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Show Kflif BLACK 4gr 1 !-bu CLIFFORD KNIRHT 1 ,,ld 1 disinherited by hci ! EM CM dled of n overdose of SMP'; .Lallan, Mexico, to .olve I"0 bcUev" to Aunt Kltty'5 u, IMJ bc"erUilie, they Bad Elsa's l",tr .dcd Uiem DV Plane- W"ile P"1!, James Chesebro Is mm-"Mleoutashlnj mm-"Mleoutashlnj Bl'iaar( .death irom the .word ot a I W "Zn iit chair breaks and he I BitlH " sca m re-enacting the KP',! chesebro mnrder one Pe-, Pe-, Dwltht Nichols as "the Z Drthtl. not held. They re-t re-t unch and strike something 10 alongside the wharf and decide to insti5jtt- CHAPTER W SteaTTteady!" Rogers , in. far out over the side, !.laTth water. "Hold it!" 1 Rogers continued to peer EX. murky water. Something are. My throat was dry; ! u uncomfortable sensation at tfl of my stomach. Neverthe I managed to say, roattewrf-b'fly, roattewrf-b'fly, I thought, "What is It, Hunt -iM'" y. he said. It seemed hours e'he spoke again and then he ,!id what I was expecting, yet ;eaded to bear him say. It s Bumble." I wakened with a start the next pnfog to find that Rogers was i-jt Dawn was breaking over the contains. I dressed and went out a, deck to discover that Rogers tad gone ashore. Rogers was on the wharf when I U! "landed there. He appeared teih and vigorous as if he had had 1 tag, unbroken night's sleep. To iy Inquiry he remarked, "There vers leveral things I thought of, B-rrj, and It was best to get an Kly itart" Down below us in the water, a ia:k head burst upward to the surfed sur-fed and brown arms threshed ibmt Rogers, leaning over the tharfs edge, shouted in Spanish, "Anything?" "No, sir. I dive in a moment." A lew seconds later the head dis-ijjeared, dis-ijjeared, a pair of feet kicked vig-uously vig-uously and the surface smoothed irt. "What's It all about?" I demand-ti demand-ti "What's he diving for?" Tve hired him to do the job, Earry. Rumble,-1 imagine, either Ml or was thrown off the wharf. Ee had checked out of the hotel, fee Is his luggage? Why wasn't to bag found on the wharf? And W does it mean if we should fci It in the water?" lb! diver burst to the surface below, this time farther along the tharf, gasping for breath. "Anything?" shouted Rogers. "No, sir. But I think I see some- I should take the end of the to?e this time." Rogers picked up a coil of rope 'ring at his side, carried it to a point iwtly above the man, and dropped "i d over. The diver seized it disappeared," while we waited heightened interest. Finally the pe was tugged vigorously from unto un-to the water, and Rogers began to up. The diver came threshing the surface. "It U what you are seeking, sir, ' "ok," he called up. "Pull." n f ' to UP the weighted line "My, and a moment later there toU' surface 8 soaked, bat- traveling bag. from which WW streams. He. lifted it "hart where it rested drab-? drab-? oozing salt water. now, sir," .houted the diver, 4 0Wn "gain for the other ; otter thing?" i asked. was aU &e luggage fcnoeIWhaV,USt " baS- ccord-f ccord-f ' " hotel porter." ow?..en what you looking lor 'redWeaTPOnif Rumble was liBi 1 . ' to be forehanded, know what the in- Po L not l00k for the "Wu hP?!ibly at m polnt- " 'The ! shouted the div-1115 div-1115 only thing 1 find." Sbl with a tuid,UCh 'e nsh-Picked nsh-Picked if 'r bait, W? U Eerly. ,et "8 for T11 PuPiDg bag and bardo lPUce "'quarters. "Wved r3 m Ws offl! when H smue heeted with an C u, (enr Ruble," he Hoger, k s to 'it- f W ou,, 3oIn the fishing "0"Jidn, lef "at listening. fcyed fc which '"Cta1 an Merest. e5lc- drew up a i - - - "Senor Rumble," he said, "probably "prob-ably did not drown, as was suggested." suggest-ed." "No? What then?" "There is a stab wound, gentlemen, gentle-men, under the left shoulder blade, sufficient in my opinion, to have' caused death." Rogers drew from his pocket the dark, stained knife which the diver had tossed upon the wharf. It was dry by now, and it lay sinister and evil-looking on the desk where Rogers Rog-ers placed it. "Such a knife as this. Doctor?" he asked. Lombardo and Cruz stared at it for some moments, then Cruz said, "Yes, such a knife as that made the wound." "Where did you find it, senor?" Lombardo inquired, picking it up. Rogers explained how it had come into his hands. An exchange of glances went around the circle. "Do you know whose knife it is, senor?" "No, sir." Lombardo laid the knife aside when both Dwight and I likewise had disclaimed any knowledge of its ownership. He reached for the pack- i A few seconds later the head disappeared. dis-appeared. age Doctor Cruz had placed on the desk and with thick brown fingers snapped the cord. "Those are articles removed from the pockets of the dead man's clothing," cloth-ing," observed Doctor Cruz. "The man was not robbed, do you think?" "I believe not," Rogers answered. "The last time any of us saw him alive was at the hotel bar. He opened the billfold at that time, and, while I paid no particular attention, at-tention, senor, I should judge that he had approximately the same amount of money in it as you found there just now." "So we do not look for a thief as the murderer of Senor Rumble," Lombardo commented. He turned back to the little heap of Rumble's earthly possessions spread before him. There was a watch which had stopped at the hour 9:09. Lombardo picked up the watch, noting the position of the hands. "This, then, gentlemen," he remarked, re-marked, "indicates the time Senor Rumble died. But not whether morning or evening. Your American Ameri-can watches" He shrugged his shoulders. 'Tt's impossible the hour of nine-nine, nine-nine, night before last," said Rogers Rog-ers quickly. "The time was close upon ten o'clock when we last saw him alive at the hotel. He checked out, I understand, half an hour or so later and disappeared." Ah so?" said Lombardo, discarding dis-carding the watch. "Where was he bound? He must have been going somewhere, because the diver finds the bag in the water under the wharf. I assume that first Senor Rumble is stabbed and thrown from the wharf, and next the murderer throws over the bag to make his disappearance complete." "I believe you're correct, Senor Lombardo," said Rogers. "The only place he could have been going was to Senor Nichols' yacht. Se-nora Se-nora Nichols had invited him to come aboard with his luggage night before last, to accompany the party on its fishing expedition." "I understand, senor. And while waiting on the wharf to be conveyed to the yacht, he was set upon and killed." "Exactly." "Now, then," Lombardo continued, contin-ued, developing his questions logically. logi-cally. "You were all on shore that night, were you not?" "With the exception," said Dwight, "of my wife and Senora Chatfleld, who remained on board, i "Of course, senor. Now, how did I you all go aboard together?" Rogers spoke up. "Not exactly. Barry Madison and I went down to stuvict I g the wharf about ten-thirty o'clock. The launch was waiting, and we went out to the Orizaba immediately." immedi-ately." "And the others?" Lombardo looked at Dwight. "Sam Chatfield, his daughter El-sa, El-sa, and I went down to the wharf together," Dwight repUed. "What was the time, senor?" "We left the hotel at eleven-forty-five," Dwight answered, screwing up his eyes in an effort to recall the exact hour. "Are these all who were going aboard? Was Senor Barton one of you?" "01V yes Reed Barton," Dwight said. "Reed was waiting with his bag on the wharf when we arrived." "He went ahead of you, then?" 'Yes. He'd gone around to his hotel to get his things together for the fishing cruise, and it was arranged ar-ranged that he meet us at the wharf." "Ah, so?" said Lombardo, his sensitive eyebrows lifting slightly. "Perhaps Senor Reed Barton should explain." "I don't know what time it was," Reed Barton replied to Lombardo's question. He had come to headquarters head-quarters in response to a telephoned request which found him at his hotel. ho-tel. "Miss Chatfield said that she was beginning to tire, and didn't I think I'd better go get my things and meet them down at the wharf. We were dancing, you know, at the Belmar. She would go down with her father, and it wasn't necessary for me to go back to the Belmar for her." "What time do you think it was?" pressed Lombardo. "What's time, Senor Lombardo, when there are no appointments to keep?" "Was there anyone else, senor, on the wharf when you were?" asked Lombardo. "Not a soul, until the rest of the party came down." "Was the launch waiting?" "No, sir; it arrived from the yacht a few minutes before my friends reached the wharf." Lombardo lifted his eyebrows, pursed his thick lips and seemed to stare beyond the walls of his office. Reed Barton's gaze, which had been fixed during the questioning upon the chief, dropped to the varied assortment as-sortment of objects on the desk. I saw it come to rest upon the ugly weapon that presumably had slain Rumble. "What are you doing with my fishing fish-ing knife, senor?" he asked, leaning forward to pick it up. "Ah, so? It is your knife?" asked Lombardo craftily. "Yes." He turned it about in his fingers, searching for marks of identification. iden-tification. "Yes, it's mine. How do you happen to have it?" He looked at Lombardo, and, before the latter had time to answer, the realization broke over him. "Oh, I see! So that's it! My knife killed Rumble!" "Yes, senor," said Lombardo grimly. "You admit it's yours. It seems the only thing I can do now, senor, is to lock you up again." "But I didn't kill him," protested Reed Barton, the color going from his face. "I swear I didn't. I don't understand about the knife, though, even if it is mine." Rogers suddenly got to his feet, dominating the rest of us who still sat about the desk. "Senor Lombardo," he said sharply, sharp-ly, "if I give you my word that Reed Barton will submit to arrest at any time you desire within the next day or two, will you let him go free now?" "It is an unusual request, senor se-nor " began Lombardo. "There are several things that yet need investigation. I promise you the name of the murderer or the person of Reed Barton." Lombardo shrugged his shoulders. He glanced at Doctor Cruz. There was the merest flicker in the hard eyes of the medico legista behind the screen of cigarette smoke. Lombardo Lom-bardo stood up. "Okey," he said. It was a long day crowded with activity. The sequence of tragic events over the past few days served to drive us for mutual comfort into a compact group. First Chesebro, then Sam Chatfield, and now George Rumble. The mere fact that Rumble, Rum-ble, the sartorial as well as social misfit among us, had been one in our sequence of tragedy, lifted him with all his faults to a permanent place in our hearts. He had become one of the tragic elect. "But do you make anything of it all, Hunt?" I asked that evening after aft-er dinner at the rancho. "It's so mixed up; there are so many points that conflict" We sat once more within the walls of the fragrant patio, pa-tio, where overhead the huge leaves of the bananas rustled in the stirrings stir-rings of the night air. "There is much to be made of it and again very little," he answered. "The thing is still screwy. Nothing dovetails with anything else. Those among our close circle die and the guilty one goes unpunished, or, rather rath-er unidentified" "But how are we going to get anywhere, any-where, Hunt? Have we all. the facts?" (TO BE CONTINUED) |