Indianapolis Times, Volume 43, Number 162, Indianapolis, Marion County, 16 November 1931 — Page 13

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Mll)W BEGIN HEBE TODAY MARY HARKNESB nlots to c*tch THE believes "framed" h?r mSc er r?Si5 IE - 'lth the murder of old MRB. JUPITER, and later ran Eddie laikfna' 11 ' 1 him to keep him from She is aided bv BOWEN of the Star. J“‘7J fl *nce. DIRK RUYTHER and his famllv obleet to the notoriety. They believe Eddie guilty, as do the police. The case Is dropped BRUCE JUPITER absent many years. 4 . r ? s J rom Europe with a woman _ > n<s- . father orders him out and makes Mrtry his heir. Bruce swears to rout Marv. who he thinks Is a golddigger. Dirk forbids Marv to continue the Investigation. refusing to believe in the existence of The Fiv. He tells Marv that People are repeating Bruce's charges and says if she goes to Miami on the Jupiter yacht, as she plana, he also will believe them. Marv goes, seeking The Flv. whose horse is running at Hialeah soon. Dirk shows attentions to his former sweetheart. CORNELIA TABOR, who Is trying to win. him back. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (Continued) “He must have had a wad of jack on her. Listen, is it true you've got the knick-knack with you?” Mary hesitated. “What about it?” "Well, he’s flat. Stony. I hear the hotel’s dogging him for his room rent. He tried to give them the old racket that his title gave the joint social glitter. He’s calling himself Count Dc Loma. That’s a laugh! The Ambassador’s thrown out better titles than his. If it is his!” “The Ambassador? He’s here?” “If they haven’t chucked him out, bag and baggage. Better get the necklace out and give him a flash of it, quick. He’ll leap at it. But lay your plans first, kid, for he’ll mean business when he strikes!” A slim hand encircled the girl’s throat, where a pulse beat chokingly. “You’ve got me—rattled,” she gasped. “Come and tell me what I ought to do. I hadn’t dreamed he was here! Why, he may be next door, right now, or—” She looked about fearfully and lowered her voice. “Oh, no. He’s in Parlor C. Throws a front, that guy. Where’ll I see you? I am not stopping at the Ambassador, need I say? I’m here on my own; the paper wouldn't send me, so I quit.” XXX A BELLBOY stuck his head in the door in response to her “Come in,” and said, “Your party’s gone upstairs, Miss Harkness. They ask you to join them on the roof.” Mary nodded. She told Bowen her immediate plans, and arranged to slip away and meet him as soon as passible after dinner. Trembling with suppressed excitement, she tugged at her big wardrobe trunk, hastily donning her small array of evening dresses. Her hand fell on the Paris dress. Well, if the countess wanted a party, she should have one. She dressed with great care. She always felt like a schoolgirl beside that experienced lady, anyway, but it would help some to know she was looking well. When she stepped out of the elevator she found Bates—a surprisingly altered Bates, resplendent in evening clothes—pacing the lounge, waiting for her. “That dame gives me the creeps,” he confided in an undertone as he met her. “I’ve tailed some shady propositions in my day, but —” he shook his head to indicate bafflement. “It’s just like I said,” he added disgustedly. “They’re fighting already.” “Fighting? Who?” “Him and her. Young Jupiter and the countess. They went at it hot and heavy the minute she got in her room and he in his. Their rooms are connecting, you know. “He thinks she’s making too much of a play for his father and she says what’s he always hanging around after you for, if he hates you so much. You’ve got her going, kid!” Mary’s laugh bubbled up and over. “Oh, that’s too funny!” x a STILL smiling, she followed the head waiter across the room toward the balcony table at which their party was seated. Heads turned as she passed. The room was only half filled, owing to the early hour, but within a moment after the first lackadaisical diner had looked up to see who was coming in, the last man in the farthest corner had received, by a sort of electric current, the word that a strikingly pretty girl was crossing t he room and he was craning his neck to catch sight of her. What he saw made him pause open-mouthed, and put down his fork. He recognized the girl instantly and sat for a few minutes wrapped in deep thought. When he could, without making himself conspicuous, he managed to see who her companions were . . . and a fresh shock awaited him. The woman in the silver dress . . . who was she? . . could she possibly be ... and what was she doing with the Harkness girl, who was his own special prey? He finished his meal hurriedly and looked again. It was she! The countess, looking up just a moment later, missed the look that crossed his face and as quickly erased itself —the look of a particularly vicious dog who sees another running away with his bone. After the first surprised instant of recognition, she smiled and cried out, in her usual note of false gaiety, ‘ Enrique!’’ and half rose to greet him. The man came forward, a mask settling down over his own features, and bowed over her hand. An odd flush came into her sallow cheeks as she presented him to the others. “This is my most dear friend, Count Enrique De Loma!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE MARY tried to speak from a dry throat, but could not. She merely nodded. She must get hold of herself, she thought wildly, or she would give the whole thing away. What was it George Bowen had said? “Now’s your big moment, Gloria Swanson, do your stuff!” She relaxed, smiling a little. De Loma drew up a chair at the counte*’ urgent invitation. He said, reprovingly, “All that is past. Louise. There are no titles in America, remember." Waa there a warning in his tone? Mary could have sworn his words were more significant than they appeared. “Nonsense!” the countess laughed. “There are more here than in Europe nowadays.” Mr. Jupiter ate his dinner, pay-

ing no attention to the conversation. Thank God, thought Mary; he doesn’t suspect. Now if I can only be sure of myself . . . But De Loma was not looking at her. After the first swift glance—did she imagine it or had his eyes strayed to her throat, involuntarily seeking the necklace? —he gave his attention to the Countess, chatting with her in a manner at once reserved and intimate. Mary looked at Bruce to see how he was taking it. He was calm enough. No trace of jealousy there, at least, apparent to the eye. The music started and with one accord the two .stood up and danced away, almost forgetting to excuse themselves in their obsorption. The countess was anxious to get De Loma away, or so it seemed. Bruce immediately turned to Mary and they followed the others to the dance floor. XXX MARY'S thought were racing. Once she thought of throwing the whole thing on Bruce’s shoulders. . . . “There is the man who killed your mother.” Bruce would be equal to the emergency; he would know what to do. And she could run away and hide, where this trembling of the knees would not threaten to conquer her at any minute. If Bruce had been a trifle more approachable, she acvually might Have done it. But this frozen calm of his was more than she could break through. There was no doubt in her mind that it was the same man she had seen at Shay’s. She would know him anywhere. The same smooth sallow skin, the same jet black hair, the bold, black eyes, so curiously unwinking. It was disconcerting to meet his stare—there was something rapacious, inhuman about it. And this other puzzle, of his acquaintance with the countess. Where had those two known each other? The countess was making her first visit to America, ostensibly, and Mary knew definitely that America had been the scene of operations of The Fly for several years past, at least! Was the countess another whom he had taken in at some time or other? Or was she, as the astute Bates asserted, a criminal herself? Mary resolutely put these thoughts aside lest they show in her face as she and Bruce returned to the table. The countess had lost her strained look and was gay, even coquettish again.

MARY stabbed at the frozen fruits in her ice unseeingly. She was so absorbed that it disconcerted her when she glanced up and saw her table companions all looking at her. She looked around at them rather wildly, frightened at having been' caught off guard. “What is it?” she asked. The countess lowered her eyes. “Enrique merely was saying that you look exquisite,” she murmured throatily. “Not at all the ieune fille. It is perhaps the dress? Remarkable, the flair for dress the young American working woman possesses. By day, the grub, slaving away at the typewriting machine . . at night, voila! She is a butterfly, dressed like a queen! Amazing!” The scratch was in that, as usual, but Mary was saved from replying when De Loma, suddenly leaning forward on his arms, asked bluntly: “Haven’t we met before?” It was a challenge, but its swiftness found Mary ready to meet it. “You were at Shay’s, weren’t you?” She laughed, as at an irresistible memory. “If I'd known then ” “Known? Known what?” Mary locked straight at him with just the right degree of wide-eyed innocence. “Why, that you were a count, of course!” She held her lower lip with her teeth, as if to control her amusement. “We thought you were a—you know —a racketeer! We practically ran from the place. Didn’t you notice it?” The beady black eyes did not change expression. As they bored into hers, seeming to probe her very soul for guile, Mary met them steadily, unwaveringly. (If he were scared off now ... if he didn’t believe her . . .! Her heart almost stopped for a moment of terrible suspense.) n an THE innocent confusion that showed in her face apparently satisfied him, for he broke into a grin, and turned to the countess to speak of something else. The music began again, a dreamy tango this time and to Mary’s surprise De Loma abruptly turned back to her again and asked her to dance. Her heart plunged once, then began to thump madly. She felt quite cold and numb but somehow she got to her feet, lifted her arms to him. Then, incredibly, she was moving off with him, his arms about her, her hand in his. It was . . . horrible. She, Mary Harkness, in the arms of this murderer, this thief! For one awful instant she felt her knees give way under her. Then she was dancing, she felt the beat of the music, she wrenched her mind away and*kept it away from the man beside her. Gradually the black, dizzy whirpool before her eyes cleared. He danced beautifully . . . better than any man she ever had danced with. There was something sinuously graceful about him, a lithe sureness that must be his Latin heritage. She never had danced so well in her life, that was certain. BUS A QUICK spatter of applause broke out as they finished. Looking about in surprise, Mary saw that they were almost the only couple on the floor. The others had moved away to make room for them. It was impossible not to be pleased. As she walked back to their table, she felt sure of herself. Those treacherous feelings were well under control now; the admiration at all these people, even though she knew it was not due to her directly, but rather to De Loma’s extraordinary skill as a partner, had infected her with just the feeling of confidence she needed. She was sure now that she could play the game out to the finish, unafraid of De Loma or any one else. The worst was over. Mr. Jupiter beamed upon her and Bruce applauded mildly. “Excellent!” he felicitated them both. “You really should be in the cinemas.”

Mary laughed, good-humoredly. “We’re considering it ” The countess was twisting bread between restless fingers, affecting an indifference Mary knew she was far from feeling. “Yes, you make a very wellmatched pair,” the older woman observed dryly. And only Mary, perhaps, was fully alive to the venomous implications of that remark. But she had no time to waste in resentment of Louise’ cattiness; she was wondering how soon she could manage to leave without arousing De Loma's suspicion. He seemed to have joined the party permanently. Just why, she did not know. But the countess made it easy for her. She professed a headache. “From watching th .se silly horses,” Bruce remarked. “Never again for me,” “You should have worn glasses,” De Loma chided her, taking a pair of colored lenses from his pocket and offering them to her. “You will need these if you are here long. The sunlight is very strong.” XXX SO that was how she had missed him, Mary decided, pis face was half hidden with the glasses on; and it was his eyes that one could not mistake—as black and soulless as marble. “Give them to Miss Harkness,” the countess grumbled. “She is the one who takes us there. She likes the races; I do not.” “You like racing?” De Loma asked quickly, looking sharply at the girl. Mary shrugged. • “It is a famous track, and I never have seen a race. I don’t like it much, no. Why should I? I bet on the horse every one says will win, and he falls down. “I hardly have the luck to make a racing enthusiast, should you say?” “Ah, the clumsy fool ” De Loma exclaimed before she had finished. Plainly it enraged him merely to remember the afternoon’s debacle. “She’s a jinx, that horse. She always brings me bad luck. Well, she won’t any more, damn her ” “Why don’t you change her name?” Bruce suggested indifferently. “Sometimes that helps.” Mary knew the remark was innocent, but she held her breath. De Loma might not take it so. She began to regret that Bruce had not been taken into confidence about the identity of the man they were after. Fearful of Bruce’s headstrong impulsiveness, she and Mr. Jupiter had decided to keep the essential facts from the younger man for a while. But he could hardly have made a more unfortunate remark if he had really intended to. And as if that were not enough, he blundered on: “La Mosca Why, that’s—” XXX OUICKLY, desperately, Mary set her French-heeled slipper on his foot and stepped—hard. Bruce looked at her angrily, his mouth open to protest—but something in her face stopped him fortunately. “Yes, yes!” she teased, in loud, brother-and-sister style, “that’s the horse you lost your money on! But you needn’t insult Mr. —Count De Loma.” She was almost shivering with relief that he had not gone on and said what she guessed he had started to say—“that’s Italian for The Fly.” Once that word was spoken, she knew the jig would be up. De Loma never would believe that was accidental. Bates, who had been smoking and idly looking out over the harbor, now shifted lazily in his chair. “Oh, is La Mosca your horse?” he grunted affably as if just becoming aware of the conversation. De Loma looked from Bruce to Bates and back again. He was taut as a spring, Mary could see—suspicious. She could hear the beating of her own heart in the tense silence. “She was,” De Loma answered, after a moment’s hesitation. “You’ve sold her then?” Bates spoke casually, apparently without interest. “She has bpen shot,” De Loma snapped. Every one at the table stared at him, surprised out of the roles they were playing. At the horror in their faces, De Loma caught himself up quickly. “The injury,” he explained suavely. “made it necessary.” There was a concerted exhaling of breaths. Mary looked into her plate, not daring to lift her hot eyes to the man’s face. Yes, what he said was the truth; but it was not the injury sustained on the track that had made death welcome to the courageous little animal! She had taken a bad tumble, but she had struggled to her feet again and ran the race out, game to the core. And she had not even limped! (To Be Continued)

Crossword Puzzle and Sticklers on Page 8

TARZAN AT THE EARTH’S CORE

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A stupendous gorge opened between Tarzan and the point where the thipdar had so ruthlessly torn him from his companions. It seemed impossible to find Thoar and Targash in this maze of peaks, chasms and ravines. Nor could the ape-man now hope to locate the giant airship that had brought him into this inner world. So he determined merely to seek a way out of the mountains and back to Pellucidar’s forests, which held a greater allure for him than this desolate place.

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PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Blosser;

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin