The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1943-02-12

WHICH, NuCNEy ECdCACu snO uOVA, =
of his master shot through the hear
Someone was in danger. A hoarse
voice called out, "Help, help, help!"
Cherry sat up in bed, terrified at
darkness, sweat suddenly cold on
her hands and spine and brow. What
was it? Somebody had called
"Help!"
A shout came from the floor be-
low, and then the sound of revolver
shot Glove the darkness sharply.
Cherry was at the door now. The
hall lights rushed up and the light
over the stairs. Amy was at the
switch, pallid with fright; stout,
sturdy Molly, with May and some
of the other maids behind her, was
running down from the upper floor.
Fran, clinging to the banister, was
on the stairs.
"What was that?" Fran said, in
a quick quiet voice. "Let's not lose
our heads. It was nothing"
They all ran downstairs after
Fran. Old Martin, the butler, was
in the lead and they saw him pause
at the library door. They've got
him!" he said brokenly.
When Cherry reached the door.
Martin was ON his knees, and
the body Of his master, shot
through the heart, was resting
Imply against his shoulder.
Days went by. There was dread
full silence in the house; feeling OF
emptiness, even though it was filled
with people. Old Mrs. Marshbanks
murmuring to Fran in Fran's room;
Amy fearful and frightened in hers;
Cherry coming and going with col
orless, shocked face; Gregory
Marshbanks, tall and good-looking
and serious, home from college;
Molly and May, the two upstairs
servants. Helene the maid, the Chi
nese cook and his helper, Martin
the butler, Rousseau the chauffeur,
these were all there.
And besides these were officers OF
the law who had opened doors and
blocked boxes, taken their posts
gravely and regularly at the en-
frances, checking everyone who
went out and in.
Judge Marshbanks had fallen
back across his own chair, had
slipped to the floor; it had been his
voice they had first heard, shouting
for help; Cherry recognized it as
she remembered that dreadful sound
in the silent night.
Since then the place had been in
full possession of the authorities.
The family, the servants were being
eternally summoned for questions.
Fran had repeated to everyone's
satisfaction her simple story. She
had come home from Burlingame
party with her husband at about
midnight. She had felt restless and
headachy that evening, and Judge
Marshbanks, who always was glad
to get home at reasonable hour,
had been delighted to bring her back
before the party was well under
way.
The Judge, her story went on, had
gone into the library for talk with
his niece, Amy Marshbanks, and
Fran had gone to bed. She had
heard nothing until his dreadful cry
of ''Help!" had rung through the
house.
Amy was poor witness in her
own behalf, crying bitterly, and
breaking out with frightened self
defense with every word. She had
asked Uncle Jud to talk to her that
nighttime, she wouldn't say about
what-no, he hadn't gotten angry
at her nor she at .him-yes, it had
agitated her a good deal-she had
cried-yes, she had said, "Then I'll
kill myself" as Martin testified.
But Martin, going about to put out
the lights, knew that she had gone
upstairs before he spoke to Uncle,
before Uncle said to him, "I've lit
tie business to finish here, Martin.
I'll put out the lights!"
"Had the announcement of your
prospective marriage anything to do
with this conversation, Miss Marsh
banks?" Amy had been asked. She
had hesitated, had answered. mot
exactly" Amy was twenty-one now,
and society had been duly notified,
through the press, of her intention
to become the third Countess Con-
stantino.
On the other hand, the murdered
mans mother had proved an in
comparable witness. She had an
swered questions thoughtfully, even
ly, not wincing away from even the
most appalling details.
who killed Judson Marshbanks?"
headlined the newspapers. Every
one speculated. and everyone's