White Bluffs spokesman. [volume] (White Bluffs, Wash.) 1907-1938, 1937-11-18
g Emile Loring.
WNU Service.

end balcony SutSlde the studio. He
visualized the interior as he had
seen it the day he had helped Jerry
Field sketch in the tree trunks on
the backdrop. Someone was crawl
ing out! A man! He was sliding
down an iron trelHs like monkey!
Now he was running across the lawn
bent double! He was entering the
garage!
Mark Trent cranmed the electric
torch into his pocket and swung a
leg over the railing. He hitched
along till his feet found an up
right, went down hand over hand,
his palms sticking painfully to the
iron as he moved them.
From purple Tree shadow to pur-
Pile tree shadow he skulked. Near
the garage he hid behind shrubs.
The click of a lock! He held his
breath as he listened. Who had
been in the Lookout House garage
at this time of night? Whoever it
was, was leaving. He could hear
cautious footsteps. An automobile
starting! He strained his ears. 1t
was speeding down the street to-
ward the causeway. That didn't
prove anything, it would be easy
enough to turn into side road and
cut back. Was the man who had
sneaked from the house driving?
Had he stolen the car? Even so, he
couldn't follow it, he must find out
why he had entered the garage.
He crept to window and peered
in. Dark as pitch except for a
white blur. That must be the cover
of Aunt Mary Amanda's old limou-
sine. Why was the unused car di-
rectly opposite the door? He re-
lnembered now. Jed had told him
that he had o. KID an offer Henri
Jacques had reported for the out-of-
date machine. Probably the butler
had planned to drive it off in the
morning.
The man who had just made. his
getaway had stopped here. Why?
Had he hidden loot? The silver?
But the silver had been in the
storeroom only few hours ago. A
few hours! Much could happen in a
few hours while the occupants of the
Other House had been at supper at
the Reyburns'. He'd better investi-
gate. Lucky he still carried the
key to his aunt's garage on his ring.
In the days when they. had been
friendly, she had insisted upon his
having a key to the house as
we'll. Soundlessly he slid back the
door, squeezed in, closed and locked
it.
With the light in his torch
dimmed, he tiptoed carefully be-
tween the automobiles. Brooke's
long, sleek town car. Sans con-
vertible coupe. The white. cloth
cover of the old limousine was awry
as if it had been hastily adjusted.
Part of it lay on the floor. What
was that mark? A footprint! A foot
print faint but bloody!
With childish impulse to clutch
their coats and keep the men with
her, Brooke Reyburn had listened
to the closing of the door behind
Mark Trent and Jed Stewart. They
had pleaded an early morning start
for the city, but she was sure that
they had gone because they resent
ed Jerry Fields sullxy silence. She
would have been glad to get away
from his gloomy presence herself.
She glanced at him as he stood be-
fol, the fire. From the back of the
house came the crash of dishes,
shout Of laughter.
Brooke sprang to her feet. II
wonder what went then. I suspect
that Lucette and Sam started
rough-housing and that Daphne was
drawn into the scuff1e. should
have known better than to let them
Wash the dishes. Come on, Jerry.
Let's investigate. I'd rather know
the worst at once"
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