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SIXTH INSTALLMENT WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE Simon Judd, amateur detective, and William Dart, an undertaker, are viuting John Drane, eccentric man of wealth, at the Drane place. Suddenly the household is shocked to find that John Drane has been murdered. The dead man is first seen Amy Drane and faints. nd investigations begin. Dr. Blessington is called, and after seeing the murdered John Drane, makes the astounding revelation to Amy Drane that her “uncle" is'not a man but a woman. Dr. Blessington discounts the theory of suicide, saying that Drane was definitely, murdered. Dr. Blessington comments on the fact that all the servants in the house hold of Drane are sick, and that Drane has never discharged a servant for ill health. Dick Brennan, the detective, arrives to investigate the case. Brennan questions the persons in the house, asking Amy if anyone had any rea- house, asking Amy if anyone had any rea son to kill her “uncle." NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY “No; not a reason; not the r slightest reason!” Amy declared with absolute positiveness. “I can’t even imagine why anyone should want to kill my—uncle.” “And as far as you know/there was no one in the house last night but your uncle, Mr. Judd here, M^. Dart and the servants?” Brennan asked her. “I know,” he added, “that you can’t say whether others may not have come in unknown to you.” Amy’s eyes turned to Bob Carter. “Yes, I was in the house last night,” Carter said. “About when, Carter?” Brennan asked. “Late,” Carter said. “After eleven and before twelve. Mr. Drane said he wanted to see me; he sent Norbert to tell me so yes terday afternoon—just before we went for the drive, you remember, Amy? There was no hurry, Nor bert said; either last night or today would do. I rather knew what he had on his mind. I had asked him if I could marry Amy, and he had put off answering me. So last night I happened to pass here and I saw the lights in the library and I came in.” * “Ring or knock or anything?” “I went to the library door at that side of the house and knocked on the door, and Mr. Drane let me in,” Bob said. “Mr. Dart was with him; no one else. I said good evening to Mr. Dart and Mr. Drane said we could go across the hall to •the dining room for a few minutes, and we did. There’s one thing 1 ought to tell yon, I guess; just as we were going oat Mr. Dart said, ‘Now, remember what I told you, John; I don’t approve.’ It was something like that; he may have said ‘I’m against it’ or ‘I won’t have it.’ I was rather ex cited, you see; what Mr. Drane was going to say meant such a lot to me.” “Naturally,” agreed Brennan. “Weil?” “That’s about all,“ Carter said. "We went into the dining room and Mr. Drane talked to me awhile. It was mostly about my prospects and what 1 was planning to do with my life and whether I would be willing to come to this house to live after we were married— Amy and I. He said we had best travel for a year, or stay else where a year. After that he wanted us here. I told him that was what Amy wanted—it was the only rea son she hesitated about marrying; she did not want to leave him. So he said it would be al Iright.” “I’m so glad, Bob!” Amy cried. “I’m so glad to think he was willing!” “And then what?” Brennan asked, seeing that Carter was hesitating. ’ “Well, it was rather queer,” Carter said, blushing. “I thought it was rather queer then, but it doesn’t seem so queer now—not when we know what we know now. He asked if he could kiss me.” “He did?” Brennan exclaimed. “Not quite so brashly as all that,” Carter said. “He laughed and laughed and said that if we were French he supposed we would kiss each other on both cheeks. I said I had been kissed, when I was given my cross. ‘Then you won’t mind if I do kiss you,’ he said, and he kissed me. I fell —well. I felt sorry for him, that f s how I felt I thought ‘Poor old fellow T I knew nobody around here cared much for him, and he was getting pretty old. That sort of feeling. And now, when I know he was a woman!” “It’s bound to come out now and again,” said Brennan tersely. “A woman can only stand so much without affection. The very worst I’ve ever known came to it now and again. And then what did you do?*» . “We talked a few minutes about when the wedding might be, and I said I would have to leave that to Amy.'* Then he said—” Carter hesitated a moment but Brennan said nothing. "He spoke about money,” Carter wtnt on. “He said he had made his will in Amy’s favor and that he was leaving her everything he had. Then he said she was a good girl; he said very nice things about her and said he meant to give her outright a hundred thousand dol lars the day she was married, if I did not object. I have nothing of my own, you know. He said that he thought, living in> his house and having to be mistress of it, Amy should not be compelled to ask him for money. He meant for the extra expenses, the things I could not pay for. I didn’t see anything wrong in that. I didn’t see that it had anything to do with my lov ing Amy. Amy knows it’s not anybody’s money I care for. So *. . . ‘Remember, John,’ he was saying ... 'I don’t approve.* ”... when we shook hands and I came away.” “Through the library again?” Brennan asked. “No. .Mr. Drane let me out by this door.” “So you didn’t see Mr. Dart again?” “No. I went down the drive way there and walked home.” “You haven’t any idea what it was Mr. Dart wanted Mr. Drane not to do?” “Not really,” Carter said. “It may be they had been talking over Amy and me and Mr. Dart didn’t care for me enough to have me marry Amy. Mr. Drane and Dart were old friends—what they call ‘cronies’ almost. Or it may have been giving Amy so much money in a lump that Dart objected to. I don’t know.” “But your impression was that Mr. Dart referred to the talk you were about to have with Mr. Drane?” Brennan asked. “That’s what I thought,” Carter admitted. “I hadn’t any doubt of Bob Carter frowned with annoy* >uld be annoved. He looked at her and turned to ance that Amy shot it. I thought to myself 'What business is it of his, anyway!’ I don’t like him much, someway.” "And now, Miss Drane,” Bren nan asked without a pause, “have you ever seen anything that made you think, even in the slightest degree, that your uncle was a wo man?” “No,” Amy said without hesita tion, and immediately changed her answer to yes! “Never while he was alive,” she said. “It never entered my head, not in the very slightest. But now I can see things. He 'was so kind to me.” “Might not an uncle be kind?*’ -* Brennan asked. * “Yes, but not in that way. Affectionate is what I should say, probably. I didn't know, you see —I didn’t think—how a man would be, but I can see now, Mr. Brennan, that he was more like—more like a mother in the way he—in the way he kissed me and smoothed my hair. More like a woman, more like a mother.” “Have you any reason for think ing he was your mother?*’ Brennan asked and Amy stared at him with wide eyes. “Uncle John my mother?” she gasped and put her fingers to her lips as if in fear. “Oh, ne couldn’t be my mother—he—” “You knew your mother?” Bren* nan asked. “You see. Miss Drane. I don’t know any m the facts; I have to ask for them. Did you know your mother?” John Drane. There may never have been a John Drane—” “You bet vour boots there was!” declared Simon Judd. “John Drane and me was chums, I tell you, when we was boys back there in Riverbank. Regular boys and no mistake, and don’t you forget it, mister! You can prove that by me any time yon want to.” “There was a John Drane then,” said Brennan. “You knew him.” “And I knew him a blame long time, black my cats!” Simon Judd exclaimed. “Why look here—John Drane was born along about when I was, along towards 1853, and we chummed together, thick as thieves, for a long time. Yes, un til ’83—that was when he went out West. He was thirty then. All that time we hung together, me and John. Thirty years—we was born together as you might say. Sure there was a John Drane!” “I was going to ask you a few questions later,” Brennan sugges- • ted. “Ex-cuse me for buttin’ in!” Simon Judd said with hearty good nature. “Go right ahead and I’ll shut up till you want me.” “I was saying Miss Drane,” Brennan said,” “that I am only try ing to gather some details of the life of John Drane as he was known here, and matters that might have some bearing on this murder. I know nothing, you understand, and I have to ask questions. You say you did not know your mother —that means she died while you were too young to know her?” • “Yes,” Amy said. “You’re about how old?” “I’m seventeen.” “Do you know when your uncle —to call him that—-came to West- cote?” “Yes, I remember .hearing that. It was in 1892. He bought this house then. He said not long ago he had owned it thirty-two years.” “And you were not born here?” “Oh, no!” said Amy. “I was born in California. You see. I’m uncle John’s brother’s son’s child.” “What did you say?” asked Brennan, turning to Simon Judd. Tm not saying a word,” Judd said. “Ex-cuse me! I forgot my self.” “But you said something,” Bren nan insisted. “What did you say?” “Ail I said,” Simon Judd said, “was which brother?” ** "Well, which brother was it?” Brennan asked Amy, showing the first impatience he had shown. “It was Daniel,” Amy said. “Daniel went to California and married Mary O’Ryan there, and they had one son—Thoman Drane. who was my father. He married Mary Gartner, but just after I was born they were drowned in a flood. Some river overflowed and they were drowned. Grandfather was dead then*, too, and grandmother had died before that So I was put in an orphanage and that was where uncle John found me.” “He went to California? When was that?” “I wasn’t a year old,” Amy said. “It must have been in 1908. Unda John said he had always corres ponded with father and when tha letters stopped he was worried. He wasn’t well that year and he thought California might do him good—it was in the winter—and he went West for the two reasons. He wanted the warmth and he wanted to find father if he was alive. He found only me.” “And he brought you East?” No; not right away. He found Brennan. “I can answer. that,” he said. “Amy told me all that” “Let her tell me,” said Brennan but his tone was kindly. “I never knew my mather,” Amy said. Brennan leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not digging into this from curiosity,” he said. “I have plenty to do without wasting time that way; my job is to find who mur dered this woman who posed as a home for me there, lovelv people who were always so good to me! They raised me; uncle John used to send them money for my ex penses and he wrote me letters—” “You have some of the letters? They’re in the same hand that this uncle John writ#, or did write?” “Yes, exactly the same—a big round, hand,” Amy said. “So then, when I was old enough, I was sent to a school near Pasadena. I stayed there until I finished, last year. Then uncle John had me come East. He wanted me to live with him, he said.” “She told me all that,” Bob Carter said. “Yes; it was not a secret,” Amy said She waited for Brennan to ask his next Question. “Can you tell me anything that would throw any light on this mur der?" he asked “I don’t think so,” Amy an swered. “I may think of some thing but it’s all so horrible still.” “You don’t know anything but of the way' about this William Dart?” Continued Next Week Makes Draperies Hang Straight Sew taped weights across the bottom ox draperies on the inside of hem and they will always hang trim and straight The Columbia New s was pleased to publish the communication of Mr. W. S. Lazenby, which appeared in this paper last week. He says he in tends voting for Hoover in the Novem ber election. Will our esteemed friend kindly in form us in which direction la the Hoover prohibition jitney headed? Isn’t it safer to ride with the fellow who is honest enough to tell you where he is taking you, than to ride with the driver who will not tell you where he is going? Hoover says prohibition is just an “experiment.” He says he will carry out the policies of Coolidge. 'rtiis means that he will continue Andrew Mellon as secretary of the treasury, and this same Mellon owns more liquor than any other man in. ;he United States. Mellon made his millions as a distiller and by reason of his position, is the iiead of the en- orcement of. national prohibition. The enforcement of national prohi bition is a farce, and Mellon has made it so. Fooshee, a federal prohibition offi- C2r was susperdefi fnr doing his duty in Richmond Courty. About 30 out of n hundred federal prohibition enforcement officers are ag crooked as a scenic railway. Yet, Mr. Lazenby will take a ride in the Mellon jitney. What this country needs are honest men in all offices—especially prohibi tion enforcement service. Bootleggers have become million aires and crooked officers have their hands behind them. Let us either enforce the law or make one that the people will ro sped. -• There are more liars and more hypocrites on the prohibition question than any other ona subject. If Mr. Lazenby will tell us where Hoover is going on any subject, may be we will be willing to take a ride with him. At this time, The Columbia News prefers to ride on the Democratic bus. The late Senator Tom Watson said “Hoover is known to people of many lands. He was bom in England, and tht*i in eight different States in the United States.” Hoover says: “My country owes me no debt.” No, not if good American dollars can pay debts. V ^ v ^ — ■C *\.w V g.ri v. •*- HE first dish of succotash was ill a mistake. A cook accidently poured lima beans and corn in- the same serving dish. By that error succotash became famous. Com also combines deliciously vvith tomatoes, green peppers and pimientos. Mexican corn, corn and salmon pudding, and corn souffll are three popular corn dishes. Three Popular Cora Combinations Mexican Com: Saut6 one medium onion, chopped, in two tablespoons melted butter. When brown, add one tablespoon flom and stir smooth. Add two cups canned to matoes. t vo cup* canned corn, and two ^canned pimientos, diced, and season with one teaspoon salt, one teaspoon sage and one-eighth tea spoon pepper. Pour into a buttered bakjng dish, cover thickly with but tered crumbs md brown in a hot oven. Serves eight Com and Salmon Pudding; To OML No. 2 can corn, add one tablespoon netted butter, one-half teaspoon salt, one-eighth teaspoon pepper, one small can salmon, flaked, but not too finely, and one tablespoon heavy cream, or evaporated milk. Mix tightly and bake in a buttered bak ing dish in a moderate oven 350 de grees for 30 minutes. Serves eight. Com SouffU: Add two tablespoons flour to one tablespoon melted but ter, blend and pour on gradually one cup milk. Bring to boiling point, and add one can corn, one and one- fourth teaspoons salt and a little pepper. Beat two egg yolks wbll, add to the cprn mixture, and then add the egg whites, beaten until stiff and dry. Turn into buttered baking dish and bake ir moderate oven, from twenty-five to thirty minutes. Serve at once Serves eight S. C. McGahee, writing in the Au gusta Herald says: “Hoover though foreigner he may be is the wiliest foreigner who ever crossed the American pike. He be longs to every political party and idea advanced in this country. The friends of Woodrow Wilson better look to the laurels of their dead chieftain cr Hoover will have them and gone. “Hoover has adopted politically |th£ tactics of the Apostle Paul. He has buccme all things to all men that he might by all means catch some of them. If I wanted a Vet candidate, I would as soon have him as anybody. If I wanted a supporter of the Catho lic Church, I would as soon trust him as anybody. “If he beats Al Smith in this race the government will not have an An drew Jackson at the head of it, but a lot of buli and graft as always.” We have heard it asked, recently, what would Tom Watson do if he were living? Our guess is that Mr. Watson wouldn’t support either, Hoover or Smith. He said too many things about Hoover to ever rapport him. Neither would he support Smith. Mr. Watson would either have been a candidate himself or would have got ten soma man in the race that he could have honestly supported. The fact that Hoover was married by a Catholic priest, and Curtis Chris tened a Catholic; and Smith being a Catholic would have made Mr. Watson get him a candidate. Not that our opinion is worth much, but this is what we believe Torn Wat son would have done in the good year 11928, so far as the presidentil race is, concerned.—The Columbia!Ga.)Mews. coring the Years Greatest —because of Distinctive Beauty Thrilling Perfonnance -wAmazing Economy The COACH $ 585 The Touring gyl QJ? or Roodatcr.. 2^...-..*595 The 4-door $/ZnC Sedan 0(J The Convertible &£U*....*695 The Imperial f p* e g Landau ••••• / A3 Utility Track *520 (Chaaafo Only) Light Delivery *375 (Cheeeu Only) All price* f. o. b. 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