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Updated: June 2, 2025
When it was secure and she had obtained leave of absence from the office, Helen felt that the hardest part of the task she had assigned herself was done. To acquaint Bruce's father with Sprudell's plot and enlist him on Bruce's side seemed altogether the easiest part of her plan.
The difference in the name accounted for his inability to trace her. It was easy enough now to account for Sprudell's violent opposition to their meeting. "He told you that it was a premeditated murder?" Watching him closely Helen saw that his tanned skin changed color. She nodded. "Why, I came East on purpose to find you!" he exclaimed. "To make amends "
It was not until she read it again together with Smaltz's confession, that it came to her clearly. When it did she was dumfounded by the extent of Sprudell's villainy, his audacity, the length to which his mania for revenge would take him. It was like a plot in one of his own preposterous melodramas! And was he to be allowed to get away with it?
While seated in the office of the Hinds House, with his eyes rolled to the ceiling, listening in well-feigned rapture to "Rippling Waves" on the cabinet organ, and other numbers rendered singly and ensemble by the Musical Snows, Mr. Dill in reality was wondering by what miracle he was going to carry out Sprudell's specific instructions to keep his errand a secret.
Abe Cone in his comparatively short career had done many impulsive and ill-considered things but he never committed a worse faux pas than when he dashed unannounced into Sprudell's office, at this moment, dragging an out-of-town customer by the arm. "Excuse me for intrudin'," he apologized breathlessly, "but my friend here, Mr. Herman Florsheim shake hands with Mr.
Sprudell, stimulated by the presence of the moneyed men of Bartlesville and his private knowledge of the importance of the occasion, was keyed up to his best. Genial, beaming, he quoted freely from his French and Latin phrase-book and at every turn of the conversation was ready with appropriate verse his own, mostly. This was Mr. Sprudell's only essay at promoting, but he knew how it was done.
Perhaps he did not get my letter; at least I've tried to think so, for he did not answer." Indecision, uncertainty, were uppermost among the expressions on Sprudell's face, but the girl did not see them, for her downcast eyes were filled with tears. Finally he said slowly and in a voice curiously restrained. "Yes, he did receive it and I have it here.
In the unguarded moment Sprudell's passion for revenge was stamped upon his face like a brand. Helen had thought of him contemptuously as a bounder, a conceited ignoramus he was more than these things, he was a dangerous man. But why this intense antagonism? Why should they not speak? Sprudell had not told her of a quarrel.
"T. Victor Sprudell, Wealthy Sportsman and Hero, Reluctantly Consents to Be Interviewed" was a headline which occurred to him as he went down in the elevator. The girl from the Dispatch awaited him in the parlor. Mr. Sprudell's genial countenance glowed as he advanced with outstretched hand.
The account of Sprudell's adventure had leaked out and even gotten into print, but it was not until some time after that his special cronies succeeded in getting the story from his own lips. There was not a dry eye when he was done.
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