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\ llncla SajjA: Haste Versus Hurry There is a distinction between haste and hurry—hurry adding to rapidity the element of confusion. Good deeds are scarcer than bad ones, but one evil act will keep people talking longer than a hundred good ones. A trained mind deserves the companionship of a cultured heart. Pe^ce, to any of the great i jw ers, seems to involve 'ts own dom ination over the others. Unsatisfying Retribution Observant men have made up their minds to this: Retribution is seldom adequate. A man of culture is respected for it. Don’t be afraid of acquir ing it, only be sure of getting enough. You can’t mak^ dreams come true by remaining asleep. The'eager expectancy of youth is the source of so much enthusi asm for a better world. Take a Hand in the Doings To enjoy a celebration, be ono of the performers in it Instead of a looker-on. Self-denial is good for everyone notwithstanding each enforcement of it nearly ruins one’s temper. Time cures grief and fortunate ly, anger, too. 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I did hear some thing, now that you put it that way. I thought nothing of it at the time, since Wooly was already dead. But just as I re-entered the stairway there was an explosion of some kind outside. I thought it was a car back-firing down in the street, and paid no attention to it.” “That’s very interestin' . . .” Vance’s eyes drifted off into space. “I wonder . . . But to continue your tale. You say you left the roof immediately and came downstairs. But there were at least ten min utes from the time you left the gar den to the time I encountered you entering the apartment at the front door. How and where did you spend these ten intervening minutes?” “I stayed on the landing of the stairs and smoked a couple of ciga rettes. I was trying to pull myself together.” Heath stood up quickly, one hand in his outside coat pocket, and thrust out his jaw belligerently to ward the agitated Kroon. “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke?” he barked. The man looked at the Sergeant in bewilderment, and then said: “I smoke gold • tipped Turkish ciga rettes. What about it?” Heath drew his hand from his pocket and looked at something which he held on his palm. “All right,”, he muttered. Then he addressed Vance. “I got the stubs here. Picked ’em up on the land ing when I came up from the dame’s apartment.” “Well, well,” sneered Kroon. “So the police actually found something! . . What more do you want?” he demanded of Vance. “Nothing for the moment, thank you,” Vance returned with exagger ated courtesy. “You have done very well by yourself this afternoon, Mr. Kroon. We won’t need yoi* any more.” Kroon went to the door without a word. “A good story,” Markham com mented dryly when Kroon had gone. “Yes, yes. Good. But reluc tant.” Vance appeared disturbed. “Do you believe it?” “My dear Markham, I keep an open mind, neither believin’ nor dis believin’ . . . Prayin’ for facts. But no facts yet. Drama everywhere, but no substance.” There was a rustle in the passage way, and Madge Weatherbv came rushing into the study, witli Heath following and protesting vigolously. It was obvious that Miss Wear had dashed up the stairs before any one could interfere with her. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded imperiously. “You’re letting Cecil Kroon go, after what I’ve told you? And I”—she indicat ed herself with a dramatic ges ture—“I am being held here, a pris oner.” ’“The fact is, Miss Weatherby,” said Vance, returning to his chair, “Mr. Kroon explained his brief ab sence this afternoon lucidly and with impellin’ logic. It seems that he was doing nothing more repre hensible than conferring with Miss Stella Fruemon and a brace of at torneys.” “Ah!” The woman’s eyes glared with venom. “Quite so. He was breaking off with the lady for ever and ever.” “Is that the truth?” Miss Weath- erby straightened in her chair. “Yes, yes. No subterfuge. Kroon said you were jealous of Stella. Thought I’d relieve your mind.” “Why didn’t he tell me, then?” “There’s always the possibility you didn’t give him a chance.” The woman nodded vigorously. “|Yes, that’s right. I wouldn’t speak to him when he returned here this afternoon.” “Care to revamp your original theory?” asked Vance. “Or do you Still think that Kroon is the culprit?” “I—I reallv don’t know now,” the woman answered hesitantly. “When I last spoke to you I was terribly upset. . . . Maybe it was all my imagination.” Vance looked at the woman quizzi cally. “Since you’re not so sure that Kroon did the deed, have you any other suggestions?” There was a tense silence. Miss Weatherby’s face seemed to con- tiact: She drew in her lips. “Yes!” she exploded, leaning to ward Vance with a new enthusiasm. “It was Zalia Graem who killed Woody! She had the motive, as you call it. She’s capable of such things, too. There was something between her and Woody. Then she chucked him over. He didn’t have enough money to suit her. You saw the way they acted toward each other today.” “Have you an^Jdea as to how •he managed the crime?” Vance asked quietly. y “She was out of the drawing-room long enough, wasn’t she?” “Poignant question. Situation very mysterious.” Vance rose slow ly and bowed to the woman. “Thanks awfully — we’re most grateful. And we shall not hold you prisoner any longer.” When she had gone Markham grinned sourly. “The lady is well equipped with suspects. What do you make of this new accusation?” Vance was frowning. “Animosity shunted from Mon sieur Kroon to La Graem. Yes. Queer situation. Logically speakin’, this new accusation is more reason able than her flrstA It has its points ... If only I coqld get that dis connected buzzer out of my mind. It must fit somewhere . . . And that second shot—the one we all heard.” Vance again moved to the buzzer and inspected it with care. “No indications of a mechanism.” “It could have been removed be fore the repair man arrived,” the orized Markham without enthusi asm. , “Yes, another possibility. I had thought of that too. But the oppor tunity was lacking. I came in here immediately after I had found the johnnie shot . . .’’He took the cig arette from his lips and straight ened up. “By Jove! Someone might have slipped in here when we all dashed upstairs after the shot. Re mote chance, though.” “Does the buzzer connect with any other room besides the den?” asked Markham. Vance shook his head. “No. That’s the only connection.” “Didn’t you say there was some one in the den at the time you heard this shot?” Vance’s gaze swept past Mark ham. “Yes. Zalia Graem was tbare. Ostensibly telephonin’.” His voice, I thought, was a little bitter. “We might get more information from the young woman hersqjf,” Markham put in sarcastically. “Oh, yes. Quite. Obvious pro cedure. But I have a few queries to put to Garden first. Pavin’ the Sank Limply Into a Chair. way, as it were. I say, Sergeant, collect Floyd Garden and bring him here.” Garden came into the room un easily and looking slightly haggard. “What a mess!” he sighed, sink ing dismally into a chair. “Any light on the case?” “A few fitful illuminations,” Vance told him. ’ By the by, it seems that your guests walk in and out the front door without the form ality of ringing or being an nounced.” “Oh, yes. But only when we’re playing the races. Much more con venient. Saves annoyance and in terruptions.” “And another thing: when Miss Graem was phoning in the den and you suggested that she tell the gentleman to call back later, did you actually know that it was a man she was talking to?” Garden opened his eyes in mild surprise. “Why, no. I was merely ragging her. Hadn’t the faintest idea. But, if it makes any difference, I’m sure Sneed could give you the informa tion, if Miss Graem won’t. Sneed answered the phone, you know.” “It’s of no importance.” Vance brushed the matter aside. “It might interest you to know, how ever, that the buzzer in this room failed to function because someone had carefulfy disconnected the wires.” “The devil you say!” “Oh, yes. Quite.” Vance fixed Garden with a significant look. “This buzzer, if I understand it cor rectly, is operated only from the den, and when we heard the shot, Miss Graem was in the den. In cidentally, the shot we all heard was not the shot that killed Swift. The fatal shot had been fired at least five minutes before that. Swift n^ver even knew whether he had won or lost his bet.” Garden’s gaze was focused on Vance wth wide-eyed awe. “God God, man!” He shook his head despondently. “This thing is getting hellish.” “By the by,” said, Vance, “Miss Weatherby tried to convince us that Miss Graem shot Swift.” “Has she any grounds for such an accusation?” "Only that Miss Graem had a grudge of son e kind against Swift and detested Jim thoroughly, and that, at the supposed time of his de mise, Miss Graem. was absent from the drawing-room. Doubts that she was in the den phoning all the time. Thinks she was up here, busily engaged in murder.” Garden drew rapidly on his pipe and seeme<J to be thinking. “Do you yourself regard Miss Graem as capable of a cold-blooded, skillfully planned murder?” Garden pursed his lips and frowned. “Damn it, Vance! I can’t answer that question. Frankly, I don’t know who is and who isn’t capable of murder. The younger set today are all bored to death, intolerant of ev ery restraint, living beyond their means, digging up scandal, seeking sensations of every type. Zalia is little different from the rest, as far as I can see. She always seems to be stepping on thp gas and exceed ing the speed limits. How far she would actually go, I’m not prepared to say. Who is, for that matter? It may be merely a big circus parade with her, or it may be fundamental —a violent reaction frpm respecta bility.” “A vivid, though not a sweet, character s k e t c h,” murmured Vance. “One might say offhand that you are rather fond of her but don’t approve.” Garden laughed awkwardly. “I can’t say that I dislike Zalia. Most men do like her—though I don’t think any of them understand her. I know I don’t. There’s some impenetrable wall around her. She’s either damned superficial or deep as hell—I can’t make up my mind which. As to her status in this present situation . . . well, I don’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Madge was right about her. Zalia has staggered me a couple of times—can’t exactly ex plain it. You remember, when you asked me about father’s revolver, I told you Zalia had discovered it in that desk and staged a scene with it in this very room. Well, Vance, my blood went cold at the time. There was something in the way she did it, and in the tone of her voice, that made me actually fear that she was fully capable of shooting up the party. I was re lieved when she put the gun back and shut the drawer . . . All I can say,” he added, “is that I don’t wholly understand her.” “No. Of course not. No one can wholly understand another person. If anyone could he’d understand ev erything. Not a comfortin’ thought . . . Thanks awfully for the recital of your fears and impressions. You’ll look after matters downstairs for a while, won’t you?” Garden seemed to breathe more freely on being dismissed, and with a mumbled acquiescence, moved to ward the door. “Oh, by the by,” Vance called after him. “One other little point I wish to ask you about.” Garden waited politely. “Why,” asked Vance, blowing a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling, “didn’t you place Swift’s bet on Equanimity?” CHAPTER IX The man gave a start, and his jaw dropped. He barely rescued his pipe from falling to the floor. “You didn’t place it, don’t y’ know,” Vance went on dulcetly. “Rather interestin’ point, in view of the fact that your cousin was not destined to live long enough to col lect the wager, even if Equanimity had won. And in the circumstances, had you placed it, you would now be saddled with a $10,000 debt—since Swift is no longer able to settle.” “God Almighty, stop it, Vance!” Garden exploded. He sank limply into a chair. “How do you know I didn’t place Woode’s bet?” Vance regarded the man with searching eyes. “No bookie would take a bet of that size five minutes before post time. He couldn’t absorb it.” “But Hannix—” “Don’t make a Wall-Street finan cier of Hannix for my benefit,” Vance admonished quietly. “And another thing: I happened to be sit ting in a strategic position near your table when you pretended to place Swift’s bet. You very deftly pulled the cord taut over the .plunger of the telephone when you picked up the receiver. You were talking in to a dead phone.” Garden capitulated. “All right, Vance,” he said. “I didn’t place the bet. But if you think, for one moment, that I had any suspicion that Woody was going to be shot his afternoon, you’re wrong.” “My dear fellow!” Vance sighed with annoyance. “I’m not thinkin’. Higher intellgence not at work at the moment. Mind a blank. Only tryin’ to add up a few figures. Ten thousand dollars is a big item. It changes our total—eh, what? . . . But you haven’t told me why you didn’t place the bet.” Garden rose angrily. “I didn’t want him to lose the money,” he asserted aggressively. “I knew what it would mean to him.” “Yes, yes. The Good Samaritan. Very touchin’. But suppose Equa nimity had won, and your cousin had survived—what about the pay off?” (TO BE CONTINUED) / \ARS. DICK EVANS has come to town and brought Ann and Eddie LeRoy with her. She lives in Palm Beach in the wintertime and, of course, knows all about style. That’s why she wears this directoire type frock that is both new and figure flattering. In the floral print she has chosen she is perfectly gowned for the parties that will be given for her in the home town. The kiddies are wear ing the simple styles appropriate to childhood and therein their smartness lies. Auntie Rose Sews, Too. Little Ann is asking Auntie Rose if she makes her clothes too. “Sure enough, dear,” comes the reply. “I made this percale for mornings and have a beauty in yellow crepe cut from the same pattern to wear to the Bid-or-Bi meetings.” “I’ll bet you can sew fast, too, the way Mother does. It only took her two mornings to make Ed die’s suit and my dress. Won’t you help me with my doll clothes now?” “Indeed I will, Ann, and then we will have some of those oat meal cookies you like for lunch.” Pattern 1272 is available in sizes "Quotations" An adrqustr revival of intrrna- tional trade will he the moM pow erful single force for raxing politi cal tensions and averting the danger of war.—Cordell Hull. 1 cannot stand a sad expression on someone’s face. I wish to see ev eryone happy, smiling and enjoying himself.—lunacr Jan Hnderewtki. The great scholar* of the world are Mie raptains of the modem world's army of progress.—Nicholas Murray Butler. ' 14 to 20 (32 to 42 bust). 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