Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1919-05-29
A Mystery Story

| tion that was the poor OLD gentleman
death warrant, for on his way back
through the wood to his car he was at
tackled by Bert Wentworth and Joe and
murdered. They did not attempt to
hide the body, as they hoped suspicion
would fall on Dick, one of whose
handkerchiefs they had used for COM
mitting the crime. But Dick rather
spoilt that part of the plan by coming
to search the wood for his uncle, and
CHANGING to stumble across them. On
seeing them he guessed at once what
they had done-ahd shared his uncle's
fate. 1t was necessary to dispose of
him, Bert Wentworth told me, for their
own safety. Old Mr.. Wentworth's
chauffeur, by the way, did not report
what had happened, or say anything
about his master being missing, as the
opportunity struck him as a favorable
one for dispaosing of the car and de-
camping with the money. We have
traced the car, but we have not got him
yet, though / hope we shall soon. II
think there's no doubt that by this time
Bert Wentworth was beginning to zee
that things weren't happening quite as
he liked and apparently he decided Il
retire from the scene for while ant
perhaps try to establish a claim to his
stepfather's estate later on. But, un-
luckily for himself, he decided to take
{ with him the jewelry he had somehow
got to know had been hidden by Joe
on the housetop, and he was in the
t very act of pocketing It when Joe him
> self appeared, most likely on the same
, errand, for I expect even he had
| realized that Files Wood was getting
5 too hot to hold him any longer. Mrs.
{ Wentworth's sister, Miss Esme, by the
5 way, had heard that things were hap
. pening here. The boy you sent for us,
! Mr.. Norton, had let his tongue wag
n pretty freely, and Miss Esme got the
t idea that you were in danger and
s started off to see what she could do to
l help. She was on the way through the
o wood here when Joe saw her and at
e tackled her. The failure of that attempt
b of his made him feel he had better clear
n off in a hurry, but no doubt he felt he
r wanted to take with him the pretty
k toys he had secreted on the house roof.
r When he got there, infuriated at finding
n Bert Wentworth beforehand with the
t jewelry, he flew at him with the re-
S suit you know. And on the whole,"
It concluded Captain Wallace thought
r fully, 'I suppose Bert Wentworth's
: death has robbed the gallows Of as
:. pretty scoundrel as ever swung at
e ropes end
= There was still much to be done,
N much to be seen to and arranged, and
g later on inquests had to be held on the
four men whose deaths had followed
W one another in such swift and tragic
ID succession.
u Fortunately the sequence of events
81 was quite plain by now, and the fact
u that there was no longer any mystery
y about the affair or any doubt as to the
l. identity or motives of the criminals,
ie prevented any very great public interest
eu being aroused. One or two paragraphs
y relating to the wild man, "the man
IN of the woods" "the human balloons"
W as the papers called him, according to
e. fancy, were indeed published, but did
IN not ATTRACT much attention, being set
at down as Aue to the unpruned imagina
al ton of some junior reporter. Reenie
he and Esme were therefore spared no.
d. toriety and public excitement that
ne would have added much to what they
IN had been called upon to go through,
to and even their ordeal in the witness
1 box before the coroner was made al
as easy for them as possible.
I, BY the duplicate will old Mr.. Went
hu worth had not destroyed Dick Went
> worth had been made his chief heir
u inheriting about two thirds of his for
cn tune, of which the rest went to certain
=, III charities. There was no opposition tt
ne probate being granted to Reenie al
ne heir to her husband, and one day. very
y soon there came to Keith little not
III signed by her, asking him to help her b,
eu undertaking the charge of her finan
x cial interests, since she was now prin
IT. cipal proprietor of large and flour
'st ishing business.
e- Keith had been dismally wondering
re what was to become of him and whethe
p he would ever again hear of Esme, VIII
W. was still weak and i'll and whom he ha,
'm hardly seen, and never seen alone, sine
th that last eventful tragic night. Th
or note asked him to call on Reenie at
'e- certain address, but when he got ther
r. it was Esme who received him alone II
lat the drawing room.
y She told him Reenie would come soon
lss and then a sudden shyness seemed +
Ter fall between them and she sat lookin
ier at the toe of her small slipper an
sue he sat opposite and dared not speak
'ou word. 1t was she who broke the silenc
iel first.
'ne 'I want to thank you," she bega
iat TREMENDOUSLY, "for- for" "a
tiii please don't" he interrupted. :
IN. did nothing. You owe me nothing" .
ne 81 don't think it's very nice of you,
lad she pouted, "to call my life nothing" "
IL "But-' he began.
use "Well, i do owe it you," she inter
Up, rupted, looking at him suddenly, don
ma II"
uld He did not answer. He had gon
Sc very pale, for it seemed to him b
1 had read something very plainly in hs
us eyes.
rn, ''Esme, Esme," he muttered, "yo
led are rich now
ays Haven't single, solitary penny
mes the world" she declared with relisl
hes ''Thank goodness" she added med
tatively.
= "But your sister"
no "My sisters not me-" said Esm'
'I'm living with her just now, but 81
,ould turn me into the street any min
ute. Perhaps she will, too" she adde'
L. L. mn OF