Evening Star Newspaper, October 12, 1936, Page 22

INSTALLMENT XXVIIL §y ETS go inside” Blackwood said pleasantly to Dallas. He handed his outer garments to an attendant and caught the eye of the big man at the dining room door. “Is Mr. Chance here, Shuler? We want a table for seven or eight.” “Two tables, Mr. Blackwood,” an- wered the gorilla, smiling. “I'll have them put together for you at once. A couple of other gentlemen were ask- ing for you a minute ago—Mr. Fen- tress and Mr. Considine, I think. They said you'd find them at the bar.”- “Mr. Constantine,” said Blackwood. “Thank you! You might tell them that I'm here. You haven't seen any- thing of Mr. Colbath?” Ed Shuler had seen nothing of Mr. Colbath all evening. He led the way into the dining room. ‘The California orchestra was play- ing a lively dance medley, and the lights in the dining room were dimmed. The patrons of La Cucara- cha were dancing with undiminished energy and enthusiasm. As far as observation could determine, they had been dancing there since Blackwood last had seen them. They might have been dancing there from the begin- ning of time. Fentress and Philip Constantine came in at once, noting the great bulk | of Dallas with startled eyes. Their | greetings were filled with jesting ref- erences to Riley Blackwood, who sim- ply grinned. “A formidable party, Riley,” said the novelist. He smiled 'at Dallas. “I had hoped, captain, that my first experience of you might also be my Jast. Don't tell me you are here in the line of duty!” Zelda Lansing Was talking to the lawyer. “But at any minute he may decide I ought to go to jail again,” she laughed. “Anyway, I'm here. That's something!” “I hoped when I saw you that it was I who had bluffed them into re- Jeasing you,” said Fentress dryly. “No, as I told you, it was an old uncle with a pull” The badinage continued for some time. Riley Blackwood was talking with a waiter. “I've ordered for everybody,” he said, “to make it easier. You'll all have cocktails, won't you? We're just wait- *ing for Colbath and Anne Gray. They may possibly be coming together; if they happen to have compared notes, it's very likely. They are coming to- gether,” he added with a laugh. “Once more, Miss Lansing and gentle- men, my infallible prescience!” Colbath and Anne Gray were com- | ing through the door in the wake of | The Federal de- | the gorilla, Shuler. tective's eyes were bright with interest as he saw the group already seated at the table. But to Anne Gray appar- ently the summons had been just an- other opportunity to dine and dance. “Mr. Blackwood!” she cried appeal- ingly, and gave him both her hands to keep. “How awfully nice of you! And Mr. Constantine!” The men were on their feet and bowing. “This is Zelda Lansing, Miss Gray— e friend of Percy’s,” said Blackwood, smiling. “Mr. Fentress, Miss Gray, and Mr. Dallas, Miss Gray. Mr. Col- bath, I think, is known to everybody except possibly Capt. Dallas.” He gestured hospitably. “Please be seated. The vacant chair s for Tommy Lester, in case he should happen to turn up. But I am informed that he is in Minneapolis. This is an extra-legal proceeding, ladies and gentlemen—a little idea of my own— and possibly some of you may think it as mad as the ingenious fairy tale of the redhead, the Hindu and the kitten. Dallas certainly does. Before we get down to business, however, I think we should drink—and fortunate- ly the cocktails are approaching.” Riley Blackwood leaned forward with the benign smile of & vivisec- tionist about to operate. He became thetorical. “The toast I shall propose will seem & gruesome one. It will be a toast to e man dead and buried in a city street—yet sought by the police in every State of the Nation as the mur- derer of Rita Wingfield.” The California orchestra was now playing “Moonlight and Roses.” The Tobots on the dancing floor were sway- ing languidly, apparently in the last throes of dissolution. The waiter stared, set down his glasses, and de- parted. There was no sound or movement grom the six stunned guests who lis- tened. Then Dallas lifted his glass and gulped. “Get on with it, Blackwood,” he ‘ordered harshly, “What's it all about?"” The amateur slipped from his ora- | manufactured for him. Then he was | torical manner with a grin. “Pardon the dramatics,” he said. “I was just setting my scene.” He shrugged. “I had intended to let you have your dinners first, but sooner or later, what I propose is to tell you the true story of the murder of Rita Wingfield and the two other murders that fol- lowed it.” He lifted his own glass and sipped. “We'll forget the toast—it’s probably in bad taste. But in a nutshell—and without naming names—this is what happened. Rita was murdered by & man she had previously known. Her name was originally Margarita How- ard, and she was engaged to be mar= ried to a man named Foster Vallance. That was in Montana—a number of years ago. Shortly before the wedding was scheduled to occur, however, Val- lance up and murdered somebody and skipped the State. He was never cap- tured. The man-he murdered was a man named Pendergast, but I don't think he figures. Later, Rita, too, left the State—to forget, maybe—and went. East to have her voice trained. She was a singer.” He swung a hand in easy explana- tion. “Later she came to Chicago, and that brings us to what happened on Saturday. Saturday afternoon she met Janice Hume in the elevator of | their building, and Rita was badly shaken. Janice lent her a revolver. | Whatever had happened to upset her, had obviously just happened. I sug<i‘ gest that she met this Vallance in | | the street, and that they recognized each other. I suggest that he mur-| | dered her that night, with Janice's | revolver.” | “How'd he know where she lived?” demanded Dallas. “He may have followed her, or he may already have known where she lived. Her pictures had been in the papers for him to see and follow up. But the meeting was accidental. Per- cy'’s connection with the episode,” continued Blackwood, a trifle less cer- tainly, “can only be explained by the supposition that he was with Rita when she met the murderer on the street. Ergo, Percy also had to be re- moved—since he had probably been told the reason for her suddert shock. So Percy was framed. A fantastic alibi, which couldn’t be proved and which nobody would believe—a red- head, & Hindu and a Kkitten—was murdered, leaving the police to as- sume that he had murdered Rita Wingfield and run away.” Dallas’ eyes were popping. “We did find & man who had seen | the Wingfleld woman and Percy Jones | on the boulevard together, s:turdny‘ afternoon,” he admitted grudgingly, at last. “Our interpretation of the in- cident was—er—slightly different,” he | added dryly. “What else?” | “That's practically all,” said Black- wood, smiling. “Isn't it enough? Janice, of course, was killed because the murderer thought she knew what Rita and Percy had known.” The chief of detectives frowned. “It's a clever argument,” he agreed. “If you've really found the body of Percy Jones—" “Oh, I've found the body, all right,” said Riley Blackwood. Dallas was tired of fencing. He leaned across the table. “Where is it?” he asked bluntly. “What are we here for, Blackwood? Have you found this fellow Vallance, | too?” Another voice was speaking at Blackwood's elbow. He looked up| into the cherubic face of “anpy"‘ Chance, the manager of the club. “Excuse me, Mr. Blackwood,” smirked the ex-pugilist. “You were asking for me, I heard. I'm sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I've a mes- ! sage for you.” He bent his head and whispered in the amateur's ear, then stood back rapturously. “I see,” said Blackwood. He hesi- tated, then pushed back his chair with a significant look at Dallas. “Serve the dinner, Chance,” he ordered ab- ruptly, and stood up. “If you will all excuse me for a minute or two—I have just received a delightful sum- mons—from the charming and—er— dangerous young lady who is shortly to—ah—dance for us.” His eyes went round the table and lingered foran instant on the face of “Lulu” Fentress. 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