Evening Star Newspaper, April 27, 1930, Page 87

something that must have fallen from Cope’s pocket. Here it is.” He handed a small object to Matthew Kelton. It was a black pearl stud, set in platinum. Quickly Kelton bent over and stared at the body. “It's not Cope’s,” he announced. “His studs are plain gold, and they are all in place. He wheeled 'round to Guy Oakley, and thrust the black pearl stud under his eyes. “Is this yours?” Kelton shot the question at him. The banker looked at it with wide eyes. “Yes. That’s mine.” “How do you explain its persence here?” “I can’t.” . Sergt. Lester came hurrying up. “Here are the two pistols, Mr. Kelton,” he said. SWIPI'LY Matthew Kelton snapped the safety catch off the automatic, and looked into the magazine. It was full, Then he took the small Skomak pistol, opened it, examined the chamber. The brass butt of a cartridge could be seen. He shook the cartridge out into his band, and whistled. It'had been fired. Guy Oakley cried wildly, “I tell you it was loaded when last I saw it!” “It isn't loaded now,” said Matthew Kelton grimly . . . . “Great Scott, what is that?” From the woods came a cry—a long-drawn, moaning, eerie sound. They all started. Then Evan Turner laughed. “It’s an owl—one of those big horned fellows. The woods around here are full of them this time of year What a racket he is kicking up! Some night animal, perhaps a lynx, has got hold of him, I suppose.” Matthew Kelton said nothing. He was stand- ing, silent, and his face wore a look of the utmost concentration. “Imaginaticn,” he said. “What?” “Nothing. Sergt. Lester?” “Yes, sir?” ; . “You made a careful examination of the ground around Cope’s body?” “Every inch of it, within a radius of 10 yards or more,” the sergeant answered. “And found nothing?” -"How tall, Dr. Ussher, do you think Cope ek “Well over 6 feet.” Matthew Kelton called Police Capt. Lamotte to one side. “Captain,” he said, “as a favor to me, I'm going to ask you not to place Mr. Oakley under arrest until tomorrow. Keep him confined to his house, and watch the house. But don't ar- rest him.” “You don't mean he isn't guilty?” demanded the policeman. “Why, there’s enough evidence against him to swing a couple of men!” * “Granted. If he is guilty, he'll be just as guilty tomorrow as he is tonight. If you don't hear from me by 5 tomorrow afternoon, arrest * s taking a chance,” the police captain - sal “Well,” said Capt. Lamotte, “you’ve helped me out a lot of times, and you've never let me down yet. I'll do what you want. But— look here—you've got some theory. What is it~ Matthew Kelton smiled. “I wouldn’t call it & theory,” he said. “It's a flight of fancy, a wild, wild speculation. If I told you, you'd think I'd been hitting the hop pipe. Wait till tomorrow!” He turned to the others. *““I'm going home now,” Matthew Kelton said, ®and finish my cryptogram. It's a corker.” “Can you hold out any hope?” asked Evan Turner. “Oniy a shadow, Evan, I'm afraid. Come to my house tomorrow morning at 10. You’ll find me out in my apiary, thinking. The pres- ence of bees always helps me think. Good night EVAN TURNER found Matthew Kelton in the apiary in the garden of his house next morning, sitting on a stool, watching the bees. “Morning, Evan,” said Kelton. “Bees are most interesting people. Spiders, too. I find them a great help in some of my problems. Sometimes, when 1 have a problem in human conduct, I reduce it to terms of bees or spiders. In the insect world you'll often find the little fellows acting very much as their larger rela- tions, men, act. “Now the irrational, but rather human con- duct of a certain species of wasp——" “Matthew,”’ interrupted Evan Turner, nerv- ously, “it’s after 10. Let’s discuss the ways of wasps some other time. Oakley's life is at stake “As I was saying,” went on Matthew Kelton calmly, “the conduct of a wasp I witnessed just before you arrived gave me a hint that may be the means of saving Oakley from the galiov .’ ‘““Nhat do you mean?” “I'm not going to tell you, Evan,” answered Matthew Kelton, with a smile, “I'm going to try to show you. There’s a very strong chance I'm entirely wrong. I have gone about the matter in a quite illogical way. I have started with a fantastic theory. Now I must look for hard, concrete facts to back it up. I think I'll take my friend the wasp along with me, for good luck.” Matthew Kelton picked up a specimen card to which was pinned a large wasp. He put it in his pocket. “Let’s be on our way, Evan,” he said. “Where?" “To Lewis Cope’s house.” “What for?” “Facts,” said Matthew Kelton. “Cope lived in a small house on the edge of Briarly Forest,” Evan Turner said. “For the last three or four years he was a recluse; practically a hermit.” 2 “Solitude,” observed Matthew Kelton, as they started away in his car, “is dangerous for men with brooding minds.” He said nothing more until they found the bouse of Lewis Cope, a plain stone box at the “We need ’il answer for him,” said Matthew Kelton.' THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, . T He had been shot through the heart. Slight powder marks were on his shirt, as end of a lane. habitation. “Hardly a cheerful place,” said Kelton. “What do you expect to find here, Matthew?” questioned Evan Turner. The house was deserted. The front door was locked, but the lock soon succumbed to Matthew Kelton’s skeleton key, and the two men entered. The house was simply furnished, and Cope had been a fairly neat housekeeper. “Let’s see what he read,” said Kelton, glanc- ing about the living room. He shook his head as he looked at the small bookcase. Lewis Cope’s library consisted of an old set of. the works of Poe, and a fairly new encyclopedia of ornithology in four volumes. “Queer combination,” said Matthew Kelton. “Significant, too. It's a bad sign, Evan, when & man lives all alone and hasn’t a large library.” He stopped in the kitchen long énough to rummage about in an odds-and-ends drawer. He pounced on something there, took it out, put it in his pocket. The mystified Turner saw that it was nothing more exciting than a small ball of twine. Lewis Cope had devoted some of his solitude to sawing wood. It was arranged in neat piles in the shed. “Nothing here,” said Turner. “No?” “I don’t see a thing but some wood, an ax, a saw, a chopping block, a few rakes and hoes, and an old parrot cage.” Matthew Kelton, humming to himself, was gazing at the cage. “What do you make of it?” he asked the lawyer. “I deduce,” said Turner, with mock serious- ness, “that at one time Cope, in common with many other people who live alone, kept a pet parrot. I further deduce that at some time the bird died or escaped, so he put the cage out here.” “Anything else?” “I am unable, with the data at hand, to determine the age, sex, or name of the parrot,” said Turner. “Look at the condition of the cage,” said Matthew Kelton. “Look at those small red stains. Go on, deduce some more.” Evan Turner surveyed the cage more closely. “I'd say that polly met a violent death, and within the past two days. Possibly she said something Cope didn’t like, and he wrung her neck.” All Matthew Kelton said was: “The face of a man, even in death, tells you things about him. Now, I didn’t think Cope looked like a man given to uncontrolled outbursts of emo- tion. He seemed to me to be of the type that has strong, hot passions, but a cold brain that guides them. Come, we must be going.” “Where now?” “I have an engagement with some friends of mine,” said Matthew Kelton, “at the main gate to Oakley's estate.” As the car drew near the house of Guy Oakley, Evan Turner saw a dozen figures in khaki sitting on the wall near the gate. They sprang to attention as Matthew Kelton stopped his car. “Boy Scouts,” said Evan ‘Turner. “Fox Troop,” said Matihew Kelton. “I'm their patron saint.” Not near any other human HE got out of the car, and the scouts gathered about him. Turner saw him talking to them, gesturing, and saw them listening with respectful attention. Then the scouts trotted away into the woods that bordersd the Oakiley estate. Matthew Kelton and the lawyer made their way to the spot heside the main drive, where Cope’s body had been found. “If my reasoning is sound,” Matthew Kelton said, “and I have rare good luck, we'll know something very soon now. While we're walt- ing, perhaps you'll let me say a few more words about wasps.” “I'm completely at sea, Matthew,” said Even Turner. “I haven't the least idea what you're APRIL 27, 1930. of two or three feet. getting at. Wasps, empty bird cages, Boy Scouts—now wasps again.” “I'm sane, or almost so,” said Matthew Kel- ton, with a chuckle. “You see, Evan, the scheme of human existence is made up of & myriad of small, trifling things, each unimpor- tant, perhaps, but all necessary to make the complete pattern. We'll start with the wasp.” He took the dead insect out of his pocket. “This misguided creature strayed into my aplary today,” he said, “and as I did not want him there, I cornered him, and took him in my hand to eject him. He flew into a rage and stung me. I was weéaring gloves, fortunately. Presently, he died; but I did not kill him. He belongs to the species that can sting but once, and then dies as the result of stinging. “Now, he knew this. Insects have curiously developed instincts, as, for example, the spider, ~ who knows in advance that, if he makes love to a lady of his species, he is sure to be eaten by her. This wasp, I feel sure, knew that to sting me meant death to him. But his hate was stronger than his sense. Some men are like that, Evan.” “What are you suggesting?” “Samson pulled down the temple on his ene- mies, even though he had to crush himself in doing it. Love, my dear Evan, is strong. But there is nothing stronger in life than a good, deep-seated, robust hate. Now let’s take a quick review of our case. Cope hated Oakley. Cope lived alone, and brooded. Cope had a hundred chances to shoot Oakley down in the past few years—and didn’t do it. “Why? Because Cope was both cruel and cunning. He wanted to punish Oakley; not merely kill him. So the warped mind of Cope worked out a really brilliant scheme. Cope knew that he himself was doomed, that he would die from his disease within a year. It would be small satisfaction to murder Oakley, even if he could do it and escape detection, since Cope himself must soon follow his victim. S0 Cope decided that he would die, and die in such a way that Oakley would be con- victed and hung for his murder—as diabolic a revenge as I ever heard of. “Cope worked out his plan in minute and careful detail. He was the burglar who visited Ounkley’s house, He took the plate and jewelry for a blind. His real object was to get hold of Oakley’s gun, and fire it, so that when it 'was found, there’d be an empty cartridge in it. Taking the black pearl stud was probably an inspiration. It would be just one more damning bit of evidence against Oakley when it was found near Cope’s body. “Then Cope picked an evening when he knew Oakley was home and alone. He may even have had the hope that Oakley would actually kill him Oakley didn't, but Cope provoked . him to shout threats and angry words, which the butler heard. Then Cope left the house when he heard the butler shaking the furnace, and shot himself a few yards from Oakley’s door, with a pistol exactly like Oakley's. “The case against Oakley was perfect. Any district attorney, with such evidence, could hang Oakley. You felt that way yourself, Evan. I, myself, at first saw no chance for Osakley to clear himself. Cope had certainly put a noose around his hated enemy’s neck. I only looked further into the case to please you—and because I was puzzied by a problem in psychology, namely: Was it possible for a careful, shrewd man like Oakley to commit so stupid and un- planned a crime.” “It's an interesting theory, Matthew,” said the lawyer, despondently, “but it doesn’t wash. It fits into Cope’s character—but, one point you can’t theorize away: What became of the pistol that killed Cope? Pistols do not vanish into thin air. No weapon was found near the body, as it surely would have been, if Cope had shot himself.” “That,” said Matthew Kelton, “brings me to the most ingenious part of Cope’s plan, a bit of real creative imagination, Evan. Do you remember the bag of bits of meat in his pocket?” “Yes.” if he had been shot from a distance “That was a clue. It caused me to hazard a fantastic guess—and I'm not sure yet I'm right. Yes, I am. Here comes one of my Boy Scouts on the run.” A bright-eyed boy came panting up. “Well, Freddy?” said Matthew Kelton. “Got it, sir,” said the scout. “Take us there,” directed Matthew Kelton, and he and the bewildered lawyer followed the scout into the woods. Fn'rr yards in the scout stopped and pointed. The eyes of the two men saw, hanging from the lower branches of a pine tree, the body of a giant horned owl, 2 feet tall, with talons the size of a man’s hand. The owl had been killed by some small nocturnal climbing animal. The bird had been unable to defend itself, because a piece of twine, tied about one of its legs, had become entangled in the branches. y “Climb up and carefully release the owl” o said Matthew Kelton. The scout shinned up the tree, and presently the bird fell at the feet of the men. A piece of twine about 2 feet long was attached to the foot of the dead owl, and at the other end of it was a small pistol. “It's like Oakley’s,” cried Evan Turner. “Exactly. It's a Skomak, a ‘murderess’,” said Matthew Kelton. “And, look, Evan. The cartridge has been fired. The bullet you have seen. It was the one Cope fired into his own heart.” “But—how?"”” Matthew Kelton held out the tiny weapon. “See,” he said, “it has a hair trigger. Goes oft at a touch. Cope, who was very tall and had unusually long arms, as you may have no- ticed, held it at arm’s length from his chest, and touched the trigger. The little pistol fell from his lifeless hand, and naturally the owl flew away, as Cope knew it would, with the pistol dangling from its foot.” Turner whistled. 2 “Cope,” continued Matthew Kelton, “figured that the owl would head for the woods. There the pistol would be knocked off against a tree and be lost forever, or the owl would get en- tangled in a branch, and starve to death, or be killed. and in time the string would rot, and the pistol would drop down. Small chance of its ever being found in woods so little fre- quented.” “But how could Cope keep the owl quiet while he was shooting the pistol?” “It must have been a tame owl,” said Mat- thew Kelton. “Cope probably caught it and raised it for this very purpose. A methodica) man, Cope. The owl was accustomed to hima, He kept it pacified last night by feeding it bits of meat. No doubt, he tied it to a bush when he went in to interview Oakley.” Matthew Kelton sighed. “Poor Cope!” he said. “Like the foolish wasp, he died for hate. Here, take the owl and the pistol, and go to the house and tell Oakley and the police the story. I'm going home to work on a new puzzle!” (Copyright, 1930.) Making Timber Heavy lighter the stand of timber, the heavier the timber is. This sounds like a paradox, but it isn't. Exe haustive investigation conducted by the Forest " Service indicates clearly that the wider the spacing of trees in a forest or wood-lot, the heavier the timber—that is, the specific gravity of the wood—becomes. Incidentally, and this is a matter of importance, the wider spacing accelerates the speed of growth of the trees. Tests have indicated that ash and hickery, along with other hardwoods, can be brought to maturity for lumbering purposes in 50 to. 60 years by proper spacing of the trees, while the coniferous trees, like the Southern pines, may be used in as few as 20 years.