Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 175, Indianapolis, Marion County, 1 December 1930 — Page 11

SC?. 1, -1930

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BEGIN HERE TODAY SPECIAL INVEBTIOATOR DUNDEE Is •ummonM to the house of JUANITA SELIM, murdered during a bridge party. He believes that the woman has been shot by one of her guests. Dundee orders the guests to take the places they occupied from the dealing of the •'death hand,” until the body was found, and learns the following things: PENNY CRAIN, KAREN MARSHALL and CAROLYN DRAKE are playing bridge. LOIS DUNLAP and TRACEY MILES are In the dining room. JUDGE MARSHALL comes in soon after the beginning of the hand. JOHN DRAKE comes In Just before the end of the band DEXTER SPRAGUE and JANET RAYMOND come in together at the end of the hand, and go into the dining room. POLLY BEALE and her fiance. CLIVE HAMMOND, are In the solarium. In the hall, Dundee sees FLORA MILES, who hysterically says that after telephoning her home she went to the guests’ lavatory, to make up. Her bridge tally is missing. After learning that no one was seen outside, Dundee rends the guests to the living room, and tells CAPTAIN STRAWN his findings. Suddenly he exclaims, and throw's open the dpor of Nita’s closet. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER ELEVEN \ LMOST immediately Special Ini'xvestigator Dundee rose from his crouching position on the floor of Nita Selim’s closet, and faced the chief of the homicide squad of Hamilton’s police force. “I think,” he said quietly, for all the excitement that burned in his blue eyes, ‘‘that we’d better have Mrs. Miles in for a few questions.” ‘‘What have you got there—a dance program?” Strawn asked curiously, but as Dundee continued to stare silently at the thing he held, the older man strode to the door and relayed the order to a plainclothes detective. “I sent for Mrs. Miles,” Dundee said coldly, wheojiusband and wife appeared together, Flora’s thin, tense shoulders encircled protectmgly by Tracey’s plump arm. “If you’re going to badger my wife further, I intend to be present, sir,” Miles retorted, thrusting out his chest. “Very well!” Dundee conceded curtly. “Mrs. Miles, why didn’t you tell me in the first place that you were in this room when Nita Selim was shot?” “Because I wasn’t—ln—in this room,” Flora protested, clinging with both thin, big-veined hands to her husband’s arm. “Sir, you have no proof of this absurd accusation, and I shall personally take this matter up—” “I have the best of proof,” Dundee said quietly, and took his hand from his pocket. “You recognize this, Mrs. Miles? . , . You admit that it is the tally card you used while playing bridge this afternoon?” “No, no! It isn’t mine!” Flora efied hysterically, cringing against her husband, who began to protest in a voice falsetto wit hr age. Dundee ignored his splutterings. “May I point out that it is identical with the other tally cards used at Mrs. Selim’s party today, and that on its face it bears your name, ’Flora’?” and he politely extended the card for her inspection. “I—yes, it must be mine, but I was not in this room when Nita was—was shot!” “But you will admit that you were in her clothes closet at some time during the nine or ten minutes that elapsed between your leaving the bridge game, when you became dummy, and the moment when Karen Marshall screamed?” a a a \ S Flora Miles said nothing, startV ing at him with great, terrified black eyes, Dundee went on relentlessly: “Mrs. Miles, when you left the bridge game, you did not intend to telephone your house. “You came here—into this room! —and' you lay in wait hiding in her closet until Nita Selim appeared, as you knew she would, sooner or later “No, no! That’s a lie—a lie, I tell you!” the woman shrilled at him. “I did telephone my house, and I talked to Junior, when the maid put him up to the phone. . . . You can ask her yourself, if you don’t believe me!” ’But after you telephoned, you stole into this room—” “No, No!’’ I—l made up my face all fresh, just as I told you—” Dundee did not bother to tell her how well he knew she was lying, for suddenly something knocked on the door of his mind. He strode to the closet, searched for a moment among the multitude of garments hanging there, then emerged with the brown silk summer coat which Nita Selim had worn to Breakaway inn that noon. Before the terrified woman’s eyes he thrust a hand, first into one deep

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pocket and then another, finding nothing except a handkerchief of fine embroidered linen and a pair of brown suede gauntlet gloves. “Will you let me have the note, please, Mrs. Miles? The note Nita received during her luncheon party, and which she thrust, before your eyes into a pocket of this coat?. . . It is in your handbag, I am sure since you have had no opportunity, unobserved to destroy it.” “What ghastly nonsense Is this, Dundee?” Tracey Miles demanded furiously. But Dundee again ignored him. His implacable eyes held Flora Miles’ until the woman broke suddenly, piteously. She fumbled in the raffia bag which had been hanging from her arm. “Good God. Flora! What does it all mean?” Tracey Miles collapsed like a pricked pink balloon, became almost as wrinkled and absurd, as he saw the corner of a blue-gray envelope slowly emerging from his wife’s hand bag. “That's my stationery—one of my business envelopes—” Flora Miles dropped the bag, which she need no longer watch and clutch with terror, as she dug her thin fingers into her husband’s shoulders and looked down at his puzzled face, for she was a little taller than he. “Forgive me, darling! Oh, I knew God would me for being jealous! I thought you were writing love letters to—tc that woman—” Dundee did not miss the slightest significance of that scene as he retrieved the hand bag and drew out the blue-gray envelope. It was inscribed, in a curious handwriting: “Mrs. Selim, Private Dining Room, Breakaway Inn.” *a a a “r ET’S see, boy,” Strawn said, -L/ with respect in his harsh voice. Dundee withdrew the single sheet of business stationery, and obligingly held it so that the chief of detectives could read it also. “Nita, my sweet,” the note began, without date line, “Forgive your bad boy for last night’s row, but I must warn you again to watch your step. You’ve already gone too far. Os course I love you and understand, but— Be good, Baby, and you won’t be sorry.” The note was signed “Dexy.” Dundee tapped the note for a long minute, while Tracey Miles continued to console his wife. Anew avenue, he thought—perhaps a long, long avenue. . . . “Mrs. Miles,” he began abruptly, and the tear-streaked face turned toward him. “You say you thought this letter to Mrs. Selim had been written by your husband?” “Yes,” she gasped. “I’m jealousnatured. I admit it, and when I saw one of our own—l mean, one of Tracey’s business envelopes—” “You made up ybur mind to steal it and read it?” “Yes, I did. A wife has a right to know what her husband’s doing, if it’s anything—like that—” Her haggard black eyes again implored her husband for forgiveness, before she went on: “I did slip into Nita’s room, and go into her closet to see if she had left the letter in her coat pocket. “I closed the door on myself’ thinking I could find the light cord, but It was caught in one of the dresses or something, and it took me a long time to find it in the dark of the closet, but I did find it at last, and was just reading the note—” “You read it, even after you saw that the handwriting on the envelope wasn’t your husband’s?” Dundee queried in assumed amazement. Flora’s thin body sagged. “I—l thought maybe Tracey had disguised his handwriting. ... So I read it, and saw it was from Dexter—” “Mr, Miles, do you know how some of your business stationery got into Sprague's handb?” “He had plenty of opportunity to filch stationery or almost anything he wants, hanging around my office, as he does—an idler—” But Dundee was in a hurry. He wheeled from the garrulity of the husband to the tense terror of the wife. “Mrs. Miles. I want you to tell me exactly what you know, unless you prefer to consult a lawyer first—” “Sir. if you are insinuating that my wife—” “Oh, let me tell him, Tracey,”

Mrs, Miles capitulated suddenly, completely. “I was In the closet when Nita was killed, I suppose, but I didn’t know she was being killed! Because I was lying in there on the closet floor in a dead faint!” a a a stared at the woman incredulously, then suppressed a groan of almost unbearable disappointment. If Flora Miles was telling the truth, here went a-flying his only eye witness, probably, or rather, his only ear witness. “Just when did you faint, Mrs. Miles?” he asked, struggling for patience. “Before; or after Nita came into this room?” I 7/as just finishing the note, with the light on in the closet, and the door shut, when I heard Nita come into the room. I knew it was Nita because she was singing one of those Broadway songs she is—was—so crazy about. “I jerked off the light and crouched way back in a comer of the closet. A velvet evening wrap fell down over my head, and I was nearly smothering, but I was afraid to try to dislodge It for fear a hanger would fall to the floor and make an awful clatter. And then — and then—” She shuddered, and clung to her husband. “What caused you to faint, Mrs. Miles?” “Sir, my wife has heart trouble—” “What did'you hear, Mrs. Miles?” Dundee persisted. (To Be CorTnued)

Concerning Russian Chorus

BY WALTER D. HICKMAN r T'HE most marvelously controlled *- male chorus Is the Don Cossack Russian male chorus which was at English’s Sunday afternoon. Never in my life have I heard such tones, and I also witnessed the most pronounced showmanship and individuality on the part of the conductor, Serge Jaroff. In person, Jaroff was Just a half pint in size to the' others in this

chorus, but he was as commanding and as powerful as any great symphony orchestra conductor I have ever seen. This man could get a pianoissimo effect out of these thirty-six men which is the sweetest I have ever heard in a chorus. At times I had the impression that this little man was playing the mightiest pipe organ in existence. One sec-

Jaroff

ond the volume would soar to symphony orchestra proportions only to fade away the next second in a whisper. Again I state never in my life have I heard as great chorus work. And I have heard some of the greatest. I will never forget how they put over the plaintive and swelling tragedy of “Ay Ookhnem,” which is the cry of the Volga boatmen. Then we heard the dash and the spirit of old Russia in the “Old Cossack Song.’' The first part was devoted to great religious choral works such as “Credo” and “Psalm I of David.” The second and third groups got into the folk and old Cossack tunes of other days. I heard many people in the audience remark in that they never had seen such sad expressions on the faces of men as these Cossacks. It seemed their facial expressions never changed. It seemed to me at times to be the very live ghost of a former powerful organization because each man of this chorus was a former officer of the Russian imperial army. One of the most remarkable things of the concert was the showmanship of the conductor, Jaroff. He used precise military control of the men. He was the* only one who received the applause. After each number, he left his conducting stand, two groups of men in the chorus parted and made way for him to go to his back in the back row. At no time did this vary. And another wonderful thing was the great audience. It seems now that Indianapolis is appreciating Mrs. Nancy Martens who is bringing such fine organizations to this city. It was even necessary to *place extra seats in the orchestra pit to accommodate those who wanted to hear this chorus. Also it was necessary to delay the beginning of the concert about twenty-five minutes to accommodate the line of people waiting at the box office. And that is an unheard of thing in this city. Let’s have more of it. Another great afternoon, Mrs. Martens.

TARZAN AND THE LOST EMPIRE

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As the outer gate the members of the guard begged to be permitted to rtscue Sublatus and to avenge the insult that hau been put upon him, but the emperor warned them to permit his captor to leave the plr.ee in safety, provided Tarzan kept his woift and liberated him when they reached the avenue beyond the gate.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

r well. SACRE 1 . I S SI, CAPVTNN. WE CFTEN SVTNK CSH THE WAN, \ No, no! SHOULDN'T OF so / most Tea Tat of xoo. he remembnr. how amigo mio, mentioned it. been LONG, TRESIOENTE SOU WANCE HELP WEEM,ESCAPE THIS SECRET SWORN TO SECRECY. BOYS. J NOU ARE EENTO MEXICO. / L \ MISSION OF CAN’T BE TOO CAREFUL 7 —/ HERE- HE y ( AH, HE THEENK \ YOORS-AU-) 'BOUT THESE MILITARY S l WILL BE >1 ( ( YOU WAN GRAN’/ lAM VER’ / UWENTiONS,*SUH - >

SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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The scarlet-coated guard fell back, as the half-naked barbarian bore their commander-in-chief through the palace gates out into tha avenue beyond. The interpreter marched ahead, scarce knowing whether to be downcast by terror or elated with pride through this unwonted publicity. The emperor writhed helplessly in Tarzan's grasp.

—By Ahern

Ancient trees overhung the avenue and in many places their foliage overspread the low housetops. Midways of the avenue, the ape-man halted and lowered Sublatus to the ground. He turned his eyes in the direction of the gateway through which the soldiers were crowding. “Tell them to go back,” Tarzan ordered the interpreter, “or I won’t release Sublatus.’’

OUT OUR WAY

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| ; sr ; ; T~ t \ WEYE AOW SAY; WvST ARE YA So SORE. EOT YOORE YMEAM*,OM OOR ’IM OUtR f i WAERESAEO (M VMM. SXOWIN& 09 S X EAR& i owevy. ***• ! £>OMEA\ME lio I EOR?AREMT AWtRE AWVMK. Y'fcEEO A WOATA’HECKI f L\KE "AO ENOO6H OE CC. X\AAVE OOM9EA\AIOM 1 OME MORE COOYOKJt MEEA '\VA r~ AVREAOY? A'v<EE9 YA Od *| MAKE AH\MS&

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Tarzan noted the ready javelim; in the hands of the many guardsmen and guessed that the moment his body ceased to be protected by the near presence of Sublatus it would be the target and tile goal of a score of weapons. As the last of the guardsmen pressed back into the court yard Tarzan let go of the emperor Then the guardsmen sallied forth.

PAGE 11

—By Williams

—By Blosser,

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin