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The BRONZEMAN Twenty-nine was pulled hurriedly. The door swung open and Harry Hubbard and Pearl stood facing Dane with the money clutched tight in her hands. Pearl was too bewildered to speak. She shot a questioning glance at Miss Smith who still lay trembling and wild-eyed in bed. Harry Hubbard was phoning downstairs for the house detective and accusing Dane of robbery. But not until Pearl was sure that the guilt would not rest on her shoulders did she regain her old careless ways. She even told Harry that "the old scrub lady" ought to be put in jail. When she kissed his ear and cuddled close naturally he didn't suspect her. When Dane's preliminary hearing came up Mr. Montgomery was there, much older and his once proud shoulders bent. He was whispering, "I told you so. She even caused our dear little Bertha (of course meaning Pearl) to be disgraced by her robbery. She ought to be punished." Paul was there. His wife, Lillian, whom he married when his divorce was final years ago. Somehow he didn't like having his father talk so about Dane. He couldn't bring himself to believe that Dane had stolen the money. She was plainly shielding someone else. Who? He began to wonder if he hadn't done a great wrong by casting Dane out of his life. Well, he could right that wrong! He would be her counsel. Reluctantly Dane told him the truth and when the trial came off three weeks later he was in possession of certain damaging confession from Miss Smith. Suddenly transformed into a mad woman, at the trial, Pearl shrieked out, to the dismay of all, her astounding double life. The crowded court room was turned into a turmoil as she hurled defiance at them all--asserting her right to live her own life--that she was accountable only to herself and then she made her way to the low unbarred window. Balancing herself on the ledge she swayed uncertainly and then before the dazed crowd could collect itself, hurled herself to death on the pavement below. Dane, frantic, a sad spectacle in her helplessness, swooned and fell heavily on the floor. Tender hands lifted her and carried her to the matron's detention room where for two weeks she lay in a delirium, her life despaired of. When finally it became apparent that she would recover, her first concern was Pearl. Informed that her child had met instant death that fateful day in the court room when she had eluded grasping hands and thrown herself to the courtyard below, Dane cried. It was then that Dane bared the secret of her bosom. How she had changed the babies years before as an assurance that her own child should never want for life's necessities. "God," she screamed, "how was I to know that I was sending my baby to ruin, disgrace--death?" Her eyes were fixed on Samuel Montgomery as he stood, old and bent, by the side of her bed. "You," she screamed, "are responsible for this! It was you who heartlessly drove me from your home that bleak and cold December night with Maybelle's child in my arms, while my child was gurgling in the cradle. You are the cause of it all. She's dead! Pearl's dead!" Weak and exhausted, Dane sank back on the pillow unable, to speak further. "Dane," said Paul, a quaver in his voice and tears, which he made no effort to wipe away, running down his cheeks. "Dane, if only I could right the wrong I've done to you." She only shook her head, her face placid. He went on slowly, "I was a coward--a beast--oh--but--" words failed him as he burst into uncontrollable sobs. Over by the window Samuel Montgomery was standing now, inanimate as a marble statue. Though he gave no outward sign, his heart was dangerously near the breaking point. His pleas spurned by Dane, Paul made his way to the door, a weak, pitiable wreck. His steps were uncertain, his head bowed in utter contrition. Days passed into weeks, but no trace of Paul was found. As mysteriously as if the earth had suddenly opened to receive him, he disappeared from home, from his familiar haunts. But rumors, unconfirmed, had it that some one bearing a striking resemblance to him could be seen nightly slipping through the gates of the City of the Dead, making his way to a not old mound, kneeling in prayer and then stealing away, leaving a spray of flowers upon the grave. Then came a balmy day in early spring. Flowers, trees, after a dreary and bitter winter, indicated returning life. Dane, by now, having recovered physically, but upon whose face never a flicker of a smile had crossed since that awful revelation in the court room, stood before the open window like one who expects what he knows not. Up the path came Bertha, who, through the lonesome days, had been much comfort to Dane. Dane met her as she entered the house. "Going out?" Bertha inquired. (Continued on page 30 The Hair Growing Genius of America [[image - black & white photograph of Mme. 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