The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1924-01-10

led into the garden. portion II
which was tagged. Upon the flags
stood old plastered jars. in each OF
chrysanthemums. 1 could not per
ceiye details, but | guessed that the
lawns were well-kept; the distance
between the house and it's two neigh
bors showed that it stood in extensive
grounds. Here again. thought. as
I leant over the low wall which
separated the garden from the street,
here again wealth, and a life where
nothing happens.
At that moment. as / stared at one
OF the French windows. I realized
first that here burned a light. II
was faint, because it had to struggle
round thick curtains Half-past five,
Someone awake? CURIOUS. Lights n
the night always interest ono: social
life, love, sickness, death, al these
call lights into the windows. I stared
at it for moment Then. lust as I
was about to pass on, l started,
leaping away from the wall and com
ing back; the sound of a revolve. shot
1 had seen no fash. I knew with the
absolute certainty Of intuition that
tragedy lurked in the room where the
light still family glowed
l listened acutely for nearly a min.
ute. Groans, the sound of a struggle.
another shot. any of those would con.
firm what had discovered But there
was nothing. nothing but silence. In
the far distance I heard the horn Of
a motor car, when sounded toud and
near, so taut were my nerves. Bur
nothing came, and stu / stared at
that window. What had harpened
there? Who there lay dead? The fact
was such shock to me that for mo.
ment 1 proposed to find a poi.cen,4n
as quickly as I might Then ! felt
ashamed; it is a poor adventures Of
the night draws the commonplace no
lice into the extraordinary
So, looking about me, and finding
myself unobserved I lifted the latch
Of the gate, tiptoed up the tagged
walk, where my feet, tramplinS the
gravel, seemed to make the noice of
machine gun. A broad lawn lay be.
fore the window; for a moment, stand
ing at the side, I tried to see in be.
tween the curtains. But I could per
ceive only a small portion of brown
PAPER upon the far wall What should
| do? / couldn't rouse the house. If
| did, perhaps a bullet would find i:s
way to me, the inconvenient witness
At that moment, as I made an effort
to rise higher along the wall, where
the curtain lay more ajar, felt, with
an effect of extraordinary sudd Anpess.
the glass of the window give way
under my hand; the window was a iar:
only its great weight had prevented
its giving way before
Trembling with excitement, | went
on pressing against the glass that
pushed back the curtains with imper-
ceptible slOwness, until a line Of light
appeared between them, a line of light
which enabled me to see, focused like
small picture, the figure of a man
sitting at desk, his head fallen back,
and one arm hanging lax by his side.
So there was the victim. In such an
attitude no man would sleep. 1 lis.
tened. No. there were no footsteps:
there could be nobody in the room.
There the man lay, I knew that I
could do nothing, that I could force
myself only into peril, but the lure OF
the open room. the smell of tragedy,
were too much for my resolution.
This was no murder for the sake of
theft. There was no sign OF the desk
having been ransacked. There was
nobody about. searching. Drawing a
deep breath. forced the curtains open
little more and stepped into the
room. 1t was very much the room
one might have expected to find in a
mansion of this kind. The roof was
low, supported by old beams. over the
tall wainscoting of carved black oak
spread the brown paper, upon which
hung few prints of George Morland.
The desk was covered with papers,
and heap of manuscript still lay
unde6 the dead rlan's hand A table
lamp with a reflector concentrated the