PAGE EIGHT
THE NEWS AND THE HERALD, KLAMATH FALLS. OREGON
SERIAL STORY
MURDER TO MUSIC
BY NARD JONES
COPYRIGHT.' ItM
NBA (KltVICC INC.
CAST or CHARACTER!
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CHAPTER II
fOR almost a minute, it seemed
to Talt, no one moved, no one
uttered a sound. Then "Torchy"
Stephens stepped down from the
band and half fearfully lifted
Dombey by the shoulders. Talt
needed nobody to tell him that
the swing leader was dead. Talt
could sense it from where he
stood.
At that moment the crowd in
the Golden Bowl jerked itself into
hysterical action. Half a hundred
rushed for the exits and were
gone before anyone could stop
them. Others, morbidly curious,
crowded toward the band plat
form where Lud Dombey had led
The Swlngateers for the last time.
Suddenly Talt heard Myrna's
tiny, stifled cry, and at the same
moment he saw Anne Lester's
stricken gaze toward the girl be
glde Mm- In flash he realized
that the girl who was to have
been in the golden spotlight was
this slender, dark creature who
had risen unsteadily beside him.
His camera forgotten, Talt took
her arm firmly. "You must get
out of here," he whispered.
, She nodded dully, her clenched
fist pressed against her teeth. Talt
guided her past the table, taking
up her bag as he went As he did
so his heart skipped a beat with
the shock of exciting discovery.
His fingers, clutching the soft silk
of the bag, had encountered the
outline of a revolver. And the
barrel was warm through the silk!
Hurriedly Talt stuffed the bag
into his pocket, literally beat out
a way for Myrna through the
frantic crowd. Fortunately none
of them knew who she was. The
golden spot had never picked her
out Instead, death had reached
down through the momentary
darkness and touched her hus
band. .
VT7 ANTING to keep clear of the
Pacific-Plaza's huge lobby,
Tait guided her down the short
hallway from the Golden Bowl
and into the ladles' lounge. In
front of Its foyer he ran Into Bill
Joiner, one of the Pacific-Plaza's
staff of detectives.
"What's up in there, Talt?"
Joiner wanted to know.
Dombey'i been shot A lot of
the crowd have beat It already.
Better figure a way to keep 'em
tied until they can get somebody
. here from headquarters.''
Joiner hesitated a moment
looking at Myrna. "Who's she?"
"Friend of mine," said Tait
briefly. "The thing upset her, and
I'm taking her in here. Well be
around."
Joiner hurried on toward the
wide entrance of the Golden Bowl,
and Tait led Myrna to a daven- '
port inside the foyer. 'Take it
easy here for a while," he said
gently. "IH hang around outside."
Myrna dropped wearily to the
davenport and he studied the
dark head for a moment "Will
you need your bag?" he asked
quickly. "I have it in my pocket"
She shook her head, then buried
her tear-stained face in the arm
of the davenport
Thoughtfully Bob Tait returned
to the hallway. There he stopped,
fished for a cigaret and lighted it
What the devil had come over
him, he asked himself. Why
wasn't he in there in the Bowl,
snapping his "minnie" right and
left, trying to get his job back?
A photographer couldn't stay off
the job two or three days and
expect to get away with it Not
even a good one. Wot even it he'd
wanted to watch his college play
an opening game of football when
Riggs wanted him to be some
where else. But some candid shots
in the Bowl tonight would soften
Rlggs up.
Yet here he stood, standing
guard over a girl he'd never seen
before and might never see again.
And in his pocket was her bag,
and in It as sure as taxes, was
the weapon that had killed Lud'
den Dombey.
THE shot wasn't fired from that
table, though. It couldn't have
been. Still, she could have slipped
tway in the darkness, then hur
ried back to the table before the
tights went on.
Disgustedly Talt spun his ciga
ret into an ash pillar. "She
couldn't be the one. Whoever
killed Dombey was Inside the mob
that scrammed out when the lights
went up again. The gun had been
planted.
Tait reached into his pocket,
unzipped the bag and let the re
volver fall unseen against the
pocket's lining. The bag he
brought out and transferred to an
inside pocket He couldn't hold
out the gun on the police, he told
himself. But he resolved to keep
the bag a while at least until he
was more certain of a number of
things than he was now.
As he stood there, Anne Lester
rushed up to him. "How did you
get out of the Bowl?" Talt de
manded. "Haven't they got things
in hand in there yet?"
"I haven't been in the Bowl for
the past five minutes," Anne said
desperately. "I've been searching
all over the lobby and balcony
for Myrna. Where is she? I saw
her go out with you just after-
just after it happened."
Tait jerked a thumb over his
shoulder. "She's in there." Anne
started for the foyer, but young
Tait restrained her. "Just a min
ute. I'd like to help her if I can.
Do you realize she's liable to be
In a tough spot?"
The girl stiffened. "You're not
laying that she"
I'm not saying anything," Tait
said quietly. "How long have you
known her?"
"We've roomed together for fle
years. They don't come better
than Myrna."
"This romance with Dombey.
Wasn't it sort of sudden?"
. Anne flushed. "I'm afraid this
is none of your business. I under
stood you were a newspaper pho
tographer, not a detective. I'm
going to see Myrna."
'Sony . . ." Tait grinned sheep
ishly and let her by.
0
'THE kid was right, he thought
What he should do was turn
the bag and the gun over to the
police and let them fight it out
Yet if he did that the girl in
there would find herself instantly
embroiled in a sticky mess. She
was hit hard enough as it was.
He . was startled by Anne Les
ter's voice at his shoulder.
"Myma's not in there!"
Are you sure?"
Anne nodded. "There's a fire
escape to the alley. She must
have gone down that"
Tait hesitated a moment Then:
"Do you think she might have
gone to your apartment?"
I I can't think where else."
Then listen. You set over
there right now. And give me the
address. If she's there, make her
stay. Because if she pulls another
disappearing act it's going to look
bad. I know what I'm talking
about. They'll want to see the girl
Lud Dombey married five minutes
before he was murdered and
he'd better be around for them
to look at!"
(To Be Continued)
OUT OUR WAY
BY J. R. WILLIAMS OUR BOARDING HOUSE
With MAJOR HOOPLE
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GUVS LIKE WHO WOULD I THEY'D KEPT WAS SO BIO TO SC?L1ARE AAV PEBT INDEED YZZT HIM GO MANY ,
SOU WHO HAVE A OKI... IK-WSING THEY'D HOLD A PEE4T AKIP WHEN YOJ KWCvV "THE jf TIMES HS CAN L;
KILLED OFF TH' BUFFALO I I A BUFFALO TRAIN UP FEU. THOSC COPS BAROED CSENDARMES SMELL A COP ;
OFSBUAUO ISkAolRV ' 'SS?iSC U IN On A FAK6 RA.D f vVERS SWOOPING Jg) 7H' MINUTB s
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I THIS COUNTRY -, T CITY.' k ENOUGH-1 ' TH1 Ed3 THAT S YOU AND TUG I POLICE STATION
V AT ONE TIME J Vf ,, -XT ' DON'T WANT YOU ABSwlF ) ONLY REASON TOR 1 V-f- DOOR V-fT
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("Y I J t I THEIR BREATH AT A (A GENEROSITY f WWm
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MYRA NORTH, SPECIAL NURSE
BY THOMPSON AND COLL
T
OLD
TRAINING
PLANE
COMES TO
A BUMPY
STOP
JUST OUT
SIDE THE
FENCE THAT
MARKS THE
BOUNDARY OF
THE SPIDER'S
BORDER
HIDE-OUT.
I THRU THIS CjATE, MV FPEN'S.
AMD YOU ARE NO LONGER.
IN THE STATES.' YOU BRIKK3 J
PETRO'S MOklEY, YES? I
NO.'
VOL
AMD IF YOU'LL PUT
1 THAT CiUN DOWN, I'LL POKE
VOU IK THAT UGLY BEEZER
SO HARD YOU'LL.,
WHITEY
SH-H-h-h
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PILOT AND STEWARDESS
WE WERE TO BUMP
BEFORE WE LEFT r
THAT AIRLINER 1 '
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US NOW WE'VE OOMQ
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FOR MISS LAVE RE 'S RE
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LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE
BY HAROLD GRAY
THE IDEA OF
BLAMING DEAR
MR. GUDGE - THE
POUCE MUST
Be STUPID -
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, in Canton, China, have retried to use of "bomb catchers" like the
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protections are made of meshed Heel rods anchored by stanchions.
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