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. Five big name
boxers are working there. Freddy
Steele, ex-middleweight kingpin, has
been coaching Richard Carlson for
“The Man Down Under”; Maxie
Rosenbloom’s working in “Right
About Face,” as are Lou Nova and
Jack Roper; Johnny Indrissano,
former lightweight threat, now a ref
eree, is technical adviser.
So far Jean Gabin’s American pic
tures haven’t been up to the stand
ard of the French ones that made
him famous. But it looks as if he
might remedy that situation this
summer; he's obtained his release
from 20th Century-Fox and will be
starred by RKO in a picture to be
written and produced by Dudley
Nichols, and directed by Jean Re
noir, which looks like a perfect com
bination.
ODDS AND ENDS—Kay Kyser and
the band have started their third year
of entertaining the boys in the armed
forces; in the first two years they played
for more than 4,000,000 soldiers, sailors
and marines . . . Kobert Uenchley re
turns to Metro to write and star in a
new series of shorts ... Alec Temple
ton gives a half-hour miniature concert
prior to his broadcasts . . , Fred Allen
is the only man who has been master of
ceremonies on radio’s two biggest quiz
programs—“Take It or Leave It" and
"Information 1‘lease” . . . Ginny Simms
has been named “the girl with whom a
paratrooper would most love to be
Hranded mi a parachute ’’
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Bronchitis
Creomulsion relieves promptly be
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CREOMULSION
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Fountain of Mercury
The Mercury fountain, exhibited
at the Paris Exposition in 1937,
spouted mercury, the liquid metal,
instead of water. Incidentally, this
display had to be heavily guarded
because the 34 gallons of mercury
required to operate it cost $17,750.
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Medical officers have long rec
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Surveys among the men them
selves have shown that tobacco is
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friend or relative in the Army,
Navy, Marines, or Coast Guard
who smokes a pipe or rolls-his
own, nothing would be more ap
preciated than a pound of his fa
vorite tobacco. Prince Albert, the
world’s largest-selling smoking to
bacco, in the pound can is rec
ommended by local dealers as an
ideal gift for men in the service.—
Adv.
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It is better to say, “This one
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...: j*
...