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Show MY - ' BV JOSEPH M CORD WgffiSS. 1 j THE STORY SO FAR: Larry Cotter fell In love with Jacqueline (Jack) Anthony, An-thony, pretty public itenojrapher at the Hotel Raynear. When he told htm about her longing for travel, he ald she could realize her ambitions by mar- INSTALLMENT SIX rying him. Jacqueline had just lost her life's savings In the stock market, and her father had recently left her when she refused him additional money for work on his Inventions. Stunned by this double blow, she accepted his proposal I and they signed a contract permitting ! her to continue her mode of living, and to nullify the marriage after sii months. They drove home In silence after being married In a nearby town. Now continue with the story. creditable lack of concern. "Yes. Running out to Chicago to check up on a matter. I'll be back here, though. This is headquarters, from now on. Do you know the law firm of Hicks and Hicks?" "I've heard of them." "Wouldn't wonder. Young Randolph Ran-dolph Hicks is a friend of mine. If you ever have occasion to talk to him, he's a square shooter." "Thank you. I've no reason to consult a lawyer . . . that I know of. Have I?" "Of course not. But, you see . . . well, if I ever were to need one of those guys they call an executor, Rannie would be it. You'd find that out." "You mean ... he knows?" The tone of the question was cold. Larry had promised that no one need be told. "Yes. But you can trust him absolutely. ab-solutely. I had to tell him, because be-cause I have an estate . . . now. You should know about the arrangement. arrange-ment. But that isn't what I wanted to talk about. Seeing I'm going away for a time . . I wondered if I mightn't have a little talk with you. Maybe we could go ... to another movie." "I don't believe so." "I get you. I know I shouldn't have asked. I'm sticking to the rules, but it's a little harder than I figured." He grinned ruefully. "This is off the record, but . . . Yesterday, Yester-day, I was as lonesome as . . . hell! Had to sit on my hands all aft- uments were carried to the Second National. Jacqueline gave a sigh of relief when the heavy gates of the deposit vaults clashed softly behind her. Her secret seemed buried in a measure. That was the great trouble. trou-ble. No one knew. To go about as if nothing had happened . . . weighed down with a momentous secret. It was becoming rather unbearable. un-bearable. And how long was it to go on? All that afternoon, Jacqueline found herself glancing furtively at the figures hurrying or strolling past her little workshop. She would not admit it to herself, but she was watching for those familiar broad shoulders, a figure in gray tweeds, walking with an easy swinging stride. She found herself wondering what Larry had done Sunday. What he might be doing today. Did he remember re-member everything? Did he want Five o'clock came. Five-thirty. With a little sigh, Jacqueline started start-ed clearing her desk for the day. She opened the little tin box in the top drawer and was about to transfer trans-fer the day's receipts to her purse, when a drawling voice behind her inquired, "Could you take a letter . . . Miss Anthony?" It was Mr. Cutter, Larry . . . her husband. Smiling down at her in that friendly, impersonal fashion of his. Jacqueline strove to match his attitude, even as she reached into Jacqueline's heart was obsessed with a vague sadness that deepened deep-ened with each passing mile. She wa not sure she cared to analyze it There was a little fear in her mind as well. It all was so unreal. un-real. Courtland street at last. The roadster road-ster stopped before the door of 907. Jacqueline had already formulated a plan of procedure. With a quick move, she opened the car door, stepped out and closed it behind her. "Good night . . ." she began. Then she gave an unsteady laugh. "I came very near saying that I . . . had a nice time. I did!" "Thank you." Larry's hands were gripping the wheel hard. "I will see you soon . . . But you needn't worry. About anything." And Jacqueline was gone. Into the vestibule where she fitted her key into the lock with trembling fingers. fin-gers. Down the long gloomy hall. Home again. For a moment, she stood in the middle of the room, looking about as if she were in a strange place. Then at her left hand. Very slowly, she stripped the wedding band from her finger. With a half-cry, half-sob, she hurled the ring into a corner. Threw herself face-down on the couch and lay motionless. CHAPTER IV Jacqueline sat up in bed with a start to discover the sun streaming ernoon and evening to keep from picking up my phone . . . Calling you. I thought if I could only say hello it would help. Forgive me. I guess I'll get used to it after a bit Anyway, I promise to be good." He rose to his feet, as if to make sure. Jacqueline's heart gave a disturbing disturb-ing little jump. Larry had missed her, too! "Then it's no movies." He said it wistfully. Like a small boy. "No. I think we should not go . . . places." "Right. I'm leaving late tomorrow tomor-row night. I'll pop my head in and say good-by ... If you don't mind." "Mr. Cutter . . " Jacqueline called his name in a desperate little lit-tle voice. He was leaving. "Yes, Miss Anthony?" She swallowed hard. "I don't think I'd care about going out tomorrow to-morrow evening. But I expect to be at home ..." "Then you mean I may call?" Larry's face was wreathed in smiles. "If you'd like to." "If I like! About eight?" Jacqueline scarcely recognized her own voice as she answered that question. "Seven. We . . . we'll have dinner din-ner at my place. I can't fix anything any-thing elaborate. But if . . ." "Boy! I'll be there on the dot! And you can't possibly reach me, in case you change your mind. So don't try." He went out, whistling a gay little tune under his breath. Jacqueline sat staring after him, uncertain whether to laugh or to cry. What had this man done to her, anyway? She had invited him to dine with her. At her apartment. She never had served dinner there except to herself, and that not often. And now she was going to feed a man! A vision of Larry in the cafeteria came before her eyes . . . that formidable array of "civilized grub" weighing down his tray. How could her kitchenette ever satisfy him? Jacqueline ate a hurried dinner in a restaurant at a safe distance from the hotel, trying frantically to vision a menu that would satisfy a man and still be within the resources re-sources of her very diminutive kitchen kitch-en and its appointments. Larry liked roast beef.- He had eaten it in the cafeteria that night, ordered it again for their wedding dinner. Quite out of the question. A chicken! Of course. She could get one from the delicatessen . . . Roasted. Sweet potatoes . . . Candied, Can-died, if she had not forgotten how. Another vegetable. And salad . . . The world looked brighter. Some of Edgar's rolls. Ice cream. Coffee. "I want a roasted chicken tomorrow tomor-row night," she was explaining to fat Mr. Hildebrand in the delicatessen, delicates-sen, a little later. "It must be beautifully beau-tifully done, crisp. And have it ready at six sharp," she added importantly. im-portantly. "Ah! It giffs company then?" beamed the jovial H'ldebrand. "It shall be a beautiful fowl 1 see to it myself. Miss. How big?" "Gracious! I don't know As oig a chicken as a man likes . " Once within her room, Jacqueline stood looking about almost in despair de-spair at thif newest prospect. So much to dn And everything must be nice. Her ev fell upon Vince's picture on the mantel. There seemed to be a quizzical twinkle in his eyes. "It's nothing to laugh at. Vir.ce," she told him with a Utile sigh. "You . . . your son-in-law is coming to dinner." (TO UF.COTlLLD in her two windows. For a moment, she could not locate herself. The early hours of the night had been terrifyingly long, rilled with a jumble jum-ble of memories, misgivings and loneliness. Then broken sleep, with another jumble of dreams. The final one had something to do with a strange boat, manned by blacks ... All of them looked like that roadhouse waiter with the white teeth. A storm brewing and Larry missing. Jacqueline was searching for him . . . Ten o'clock ... the first day of married life. Jacqueline Cutter's sense of humor hu-mor faled her utterly as she reconstructed, re-constructed, little by little, the events of the day before. She was strangely depressed and equally disinclined dis-inclined to admit the real reason. This sort of thing wouldn't do, she told herself sternly. It was Sunday. Her time for doing odd jobs about the apartment. There was the bathroom bath-room floor to be washed. Dusting. Mending. Her first task was to slip across the room and find that ring, still lying ly-ing neglected under a chair. Jacqueline Jac-queline stood by the window and inspected in-spected the little badge, a plain gold circlet, for the first time . . . Oh! There were initials on the inner circumference. Jacqueline held the ring nearer the window. Very fine and small. "L. C. to J. A." and a date. Yesterday. Suddenly, everything every-thing about her marriage took on a disconcerting sense of permanency. Caught by a sudden impulse, she started to slip the ring on her finger. She hesitated. There was no harm in wearing it here alone. Perhaps it would help . . . Silly! The bride laid the ring on her dressing table and walked away from it. The hours dragged endlessly as one housekeeping task after the other oth-er was accomplished. Jacqueline made a listless attempt at-tempt to read the Sunday paper. She scanned the headlines of the news section, cast aside the comic sheets, sports . . . financial. That reminded her. She crossed to her dressing table and found the contract and the envelope Larry had given her. Hesitatingly, she broke the seal. There were a number of folded documents that looked like those hated stock certificates, only heavier. heavi-er. Opened out, the bond apparently appar-ently was for $1,000.00. She folded the paper with trembling hands and looked at its mates. All alike. Ten of them. "Ten thousand dollars!" She said it aloud, in an awed voice. And Larry had said they were the same as money ... to do as she liked with! No wonder he had suggested a safe deposit box! They must go in tomorrow. Together To-gether with the contract, the marriage mar-riage certificate and . . . the ring. Oh, yes. The ring, too. Throughout Monday morning, those bonds weighed heavily upon Jacqueline's mind. She buried the bundle deep in a desk drawer. When lunch time came, she would hurry to the bank and get rid of them ... if she didn't see Larry in the meantime. She dreaded seeing him. yet she wanted to. She had made up her mind to ask him to take the bonds back. It seemed such a prodigious amount of money to be responsible for. And it didn't seem quite right. Not at all right. But Jacqueline dismissed her dreams, and at one o'clock when there was no sign of Larry, the bonds and their scci-mpanying doc- "Do you really have a letter to write?" her desk automatically for a letterhead. letter-head. Larry, meantime, had dropped into the official chair and was regarding her gravely. "How are you today?" "I'm fine, thank you." "That's good. I'm . . . glad.". Jacqueline had herself in hand now. "Do you really have a letter to write?" "No fooling." He held up some papers in proof. "It's to Todman, Kell, Limited, Montreal. Gentlemen Gentle-men . . ." He began his dictation hesitatingly, hesitating-ly, frowning his way through the introductory in-troductory paragraphs, then speaking speak-ing more rapidly. Jacqueline gave her complete attention to the writing, writ-ing, relieved that her first nervousness nervous-ness had disappeared. There must be no errors in this letter. It proved to be rather lengthy. "Will that be all?" she inquired. "For now. Address a long envelope, enve-lope, if you have one. How much is it?" "Why ..." After all, one scarcely could charge one's husband for a letter! "No nonsense!" Larry cut in sharply. "Regular rates." "Seventy-five cents," she managed man-aged meekly. Larry read the letter leisurely, signed it and placed it in the envelope. enve-lope. He seemed in no haste to leave. What was he going to say? "You must write a lot of letters, off and on," he speculated. "Do your customers bind you to secrecy?" secre-cy?" Jacqueline laughed in spite of herself. her-self. "Some of them do," she admitted. ad-mitted. 'But that's a joke. Two minutes min-utes after I write a letter, I couldn't tell you what was in it I hear the words and put them down. That's all." "That's odd. But I can figure it. I'll be having some letters for you now and again. I think it might be well if you made an exception in my case." "How do you mean?" "I mean that it might be a good idea to remember what I write about." "But why?" Jacqueline's curiosity was roused. "I was thinking I might want an alibi some time. You never can tell, i And that reminds me. I'm going ! away tomorrow night." "Are you?" It was said with a |