The Daily Ledger. (Ballinger, Tex.), Vol. 9, No. 248, Ed. 1 Friday, October 16, 1914 Page: 3 of 6
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’A Novelised Version of the Motion Picture Drama of the Same Name
Produced by the Universal Film Co.
e Trey 0* Hearts
By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
Author of "The Fortune Hunter"The Frau Bou’t,""The Black Bag." etc.
Iilastrated with Photograph* from the Pictsre Production
CHAPTER I
Copyrlght( 1914, by Louis Joseph Vance
ft sign from her, so that he had srown
accustomed to the unflattering belief
that the had forgotten him.
And now the sign had come—but
what the deuce did the trey of hearts
mean?
i When morning came, London had
lost Alan Law. No man of his ac-
quaintance—mor any woman—had re-
| ceived the least warning of his dis-
appearance. He was simply and suf-
ficiently removed from English ken.
The Message of the Rose.
Lapped deep In the leather-bound
luxury of an ample lounge-chair,
walled apart frori the world by the
venerable solitude of the library of
London's most exclusive club, Mr.
Al^n Law sprawled (largely on the
aape of his neck) and, squinting dis-
contentedly down his nose, admitted
that he was exhaustively bored.
Now the chair filled so gracelesslv
stood by an open window, some twen-
ty feet below which lay a sizable
walled garden, an old English garden
in full flower. And through the win-
dow, now and then, a half-hearted
breeze wafted gusts of
sauve and enervating with the heavy
fragrance of English roses.
Mr. Law drank deep of it, and in
spite of his spiritual unrest, sighed
slightly and shut his eyes.
An unspoken word troubled the
depth of his consciousness, so that
old memories stirred and struggled to
its surface. The word was “Rose,” I
and for the time seemed to be the
name neither of a woman nor of a
flower, but oddly of both, as though
the two things were one. His mental was black
vision, bridging the gap of a year, con- (
jured up the vision of a lithe, sweet
silhouette in white, with red roses
at her belt, posed on a terrace of the
Riviera against the burning Mediter-
ranean blue.
Mr. Law was dully conscious that
he ought to be sorry about something.
But he was really very drowsy indeed:
and so, drinking deep of wine-scent j
of roses, he fell gently asleep.
The clock was striking four when
he awoke; and before closing his
eyes he had noticed that its hands
indicated ten minutes to four So he
could not have slept very long.
For some few seconds Alan did not
move, but rested as he was, incredu- 1
than—It came to pass that we loved
one woman, your mother, f won her
—all but her heart: too late she real- 1
ized it was Law she loved. Tie never i
forgave me, nor I him. Though he
married another woman, still he held
from me the love of my w ife. I could
not sleep for hating him and he was
no better off. Each sought the other's
ruin; it came to be an open duel be-
tween us, in Wall street. One of us
had to fail—and I held the stronger
hand. The night before the day that,
was to have seen my triumph, I
walked in Central park, as was my
habit to tire my body so that, my brain
might sleep. Crossing the East drive
I was struck by a motor-car running
at high speed without lights. I was
picked up insensible—and lived only
to be what I am today. Law tri-
umphed in the street while I lay help-
less; enly a living remnant of my
fortune remained to me. Then his
The answer forestalled his arrival
In Liverpool:
Trine’s death sign for your father. For
Coil's sake, look to yourself and keep
away from America.
CHAPTER II.
lously regarding a rose which had ma-
terialized mysteriously upon the little
table at his elbow. He was quite sure ;
it had not been there when he closed
his eyes, and almost as sure that it
was not real.
And in that instant of awakening
-the magic fragrance of the rose-garden
seemed to be even more strong and
cloying sweet than ever.
Then he put out a gingerly hand
and discovered that it was real beyond
all question. A warm red rose, fresh-
plucked. drops of water trembling and
sparkling like tiny diamonds on the
velvet of its fleshy petals. And when
impulsively he took it by the stem, he
discovered a most indisputable thorn
—which did service for the traditional
pinch.
Convinced that he wasn’t dreaming,
Alan transferred the rose to his sound
hand, and meditatively sucked his
With Red Roses
thumb. Then he jumped up from the
chair and glared suspiciously round
the room. It was true that a prac- .‘“{T,,.
tical joke in that solemn atmosphere ■ s v
were a thing unthinkable; still, there
was the rose.
There was no one but himself in
-the library.
Perplexed to exasperation, Alan fled
the club, only pausing on the way out
to annex the envelope he found ad-
dressed to him in the letter-rack.
It was a blank white envelope of
•good quality, the address typewritten,
the stam« ‘English, and bore a Lon-
don postmark half illegible.
Alan tore the envelope open in ab-
•sent-minded fashion—and started as
if stung. The enclosure was a sim-
ple playing card—a trey of hearts!
As for Alan Law, he wandered
homeward in a state of stupefaction, i
He could read quite well the message
of the rose. He would not soon for-
get that vear-old parting with his
Rose of the Riviera: “You say you
love me but iryiy not marry me—and
we must part. Then promise this,
that if ever you change your mind,
you'll send for me.” And her prom-
ise: “I will send you a rose.”
But the year had lapsed with never j
The Sign of the Three.
Out-of-doors, high brazen noon, a
day in spring, the clamorous life of
warm air. I New York running as fluent as quick-
silver through its brilliant streets.
"Withindoors, neither sound nor sun-
beam disturbed a perennial quiet that
was yet not peace.
The room was like a wide, deep
well of night, the haunt of teeming
shadows and sinister silences.
Little, indeed, was visible beyond
the lonely shppe that brooded over
it, the figure of an old man motion-
less in a great, leather-bound chair.
His liair was as white as his heart
The rack of his bones,
clothed in a thick black dressing-
gown with waist-cord of crimson silk,
from the thighs down was covered by
a black woollen rug. He stared un-
blinkingly at nothing: a man seven
eighths dead, completely paralyzed
but for his head and his left arm.
Presently a faint clicking signal dis-
turbed the stillness. Seneca Trine put
forth his left hand and touched one
of a row of crimson buttons embedded
in the desk. Something else clicked
-—this time a latch. There was the
faintest possible noise of a closing
door, and a smallish man stole noise-
lessly into the light, paused beside the
desk and waited respectfully for leave
to speak.
“Well ?”
“A telegram, sir—from England.”
“Give it me!”
The old man seized the sheet of yel-
low paper, scanned it hungrily, and
i crushed it in his tremulous claw with
; a gesture of uncontrollable emotion
' Send my daughter Judith here!”
Two minutes later a young woman
in street dress was admitted to the
i chamber of shadows.
“You sent for me, father?”
“Sit down.”
She found and placed a chair at the
desk, and obediently settled herself
in it.
“Judith—tell me—what day is this?”
“My birthday. I am twenty-one."
“And your sister’s birthday: Rose,
too. is tw»entv-one.”
"Yes."
^ You could have forgotten that,” the
old man pursued almost mockingly.
“Do you really dislike your twin-sister
j so intensely?”
The girl’6 voice trembled. "You
j know,” she said, “we have nothing in
i common—beyond parentage and this
j abominable resemblance. Our natures
differ as light from darkness.”
“And which would you say was—
light?”
“Hardly my own; I’m no hypocrite.
Rose is everything that they tell me
my mother was, while I”—the girl
smiled strangely-—“I think—T am more
your daughter than my mother’s.”
A nod of the white head confirmed
the suggestion. “It is true. I have
watched you closely, Judith, perhaps
( more closely than even you knew.
Before I was brought to this”—the
wasted hand made a significant ges-
ture—“I was a man of strong pas-
sions. Your mother never loved, but
rather feared me. And Rose is the
mirror of her mother’s nature, gentle,
unselfish, sympathetic. But you, Ju-
dith. you are like a second self to
me.”
An accent of profound satisfaction
informed his voice. The girl waited
in a silence that was tensely expect-
ant. "
“Then, if on this your birthday I
were to ask a service of you that
might injuriously affect the happiness
of your sister—?”
The girl laughed briefly; “Only
We Both Loved One Woman.
“And howr far would you go to do
my will?”
“Where would you stop in the serv-
ice of one you loved?”
Seneca Trine nod*!ed gravely. And
after a brief pause, “Rose is in love,”
he announced.
“Oh. T know—T know!” the father
affirmed with a faint ring of satisfac-
tion. “I am old. a cripple, prisoner of
this living tomb; but all things I
should know—somehow—I come to
know in course of time'”
“It’s, true—that Englishman she
scraped an acquaintance with on the
Riviera last year—what’s his name?—-
Law, Alan Law.”
“In (he main.” the father corrected
mildly, "you are right. Only, he's not
English. His father was Wellington
Law, of Law & Son.”
She knew better than to interrupt,
but her seeming patience was belied
by the whitening knuckles of a hand
that lay w ithin the little pool*of Mood-
red light.
And presently the deep voice rolled
on; “Law and I were once friends;
chauffeur, discharged, came to me and
sold me the truth: it was Law’s car
with Law at the wheel that had struck
me down—a deliberate attempt at as-
sassination. 1 sent Law word that I
meant to have a life for a life. For
what was I better than dead? I prom-
ised him that, should he escape, I
would have the life of his son. He
knew I meant it, and sent his wife
and son abroad. Then he died sud-
denly, of some common ailment—they
said; but 1 knew better. He died of
fear of me.”
Trine smiled a cruel smile: "I had
made his life a reign of terror. Ever
so often I would send Law, one way
or another—mysteriously always—a
trey of hearts; it was my death-sign
for him; as you know, our name.
Trine, signifies a group of three. And
every time lie received a trev of
hearts, within twenty-four hours an
attempt of some sort would he made
upon his life. The strain broke down
his nerve. . . .
“Then I turned jnv attention to the
son, but the distance was too great,
the difficulties insuperable. The Law
millions mocked all my efforts; their
alliance with the Rothschilds placed
mother and son under the protection
of every secret police in Europe. But
they dared not come home. At length
I realized I could win only by playing
a waiting game. I needed three
things: more money; to bring Alan
Law back to America; and one agent
I could trust, one incorruptible agent.
I ceased to persecute mother and son,
lulled them into a sense of false se-
curity, and by careful specu'ations
repaired my fortunes. In Rose I had !
the lure to draw the boy back to |
America:,in you. the one person I ;
could trust.
“I sent Rose abroad and arranged
that she should meet Law. They fell j
in love at sight. Then I w rote inform- !
ing her that the man she had chosen J
was the son of him who had murdered
all of me but my brain. It fell out as j
[ foresaw. You can imagine the scene J
of passionate renunciation—pledges
of undying constancy—the arrange**|
ment of a secret code whereby, when j
she needed him, she would send him
a single rose—the birth of a great ro- j
mance!”
The old man laughed sardonically, i
“Well, there is the history. Now the !
rose has been sent; Law is already j
homeward bound; my agents are I
watching his every step. Tile rest is
in your hands.”
The girl bent forward, breathing
heavily, eyes aflame in a face that had
assumed a waxen pallor.
“What is it you want of me?”
“Bring Alan Law to me. Dead or
alive, bring him to me. But alive, if
you can compass it; 1 wish to see him
die. Then I, too. may die content.”
The hand or hot-blooded youth stole
forth and grasped the icy hand of
death-in-life.
“I will bring him.” Judith swore—
“dead or alive, you shall have him
here.”
CHAPTER III.
The Trail of Treachery.
But young Mr. Law was sole agent j
of his own evanishment; just as he ■
was nobody’s fool, least of all his own. j
The hidden meaning of the trey of
hearts perplexed him with such dis- (
trust that before leaving Lohdon, he'
dispatched a code cablegram to hisi
confidential agent in New York.
What do you know about the trey of
hearts? Answer Immediately.
But Alan had more than once vis-
ited America incognito and unknown
to Seneca Trine via a secret route of
his own selection.
Eight days out of London, a second-
class passenger newly landed from
one of the C.-P. steamships, he walked
the streets of Quebec—and dropped
out of sight between dark and dawn,
to turn up presently in the distant
Canadian hamlet of H^e St. Paul, ap-
parently a very tenderfooted American
woods traveler chaperoned by a taci-
turn Indian guide picked up heaven-
know s-where.
Crossing the St. Lawrence by night,
the two struck off quietly into the
hinterland of the Notre Dame range,
then crossed the Maine border.
On the second noon thereafter,
trail-worn and weary, as lean as their
depleted packs, the two paused on a
ridge-pole of the wilderness up back
of the Allagash country, and made
their midday meal in a silence which,
if normal in the Indian, was one of
deep misgivings on Alan's part.
Continually Ills gaze questioned the
northern skies thaj lowered porten-
tously, foul with smoke—a country-
wide conflagration that threatened all
northern Maine, bone-dry with
drought.
Only the south offered a fair pros-
pect. And the fires were making
southward far faster than man might
hope to travel through that grim and
stubborn land.
Even as he stared. Alan saw fresh
columns of dun-colored smoke spring
up in the northwest.
Anxiously he consulted the impas-
sive mask of the Indian, from whom
his questions gained Alan little com-
fort. Jacob recommended forced
marches to Spirit lake, where canoes
might be found to aid their flight;
and withdrew into sullen reserve.
They trav led far and fast by dim
forest trails before sundown, then
again paused for food and rest. And
ns Jacob sat deftly about preparing
the meal, Alan stumbled off to whip
the ’ittle trail-side stream for trout.
Perhaps a hundred yards upstream,
the back lash of a careless cast by his
weary hand booked ihe state of Maine.
Too tired even to remember the ap-
propriate words, Alan scrambled
ashore, forced through the thick un-
dergrowth that masked the trail,
found his fly, set the state of Maine
free—and swinging on his heel
brought up, nose to a sapling, trans-
fixed by a rectangle of white paste-
board fixed to its trunk, a trey of
hearts, of which each pip bad been
neatly punctured by a 22-caliber bul-
let.
He carried it back to camp, mean*
ing to consult the guide, but on sec-
ond thought, held liis tongue. It was
not likely that the Indian had over-
looked an object so conspicuous on
the trail.
So Alan waited for him to speak—
and meantime determined to watch
Jacob more narrowly, though no other
suspicious circumstance had marked
the several days of their association.
The first half of tlie night was. as
the day, devoted to relentless prog-
ress southward; thirty minutes of
steady jogging, five minutes for rest—
and repeat.
No more question as to the need for
such urgent haste: overhead the north
wind muttered without ceasing. Thin
veils of fmoke drifted through the for-
est, hugging the ground, like some
weird acrid mist; and ever the cur-
tained heavens glared, livid with re-
flected fires.
By midnight Alan had come to the
bounds of endurance: flesh, hone and
sinew could no longer stand the strain.
Though Jacob declared that Spirit
lake was now only six hours distant,
as far as concerned Alan lie might
have said f>00. His blanket once un-
rolled. Alan dropped upon it like one
drugged.
The sun was high when he awak-
ened and sat up, rubbing heavy eyes,
stretching aching limbs, wondering
what hgd conie over the Indian to let
him sleep so late
Of a sudden lie was assailed by sick-
ening fears that needed only the brief-
est investigation to confirm. Jacob
had absconded with every valuable
item of their equipment.
Nor was his motive far to seek.
Overnight the fire had made tre-
mendous gains. And ever and anon
the wind would bring down the roar
of the holocaust, drilled by distance
but not unlike the growling of wild
animals feeding on their kill.
Alan delayed long enough only to
swallow a fewr mouthfuls of raw food,
gulped water from a spring, and set
out at a dog-trot on the trail to Spirit
Lake.
For hours lie blundered blindly on,
holding td the trail mainly by instinct.
At length, panting, gasping, half-
blinded, hi staggered into a little nat-
ural clearing and plunged forward
headlong, so bewildered that lie could
not have said whether he was tripped
or thrown: for even as he stumbled a
heavy body landed on his back and
crushed him savagely to earth.
In less than a minute he was over-
come; his wrists hitched together, taia
ankles bound with heavy cord.
When his vision cleared he found
Jacob within a yard, regarding him
with a face as immobile as though it
had been cast in the bronze it resem-
bled.
Beyond, to one side, a woman in
a man’s hunting costume stood eye-
ing the captive as narrowly as the In-
dian, but unlike him with a counte-
nance that seemed aglow with a fierce
exultancy over his downfall.
But for that look, he could have be-
lieved hers the face that had brought
him overseas to this mortal pass. Fea-
ture for feature, even to the hue of
her tumbled hair, she counterfeited
the woman lie loved; only those eyes,
aflame with their look of inhuman
ruthlessness, denied that the two were
one.
He sought vainly to speak. The
; breath rustled in his parched throat
like wind whispering among dead
leaves.
Thrusting the Indian roughly aside,
I the woman knelt In his place by
j Alan’s head.
i “No,” she said, and smiling cruelly,
shook her bead—“no, I am not your
j Rose. But I am her sister, Judith, her
twin, born in the same hour, daughter
; of—can you guess whose daughter?
| But see this!” She flashed a card
j from within her hunting shirt and held
| it before his eyes. “You know it, eh?
i The trey of hearts—the symbol of
Trine—Trine, your father's enemy,
and vonrs. and—Rose’s father and
| mine! So, now. perhaps you know !”
A gust of wind like a furnace blast
; swept the glade. The woman sprang
; up. glanced over-shoulder Into the for-
est. and signed to the Indian.
“In ten minutes,” she said, “these
I woods will be your funeral pyre.”
She stepped back. Jacob advanced,
picked Alan up, shouldered his body,
and strode back into the forest. Ten
feet in from the clearing he dropped
the helpless man supine upon a bed of
dry logs and branches.
Then, with a single movement, he
disappeared.
Trine and the Indian—the latter wield.; *
ing the paddle.
In the act of turning toward the
dam he saw Jacob drop the paddl*.
The next instant a bullet from a Wle-
Chester .30 kicked up a spurt of peb-
bles only a few feet in advance of
Alan.
He quickened his pat e, but the next
bullet fell closer, while the third ao>:
tually bit the earth beneath his run-
ning feet as he gained the dam.
Exasperated, he pulled up, whipped
out his pistol and fired without aim.
At the same time, he noted that th«
distance between dam and canoe had
CHAPTER IV,
Many Waters.
Overhead, through a rift in the
foliage, a sky was visible whose ebon
darkness called to mind a thunder-
cloud.
The heat was nearly intolerable;
the voice of the fire was very loud.
A heavy, broken crashing near by
made Alan turn bis head, and he saw
a brown bear break cover and plunge
on into tlie farther thickets—forerun-
ner of a mad roiii of terrified forest
folk, deer, porcupines, a fox or two, a
wildcat, rabbits, squirrels, partridges
—a dozen more. . . .
Two minutes had passed of the ten.
Something was digging uncomfortably
into Alan's right hip—the automatic
pistol in his hip pocket, of which
Jacob had neglected to relieve him.
Then a sharp, spiteful crackling
brought him suddenly to a sitting posi-
tion. to find that the Indian had
thoughtfully touched a match to the
pyre before departing. At Alan's feet
the twigs were blazing merrily.
It would have been easy enough,
acting on instinct, to snatch his limbs
away, but be did not move more than
to strain his feet as far as their bonds
permitted. Conscious of scorching
heat even through his hunting boots,
he suffered that torture until a tongue
of flame licked up, wrapped itself
round the thick hempen cord and ate
it through.
Immediately Alan kicked his feet
free, lifted to a kneeling position, and
crawled from the pyre.
As for his hands—Alan’s lninting-
knife was still in its sheath belted
to the small of his back. Tearing at
the belt with his hampered fingers, he
contrived to shift it round until the
sheath knife stuck at the belt-loop
over his left hip. Withdrawing and
conveying the blade to his mouth, he
'
i
;:*’>y-'
A Tremendous Weight Tore at Hi*
Arms.
of wind, its sharp prow apparent!;
aimed directly for his head. Thei
hands closed round his wrists lik-
clamps; a tremendous weight tore a
his arms, and with an effort of incor
ceivable difficulty lie began to Ilf
to drag the woman up out of the foan
ing jaws of death.
Somehow that impossible feat wt
achieved: somehow the woman gain?
a hold upon his body, shifted it to h
Xn;
Sawed the Cords Against the Razor-
Sharp Blade.
gripped it firmly between his teeth,
and sawed the cords round his wrists
against the razor-sharp blade.
Before Alan could turn and run he
saw a vanguard of flames bridge 50
yards at a bound and start a dead
pine blazing like a torch. /
And then he was pelting like a mad-
man across the smoked-fliled clearing,
and in less than two minutes broke
from the forest to the pebbly shore of
a wide-bosomed lake, and within a
few hundred feet of a substantial
dam. through whose spillway a heavy
volume of water cascaded with a roar
rivaling that of the forest-fire itself.
Two quick glances showed Alan two
things: that his only way of escape
was via the dam: that there was a
solitary canoe at mid-lake, bearing
swiftly to the farther shore Judith
belt, contrived inexplicably to clamb'
over him to the timbers; and som
how he in turn pulled himself up
safety, and sick with reaction sprawl
prone, lengthwise upon that foot-wi
bridge, above the screaming abyss
Later he became aware that t
woman had crawled to safety on t
farther shore, ard pulling himself
getlier, imitated her example. So
earth underfoot, he rose and 8t(
swaying, beset by a great weakn<
Through the gathering darkness
ghastly twilight in which the flam
forests on the other shore burned*
an unearthly glare—he discovered
wan, writhen face of Judith Ti
close to his and he heard her voic
scream barely audible above the c
mingled voices of the conflagra
and the cascades:
“You fool! Why did you save-
I tell you, I have sworn your dea
The utter grotesqueness of It
broke upon his intelligence like
revelation of some enormous fi
mental absurdity in Nature,
laughed a little hysterically.
Darkness followed. A flash of I
ning seemed to flame between
like a fiery sword. To its crai*
thunder, he lapsed into unconsf?
ness.
When he roused, it was with a
er and a shudder. Rain was f
in torrents from a sky the h
slate. Across the lake dense vo
of steam enveloped the fires
fainted beneath the deluge. A
hissing noise filled the world, n
even the roar of the spillway.
He was alone. —#
lessoned perceptibly, thanks to th*
strong current sucking through th*
spillway.
His shot flew wide, but almost di-
stinctively his finger closed again
upon the trigger, ar.d he saw the pad-
dle snap in twain, its blade falling
overboard. And then the Indian flred
again, his bullet droning past Alan'*
ear.
As he fired In response Jacob start-
ed, dropped his rifle ar.d crumpled up
in the bow of the.canoe.
Simultaneously earth and heaven*
rocked with a terrific clap of thun-
der.
He turned again and ran swiftly
along the dam, toward two heavy tim-
bers that bridged the torrent of th*
spillway.
Then a glance aside brought him up
with a thrill of horror; the suck oF
the overflow had drawn the cano*
within a hundred yards of the spill-
way. The dead Indian in its bow, th*
living woman helpless in its stern,
it swept swiftly onward to destrqc-
tion.
His -ut-xt few actions were wholly
nnpmneditated. He was conscious
only of her white, staring face, her
strange likeness to the woman that he
loved. • #
He ran out upon the bridge, thl'e*
himself down upon the innermost tim-
ber, turned, and let his body fall back-
ward, arms extended at length, ap4
strung, braced by his feet ber.e*$f
the outer timber.
With a swiftness that passed con-
scious thought, he was aware of th«
canoe hurtling onward with the speer
But in his hand, tattepsd and b
by the downpour, he founN —a r<_
I
zy
dr
1$
J
I*
(Continued)
i_
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Sledge, A. W. The Daily Ledger. (Ballinger, Tex.), Vol. 9, No. 248, Ed. 1 Friday, October 16, 1914, newspaper, October 16, 1914; Ballinger, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1138400/m1/3/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Carnegie Library of Ballinger.