The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-03-08
CHAPTER xxx

JuSC TeIneIUDeTeu, Ue SdlO with a terrible bitterness in his voice. Morton went to town with me on the same train - the 11:lC from Green Hills. He has per fact alibi, and I'm the one who must substantiate it ."
 Waiting on the Green Hills sta tion for the train to Manhattan, Dorothy repeated to herself: T am Joan Barrett. I am afraid of being accused of murder. Where shall go? Where can I hide?"
 She took the train to the city because she thought that the likely place for a girl to hide. In the small suburban towns, people were quick to notice strangers. But 10000 strangers arrive in Manhattan every day. Joan could lose herself for months there ..
 The thought which haunted her above all else was that Joan, driven too far by this ghastly turn of events, might do something des- perate. She had fought down so many fears: this worst shock of all might prove the last straw.
 She must find her!
 If she had to walk up and down every street in Manhattan, she must find her! A merciful Provi- dence would lead the way, and she clutched at that faith.
 It was close to three o'clock when she arrived in Manhattan, and for one dizzy moment, she stood stock still in the station, wondering where in the world to go next.
 The first editions of the evening papers were already on the streets, and the mysterious death of John Ware Hendry headlined every front page. Dorothy bought a copy and went into the waiting room to read it. So far only the barest details had been made public.
 "Police are concerned" she read, lover the simultaneous disappear ance of Miss Joan Barrett, secretary to the murdered man. AS far as can be determined, Miss Barrett was the last person to see MT. Hen dry alive"
 That was all. No reference to the background of Joan Barrett; evidently the police had not been sufficiently certain of that to give the story out to the press. They did not take Sybil Hendry's word, then. They were making their own in- vestigation.
 She read on to the bottom of the column, then followed the story back to page g. Here was a com- plete biography of John Ware Hen dry, of his work in the interests Of mining, his early life, his charities. She did not stop to read it through.
 AS she folded the paper together, her eye fell upon the classified ad- vertisements on page g. The words Rooms to let" struck her forcefully.
 Rooms to let," she repeated to herself.
 She opened the paper again to page 23.
 Suppose" she thought once more, "that I am Joan Barrett. am try ing to hide away, but I have only few dollars. I have no baggage. I dare not go to hotel; the police would check there first. Yet I cannot roam the streets forever . There is only one thing can do. I will get quiet room somewhere.
 Her eyes frightened at this new possibility, and the more she con- sidered it, the stronger became her conviction that Joan would have followed that course. Frantically she read down the columns of ad- vertisementS. She took pencil out of her bag and checked them off numerically in order of location. She would start out and make the rounds of every furnished room in the city ..
 She stopped, abruptly, sudden idea occurring to her. This was the afternoon paper; Joan, arriving in town before dawn, would have bought an early morning edition. She left the paper on the seat and rushed to the newsstand.
 "Have you a morning paper?" she demanded breathlessly.
 The clerk looked under the counter. Just one left" he re- piled. "It's little torn '"
 That's all right. I'll take it."