Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 21, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 June 1930 — Page 9

JUNE 4, 1930_

OUT OUR WAY

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (Continued.) “Oh, it’s Speaks again, eh?” The detective smiled. Mary Della nodded. “Yes, that's right. But now they've gone and goodness knows where to ” “You don't know where this Speaks fellow likes to rest his car?” the detective asked. “Oh, it might be anywhere. He , knows every road around here. I Say!” She was looking at Robert, j but the detective knew she was talk- ! ing to him. “Do you mind taking a chance? We may be throwing an hour away, but, well, there’s a chance " “I got all night, girlie,” the de- ; tective said lightly. “Get in and let's go. But you're running after the wrong man.” Robert slipped out quickly and j assisted Mary Della into the car. j The engine roared, the gears rattled, I and they were speeding east again, j “This right?” the C. E. inquired, j twisting about to look at Mary Della. "Straight out East Main street,” Mary Della directed sharply. “Straight out East Main street and on out the Cheshire road to ” “My word!” George exclaimed. “Are we going back to pick up the trail at the scene of the murder?” “It’s a gamble, George,” Mary Della told him, trying to control her voice. “They may be anywhere, but if—l wish you wouldn’t make me go into details. You see, he wanted to park with me here one night, and there’s just one little, tiny chance that ” “Certainly,” Robert declared sympathetically. “Don’t explain anything you don't want to, Mary Della. We’re taking a chance and it isn't costing any of us anything but time, which has no value right now. . . . Don’t talk so much, George,” he added loud enough for the hint to reach the ears of the two men in the front seat. “It isn’t that I don't want to tell you what I'm thinking about,” Mary Della said to Robert. “But it may be all a mistake and you see what a horrible mess it would put me in if I had told you in so many words what I’d thought. . . .” “Os course I do,” Robert agreed. “You keep it to yourself, darling,” he whispered. “We'll do whatever you say.” * a a MARY DELLA slipped her hand out and laid it in Robert's. Then she put her lips close to his ear. "She wouldn’t mind if—if she knew that this might be our last hour together, would she, Bob. . . .?” “She. . . .?” Robert frowned. “Who, sweetheart. .. . What last hour together?. . . ” He was deeply and honestly perplexed. And then it dawned upon him what she was thinking. “Why, Mary Della, don’t you know . . Mary Della placed a finger on his lips. “Don't explain, Bob,” she whispered. “I understand. I saw it in the paper. But I didn’t think you knew. . . .” “Can you imagine that! She wasn’t that sort, darling. Marjorie is a line girl. But she dodn’t love me, and her mother insisted on her marrying me, for some strange reason. . . . She wrote me what she planned to do. and why.” I'm sorry. Bob. I guessed too quick. She had to be a nice girl if you—if you—liked her.” Robert squeezed her hand tenderly. “By the way.” he asked, “don’t you know about whom I was talking when I said George was to be best man at the wedding?” “Why—no. You were telling me when we went in the police station that you had to announce the engagement. Who is she. Bob?” “I say, there ” George interrupted. “Don't you two knew it isn’t nice to whisper in public? Turn around here. Mary Della, and talk to Yale’s handsomest brunet.” “Bv heavens, George,” Robert laughed; “you’ve a gift for etiquet, but it’ll get you shot some day if you don’t watch yourself. I was Just asking Mary Della a riddle.” ana •TS this your road up ahead. Miss 1 Chubb?” The C. E.’s voice brought Mary Della to her senses. She stared into the darkness to the left of the highway a short distance before them. "Yes,” she said simply. “And there's a car parked on it. Now, listen” . . . she moved to the edge .of tike cushion and addressed the detective; “Well just drive by slowly and see if we can make out who’s

in the car. If I’m wrong, we’ll go on out the other end of the road and turn back into the highway toward Waterbury. If. .. .” “That's the important question,” the detective pointed out quickly. “If you’re right, what next?” “Gosh, I don’t know. You see, I may be wrong about the whole thing. I know that,” she added as if suddenly inspired. “We can’t accuse him of anything on my suspicions; but we can talk to him and tell him we thought we might trap the Red Mask out here. And while we’re talking, Bob or George can feel around in the back of the car. The Red Mask used a piece of gas pipe, you know. And there might be a mask hanging around. But we'll have to get them out of the car ” “That’s easy,” the detective declared. “Leave that to me. But who’ll search the car while I talk to him. They were turning into the abandoned arc of road, still fifty yards from the parked machine, when George McKray abruptly pushed the door open and stepped on to the running board. ana “They don’t know me,” he said quickly. “I’ll drop off here and drag up after you get them out of the car.” He closed the door easily and jumped to the ground. The police car moved on slowly. Mary Della was rubbing her hands together again. Robert put a comforting arm about her shoulders. The C. E. leaned back over the seat. “Recognize the car?” he asked, barely above a whisper. Mary Della shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean anything now,” she said. “Take it easy, lieutenant.” The car was just moving as they came abreast of the other machine. Its light were out. and though she stared intently at the two forms in the front seat, she could see nothing of their faces. a a a A FEW yards beyond the police car came to a stop. “Could you recognize them?” “I couldn't even see them . . . Now what'll we do?” “Best thing I know,” said the detective, “is go back on foot and use 'a flashlight. If you're wrong, we’ll apologize. If not ...” He got out of the car and motioned to the C. E. to follow. Mary Della and Robert stepped out reluctantly and trailed behind. The detective's spotlight roamed about the road and then played directly on the car. Mary Della and Robert, several yards behind, heard him say: “Sorry to bother you, but I'm a detective and we’re looking for someone. Would you mind getting out where we can look at you for a moment?” There was a stir in the car, and as Mary Della came up to the detective a youn# woman stepped to the ground. “Miriam! . . . Miriam! I thought. .. . What are you doing out here. . . .?’’ “Well, of all tilings!” exclaimed the startled Miriam. “Honey, what in the world are you up to, trying to scare people to death? I just knew something would happen when Timmy insisted on coming out on this horrible road. . . “Timmy . . .?” Mary Della repeated weakly. “Timmy? Why— Miriam. I thought it was Olga and Joe. We're looking for Joe. He may be . . .” “ To, Mary Della.” It was the ever-smiling Timmy, standing by the detective. “What kind of a party is this you and the gang are staging? Think me and Miriam was the Red Mask in duplicate?" Mary Della was clinging to Miriam for support. “I've got to sit down and think, Miriam.” she muttered. “Come on. I'll get my breath jin a minute. I was so sure it was ] Joe afnd Olga . . .” a a a IT was the detective who broke the silence. He stepped over and laid a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. ; “The leading men of ’The Clock Shop Clock.’” • said, suggestive of a compliment. Timmy smi’ed modestly. “In ; person,” he said, “and not a radio ! interpretation." He shifted his eyes | uneasily under the half humorous | gaze of the plainclothes man. “And to think,” mused the de- | tective, “we find you out here by ‘ accident. Can you beat it? . . . i Son, I’ve been looking all over for you the last couple of days. Where've you been?” “Looking for me?" Timmy was

—By Williams

plainly uncomfortable. “You’re kidding. I’ve been at the store days and at home nights.” “Positive? Yesterday, say. Were you working yesterday? Were you home last night?” “Say ” Timmy drew back slightly. Very slowly his jaws .set, his chin stuck forward, his thin eyebrows moved together and down. His voice was even, sharp and cold. “What in hell are you talking about ?” “I was just reminding you,” the detective replied, “that you weren’t at the store yesterday and you weren’t at your boarding house last night. What good do you think that lie’ll do you?’ ’ It was almost too quick for the eye to follow. The flashlight struck the ground with a thud and went out. Several voices cried out at once. There was the sound of someone rolling on the ground. And then comparative quiet. The detective’s voice came from the darkness. “There’s another light in the right-hand pocket of the car. Will somebody get it?” The C. E. got it and waved it in a great circle, holding it at last where it revealed two figures ludicrously involved on the ground. Th detective got to his feet and pulled something up after him. It was Timmy, bareheaded, scowling. “Folks,” said the detective, obviously conscious of the dramatic force of the moment, “here’s the answer to the riddle, the Red Mask in person, and not a radio interpretation.” CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX MARY DELLA’S laugh was genuine. It was full and musical and convincing, and the group, tremendously relieved for the moment, turned to her curiously. “Lieutenant,” Mary Della managed to say at last, “you’re all balled up. Timmy can't b-b .” She began to laugh again and leaned heavily against Robert, who smiled down at her sympathetically. “Timmy can’t be the Red Mask,” she declared with heroic effort to jpontrol her mirth. “He simply doesn’t fit the picture.” “If the conference at the station had lasted a little longer, Miss Chubb,” the detective explained, “youl would have heard what we haev learned about this young man. Ask the C. E. He’s been working on the case with us.” “That’s right, Miss Chubb” the C. E. declared. "There isn’t much room for an error here. The only other bet was Joe Speaks. And he's out.” “He’s out?” Mary Della repeated, confused. “He’s proved three out of four alibis as to his whereabouts on nights when the Red Mask was active," the detective explained. “And his alibi for the night the girl was killed out here is absolutely water-tight.” “Was he really playing—l mean shooting—craps?” Mary Della asked with a twinge of conscience. The detective grinned. “He sure was. He lost about everything he had but his collar buttons, according to the half a dozen fellows we had over to the station.”

(To Be Continued)

THE SON OF TARZAN

Many miles to the west, as Meriem struggled in the arms of the Swede, Morison Baynes paced back and forth before his tent. He kept urging his boy to heap more brushwood upon the fire. It had suited his purpose to send Hanson instead of going himself to meet Meriem, but as the hours passed and they did not come, his conscience troubled him. After a sleepless night Baynes realized he had been tricked! !

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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MOM’N POP

Moreover he knew that he was deserted; left purposely with little food and one black youth in the savage jungle. As he pictured the probable fate of Meriem at the hands of the Swede, his rage grew greater. Then as the thought sunk deeper that it was all his own fault he was filled with shame and loathing at himself. Could he stfll make amends? At ieost he could try. Several hours later he picked up the track of horses. L’AsMMliSrva,v;> ’

—By Martin

AS Meriem fought with Malbihn, hr hands pinioned to her sides by his brawny grip, hope died within her. She knew how useless it was to cry for help. As she was slowly being overcome, one hand came in contact writh the butt of the Swede’s revolver where it rested in the holster at his hip. Quickly she drew it forth. Instinctively Malbihn’s hands flew out to stop her, but Meriem leveled it at his heart and pulled the trigger. . ;

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

The hammer fell futilely upon an empty shell! Malbihn was again clutching her. For a moment she eluded him, but at the very entrance to the tent he caught her. Wheeling upon him with the fury of a wounded lioness, Meriem grasped the long revolver by the barrel. swung it high above her head and crashed it down full in Malbihn’s face. With an oath of pain and rage the man staggered backward, released his hold and sank unconsciously to the ground.

PAGE 9

—By Ahern

—By Blosser.

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Cowan