Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 305, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 May 1930 — Page 24

PAGE 24

OUT OUR WAY

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SYNOPSIS MARY DELLA CHUB& -Eighteen and everything you could want In one young woman. Works in the clock shop ana lives with her parents in a Bank street flat Her best friend is MIRIAM BOBBIN. Her "steady company” is JOE SPEAKS. One of her erstwhile eager flames is TIMMY FITZMOAN. ROBERT HENLEY CALKMAN 111 Yale football star and senior, and one of THE Calkmans of Detroit. He is -ngaged to MARJORIE MARABEE. who lives on Cracker hill. His closest friend it GEOROE MACKRAY. also of Yale. Mary Della goes to meet Joe Speaks in front of the postoflice. Joe fails to sbjw up. She starts to cross the street a.id is all but run down by a long yellow roadster driven by Robert Calkman. who t; es >o take her io St. Mary's hospital. Bt i. Mary Della directs him past the ho pital and out East Main street. They park on the piece of old highway about half-way to Cheshire. Robert asks if he may kiss her. and impulsively Mary Della turns out the car lights and throws her arms about his neck. A woman screams in the dark road ahead Robert goes to investigate. Minutes later Mary Della turns on the lights and sees Robert and a woman, apparently dead, lying in the road and between them, stnding. a man in a red mask. She hides in the woods until the RED MASK leaves, then goes to Robert who is only stunned. The woman is dead. Murdered. Robert docs not tell Mary Della who he Is, but tells her to call him Bob. The next night Mary Della goes to fne dance at Hamilton park, and meets Joe Speaks, who persuades her to forgive and forget. They go for a ride on the Cheshire road. Joe proposes, but Mary Detla says she must have time to think it over. As they pass the piece of old highway where the woman was murdered the night before. Robert’s car comes out of the road and moves off toward Waterbury. will Mary Della and Robert be involved in the murder? It develops that Robert's car had b-en driven by George MacKray who. after two days, had gone to the scene to s-e if the woman's body had been found Finding nothing, he went on w?te--bury to leave a note from Robert to Mary Della on the Cnuoo ianuuig. CHAPTER TEN (Continued) “You sit down,” commanded Mrs. Chubb. “You think I want you to mess up my kitchen? There’s the Sunday paper on the shelf by the sink.” There was nothing about “it” on the first page. Slowly she went through the paper, reading every caption, but failed to find a word about the subject in which she was most interested at the moment. Tea and toast disposed of, Mary Della went into the living room and caught up her coat and hat. “Tell Mom I’ll be back in time for dinner. Pop, I’m going out for a little air.” “Better wear your artics,” Mr. Chubb advised. “It’s been snowing since midnight.” a a a SOMETHING caught at Mary Della's throat. Absently she pulled on a pair of close-fitting top shoes and exchanged the coat for the leather jacket. “That, poor thing.” she groaned, as she went down the stair. “That, poor lonely thing, out there . . . under the snow. Oh. . . .” She put an arm over her eyes and leaned heavily on the railing. “And here I am,” she accused, “afraid to tell the truth . . .” She crossed at Grand street and walked slowly along, gazing into the shop windows. At Leavenworth street she passed Paul Barry, police reporter for the Republican. Paul raised his hat and Mary Della smiled. ‘Boy.” she thought, “what a story I cou’d give you—if I had the nerve. Or the courage, more like it.” Passing the Chase office building she saw Lieutenant Magner turn out of the walk from the police station and stalk on down the street. “And you.” she added to herself, and entered Church street. “I can't go on like this. I'm just yellow, that's all. She’ll stay out there until somebody tells the police, and it looks like I'm elected. . . . But then, there’s Bob. I can't give him away.” She watched Mr. Burrall come out of his heuse and drive away in his car. “If it was just me. I'd go over to the station and come clean on the whole works. But Bob had a reason for wanting to keep out of it, and I can't double-cross him . . .” “Good morning. Mary Della.” “Good morning, Dr. Lewis.” “Happy?” “Sure?” She supported the statement with a broad smile. Dr. Lewis went on up the steps and into the rectory. “But I've got to do something, and do it soon. I'll go crazy if they don’t get her out of that road. And the snow on her. too . . Baa A COUPE came around the corner of St. John's church with both glasses down to the bottom. “Lo. Mary Della!" with a genial wave of a gloved hand. "Hello, Miss Crowley!" Gee, there weren’t many people out. but she knew most of them that were. "Wonder what they’d all say if I teld 'em what was on my mind . . .?” I (She walked with an easy swing.

i by St. John's parish house and the j Elks home, and to Willow street, where she crossed and started back down West Main. “I wonder,” she asked, “what would happen if I wrote a letter to the police and didn't sign my name to it? I could write it with my left hand and drop it in a street box She felt in a pocket of her jacket and took out Bob’s note. The lower half of the sheet he hadn't touched. She folded it neatly, tore it in two, and put the note back into her pocket. From the same pocket she produced a pencil barely two inches long, amd badly in need of sharpening. “But I’ll have to have an envelope and a stamp.” Would they remember her if . . . Before she had time to argue the question, she cut across Central avenue and went into the drug store. No, the clerk advised her that they didn’t sell a single envelope, but she might have one and gladly. Yes, he could furnish her with a 2-cent stamp. “But why drop it into a street box?” she wanted to know, as she walked through the green. “People are going in and out of the postoffice all the time and it’ll be easier to write it in there. It sure will look funny if I lean up against a street box to write a letter.” a a a SO she walked up Leavenworth street and along Grand and hopped into an opening in the revolving door at the postoffice. The lobby was empty. Quickly she put the bit of note paper on the high glass-top table, grasped the abbreviated pencil in her left hand and scribbled with painstaking effort: Superintendent of Police—Tlipre is a murdered woman lying on the piece of old highway to the left of the new highway running out East Main street to Cheshire, about half way to Cheshire. I know she’s there because I saw her right after she was killed Friday night. The Red Mask killed her, because I saw him, too. He t r ied to kill a fellow, too, but didn’t get away with it. He was driving a touring car. I don’t know whether it was black or dark blue, because it was very dark. I’m sorry I can't tell you who I am, but it would get me in plenty of trouble. But if you catch the Red Mask I’ll be a witness against him. THE GIRL IN THE DARK. She didn't know w'hy she signed it “The Girl in the Dark.” except that she had been in the dark and and it didn’t give her away, and she had to sign something,' didn’t she? She thought so, anyway. Then she addressed the envelope, still using her left hand, and walked over to the slot marked “Local.” “Now.” she said, shoving the enelope through the slot, “now the fireworks begin.” CHAPTER ELEVEN WE are living in an effeminate world. The voluble patriots picture the law as a gaunt and powerful force with a rigidly just and uncompromising arm. But you and I know that this arm, which is the police, is the arm of an old woman, slow to move, deliberate, calculating, meticulously fussy. It is 9 o’clock of a sharp Monday morning. Not blue, mind you, but sharp. And clear. The superintendent of police is seated at his desk in his office writing a memorandum. His secretary enters and places before him the mornings mail, all letters opened, but their respective envelopes fastened securely to them. He reads the letter on top of the pile, makes a notation in one corner, and puts it to one side. He takes up the next letter, and the next, repeating this process until the pile has dwindled to three letters. The next is not so much a letter as a note. It is on half a sheet of neat stationery’, and is so badly written that the superintendent has some difficulty in reading it. Obviously, however, he finds it more than commonly interesting, ‘for he leans back in his swivel chair and reads it a second, a third time. Then he speaks to his secretary. The door between their offices is open. “Have Captain Leroy come ini at once.'fc “Captain Leroy is on the deskJ sir.” 4 I

—By Williams

“Very well, have Lieutenant Magner relieve him.” "Yes, sir.” He turns his chair so that the light from the window by his desk falls across his shoulder and studies the note again. “Have a seat, Cap’n,” indicating a chair. “Read that.” While the captain reads, the superintendent disposes of the two remaining letters and steps into the next room to place the entire batch on the secretary’s desk. “A woman wrote it, all right,” the captain says. “And with her left hand, probably.” “On a piece of man’s stationery,” says the superintendent. “The other half of that sheet ought to be interesting.” “I’ll send somebody out right away.” Captain Leroy rises. “Want me to enter this on the book?” “Yes, but let me have the letter back when you finish. . . . And Cap’n. . . “Yes, Sir.” The captain comes back to the doorway. “Give me a report as soon as you get anything.” “Yes, sir.” tt tt tt THE captain goes through the secretary’s office, across the marble corridor, and through the door into the inclosure behind the desk. Lieutenant Magner pushes the chair back and gets to his feet. “Here’s a letter the Super just got in the mail. Look it over and send a couple of men right out. Tell them to telephone the desk at once if they find anything.” Lieutenant Magner reads the note and returns it to Captain Leroy. Then he goes out the side door of the inclosure. Two minutes later a big touring car rolls out into Feld street, turns left, and is lost to view. A young man ambles in the main entrance of the station and leans against the grill before the desk. “Anything doing, Cap’n ?” he asks. “Not now, Don,” answers the captain. “But I may have something for you within an hour.” The young man strolls down the corridor and passes through the door into the city hall proper. Half an hour passes. The desk telephone rings. Police station,” announces Captain Leroy. “Oh, yes, Joe What? I see No, stick ground until the detectives get there. If they don’t need you, come on in.” The captain speaks to a uniformed attendant behind him. “Ask Captain Keegan if he can come down to the desk for a minute.” Captain Keegan of the detective bureau comes in, bends over the desk, and listens intently. Then he reads the transcript of the note. The original has gone back to the superintendent. “I'll send Carson and McCullen right out,” he says. * a tt HIS footsteps have hardly died in the upper corridor when Dan Carson, finger-print expert, and Lieutenant McMullen come dotvn the stairway and go out the. rear door. Another touring car follows the course of the first.

(To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

Meriem spent an evening and a night of terror. Once they hid her while they hunted. Her natural terror at being left alone in the awful jungle submerged in a greater horror as she saw the man and the beast spring upon their prey and saw the handsome face of her preserver contort in a bestial snarl. Nor could she eat the meat the two so evidently relished and offered her. So Korak brought her some luscious fruit. )

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HEft BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

I WISH SHE'D COME OUT. SHC’sN gJti/VLR SINCC / A 'Pl'P*. NEXT DOOR AND HANDY. ] CHICK SAW I* I GOTTA GET ACQUAINTED WITH J THE HEW NEIGHBOR'S .4 h

The sleeping problem vexed Korak. He knew’ she could not balance herself in the crotch of a tree and sleep as he and the ape did. To sleep on the ground would make her a prey for prowling oeasts. There was but one solution —he cut some boughs and made a bed for her to sleep in. With Akut on one side of her and the boy upon the other, she was guarded by two faithful sentries. But even with her faith in Korak, terror of the jungle kept her awake'half the night.

—By Martin

The run was well up when she awoke. At the sight of the ape’s hairy back she shrank away, then realized someone was holding her, and turning her head she saw the smiling eyes of the youth regarding her. Akut saw she was afraid of him. He rather enjoyed that fact. He extended his huge hand, as though to seize her. She shrank stih farther away. Akut's eyeswere busy drinking in the humor of the situation. He did not see the narrowing eyes of Korak.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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“““N r s ‘ I!\G BOY NEXT DOOR.\ / - AND THERE'S A SWCLI. TALKIE ]au ; SBED THE LAWN IS \ / DOWN AT THE CORNED AND A j/Jj* SB.HE’S RATHER I ( LOOSE DAVENPORT DEAD-SHOT IST [ JtfI'.WHAT J RIGHT NEXT DOOR. GOSH! t J HT ,

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The ape’s fingers were about to close on the girls arms when the youth rose suddenly with’ a short, vicious growl His fist flew out, landing on the snout ox the astonished ape. With an explosive bellow, Akut reeled backward and tumbled from the tree. Korak glared down upon him. As the brute scrambled to his feet, there came a sudden swish in the bushes, then a man* of spotced fur shot straight for Akut's back. It was a leop&fd.

.MAY 2, 1930

—By Ahern

—By Blosser:

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan