VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON
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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)