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About Vernonia eagle. (Vernonia, Or.) 1922-1974 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 24, 1937)
VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON With Banners • • By Emilie Loring CHAPTER IX—Continued —12— The back door opened softly. Brooke held her throat tight in one hand to stifle an exclamation. The light flashed on. She closed her eyes. Opened them. Was that Henri, Henri standing in the middle of the floor, with the blinking green parrot making queer noises under his arm, or was this more night mare? She was awake. Sam was real, as he stood with his Anger on the switch. Jed Stewart was real, as he puffed his lips in time to the swing of the chair he clutched. Hen ri’s ghastly face, distended eyes, and the savage invectives which gritted through his chattering teeth, were real. “Cut that linel” Sam took a step toward the butler. “You should ap preciate this little surprise party in stead of acting as if you’d stepped into a nest of scorpions. It wasn't but a couple of hours ago I saw you in this very kitchen dressed—or un dressed—for bed. Why did you go out?’’ Henri made a desperate attempt to steady his quivering mouth. He looked like an innocent pris oner haled before an accusing judge; his expression was incredibly grieved as he huddled the parrot under his arm and twisted his soft hat in one hand. He appealed to Brooke. “I don’t know why your brother should speak to me as if I was a criminal, Miss. Haven’t I the right to go out at night, even if I had started for bed?” He attempted to inject the virus of defiance into his uneven voice "Of course you have, Henri, but the papers are so full of burglaries and hold-ups that when we heard you stealing in we didn’t know but what it was our turn. Where did you And Mr. Micawber?" “That’s why I went out. Miss. Couldn’t go to sleep, had him on my mind. Queer where I found him. Everything’s queer tonight." Henri shuddered. “Nothing strange has been happening in this house, has it?” "Nothing at all, Henri, nothing at all,” Sam assured quickly. “We sat up talking and got hungry again.” “I’m glad of that, Mr. Sam, that nothing strange happened, I mean, because I—I found things terrible wrong outside.” “Wrongl” Not until she felt Sam’s foot on hers was Brooke conscious of her explosive exclamation. She noticed that the butler’s long cruel Angers shook as he passed them over his slack mouth. “I don’t wonder you’re upset. Miss; you’ll be more so when you hear that the old madame's limou sine is gone.” “Gone where?” Sam demanded. Henri shrugged thin sloping shoul ders. “That’s what I asked myself when 1 opened the garage door and the big car wasn’t there.” “What did you do after you dis covered that Mrs. Dane’s car was missing?” asked Brooke. "I ran to the Other House—you’ll excuse me. Miss, for going to Mr. Mark Arst; I’ve always thought of him as being the heir, you see.” “Don’t stop even to explain, Hen ri. Can’t you see that we are fright fully excited? Perhaps something more than the car has been stolen. Did you And Mr. Trent?" “No, Miss, and there's something queer there too. That Jap, Kowa, came rushing to the door when I kept my Anger on the bell, and he shouts: " ’Where's my boss? I been over house, one, two, free time. Boss gone! He been kidnaped, I fink! Loud noise, Mr. Jed's room. I run there quick. Green parrot in bath tub, swearing Ane.’ “I ran upstairs for the parrot, thinking the Jap had a bad scare on and I’d see Mr. Mark some where. But I didn’t The Jap and I looked everywhere but he was not there.” Tense silence in the white and green kitchen. Chilled and exhaust © Emilie Loring. WNU Service. ed by his foray into the outside world, the parrot huddled within the curve of Henri’s arm making sounds in his throat like a tribal dialect. The faint scent of bacon lingered in the stillness, a stillness haunted by tragic conjectures and possibilities which turned Brooke’s blood to ice. Sam laughed from sheer nervous tension. Jed Stewart lashed at him furiously: "You would do that! It’s all the ater to you Reyburns, isn't it, and side - splitting theater at that Where’s Mark? That’s the only thing I want to know. Where’s Mark?” "Present.” Mark Trent answered from the doorway. Brooke’s heart stopped, raced on. What had made that deep welt across his forehead? His face was colorless. Henri’s thin quavery voice broke the spell. "Have you been hunting for the parrot too, Mr. Mark?” Mark Trent's hand was unsteady as he held a lighter to his ciga rette. His eyes reAected the Aame as he looked at the butler. “Not for the parrot, Henri. Pm hunting now for the man who killed Mrs. Hunt" CHAPTER X Mark Trent Ainched as he ap proached the white cottage. It seemed days since he had driven away from this very house in the limousine Ailed with his aunt’s sil ver; days since the message had come to Cassidy’s garage from the police that Mrs. Hunt was dead and he had left there in a Aivver with Mike at the wheel. They had stopped at Lookout House to make sure that the Reyburns were safe before they had burned up the road to get here. But it hadn’t been days, not much more than an hour had passed. No use waiting, he must go in. As he entered a small living room, Inspector Harrison was kneeling by the Areplace. His pierc ing eyes glittered as he looked up and nodded to Mark. “They got her all right.” Mark Trent stepped forward, blindly for an instant. He sunk his teeth deep in his lips to steady them before he looked down. Lola, the woman who had been his wife, lay on the Aoor. She was dressed for the street—had she been about to drive away the limousine full of silver? The question Aashed through his mind only to be instant ly submerged in a Aood of pity. She looked so young, so shabby, so hap less. Her shabbiness hurt him most, she had been so exquisite. He was glad that he had made her that allowance. Her hat had fallen off. A current of air stirred a lock of her dark hair. Her hands were still now. One gripped an open bag, the Angers of the other were bruised. He dropped to his knee beside the inspector. "Can't something be done? Can’t we move her to a couch?” “No! No, not until the coroner comes.” “What happened?” "They got her rings. She had rings, hadn’t she?” “She had when I saw her—a few days ago. Valuable rings. Other jewels too.” “Then I guess we got the motive. Better come away, boy, you can’t do anything,” Inspector Harrison suggested in his persuasive voice. “Life hasn’t seemed as smooth as a trotting park to me tn date. Bill, but tonight it seems a terrifying, horrible thing.” “I know, boy, I know. Bring her in. Tim." The inspector spoke to the policeman with ears like clinging bats, who appeared at the door. “It’s the Cassidy girl,” he ex plained to Mark. “Kinder tough to bring her into this room, but there don’t seem to be any other place. We’ve waited till her father got here before questioning her. Mike’s a grand fella and me friend since we were lads together. Here you are, Maggie!” The hint of joviality in his soft voice missed its mark, for the six- teen-year-old girl, who entered the room as if dragged by unseen hands, regarded him with terriAed Irish blue eyes. The inspector placed a chair with Its back to the still Agure on the Aoor. “Sit here, Maggie.” As she sat down, Mike Cassidy laid his heavy ham-bone hand on her shoulder. The inspector cleared his throat. “Now, don’t be frightened, Mag gie. Ain’t I just the same Bill Har rison who’s been chumming round with your dad ever since you was a little girl, and ain’t I got kids of my own? All you got to do is to tell me what happened in this house to night.” “Course, I ain’t afraid of you, Inspector,” the girl replied, more at ease. “I’ll tell what I know. I sleep in the attic, it’s got a dormer back and front. I was dead beat when I went to bed, what with the housework an’ havin’ to run out to All tanks. The boss was sick till afternoon an’—” "Drunk, wasn’t he? Tell it straight, Maggie.” “All right, Inspector, he was. I don’t know what time it was when I wa3 woke up by a car stopping at the garage; sounded like a classy car. We don't have much late trade —an’ the boss told me today that the crowned heads here, that’s what he said, 'crowned heads,’ had put him out of business—so I got up and looked out to see what 'twas all about. I can see into the garage from my back window.” “Check up on that, Tim.” “Yes, Inspector.” The policeman with the ears vanished into the hall "Go on, Maggie. You looked down and then what?” “I see a swell dressed fella talk ing to the boss. I couldn’t see his face 'cause his hat was pulled low; you know, the kind you see in the classy ads.” "Could you hear what they were saying?” “No. That window was closed. I open the front one in cold weather, an’, gee, has it been cold in that attic!" “What did you do next?” "Went back to bed, Inspector." The girl’s voice had cleared. Ris ing excitement was driving out fear. “I must have gone to sleep again for the next thing I knew I was sif tin' up straight in bed calling out: " Who’s shootin’?” "I switched on the light and ran to the front window, and I saw a big car going lickety-split down the road.” The policeman appeared at the door. “Okay 'bout the back window and garage. Inspector.” “All right, Tim. Stay where you are. What next, Maggie?" “I stood looking out a minute, thinking that the big car must have back-Ared an’ what a hick I was to think the sound was shootin’ when I’d grown up in a garage, an’ then I had a kinder creepy feeling; you know, the kind when they say a rabbit’s walkin’ over your grave—” “Don’t shiver, Maggie, there won’t be nothing walking over your grave for years yet; don't the pa pers say we’re all going to live to be a hundred—barring accidents? Then what?” "Then I began to wonder what that big car was doing out here in the middle of the night, and then I began to think of hi-jackers an’ kidnapers an' bandits till I thought I’d scream, an’ then I remembered Mrs. Hunt’s rings an’ jewelry—she had classy jewelry.” The girl's voice had risen till the last word was shrill with excite ment. Mike Cassidy patted his daugh ter’s shoulder. "Take it easy. Maggie. Tell the inspector the rest that happened; then I'll take you home to your Ma. Won’t I, BUI?” "Sure, Mike. sure. What did you do after you thought of Mrs. Hunt’s di'monds, Maggie?” “I stuck my feet in slippers an' pulled on my blanket wrapper. I beat it downstairs an* come into this room. It was lighted an’ she— she was lying there—just like she is now an’—an’—oh, gee!” “We're almost through, Maggie,” the inspector encouraged. “What did you do when you came into this room and saw—” “I guess I let out a yell Arst; then I just Aopped to my knees be side her. I didn't touch nothing though; I learned that in the mov ies. When I saw she wasn’t breath in' I beat it to the garage, an* I know I yelled then for the boss was on the Aoor face down, his hands behind him, an' his feet tied. I grabbed his shoulder an’ turned him over. There was a big bump on his forehead and his eyes were closed. I shook him. When he didn’t say nothing, I rushed to the phone and called Pop. I guess you know the rest.” Her lips quivered, and for the Arst time her eyes Ailed with tears. The inspector patted her shoulder. “Good girl, Maggie, just one more question and you can go. Did you hear any rowing between the boss and herself lately?” "He was nice to her.” “Sure, Maggie, but even folks who think a lot of each other—take your Pa and Ma now—’’ he winked at Cassidy—"have a cat and parrot Aght sometimes, don’t they? You know they do. So Mr. and Mrs. had a quarrel, had they? What about?” The girl twisted her print dress in unsteady Angers. “It was last evening, late—it’s tomorrow now, isn’t it? An’ she’d “Now, Don’t Be Frightened, Maggie.” been phoning—I was in the kitchen, you can hear plain in this house— an’ I heard him say loud: " ’What’s this about a paper?' “I couldn’t hear what she said, but he kinder shouted: " ’I didn't mind starting this joint to gouge money out of Trent, but what you’re planning now is differ ent. It’ll be jail for us if we—’ The door closed hard an’ I didn't hear any more.” “AU right, Maggie. Make a cup of strong tea for her in the kitchen. Mike; then take her home.” Mike Cassidy put his arm about his daughter as they left the room. Mark Trent watched them out of sight. “My hat’s off to you. Inspector. That girl told you everything she knew without being frightened into it" The inspector's eagle eyes re treated into bony caverns. "My boy, ’bout two thousand years ago a Man laid down a rule for living that I ain’t never heard improved on. I’ve got a girl of my own, and all the time I was questioning Maggie I was thinking how I would feel if my daughter’d been mixed up in this mess. Has Hunt come to?" he demanded of an officer who entered. The steel was back in his voice. "Yes, Inspector, but he’s groggy.” “I’ll go to the garage. WiU you come along, Mark? Cripes, I never can remember to caU you Mr. Trent” “Why should you? Didn't you hand me my Arst and only summons for speeding? I’U go with you, but you won’t leave—” he glanced at the stiU Agure on the Aoor. “Tim will stay. The coroner ought to be here any minute now. Come on. I’d like to have you hear what Hunt has to say.” The garage was lighted by one glaring bulb, littered with tools and cans; the Aoor was patched with oil stains, and the air was strong of gas. On a pile of old tires, a man was braced upright against the rough cement walL He was blond and must have been Ane looking be fore life and dissipation had done cruel things to his face. He opened his eyes as the inspector spoke to him. He tried to smile. “Another dick? Maggie sure called out the whole police force. ’Twasn’t necessary. I’ll be all right in a minute.” Didn’t the man know what had happened in the house, or was he acting, Mark asked himself. The inspector rolled an empty gas can on its side and sat down. “Course you’ll be all right As for Maggie calling out the force, she got an awful jolt coming out here an’ Anding you all tied up like a bundle of old clothes." Hunt put an unsteady hand to his head. “Why did the girl come out here at this time of night? She’s never done it before.” His eyes narrowed. He clenched his hand. “What are you doing here, Trent? You can’t get Lola back!” "Take it easy, Hunt take it easy. Mr. Trent was with me in Cassi dy’s garage—I’m Inspector Harri son, in case you don’t know—when his daughter phoned that you were hurt He came along to help. What happened to you, Hunt?" “Someone beat me up, you can see that can't you? I was working late. I—I hadn't been feeling well all day and I was making up time, when a man drove up in a roadster and said he had a punctured tire and could I put on a spare. I said, ‘Sure, I guess there’s no law against my doing that if the old tabbies here won’t let me sell gas.’ I turned to get my tools, and that’s the last I knew until I looked up to see an officer bending over me." "Who was the man?” "I don’t know, Inspector.” “Ever see him before?” “No.” “Sure?” “Sure.” “Go on,” prodded the Inspector. “Nothing to go on about. I was blackjacked. I thought the man took a crack at my head, but my feet feel as if they were in iron casts." "Probably those ropes stopped the circulation. Were you—” Mark didn't hear the rest of the Inspector’s question. His eyes were on Hunt’s right foot Between the upper and sole of the unlaced shoe was a faint line of red. CHAPTER XI From behind the tea-table In the living • room at Lookout House, Brooke Reyburn watched the sun fling the earth a spectacular good night Mrs. Gregory, in a chair beside the crackling birth Are, set down her cup. “Is it only two weeks since the tragedy at the Alling station?” asked Brooke. “When, last Octo ber, I told Jerry Field that I was coming to Lookout House to live, he said: “ ‘What will you do marooned on a rocky point of land in a place where the residents dig in and noth ing ever happens?' “He can’t say that nothing ever happens here now. The days have flown and have left behind them hours smeared with police question ing; men swarming over this house for Anger-prints; newspaper front pages shrieking clues which were corrected in the next issue; skating and lots of it; poinsettias in place of chrysanthemums in the conserv atory in honor of Christmas. It was such a strange Christmas with out Mother, and with Sam absorbed in the production of the play. Now New Year’s has slipped into the lim bo of yesterdays, and in 48 hours the curtain will ring up on 'Islands Arise.’ ’’ (TO BE CONTINUED)