Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1916)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

Friday, the Thirteenth 109 ciates in the Brownley library. Beulah Lee had disappeared; so, too, had Brownley, junior. But his father had more pressing matters to think of at that moment. They were comparing notes about the day's riot of business. It was eight o'clock, and a measure of calmness had come to them. There entered upon the conference the pathetic figure of Judge Sands, of Virginia— white-haired, his hands shaking, his face convulsed. With fist thrust in Brownley's face, he cried : ,4In cold-blooded fashion you ruined me ; in cold-blooded fashion I will kill you !" Brownley drew back a step. "Don't be foolish," he said. His voice was shaking, but he was outwardly calm. "Come to me here in half an hour, and I will make good your losses." Half an hour later, Bob Brownley entered his home. He was accompanied by Beulah — no longer Beulah Lee Sands, but Beulah Brownley, for the young people had determined to unite their lives and their fortunes without delay. To Bob's astonishment, the house, though lighted, seemed deserted, even by the servants. Leaving Beulah in the salon, he went into the library, where a single droplight was burning dimly. On the floor lay something that sent a shudder through him. Face downward in a pool of blood was Judge Sands, the father of his bride — murdered or a suicide. From a curtained recess he heard what sounded like a quick intake of breath. He dragged the curtains aside — to find his father, trembling, ashen. "Dad — you killed him!" "No, no, as God is my judge, I am innocent !" cried Peter Brownley. "I told him I would see him here after the conference was finished. I came — and