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Show " SOMBRERO CLIFFORD KNIGHT - 1 blade of some sort stepped our friend's weakened heart." He looked at the little tile table besid the bed, where Chesebro's watch lay and a glass of water stood. He walked over to a huge clothespress that reached toward the shadowy ceiling. "Would you mind holding the candle for me, Barry?" he requested. I took it and he opened the door to the clothespress. "I am looking for Chesebro's clothing. Here it is." He brought out the suit of clothes Chesebro had worn that morning, and ran his hand swiftly into the various pockets. "There's hardly a chance that it's robbery," he remarked. "Gold uencil." he -point about the murder victim which had occurred to him. A light tap came at the door and Rogers halted . abruptly. Vague figures in the dim light crowded the doorway. Sam Chat-field Chat-field entered, followed by Dr. Cruz and behind him two men in uniform. uni-form. They advanced into the room and the door closed behind them. Dr. Cruz nodded to us, and went at once to the figure on the bed. Sam Chatfield presented the other two men. "Senor Otilio Lombardo, jefe del policia," he said, "and Senor Alvarez of the policia; Senor Se-nor Madison and Senor Rogers." course; it is very sad. Who is the gentleman?" "Senor James Chesebro." Lombardo's eyebrows shot upward. up-ward. "He of the mine back in the mountains?" he inquired. "Yes." "That is bad. Can you tell me who killed him?" "I cannot, Senor Lombardo." "Senor Rogers here," said Sam Chatfield, laying his hand upon Rogers' arm, "is quite famous for solving the mystery of murder north of the border." "Ah, so!" exclaimed Lombardo. "Welcome, my friend. Perhaps we have a mystery here. If so I shall lean upon you. Eut, I think it is easily explained, no?" "I hope so, Senor Lombardo," Rogers replied in Spanish. "So far Senor Madison and I have found nothing of importance. It was not suicide because there is no weapon. It was not murder for the purpose of robbery." "And the weapon, Senor Rogers; Rog-ers; you say you have not found it?" "I've been unable to discover it anywhere in the room; it is, of course, a knife of some sort." "Yes. Thank you, senor. you have saved me much work." "Did the gentleman have any enemies, Senor Rogers, Cither here in Mazatlan or at home?" inquired inquir-ed Alvarez, the gendarme. The man had not spoken until now. Rogers shook his head. "1 know of none, senor." "I think," Lombardo said, stirring stir-ring to his feet, "it is time we talked with someone about this crime. Who made the discovery, Senor Chatfield?" Sam Chatfield got to his feet, taking a step toward the door, as if, to lead the way. "I think it was Maria. It was she who came to tell me of it." "We shall talk to Maria, then," (Continued on Page 4) SYNOPSIS CHAPTER IX: While the crowd . JPinP- at the rancho Maria breathlessly, her words smothered somewhat by the applause. "Valgum "Val-gum e Dios! El caballero esta They bowed to us, but their interest in-terest was centered on the bed where Doctor Cruz was already examining the dead man. They pushed on to join him and stood respectfully back until at last the doctor looked up and gave in Spanish his opinion that James Chesebro had died of a knife thrust not so long a time before. Lombardo and his satellite looked look-ed intently for some moments at the wound, then turned away without a word and sat down. "I am very sorry, Senor Chatfield," Chat-field," Lombardo said, looking up at our host and speaking in Spanish, Span-ish, "that this has happened in your house. I know that your hospitality hos-pitality is above reproach. You cannot help this sad thing, of Irinea the news that Chesebro is Ed Rogers and Barry enter the a h chamber and discover that Sbro has been murdered with fsmal, thin blade. A black felt Trlro is found near the body, al chief of Mexican police in Mazatlan, enters. CHAPTER rx Elsa suddenly was vibrant with excitement. She directed my attention atten-tion to the platform. "Look, Barry Bar-ry listen!" she exclaimed. 'to youthful figures were mounting the stage, followed by a third a larger, more mature figure. The first two were our pair of wandering wan-dering musicians, Pancho and Felipe Fe-lipe with battered guitar and ukulele.' uku-lele.' The third man carried a small harplike instrument. They began to play before they had returned to face the audience; and Felipe, the older, lifted his soft tenor voice in the Spanish words of a song: "Let us unite our hearts, muerto!" Rogers' strong hand fell upon my leg and his fingers gripped it powerfully. "Did you hear what she said?" he asked, getting to his feet. "Yes, I heard. Chesebro's dead." A little group of frightened women servants was outside the entrance to Chesebro's room. Sam Chatfield drove them away, admonishing ad-monishing them to go back to the kitchen, then threw open the door, and stood back for Rogers and me to enter. Dim candles burned feebly near the bed, threatened by the vast shadows of the room which eemed to engulf them in darkness. Our host closed the door behind us, and with determined step led the way to the bedside. James Chesebro lay as if a great and welcome peace had descended de-scended upon him. His fat body made a huge mound under the light covering. "The heart failed to rally, I sup- enumerated the various objects as he came across them. "Loose change in the trousers pocket. A billfold, obviously containing money. mon-ey. Letters and papers. That's all." He put the suit back into the clothespress again and shut the door. "Robbery is not the motive," he said. "Not robbery," said Rogers, as I we finished our round, "and entrance en-trance could have been had only by means of the door." He" stood a moment uncertainly "A dozen murderers 'could be lurking in the shadows of this enormous room. Let's make sure they are not doing do-ing so now." Rogers led the way to the farther farth-er end of the room. "Let's go back to the other end. Maybe the murderer mur-derer is hiding there." He led the way, holding the candle high above the level of his eyes. His foot kicked something as we walked, and it shot like a dark and ominous shadow before us and fell to the floor. Charro and umna uanung . There was a China Poblana lurking lurk-ing in the shadows ready to step onto the platform; a short nervous Charro stood behind her. Of a sudden sud-den Elsa left me. At the edge of the crowd I saw Reed Barton move swiftly toward the platform and before I realized what was happening, happen-ing, the two were standing before us under the bright light, and the musicians were backing off to the side still playing, enticingly, seductively. I'm sure it was one of those spontaneous, impulsive acts to which Elsa was so prone. I was reminded of that February evening now weeks in the past and far away in California at the beach club, when Reed Barton had appeared and claimed Elsa for their first dance together. And now they stood, before us Elsa in the costume said to have been named for a Chinese woman who brought it to the town of Puebla many years ago, and which is to be seen on festive occasions throughout Mexico; Reed Barton in the costume, of the cowboy. pose. The attack must have been more severe than Doctor Cruz thought." "Do you think so, Mr. Madison?" Madi-son?" "I don't know, of course, Mr. Chatfield, but " I was halted in mid-sentence by Rogers' action. He stooped and grasped the edge of the bed covers and stripped them back. "His heart failed for quite a different dif-ferent reason, Barry," he said grimly, pointing to a widening stain of blood over the front of the pajamas. There was a small hole through the cloth over the heart, and when the cloth itself was pulled aside there was disclosed dis-closed a small hole in the skin which still oozed blood. "With your permission, Mr. Chatfield," Hunt said slowly, "I should like to have Dwight and Margaret stay, and George Rumble, Rum-ble, and Reed Bartin too. The police, po-lice, of course," he looked closely at Sam Chatfield, "will investigate." investi-gate." juez local and the medico legis-"T legis-"T am rermired to send for the "What is it?" I asked, feeling that my voice shook slightly. "Something soft and light," he said, advancing again. A few steps farther on he halted, stooped and picked up the object. "A sombrero," sombre-ro," he said. He held the large sombrero in his hands as if to ! examine it in the light of the candle. can-dle. I took it from his hands and walked over to the light near the bed. It was a black felt sombrero, comparatively new, for it showed almost no signs of wear; across the front of the crown was an ornamental orn-amental pattern in hand-wrought silver. "George Rumble's sombrero, isn't it?" asked Rogers over my shoulder. "He has one like this," I replied. re-plied. "It was on the rack near the front door earlier this evening. eve-ning. How would it get in here, though?" "Perhaps George can tell us." He took the sombrero from me and dropped it on the foot of the bed, where it remained a dark and sinister shadow, and turned to the bedside as if to check asain some fore they showed signs of bringing ; the dance to an end. Finally Reed 1 Barton drew off his huge straw i sombrero and placed it on the platform and Elsa's red shoes instantly in-stantly were dancing in the wide brim. A moment later she stooped to pick it up, and Reed Barton in the customary close of the dance, swung his long leg over her stooping stoop-ing figure, and the dance had ended. 1 juez local and the medico legis-ta." legis-ta." There was a suggestion of stiffness in his words, as if Rogers had anticipated his next move and he resented it. "The body must not be touched until one or both of them have examined it. Doctor Cruz happens to be the medico legista at Mazatlan. The police, of course will come." The door closed behind Chat-field's Chat-field's short figure, and instantly Rogers became active. He glanced An excited burst of applause greeted them, and the dancers bowed again and again. Cries of "Mas! Mas!" rose as the audience shouted for more of this spirited dancing but Elsa and Reed left the platform. During the height of the uproar I noted that Rogers had ceased to clap; his head was lifted as if he had been startled, and he was looking not at the pair still on the platform, but to the side, where a small fluttery figure in the shadows was moving craz-ily. craz-ily. Above the din ' I heard an anguished voice saying: "Senor! Valgame Dios! Senor!" "Aqui, Maria," commanded Sam Chatfield from his place a few seats beyond us. "Que deseas tu?" "Oh, senor!" cried the woman at his watch. It was 9:30. "I want your help, Barry," he said. "The capacity of the Mexican police is an unknown quantity to me. It may be excellent. I've had no experience ex-perience with it. We should have half an hour before they arrive. If we're to solve the murder of Kitty Chatfield, it may be necessary neces-sary to know just what's happened happen-ed here in Mazatlan." "You don't think they are connected, con-nected, do you?" "I don't know; that's what we may find out." He glanced about the shadowy room, neglectful now of the body that lay in its huge mound on the bed. "The cause of death is obvious," obvi-ous," he remarked, as if in answer . to my thoughts. "A small, thin .in the courtyard, came to a flut- tery attention near the middle oven. "Come here, senorita," directed the chief. Alvarez drew up a chair befor us for the woman, who sat down timidly, her dark eyes fastened fas-tened apprehensively upon her questioner. "You made the discovery of the dead man, did you not, Maria?" inquired Lombardo. "Yes, sir." "Tell me about it." r ; Black Sombrero m Clifford Knight WNU Features. "I," she began timidly, "I go to the gentleman's room to inquire, Senor Jefe del Policia, if he desires de-sires food. I push open the door gently and speak to him. He does not answer. I open the door and go in, and still he does not reply to my question. I go all the way to the bed, and senor God help me! he is dead." "Did you see the man who killed him, Maria?" inquired Lombardo between bites. , "Oh, no, sir; I do not. I do not know who killed him. I swear, senor, se-nor, I do not know. Outside is the fiesta. I cannot hear. I cannot see. So I do not know." "Come here, you," commanded Lombardo. A man dressed in white cotton trousers, a ragged shirt and car-ring car-ring in his hand a battered straw sombrero, shuffled forward on guaraches which were little more than leather soles for his bare feet. "Who are you?" demanded Lombardo. "I am Pedro, sir," the man replied re-plied nervously. "Who are you? What do you do?" "I am Pedro, the pulque man, sir." "Pulque man," grunted Lombardo. Lom-bardo. "Why are you here?" "I bring the pulque for the fies- I (Continued from Page 3) said Lombardo. The kitchen was large; gloomy shadows filled all the vast region above two unfrosted electric light bulbs which hung down from the high rafters on long cords. Our sudden approach in force, the belted, uniformed police with their heavy sidearms caused a panic in the kitchen. Thre was a wild scurrying as its occupants sought to escape. "Stop!" shouted Lombardo. "Do not run away, anyone." Two or three dimly flying figures fig-ures made good their escape, while some four or five less fortunate for-tunate obeyed the command and remained behind, standing with figeting hands and shuffling feet in the presence of the law. "Maria," called Lombardo, sitting sit-ting down in a small chair whose creaking, polished seat long years before had been cut from the hide of a cow. "Yes, sir," the woman who had brought word of Chesebro's death as we sat looking on at the dances ta, sir." "Yes, of course. But what do you know about the death of the gentleman, the big man?" "Nothing, sir. I do not know there is a gentleman murdered." (To Be Continued) |