Ask Me Another
0 A General Quiz
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
mn"MnHWTiww
1. How many times does one
round a 220-yard track to make a
mile?
2. Why are detectives some
k times called sleuths?
3. What three oceans form part
of the boundary of Canada?
4. The son of what famous poet
gerved many years on the United
States Supreme court?
5. What is a flageolet?
0. Who were the “grand mo
guls”?
7. Of what South American
country is Montevideo the capital?
8. What is a marten?
9. Who was Jean Ingelow?
10. What was the “Wilmot Pro
viso”?
Answers
1. Eight.
2. From sleuth, meaning track,
as in sleuthhound.
3. Atlantic, Arctic and Pacific.
4. Oliver Wendell Holmes.
5. A flute-like musical instru
ment.
6. Emperors of Delhi.
7. Uruguay.
8. A fur-bearing mammal.
9. An English poet and story
writer (1820-1897).
10. A proposal to bar slavery
from territory obtained from
Mexico.
Censure Forewarns
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WNU—U 49—36
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S.S.VANDINE W.N.U, SERVICE.
CHAPTER I
—1—
There were two reasons why the
terrible and. in many ways, incredi
ble Garden murder case—which
took place in the early spring fol
lowing the spectacular Casino mur
der case—was so designated. In
the first place, the scene of this
tragedy was the penthouse home
of Professor Ephraim Garden, the
great experimental chemist of Stuy
vesant university; and secondly, the
exact situs criminis was the beauti
ful private roof-garden over the
apartment itself.
It was both a peculiar and im
plausible affair, and one so cleverly
planned that only by the merest
accident—or perhaps, I should say
a fortuitous intervention—v.as it dis
covered at all.
The Garden murder case involved
a curious and anomalous mixture
of passion, avarice, ambition and
horse-racing. There was an admix
ture of hate, also; but this potent
and blinding element was, I imag
ine, an understandable outgrowth
of the other factors.
The beginning of the case came
on the night of April 13. It was one
of those mild evenings that we often
experience in early spring following
a spell of harsh dampness, when
all the remaining traces of winter
finally capitulate to the inevitable
seasonal changes. There was a
mellow softness in the air, a sud
den perfume from the burgeoning
life of nature—the kind of atmos
phere that makes one lackadaisical,
and wistful and, at the same time,
stimulates one’s imagination.
I mention this seemingly irrele
vant fact because I have good rea
son to believe these meteorological
conditions had much to do with the
startling event# that were imminent
that night and which were to break
forth, in all their horror, before an
other 24 hours had passed.
And I believe that the season,
with all its subtle innuendoes, was
the real explanation of the change
that came over Vance himself dur
ing his investigation of the crime.
Up to that time I had never con
sidered Vance a man of any deep
personal emotion, except in so far
as children and animals and his in
timate masculine friendships were
concerned. He had always im
pressed me as a man so highly
mentalized, so cynicai and imper
sonal in his attitude toward life,
that an irrational human weakness
like romance would be alien to his
nature. But in the course of his
deft inquiry into the murders in
Professor Garden's penthouse, I
saw, for the first time, another and
softer side of his character. Vance
was never a happy man in the
conventional sense; but after the
Garden murder case there were evi
dences of an even deeper loneliness
in his sensitive nature.
As I have said, the case opened—
so far as Vance was concerned with
it—on the night of April 13. John
F-X. Markham, then district attor
ney of New York county, had dined
with Vance at his apartment in
East Thirty-eighth street. The din
ner had been excellent—as all of
Vance’s dinners were—and at ten
o’clock the three of us were sitting
in the comfortable library.
Vance and Markham had been
discussing crime waves in a desul
tory manner. There had been a
mild disagreement, Vance discount
ing the theory that crime waves
are calculable, and holding that
crime is entirely personal and there
fore incompatible with generaliza
tions or laws.
It was in the midst of this dis
cussion that Currie, Vance’s old
English butler and majordomo, ap
peared at the library door. I no
ticed that he seemed nervous and
ill at ease as he waited for Vance
to finish speaking; and I think
Vance, too, sensed something un
usual in the man’s attitude, for
he stopped speaking rather abruptly
and turned.
“What is it, Currie? Have you
seen a ghost, are there burglars in
the house?”
“I have just had a telephone call,
sir," the old man answered, endeav
oring to restrain the excitement in
his voice.
“Not bad news from abroad?”
Vance asked sympathetically.
“Oh, no, sir; it wasn’t anything
for me. There was a gentleman on
the phone—”
Vance lifted his eyebrows and
smiled faintly.
“A gentleman, Currie?”
“He spoke like a gentleman, sir.
He was certainly no ordinary per
son. He had a cultured voice, sir,
and—”
“Since your instinct has gone so
far,” Vance interrupted, “perhaps
you can tell me the gentleman’s
age?”
“I should say he was middle-aged,
or perhaps a little beyond,” Currie
ventured. "His voice sounded ma
ture and dignified and judicial.”
"Excellent!” Vance crushed out
his cigarette. "And what was the
object of this dignified, middle-aged
gentleman’s call? Did he ask to
speak to me or give you his name?”
A worried look came into Cur
rie’s eyes as he shook hit bead.
“No, sir. That’s the strange part
of it. He said he did not wish to
speak to you personally, and he
would not tell me his name. But he
asked me to give you a message.
He was very precise about it and
made me write it down word for
word and then repeat it. And the
1 moment I had done so he hung up
; the receiver.” Currie stepped for
ward. “Here’s the message, sir."
Vance took it and nodded a dis
missal. Then he adjusteu his mon
ocle and held the slip of paper un
der the light of the table lamp.
1 Markham and I both watched him
closely, for the incident was un
usual, to say the least. After a
hasty reading of the paper he gazed
off into space, and a clouded look
came into his eyes. He read the
message again, with more care, and
sank back into his chair.
“My word!” he murmured. "Most
extr’ordin’ry. It's quite intelligible,
however, don’t y’ know. But I’m
dashed if I can see the connec
tion
Markham was annoyed. “Is it a
secret?” he asked testily. “Or are
you merely in one of your Delphic
oracle moods?”
Vance glanced toward mm con
tritely.
“Forgive me, Markham. My mind
automatically went off on a train
of thought. Sorry—really.” He
held the paper again under the light.
“This is the message that Currie so
meticulously took down: ‘There is
a most disturbing psychological
tension of Professor Ephraim Gar
den’s apartment, which resists di
agnosis. Read up on radioactive
sodium. See Book I of the Aeneid,
line 875, Equanimity is essential.’
. . . Curious—eh, what”
“It sounds a little crazy to me,”
Markham grunted. “Are you trou
bled much with cranks?"
“Oh, this is no crank,” Vance as
sured him. “It’s puzzlin’, I admit;
but it’s quite lucid.”
Markham sniffed skeptically.
“What, in the name of Heaven,
have a professor and sodium and
the Aeneid to do with one another?”
Vance was frowning as he reached
into the humidor for one of his
beloved cigarettes with a delibera
tion which indicated a mental ten
sion. Slowly he lighted the cigarette.
After a deep inhalation he an
swered.
“Ephraim Garden of whom you
surely must have heard from time
to time, is one of the best-known
men in chemical research in this
country. Just now, I believe, he’s
professor of chemistry at Stuyve
sant university—that could be veri
fied in Who’s Who. But it doesn’t
matter. His latest researches have
been directed along the lines of
radioactive sodium. An amazin’ dis
covery, Markham. Made by Doctor
Ernest O. Lawrence, of the Univer
sity of California, and two of his
colleagues there, Doctors Hender
son and McMillan. This new radio
active sodium has opened up new
fields of research in cancer thera
py—indeed, it may prove some day
to be the long-looked-for cure for
cancer. The new gamma radiation
of this sodium is more penetrating
than any ever before obtained. On
the other hand, radium and radio
active substances can be very dan
gerous if diffused into the normal
tissues of the body and through the
blood stream.
“That Is all very fascinating,’'
Markham commented, sarcastical
ly. “But what has it to do with you,
or with trouble in the Garden home?
And what could it possibly have to
do with the Aeneid? They didn’t
have radioactive sodium in the time
of Aeneas."
“Markham old dear, I’m no Chal
dean. I haven’t the groggiest no
tion wherein the situation concerns
either me or Aeneas, except that I
happen to know the Garden family
slightly. But I’ve a vague feeling
about that particular book of the
Aeneid. As I recall, it contains one
of the greatest descriptions of a
battle in all ancient literature. But
let’s see ...”
Vance rose quickly and went to
the section of his book-shelves de
voted to the classics, and, after a
few moments’ search, took down a
small red volume and began to rif
fle the pages. He ran his eye swift
ly down a page near the end of the
volume and after a minute’s perusal
came back to his chair with the
book, nodding his head compre
hensively, as if in answer to some
question he had inwardly asked
himself.
“The passage referred to, Mark
ham," he said after a moment, “is
not exactly what I had in mind. But
it may be even more significant.
It’s the famous onomatopoeic Quad
rupedumque putrem cursu quatit
ungula campum—meanin’, more or
less literally: “And in their gal
loping course the horsehoof shakes
the crumbling plain.”
Markham took the cigar from his
mouth and looked at Vance with
undisguised annoyance.
“You're merely working up a
mystery. You'll be telling me next
that the Trojans had something to
do with this professor of chemistry
and his radioactive sodium.”
“No, oh, no.” Vance was in an
unusually serious mood. “Not the
Markham Snorted, “That May
Make Sense to Yon.”
Trojans. But the galloping horses
perhaps."
Markham snorted. “That may
make sense to you.”
“Nbt altogether," returned Vance,
critically contemplating the end of
his cigarette. “TTiere is, neverthe
less, the vague outline of a pattern
here. You see, young Floyd Gar
den, the professor’s only offspring,
and his cousin a puny chap named
Woode Swift—he’s quite an intimate
member of the Garden household, I
believe—are addicted to the ponies.
Quite a prevalent disease, by the
way, Markham. They’re both in
terested in sports in general—prob
ably the normal reaction to their
professorial and ecclesiastical fore
bears: young Swift’s father, who has
now gone to his Maker, was a D.D.
of sorts. I used to see both young
Johnnies at Kinkaid’s Casino occa
sionally. But the galloping horses
are their passion now. And they’re
the nucleus of a group of young
aristocrats who spend their after
noons mainly in the futile attempt
to guess which horses are going to
come in first at the various tracks."
“You know this Floyd Garden
well?”
Vance nodded. “Fairly well. He’s
a member of the Far Meadows club
and I’ve often played polo with him.
He’s a five-goaler and owns a couple
of thd best ponies in the country. I
tried to buy one of them from him
once—but that’s beside the point
The fact is. young Garden has in
vited me on several occasions to
join him and his little group at the
apartment when the out-of-town
races were on. It seems he has a
direct loud-speaker service from all
the tracks, like many of the horse
fanatics. The professor disapproves,
in a mild way, but he raises no
serious objections because Mrs.
Garden is rather inclined to sit in
and take her chances on a horse
now and then.”
“Have you ever accepted his In
vitation?” asked Markham.
. “No,” Vance told him. Then he
glanced up with a far-away-look in
his eyes. “But I think it might be
an excellent idea.”
“Come, come, Vance!” protested
Markham. "Even if you see some
cryptic relationship between the dis
connected items of this message
you’ve just received, how, in the
name of Heaven, can you take it
seriously?”
Vance drew deeply on his ciga
rette and waited a moment before
answering.
"You have overlooked one phrase
in the message: ’Equanimity is es
sential,’ he said at length. "One of
the great race-horses of today hap
pens to be named Equanimity. He
belongs in the company of such im
l mortals of the turf as Man o’ War,
Exterminator, Gallant Fox, and
Reigh Count. Furthermore, Equa
nimity is running in the Rivermont
Handicap tomorrow.”
"Still I see no reason to take the
matter seriously,” Markham ob
jected.
Vance ignored the comment and
added “Moreover, Doctor Miles
Siefert told me at the club the
other day that Mrs. Garden had
been quite ill for some time with a
mysterious malady.”
Markham shifted in his chair and
broke the ashes from his cigar.
“The affair gets more muddled
by the minute,” he remarked irrita
bly. "What’s the connection be
tween all these commonplace data
and that precious phone message of
yours?"
“I happen to know,” Vance an
swered slowly, “who sent me this
message.”
“Ah, yes?” Markham was obvi
ously skeptical.
“Quite. It was Doctor Siefert.”
Markham showed a sudden in
terest.
"Would you care to enlighten me
as to how you arrived at this con
clusion?” he asked in a satirical
voice.
"It was not difficult,” Vance an
swered, rising and standing before
the empty hearth, with one arm
resting on the mantel. “To begin
with, I was not called to the tele
phone personally. Why? Because it
was some one 1 know. To continue,
the language of the message bears
the earmarks of the medical pro
fession. ‘Psychological tension’ and
‘resists diagnosis’ are not phrases
ordinarily used by the layman, al
though they consist of commonplace
enough words. To go another step;
the message obviously assumes that
I am more or less acquainted with
the Garden household and the race
track passion of young Garden.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Macaroni Club Figured
in "Yankee Doodle" Song
The word "macaroni” in the song,
"Yankee Doodle” is more than
merely nonsense. It is a remnant
of eighteenth century English slang,
declares a writer in the Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
About 1772 a group of young Eng
lishmen of wealth and leisure, most
of whom had spent considerable
time on the continent and particu
larly in Italy, formed a fashionable
organization which they called the
Macaroni club. The name was taken
from the fact that as one of their
peculiarities or individualities, they
served macaroni at the club din
ners. The dish was then little known
in England, and was practically in
troduced in that country by the
Macaroni club.
The Macaronis also sought for
singularity in dress and manners.
They wore immense knot3 of artifi
cial hair, projecting behind very
small cocked hats; carried walking
sticks adorned with tassels oi bright
colors, and affected very tight jack
ets and knee breeches. "Macaroni"
soon came to be a derisive term
for an effete man, but in its earliest
popular use it had something of the
suggestion of such expressions as
"ritzy” and “high hat.”
BEGINNING
IN THIS ISSUE . . .
ii i m 111
■
THE GARDEN
MHRDER CASE’
mini!
ilium
/. f. VAN DINE’/
Newest iBhito Vance
Murder Mystery
mum
ilium
DON’T MISS A
SINGLE INSTALLMENT!
c^AfafMa # JAomat -»
□AM LINCOLN walked slowly
along the street gazing into
store windows. An icy wind
caught him at the corners but he
hurried across to the next curb in
tent on his mental shopping.
He was thinking hard of Cora,
too. Though not a word had been
spoken between them on the sub
ject, it was quite understood that
he should buy her warm gloves, a
warm sweater and stockings for
Christmas. He'd saved a fair
Amount for this very purpose.
When you gave up your city living
for the country, you thought in
terms of wool. Cora needed all
these things. Her gloves were
worn down to thin spots. Her
sweater had been mended a good
many times and her stockings—
well, Cora just laughed about them.
Cora would. She had made fun of
every hard thing about changing
their home, from the dreadful
wheezy pump in the kitchen, to the
way the floors slanted in the bed
rooms, so that no pencil would stay
on a table, and books continually
slid off on the floor. Cora was a
thoroughbred and a good sport.
Sam looked at a green sweater.
That would be becoming to Cora’s
light curls. Or that cheerful red
one. Nice on snowy winter morn
ings. The very chickadees would
sing with pleasure at sight of her
in that sweater. He took a few
steps toward the shop door when
his eye fell on a black-and-yellow
silk kimono.
Of course he would not get it;
just inquire the price so that he
might look at it.
The moment Sam touched a
reverent hand to the exquisite silk
he was lost. Thrifty, hard-working
Sam! How could he have done
such a thing? And so calmly, too.
“Please wrap it up," he had said.
The price had been reduced in or
der to sell quickly. He walked out
of the shop with the light bundle
under his arm, and slunk by win
dows filled with warm woolen
clothes . . . the kind Cora so sore
ly needed.
All the way home on the train
his heart sank lower and lower. He
“You’re So Lovely I Want to Kiss
You Very Hard."
felt so chilled and miserable at
the thought of his weak behavior,
that Cora rushed at him as he
opened the door, exclaiming, "My
dear, what dreadful thing has hap
pened to you?”
They had an excellent if frugal
dinner. Cora chatted happily of
this and that, looking unusually
pretty and gay. Sam tried to meet
her laughter, but actually shivered
along his spine. Idiot1 Kqoll
Wretched unspeakable lunatic that
he was! Would a yellow-and-black
Chinese kimono keep Cora warm?
It would not.
Justice demanded that he con
fess. Cora would be kind, and that
would hurt more than anything.
Cora would be kind . . . and keep
right on feeling cold on the crisp
mornings after Christmas. But he
must do it . . . muddle through
it somehow.
After dinner he came close to
Cora muttering something about a
gift, and how darned sorry he was
. . . and please, please not to look
at him so sweetly.
Cora unwrapped the bundle. Sam
waited. The lovely shining thing
fell to the floor with the lights
gleaming on it.
“Oh ... oh ... ! I never in
all my life saw anything so magnifi
cent! For me? Surely, surely not for
me, Sam? But how I'd adore it!
I’m sure I wouldn’t mind anything
if I knew such a gorgeous garment
were hanging in my closet. But of
course you’re teasing me ...”
“No,” said Sam heavily, “it’s
your Christmas present. I feel like
a cad. I know you need the warm
things . . . don’t be so darned
sweet about it!” he commanded
crossly.
Cora flung on the robe, and threw
her arms around Sam’s neck. “I
don’t know why you’re acting this
silly way . . . but if you’re so
dead set on warm things ... a
whole box came this afternoon
from Uncle Horace.”
Sam sank weakly into a chair.
•‘You're so lovely I want to kiss
you very hard.”
‘‘Why not?” inquired Cora, re
splendent in the yellow-and-black
kimono. “This is simply the most
wonderful thing you ever did for
me.”
© Western Newspaper Union.
Or INTEREST TO I
THE HOUSEWIFE 1
Cane-bottomed chair seats can
be tightened up by washing them
in a weak solution of salt water
and then drying in the open air.
* * *
Radiators and steam pipes will
be less noticeable in a room if
they are painted the same color of
the walls or wood trim.
• • •
Potatoes used in salad should
be thoroughly chilled and with
sharp knife cut into half-inch dice.
Add rest of ingredients and mix
with fork. This will aid in pre
venting salad from becoming
"mushy.”
• • •
Chocolate stains may be re
moved from table linen by sprink
ling the stain with borax, then
pouring boiling water through the
linen.
* * •
When sending a book through
the mail cut corners off stiff en
velopes and put on book corners
Protected in this way corners wih
not bend.
• • *
Parsley for potatoes and salads
will keep bright and fresh in color
if scalded before mincing.
• • •
French fried potatoes will be
better if the sliced spuds are al
lowed to stand in cold water at
least an hour before cooking.
© Associated Newspaper*.—WNU Service
Making the Barber
Feel Right at Home
"Steak and spuds,” rasped out
the famished customer.
"Yes, sir,” said the waiter, "and
how about lamb chops and peas?”
"No, I want steak.”
"How about some nice beef?”
"No; steak,” said the customer.
"Crab salad, or perhaps our
pork pie?” smiled the othe-.
"I ordered steak—”
Just then the manager inter
vened.
"What is all this uonsense, wait
er?” he asked. "I distinctly heard
this gentleman say steak.”
“That’s all right, sir,” replied
the waiter. "He’s my barber.”—
Everybody’s.
DON’T WAIT
FOR A COLD
1. Keep your head clear
2. Protect your throat
3. Help build up
YOUR ALKALINE RESERVE
LUDEN’SiM
Where Virtue Prospers
Good nature is the very air of
a good mind; the sign of a large
and generous soul, and the pecu
liar soil in which virtue prospers.
—Goodman.
I' DARLING. WIU. *0U
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TU
TUMS A(
ANTACID
NOTALAXA
"Quotations"
Fiction is truth with its face lifted.
—Rex Beach.
It is women rather than men, who
are unfair to women.—Fannie Hurst.
Immorality, like war, is a state of
abnormality. Slowly but surely we
urc swinging back to normality once
more.—Count Keyserling.
Great beauty is as inspiring as
great music or great architecture.—
Gertrude Atherton.
Poverty is one of the major curses
of mankind and we must wage tire
less war against it.—Harry Emerson
F osdick.
It has been mostly in times of
peril and need that great works of
progress have come into being.—
Albert Einstein.
