Evening Star Newspaper, October 11, 1936, Page 81

| d‘Odobor 11, 1936 THE STORY SO FAR HE night before their ship was due in Tahiti, Lynn Downey and Tracy Burke, . chatting after midnight at the railing, were startled by a wom- an’s screams and sounds of a struggleonthe boatdeck above. A dagger flashed past them in- to the ocean, and a sheet of note paper, covered with Chi- nese characters, fluttered down and whipped against a post. Burke rushed to the boat deck, in a fruitless search. Lynn soon joined him, and reported that the paper had blown out to sea. That night they found that their cabins had been ran- sacked; in Lynn’s, an inter- national crook had been shot to death. Burke later saw Lynn with a paper similar to that which had fluttered down from the boat deck. After considerable question- ing, Lynn Downey and Burke were allowed to land in Ta- hiti, but were soon ordered to leave. When they sailed for San Francisco, half a dozen others tagged along. Burke was bewildered. He didn’t believe what he had heard — that the sheet of note paper contained secrets of international impor- " tance and that those interested in it were free lance spies. In San Francisco he was de- tained in custody for several days and discovered that his shipboard acquaintances, Vin- cent Gary and Allon Clegg, real- ly associates of the murdered . Gregory Jackson, had conspired to fasten the crime on him. As soon as he was released, Burke searched for the Island girl, Wanda Hara, who had also been detained. He found her in a Chinese restaurant — stabbed! He rushed her to a taxi, or- dered the driver: “Pick the nearest hospital, and drive like hell!” PART V HE cab lurched into mo- tion. ‘“What’s it all about, Wanda?"” Burke asked. “Why did they try to grab you?"” “You would not under- stand,” she said, faintly. *“Tell the driver to hurry.” ‘““He is hurrying,” Tracy Burke assured her. “How far to the hospital?” she asked. “Not very far; just a minute or two.” *“A minute,”’ she said slowly,““isalong time.” The cab roared across intersections, horn screaming. Somewhere, a motorcycle officer joined them, shouting a question at the cab driver, receiving a bellowed answer, and moved on ahead, his siren clearing the way. Wanda said slowly, “Itisthe end . . . I know. Listen carefully. In Honolulu, over the Nuuanu Pali, there's a home in the name of P. Y. Lee. In the back yard there’s a roll of chicken wire. Under that chicken wire . . . under that roll. . . .” her head rolled weakly, as strength left her neck muscles. She opened her eyes, smiled. ‘‘President Coolidge. . . . THIS WEEK “THIS MAN KNOWS NOTHING . e —— 5 A S . « JUST HELPED ME,” SHE WHISPERED Four men and one girl race by sea and air to the empty home of P. Y. Lee. What lies there? Another instaliment of a behind-the-headlines serial by ERLE STANLEY GARDNER Your girl. They will kill her. Get to the chicken wire before . . . before . . .” She closed her eyes, and was silent. The cab swung into the emergency entrance of a hospital and stopped. Doors opened. Hands that were trained to work with deft skill lifted the woman to a stretcher. She opened her eyes to see the uniformed motor- cycle officer bending over her. She gathered her strength for one last desperate attempt. “I do not know who did this. It was in the dark. I struggled down- stairs and called for help. This man was walk- ing along the sidewalk ... I ... know him . . . passenger on ship . . . He knows nothing . . . just helped me. . ..” She drifted into unconsciousness. Burke rode up in the elevator with her. Hivstrotion by Marshall Frantz White enameled doors swung open. An interne said: “You can’t go in. There'’s a waiting room downstairs.” Burke rode thoughtfully down in the elevator. Nothing seemed real. He felt horribly depressed. As he stepped into the hall, he saw the taxi driver and realized that the man had not been paid. His cab must be bloodstained, need mopping up, Burke thought — better give him a twenty. ‘The young driver was grate- ful for the bill. ‘‘Listen, Buddy, let me help you now,” he said. ‘“The girl gave you a clean bill of health with the motorcycle cop, but I saw you both come out of that Chinese joint. If this is mixed up with Chink stuff, you'd better do the dis- appearing act. Do you get me? As far as I'm concerned, you're a white guy and a square- shooter. You beat it now and ring up in half an hour and find out how she’s getting along. Only put the call in from a pay station, and if they make any stall about having you hold the line, hang up and walk out. That, Buddy, is advice. It ain’t like you could do any good by staying here,” he added. “You can't.” “I suppose you're right,” Burke said. ‘““Thanks.” He was driven back to his hotel, where he changed his clothes and packed. He checked out, and then called the hospital from a pay station and asked about a Miss Wanda Hara, who had been brought in with a knife wound. A nurse said, “Just a mo- ment. Hold the phone, please.” Burke waited for more than a minute, then gently slipped the receiver back on its hook, left the 'phone booth, crossed the street and stood waiting. He had been there less than thirty seconds when a police radio car, its siren clearing the ‘ traffic, skidded to a stop in i front of the drug store from which he had placed the call. An officer jumped out of the car and barged into the store. Burke mingled unostentatiously with the crowd, took a street car to the ferry building, entered a "phone booth, called the hospital and said in a bored monotone, ‘“This is Peter- son at the desk on ‘The Chronicle.” What's the dope on the dame that was picked up in Chinatown with a knife wound? Anything to it?” *‘She died on the table. The police are trac- ing the man who brought her in and are going to hold him for questioning.” Burke said, “Okay, sister, thanks. G’bye,”" and slammed the receiver back on the hook. Dead! Wanda Hara had been mixed up in intrigue. How much she had done, how un- lawful her activities had been, he didn’t know, (Continved on poge 10)