Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 131: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL. and nature of an oath!” The district at- torney was on his feet in a moment to guard against an unexpected attack from this wholly undreamed-of quarter, but Bessie herself replied to him. Her polite little piping voice brought in- stant, electrified silence in the crowded room. “Oh, excuth me, thir, but I do! My mamma, told me; it meanth promithing to God to tell the truth.” “ The little lady seems thoroughly con- versant—”’ Lazenby began, but the prosecu- tor broke in upon him. “TI object on the grounds of this child’s agef Her statements cannot be accepted as evidence! The learned counsel for the de- fense must indeed be at his wit’s end to go to the nursery for a forlorn hope!” The wrangle was interrupted by the mag- istrate, who announced curtly: “Objection overruled. Let the oath be administered to the witness.” Bessie’s little hand was promptly uplifted and her childish treble repeated the cove- nant unfalteringly, with a sweet seriousness that increased the impression she hadfmade. Then Lazenby took charge. “* Bessie, where do you live?” “At 840 West One Hundred and Tenth Street.” The lisp had fallen from her now that they were going to let her tell her story and help Joe in whatever was troubling him. She didn’t know what it was except that somehow it was connected with the sad faced young man they called the defendant at the bar. Bessie smiled with happy con- fidence into the austere face of Lazenby. ‘“‘ Who else lives there?” His tone had become almost benignly paternal. “Tn our flat? My mamma and my Uncle Charlie.” “ Have you a telephone?” “Oh, yes! It was only put in a little while ago!” Her replies came readily, with unstudied promptitude. ‘Can you remember the number, Bes- sie?” There was an added weightiness in the attorney’s voice with the question, but the child’s naive unconcern brought the por- tent of her response home to her hearers all the more poignantly. “Of course. It’s Parkside 6-0-9-0.” 921 A murmur of astonishment and expec- tancy rose and swelled, but the magistrate’s gavel descended sharply and quiet was re- Stored. Richard Monckton’s eyes shone with swiftly reawakened hope, Henry Cor- liss and George Roper were stunned and the prosecutor visibly taken aback, but the witness was wholly unconscious of any spe- cial significance in her reply and gazed in docile inquiry at the nice, gentle old man who was questioning her. “'You’re sure of the number 6-0-9-0?” he asked. “Yes, sir. You can see it there now if you go to our house, and besides, I answer it lots of times for Uncle Charlie and his- friends.” “Did you answer the telephone at your home last Thursday evening, Bessie?”’ “No, sir. It didn’t ring.” She wiggled a trifle forward in her chair. “ I didn’t have any lessons to do for next day ’cause I was mumping, but mamma read to me after sup- per; Uncle Charlie had gone to Al’s. That’s how I remember; it was the last nice time we’ve had!” “‘ What time did your Uncle Charlie come home? Do you remember?” Bessie nodded energetically. “Yes, cause Uncle Charlie asked if Joe had called him up and said it was eleven; that Joe had called him at Al’s and he’d given Joe our new number to telephone in an hour. He was awful worried and waited up after mamma sent me to bed.” “¢ It was eleven o’clock on Thursday night when your uncle came home and Joe had called him up at Al’s more than an hour before; your uncle had at that time given Joe the new telephone number, 6-0-9-0?”’ Lazenby reiterated impressively. ‘ Why was your uncle worried when he returned and learned Joe had not called him?” The district attorney sprang up with an anxious protest thinly veiled in sarcasm as to the relevancy of the testimony, but the judge overruled him and the question was repeated. “Uncle Charlie said he was sorry he’d given our number to Joe just then; that Joe took a risk in calling from where he did.” Bessie spoke slowly, wrinkling her small brow in the effort to remember. COMIG DOO! (©