The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1930-03-01

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the stairs, until he had gone into
his room and closed the door.
Switching on the lights he found
that chambermaid had converted
the couch into beautifully made
up bed, and had left a thermos
bottle of ice water and a napkin
covered plate of tiny sandwiches on
the bedside table.
Munching one Of the dainty
triangles, he went into the bath
room, tried the door leading into
Dicks bedroom, and found it I'M
locked. He knocked, had no
answer, then entered.
The lights were on, but Gigi had
been right. Dick Berkeley was not
in his room, but he had been there
very recently, for thin blue layer
Of smoke still hung over an arm
chair, and an ash tray beside it held
half a dozen cigaret stubs, deposited
there since the chambermaid had
turned down the covers of the bed.
And in the room was heavy odor
of whisky and perfume.
"He can't have got far" Dundee
said to himself, and frowned
thoughtfully.
Suddenly his mind was made up
Regardless of that fact that Dick
was his host, and that his hosts
love affairs we're none of his con-
Germ, Dundee knew that if he could
prevent it Dick Berkeley should not
further annoy Doris Matthews that
night.
The girl feared him, despised him,
and he was more than half drunk.
There was his empty pocket flask.
Without forming any definite
plan, Dundee hurried out into the
hall. Yes, thank heaven, Gigi had
gone to bed! He plunged down
the stairs, his steps inaudible on
the thick velvet runner.
In the ten minutes or so since he
had gone up, the house had appar-
emily settled down for the night.
In all the big front hall there was
only one dim light burning, but as
Dundee was crossing noiselessly to
the drawing room there came the
faint sound of a door opening, i'm
mediately followed by an angry, i'm
placable voice:
and that's my last word on the
subject, Abbie! Thereu be no en-
gagement announced here tomorrow
night! I'll not have my daughter
marrying a wife-murderer"
Shut that door, George Berke-
ley!" Dundee heard Mrs. Berkeley's
voice shrilling in the library. do
you want Wicket to hear you?
Now you listen to my last word"
THE library door closed and
l. Dundee was temporarily saved
from the charge Of eavesdropping.
He hesitated, his plan to interfere
with Dick Berkeley'S amorous pur-
suits forgotten for the moment.
So George Berkeley suspected,
too! Or did he more than suspect?
Had he ferreted out, with the aid
OF private detectives, something that
had not appeared at that strangely
perfunctory inquest eighteen months
months ago in London?
But wait! Perhaps he had no
need of private detectives! Right
here in the house was Doris Mat
thews, Mrs. Crosbys personal maid,
whose testimony had figured so
prominently in the inquest. Just
what had she testified? Dundee
knit his brows in an effort to re-.
member clearly.
Then he shrugged. Tomorrow he
would have the resume of the case
which Strawn had promised to mail
that night.
The Dick matter was more press
ing now. And he stepped softly
into the dark drawing room. His
goal was the buffet in the dining
room. If Dick wasn't there, he
probably wasn't in the house at all.
Halfway across the room light
from the dining room made the
going easier.
Wicket, the butler, stood at the
big sideboard, counting silver
spoons into a velvet-lined chest. He
wheeled at some faint sound the
detective had made, and peered
frowningly.
"I was looking for Mr.. Dick
Berkeley, Wicket" Dundee de-
clared himself.
He is not here, sir The wine
was returned to the cellar some
time ago, sir"
Right, Wickettl" Dundee grinned,
then protested as the butler ad-
vanced dutifully to turn on the
drawing rsom lights. Don't botherl
:.