence which the detectives had carelessly left behind. The revolver was engraved with Richard 's initials ; the cigaret was stamped with them.
She carefully noted every detail near the desk. Behind a leg of the desk, within six inches of the pool of blood, she discerned another halfburned cigaret. Gingerly she picked it up. It bore no initials. It was of a cheap brand.
Could the detectives have dropped it ? None of them had been smoking.
Suddenly she sank, ghastly pale, into a chair, hiding her face in her hands. She remained in this attitude, shaking her head, for fully a minute.
Again she went resolutely about her task, after having shoved the cigaret into her bag.
On Mr. Johns' desk was a paper scribbled with notes. He must have remained in his study late to dictate.
She turned to his dictating machine. It was still going! He must have been interrupted, then, and had not had time or thought to turn it off. Strange things to happen to her methodical employer !
With trembling hands she took the record and put it on her own machine.
She hesitated, and grew faint, before putting the tubes to her ears.
At first there came the usual dictated letter, in Mr. Johns' deep tones. Suddenly they broke off into a rough demand :
"Well! What in the devil do you want ? Where 'd you come from ? ' '
' ' Howard Johns, where are my models?"
Nell gave a little cry at the voice, and for an instant seemed on the point of tearing the tubes from her ears.
' ' Your inventions were worthless. I had them thrown out, as I am about to have you ! ' '
' ' Throwed out my models ! ' ' screamed Dave Lane's voice. "You lie ! you thief, you sold them ! Give me the money for my models, or I'll kill you!"
' ' Now you get out of this ! Here, give me that gun, you loafer !"
There followed a report.
Then Mr. Johns' voice, feebly:
' ! You 've killed me ! Call my son. ' '
Nell had fallen forward on the machine, in the excess of her agony.
"Oh, Dave! Dave! Why did you do it?" she moaned.
Suddenly she grasped a heavy paperweight, and for an instant held it poised above the fragile cylinder in which lay the terrible secret. But she laid it carefully on the desk with as quick a movement.
Then she rose, with purpose and calm again shining thru the misery in her eyes. Outside the door she paused and cleared her throat.
' ' Richard ! Have the men come down. I have here the proofs of your father's murderer!"
A Rural "Release
By DOROTHY HARPUR I'm guldurned tired of milkin'. cows, Then Mr. Bronco lopes across
And doin' chores for Sally ; A sage-brush bordered prairie
For while, near by, the cattle browse, Jnst gives the heroeen a toss,
I gaze yon — o'er the valley. With ease extraordinary!
And dream of every Picture Play
That showed there — in the city ; One, a daisy field in May,
With milk-maids dancin' pritty!
But in my sleep there comes a dream.
A journey mighty grand; I'll try the Pilgrim's prayerful scheme
With Knlem in the Holy Land!