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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (March 25, 1943)
PIRATE’S HEAD »H ISABEL WAITT^^j-^ THE STORY SO FAR: Judy Jason, who U telling the story, receives an anonymous letter enclosing $800 and ask ing her to bid for an abandoned church to be auctioned the next day. She finds. In an old chest, the body of a man identi fied as Roddy I-ane. The body disap pears a few hours later. A fish shed burns, apparently killing an old man named Brown who is supposed to have lived there. Judy finds Roddy Lane’s dia mond In the handbag she left at the church the day of the auction. Lily Ken dall is found dead, with Hugh Norcross’ •cart wrapped around her neck. The guests have reassured themselves that Boddv Lane Is not on the “Head." Now continue with Judy's story. CHAPTER XIV “You can breathe easy. He isn't there. We hunted from attic to cel lar. No sign of anything—food, I mean. Just his open suitcase, with the clothes the way I told you when I climbed up and looked in the win dow that time with the Rev. De Witt. There’s a bird. He’s stopped splitting the atmosphere lately." Just then a cowbell, shaken vig orously by an angry hand, made us turn to see my Aunt Nclla at the rear steps. "Cornin’ right along, m’dear!” yelled Uncle Wylie. “Me. too. Not that I could eat." Potter stared miserably at the sea. "You might as well have the pic-, ture, Judy. She'll never want it, now. It’s a poor time to speak of it, but I was tickled silly at the com mission to paint her portrait. Not that I’m very good at it," he added modestly. "I’ll leave the painting outside your door, shall I?” Outside my door! Would he sneak In and grab that $500? I thanked Mr. Potter for the paint ing, wonderingly, as he walked swiftly toward the cowbell. But the others were coming down the drive, so we waited for them, Mr. Quincy and I. Hugh was in the lead. "Just as Quade said — nothing there. However he knew it." He took the chair from me. “Let me do that, Judy. You look tired to death." “Never felt better in my life, but I could go for some of that chow der." Victor asked, "Your uncle get back O. K.?” I Inclined my head. "Gone in to dinner. Auntie's furious. Better all hurry up. Whatever she’s got ready she hates to have it get cold.” "Where's friend Potter?" De Witt asked quietly. "Gone on ahead. Feels pretty badly about losing his commissions. Miss—Miss Kendall gave him two, you know, but this good Boy Scout made up for one of ’em. Wouldn't let me pay for the church.” "Lovely to hang up in the kid dies' bedroom some day, Judy, and tell ’em bedtime stories about what happened there," Hugh said. Nobody was amused. Everybody was in the doldrums. What dinner party could be gay with a charred corpse to the right and a bruised or strangled one to the left? “Why didn't he wait for us?” Vic tor said, half to himself. I explained about the painting he was leaving outside my door. When we reached the inn my aunt beck oned me with a ladle. "Go up and look,” Victor whis pered, “or shall I?” "You go. I’ve got to help serve,” I answered. Albion Potter was coming down the stairs. "Hope you like it—in spite of everything." he smiled at me. and passed on into the dining room. Victor started up and I hurried out <o my scolding auntie, trying to nake up for my absence by tell ing her the news. I thought the cu umber dishes looked stingy and was slicing another when she made me cut my finger with: "Thank goodness, there won't be any more beads to sweep up!" Which just goes to show how a round of murders will make a person cal lous. I finished the cucumbers and took them In. The guests were nearly all seated, munching the salted crackers we served with the chow der. 1 set down Victor s chowder and • dish for myself. My aunt had "et,” she said, and wanted me to. He came presently and sat down opposite me. "Money's there," he whispered. "Painting's wet. Had to scrub the stuff off my hands. That's why I was so long." Bessie Norcross was absent. Didn’t want any lunch, she'd told Aunt Nella. She was going to take 1 sleeping powder and lock herself n her room. Would Mrs. Gerry please so inform her brother? Mrs. Gerry did. ‘ Took poor Miss Kendall's death awful hard. She A-as bawling her eyes out Kep’ say ing, ‘Hughie never done it!’ As if any one’jl think you did!” Several spoons were halted in mid air. Several pairs of eyes, I saw, shot suspicious glances at poor Hugh, trying to eat his chowder with a fork. "There are plenty of policemen, shall we say, Mrs. Gerry, who might not be so lenient with Norcross as you are,” squeaked Mr. Quincy. His eyes no longer twinkled; they glit tered. Hugh’s chair scraped backward, but he pulled it up again without a word when the minister added: “Let him who is without evil cast the first stone. Personally, and without recrimination, I think it looks bad for all of us.” For a moment I liked the pompous De Witt. "Did you look in the tent?” Aunt Nella asked. ‘‘I’ve got a fcelin’ Rod dy’s around here somewhere, hid in’." Uncle Wylie, for the first time, was eating his repast with the guests. Notiiing short of murder could have made him bring in his dinner from i the kitchen, but there he was at a rear table. "Don't be ridic'lous, Nella. Looked in the tent every time I passed it today. Hunted all over our bam. Only place I ain't been is Mr. Quade’s trailer." He bit off a health ful chunk of bread. “Could Lane conceal himself in one of your cub byholes?" he asked Victor. “Not a chance. The trailer’s been searched. I still have the keys.” The minister turned around in his chair. “Boathouse was locked, too, wasn’t it? Yet somebody’s been there. Is it likely Lane would scut tle his own boats? Much as I de spised him, I can’t but hope he just left the Head in a natural way. The fire was an accident, which burned a poor old deaf man.” “And Miss Kendall?” Albion Pot ter was still bitter, apparently about his lost commission to do her por trait. “Accident, too? Fell into the Pi rate’s Mouth." Hugh flung down his napkin. "Nice of you, De Witt, but it won't go. Not “Hope you like It—in spite of ev erything,’’ he smiled at me. when you know the poor woman was strangled with my scarf." I caught an exchange between Un cle Wylie, who'd been about to say a word, and Victor, who shut him up just in time. So all my Uncle really uttered was '•Sartin"—the op posite of what he d intended. Hugh tossed him a scornful glance. "Oh, I admit it was my scarf all right. At least. I’d lost one of the same color. I'll tell the police if the chance ever comes, in this isolated hole. But," and he fairly shouted it at us, "I didn't tie it around her neck! I—I liked the poor old girl.” He crammed some food into his mouth and nearly choked on it. His glass was empty and I sprang to refill it for him. "Thanks. Judy. You tell them I didn't write you the funny letter, either Or send you any money. Truth is. I'm hard up. Had to bor row from my sister to afford this vacation. Felt I was justified since it was on her account we—" He was talking too much and knew it. He drained the second glass. But I couldn't tell them he, or any of the rest of them, hadn't sent the letter. “I don’t believe you did," I said lamely, clearing away the table. "Well. I know I didn’t," chided Thaddeus Quincy. "Nor I." "Nor I.” “I certainly didn't." The denial was vociferous and gen eral, each guest gazing blandly around the table at the others. “Wylie ain't got a cent, so he couldn't,” Aunt Nella said virtuous ly. “And you needn't look at me! I love Judy more’n any of you, but I wanted that church for a bungalow in my old age. ’Tain’t no place for a tearoom Why, Rockville's chock a-block with gifte shoppes and tea rooms, and only one of 'em makin' ends meet.” Her head straight ened stiffly. “And I'd thank who ever busted our boat to have it re paired. That goes for the register, too.” She flounced through the swinging door to the kitchen. I sat petrified. Auntie can be mighty insulting in a polite way. After all was said and done, only one person was likely to be respon sible for the damage. Thaddeus Quincy chuckled, and soon a nervous ripple ran around the tables. Uncle Wylie rose to help me with the trays. “Don't mind Mrs. Ger ry,” he half-whispered. “She gets uppity when her puddin’ sauce is lumpy." At that we all laughed aloud, and Uncle joined in. It wasn’t decent. It wasn't seemly, but we couldn't help it. Our nerves were at the breaking point. The minister sobered us down again. “Judy, is the rest of the money you received still where you left it?” I glanced at Victor. "Yes,” I said. “It's all there.” “Doesn't it occur to you Miss Ken dall, for reasons unknown to us now, might have sent it? She apparently had plenty of this world's goods, in a small way, of course, judging by her clothes, and her offer to Potter here of $50 for a portrait, on top of the bid of twenty-five for the church. And, as I recall, she was the one who wanted to search the basement. Acted strange about the Pirate’s Mouth investigation, too. Lay down on the rock, remember—after Mr. Quade said there was nothing there.” “Would she bid against herself?” I asked. “She was the one who bid me up to three hundred at the auc tion. Why? If she knew she was cer tain to have use of the church through me, anyway?” Just then I thought I heard a step on the stairs. I held my breath and listened. Yes, the old stair creaked. Light ly, to be sure; but someone was walking up or down. The other guests didn't appear to notice. They were probably too busy eating. Victor was saying, “The thing to do now—” “Excuse me,” I said, and hurried into the hallway and looked up the stairs. I caught a swish of a wom an’s skirts and presently a door closed. Bessie Norcross, of course! Maybe her sleeping medicine hadn’t worked yet. She'd started to come down to luncheon, and, finding the crew had not yet finished, retreated. That was it. I retreated, too, re lieved. Victor and the minister were having some sort of a pow wow over what to do next. I glanced at the dining-room clock. Why, it still lacked three minutes to 1! What a day! Already I’d lived a hundred years. “How lftng would it take you to get one of those boats fit to cross the gap under where the bridge was?" Victor asked Uncle Wylie. “The cove, you mean. Gap’s too tricky for us Headers. Wouldn’t take long if I had some help gettin’ her down.” “But why don’t the authorities turn up?” Potter ventured. “Even a fool milkman would report an ac cident, wouldn’t he?” “Mebbe he did. But it’s dinner time.” Aunt Nella interposed. “If you knew Pirate Headers the way we do, you'd know they wouldn't miss their vittles, come murder or the Day of Judgment.” “She’s right that time,” my uncle said. “But there'll be a sailboat or somep'n along before I could patch up The Eleanor. Whyn't you all just take it easy till someone turns up? Fixed me a megaphone, but don't see as I’ll need it now. Wind’s turned. Carry what we say across.” He finished his last morsel of cot tage pudding, folded his napkin neat ly and offered, “I’ll go set by the bridge and wait. Shall I?” Trust Uncle Wylie to choose "to set” instead of repairing a leaky bottom! “We’ll come along and join you, Gerry,” the minister said. “Want me to push your chair, Mr. Quin cy?” "No. thanks." returned Mr. Quin cy coldly. "I’ll keep away from cliffs and broken bridges till the po lice get here.” "I move we go have another look at Mr. Quade’s trailer.” Hugh said. "I’m remembering a few things be sides the scarf," he added darkly. "Go with me. Potter?" Albion shrugged. "Oh, I might as well. Nothing to paint—now. I wish to heaven the police would come, so a body could settle down again.” Reluctantly he followed the leader, as per usual. Hugh stopped by my chair. "Ju dy, if my sister should come down while we’re gone, tell her every thing’s all right, will you?” "Of course, Hugh.” He smiled at me wanly. "Darn the whole business. I told Bessie she was a fool to come here. Old memories! Couldn’t she have set tled them at some other resort— Hyanni%,or Nantucket? No, she was anxious to see if she was cured of her affection for that—that bounder. Well, she's got her—” He muttered something that sounded like belly ful. and immediately added, "Par don me. Judy. I don’t know what I’m saying.” And went out with Pot ter. Victor was having a word with Uncle Wylie at the foot of the front steps, and Aunt Nella was corraling me to help her. "Dishes, Judy. Please!” "You bet. Auntie. Feel terribly guilty, but—” And I gave her all the dirt while we hustled through. (TO BE CONTINt’Klii Empty Tubes a U. S. Tin Mine Victory^ Parade] Mrs. Madge Lewis, ex-saleslady (above), tests old tooth paste and other tubes for metal content. Shown at right are some of the millions of old tooth paste, shav ing cream and other metal tubes received at the reclamation plant of the Tin Salvage Institute. By exchanging an old tube for a new tube we are helping to win the war. Through a salvage program devised by the government a plant for re claiming tin from squeezed out tubes is now recovering several tons of pure tin daily. Millions of empty tubes which once contained tooth paste, shaving cream, oint ments, shoe polish, etc., go through the furnaces of the Salvage Institute at Newark, N. J., a non-profit organiza tion operating under the Metals Reserve company of the Reconstruction Finance corporation. Recovery of tin from metal tubes begins at drug and other stores, under the lube-for-a-tube exchange plan, as shown in pic ture at top. Three housewives with husbands in the service sort empty metal tubes that will be melted down. These workers separate tin and lead tubes from containers made of other metals. Pouring molten tin into molds. During the first nine months of the tube-for-tube plan 700,000 pounds of tin were recovered for use by war industries. Fqllotving sorting and testing, tubes arc fed to the furnace. The metal in these tubes, assaying about 95% pure tin, molded into “pigs” of about 100 pounds each. Joseph Schott, age 18, is tending a remelting furnace. “Pigs” of practically pure tin reclaimed from old tubes. STAGE SCREEN RADIO By VIRGINIA VALE Released by Western Newspaper Union. ON THE first day of shoot ing for “Mrs. Miniver” Greer Garson was knocked down in a street scene by a boy on a bicycle. On the first day for “Madame Curie” she was knocked down by a cam era perambulator. “Maybe it’s a good omen," said she. "But I hope I never start a picture in a scene with a locomotive!” Nobody was surprised when “Mrs. Miniver” got the Academy Award for the best picture of 1942; it was especially good news to Major William Wyler, who directed—he recently directed the filming of the bombing of the German naval base at Wilhelms haven. __ Nan Wynn, the popular radio, night club and motion picture singer, has been placed under long term contract by Columbia, and will NAN WYNN get a star build-up. She’s already been given the top role in the new musical, “Rhapsody in A Flat.” _• __ An actual attack by British Coast al Command planes on Nazi raiders in northern waters is shown in “Coastal Command,” the factual film released by RKO. It was made by the producers of “Target for To night,” the British navy do-operat ing. If If you think you’re busy, consider Anna Lee, one of the many stars of “Forever and a Day.” While work ing in “Commandos Strike at Dawn” she turned up at the RKO studios at 10 every night and worked till past midnight in “Forever and a Day”—also managed her house and family. The only stipulation she made was that after finishing her day's work she must have time off to put her two babies to bed before starting her swing shift at RKO. -- Robert Haymes also got a Colum bia break. With time for only one more film before being inducted into the army, he was removed from the lead of “Doughboys in Ireland”— and replaced by Kenny Baker—and assigned to the romantic lead in “Two Senoritas From Chicago,” the two senoritas being those two very lovely ladies, Jinx Falkenburg and Joan Davis! \l/ T /is That Charles Boyer production, so badly titled “Flesh and Fantasy,” has a new and better title, “For All We Know.” Robert Cummings and Betty Field have been given the romantic leads' in the fourth and final sequence. New Yorkers have learned that the place to be caught during a blackout is a radio studio—instead of turning their guests loose to wait in the corridors, the stars turn to and put on a show. Burns and Allen, the “Duffy’s Tavern” folks and the members of “The Aldrich Family” can all give a superb extemporane ous show when the sirens scream. -KS A stranger in Culver City might think that Leo the Lion has turned prize fight promoter. 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