Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

10 PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY night. He'll come back along the Valley Road. A rope from a tree to the old stone wall will throw his cob, and his lordship will come a cropper. If he doesn't break his neck when he falls, I'll break it for him." Quietly he arose from his chair, and, snatching up his cap, strode from the house. The plan that had suggested itself to him he intended to put into effect. He made his way to a near-by shed, where the gardening tools were kept. Without pausing to strike a light, he selected a coil of stout rope. As he closed the door, the clock in the stable cupola chimed half past nine. In fifteen minutes Lord Rexford would be making his adieus to Lord and Lady Hammersmith, and by ten o'clock he would be dashing along the Valley Road near the old stone wall. A fresh breeze was blowing. The heavens were overcast with heavy clouds. The 'very elements were aiding Henchford in his diabolical scheme. Quickly he made his way to the Valley' Road. With nervous fingers he made the rope fast to a jagged rock. Almost mechanically he drew the free end of the rope around a tree on the opposite side of the road, and pulled it taut, until it was about a foot above the ground. He had scarcely finished his task before he could hear the hoofbeats of Lord Rexford's mount as he galloped along the road. Nearer and nearer came the pounding of the horse's hoofs. The sharp ring of metal against rock smote on Henchford's ears as he crouched behind the crumbling stone wall. A wild whinny, as the horse hit the rope and went to its knees. Through the air catapulted the body of Lord Rexford. The animal recovered itself and stood stock-still. A few feet ahead lay the inert form of the rider. Leaping from his place of concealment, Henchford dashed to Lord Rexford's side. He brought his heavy stick down on his lordship's head with a sickening thwack. Then, dropping on his knees, he listened at the breast of the man who had struck him. No answering heart throb fell on his ear. Lord Rexford was dead ! Martin Henchford's revenge was complete. Quickly he unknotted the rope from the wall and tree, and coiled it over his arm. Without undue haste he returned to the tool shed and deposited the rope in the corner from which he had taken it. Quietly he let himself into the house and made his way to his room. For a moment the moon showed itself, flooding the small room with its mellow light. Henchford's face was strained and drawn, but in his eyes there burned a malignant light of satisfaction. In the morning, Lord Rexford's body would be found. There would probably be some sort of an investigation, but, as the road was a bit rocky where he had been killed, the investigators would arrive at the natural conclusion that his horse had stumbled and had thrown its rider. Divesting himself of his clothing, Henchford tumbled into bed, and sank into undisturbed slumber. In the morning he was awakened by the housekeeper excitedly pounding on the door of his room. "Oh, Mr. Henchford," she wailed, "they've found the master, and he's dead." "Lord Rexford dead?-' he queried. "Where did they find him?" "They found him in the Valley Road, near the stone wall. His horse was near by, and from the cut on the poor creature's knees, the coroner thinks that his lordship come a cropper and broke his neck." And the woman burst into weeping. There was a momentary glint of satisfaction in the eyes of the murderer. His plan had succeeded better than he had hoped for. No one suspected foul play. Not even a faint whispering of the "still, small voice" came to annoy him. The unexpected death of the master of Rexford Terrace was a nine days' wonder, and soon the various tenants on the estate ceased discussing it. Each night as Martin Henchford went to his room, he carefully counted the little hoard of gold he was saving. He had decided to emigrate to America — the land of golden opportunity. In the public house he told of his plans for departure for the States. His former companions had shunned him more or less ever since the night he had blasphemed his Maker, and they were glad that he was going from their midst. It was a beautiful morning when the huge transatlantic leviathan made her way past the Statue of Liberty and up New York Bay. At the port rail stood Martin Henchford. Before him lay th< land of opportunity. The great saw toothed sky line shrouded in mist ap pealed to him. Surely this was the lan of big things. The land where a mai is restrained only by his inabilhy to ac, complish the task set before him. "I want a job, sir," said Marti> Henchford. Around about him wer piles of dirt, broken stone, sand. an< building materials. Gigantic derrick reared their gaunt arms heavenward Underfoot could be heard the staccat> rat-ta-tat-tat of the pneumatic drills a they slowly gnawed their way througi rock. Three men darted past him, bear ing red flags. Suddenly there was ■> dull, muffled explosion, which shook th ground beneath him. It was music t> his ears. He wanted to be a part o this gigantic human machine, which wa slowly "but surely boring its way be neath the river bed. and more securel welding Manhattan to one of its adopte towns. The foreman gave Martin an apprai^ ing glance. He was satisfied with th applicant, whose every lineament o form and face denoted strength an nerve. "I guess you'll do," finally said th foreman. "You look as though you ha plenty of grit. Come on." Together they entered the cage i the shaft and were quickly lowered f the scene of operation. The rock-ribbed sides of the tunn< glistened with moisture. From over head, water slowly but incessantl dripped on the workers below. Hug arc lights spluttered and hummed, a they cast their penetrating light to th innermost recesses of the tunnel. O every side iron and wooden shorin was thrown into high relief. Far ahea was the huge steel shield, which fitte tightly to the surrounding walls. B< yond it toiled the sand hogs and hare rock men. The shield was for the protection. In case of an acciden they could leap through the doors an by the manipulation of a single levc could start in motion the mechanis which would close the doors against an inrush of water. Day after day Henchford descends I into the lethal chamber, and worked sic I by side with the other cogs in this gre; I machine. Frequently he had seen son I fellow employee yanked through tl f door of the steel shield and rushed I