' BLACK
SOMBRERO
t^TCLIFFORD KNIGHT «"» ..VvKUi
Elia Chatneld, Hollywood artist, U dis
inherited by her Aunt Kitty, who died
from an overdose of morphine. Hunt
Ko*ers, professional sleuth, and Barry
Madison, an amateur detective, go to
Maxatlan, Mexico, to solve what they
believe to be Kitty Chatfleld's murder.
On arrival, they And that Elsa’s party
had preceded them by plane. During a
fiesta at the ranch of Sam Chatfield
(Elsa’s father), James Chesebro is mur
dered. Lombardo, chief of the Mexican
police, questions Pedro, the pulque man,
after questioning all the guests. They re
enact the prologue to the death of Chese
bro. While this is going on Pedro, the
star witness, makes his escape Into
the mountains.
CHAPTER XI
“It’s a nice little puzzle so far,
Barry,” observed Rogers. "We’ll
not solve it tonight—probably not to
morrow. It can very quickly be
solved if Lombardo and his man
Friday will catch up with Pedro.
Suppose we sleep on it.”
We did sleep on it, rocking gen
tly in our stateroom on board the
Orizaba anchored in the harbor. In
the light of a new day, after a lei
surely breakfast with Margaret and
Dwight, at which time we spoke
softly and with respect for the now
murdered James Chesebro, we wait
ed for the launch to take us ashore.
Suddenly Dwight’s body stiffened.
"Look! Did you see that?" he cried.
"Look!”
1 Before our eyes some hundreds of
yards away a huge fish leaped clear
of the water and then fell back with
a great splash.
"There’s your marlin, darling,”
said Margaret sweetly, "come to
play with you."
"Let’s go fishing now.” Dwight’s
voice was excited. "Come on, fel
lows.”
"Sorry,” said Rogers. “I’d
planned some other things—about
Chesebro’s slayer.”
"Well, go on, then; the launch is
waiting for you. As soon as it’s
back I’m going after that fellow.
Hunting me up, is he? Wanting to
play with me?” said Dwight as Rog
ers and I went down the ladder.
We landed at the wharf, found one
of those ancient two-wheeled aranas
like the one Elsa had ridden in that
first day, climbed in and set off.
"It's probably like hunting for the
needle in the haystack, Barry,” he
remarked, after an extended con
versation with the driver which ex
plored the fellow’s acquaintances
among the pulque sellers. At first
the driver, a sleepy-eyed fellow with
a bushy mustache, had not been able
to comprehend why we should
search for a pulque seller when liq
uor of many kinds was easily ob
tainable almost anywhere. When he
realized, however, that we were
looking for a particular dealer in
pulque, he believed that he knew
several Pedros. And so we started
out.
we stopped at one thatched hut
which our driver said was the home
of Pedro, the pulque seller. But
the man who answered Rogers’ sum
mons was fat and small, with a
smile that was well nigh irresistible.
Did we wish to buy pulque? He in
dicated a nearby contrivance which
was just a frame on wheels with
holes for the brown clay jars. No,
we did not. We sought Pedro, the
pulque seller, who was a thin man
with small eyes. He knew such a
man farther down the street, and
counted the houses for us and bade
us a courteous good morning. But
the second Pedro was not our pulque
man, either.
At last our dispirited horse pulled
up with a sigh before a thatched
hut near the end of the street.
A small shy woman came to the
door when Rogers knocked.
“Does Pedro, the pulque seller,
live here, senora?” Rogers inquired
in Spanish.
"Yes, sir," the woman replied hes
itantly. a frightened look in her
deep, dark eyes.
“Is he Pedro, the pulque seller,
who last evening went to deliver
pulque at the rancho of Senor Chat
field?"
“Yes. sir.”
"May we speak with Pedro, se
nora?" inquired Rogers, smiling.
The woman shook her head vague
ly. Finally she said: "He is not at
home, sir.”
“Where can I find him?”
"He is away, sir.”
“When will he return?”
The wpman shook her head and
did not reply.
"He is away, sir,” she repeated.
We were getting nowhere. Rog
ers suddenly looked up at the little
green parrot overhead, held up a
forefinger invitingly against the
green breast and the parrot prompt
ly climbed on and was lowered to
the level of our eyes.
“What is he called, senora?” Rog
ers asked.
"He is called Pepe, sir.”
“He is not a young bird, senora,
the yellow patch of feathers on his
head is large. It is, like gray hair
with us, a sign of age.”
"Yes, sir; he is very old.”
“Did your husband return home
last night from his trip to the rancho
of Senor Chatfield?”
“Briefly, sir; and then made haste
to depart.”
“Did he go far, senora?”
“To the mountains, sir,” she re
plied, with a gesture that indicated
the distant range.
“And he will return soon?”
The woman shook her head. “He
is away, sir. I do not know when
he will return.”
A man was lurking inside the
house as we talked, just beyond our
view. I had heard him and so had
Rogers. At last overcome by curi
osity he appeared suddenly behind
the woman in the doorway. It was
not, however, Pedro as I suspected,
but a man whose face was familiar.
Rogers glanced at him.
"Good morning,” he said and
smiled. The man returned the greet
ing hesitantly.
"My brother, Jose,” the woman
said.
"And did the old dog die, senor?”
inquired Rogers. I recognized then
the individual who the morning of
Elsa’s attack on Chesebro was put
ting to death with chloroform an old
dog near the stables.
"Oh, yes, sir. Quickly, as you
said he would.”
"Senor," began Rogers, "the
chloroform—tell me again who gave
it to you.”
"Senora Chatfield, sir.”
"Senora Chatfield?”
“Yes. She of the golden hair—”
Rogers suddenly elevated Pepe to
the thatch of the roof where with a
flutter of wings and wildly clutching
feet he reestablished himself,
wheeled about to stare down at us
with his wicked little eyes and ut
“What la he called, aenora?”
ter a squawk of pleasure. We pre
pared to take our departure; Rogers
bowed and smiled.
"I wish your husband a safe jour
ney, senora, and a speedy return,"
he said, and we withdrew to our
arana, tagged by the still silent chil
dren, while the pulque seller’s wife
stood in the doorway of the hut to
observe our departure.
We had jogged along for some dis
tance in the direction of the busi
ness district when I remarked,
"Some grist for the mill there.”
“Yes, Barry, There is confirma
tion of the conclusion we reached
last night. Pedro ran out on us at
Sam Chatfleld’s, hurried home, re
mained briefly and then fled to the
mountains for an indefinite stay. He
carried with him the belief that he
not only saw the murderer of Chese
bro, but can identify him. He fears
the consequences if he is made to
identify him.”
"You’re right, of course,” I
sighed. "But where does that leave
us. Hunt?”
"It leaves us with a simple ex
planation of the crime—when Pedro
is captured and returned to Mazat
lan. To the jefe del policia, Senor
Otilio Lombardo, will fall the honor
of solving the murder of Kitty Chat
field, as well as that of Chesebro,
when his men bring in Pedro.”
“But there’s no evidence that the
two were done by the same hand."
“No," admitted Rogers, as we
drove along the shady streets,
“there is no evidence of it; there’s
only a hunch on my part, and a
very, very faint hunch at that. Per
haps no more than a wish that it
be so. Simplify things enormously,
wouldn’t it, Barry?" he said, look
ing at me with a twinkle in his
mild blue eyes. “Let’s go and talk
with Lombardo and urge upon him
our belief, and perhaps spur him on
to greater effort in bringing back
Pedro." He turned to the driver and
said in Spanish: “Senor, take us,
please, to the police station.”
Rogers asked for Lombardo at a
small desk, and the courteous occu
pant assured us that we should see
the jefe at once. But it was some
ten minutes before we were shown
into a small room where Lombardo
sat alone.
“We came,” Rogers said slowly,
“only to offer what help you think
we can give toward the solution of
the murder of our friend, James
Chesebro."
“That is very kind of you, gentle
men."
“Our opinion, reached after con
siderable reflection, senor, is that it
is vital to capture Pedro, the pulque
seller, who fled last night when we
were about to require him to identify
the slayer."
"Yes, of course,” was the laconic
response.
"Undoubtedly Pedro knows who
the slayer is."
"I believe so, gentlemen."
"We understand that he fled last
night to the mountains."
"Ah, so?" Lombardo’s eyebrows
shot upward. “You know that too?”
“Yes. from the man's wife. You,
of course, have questioned her?”
"Of a certainty, senor. Already
the order has been given to bring
the man back from the mountains.”
"It would be helpful, gentlemen,”
he said carefully, "if you could pro
vide us with additional motives to
be put with those we already have
when It comes to the trial.”
"You—” he began hesitantly. "Is
it possible you have reached a de
cision, senor?"
"We have made the arrest, this
morning. The murderer is now in
custody, gentlemen. I would appre
ciate it it you could supply, perhaps,
additional motives, although what
we have are ample, I am sure.”
We both were silent, stunned a
little at this announcement of an ar
rest in the case so early, before
even Pedro had been returned to
Mazatlan.
"May we ask, senor—” began
Rogers.
"Of course,” Lombardo replied,
his white even teeth showing in a
magnificent smile. “I have arrest
ed Senor Reed Barton—”
"Barton!” I exclaimed.
"Yes, Senor Madison. It was not
difficult to discover the fact that he
is guilty. There was the testimony
of Pedro last night; not testimony in
so many words, gentlemen, but by
his actions. He was terrified of hav
ing to identify the murderer who
was at the moment re-enacting the
role before our eyes.”
"But—” Rogers attempted to pro
test. Lombardo ignored the effort
courteously and with the same mag
nificent smile.
"Moreover, senores, yesterday Se
nor Barton and Senor Chesebro
quarreled violently in the office of
the mining company. Senor Barton
was discharged; there were threats
exchanged. The quarrel was over
Senorita Chatfield. All this has been
told us by Senor Costillo, the clerk
in the office, who was a witness."
Reed Barton was sitting In his
cell smoking a cigarette with the
air of one upon whom has descended
a vast and philosophic calm. His
dark blue eyes indicated that there
had been no strain, no loss of sleep.
His handclasp through the bars of
his cell was vigorous and warm, and
he looked at us with a faint expres
sion of amusement at our concern
for his predicament.
"I didn’t dream, Reed,” 1 said,
“when we parted at Sam Chatfleld's
last night, that we would find you
here this morning.”
"Neither did I, Barry. Mexico not
only is a land of romance, but. In
the threadbare observation, anything
can happen in It.”
"And does, apparently,” re
marked Huntoon Rogers, a wry
twist to his lips. “I’m sorry that
this has happened, Reed. It is much
too soon to make an arrest.”
We spoke in English, to which
the guard lounging near by paid no
attention.
"When were you arrested, Reed?”
I inquired.
"At the very moment when I was
sleeping my best, just before sun
rise. They came knocking on my
door, made me dress and brought
me here.”
"But they haven't anything in the
way of evidence that a good attor
ney couldn’t shoot holes through—at
least, back home it would be so,”
I said.
Reed cocked his head and looked
at me. "This is different, Barry,”
he remarked. "I don't know what
they’ve got. Except for one thing—
the police picked up a paper knife
in my room while I was dressing.
It seemed to have its effect.”
"Yes, it was a small, thin-bladed
weapon that killed Chesebro. But
there’s more than that, of course,”
Rogers explained. "Lombardo
seems to have been swayed a great
deal by what a clerk in your office
told about you and Chesebro quar
reling."
“Costillo?" said Reed. “He would,
of course. We did have quite a go—
the Chief and I I guess I told you
about it, Barry. We unloaded every
thing we had been storing up for
each other for several months.
Chiefly concerning Elsa, you know;
but, even if I do say it, he rather
started talking about Elsa. Down
here, of course, things like that
amount to fighting words.”
Steps along the corridor interrupt
ed our conversation; the guard sat
more erect in his chair and shot a
glance at us as if he meditated
bringing our conference to a halt.
Walking rapidly around the corner
came the short, rather thick figure
of Sam Chatfleld. He saw us stand
ins outside Reed Barton’s cell and
came directly toward us, a smile
lighting his rather serious face.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Factory-Made Coops
Aid Chicken Raisers
Trimly Designed Houses
Come in Various Sizes
Householders, moved by the red
meat shortage, are being converted
by the thousands into backyard
chicken fanciers. The chicken “popu
lation” increase this year over last
—in rural areas alone—is about 132
million head. At an all time high,
the present chicken population of
the country is above 500 million. No
census is taken on urban raised
chickens, where the rate of increase
is greatest.
Interest in chicken raising, deal
ers say, is now spurred by the in
troduction and display of small
ready-made houses in retail stores.
As these become easily procurable
in complete units or prefabricated
for quick assembly, it is thought in
terest will zoom higher. The de
signs now being shown range from
two-story compact types, about the
size of a piano box, to large roomy
ones big enough to double as hunt
ers’ cabins.
Because of the labor shortage
and limitations affecting many kinds
of building material, the public is
finding the ready • made chicken
house most easily obtainable. The
commercial fabricator on the other
hand may use various kinds of sub
stitute material advantageously or
remnants and knotty pieces of lum
ber.
One of the smaller chicken houses
exhibited in the Merchandise Mart,
Chicago, was designed to accommo
date nine laying hens, or 50 small
chicks, and is approximately 6 feet
by 3 feet and 4 feet high. The
ground floor is a scratching area
and is connected by a ramp to the
sun deck which is equipped with
De Luxe Chicken House
ftv^nuT urfM*
AT M%HT
thre« '‘departmentalized’’ nests, re
movable roosts, and has compart
ments for charcoal, grit, water and
mash. The second story front is of
glass, while the slanting top is built
of sliding slat panels of wood. Above
this is a second top which may be
lifted to admit sunlight. By the
lowering of this top-lid and the rais
ing of the ramp, drafts and cold are
excluded.
The larger house is 8 by 12 feet,
overall height 7 feet 1 inch; in front
6 feet 7 inches, in rear 56 inches.
Of the prefabricated type, it comes
in eight sections. Main door is 6
feet high by 22 inches and is fitted
with hinges and hasp for lock.
Equipped with hardwood floors,
ventilators and sliding door for
chicken outlet, the house has triple
windows, 4 lights each, 9 inches by
12 in sire. Side walls are made of
%-inch Nu-wood, insulated sheeting,
coated with asphalt inside and out.
The roof is made of %-inch Gypsum
board sheeting covered with 55
pound rolled roofing.
Small Farm Engines
Get Preference Rating
Farm rationing committees of
courty war boards again have au
thority to assign preference ratinga
for delivery of small engines heeded
in essential food production.
This will apply to about 37,000 air
and liquid-cooled internal combus
tion engines of 20 horsepower and
under which will be manufactured
during the current year. No state
or county quotas will be established
for the distribution of these engines,
since the production is estimated to
be sufficient to meet all essential
needs.
The only distribution control will
be at the county level, where county
farm rationing committees will is
sue preference rating certificates to
farmer* or operators of farm ma
chinery for hire. The certificates
will bear a preference rating of
AA-2, the highest which can be giv
en a civilian product.
Good Poultry Houses
Experience has shown that the es
sentials of a good poultry house are
a dry floor that can be easily
cleaned, walls that give protection
from wind and excessive cold,
enough light, provision for ventila
tion, and, of course, a firm founda
tion and a tight roof. As about three
fourths of the heat lost by conduc
tion from a poultry house is lost
through the roof, the ceiling is the
flirft part of the house that should be i
insulated. I
To make your extension cord
last longer, coil it around a mail
ing tube when not in use.
• • *
Plastic cups for furniture legs
and casters will prevent dents in
linoleum and make it wear longer.
• • •
Cooked chicken should be cooled
as rapidly as possible and stored
promptly in the coldest part of the
refrigerator.
• * t
If the handle of your iron gets
hot, cover it with a piece of cor
rugated cardboard held in place
with strips of adhesive tape.
FALSE TEETH owners
CAN LOOK YOUNGER
—IY WEARING YOUR PLATES EVERY DAY
—HELD COMFORTABLY SNUG THIS WAY
Face-lines sag—wrinkles form—when plates remain un
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S. Dr. Wemet's powder is economical;
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★ IN THE MARINES*
they say:
CHICKEN" for recruit
"GREENS"for winter service uniform
* SQUARED A WAY "for everything rhipshap#
CAMEL" for the favorite cigarette with
in the Marines
MILDNESS —THEy
f/Rsr
MTHE SERV/CE
)With men in the Army,
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