“The reason that I did not come to see you this weekend was that I went out to Rosemont to see her and she had got in wrong with Mrs. Ives and she was in a dreadful state about this Mrs. Bellamy being killed, and she is very delicate, so I am going to see that she gets a good rest.
“I hope that you will not feel too bad, as this is the best way. Melanie does not know that I am writing, as she is of a very jealous nature and does not want me writing any letters to you, so no more after this one, but I want everything to be square and aboveboard, because that is how I am. It won’t do you any good to look for me, so you can save yourself the trouble, because no matter how often you found me, I wouldn’t come back, as Melanie is very delicate and needs me. Hoping that you have no hard feelings toward me, as I haven’t any toward you,
Adolph Platz’s wife sat listening to this ingenuous document with an inscrutable expression on her small, colourless face. It was impossible to tell whether, in spite of the amiable injunctions of the surprising Mr. Platz, she yielded to the indulgence of hard feelings or not.
“Have you ever seen Mr. Platz since the receipt of this letter, Mrs. Platz?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever try to find him?”
“No, sir, I didn’t; but my brother Gus did. He was set on finding him, and he spent all his holidays looking in Atlantic City. He said that he hadn’t any hard feelings against him, but it certainly would be a real treat to break every bone in his body.”
“And did he?”
“Oh, no, sir, I don’t believe that he broke any bones—not actually broke them.”
“I mean—did he find him?”
“Oh, yes, sir, he found him in a very nice boarding house called Sunrise Lodge.”
“Yes, exactly. Was Miss Cordier with him?”
The colourless face burned suddenly, painfully. “Yes, sir, she was.”
“Now did you ever hear from this husband of yours again, Mrs. Platz?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“In September—over a month ago.”
“Have you got the letter with you?”
“I have, sir—right here.”
“I offer this in evidence too.”
“No objection,” said Mr. Farr bitterly. “I should appreciate the opportunity of inspecting these letters after Court adjourns, however.”
“Oh, gladly, gladly,” cried Mr. Lambert, sonorously jocose. “More than happy to afford you the opportunity. Now the envelope of this letter is postmarked New York, . It says:
“Dear Frieda:
“Well, this is to say that by the time you get this I will be on my way to Canada. I have a first-class opportunity to get into a trucking business up there that has all kinds of possibilities, if you get what I mean, and I think it is better for all concerned if I start in on a new life, as you might say, as the old one was not so good. Melanie thinks so, too, as she is very sensitive about all these things that have happened, and she thinks that it would be much nicer to start a new life too. She will join me when she is through being subpoenaed for this Bellamy trial, which is all pretty fierce, wouldn’t you say so too. She doesn’t know that I am writing you, because she is still jealous, but I thought I would like you to know for the sake of old times, as you might say, and also so that you can let Gus know that it won’t do him any good to go looking for me anymore. He will probably see that if you explain how I am starting this new life in Canada. Hoping that this finds you as it leaves me,
“Have you ever heard from your husband since you received this letter, Mrs. Platz?”
“No, sir.”
“Ever heard of him?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you, that will be all. Cross-examine.”
“No questions,” said Mr. Farr indifferently, and the small, unhappy shadow that had been Adolph Platz’s wife was gone.
“Well,” said the reporter judicially to the redheaded girl, “you have to grant him one thing. He knows when to leave bad enough alone.”
“Call Mrs. Shea.”
“Mrs. Timothy Shea!”
Mrs. Timothy Shea advanced belligerently toward the witness box, her forbidding countenance inappropriately decorated with a large lace turban enhanced with obese violets and a jet butterfly. She seated herself solidly, thumped a black beaded bag on to the rail before her and breathed audibly through an impressive nose.
“Mrs. Shea, what is your occupation?”
“I keep a boarding house in Atlantic City—known far and wide as the decentest in that place or in any other, as well as the most genteel and the best table.”
“Yes. Just answer the question, please. Never mind the rest. Were you—”
“I’ll thank you to let me be after telling the truth,” said Mrs. Shea, raising her voice to an unexpected volume. “It’s the truth I swore to tell and the truth I’m after telling. The decentest and the—”
“Yes, undoubtedly,” said Mr. Lambert hastily. “But what I wanted to know was whether you were in court at the time that Miss Cordier was testifying?”
“I was there. It will be a long day before I forget that day, and you may well say so.”
“Had you seen her before?”
“Had I seen her before?” inquired Mrs. Shea with a loud and melodramatic laugh. “Every day of my life for close on three months, mincing around with her eyes on the ground and her nose in the air as fine as you please, more shame to her.”
“Did you know her as Miss Cordier?”
“I did not.”
“Under what name did you know her?”
“Under the name she gave me and every other living soul in the place—the name of Mrs. Adolph Platz, that ought to have burned the skin off her tongue to use it.”
“She and Mr. Platz lived with you as man and wife?”
“Well, I ought to have lived in this
