Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1916)

110 Friday, the found this." He pointed with trembling hand at the gruesome thing on the floor. "I heard some one come in at the front door. It was you, but I didn't know. I was afraid, and hid. Bob, Bob, you can't think I would take a man's life. But the police — they will come, and I " ''They are here now," said his son, hearing hurried footfalls in the hall. "Tell your story simply. The truth always wins." The door opened, and two plainclothes men came in. One of them bent over the body. The other's eyes roved about the room and finally fastened on a folding screen. The detective pushed the screen aside — to reveal a woman crouching in terror — Simone, the wife of Peter Brownley. "I didn't do it— I tell you I didn't !" she shrieked. Her words came like a rushing stream: "I was to meet Count Yerneloff here in the library — we were going to elope. I'm making a full confession. I hate the man I married. While I was waiting for the count, a man came in — the man who lies dead. I got behind this screen. Then Bob — Robert Brownley — entered and fired the pistol." ''Who is this man?" The detective had turned the body over. Bob and his father stared, bewildered. It was not Judge Sands who lay dead there. It was Wilder, Brownley's business associate. They were somewhat similar in appearance, the formation of the back of the head and the shoulders was almost identical — but there was no mistaking the face. Then, at the moment when climax had piled on climax, Judge Sands himself entered, dragging with him a human derelict. "Here's the man who shot Wilder," he said. "Why, judge, I thought it was you had been killed !" cried Peter Brownley, relief in his voice. Thirteenth "I'm still very much alive," answered the judge. "But I did a good turn for you, Brownley, suh. I was waiting here as per our arrangement when I heard what I reckoned was a suspicious noise at the door of that anteroom. Don't know why I did it, but I dimmed the lights and got under the table to await events. The anteroom door opened and this fellow came in. He went over to your safe, and then I placed him. He was a burglar. I got to my feet, intending to throttle him. He heard me, and turned, with a pistol in his hand. What fate sent Wilder into the library just then I don't know, but he walked straight between the burglar and me. and got the bullet intended for me. I shouted for help and made a grab at the burglar. He got away, jumped for a window. He'd sprained an ankle on the drop to the ground, and I caught him. I choked him a bit to show him who was boss, suh, and here he is." "Oh, daddy, I'm so happy!" It was a girl's soft, drawling voice. "Huh ! I'm glad somebody is happy," snapped the judge. "What's happened, daughter?" He looked questioningly at Beulah, who was standing close, very close to Robert Brownley. "Daddy, dear" — she had taken his arm and was dragging him across the room — "shake hands with your son-inlaw. WTe were married an hour ago." "I'll be " Two voices blended in an explosive exclamation — the voices of Judge Sands and Peter Brownley. And there, in the room of tragedy, the newly wedded pair told their story — told it with such persuasiveness that the bitterness of past years was blotted out from the memories of the sworn enemies. Peter shook hands with Judge Sands, while their children looked on with supreme content. "I've lost a wife," said the elder Brownley, "but thank God for my new daughter !"