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Show tSkg BLACK IsPKJ pfcfW SOMBRERO feifhCLIFFORD KNIGHT . 7 X 1 chatfleld, Hollywood artist, ii cot from the will of her Aunt Kitty, who f , hom tn overdose of morphine. Bar-MidlsoB, Bar-MidlsoB, an amateur detecUve, and " i Boger, a professional sleuth, go 8 MMaUan, Mexico, on a yacht cruise Stt?Mr8aret and Dwlght Nichols. Ar-Jrfnr Ar-Jrfnr there they find that Elsa and her tr bar- jreceded them by plane. They T tt rancho of Elsa's father, Sam Hatfield worn Rogers questions about visit to his sister Kitty, In Los An-u, An-u, the me"' she died. Later Sam fLtfield addresses his guests on the sub-,1 sub-,1 ol Kitty's death, and asks that Rog-, Rog-, conduct an examination. Rogers soestions the enUre group and allien all-ien that each has a motive. CHAPTER VIH Thank you, Dwight. And you, Margaret?" "Not guilty. Hunt," Margaret said tfth a smile. Rogers paused as if debating the propriety ol bis next question. "You told me once, didn't you, Margaret, Marga-ret, that you too might be said to have a motive?" 1 "Yes," answered Margaret frank-i frank-i u "I was Jealous of Kitty; she Was out to take Dwight away from i me Don't be absurd, dear," Dwight Nichols interrupted. "I'm not, darling" . "1 had a motive," said Elsa Impulsively, Im-pulsively, recklessly. "I hated her. I'd hated her all my life." Sam Chatfleld looked thoughtfully it his daughter and was about to ; gpeak when Berta, her white teeth I feshing, her eyes moving almost ! roguishly, declared: '1 had a motive too, and Sam; ' (he sister was inhospitable, insult-i insult-i fog to us. Such scenel It made j lomethtag" she pressed her plump, 1 beautiful hands to her bosom "something Inside very very mad. With both of us." In this curious haste to confess motives, Rogers' face was full of Interest; faint smile played about hli lips, his mild blue eyes shifted rriftlT from one to the other of , the group as each one spoke. After Berta had spoken silence fell upon ui. Rogers remarked: , "All these things, of course, I've known. There remains only Reed Barton's motive." He glanced at Reed, who sat stiffly in his leather pantaloons, as if to ask permission lor what he was about to say. "Reed has said that Katherlne Chatfleld tan be blamed for his father's suicide sui-cide It was over a matter of some mortgaged property which could have been saved by a little leniency upon the part of the decased. "Now, then" he paused, as if un-lertaln un-lertaln where to go from this point -"according to the estimate of the coroner's office, Katherine Chatfleld ' died some time before midnight; dis-I dis-I eovery of the body was not made mM about seven the following rooming. Everyone here has a motive mo-tive of some sort perhaps even Cheaebro has a motive. It would be odd if he were the only person lacking one. Until he can be questioned ques-tioned In this connection we'll not I blow definitely. Moreover, whether t not he was there that night had ; 'PPorrunity " "H It's Chesebro you're talking bout, Hunt, he was there," came Ike husky voice of George Rumble. "There? That night we're speak-k speak-k of? I must be certain." I "Sure he was there. I saw him tome away." "How about his going in? Did you Ke that?" I "Ho, I didn't. I'd walked down j8" street after I got thrown out, d when I came back by there, wesebro was coming out. Perhaps Wve noticed how he's treated me. Huntlike a yellow dog from the M time I contacted him. Well, I l"1" that's the reason for it He's ,CW like he was afraid of me, or 7 I might tell on him." I 'That's interesting," said Rogers, ing the side of his large nose ttughtfully with a forefinger. "Our i1' widens." ! "J "w plenty of other things that "C" too. But fLey ' never meant .Joythinfr to me until now, because '('"ayi thought, the dame commlt-suicide. commlt-suicide. You put a different ilSht on thing-, Hunt." IJhora elHe did you see?" ! !SW Reed Barton-" and he m eanlngful glance upon L wd- "He was coming out Just as I aa trying to get in to hand her r blll for ; tlj work." I "Eut Katharine Chatfleld was alive rS'u got in to see her?" ,il say she was alive; she was ckln' on all sixteen cylinders when iaw her." iBut you didn't leave the vicinity 'her home after you got thrown Is that it?" light," fid you enter the house a second V." Lw long did you stay around I , 'bouts? And why?" L Hayed because I was mad. jw V I kept talking to myself, ii to cool down before you taln.' When I get to talking L. .?,(,f you know something is t oe. And that dame sure L i. apologies to you, Chat-Pi Chat-Pi Sq( vbs your sister." k 'rb(j ntlon it," Sam Chatfleld, r, pjj ''the conversation, roused W Sltt umbIe- "I am aware J 1 Ion' u a peculiar woman." eri nl did you hang about?" Bt,lted. "Oh, maybe an hour. Not right in front of the house, Hunt, you understand. un-derstand. I'd walk down to the end of the block and loaf a while then come back. About the second time I done that I see Mrs. Nichols get In a car standing in front of the house and drive off." Dwight sprang out of his chair and walked over to Rumble. He seized him roughly by the shoulder. "Are you accusing my wife of killing Kitty Chatfleld?" he demanded demand-ed harshly. "No. I'm just telling what I saw that night." "Don't, darling," said Margaret. "He may be right at that." "May be right?" repeated Dwight, puzzled. "Well, then, is right," said Margaret Mar-garet defiantly. Dwight let go his hold on Rumble and straightened up, passing a hand across his face uncertainly. "Who was it who ran out of the house, Margaret?" asked Rogers. Margaret inhaled deeply of her cigarette, desperately striving to control her jumpy nerves. "He didn't see me," she said. "He couldn't have known, I'm sure, that I was behind the drapery. I lost Two men on the platform were doing the Coyote dance. my courage; I couldn't go on with it. Talk with Kitty, I mean." "Who was it?" pressed Rogers. "I'll tell you who it was, Hunt," Rumble's voice replied. "I can see she don't want to tell. But the guy passed me down the walk a little ways, where a street light hit him full in the face." I glanced at Margaret, Mar-garet, I thought that she was about to faint; her eyes were on Rumble, fascinated,, hypnotic. Rumble took his time, realizing that he held the spotlight. Finally he said, "It was Reed Barton." Dwight Nichols sat back with an air of relief, picked up a cigarette and lighted it, and filled his lungs with smoke. Margaret settled into her chair with a little sigh. I looked at Reed Barton. He was like a man bewildered. Suddenly he became aware that we all were staring. "George Rumble is a liar!" he said quietly. There was little or nothing left to be lugged out into the open that night. For a time Huntoon Rogers continued to explore skillfully into the hidden angles of what already had been revealed. At length Elsa interrupted. "We're wasting the evening, Hunt," she said, getting to her feet and imploring him with her eyes to quit and let us go outside. For from out of doors came the sound of music, mu-sic, of dancing feet, of voices lifted in song. The members of the household, house-hold, grown tired of waiting for the signal to start, were already trying their skill. "All right, Elsa," Rogers yielded with a smile, "on the condition that I may question any one of you later, if it is necessary to clear up cloudy points." "Of course," Sam Chatfleld agreed. "And I thank you, Mr. Rogers. Rog-ers. You've managed to throw light into several dark corners. If at any time I can be of service to you, please command me." Rogers' reply was lost in the general gen-eral movement of the group to the scene of the festivities in the open courtyard just beyond the patio wall where a low platform had been built over hollow jars to magnify the sound of the nimble feet and clicking heels. "Oh, senora," Rogers detained Berta as the others moved out of the room. "Yes, senor," Berta replied, pausing paus-ing expectantly and looking up at the tall figure. "This morning," Rogers began, "near the stables an old dog was put to death with chloroform. I was told that you gave the drug to the man for that purpose. Is that true?" A blank look greeted Rogers' question. ques-tion. For a moment Berta continued contin-ued to stare upward at her questioner. ques-tioner. "No, it is not true," she said suddenly. sud-denly. "I know nothing about any chloroform. It is unthinkable that such a drug would be on the rancho, senor." "Thank you, senora," said Rogers, Rog-ers, and he bowed to her. George Rumble caught up with me as I strolled through the patio in the direction of the dancing platform. plat-form. He put his hand on my arm and walked several steps with me before remarking: "You know, Barry, Hunt's got me to thinking the same as he does. Somebody sure as heck croaked that old gal back in Pasadena. But why does Reed Barton want to lie about it? I ain't wrong. I'm not lying. I saw him; and I don't forget a face. He acted like he was scared to death runnin' down the sidewalk. side-walk. I think he got into a car down around the corner that night. Because Be-cause there was one pulled out in about the time it would take for him to run there, get in and drive off." "Anyway, George," I said, "it's up to you to prove It. Margaret says she didn't see who it was; Reed says you're lying. Who is going go-ing to believe you?" "You know what?" George Rumble Rum-ble said emphatically. "I think the old lady was dead when Barton ran out of the house." "You may be right." "You know" he paused, as we reached the grilled doorway to the open courtyard, "I'll bet I could run that thing down find out who killed that woman." Someone passed us in the darkness, and Rumble reached out to detain him. "Chatfleld, I was just telling Barry that I think I could figure out who killed your sister. sis-ter. I'm' going to try it, anyhow." "Well I wish you success, Mr. Rumble," replied Sam Chatfleld courteously. "Don't you want to come on out into the plaza now? I'll find you a seat. We've got some interesting in-teresting dancers among the workers work-ers on the rancho. They are putting put-ting on most of the show for us. A few people may come out from town to join in or to watch, as they feel like it." "Sure, we're coming. It's business busi-ness with me. I'm always looking for talent. I never know where I might find something or somebody I can promote like I have Elsa." "There's a Yaqui dance just getting get-ting started. You mustn't miss it." Rumble and I found seats on a bench in an enlarged circle under the open sky. There was an air of festivity pervading the crowd. The air was heavy with perfume drift ing down upon us on the soft night air. A burst of firecrackers startled star-tled the edge of the crowd, but they soon popped themselves out. The odor of cooking came from the kitchen where in the ruddy gaw of charcoal fires women still were patting pat-ting tortillas. Two men on the platform were doing do-ing the Coyote Dance. To the beating beat-ing of a flat drum, and the chanting chant-ing of the lone drummer, the dancers, danc-ers, swinging lowered heads, their feet moving in an intricate sidewise shuffle, backed slowly to the rear of the platform. To a brisker tempo they galloped forward, only to repeat re-peat the maneuver over and over. Coyote skins stuck with feathers of the turkey, eagle, woodpecker and hawk hung down their backs. As the dance began to take on a monotonous mo-notonous air, Rumble wearied of it and got up from the bench and disappeared. dis-appeared. A moment later Elsa crowded in beside me. "Did you just get here?" I askea. "Yes," she answered in my ear, and snuggled against me. I put my arm around her and we sat for some minutes while the beating of the drum and the chanting Yaqui voice went on. "I'm not the same person in Mexico, Mex-ico, Barry, that I am at home. This is a man's country, not a woman's. So what does all my talk about economic eco-nomic independence mean down here; and finding myself, and running run-ning until things go dizzy inside of me? Was I being silly, Barry? Mexico Mex-ico gives me a sense of deeper, more fundamental things " "You're just being Elsa," I said. "Adorable as always, and desirable and lovely." "Please, don't say things like that, Barry. I feel very contrite for my madness this morning. I went in just now to apologize to Jimmy the Cheese. Even though I still hate him enough to kill him, I thought I should apologize for my unladylike I behavior this morning. It was very humiliating for me to have to beat him like a dog. And, honestly, I didn't know about his heart. That's what makes it so embarrassing for me now." "And did you apologize?" "He was asleep. I spoke to him but he was lying very quietly, and, j oh, so bandaged! Did I do that, i Barry? I came away without disturbing dis-turbing him. Probably the next time I'll not feel contrite and he'll never know that I want to apologize." The dancing continued; the drum, the chanting voice, the dancers who j each were now astride a long bow, which they beat as they would flog a horse, with a split bamboo stick, as they shuffled nimbly and galloped about, began almost to weave a spell upon the spectators. (TO BE CONTINUED) |