Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 255, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 March 1930 — Page 11

MAR. 5, 1930.

OUT OUR WAY

OH YES, WORRY WART, YOU'VE HAD IT OFF— GOLLY! FOR ER FIVE I'VE SCRAPED TIMES! YOUR MY FEET ONLY TROUBLE THAT YOU SCRAPE ON EVEY IT OFF WHERE STEP AN' YOU HAFTA WADE OFF AGAIN-ON AGAIN J. R. WILLIAMS 3-5 ©1930 BY NEA SERVICE, INC.

MURDER BACKSTAIRS By ANNE AUSTIN COPYRIGHT BY NEA SERVICE

BEGIN HERE TODAY From the floor of a lake on the BERK7LETY estate. PFTFCTIVE DUNDEE lifts the body of lovely DORIS MATTHEWS. lady's maid, grimly announcing Murder!” to his fellow guest, SEYMOUR CROSBY. It is 7 o'clock of a Saturday morning In September. Friday evening in the Berkeley home had been so unpleasant that Dundee. Invited to Hillerest by young DICK BERKELEY for the weekend. had had premonitions of disaster. In the household are: Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley, the latter a vulgar, snobbish social-climber; Dick, tipsy profligate; CEORINDA. engaged to Crosby, a New York society widower: GIGI, 15-year-old sub-deb; MRS. LAMBERT, social secretary to Mrs. Berkeley and a close friend of Crosby's; WICKETT. the butler, and EUGENE ARNOLD. chauffeur. Doris's finance. Before sleeping Dundee had puzzled over several questions: Why is Clorinda marrying Crosby when she is still in love with JOHN MAXWELL? Why did Clorinda steal out of the house after eleven? Why did Gigi snatch the crystal flask of perfume, presented to her mother by Crosby, and sprinkle all the guests with it? Did Doris meet Dick Berkeley late at night as he had forced her to promise? How late did Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley quarrel over Clorinda’s engagement in the library? And now, who killed Doris Matthews by striking her over the head with that perfume flask, whose odor pervades the summerhouse? Dundee summons CAPTAIN STRAWN of the Homicide Squad. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER, SEVEN (Continued) “No, ma’am, she ain't in her room! Her bed ain’t been slept in, I tell you, Mrs. Ryan! A fine howdy-de-do, I must say, even if she is engaged! Staying out all night—I never did trust that uppity little English snip—” The servants’ sitting room. Probably the cook and a chambermaid mulling, with relish what they thought was a nasty bit of backstairs scandal. Reaching the butler’s pantry unheard, Dundee found the telephone and gave the number of police headquarters. CHAPTER EIGHT "HELLO! Dundee speaking . . . connect me with Captain Strawn's home, please,” the young detective said, in a low voice when police headquarters had answered. A minute or two later, after his chief’s sleepy growl had come over the wire, Dundee recounted the discovery of Doris Matthews’ murder in as few words as possible. "Murder at Hillerest!” Strawn interrupted eariy in the recital. ”You didn't, get bored with nothing to do. and kill the girl yourself, did you. Bonnie?” But when the brief story was finished Captain Strawn was not in a jocular mood. He issued orders grimly: “‘Get back on the scene of the crime immediately, and don't let Crosby out of your sight till I arrive. “You say the butlers’ with him now? Good! See that nothing’s touched, and for God’s sake, don't spread the alarms through the house . . . And say, lie low, Dundee! Don't give yourself away as a detective. “As a guest in the house, forcibly detained there by the police, you may be a lot of help, just as you were in the Rhodes House murders.” Dundee grinned faintly as he “Yessed!” every order of his chief. A lot of help” in the Rhodes House murders, Indeed! He’d solved that case practically single-handed, hadn’t he? And Lieutenant Strawn had become Captain Strawn as a result! But what did credit and promotion matter? It was the game itself he loved... As he obeyed his chief and returned directly to the summer house, Dundee realized, a little shamefacedly, that his horror over Doris' brutal murder was already giving way to the thrill of the chase to run down her murderer.

# # # BUT tears for Doris had already begun to flow, Dundee discovered, as he neared the summer house. Wickett was dabbing at his eyes with a folded handkerchief, and Crosby wheeled, whipping out his own handkerchief from his retrieved dressing-gown, when he saw his fellow-guest approaching. "The police will be here immediately,” Dundee announced. “Captain Strawn in charge.” To his relief, the name meant nothing to the butler. Undoubtedly Wickett had come to Hillcrest and the Berkeleys since the middle erf July; otherwise, if Wickett took any Interest in crime news at all,

he must have seen Strawn’s name daily in connection with the murders at the Rhodes House. Then Dundee remembered one of Mrs. Rhodes’ quotations from the society page, in which August was mentioned as the date Mrs. Berkeley and Clorinda had returned from Europe. Probably the house had been closed for the summer; with luck, not even Dick Berkeley would remember that he—Dundee—had been “mixed up” in another sensational murder case. But Wickett was speaking tremulously: “Mr. Crosby and I have been talking about the poor girl in there, sir.

You saw her for a moment last night yourself, sir. I’m sure you will agree with us that she was a—a little darling, sir.” The expression fell strangely from the usually austere lips of the butler, and Dundee was touched to the heart. Here was sincere grief. “Yes, she was a very beautiful girl,” Dundee answered huskily. “You knew her, too, Mr. Crosby? I believe I heard you talking about her with Mrs. Lambert last night.” Seymour Crosby pocketed his handkerchief, but his somber brown eyes glistened with fresh tears as he answered unsteadily: “Yes, I knew her very well indeed. She was my—wife’s maid for several years. Phyllis—Mrs. Crosy—was extremely fond of little Doris, and so was I. But—if you’ll forgive me, Mr. Dundee—l don’t believe I. can talk about her—yet.” And he turned sharply away, to stare at the placid, silvery surface of the lake which had been Doris’ very temporary grave. “I understand.” Dundee answered sympathetically, in the character of fellow-guest. “Pardon me, sir,” Wickett spoke. “I see a special delivery boy coming up the driveway. Perhaps I’d better go and sign for the letter, sir—” “I’ll go,” Dundee interrupted. “I’m expecting a special delivery letter myself.” Luckily, he reached the back door before the boy had dismounted from his bicycle. As he had expected, the long, thick envelope was addressed to himself. He signed the slip and eagerly was scanning the first of the newspaper clippings which the envelope contained before the boy was well away. “These must be from the newspaper morgue,” Dundee decided. “I'll have to be careful of them. Much better than the resume I asked for. Good old Strawn!”

# # # NO time to read them now, although he was keen to refresh his memory of the briefly sensational "Crosby case.” Strawn and his men might arrive any minute, and his chief must not catch him disobeying orders. He thrust the envelope into the pocket of his dressing-gown, wished heartily for trousers, and walked slowly back to the summerhouse. If only he could get to work, make a thorough search of the summerhouse and the lake's edge for clews! But. of course, Strawn was right. As a guest in the Berkeley home, his profession unsuspected, he could be of infinite value to the police. He did manage, however, without being noticed by Crosby and the Butler, who were talking together, to retrieve the crystal stopper, picking it up with his handkerchief, in which he wrapped it carefully before putting it into the pocket of his dressing gown. It was dreary waiting, with that still, wet body on the bench, and the odor of the perfume pouring over them, with every gust of the now brisk south wind. But at last the ordeal was ended. Three cars, with the initials “P. D.” on their doors, swept up the driveway and curved round the house to the east. Climbing out of the first car. Captain Strawn apparently’ gave orders to his police retinue to sit tight and await further orders, for he was alone as he strode across the clipped green lawn. “Well, the law is upon us, and I imagine I am in for the first grilling,” Dundee said to Crosby,

—By Williams

and, with a well-assumed air of resignation, went to meet his chief. “Well, boy, what’s the lay?” Strawn asked. “Any facts you didn’t tell me over the phone?” Briefly, but omitting no essential detail, Dundee told of seeing Clorinda Berkeley steal out of the house the night before; of Dick Berkeley’s proposed rendezvous with the murdered girl, and of Dick’s absence from his room throughout the night. “Hmm!” Strawn considered, frowning. “Wonder if those two facts are connected? Suppose Ciorinda knew, in some way, of the affair between her brother and the maid, had the same bright idea you did of preventing another meeting and a posibly messy scandal on the eve of her marraige to the society swell, sneaked out to argue with the girl and killed her during the quarrel that followed—her brother being present and then beating it in a panic?” "PERHAPS.” Dundee conceded respectfully, “but —how did the flask of perfume get mixed up in it? Clorinda wasn’t carrying it. I’m sure of that.

“Not in her hands, at least, for she had nothing in them but the scarf with which Doris’ skirts were bound. And she was wearing one of those light, floating capes which don’t have capacious pockets, I believe. “Although the light was dim, I had a pretty clear picture, of her as she descended the stairs and I could swear the cape wasn’t weighted down at all—floated about her, in fact.” “Maybe the maid, Doris, had stolen the perfume,” Strawn offered.” “I heard Mrs. Berkeley say last night that Doris hated perfume, that it gave her a sick headache to smell it,” Dundee objected. “And although the stuff was expensive— worth $32 an ounce, according to Mrs. Berkeley—and the crystal flask was valuable in itself, I can’t somehow see Doris as a petty thief. “Also, why should she take it with her on a rendezvous with her mistress’ son?” “By me,” Strawn shrugged. “But you yourself say she was killed with the perfume flash, or at least stunned with a blow which broke the flask before she was dumped into the lake. “It’ll be up to the coroner to determine the cause of death, and I suppose he’d better get busy as soon as he arrives. . . . Now, one other thing. Young Berkeley hasn’t returned, I suppose?” 'Not that I know of. He wasn’t in his room, as I told you, when I went in to arouse him for the swimming party. “I haven’t been up since the murder was discovered. You told me to stay on the scene of the crime.” (To Be Continued)

THE BEASTS OF TARZAN

Tarzan had been gone but a few hours when back in the camp things began to happen according to the plans of Kai Shang and the mate. The latter that morning had announced he wanted a day's hunt, but instead had secreted himself nearby and watchfully waiting, had witnessed the ape-man's departure. Tarzan, rather than add to the already unpleasant atmosphere of camp life, had permitted him to go.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

NOW WAIT—WAIT A MINUTE! EASY! WE'LL EACH DIVVY BOYS BACK BEFORE WE DECIDE ON WHO'LL IN EQUAL SNARES, ON A HOME HAVE BEEN GO—WHAT SLOWS ME UP POOL, SEE? — THAT'LL PLENTY BOTHERED IS HOW'LL HE GO? ENOUGH T'PAY EXPENSES BY WHAT BOOTS ON TH' TRIP FAIR ENOUGH NOW, HOW'LL WE DECIDE ON WHO'LL GO? EENY MEENY MINY MO THAT'S OUT! I SAW YA FIGURIN' UP LET'S DRAW STRAWS! THAT'S THE ONLY FAIR WAY! OKE COLLECT FIGURIN I WON'T EAT TH' BY THE ON REST OF TH' ME DOUGH DEIN' WEEK, BUT IT FIRST TH' ONE WON'T MATTER! T'GO I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO EAT SINCE BOOTS LEFT ANYHOW ©1930 BY NEA SERVICE, INC. RED. U. S. PAT. OFF.

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

FOR CRYIN' WHATS TH THAT'S MY DOG! THATS OUT LOUD BIG IDEA MY DOG... MY !!! ?

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

AND EASY LIVE IN MORTAL FEAR. OW! MY HEAD! MY HEAD! WHAT IF BULL SHOULD LEARN THAT BLAST THAT GUY—HE DERN THEY RECOVERED WASH'S STOLEN MONEY NEAR RUINED ME DURING THE FIGHT? HE'D KILL H PROB'LY WILL, ANYWAY.

SALESMAN SAM

WAS LOOKIN' AT TH' NOT NECESSARY— WELL THEN THIS LETTER YA WHAT TH' HECK MAKES WHY, IT'S FROM YOU, THE THAT SOUNDS LIKE ENVELOPE MY INCOME TAX BLANK THAT'S OFFICIAL GAVE ME TA MAIL DON'T YA THINK IT DON'T? PRESIDENT OF J. GUZZLEM OFFICIAL BUSINESS, CAME IN AN' THERE'S NO STAMP BUSINESS! NEED A STAMP EITHER! CO., TO THE VICE-PRESIDENT TOO! ON IT—HOW COME?

MOM’N POP

OOIE! I'M SICK! I KNEW SEASICK! WHY, IMAGINATION MY IF YOU'RE ILL PUNCH I'D BE THIS WAY. OH, POP, YOU CAN'T EYE! I KNOW WHEN THE BELL AND SEND IF I WAS ONLY ON EVEN FEEL THIS I'M UNDER THE FOR THE DOCTOR SOLID GROUND AGAIN!! BOAT MOVE, IT'S WEATHER. I'M BUT ALL I HAVE TO SAY SO STEADY. IT'S ALL SEASICK I IS, I FEEL SORRY YOUR IMAGINATION TELL YOU YOU IF WE HIT A STORM

And now from the opposite side of the camp presently the mate ran breathless. “Quick!” he yelled as he hastened excitedly to Mugambi. "Those apes of yours are coming. They’ve caught Shorty, (Shorty was the ill-fated Kincaid's cabin boy.) They’ll kill him if you don’t call them off. You're the only one who can stop them. I'm winded’’—And the mate of the Kincaid threw himself on the ground as though he was almost done for.

—By Martin

Mugambi hesitated. He had been left to guard the two women. He did not know what to do. Then Lady Greystoke, who had heard the mate’s tale, added her plea to his. "Hurry, Mugambi,” she urged. "We shall be all right. Shorty must be saved." And Mugambi. heeding the commands of his mistress, though still doubtful of the wisdom of his action, started at break-neck speed into the jungle on his supposed mission of rescue.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

~~ BUT MISTER HOOPLE, ~~EGAD~~ MERELY AN TWO PAYMENTS RADIO WERE LONG OF MY SECRETARY OVERDUE!~~ WE SENT YAS ~ HE HAS SO MANY A HALF TO THE OWL'S CLUB IMPORTANCE TO ATTEND AND THEY WERE IGNORED! TO!~~HARR-R-R-RUMF~ ~~OUR ONLY RECOURSE I AM AN EX-JUDGE AND THEN WAS TO TAKE I DOUBT VERY MUCH THE THE RADIO BACK! LEGALITY OF RE-CLAIMING THE RADIO IN THE MANNER YOUR COMPANY RESORTED ©1930 BY NEA SERVICE, INC. REG. U. S. PAT. OFF. 3-5 HOOPLE

WHY OF COURSE NONO...I MEAN CERTAINLY IT ISN'T IT'S MY DOG... IT ISN'T YOURS= YOURS—IT'S MINE!! I GIVE UP= SURE! IT'S MINE... IT'S YOU'RE RIGHT!! THAT'S WIMMEN MINE!! FOR YOU!!

I'M SICK AS A YOU SAY YOU'RE WHY, WE'VE BEEN NO! HONESTLY SEASICK! HA! TIED UP TO THE DOCTOR!! GUESS I'M A HA! HA! DOCK ALL NIGHT ON BUM SAILOR ACCOUNT OF THE HA! FOG!

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

No sooner had he disappeared than the mate, placing his finger to his mouth, made a peculiar and shrill whistle. He had not long to wait. Soon the face of Kai Shang appeared at the edge of the clearing and behind him lurched the figures of four of his band. Jane and the Mosula woman sat before the former’s door, their backs toward the approaching ruffians. Suddenly she looked up to see herself sur rounded by the whole motely crew of villains.

PAGE 11

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan