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JcOPYRlGH^NE^^^TsjRW^^^^N^SERvTcy SYNOPSIS Mary Avery, a widow who lives in the liarbor (own of Satuit, Mass., with two negro maids, Sarah Darbe and Bessie Wil liams, writes a manuscript describing the famous Second Head murder, which oc curred on her estate. Next to Mary live Mr. and Mrs. Peter Stow who every year give a summer masquerade party. One of the guests of this function is murdered. Nearby live I)r. and Mrs. Geary and their married daughter Edith and her husband Alfred Bray; Doctor Myron Marden and Viis step-granddaughter, Caro Prentiss, a beautiful young girl who was born in France. Next live Paul and Lora Eames and their daughter Molly. Molly was en gaged to the murdered man, Ace Blaikie. ■She had previously been engaged to Walter Treadwell, who had been Blaikie’s secre tary, but the engagement was suddenly broken and he had left town. Other neigh bors are the Fairweather sisters. Flora, a hopeless invalid, and Margaret. All but the latter two attend the masquerade. Mary’s eight-year-old niece, Sylvia Sard, is visiting her for the summer. The wooded part of Mary’s estate is called the Spinney. In it is a tiny log cabin, called the Little House. On the day of the masquerade excitement is high. Mary decided to take Sylvia, who is an unusually observant child. Caro Pren tiss and Molly Eames drop in during the afternoon. Molly seems pre-occupied. Soon a car arrives and Blaikie, Doctor Marden and Bruce Hexson, a friend of Ace’s, alight. Molly is impatient to leave and they all ex cuse themselves. At the party Sylvia iden tifies each of the masked guests as they arrive. Ace comes garbed as Julius Caesar. Molly Eames appears as a Snow Queen, ac companied by a man in armor whom Sylvia identifies as Walter Treadway. They dance together continuously. Caro Prentiss and Marden arrive dressed in Revolutionary costumes, the doctor wearing jeweled shoe buckles. When the guests unmask, Ace, Walter and Molly have disappeared. Sarah Darbe confides to Mary that someone ap parently had spent the night in the Little House. Sylvia finds a shoe buckle in the Spinney and Mary drops it into a jewel box and forgets it. Sarah walks down to the Little House and returns screaming. She has found Ace Blaikie stabbed to death in the Spinney. Mary summons Patrick O’Brien, chief of police, who had been a schoolmate of hers and Ace’s. SATURDAY—Continued — s — period which I might de scribe as late babyhood provides me with no picture of Ace, although it is possible that I did see him then at Sunday school, or on the beach. Already the boys had shortened his old New England name of Asa to Ace—l little knew how appropriate that nickname was to become. I was exactly eight when 1 first became conscious of his existence. I remember perfect ly how he, looked the first time 1 laid observant eyes on him. The Blaikies had spent that summer in Europe. Ace was their only child and naturally their pride and joy. Well he might be that! There was no period in his life when, whatever the occasion, he wasn’t the most handsome male creature present, the most striking and debonair. It was typical of Ace that not only did he appear the first day of school wearing a Scottish costume which his mother had bought in Ed inburgh—it was typical of him that he carried it off with distinction and complete unconsciousness. I suppose that every other girl in the class fell dead in love with Are that day. I did not, however. Already—yes, even then, Mark Avery and I were meeting at the cross-roads to go to school togeth er. Ace broke hearts left and right in his cocksure pilgrimage through life. I am glad he did not break mine. He never caused me even a wuspicion of heartache. I s'<w more and more of Ace, hovvttver. We became great friends. He always entertained and inter ested me. He was fascinating. Ace, Patrick O’Brien and I were the leading spirits in our class. Patrick, as I have said, beat me in •.he race for scholarship and was graduated at the head. However, although he was salutatorian, I was valedictorian. Ace never stud ied. He was never in danger of reaching the head of the class, but not once dirl he fall below the mid dle. How he remained so far above it was a miracle. He had a good mind, an instant and retentive memory. Anything he could read in fifteen minutes before class opened, he could remember. The rest was a winning audacity and a charming impudence. He was be yond discipline. Yet the teachers all adored him. Ace might have gone far, but he was not ambitious. Except for his one splendid adventure, all he wanted out of life was easy money for lavish entertaining. The Blaikies had always been important people in Plymouth county. Their house is without doubt the most beautiful in Satuit. The gardens are the pride of the countryside. Inside are gathered the inherit ed family treasure, in furniture, pictures, book, of nearly two cen turies. The Blaikies had always had money and very soon Ace began to entertain. At first, it was chil dren's parties—candy-pulls and the | like; later it was dances and plen ty of them. Ace went to Harvard; Harvard was a tradition in the Blaikie fam ily. He went to Harvard Medical. Instead of finishing off in Germany, as most doctors did in those days, he chose to study in Paris. He was there when the World war broke. In the autumn he joined the Foreign Legion. He was wound ed that winter; when he recovered, he volunteered for aviation. He flew with the French army, until we entered the war. Then he joined our army. He became an ace— strange how life fulfilled the proph ecy of his nickname! He had five enemy planes on his record. He believed, himself, that he had brought down two or three more; but that, he could not prove. When he came back from France, the town gave him a party—no one in Satuit missed it. We asked him to come in uniform wearing all his decorations—the French and Bel gian Croix de Guerre, the Me daille Militaire, the Legion d’Hon neur and the D.S.C. I thought him, that night, the handsomest male creature I ever laid eyes on. Then Ace settled down to a prac tice in Satuit. Os course he could not make money in so small a place, but instantly he became a great success. Personality helped here, his own tremendous strength, his robust vitality. For with Ace’s entrance to a sick-room came a gust of health-giving air. But per haps his greatest asset was that sympathy with the sick, the old, the weary and the discouraged. It even helped that he liked girl-ba bies so much. However fathers felt, mothers always knew an in finite pride when they pleased Doc tor Blaikie by bringing forth a girl. But for other reasons, the coun tryside adored Ace. One was his reckless generosity. Anybody who wanted to sell tickets, or to get up a fund for charitable purposes made a bee-line for Ace. He under stood human nature—on the side of frailty—perfectly. Mothers of girls in trouble, fathers of boys in trou ble went at once to Ace, to get him to treat with seducers and po lice. Nothing illustrates Ace more per fectly than the story of his treat ment of Tom Boylan. Tom was he village drunk. Ace was always having to take care of him. free of course—Tom had no money—for alcoholism. Once he brought Tom through delirium tremens. Yet when Tom got well, Ace always gave him his first drink—after Tom had begged long enough for it. And yet . . . And yet . . . Some thing had happened to Ace—l don’t mean to his body. Something had happened to his soul. In the meantime, 1 had married Mark Avery. I used to talk Ace over with him. My husband, who was a nerve specialist like Doctor Geary, with an office in Boston, had served as a physician in the World war. He had great wis dom. He said to me once, “Mary, the strange thing about war is that it frequently ruins good men and rehabilitates bad ones. Men are returning to this country on every transport, who, if they had not been caught at the right moment by the discipline of an army, would have spent most of their lives in jail. • On the other hand, war fre quently ruins able men—its rigid discipline, its inherent immorality.” War must have been bad medi cine for Ace. It must have un loosed something in him that he had always held in abeyance be fore. At any rate, from the time he came back, he seemed to me to disintegrate. Not physically! To the very end. he kept his magnifi cent body in condition. He was al ways inheriting money. Yet no matter how much company filled the huge Blaikie house, Ace was always leaving on sudden calls. How often when I have been there, he has returned with a wearied but triumphant, “A big eleven pound boy!” or “A nice little girl!” Once—and this was the apex of his medical pride—“ Girl twins!” | The countryside always surged with gossip about Ace. He was, had i always been, would always be a [ terrific—l use the word of my gen ' eration—flirt. I will not say that ! he desired all women, but I will | say that any pretty woman seemed s to serve as a challenge to him. | Why, when Mark first began regu j larly to specialize on me, Ace I looked upon that as a challenge! j I laughed his tentative wooing out |of existence. Along with this tre mendous susceptibility, let me call it—although it wasn’t exactly that —came an equally tremendoqs fickleness. As I have hinted, to see a oretty woman meant, at once, on Ace's part, a desire to conquer her; and to conquer her was, at once, to begin to tire of her. Rumors of his conquests, both at home and abroad, choked our tea-talk. For the last few years, other rumors had spread—reports of financial embarrassment. It was said that Ace had run through all his patrimony and his various inheritances; that each year in creasingly, he spent more than he earned. And then occurred the strange complication to which I have al ready twice referred. Molly Eames came back from a year in Europe the most beautiful girl that Satuit had ever produced. In three months she was engaged to Wal ter Treadway. Ace’s secretary. It seemed to everybodj that they were passionately in love and yet after six months Molly broke her engagement to Walter. Six months later, she became engaged to Ace. No one of us who had known Ace, no one of us who loved Molly, felt happy over this turn of events. But one thing Ace brought to us from the war which meant more to Satuit as a whole than all his dec orations—and that was his friend, Bruce Hexson. Bruce Hexson was a lawyer. He was in Paris when the war broke and volunteered immediately to drive an ambulance for the French army. He met Ace in the hospital. When we entered the war he vol unteered for aviation. The two men served in the same squadron. Long before the Armistice, they had become inseparable pals. Bruce, too, was a man of private fortune. He lived in Pennsylvania. He came regularly every summer to Satuit and visited Ace for two months at a time. And then, suddenly an unexpected thing happened to him. To use the old pat phrase—Bruce “got” religion, but not somehow in the usual sense. Ace always avoided talking about his friend’s spiritual seizure, but he told me once that he attributed Bruce’s frenzy to the long strain of the war. “If he had been wounded once,” he said to me, “it would have been better for him. Aviators often went haywire. The officers watched us like doctors. The instant any one of us showed the first sign of psy chological strain, they gave him a long leave in Paris. If a man were slightly wounded, the change to the hospital helped. Bruce nev er got a pip; he never showed any signs of nerve breakage. That’s my explanation.” Whatever the reason, the result was definite and permanent. Bruce Hexson’s whole life changed. He Bruce Rented the Camp From Ace. came to Satuit every year, but now for the whole summer. He did not, as formerly, live with Ace. Ace owned a little camp on the Indian river. Like everything Ace touched, it was- charming and convenient. Bruce rented the camp from Ace— lived there with his two colored sei'vants, Adah Silverston and Ber ry Vale. Bruce Hexson had become a so cial fixture in summer Satuit. Nowadays he never came to our parties, but always, broodingly ten der, we felt him there. SUNDAY I remembered hearing the clock strike four before I fell asleep that night. But once asleep I lay like a log for perhaps an hour. After ward I remembered that early in the morning, just after dawn, I awoke with a searing thirst. Grad ually. I pulled myself up out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. On my way back to bed 1 paused to look out the window. A gray ish fog covered the landscape. Trees blurred shadowy through it —like foliage in a faded photo graphic film. Yet motion caught my dead eyes. Down below, emerg ing from the Spinney, I saw— Eut I must not anticipate here; for what I saw made but a fleeting impression on my sleep-clogged consciousness. Still bemused, I fell into bed and into another deep slumber. I for got entirely what I saw. It was Sylvia’s little voice which next awakened me. “Come, get in bed with me, my pet!” I invited. She snuggled down close beside me, putting Dorinda Belle between us on the pillow. “Did you have a nice time with Aunt Mattie?” I asked. THE COOLIDGE EXAMINER “Oh yes. Aunt Mary. Aunt Mat tie put a little pitcher of cream in front of my plate—just for me.” “What time did Aunt Mattie and Uncle Peter get home last night?” “I don’t know. Caddie put me and Dorinda Belle to bed before they came.” “And so you did not see Aunt Mattie and Uncle Peter until this morning?” “No. They came into my room and they hugged me and kissed me. Oh —I almost forgot. Aunt Mattie told me to tell you that she wanted to come over to see you after breakfast—as soon as possi ble.” I reached out and touched the bell. “Sylvia,” I said, putting my arm about her and drawing her closer, “do you remember how you danced with Doctor Ace at the masquerade?” Sparkles gathered in Sylvia’s eyes. “Oh yes, I remember! He couldn’t guess who I was. He tried and he tried and he tried, but he couldn’t. “Doctor Ace has gone away,” I said to her. “He’s gone away for a long, long time. But I want you to remember; as long as you live, how he looked and how kind he has always been to you. Promise me you won’t forget him.” “Oh, I’ll never forget Doctor Ace,” Sylvia vowed easily enough. She did not ask me where Ace had gone. Sarah came in with my tray. “Now run downstairs to the piaz za,” I bade Sylvia. “And don’t leave it without asking me.” Sarah did not seem herself. The deep umber of her flesh still showed a tallowy quality. “I hope you feel better this mum ning, Mrs. Avery,” she saitj. “I feel rested, Sarah, but you don’t seem so very spry.” “I feel that we’re all under sus picion!” Sarah commented somber ly. “Everybody on this Head—we women as well as the men.” I made myself smile. “We don’t have to worry, Sarah,” I reassured her. “Nobody in this household has to worry. Doctor Geary says Doctor Blaikie was murdered somewhere about midnight—prob ably before. We all have alibis. And then, Sarah, it seems to me very unlikely that a woman could have committed this crime. How could a woman have stabbed a man so tall and big as Ace Blai kie?” “A woman who’s big enough— and mad enough, Mrs. Avery—can do anything.” “Will you call up Mrs. Stow at once, Sarah,” I asked, “and tell her that I’m dressing now and to come over here as soon as she wants.” “Yes, Mrs. Avery.” “I suppose everybody’s been on the telephone.” “Everybody. Every Boston pa per’s tried to get you. but I said you were still sleeping.” “That’s right, Sarah. Don’t let anybody get to me today—except long distance of course.” “There’s a stack of telegrams, Mrs. Avery.” “I’ll look at them later.” I bathed and dressed swiftly, went downstairs. Almost instantly Mattie Stow came into the living-room from the hall. We kissed, then stood off and stared appraisingly at each other. “You look as washed-out as I do, Mary!” Mattie commented. “If I look as I feel,” I said. “You look all of that, Mary. It’s the most horrible experience of my lifetime. Sometimes I feel as though I’d never get over it!” “Horrible!” I could only—help lessly—echo. “What time did you go home, Mary? I can remember so little, clearly.” I described our movements— Sylvie’s and mine—in detail. “Peter and I dressed at the Bray house,” Mattie said. “We left our place at about half-past eight and got back at about ten. Naturally, we never left the house again. No body left the house but—” She stopped suddenly. It was her own thought, dogging her words, that had caught her up. “Os course Ace left before the unmasking because we never saw him again,” Mattie glided swiftly. “It puts an end to our masquer ades,” Mattie ended lifelessly. “I could never give another one.” The telephone buzzed. Instinctive ly I arose. But before I could get the extension on the piazza, I heard Sarah at the hall telephone. I took up the receiver. Patrick O’Brien’s voice said. “This is the chief of police speaking. Can I talk with Mrs. Avery?” “This is Mary, Patrick,” I broke in. “Oh, how are you this morning, Mary?” Patrick asked. “Well, I slept—after a while,” I answered. “It was a tough break, Mary— happening on your place! I called up to ask if I could come to see you for a few minutes. I'm at Joe Geary’s.” “I know you’ll have to be here all the time, Patrick. Don’t even bother to telephone. Come when ever you must. If I’m not at home, Sarah will take care of you. Mat tie is here.” (TO BE CONTINUED) Wapping, Part of London Wapping is the name of the ole section of London below the Tower where many of the docks are lo cated. It is historically famous as the place where pirates were for merly hanged. HOfcV&RE youj&m / DR. JAMES W. BARTON Talks About ® The Liver and Wakefulness. I OFTEN speak about the liver— the king of the organs—because j of the great amount and the im j portance of its daily work. It does | more different jobs than any other | organ and has to do them in such a j big or wholesale manner. Os course j the heart which is only a few ounces j compared to the liver’s six pounds i in weight has the important job of pumping the blood Shut that is its whole The little glands, pituitary at base of brain, thyroid in the neck, adrenal situ ated one on top of each kidney, have most important jobs yet weigh scarcely anything, but the I liver carries on de- I)r. Barton s P ite the various forms of damage that occur to it. In fact, as men tioned before, practically two of ev ery three persons have some irrita tion or inflammation of liver and gall bladder and yet perhaps only one in a hundred has real trouble. Recent investigations would seem to show that the liver has a regular routine or system of performing two of its important jobs, that is the storing away of glycogen (sugar) for future use, and the manufacture of bile to assist digestion and stimu late bowel action. Glycogen and Bile. “It appears that in man there is probably in the liver the greatest amount of bile being manufactured when the least amount of glycogen is being stored, and the greatest amount of glycogen is being stored when least bife is being manufac tured. According to research work ers the least glycogen is being man ufactured at noon and the most after midnight. While taking food may affect this routine to some ex tent, nevertheless this general rule is maintained.” These facts are of interest to physicians treating diabetic pa tients This fact of the daily routine of the liver in storing its largest amount of glycogen at night—about eight hours after the evening meal— is thought to be the cause of sleep lessness or wakefulness about two o'clock in the morning in certain individuals. Eating their large meal of starchy and fat foods —potatoes, bread, sugar, sweets, puddings, cream —at the noon hour instead of at six o’clock might be of some help, but would certainly not tend to keep them alert for mental work in the afternoons. * * * Three Kinds of Overweight. I sometimes think that most of us are just a little too severe in criti cizing those who are overweight. While practically every case can remove some fat by cutting down on food, nevertheless there are some overweights who honestly try to re duce in this way, with results that, to them at least, are disappointing. In justice to overweights it must be stated that the great majority of them inherit the tendency to over weight. Close questioning by the physician usually brings out the fact that if neither the father nor the mother were overweight, one of the grandparents or an uncle or aunt carried many excess pounds. Dr. C. G. Lambie in the British Lancet tells us that some 70 per cent of overweights have overweight par ents. so even where the parents were not overweight, the tendency to overweight is likely present in a goodly number of other cases. Dr. Lambie puts overweight into three classes: (a) developmental (natural or inherited tendency), (b) metabolic (where the body proc esses work slowly and allow fat to accumulate instead of burning it up), and (c) nutritional (where more food is eaten than the body needs). “The energy requirement of the body is the amount of energy need ed to keep the body processes go ing. to supply energy for muscular work—walking, playing, working— and to cover the dynamic action of food. If these three needs are taken care of, and still there is food un used then this will be stored up in the body as fat.” It is estimated that from 70 to 80 per cent of all the food eaten is used by the body just to keep its processes going properly; that only about 20 to 30 per cent is needed for the work the body does with the muscles in doing our daily work. Thus a man of average weight and height, 150 pounds, 5 feet 7 inches tall, in doing an hour’s walk covering 2 l k miles would require on ly about a slice of bread to supply the needed energy for the walk. Thus if walking does not demand a great amount of energy because the body is always on the ground, nevertheless if so much food is needed by the body every day a very considerable amount of this food or fuel is used by the body processes even if the individual is lying quietly in bed. However, when real hard work is done such as outdoor digging, han dling ice, coal, or other heavy ma terials, eight or more hours a day, then a great amount of food is need ed —just twice as much as if this in dividual were lying quietly in bed. © —WNU Service £3-^1 1? j.luilJi 'JMj/nhd about Salting Politics Away L\S VEGAS, N. M.—A few 4 weeks ago everybody on j the train I’m traveling on was | talking politics. Today every body nearly is talking foot ball. Exceptions noted thus far; 1. A middle aged lady talking symptoms- It seems she has had practically everything except lock jaw. And as for operations—well, her whole life must ___________ that was not shared connected with the movies talking mov 3. Another gentle- IsßsrM man talking self. Irvin S- Cobb We can tell that, up to now, he is just browsing around the edges of this fascinating topic. By tomorrow we expect him to get really into the meat of it. 4. An elderly gentleman talking steadily. He has been going since we left Los Angeles. We don’t know exactly what his subject is. He has not said yet. * * * Praising Grand Canyon . SCOOTING across Arizona I was moved to weave into this a com plete description of the Grand Can yon. But mercy stayed my hand. In stead, I have decided to send to all deserving applicants souvenir post cards showing views of the canyon. This will give the general idea. It looks just like the postcards, only larger. There’s one thing about the Grand Canyon—long after every other nat ural wonder has been desecrated with architectural doodads and the scribbled names of individuals whose signatures would look all right on the register of any dollar a-day American plan hotel, but are sort of out of place when smeared over one of creation’s masterpieces, the Grand Canyon will still be un spoiled. * * • California Rivers. IT’S fun to cross a river with at least a trace of wetness in it. It must be my early raising, but I like a river to be dampish—in spots, anyhow. After two years I can’t get used to southern California rivers, where, for nine months a year, the only craft you can navigate is a stone boat, and unless they use a sprink ling system you can’t see where you're going, and they deepen the channel by blasting and not by dredging, and you come back from an aquatic trip full of hayfever dust. They do say the fish have to learn to swim all over again every fall, and down between the steep banks the poor little frogs suffer terribly from sunburn. It’s a great country for Holy Rollers but hard on Baptists. * * * Crater Versus Manville. I'M TORN between temptations. I’d like to follow the search now on again for Judge Crater, who has been mysteriously missing all these years except for the two or three hundred times when somebody said he’d been seen. On the other hand. Tommy Manville, the husband of his country, is reported as having fresh woman trouble back east— this time of a blonde nature. Still, I can always prowl the des erts, looking for the judge. Out here, we hunt him at regular intervals. He’s different from the Liberty League. It disappeared just as sud denly as he did, but stayed that way. * * * Commercializing Football. ONCE upon a time, and not so very long ago, a college was known by the football team it kept. Now it’s known largely as the col lege that some football team is keep ing. And sport writers say that more money is now being wagered on football than on any sport we have. And it doesn’t take an ex pert’s eye to see that, each season, football is becoming more and more commercialized, more and more a professional, profit-making industry. Well, if football is to go the way of wrestling and horse - racing and prize-fighting, it’ll pretty soon be so that about the only game a chap can play without fixing somebody beforehand will be solitaire. Still, being a football devotee does keep you out in the open air. But you could say that same thing for a seagull. IRVIN S. COBB © Western Newspaper Union. Europe’s Gold Mines Plundered During the period of the barbarian invasions, Europe’s treasures of gold, everywhere plundered, were scattered and disappeared. The an cient mines became exhausted and for centuries the continent was poor in precious metals. By the end of the Middle Ages, it is estimated, not more than 12,000,000 to 16,000.000 pounds sterling of gold remained in pll Europe.—Gas Logic. Scottie Pup Mascot Livens Things Up! Pattern 5006 Hoot, mon—here’s a wee Scottie that every laddie or lassie would yearr to cuddle! How the young sters will love and admire him for his gay plaid coat, yarn whiskers and soft figure. He’s easily and quickly made, too—and stitched in bright, inexpensive cotton fabric, he’s a real “scotch” treat! Why not send for the simple pattern today, and make Scottie for a jol ly, appropriate gift? In pattern 5G06 you will find a pattern for the dog; complete directions for mak ing it, and material requirements. To obtain this pattern send 15 cents in stamps or coins (coins preferred) to The Sewing Circle, Household Arts Dept., 259 W. 14th Street, New York, N. Y. Write plainly pattern number, your name and address. The Cure for Mental and Physical Afflictions If you are poor—work. If you are rich—continue to work. If you are burdened with seem ingly unfair responsibilities— work. If you are happy—keep right on working. Idleness gives room for doubts and fear. If sorrow overwhelms you and loved ones seem not true—work. When faith falters and reason fails—just work. If disappointment comes—work. When dreams are shattered and hope seems dead—work. Work as if your life were in peril. It really is. Whatever happens or matters— work. Work faithfully work with faith. Work is the greatest material remedy available. Mississippi Vocational News. Earnestness There is no substitute for thor ough-going, ardent, and sincere earnestness.—Dickens. i ARE YOU THIN, AILING? #Mrs. Mary Simpkins of 639 No. Water St, Idaho Falls, Idaho, said: “I was in a weak ened condition following childbirth. I had lost several pounds in weight. I used about four bottles of Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery and I gained weight and strength, had a good appetite, and it was not long before I felt as well as ever." Buy today! New sire, tablets 50 cts.. liquid SI.OO & $1.35. I THE CHEERFUL CHERUB • ———i■him mi mwmtn a a The cows stz.y outdoors d-b-y j In meadows green “fc-nd sweet . They i ive in gorgeous I scenery £>ut ell they do is eet. /TV l^TC A "1 l it 4