THE MAN WITH THE KNIFE

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 447, 10 November 1904, Page 8

THE MAN WITH THE KNIFE

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BEBTSA DUNN, leaning out from • fourth-story window to enjoy th« sunset and river breeze, chanced to see one man murder another in an alley below. *• It waa over in a brief moment. A eound. Inarticulate and sadden, eaustd her to turn her eyes from the unfathomable sea of amber, opal and mother of pearl across the shining river. She aaw two men, both clearly defined 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 fell, and Bertha gazed, horror-strick-«n, at one huddled heap lying alone where two forms had boan wsathing madly. The shook of it photographed on her brain the faee, the form, the uncovered head of the man with the knife. She would know him if she met him among a thousand others. Then the horror of it came home to her. She, Bertha Dunn, the shyest and 1 the meekest of all the teachers in the Tenth ward school, had witnessed a murder. She would hare to appear in court, to testify, to explain, to identify. She closed her lips Tery resolutely. No one must know it from her. God had such matters in His hand, not man. She closed the window softly and went about getting her frugal meal with shaking hands but a firm determination not to give way. It was a courageous thing to do, but Bertha had need of courage. Some 50 miles away in the deep green country her invalid and widowed mother and *everal**small brothers and sisters lived npon 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 waa 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 te». Bertha had that rare thing, a eonseieaee, and ahe weighed the matter carefully. The deed, the motives, who th« man with the reddiih hair Bright be—theae thing* haunted her dreams and broke her sleep. She was glad when morning dawned and aha could go to her school. But firit ahe bought a morning papar to tee if the murder had been discovered. There it was in big, black headlines! A mysterious murder of an unknown man, a well-dressed stringer, in whose pockets was nothing by which to identify him. And, aa ahe read, Bertha Dunn realized with a shudder that the murderer, also, had been well dressed and that the double Hash in the sunlight had been a great jewel on the hand that drove home the shining kalfe The police were making every effort to get a claw to the murder. 60 Bertha was prepared to meet a respectful policeman in plain clothes near her door that afternoon. Had ahe aeen any people in the alley the day before? Did ahe 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, m The little teacher bought papers the two next mornings and read them over her desk before the school bell rang. The third day ahe read with a wildly beating heart. The identity of the murdered man had been discovered. He was one of the city's retired capitalists, a man of wealth, culture and travel. He was supposed to be in New York, and it was only by accident that he was known. The face of the murdered man had been badly slashed, probably after death, and this rendered identification difficult. Now the chase was on. The city was roused, the 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 hundred deaths. ■"* In those days she had troubles of her own. Her sister, the one who kept the family together down in the country,

ivrote'of the mother's increasing weakness and need of luxuries; of the need of books and clothing for the boys, :uid that delicate Jenny mus; have new flannels for the late auUnur: Bertha reduced her own food to tht least possible quantity and sent thi money home that should have pur chased her thre>«*mc-als every day Suddenly something happened. When Bertha, weak from fasting, dragged : up the stairs one evening and unlocked | her door, a large white envelope la; I epon th«i fioor. She stooped to pick i, j mp and feil dizrily. It was addressed i to her plainly. Within was a bundle ; of crisp bills and a slip of paper on % which was printed only four words: t, "Tha reward of silence."

Bertha drew back in horror, but the ruor.cy lay in her lap, crisp new bills. <5W> in all. Who can measure what that sum meant to the half-starved little woman aick 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. Desperate as Mas her need she would not have gone into a courtroom to testify for 310,000. However, the notice had a curious effect. She decided to use the other money, a little at a time. Bhe 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 incisure. 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 was in a fever. 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 tog-ether 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 forms pushing before and beside her. She struggled under one man's elbow and emerged, hatless, to hear the rest of the judge's words: "Arthur Kirby, you stand committed to jail without bail for the murder of Kincaid Homerson!" 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 had seen the real murderer, and this was not him at all. "Why had she not 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—alons 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. As she entered her humble home after nightfall she was conscious of a presence on the stairway behind her. As 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. lie deserved ten deaths. You shall tsVe her place in my care—although yon vnv.y never see me. lam going away now. God help and bless you!" Bertha felt a warm kiss on her hand. A "moment later the street door slammed. Pineapple mid Celery Snltid. Peel a small, ripe pi-:t-:ipple, cut out the eyes and shred; *>et on ice until thoroughly chillrd; then mix with a cup of finely-chopped, crisp whirs celery; and a sv-.-ret, red pepp_. ;:: into dice. Sr'yv inl-.i? ovrr this a Isr;;e French dreF.-h.g ami let stand 1 ■"■ iv r.- i ufes. '"' ;t. Ui.x" K with 1-1: * :■: i: : -e and '■-■'■■'., : ■■• A ctca'.s and t.' "'!th g:irni.-.h oT iittuoc --aves am: !:i!i meats.- Y'ash-ineton Star.