Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 17 May 1937 — Page 14

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CAST OF CHARACTERS JOAN BARRETT, heroine, secretary to John Hendry. : JOHN HENDRY, mining head. BOB ANDREWS, Hendry's junior partner and Joan’s fiance. SYBIL HENDRY, socialite, John Hendry’s niece and Joan’s rival in love. PHILIP, HENDRY, Sybil’s hrother. DOROTHY ,STARKE, Joan’s girlhood friend. z CHARLES NORTON, California mining Promoter,

investment

Yesterday—Joan paid a midnight call to the John Hendry home and was horrified to find her employer has been murdered—stabbed in the back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE HILIP stood at the window of his hotel room in San Francisco and looked out on the city below him. The rain was pouring down with a depressing steadiness, and out across the bay a fog was beginning to rise. { { What a night, he thought, to Jand in a strange town where one didn’t have even a nodding acquaintance with another, soul! He was getting fed up with this wild goose chasing for Sybil. Fiity dollars a week, to track down a 15-year-old schoolgirl! Sybil might have thought of something more clever. : What more would he discover in San Francisco than he had in Seattle? 2 Thanks to the susceptible Miss:

Baldwin, he had in his pocket the

name of the school which Joan Barrett had attended prior to her

transfer to Eastman High School!

in Seattle, when she was 15 years old. He could go there tomorrow and meet another Miss Greeley and be informed as to the giri’'s marks in simple algebra, and her attendance record in the gymnasium, and the quality of her accent in Spanish. Tommyrot! . Probably when he got back to New York he would bz able to qualify for the interesting position of truant officer. He thought; a little grimly, that $#t might have been better if he'd bad it out with his uncle, and Sam Bowser, too. The fuss would have been over by this time, whereas this hide-and-sesk game might go on forever. Curse Jcan Barrett! Yes, and Sybil, too. A girl like her didn't have to resort to schemes like .this to get her man.

z 2 2

ELL, one more day, and he'd see the end of San Francisco. Tomorrow, no matter where the trail led, he was going to make his | own trail down the coast. To Hollywood, then down to the border, perhaps. To Santa Anita. Or Agua Caliente. Those sounded like hot spots. There would be money from Sybil tomorrow. Expense money, and his own monthly allotment from their trust fund. When he spoke to her

_ on the phone a while ago, she had

promised to wire it to him the first thing in the morning. He hadn't he could drop her a line jonce he got

_ the money, if he thought of it. He'd

done enough already. Let Sybil

* chase her own will o’ the wisps from

now on. Santa Anita! He smiled, and turned his back on the gloomy out- | look from the window. There were races down there . . . . and easy money. Was it Santa Anita now? He tried to remember. Or were the races at Tia Juana again this year? Or had he better try Agua Caliente? There was a pretty. famous casino there, so he’d been told. Would this be the right season for ‘Agua Caliente? Or had he better take in the races—Santa Anitalor Tia Juana? Which one? ~ Well! He'd better find out where he was going and what he was going after before he got started. There'd be no sense in arriving at the race track out of season when the casino was going full blast in ancther city. He walked over and picked up the phone. “Send me up an evening newspaper, will you?” he asked smoothly. “Oh, any one will do. Wait a minute—make it the final sports edition. . . . Thanks, sister. Maybe I'll be down to see you later.”

He grinned at his own reflection |

in the bureau mirror. If the evengng became too dull, one could seek a date with a good-looking telephone operator.

= # =

ATER—an hour or so later— having ® discovered all he wanted to know on the sports page he turned back to the front of the paper to scan the general news. - Local gossip, for the most part, but he read it, for want of something better to do. The Senator from California was making himself heard in Washington—page one. Details of the war in Spain—dull details, Philip thought. What the devil were they fighting about, anyway? A Hollywood divorce—he read that one through. : : On page two, more details about San Francisco's latest crime senrssation. He read that through, also. Crime was always interesting on a rainy evening. Apparently he had arrived in town too late for the beginning of this ong; it was already two days old. The police had made no arrests, but there were suspects. : Philip considere@ the suspects. In his mind, he convicted the guilty party with very little reflection. Reading down the column he was pleased to notice that Mr. Burton, of the district attorney's office, agreed with him. “I feel convinced,” Mr. Burton was alleged to have said, “that the crime was a combination of murder and robbery. There is no doubt of it. The case is parallel, almost detail for detail, to the famous Barrett case of a decade ago. ...” Philip sat up. o The famous Barrett case. ~ He read down the column quickly, to find a further reference. There was none, however. A moment later, he picked up the telephone again. “Get me the office of the Evening Times, will you sister?” He tapped the edge of the telephone table nervously as he waited for the connection. This was getting exciting! 3 8 # s E spoke to two or three people at the Times’ office before he was finally referred to the paper’s “morgue,” its library. : “Have you anything in your files on the Barrett case,” Philip asked. “About 10 years ago?” . “What?” exclaiméd the morgue assistant, answering the call. . Philip repeated his question. %"Sayl” The voice was suspicious.

FRAID 70

for. 2

“Are you trying to kid me, fellow?” Philip was "a little taken back. “Certainly not,” he said with dignity. “I saw a reference to the case ‘in this evening's Times. I thought you might know something

The voice be“Where

“Wait a minute!” came more understanding. were you 10 years ago?” “In the East. In New York, as a matter of fact. ..” “Oh-h-h. That's it. Well, let me tell you, buddy, for six months the Times carried practically nothing else but the Barrett case. a sensation, that was. I don’t know how you never heard of it in New York.” Philip rubbed his knee with satisfaction. Boy, if this was the right track, would Sybil eat it up! “Say, would it be possible,” he asked the voice at the other end, “for me to. come down and look through those back issues?” “Sure. Come ahead. Come down any time tomorrow. ...” “There's no chance of seeing them tonight?” “0. K. It's your funeral if you want to come out on a night like this . . . Ask for O'Reilly. That's me.” & “Thanks, O'Reilly. Ill be ‘right down.” f

. we ; HE hung up the phone and sat 2 there, ready to cheer for himself. Was he getting somewhere! Well, he guessed, Sybil knew what she was about when she sent him out on this job! Half an hour later, he was in the morgue of the Times, going through a stack of newspapers which the obliging . O'Reilly kept piling higher and higher. “Whoa, there!” Philip protested finally. “This is plenty for tonight. I don’t want to write a book on the case.” O'Reilly shrugged. “Most of ‘em do that come in here. What do you want to know about it for” Philip lowered his voice confidentially, “I don’t want it to get around, but I'm here on a special investigation into this Cummings affair....I noticed in the Times tonight that Burton of the D. As office thought it the same kind of a case as the Barrett case. So—" O'Reilly raised his eyebrows. “Sure. You wanted the work

[ove

That was |-

along the same lines as they did: to get Barrett. I see. You're a detective, eh?” : Philip nodded. “Not. exactly a detective,” he said with dignity. “More on the order of a special investigator——" 3 “Yeah, I know. You work under cover.” O'Reilly looked at him with undisguised admiration. “From New York, eh? Must be excitin’—” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

I'd like...special investigator... Well, let me know if therels anything else—-" “This is fine, thanks.” sn ” (ur he scanned the first issues covering the case. There was no doubt of it; everything was here. Thomas Barrett, accused. Photographs of his wife, Shiela Barrett, and daughter,” Joan, 13 years old. That would be Joan, all right, Make her 23 now. A later issue carried photographs. She hadn't changed much in 19 years. What a baby face, though! You'd never think . . . her father wasn’t such a bad-looking sort, at that. Not the type you'd suspect right off. And Joan was the image of him. She looked more like him today than she did at 13. : As he went through the papers, he made notes of certain important details. Sybil would want to know everything. He'd have photostats made of the photographs, too, and mail them to her. O'Reilly could arrange that for him.” \ \ His face was flushed with a strange nervous excitement. Perhaps there was something to this special investigating work, It sure gave one a thrill to dig’ up a clue like this! It was as much fun as seeing your own horse win by a nose. He was jubilant as he left the offices of the Times. And he whistled | all the way back to the hotel, though the rain was coming down just as steadily, and the fog he had seen earlier now enveloped the taxi ina thick, cold haze. Inside the lobby, he rushed toward the telephone desk. “Say, sister,” he called cheerfully to the operator. “Put in a call to New York for me, will you? Rush it through, and I'll take you out as soon as youre off duty!”

(To Be Continued)

Daily Short Story

END OF THE LINE—By Ernie Rydberg

PrCanrasy was a melancholy meal at Tom Lorimer's that morning.

Margaret. “We'll make out first rate on your pension. Besides, after working 40 years, you certainiy are entitled to a rest. Just think—you can fish now to your heart’s.content.” “Sure,” said Tom, a little huskily. “And besides, Tom”—Margaret beamed happily—“you should be very proud, of yourself. Forty years with the Municipal Car Lines, and not one single little accident! That's what I call a pretty fine record. Youll feel mighty grand at the banquet Friday night when you get your medal. “Oh, I know how you feel about that. You think it's silly. But I'll feel so proud of you. Come, on, now —get a smile on your face, Here's xour lunch. Get your cap. You wofildn't want to be late on your last day, would you?” PRG

OM kissed Margaret goodby, and trudged down to the 32d St. crossing, where he was to get his car.

As Tom took over and put the car in motion, he was .glad he was headed toward the beach end of the line instead of into the downtown traffic. He wanted to think. 2 ” ”

ACK and forth between the beach and the ferry—for 40 years, he had made that run day in and day out, through, rain, sunshine and fog. Tom knew every bump in the road, every policeman, postman, and newsboy along the line. Take this girl who was getting on now at 40th St., where the car barns were. Tom knew she would get off at 59th. She was Vivian Martin. She was 17, went to Lakeside High, and had had the measles, the mumps, and the chicken pox. She was going away to college in the fall. Tom knew all of these things, and many more, because Mrs. Martin had said so. She hadn't told him but in her high-pitched voice, she had told various other people as she rode back and forth between her home and downtown. Tom remembered Virginia as a baby, when Mrs. Martin had, taken her down to the clinic every Wednesday afternoon. He remembered her as a child, going to grammar school. 2 In those days, she had often come up to the front of the car to talk with him. She knew well enough she awasn’t supposed to talk to the motorman but, after all, she was sort of a privileged character. Wasn’t her father the superintendent at the car barns? "2 »

OW Virginia was almost through high school—and had a boy friend named Johnny. : She Herself had not told him about. Johnny, for she was too grown-up now to have friendly chats with him, but he had heard her telling a girl friend about her romantic problems as she rode home from a movie one day quite recently. Virginia, it seemed, was having a very tempestuous time trying to decide the monumental question of whether . she should finish high school or quit right then and marry Johnny.

little impatient, and it was bothering Virginia." Tom had grinned to himself. ro A 8 Bn HE afternoon business was. brisk. Tom was pressed to keep on schedule, but he made it. And then, finally, there came the last run to the ferry. Tom hated even to start. The car was empty as he left the beach. AT He picked up his first passenger at 65th St.—a young fellow, about 20 years old, who was carrying a grip. He came through the car and sat down in the front end. Tom could see his reflection in the mirror. He recognized him as one of a gang by young, hoodlums who

. “Now, don’t you worry, Tom,” said | =>" ¥ Sow: Y i ) | Virginia.

Johnny, apparently, was getting a |-

the

‘Martin, looking at Tom

had had several scrapes. with the police. The next passenger got on at 59th. Tom was startled to see that it was She also was carrying a bag. She came through the car and sat down beside the youth. They talked excitedly. Tom frowned. So this young roughneck was the Johnny whom Virginia had been talking about— and it looked as though they were going to elope! Tom listened. “Johnny,” he heard Virginia say, “I'm scared stiff.” “Aw, buck up, kid. After it's over, your folks won't care a bit.” “I don’t know about that. think we ought to do it.” “Sure we ought. Say, is your old man at the car barns?” “Yes, 1 think so.” “Well, when we pass there, we'd better duck down.” Tom was thinking fast. * The car barns were now only three blocks ahead. He could run in and tell Old Man Martin, but—after all, it was none of his business. + As Tom approached the barns, a car coming from the opposite direction was just turning in. There was a crash. Wood splintered. Glass shattered. . . .

8 2 8

HEN Tom came to, he was stretched out on a bench in superintendent’s office. He saw that Virignia was there, too.” She was crying, and Old Man Marin was laying down the law to her. : Old Man Martin turned anxiously toward Tom. ? “How are you feeling, Lorimer?” “Okay.” “That's good. Just a little shaken up, I guess, but I've sent for a doctor to look you over.” He gazed at Tom with the nearest approach to a kindly expression that Tom had ever seen on his grouchy face. : “Sorry this happened, Lorimer,” he said gruffly. “Your last run, too. You know what it means, of course?” Tom shrugged. “No medal on Friday night—my record's ruined. Well, it don't make no difference to me. My wife’ll be mad as the dickens, but”’—he grinned sheepishly—“I never wanted no medal pinned on me, anyway. . . .” “Harumph!” growled Old Man intently. “My report will state that the accident was of minor proportions and unavoidable—due to heroism on the part of the motorman in preventing a far worse catastrophe. Don’t you worry, Tom—you’ll get your medal!”

THE END

(Copyright, 1937, by United Syndicate, Inc.) Pears

I don’t

The characters in this story are fictitious.

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“You knoa, that’s the sort o' job |

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

THAT ROPE 2. OCH, THAT'S :SO ILL KNOW WHEN HE AINT THERE.

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FTA HH

- — PR. 1937 BY NEA SERVICE, IN

Bl Eas chy OFF. LI'L ABNER

By Willia

HEROES ARE MADE —NOT BORN.

VING DAISY MAE TO AWAIT THE REN TRAIN, LI'L ABNER AND HIS .MAMMY HAVE TAKEN A SHORT CUT THROUGH THE HILLS.

THEY IS ~ D-DAID?-

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THEN-AH DONT CARE--WHUT HAPPENS T'ME--GO AHEAD ,SCRAGGS-SH-SHOOT >

MONDAY, MAY 17, 1537 FLAPPER FANNY

By Sylvia Se

— Wika mm ald Wa

“Are the Cowans going out to the farm this spring?”

“Oh, it’s not the farm, anymore. Since they put in a bathroom it’s their country estate.”

va : 5 ® 1927 be United Feature Syndicate, Phe |"). Tm. Reg. U.S Pat. ON — AN rights reserved

THASS TH'RIGHT YF — ~~ GQ | SPIRIT, PAPP A YOKUM-LE'S GO, CHILLUNY )

TET | A HROME J

—By Al Cap

LE’S Gor

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

FOR THE GLORY OF MY NATIVE LAND, I DIE! COME SEEK ME, © WELCOME DEATH ! TOUCH ll

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NOW WE GOTTA GET READY FOR THE LAST ACT ..... AND PUT SOME PEP.

NICE FELLAS, 22 7 EH, 00P? A GREAT [ GOSH, FOOZYBUNCH OF BOYS - A SAY! LISSEN!! A WHAT'S MAKIN’ THAT CRAZY NOISE?

I DON'T KNOW-

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~36 Butter lump.

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WHY Z WE STILL: HAVE [TWO MORE. SCENES LEFT

—By Blosser

WELL, T SUPPOSE WHEN THEY SAW OSSIE GET ') KILLED [THEY FIGURED THEY 'D HAD THEIR ' E H MONEY S$ WORTH ES Vo

WELL,FER-! IT'S DINNY {! TH POOR CRITTER 1S TRYIN' T'KEEP WARM -

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HORIZONTAL

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CROSSWORD PUZZLE

Answer to Previous Puzzle

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37 Honey .gatherer. 39 Baseball nine. 41 Gulls. 43 Stirrup bone.

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vessel. 37 Got the better of. 38 To ensnare. 40 To bar by estoppel. 41 To plague. 42 Kind of rock. 44 Plural. 46 Morindin dye. 47 Taro root. 48 To bellow. 49 Onager. 51 And. 53 Tree. 55 Half an em. 57 Preposition.

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