SYNOPSIS
David Mallory, in search of newspaper
work In New York, is forced to accept a
Job as switch-board operator in a swank
apartment house, managed by officious
Timothy Higgins. There David meets
Miss Agatha Paget, a crippled old lady,
and her charming niece, Allegra. One
day, talking with Higgins in the lobby.
David is alarmed by a piercing scream.
David finds the scream came from the
Ferriter apartment, not far from the
Pagets'. The Ferriters include Lyon and
Everett, and their sister. lone. Everett,
a genaloglst, is helping Agatha Paget
write a book about her blue-blooded an
cestors. Inside the apartment they find
a black-bearded man—dead. No weapon
can be found. The police arrive.
CHAPTER III—Continued
“It wasn’t completed,” Shannon
replied. “If it had been we’d have
been here an hour sooner. He was
calling Police Headquarters when he
was killed.”
He plumped into his chair as
though the weight of jumbled facts
had pushed him over.
“From three-thirty on, there was
someone in the hall all the while?”
“I think so. I left Higgins there
when I brought Miss Paget upstairs.
Hoyt was there when I went down
again.”
“And neither of them saw anyone
go out,” he snarled like the victim
of a practical joke. "And you
didn't?”
“No.”
He jumped up and began to walk
the room, his jaw hard. Miss Aga
tha, leaning forward in her chair,
watched him with the interest of a
spectator at play.
“Cfould anyone leave without pass
ing through the foyer?” Shannon
threw at me.
"There's the fire escape,” I sug
gested, "or the dumb-waiter.”
"Thanks,” he said savagely. “The
fire escape hasn’t been used in
months. I happened to think of that.
And the dumb-waiter rope broke this
morning and that tub of lard Hig
gins hasn’t fixed it yet. Yet some
body stabbed that guy next door and
got away. How?”
"Stabbed him with what?" I asked
and only made him angrier.
"If I knew,” he squalled, "I'd not
be suffering here. A knife, you goof.
A knife that was in this.”
He darted to the desk and held a
leather sheath, blackened by long
wear, up before me.
"Ever see that before?” he de
manded and, scarcely waiting for
my denial, plunged on. "We found
this under Blackbeard’s armpit—
empty. Where’s the knife? Gone
with the murderer.”
The hands he ran so frantically
through his reddish gray hair
seemed at last to control his mind.
He asked me suddenly:
"Higgins had a key to that flat?”
"Yes.”
"Anyone else beside these Ferri
ters?”
"I don’t think so.”
"Higgins says not,” he growled.
“Higgins goes in and messes up that
phone receiver with his big paws
until there’s not a clear fingerprint
on it. Wait a minute.”
His eyes sparkled.
“Where was Higgins when you
took that call?”
I saw Miss Agatha shift a little
in her chair, start to speak and
check herself. I said:
"Upstairs on the elevator.”
"Doing what?”
I kept all feeling out of my voice.
“He said he was fixing the water
tank on the roof.”
"You can go,” Shannon decided.
"Jake, bring that big beef back
here.”
Miss Agatha said mildly as I rose:
“Timothy was on the fourth floor
I’m certain, Captain.”
"Sure he was,” he agreed. "I
Just want to see if anyone saw him
there.”
He was pacing the floor again
and the old lady was smiling oddly
as Jake led me out. I felt Miss
Agatha would confide in Shannon
wljen I was gone.
Hoyt was on the elevator. He
looked at me hard but said nothing
while Jake took me downstairs. Hig
gins was arguing with a half-dozen
men in the foyer and getting no
where. I could tell they were re
porters and the sight of them made
me homesick. Higgins looked worse
than I felt when Jake led him back
to the car. His face was gray and
his eyes made me think of a steer
in a slaughterhouse chute. I waited
by the elevator shaft till Hoyt came
down again. With him was a po
liceman who shooed the reporters
off the settees and out of the door.
I followed Eddie over to the switch
board.
“You don’t think,” I asked and the
words sounded foolish, “that Hig
gins is tied up in this thing?”
"Be your age,” Hoyt advised me
and then grinned. “The big boy looks
sick, don’t he?”
"That’s what made me wonder.”
“Look," Eddie muttered. “You
know that smart little trick on the
fourth floor—Mrs. Arnold's rnaid?
Well, Mrs. Arnold’s out this after
noon and Mrs. Higgins is away till
tomorrow. And two and two
makes—”
“Ah-hah!” I said.
“Right,” Hoyt agreed. “Higgins
has got an alibi, all right, but I
think they’ll have to tear it out of
him. That’s why he looks so sick.”
"Well,” I told him, "an alibi is
an alibi."
A half-hour went by. A couple of
the homicide men went away with
their black satchels. A few indig
nant tennants worked through the
blockade beyond the front door and
hurried along the foyer talking to
themselves. Eddie turned the car
over to Boone of the night shift and
went home, and Fineman, my relief,
had just come in when Higgins came'
downstairs again.
He looked sick till he saw me and
then he looked hearty once more.
"Hey,” he called. “You. Come
here.”
I had been through a lot that aft
ernoon and I suppose my mind had
slowed up. I really thought he want
ed to thank me for saying he had
been on the roof, so when he spoke
I stood and stared. His voice sound
ed as if he was afraid someone
would overhear, but he could have
been no angrier if he had screamed.
"You had your chance,” he told
me. “You didn’t want it, eh? All
right. I don't want you. Get your
things and scram.”
“Wait a minute,” I stalled. “If
you’re canning me, what’s it for?”
“After what I’ve been through up
stairs,” he wheezed and his big
fists were clenched, “you’ve got the
guts to ask that. Slandered me and
a poor innocent girl, so ye did. You
ought to thank me I’m just kicking
you out into the gutter where you
belong, instead of calling a cop.”
His voice had got away from him.
A blond young man—one of our ten
ants but I didn’t know which—
paused an instant and stared at us
before he went into the elevator. He
looked so sleek and handsome and
“I want my book to keep them
from going Paget.”
contented and so much else I was
not, that the anger Higgins had kin
dled blazed up in me. I didn’t even
try to keep my voice down.
“You two-timing tomcat,” I told
him. "Go ahead and kick me out
and we’ll see who lands in the gut
ter first. Now get this, I never
knew where you’d been this after
noon till I came down here. Now
that I’m wise that leaves just one
in the house who isn’t—Mrs. Hig
gins!”
“Will you be still?” he asked in a
hushed voice, and I knew from his
eyes he was going to hit me.
“Go ahead,” I invited. “There’s
plenty of reporters outside. It’ll
make a good story. The tabloids
will have pictures, too. One of you
in Wilson’s uniform, maybe.”
I waited. He stood still and at
last opened his mouth.
I never found out what he was
going to say for Fineman, at the
switchboard, called:
“Hey, Mallory. You’re wanted up
in Three A right away.”
“Don’t bother to pack for me," I
told Higgins. "I’ll do it myself
when I come down."
Boone, on the elevator, kept glanc
ing at me as he took me up. Maybe
I looked as sick as I felt. Anger
is worse than liquor on an empty
stomach.
They had closed the door of the
Ferriter flat but there still was
movement inside. I rang the Paget
bell. The girl in uniform I’d seen
in the hall while Miss Ferriter was
screaming let me in. She led me
down the hall and stood aside at an
open door. I started to enter but
astonishment stopped me. I could
only stand on the threshold and
stare without belief.
CHAPTER IV
Miss Agatha Paget laid a red ten
on a black jack. A tall glass stood
beside the cards on her table. A
cigarette dangled from her lips.
Through its smoke her eyes shone
bright as the diamond pin at the
throat of her black silk gown.
She should have been knitting in
stead of playing Canfield. The drink,
the cards and the tobacco seemed
as out of place as a cuspidor in
church. She blew a cloud from her
nose, ground out the cigarette on a
tray, and nodded toward a chair.
“Come in, David,” she said. “Sit
down.”
I obeyed. She held a card above
the layout, placed it and then looked
square at me.
“If that is an air of affronted pi
ety,” she told me, “I can get along
without it When you’re my age,
David, you’ll take to the small vices
remaining, as compensation for oth
ers you’ve missed. Have a drink?”
She looked toward a cellarette in
the corner. I shook my head. Her
sharply angled, eager face made
me wonder whether the vitality de
nied her crippled legs had not flowed
upward, to invigorate the rest of
her. She took a long pull at her
glass and wiped her lips on a lacy
handkerchief.
“Grove,” she began, “tells me
you’ve been discharged.”
I didn’t know Grove but I said:
“I have. I’m supposed to have
bared the amours of the basement
Casanova.”
She gave her husky chuckle.
“It was I who bared them. Only
a remarkable man could be wrong
as often as Timothy.”
She tinkled the ice in her glass,
sipped it again and then looked
straight at me.
“What are you going to do?”
"When you sent for me,” I said,
“I was just going to take a poke at
Higgins.”
The wrinkles about her eyes deep
ened.
“You quote Kenneth Grahame;
you want to punch Timothy. What
other recommendations have you?”
I did not understand. She prompt
ed.
"You’ve been a reporter. What
else can you do?”
I could not see where all this led,
but I answered:
“I’m a fair blocking halfback and
a good fencer. I also ride, swim
and know a couple of card tricks.”
“College, eh?”
I wondered if this was her idea of
amusing herself.
"B. A.” I told her. "The diploma
is in Omaha. I also had a Phi Beta
key but I haven’t now—there are
rules against hoarding gold, you see.
I can ransom my dress clothes
though, if you feel you need a but
ler. They’re in the trunk my former
landlady is keeping for me. She in
sisted on it”
I had begun to feel like a labora
tory specimen under her regard. It
bothered me. When Miss Paget
asked: "Would you care to work for
me?” I shook my head.
"Kind of you,” I told her, "but I
think not. I’ve got relatives in Ne
braska if I want charity.”
I think that surprised her. She
lit another cigarette.
“My boy,” she said through a
smoke cloud, "I’m beginning to un
derstand why Higgins doesn’t like
you It isn’t charity. People I help
have to work for what they get Is
that clear?” (
It wasn’t, but I nodded. She went
on:
“I’m working, with Mr. Ferriter,
on a genealogy of the Paget family.
You’ve heard of the Pagets.”
"Sorry,” I said and hoped my de
pial would irk her. Instead she
grinned and for an instant it seemed
time had worn her old face so thin
that a valiant spirit shone through
the mask.
"Weren’t you lucky,” said Miss
Agatha, "to have been raised in Ne
braska? If you’ll stop being suspi
cious, I’ve something to tell to you.”
She finished her drink. Her eyes
were bright and mocking.
"Paget, David, isn't just a family
name. It’s a religion—a very exclu
sive, comfortable religion. The only
reason there wasn’t a Paget on the
Mayflower is that the ship had no
royal suite. There aren’t any D. A.
R.’s or Sons of the Revolution
among the Pagets. You see, the pa
triots were rather a mixed lot. I
was raised in the fear of Pagetry
and I’m doing a book about my fore
bears by way of reprisal. I need a
man, preferably one who never
heard of the Pagets, who can take
what the heliotrope Mr. Ferriter
digs up and write it. He can’t—or
he’s afraid to.”
“A genealogy is just a catalogue,
I told her. ‘‘You won’t need a writ
er.”
“Wrong all the way,” she told me
briskly. “That’s just what I do
need. There’s never been a genealo
gy like this one. I’m prying the
highly polished veneer ofl Pagetry.
I’m going to tell the story of a fam
ily that is full of cowards and scoun
drels and hypocrites and cheats and
sluggards—like your family, like all
families. I’m going to give as much
space to my ancestors’ frailties as
to their virtues. It’ll be a big book.”
Again she gave that robust chuck
le. I asked, defensively, for I felt
her sweeping me along:
“Who’ll dare to publish it?”
‘‘I will,” she said, and her teeth
bit through an invisible thread. "One
copy for each of the Pagets. Most
of them are too far gone for the
truth to reach them, but I want my
children to know all about Pagetry
before they’re much older. They
aren’t really my children, though I
raised them. My brother and sis
ter-in-law died when Grosvenor was
thirteen and Allegra ten.
“Grove is working in a bond house
for all he's worth—which is about
half of what he gets. Allegra is too
pretty to have brains, yet she has
them. I want my book to keep them
from going Paget. Every family
should have a factual account of its
ancestors, their weaknesses and foi
bles and misdemeanors and felonies.
The Pagets will be the first to get it.
I don’t want my youngsters to get
the family delusion that just being a
Paget is all that should be expected
of anyone.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
NATIONAL I
AFFAIRS
Reviewed by
CARTER FIELD
Fear of both constituents
and Roosevelt influence
Senators on conscription...
Fletcher s Hatch Act boner
only mistake so far in Will•
kie campaign.
(Bell Syndicate—WNU Service.)
WASHINGTON.—What is the real
motive of the senators who are fight
ing so hard against conscription?
That is a question frequently asked
in Washington, and there is very
little satisfaction to be derived from
studying their speeches. They may
make good arguments but, except in
a few instances, they do not convince
those carefully thinking over their
remarks that they are giving the
real lowdown as to why they do not
want compulsory military training.
In some instances the men most
violently against conscription take
that attitude because they are afraid
of their constituents.
In more spectacular Instances,
providing their motives could be ex
posed, they are afraid of what Pres
ident Roosevelt might do.
FEAR REACTION AT HOME
Certain senators with very heavy
German constituencies fall into
group No. 1—those who are afraid
of their voters back home. Close
behind them, if not in fact in front
of them, are certain senators whose
states have a very high percentage
of Irish voters. For more than 50
years, for example, it has been re
garded as smart politics in Massa
chusetts to "twist the Lion's tail,"
by which was meant doing some
thing to annoy Great Britain in or
der to curry favor with the heavy
Irish population in eastern Massa
chusetts.
ui course in some states, particu
larly in the Middle West, there is a
heavy pacifist sentiment, which in
clines to make their senators and
representatives afraid to take a war
like stand.
Curiously enough it was this sec
tion of the country which has been
the little-army and little-navy sec
tion. Its senators and representa
tives seldom voted to appropriate
for a new battleship, or more planes,
or any i‘her military expenditure.
It was so in the days when people
seemed to worry about taxes, even
those who paid very little.
MISTRUST ROOSEVELT
Much more important than fear
of constituents, however, is a real
fear on the part of many senators,
of whom only a few are frank about
it, of what President Roosevelt may
do. They think that he is itching
to get into the war. They think that
if given half a chance he will plunge
this country into the European situa
tion. Most of those holding this
view, of course, are opposed to this
country having anything to do with
the war. One of the reasons so
many of them are opposed to the
adjournment of congress is that they
want to “ride herd on" the Presi
dent, to keep him if possible from
taking any action which would re
sult in involving this country.
But this particular fight was just
about lost, irreconcilably, in that
very close vote on the amendment
offered by Sen. Alva B. Adams of
Colorado which would have prevent
ed the President’s sending the Na
tional Guard outside of U. S. terri
tory and possessions in that year of
training. The vote was mighty
close—39 to 38, but that was the
real test.
FLETCHER PULLED BONER
So far the only boner pulled in
the Wendell Willkie campaign was
H. P. Fletcher
perpetrated by Hen
ry P. Fletcher, when
he suggested that
the Hatch act could
be evaded by having
big contributors give
to both national and
local campaign
funds.
The most extraor
dinary thing about it
all is that it was
done by Fletcher,
and in the face of a
statement by Willkie
that he wanted to cut down, not in
crease expenditures in the cam
paign to be made for him and Me
Nary.
It is extraordinary to have come
from Fletcher because of Fletcher’s
really outstanding record as a dip
lomat. It would seem to indicate
the wisdom of the old saw about
putting a round peg in a square
hole. As a diplomat, in South Amer
ica, in the Far East and in Europe,
Fletcher’s record is one that any
diplomatic official might well envy.
BRILLIANT DIPLOMAT
In Latin America, Fletcher, who
speaks Portuguese, the language of
the Brazilians, as well as Spanish
and French, so endeared himself to
the Latins that, when any difficulty
arose at the Pan American confer
ence at Havana in 1928, Charles E.
Hughes, head of the U. S. delega
tion, would send Fletcher to patch
It up. He never failed.
The New Dealers have leaped on
Fletcher’s campaign fund sugges
tion like hungry cats at fish. It was
the first ’’break” since the nomina
tion of Willkie. Attorney General
Robert H. Jackson seriously urges
congress to amend the law so as to
prevent such wickedness.
OP?. SEW
4*"” Ruth Wyeth Spears
aight*»
•EN GINGHAM
—
STITCH ORANGE AND
RED BIAS TAPE OVER
THE GREEN PACINGS
t^TTCHEN showers are fun for
everyone and, while they are
always supposed to be a surprise,
the prospective bride will be wise
to give out a broad hint as to her
color scheme. The dearest wish
of one bride-to-be was a kitchen in
gay Mexican colors. Her friends
had a wonderful time selecting
everything from pottery to peeling
knife handles in tones of green,
orange and red. One gift that was
appreciated most of all was the
apron, curtain and tea towel set
sketched here.
This set was made from muslin
flour and sugar bags. Muslin by
the yard would do just as well,
and I have shown in the sketch
how the gingham facings and bias
tape trimming were applied to add
the correct touch of color. If you
have never cut an apron without
a special pattern, you will find di
rections in Book 4 along with
ideas for more aprons and other
fascinating things to make for al
most nothing.
NOTE: As a service to our read
ers Mrs. Spears has prepared a
series of homemaking booklets.
Booklet 5 just published contains
32 pages of clever ideas fully il
lustrated ; and a description of the
other numbers in the series. Bqok
lets are 10 cents each to cover
cost and mailing. Send order to:
MRS. RUTH WYETH SPEARS
Drawer 10
Bedford HUH New York
Enclose 10 cents for each book
ordered.
Name .
Address .
Good Counsel
To awaken each morning with a
smile brightening my face; to
greet the day with reverence for
the opportunities it contains; to ap
proach my work with a clean
mind; to hold ever before me, even
in the doing of little things, the
Ultimate Purpose toward which I
am working; to meet men and
women with laughter on my lips
and love in my heart; to be gentle,
kind, and courteous; to approach
night with weariness that woos
sleep and joy that comes from
work well done—this way I desire
to’ waste wisely my days.
Love of a Good Man
In the love of a brave and faith
ful man there is always a strain
of maternal tenderness; he gives
out again those beams of protect
ing fondness which were shed on
him as he lay on his mother's
knee.—George Eliot.
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