Evening star., 1936-09-30

of the newspaper that en-
ployed him. Riley Blackwood
- sneaked into his own pigeon
hole and savagely attacked a worm
out typewriter with sticking keys,
achieving-along toward midnight
a slashing evaluation of Mrs. Hath
away's Predicament," which it was as
well It's English author would have
no opportunity to read. Then thrust
ing his copy into the chute to the
composing room, the Morning Chron-
icle's drama critic stumbled into the
night and headed northward for
Pomander Mansions.
A bath, a rundown and a spot OF
tea; and then-one of the gay de-
tective novels of the English masters
that frightened the drearier stretches
Of his careful bookshelves!
He smiled in pleasant anticipation.
On the doorstep, as his taxi deposited
him on the sidewalk, lounged strik-
ing figure-a man in cape and top
per- swinging a silver-mounted stick.
Hello" said Blackwood. Its Con-
stantine"
The novelist extended his hand.
Sorry to be a nuisance. Riley" Philip
Constantine apologized. Its late,
I realize, but your man told me you
were at the theater and figured you'd
be along shortly. I preferred to wait
outside. It's cooler"
He might have offered you Q
drink" said Blackwood.
"As q matter of fact, he did. But
I'd had enough Of those, as it hap
pens, at the Cucaracha. I've been
thinking things over, Riley, and there's
story I want to tell you
About the Cucaracha?" Blackwood
chuckler. st told you 1t was q dive"
About Janice Hume" said the nov
elist, soberly. THE Cucaracha has
nothing to do with 1t. simply had
a late supper there-and, incidentally,
was handed q bad bill" He smiled a
trifie sourly.
Come in," said Blackwood and led
the way inside. What's on your
mind?" He asked abruptly when they
were seated: Whats this about Jan.
ice Hume?"
The novelist crossed his knees. "It's
a queer tale, Riley don't know how
much of it you'll believe. I don't
know how much Of it believe my
self. But I'm convinced that you
are the man to listen to It,"
Both men looked up as Blackwoods
Chinese servant entered the room, and
Constantine frowned.
Tea, jim" said Blackwood, land
some sandwiches. That's mine, any
way What will you have. Con-
stantine?"
Tea, please" The novelist smiled
After q moment he began again. 1T
was tea that started things of, this
afternoon" he explained. with a little
shrug. II had tea with Janice and
she told me an extraordinary story.
Not to make a secret Of it, Blackwood.
it was her gun that bumped of Rita
wngfield!"
The deuce 1t was!"
Mr.. Blackwood's incredulous cry
was testimony. he hoped. to the his
tronic ability Of the members Of his
craft.
continued the novelist. What she was
doing, think. was asking my advice.
She didn't know what to do about
1t. 1t appears that she loaned the
weapon to this Rita Wingfield that
very afternoon-the afternoon Of
the murder"
What" said Blackwood, and this
! IF
genuine excitement. Already the story
had gone beyond the meager recital Of
Zelda Lansing.
The woman was afraid OF some
thing-Rita Wingfield. I mean-and
Janice found her crying in the ele-
vator."
"Crying?"
"She wasn't bawling. as I under
stand it. but there were tears in her
eyes. She was nervous and upset
twisting a handkerchief in her fin
gers and that sort of thing. Janice
who's a good-hearted soul, asked her
what the trouble was. They didn't
know each other, but they'd gone up
together in the same elevator a num-
Der Of times and knew each other by
sight. They had nodded on previous
occasions and possibly passed the
time of day. 1 don't know every
thing that passed between them, but
obviously the woman was glad to talk
with some one who was sympathetic.
She asked Janice into her apart
ment and they had tea together"
Blackwood nodded If this were