Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1947-04-25
W.N.u. FEATUR G 5

WHAT was Sne DONG up tnere!
IL don't know. Putting some
things away or"
Looking for something per.
haps?"
II couldn't guess"
"Who found herr" It flashed
through his mind that someone
must have known where she was,
would have had subtly to reveal her
hiding place.
"She recovered her senses after
goodness knows how long. She
walked downstairs by herself. Yer
onica found her pacing up and down
the hall on the third floor, in q
daze. She-she couldn't find her
own ROOM"
That was logical. Many people,
after being struck over the head,
regain enough Of their senses to
walk about automatically seeking
help, though still in a semi-con-
scious condition.
"She collapsed AGAIN."
Eyes, as soon as we got her to
bed and had sent for the Doctor"
what prognosis does the doctor
give?"
"She will probably recover, but
she may not remember things-who
hit her-how it happened for a
long time. The police were quite
nasty about it, Mr.. McCale. They
have insisted on a police nurse so
that she may be questioned the mo-
ment she regains consciousness. Oh,
it's awful-awful!'
She reached out an old blue
veined hand toward him, like a dis
tressed child. Her voice was emp
ty, drained.
"What can we do, Mr.. McCale?"
He shrugged away the pity that
flooded his mind. No time for SYM
pathy. His business was not COM
miseration. His mouth was grim;
his voice held no clemency, no hope.
He turned with a violent movement,
striding toward the door.
II want to see the attic.'
She rose obediently, mechanical
ly. In the hall, she led the way,
some Of the granite in her taking
possession again. She preceded him
up the stairway, dead eyes straight,
her fine-drawn lips set in a firm
line.
Up the dark, heavily carpeted
stairways of the brooding house
they went, past the double doors Of
the drawing room where Karen still
played her macabre music, up to
the third floor, where a policeman
sat doing before the closed portal
Of SYPHILIS room where death was
lowering, up the last flight, darker
and narrower than the others. to
the attic where murder had been
perhaps only delayed.
Miss Bigelow pressed a switch
and two yellow bulbs came into
view, dimly lighting the place. A
well-kept attic came into focus,
shadowy, but unlike most attics, Or
derby. No dust there, no dark cor
ners, no cobwebs or broken furni-
ture. There were a few chests of
drawers, any number of trunks and
antique baggage.
An old trunk had been pulled
out under one of the lights for east
er perusal. 1t stood open. There
was a damp red stain on the bare
boards where the blood had spilled
from SYPHILIS wound.
McCale dropped down beside the
trunk, asking CURLY, "The weap-
on?"
''The police took it away-a CHM
ney brick wrapped in a towel. The
towel was from the third floor bath
ROOM" Miss Adelaide's eyes avoid
ed the blood on the floor.
Miss Bigelow's voice came hollow
ly, futility dulling it. "Then it
must have been-oh, if it we're not
true-but it must"
EYES," he said quietly. ut could
only have been the murderer of
Curt Vallaincourt and Shari Lynn
the person who attempted to re-
move me from the world last night
here in this house. Surely you
have known, have suspected, Miss
Bigelow, that the murderer is either
one of your family, or someone who
goes and comes at will to and from
this house."