A. H. Leahy - "Heroic Romances of Ireland Volume 1"

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New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Quill\'s Window

G >> George Barr McCutcheon >> Quill\'s Window




She sat for a long time with Mrs. Strong. Her dark eyes softened
and filled with tears as David's mother gently stroked her hair
and sought by words to convince her that David would understand.

"It wasn't your fault, Alix darling," she protested. "David won't
mind,--not in the least. Sergeant didn't really mean anything to
him. He was yours more than he was David's. Don't you worry about
David's feelings, dear. He--"

"You don't understand, Aunt Nancy,--you don't understand at all,"
Alix repeated over and over again in her distress.

"You're just worrying yourself sick over it," said the older woman.
"Why, you look all tuckered out, child,--I was shocked when you
first came in. Now, don't be foolish, dear. I tell you it will be
all right with David. I wrote him all about it, and--what's that
you are saying?"

"You don't suppose he will think I--think I did it, Aunt Nancy?"
Alix whispered bleakly.

"Think you--for the land's sake, Alix, what on earth are you saying?
Are you stark, staring crazy? You come right upstairs and get into
bed this minute. My land, I--I believe you're going to be sick.
You've got the queerest look in your eyes. Come on, now, deary,
and--"

"I am sick,--just sick with unhappiness, Aunt Nancy," sobbed
the girl. "You don't know,--you don't understand. Oh, he couldn't
believe I would do such a thing as THAT! He couldn't think me so
cruel, and wicked and--and spiteful."

"Now, listen to me," said Mrs. Strong sternly. "What is the meaning
of all this? What has happened between you and David that makes
you talk like this? Tell me,--tell me this minute, Alix Crown."

"Hasn't he told you--written you about ANYTHING?" cried the girl.

"I don't know what you are driving at, Alix, but whatever it is I
KNOW David hasn't got anything against you that would make you say
such things as you've just been saying." She hesitated a moment
and then laid her hand on Alix's head. "I've been wondering a whole
lot of late, Alix. Have you and David had a--a misunderstanding?"

"We--we don't like each other as--as we used to, Aunt Nancy," said
the girl, lifting her head almost defiantly to look David's mother
full in the eyes.

"Is it David's fault?" asked Mrs. Strong after a moment.

"I--I wish you wouldn't ask me anything more about it. At least,
not now."

"Is it David's fault?" demanded the other once more, insistently.

"I will say this much; it isn't my fault," replied Alix stiffly.

Mrs. Strong smiled,--a tender, loving smile.

"I think I could straighten everything out if David were only
here," she said. "I would take you both across my knee and give you
a good sound spanking. It used to work beautifully when you were
children,--and I think it would work now. I--I wonder if it would
help matters any if I were to spank--No, I'm sure it wouldn't. To
do any good at all David would have to be here to see me spanking
you and to beg me to let you off and give it to him just twice as
hard."

"Oh, Aunt Nancy," cried Alix eagerly, "if you only WOULD! How I
wish I were a little girl again! And David a little boy!"

Then she fled from the room. Nancy Strong put her hand over her
eyes and sighed.

"I wish David were here," she said to herself. "If he were only
here today."

During dinner that evening Alix was strangely repressed. It was
plain to Mrs. Strong that she was inwardly agitated. After they
left the table she became visibly nervous. She was "fidgety," to
speak the thought of her perplexed companion. Time and again she
started and appeared to be listening intently, and always there
was a queer little expression in her eyes as of expectancy. Once
or twice Mrs. Strong surprised a flash of anxiety,--aye, even
fear,--in them.

"You haven't read your letters yet, Alix," she said at last, seeking
for some means to divert the girl's thoughts. "There is quite a
pile of them there on the table."

"I don't feel like reading letters tonight," said Alix. "They can
wait till tomorrow." She arose, however, and hurriedly ran through
the pile. "I wrote to David before dinner, Aunt Nancy," she said
suddenly. "A long letter about Sergeant's death. I wanted him to
know how miserably I feel about it."

"Bless your heart, he'll know that without your telling him, child.
I am glad you wrote to him, however."

Alix came to a letter addressed in an unfamiliar hand,--a bold,
masculine scrawl. The postmark was Chicago. She tore it open. It
began with "Dear Alix." She quickly turned to the last page. It
was signed "Addison Blythe." A "thank you" letter, of course.

Her back was to Mrs. Strong as she stood beside the table, bending
slightly forward to get the full light from the library lamp. She
read the letter through to the end; then she walked over to the
fireplace and threw it into the flames. Her face had lost every
vestige of colour:

DEAR ALIX: [it began] You will no doubt throw this letter into the
fire the instant you have finished reading it, and you will hate
me for having written it. Nevertheless, I am doing so because I
think it is my duty. I offer no apology. I only ask you to believe
that my intentions are good. It is best to come straight to the
point. I have talked it all over with Mary and she approves of this
letter. What I am about to say still requires official confirmation.
I do not speak with authority, you must understand. I am merely
giving you certain bits of information I have obtained from men
who were in France in 1915 and 1916. It rests with you to believe
or disbelieve. In any case, if you are wise, you will at least take
the trouble to investigate. I am at your service. If I can help you
in any way, please call upon me. If you desire it, I will provide
you with the names of at least three men who were in Ambulance,
all of whom have answered my letters of inquiry. One of these men
met Courtney Thane in Paris in November, 1915. He was living at the
Hotel Chatham with his mother. She had a husband up at the front,
fighting with the French. This husband was a count or something of
the sort and a good many years her junior. My informant writes me
that young Thane, who drank a great deal and talked quite freely
of family affairs, told him that his mother had married this young
Frenchman a few months before the war broke out and went to Paris
to live with him. He went so far as to say that the Frenchman married
her for her money and he hoped the Germans would make a widow of
her again before it was too late. According to this chap, Thane had
also been in Paris since the beginning of the war. He spent money
like a drunken sailor and touched nothing but the high spots. The
second or third time he met him, Thane said he would like to get
into the Ambulance. His mother, however, was bitterly opposed to
his joining up. The last time he saw him, he had on an Ambulance
uniform and was as drunk as a lord in one of the cafes. My friend
had it straight from fellows out at Neuilly that Thane hadn't worn
the uniform a week before it was taken away from him and he was
kicked out of the service in disgrace.

One of the other chaps has written me, saying that he was at the
base hospital when Thane was stripped of his uniform. He was not a
witness to this, but he heard other fellows and the nurses talking
about it. Not only was his uniform taken away, but he was ordered
to get out of Paris at once. They heard afterward that he went
to Madrid with his mother. He was never at Pont-a-Mousson. It is
obvious that he was not in the Vosges sector, in view of the fact
that he lasted less than a week in the Ambulance, and did a vast
amount of carousing in a uniform that I revere.

It is up to you, Alix. The records of the American Ambulance are
available. You can obtain all the information you desire, and I beg
of you to get into communication with Mr. Hereford or Mr. Andrew
or some other official at once. I append below the addresses of
several persons to whom you may write. They were high in authority.
They will give you facts.

I was convinced that Thane was not on the level when I met him that
day. His stories did not jibe. I said nothing to you at the time,
because I could not be sure of my ground. I think I am reasonably
sure now.

I may add that I have written to Col. Andrew and others on my own
hook. If you care to see their replies, when I get them, I shall
send them to you. All you have to do is to say the word. In any
case, I ask you to believe that my devotion and Mary's deep and
honest love are the excuse for this letter, which you may show to
Mr. Thane if you see fit. I have no right to question his statement
that he served in the Royal Air Force. I know nothing to the
contrary. I speak only of the Ambulance. I am, dear Alix,

Yours devotedly,

ADDISON BLYTHE.





CHAPTER XV

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW




Mrs. Strong, observing her pallor, arose quickly and went to Alix's
side, "What is it, dear?" she cried. "What was in that letter? You
are as white as a ghost." Receiving for answer a pitiful little
smile that was not so much a smile as a grimace of pain, she placed
her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Why did you destroy it?"

"I--I don't know," murmured Alix through set, rigid lips.

"Yes, you DO know," said the other firmly.

Alix looked dumbly into her old friend's eyes for a moment, and
then her honest heart spoke: "I destroyed it, Aunt Nancy, because
I was afraid to read it again. It was from Addison Blythe. He has
been making inquiries concerning Courtney Thane. In that letter he
said things which, if true, make Courtney out to be a most--a most
unworthy person."

She turned to look into the fire, her eyes narrowing. The black,
flaky remnants of the letter were still fluttering on the hearth.
As she watched, the draft caught them and sent them swirling up
the chimney.

A high wind was blowing outside. It whistled mournfully around the
corners of the house. Somewhere on the floor above a door, buffeted
by the wind from an open window, beat a slow and muffled measure
against its frame.

David's mother saw the colour slowly return to her companion's face.
She waited. Something akin to joy possessed her. She was afraid to
speak for fear that her voice would betray her. At last she said:

"We know nothing about Mr. Thane except what he has told us, Alix."

The girl looked searchingly into her eyes.

"You do not like him, Aunt Nancy. I have felt it from the beginning.
Is it because you are David's mother?"

Mrs. Strong started. The direct question had struck home. She was
confused.

"Why,--Alix,--I--what a silly thing to ask. What has David to do
with it?"

Alix was still looking at her, broodingly. "Why don't you like him,
Aunt Nancy?"

"Have I ever said I didn't like him?"

"No. But I know. I know that Charlie Webster does not like him. I
knew that Addison did not like him."

Mrs. Strong could not resist the impulse to add: "And Sergeant did
not like him."

"And you think THAT convicts him?" said the girl, half ironically.

"I have a good deal of faith in dogs," muttered Mrs. Strong,
flushing.

Alix's gaze went to the huge vase of roses on the table. Then she
turned quickly to look once more into her companion's eyes.

"You believe that Courtney poisoned him, don't you?"

"I have no more reason for believing it than you have, Alix,"
returned Mrs. Strong calmly.

"Why,--why do you say that?" cried the girl, startled.

"Because you would not have asked the question if you hadn't
been--well, wondering a little yourself, Alix."

"Oh,--I don't want to think it," cried Alix miserably. "I don't
want to think of it!"

"No more do I want to think it. Listen to me, Alix. I confess that
I do not like this man. I have no way of explaining my feeling
toward him. He has always been polite and agreeable to me. He has
never done a thing that I can call to mind that would set me against
him. Maybe it's because he is not of my world, because he comes
from a big city, because deep in his heart he probably looks down
on us Hoosiers. I will go farther, Alix, and say that I do not trust
him. That is a nasty thing to say. It is none of my business, but
I--I wish you did not like him so well, Alix."

"It would appear that my friends are taking more than an ordinary
interest in my welfare," said Alix slowly, and with some bitterness.
"Is it possible that you all believe me incapable of taking care
of myself?"

"Smarter women than you, Alix Crown, have been fooled by men," said
the other sententiously. "Oh, I don't mean the way you think, my
child,--so don't glare at me like that. I know you can take care
of yourself THAT way,--but how about falling in love? And getting
married? And finding out afterward that roses don't grow on cactus
plants? That's how women are fooled,--and you're no different from
the rest of us."

"I think,--I am quite sure that he is in love with me, Aunt Nancy,"
said Alix, somewhat irrelevantly. There was no sign of gladness,
however, nor of triumph, in her dark, brooding eyes.

"That's easy to understand. The point is, Alix,--are you in love
with him?"

Alix did not answer at once. The little frown in her eyes deepened.

"I don't think so, Aunt Nancy," she said at last. "I don't believe
it is love. That is what troubles me so. It is something I cannot
understand. I don't know what has come over me. I will be honest
with you,--and with myself. I do not really trust him. I don't
believe he is all that he claims to be. And yet,--and yet, Aunt
Nancy, I,--I--"

"Don't try to tell me," broke in the older woman gently. "My only
sister thought she was in love with Terry Moore, a fellow who had
been in the penitentiary once for stealing, and was a drunkard,
a gambler, and a bad man with women, and all that. She was crazy
about him. She ran off with him and got married. She never was in
love with him, Alix. She hated him after a few weeks. He just cast
some kind of a spell over her--not a mental spell, you may be sure.
It was something physical. He was slick and smart and good looking,
and he just made up his mind to get her. A man can be awful nice
when he has once set his heart on getting a girl,--and that's
what fools 'em, great and small. All the mistakes are not made by
ignorant, scatter-brained girls, my dear. My father used to say that
the more sense a woman has, the more likely she is to do something
foolish. Now, Alix dear, I know just how it is with you. Courtney
Thane has cast a spell over you. I believe in spells, same as the
old New Englander used to believe in witchcraft. You don't love
him, you don't actually believe in him. You--you are sort of like
a bird that is being charmed by a snake. It knows it ought to fly
away and yet it can't, because it's so interested in what the snake
is going to do next. Thane is attractive. He is, far as I know, a
gentleman. At any rate, he would pass for one, and that's about
all you can expect in these days. The thought has entered both our
minds that he put Sergeant out of the way. Well, my dear, I don't
believe either of us would ever dream of connecting him with it
if there wasn't something back in our minds that has been asking
questions of us ever since he came here. You say you were afraid
to read Mr. Blythe's letter again. Does that mean you are afraid
everything he says is true?"

"Oh, I can't believe it,--I must not allow myself to even THINK
it," cried the girl. "Why, if what Addison says is true, Courtney
Thane is not fit to--There must be some mistake, Aunt Nancy. There
were two men of the same name. _I_ WILL NOT BELIEVE IT!"

The two tall women stood tense and rigid, side by side, their backs
to the fire, gazing straight before them down the lamp-lit room.

"Has Addison Blythe any reason for lying to you, Alix?" asked the
elder quietly.

"Of course not," Alix answered impatiently. "There is some mistake,
that's all."

"Do you mind telling me what he says?"

"Mr. Thane is coming to see me tonight," said the girl, uneasily.
"He may come at any moment now. What time is it?"

"Ten minutes of eight. He never comes before half-past." She waited
a moment, and then went on deliberately: "I always had an idea it
was because he wanted to be sure Sergeant was in the house and not
out in the yard."

Alix closed her eyes for a second or two, as if by doing so it were
possible to shut out the same thought that had floated through Mrs.
Strong's mind.

"But he need not be afraid of Sergeant now," she said, with a little
tremor in her voice. "He will come earlier tonight." The unintentional
sarcasm did not escape Mrs. Strong. "Wait till tomorrow, Aunt Nancy.
Then I may tell you."

"You are trembling, dear. I wish you would let me make your excuses
to him when he comes. Don't see him tonight. Let me tell him--"

Alix turned squarely and faced her. There was a harassed, haunted
expression in her eyes,--and yet there was defiance.

"I stayed away five days," she said huskily. "For five days I kept
away from him. Then I--I gave up. I couldn't stand it any longer.
I had to come home. Now, you have the truth. I just simply HAD to
see him, Aunt Nancy,--I just HAD to."

"Then,--then it IS a spell," cried the other, dismay in her voice.
"You are not yourself, Alix. This is not you who say these things."

"Oh, yes, it is!" cried the girl recklessly. "I wanted to come
home. I wanted to see him. I don't love him, but I wanted to be
with him. I don't trust him, but here I am. Now you have it all!
I want to see him!"

Mrs. Strong was looking past her. She stared hard at the window in
the far end of the room, her eyes narrowed, her chin thrust slightly
forward. Then suddenly she clutched the girl's arm, her eyes now
widespread with alarm.

"Look!" she whispered shrilly, pointing.

The flush faded from Alix's face; the reckless, defiant light left
her eyes, and in its place came fear.

II

Plainly outlined in the window was the face of a masked man. A
narrow black mask, through which a pair of eyes gleamed brightly.

The exposed lower portion of the face, save for the heavily bearded
upper lip, was ghastly white. Brief as this glimpse was, they were
able to see that he wore a cap, pulled well down over his forehead.

For a few seconds the two women stood as if petrified, their eyes
wide and staring, their hearts cold, their tongues paralyzed. They
were gazing straight into his shining eyes. Suddenly he turned
his head for a quick, startled glance over his shoulder. The next
instant he was gone, vanishing in the blackness that hung behind
him like the magician's curtain in a theatre. They heard rapid
footsteps on the veranda, the crash of a chair overturned, then
a loud shout, and again the sound of flying footsteps across the
brick-paved terrace. Another shout, and still another, farther
away.

"Quick!" screamed Alix, the first to recover her voice. "The
telephone! Call the drug store. Bill Foss is there."

She ran swiftly out into the hall.

"Come back!" cried Mrs. Strong. "What are you doing? Don't open
that door! He's got a pistol, Alix!"

Even as she spoke, the report of a pistol shot came to their ears.
As Alix stopped short, her hand outstretched to clutch the door
knob, a second report came.

"Oh, my God!" she cried. "He has killed Courtney! He has shot
Courtney!"

By this time, her companion had reached her side. She dragged her
back from the door.

"Killed Courtney? What's the matter with you? Why do you say he
has killed--"

"Don't you see--can't you understand? It was Courtney who surprised
him. That's why he ran. He shot,--oh, let go of me! Let go of me,
I say!"

"I'll do nothing of the sort," cried Mrs. Strong. "Do you want to
get shot? Come away from this door!"

A door slammed against the wall at the back of the house. Some
one came running through the dining-room. First the cook, then the
little waitress, dashed into the hall.

"Wha-what is it? What's the matter?" shouted the former. "What was
that shootin'--"

"Where is Stevens?" demanded Mrs. Strong, as she fairly pushed Alix
into the living-room. "Call him! Isn't he out there in--"

"He went out,--half hour ago,--out," stuttered the waitress. "Who's
been--what's happened to Miss Alix?"

"Nothing! Go and yell for Ed! Thieves! On the porch. Don't stand
there, Hilda. Go out back and scream!"

"Oh, my God! Ed's killed! He's been shot! My husband's been shot!"
It was the cook who sent this lamentation to the very roof of the
house.

Mrs. Strong whispered fiercely in Alix's ear: "That's it! Ed is the
one who surprised him. Courtney nothing! Now, you stay here! I'll
telephone. Don't you dare go outside, Alix Crown. A stray bullet--"

Far away sounded the third shot, muffled by distance and the shriek
of the wind....

Mrs. Strong was off somewhere trying to telephone. Shrill voices,
out back, were screaming. Alix stood alone in the middle of the
long room, staring at the window in which the sinister face had
appeared. She had not moved in what seemed to be an age. A strange,
incredible thing was creeping through her mind,--a thought that was
not a part of her, something that seemed to shape itself outside
of her brain and force its way in to crowd out the fear and anxiety
that had gripped her but a few short moments before.

What would it mean to her if Courtney Thane were dead out there in
the night?

It was not the question but the answer that fixed itself in her
mind. She was unconscious of the one, but vividly aware of the
other. His death would mean--emancipation! For one brief instant
she actually LONGED for the word that he was dead! The reaction
was swift, overwhelming.

"God!" she gasped, shutting her eyes and clenching her hands in an
ecstasy of revulsion. "What a beast,--what a horrible beast I am!
What a coward!"

Her knees trembled; an icy perspiration seemed to start out all over
her body. She had wished him dead! She had grasped at THAT as the
solution! Her heart had leaped joyously! It was as if some great
weight suddenly had been lifted from it. Now she was numb with
horror. What devilish power had taken possession of her in that
brief, soul-destroying instant? She shuddered. She was afraid to
open her eyes. She reached out with her hand for the support of
the table. She had longed for some one to come and tell her that
he was dead!

Some one was pounding on the outer door. She had a dim, vague
impression that this pounding had been going on for some time.
A sort of paralysis benumbed her sensibilities. Her eyes were now
wide open, staring. Had her wish come true? Was some, one come to
tell her that her horrible wish had come true? Suddenly the fetters
fell away. She rushed frantically to the door and turned the knob.
The driving wind flung it open with a force that almost swept her
off her feet.

Thane stood on the threshold, hatless, panting. The light from the
hall, falling upon his face, revealed a long red stain that ran
from temple to chin. As she drew back, alarmed, he staggered into
the hall, limping painfully, and pushed the door shut behind him.

"Oh!" she gasped.

He shot a swift, searching glance down the hall and into the living-room.
Then he held out his arms to her. She was gazing spell-bound into
his eager, shining eyes. He waited. She came to him as if drawn
by some overpowering magnet. His arms closed about her....She was
crushed against his body, she seemed a part of him. His arms were
like smothering coils that pressed the life out of her; his hungry
lips were fastened upon hers, hot and lustful.

Presently she began to struggle. Shame,--a vast, sickening
shame,--possessed her. She was conscious of the wild, increasing
lust that mastered him. She tried to tear herself from contact with
his body, as from something base, unclean, revolting. His kisses
held her. She was powerless to resist the passion that swept over
her. Once more she surrendered,--and then came the shame, the
overwhelming shame. She was debased, defiled! She put her hand
to his face and pushed frantically to release herself from those
consuming, unholy lips.

Suddenly he freed her, and sprang back, panting but triumphant.
She heard him whisper, hoarsely, rapturously:

"God!"

Some one was coming. He had caught the sound of footsteps,--somewhere.
Alix sank breathless, rigid, almost fainting, upon the hall-seat.

"Darling!" he whispered passionately. She half arose, caught once
more by the irresistible spell that had first swept her into his
embrace. He shook his head. Then she heard him speak. He was looking
past her.

"I'm all right, Mrs. Strong. Don't mind me. Telephone for help."

"I have telephoned," cried Mrs. Strong, coming toward them quickly.
"Help is coming. Good heavens! You are bleeding! Were you hit?"

III

The question aroused Alix. She was aware of something wet and
sticky on the palm of her hand. She looked. It was covered with
blood. Then she remembered putting her hand against his cheek.
As if fascinated she stared for a second or two before her wits
returned. Mrs. Strong must not see that bloody hand. She would
know! Guiltily she clenched her fingers again and thrust her hand
behind her back. She shuddered at the feel of the moist, sticky
substance, and turned suddenly sick. Her one thought was to get to
her room where she could wash away the tell-tale evidence. Again
she heard him speaking, and hung on his words.