Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 1, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 May 1930 — Page 9

MAY 12, 1930

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AiMMA Uv julie Ann Moore THE P ?NDEPENDENIT 3 SYNDICATE

SYNOPSIS MARY DELLA CHUBB Thr> best looking clocks-r In the clock shop. If not In Waterburv. Lives with her parents In a Bank street bat. MIRIAM ROBBIN— Limited in S. A., but Marv Della's best girl friend; also a docker. JOE SPEAKS—Marv Della's steady, young man about town, good looking and hard-boiled. ROBERT HENLEY CALKMAN 111Yale senior and football star, one of the Calkmans of Detroit. GEORGE McKRAY- He wanted to go to Harvard but the cards were against I him; also a senior at Yale. Happy-go-lucky is George. MARJORIE MARABEE—Daughter of lashion. living on Cracker hill. Fiancee of Robert. TIMMY FIT7.MOAN -Pett;*e is his specialty. In love with Marv Della. OLGA SVENSON Also a docker and hot too popular with any one. Marv Della and Robert are parked on the old piece of Highway off the Cheshire road when a woman is murdered bv the Rid Mask in the darkness ahead of their car. Thev leave the bodv and decide to sav nothing about it. to protect themselves. But after three days Mary Delta writes an anonymous note to the police telling about the murder and where the bodv is. The American carries the storv under glaring headlines the next day. but says the police could not find the bodv. Brett Younger has written a musical comedy called "The Clock Shop Clockin which Mary Della is to be the leading ladv. Marv Della discovers that she has lost the letter written her by Robert and from whirh she tore a piece of paper to write the police about the murder. Leaving the first rehearsgj of "The Clock Shop dockers.” Marv Della sees Robert’s car parked in front of The Elton. She gets in and waits for developments. Robert and George MacKray come out of The Elton and find Mary Della in the car. George says he has an engagement. but will meet Robert at the hotel later. Robert, tnk-s Marv Della for a ride, during which he suggests that life isn't always fair to lovers. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (Continued) ON WEDNESDAY morning, however, the police came into a piece of information that proved highly interesting. And on Wednesday afternoon the city editor of the American stumbled into a clew quite by accident. And the race was on. But we must deal with one at a time. Shortly after 10 o’clock Wednes- j day morning a woman entered the i police station, asked to speak to the j superintendent, and was conducted j to the superintendent’s office. “My name. Superintendent McLean,” she said, when the secretary had closed the door from the outside, ‘‘is Mrs. Moodle. You may of heard about me. The superintendent nodded soberly. He had heard of her, and oft. Mrs. Moodle was a notorious character of a certain disreputable street in the downtown district of the city. Usually she conducted establishments of unsavory reputation, though she had been in the city court charged with numerous other offenses. “Well,” continued Mrs. Moodle. “I had a girl working for me by the name of Salila Rick. Not a girl in age you know, but not a woman either. ’Bout 27, I'd say she was. Anyhow, she told me last Thursday night she’d had a blowup with some bird she'd been kiddin’ along. She said she was goin’ out with this fellow again Friday night and if he didn't come out of the tough disposition she was going to throw him over. You know what I mean, give him the air. I saw her put on her hat Friday night and go out, and I aint seen her since.” “And you think ” •*l'm not so sure what I think. You see. I know who she'd been runnin’ around with and been doin’ some detective work by myself They tell me where this fellow boarded that he’s not been back since early Friday mornin’. That don’t look so good.” “But I fail to see why it looks so bad. How do you know they didn't run away and get married?” “Go on. you! Men don't marry women like her, and if they did what’d they run away from? No. Don’t figure anything nice like that’s happened. And what’s more, I got somethin’ here that’ll open your eyes. Mr. McLean. When she didn't get back by Saturday mornin’ I went prowlin' around in her room to see if sh* ’d left a note or anything, and in the tray of her trunk I found this . . ” Mrs. Moodle took a small package from her bag and haunded it to the superintendent. "Did you say.” the superintendent asked, accepting the package." that you know the name of the man who took her out Friday night?" "I did not,” said Mrs. Moodle. ■*l said I know the man she's been runnin’ around with—which is probably the same thing. He's got a police record and his name's Womain, 'Snake' WomAin, the cops call him.” “I’ve heard of him,” said the superintendent, "and if we can pin Ibis little souvenir on him . . .

Well, it’ll be robbery, assault, and if the your girl doesn’t show up again . . . possibly murder.” The superintendent rang for his secretary and looked again at his “little souvenir." It was a grease marked red mas’ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN NOW, pending the apprehension of one “Snake’’ Womain, it was decided that the newspaper should know nothing of the missing Rick woman or the red mask found in her trunk. I mention this, because it was the afternoon of that same day that the city editor also reneged. “The police,” he told the assistant city editor, “might get hot on the trail and give the wrong girl a scare, and we'd be to blame. You and I will just follow this up by ourselves for the present.” The C. E. (which is not only the popular abbreviation for city editor, but saves type) lived on Central avenue, not many doors from West Main street, and on this particular Wednesday afternoon he had dropped into the drug store on tne corner to wet his tonsils. And while he was leaning against the marble fount sipping some form of that harmless and impotent liquid known as “soft drink,” the drug clerk provided an accompaniment of polite conversation. “You boys on the paper seem to be all het up about this Red Mask mystery. Did you ever stop to think somebody might be spoofing you?” The C. E.‘ held his glass up absently and squinted through the remaining contents. “We’ve thought of everything, brother. But the spoofing idea doesn’t fit. What about the stuff the detectives found on the road, for example?” “I can't make head or tail of any of It,” the drug clerk admitted. “But there’s that note the police got in the mail. . . . You know, I think that was sent by some high school girl who was looking for a thrill.” “It's possible. What makes you think that?” Talking to the assistant city editor days later, the C. E. said he wasn’t even passively interested in what the clerk was saying, but as a matter of courtesy was simply trying to do his share toward keeping the conversation alive. . . . “Well, for one thing,” the clerk answered casually, “I think I saw the girl that, sent that note just before she sent it . . .” The C. E. had turned has glass up for the last swallow, and he almost choked. He took a handkerchief from his pocket quickly and coughed violently. Then he dabbed his mouth, wiped his eyes and looked at the clerk as if he hadn't heard what he had said. "Excuse me,” he said quietly. “Went down the wrong pipe. You say you ” j “Oh. I don't know for sure, you understand." The clerk's expression ! suggested that he regretted having ! spoken; but it was difficult to rei tract now. “She came in here Sunday night, about the prettiest kid I think I ever saw, wearing a green leather jacket and a frock that missed her knees by an each. Believe me, she was a knockout, if I'm any judge. “Said she wanted to buy an eni velope and a 2-cent stamp. .. . Looked like she was a little nervous about something, too. though I didn’t think much about that at the time. I told her we didn't sell individual envelopes, but that I’d be glad to give her one. And I did. Then she put two pennies on the counter and I handed her a 2-cent stamp from the cash register.” . a a a THE C. E. was buttoning his overcoat and fooling with his ; collar. "Did she stick around to i write a letter?” “No. . . . When I gave her the stamp, she thanked me and went out. I didn't think any more about it until Monday when I read about the police getting that note. . . . You’re not going to put what I’m telling you in the paper, are you?” “I should say not.” The C. E. was definite on that poim. “But it would be interesting to know if that envelope did carry the note to the police, wouldn’t it?” The drug clerk was enthusiastic. “Wouldn’t it, though! Here. I’ll show you an envelope out of the same box.” He reaqhed under the counter and pulled out a small square box. “We usually keep a broken box around to use here in the store, you know. Decent stuff, too.” He lifted the lid from the

—By Williams

box and handed a plain white envelope to the C. E. “Nothing fancy about it, as you see, but a good grade of paper just the same.” The C. E. thumbed the envelope carelessly. “Yes,” he' said, “it’s a good grade, of paper, all right.” Then he walked over to a window and held the object up to the light. “Yes, sir, that's A-l paper Care if I take this along?” “Help yourself. . But. . . . listen, I don’t want to get an “innocent kid into trouble. You'd better forget about it. . . . about her, I mean. You see, I’m just guessing.” “I understand, you can rest easy. You’re not likely to get any innocent kid in trouble through me . . . What’s it getting ready to do, snow again?” The clerk eyed the sky through a front window. “Wouldn’t oe surprised,” he agreed. “This New England weather’s a gamble, if you ask me.” “So long,” said the C. E. and went out the door. a st tt THE drug clerk went back to his dust cloth and his bottles, humming a popular melody, something about a girl with a boyish bob who wasn't so big and not so small, and not so short, and . . . but it doesn’t matter. “You, see it, Charlie? ‘LINWOOD.’ Plain as day. That’s the watermark and every envelope in that box and in every box like it will have the same mark.” The C. E. made no effort to hide his satisfaction. He sat back in his chair and grinned cbmplacently. “That’s all right, Ray,” the assistant city editor replied, “but how do you know the envelope that went to the police had that watermark?” “I don’t. But that gives us a key. Don’t you see, if the envelope the superintendent has with that note has the same water-mark, we’ve probably got a reasonable clew. No, I don’t say that other envelope couldn’t have come from someone else, but it’s even money it came from the girl.” ‘Well, it’s worth following up anyhow,” the assistant city editor admitted. “But having found that the same water-mark is on both envelopes, how do you propose finding the girl? Did your friend in the drug store know her?” “No; never saw her before, I gathered. But he was struck by her looks and he can give us a pretty fair description. Boy, it's a long shot, but think of the possibilities. This is the first piece of tangible evidence that’s showed up to date.” “It’s interesting, all right. Going over right away?” “Why not? Get your hat and we’ll stroll in on the superintendent and pass the time of day.” a a a THE superintendent was in his usual good spirits. “You boys haven’t run the Red Mask down yet?” he chided good naturedly, showing them chairs. “Thought maybe you’d come over to break the news. (To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

Akut, with a low growl of excitement, came crashing through the undeibrush. He paid no attention to Meriem and Korak but with hair bristling began strutting stiff-legged, about the fallen ape. Something stirred in his little brain Something whch the sight and smell of this great bull had aroused. It awakened in the heart of Akut a longing for the companionship of his own kind. So Korak was not alone undergoing a change.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

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Os the three, Meriem alone underwent no change. Always she had lcved Korak. He was her “big brother.” She still loved him—as a sister. Very proud she was of him, too. Never was there other jungle creature so swong, so brave or handsome as her Korak. Suddenly Akut gave a deeper growl—the one of warning. Korak looked quickly up frojn the glorious vision of Meriem’s sweet face. Now his other faculties awoke. His ears, his nostrils were on the alert. '

—By Martin

Something was coming! The Killer moved to Akut’s side. The three stood, statue-like, gazing into the jungle's leafy tangle. Presently a great ape broke through the thicket. Seeing them he halted, giving a grunt back over his shoulder. A moment later came cautiously another ape, scon followea by others, both bulls and femaies with young until two score hairy monsters stood glaring at the silent group of three. Akut was the first to speak.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edsrar Rice Burroughs

He pointed at the body of the dead bull. Korak. mighty fighter, has killed your king,” he said. “There is none greater than Korak, son of Tarzan. Now Korak is king. What bull is mightier than Korak?” It was a challengel The apes chattered among themselves, taking counsel. At last a young bull in the prime of his strength, stepped forward, bristling, growling, terrible. He was enormous. Even natives sddom see these great, hairy, primordial men.

PAGE 9

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan