Evening Star Newspaper, August 15, 1937, Page 84

WiLLiaAm A. WHITE 0 it was younger blood they needed. Or better eyesight. His eyes were too old. That's what the Chief said. Well, maybe they were. Old Jim Brown trudged out of the office of Police Chief Rodgers with the weight of twenty years just added burdening down the fifty-five years that were rightfully his. Thirty-five years he’d been on the force. Got on ‘‘on age’’ — before he was twenty-one. And thirty of these years he'd spent in the Bertillon room. He knew the faces of every criminal in the “‘gallery’’ — and their finger- But he was too old now. The Chief just said so. Said Waynesboro needed younger men. Take his pension and get out. That was the verdict. And Jim was taking it and getting. There wasn'’t anything else to do. Maybe some day — his eyes lighted and he squared his shoulders at the thought — maybe some day he'd show the Old Man his eyes weren’t so old. He couldn’t go down and shake hands with the boys. It was hard enough — leaving — without that. Jim passed out of Headquarters and headed for the two rooms he called home. Ten years ago Philip Parsons and Erma Dalby quarreled on the eve of announcing their engagement. Within two weeks Erma had married Benning, the rancher over whom they had quarreled. And she had gone West. The few times she had returned to Waynes- boro to visit, Philip had been out of town. She had three children now, Philip had heard. And he had two, boy and girl. He had married Audrey Blane, town girl, after wait- ing two years. He had never seen Erma after that night they had quarreled — not until tonight. He was headed for home, after a business meeting when he saw her. Funny he hadn’t heard she was in town. Visiting her mother, he supposed. Well, it was 11 o'clock and she E had several blocks to go. He'd invite her to ride. No sense carrying that quarrel into eternity. Philip stopped his car right beside her. Yes, she was visiting her mother. She was surprised she hadn’t seen him before this. And she was going home in the morning, 7:10 train. Of course she would be glad to have the lift. The car just seemed to drift to that spot on the outskirts of town, a mile from the farm where Phil was born and where his mother lived alone now, since the death of his father. That’s where, ten years before, bitterness in their hearts and words, they had parted. It must have been an hour they were there. Of course both were happy now. But there was so much to talk about. And their quarrel had been so foolish. Both could see it now. Then it happened: They were in each other’s Philip dropped Erma a block from her mother’s home. It was midnight, but even then there are prying ears. And no person must know about this evening. Then he drove home. He didn’t feel proud, somehow. And there was Audrey. He was late. She'd ask questions. But Audrey was in bed and asleep. To- morrow, if she mentioned it, he'd explain — somehow. But she mustn’t ever know about Erma. And Erma would be gone in the morning. He dozed off. Erma didn’t sleep all night. She got aboard the 7:10 at Waynesboro looking tired and THIS WEEK iy Nlustrated by L. R. Gustavion worn, but excused her appearance to her mother as being the result of the excitement of getting ready to go home. But it wasn’t that. It was — last night. Long after the train left Waynesboro she thought about it. Why, it had been sheer madness! What if some person had seen them? And then — she had gone into Phil’s arms willingly ! Well, what had been done had been done. Phil probably had forgotten all about it by now. Men are that way. She must get it out of her mind. Before she got home. Tom must never know. A stolen hour with her old sweetheart! Now just what is it in the make-up of a man and woman that prompts them to bring back a long-dead past for — well, just for something that both want to forget five minutes later? “I can't explain that hour, Chief; I won't explain it. But God knows I didn’t kill my mother.” Philip Parsons shouted this at Chief of Police Rodgers. It was nearly noon now. Erma was miles away from Waynesboro. Philip thought bitterly of last night. Chief Rodgers was grave. ‘‘Then I don't see anything to do but hold you, Phil,” he said. “Your mother was found murdered three hours ago. The doctor says she had been dead nine or ten hours. She had company last night, Mrs. Withers, until around eleven. Whoever killed her must have gone in soon after that. ‘‘Last week you asked the bank to approve a loan, and they refused. You are your Youth? Experience? Which is the more important? A dramatic crime story : *1 CAN'T EXPLAIN THAT HOUR, CHIEF. BUT | DIDN'T KILL HERI!" mother's sole heir. I tell you, Phil, you're in : a bad way. That hour may send you to the chair.” Philip winced. He thought of Audrey and the children. Then he squared his shoulders. There must be another way out. ‘‘All right, Chief,”” he said, “] guess it's — jail.” Philip’s wife knew that old Jim Brown was ‘ officially out of harness. But she also knew | he had been one of the best detectives ever on the force. Also they were good friends. It was natural, therefore, for her to seek Jim’s aid when the police took Phil in. She was sure Phil was not guilty, even though he had come home late the night of the murder. Old Jim's piercing eyes ferreted out every _ nook and cranny of the room in which Phil’s mother had been murdered. He went over everything, missed nothing. And at last came reward. At the bottom of the middle bureau drawer, underneath the clothing * .e drawer contained, he sprinkled powder, and a hand- mark that could not be seen by the naked eye leaped suddenly to life. For a long time Old Jim stood there, looking at the print through his large, old-fashioned power glass. At last, grimly, he replaced the clothing. “Phil didn’t kill his mother, Chief,” Old. Jim Brown said, standing before the police - ' chief’'s desk. ‘‘The motive in this case was robbery. The Kkiller was hunting hidden“_,\ money. Phil didn’t have to kill his mother if ~ he wanted money. All he had to do was ask ‘ her for as much as he wanted and it was his. I've just come from the room in which Phil’s mother was killed. I tell you, Chief, whoever killed old Mrs. Parsons had an idea there was money in the house. Ransacked every ¥ drawer, but did it carefully. A neat job. Didn’t want to leave any ideas for anyone to work on. Yes, a neat job but — "’ (Continved on page 15)