The County Democrat (Tecumseh, Okla.), Vol. 29, No. 17, Ed. 1 Friday, December 20, 1912 Page: 3 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: The County Democrat and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
i
__lam
copyx/tstfr is// Johnston
Illustrations by Yllaraes
6YNOP8I3.
Harding Kent calls on Louise Parrish to
propose marriage and finds the house In
great excitement over the attempted sui-
cide of her sister Katharine. Kent starts
an Investigation and finds that Hugh
Crandall, suitor for Katharine, who had
been forbidden the house by General Far-
rlsh. had talked with Katharine over the
telephone just before she shot horself.
A torn piece of yellow paper Is found,
at sight of which General Parrish Is
stricken with paralysis. Kent discovers
that Crandall has left town hurriedly.
Andrew Riser, an aged banker, commits
suicide about the same time as Katharine
attempted her life. A yellow envelope Is
found In Riser's room. Post Office In-
spector Davis, Kent's friend, takes up
the case. Kent Is conyinced that Cran-
dall Is at the bottom of the mystery.
Katharine's strange outcry puzzles the
detectives. Kent and Davis search Cran-
dall's room and find an address. Lock
Box 17, Ardway, N. J. Kent goes to Ard-
way to Investigate nad becomes suspi-
cious of a "Henry Cook.” A woman
commits suicide at the Ardway Hotel.
CHAPTER VI.—(Continued).
I waB thoroughly disgusted with the
drivelling way In which the proceed-
ings were being carried on. I could
see little hope of any discovery that
would establish connection with the
similar events In New York. I turned
from listening to the witness to study-
ing the face of the man Cook., CGuld
It be possible he was Hugh Crandall?
I saw that he was watching the testi-
mony with eager interest. Against
my will 1 had to confess that his face
was one that attracted rather than
repelled me. While there was a
shrewdness about the eyes, the chin
was square and firm and the skull
well-balanced. I tried to read In the
shape of the mouth or the curve of
the ears some sign of the criminal,
such as I expected to find written on
the countenance of Crandall, but It
was not there.
“She was sitting there crying.”
A sentence of the maid’s testimony
suddenly thrust Itself forward from
my subconsciousness as If demand-
ing my attention and I listened In-
tently to what she was saying.
"That was the way It happened that
I didn’t make up the room the day be-
fmw When I went In to do it she was
sitting there crying and tearing
letter to bits.”
A letter! It came on me In a flash
that here was the clue, that this was
the connecting Jink with the other two
cases.
I pushed my way forward Into the
room, determined to learn all there
was about this new phase of the case.
The proceedings stopped abruptly at
the bustle my movement made, and
everybody, coroner, Jurors and spec-
tators, gaped at me.
“I am a lawyer,” I said. "May
ask the witness one or two questions?"
81111 the coroner gaped and I wait-
ed no longer for his permission.
“Was it a yellow letter?" I asked
"Now that you speak of It I kind of
remember that It was."
“Has the letter been found?”
“She was tearing It In pieoes.’
“Where are the pieces?”
The eyes of everybody present be-
gan roving about the room, as If In
answer to my question. The con-
atable Instituted a hasty search, in
which I myself, the coroner and the
Jurors joined. I felt that If wo could
only And those pieces, the mystery
might be solved. While the room was
being ransacked I kept my eye on
Cook. As I asked the question about
the letter’s color 1 noticed that he
looked startled. I was amazed now
to see him edging toward the door. I
was tempted to demand that he be re-
strained and searched. I felt almost
sure that if the pieces of the yellow
letter were to be found anywhere It
would be In his. pocket. Yet second
thought advised against such rash ac-
tion. I had no positive proof that
Cook was Crandall. Until I bad, sure-
ly It would bo unwise to accuse him.
I remembered that there was no train
by which he could leave the town un-
til late In the afternoon, so there was
little prospect that he could escape
me.
“How did you know it was a yellow
letter?” the coroner asked me sus-
piciously, pausing suddenly In his
search.
It was an awkward question,
realized that my impetuosity had
placed me In a predicament. I was
by no means ready to tell him the
.whole story, and yet the fact that I
knew or suspected the color of the
letter that she was tearing up certain-
ly Indicated that I knew something
about the woman.
”1 didn’t know it."
■ "Well, what’d you ask the question
about it for?” he repeated, his sus-
picion of me rapidly increasing.
I was thinking Quickly what I could
say that would divert his thoughts. I
noticed with annoyance that the eyes
of every one In the room«were on me
and that they were curiously await-
ing an answer. I assumed an air of
mystery and drew the coroner to one
side. t
"I am perfectly willing to tell you
everything.” 1 said. "I am out here
on another matter that Is something
of a m7slery In which a yellow letter
figures. The letter has disappeared. I
never saw or heard of this old woman
before, but when the witness men-
tioned that she was tearing up a let-
ter a sudden notion came to me that
It might be the one of which I was In
search. A detective who Is working
on the case will be out here this eve-
ning and then I can tell you more
about It.”
1 spoke the last sentence In a whis-
per so low that It reached only the
coroner's ear. He pondered over my
statement and then abruptly .an-
nounced that the Inquest was ad-
journed until nine o’clock the next
day. I would have escaped him if I
could, but I saw that he was deter-
mined to worm out everything I knew
or suspected. I decided that activity
would be the best remedy for his
curiosity. Accordingly I lnvltled the
coroner and the constable to come up
to my rooms where, without waiting
for them to question me, I began fir-
ing questions hot-shot at them, sug-
gesting things for them to do, simple
things that would have been the first
thought of the police of New York or
any other large city, but which they
had not thought of. Had they tele-
phoned a description of the woman to
the Bridgeport police with her name
to see if she could be identified as
any one who was missing from that
city ? Had they examined her clothing
to see If there was any mark on It that
might Identify her? Had they studied
her writing on the register to see If it
gave any Indication of being assumed
or dlBgulsed? Had they examined her
pocketbook to see if It contained any
clue to a motive? Had they consid-
ered whom Bhe might have come to
this town to see?
"That Idea of calling up the Bridge-
port police ain’t such a bad one," said
tho coroner. “Suppose you do It
now," he said, turning to the con-
stable.
"I'd like to know who’s going to pay
for It If 1 do,” the constable objected.
“There ain't enough fees In this of-
floe for me to be spending my money
that way.”
“You go ahead and do it and I’ll see
that you get the .......
"If you’re going to pay It out of
your own pocket I’ll do It, but If you
expect me to wait till you put it
through as a lawful expense I ain’t
taking no chances."
Their petty wrangling over such a
trifling amount exasperated me not a
little.
“Here,” said I, palling a flve-dollar
bill from my pocket, “take this and
pay for it and tell them to telephone
you as soon as they can what they
have found out This ought to cover
both the message and the answer and
Batoned closely to the testimony and
the minute we began looking for the
scraps of the letter, didn’t you see him
slip out of the room?"
“Come to think of it" said the coro-
ner, “I believe I did notice him, but
I can’t say as I seen him going out.
Maybe ’twas one of the guests of the
hotel.”
"1 think he Is, and I’m pretty sure
he’s registered In the hotel as Mr.
Cook, too, but I’d like to know more
about him.”
“Let’s go down and ask Mahlon. If
there’s anybody in his hotel he don t
know about it’s something unusual.
We found Mahlon Williams In the
little boxed-off corner behind the ho-
tel desk that was labeled ‘‘Private Of-
fice.” The curious crowd was still
gaping at the door of the room where
the suicide had taken place, at least
such of them as had not adjourned to
the bar to talk It over, so that we
were alone In the office.
"Mr. Williams,” I said, "what do you
know about this man Cook, who Is
stopping here In the hotel?"
"No mbre than I know about you,”
said he, "and uot as much, In fact, for
he didn’t ask no peculiar questions at
the Inquest. Speaking about that let-
ter—”
“How long has this man Cook been
In the house?” 1 Interrupted, deter-
mined not to let either him or the
coroner annoy me with questions.
The hotel-keeper, plainly provoked
at my attitude, stared thoughtfully at
me for a minute and finally decided to
answer my question as the only hope
of getting me to answer his.
“He came Just the night before you
did—got in on the seven-two train.”
His answer settled everything in my
mind. Cook was Crandall. The ar-
rival of Cook In the village coincided
with the departure of Crandall from
New York. The haste in which he
had departed was explicable by the ar-
rival of the old woman on that train.
Evidently he wanted Tor some reason
to arrive In the village at the same
time tnat sue did. What had been
his motive was still a mystery to me.
It flashed across my mind that per-
haps, after all, her death might not
have been suicide. A clever criminal
might easily arrange things to look as
though she had hung herself. I deter-
mined to make an Investigation to see
If there was any evidence to prove
this, but I said nothing of my sus-
picions as yet. I already regretted my
precipitancy In asking about the yel-
low letter. The questions of the land-
lord and the coroner might be deferred
for a while, but sooner or later I
would have to make some explanation,
and I had none to give.
"What Is Cook’s business?" I asked
the landlord hastily, anticipating a
question I saw forming on his lips.
"I don’t know. He kind of looked to
me like a traveling-man^—or a lawyer.
What was—” •
Tiio tv-1 iirn of the constable from
telephoning saved my answering tiie
question he was about to ask.
“There ain’t no woman missing
from Bridgeport that the police know
anything about," he said sententl-
ously.
"Did ye tell them her name?" asked
the coroner.
"Yep. They say there’s only three
families of Tellers in the telephone
book and only four In the directory,
and they are going to look them up
and telephone Inside of an hour.”
"Maybe her name wasn’t Teller,”
the tremulous old-faehloned hand little
used to handling the lien. There wai
perhaps a little more space between
the last two names than after the first
—as If she hesitated a moment whiU
deciding what name to use or perhaps
with an honest woman’s natural aver-
sion to assuming any other name than
her own.
"Let’s look at the clothing," I sug-
gested, enger for an opportunity to see
whether there were any Indications
that would point to anything other
than suicide.
The four of us hastened to the room
again. To my annoyance I noted that
the rope had been removed from the
rafters, though the woman's outer
clothing still lay piled on the chair.
There seemed to be nothing about the
inexpensive black suit to identify the
owner, no mark of any kind except the
label of the concern In New York
from which It had been purchased.
3k
“Where's the black bag she car
rled ?” asked the coroner.
"There was some money In It,” Mr. 1
Williams replied. "I put it in the i
safe.”
As we left the room to return to the i
hotel office I gave a hasty glance at
jf t
(Copyright.)
_ p.
Ad1
■m,
ml.
J^S
\
V
ND it had come to
pass that on this
day betore Christ-
mas a man not
old In years sat in
his room at a ho-
tel' In a strange
town and felt him
self of all the
world the most
lonely. High and
low, rich ami poor,
mingled in the
procession of hap-
py shoppers with-
out. He alone had
no thought for
I
HT
In the Corner of
Was a Neatly Embroidered “S.”
sV
it
/V
the corpse. From the condition of the
face and throat It was all too plain that j
death had been by strangulation, still,
I reasoned, a powerful man might j
have strangled the woman first and J
hanged her afterward to conceal his
crime. I determined to put the theory
up to Davis as soon ns he arrived.
Twirling the knob of the nnclent
safe that stood In the comer, the ho-
tel keeper reached In nnd drew out a
well-worn hand-bag of black leather
and upset the contents on the desk.
There were three one-dollar bills, neat-
ly folded, three dimes and eight pen-
nies—a meager amount that suggested
»/> fc.rrdliur of pennies for this trip,
whatever its purpose. There was a
half-ticket, the return stub of a ticket
from Bridgeport and another one from
New York to Ardway, and that was
ail, save two neatly folded black box
dered handkerchiefs.
‘Looks like she came from Bridge-
port, after all," the constable volun-
teered.
"Maybe she did,” said the landlord,
unfolding one of the handkerchiefs
and holding it up to our gaze. ’’Maybe
Bhe did come from Bridgeport, but her
name wasn’t Teller—not Mary Jane
Teller by a long shot.”
In the coiner of each handkerchief
was a neatly embroidered "S.”
It gave me quite a shock as I looked
at that mute evidence of her assumed
name, to her effort to mask her
identity.
Could her name have been Riser?
Was this the way in which she was
connected with the two suicides In
New York? But even so, suppose she
was the sister or relative, or even the
unrecognized wife of old Andred Ki-
ser, what possible connection could
these two humble people have with
Katharine Farrish?
The mystery was growing deeper.
Dow I wished that Inspector Davli
would come.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Santa Claus.
It went back five years. He, the son
of a railroad magnate, had dared to
fall In love with the blue-eyed daugh-
ter of a locomotive driver on his fa-
ther's road—a man whose face and
hands carried grime—who dwelt in a
cottage—who had no society outside
of dally toilers. And ho had dared
stand before the father who thought
himself specially created and say:
"Father, I going to bo married.”
“Well?"
‘To Gladys Davis.”
"Never heard of her."
I "The daughter of one of our en-
the Handkerchief j ejneerg "
There was a moment of painful sus-
pense and then the storm broke.
“You shall not! You are either a
fool or a lunatic to think of It. An
engineer’s daughter! Think of your
mother—of me—of your sister—the
disgrace! You must have lost your
senses!”
“But I am to marry her," was the
steady reply.
“I say no! If the jade has trapped
you into an engagement buy her off.
The father must use hiB influence or
take his discharge.” •
"But we love and are promised to
| each other.”
In the next half hour the father
| stormed and cajoled. If tho soil in-
nioied on each a imi.-vL '■■■'■ would
be cast out by the family; he would
be ridiculed even by the common peo-
ple. And the magnate ended up with:
"Fred, I will have the engineer call-
ed up here and give him a check lor
a thousand del-
Ka
'/t
40'
7
y>>'
/.
Ur
“Titanic” as Baby’s Name.
A baker, on registering the birth of
his daughter, at Arad, in Hungary, In
formed (he registrar that he intended
to have her christened Titanic, as she
was born on the day the White Star
liner Bank. The official, however, re-
fused to accept this name, as It Is
dt]+
larB and tell him
that this non-
sense must end.”
“We shall be
mar r i e d three
days from now,”
was his answer.
In reply to that
the father point-
ed to the door, anil
the son bowed and
passed out to he
son no longer. He
had money that
had been left, him
by an aunt, and
the father could
not threaten him
with poverty.
Love may always be right, but it
can be so influenced as to be seem-
ingly a mistake. The marriage took
place and Fred Dillingham wfis ostra-
cized. He was not kindly welcomed
In the other stratum. If there ts a gulf
between the rich man and the work-
ingman the latter resents intrusion
as much as the former. There was
love, but after a few months it was
Influenced from both sides. Both hui-
band and wife were made to fear that
a grave mistake had been made. They
fought away the Idea and sought to
hold their love, but that brought Irri-
tations and vexations and culminated
in misunderstandings and quarrels,
not to be found in the calendar nf Ho- | After two years there^ was a separ*
man Catholic saints' days a“d!!!** I *‘°'g‘itthe gossips bad predicted,
baker had to content himself with the j _ _ ^ ( iW u„.nvo tf) ,,rinL, about.
less topical name of Rosalia. In this
case the rule of the church, which is
upheld by the state, saved the child
from bearing through life an appella
tlon which Is not only unsuitable, to
say the least of it, for a little girl, but
would also recall for many years one
of the most tragic disasters of mod-
ern times. Sometimes, however, tin-
rule operates rather hardly, as when
recently a Viennese was not allowed
to have his child christened Daisy,
after her mother, who is an English
woman.
belli and catch the shouts of chlldrea
on the street—to wonder If hla child
still lived, and to wonder further what
old Santa Claus would bring her—why,
the man cursed the fears he could
not keep back.
A quarter of an hour later the out-
law was down on the street. He
would mingle with
the throng. He
would enter the
stores under the
evergreen branch-
es and look about
him—aye, make a
purchase and be , —
Santa Claus to -pJO)
somebig-eyed _
child on the street. Z.'Si
lie was an out-
law, but the world ^
should not crowd
him quite to the
edge. He was al-
most smiling as
he crowded his ~—j ^
way Into a big w*
store, and he was "
looking about him when a small, warm
hand was cuddled Into his and a
child’s voice said:
Please take care of mo ’till mam-
ma finds me—I’m lost!"
it was a little girl, and on her face
was both a smile and a look of en-
treaty,
“Why, of course,” replied the out-
law, pressing her hand and drawing
her back a little. "So you came here
with your mother after Christmas
things and got separated?”
"That’s it, only I think she ran away
from me so that I shouldn’t know
what Santa Claus was going to bring
me tomorrow night."
“I hope it will lie something nice."
"Oh, it will be. Are you buying
something for your little girl?"
"N-o-o."
"Maybe she’s dend?"
“I—1 don’t know."
The girl looked up and noticed the
grave expression on tho outlaw's face,
and cuddled closer to him and said:
• | m sorry if 1 have hurt you. >:uiii-
ma says I talk too much. I’ve just
thought that maybe you are not mar-
ried at all?"
' I guess thnt’s pretty near it," re-
plied the outlaw as he tried to laugh,
but mnde poor work of it.
“Well, if you haven't got any little
girl I haven’t got any papa. What
you going to buy. N
“Why, whatever you say?”
“But not for me?"
“Yes, for you. We'll select some-
thing, and then when your mother
comes I’ll ask her if she’ll let you have
It.” 1
"I hope Bhe will. You look to be
such a nice man that sbo shouldn't re-
fuse. I picked you. out ns the very
nicest man that came along.”
"Thank you," said the outlaw as he
felt his heart grow big. "Now, then,
about this doll. Real hair, eyes that
wink, pink shoes and almost as big as
you are. Sue ii be a muter to ^ou.
"And how much Is it?”
“Only ten dollars."
“My, but can you pay that much! If
you can you must bo rich."
“But you see I have no little girl of
my own.”
'That's so. Isn’t Christmas nice?
Do you know—there's mamma over
there! Let me run and tell her."
The outlaw turned his back on the
crowd and gritted his teeth and
winked his eyes.
\
“May I Ask the Witness One or Two Questions?”
If there Is anything left get yourself
some cigars with it."
The constable needed no second bid-
ding. As soon a3 he had disappeared
I turned to the coroner:
"Did you notice that man Cook at
the Inquest? Who la he?”
"I don't know who you mean,” he
replied. "The only Cook 1 know here
In the town Is Bob Cook, and he's laid
up with a broken leg.”
"Didn’t you notice a tall, smooth-
shaven fellow who stood right close
beside where you were sitting? Hi
suggested the hotel-keeper. "I recol-
lect seeing her kind of hesitate as
she went to write in the register."
"That's just what I was thluking,"
I cried, glad to divert his attention
once more. “Let us go and look at
the register and then examine her
clothing. Maybe there are some
marks on It.” t
“That’s a good Idea," said the coro-
ner. “Wonder we didn't think of that
before.”
The hotel register showed us little
save the name ’’Mary Jane Teller" ■
Artificial Graveyard.
What is perhaps the most remark-
able graveyard in the United States
adjoins the old Spanish church in the
anolent Indian pueblo of Acoma, N.
M„ and took over forty years to con-
struct. The village Is situated high
In the air upon a huge, flat-topped
rock many acres in extent and en-
tirely bare of soil. In order to ere
ate the graveyard it was necessary
to carry up the earth from the plain
ioo feet below, a blanketful at a time,
on the backs of Indians who bad to
climb with their heavy loads up a
precipitous trail cut in the face of the
clifT. The graveyard thus laboriously
constructed Is held In place on three
aides by high retaining walls of stone.
and what they strove to bring about.
There was more sorrow than anger
wnen the young husband turned his
back on wife and infant a year old
and went out Into the world as a
wanderer The wife went back to
her father’s cottage, but not to strug-
gle with poverty. The husband been
generous to her.
Five long years, and Fred Dilling-
ham had not been heard of. As an
outlaw without a family, whom should
he write to and why? At three years
of age the child, who had been named
Patty, wondered in her childish way
whv she hadn’t a papa. At five she
demanded to know. At six she stood
before the embarrassed mother in In-
dignation and threatened to go out
a-uI find one.
And at last the wanderer had re-
crosaed the sea and headed for his
home. He was tired and weary and
lonely. Home? But he had none!
He had left it when he left wife and
baby. This struck him like a sudden
blow, though be had all along realized
It In a general way. No home—no
wife—no child! That was why he
had left the train and taken lodgings.
He hdd no place to go. With money
in his pockets, he was a tramp.
And to know that Christmas was at
hand, and to hear the jingle of sleigh-
He had been hit
hard. Three or
four minutes pass-
ed and then a
hand pulled at h!s
and a voice said:
“Please, Mister
nice man, tell me
your name, that I
may introduce you
to mamma. I
think she will let
me have the doll.”
Tho outlaw turned 1
and gasped and
his face went
white. t
"Gladys!”
“Fred.” i
“You here!"
“And you!"
"And this is our daughter?”
"Our Patty. Father was discharged
from the road and moved over here
to take another run."
It was the next day, and Patty was
sitting on her father's knee and the
happy mother was wiping tears from
her eyes, when the child said:
“Say, mamma, I just picked him out
as the very nicest man in all that big
crowd, and I didn’t make any mistake,
did I? Don’t anybody sit down on my
dolt and give her a pain!"
W1
e
-slgF®*
--
Made It Work.
A week before the Christmas holi-
days an undergraduate wished to start
home, thus gaining a week’s vacation
on the other students. He had, how-
ever, used up all the absences from
the lectures which are allowed, and
any more without good excuse would
have meant suspension. In a quan-
dary he hit upon this solution; he
telegraphed his father the following
message: —
"Shall I come home at my leisure or
straight home?”
The answer he received was: “Come
straight home.”
An exhibition of the telegram to the
professors was sufficient.
An Assurance.
"Don’t you think a holiday is more
cheerful when there Is a largo family
gathered about festive hoard?”
“I do," answered the sardonic per-
son. “A large family is a glad assur-
ance that there Is uot going to be
enough turkey left to supply the menu
for the next few days."
mm
i
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
The County Democrat (Tecumseh, Okla.), Vol. 29, No. 17, Ed. 1 Friday, December 20, 1912, newspaper, December 20, 1912; Tecumseh, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc957182/m1/3/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.