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Show TTOqcb "ScBSiIlcBdl TTniinnnIiS It strikes one that an Ideal aettlns for mvslerv story would be one of : h o a e bungalows Atop of a giant hotel ho-tel or apartment louse; a habitation ip In the sky, at-ached at-ached at the foun-lation foun-lation to the parent itructure, but otherwise oth-erwise separate and lpart from It. There are numerous d welling well-ing places of such character perched on the roofs of the taller buildings of large cities, where the inhabitants are more secluded and exclusive than, they Henry Kitchell would ben W.b.t. dence on the ground Their only contact with neighbors is in the elevators which carry them to their lofty aeriea. Suppose a rich man wished to flt up auch a place for secret purposes, with sinister designs back of the proceeding. proceed-ing. He could have sound-proof walls and vaults like those of a bank. He could work alone or could house a staff of trusted confederates. He could fit up a prison and inveigle into It anyone' whom he cared to detain. Maintaining an existence entirely independent in-dependent of the remainder of the building, as mnny actually do In such dwellings, he would be almost as secure se-cure from surveillance and interference interfer-ence as he would be were he located underground. It would be a choice spot in which to perpetrate a murder and keep U dark indefinitely. But there are no murders in Henry Kitchell Webster's story, although it does introduce a mystc-rlous bungalow on the roof of a great hotel, a bungalow bunga-low in which the reader is a witness to some strange happenings and experiences ex-periences a number of swift and unique thrills. There la plenty of excitement, ex-citement, but nothing morbid or gruesome grue-some about the tale. It Is mostly a happy story, exhibiting a delightful vein of comedy, with the spirit of youth and love's young dream exemplified exem-plified In the characters of a sweet girl and an energetic, cspable, go-getter type of young man. CHAPTER I Red Hair The first movement was complicated, and, being the first, is probably worth disentangling. Afterward, when there was time to think, Martin Forbes went back to it himself. He had come to the Alhambra tonight to-night at the suggestion of Babe Jennings. Jen-nings. She was going to be there, she said, and if she gave him the high sign he was to take it as permission to cut in on her partner and dance with her. Martin took a partly professional profes-sional interest in Babe. She had a very good Job on his paper as an ad-taker, ad-taker, but she had an avocation which he was given to understand was even more lucrative. She was, more or less, on the staff of the Alhambra. She was what might be called a professional profes-sional nice girl. Men in pursuit of vice didn't come to the Alhambra. It wasn't that sort of place. But lots of men did come who wanted a girl to dance with and take out to supper; a girl whose deportment, de-portment, though not prim, would still reflect credit upon her companion ; a girl who, If she liked you, wouldn't mind your holding her hand in a taxi as you took her home, nor your kissing kiss-ing her good night when you got her there. Well, Babe was one of the girls who supplied this demand. To the fiction writer, which Martin meant to be, she ought to prove a mine of variegated raw material. Even for his present job she was worth cultivating, he thought. His Enecialtv was feature stories. Some times the city editor sent him out on assignment, but mostly they let him alone to pick things up for himself. He hadn't known whether or not Babe had anything special in mind in suggesting sug-gesting that he drop around at the Alhambra tonight, but he didn't much care. He had hunch that he was going to pick uji some sort of story between now an4 bedtime. At the moment, however, he wasn't thinking about his story. He was wondering vaguely whether he hadn't discovered a new law of physics. Was your repulsion to the man you saw a pretty girl dancing with directly proportionate pro-portionate to your attraction to the girl? There was nothing glaringly wrong about the bird. He might be something some-thing less than forty. He had a meaty-looking meaty-looking face, with a complacent smile on it, and his dress was a bit foppish. He danced well, but you could see he felt he was giving the little girl a treat. No, there was no law about it. Martin would have hated him anywhere. Just as the music stopped they turned so that he could see the girl's face, and, in sheer pleased surprise, he smiled at her; involuntarily. But It was like a head-on collision, for her look met his absolutely true. There was a substratum of smile about It, but above that there was a sort of half-serious desperation that had reference, refer-ence, Martin was sure, to the man she'd been dancing with. . "Want to be rescued?" Martin asked, safely enough, since she stood twenty paces oft and he didn't, of course, sreak the words aloud. But, exactly as if she'd heard him, she perceptibly nodded her head and then looked up at her partner, who had spoken to her. "Leap the instant you've looked," was one of Martin's mottoes, and he set himself in motion across the floor to where she stood without pausing to wonder whether he hadn't imagined that nod, or what the consequences would be if he had. Had he ever seen her before? Was that why he had smiled at herl Well, he was In for It now. . 9 He touched her companion on the arm a very solid arm and said, "May I cut In?" From the way they both flashed around upon him you'd have said he'd surprised them equally. But in her face, which was the only one he looked at, there dawned a delighted recognition recogni-tion that would have convinced, anybody. any-body. "I thought I saw you just a minute ago," she said. Then, to the man she was abandoning. "You'll excuse us, won't you? It's literally forever since we've had a dance together." Forbes felt himself wearing an Indecently In-decently broad grin as he danced away with her over that "literally forever" of hers. She had told the blighter the exact truth I "I didn't know anything like this could happen," he said, after they'd danced in silence about half-way around the floor, "and I don't know yet how It did happen. It's more like a perfectly gorgeous dream than anything any-thing else." "Don't wake up, then," she said. It was an easy injunction to obey. Whether she was a perfect dancer for all the world or had been specially created for him, he didn't know. He might consider it later, but it wasn't worth speculating about now. They merely danced. When, disengaged, they stood looking look-ing at each other he said, almost reverently, rev-erently, "Gosh !" and her faintly audible audi-ble sigh expressed the same thing. "Do you have to go back?" he protested. pro-tested. " To him, I mean." "To Mr. Lewis? No; I don't have to go back to anybody." She smiled faintly as she said that. He was thrown out of his stride for a second by a pleasant perception that she knew how to pronounce the name "Lewis." "Well then, why . . .!" he began, when he got on the rails again. "Just because you were kind enough to ask me if I didn't want to be rescued," res-cued," she explained, "it doesn't follow fol-low that you've taken me on indefinitely. in-definitely. Haven't you anybody to go back to?" He laughed. "Not a soul," he told her. "Let's go up to one of those boxes in the balcony and get a soda or something." Her wants in the way of refreshment refresh-ment were modest. A glass of root beer was the only thing she'd have. "It was a funny coincidence," he remarked, "your saying, as you did Just now, that I had asked you If you didn't want to be rescued, because that was exactly what I did ask. I mean, those very words." "Well," she. Innocently questioned, "why not?" "Because I didn't say it to you at all. I was standing sixty feet away from you. I said it to myself. How did you know exactly what I said?" "Telepathy," she told him ; but she said it with a grin. She'd leaned forward a little to watch the crowd on the floor, but Just as his gaze followed hers, she suddenly sud-denly drew back Into the shadows of the box. The reason was plain enough. The man he'd rescued her from Lewis, if that was his name was coming com-ing across the floor. Martin drew back, too. "Do people's names ever strike you as misfits?" he asked. "His does. My "Because I Didn't Say It to You at All!" Idea of a man named Lewis doesn't look like that." "It may not be his real name," she i remarked. "Or he may have changed it from something else. People do sometimes. All I know is that that's the way one of those men in white trousers introduced him to me. He askBd me to call him Max, but I don't know whether that's short for Maxwell, Max-well, or Maxfield, or Maximilian, or whether it's his whole name." He couldn't be sure in the dim light of the box, but he thought she'd colored col-ored over this admission that she was indebted to one of the floor managers for a dancing partner. He'd resolved not to try to think her out until afterward, after-ward, but It was a resolution he couldn't keep. Who was she? What was she? He smiled at the echo of her fine speech In his mind's ear: "Maxwell, or Maxfield, or Maximilian." "There comes tha orchestra," he i By , Henry Kitchell Webster Copyright by The Bobbs-MerrUl Co. WNU Service said. "Let's go down and dance again." Just then they'd moved to leave the box, but even the girl wasn't yet out In the corridor he saw Babe Jennings Jen-nings coming along with a client In tow, and he got a fleeting notion that some sportive Olympian was having fun with him. For the one thing he'd decided he was certain about concerning concern-ing his own companion was instantly demolished. Babe said to her, with sisterly familiarity, "Hello, Red I You through with that box?" His girl "Red," Indeed ! answered in a perfectly matter-of-fact way, "Yes, come in. We're going to dance." It wasn't until then that Babe recognized recog-nized him. "Hello, Marty !" she said, In lively surprise. "I've been looking around for you. But I didn't know you two knew each other." His companion smiled. "We don't," she admitted. "We picked each other up In the middle of the last dance." "I wish," Martin put in, "that you'd be good enough to Introduce us." It amused him to see that Babe was shocked. "Miss White," she said with cold formality, "let me Introduce Mr. Forbes." She added, as she turned away to summon her companion who had been hanging in the background, that she liked some people's nerve! Babe's disapproval of their manners advanced their acquaintance another step. He said to her as they danced, "I don't like that name: Babe Jennings' Jen-nings' nickname for you." She smiled good-naturedly. "Red? Why not? It fits." "That's Just what it doesn't" he insisted. in-sisted. "I want a better name than that to think of you by. I wish you'd tell me your real one." She looked rather searchlngly into his face for a moment before she answered, an-swered, but the decision she'd hesitated hesi-tated over was in his favor. "You may not like my real name either," she said. "It's Rhoda. You don't like It, do you? Or if you do," she went on, overriding the protest he made, "what made you look so funny when I told you?" He didn't try to deny that he might have looked funny. "I've got some association with the name that I can't spot. I'm sure I don't know anybody named Rhoda. But the name's been In my mind within the last three days." "Well, don't try to find it now," she admonished htm. "You don't dance as well when you think." So for the next few minutes they dispensed with thinking altogether. They allowed themselves, indeed, to become a little too oblivious to their surroundings. In the next pause, as they stood waiting for the orchestra to go on, Martin saw a flicker of a frown cross the girl's eyebrows and the next instant a voice said at his elbow, "May I have the rest of this dance?" a rather scared voice; it wouldn't be Lewis, anyhow and he turned to see a blushing eager youngster who'd cut in on him. Annoying as the Intrusion, was, Martin Mar-tin couldn't help liking the girl better for her kindliness in putting the shy boy at his ease. She introduced him to Martin Hlggins, his name was onrt danced awav with him. It pleased Martin, though, to observe that he danced badly. He left the floor and made for a vacant sofa, a low, high-backed, overstuffed over-stuffed thing, one of a pair that stood back to back thwartwlse in the side corridor. Its fellow had, he noted, for Its solitary tenant a girl whose aggressive ag-gressive blondness made a really focused fo-cused glance necessary to satisfy him that she wasn't Babe Jennings. Reassured Reas-sured on that point he dropped Into the vacant seat behind her. But he d hardly begun thinking about Rhoda when his attention was sharply diverted. divert-ed. He felt a Jar as somebody heavy sat down beside the woman on the other sofa, and heard him say to her, "Well, you were right. She's the girl.' "Where Is she now?" "Out on the floor. She can't see ns here. Well, I guess I've beaten the old man to It this time." "You?" the woman questioned Ironically. Iron-ically. "Oh, that was a good hunch you had," he admitted. The woman's comment was a contemptuous con-temptuous laugh. I...r.ni nrlthnilt VnOWlnC luurim, micicoitu why, found that by turning his head sldewlse so that his ear pressed against the back of the sofa he could hear better. The woman was speaking now in a more conciliatory manner. "Tell me how you made sure. I suppose you got her to tell you the whole story of her life." "I made a pretty fair start with her," he said complacently. "She's a cagey little brat, though, and I didn't want to press too hard. I'll get more next time. But I found out her first name, and It fits." "Kept her own first name, did she?" the woman said. "She's the one, then. I was practically sure when I saw her." "I guess it's all right," the man said. "It won't do any harm, though, if I try to find out some more about her." The woman uttered another short unpleasant laugh. "You listen here, Max," she said. "You've got Just one job tonight.. Find out where she lives. If. I can get her address, we'll have C. J. where we want him. Until we know that, we're nowhere. We haven't any time to waste fooling around. She may see that ad tomorrow and answer it. Find out where she lives. As soon as you know, come around and tell me. I'll do the rest. I'll go now. No, sit still. I don't want to take a chance on her seeing us together. to-gether. So long !" She came around Martin's side of the sofa, and without stirring he watched her all the way to the stairs, with a mind quite blank however, as far as she was concerned. He had something else to think about. He had spotted his association with the name Rhoda. For the past week some one had been advertising every day In the personal column of the News for the address of Rhoda Mc-Farland. Mc-Farland. It was part of Martin's dally routine to read the personal column col-umn pretty carefully. Every now and then he found the beginning of a story in It. He had especially noted these advertisements for Rhoda McFarland because of a minor oddity about them. Usually the advertisers for the addresses ad-dresses of missing persons were firms of attorneys who offered their own names and addresses in full. But these had all been blind ads. The answerer an-swerer was invited to communicate his facts to "X-203" or something of the sort, care of the Daily News. Today the form of the ad had changed. Rhoda McFarland, It had said, would learn something to her advantage ad-vantage by communicating with "X-203": Rhoda McFarland, though; not Rhoda White. What had made the memory of that series of advertisements pop Into his head so suddenly? Max was to find out where the girl lived tonight, because be-cause they hadn't any time for fooling around. She might see that ad in the paper tomorrow and answer it. Martin sat suddenly erect and then slumped back again into the corner of his sofa. Had It been his Rhoda they were talking abouO He hadn't yet seen the man who was still sitting on the sofa behind him, but the woman had called him I Max. The obvious thing to do was to walk around the sofa and take a look at him; And out If he was the ame Max that Rhoda had wanted to be rescued from. But to do that openlv would probably give away to the blighter, the fact that his con versatlon with the woman had been overheard by some one who took an interest in it Better sit still a minute first and check up. . This pair wanted to find a girl be-fore be-fore somebody else did, somebody who was advertising for her. The woman had thought she recognized her but hadn't been sure. Apparently shed sent for Max to come and scrape an acquaintance with the girl and find ysn Martin Nodded Them a Cheerful Farewell and Slipped Away Into the Crowd. out whether she was the one they wanted. "She's the girl, all right," Max had said. She was a "cagey little brat," but he'd found out "her first name. And this, added to the woman's half-recognition, he regarded as conclusive. He wouldn't have said that, wouldn't have gone through the process at all, Martin reflected, had the name under which the girl was introduced in-troduced to him been that of the girl he was looking for. The first name fitted in, and the second one didn't: Rhoda White, instead of Rhoda Mo Farland. His sensitive reporter's nose had detected de-tected the trail of a story and mere professional instinct started him off planning how he could run It down. Talk to Babe Jennings tonight and find out how much she know about the girl. She probably knew where she lived, anyhow. Get at the advertising adver-tising file tomorrow morning and find out who X-203 was. For a guess, he'd turn out to be the C. J. whom Max and his lady friend were trying to take advantage of. And then go through all the McFarlands In the "morgue" to see if he could discover any reason why a Rhoda of that name should have changed it for the colorless name White, and disappeared. His reporter's mind went as far as that point as easily as a well-lubrl-cated car rolls down hill. But at that point It stopped with a jolt that both shocked and astonished him. He saw her face smiling at him in friendly confidence as she'd smiled when she'd danced away with Higglns. He didn't want a story about her. He hated the idea that there was a story. If there was one that for any reason she wanted burled, buried it should remain for all of him. Something had happened to him. He'd never felt like that before. But now wasn't the time to go into that. He must find Rhoda and tell her what he'd overheard. Then If she needed help, he'd help her. The music stopped sooner than he'd expected it to and he got up precipitately. pre-cipitately. If he'd seen Babe Jennings coming along he'd have sat still for another three seconds and let her go by. As it was she saw him And sang out to him as she approached, "Hello, Marty ! What have yos done with Red White?" He could think of nothing better to do than stay where he was and answer an-swer her. "I had to let her dance away with another man," he said. "But I've got the next one with her and I'm going to find her now." The thing he feared, but hadn't seen liow to avoid, happened. With a mighty upheaval the big man on the other sofa got to his feet and turned around. Babe gave a sort of gasp or squeal of surprise, and then waited to see what was going to happen. "Oh, hello!" Max Lewis said. "1 didn't know you were here. Did I hear you say you were going to dance this dance with Miss White?" "I suppose that's what you heard" Martin replied. "I said It." Then lie had what he welcomed ns an Inspiration. Inspira-tion. "Oh, I beg your pardon," he went on, as If Just awakened to his social obligations. "Miss Jennings will you let me Introduce Mr Max Lewis?" Babe said she was delighted, and It seemed to Martin that her enthusiasm was unfeigned. Apparently Lewis thought so, too. Anyhow, neither of them objected when Martin nodded them a cheerful farewell and slipped away into the crowd. (TO BB CONTINUED.) |