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Show The Fhmof Folly Copyright, 1915. by Pathe Exchange. : forolffn copyright; ! Sharp and clear above the crash of . tho orchestra and the murmured voices of the dancers, the revolver shot rang out. The music died ln mid-air. its pulsating throbs ebbing" away into a slow, pathetic wail that ended almost In a human sob. With pale faces and trembling limbs the dancers stopped where the music had left them, some with arms upraised; some with one foot ln tho air. It was a tense moment; a moment fraught with pregnant portent. All the wealth and society of the town was at the Van Llnd residence that night Mrs. Van Llnd, leader ln her set and fashions devotee, was giving giv-ing a ball for the relief of the Belgians. Bel-gians. All the music had a patriotic lilt, all the guests carried tiny Ameri- Inc. All moving picture rights and all atrlctly reserved. the tone was cold, incisive, uncompromising. uncom-promising. ''Irwin nodded grimly towards Stone. And those who watched him. closely noted that he held his weapon in a firmer grip. Haughtily the hostess turned her ley, questioning stare in the wounded man's direction. For a moment he hesitated. Then his eyes wavered under the steady gaze of Irwin, and he answered sullenly; sul-lenly; "It was an accident." Avoiding tho glances of those who would have questioned him; Ignoring tho advances of those who offered sympathy. Stone elbowed his way through thoexclted throng at the den door and left tho house. And so tho incident was ended. But it is not with MISS COLUMBIA WAS LEADING THE' DANCE AND JOY REIGNED UNCONFINED. can flagB, and the prettleBt girl ln town, dressed as Miss Columbia, was leading the dance. Joy reigned un-confined. un-confined. And then the shot. The sound seemed to come from a chamber to the right of the ballroom, and the startled dancers, gazing ln that direction, saw a tiny wisp of amoko uncurl itself from the rich portieres and waft gently towards the ceiling. One, more bold than the rest, strode towards the door and threw aside the heavy hangings. And the tableau that was there revealed offered food for several hundred late supper discussions discus-sions and gave the busy gossips of society so-ciety many a dainty morsel. The room was, strictly speaking, a den, richly furnished and not very large. Across a table ln the center, when the curtain was so rudely brushed aside, sprawled the Inert body of Edgar Clay, society leader, business man, good sport, hard drinker, and the huBband of Isabel Clay, prettiest butterfly of them all. Standing over him in a protecting attitude, at-titude, the smoking revolver still in his hand, was his business partner and father-in-law, Russfcl Irwin. Hate gleamed from a pair of narrowed eyes; beady, steady eyes that never wavered from thoso of Horace Stone, attorney, who, pale as death, stared back at Irwin from across tho tabic. At Stone's feet lay a shattered decanter, de-canter, the contents of which ran over the rich rug in tiny rivulets, strongly suggesting blood to the excited minds of the eager spectators. But Stone was grasping his right hand with his left, and the trickle of red that oozed botwocn his fingers told only too plainly where tho bullet had found its mark. "Oh, Edgar, Edgar are you" dead?" From the surgo of figures at tho door, one fair form detached Itself and hurled its length across tho limp and sagging body of Clay on the table. With trembling hands she raised his head, and with choking sobB planted a tearful kiss on his unresponsive un-responsive lips. Anguish and relief and disgust atruggled for tho mastery of her features as she read the answer an-swer to her question in the kiss. Clay was not dead. Ho had yiolded again to a habit that was strongor than hlmsolf. "And may T ask tho meaning of this Ill-bred disturbance?" Mrs. Van Llnd waB speaking and tho incident so much, as with the happenings which lead up to It that our story has to do; a story that deals with the lives of men and women you sep around you every day men and women who sow the seeds of folly and reap the fruit thereof. CHAPTER ONE. Folly was a constant guest at the' home of Edgar Clay and his pretty wife, . Isabella. Folly was the boon companion of this young society couple. Reared In luxury and knowing know-ing no restraint except that imposed by their own desires they had gone tho pace that has but one ending; had traveled along tho road that loads but to disaster disaster that is tho more complete tho longer it is delayed. That they drifted farther and farther apart was but natural for Folly was always there to see that both persisted In tho wilful pursuit of individual enjoyment And so the Saturday morning on which our story opens, found them dangerously near to the parting of the ways. Clay, young, good looking, but with the marks of dissipation already showing show-ing on his otherwise boyish features, was In no mood for trifling that morning morn-ing Tho cares of business weighed heavily upon him. Junior member of the real estate firm of Irwin & Clay, ho realized that the house of which his father-in-law, Russol Irwin, was head, faced financial ruin because of his extravagances ex-travagances and recklessness. Tho throbbing ln his temples and the racking rack-ing reminders of last night's wild time In no wise improved his temper, a8 he slowly picked at the breakfast that has been served in his room. "Has his lordship a new crown this morning," smiled Isabella as sh came Into the chamber unannounced and almost unheard. With a slightly forced laugh, sho pointed to the wet towel that he had bound around, his aching head. "Or is it some new style of headJ gear made fashionable by the war?" she persisted. Clay scowled at his pretty wife. Ho was in no mood for trifling. Ho was In no mood to admire tho unusual Bparklo of her lustrous eyes and was too wretched to not Ih paleness of her checks or that she had donned her piettieat manner alqng with her frllliest morning gown. (OONTIWDID TOUOBBOW.X |