THE MAN WITH THE KNIFE

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 350, 22 January 1903, Page 8

THE MAN WITH THE KNIFE

LBf ElissheA Cherry Watts. $

I** DUNN, leaning out from u% a foarth-»tory window to enjoy the sunset and river breexe, chanced to see one man murder another in an alley below.' It was orer in a brief moment. A sound, inarticulate and sudden, caused her to turn her eyes from the unfathomable sea of amber, opal and soother of pearl across the shining fiver. She saw two men, both clearly denned in the ambient glow coming in an opening between two buildings. They struggled a second, and then there was--a sudden double flash in the right hand of one. Then the other man fall, and Bertha gazed, horror-strick-en, at one huddled heap lying alone where two forms had been writhing madly. The shock of it photographed on her brain the face, the form, the uncovered head of the man with the knife. She would know him if she met him smong a thousand others. Then the horror of it came home to her. She, Bertha Dunn, the shyeet and the meekest of all the teachers in the Tenth ward school, had witnessed a murder. She would have to appear in court, to testify, to explain, to identify. She closed her lips very resolutely. No one must know it from her. God had such matters in His hand, not man. Che closed the window softly and went about getting her frugal meal with ■baking bands but a firm determination not to give way. It was a courageous thing to do, but Bertha had need of courage. Some 90 miles away in the deep green country her invalid and widowed mother and several small brothers and sisters lived upon her salary—that is, all she could spare. This made her live in a small, high-up room and alone —that her economies be not known. It was in the blessed rest hour after school that Bertha leaned out and witnessed the tragic fate of the unknown. Long she sat in thought over her cup of tea. Bertha had that rare thing, a conscience, and she weighed the matter carefully. The deed, the motives, who the man with the reddish hair might be—these things haunted her dreams and broke her sleep. She was glad when morning dawned and aha could go to her school. But first she bought a morning paper to see if the murder had been discovered. There it was in big, blaek headlines! A mysterious murder of an unknown man, a well-dressed stranger, in whose pockets was nothing by which to identify him. And, as »h9 read, Bertha Dunn realized with a shudder that the murderer, also, had been well dressed and that the double flash in the sunlight had been a great jewel on the hand that drove home the shining knife. The police were making every effort to get a clew to the murder. 60 Bertha was prepared to meet a respectful policeman in plain clothes near her door that afternoon. Had •he seen any people in the alley the day before? Did she know anything of the murdered man? To which questions Bertha was able to give a shy negative. She trembled to think that they might ask her if she had seen the murder committed—but they did not, and she went up the stairs very thankful

The little teacher bought paper* tin two next mornings and read them over her desk before the school bell rang. The third day she read with a wildly beating heart. The identity of the murdered man had been discovered. He was one of the city's retired capitalists, e> man of wealth,, culture and travel. He was supposed to be in New A'ork, and it was only by accident that be was known. The face of the murdered man had been badly slashed, probably alter death, and this rendered identification difficult. Now the chase was on. The city was roused, tha murderer must be found, and money was plenty. Bertha closed her little red mouth more firmly, and went about with a white face. Drag her into a courtroom? She would rather die a huudred deaths. In those days she had troubles of her own. Her sister, the one who kept the family together down in the country.

wrote of the mother'* iaereasing weakness and seed of'luxuries; of the need of book* and clothing for the boys, and that delicate Jenny must have new flannels for the late autumn. Bertha reduced her own food to th* least possible quantity and sent the money home that should hare purahaaed her three meals every day. Suddenly something happened. When Bertha, weak from dragged up the stairs one evening and unlocked her door, a large white envelope lay •poa the floor. She stooped to pick ii wp and fell dlaiily." It was addressed to her plainly. Within was a bundle of crisp bills and a s-lrp of paper on which was printed only four words: "The reward of silence."

Bertha drew back in horror, but the money lay in her lap, crisp new bills, S3OO in all. Who can measure what that sum meant to the half-starved little woman sick with the clamor of need in her ears and with six souls dependent upon her exertions? The next day she read an announcement of a thousand-dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the murderer or the information leading to it. Then she understood. But her lip curled. Pesperate aa was her need she would not have gone into a courtroom to testify for SIO,OOO. However, the notice had a curious effect. She decided to use the other money, a little at a time. She went to the post office and sent a generous remittance home, although not enough to excite any suspicion. This quiet little woman was not without much shrewdness. She felt that any change in her circumstances would excite-suspicion among those who still watched the neighborhood. So she continued her frugal life, only once in awhile allowing herself a good warm meal in a down-town restaurant. The rest of the money she sewed into the hem of her school gown and went' about without any anxiety concerning it. It must last a long time. In a month's time, during which the search for the murderer was unavailing, Bertha found another white envelope on the floor' and the same inclosure. She wondered how it came there, how anyone knew of her knowledge, who it was that commanded so much money and whether this was the end of it. Bertha knew she was not silent for the money, but she would be silent with the money. Then an arrest came, the arrest of a relative of the' murdered man. Bertha had not calculated on the effect such news would have upon her. In her soul burned the truth—the knowledge that a glance would tell her the truth. She waa ina fewer. An innocent man might suffer. Her clear duty shone before her and on the afternoon of the examination Bertha Dunn, pallid and grave, worked her way into the much-dreaded courtroom, packed with spectators. Unaccustomed to the scene, she did not even locate the prisoner, but she failed to find, within the room, the man of the dark red hair, the peculiar attitude, the long, lithe arm, the haughty profile. Nor did she understand the procedure of events. She had hurried down after her school hours and aimlessly wandered about the city hall a long time, too shy to inquire her way inside. There had been a number of witnesses examined and now the judge and several lawyers were consulting together in low tones. Suddenly the group fell apart and a stern voice sounded through the room: "The prisoner will stand up!"

Bertha could not see for the crowding form* pushing before and beside her. She struggled under one man's •lbow and emerged,, hatless, to hear the rest of the judge's words: "Arthur Kirby, you stand committed to jail without hail for the murder of Kincaid Homereon!" But upon the silence that followed the last word broke in a woman's cry: "He! O, no, he did not murder the man, not he!" Then arose the wild sounds of men shouting and women weeping with joy. And the little school teacher was swept to the front and questioned. She never once swerved. That was not the man nor anything like him. She knew that. As to the real murderer, she might or might not know him, but this young man—he was nothing like him. He was innocent, because she hadseen the real murderer, and this was not him at all. Why had she sot spoken? Because she was unable to do any more than save the innocent. Think of it —a flash of steel in a moment — two forms in a sunshine shaft, then a body on the ground. And she—alone in a great building with few tenants and night coming on. The prisoner was discharged. Detectives and officers plied Bertha with questions. But she was reticent. She had saved the innocent; she would not betray anyone else. Aa sha entered her humble home after nightfall she was conscious of a presence on the stairway behind her. Aa she fled to the security of her room a hand detained her in the darkness. "Good and wise, little woman," said a deep voice, "you shall never be forgotten in all the years, to come. That man cruelly treated and deserted my sister years ago. He deserved ten deaths. You shall take her place in my care—although you may never see me. I am going away now. God help and bless you!" Bertha fait a warm kiss on her hand. A moment later the atreet door slammed. ri*««»9t« mat Celerr Sate*. Peel a small, ripe pineapple, cut' out the eyes and shred; set an ice until thoroughly chilled; then mix with a cup of finely-chopped, crisp white celery; and a sweet, red pepper cut into dice. Sprinkle over this « little French dressing and let stand a few minutes. Then mix with mayonnaise and whipped cream and serve with garnish of lettuce leaves and nn* meats.—Washington Star.