Indianapolis Times, Volume 39, Number 38, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 June 1927 — Page 22
PAGE 22
MUNCIE FLIER DIESINCRASH William Murphy Killed — Clifford Helms Injured. Bv United Press RICHMOND, Ind., June 24.—William Murphy, of Muncie, was dead today, victim of an airplane crash at Berry Field near here late Thursday in which his protege, Clifford Helms, of Muncie, who was learning to fly, was severely injured. Unable to leave his seat when the airplane failed to clear telephone wires on the takeoff, Murphy was burned to oeath in the explosion that followed the crash. Helms, who had been in the air less than 50 hours, had purchased the machine, a “Jenny” type Curtiss, and the men were to fly it back to Muncie. Murphy took the observer's seat to permit Helms to handle the controls. Helms, a student of Charles A. Lindbergh at Lambert feld in St. Louis two years ago, has a wife and daughter. Woodchuck in Can Saved Bit United Press WORONOCO, Mass., June 24. Nearly dead from suffocation, a woodchuck was found with his head tightly jammed into a tin can. Holes were cut to give the animal air, and the can was removed from its head. After lingering awhile to show its gratitude, it wandered away. Football paid the University of Pennsylvania $314,956 in profits during the season just passed, according to a report of athletic officials.
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WHAT HAS HAPPENED DIANA BROOKS, beautiful daughter of ROGER BROOKS, owner and publisher of the Catawba City Times and a chain of nine other newspapers, had been kidnaped and then released. Her father is engaged in a persistent fight against the corrupt administration of Catawba City and through the medium of the Times redoubles his scathing attacks on the politicians of the RING and the UNDERWORLD. Brooks himself is kidnaped, but in five days released. On his return he finds that his newspaper stock is in danger of slipping from his control. He suspects JOHN W. WALDEN of manipulating the stocks and determines to Brooks’ closest friend in DONALD KEENE, young literary editor of the Times and guardian of TEDDY FARRELL. reporter and SOB SISTER. Teddy is in love with Don. He believes himself in love with LOLA MiNTELL. Diana’s cousin, but Teddy is jeginning to suspect that Don and Dl.,na love each other without either of them realizing it. • Don and Lola are forced to remain all night in a cabin thirty miles from town after Don’s car is wrecked. In the morning a doctor comes to attend to Don’s legs, which were badly bruised, and takes Don and Lola back tc the city. Several nights later Don takes Teddy to the theater and after the show they talk over plans to enter the Waldens’ oSice in order to secure evidence against Brooks’ enemies. NOW READ ON V, I CHAPTER XL Teddy reverted to the words Don had just spoken: “You’re the finest, gamest little woman in the world.” She asked herself the question: Was she game—“dead game,” in the correct interpretation of the term’s meaning? Could she give and take and not whimper when she was hurt? v She looked at the man who had just told her' he thought of her as “they all think.” It hurt—that thought, that he could “think as they all think,” and no more. But, she asked herself, what if it did hurt? Would it hurt any less if she whined about it? No, he had called her the gamest little woman in the world. From then on—sub-
consciously the resolution was made even as it formed in her mind. She would live up to the standard he had set for her. She would play the game. She said: “It’s kind of you, Don, to tell me all the nice things you all think of me. But, supposing my foot should slip some day and I tumbled off the pedestal to which you have boosted me? What then?” He laughed and then suddenly grew serious. “I don’t think you are going to tumble off your pedestal,” he replied gravely. “Because no matter what you may do now, or afterwards, it could not change my opinion of you!” The smile acknowledging his earnest words seemed to give rise in his mind to something of immediate importance. He leaned forward so that his voice would not carry beyond her hearing. “Now, listen, Ted,” he said, “this is really dangerous work we’re contemplating tonight. And I don’t want to expose you to real danger. Don’t you think you’d better go home and let me alone?” “No sir, Don—no sir!” Her answer came swift, with a sibilant emphasis that was unmistakable even without the determined light that burned in her brown eyes. She too, bent forward, her face barely a foot from his. “And why do you harp on that danger stuff?” she added impatiently, a deep frown wrinkling her usually smooth forehead. “You know very well the real danger lies in failure to get the goods on Old Walden and his son. Nothing ventured, nothing won. When I go after anything I go to get it—not let it get me!” “I know it, Ted,” he chuckled softly. “That’s why Bill calls you the go-getter of the Times outfit!” She took the compliment as becomes the doer of deeds, modestly and without comment. “Isn’t it nearly time for us to be getting on the job?” she asked and glanced at the tiny wrist watch she was wearing, a recent gift from Dinny, “it’s after twelve.” Don nodded and picked up the check the waiter had put beside his plate ten minutes before. “We’ll take a taxi to the Times office,” he said in a low tone as they walked toward the door. “I have the machine and stuff planted in a grip in Mike's place.” Twenty minutes later the two left the Times office, Che boom of the presses still reverberating in their ears. They walked briskly up the quiet street to the building housing the Walden, Higgins and Walden firm. Don carried a large leather bag. They entered through the front hall, deliberately avoiding the dozing elevator man. The office building, having emptied its active occupants of the daytime, was like a huge spectral castle. Every footfall echoed hollowly from the deserted stairs and corridors. Don and Teddy could hear the sound of mops and pails striking against the marble base-boards. 1 Somewhere the melancholy quavers j of a charwoman’s song rose and fell with the breathlessness of exercise. A uniformed person passed them. He appraised them with an indifferent start. Then he continued or* his way, the jankling of his keys still reaching their ears after he was out of sight. As they passed the second floor a charwoman looked up from her scrubbing, eyeing them curiously. It was not altogether uncommon for a tenant to visit his office after midnight. But these two, a man and a girl? The woman rose with labor-
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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES
ious effort and climbed to her feet. Don stepped close to her and held out his hand. The woman hesitated and continued staring at them suspiciously. “Here’s something to help out on the rent,” he said, smiling and at the same time flashing his badge. She looked at the bill, then at his badge, and any possible doubts she might have harbored as to the propriety of this man and “his lady” going to “their office” vanished. Her moon-like face beamed reassuringly. “T’anks, Mister,” she mumbled. “That’s all right, Mrs. . . ?” “Me Mrs. Kovacic,” she supplemented. “You are a detective, no?” she added with awe. “Yes, Mrs. Kovacic,” lied Don glibly. The charwoman mumbled something and bending her huge frame, she went through the performance known to women the world over. When she straightened again Don and Teddy were gone. “Number thirty-eight,” whispered Don as they approached the third floor. “I hope one of my keys fit It’s a Yale lock and you know what that means?” “Yes, Don,” whispered Teddy, her ears alert. But no sound seemed to disturb them. All they heard was the rattle of the elevator and the sound of mops and pails striking against the marble floors of the corridor below. Don’s apprehension was not unfounded. None of the keys would operate the lock. He looked up at the transom overhead and then at his small companion. She caught the trend of his thought and nodded. “Boost me,” she whispered, “I c’n crawl through any hole I c’n get my fist through.” She demonstrated this remarkable statement, almost, a moment later by negotiating the transom with ease. In another instant the door swung inward. They worked with the aid of a powerful flash lamp Don had purchased, taking no chances on the office lights. The installation of a dictagraph is ordinarily a simple job. A panel was removed from the back of a desk and the little machine fitted into the opening. The cylinder, while exposed to catch the sound, was hidden from view. Noiseless itself, only chance would bring about its exposure. The operating wire with its plug extended through a hole Don bored into the baseboard. It was carried into the adjoining office which was rented by a real estate firm, the junior partner of which was Don’s friend, and concealed behind a huge desk. All that was necessary to start the machine was to screw the plug into a light socket. It was set to register even a whisper and would run for an hour. Don and Teddy had already worked out their plan of procedure for the next day. This necessitated the absence of the real estate men which had already been arranged. The two would be away all day. Don had fixed it with his friend. On their descent they encountered the charmowman climbing to the third floor. She nodded a i they passed and then she turned, her gaze following them to the bottom. Teddy glanced back and giggled. “We’ve got her guessing,” she said as they reached the street. “Let us hope she is not very good at it." Apparently Mrs. Kovacic was not. ■When the two plotters entered the real estate office the next day they found their wires intact. Shortly afterward they heard noises in the law office. The Waldens, father and son, were talking. Don screwed the plug into an elec-
trie socket. Then he looked at Teddy and she slowly winked her eye. “May the fates ordain that our work is not in vain,” she breathed with profound earnestness. “We’ll get it tonight, of course,” assumed Teddy, referring to their instrument. He nodded, smiling. “If they don’t get it first.’’ “Supposing they discovered it?” she hazarded, “would they be likely to suspect us?” “Probably they would. But why worry? There’s small chance of their finding it.” She was sitting on a leather sofa drawn up near the window. “Tell me something, Teddy.” He placed a hand impulsively over her’s. “Yes.” The girl waited breathless. “Os course it’s none of my business,” he went on slowly, “only that you and I are such close friends and have been through so much together. I know you won’t consider it just idle curiousity on my part.” “Yes,” said Teddy again—not so eagerly this time. . . . (TO BE CONTINUED!
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