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Show ti?gf Age RALI?Ph B ROWN i S W.N. U. FEATURES whole face in a most disarming ! way. The dominant feature of the i complete picture of Duke McCale I seemed to be a nerveless quiet, but often there would come a fine Italian-like gesture, fleet as an ar-row, ar-row, that bespoke the closely guarded guard-ed energy of a coiled spring. He was nearly at his own doorstep door-step when he noticed it. An antique limousine, broad in the beam and : high in the tonneau, was drawn to the curb before his door. McCale opened the waiting-room door and stepped inside. The room was empty. The faded carpet and real leather chairs stared at him blankly. The wine velour draperies were pulled back to let in what daylight there was. There were fresh yellow flowers in a squat white bowl on his secretary's desk, but she wasn't' there. He was thinking that it looked very quiet, very nice, not like a detective's de-tective's waiting room at all, when Ann Marriot came in. She closed the door of the inner office, giving him a warning look. Ann Marriot was the type of girl you might pass by at a first meet- j ing, but when you knew her better, CHAPTER I Outside, the sidewalks were damp and slippery. It was late February. The sky was blurred with an approaching ap-proaching storm. , McCale walked up Stuart street slowly, stopping to buy an early morning paper at the corner. He'd just had some mid-morning coffee with a couple of erstwhile private "eyes" and they'd told him in great detail of how Miss Adelaide Ade-laide Bigelow, of the Bigelows, had been traipsing from office to office for the "right" detective. Just what she needed a detective for, they didn't know, but it looked promising. To McCale it looked like hokum; besides, he wasn't interested. He did not, at the moment, realize that the first pebble had started to roll, that even then he was being gently prodded into the relentless avalanche ava-lanche of a big case. He stopped for cigarettes at a drug store and stood at the counter idly turning the pages of the newspaper. )B-29s were at home over the Jap mainland, and the American fleet was tickling Jap shipping where it hurt. There was a complete blackout black-out planned for the coming weekend. week-end. On page ten, Mrs. Atkinson Keye, socialite, was off to Reno again. Business as usual. A Mrs. Mulligan of Roxbury had given birth to her twelfth child. And, wait a minute, under a misty photograph of a very debby deb, the caption: "Lydia Prentice of Marlborough street and Magnolia, one of the bride's attendants at the wedding next Saturday of Veronica Perkins Bigelow to Curtin Vallaincourt." So that's all it was. A society wedding. He laughed soundlessly as he thought of Leach and Gar-rity Gar-rity making a big story over some old blue-blood who was, no doubt, looking for a couple of dicks presentable pre-sentable enough to mingle with a crowd of gilt-edged guests, while they kept a sharp eye on the wedding wed-ding presents. He did not have to be much of a sleuth to figure that one out. He chuckled at the mental picture of either of his so-called pals straining to look "to the manner born" in such a situation. , How McCale Became a " Private Detective As he folded the paper, his eye caught a word or two in the gossip smiled and everything was quite all right. "It isn't that at all." She was just as candid. "You're quite nice-looking, nice-looking, really. It's just that all the detectives I've ever seen that is er heard about are rather big and brutal-looking and tough." McCale wanted to answer that, all things considered, he was probably prob-ably just as tough that he just wasn't big. But he didn't. She seemed, for a moment, at a loss to begin. The old eyes searched his anxiously, and were withdrawn, as if the brain behind them was confused and helpless. He knew that there was desperation there, that it was difficult for her to play a part, but that she had determined to play it. He waited, and the silence si-lence in the room lengthened. He saw that she was still searching for an integrity behind the flash of his exterior. He saw the light go out of her eyes and realized with chagrin that she would not tell him what was gnawing at her mind, that she had decided to risk acquiring his aid only in part. "My niece is to be married next week, Mr. McCale. Perhaps you have heard of her?" "Yes, indeed. Veronica Bigelow. Her pictures are very lovely." He'd never seen one! She brightened considerably. "She is lovely. My favorite niece, Mr. McCale. She'll be very wealthy, too. My brother's child. The wedding, wed-ding, of course, will be at Trinity, but the reception is to take place at the family's town house. There are a great many beautiful and priceless gifts on display. They will have to be guarded night and day." Guarding Gifts Pays Well "The police," ventured McCale. "Pshaw! The police." She became be-came more assertive. "We don't want plainclothes men all over the house. They'd stick out like sore thumbs. I want someone quiet and unobtrusive just just someone " The old voice faltered and trailed off. McCale looked at her attentively. "Of course. I'm quiet a,nd .unobtrusive .unob-trusive and inclined to be helpful." She dropped her eyes. "I I think you're the man I want." "It doesn't exactly take brains to watch over a table of wedding presents." pres-ents." "I know that. But if something were stolen, if something did happen, hap-pen, you'd have to investigate, wouldn't you?" McCale glimpsed then, for an instant, in-stant, the whirlpool of events to come. There was something in that remark alone that piqued his curiosity. curi-osity. He made up his mind. "That will be twenty-five dollars a day," he said, and added meaningly, "for guarding the wedding gifts." But she would not rise to his bait. She searched a moment in a large black bag that hung from one arm. A hundred-dollar bill crackled as she put it on his desk. "A retainer," she said. "One moment. Miss Marriot will give you a receipt." "Never mind. It isn't at all necessary. nec-essary. Will you come to tea this afternoon, at five?" "To tea?" "Yes. Please do." The tired old eyes pleaded with him.' "The fam- ; 41;? zi "Miss Bigelow?" His sharp eyes took her in at a glance. you became aware of her attractiveness. attrac-tiveness. Her features were nice gray eyes set far apart; a straight but not too small nose, and a good-sized good-sized mouth. She ran to intelligence and tweeds and her ash-blonde hair always imparted the fragrance of carnations. McCale caught a whin of it now, as she handed him an engraved calling card. It read: Adelaide Perkins Bigelow. Bige-low. Wealthy Old Lady Appears Troubled "Miss Bigelow is waiting in your office," said Ann. "Why in there?" McCale asked, lowering his voice. "Well," she answered, flushing slightly, "it's nice in there. There's a fire in the grate and the big chair and books and things." "Ah, I see. You are duly impressed im-pressed by the royal presence." "Not at all," she rather snapped. "She's quite nice. Did it occur to you I might want to impress her?" McCale smiled. "Bless you, my child," he said as he went in. There was a fire burning briskly in the fireplace, throwing light and shadow on the simple decorations the big chair with its accompanying accompany-ing side table, well-filled bookcases lining the walls. The lamp on the desk was lit, for it was darker in this room. A little old lady, quietly dressed, turned in the act of reaching for a book, to face him. "Oh," she said, nearly dropping it. "Miss Bigelow?" His sharp eyes took her in at a glance. She was small, almost birdlike, and nervous in a fluttcry way. She had a fine, delicately modeled face, too delicate, perhaps, to be imposing. impos-ing. Yet there was evidence in her carriage and in her manner of dignity dig-nity and stubborn strength. McCale Mc-Cale was aware, too. of a certain uneasiness, a lurking apprehension behind the too bright eyes that he could not attribute to surprise at his sudden entrance nor to her being be-ing out of her milieu in a detective's ofHce. "I was interested in your library." li-brary." she floundered. "I expected expect-ed you" "To look quite different?" McCale frowned. "Mre like a doctor or college professor, perhaps?" "Why. "That's all ripht Nor.e of us can choose his person;.! ;n'iHira:re. If I could, I'd be qu te a dii'Verent-ItM'king dii'Verent-ItM'king person, I ass. ire ycu.'' There v:s sjinelhir in cor.uous about the v.-.iv hr said it. Then he column, "After Dark." It read: "At the Latin Quarter last night, Curt Vallaincourt, the handsome lad who is to middle-aisle it with Veronica Ver-onica Bigelow next week, waited in vain for her to appear. He ended his vigil by lapping up Zombies with Shari Lynn, the 'torchy singer from the floor show. We didn't know they knew each other." McCale frowned at the last allusion. allu-sion. Too bad these keyhole lads had to spice everything up so. McCale's office and living quarters quar-ters combined were on St. James street, a bit far uptown for that sort of thing. They were in a block of old brownstone houses, the last that remained in that vicinity. Here, while they lasted anyway, McCale was able to cling to the illusion that he was a cut above the average detective. de-tective. He admitted that it was probably psychological a complex with him. His background, surely, was worse than most. Born in the scummier part of Chicago, he had been brought up among thieves and mobsters. At fourteen, he knew all 5 the answers. To himself, he often admitted that he had a criminal turn of mind, but some peculiar twist had saved him from putting it into practice. It may have been the merest glimmer or craving for something finer than the obviously brief splash made by the racketeer, on top today, shot full of holes tomorrow. to-morrow. But at sixteen he went into the world to find out if there was any good in it. Somehow he discovered that he had a love for books and a real aptitude for learning. learn-ing. He worked his way through a Midwestern college. He took summer sum-mer courses here, there,, and wherever wher-ever he heard of something that might interest him. And he was interested in-terested in many things. He woke one morning knowing that detection would be his career. DThcn he took a course in criminology criminol-ogy at a famous university, sat in at lectures at police college, talked himself into a job with a run-down detective agency. After that, he had set himself up as a private investigator. investi-gator. Cynical over police methods as he found them in practice, sick to death of the strike-breaking jobs, the divorce work, the undercover bribery, the questionable ethics of many of the men masquerading as honest investigators, it was the only thing for him to do. Only a few-clients few-clients had come his way. But it was worth it. McCale was small and dark and smoothly art-'culated. His hair was shiny and black; his eyes, inclined to be withdrawn one minute, would quicken with a peculiar glint the next. His mouth was too large for the countenance it graced, and. in repose, a tritie sardonic. But when he smiled or laughed, it lit up his ily you should know them by sight j and there might be something to talk over some arrangements you might want to make." "Why, yes," he agreed, sudden Intuition quickening in his mind. She seemed relieved; turned to go. "One moment. Miss Bigelow. You'll want me to assume responsibility respon-sibility when?" "Oh. right away." That look had come back into her face again. "Immediately." "Im-mediately." "But the wedding is " "I know. I'd feel safer" she caught herself "that the gifts would be safe if you were to take charge today. They keep arriving more and more most valuable, some of them." He cut in on her embarrassed floundering. "Very well. "I'll see you at tea. That's all you want to tell me?" She looked wTetched. "That's all." she said. The door closed quietly after her. McCale stood staring thoughtfully into the fire. He heard Ann Marriot Mar-riot say good-morning and the outer door shut. "She's a nice old thing," said Ann Marriot. "I hope you weren't curt and distant with her. She seemed to be in trouble." "She wants me to guard her niece's wedding gifts." "But ..." He shrugged. "I took the job." He flipped the hundred-dollar bill under her nose "Nice big retainer. Funny. She seemed scrt of lost to me." "Ann." McC-le said, "that old lady is frightened!'' (TO BE CON"TTUED) |