Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current, 1918-03-12
CHAPT Err II
"Mrs. Mortcn."

It was three in the morning before
Peter Stark, having to the best of his
endurance and judgment tired Whit
aker out with talking, took his hat and
his departure from Whitaker's bach
elor rooms. Whitaker shut the hall
door and turned back YEARLY into his
llving-room. 1t was three in the morn
ing; his body ached with fatigue, yet
he made no move toward his bedcham-
Der.
Picking his way across a floor lit
tered with aliases, charts, maps and
guide-books, he went to the bathroom
and took bottle of choral from the
medicine closet.
What he took brought him three
hours of oblivion. He rose at eight,
ordered his breakfast up by telephone,
bathed and dressed. When the tray
came up, his mail came with it. Among
others there was one letter In which
he read:
Dear Hugh: I can call you that. now.
because you're Peters dearest friend and
therefore mine, and the proof OF that is
that I'm telling you first of all of our
great happiness. refer ana L lOunu out
that we loved one another only yesterday
so we're going to be married the first Of
June and ="
Whitaker read no more. He could
guess the rest, and for the moment
he felt too sick a man to go through
TO the end. Indeed, the words were
blurring and running together beneath
his gaze.
After a long time he put the letter
aside, absent-mindedly swallowed a
cup of lukewarm coffee and rose from
an otherwise untasted meal.
THAT settles that, of course" he
said quietly. "And 1t means I've got
to hustle to get ahead of Peter"
Whitaker packed handbag with a
few essentials, not forgetting the bottle
of choral. He was not yet quite sure
what he meant to do after he had de-
finitely put himself out of Peter Stark's
sphere of influence but he hadn't much
doubt that the drug was destined to
play most important part in the ulti-
mate solution, and would as readily
have thought of leaving 1t behind as
of going without a toothbrush or rail-
way fare.
Leaving the bag in the parcels-room
at the Grand Central Station, he went
downtown to his Office. Happily his
partner, Drummond, was out of town
for the day. He worked expeditiously,
having no callers until just before he
was ready to leave. Then he was
obliged to admit one who desired to
make settlement. He took Whitaker
receipt for the payment in cash, leav-
ing behind him fifteen one-hundred-
dollar notes. Whitaker drew his per-
sonal check for the right amount and
left it with a memorandum under the
paper-weight on Drummond's desk (;
put a match to shredded pile of per-
sonal correspondence in the fireplace /;
and caught train at the Grand Cen
trail at one-three.
Not until the cars were in motion did
he experience any sense of security
from Peter Stark. He had been APP
prehensive until that moment of some
Unforeseen move on the part of his
friend; Peter was capable of wide but
sure casts of intuition on occasion,
especially where his affections were
touched. But now Whitaker felt free,
free to abandon himself to meditative
despair. Cold horror crawled in his
brain like delirium-horror of him.
self, of his morbid flesh, of that MORT
bund body unfit to sheathe the clean
fire of life.
At about four o'clock the train
stopped to drop the dining-car. Wholly
swayed by blind impulse, Whitaker got
up, took his handbag and left the car
On the station platform he found
himself pelted by pouring rain. He
imprisoned himself in the body of an
aged and decrepit four-wheeler, and
as they rocked and crawled away, the
blind windows wept increasingly, anC
increasingly the rain drummed the
long roll on the roof.
In time they stopped before 6
rambling structure whose weather
boarded facade, white with talking
paint, bore the legend: "Commercia
House." Whitaker carried his handbag
up the steps and across the rain-swep
veranda into a dim, cavernous hail
A cubicle fenced off in one corner
formed the Office proper. Whitaker
waited by the desk, a gaunt, weary
man, hagridden by fear. There was il
his mind desolate picture of the room
upstairs when he-his soul: the i'm
perishable essence of himself-should
have finished with it.
At his elbow lay the hotel register