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Show A CERALDh, BROWN 4yi W.N.U. FEATURES a daughter, Victoria. Their name was Bennett, but he adopted them, and they changed to the Bigelow surname." "Then Veronica, the bride, is a daughter of this second marriage?" "No. The first Mrs. Bigelow died in childbirth that is, in giving birth to Veronica. The old gentleman married Sybil Bennett three years after. Am I bawling this up?" "No, indeed. It's very clear. Go on." "There's not much more. Stephen was married two years ago. He didn't go to Harvard or Groton, like the rest of the Bigelows. M.I.T., I believe. He's an airplane designer at present He married a girl from St. Louis Swedish descent, but social so-cial and all that. A Karen Cristofen. Not much fuss around here about it." "What's that?" He picked up a folded square of paper that had fluttered from her lap to the floor. "Oh, I nearly forgot that. It's a rotogravure cut of Veronica Bigelow Bige-low from the Sunday Herald of a few weeks ago.". McCale unfolded it and spread it flat on the top of the desk. The likeness of a very pretty girl looked up at him. It was a carefully light- i ' " f Duke McCale, private detective, has established an enviable reputation in Boston Bos-ton In a short time by solving some difficult cases. He Is consequenUy surprised sur-prised and chagrined when Mis Adelaide Ade-laide Bigelow, extremely wealthy and aristocratic old lady, engages him to guard the presents during the festivities I surrounding her niece's wedding. McCale accepts the commission only because he senses that Miss Bigelow is afraid of something, and Uiat she wants a competent com-petent detective around the house in case of some outbreak. "If something were stolen, ti something did happen, yon'd have to investigate, wouldn't you?" inquires in-quires Miss Bigelow, meaningfully. McCale Mc-Cale grasps the obvious bint CHAPTER II A nursemaid's ot to a lot of iced-tea iced-tea spoons. "Phooey!" The big young man hitched his long legs over an arm of the chair and snorted snort-ed in irritation. "Holy Mike! What are we broke? I thought we were definitely out for the big stuff no more small time. I run my legs off getting dope on this Val-laincourt Val-laincourt guy and what for? What has the bridegroom got to do with seeing that the friends of. the family fam-ily don't snitch all the silver plate? I suppose you expect him to run around the corner to the hock shop with the punchbowl between the ceremony and the reception." Ann Marriot came in on the last )part of the harangue. She set a coffee percolator on the desk, and .busied herself with cups and saucers. sau-cers. "Keep your shirt on, Tiny," she said to the big fellow. "Duke has a hunch. Why not let him do the talking? We only work here." Rocky made appropriate noises, adding, "So this is a conference?" "What did you think it was the wedding breakfast?" "All right, all right. So Duke has a hunch. Go ahead, master-mind. Go into your, trance and tell us all." McCale helped himself to a sandwich. sand-wich. "There isn't anything definite, defi-nite, Rocky. The old lady Bigelow, aunt of the bride, comes in here to hire special service that of guarding guard-ing the wedding gifts. That's her story. But look here. She doesn't want half a dozen men planted here. She's after only one inconspicuous incon-spicuous man; not for the day of the wedding, but starting now for the duration. That in itself is screwy. Besides that, she doesn't want the police and she's turned down operators from all the big agencies. To top it off. she acts as though the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were tracking her down." Rocky's eyes narrowed. "Skipping "Skip-ping the mythology, maestro, I think I do see a glimmer of light. In other words, she doesn't give a hang if the wedding feast is lousy with kleptomaniacs. She's got other oth-er troubles." "Exactly." "Go to the head of the class," said Ann. "Well, where do we come in?" McCale accepted coffee from Ann and lit a cigarette. He spbke into the first puff of smoke. "You've got me there. I'm not , sure the lady knows herself, but it's certain she wants someone around. We're elected, anyway. So my first move is a file on the family and the dashing bridegroom, just in case. What did you get on Curt Vallaincourt?" Mystery Surrounds Vallaincourt "Not much, I'm afraid." Rocky flipped open a notebook. "Showed up around these parts about a year ago. He's from New York City, or so he says. Definitely not Harvard' nor Blue Book. Seems to have plen- ty of dough. Lives in a swank apartment on the Riverway. Doesn't work. Goes everywhere with the society crowd. The gals all do cartwheels cart-wheels whenever he shows up anywhere. any-where. Anyway, he's marrying twenty million dollars next week. Make anything mysterious out of that?" McCale shrugged. "Plenty if I wanted to let it run away with me." He turned to Ann. "Did you line up the Bigelows for me?" "Well." she began, "the Perkinses 'and the Bigelows go right back-long back-long before the Tea Party it that's the sort of thing you want." "Skip that. Bring us up to date." "Okay. The money all comes from cotton mills in Lowell, and clipper ships and the Oriental trade before that. The Perkinses and the Bigelows intermarried, and so on. Adelaide Bigelow, our client, and her brother, Joel, are and were, respectively, the last of the line. Adelaide never married. Joel married mar-ried twice. His first wife is dead. Is that clear?" "Perfectly." "Joel's second wife. Sybil, is apparently ap-parently not of the royal purple. Her family only seems to go back a generation or two. Probably she was considered fast or nouveau riche or something, as she was a widow when he married her. She's a lot younger than he, too." "Where did you get the nouveau riche stuff?" "Oh, I didn't. Just surmise. In fact, I don't know whether she has any money of her own, or not. He was seventy when he died, five years ago. and she was forty-three then. She had two children by her first marriage, a son, Stephen, and ety of liquor on that table." He shook his head. "I'll wait, I think." He was obsessed with the thought that although her voice was calm, unhurried, there was something empty and trembling in her. She seemed to be watching, too, watching watch-ing the way the firelight flickered across his lean, hard jaw, and reaching out to him in some uncertain un-certain way for strength. Letting the smoke out of his lungs, he said slowly, his voice low, "Perhaps "Per-haps you have something to tell me before the others arrive." She looked up quickly, one fist tightly clenched in her lap. "Oh, no." "Damnation," thought McCale. "What is the matter with this woman? wom-an? Or is it me? Am I getting out of practice? I can usually catch something significant in my own subtle way, but this baffles me. I'll stake my life that there is something some-thing seriously wrong in this room, in this house. Something is going to happen. The Irish in me tells me so. It's crawling up the very small of my back. I've got to have something some-thing to go on." She rose and walked past him to the door, her dress rustling like dry leaves. "I want you to see the wedding gifts," was all she said, closing the door of her mind sharply sharp-ly in his face. A quick black anger flared up in him. His impulse was to stalk from the hejUse, but reason held him, reason rea-son and the disturbing unrest that had remained in his brain and nerves ever since her visit to his office that morning. He followed her downstairs. Heavy double doors intricately carved in designs of fruit opened off the lower hall into an immense dining room. There was faded scenic paper on the walls and huge sideboards against opposite sides of the room. Two exquisite crystal chandeliers, wired now for electricity, electri-city, hung over a long narrow table. Along the dado which outlined the room, a dozen or more Adam chairs arched their dignified backs. Table and sideboards were loaded with silver, lamps, expensive glassware; rare, beautiful, odd, pretentious gifts for the bride and groom. McCale walked around the display dis-play slowly, nodding at Miss Bige-low's Bige-low's remarks: "Very valuable; an heirloom; priceless," and so on. He marveled at the value placed on some simple piece, shuddering at the ostentatiousness of others. He was ready to grant the necessity of protection for this collection, was beginning to push away the odd hunch he had been playing all day, when he felt, rather than saw, a sudden change in his client. A quiver rippled over her frail shoulders. Her hands fluttered helplessly help-lessly as she came to a sudden frozen fro-zen stop. They had reached the far end of the table. He heard her gasp and looked down to see the strangest strang-est gift of all. It was a model, to scale, of & small modernistic house, set in miniature landscaped grounds. Complete with casement windows, sun deck, glass-walled patio, it was an architect's dream of the plus ultra in a civilized dwelling place. There was even a tiny roadster on the curved highway, a swimming pool in the rear, a statue in the small, geometrically plotted garden. gar-den. The model had evidently been on display somewhere, for an engraved en-graved card attached to one corner of the base read: Model of 1942 House The Nest Crystal Cove, Nahant Architect Christopher Storm Beside McCale, Miss Bigelow swayed. Her face blanched. With eyes half-closed, she reached for and held up in her trembling fingers a long legal envelope that had been lying beside the model. From it, she took a folded document, opened it slowly. Over her shoulder, Duke saw it was a deed, ceding the property prop-erty and buildings ; of Christopher Storm at Crystal Cove, Nahant. Massachusetts, to Curtin Vallaincourt. Vallain-court. Beautiful Blonde Enters the Scene Wordlessly, as McCale bit his lip to keep silent, Adelaide Bigelow replaced re-placed the deed in its envelope. She turned slowly, motioning him to leave the room with her. The bright brilliance of "The Firebird" rippled through the gloom of the upper hall on a shaft of yellow yel-low light from the open drawing room door. Someone was playing the Stravinsky and playing it well. McCale, following Miss Bigelow inside, in-side, saw that the room was now occupied by three women and a man. As his client drew him forward, to the woman at the piano. She was exceedingly beautiful in a almost al-most cinematic way. Her body was long and thin and exquisitely draped in a white jersey tea-gown, the wide sleeves of which swung rhythmically rhythmical-ly as she played. The high cheekbones cheek-bones of her face shadowed the faintest oi hollows. You could have swept the thior with her lashes, behind be-hind which glowed humorous blue , yes Her mouth was sensuous, and thick with vermilion lipstick. As ii ail this were not enough, hair t.he color of tlax hung in a long bi.b tn her shoulders. CTO BE CONTl.NL tU She held up a long legal envelope that had been lying beside the model. ed study of the photographer's conception con-ception of how a well-groomed, quiet, aristocratic young woman should pose. "That really doesn't do her justice, jus-tice, I should say," mused Ann. "I understand she has gorgeous red hair and a beautiful figure." "Well, we shall see," said Duke, handing it back to her. "Tuck it away with the rest of the data and transcribe Rocky's notes for a file on Vallaincourt. I'm due at the ancestral mansion for tea with Miss Adelaide at five or thereabouts." "Whee!" It was Rocky. "Noblesse "No-blesse oblige and old pewter mugs." "Quiet, stooge. You and Ann hold the fort here. I don't even know whether our client expects me to take over twenty-four hours duty or not. I'm darn sure she's not really worried about the wedding presents. pres-ents. If by any chance she is, you may have to put on crepe soles and pussyfoot around there through the wee small hours. I'll call you." McCale Senses That Something's Amiss The Bigelow house was on that mound of Beacon street that slopes gently to Charles street and the Gardens. It was almost in the shadow shad-ow of the State House dome and you could have thrown a pebble easily from the front stoop onto the paths of the old Common. Four stories high, its narrow dusty brick facade gave the lie to the roominess and depth within. Adelaide Bigelow was waiting for McCale in the drawing room on the second floor. A butler, old and quiet and unobtrusive, had answered his knock and led him through a dim hallway, preceding him up dark, thickly carpeted stairs. The room was at the front of the house. Heavy red draperies at the wide high windows were already drawn. Frail Miss Bjgelow stood in its exact center, small and patrician, patri-cian, against the background of a huge black marble mantel. He bowed slightly, and as she sank onto a Victorian sofa, he made a half-hearted gesture of fumbling for a cigarette. A clock on the mantel man-tel ticked a long minute as he hesitated hesi-tated to light it. "Please do smoke." Miss Adelaide Ade-laide said in her soft, troubled voice. "This room is rather overpowering, over-powering, isn't it? It has never been changed since the days of my grandparents. It takes the children chil-dren to cheer it up. They should be along soon. There was a rehearsal at the church this afternoon." She sighed. McCale struck a maieh.' thinking that there was something wicked about hereditary possession and what it could do tn people's lives. "If you'd like tn mix yourself a drink. Mr McCaie. Utl re's a vari- |