The Barnwell people-sentinel. (Barnwell, S.C.) 1925-current, September 20, 1928, Image 3
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
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