The Birmingham age-herald., 1923-02-25
M Gallows Hound qfMount Joy

 going to let him run away? He's our man! He did it! Can't you see the situation? Horace was the favorite; the will was prob- ably to be redrawn altogether in his favor, and"
 "He can't go far,' Frances interrupted. "And we must get back to the house."
 We did get back; and there we secured a brief and painful but complete inter- viow with the mother of the dead man little, frail old woman. She also sub- stantiated the facts set forth in the news papers-substantiate them with so evil dent candor and such a wealth of detail I was forced again to return to the original theory that there had been no murder tt all, and that Frances Baird was at last, for once in her life, totally wrong.
 'sYou are sure,' said Frances, "that the dog showed no previous signs of illness?"
 The old woman was sure; she knew dogs; there had always been one in the house since her childhood; and she had never seen one in better health than this collie on the night before the accident.
 We were standing in the simple hallway, for Mrs Drumbaugh herself had answered our knock.
 And MT. Drumbaugh had just come downstairs?" asked Frances, in conclusion The woman nodded. "E1is foot was on the last step" she moaned, "when the dread full dog attacked"
 You are sure it was your pet collie?" As Frances put this question, a door, SOupak hack of Mv- the fact that the interview was interesting to somebody in the next room.
 "0f course I am sure,' answered the mother
 "How?"
 T saw him. He was. not'-she shud- dered-"two yards from me-
 And he was mad?"
 "He was foaming dreadfully. One big blotch of foam was flung up on his neck, between the ears. I could see the white standing out on his black coat
 ''Oh, but that was probably just a white spot in his hair"
 The old woman, in spite of her grief, had room for indignation. q guess I know a dog that has been in the house since he was a puppy" she said. ''Our dog had no white spot there.'
 "How did he escape?"
 Through the front door,
 "It was ajar?"
 ssYes"
 And 1 was just about to turn away thinking the interview ended, when Frances stepped quickly by the woman and, with a sudden motion, flung her entire weight against the door, which opened, it proved, into the kitchen.
 There was a loud crash, an oath and a sharp pistol shot.
 l leaped after my guide, only to find her, through the smoke from her revolver, as sh erolled over on top of a man who was sprawling on the kitchen floor amid clat- ter of pots and pans
 Before I could interfere, Frances, with her accustomed strength and dexterity, had placed the handcuffs on him and had flung him into chair
 "Close the door," she commanded; and I obeyed, shutting Mrs. Drumbaugh off from the scene, and finding myself face to face with sullen youth, whose bleared eyes, blotched face and trembling, weak mouth told their own story of crime and dissapa- ton.
 What do you mea?n Who are you?" beloved our captive in that extreme terror that often looks so much like real courage. T am detective" said Frances; land mean,' she continued, as she calmly rearranged her somewhat rumpled attire, that l am arresting you, Horace Bechtel, for the murder of Henry Drumbaugh"