Indianapolis Times, Volume 39, Number 218, Indianapolis, Marion County, 19 January 1928 — Page 16

PAGE 16

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r' THE STORY THUS FAR ' Margaret Odell, the "Canary,” a for. ner "Follies” girl, was one of Broadway's favorites and a prominent figure in New York night life. When her strangled body was found lying on the davenport in her apartment, New York was confronted with one of the most baffling murders in its history. Markham brings Vance with him to the disordered apartment, where police investigation is under way. CHAPTER IV THS two rooms had apparently been thoroughly ransacked. Clothes and various articles were strewn about the floor. The ioors of both clothes-closets (there was ote in each room) were open, and to judge from the chaos in the bedroom closet, it had been hurriedly searched; although the closet off of the living-room, which was given over to the storage of infrequently used items, appeared to have been ignored. The drawers of the dressing-table and chest had been partly emptied onto the floor, and the bedclothes had been snatched away and the mattress turned back. Two chairs and a small occasional table were upset, several vases were broken, as if they had been searched and then thrown down in the wrath of disappointment; and the Marie Antoinette mirror had been broken. The escritoire was open, and its pigeonholes had been emptied in a jumbled pile upon the blotter. The doors of the Boule cabinet swung wide, and inside there was the same confusion of contents that marked the interior of the escritoire. The bronze-and-porcelain lamp on the end of the library table was lying on its side, its satin shade torn where it had struck the sharp corner of a silver bonbonniere. Two objects in the general disarray particularly attracted my attention—a black metal document box of the kind purchasable at any stationery store, and a large jewel case of sheet steel with a circular inset lock. The latter of these objects was destined to play a curious and sinister part in the investigation to follow. The document box, which was now empty, had been placed on the library table, next to the overturned lamp. Its lid was thrown back and the key was still in the lock. In all the litter and disorganization of the room, this box seemed to be the outstanding indication of calm and orderly activity on the part of the wrecker. The jewel-case, on the other hand had been violently wrenched open. It sat on the dressing table in the bedroom, dented and twisted out of shape by the terrific leverage that had been necessary to force it, and beside it lay a brass-handled, castiron poker which had evidently been brought from the living room and used as a makeshift chisel with which to pry open the lock.

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Vance had glanced but casually at the different objects in the rooms as we made our rounds, but when he came to the dressing table he paused abruptly. Taking out his monocle he adjusted it carefully and leaned over the broken jewel case. “Most extr’ordia’ry!” he murmured, tapping the edge of the lid with his gold pencil. “What do you make of that, Sergeant?” Heath had be< x n eyeing Vance with narrowed lids as the latter bent over the dressing table. “What’s in your mind, Mr. Vance?” he, in turn asked. “Oh, more than you could ever guess,” Vance answered lightly. “But just as the moment I was toying with the idea that this steel case was never torn open by that wholly inadequate iron poker, what?” Heath nodded his head approvingly. “So you, too, noticed that, did you? ... And you’re dead right. That poker might’ve twisted the box a little, but it never snapped that lock.” He turned to Inspector Moran. “That’s the puzzler I’ve sent for Professor Brenner to clean up—if he can. The jimmying of that jewel-case looks to me like a highclass professional job. No Sundayschool superintendent did it.” Vance continued for a while to study the box, but at length he turned away with a perplexed frown. “I say!” he commented. “Something devilish queer took place here last night.” “Oh, not so queer,” Heath amended. “It was a thorough job, all right, but there’s nothing mysterious about it.” Vance polished his monocle and put it away. “If you go to work on that basis, Sergeant,” he returned carelessly, “I greatly fear you’ll run aground on a reef. And may kind Heaven bring you safe to shore!" u (Tuesday, Sept. 11; 9:30 a. m.) A FEW minutes after we had returned to the living-room Dr. Doremus, the chief medical examiner, arrived, Jaunty and energetic. Immediately in his train came three other men, one of whom carried a bulky camera and a folded tripod. These were Captain Dubois and Detective Bellamy, finger-print experts, and Peter Quackenbush, the official photographer. “Well, well, well!” exclaimed Dr. Doremus. “Quite a gathering of the clans. More trouble, eh? ... I wish your friends, Inspector, would choose a more respectable hour for their little differences. This early rising upsets my liver.” He shook hands with everybody in a brisk, businesslike manner. “Where’s the body?” he demanded, breezily, looking about the room.

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He caught sight of the girl on the davenport. “Ah! A lady.” Stepping quickly forward, he made a rapid examination of the dead girl, scrutinizing her neck ana fingers, moving her arms and. head to determine the condition of rigor mortis, and finally unflexing her stiffened limbs and laying her out straight on the long cushions, preparatory to a more detailed necropsy. The rest of us moved toward the bedroom, and Heath motioned to the finger-print men to follow. “Go over everything,” he told them. “But take a special look at this jewel-case and the handle of this poker, and give that documentbox in the other room a close-up-and-down.” “Right,” assented Captain Dubois. “We’ll begin in here while the doc’s busy in the other room.” And he andAßellamy set to work. Our interest naturally centered on the captain’s labors. For fully five minutes we watthed him inspecting the twisted steel sides of the jewel case and the smooth, polished handle of the poker. He held the objects gingerly bv their edges, and, placing a jeweler’s glass in his eye, flashed his pocket light on every square inch of them. At length he put them down, scowling. “No finger prints here,” he announced. “Wiped clean.” “I mighta known it,” grumbled Heath. “It was a professional job, all right.” He turned to the other expert. "‘Found anything, Bellamy?” "Nothing to help,” was the grumpy reply. “A few old smears with dust over ’em.” “Looks like a washout,” Heath commented irritably; “though I’m hoping for something in the other room.”

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At this moment Doctor Doremus came into the bedroom and, taking a sheet from the bed, returned to the davenport and covered the body of the murdered girl Then he snapped shut his case, and patting on his hat at a rakish angle, stepped forward with the air of a man in great haste to be on his way. “Simple case of strangulation from behind,” he said, his words running together. “Digital bruises about the front of the throat; thumb bruises in the sub-occipital regiop. Attack must have been unexpected. A quick, competent job, though deceased evidently battled a little.” “How do you suppose her dress became torn, doctor?” asked Vance. “Oh, that? Can’t tell. She may have done it herself—instinctive mo-

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tions of clutching for air.” “Not likely though, what?” “Why not? The dress was torn and the bouqet was ripped off, and the fellow who was choking her had both hands on her throat. Who else could’ve done it?” Vance shrugged his shoulders and began lighting a cigaret. Heath, annoyed by his apparently inconsequential interruption, put the next question. “Don’t those marks on the fingers mean that her rings were stripped off?”

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“ Possibly. They’re fresh abrasions. Also, there’s a couple of lacerations on the left wrist and slight contusions on the thenar eminence, indicating that a bracelet may have been forcibly pulled over her hand.” “That fits O. K.,” pronounced Heath, with satisfaction. “And it looks like they snatched a pendant of some kind off her neck.” “Probably,” Indifferently agreed Doctor Doremus. “The piece of chain had cut into her flesh a lit-

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tie behind the right shoulder.” “And the time?” “Nine or ten hours ago. Say, about eleven-thirty—maybe a little before. Not after midnight, any-

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way.” He had been teeetering restlessly on his toes. "Anything else?” (To Be Continued)