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Karen, wife of Stephen, Veronica's brother, relates some history about Val lainrourt, and how she had to buy back some letters of hers which were being held by Shari Lynn. Stephen saw this transaction at Shari's night club. Mc Caie surmises that the letters must have been old ones. CHAPTER XIII -r "Yes. He accused me late that night, but I’d destroyed the letters, Mr. McCaie, and I managed to con vince him that I had done an er rand for Vicky.” "Ummm. Quick thinking. There are some letters of Victoria's around somewhere, you know.” "Really?” She was disinterested, completely. “Well?” “Those are the things I know." He raised an eyebrow, looked at her intensely, and his voice grew hard. "But this is what I surmise. Let’s say it is a hunch I have, so great that it wants only confirma tion from you.” The woman before him might have been carved of ice, but McCaie went on. ‘‘The design or plan was to bring Vallaincourt, the irresistible, the magnet, to attract Veronica. He was to marry her and get control of the money, or at least salt away a large portion of it for himself. Then, perhaps, a divorce, and back to Victoria. It probably was Vic toria’s idea. Then everything would be soft for the foster-Bigelows. They could have their fun, have millions to play with, and no interference from a disapproving brother-in-law, like, for instance, Christopher Storm.” An amused murmur came from her set lips. ‘‘I don’t think that you necessar ily were a party to the scheme. I suppose you knew about it, but were just too disgusted with your own life to care.” He scowled. ‘‘But the rest of them. What a rotten deal to put over on a fine old lady and a sensitive young girl!” His repugnance to the idea was clearly apparent in his face. "However.” He sat up straight, putting the tips of his fingers to gether. "Something went wrong somewhere. I rather suspect it was Shari Lynn. Curt probably had to promise he would come back with the spoils in order to get her to divorce him. He also had to make the same promise to Victoria. What a mess when someone, Victoria, no doubt, found the scrap of burned letter in the fireplace. That put the screws in the works. No wonder, in her rage, she took it to Miss Adelaide, sending her searching all over the town for an honest detec tive.” He was silent for a moment, star ing moodily at the disdainful Karen. "These things I surmise,” he re iterated. "Now, what can you tell me?” "I don’t need to tell you any thing. You are very acute.” Her voice was smooth, flat. "Thank you.” He bowed as though to the Snow Maiden herself. "Except perhaps—” “Except,” she cut it curtly, "it was Veronica who found the piece of letter.” She smiled ironically. "Lord," he reeled as from a blow, "how you all gang up on Veronica." She moved toward the door. "Christopher, the Galahad, the ir reproachable, is upstairs, if you wish to question him." Her voice dripped ice. "By all means.” /viune, irc Rjutcu uie uiusa itnuci of the fireplace. He was in a vile temper. He had learned a great deal, but all roads led to Rome—or to Veronica, to put it exactly. There was only one solution. Shari Lynn. She must be bribed, or coerced, or frightened into talking. She must talk before this shabby crowd brought their witch's brew to boil. When Christopher Storm bounded in with his quick, virile stride, Mc Cale turned hurriedly to shake the young man’s hand. He looked into the clean-cut face and spoke quick ly Another Death in The Strange Cast *T’m in a hell of a hurry. Storm. You can answer just one question, if you will.” “Gladly.” He faced McCale with open, candid eyes. "How chd you happen to give The Nest to the bride and groom?” For a moment Storm looked rat tled, as if the question were far from what he had expected. Then he explained. “You see, McCale,” he said, “I’m an architect. The Nest was a little house for newlyweds. I’d built it for a contest. It’s a modern affair, as you know if you’ve seen the mod el-all the latest gadgets, sun decks, and stuff.” “Yes, yes," McCale interjected irritably. “Well, Veronica and I had worked on it together. We were practically engaged arid we thought when we did marry, it would be just the place for us.” His eyes were far away. •Exactly,” McCale said. "I un derstand that.” “Then Curt came along.” His voice was bitter. “Then it was a gesture? A defi nite, backhanded slap—” •‘Not at all. I never would have done a thing like that. I'd had it in for Curt, all right, but after I had a talk with him, just the day before his—his death, he convinced me he really was in love—that he wanted to make Veronica happy. I —well, in a great big sentimental glow, I decided to deed them The Nest. That's all.” McCale studied him. He said finally, “Yes. That’s just about what I’d expect you to do." The telephone at his elbow rang and he made a motion for Storm to answer it. The young man spoke a few words, then turned to McCale. “For you.” "McCale here,” he said, wonder ing who could be calling him there. It was Ann. She sounded fright ened, urgent. “Is it all right for me to spill?” she asked. “Go ahead.” "Duke, I'm down at the drug store under Shari Lynn’s hotel. I went there an hour ago and could not raise her. I thought she was still asleep. I came back just now. The police are there—your friend Donlevy, and the homicide squad. “A little more of the same mess, eh, my friend?” said Donlevy. The bellhops won’t say a word, but, Duke—Duke—does that mean—?" “Hold everything,’’ McCale said. Ignoring Christopher Storm, he made a grab for his hat. Shari Lynn lay on her back, a weird, tragic figure in death. Her head was half under the table, as she had fallen, but not too far un der to hide the staring eyes and the look of surprise and terror on her face. The patent artifice of her dyed hair accentuated more than ever her age and dissipation. McCale’s eyes were grim as he noted the neat round hole in her chest, the pool of dark blood that had spilled down her side, saturat ing her gown, soaking the carpet. His eyes swiveled around and away from this horrid grotesquerie to encounter two calm gray ones which contemplated him from the extreme opposite corner of the room. Ann Marriot, trim and un ruffled in her gray tweeds, sat astride a small theatrical trunk. She was holding the hand of Veronica Bigelow, who sagged, white and haggard looking, in a straight backed chair. He went over to them, feeling rather than seeing a rising anger in Ann. Somebody Stole A Picture She greeted him with a torrent of words spoken loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “This is intolerable, Duke,” she exclaimed, biting her lip. I can’t stand it much longer.” "Why did you come back here, then, after you called me?" “Well, I saw two officers escort Miss Bigelow—Veronica here—into the lobby. I thought: ‘Good Lord, what are they up to with that poor girl now?’ So I came on up in the same elevator.” McCale smiled his appreciation of her character and his gratitude. “Good girl. But how did you manage to invade the premises?” “That was too easy. In fact, I was brought in as a prize suspect. Darned if the elevator boy didn’t remember he had taken me up an hour before, so, of course, being properly awed by the majesty of the law, he just couldn’t help whis pering that bit of information at the door. Whereupon I was rushed in with a firm grip on my elbow.” She turned to Veronica. “Are you feeling better, Miss Bigelow? Mr McCale is going to get us out of here.” •Til do what I can,” he said, and there was a genuine concern in him that came as a real surprise. He heard a soft tread behind him and turned to face the lieutenant. “Johnny-on-the-spot as usual, I see.” There was a shadow of a smile on Donlevy’s lips. "Sorry I had to detain Miss Marriot, but she rather arranged her own entrance, so to speak, together with one of my over-zealous squad.” TSurely you re through with her now?” McCale was devastatingly formal. “Quite, quite. She could have gone a half hour ago, but when I learned she had phoned you, I thought—that is*—Miss Bigelow was a bit under the weather.” He dis regarded Veronica studiously, his manner to her hard, restrained. So that's the way the wind blows. McCale thought, and said to Ann, "You run along now. Wait for me at the office." He looked at his watch. Then he added pointedly to Don levy, though he faced Ann, “I'll see that Miss Bigelow gets home safely, unless, of course” — he turned steely eyes to the lieutenant "—unless you are not willing to re mand her in my custody.” “Oh, quite all right,” Donlevy said A cynical grin masked his thoughts. He turned away, drawing McCale with him. Ann murmured a few cheery words to the girl and went out. At the window, Donlevy spoke with an impatient gesture which took in the whole room. “A little more of the same mess,” he said. “Eh, my friend?” McCale sighed. “Looks like It.” he said bitterly. 'The worst part of it all is that if I'd had my wits about me, it might have been pre vented.” “What?” “I was here in this room talking with Miss Lynn about two this morning. I’m convinced by what she said that she knew something. When I came in I had the feeling that she expected someone else.” ‘A little blackmail, what?” Don levy’s eyes showed their intent in terest. “Yes.” McCale began to prowl around the room. Everything seemed just the same as it had been. He stopped before the collection of snapshots and photographs he had noticed on the wall the night before. He pointed to a space. "Someone has removed a pic ture,” he exclaimed. Donlevy came right over. "I no ticed that. But whose picture—that we’ll probably never know. You didn't by any chance—” “No. I looked them over last night, but didn’t recognize anyone. What about the rest of the place?” “Oh, the whole joint has been searched. Bedroom torn apart. What they were looking for is prob ably gone.” McCale let his voice drop to a murmur. "Then why in God’s name are you determined to pin it on that girl over there?” He indi cated Veronica. “Surely—” Donlevy shrugged. “The motive, my friend. The motive always comes back to that. The motive has piled up in the last twenty-four hours.' McCale sounded sullen. He knew only too well how it had piled up. “You satisfied?” Donlevy wrinkled his brow. “Come now,” he said. "You’re too romantic, Duke. I’ve got to be con vinced. Besides, some of our clever est murderers are pretty young women of good American family and background. Then, too. my in vestigating staff, the D.A.—they’re all satisfied. Everyone except you.” He smiled. He was very sure of himself and confident. Yes. 1 Know. i seem to unique. You’re not arresting her?” “We can wait for the Inquest, I think. And you—?” “I want the truth, of course." Mc Cale showed his teeth in a danger ous smile. “I’m going on with the investigation, as you know.” Beside McCale. Veronica Bigelow lay back against the seat of the cab, silent. She looked drained of all vitality, a figure of carved gray stone in the terror of her inner thoughts. There was the distilled essence of tragedy in her young face, a face too young to be so harrassed, so bewildered. She seemed to have grown up overnight, and the growing had been too sud den, too awful. Curt Had Planned A Double Cross McCale spoke to her gently. “I want to help yea. Miss Bigelow. Really I do. But first you’ve got to believe in me. I must probe deep er than the police—maybe hurt you more—but your Aunt Adelaide ex pects a miracle from me, and so—” “I know.” She opened her eyes. “A few more questions can't mat ter now. Go ahead.” “I’m taking it for granted that you were nowhere near your home yesterday afternoon at the time of the murder. Right?” “I wasn’t, Mr. McCale." She was intense, earnest. “I can’t say where I was at the exact moment, but I didn't kill Curt. I couldn't have. I couldn’t kill anybody, least of all Curt.” “Did you love him?" Her eyes grew big as the question startled her into a consideration of the fact as it was. “I—of course—I suppose I did.” She fumbled for words. “It waa like going round and round in a great surge of something—some thing exciting—whenever he was near me, whenever I thought of him. But it's now—now that I know that it's over, that he's gone for ever—dead—that I wonder if it was love. I’m so empty, (TO BE CONTINUED! I'* N (V. (V, (i, (V. (\. (V. \ ASK US O j l another r : l A General Quiz " ? (v» (h. (V< o-