Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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-' v r. '•'S'v.;' V V" » • -/' -V- •' • : . • .. . - . ‘ , -- - - ^ ‘ The Bam well People-Sentinel, Barnwell, 8. Jannarylg, 1934 jibe WEDDING MARCH MURDER by MONTE BARREH Copyright, lilt, by tho Bobbo-Morrill Co. WNU Sorrlco. f» ' CHAPTER I j - • - Death in the Study Something had' gone wrong. The bridesmaid on the left—Cardigan did not know her name, then—glanced backward, hesitantly. ' the procession slowed its solemn march. A stir of uneasiness was somehow transmitted to the crowded pews. There was a vague bustling through 7 out the church, polite, muffled, • yet there, lil(/e the restless whisperttig of leaves, feven audible against the ma jestic organ tones of Lohengrin's “Wed ding March.” Peter Cardigan sensed it from his pew deep in the nave of the church and smiled at the fancy he thought • had betrayed him. Wh*t could be wrong? His novelist’s mind pictured the many services conjured from the corners of jhe world by „ Qarmody wealth to insure the perfection of de tail which had been the heritage of Carmody brides since New York was young. m It had seemed strange to Cardigan for Jim Ffanklin to be marrying Am brose CfiVmody’s daughter. But then, Jim IdKl been a stranger to him for sevenleen years. When Peter Cardi gan knew him, Jhn Franklin had been a young attorney, Just out of law school,'laying the first foundation of his career In the hard experience of the police courts. Peter, without jealizln^it-hadbeeptayingsome^Qiin^ - JVVJwt wereiJiexwgltln^ for? From dation stones of his own in those, days, for that was when he was a police reporter and before he had become famous as a writer of best-selltag mfs- teries, as well as for the ■occasional "iblving of one in real life. That was seventeen years ago. Now Jim Franklin was marrying Doris Carmody. If there was anything to tl -fie ^ 1 a r storibs. he -WOUTd ~Bo the next governor of New York. too. Ridiculous to think that anything cobld be wrong! And yet, the proces- s^sion was scarcely moving now. Doctor Abernathy, rector of St. Matthew’s, stood by the choir steps and^ wondered. Everything had gone off well at the rehearsal. What had happened now? Where was the bride- gfortfri? .The rectfri; was troubled about the .And Web had walked out Before the ceremony! Doris swallowed the lump that rose, unbidden. In her tlyoat She glanced about fearful lest a telltale tremor, had revealed her hurt pride. But no one had noticed. Her father, beside her, muttered something under his breath. Had something gone wrong? Half-way down the aisle, She could, see her bridesmaids. Why did they walk so slowly? > She thought of Jim Franklin. What was he like, really? She wondered If brides always felt so strange toward” he men they were going to marry? Sometimes fie looked so old. Yet he was only eighteen years older than she. Lots of girls married men much older than that That was np real bar to love. And he was going to be the next governor. She was proud of him. And she loved him, too. She felt sure of that. Oh, why didn’t they hurry? What was wrong with Dad ? . * , ■ ^s 1 .'' Ambrose Carmody was proud of the slender gracefulness of his daughter- proud of “that Carmody look” she had. There was something about the well-bred- sleekness of this gathering that',was soothing to his sense of the fitness of things. Other parts of the city changed, even Wall Street had its ups and downs, but the Carmodys and their friends went on like—like old St. Matthew’s Itself. It pleased him to remember that his grandfather had contributed the land on which this church stood. His father had married ■^is mother here. He had waited at that altar for a young bride 1 in white, him self, not so many years ago. his position in the vestibule, he peered down the-aisle. It seemed that the quarreMie luid witnessed in the sacris ty, too. What an odd setting for a quarrel! The sqcristy of a church. Just before a wedding. Too. he had tried to question tnp strange woman who had quarreled With the bride- groom._ For a moment his suspicions had beep aroused. But pshaw. Frank- lin was all right! Nothing like that -could happen to-Doris Carmody. Thfe -Utmu generosity of her ancestors ha^ made this fashionable old church possible^ No, 'there could be nothing wrong. * Things like that didn’t happen to peo ple HH® Carmodys. The suspicion . with which the good doctor had mo mentarily regarded that/scene had flickered brightly, for a, moment, and as quickly died. But not died, either. The distrust with which he had re garded that quarrel was recalled very vividly now. What should he have done? Notified the bride’s father? He had thought of that—and yet—what could he have said? The circumstance of a quarrel was not sufficient to ques- tlon the propriety of a wedding at least where,there was no question of morals involved. K No, the rector re- flected. fhere was nothing he could have done. *T . .' "• ; / - . ? Callis Shipley was worried What had happened to Jim Franklin? Where was Nick Royce? Callis was the first bridesmaid on/the left. At the re hearsal, the bridegroom and the best man had entered at the first notes of • the’ organ 1 , and waited at the choir steps for the procession that moved slowly down the aisle. Why hadn’t she thought to see If he were there before she started? She had been a third of the way down, before she realized he was missing. Several sec onds slipped past, and still he did not come. Callis glanced back, hurriedly. The rest of the procession was falter ing, too, marking time, almost. Why didn’t he come? ~~—Shy™ TOttflgirty~~ realized—shw m hare to get yon homo. TO after things back there. Well find Rylie. He’ll take you home.” “No, I want to go to him.” The girl hurried her father's dragging steps. “You can’t—do. anything, my dear. It’s too. late for that” Ambrose gripped his daughter’s arm In gently firm fingers. “He’s dead." - Doris did not cry, then.. She was too dazed for that And It'seemed to her that she had known, from the mo ment her father had come to her In the vestibule. She was conscious^ for the first time, of the curious throng outside. ~ . X. -"I want to go to him,"Dad,” she re peated. . - /y £ t Fifteen hundred wedding guests sat stunned If), their pews They seemed unwi 11 ing^ to be!ieve Doctor Aber- nathy's statement. ....“What did he say? Tell me again,"- the ^woman beside Peter Cardigan sought confirmation of the astounding ne\ts. “The^wedding has.been postponed,” Peter told her, and made his way toward the door._*_ _ _ ^ At first, the novelist had no thought but to hurry away ahead of the crowd. Now he hesitated. Something serious must be wrong. After all, Jim Frank lin and he had been friends In the past. Perhaps he could * be of some" service. He followed Carmody and his daughter Into the sacristy in time to hear him ask, “JHow did It happen? Where Is he?” , . . “In the study,” replied Doctor Aber nathy. He hesitated, looking at the girl who was to have been a bride. He’s—he’s been killed," he faltered. Murdered!’’ Cardigan followed - the stunned group into the rector’s study. They had need of 4 him here,. ^Sprawled op his back, beside the rector’s desk, was the bridegroom, Jim Franklin. A limp hand still clutched at the desk leg. His other arm was flung arroaa rumpled rug.—A Sod war . afraid. Where was Rylie Carmody? What had Web Spears meant? Some thing terrible had happened! She knew it! If she only cohid have found Ry lie ! . .. . Outside, on Carmody avenue, a po liceman pushed back the curioutf throng that waited to glimpse the bride. A Carmody! And Jim Frank- Rn. He’ll be the next governor, too. . “HVa Dead." bridesmaids had halted, near the half way mark. No, not halted, but they might as well have. Too slow. “Whak’s wrong?” He asked one of the ushers, a young man wit-h a vacu ous puzzled expression. “They're waiting for the bridegroom, sir." ^ “Waltinj^i Why should they wait? Where is hd? Tell him to step up.” “He’s in the sacristy, sir. We’re no way to tell him.” . Ambrose Carmody eyed the .young man sharply. In his office they learned to flmt a way. Thch he realized they weren't in his office. This was Doris’ wedding. \ i “Can’t you dash around and Jog him upT’ he suggested, in a tohe far more suave than his expression. V- The young-man disappeared-out the vestibule. =*/ Doctor Abernathy waited Impa tiently at the choir steps. The organ was repeating, the march, more slowly now, as the puzzled organist endear ored to catch the rhythm of the pro cession, without success. The church was whispering with., speculation. Where previously only a few had sensed something-amiss, now all were uneasy. In the vestibule, some one tugged at Ambrose Carmody’s arm. “Well?” The old man's nerves were op edge.—-—-— Then he noticed the strained white look of the youngster’s face and fol lowed him out to ihe steps. "What’t wrong?" he...wanted to ask. Why didn’t the boy speak? But he said nothing. Suddenly, he knew he was "afraid to ask. '■ ' “Something—something terrible has happened, Mr. Carmody.” Ambrose nodded. In a way. It was a relief to know. “You’ll have to keep moving. Miss,” “Franklin” the v young man hesi- gaid the officer. The pretty woman over the words—“Franklin has in blue struggled through the Jostling crowd. ... ‘ Doris Carmody was thinking of Web ster Spears—“Web," whom she had known all her life, whom she might even now have been marrying, if things had turned out only a little differently. Why had Web walked out of the church, without remaining to see the wedding? What had he said about her brother, Rylie? That he would have stopped the wedding? That was ridiculous. I Wasn’t Rylie right there in the church? -' \ Put the girl’s thoughts never lin gered on her brother. With unex pected bitterness they reverted to Web. Didn’t he realize that she had always been fond of him, too? His father and hers had been partners, jttst as their fathers had been, before them. Just m Web and Rylie some day should be. been killed. Doctor Abernathy told me to tell you. He said you’d better £et Doris home.” “Killed!” Ambrose’s brain was echo ing, dully, “killed." But the force of the blow had numbed him. His feet fumbled with the steps, and he groped his way to his daughter’s side. “We’re going around back,” he told her. “But, Dad—” Then she read the shock In bis face and followed him, wondering. He met the usher, still on the steps. “Where’s Rylie?” he asked. “I want him to take his sister home." Again he turned to his daughter. Poor little Doris ! He found himself groping for words te tell her. ' She spared him that “What is It, Dad? Jim—he’s not hurt—or any thing?" „ That seemed to relieve the strain. “Yes," he said. “Jim’s hurt, Doris. 1—Frances Marsalis and Helen Richey landing at Miami from their plane after establishing a new woman’s endur ance record of 9 days 21 hours and 42 minutes. 2—Ice-breaker rescuing a tanker from the frozen Hudson river daring the recehj severe cold spell. 3—Vice President John Nance Garner opening the regular session of the senate. Los Angeles Has a Destructive Hood den stain crept across his vest and darkened the sLfcen lining of his cut away. His collar, torn loose on one side, curled grotesquely awry, grim fivmhnl at WJJ BSI U KrT Doctor Abernathy gazed in horror at the body on the floor. n Beside the desk stood Nicholas Royce. Peter had known “Nick" In the- old newspaper days. Now Nick was- managing., editor of Topics, the tabloid with the largest circulation In New York. He had been the dead man s best friend—was to have been bis- best ■man-.*- Nick nodded at Peter.dn recognition. “I’ll call the police,’’ he said. “When did this happen?” .Doctor Abernathy found his voice at last. "About five minute? ago, I should Judge,” Nick replied wlth"‘one hand over the transmitter. Then he got his eonnectlop and reported the crime to theylMic?, before turning again to the rector. . . “I followed you tP the door,” he con tinued, leaning against tne desk easily, as though uncopsciqus of the dead man, so near at hand. “I left the door ajar, and kept my eye on you, so we'd, know when to start in. Jim was behind me, in the entzaaPe.of the study, I thought. Dheard nothing un usual. i never realized anything was wrong until the ‘Wedding March’, be gan. Then f said, ‘All set, Jim.’ but he never answered me. When I turned ia.call him again the door from the sacristy Into the study was closed. “^ thought that was strange, but I still wasn't suspicious. Nbt until I. tried the doqr. and found it locked. + j“Of course, then I knew something wm wrong. 4 ran around the. out. side, to the rear door, U was .open. I found Jim—like this.” “But why didn’t you let us knbw?” demanded Ambrose Carmody, who had left his daughter with members of the family In the sacristy, and entered the room during Royce’s recital. “We had no idea what was wrong. We were in the midst of thg_jareddlng march— the girls were half-way down the aisle.” Royce shrugged. “I forgot about that,” he confessed. “I was busy- phoning.” “Phoning?” Ambrose Carmody’s white eyqbrows lifted Into question mark*. “Phoning?” “Yes.” “Then you had already notified the police," Doctor Abernathy put In quick ly. “Why—” the corner of Royce’s thin lips as be glanced quickly toward Peter. “I wasn’t phoning the police,” he said. “The story.” “You mean you’ve notified the news papers?” Carmody’s tone was angry. “Not the newspapers,” Royce denied. “Only my, newspaper.” “Have you lost your mind?” the old man flared. “We’ll keep the newspa pers out of this.” “You don’t know your newspapers,' Nick Royce replied softly. They, were interrupted by the dis tant wail of a siren, far down Car mody avenue, but growing steadily louder. The four men In the room paused to listen. Peter watched Nick Royce, who turned his head, listening to the banshee notes of the approach ing police car. “That is the voice of trouble,” he said. ..“From now on, this is every body’s secret” "Outside, patrolmen who before had kept the enrions moving on, were now holding back a swelling crowd. Michael Kilday, himself, sergeant of the homicide bureau, was the first to push his way Into the study. Behind blm followed the medical examiner. Thjree more.detectives, one bearing • otmera, completed tbe-party. . “Hello, Peter," Kilday recognized big friend and associate on other case* “^hat happened?" (TO BE OONTUTUSIX) Several days of torrential rain resulted In disastrous floods In t(|e Log Angeles area of sonthern California. Many \ the lives were lost and the property damage was Immense. This aerial pho Venice inundated by. the flood waters. tograph shows the fine residential district *f WINS AT PASADENA Queen of Banff Winter Carnival I With a 72-hole total of 282, Paul Runyan, twenty-five-year-old White Plains (N. Y.} professional, captured first place and $1,000 In the annoal - ~'■There wag 's trace of r smllg~aT0irad" '"^ a8a< * ao * $4,000 open golf -champion - ship. FIGHTING “KINGFISH” " District' Attorney Eugene Stanley of New Orleans maf prove to be the nemesis of the Louisiana “Kingfish,*’ Senator Huey P. Long. He has charge of the prosecution of more than 600 of Long’s election commissioners. Miss Violet Davis of Edmonton, Alta* who will preside as queen over tb$. Banff Win tor earn 1 vaj, jJ.sjRiari^ .llictagl¥g». It jMLJ sportswoman, being an excellent hockey player, a fast skater and expert She has competed la Western Canadian championships tn these sports and besides Is an expert swlmmetv tennis player and horseback rider. Making Fire Motorway in n 1 v I r * ». * m &<?■' /jut*Jr "■ v.,Mm t-over lane CCC men converting an old logging railrpad into a fire motorway la Yosemite National park. These new roads, bnilt with public works fnikfak will not only facilitate moving forest fire fighters, bat will serve as firs breaks In these bushy cat-over lands. . .. . . f Hat Check Girl—Aren’t yon going to .giro me a/tip? Why the champion tightwad of the town gives me a dime. • Patron—He does, huh? Well; gaze on the new tampon. Film Star—Will yon. love me i Pm old? Third Husband—Don’t be MQy* < est. Well be divorced lent b that - • mw:,. ' A'. < . ,,W .~V 'M ..Shi