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8
THE SUNDAY FICTION MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 10, 1916
Secret
Vic
1
i (Cotttinvtd from Page 5)
? She went home, consulted the Red Book,
and in a firm and resolute voiee asked
central for a certain number found
therein.
Within thirty minutes her maid ush
ered in a short, fat man tn a brown suit
and straw hat, with enormous hands and
feet and twinkling eyes. Mrs. Stannard
received him in the library.
"Ton are " she began In a timid
- voice, as the man stood tn the doorway
. 1 with the straw hat in his hand.
"Mr. Pearson of Doane," Doane A.
Doane," he replied amiably. "Tou tele
" phoned for a man, I believe. This is Mrs.
Stannard?"
"Tea. You are" her voice faltered
"yon are a detective V
"I tan."
Mrs. Stannard looked at him much as
.she might have looked at a strange and
ferocious animal from the too. Then,
"partially recovering herself, she asked
him to be seated. He did so, jerking up
his trousers and balancing the straw hat
on his knee. (
' ' "You follow" people?" she asked
abruptly.
Mr. Pearson smiled. ,
. "I sure do," he admitted proudly.
' "Well" she hesitated "of course, I
know there's nothing really wrong, but
I am a little worried about it, and I
thought if you could- "
"Pardon me," the detective interrupt
"Sv ed, "but areyou speaking of your hus
band?" i "Certainly!" said Mrs. Stannard In
dignantly.
"Just so. You want to know where he
goes. Natural curiosity. Day or night?"
"Why both."
"Ah!" Mr. Pearson elevated his
brows. "That's bad. Now, if you will
permit me to ask a few questions. What
Is his full name?"
"Jonathan Stannard."
Mr, Pearson wrote It down m a littlo
leather bound book.
"Business?"
"Why the writer."
"Writer?"
"Yes. He writes."
"V-m. Does he drink?"
v "No."
"Gamble?"
t "No!"
- "Er fend of er women?"
V "Well! Well "
But seeing the foolishness tof it, she
swallowed her indignation and replied
cabjaly:
: "NO."
"I see." Mr. Pearson was frowning
ns he wrote. '"Evidently he's a bad an.
Always been a good husband?"
..r "Yes,"
"U-m. The worst kind. Like Wooley.
.1 handled that case. I suppose now
you've got some particular woman" in
mind?"
; "I 'have told you my husband does not
run after women," said 'Mrs. Stannard
with dignity.
"No?" Mr. Pearson winked at a chair.
"Now, madam, please give me the par-
ticulars of his absence."
' She did so; the hours, the dates, the
duration. He filled two pages of the
boyk with them. ,
" "You say he's a writer. StorlesT
"No. Mr. Stannard writes essays and
criticisms. He is a man of high morals
and serious purpose. I can't imagine
! why !h Is deceiving me "
"tiff, doubt. You aren't expected to.
We And out and let you know. We al
ways find out. Fd like to go through his
deakj
- She demurred, but he insisted. She
sat trembling:, with an eye on the hall
' door, while Mr. Pearson opened drawer
' after1 drawer of her husband's desk and
' - examined the contents. . But be found
nothing bwt typewritten sheets with
heading like "Chiaroscuro; the Lest
Art,"' or "The Deleterious Effect of the
' Motion Picture on the Literary Sense."
"I take it," said Mr. Pearson, closing
the bottom drawer and standing up, "I
take it that Mr. Stannard Is one of them
serious guys. Moody and a kicker. I see
here where he says he has about as much
respect for the modern school of illus
trators as he has for a paper hanger.
Also be seems to have grudge against
the movies."
"He stands for the noble in art," said
Mrs. Stannard. - "He has conducted a
campaign against the cinema because it
appeals only to the lowest function of
our mentality."
"Just so," Mr. Pearson agreed. "I re
member him now. I've heard my daugh
ter speak of him. He hates things that
other people like. Take this, for in
stance." He picked up a sheet from the desk
and read:
"The real danger of the poison for
the motion picture Is a poison lies In
the ease and frequency with which it is
administered. One dose would be harm
less, but repeated day after day it is
slowly corroding the intellect of the na
tion. "We hear much criticism nowadays of
the modern craze for wealth, of material
ism in art, of the undermining of Chris
tianity by science; but more pernicious
than any of these, or of all of them put
together, is the subtle and Insidious virus
of the cinema,"
"I see," muttered Mr. Pearson, replac
ing the paper on the desk. "Probably a
shifty customer. Secret rice. Will you
please sign this order, madam, for our
protection. On the bottom line."
Mrs. Stannard did so.
"I take it," said the detective, pocket
ing the slip, "that you want a complete
report of your husband's movements out
side this house. Including everything?"
"Including everything," she agreed,'
her lips tight.
"All right." He picked up the straw
hat. "You may depend on us, madam.
You will hear developments. Good day."
A bow from the door and he was gone.
MRS. STANNARD lived a year in
the wofek that followed.
For the first day or two she reproached
herself bittefly for what she had done.
To have one's husband followed by a de
tective! So vulgar! So mean, somehow!
However he was wronging her, was it
not better to remain in ignorance than
to stoop to the role of spy, even by
proxy?
If It transpired that some creature had
ensnared him with unlawful charms
and she no longer had doubt of this
what oould she do, anyhow? And if It
wre something else? "
What, then? She remembered the de
tective's words, "secret vice." There was
something sinister, something horrible
about them. Yes, there were worse
things even than a woman.
Each day she gazed at her husband's
back with alarm and dread as he left the
house. To what dreadful place was he
going? What revolting deed was he
about to commit?
"Secret vice!" Yes, It would be some
thing truly, grandly horrible. There was
nothing petty about Jonathan Stannard.
Even in his vices he would not be as
other men.
On the third morning after the detec
tive's visit, seized with insatiable curios
ity, she telephoned the office of Doane,
Doane & Doane. No, they bad nothing
to communicate as yet.
Mr. Pearson, one of their best men,
was working on the case day and night.
They would probably not report before
the end of the . week, when all possible
evidence would have been gathered.
Really, Mrs. Stannard must have a
little patience.
So she waited, brooding, scarcely
sleeping at all, tormented by her fears.
When her husband told her at the break
fast table that she was not looking wen,
and advised! a trip to the mountains or
seashore, she could hardly refrain from
replying: "Yes, you want me out of the
way." She was, in fact, working herself
into a pretty state.
Her husband was absent nearly every
afternoon aud evening, and she would
sit in her room, at the window, gazin?
dully into the street for hours. Several
times she saw a man start from some
where in the block to follow her husband
as he descended the stoop. It was Mr.
Pearson.
And then at 5 o'clock Friday after
noon the detective called to make his re
port. She received him, as before, in the li
brary. He wore the same brown suit
and straw hat the former, indeed,
looked as if he had never taken it off
and he wiped his brow with his handker
chief as ho took a seat at her invitation.
She saw something ominous in the de
liberate manner with which he turned to
face ber, drawing the leather bound book
from his pocket with one hand and plac
ing his hat on the floor with the other.
She trembled.
"You you "
She could not go on.
"Madam," said 'Mr. Pearson impres
sively, "I am able to give you. a full and
complete account of your husband's ac
tions. I may say the thing has been done
thoroughly. I did it myself. Are you
prepared to listen?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
"In my Judgment," continued the de
tective, opening: the leather bound book,
"your husband is the finest example of a
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde I have met in
my professional career. Also he is a
clever man. I would have lost him the
first day but for my ability to hang onto
the tail of a subway express. Evidently
he has gone in fear of being followed.
But he could not elude me."
"Tell me! Tell me!" Mrs. Stannard
implored.
"Certainly. I am coming to it. I take
it, madam, that you do not care to hear
the details of the chase. What you want
to know is what your husband has done
and where he has gone. I have here a
list of the dates and places, if you will
be so good as to give me your attention."
He pulled out his . handkerchief to
mop his brow, cleared his throat and
read as follows in a loud, rhetorical
voice:
"REPORT ON -JONATHAN STAN
NARD, WRITER, 318 RIVER
SIDE DRIVE.
"Friday, July 8, 2:24 p. m.. entered
Empire Moving Picture Theater, Third
avenue and Thirty-ninth street; re
mained three hours and eleven minutes.
"Friday, July ,8:15 p. m., entered
Royal Moving Picture Theater, Third
avenue and Grand street; remained two
hours and thirty-four minutes.
"Saturday, July 10, only appearance
in company with client, Mrs. Stannard.
"Sunday, July 11, a. m., attended
church with client
"Sunday, July 11, 7:09 p. m., entered
Circle Moving Picture Theater. Ninth
avenue and Fifty-ninth street; remained
three hours and fifteen minutes.
"Monday, July 12, 3:03 p. m., entered
Louvre Moving Picture Theater, Third
avenue and One Hundred and Forty
ninth street; remained two hours and
one minute.
"Tuesday, July 13, only appearance In
company with client.
"Wednesday, July 14, 1:43 p. m., en
tered Columbia Moving Picture Theater,
Eighth avenue and One Hundred and
Seventeenth street; remained four hours
and twenty-one minutes.
"Wednesday, July 14, 8:06 p. m., en
tered Harlem Moving Picture Theater,
Eighth avenue and One Hundred and
Twenty-third street; remained one hour
and forty minutes.
"Thursday, July 15, 9:10 a. m., went to
Long: Beach with client.
"Friday, July 15, 1:55 p. m., entered
Mecca Moving Picture theater, Broad
way and Ninety-elghlh street. (Evident
ly getting bolder.)
"Left him there to report to client."
Mr. Pearson closed the book and
looked at lils client with an air of tri
umph. She sat motionless, gazing at him
stupidly as though she had not compre
hended. Then suddenly she was aware
of a shadow on the threshold, and sht
looked up- to see her husband standing in.
the doorway, a puzzled expression on
his grave, handsome face at the sight ol
his wife seated talking to a man he bad
never seen.
He came toward them and saw the
look on his wife's face.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"Jonathan," she said, "I know all.
This is Mr. Pearson, a detective. He
will tell you "
A detective!" he repeated. "What
for? What is it?"
THEN Mr. Pearson spoke.
"Mr. Stannard," he announced, rising
to his feet, "I have Just informed your
wife that during the past seven days .
you have spent twenty hours and two
minutes In moving picture theaters, with
the dates and places."
There was a silence. Stannard's face
grew white as chalk, and it could be
seen that he trembled from head to foot.
The detective gazed at him sternly.
His wife had cast her eyes on the floor,
a though she could not bear to look at
him in that moment.
T am ruined!" groanedthe stricken
man, sinking into a chair.
"And I thought it was some kind nf a
woman," whispered his wife. Profound
regret was in her voice.
The detective stooped to pick up his
hat.
"Well," he said as he started for the
doo"I guess you're through with me."
Mrs. Stannard nodded her head in si
lence, then saW suddenly:
"But I must pay you; how much is
it?"
"That's all right." replied the other
genially from the threshold; "we'll mail
our bill and you can send a check. I
trust the Job has been satisfactory?"
Again Mrs. Stannard nodded. ''Quite
satisfactory."
"Good. Good day. madam." He start
ed to go, tli en turned again to add:
"You'll have to excuse me for hurrying
off like this, but I got a date to go to
the movies."
Alone with her husband, Mrs. Stan
nard turned to look at him with an ex
pression of mingled incredulity and'sor
row. The unhappy man sat with his
face buried in his hands, moaning pite
ously; great beads of perspiration stood
out on his brow. Thus do strong men,
overtaken by their sins, bend under the
awful burden of remorse.
Suddenly he looked up and showed
her his haggard countenance.
"It is the end." he whispered miser
ably. "The end of everything I cannot
it is too much to expect Vera, tell me
tell me can you ever forgive me?"
And then it was that Vera Stannard
shone forth in all the glory of her wom
anliness. She gazed at her husband and
saw the dumb pleading of his eyes fas
tened on her; she heard the agonized
despair in his voice and she felt some
thing come op in her throat, while the
hot tears came to her eyes. It is ever
woman's part to forgive. She smiled at
him.
"We are one, Jonathan," she said In
a sweet voice that trembled. "Who am
I to Judge you. I will even" she hesi
tated and faltered, then went bravery
on "I will even share your sin.' Yes, I
will share It and glory in it."
She stepped forward and laid a hand
on his arm.
"Come, dear; let ns dress for dinner.
Afterward we shall attend the cinema
together." Copyright by The Praak A Maasey Oo.J