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Show the nnjr TOITMCP WEDDING MARCH iVilUiilLliLii c i,,,wi':bU","",W0 By MONTE BARRETT M CHAPTER X Continued 16 Kilday snorted. "I think Hint girl has warped your Judgment, Peter. I'll stand by my case." "No, wait," I'eter cautioned. "We can't afford to overlook a single bet. Perhaps we know what the murderer mur-derer was looking for here? Didn't we come here ourselves, In search of some clue that would Identify the mysterious woman In blue for us? Didn't you attempt to Identify those keys In the hope that sooner or later, one of them might help In the Identification of that woman? liullls told us she was In love with Franklin. He overheard her conversation con-versation with Franklin Just before the murder. "What's to prevent the murderer from having the same hunch that we had? If It was that woman, say, "I Think That Girl Has Warped Your Judgment, Peter." and she knew Franklin possessed tellers,, or pictures which might Identify her, wouldn't It be reasonable reason-able to expect her to make some attempt at-tempt to get them? Of course It would. If that evidence exists, its destruction removes our last hope of solving the mystery of Franklin's death." "Oh, yeah?" Kilday's smile was derisive. "I thought you were convinced con-vinced that a woman couldn't have delivered that blow?" "I'm coming to that," Peter hur-. rled on impatiently. "Suppose, as we believe, that crime was committed by a man. That still doesn't eliminate elim-inate this woman in blue as a possible pos-sible motive for the crime. She might have been the daughter, sister sis-ter or wife of the slayer. Wouldn't be still be interested In removing tlds evidence of her identity which might possibly Identify him with the crime? "We have a peculiar case, Sergeant. Ser-geant. The knife with which the crime was committed; the curtaip upon which it was wiped; the revolver re-volver bearing the slain man's thumb-print, and possibly that keyring key-ring found In Franklin's pocket are the only real clues we have found. There has been an abundance of evidence, provided by the activities of eight or nine persons, most of whom had motives which might have actuated the murder. Theoretically, the theory upon which we are holding hold-ing Webster Spears is sound. But since his arrest, this apartment has been rilled and we cannot afford to overlook the significance of this." Peter paused in his restless pacing pac-ing of the room to face his friend. "Suppose you were the man who murdered Jim Franklin, and you had committed the crime because of this woman in blue. What would you be doing now? What would you be thinking? Put yourself in the criminal's place." "I'd be trying to keep from getting get-ting caught," was the sergeant's succinct suc-cinct reply. "Of course," Peter agreed. "But how? Now I" he glanced at the confusion about him which marked the apartment had been ransacked "if I had been the murderer, I would be trying to remove any possible pos-sible evidence that would connect me or the woman in blue with the crime. As for myself, I'd probably feel safe enough. But that woman would worry me. She loved Franklin. Frank-lin. Probably he had letters, somewhere, some-where, or a picture which might ultimately ul-timately reveal her Identity to the police. And if they found her, it would be easy to Cud me, because the girl is some one in whom the murderer is vitally Interested his sweetheart, sister or wife. That's bow I would be figuring. Why isn't that the answer to the search that has been made of this apartment? This murderer is making his calculations calcu-lations in very much the same way. "But we were here before him," tha novelist pointed out. "Of course we didn't take things apart quite as thoroughly, but we looked In every place It was reasonable to believe Franklin might have papers or pictures pic-tures which could have Identified this woman. We are moderately safe In assuming that he found nothing noth-ing here. That being true, what would be his next move? "The evidence he feared mlgltf betray him is still missing. lie has the same reason to teas discovery that he had when he searched this place. Will he stop now? I don't think so. We've struck a warm trail, Sergeant." "You. think he'll attempt to find and destroy this evidence somewhere some-where else?" "That's what I would do, If I were In his shoes," declared the novelist. novel-ist. "I feel pretty sure I would conclude con-clude that the evidence was In the only other place it could be his office. of-fice. That's where I'd look next." "We've looked there," the detective detec-tive objected. "We didn't And anything." any-thing." "We didn't go all through his files." Peter was emphatic. "But that isn't the point. The murderer doesn't know we've looked, does he? I maintain that the man who was so anxious to find something here will probably look there next. Unless he's already been there. It's worth trying. Let's go there and see. You have Franklin's keys. We can set a trap for him." Kilday, still wedded to his theory that Webster Spears was the murderer, mur-derer, was nevertheless Impressed. "It would probably be a wild goose chase, but I'd do it If I hadn't sent word to Bullis to be at my office. I'm going to confront him with Cal-lis Cal-lis Shipley and see if he can or will Identify her as the woman he saw quarreling with Franklin in that study. They're both probably waiting wait-ing for me by now." "Then let me have the keys," urged Peter. "I'll go alone. It's worth trying, anyway." "It you don't have a revolver, you'd better take this one." Kilday thrust a blue automatic into his friend's hand as they parted. "Not," he added, "that I think you'll need it." Peter laughed. "It's always the unloaded gun that goes off," he retorted, re-torted, "and the hunch that looks like a flivver sometimes brings home the bacon." The oflices of Franklin and Dunbar Dun-bar were on the second floor of the Greer building. Peter was familiar with the general plan as a result of his previous visit there with Dunbar Dun-bar and Kilday. In the taxi, he formulated a plan. Franklin's keys would admit him without difficulty. Once inside he decided he would wait in Franklin's private Office, in darkness, in order that his presence might not be detected and frighten oft the intruder, should he come. It was just eight o'clock, but the building was nearly deserted. With the exception of one globe, burning burn-ing in front of the elevator, and a red bulb at the end of the corridor, marking a fire exit, the floor was in darkness. Most of the doors were paneled with glass, so that a light within would betray their occupancy, occu-pancy, but this was not true of the suite occupied by Franklin and Dunbar. Dun-bar. A number of offices had been thrown into one large suite for this firm, and here a walnut paneled facade, fa-cade, with a solid door, barred the corridor. Peter had not expected that. He hesitated in front of the door, keys in hand. What if the unknown visitor vis-itor he was expecting were already here? Would he not be stepping into a trap of his own making? He frowned at the panels in search of some telltale gleam of light which would betray some one within, but If there were a light beyond that facade, he could not detect It Well, it was a risk he had to take. He shifted the keys to his left hand and drew the revolver Kilday had loaned him. If his quarry were already al-ready here, Peter did not Intend to be caught napping. Even as he took the precaution, the novelist chuckled to himself. "I'm going In for melodrama," melo-drama," he told himself. "There's no one here." The first key he cautiously tried did not fit. He withdrew it and selected se-lected another whose irregularity seemed to conform with the outline of the slot in the lock. This time It fitted. There was only a slight click as he thrust the key home, but It sounded startlingly loud In the stillness still-ness of that corridor. How had the key made such a sound? Then he smiled at bis nervousness again. "Don't get jumpy," he cautioned himself as he turned the key. The door swung open with a slight creak and Peter stepped into the dark office, his eyes straining to pierce the thickness of the gloom. His fingers groped for the light switch. It should be somewhere near the door. Then he stopped rigid. Were his nerves playing tricks asain? Or was there some one else in the room? He remembered that slight click that had startled him, outside. It hadn't been nerves, then. He recognized recog-nized the sound now. It had been the throwing off of the electric swdtch. Warned by the rattle of his key in the lock, whoever shared this room with him had turned off the lights. Peter gripped his revolver tighter. tight-er. He was convinced that he was standing within a few feet of Jim Franklin's murderer. . CHAPTER XI In the Dark. THE room was In darkness a Stygian Sty-gian blackness that was Impenetrable. Impene-trable. Peter concluded that the blinds had been drawn against observing ob-serving eyes, because almost no light filtered through the windows. He closed his eyes to accustom them to the lack of light. When he opened them again he could decry two rectangles, rect-angles, ligliter than the gloom about him. The windows. They were to his left Swiftly he outlined a plan of battle. He must reach the wall to the right, to prevent surprise from the rear. Then, hugging the wall, he could move slowly forward until his foe was silhouetted against the faint glow of the windows. With his thumb he released the safety on his revolver. The slight metallic noise of it sounded loud against the hushed background of the room. The faint tang of tobacco tobac-co was in the air. Where was that wall? Peter wished fervently that he had not advanced so far Into the room. He did not dare raise his feet. Any collision with unseen furniture any noise, no matter how slight would betray his exact whereabouts to his quarry. Cautiously Cau-tiously he slid his feet along the floor, thankful for the thick silent pile of the rug. Below In the street a car changed gears. Queer, how outside noises drifted Into the stillness here. He could even hear his own breathing. Peter stopped then, holding his breath. Perhaps he was close enough to hear the telltale whisper of the other fellow's breathing. There was no sound here only the muffled distant noises from outside. out-side. Once more he moved cautiously cautious-ly forward. Again he stopped. This time it was the ticking of his own watch which disturbed him. If he could hear it, perhaps the other fellow fel-low could, too. He crouched, unbuckling the wristband, and slid the offending timepiece along the floor, several feet behind him, never once relinquishing relin-quishing his grip on the revolver. Once more he peered about him, his eyes straining to pierce the blackness. Except for the barely discernible outlines of the windows, there was nothing by which he could get his bearings. He searched his mind for some memory of the room, some characteristic which might be of value to him now. He could think of nothing. Still, he could not be far from the wall opposite the windows. Once there, his chance of finding the other man, without himself being found, was much better. bet-ter. He resumed his cautious advance. ad-vance. His foot struck something. His grip on the revolver tightened. He explored with his free hand. It was only a chair. He moved around it and advanced again slowly, slow-ly, silently. And then he found the wall. With a feeling of relief, he backed against it, facing the room. If he were surprised now, it would not be from the rear. Then, still taking every precaution against any sound which might betray be-tray his whereabouts, he sidled along the wall, exploring the room with slightly more success, now that he had the room silhouetted between be-tween himself and the windows. Peter Pe-ter moved on slowly. His back struck a picture on the wall. It scraped against the plaster, but did not fall. He caught his breath and moved more quickly. If the fellow were tempted to shoot at the sound, it would be just as well not to be there. Next he encountered a table against the wall. His progress here was blocked. He would have to move around It, once more exposing his rear to attack. Again he paused to listen. He was tempted to believe that his nerves had deceived him that there was no one else in this room, after all. And yet he could not forget that click of the light switch, before he opened the door. Nor the odor of tobacco. And then there was the drawn blinds. Why should the shades of an office be drawn in this way? No, there was certainly some one here. Peter thought of the picture he had nearly knocked from the wall. It had almost betrayed him. His fingers explored the table top. The incident had suggested a new strategy. If he could, by some means, cause the othei" man to betray be-tray his whereabouts, the rest should be simple. He found a calendar calen-dar pad. Still gripping the revolver, he tossed the pad across the room with his left hand. It struck something, some-thing, a chair probably, and slid to the floor with a noise that seemed uncanny In the unnatural stillness. His eyes ached with the effort to penetrate the blackness. Nothing happened. His enemy was too canny to be taken In like that It irked him, and yet he yielded the man a grudging admiration. It explained why the fellow hadn't attacked at-tacked him as he came through the door. He was taking no chance of the struggle being overheard in the corridor. In that event, he might be in one of the other rooms by now. There might be an exit by way of a fire-escape. Or one of the other oflices might have an entrance opening on the corridor. The thought hastened Teter's movements. He must capture the man, before he had opportunity to escape. Silently, as before, he moved around the table, anxious once more to reach the partial security of the wall. He rounded the table, his left hand extended before him, his right at his side clutching the revolver. re-volver. He was warned. He did not know how. It might have been the faintest whisper of breath a slight rustle of movement. Or that even more vague Instinct of danger which he had often felt before. Whatever it was, he sensed his peril and whirled, swiftly, to face the room. The blow caught Peter on the back of the jaw, near the ear, just as he was turning. It was a terrific smash, that would have ended the struggle right then, had he not turned when he did. As It was, it glanced off, but its force knocked him off balance and sent him sprawling to the floor on all fours. The novelist's quarry had used the same strategy that Peter had adopted. He had been standing, back to the wall, waiting to catch his enemy en-emy between himself and the vague light of the windows. As Peter rounded the table he came Into the position for which the man had been waiting. At the impact of the blow, Peter's Pe-ter's revolver clattered to the floor. Partly dazed, the novelist lost a precious pre-cious moment in groping for the weapon in the darkness. In that instant in-stant his enemy was upon him. The accuracy of a second blow was spoiled by the darkness. It caught Peter on the shoulder, but it served to acquaint his assailant with his whereabouts. The man was on his back, raining blows down upon him, terrific, flail-like blows, that bruised and stunned, but still could find no vital spot. Unless he could reverse the tables, and quickly, Peter realized real-ized he was through. He drew his right leg up under him, and then kicked out with all his strength. His lashing foot caught the other man in the ankle and sent him spinning against the table. Peter Pe-ter kicked again, but the second effort ef-fort missed. However, he was free of those crushing blows. Once more he groped for his weapon, but could The Blow Caught Peter on the Back of the Jaw, not find It. Again he had wasted a precious second in vain search for the revolver. Too late now. Peter rolled to the right quickly to avoid the other's rush. Only one blow caught him, and he was half-way to his feet before they came to grips. Once more the blows rained on him, fierce hammers of rage, any one of which might end the struggle if it landed in a vital spot. Peter was thankful for the darkness which prevented accuracy. Nor was he helpless now. With all his strength he hurled his fists at his invisible in-visible foe, and found an uncertain exultation at the hard impact of his knuckles which told him they had found a target. (TO EE CO-N'TK-'UED.) |