Evening Star Newspaper, October 4, 1936, Page 92

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We have, however, checked up on the records of these men, and what we find leads us to be- lieve that they are far from trust- worthy. The fingerprints on the gun barrel seem to have been a forgery, the clever work of a resourceful crook! “I don’t know whether you have been advised that the man who was murdered on the boat, and who was known to the passengers as Gregory Jackson, was a man with a criminal record, wanted by the police of several countries. Such, however, was the case. And Clegg and Gary were his as- sociates, traveling, of course, under assumed names. It is, altogether, a most unprecedented situation. Their stories were so plausible I saw no al- ternative other than to hold you."” Burke said coldly to the deputy, ‘“Have you ever been arrested for vio- lating a traffic law?”’ The deputy raised his eyebrows. “Because,”” Burke went on, “if you have, you'll realize how absolutely im- possible it is to explain away a situa- tion. Nothing you say will affect the situation in the slightest.” The deputy had the grace to flush. “It may interest you to know,” he said, ‘‘that you weren't alone in.being inconvenienced. A young island girl, a Miss Hara, was similarly detained.” “Where is she?”’ Burke asked eager- ly. “I want to see her. She could tell me more . . .”” His voice trailed off. “She was released shortly before you were,” the deputy said. ‘‘She was staying at a small hotel on Bush Street. Here, I'll give you the card. Perhaps you can find her there.” Burke wasted no time in farewells, but grabbed his hat, shot out of the door, called a taxi, and hurried to the hotel, only to find that Wanda Hara had checked out. However, a bell cap- tain, with an eager eye for tips, volun- teered the information that the cab she had taken was one which custom- arily stood in front of the hotel, and was able to furnish the number. Ten minutes of telephoning located the cab, and in another five minutes Burke was interrogating the driver. “Yeah, I remember her,” the driver said, “‘A swell looker. Took her to Chinatown, to a Chinese restaurant.” Burke climbed into the cab and said, ‘‘Let’s go there.” The man drove to a section of the city as thoroughly Oriental as the streets of Hongkong. He turned down a side street and slid the cab close in against the curb. “It"s that place up there,” he said. ‘It ain’t much of a joint to look at, but there’s some swell cooking, and Lip Kee, the proprietor’s a funny one. He’s like a slant-eyed fox. You never can figure him. I’ve seen some swells come to this place, and out of it too. I don’t know just what it is that he runs HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! Made of 50% thicker steel, Gem Blades take of tough beards—yet never irritate the skin. And because they stay sharp longer—give more shaves per blade —they deliver a knock- out to shaving costs! up there besides a restaurant, maybe nothing, but he's —— "’ Burke slipped a bill into the driver’s hand and took the steps two at a time. He opened a door to encounter an atmosphere in which there were mingled odors of Chinese cooking and incense. There were a few tables, a long line of booths, some of which were vacant, with the green curtains drawn back to disclose lacquered tables and stools of teakwood. Burke's eye swept the tables. A moon-faced Chinese was dining with a young blonde who was beautiful save when she smiled. There was a shrunk- en wreck of a man who eyed the food in front of him with the shivering dis- taste of one who is forcing himself to eat. The skin which covered his emaciated countenance was a dead, pasty white. Burke had no time to stand on ceremony. He walked directly to the row of little booths and peered be- hind the curtains. A young couple en- gaged in an amorous téte-d-téte; two Chinese busy with chopsticks; a young Americanized Chinese couple — these comprised the occupants of the cur- tained booths. One of the Chinese men raised his voice in shrill protest. A man hastily appeared from the vicinity of thekitch- en. He was somewhat taller than the average Chinese, wore a blue serge suit with an air of distinction, and had a face which was utterly without ex- pression, yet there was ominous pur- pose in his walk as he strode toward Tracy Burke and said, “What do you want?” “I want Lip Kee."” ‘“What you want Lip Kee?"” “‘Are you Lip Kee?" ‘“What you want Lip Kee?” ‘I want to find a young woman who came here a few minutes ago. She's about twenty-five, big black eyes, black hair, a beautiful figure, red lips, well-formed. She’s an Hawaiian.” ‘““The young woman about whom you inquire has not been here. And the management will ask you to refrain from disturbing personswho are dining behind drawn curtains.” There was something about the man which was as steel beneath vel- vet. Burke recognized that he had come to a blank wall which effectively terminated this portion of his search for Wanda Hara. . He muttered an apology and, be- cause there seemed nothing else to do, turmmed back toward the door which led to the stairs, and groped his way down the dark stairway. He had just reached the sidewalk when he heard someone behind him say: “Hey!” Burke turned to see a figure walking down the stairs with uncertain feet. As it came into the light, he recognized the attenuated man with the pasty skin, who had been staring at his food in the restaurant as though eating were an unpleasant ritual. ‘The man shuffled up close to Burke. ““You want a line on the frail?” ‘“What do you mean?” “If it's worth five bucks to you, I'll give you the straight dope.” Burke debated for a moment, feel- ing that he was being the victim of an opportunist who was living by his wits, and who had grasped the chance to capitalize on Burke’s anxiety. But Burke, n&vertheless, took five dollars from his pocket and said, “If you could convince me you're telling the truth, it would be worth five.” ‘‘Her hair’s black and glossy. She's got a bright red scarf. She’s wearing a gold ring on her left hand. It's a carved dragon, twisted around her finger and swallowing a center stone of jade.” Burke nodded eagerly, passed over the five-dollar bill. “She came in the joint about half an hour before you got there,” the man said. “‘She was arguing with Lip Kee in the back room. Then Lip Kee did some telephoning in the Chink lingo and a couple of other guys came in to join in the back room pow-wow. They were all steamed-up about some- thing. They’re in there now. That’s why Lip Kee wasn’t out front watch- ing the joint. Don’t say I told you because they’d stick a knife into me.” Burke nodded and charged up the stairs. Lip Kee saw him coming, and screamed a shrill warning in Chinese. From the back room, as a door slam- med, came the sound of scurrying feet. Burke raced for the rear and found himself in a long dark passage. He heard in the distance a sentence in Chinese, and then a woman screamed. There was something of high- pitched fright in the sound of that scream which brought back memories to Burke's ears. It was the same scream he had heard that night on the ship just before a dagger had flashed overboard to plunge into the waters of the tropical ocean. Something clutched at Burke’s legs, tripped him. He fell sprawling and knew someone was crawling behind him. A man clutched at him with thin, claw-like hands, and then, with a peculiar rattling sound, became inani- mate. Burke groped for a match, and realized that his hands were wet and sticky. He struck the match. The man who lay on the floor of the passageway was Chinese. The handle of a dagger protruded from his breast. The lips were twisted away from yellowed teeth, and the eyes, still open, were turning glassy. The match flickered out. Burke went ahead, running blindly. He heard the noise of running feet, rounded a corner in the passageway and came to a room. A figure stag- gered toward him. It was Wanda Hara, her face as white as death. Despite the agony which was stamped upon her features, she managed to smile. “My artist man,” she said, ‘“‘and you're too late."” . She flung out her arms, clutched at his shoulder, stumbled, and fell against him, a dead weight. He picked her up, turned and started groping back down the dark passageway. ““Not that way,” she said. “They’ll be waiting for you to come out. Keep going ahead. Look for a turn. When you find an opening, smash through it. Don’t stop to look for doors. If they Magazine Section should come for you, dropme and run.” She placed one of her warm arms about his neck. He could feel her heart pounding against him in a mad flutter. Red oozed from a gaping wound in her side. In the dim light he saw the sinister stain and gave an exclama- tion of sympathy. “Keep going,”’ she said, weakly. There was an L-shaped corridor which apparently terminated in a solid ‘wall. “Kick it,” she bade. He ventured a tentative kick and then realized that what had seemed to be a solid wall was merely a tongue and grove partition, covered with a grimy paper, the color of sooted con- crete. Somewhere there would be a cunning splice in that paper. He had no time to look for it. His foot crashed against the tongue and grove. The section splintered from concealed hinges and hung at a crazy angle. He pushed through it into a room where half a dozen Chinese were play- ing with dominoes. They were staring at the door he had kicked in. One of the men held his left hand at the lapel of his coat. As Burke staggered through the opening, the man’s hand darted with catlike quickness beneath the coat. Tracy said, ‘“Hold it, you! Pull that rod and I'll blow your stomach out. Can’t you see the gun in my right hand, you fool? All I want is to get to the street.” The bluff worked. Slowly, the hand of the Chinesc came from behind his coat, empty. He pointed toward a doorway. “Well, open it up!" Tracy snarled. The man whom Burke addressed pulled a door open and Burke groped for the stairs, found them and went down slowly, heavily. The foggy night air struck his face with the stimulating effect of a cold shower. He caught sight of a cruising cab and signalled to the driver. “Pick the nearest hospital,”” he said, “and drive like hell!” (To Be Continved Next Week) Turnabout Continved from poge nine the door. “Nancy and I might come up after supper and watch you oper- ate.” Jenk prided himself on being a man of action. At a quarter of six his truck, loaded with gear from the lighter, backed down the alley behind the bank. Chet Baines would direct the job; four men had been found to do the work. After supper — they worked by the light of lanterns and automobile head- lights — they had an audience. It de- veloped that there was a ledge under one side of the safe that would require dynamite before lifting jacks could be put into place. That meant drilling. At ten minutes of two the jacks were in place; at half past, the first jack broke under the load. At half past four in the morning, Jenk woke Bob Eyer. Bob came sleepily to the door. ‘“Hullo, Jenk,” he said, in a drowsy surprise. “Why ain’t you at home and in bed?" *‘Bob,”” said Jenk, ‘‘let me come in and sit down. I'm tired.” - “‘Sure,” Bob agreed. *Oh, I remem- ber! You're moving the safe tonight. How far you got it, Jenk?” ““You can have the job at fifty cents a foot.” “Fifty cents? Oh no! A dollar was the price, but it’s a dollar fifty now. Time and a half on Sundays.” Jenk was panting a little. ‘‘Bob,” he asked, “suppose I give you the safe?” “Why, what’s the matter, Jenk. Sick of it already?”” ‘““You’'ve got the time to fool with it,”” Jenk argued. ‘‘You can make a good thing out of it, with your luck.” ““Well,” Bob confessed, “I don’t want to push my luck too far. I'm like you, some ways, Jenk. I like to play it safe when I can.” “‘Blast it!” Jenk cried. ‘“What’ll you take to take it off my hands?”’ Bob grinned contentedly. ‘‘Why, Jenk,” he said, ‘“‘now you're right on my street. I know how you hate it; but this time you’ll have to dicker.” The Coon Club meets on Friday nights; and toward half past five in the afternoon, the pitch players begin to gather. On the following Friday, Jenk and Bob were a little late. Jenk had driven down the waterfront to watch with malicious satisfaction the last stage of the safe's laborious Odys- sey. When the job was done and the safe came at last to rest, Bob Eyer crossed to where Jenk sat grinning in his car, and wiped his brow. “Well,”” he said, ‘‘there she sets, dad rot her! I didn’t know as we'd ever make it. Going up to the Coons?”’ “Get in,” Jenk agreed. ‘‘Sure.” His own wounds were a little healed by time. He had paid Bob a hundred and seventy-five dollars cash, plus a motor- boat worth two hundred dollars, plus the wholesale price of two lifting jacks, plus one day’'s rent of the moving gear; but in return Bob had accepted title to the safe with all the responsie bilities implied, and Jenk, watching Bob’s struggles with the safe all this week, was secretly triumphant now. He saved his jubilation till he had an audience; till the pitch game was under ‘way. The others, as they came in, asked Bob for news of the safe, and Doc Fillmore said to Jenk: “‘Well, you got yourself into a mess, Jenk, bidding in that safe.” And Jenk said agreeably: I sure did. She cost me plenty, one way and another; but at least she's off my hands. And she’s into Bob's for keeps by now !”” “That’s so,” Bob admitted. “Count- ing the corner she knocked off Win- ston's garage, and the culvert she squashed, and the fire plug she busted, she stands me better'n three eighty. Three eight-eight seventy-five, to be acc'rate,” he admitted. ‘“Plus wear and tear on my gear, and a coupla blisters on my hands. And about all I’ve got to show for it is the hundred and seventy-five cash you paid me, Jenk.”” He added more cheerfully: “Only, of course I've got the motor- boat — and the safe. I'll get my profit out of them somehow.” (Continved on page 15)