Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1947-01-24
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WIN. U. eEATUR ES

ETY. of liquor on that table," He
shook his head.
"1'n wait, think"
He was obsessed with the thought
that although her voice was calm,
unhurried, there was something
d, empty and trembling in her. She
seemed to be watching, too, watch
ing the way the freight fickered
across his lean, hard jaw, and
reaching out to him in some un-
certain way for strength.
Letting the smoke out of his lungs,
he said slowly, his voice low, "Per-
haps you have something to tell me
before the others arrive"
She looked up quickly, one fist
tightly clenched in her lap. "Oh,
no."
"Damnation," thought McCale.
What is the matter with this won-
an? Or is it me? Am I getting out
of practice? I can usually catch
something significant in my own
subtle way, but this battles me. III
stake my life that there is some
thing seriously wrong in this room,
in this house. Something is going
to happen. The Irish in me tells me
so. It's crawling up the very small
OF my back. I've got to have some
thing to 60 on"
She rose and walked past him to
the door, her dress rustling like dry
leaves. II want you to see the
wedding gifts" was all she said,
closing the door of her mind sharp
ly in his face.
A quick black anger flared up in
him. His impulse was to stalk from
the house, but reason held him, rea-
son and the disturbing unrest that
had remained in his brain and
nerves ever since her visit to his
office that morning. He followed
her downstairs.
Heavy double doors intricately
carved in designs of fruit opened
off the lower hall into an immense
dining room. There was faded
scenic paper on the walls and huge
sideboards against opposite sides Of
the room. Two exquisite crystal
chandeliers, wired now for electro
city, hung over long narrow table.
Along the dado which outlined the
room, dozen or more Adam chairs
arched their dignifed backs. Table
and sideboards were loaded with
silver, lamps, expensive glassware;
rare, beautiful, odd, pretentious
gifts for the bride and groom.
McCale walked around the dis
play slowly, nodding at Miss Bige-
lows remarks: Every valuable; an
heirloom; priceless" and so on. He
marveled at the value placed on
some simple piece, shuddering at
the ostentatiousness of others. He
was ready to grant the necessity of
protection for this collection, was
beginning to push away the odd
bunch he had been playing all day,
when he felt, rather than saw, a
sudden change in his client.
A culver rippled over her frail
shoulders. Her hands fluttered help
lessly as she came to sudden fro
zen stop. They had reached the far
end of the table. He heard her gasp
and looked down to see the strang-
est gift of all.
1t was model, to scale, of a
small modernistic house, set in
miniature Handicapped grounds.
Complete with easement windows,
sun deck, glass-walled patio, it was
an architects dream of the plus
ultra in a civilized dwelling place.
There was even tiny roadster on
the curved highway, a swimming
pool in the rear, a statue in the
small, economically plotted gar
den. The model had evidently been
on display somewhere, for an en-
graved card attached to one corner
of the base read:
Model of 1912 House-The Nest
Crystal Cove, Nahant
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. Storm
Beside McCale, Miss Bigelow
swayed. Her face blanched. With
eyes half-closed, she reached for
and held up in her trembling fingers
a long legal envelope that had been
lying beside the model. From it,
she took folded document, opened
it slowly. Over her shoulder, Duke
saw it was deed, ceding the prop
erty and buildings of Christopher
Storm at Crystal Cove, Nahant,
Massachusetts, to Curtain Vallain-
court.
Beautiful Blonde