The Week's Review (Apache, Okla.), Vol. 14, No. 34, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 22, 1915 Page: 3 of 4
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THE WEEK’S REVIEW, APACHE, OKLA.
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MISSING
$81,500
By Varick Vanardy
•Copyrighted)
Thrilling, Mysterious and Interesting
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CHAPTER XVIII.
Birge Moreaux’g Sketches.
Shannon's Jess—Miss Stacey—di-
vorced wife of a professional crook
—no matter what she might have
been in the past, was at the time of
these passing events undeniably the
wife of Brian Shaughnessy, expert
operative at the detective bureau,
tied by Church and State. She had
regretted the fact more than once,
but never quite so forcibly as in her
thoughts while she posed for Mo-
reaux that day after Shaughnessy
had gone.
She had been in the past all that
her associations had made her. Her
instincts were predatory. She was
an enemy to society, and she had
lost the discriminating power be-
tween right and wrong as between
the world as we know it, and the un-
derworld to which she belonged.
But she believed in being on the
lsvol with her kind, and In breaking
•ven with her pals. In a different
environment she might, as a girl,
have dovoloped into a splendid wom-
an. The instinct for square dealing
was horn in her, warped and mis-
shapen though it had become.
Once when Moreaux told her to
rest, she retained the pose, replying
only:
"You'd best make the most of it
today, Mr. Moreaux. I'm not coming
back."
He worked on without answering
her, thinking while he worked. Then,
when he finished and she had gone to
the retiring-room to change the
Olympian draperies for her street
costume, he covered the canvas upon
Xfeich ]je^ had been ennloyetj __sufl
?«=!!1
i- I» /■
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It may save enough the first
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Build of
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which is better than erdinary
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We sell “ASH GROVE” Cement
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Material
T. H. ROGERS
LUMBER CO.
SOUTHERN
COMMERCIAL
CONGRESS
Muskogee, Okla.,
April 26-30, 1915
“For a Greater Nation
Through a Greater South
All interested in the Im-
provement of conditions
•hould attend.
Moat Interesting Program
World Renowned Speakers
_ Writs to
FAY THOMPSON
f Division Passenger Apt
VW Okla. City, Okla.
weenwlt
A. P. JEFFERY I, Ticket An*
from Tbe large porrrono Drought
forth the crayon sketches he had
made after his visit to the morgue.
The first effort after his return to
the studio—that one which repre-
sented what Shannon might have
been in perfect health—he stood
upon easel.
He met her when she came
through the doorway and led her to-
ward the easel, facing her around
within view of it suddenly, watching
her with apparent listlessness.
“Why, it’s—” she began, and
stopped. Then she turned a pair of
startled eyes upon the artist. He
nodded gravely.
“Is it like what he was when you
first knew him?” Moreaux asked.
“A little. But he was never so
good looking. You have made a man
of him. and he was never that. He
was always a sneak, even when he
was a kid. His cheeks were always
hollow and his nose always stuck up.
You've changed both. And he never
in his life looked anything hut
scared at his own shadd!’. He looks
here as if he’d fight a windmill—and
there wasn’t any fight in him.”
“Do you see any resemblance there
to any one else, Miss Stacey?” The
question was asked as gently as
he might have fanned her with a
palm-leaf, but she turned on her heel
and faced him, her eyes suddenly
cold and hard.
“No,” she said. Then: “Why did
you make it?”
Moreaux shrugged. “An artist’s
whim,” he said. “Curiosity took me
to the morgue to see him, and I
made this." He showed her the
small sketch made at the slab.
“Then I got to wondering how he
might have appeared before he be-
came addicted to cocaine and mor-
phine and the others—and I made
that. Then I thought I detected a
vague resemblance to some one I
had seen the preceding day, and I
made this.” He pulled a second
easel around.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed.
“It’s Shaughnessy! Well, what have
you to say about that!”
“You know him, then, Mias Stacey,
more than by sight?"
“Know him? And him a bull?
And me—what I have been? Faith,
he tapped me on the shoulder more’n
once.” She was all boldness and
self-assurance again, and Moreaux
restored the easels to their former
positions.
“I am sorry that you won’t pose
for me again," he said. “If you
should change your mind, let me
know.” He passed her, going to the
door and opening it. She did not
move. “Don’t forget your brass
weights," he admonished her.
“I’ll make you a present of them,"
she replied, crossing to the doorway.
But she stopped at the threshold
and turned. “Why did you do it,
Mr. Moreaux?” she askea. “Make
those pictures like that, I mean?”
“I have told you,” he replied.
“Well, all my life I’ve been accus-
tomed to plain speech, so I’ll tell you
that what you’ve told me about it
are lies. You didn’t want to Mint
any Juno. You wanted to got me
here to see those pictures. Why?”
Moreaux was silent.
“I wonder how much more you
know, or think you know?” she said,
and again he did not answer her. She
hesitated a moment and came back
into the room, dosing the door.
“What’s eatin’ you, anyway?” she
demanded. “Did you look me up in
my flat because you knew that I was
Shannon’s widow or was it because
you knew that I was Shaughnessy’s
wife?"
“Are you Shaughnessy’s wife?"
“Sure I am, though I’m sorry for
it.” *
“Since when have you been his
wife?”
“Since I divorced Shannon.”
“People of your faith do not be-
lieve in divorces.”
“Don’t they? Wei!, I haven’t got
any faith—much. Say, what are
you, anyhow? One of them fly-cops
that tell your profession by looking
at your breath on a cold day, and
that call themselves criminolo-
gists?”
“I’m merely an artist. Miss Sta-
cey I see characteristic lines in
faces that would escape your notice.
When I made that sketch at the
morgue, it suggested the second one;
and that suggested the third or e.”
“There isn’t any doubt about your
being an artist, whatever else you
are, she said sharply, and went out.
CHAPTER XIX.
A Picture of Crewe.
But Jess turned about the instant
she had passed the door and re-en-
tered the studio. Moreaux was
standing as she had left him. He
raised nis head and smiled at her.
She stopped and stood with her back
against the door.
"Do you know a man named
Crewe ?’f she demanded shortly.
“I don’t think so,” he replied,
shaking his head. “Who is he?"
"He’s a gin-mill operator, if you
know what that is. He runs a sa-
loon where crooks hang out when
there isn't anything particular
against them, and he doeB it to cover
his real business of being director-
general to the cleverest hunch of
tnieves in New York.”
“What about him?”
"It you happened to know him, 1
waa going to aak you to make me one
of those pictures of him—like you
made those of 8hannon.”
"Why?”
"Something that you aaid »o me
gave me an idea. I used to draw
some myself when I was little. Free
hand they called it. 1 used to copy
all the pictures I could find. Later,
I took to copying names in the same
way—till I got pinched for it and
was sent away. I gave it up after
that. But I used to draw faces of
people I knew. I could do it yet, if
I tried. Have you got another one
of those paper things stretched on
frames ? I’d like to have a try at it.
This being an artist, gets me all
right."
Moreaux arranged a stretcher of
cleah drawing-paper on one of the
easels for her and put a tray of
crayons beside it for her selection.
“Now you stand over there and
pose for me,” she said. “I just want
to see if I can do it. I won’t keep
you more’n five minutes.”
“So, it’s to be a portrait of me, is
it?” he asked as he took the place
assigned to him.
“You wait,” she replied, and be-
gan to work, lifting her eyes sharply
to his face and delivering rapid
strokes with the craysn which told
him that she at least felt assurance
in what she was attempting.
The five minutes’ time she had
asked for lengthened into ten, and
then fifteen, but at last she tossed
the crayon upon the tray and step-
ped backward to view what she had
done. Moreaux came around to her
side and a trifle behind her, and
looked at it also.
“But that isn’t a picture of me,”
he told her.
"No. It’s k picture of Crewe—the
man I was talking about. I’ve got
the artist’s eye, too, and I can see
lines of character that escape others.
I have done what you did. You made
a picture of Shaughnessy from two
pictures of Shannon. I have made a
picture of Crewe, the master thief,
from the original of Moreaux, the
master-artist. If Shaughnessy’s
Shannon, you’re Crewe. See the
point?”
“It’s a trifle vague, but I think I
understand what you mean.”
“And if you had a pair of alumi-
num plumpers in your cheeks, I
guess it would make your voice
sound cracked, too. Do you get me ?"
“I don’t in the least know what
you are talking about, Miss Stacey;
but if you will be good enough to
explain, perhaps I may."
“Oh, stop rocking the boat or
you’ll fall out. Besides, the wind is
rising. You’re the real elegant
swell up here, aren’t you? Say,
when you want to call on me again,
rap on the door and I’ll let you in-
only be sure that Brian isn’t there
when you do it.” She crossed to the
door and opened it. “And to think
that you came mighty nigh getting
away with it!” she added, ana
laughed aloud as she banged the
door behind her.
CHAPTER XX.
Three of a Kind.
Shaughnessy was waiting at the
little flat on the East Side when
Shannon’s Jess got there. Being the
sixth of August, the day waa hot and
he had removed hu coat, waitscoat,
collar and tie, and rolled up hia
sleeves. She waa surprised to find
him there and did not hesitate to tell
him so.
“You’re gettin’ daffy, Shaugn.
You know better than to come here
in the daytime,” she said sharply.
“Maybe I won’t come again day or
night—maybe there won’t be need
to,” he retorted, meaningly. "I
want to know what that dude artist
is chasing you for, and what’s the
meaning of all this play about your
going there to pose for him. There’s
a nigger in the fence somewhere, and
that’s a cinch.”
“And you’re seven different kinds
of a fool, and that’s a cinch, too.”
She started across the room to-
ward a door, but he left his chair and
ttood in front of her, barring her
way. She stopped and took a step
backward, farther away from him,
but not the least sign of fear
showed upon her countenance.
“None of that, Brian. I’ve got a
stinger, and it’s been dipped in poi-
son. You’d better not try to draw
it,” she told him, and drew back-
ward another step. He stood his
ground, but he did not advance.
“I’ve been thinking about that
brass-weight puzzle, Jess. I be-
lieved, before 1 made that call upon
Moreaux, that Crewe got them from
here, carried them to his place, and
dropped them through the grating
into his cellar when he found Holdy
and Marl and Baxter there. But I’m
reading it differently now. I was all
wrong about Crewe. It was Moreaux
who was here, and you gave him the
brass weights, and the posing as
Juno was a blind, and you went there
today to divvy and you both thought
you could get away with it ami fool
me! %
“I understand that 5 p. m. post-
mark now. I understand a lot of
things that I didn’t guess before.
You always were struck on drawing
pictures and <Sn artists who could do
it 1 tier than you, and you found
whut you wanted when you found
him, and his handsome face and ele-
gant manners; and I guess he found
what he wanted when he picked you
for his Juno. Well—he ran have
you. And you can have him. But
you've got to cough up that dough
first.”
“Is that all?” she asked him
calmly.
"Nearly. He's get enough without
that. When he gets you he’ll have
more than enough, as he’ll find out.
I’ll be well rid of you, Jess. You’ve
been a mill-stone around my neck for
a good while. We'll break even.
You go your way along with Mo-
resux ana I’ll go mine—only, I want
that dough. All of it. Every last
dollar of It.”
“Suppose you don’t get it?”
“Then I’ll get you. And him."
They spoke in ordinary tones.
There was no sign of excitement
about either of them save in the
light in their eyea that held each
other’s gaie without wavering on
either part.
For a moment ahe waa ailent. She
appeared to be considering all that
ha had aaid to her. He thought that
waa what, she v doing. Men know
women least * they think they
understand them best. When ahe did
apeak, the surprised him.
“I guess you’re right about break-
ing away,” she said in the same even
tone. "I don’t think I ever under-
stood until today what a low-down,
despicable, cowardly double-rrosser
ami sneak-thief you are, Shaugn.
“Hut we’re not sticklers for little
things when we’re crooks, are we?
I’ve been afraid of you ever since
you ht Terry die the way you did.
Maybe you killed him—I don’t
know. It would be like you. You’d
let me die the same way, or help it
along in the same way if you weren’t
just a little bit afraid of me—and if
you didn’t know that I'm not even a
little bit afraid of you. As for the
brass weights, and what you say was
in them, you’re talking through your
hat. 1 don’t know anything about
the dough you're talking about, but
if 1 had it, you wouldn’t *;et it.”
She spoke rapidly, although her
voire was not raised. The contempt
of her manner and tone and attitude
cut him like a lash. But he did not
move while the words flowed from
her. The pupils of his eyes dilated;
the lids narrowed. The fingers of his
hands crooked rigidly. When she
finished he moved one foot in a half-
stc p toward her, hut she thrust her
right hand through the side placket
of her walking skirt, and he stop-
ped.
"You'd better not try it,” she said
coelly, and without flinching. He did
no* take his eyes from her or change
his attitude. When she came into
the flat she had slammed the door
after her, but the latch had Itcen im-
perfectly repaired since Faber had
jitnmed it, and did not catch. Neither
of them knew that. “You'd better
not try it,” she repeated, seeing hint
moisten his lips with the tip of his
tongue. It was a sign that she un-
derstood.
His muscles flexed in the motion
of making a spring. Her hand was
half withdrawn from beneath her
skirt. Neither moved more than
that. A voice, cool and determined,
interrupted both acts.
“Jess is right, Shaughnessy. And
there’s a witness present,” it said.
Crewe, the blemish on his face
glaring red at them, stood in the
doorway to the private hall.
CHAPTER XXI.
Crewe’s Bluff.
“You'd better beat It, Jess.”
Crewe leaned carelessly against
the casing of the doorway dressed
precisely as when Shaughnessy last
saw him. His hands were inside his
coat pockets and there wa--. a latent
something about him that was sug-
gestive of incredible swiftness of ac-
tion. He wasn’t the man to have
interrupted them without ample
means at hand for offensive defense.
Shaughnessy swallowed hard,
bringing a lump into his throat
which disappeared slowly. He had
put the heavy, cumbersome things
out of his trousers-pocketB when he
stripped himself of his outer clothing
because of the heat, and was practi-
cally defenseless. He remained
where he was, staring without speak-
ing, helpless. Jess moved nearer to
a window, but kept her hand through
the slit in her skirt.
“I guess I owe you one for this—
Crewe,” she said with a suggestive
pause between the last two words
which neither of the others seemed
to notice. “He’d hsve killed me, or
I’d have killed him, if you hadn’t
butted in. That was a pretty good
play for you, chasing me down here,
ana I won’t forget it when it comes
to a show-down between us. Just
keep that position, will you, for a
minute. You’ll keep yours, too,
Shaughnessy, if you know what’s
good for you. This isn’t any polite
say-so that you’re up against, al-
though you don’t know it.
She crossed to the chair where
Shaughnessy had flung his coat.
His gun and his shot-filled billy were
on the same chair. She stripped the
one of its cartridges and she cut the
lacings of the other and let the shot
drip through the open window into
the flagged yard below
“I guess that draws your teeth,
Brian,” she said, “hut Mr Crewe
doesn’t want you to be in a hurry
about going—not just yet Now, Mr.
Crewe, can I use that telephone?”
f rewe replied without taking his
eyes from Shaughnessy, for it was
plainly apparent that the man was
ing a dangerous mood and would not
hesitate to take chanres if there
should be an opportunity.
“It depends upon what use you
want to make of it, Jess,” he said.
“I’m itching to rail up a friend of
mine to ask him if he’ll take me in.
Brian’s jealous of him, too, so you’d
better keep an eye out for trouble.
“Go ahead then, only no double-
crossing, mind.”
“I’m not that kind and you know
it.”
"All right. I can hear what you
say.”
“I’ll have to look in the book for
his number. I haven’t learned it,
yet.”
She began to turn the leaves.
“Maybe you know him. Crewe.
He’s an artist—name of Moreaux—
keeps a swell studio where he draws
pictures of dead men—and live ones,
too. I saw one there today of Shan-
non—he made that one down at the
morgue. I saw another one there of
Shaughnessy—he made that one
from Shannon’s. Here’s the num-
ber.”
She paused with her hand upon the
receiver, but without lifting it from
the hook.
"Maybe you know him, Mr.
Crewe, and maybe you’d rather I
wouldn't telephone.”
“That depends upon what
want to say to him. But I can
ten, so go ahead. Only be quick
about It, Crewe replied.
She hesitated another instant with
her eyes narrowed and fixed stu-
diously upon Crewe's marred face.
Then she asked for the number.
After a moment they heard her say:
"This is Miss 8tacey speaking. I
wish to talk to Mr. Moreaux. Is this
Mr. Moreaux? Yet.”
She shot a quick and thoroughly
puttied glance toward Crr ve, hut his
eyes were upon Shaughnessy and he
did not see it. She continued, still
with her eyea upon Crewe:
“I wanted to any that I hart
you
lis-
changed my mind shout the sittings,
provided you could use me again to-
day. That's too bad about the light,
but 1 think I’ll go up there to see
you anyway. Good bye.’’
She put hack the receiver and
stow) upright. She had not removed
her hat, and was ready for the
street. There was a perpendicular
line of perplexity between her brows
as she looked sharply at Crewe. She
said to him:
“You’re boss here now, and you're
a wonder. Take it from me, you are
all that. Can I go out?”
“Sure. Why not? Nobody's keep-
ing you, jess. You've pulled
Shaughnessy’s fangs, and I'll let
him chase along after you up to the
artist’s as soon as I’ve had a word or
two more with him. But Shaugn
isn’t feeling good, and you’d better
get there in time to warn that artist
chap that's stuck on you”
“Oh, he isn’t stuck on me, Crewe;
but I’ll give it to you straight that
he’s going some in my regard, just
now—<ir you are!”
Crewe moved aside out of her
path, but . he paused in the doorway
and looked back.
“You’d both better bent it out of
here rather sudden,” she said. “I
shall send in the lirst cop 1 see.”
(To he Continued)
T*k»» ■»
Tonight
It will act as a laxative In the
morning
Amphlett Bros.
-0-
True Living.
Only those live who do good.—Tol-
stoy.
Stonewall
is a black jack with white points
5 years old, 14 1-2 hands high,
good style and action and a sure
foal getter.
Stonewall will make the season
at mv farm 1 mile norih and 2 1-2
east of Apache.
TERMS: $10.00 to insure colt
to stand and suck. A lien will he
held on the mare and foal for ser-
vice fee as provided in sections IS
and 17. house hill 334, session laws
of 1915. And if said mare shall be
sold transferred or removed with-
in 11 months from date of last ser-
vice. the service fee shall be due
and payable at once and at all
events whether the mare is with
foal or not. Care will he taken to
prevent accidents hut will not be
responsible shou!1 any occur.
J. A. COWEN
OWNER and MANAGER.
HEALTH PROMOTES HAPPINESS
Without health genuine joy Is im-
possible; without gimd digestion and
regular bowel movement you cannot
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bowels open and risk being sick and
ailing! You don’t linve to..Take one
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night, in the morning you will have a
full, free bowel movement and feel
much better. Helps your appetite
and digestion. Try one to-night.
-0-
Worth While Quotation.
“Love Is the best thing In the world
and the thing that lives the longest”
—Henry Van Dyke.
Your Child’s Cough is a Call for help
Don’t put off treating your child’s
cough. It not only saps their streng
th, but often leads to more serious
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It is made with soothing, healing and
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It's guaranteed. Just get a bottle
from your drggist and try it.
--0-
Montreal’s Big Flour Mill.
Montreal has the largest flour mill
In the British empire; It turns out
5,000 barrels a day.
A Cure For Sour Stomach
Mrs. Wra, M. Thompson, of Bat-
tle (.'reek, Mich., writes, “1 have been
troubled with indigestion, sour stom-
ach and had breath. After tak-
ing two bottles of (’hamherlain’s Tab-
lets I am well. These tablets are
splendid—none better” For sole by
nil dealers adv.
Rheumatism Yields Quickly to Sloan's
You can’t prevent an attack of
rheumatism from coming on, but you
cun stop it almost immediately.
Sloan’ Liniment gently applied to the
sore joint or muscle penetrates m
a few minutes to the inflamed spot
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hot, tender, swollen feeling, and in a
very short time brings a relief that
is almost unbclieveablo until you ex-
perience it. Get a bottle of Sloan's
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and have in the house—against colds
sore and swollen joints, lumbago,
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money back if not satisfied, but it
docs give almost instant relief.
-0-
PUBLISHER’S STATEMENT
Statement of Ownership, Manage-
ment, etc., required by the act of
August 24, 1914, of The Week’s Re-
view, published weekly at Apache,
Okla., for April 1st, 1915.
Editor, Managing Editor, Business
Manager, Publisher and Owner, F. E.
Royer, Apache, Okla.
Known bondholders, mortgagees
and other security holders, bolding
1 per cent or more of the total
amount of bonds, mortgages and
other securities: Apache State bank
Apache, Okla., W. W. Panthers,
Apache, Okla., (Merganthuler Lino-
type Co., Brookly N. Y.
F. E. Royer, Publisher
Sworn to and subscribed before
me this 7th day of April, 1915.
. J. W. Pieratt, Notary-Public
My commission expires Dec. 30, 1915
-O-
Rheumatic Pains Relieved.
Why suffer from rheumatism when
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Mrs. Elmer llaleh, Peru, lad., writes,
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immediately, and I take pleasure in
recommending it to others.” 25 and
50 cent bottles. For sale by all deal-
ers. adv
Always put up Your Team at the
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uys Mrs. Sylvania Woods, of Clifton Mills, Ky., In
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1 wish every suffering woman would give
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The Week's Review (Apache, Okla.), Vol. 14, No. 34, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 22, 1915, newspaper, April 22, 1915; Apache, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc951991/m1/3/?q=music: accessed July 18, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.