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Show r- 1 WEDDING MARCH ffl JIF1)1FIR "'r m By MONTE BARRETT CHAPTER I Dtath In tho Study. 0Ml'vl'nNO l,!Ul Kouo wronR. rt bridesmaid on tho loft ' h.-ui dlil not know her name '.huioed backward, hesltant- "t1u profession slowed Us sol-1 sol-1 '.,', march. i stir of uneasiness was somo-,nv somo-,nv 'transmitted to the crowded vivs. There was vague bustling vwishout the church, even nu-" nu-" Me against tho majestic organ !'10 of Lohengrin's "Wedding gored on her brother. With unex-1 pooled bitterness they reverted to Wob. Didn't ho realize that she had always been fond of him, too? ills father and hers had been partners. part-ners. Just as their fathers bad been, before them. Just as Web and lty-lle lty-lle some day would be. And Web had walked out. Before the ceremony cere-mony 1 Doris swallowed the lump that rose, unbidden, In her throat. She glanced about Her father, beside her, muttered something under un-der his breath. Had something gone wrong? Half-way down the aisle. Ills feet fumbled with the steps, and he groped his way to his daughter's daugh-ter's side. "We're going around back," he told her. 'T.ut, Dad" Then she read the shock In his face and followed him, wonder-ingly. wonder-ingly. lie met the usher, still on the steps. "Where's Rylie?" he asked. ."I want him to take his sister home." Again he turned to his daughter. Toor little Doris 1 He found himself groping for words to tell her. She spared him that. "What is It, Dad? Jim he's not hurt or anything?" any-thing?" That seemed to relieve the strain, i "Yes," he said. "Jim's hurt, Doris. ! I'll have to get you home. I'll see ' after things back there. We'll find i Rylie. He'll take you home." : "No, I want to go to him." The girl hurried her father's dragging 3 steps. f "You can't do anything, my dear, s It's too late for that." Ambrose t gripped his daughter's arm In gently i firm fingers. "He's dead." Doris did not cry, then. She was f too dazed for that. And it seemed s to her that she had known, from the "Yes." "Then you had already notified the police," Doctor Aberuathy put In quickly. "Why" There was a trace of a smile around the corner of Royce's thin lips as he glanced quickly toward Peter. "I wasn't phoning the police," he said. "The story." "You mean you've notified the newspapers?" Carmody's tone was angry. "Not the newspapers," Royce denied. de-nied. "Only my newspaper." "Have you lost your mind?" the old man flared. "We'll keep the newspapers out of this." "You don't know your newspapers," newspa-pers," Nick replied softly. They were interrupted by the distant dis-tant wall of a siren, far down Car-mody Car-mody avenue, but growing steadily louder. The four men In the room paused to listen. Peter watched Nick Royce, who turned Ms head, listening lis-tening to the banshee notes of the approaching police car. "That is the voice of trouble," he said. "From now on, this Is everybody's every-body's secret." Outside patrolmen who before had kept the curious moving on, sue could see her bridesmaids. Why did they walk so slowly? She thought of Jim Franklin. What was he like, really? She wondered won-dered If brides always felt so strange toward the men they were going to marry? Sometimes he looked so old. Yet he was onlj eighteen years older than she. Lots of girls married men much oldei than that. That was no real bar t( love. And he was going to be tin next governor. She was proud o him. And she loved him, too. Shi felt sure of that. Oh, why didn' they hurry? What was wrong witl Dad? . . . Ambrose Carmody was proud o the slender gracefulness of hi I uroh." i rotor Cardigan sensed It from his off deep ln the imve pf the church j smiled at the fancy he thought 'il betrayed him. What could be "mi1 His novelist's mind ple-. ple-. urei" the main services conjured "' lom the corners of the world by 'aruioiiy wealth to Insure the per-Wion per-Wion 'of detail which had been j, e heritage of Carmody brides ' uoe New Yrk was young. It had seemed strange to Cardi-" Cardi-" a for Jim Franklin to be niarry- Ambrose Carmody's daughter. ct then, Jim had been a stranger m him for seventeen years. When jvter Cardigan knew him, Jim 's franklin had been a young attor- pi:ey, just out of law school, laying '"he first foundation of his career ln ie harsh experience of the police "itfurts. Peter, without realizing-it, M been laying some foundation stones of his own in those days, for l.iiist was when he was a police reporter re-porter and before he had become laoious as a writer of best-selling mysteries, as well as for the occa-" occa-" skoal solving of one in real life. That was seventeen years ago. !J Now Jim Franklin was marrying Doris Carmody. If there was any-iirg any-iirg to those newspaper stories, te would be the next governor of " yew York, too. Ridiculous to think .. iat anything could be wrong! And r ret, the procession was scarcely moving now. '-. Doctor Abernathy, rector of St. r'- Matthew's, stood by the choir steps " ' tnd wondered. Everything had gone off well at the rehearsal. What : had happened now? Where was the ' bridegroom? FT The rector was troubled about the daughter proud or "that unrmouy look" she had. There was something about the well-bred sleekness of this gathering that was soothing to his sense of the fitness of things. Other parts of the city changed, even Wall Street had Its ups and downs, but the Carmodys and their friends went on like like old St. Matthew's itself. It pleased him to remember that his grandfather had contributed contrib-uted the land on which this church stood. His father had married his mother here. He had waited at that altar for a young bride ln white, himself, not so many years I ago. .What were they waiting for? From his position in the vestibule, he peered down the aisle. It seemed that the bridesmaids had halted, near the halfway mark. "What's wrong?" He asked one of the ushers, a young man with a vacuous puzzled expression. "They're waiting for the bridegroom, bride-groom, sir." "Waiting? Why should they wait? moment ner lamer nau come w nei in the vestibule. She was conscious, for the first time, of the curious throng outside. "I want to go to him, Dad," she repeated. re-peated. Fifteen hundred wedding guests sat stunned ln their pews. They seemed unwilling to believe Doctor Abernathy's statement. . "What did he say? Tell me again," the woman beside Peter Cardigan sought confirmation of the astounding astound-ing news. "The wedding has been postponed," post-poned," Peter told her, and made his way toward the door. At first, the novelist had no thought but to hurry away ahead of the crowd. Now he hesitated. Something Some-thing serious must be wrong. After all, Jim Franklin and he had been friends in the past. Perhaps he could be of some service. He followed fol-lowed Carmody and his daughtei Into the sacristy In time to hear hiir ask, "How did It happen? Where Is he?" "In the study," replied Doctoi "-tt'iarrel he had witnessed in the sac-yristy, sac-yristy, too. What an odd setting for is quarrel! The sacristy of a iurch, Just before a wedding. Too, ' :e had tried to question the strange Vjfoman who had quarreled with the j bridegroom. For a moment his suspicions sus-picions had been aroused. But sc-tshaw, Franklin was all right! :V Nothing like that could happen to Doris Carmody. The generosity of j!er ancestors had made this fash- enable old church possible. L) .,11 ha nnfhinp wrODS. waning i i"j oiwu. Where is he? Tell him to step up." "He's In the sacristy, sir. We've no way to tell him." Ambrose Carmody eyed the young man sharply. In his office they learned to find a way. Then he realized real-ized they weren't in his office. This was Doris' wedding. "Can't you dash around and Jog him up?" he suggested, in a tone far more suave than his expression. expres-sion. The young man disappeared out ili tUC OLLIUJ I ' -1 Abernathy. He hesitated, looking at the girl who was to have been a bride. "He's he's been killed," he faltered. "Murdered." Cardigan followed the stunned group into the rector's study. They had need of him here. Sprawled on his back, beside the pastor's desk, was the bridegroom, Jim Franklin. A limp -hand still clutched at the desk leg. His other arm was flung across the rumpled rug. A sodden stain crept across his vest and darkened the silken lining of his cutaway. His collar, torn on one side, curled grotesquely awry, grim symbol of the man's last struggle. Doctor Abernathy gazed in horror at the body on the floor. Beside the desk stood Nicholas Royce. Peter had known "Nick" ln the old newspaper days. Now Nick was managing editor of Topics, the tabloid with the largest circulation in New York. He had been the dead ' man's best friend was to have been his best man. "Jim Franklin!" were , now holding back a swelling crowd. Michael Kilday, himself, sergeant ser-geant of the homicide bureau, was the first to push his way into the study. Behind him followed the medical examiner. Three more detectives, de-tectives, one bearing a camera, completed com-pleted the party. "Hello, Peter," Kilday recognized his friend and associate on other cases. "What happened?" Without waiting to be informed, he knelt beside the bridegroom's body. Then, with a low "shh" of expelled breath, he turned a startled star-tled countenance on Peter again. "Jim Franklin!" he ejaculated. "Look here, Doctor." The medical examiner knelt beside be-side him, and with swift fingers, laid back the vest and shirt that covered the wound. Franklin's death had been caused by two knife 'thrusts, one a long Jagged Jag-ged tear across the groin, the sec- i 4-1, nrtn TTTnn rl hotwAPTI 1U, U1C1C WUiu o 0 Things like that didn't happen to xople like the Carmodys. The sus-?icion sus-?icion with which the good doctor )ad momentarily regarded that ?cene flickered brightly, for a mo- sent, and as quickly died. But not i lied, either. The distrust with .a vhich he had regarded that quarrel :ra recalled very vividly now. What e should he have done? Notified the bride's father? He had thought of hi :hat and yet what could he have ;aid? The circumstance of a quar-- rel was not sufficient to question the - " . . - .,ltr,(r at lpnst the vestibule. Doctor Abernathy waited impatiently impa-tiently at the choir steps. The organ or-gan was repeating the march, more slowly now, as the puzzled organist endeavored to catch the rhythm of the procession, without success. The church was whispering with speculation. specu-lation. In the vestibule, some one tugged at Ambrose Carmody's arm. "Well?" The old man's nerves were on edge. Then he noticed the strained white look of the youngster's face and fol Wis Nick nodded at Peter In recognition. recog-nition. "I'll call the police," he Sa''When did it happen?" Doctor Abernathy found his voice at last. "About five minutes ago, I should Judge " Nick replied with one hand over the transmitter. Then he got his connection and reported the crime to the police, before turning again to the rector. "I followed you to the door," he continued, leaning against the desk easily as though unconscious of the dead man so near at hand. "I left the door ajar, and kept my eye on vou, so we'd know when to start ln. jlm was behind me, In the entrance of the study, I thought I heard nothing unusual. I never realized anything was wrong until the 'Wedding 'Wed-ding March' began. Then I said All set Jim ' but he never answered me. When I turned to call him again the door from the sacristy Into the study was closed. "I thought that was strange, but t ctill wasn't suspicious. Not until I tried the door, and found It locked. "Of course, then I knew some- ,, propriety oi a wcUui.6, where there was no question of ' morals involved. No, the rector re- fleeted, there was nothing he could have done. ... t'1: Callis Shipley was worried. What had happened to Jim Franklin? Where was Nick Royce? Callis was the first bridesmaid on the left At '' the rehearsal, the bridegroom and the best man had entered at the i first notes of the organ, and waited at the choir steps for the procession -'",'" that moved slowly down the aisle. s' Why hadn't she thought to see if he were there before she started? She 1 had been a third of the way down M before she realized he was missing. flJ Several seconds slipped past, and still he did not come. Callis glanced t-j back hurriedly. She suddenly real-$P real-$P ized she was afraid. Where was f,l Rylie Carmody? What had Web Spears meant? Something terrible V,J had happened! She knew It! n If she only could have found Ry- lie! . . . itfj,:' Outside, on Carmody avenue, a po-"V po-"V Hceman pushed back the curious throng that waited to glimpse the bride. A Carmody ! And Jim Frank-!2f Frank-!2f lin. He'll be the next governor, too. "You'll have to keep' moving, y ' Miss," said the officer. The pretty woman ln blue struggled through .:iJ the Jostling crowd. . . . V: Dorls Carmody was thinking of Webster Spears "Web," whom she i'S, had known all her life, whom she might even now have been marry-,3$ marry-,3$ lng, If things had turned out only a little differently. Why had Web $ Walked out of the church, without remaining to see the wedding? f,A What had he said about her brother, fi Rylie? That he would have stopped iiofld ll)e wedding? That was ridiculous. V'u Wasn't Rylie right there In the yy church? But the girl's thoughts never Un- ona a buiuulu the ribs .at or near the heart. This second wound was about three Inches wide and at either end a small blue bruise, half the size of a dime, stood out against the white skin. Sergeant Kilday's glance darted about the room, questlonlngly. "The knife isn't here, Sergeant," Nick Royce Informed him. "I've already al-ready looked." "Who found him?" the officer asked tersely. "I did. I was his best man, and was waiting out there in the sacristy, sac-risty, for the 'Wedding March' to begin," Royce volunteered. He repeated re-peated the story he had told the others oth-ers of the discovery of the crime, not omitting the fact that his first action had been to telephone the story to his paper. "You telephoned Topics before you notified us?" Kilday's tone was incredulous. The newspaper man nodded. "And you were his best man pretty cold-blooded, wasn't it?" Kilday Kil-day eyed the man narrowly. "I don't look at It that way," Royce denied. "Jim Is dead. I couldn't help him. And I couldn't keep a story like that out of the papers even if I wanted to." He pointed at his dead friend. "Jim Franklin has been murdered. Every one knows Jim Franklin. He'd have been the next governor of the state If he had lived. He was killed in the study of fashionable St. Matthew's Mat-thew's church, while waiting for his own wedding march to begin. And," he glanced imperturbably at Ambrose Am-brose Carmody, "he was marrying Doris Carmody. That's the most 1 dramatic story since Lindbergh hit : Paris. ITO BE CONTI-VCTED.) 'He's Dead." afraid to ask. terrible -Something - something terrin StofUjou. He said you d better thing was wrong. 1 ran arounu lu outside, to the rear door I was open. I found Jlm-hke this. "But why didn't you let us know?" demanded Ambrose Carmody, who had left his daughter with members mem-bers of the family In the sacristy, and entered the room during Royce s recital. "We had no idea what was wrong. We were in the midst of The weeing march-the girls were half-way down the aisle. Royce shrugged. "I forgot about that" he confessed. "I was busy- Ph.Thoningr' Ambrose Carmody's whUe eyebrows lifted Into question marks. "Phoning?" |
