Newspaper Page Text
gPM
[copyricht-inez-haynes-irwin w.n.u. service|
FRIDAY
All that night I kept going over
and over Doctor Marden’s story. I
kept going over the talk I had had
with Patrick after he left. Caro—
Ace’s child. I could not accustom
myself to that shining signal-light
in my mind. For how glad I was,
I find it hard to say. I had grown
to love Caro. It made me happy
to think of her presiding over the
.beautiful Blaikie house, an integral
part of our life in Satuit. And I
was glad, because that vigorous vi
tality of Ace’s was not lost to us
•nd to the world. I kept wonder
ing that I had not guessed it. But
of course nobody could have
guessed it. Caro bore no resem
blance to Ace—except for the sculp
turesque quality of her bony struc
ture. But as to my conversation
with Patrick—my tired mind con
cerned itself only with that last part
.of it which occurred after Doctor
Marden had gone.
“Well, Marden seems to be the
.tfrird to meet Ace that night. Tor-
Tiano is out as a suspect—unless
he came back. Margaret’s testi
mony fixed that. Margaret’s out
too— unless she came back. Mar
den’s testimony fixed that. But
who’s going to save Marden? He’s
got no alibi and he’s got a grand
motive.”
“You mean, you think he and
Ace quarreled and he killed Ace?”
“I don’t think that. I don’t think
anything. I’m only thinking what a
jury will think. I’m a helluva de
tective. I don’t think Walter killed
Ace. I don’t think Toriano killed
him. I don’t think Margaret killed
him. I don’t think Marden killed
him. The trouble with me I guess
is that I’m too fond of my friends.
Too trusting! I don’t seem to think
anybody can commit murder. Yet
people are committing murder ev
ery day, all about us, in—in a man
ner of speaking—great numbers.
Mary, I’m up against it. I can’t
keep Torriano in the hoose-gow
much longer. Os course he knows;
he’s known from the beginning that
he wasn’t there for keeps. And if
I let him out, I’ve got to make
another pinch. If I don’t, the D.
A. will have to take the case out
of my hands. And then Mac Goon!
You don’t know what the pressure’s
been, Mary. You’ve seen the news
papers, I suppose—country cops
and all that. As it is, if I don’t
clear this thing up, I’m no longer
chief of police. Yes, I’ve got to ar
rest somebody. But by God, who?
Seems to me it’s got to be either
Walter or Marden. Walter’s got an
alibi. According to Molly they
drove about two-thirds of the night.
But then again Molly’s his wife,
and there you are! Mary, I’m too
little a man for this big job. How I
wish I could talk it all over with
Ace!”
“With Ace?” I repeated involun
tarily.
“Actually, I had forgotten for a
moment that Ace was dead. Os
course, he’d been the first I’d have
gone to. Strange, about Ace! Do
you remember, Mary, Robert Lou
is Stevenson said that no woman
had ever loved him ‘for the meat on
his bones.’ Well, if you loved Ace
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllliiilll!l!!!l|!IIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
BLftKELY THEATRE
Thursday, Dec. 24—One Day Only
“1,000 DOLLARS A MINUTE”
Show Starts at 11 A. M.—loc to Everybody
Friday, Dec. 25—One Day Only
“SING, BABY, SING”
with ALICE FAYE and ADOLPHE MENJOU
Matinee 3 O’Clock, running continuously
Mon.-Tues., Dec. 28-29
“LIBELED LADY”
With JEAN HARLOW, MYRNA LOY, WILLIAM
POWELL and SPENCER TRACY
Merry Christmas to All Our Friends from the
Management of The Blakely Theatre
at all, you loved him for the meat
on his bones and for a lot of things
besides. He was a whale of a man,
Ace was. He went crooked toward
the end. Life on the woman side
got too much for him. But he
sure was a man!”
I sighed. Patrick was only say
ing what I had thought myself.
“I wonder,” Patrick went on
meditatively, “if I’m not licked.”
When Patrick appeared Friday
morning he looked, 'or the first
time, haggard. “I didn’t close my
eyes last night,” he admitted. “By
criminy, Mary, I hate to lie down
to this thing. However, I’m giving
myself until tomorrow night. If I
don’t get anything by then, I’ll see
the district attorney and admit I’m
licked. I came over here —well,
I don’t know why I came over. I
have no excuse. But I can’t stand
the P.S. Almost everything I’ve
got about the case, I’ve got here.
And I return every day like the
homing dove.”
“Caro and Hopestill are playing
tennis,” I said vaguely—merely by
way of conversation.
“That seems to have become a |
pretty close friendship in less than
a week” Patrick commented—
vaguely too—also merely in the
way of conversation, I felt.
“She’s only seventeen,” I pointed
out to him. “Hopestill is still in
college.”
“He’s a nice kid,” Patrick went
on. “And so is she! I’d like to
see them—” He did not finish.
Patrick had seated himself in the
hammock, his head back. He
closed his eyes for a moment. Sym
pathetically, I kept silent. Perhaps
he would drift off to sleep. But
into the silence came Sylvia’s
voice. Patrick opened his eyes at
once. His smile brought back all
the life to his face. “Come here,
Sylvia,” he called, “let’s have a
little chin together.”
Sylvia came out onto the piazza.
I remember thinking what a
charming figure she was. She was
wearing one of the little smocked
sleeveless frocks—a pale yellow—
out of which stuck her amusing lit
tle brown sticks of arms. There
were big yellow ribbon bows'on
the ends of her tight braids, and
she carried the eternal Dorinda
Belle, also in yellow.
“Now, young lady, tell me what
you’ve been doing!”
I was glad of the respite—both
for myself and Patrick. I left them
together. I went inside and busied
myself at my desk. I was looking
for a list of books. It had occurred
to me that I might drive Patrick
over to the Satuit library and see
if I could get one of them.
From outside I could hear Syl
via’s little voice. “And then I—”
"And after that—” “And then I
remembered that I left Dorinda
Belle—” “And so I . . . runned
. . . and I found Dorinda Belle
... all cold and wet from the
dew . . . And I put her to sleep
on the hammock and she got all
warm again ...”
Sylvia’s little voice ticked on and
on.
Patrick seemed very silent for an
interval. Then suddenly I heard
the hammock chains creak as he
arose.
EARLY COUNTY NEWS, BLAKELY, GEORGIA
Through the window I saw him
put Sylvia down. Then he came in
to the room. I was still rummag
ing on the desk, going through one
pigeon-hole after another, just as,
striding across the room in what—
even with my back to him—seemed
a new eagerness, he reached my
side.
“Mary,” he said, “I feel like go
ing for a ride. Would you like to
take me off in your car some
where?”
“That’s curious, Patrick,” I an
swered. “It seems almost like a
case of mental telepathy. I was
thinking just at this moment, that
the best thing I could do for both of
us was to go somewhere in the
car. I thought I’d go over to the
library and get a book out.”
Patrick was standing behind me
while I, still bent over the desk,
found the list of books. “What a
strange color ink!” he commented.
“I never knew you to use green
ink before.”
“No, I never have used it before.
I made this list out at Bruce Hex
son’s camp and I used his fountain
pen. You know he’s a great stu
dent. The day I went to break the
news of Ace’s death to him, I felt
that it might soothe him a little
to talk about books. He’s a tre
mendous reader, you know. He’s
one of those people who is full of
lore. He likes curious, out-of-the
way books.”
“Let’s go,” Patrick exclaimed,
and I fancied there was a sudden
impatience in his tone.
Presently we were spinning
across the causeway. “Any pref
erence?” I asked Patrick idly when;
we came to the crossroads.
“Let’s go over and see Bruce ■
Hexson,” Patrick suggested. “He
must be over the worst of that cold.
He’s a wise guy. I have half a
mind to lay the whole story before
him and ask his advice.”
I turned to the left in the direc
tion of the camp.
Patrick seemed to have recov
ered his animation. He talked
steadily all the time. Well he
might, for never had Satuit
spawned a more perfect day. Lan
gorous warmth of middle August
with a sky, a sheet of melting
blue loaded with argosies of cloud.
In the air the brisk smell of salt
marsh and the pungent odor of
tansy.
Once in a while, a tree or a bush
waved a fleck of autumn coloring.
Blackberry bushes by the road
showed fine, minnikin purply-black
clusters of fruit. Milkweed was
breaking and puffing into milk-white
silk. Goldenrod spired everywhere.
“In all your travels, Mary
Avery,” Patrick asked me once,
“have you ever seen anything more
beautiful than Satuit?”
“No, never, Patrick! Paris is
not more beautiful. Florence is not
more beautiful. Rome is not more
beautiful! Venice—” We both
laughed and abandoned our thesis.
When we got to the end of the
lane which led to the cleared area
about the camp, Patrick said,
“Would you mind waiting here
alone for a few munites, Mary?
There are one or two things I’d
like to talk over with Bruce alone.
It’s man talk. I would not mind
your being about, but I think he’d
be more comfortable if you weren’t
there.”
“Os course!” I agreed. “There’s
no reason why I should go inside at
all. I can sit here until you come
out.”
“Oh well, that’s not necessary,”
Patrick insisted. He climbed out
of the car.
I was returning to the library Eli
nor Wylie’s “The Orphan Angel.
Idly I opened at the first page. My
eyes dropped onto a phrase in the
second paragraph which still re
echoed in beauty in my mind —“the
aerial composure of a cloud.” I
closed the book over this morsel.
With my eyes on Patrick’s retreat
ing figure, I rolled it, figuratively
speaking, over and over on the
tongue of my mind. And yet my
eyes followed Patrick, noting sub
consciously the alertness of his
graceful, springing step. I remem
bered, I recalled, that Ace Blaikie
had always used in regard to Pat
rick a word that he had picked up
in the South—“jimpriculate.” I
could never get from Ace quite
what jimpriculate meant. It seemed
to indicate a vague combination of
slenderness, strength, grace and
style. I remember noting how fresh
Patrick’s khaki uniform always
looked.
The camp was singularly quiet.
Ordinarily, at the sound of an auto
mobile, either Adah or Berry, or
both, appeared at the door. Nei-
» ON YOUR RADIO! I
Natural Chilean Nitrate M
■ PRESENTS V
I UNCLE NATCHEL I
f AND SONNY I
Famous Natural Nitrate fl
B Calendar Characters fl
B BE SURE AND LISTEN! 1
■ STATIONS 1
■I WAPI Tues, and Thun. 12:45 P.M. fl
fl WSFA Tues, and Thun. 12:15 P.M. fl
fl WFLA Mon. and Wed. 530 P.M. fl
B WSB Tue. and Thur. (C.T ) 4:45 P.M. B
fl* WWL Tues, and Thun. 12:45 P.M. fl
fl WBT Tues, and Thun. 12:45 P.M.
fl WPTF Tues, and Thun. 5:15 P.M. fl
B WIS Tues, and Thun. 5:45 P.M. fl
B WRVA Mon. and Wed. 12:10 P.M. fl
M WJDX Tues, and Thun. 12:45 P.M. fl
fl WMC Tues, and Thun. 1230 P.M. ffl
KWKH Mon. and Wed. 12:45 P.M. &
ther appeared today. Terhaps they
were working out back. It seemed
to me that I saw a flutter of curtain
at the window. But to this day I
cannot be sure; yet Bruce must
have looked out to see who was
coming. But very clearly I heard,
just as Patrick was nearing the
house, the sound of a shot.
That sound did not perturb me. |
Instantly I jumped to the conclusion
that Berry had killed one of the ■
noisome starlings on which we
were all warring. But apparently
Patrick did not think of starlings,
for instantly he broke into a run.
As I have said before, Patrick had
always been an all-round athlete
and he could sprint. With no tremor
“Bruce Hexson Has Just Com
mitted Suicide.”
of apprehension I watched him pull
open the piazza door, rush over
the piazza and into the house.
I sat there idly waiting and idly
watching the sparkling plane of
the ocean. I can’t remember how
many moments went by. Not
many, but presently, Patrick ap
peared, came running toward me.
I must have realized suddenly that
he was ghastly; for afterwards my
hands ached from a terrific grip on
the wheel.
When Patrick was within speak
ing distance, he called, “Mary,
Bruce Hexson has just committed
suicide. He killed Ace Blaikie.”
I remember only a frightful
sense of weakness and a swirling
darkness. Into both came Patrick’s
voice. “Don’t faint, Mary! For
God’s sake don’t f_int now! I
need you!”
I didn’t faint. When Patrick,
in what seemed a series of leaps,
reached the car, the blackness had
disappeared, the weakness had
gone.
“He killed himself when he saw
me coming,” Patrick announced
grimly. “His confession lies on
his desk. It begins: ‘I killed Ace
Blaikie.’ Now get back home at
once, Mary. I don’t want the re
porters hounding you again. I’ll
walk slowly back to the cabin and
telephone the P.S. That will give
you five minutes’ start.”
I don’t know whether the lights
were with me or against me on the
trip home. All I know is that I
didn’t stop for anything. Some of
our Satuit traffic policemen, how
ever, are silent and in the morning
our side roads are empty. I have
an idea that I sped through red
lights as casually as through
green.
Perhaps Sarah Darbe knows the
sound of my machine. At any rate
she is always at the door to help
me out, to gather up my bundle:
and to give me the telephone mes
sages that have accumulated dur
ing my absence. She saw at once
that something had happened and
I saw that she saw. But she asked
no questions, made no comment. I
volunteered nothing, but I clung to
her as we walked through the hall
and across the floor of my living
room to the door leading onto the
piazza.
There I was confronted by a
strange picture.
Seated in one of the hammocks
were Caro and Hopestill. They sat
close, bolt upright, her hand
clasped tightly in his. They were
looking straight ahead. It was ob
vious that they had not heard the
car or my footsteps.
They started apart and then their
hands came together again
clasped. I tottered through the
door. They saw at once that some
thing cataclysmic had happened.
They leaped to their feet, hurried
toward-me.
“What is it, Aunt Mary?” Hope
still asked. “Dear Mrs. Avery!”
Caro quavered, “what has hap
pened?”
“Some water, Sarah!”
Sarah appeared with a glass of
water. I drank it to the last drop.
“Listen, both of you—and listen,
Sarah!” Even I myself caught the
strange hollow resonance of my
voice. “And don’t tell anybody yet!
I have just come from Bruce Hex
son’s camp. He shot himself just
as I got there. He’s dead. He
killed Ace Blaikie. He’s left a con
fession.”
For an instant Hopestill said
nothing. Then “Great God!” he
Good Advice from Wise Old
SANTA CLAUS
BUY FROM
FRYER’S
Everything good to eat for
Christmas season. Shop
ping will be made easy if
you visit Fryer’s Market—
Old Santa’s headquarters. K
Complete line of Gro
ceries, Fruits, Candies, Cakes, Nuts, Raisins
and Confectioneries for Santa to bring the
little folks. Come to see us. We’ve got the
goods, and our prices are reasonable.
A A, A.A.A.A
FRYER’S MARKET
muttered.
Caro burst into tears. “Oh how
horrible!” she exclaimed. “How
horrible!” Her voice rounded and
deepened with her emotion. But
as she went on repeating, “Horri
ble! Horrible! Horrible!” that emo
tion went out of her voice and an
other came in its place—relief. “Oh
as long as it had to come out, dear
Mrs. Avery, I’m glad that it has
come out now. For how I suffered
all night long! I have been so
afraid that they would arrest my
grandfather. Grandfather told me
the whole story last night. I know
now that my real name is Caroline
Blaikie and that I’m Ace Blaikie’s
daughter, but I cannot realize it
yet. I have scarcely thought about
it, for last night grandfather told
me that I must be prepared at
any moment for his arrest. He
was so exhausted that he went
straight to bed. I asked him if
I could tell Hopestill and he said
that I could. We’ve been talking it
over this whole morning long. We
could see no way out —but what a
comfort Hopestill’s been to me.
And now in an instant everything
is changed. Grandfather is out of
all danger. But this is horribly self
ish— Why did Bruce Hexson kill
—my father?”
“I know no more about it than
you do, my dear child,” I an
swered. “We shall all know soon,
however.”
“I can wait,” Caro commented
in a kind of dreamy apathy. “I
want to feel for awhile this re
lease from that awful strain.”
“Take her for a drive, Hopestill,”
I begged.
For myself, I went upstairs to
my room. I have a vague recol
lection that Sarah Darbe helped
me to undress. When I sank into
the cool sheets, the mid-day sun
was flaring in the blue sky. And
then nature, reinforced by this sec
ond horrifying shock, proceeded to
take her toll. I sank immediately
into a coma so thick—it was
though I had been knocked on the
head, chloroformed ... At any
rate I did not open my eyes until
the morning sun was streaming in
to the room.
(To be continued next week)
Strongest Will Rule
Seemingly, the only hiw possible be
tween nations is the rule of the
stronger.
SHERIFF’S SALE
GEORGIA—EarIy County:
There will be sold by the under
signed, before the court house door
in the City of Blakely, Early county,
Georgia, within the legal hours of
sale, to the highest bidder for cash,
on the First Tuesday in January,
1937, the following described prop
erty, to-wit:
A one-third undivided interest in
and to lots of land Nos. 153, 168,
193 and 194, lying east of Spring
Creek, in the 6th land district of
Early county, Ga., said tract con
taining 662 acres, more or less; also
a one-seventh undivided interest in
and to lots of land Nos. 153, 168,
193, and 194 lying east of Spring
Creek in the 6th land district of Ear
ly county, Ga., said tract containing
662 acres, more or less; also that
part of lot of land No. 208 lying
north of a line from east to
west through the center of said
lot and west of the public road from
Arlington to Damascus, said tract
containing 25 acres, more or less, in
the 6th land district of Early coun
ty, Ga.; also all of lot of land No.
207 except 37 1-2 acres in the south
west corner of said lot, containing
212 1-2 acres, more or less, and in
the 6th land district of Early coun
ty, Ga.
Levied on and to be sold as the
property of Miss Maggie Daniels, as
administratrix of Estate of J. B.
Daniels, deceased, to satisfy a fl. fa.
issued from the City Court of Blake
ly in favor of T. G. Avery, as admr.
of Estate of Mrs. T. G. Avery, de
ceased, vs. said Miss Maggie Daniels,
as admx. of Estate of J. B. Daniels,
deceased. Tenant in possession no
i tified. This December 8, 1936.
i S. W. HOWELL, Sheriff.
CITATION
GEORGIA, Early County:
To Whom It May Concern:
Mrs. P. W. Hart, of said State,
having, in proper form, applied for
permanent letters of administration
on the estate of B. G. Holly, late of
said County, deceased, this is to cite
all and singular the creditors and
next of kin of B. G. Holly, deceased,
to be and appear at the Court of
Ordinary of said County, at the
January term, 1937, and show cause,
if any they have or can, why per
manent letters of administration
should not be granted to said Mrs.
P. W. Hart on said estate.
Witness my official signature,
this Bth day of December, 1936.
D. C. MORGAN, Ordinary.
ADMINISTRATOR’S SALE
GEORGIA—EarIy County:
By virtue of an order from the
court of Ordinary of Early County,
will be sold, at public outcry, on the
First Tuesday in January, 1937, at
the court-house door in said county,
between the legal hours of sale, the
following described lands: 42 acres
of land out of a 50 acre tract jn
the northeast corner of lot of land
number 109 in the 6th district of
Early County, Georgia, lying south
of the Blakely and Damascus road,
and bounded on the north by lands
of C. C. Willis, on the south by
lands of E. C. McDowell, on the
east by lands of Mrs. W. M. Lewis,
on the west by lands of E. C. Mc-
Dowell, the same to be sold for cash.
This Bth day of December, 1936.
C. C. WILLIS,
Admr. of J. D. Willis Estate.
THE SIRMONS ESTATE
HAS FOR SALE THE FOLLOWING
PROPERTY:
House and lot where M. W.
Branch now lives,
House and lot where S. Starr now
lives,
Vacant lot south of D. C. Sanders
dwelling,
Vacant mercantile lot in Damas
cus, Ga.,
775 acres land known as Hall
place, about seven miles south of
Arlington, in Early county, east side
Arlington-Damascus public road; al
so:
Five (5) shares stock in Arling
ton Warehouse Company.
Terms if desired.
And and all interested parties will
please communicate with Adminis
trators Estate C. W. Sirmons.
B. W. FORTSON,
R. O. McNAIR,
B. C. RAY,
Executors Will C. W. Sirmons.
NOTICE TO PUBLIC
You are hereby notified not to
haul wood or otherwise trespass on
the land of the C. Hammond estate.
A. C. HAMMOND. 19-2 t
FOR SALE—2SO acres of land, on
Bluffton road, eight miles from
Blakely, a real bargain. H. V. KIL
LEBREW, care Albany Hardware &
Mills Co., Albany, Ga.
BLAKELY CHAPTER 44 R. A. M.
Blakely Chapter 44
W Royal Arch Masons
meets on the second
and fourth Monday
nights of each month
I at 8 o’clock. Visiting
companions invited.
C. E. Martin,
High Priest.
J. G. Standifer,
Secretary.