Evening Star Newspaper, September 9, 1928, Page 88

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C. SEPTEMBER 9, 1928—PART THE HILL STREET MURDER By E. Phillips Oppenheim Benskin Scorns Clues for a Hunch. HROUGH the silence of the brief| hour before dawn, and the sil-| ence of the sleeping household, | Gregory Dent sat at his desk | and wrote. ie wrote flercely, | with a spluttering pen, like a man who | has burning meatter in his brain of | which he must rid himself. Grimly and forcefully, the pen spelled | out its devastating message. The man in whose strong. blunt fingers it was gripped never hesitated for u word.' never paused to reread what he had| written. It was the ruin of a once| ?owerful commercial undertaking that| he was pronouncing, but -uin that, on the hard facts, was fully doserved. | Presently he rose, opened a cup: board, brought out whisky and a si-| phon, helped himself to a drink. lonki up the pen once more, and ned the | sheets he had written. terwards he turned over the pages Jf the telephom‘i directory. found the number he wanted‘ and raised the receiver from its stand | “No. 890 Mayfair,” he demanded . “Sir Gregory Dent, speaking irom No. 17-A Hill street. Is that Miss Fisher’s/ All Night Typewriting Agency? = Could you send a stenographer round| at once to Hill street? She vust bring | 2 machine and do half an hour’s typing | Rapidly, expertly, the typist proceeded | with her task. | Gregory Dent, his labors over, sank | into a chair and closed his eyes. There would be troubie tomorrow—trouble and plenty of it—not of his making, though. Besides, there would be the plaudits of all those whose money he had contrived to save. A happy day, on the whole, he decided. His great task accom- plished, he would rest. Presently he dozed for a few minutes. The click of the typewriter ceased. He | opened his eyes with a queer sense of | disquietude, and looked into the face | A o | of death. BENSKIN, hardened though he was w the sight of tragedy, gave a little shiver as he leaned down to make his examination of the man who, an ]hqur or so before, had been so full of ife. “Death,” the doctor pointed out in a hushed whisper, “must have been al- most instantaneous. You see, he was shot at close range. The bullet went straight through the heart. I doubt whether he had time even to realize what had happened.” Benskin nced round the room. “How do vou know that anything has happened Lady Dent “How do I know—-" she stopped herself suddenly. “What do you do here? Who are you? What is all this mystery? “What time did you go to bed last night, Lady Dent?" Benskin inquired. At 10 o'clock,” she replied. “I had a headache.” “Did you hear any sounds in the night?" None." “Did you expect your husband home?" “Of course not. He is coming this afternoon, in time for a meeting at 3 o'clock. (el me who you are and what you want, v name is Benskin, and T am sorry thetic rejoinder. turned last night and met with an acei- dent. He appears to have been shot.” “An accident!” she cried. “A serious one, I fear.” “You mean—— “I mean that he is dead.” The woman threw up her arms, gazed at him for a moment with distended eyes, and sank sobbing upon the bed. In a moment, however, she was on her sure that you have intelligence enough to know that that makes your evi- dence important.” She made no reply, beyond the merest shrug of the shoulders. “Any other questions? “You typed three letters for Sir Greg- ory Dent that night, the delivery of which would practically have destroyed the chance of your father’s firm being included in the Dent cotton amalgama- tion scheme,” Benskin continued. “Not one of those communications reached its_destination.” e her composure was di cw can you possibly know " she exclaimed, with a “I will set you a good example,” he declared, “by answering your question. I know, because I found the original copy Sir Gregory had written with his own hand, in one of the drawers of the writing table. I knew he had probably written it that night, because his fingers were badly smudged with ink; there was |a telephone book open upon his desk, | from which I discovered quite easily | that he had telephoned to this office | get aw “As a matter of fact, I was trying to v quietly, and I dropped my typewriter. I had to stop and pick it up, and I did look back at the house to see if I had disturbed any one.” Benskin's smile of satisfaction was cryptic. K ENSKIN, waiting in the lounge of a popular restaurant, drew from his pocket the dossier for which he had applied a few mornings before and read it through carefully. “HERMYANAS. Born in the Argen- tine. Age, probably 32. Professional dancer in Nice and Monte Carlo. Un- derstood to have left the Riviera on account of money trouble. First en- gaged at Marabout’s Cabaret Club for six months; afterward opened small, but fashionable night club called Lamb's Cabaret. Understood to be the sole proprietor. Financial reputation now excellent. Understood to have woman backer. Nothing against him in this country. Reputation on Riviera indifferent.” He folded up the report and placed ship went out. Where? At what time did she return?” “I can tell you nothing, Monsieur,” Celeste declared, and now there was dawning terror in her face. “Where did her ladyship go and at | for a stenographer and that you had | answered the summons. There were feet_again. DO | other signs of a typewriter having been “But this is horrible!" she cried. on the premises. And wait a moment— | The sergeant, a policeman, and an awed she can take a taxi and keep it waiting. |and trembling butler in the back- | hut stop at the corner of the street, as| ground were its sole remaining occu- T don’t want to wake my people up . . . Right. T'll expéct her in a quarter of en hour.” He rose. walked quietly to the door, opened it and stood in the hall. lie was 2 large man, clumsily, but powerfully, built, with harsh features, redesmed to some extent by the softer curves of his mouth. As he listened, the faintest of softened some of the hard lines. e floor above, Angela was sleep- sm On th ing He turncd to his seat, and presently the sound for which he waited arrived —the sound of footsteps upon the p: ment. He left his place and opened the front door. A plainly dressed young woman, in a long, dark coat and round turban hat stood there. He ushered her into the study and led her to the table. “There are seven pages here of a very important report,” he explained. “I ‘want three copies. Afterward each copy 1s to bs put into an envelope: the first addressed to Lord Eustace Ma tinhoe, chairman of the Dent Financi: Trust, 32-B, Bishopgate, E. C. 2; the second to Sir Walter Cranley, Baro- net, 14-A, Scuddamore Gardens, S. W. 1; and the third to Jacob Houlder, Es- quire, secretary to the Dert Financial “DEATH.” THE DOCTOR POINT- ED OUT ... “MUST HAVE BEEN ALMOST INSTANTANE- ous i Have Trust, also to 32-B, Bishopgate. you those addresses all right?” “Thank you, yes.” | He drew several treasury notes from | his pocket and laid them upon the table | i dont know exactly what your | charges are,” he continued, “but work | at this time of night is worth paying well for. I am going to try to keep awake long enough to see yol out, but I am very tired; if I should drop off to sleep, put the letters into the envelopes and deliver them for me. The meeting to which they refer is not held Llnflll 3 o'clock tomorrow afternoon, but I} want them to be received several hours | beforehand. Can you be sure of deliv- | ering them for me by 10 o'clock?” “Yes, I can do that.” | “Good. Then, if by any chance I am | asleep when you have finished, don't wake me to sign them. Just put ‘Greg- ory Dent’ and sign them per pro, in | your own name as typist . . . Loosen your coat if you find the room warm. | You had beiter put your typewriter | upon this table. Allow me.” | “Thank you, I can manage.” * ok ok % ITH quick and deft fingers, she| slipped the machine from its case and laid a little roll of paper by its side. She unfastened her coat, but kept it on, and stretched out her hand for the copy he offered her. She read the first | sheet quickly; at the second she paused. | Very deliberately she looked around. Gregory Dent had gone back to the cabinet and was searching for another | sivhon of soda water. Her eyes rested | unon him for a moment. At the sound | of a movement from him she recovered | herself with an effort. By the time he | had found the siphon and turned | around she was reading page 3 with| gpparent absorption. When she had | come to the end of the manuscript he nnticed her pallor and the fact that her fingers were trembling ] 3 You look too delicate for this work, pe said. not unkindly. “I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you, except whisky and soda. I've just motored up from th~ country, and if I wake the servants nall disturb my wife.” » There is nNo necess: thank you, she assured him. “I am not in need of znything. The room was a little warm, er the street. I am all right.” Used to this work?” he asked, look- ing at her keenly. “I have been in my father's office for 2 ar,” she confided=-"ever since rezlized that it might some time be necessary for me to earn my own living. I have been at Miss Fisher's for a few months.” “What made you come to London?” e asked. She shrugged her shoulders. “I want- ed to get away from home before the crash came. thinner and thinner from anxiety.” He nodded. “A business that is going the wrong way is a cruel thing” he observed. “Certain you can read this copy?” ‘Easily.” He moved to the door, to be sure that 4t was closed, and dragged a heavy screen in front of it, to deaden the eound still more effectually. Presently the clicking of the machine commenced. 1| about 7 o'clock. She rushed awa; . the front of the house?” he asked. pants. "Is the body as you found it?” he asked the sergeant. ‘The doctor was the first to touch it, | sir,” the sergeant assured him. “Any weapon?” Not a sign of one.” “Any one here before you?" 'Only the maid. who found the body, and the butler. Neither of them came farther into the room than the corner of the screen. The butler telephoned at once from the hall, locking up the room. , He handed me the key upon my arrival.” *“Then he was probably shot from the corner of the screen,” Benskin re- flected. “You are sure that nothing else has been touched, sergeant?” “Certain, sir” was the firm reply. “According to the dcctors, Sir Gregory must have been dead for a couple of hours, at least, but no one seems to have heerd the shot, or to have had any idea that anything had happened. A maid came into the room as usual at screaming, and fetched the butler. It seems that Sir Gregory, who had been up in Manchester on business, was not expected home last night. He must have arrived some time after the' household had gone to bed and let| himself in with his latch-key." “Do you know of whom the house- hold consists?” “Only Lady Dent, so far as I can find | out. There are no children and no one | staying at the house.” ‘ “‘Has Lady Dent been told yet?" “Not to my knowledge.” The doctor moved toward the door. “I shall have to prepare my report,” he said. “The body will have to be removed to the mortuary, too, as soon as you have fin- ished your examination. There is noth- ing more I can do.” He took his leave, and Benskin turned toward the sergeant. “Is there any one else who sleeps in | “Lady Dent’s maid. She has been | used to sleeping in the dressing-room. | apparently, away.” “Go and fetch h The sergeant presently yshered in a pale-faced, petite Frenchwoman, with fluffy hair and deep-set eyes. Benskin handed her a chair “You are Lady Dent’s maid, I under- stand,” he said. “Tell me your name. “Celeste Vignolle, Monsieur,” she re- plied, with a little break in her tone “I have been her ladyship's maid .Ior two years. Oh, but what a tragedy!” “Has any one told her ladyship what has happened?” “Mon Dieu, no!" the girl exclaimed, wringing her hands. “Who would dare?” “As the doctor has gone, I am afraid I must,” Benskin decided. “There is a dressing-room. 1 understand, adjoining her ladyship’s bedroom?” “Certainly, sir. 1 sleep there when Sir Gregory is away.” *“You slept there last night?" “Yes. sir. Sir Gregory was not ex- pected home.” “You heard nothing?™ “Nothing at all, sir. I was out myself | till midnight. Her ladyship had given me_peimission.” “Was her Ladyship out, too?” “No. sir. I put her to bed hefore I went out at 10 o'clock.” | “When you came back did you enter 1 by the front door?” “Yes, sit. Her Ladyship lent me her : latch-key.” “Was there any light in the study | then?" “No, sir.” Benskin reflected for a moment. “Take me upstairs,” he directed. “Tell her Ladyship that some one wishes to speak to her and ask her to see me for a moment in the dressing-room. And. Mademoiselle, I wish to be the first one to tell her of what has happened. You understand. You do not mention the lice.” o * ok x % HE hurried away. and Benskin fol- lowed her upstairs. From the dress- he listened. She was apparently obey- ing orders, for scarcely a sentence was }spoken. It was all the more of a shock to Benskin, therefore, when Lady Dent appeared. She was young—she seemed little more than a child—with beautiful deep-set eyes and fragile complexion. She had the air, however, of one already in the thrces of mortal terror. She was shivering in every limb and L‘.zsllv pale. “What has hsppened?” she cried. t himself?" you mean that he Benskin replied, “or ‘Either that,’ he was murdered.” “Murdered! But who could have mur- dered him?" ‘That is what I want to find out, and so. T am sure do you, in said. Will you permit me, Lady Dsnt, to glance into She sank him av He rang the bell for her maid and passed into the bedroom be- yond. At the room itself, with its apple- green decorations, its French bedstead, its charming furniture, he scarcely glanced. He stood for a moment at the wihdow, drew aside the chintz curtains, and looked down into the street. He was in the room for less than a minute altogether. Then he made his way downstairs, into the study. Benskin locked the docr on the inside | | and commenced his search. First of all, he stood for several minutes at the writ- ing-table, examining the traces of its recent use. He removed the sheet of blotting-paper and placed it in his nocket, held the ink-stand up to the light, moved once more back to the dead man’s side, and, turning his right hand | over gently, found a smudge of ink upon the forefinger. The tumbler, with its dregs of whisky and soda, was still there, and a half-burned cigarette. Th2 telephone | | m book stood open, and Benskin made a note of the page. Then he went through the drawers and took posses- sion of some loose pages of manuscript he found there. These he cxamined through a pocket microscope. After- ward he searched the room metricu- Iously, but in vain, for any trace of the missing weapon. Finally he rang for the butler. “I understand that Sir Gregory was not expected home last night?” h asked. “He certainly was not, sir,”” the man replied. “I should have received or- ders to have waited up, or to have left some things out for him. “And no one in the house has any idea as to what hour he arrives “No one, sir. The servants’ quarter: lie rather far back, and we shouldn't when Sir Gregory has been | hear anything that took place in the | front of the house, or in the street.” Benskin nodded. “The room had better be kept locked up for another | hour,” he ordered. “The sergeant will | stay with you, in case anything is wanted, and the doctor will be here again later on. If Lady Dent Fas any borhood they had better be sent for.” “Very good, sir.” W HE departed, and Benskin beckoned to the sergeant, who had been | waiting in the hall “It appears that you were quite | right, and that Sir Gregory was not ex- | pected home last night,” he confided | “He arrived unexpectedly, obviously for | some special reason. He wrote letters immediately on his arrival and tele- phoned. Disconnect the other tele- phone, sergeant, and answer cvery in- quiry yourself from here until T see you again.” All messages that come through to the house to be censored. You un- | derstand?” “Quite well, sir,” sured him. Benskin started out in search of the murderer. The young the sergeant as- woman who was pres- {ently shown into the waiting reom of | Miss Fisher's Typewriting Agercy. in i response to Benskin's inquiry some 10 | davs later, impressed him from the first | with her good looks. her composure and { complete self-control. | “You_ wished to see “I am Miss Horton.” T wished to see you !hnnd\ngdihfr a card. n:e {not sending in my nal . | She glan‘ced at it and looked across ‘zz him with no sign of alarm. “A ge- tective,” she observed. “What do you { want with me?” me?" she asked TForgive me for “I have come to see you on sm}_qewhut | serious business,” he "replied, lndé ! chould tell you at once that. althoug] 1 should advise you to be frank with !me, if you have nothing to conceal. 1 couldn't help, and it |ing-room into which she ushered him, 'you are not obliged to answer my vorried me to see my father getting questions.” o “There is no reason why I shouldn’ !: “Then why didn't you come forward | at the inquest on Sir Gregory Dent and | | give your evidence?” “Why should 17 I wasn't summoned. I could tell the police nothing. Sir Gregory was quite all right when I saw him last.” “Nevertheless, you seem to have been the last person who saw hig alive Benskin reminded her. “I quite close friends or relatives in the neigh-| » he admitted. | |used. I discovered that those com- munications had never been delivered at their destinations, by inquiry in the usual course. The result was that your father’s firm—which is in a precarious | financial condition—was included in | the amalgamation and relieved of its ‘esponsibilities.” “You are really quite clever,” she ad- mitted. “Any more questions?” Benskin reflected for a moment. ‘Who let you in when you arrived at the house, and what time was it?” “About half-past 3. Sir Gregory let me in himself. There seemed to be no one else up.” * | X BENSKIN looked at her steadily. “I wonder,” he suggested, “if it has oc- curred to you that, without Sir Greg- ory's death, it would have been useless |for you to have suppressed the de- livery of those letters? In other words, Sir Gregory Dent’s presence at the eceting the next afternoon would have cant your father's ruin.” “I am not so sure,” she replied, after |2 moment’s hesitation. Sir Gregory | was very unfair in his strictures, and | the other directors might have taken a different vie Of course,” she went | on, “I can see what you're aiming at. | A P [ i | You are suggesting that I murdered Sir_Gregory Dent.” “You were, at any rate, the last per- on known to have been with him,” Benskin reminded her, “and, further- more, you had a motive.” “On the other hand,” she objected, ‘how can you believe it possible that I { went there with any such idea in my | head? He rang up the typewriting |office quite unexpectedly. I never heard of him before. I answered the call, | because I happened to be the girl on duty.” | A’ good point,” Benskin admitted. | “Besides,” she added, “I never fired a | pistol in my life. I shouldnt know | | what to do with one if I had it.” | “Then what was this one doing in | vour room?” Benskin asked, producing | a weapon suddenly from his pocket. She stared at it transfized. “In my oom?” she repeated. “I never saw it before.” “Really!” he murmured. “Yet it was found in your apartment at Cranford Court, carefully wrapped up in brown paper and hidden in the bottom of one of your drawers. With it was this pocketbook with a very considerable sum in bank notes. I have ascertained that the pocketbook was the property of Sir Gregory Dent.” “I never saw either the pistol or the pocketbook before,” she insisted. He replaced them in his pocket. “What were you doing at a typewriting agency in London?” he asked. “Your father was in a very large way of bus | ness. There could have been no neces- ity for you to earn your own living.” “Perhaps there wasn't,” she admitted, “but my father had taken us all into his confidence. We knew that the crash was likely to come. I preferred to be independent when it arrived.” He nodded. “A reasonable explana- tion,” he admitted. ‘“Now, Miss Hor- ton,” he went on, “I am going to speak to you very seriously. I repeat that you were the last person known to have seen Sir Gregory Dent alive. You had | a sufficient motive for the crime, apart | from the theft of the pocketbook. Sir Gregory was killed by a bullet from a weapon of somewhat peculiar gauge. This weapon concealed in your room is of the same gauge. “No—don't speak for a moment, please. You must understand, as a; young woman of common sense, that the situation is extremely serious. I should be perfectly justified, in fact, in arresting you at this moment. Is there | anything you can tell me, as the rep- i resentative of the police, that would assist us in tracing the murder? Think over that question, please. I shall ask you no other.” “Nothing,” she answered stubbornly. “Then I can only wish you good- morning.” “You aren't going then?"” “There is no charge against you at present. Stop! There is one more question T am going to ask. When you left the house, the cab, I understand, was waiting for you at the corner of | the street. You closed the door softly?" “As softly as I could,” she answered. “It made a certain amount of noise.” “Did you hesitate at all upon the pavement, or look back toward the house?” She looked at him curiously. “I | wonder why you ask me that,” she said. | | | | | | | | | | | to arrest me { Devil Hills. 1A friendly clerk of it in his pocket. Almost as he did so the young woman for whom he was waiting entered. In her very smart clothes and from her generally chic appearance few people would have taken Celeste for a maid. She looi at him pleasantly, with no sign of recognition. “We met,” he reminded her, “under somewhat unhappy circumstances. All the gaiety seemed to fade from her face. “You are the detective!” she exclaimes “I have ordered some tea,” he said, as he drew his chair confidently to- wards her. “Mademoiselle,” he con- tinued, “it is not my wish to disturb you, yet I have a word or two to say about that night. ‘But why should you speak of it again?” He looked at her for a moment, as though measuring her powers of resist- ance, She had, he decided, more nerve }han he had at first given her credit or. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “fortunately you were not called at the inquest, so you have made no statement upon oath, but your account of that night's pro- ceedings was not true, and I am going :o gll‘t/e you an opportunity of correct- ‘What do you mean?” she demanded. ‘You told me that you went out on the night of Sir Gregory Dent's death and wrefigmed about midnight.” “Wel but, “It was not you who went out. was her ladyship.” Celeste was silent. “A serious affair like this," he ex- plained gravely, “requires very careful investigation, and you know, in the iong run, everything becomes known. | Lady Dent, it appears, is passionately fond of dancing, and Sir Gregory, naturally, objected to her visiting night clubs and those places. ‘Whenever there was an opportunity you changed identities. You are reasonably alike and you wear the same clothes. This arrangement enabled Lady Dent to spend many evenings away from home, when even the servants believed that it was you who was out so late. On that particular night you remained in the dressing-room and it was you who went to bed at 10 o'clock. Her lady- It what time did she return?” Benskin asked again. “Remember you can do her ladyship no good by refusing to answer. You can do yourself a great deal of harm.” “She Lamb's Cabaret Club,” Celeste confided slowly. “She returned about 2 o'clock.” “The Lamb's Cabaret Club,” Benskin repeated, “run, I believe, by a man named Hermyanas, whose private ad- dress is in Cranford Court.” “Perhaps,” she admitted. “Her ladyship returned alone?” “How should I know? I was in bed.” “In bed in the dressing-room adjoin- ing the bedroom,” Benskin reminded her. “Isn't it true, Mademoiselle, that Hermyanas returned home with her ladyship?” She looked up at him piteously. “Mademotselle,” he said, “it is pain- ful, T know, but the truth must come out.” “Mr. Hermyanas came back with my mistress just before 2. she acknowl- edged. “It was madness. I told her ladyship so. She would never listen to me. She was folle about him, and he— when Sir Gregory was ill—he hung about all the time. He believed, if any- thing happened, she would marry him.” Benskin rese. “You are a sensible girl,” he said. “and I shall forget that first story of vours. Now you must come with me for a little time.” 5 xe BENSKIN unfolded his napkin and looked around with interest and admiration at the furnishing and deco- ration of London's smallest and most select night club. “Charming!” he murmured to the attentive maitre d'hotel who stood by his side. “Is it true Mr. Hermyanas is the sole proprietor?” The man shrugged his shoulders. “One believes sc.” he admitted. “Will you say that a gentleman would like a word with him as soon as pos- sible?” The maitre d’hotel departed to exe- cute his mission. Presently a dark sallow-skinned young man of medium height, dressed with meticulous care, approached the table. “You wish to speak to me?" went to the “HERMYANAS DON'T TRY ANY TRICKS. 1 HAVE A WARRANT FOR YOUR ARREST.” “I do,” Benskin assented. “Will you sit down for a moment? The matter is confidential.” Hermyanas fingered his eye-glass. “This is rather my busy time he re- marked. “If it is anything to do with joining the club—" “It is not,” Benskin interrupted. “I do not as a rule frequent night clubs.” Something in his manner must have seemed to the other ominous, for he subsided into the indicated chair. Ben- skin leaned over toward him. “Hermyanas,” he warned him, “don’t try any tricks. I have a warrant for your arrest.” There was a livid streak in the young man's face. His fingers gripped at the tablecloth. “My arrest!” he gasped. “You are joking. I have never broken the laws. We serve no drinks after hours.” “You are arrested on a more serious charge,” Benskin told him gravely—"on the charge of murdering Sir Gregory Dent on the morning of the 13th. It is my duty to caution you, Hermy- anas, that I am bound to take note of anything you say.” There was no instant fear of speech from Hermyanas, for with a terrified little groan he collapsed in his chair. When he came to himself, the hand- cuffs were upon his wrists and the gal- lows before his eyes. The sub-commissioner offered his compliments to Benskin the following morning. “How did you come to connect Her- myanas with the affair at all?” he in- quired. “That came about quite naturally,” Benskin explained. “It was easy to discover that he was a particular friend of Lady Dent, and it was also an easy matter to find out that he was in the house that might.” “Yes,” the sub-commissioner com- mented. “tbat's all very well, but what | about the revolver and the pocketbook ness,” Benskin replied. “In leaving the house, the girl made some nois2 that disturbed Hermyanas. She dropped her typewriter upon the pavement. He drew back the curtain in such a panic that he broke one of the rings. H2 looked down into the street, and he saw the girl gazing up at the house to see if she had disturbed any one. “Of course, he recognized her. Sh= occupied the apartment opposite his in Cranford court. There was probably some further noise in the room below. Hermyanas stole down—he generally carried a revolver, it seems—stole into that room on the ground floor, and, whether he did it in cold blood while his victim was sleeping, or to save his own skin. he certainly shot Dent. “Then the beast took out his pocket- book, made his escape, and afterwards planted the pocketbook and the revol- ver in a drawer of his neighbor’s room. He argued to himself, I suppose, that her night visit to the house would cer- tainly come out. He knew quite well that she was a typist and he could guess her errand. “He planted the revolver and the pocketbook in her room, with the sole object of fastening the crim¢ upon her, not even knowing that there was an- other motive stronger still that might have made things look even worse for her, _circumstantially. The brute thought he was safe. and perhaps he might have been, if the maid had held her tongue. As it is, the case against him is complete.” 5 The sub-commissioner renewed his compliments. There was somsthing ih Benskin's expression that puzzled him. “Getting callous, young fellow, aren't you?” he remarked. “I never saw you bring a man to th> condemned cell and look really Foppy about it befors.” Benskin smiled thoughtfully. There was a little picture before his eyes— the picture of Hermyanas creeping into the girl's room h a brown paper narcel under his arm. in that girl's drawer?” “That's the dirty part of the busi- (Copyrisht. 25th Anniversary of First Fligat (Continued from First Page) near Kill Devil” said Assistant Sec- retary MacCracken, “If I thought it would be used. But wouldn't such a field go to seed?” There rests the memorial project. If the cornerstone is to be laid, or the first shovel of sod to be turned, on December 17, the program for the open competition will have to be announced very shortly. Foreign competitors will not be encouraged, although their de- signs will not be barred, the Quarter- master General's Office said. Since Government attaches have begun to rummage through the Na- tion's files in search of records bearing on the early Wright experiments some new and valuable data have come to light. The writer investigated the log of the Kill Devil Hills Coast Guard sta- tion and found two noteworthy entries, the first on April 25, 1908, and the second on May 14, 1908, reading, re- | spectively: “Mr. Wilbur Wright, of Dayton, O. has been stopping at the station night: week.” And: “Wrights made a flight with their airship of eight miles and completely wrecked their machine.” * K ok K LATEP. by miraculous accident, the orizinal newspaper storles written by R. Bruce Salley, free lance, were uneartaed. Fifteen of Salley's stories— think of it! Written and scribbled within view of the Wrights and while the aeronauts droned over the Kill This reporter, Salley, was trained in his sense of observation. In Salley’s dispatches, the Nation has what is undoubtedly the most vivid. accurate and painstaking account of what took place at Kill Devil Hills when the Wrights loomed over the horizon of fame. But Salley's stories and how Salley was found are matters even more inti- mate to Washington. Fred Eassary. president of the National Press Club, was city editor of a Norfolk, Va., news- paper, and, incidentally, Salley’s em- ployer in 1903 and 1908, when the Wrights staged international dramas on the Kill Devil stage. He was a free lance in Norfolk, a reporter of talent and a friend of Essary's. One momentous day a tip crossed the city desk. Oh, it was one of a hundred tips, carrying rumor on its wings and a grain of salt on its tail Essary, the young city editor, looked and thought twice on this tip. It bore the earmarks of a sensational truism. the Norfolk & Western Railway had exchanged words with a loquacious mechanic who was escorting a box—a box containing the Wright plane | The flying machine was there all| right—in the box. Newspaper men had lost the trail. That tip bore fruit Essary's phone buzzed. A railroad clerk on the wire. The “Wright air- plane just passed south.” Huh! South meant no place other than Kitty Hawk. Enter Salley. Then listen to a con- ference between Essary and the free lance. The Wrights were about to break a story that they would taboo for gentle- men of the press. But readers the world over wanted that story. So did Essary. Salley scented the trail of a mysterious box, and—dream of dreams —a_scoop! Although the original dispatches tell only of the 1908 flights, Essary says that Salley worked for him in 1903. 2s well, in both instances scoring| scoops. One of the first moves by the Wrights was to lease Kill Devil Hill from Capt. Daniel Hayman. Now, why lease ground when it was free to tramp on? Because, by leasing, one acquires the legal right to keep reporters from the premises. And the Wrights paid | new airplane this afternoon, Capt. Hayman something like $1.50 for the lease. But Salley was not to be denied, lease | or no lease. He camped back in the ! marshes, probably slept cn the beach sands. Up at sunrise with the Wrights, dashing back and forth between his marshy hotel and the telegraph station at Roanoke Island. He saw the flights from a distance. It is doubtful if Sailey ever came nearer than several hundrcd yards to the Wright plane. There was a stern rule to keep off leased land, and the Wrights enforced it. Then how di- Salley get material for his dispatches® By using a most uncanny logic and an observing pair of eyes. It was before the day of radio, bus- tling telephone exchanges in country towns and powerful press associations, Newspapers relied upon individual cor- respondents for much of their news, and, as free lance, it was Salley’s inten- tion to sell his dispatches to whatever newspaper would have them. W. DRINKWATER, telegraph operator and Weather Bureau ob- rver on Roanoke Island. handled the WS over a Government wrie runniug along the North Carolina and Virginia ast, ordinarily used for sending intelli- gence about the weather. Pressed into use, the wire was able to relay bulletins and dispatches to Norfolk, where they were frequently enlarged, revised and | cdited by Essary before being sont | out to newspapers, | Originals of bulletins have not yet been found. During the early flights, Essary it was nec only short messages, because the Weath- er Bureau wire could handle only a few words per hour. It was tedious work. Later, however, Salley typed and wrote his dispatches full size. Hence- forth historians may look to these stories as the most authentic piecés of intelligence on Wright aeronautics writ- ten in that day. _The following quotations from Salley's dispatches have never been printed since first publication by scattered xA:wsg)agel;s. tfl;; !h;; time of the flight. any rate, they have nev = pcaAredl tggethsr. Clatil pril 6, 1908, Salley broke the news: “Wright brothers, the aeronauts. now at Kill Devil Hill, near here (Roanoke | Island). made their first flight in their chine, under perfect control o;rhe e makers. traveled 1,000 feet. Apparently it could have been flown a thousand times as far as easily as not. It was m:’d‘P to alight with case and in perfect safety. “The flight was for the purpos testing a new idea in sne«’nnfi"g’.;’é the adaptability of which was unknown. The idea was found satisfactory, but it was found that its adjustment was not altogether right. “The elevation of the machine did | not reach more than 20 feet above tho | ground | “The machine was started easily from | a railway about 300 feet long. As the engine started it glided rapidly along this runway and when it had reached i]f\;clr;‘dl:' o(kall)’outuzs miles an hour it eft the track, bearing both Wi | Orville Wright. . . . i “The principle governing the machine is the same as that which enables a bird to fly. although in apearance it in no way resembles a bird. The Wrights killed and studied the formation of many birds before their machine was constructed. ~What might be termed the body of the machine (modern ! term, fuselage) is shaped like a long box, the sides and ends being entirely open with the exception of a few light upright pieces and guy wires. Forward side of this box Is inclined upward like the breast of a bird. The bottom and top are of closely-woven canvas or silk. It is these which, forced by the engine, keep the machine buoyed up. The engine, about 20 horsepower, is located in the middle of the box. ~Attached to the engine are twohwouden propellers of two blades each. “The only other attachments are those which perform the office of the tail of a bird. These are a rudder ex- | | the editors, sitting behind green shades | eyes on this startling news. tending back between the propellers and another box-shapsd arrangement projecting forward, regulating eleva- tion.” et 'HIS news made sweet music for th2 Naticn's wires. From coast to coast Salley’s words hummed and clicked over the tclegraph keys. But trained incredulous and typewriters, “Cut ouc the wild cat stuff. We can't handle it,” one editor wired the Kill Devil correspondent. Severely piqued that eny one should question his professional honor, Salley replied: “Where did you get idea I have been filing wild cat stuff? Am not in the habit of filing such matter. Good story today. Wrighis’ make new records.” Optimism winds up th= dispatch. And | protessional pride in a “good story.” May 8, 1903, Salley sent the following: “The Wrights refuse all requests for information regarding their machine, and little can be learned about it e: cept through observation of its perform- ance. Located as they at Kill | Devil Hill and surrounded by miles ot and hills, their experiments are wit- >d by few people. “They are one mile from the Kil? Devil Hill Life Saving Station, with its six surfmen who assisted in building and now nandling their machine. | “These and several others witnessed the experiments today. A herd of long- haired cattle watching operations from afar were frightened into Roanok= sound when once the machine flew in their direction ™ May 11, 1908, Salley wrote: “In flving machine flights at Kill Devil Hill today. Wright brothers made long gains over distances heretofore flown, the longest flight today, the dis- tance being computed by telegraph voles of the United States Weather Bureau seacoast wire, being two and seven-sixteenths miles, almost a mile in excess of their best record previous to today. “At no time was the machine more that 20 feet above the ground, the only rises in its course being taken to oid sand dunes. It was made to light | sasily on the ground, the average time being computed as 46.774 miles per | hour. | “Imagine a reaper flying through the | air with its customary noise while at work and the rising and falling motion similar to that of a bird, and a fair| picture of the Wright brothers' flying | machine in action is obtained. . “After (he machine alights. it has to be rolled back to the rail before it can be started again. To do this, it is placed | on a pair of wheels, and with its engine | in_action it almost forces itself alon. | “*Wright brothers guard their machine with utmost secrecy. They will not operate il in sight of a stranger. especially a newspaper man—not if they know it. Life savers are their | only confidants.” | This last paragraph should dig the | grave of many disputes. It clinches for | all time the fact that the Wrights were | exceedingly shy of strangers. And newspaper men—the brothers would deny them even a glimpse of the machine. * & ok K BOUT this time one of the editors wanted to know more about the | reporter who signed his name “Salley.” | Salley replied: “Dear Editor: Stories you are getting | from Manteo. Roanoke Island, are ac- curate. Should you wish to substantiate correctness of my information, wire Mr Drinkwater. officer in charge Weather Bureau here, or Capt. Jesse Ward, keeper of Kill Devil Hills Life Saving Station. Big fakes have been concocted in Norfolk.” According to Essary, Salley was the lone-nanaed journalist at Kill Devil during the first few spectacular flights. any indi-*dual to handle. Representa- | tives of the press cal storming into | the sand-dunc couniry—Byron Newton, ted Palmer, Arthur Ruhl and a host of others. But the Wrights held them all at bay. Leased ground was leased round. no news re- Icas®s, no pictures, not! It was grim business. It was about the world’s greatest sight from a vantage point that was not l2ased. And Salley hield his own. “The flights are observed by news- paper men concealed in the jungles,” W1 1ley. In the group of e averal veierans who i ve accustomed to witne inz the most important event: But they sat speechl amazement today as they vatched the | sraceful machine gliding through the [air and realized that they were prive |of a dream since civilization bezan. “Asked if he thought an acroplane could be made to fly across the Atlanti Ocean, Wilbur Wright roplied that t 1s impossible with the gasoline eng: as_the motive power.” ien the climax. on May 14, 1908: “After scoring a triumph in a splencid flight of more than eight miles t afternoon, the Wright aeroplane wa: suddenly dashed to earth and completaly wreeked. Wilbur Wright, operator, was not njurad. but the wreck was so com- plete that the parts will be shipped back to TCayton. And on the fullowing day. the last disnatch: “The Wrights appcared to need no comfort today. In the small building situated in the center of barren wastes, in which the Wrights have eaten and | sl=pt a little and devoted much care to | their machine, they were boxing for shipment back to their factory at Day- ton the remains of their machine, to whistling er humming cheerful tunes. It's all right,’ they said. ‘We have |8 new machine and what do we care. This was an old one and could not last always anyway.' But they would not consent to discuss their machine in any W Then the postscript: “Editors: As flying machine has flown s last flight, I return home tomorrow.” _ With these dispatches brought to light, there will be editors whose fore- sight and initiative will mark Salley the man to “cover” the forthcoming bilee in commemoration of the first ghts. But let them look for Salley. Let them scan the “who's whos” and “when’s whens.” Salley—Salley is dead. * % % VWILLIAM P. McCRACKEN. Assist- . ant Secretary of Aeronactics and chairman of the executive «.mmittee, will shortly lead a special delegation to the Dayton home of Mr. Wright and acquaint him with plans of the con- gress and learn what part aviation's greatest figure would care to take in it. Last meeting of the executive com- mittee gave tentative approval to a pian for a pilgrimzge of visiting dele- gates to the Kill Devil site, us guests of the American Government = arr Truscott. national advisory com- mittee of aeronautics, has been hac:ed :o mves:lgdte ?nd submit a rsport on ransportation facilities a et fforded to Kill Office _ Bureans of Aeronanti h Navy. War and Commerce m;:n"éffi will take the most active roles. A spe- cial committre of the Pnst Office De- rartment will acauaint delegates with n?:tl,Amomm system of handling air The Weather Bureau and By Standards will particinate mnt;::?rurm svective flelds. The National Advisor Committee for Aeronautics also will be represented, besides civil organizations. such as the Guggenheim Fund for the Promotion of Aeronautics, the Aeronau- # Chamber of Commerce, United But New York editors didn't believe his storles and, besldes, it was too much for —— ", States Chamber af Commeres and the National Aeronautic Association.