SfcGIBL WD
HAD NO GOD
^9 MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
J AUTHOR OF K,’"THr DANIN LOWER TEN,"ITC
OOPYRICMT- ,-—c'1-'- * c
OAAY ROBCRTvJ Rlftf/IART
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTKR I—Old Hilary Kingston,
starting with Socialism, drifts into an
archy, and gathers round him In the hall
above the village of Woffingham a band
of accomplished desperadoes who rot.
the rich, Incite seditions and arm the re
bellious. pis motherless daughter, Elinor,
Is raised to fine living and wrong think
ing, to no law and no Christ.
CHAPTER III.
I - _
J It was, after all, the assistant rector
bt Saint Jude’s who came up the hill
that hot August day. The news of old
Hilary’s death had come down from
the city on an early train. The rector
wns away on his deferred fishing trip,
where, having exchanged his clerical
collar for none at all and having Mis
tered the end of his ecclesiastical nose
he was quite happy.
The assistant, Mr. Ward, whistled as
he climbed the hill. As the hill was
steep, this proved two things—his
youth, and his lightness of heart. True,
old Hilary Kingston wns dead, and vio
lently done to death. But to Mr. Ward
death was but the gateway to a larger
life; and only very sad in the young,
who have not yet lived.
Mr. Ward was young, a broad-shoul
dered young man, with clear, rather
deep-set eyes, nnd a firm mouth. The
people of Saint Jude’s prophesied that
the world would hear of Mr. Ward.
There was only one bar to his progress:
he had too much humor. It seemed to
the people of Saint Jude's that religion
Is a serious thing, forgetting that good
cheer Is one of the things It must bring,
and It be religion.
Boroday met Ward In the hall. Old
Hilary wns upstairs by that time, lying
In his. great bed. All the doors and
windows were open, and sunshine filled
the rooms. Ward thought It au un
usually sane house of mourning.
“I’m glad to see the sun,” he said.
“So many people close things up.”
"Miss Kingston wished things undis
turbed."
“I came to tell her—but I suppose
Bhe doesn’t care to see anyone—the
rector Is away on a holiday. I’ll wire
him, of course.”
Boroday led the way into the llbrnry
where the- rector had so recently re
ceived his check. He turned and eyed
Ward.
‘‘Why bring the rector back?” he
asked. “It is a little late for—the
comforts of religion.”
“Mr. Kingston gave lavishly to the
church. Whatever the church can
do—”
“I rather think,” said Boroday po
litely, "that he gave, not to the church,
but to the poor.”
‘‘‘Inasmuch ns ye give unto one of
the least of these,”’ Ward replied,
and returned Boroday’s gaze.
Elinor had pulled herself together.
By the one standard that had ruled
her life she acted now—her father’s
wishes.
Ward, brought face to face with her,
found her unapproachable, calm, al
most cold. Found her very lovely, too,
and let his ardent young eyes rest on
her oftener than was wise. Her sit
uation appealed to him. She seemed
to be quite alone, save for the Russian
with the beard.
“If I can do anything,” he said, j
“wire to your relatives—anything of
that sort—”
“I have no relatives. My mother
died when I was born. I—I have a
curious feeling that everything in the
world has stopped—as though I'd
reached the end of things.”
It seemed to Mr. Ward that he
should offer some of the comfort of his
faith to this shrinking, wide-eyed girl
before him. But what? Rumors had
come to him, of course.
“Death Is only a tragedy when we
think of It as nn end and not as a be
ginning,” he said. “It is always sad.
I hope you understand that I know
how terrible all this Is for you. But
to have lived one's life, active and
well and useful to the end, and then
to depart, In the fullness of days, for
new activities—somewhere else—”
Elinor shivered in the warm sun
shine.
“You see,” she said drearily, "I no
not helleve those things. I should like
to just now.” Then, almost defiantly:
“He was useful. You will never know
the things he did that were helpful.
Rut perhaps we would not agree on
that, either.”
The Russian was walking up and
down the hall, lmpnsslve, wntchfTil.
Under his stoical Indifference, he was
suffering tortures. A bullet from the
automatic had gone through his left
arm, grazing the bone. Luckily, the
bullet was not In the wound. Ilenrl
ette had bathed and cleansed It, but
he was In agony. He was suffering
pain, bereavement, defeat. His face
expressed only decorous and conven
tional regret.
Now and then he glnneed In at the
library door, but generally he watched
the road up the hill. As he had
watched the Church ascending, so now
at any time might come Law. He
would be prepared.
lie had grown a beard since the St.
Louis matter. That would help. And
he had waited to return and claim old
Hillary’s body, until the Record extra
lind announced his killing. Walking
up and down the wide hall, his keen
mind was going back, detail by detail,
over the day. Talbot arid Lethbridge
in the car had kept on. They had
had changes of clothing in the ma
chine. By now they should be at the
country club, and halfway around the
links. The car. with its changed li
cense plates, would be standing in the
eminently respectable country club
gara ge.
Ward had risen. FTe towered far
above Elinor. Because of his heavy
shoulders, he never looked his full
height. Boroday, in the corridor, stole
a moment from his anxieties to find
the young clergyman every inch of n
man, and to throw him the grudging
admiration of defeated middle-age for
youth and vibrant life.
“Then I shall not send for the rec
tor?”
“Please, no.”
“Is there anything at nil that I can
do?”
“Do the—the police know about
this?”
“Surely. I suppose you have been
told what happened.”
“They will tell me nothing.”
There was a car coming up the hill.
That would be it. Boroday eased bis
aching arm. lie did not dare a sling,
but the hand was thrust in tiie pocket
of his coat. If only the hemorrhage
did not start again! He braced him
self and watched.
“It was a robbery, you know that?”
said Ward, in the library. He picked
bis words carefully. “As I got the
story, a taxicab on its way to the bank
Was held up near the Record office.
Your father had stepped to the curb
to hail fhe taxi, and—it happened
then, a—a stray bullet from one of
t lie-ftm rTT f s' gTi h s.”
Boroday, eyes on the car, heard the
statement, and, with the chief coming
ufe the stops from the road to the gar
den, took the time to repudiate It.
‘‘Pardon 1” he said. “It was not a
weapon In the hands of the bandits. It
was the revolver of the bank messen
ger.”
Ward turned In surprise. Boroday’s
eyes were fixed on Elinor's, with reas
surance In their depths. The assistant
rejctor was not subtle, but he had a
curious feeling of something behind all
tlus. He was uncomfortable.
IT trust," he said earnestly, “that
“-H* n-.il! K „ &t aQ
eqd now. Surely the police—”
“Possibly.” The anarchist’s gaze
wandered to the garden, where even
then the chief was making his way to
ward the house. “Of course, these
bandits are trained men of unusual
intelligence, If the police were of in
telligence to cope with them—’’
“Yes?” •
"They would not be on the force, at
raenger salaries and petty graft. They
would he”—he shrugged his shoulders
—“bandits themselves, very possibly.”
Ward left after that—left with an
uncomfortable feeling of having got
nowhere, Ho was convinced of one
thing, death, which for him was an
open gateway, was for this girl a
closed and fastened door. And he
knew something else. No other woman
had ever so profoundly impressed him
as this girl who without hope In her
grief met it with a high head and
courageous eyes.
He felt a certain comfort In one
thing. Elinor had made a concession,
and Hilary Kingston, lavish giver to
the parish poor, was to he hurled from
Saint Jude’s.
The chief met Mr. Ward on (lie ter
race and took off his hat. Boroday,
In the dim hall, felt a certain sense of
content. Nothing could have been more
auspicious, could have set Ills stage
better for his little drama, than the
presence of the young clergyman. The
whole scene gained tone, decorum.
The chief’s visit was short. They
had followed the bandits’ car and lost
it. and finding himself in the neighbor
hood—
"Be assured, ne said 10 l-nnor, m
his best manner, "that we’ll not rest
until this thing is cleared up. The
community”—he cleared Ids throat—
"the community will not lose one of
Its best citizens without a violent pro
test.”
With the coroner he went up the
stairs and into old Hilary's room. The
chief glanced about while the hasty
examination was being made.
“Nice room,” he said. "But a Jolly
lot of good It does the old gentleman
now! Nice little girl downstairs, too.
I’ve seen that chap in the hall some
where.”
The coroner drew the sheet over old
Hilary’s peaceful face.
"The preacher? They all look alike.
It’s the vest and the collar.”
“The other man, with the accent.
German, I take it, or—Russian.”
Boroday was waiting for them at
the foot of the staircase. In the li
brary was u tray, with drinks und
sandwiches. The shades hud been
lowered.
The chief ate and drunk. And as
often as lie raised his glass he looked
at the Russian over it. At last:
j "Haven’t we met somewhere, Mr.
1 “Boroday. I rather think not.”
| "You remind me of someone—I’ll
place you, or the person you resemble,
“You Have Never Been in St. Louis?"
pretty soon. I have a slow mind. It’s
like an Airedale dog; It’s a long time
getting started, but when It begins it
hangs on like the devil.”
The drinks were cold, and the house
cool. The prospect of starting out In
the heat and dust did not allure the
two men. Sitting there at his ease, the
chief ran over the points of the out
rage.
“In several ways,” he observed com
fortably, the affair resembles one that
happened in St. Louis several years
ago. There's the same quality of au
dacity—and there are other things.”
Quite suddenly a light cgme into his
eyes.
“Ah!” he said, bending forward to
ward Boroday. "I told you I’d get It.
It was in St. Louis I saw you!”
Their glances clashed, the chiefs In
tent, the Russian's cool, amused.
“The dog,” said Boroday, “holds on
well, but—to the wrong throat.”
"You have never been in St. Louis?”
“Never.”
I _
CHAPTER IV.
Elinor lived alone after the funeral.
Henrlette, who had now a chunce to
practice her favorite vice of thrift, was
for sending away the other servunts.
“1 can manuge,” she said. “For all
you eat-”
But Elinor protested.
“I shall want to keep up the Satur
day dinners. Let things stay as they
are for a time.”
It had been old Hilary’s custom to
live such members of the band as
were available dine with him*of a Sat
urday.
Henrlette raised her hands.
“Things are changed,” she cried.
"You are alone here now. To have
those four men—”
“That is better than having one
man, Henrlette."
So Elinor had her way. The Satur
day dinners were resumed early In
September, Boroday coming with In
finite caution from his cheap hoarding
house in the South side, Talbot and
Lethbridge from the bachelor apart
ment they rented together. Walter
Huff was late.
“I had to be careful,” he told Boro
day, aside. “They’ve got wind of some
thing, I don’t know what. My room was
searched today.”
Boroday swore through his beard.
“Tfien why did you come herd?" he
demanded. Young Huff laughed,
glanced at Elinor, and back Impudent
ly at the Russian.
“You know why I came,” he said, in
high good humor. “But I was careful.
It’s all right.” ^
Old Hilary’s chair had been placed
by Elinor's order. She had borne up
well (he last month, was rather more
slender, certainly more appealing. The
quality of wistfulness was more appar
ent than ever around her mouth. Iluff,
sitting across, hardly took his eyes
from Iter. He was young, and women
Had had no place until now In his ac
tive, unscrupulous life. But Elinor
held him in the palm of her small
hand.
i ney missed old Hilary, ills saturnine
humor, his beetling pray brows. Ami
inaction was tolling on them. They
wore growing restive. Boroday, advis
ing caution in view of what he knew,
felt the disaffection among the younger
men.
It was Lethbridge, who, waiting un
til the servants had withdrawn, rose
and glanced around the table.
“It seems to me,” he began, “that we
have a lot to decide tonight. I’ve been
thinking about it ever since—for some
time. The first thing, of course, is
whether we are going to hang together
or not.”
Talbot had rather a weird sense of
humor. He suggested that the word
“hang” be changed to “remain.”
“We’ve been doing well. We’ll do
all right again, too, as soon as this
; thing blows over. It was unlucky, but
S we’ve been pretty fortunate. Now we
can do one of two things. For Elinor’s
sake, I suggest the first."
“And that is—” Elinor’s voice was
unsteady.
“Send Boroday to Paris to dispose of
your Jewels. Then get a conservative
lawyer to Invest the money.”
“And after that?”
“Forget you ever knew any of us.”
Huff, across the tnble from her, went
white, but said nothing.
“You said there was nn alternative?"
Elinor was white, too. The room wus
profoundly still.
“To keep on as we are at present,
with you, Elinor, acting In your fa
ther’s stead, receiving and transmitting
messages, and—keeping the vault in
charge.”
Boroday was on his feet In a mo
ment, protesting. He would take the
jewels and send them abroad. It was
risky, but It could be done. But this
outrageous arrangement that had been
| suggested—
“What we are, we are by choice.” he
finished. “You have never had a choice,
and now it Is given to you. For God's
sake, child, go away now, while you
may.”
Elinor’s reply, when It came, was
unanswerable.
"Where could I go? I know In all
the world only you four, and old Hen
riette, and a governess of mine who
has gone Into a convent In France. I
shall stay here with you all.”
So It was settled.
That was an eventful evening, with
Elinor, misty-eyed, moving into her fa
ther’s chair at the table, and the bnnd
swearing the simple oath of allegiance
which held them together. And when
they had moved from the dining room,
Wulter Huff, following Elinor out onto
the terrace, told her he loved her.
The starlight above, and those near
er stars that outlined the streets be
low, threw a soft radiance over her.
She was dressed in white; old Hilary
had disliked mourning gnrments. Eli
nor was looking down into the village.
The great spire of Saint Jude’s tow
ered above the town. Huff, young and
ardent, thrilled to the girl’s presence
close beside him.
“You are very aloof tonight,” he said.
She smiled up at him.
“Not that surely. I was only think
ing."
Of what?
“Oh, of different things—of the peo
ple down there In their houses—their
lives, the things they believe; we think
they are narrow, but I wonder, after
all, If you and I, who believe none of
those things, are not the narrow ones.”
Huff was not subtle. Possibly he
would not have understood, had not
the Saint Jude’s chimes rung just then.
“Symbols like that seem to mean so
much to them,” said Elinor, aud fell
silent.
In the warm silence, Iluff felt for
and found her hand.
“All this time, when I couldn’t see
you,” he said unsteadily, “I’ve been
thinking of you here alone, and in
trouble. Sometimes I thought I couldn’t
stand It, that I’d have to come out and
see you. If only for five minutes.”
“I have always been more or less
lonely. Sometimes I think if I had been
sent away to school, had known other
girls, It would have been better, I
have never had any friends—except
you, and the others.”
Huff released her hand and faced
her.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Eli
nor. I want to be much more.”
She was rather shocked at first. She j
stood, looking ..
slightly parted.
“I? You—yon—want—”
"I love you. I want you to marry
me, dear.”
There was no doubt of the boy’s sin
cerity. It rang true. He stood with
his arms out, and after a moment she
went Into them. Except for the father
who was gone, this was the first love
that had come Into her life. She took
it hungrily. In the starlight she held
up her lips like a child for his kiss....
The police were still active. So In
sistent was Boroday on caution that all
of September went by without so much
as a plan of campaign. Talbot played
golf and established friendly relations
thet might be invaluable later. Huff,
under protest, retained the taxicab
work.
"It’s a dog’s life," he said. “They’re
not after me now. Give me something
else to do, or else let me take a vaca
tion.”
But they kept him at work.
Huff fell into the way of seeing Eli
nor once or twice a week. Talbot took
him out, picking him up on the edge of
town after dusk, on his way In his car
to a dance or dinner at the country
club, and taking him back the same
way.
And the boy’s Infatuation for Elinor
grew and thrived on those late summer
meetings. Her sweetness and elusive
ness maddened him. Sometimes he
thought her never so far from him as
when she was in his arms.
“Do you love me?” he would demand
hoarsely.
“I think so. I know I want you to
love me.’*
And he had to be content with this. |
On the evenings when she was alone
Elinor sat In her arbor and watched
the road up the hill. Ward had called
twice, and each time she had been out
on the long rambles she took almost
daily. After his second visit, she
stayed In the house for days, expecting
him. But he did not come again.
She was not in love with Ward, just
ns she was not In love with Walter
Huff. But the clergyman represented,
in her strange and lonely life, some
thing now and different. He typified
nil that she had never known. He was
the priest, rather than the man to her
at first. The time was coming when lie
would be man only, and after that—
Late In September Boroday was ar
rested. The arrest came as a shock to
the hand, fts a matter of fact the po
lice could.'prove nothing, but the chief
had a long talk with the Russian. It
was thft Agrarian affair, of course. The
chief hud recognized him. But so firm
ly had,old Hilary's respectability been
rootedfln the public mind that the chiel
connected Boroday only casually with
him.
“You know that I cannot prove this
thing on you,” he said, “but you know
also perfectly well that I can fix you to
the tune of about ten years.”
“Perfectly correct In both Instances,’' J
T
"And Thla Country Club Affair?”
Asked Elinor.
said Boroday. ‘‘You cannot prove any
thing and you can send me up. What
Is it you want?”
“I want the members of that band of
yours,” said the chief. “And I want
your headquarters. You people havo
been playing hell in this county long
enough; the newspapers are laughing
at us. Sooner or later, we’ll get you
and get you all. Make It sooner and
we’ll let you off easy.”
“How much time will you give me?”
The chief offered twenty-four hours
and Boroday took It. At the end of
that time he reported.
“I guess I’ll take what’s coming to
roe,” he said. “You can fix it any way
you like.”
It was a bitter disappointment to tha
police.
(Continued Next Week.)
Importance of Color.
Color Is a wonderful thing. It goes
to the soul of you like music, whether
you know it or not. If I could have
my way, every person in the world
should study color harmony, through
which they would see the world trans
formed—and maybe help in the doing.
—Exchunge.
True Meaning of "Poaaet.”
The proper meaning of the word
“posset,” frequently used In Lanca
shire, Is a d>}nk taken before going to
bed. Originally it was milk curdled
with wine, and comes from the Latin
posea, meaning a drink made with
vinegar water.
I
Warning
We are informed that at some cafes, restaurants
and gardens beer and strong drinks have been
sold under the guise of the popular soft drink
Bevo.
These reports have been confirmed sufficiently to
compel us to take action.
The beverage Bevo enjoys the protection of both
federal and state authority. In preparing it for
sale and in marketing it, we adopt every possible
precaution to protect the public against imposi
tion and to prevent evasion of the law. Bevo is
sold in bottles only, we bottle all of it ourselves,
and we have adopted a kind of bottle, crown and
seals designed to prevent imitation.
We shall omit no measure within our power to
defend the authority under which Bevo is
manufactured and scld, to protect the public from
imposition, and to safeguard the good name cf this
Association.
We therefore give fair warning that we shall refuse
to sell ouf products to those who are found guilty
of the above offense.
ANHEUSER-BUSCH BREWING ASSOCIATION
I
i