Evening Star Newspaper, January 31, 1932, Page 84

10 FHE SUNDAY STAR, WASI A Knight's Errand—4 Siry ofa Raint There’s a Bit of Gruesome Mystery That J17ill Keep You Guessing Until You Reach the Rich Rezvard at the Iind of This Yarn, Which Is One of a Series of Short Stories First Published in T'he Star Maga syne—Another First-Run Story Will Appear in the Magazine Next Sunday. HE leaned against the window panes staring vacantly at the continuous drizzle Its mournfulness seemed to have sceped into her being. As her daughter came into the room, Mrs. Slancy drooped to the puttering, the accato dr drip of the rain 1 mother,” announced another rumor,” she nodded, her emoticnless r, of course.” whispers are so cruel. Cruel, ause they are always so false.” cme day one of them will come true. he story now? ay he has come back—that he’s at Planeport, w ng on the big new bridge. I don't believe it ‘It easy to find out The girl smiled “How?” "The woman was almost fierce with the vehement monosyllable. ‘Wihy, mother! I know lots of good reporters. It’s their business to find the truth. Some of them are stars like Reggie Richards. They keep going until they get what they're after.” “Qh! Bonnie I'd give my heart tc know he was home—at last.” It was an cld story to the girl. She had never seen her father, face to face. There was only an old photograph of him, a smiling, young, reckless giant, for her slim knowledge of paternity. But to her moiher, aching for his return after years of silent absence, Pat Clancy was still a big, boisterous superintendent of con- struction for a nationally known bridge build- ing company. He had been the typically large leader of wild men who webbed steel across rivers and gorges. Pat had been the wildest and the happiest of them all, a compelling lover, a thoughtful husband until he vanished, a man whom a w-man could never forget. Pat was her husband and the father of «Bonnie’ Kate. A year after the wedding he had led a gang to South America where they were to put steel bracelets on the wild torrents and rocky indentations of the Andes. Cath- erine rhff young wife, remained at home. That was the vanishing point for Paddy. Once or twice he wrote, but he was not of the lettelf- writing breed. No news good news by his creed As the years rolled on, vague reports came that he was alive working in outlandish places. on the Zambesi, in Australia, putting steel in China, bindir the rivers of India. Then silence. Paddy was forgotten by every- body but his wife, who shared her sorrow with nobody, not even her daughter. It was “Bonnie” Kate Ciancy now who bore the burden of the household on her slim sh-ulders. This she did efficiently, smilingly and without trace of whimper. On the soriety page of the Sentinel she was Mme. Lorgnette, wise as to social news. When interviewing prize fighters, evangelists, motion picture notables or leaders of the D. A. R., she was E-lle Ringer, on the front page. a good woman reporter who did not chew gum, never objected to cigarette or pipe smoke and did not get in the way of the men. Looking up {rom pounding her typewriter that evening, Kate caught the eye of Reggle Richards As he camg toward the door she be-koned him Reggie was the star of the staff. He had that sense of the psychological moment to ap- proach people and events that always got him the news. His eyes seemed brimming with knowledge of things. He was lazy in move- ment, with the slowness of a cat always alert to spring, storing energy when not needed. A reckless tilt to his hat, suspicion of swagger in the shoulders, long, easy stride, a ready grin, these inventoried Reggie. He sat side- wise on Kate's desk, waiting for her assign- ment, looking down at her. It occurred to him. again, that she was a very pretty girl, a nice girl. No wonder her mother called her Bonnie. “I want you to find my father,” she said to him “Huh! Got any clues?” “Mother has heard he’s at Planeport, on the big bridge.” “At planeport. I know Slosser, the chief o’ poiice, there. All right, I'T1 trot aleng.” “Here's a photograph. It's too old to be much good, but it may help.” “Let's see,” looking at his watch. “If you're in the office at 11 tonight, Il phone you the news.” EGGIE was interested in Kate. He had eaten dinner with her and Mrs. Clancy on more than one occasion. He knew some and guessed more of the worries in the Clancy household So he undertook the assignment. The return of Pat Clancy would s oth out many things for Kate and her mothe Reggie did not know that Mrs. Clancy, when she was Cs .ne Preyvogel, was the blond belle of Heidelberg Heights, the “Little Ger= many’ of the town. He did not know of the many swains who had courted her At the wedding with Pat C 'y, wise ones had wagged their heads, wondering why the blond beauty had chosen the black Irishman in pref- erence to slim Fritz von Solkild, the most ardent of her suitors Fritz not only came of good family, with the likelihood of inheriting money, he had other prospects. But before Clancy vanished in South America, Fritz had disappeared, broken hearted, they said The bane that often goes with beauty was early evident in the life of therine Freyvogel and had persisted, followed her through the years. Reggie's cnly preliminary was to get a pint of prescription whisky Nowadays this can be used more readily and efTectively as a bribe than money It loosens the tongue and a wagging jaw is what a reporter seeks on an assignment Although this was a private search, it was none the less an assignment to Reggie By trolley, Planeport was an hour’s run to the east, and it was dark when Reggie reached the end of the line. Familiar with the place, he started for police headquarters to find his friend, Dick Slosser, the chief. From him he might get a valuable tip. As he crossed a side street coming up from the waste land along the river, a man who looked violently 1ll, lurched against a tele= phone pole at the curb and hung there. He was a thin, trembling man with protruding eves that gave him a ludicrous appearance of being in deadly fear. A shabby man, who evi- dently was not drunk. “Something wrong here,” thought the re- porter, starting toward him “Can I help you?” And as the trained eyes of the investigator traveled over the figure he mused to himself that it looked like a case of shock. The derelict shook his head and seemed more afraid than ever “Take a good swallow of this’” The re- porter proffered his bottle. “It’ll brace you up, old man. By Jinks, you look as if a ghost had chased you.” The man shivered violently again and greedily took a large helping of the liquor. “Think you can make it now?"” The sick man straightened up, mumbled some words of thanks and shuffled off toward the end of the carline. Reggie watched him dis- appear, thoughtfully. In some dim, faraway memory, this man had stirred recollection in Reggie's mind, but it would not come to the surface. There had been a German ring to the mumbled words but that gave no clue. As he slowly turned to reach the police station, Reggie whispered, “Funny,” and shook his head, puzzled. Slosser was glad to see his friend and said there was no story in Planeport that he knew of. When Reggie explained as much as he chose about his trip the chief brightened. “There’'s a tough old bird called Clancy, watchman on the bridge. Seems to be well known to all the steelmen, but he ain't a top- man any more. Don’t climb. Been hurt, I think.” He did not recognize the photograph as the watchman, “You'll find him at the bridge, now. It's a desolate road out there, and you'd better take this flashlight. T'll be here when you get back.” It was dreary between the railroad and the river, with only a rough path cluttered with much debris, and the torch was real assist- ance. The bridge was & big job, and the tem- porary store house, where Slosser said the watchman loafed between his rounds, tending fires in cranes and travelers, was a two-story affair. 'There were lights on both floors, as Reggie saw, picking his cautious way toward it. No answer came to his knock when he reached the house, and he supposed the custodian was on the bridge, making his round. After a discreet interval he went inside. There were the usual crude tables and desks, with drafting boards, chairs, a large stove, coils of rope and great canvases, evidently used as covers. Nobody was in sight. “Ahoy! Watchman, visitors!” hailed Reggie, but no answer was returned. Thinking the man might be asleep he stepped toward the boarded-in stairway that led upward. “Ahoy! . . .” and the cry died away in his l J TPerr /m\rl /31, “They had tossed the rumpled bedclothing aside and throat. Reggie was staring at a huge bulk that swung in the stair well. He recoiled a step, crouching, and his eyes narrowed. His first thought was that the bulk intended to spring at him. The reporter took a long breath and exhaled noisily. A man was hang- ing in front of him. Bound at ankles, knees and wrists, a corpse dangled from a rope that ran up over a heavy plank which had been thrown across the railing running around three sides at the top of the stair well. The plank had been so placed, forward on the railing, that the victim swung clear of all the steps as he hung there. “Looks like a job,” was Reggie's verdict of finality. Gingerly. he slid past the gruesome thing and up the steps behind it. “Can’'t have been here long,’ he muttered. The body was still warm. Then his roving eye noticed there was a sling under the arms of the dead man, and this had a long trail to it. From the manner in which he had been trussed and roped, it was impossible for the case to be suicide. ROWLING around upstairs he found an empty bottle and two glasses. They were at opposite sides of a tabie and the quart, from the smell, had been recently filled with moon- shine. On the floor, back of an upturned chair, the reporter found a sock and, in a corner, a dented piece of soap. It was clear that, combined, they had been a very effective blackjack. After scrutinizing everything, he returned to the lower floor and called Slosser. While wait- ing for the policeman to come, Reggie ferreted around outside with his flashlight in regular Old Hawkshaw fashion, but found nothing. It was too dry for footprints. Nothihg seemed to have been disturbed. Then Slosser came with two officers and they lowered the dead man to the floor. His be- longings were undisturbed. There was a little money in the pockets and his watch was running. Empty pay envelopes were made to Patrick Clancy. Had they been planted there for a purpose? Slosser was sure this was Clancy. Reggie was not as sure. “If T had butted in half an hour earlier—" began Reggie. “_you'd have caught them together and this would not have happened,” concluded Slosser grimly. “I can't understand why the guy who did it went to all this trouble,” puzzled the reporter “Somebody who knew Clancy, a friend, whom Clancy did not fear, did the trick,” came from the chief. “All this tying, planning, hauling must have taken time.” The reporter was thinking aloud. “Whoever did it, knew he had all night for the job. Nobody comes out here, after dark. ut a bang or two with one of these wrenches, or a marline spike, would have done the work and saved all this elaborate horror. The killer must have been crazy drunk, or a dope.” The chief scratched his chin in perplexity. “The way I get it is this. Some bird, whom Clancy knew, brought this booze. When he got the watchman drunk, he knocked him out with the soap in the sock. Then he tied him up, put that plank over the well just in the right place, got a rope round Clancy's neck and, with that towline under his arms, pulled Clancy to the edge of the stairs and pushed him clear, to swing.” “He must have had nerve to go downstairs, past the dying man, after he swung him clear,” thought Reggie. “He might have gone downstairs before he hauled him into the well. The towline's long enough,” ended the chief. “I'd better call the coroner. I've got other things to do.” With a big canvas they covered the dead man on the floor. “You ran into a story, after all,” grinned the chief at Reggie, “and one I didn't know had broken. You're a hoodoo, but some good reporter. How'd ye know hell would break loose in Planeport? And what do you know about this Clancy, anyway?” “If he's the Clancy I mean he's got a wife in Heidelberg Heights."” “Uh huh! I make this bird, now. I used to pound a beat on the Heights, years ago.” The old officer, feet apart, hands on hips, arms akimbo, cap tilted back on his head, continued: “If it's the same, he was some man in his time. Always fought laughing. Never started a scrap, but finished in a hundred—best man. I begin to remember.” “Jog up what you call brains,” interjected Reggie. “I want to know.” “Because he was Irish, the Dutchmen on the Heights did not like him. The girls did. Fine figure of a man, with a laugh as big as he was himself in those days.” “If your mind dcn't clog you'll get a clue yet,” chaffed Reggie. “Try hard to think.” “This Clancy I'm talking of was after just one girl. She was a picture, too. All the young Dutch bloods were trailing her. But this bird, if it's the same, was a sooner. There before the ruck. They did everything to him, trying to keep him off the Heights and away from her Took wut cff his buggy wheel, so's his hor ff with him and her. But he could manage wild horses with one hand. Cut his traces and lcft him stuck with his girl