The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1929-03-11

| criminal lawyer" was dead. But her
prayer was being answered, and
what did it matter that it was only
a dream? But she mustn't wake up
too soon.
The dream was a kindly one, not
| fantastic or absurd. She was back
again in her fathers library, curled
kittenwise in his arms, watching
with fascinated blue eyes as his long,
slim fingers arranged and reaTang-
ed bits of a jig-saw puzzle spread
out on the desk before him.
What is that big, square-shaped
piece, daddy?" she heard her own
kvoice inquiring, as those expert fin
gers made a quick arrangement
of the pieces Of the jig-saw puzzle.
''That, infant?" She distinctly
heard his beloved, familiar chuckle.
why, that's the orchid tinted let
ter, of course"
Perhaps, Ruth mourned later, if
she had not cried out so sharply at
that she would, not have awakened,
would have seen the complete solV-
ing of that jig-saw puzzle under the
expert manipulation of Colby Les
ter's fingers. But she did wake up,
with her own exclamation of self
disgust and her fathers last words
ringing in her ears.
n II
MYTH the sharp clarity of mind
w and memory which comes in
the small hours of the night, Ruth
recalled every detail of a scene
which she had forgotten through
oslt the dreadful first day of the po-
lice investigation into the murder
of Henry P. Borden.
She saw again the large, square,
orchid tinted envelope, with its dis
tinctive, angular handwriting in
violet ink, saw herself seated at her
desk in the outer Office of Borden's
suite, sorting Saturday mornings
mail, laying aside unopened the ex-
otto missive marked Personal;
saw, later, the gesture of repulsion
and anger with which Henry Bor-
den f1icked the unwelcome letter
across his desk, then heard again
the muttered oath with which he
picked it up and thrust it, unopened,
into the breast pocket of his vest.
In her excitement, Ruth sat
straight up in bed, her hands
clasped to her wildly beating heart.
Where was that letter now? She
had seen Detective Sergeant Nc
Mann go through the murdered
mans pockets, could clearly recall
now every item he had taken from
them. And no orchid tinted letter
had been among them!
Had Borden, some time between
his receipt of the letter and his
death, taken it out of his vest
pocket, read it, torn it across and
tossed it into his wastebasket?
Certainly he had not done SO be-
fore she herself left the Office at
twenty minutes after one, for her
last act of service to the man who
had been murdered had been to
help him clear his desk of accumu-
lated memoranda and advertising
matter issued by other promoters
on stock as dubious as his own
She had tossed the worthless pa
pers into the empty Wastebasket
which stood beside his desk.
Perhaps he had read the letter
and thrown it away after she had
left, but if SO, it was the first of
the orchid-tinted letters, of which
he had received several during the
four months she had worked for
him, to find it's way into his Office
wastebasket and thence, possibly,
into the possession of a curious
reader.
But if it had not gone into the
basket and been taken out, with the
rest of the papers, by Minnie Cas-
sidy, where was it now?
If, as McMann seemed to believe,
Rita Dubois had robbed his dead
body, why should she also steal a
letter written to Borden by another
woman?
There was no possibility that Rita
herself was the writer. The orchid.
Ul41UCA ClAbCAOHCO maj hC0 L "a COA4N1
had been coming to Borden's Office
long before he had ever met and
fallen in love with the darcer.
If Mrs. Borden had killed her
husband before Rita'S arrival and
robbing of the body, she could not
nave known of the existence of the
letter, could have had no motive
for taking it if she had known, for
the letter had not been written by
Elizabeth Borden.
Ruth knew the discarded wife's
handwriting very well, had seen her
small, delicate, precise signature
each month as an Endorsement of
Bordens check for separation al
loWance.
Suddenly the obvious course of
action occurred to the excited girl
There was no use in pulling and
worrying over the letter now, but
tomorrow morning.
She lay back on her pillows, well
coined the waves of sleep which
Immediately began to dull her brain.