r








PARACHUTE MURDER
MURDER in the air! The body of a popular
Broadway star is found in an Ohio field, under an
opened parachute, with a bullet through his heart.
Police of two states find themselves up a blind
alley, and the New York District Attorney calls
in a new type of amateur detective—Kirk Kemer-
son, character actor, who becomes speedily in-
volved in a baffling mystery, complicated by a
second murder and a kidnapping. Studying the
mind, habits, life and character of the murdered
star as he would study a "character" part in
a play, Kemerson solves the mystery in a
thrillingly novel and dramatic denoue-
ment ... A murder mystery of
a new type to test the in-
genuity of detective
novel addicts!





Copyright 1933
By THE MACAULAY COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Death Float 11
II Publicity Hound 19
III A Threat Comes Home to Roost . . .27
IV Trailing Lights 32
V A Nose for News 43
VI The Warning SI
VII Fear Over the Telephone .... 60
VIII A Letter from the Dead 71
IX Kiyoshi Disappears 86
X The Account of the Ear-witness 98
XI An Actor in His Element .118
XII A Fast One Is Put Over on Kemerson . 134
XIII "Watash Kereo Karosu Jo" . . . .143
XIV The Story Brewster's Orderly Told . 152
XV A Kidnapping and Two Arrests . . .161
XVI Vida Latterby Decides to Talk . . .173
XVII Lieutenant Brewster Reports a Murder 184
XVIII Trapped! 191
XIX Blake Casts Himself for the Hero's
Role 202
XX Betterling Is Explanatory and Evasive 217
XXI The Captive Lovers 228
XXII A New Motive 239
XXIII The Missing Detective 247
S


6 CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
XXIV An Identification That Went Wkong . 256
XXV A Call on Arthur Layman .263
XXVI Whose Child? 278
XXVII A Crime in Shadows 290
XXVIII Double Escape 300


THE PARACHUTE MURDER





THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Chapter I
THE DEATH FLOAT
The white-faced man at the corner table of Bigger's
restaurant looked up uneasily from the bundle of eve-
ning papers he had been scanning with hurried, fasci-
nated attention, and stared blankly out into the street.
But he saw nothing; his mind was filled with what he
had been reading. His eyes fell again, of their own ac-
cord, upon the headlines:
"CHADWICK MORNE MURDERED! BODY
FOUND NEAR CABLSTOWN, OHIO, COVERED
BY DEATH FLOAT," screamed a tabloid.
"BODY OF CHADWICK MORNE FLOATED
TO EARTH BY PARACHUTE;
"was he already dead or was crime committed
after his descent?" asked the sober New York Sun.
"BODY OF CHADWICK MORNE, BULLET
THROUGH HEART, FOUND ALONG OHIO
ROADSIDE," proclaimed the Evening World.
The reader of the headlines was a man of thirty or
so, blond, clean-shaven, with long, narrow face. The
fingers of his right hand drummed nervously on the pa-
pers; he glanced off into space, uneasily, as one who
feels himself under secret observation; he stilled his
11


12 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
fingers, composed his features hastily, and looked sud-
denly up to meet a pair of calm, large, hazel eyes fixed
gravely upon him. The man smiled at him. It was Kirk.
Kemerson, the popular character actor who had been
prominently cast in Splendid Sinners, one of Arnold
Siddarth's gestures towards the "highbrow drama" two
years previously. Kemerson had walked off with all the
honors of that production, more than one of the critics
having pronounced his acting in the play the finest his-
trionic achievement of the year. Blake suddenly remem-
bered having heard reports that the actor had dabbled
in criminal investigations since the closing of Splendid
Sinners, and vaguely recalled having read that Kemer-
son had himself been involved in some mystery that
had to do with a camel's-hair coat, and had solved it
when the police and the District Attorney were in a cul
de sac. The actor was now appearing in August Bell-
tower's production of The Daisy Chain, soon to close
after an eight months' run.
The actor waved his hand at Stephen Blake, general
press representative for Arnold Siddarth, and the latter
nodded a careless acknowledgment as he called for his
check. But before he could get the attention of his
waiter, the actor approached his table.
"Still pursuing the ways of the stealer of space, I
see," he remarked with his quick, friendly smile, offer-
ing his hand. "But you shouldn't take your work to
meals; indigestion is something to be shunned worse
than the devil. Keep your thoughts away from business
when you are at table. Give your stomach a chance to
function; your brain time for rest. How many columns
—or inches, isn't it these days—of space have you
grabbed off today?"
The distracted press agent mumbled something that


THE DEATH FLOAT
13
sounded like "plenty", and his eyes were again directed
towards the newspapers.
"I tried for ten minutes to get your attention," con-
tinued the actor, "but you never lifted your eyes from
the papers; let your coffee grow cold as you read. And
that, my young friend, is disrespectful to the art of the
chef of this restaurant: he knows how to make good
coffee, but you let its flavor and aroma steam away into
the air."
Blake felt that the actor had noticed his agitation
and was giving him time to recover his composure.
He uttered the first thought that came into his head:
"Have you seen the afternoon papers?"
"The death of Chadwick Morne? Yes, I have read
them. I cannot believe it was suicide. Morne had too
much ego to kill himself."
"That is what I was thinking, Mr. Kemerson, when
I looked up and saw you. I don't believe there was
anyone more in love with life."
"He loved the pleasures of life, certainly," responded
the actor, "and found pleasure in most of the usual
ways, and, I fear, in some of the unusual. His murder
is doubtless the payment for one of his pleasures of
the more unusual sort, I imagine."
"It looks like murder all right," said Blake, "but
how could he be murdered when descending from an
airplane in a parachute? And at night, too?"
"That, my dear fellow, is a point for the police to
decide. A man floating to earth would make a good-
sized target for an enemy to shoot at. Remember, there
was a full moon last night."
"But no one who bore him a grudge could have
known in advance where he would land, or when he
would leap, and be there ready to shoot him."


14 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"He might have been killed in the airplane, the
parachute being attached to his body merely as a
blind."
"How then did the ring get pulled to open up the
parachute? His body was covered by it, according to
the reports."
"If the parachute was opened before Morne hit the
earth—then it is another pretty problem for the police.
It might have been opened and spread over him by the
person who first discovered the body."
"He'd have been pretty well smashed up if he had
fallen to earth. The Silver Lark was flying at least
2,000 feet high during most of the night, according to
the A.P. report. And there was not a bruise on Morne's
body, aside from the bullet wound."
"Then that theory is quickly disposed of. He was
either shot while floating down in the parachute or he
was killed in the airplane and his body dumped out.
Difficult, I should imagine, to open a parachute on a
dead man while he is falling through space, yet it
might be done. Suppose the murderer tied one end of
a ball of stout twine to the ring and jerked the para-
chute open after the body had fallen a hundred feet or
more, pulling hard enough to break the string. Do any
of the reports mention a bit of string being fastened to
the ring of the parachute?"
"Not that I have seen, and I have read every word
about Morne in every paper."
"That is a most important point," continued Kemer-
son, a glint of excitement coming into his eyes. "Coun-
try police might overlook such a trifle, attaching no
importance to it."
"There were half a dozen passengers on board the
Silver Lark, Mr. Kemerson. If he had been shot in the


THE DEATH FLOAT
IS
plane's cabin, several persons must have known it.
Not one of the passengers has mentioned any shooting."
"A shot might easily have been mistaken for the
backfiring of the motor, or been drowned out by the
roaring of the propeller."
"But the passengers were all strangers to him—ex-
cept Giulio Vanuzzi whom he knew slightly. What
reason would any of them have had for wanting to kill
Morne?"
"That is also a point for police investigation. There
may have been others on the Silver Lark besides
Vanuzzi whom he knew. Perhaps someone who hated
him enough to conceive and carry out such an almost
impossible crime. There are several unusual and puz-
zling angles about the murder. I confess that my in-
terest is piqued by them. Do the Carlstown authorities
advance any theories as to how the crime was com-
mitted?"
"They do not even admit a crime was committed.
The sheriff of the county believes it was suicide. He
has a score of men searching the fields within a radius
of half a mile from where the body was discovered,
hoping to find the weapon—a thirty-two calibre re-
volver. You must have noticed that if you have read the
reports."
"I did not read them all. I fear the sheriff's search
will go unrewarded," said the actor. "Morne never
killed himself. His great success in The Wife's Turn
made him one of the new stars to be reckoned with. A
great career was opening up for him. The three fail-
ures that followed The Wife's Turn meant nothing; he
was miscast in them. Why Mr. Siddarth thought he
could play a New York gangster and racketeer, I do
not know. And historical dramas are out of fashion.


16 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
I'm afraid the Ohio sheriff is not conversant with police
methods in a murder so out of the ordinary. The New
York authorities will be compelled to delve into the
parachute murder, as the papers are calling it. The
crime, I am confident, was planned here. Morne, I
understand, had a number of interests in New York
aside from his profession."
"The reporters have been unable to find anyone here
who even knew that Morne intended to leave the city,"
said Blake.
"Of course they haven't. Probably only the criminal
himself, aside from Morne, knew that the actor con-
templated such a trip. Perhaps not even his wife. I
understand that their marriage turned out anything but
a success—that they have been living under the same
roof merely for form's sake. Have the reporters learned
anything from Mrs. Morne?"
"No," answered Blake, a hint of hostility in his
voice. "She has not even been located. Why do you ask
that?"
"Pure curiosity, my boy. You may have heard that
I have dabbled a bit in criminal investigation during the
past year or two. I learned enough during my limited
experience to know that it is well to let the imagination
roam rather freely when trying to discover the motive
for a crime."
Blake felt that Kemerson did not wish to speak out
all that was in his mind, and he glanced up suspiciously
at the actor. Then he caught the attention of his waiter
who at once advanced and presented the check. Kemer-
son arose and again shook hands with the press
agent.
"You doubtless have many schemes in mind to steal
space for Mr. Siddarth's productions, and I mustn't


THE DEATH FLOAT
17
keep you. I hope the police do not annoy you too much
in the Morne case."
"The police?" said Blake, and felt a chill creeping
along his spine. "You think . . ."
"You were the press agent for four or five plays in
which Morne appeared. You probably know more
about him than anyone else, unless it's his valet. A
curious fellow, that Jap valet; something unpleasantly
furtive about his eyes. As I look at the matter, the New
York police are bound to investigate Morne's death
sooner or later, and what more natural than that they
should come to you? I wonder if there was a piece of
string found tied to the ring of Morne's parachute? If
I were investigating the case, that is the first matter I
should want to look into. Drop in and see me after the
play tonight—I'm on but ten minutes in the last act—
and let me know what the police worm out of you."
"I'll drop around soon after ten," Blake promised, a
sensation of coldness traveling down his spine. "There
is little I can tell the police, however."
"You'll be surprised the number of things they'll
find out you do know about him," said the actor, jo-
cosely, but Blake found no glint of humor in his eyes.
He parted from Kemerson at the door of the restau-
rant, and had not gone half a block when he wished
that he had been franker with the actor—he might
need his help. He turned about with the half-formed in-
tention of running after Kemerson, but the actor was
not to be seen.
He stopped at a newsstand to buy the latest editions
of the afternoon papers and started for his office in the
Siddarth Theatre Building. He felt an inclination to
stop, to turn about or to cross the street, every time he
passed a policeman, and all but started when Costigan,


18 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the patrolman on the beat which included the theatre,
accosted him. He risked a backward glance as he en-
tered the building, but Costigan had in the meantime
disappeared.


Chapter II
PUBLICITY HOUND
Through the opaque glass of his office door Blake saw
a blue reflection that brought him to a sudden halt, his
hand still extended towards the knob. Miss Burton, his
secretary, he recalled, had been wearing a red dress
that day. Blue suggested police, and police were the last
persons Blake wished to encounter at the moment, but
his own reflection had probably been seen by his visitor
and Blake squared his shoulders and entered briskly.
In the outer office, facing Miss Burton, in a chair
tilted against the wall, sat the burly form of a man in
a blue sack suit, a fat, black cigar in his mouth. In his
relief at finding his caller was not a policeman, Blake
paid little attention to the unusual stiffness in his secre-
tary's back.
"Were you waiting to see me?" he asked.
"Are you Stephen Blake, Mr. Siddarth's publicity
director?"
"I am. What can I do for you?"
The man stood up and tapped the newspapers under
j Blake's arm.
"I see you have been reading about Chad wick
Morne's death. It's about him I've come to see you. I
am Dugan, from the District Attorney's office. The
D.A. asked me to make some inquiries."
"Afraid I can't help you much, but come into my of-
fice."
19


20 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Dugan followed him, pulled out a chair so that he
faced the press agent across a flat-topped desk.
"You knew Morne pretty well, didn't you?"
"In a professional way, very well. He had been
under Mr. Siddarth's management for three years. Dur-
ing that time I saw him frequently, of course; some-
times every day. He had a keen eye for publicity. He
came in often to look through the clippings or to make
suggestions. Has the District Attorney had any re-
ports from the scene of the . . . crime?"
"You think it was a murder then?" countered the de-
tective.
"I don't know what else to believe. Morne was not
the suicidal type. He had made one big hit in The
Wife's Turn. Another success and he'd have been one
of the most important of the young stars."
"Well, there are suspicious circumstances. The Dis-
trict Attorney asked me to check up on Morne's move-
ments. When did you see him last?"
"Yesterday afternoon. He came to my office."
"Did he act like a man in fear—running away from
something unpleasant?"
"Not at all. He had been planning this trip by air-
plane for a week."
"Some of the papers suggest it may have been a pub-
licity stunt."
"Yes; I read them."
"The D.A. wants to know if it was."
"Yes, it was. It is difficult to get publicity for a fail-
ure in the New York newspapers, and Mr. Morne had
had three successive failures following The Wife's Turn.
If he was upset about anything it was about the
meagreness of his personal publicity since the closing
of that play. He came to me a week ago to urge me to


PUBLICITY HOUND
21
think up some way of keeping him before the public
during the summer."
"Keen on seeing his name in the papers, was he?"
"He was a publicity hound. He was 'on the make'
in the theatrical world, and felt that he was losing out
when the great amount of publicity he received in The
Wife's Turn began to dribble out with his three suc-
cessive failures."
"How was this airplane trip to keep him before the
public?"
"He was to leap from it in a parachute during the
night and go into hiding for several weeks—as long as
we could keep up a hue and cry about his disappear-
ance."
"The stunt was your suggestion then?"
"Certainly. I knew that he had at one time been a
professional parachute jumper. He had an iron nerve.
It was old stuff to him, except the jumping at night.
He told me once that he had made more than 200 leaps.
We picked a night when there would be a full moon."
"You made his reservation on the Silver Lark?"
"Through another person. I did not want to appear
in the matter at all. That would have given his dis-
appearance a press agent scent that would have de-
feated its purpose."
"But wouldn't there have been danger if the skies
had suddenly clouded up?" asked the detective.
"If it was too cloudy for him to calculate roughly
where he would land, he was to go on to Chicago and
jump on another trip."
"Do you know any of the persons reported to have
been fellow passengers of Morne's?"
"Giulio Vanuzzi I know slightly. Morne introduced
me to him at the Happy Hours night club."


PUBLICITY HOUND
23
late, after the dramatic editors, who have my telephone
number, had gone home. It is an unlisted number. The
reporters very likely telephoned only to persons whose
names they found in the directory."
"You were not out of town?"
"I was in the Siddarth box office around ten o'clock
last night, and in my office at ten this morning."
"And between those hours?" demanded Dugan.
"I am a press agent, and not a murderer, if that is
what you are hinting at," replied Blake, his temper
rising.
"There, young fellow, don't get sore. I am just check-
ing up on Morne, and on you. I'll do the same on
everyone who saw him alive yesterday. The D.A. may
want to see you later. What is your home telephone
number?"
Dugan noted the number in a little red book, and
observed: "What you have told me tallies pretty square
with facts we have already learned. There may be a few
trifling discrepancies that the D.A. will want to check
up on."
"I'll be glad to oblige him in any way I can," said
Blake. He breathed a sigh of relief after the detective
had gone. He pressed the buzzer and his secretary ap-
peared at once, note-book in hand, but instead of her
usual cheery smile, her lips were pressed tightly to-
gether, and in her eyes lingered a look of resentment.
"Miss Burton, did the man who just left question
you before I got back from lunch?"
"He did, Mr. Blake, but that's all the good it did
him. I told him I knew nothing about Chadwick
Morne's airplane flight."
"Did he ask anything else?"
"He tried to pump me about you. Precious little


24 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
satisfaction he got out of that! I told him I was paid to
work for you, not to talk about your private affairs to
strangers."
"What did he want to know about me?"
"He asked if I knew where you were last night. I
told him I knew no more about your movements after
I left the office than you did about mine. The creature
positively leered and said that you might know all
about what I did after five o'clock—that he'd be the
last one to blame you"
"That was doubtless intended for a compliment,
Miss Burton."
"Compliment indeed!" The aggrieved secretary
tossed her head. "Not when it's said in that tone of
voice. I did not even reply to him."
"Anything else?"
"He asked how long you had known Mrs. Morne—
if you were friends with her before her marriage."
Miss Burton could not conceal a look of surprise at
the consternation that spread over Blake's face, and
was as quickly suppressed.
"What did you reply to that?"
"I referred him to you. I said you had never told me
the story of your life; that I was employed here as
your secretary, not as your confidante."
"Quite right, Miss Burton, but I wish you had been
a shade more diplomatic. He is a detective from the
District Attorney's office."
Miss Burton's eyes opened to their fullest extent;
her lips remained parted, revealing a set of remark-
ably white and even teeth.
"What does the District Attorney—I beg your par-
don, Mr. Blake. That's none of my business."
"It may be before we've finished. The District At-


PUBLICITY HOUND
25
torney believes that Morne was murdered and is check-
ing up on his movements just before he boarded the
Silver Lark."
"But you did not have anything to do with his
flight!" protested Miss Burton, loyally.
"As a matter of fact, I suggested it as a publicity
stunt. I did not tell you because I wanted no loophole
through which his disappearance could in any way be
connected with this office."
"You know I would never have said a word," began
Miss Burton, with a hurt look, but Blake waved her
into silence.
"I had no doubt of your loyalty or discretion. It's
just that in a 'plant', such as this was to have been,
the fewer the persons who know about it the better. A
leak—and the whole story goes flooey. As it has turned
out, it was for the best that I did not tell you about it."
After he had dismissed his secretary, the press agent
sat down for a period of earnest reflection. Why had
not Dugan asked him, instead of his secretary, about
his acquaintance with Mrs. Morne before her mar-
riage? And how had the District Attorney's office
learned that he had known the actor's widow while she
was Doris Davis? If his past life had been gone into so
minutely already, it must mean that he was even now
under suspicion of complicity in the murder of Morne
—perhaps of being the actual murderer. That was why
Dugan had been so inquisitive about his whereabouts
during the night, and the reason why no reporter had
run him to earth I
He tried unsuccessfully to dismiss the whole matter
from his mind by plunging into the work that was
awaiting his attention. He had written and torn up two
stories on Veronica Vernon, Siddarth's new star for


26 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the coming season, when Miss Burton came quickly
into his office, closing the door tight behind her.
"That detective is here again, Mr. Blake. Do you
want to slip out the back way?"
"No, that might look suspicious. Let him come in."
"Mr. Blake will see you," she said, opening the door
wide and backing up against the wall so that the de-
tective would not brush her clothing as he entered.
Dugan grinned cheerfully at her as he waited for her to
leave. When she had shut the door, he turned to Blake
with a curious, level look.
"The Chief wants to see you."
"All right. What time?"
"Now."
"If it is so urgent why didn't you save time by tele-
phoning?"
"When the D.A. tells me to bring a man in, I don't
telephone an invitation."
"And give the invited person an opportunity to run
away," added Blake, dryly.
"In many cases that is the reason, Mr. Blake,"
laughed Dugan, "but not with you. It is just custom."
The smile on Dugan's lips was not reflected in his
eyes, and it was with a sinking sensation in the pit of
his stomach that the press agent prepared to accompany
him.


Chapter III
A THREAT COMES HOME TO ROOST
Blake recognized the District Attorney at once from
his newspaper portraits. Walton Brixton was a tall,
large-boned man, with calm face, quiet eyes, and a
thick mustache the brown of which was freely streaked
with gray. He had made good in the District Attorney's
office in an unobtrusive way, never courting newspaper
publicity, of which he received plenty. He had obtained
results; as a rule he got them quickly, and took pride
in the business efficiency of his office.
"You are Stephen Blake?" he asked, with a quick,
upward look.
"I am. Mr. Dugan said you wanted to see me."
Mr. Brixton plunged at once into the business be-
fore him.
"From reports I have received on the death of Chad-
wick Morne, I can only conclude that he was murdered,
and that the crime was planned in this city, and that it
can be cleared up only by tracing Morne's movements
and interests here. As Arnold Siddarth's publicity di-
rector you have been in close touch with Morne for the
past three or four years. I understand from Detective
Dugan that the actor's airplane flight was a press agent
trick, gotten up to keep his name before the public dur-
ing the summer; that you proposed it and made the ar-
rangements for it, keeping under cover; that in the
hunt for information, the reporters last night signally
27


28 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
failed to get in touch with you. That strikes me as
strange—almost unbelievable—when it would naturally
be supposed by a reporter that you knew more about
Morne than anyone else. How could that happen—
even though you do have a secret telephone number?"
"Only the dramatic editors know it, Mr. Brixton,
and they had gone home long before the wires carried
the story of Morne's disappearance from the Silver
Lark. I have not been called at my rooms more than
half a dozen times in four years. The reporters did not
know how to reach me at that hour of the morning."
"Why did you want an unlisted number?"
"Most of my friends and associates keep late hours.
If they knew how to get me after the theatre closes I
would be kept up most of the night, and my work
suffer in consequence."
"Were you seen late last night at the Siddarth
Theatre?"
"Yes; I was both backstage and in the box office
there and at the Jefferson Theatre."
"How late can you prove that you were at the
theatres?"
"I left the Jefferson Theatre after the second act—
about nine forty-five, and crossed the street to the Sid-
darth Theatre where I remained for ten or fifteen
minutes. After that I went home."
"Around ten o'clock. Can you prove you were in
your rooms at that hour?"
"No. I have two rooms on the main floor of a private
house. I saw no one, heard no one, when I let myself
in."
"Did anyone see you leave this morning?"
"I do not believe so, but I was in my office at ten
o'clock. My secretary will corroborate that statement.


A THREAT COMES HOME TO ROOST 29
A few minutes after eleven I was called on the 'phone
by Albert Dawson, dramatic editor of the World."
"Then between the hours of ten p.m., or thereabouts,
last night and ten o'clock this morning you have no wit-
nesses as to your presence in the city?"
"No, sir. The maid who takes care of my rooms can
testify that my bed was slept in."
"Was there any ill-feeling between you and Mr.
Morne?"
"No ill-feeling; no."
"Were you friends?"
"My dealings with him were of a business nature.
He was one of Mr. Siddarth's stars. It was my duty to
keep his name before the public."
"You would let no personal dislikes interfere with
your duty to your employer?"
"Certainly not."
"You knew Mr. Morne before he came to New
York?"
"He was a member of the Newman stock company in
Minneapolis when I was its press agent."
The District Attorney consulted a memorandum
which Detective Dugan placed before him.
"You knew the present Mrs. Morne at that time?"
"Yes; she played ingenue roles in the company."
Mr. Brixton leaned forward on the desk, bringing
his face on a level with Blake's and looked straight
into the press agent's eyes.
"You were in love with Doris Davis, as Mrs. Morne
was then known. You had a fight with Morne about
her. Isn't it a fact that you threatened his life when
you went to her hotel rooms one morning and found
Morne there?"
"Possibly. I was beside myself with jealousy. I


30 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
thought she intended to marry me. One always says
some hot-headed things in such circumstances."
"Later you repeated that threat before witnesses."
"That was a long time ago. I was young then, and
very much in love."
"You have not nursed your hatred of him through
the intervening years?"
"She preferred Morne to me; that ended the matter.
I have never liked Morne personally, but I worked for
his interests as long as they coincided with Mr. Sid-
darth's."
"His treatment of his wife must have made your
blood boil many times since then."
"I have not seen them together more than half a
dozen times in two years. I have heard stories of his
mistreatment of his wife, but it was no affair of mine."
"Had you been of a more vindictive nature, you
might have found a means of satisfying your grudge
against him in this airplane stunt."
"I would not have had to wait for that. The para-
chute leap was simply a means of keeping Morne be-
fore the public. No one could have foreseen the fatal
result it has had. He had been an expert parachute
jumper"
"Yes, I understand so. There is nothing you can add
to throw any light on the affair? Any enemies with a
more unforgiving nature than yours?"
"Not being familiar with his private affairs, I can-
not tell you."
"That is all for the present. I may wish to talk with
you again when our investigation is farther along."
"I shall be glad to be of service in any way I can,
Mr. Brixton."
"Then where was Mrs. Morne last night?" The ques-


A THREAT COMES HOME TO ROOST 31
tion was shot at him almost savagely. Blake hesitated
out of sheer surprise.
"I do not know."
"Good day."
Dugan accompanied him out of the office.
"The D.A.'s a great guy," he said, flicking his thumb
towards the room they had just left. "And wise. They
don't put much over on him."


TRAILING LIGHTS
33
"No, I'm sure not. I saw no one."
"Where did you breakfast?"
"At a little restaurant around the corner from Mrs.
Handsaker's—the usual place, but half an hour later
than usual."
"That has a suspicious look. Why were you late?"
"I stopped to read the stories about Morne's dis-
appearance in the morning papers."
"Would the newsdealer remember your buying a
complete set of papers?"
"I ordered Tony to deliver a complete set this morn-
ing, instead of the two I usually get."
"Did he wake you when he delivered them?"
"No. My rooms are just off the main hallway on the
first floor. The front door is left unlocked when the milk
is taken in so that Tony can leave the papers at my
door. They were stolen several times when thrown on
the stoop."
"Do you snore?"
Blake looked his astonishment. "Why, yes, I sup-
pose I do. What has that— Oh, I see! Perhaps Tony
heard me snoring."
"That would at least prove that someone was in your
room shortly before eight o'clock. Presumably it would
have been you. One step towards an alibi. Do you sing
in your bath? Or whistle while you are shaving?"
"Not guilty, I am sorry to say. Perhaps someone in
the house heard my alarm clock. It was set for eight."
"Make inquiries on that point. Don't think it an un-
important matter. The District Attorney won't. I know
Walton Brixton; I have worked with him on two or
three small cases. He is very relentless behind that
calm exterior. No clue, however small, is abandoned
until he is convinced it leads nowhere."


34 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"I'd certainly feel much safer if you were investi-
gating Morne's death instead of the District Attorney,"
Blake observed, gloomily. "I'd at least feel that you
were not trying to fasten a crime upon me just for the
sake of having another conviction to your political
credit." He strode moodily about the actor's small
dressing room, and then whirled eagerly towards
Kemerson. "Why can't you investigate the case for
me? You said it has points that interest you. I'd gladly
"I don't believe you are in actual danger of being
charged with Morne's murder," said Kemerson. "Brix-
ton is a keen judge of character. He is not the cold-
blooded official type who would fasten a crime on
an innocent man for the sake of one more conviction to
his credit. You do him injustice there. I confess the case
does interest me, because, mainly, of its theatrical
ramifactions, and those are just the reasons that may
lead Brixton to consult me. If he should, or if you are
charged with the murder, I will take up the inves-
tigation in earnest. In the meantime, do what you
can to prove that you slept in your own bed last
night."
Tony was still at his newsstand when Blake turned
into East Thirty-eighth Street, but he could tell the
press agent nothing that would help him prove an
alibi. He did not fare much better at his landlady's.
Mrs. Handsaker had been on the third floor rear at
eight o'clock and had not heard his alarm clock. The
house was a substantial old residence with thick walls
and partitions. Mrs. O'Connell, general utility maid,
had been running the electric washing machine in the
basement at that hour and would have been oblivious
to any noise less loud than a cannon shot in any other


TRAILING LIGHTS
35
part of the house. Mrs. Handsaker offered to question
Nora in the morning.
Smoking a pipe in his sitting room, Blake found
himself too nervous and agitated to concentrate upon
the manuscript of Haddington's new play that Mr. Sid-
darth had asked him to read, and he walked up to
Times Square to get the early editions of such morn-
ing papers as would be out at midnight. A flaring head-
line across the page of the more sensational of the big
sheets informed him that Morne had been murdered
by a robber, and that the police of Carlstown expected
to make an arrest within a few hours. He stopped in
front of a cigar store to read the article.
Sheriff Cotter promises an arrest by morning in the
murder of Chadwick Morne, New York theatrical star,
whose body was found in a pasture beside the roadway
in Lincoln township. Careful search of the premises
where the body was found by Rolf Perkin revealed a
series of round depressions in the grass and on the bare
soil that puzzled the sheriff and his deputies until they
had followed them for a distance of several rods when
the imprint of a man's shoe was discovered alternating
with the small round holes.
The depressions had been made by the round bottom
of a wooden leg. As there is but one peg-legged man in
the neighborhood, suspicion was directed to Sidney
Stoneman, a queer character who lives alone on the edge
of Carlstown, and who has been in difficulties with the
authorities on several occasions. He was not in his shack
when Sheriff Cotter visited it, but a close watch is being
kept and he will be arrested when he puts in an appear-
ance.
Coroner Jesse Schoolfield will hold an inquest at 1
o'clock tomorrow afternoon, after which the body, on
telegraphic instructions from the actor's widow, will be


36 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
sent to Lima, Ohio, where Mr. Morne was born, for
burial.
With a lightened heart, Blake refilled and lighted
his pipe, and walked back to his rooms, without glanc-
ing at the bulldog edition of the tabloid until he was
again ensconced in his easy chair. Smeared across the
front page was the headline: "MORNE DEATH
PLANE TRAILED BY ANOTHER. Story on Page
4." He turned to the dispatch which bore a Cleveland
date line.
Giulio Vanuzzi, New York night club owner and pas-
senger on the airplane Silver Lark from which the actor
Chadwick Morne either jumped or was thrown, in Cleve-
land on private business, stated to a representative of the
Associated Press that a second airplane was in the wake
of the Silver Lark through most of last night's flight over
Pennsylvania. He first noticed a following light about
midnight when the Silver Lark made a slight turn in di-
rection in gaining height to cross the mountains of eastern
Pennsylvania.
Several times after that, Mr. Vanuzzi states, he per-
ceived the lights of the plane which he thought might
belong to the Eastern Airway Company whose route is
the same as that flown by the night mail plane. It was
not more than 500 yards behind the Silver Lark some of
the time, he estimated. He called it to the attention of
Arthur Layman, of Bayside, L. I., a fellow passenger,
and they speculated on its identity.
Asked if he had seen the following plane after the ab-
sence of Chadwick Morne had been discovered, Mr. Va-
nuzzi said: "I never thought of it in the confusion that
followed. I was naturally too overcome with horror at
Morne's disappearance from the Silver Lark to think of
anything else."
He described the second plane as a single-motored


TRAILING LIGHTS
37
monoplane of some dark color. Local airport officials say
that no such plane landed here. Mr. Vanuzzi is returning
to New York tomorrow by train.
The story was followed by a brief dispatch from
Chicago in which Arthur Layman was quoted as sup-
porting Vanuzzi's statement about the second airplane,
with the additional information that he had looked for
it after Morne's disappearance was discovered and had
failed to see it. He advanced a theory somewhat similar
to Kemerson's—that the actor could have been shot by
someone in the pursuing airplane while he was de-
scending in the parachute.
"A resourceful enemy of the actor," Layman was
quoted as saying, "might have learned that Morne
was to attempt another parachute leap and seized upon
the opportunity for a revenge that would offer very
few clues upon which the authorities could work."
Blake glanced cursorily at a rehash of the story of
Morne's death. At the bottom of the column was an
item which stated that Mrs. Morne, returning to the
Holcomb, a fashionable apartment hotel in Central
Park West, had refused to be interviewed. When the
reporter had finally got her on the telephone and asked
point blank where she had been on the night of her
husband's death, she had hung up the receiver, nor
could a connection with her apartment be obtained
thereafter.
"They might at least have let her alone until after
Morne is buried," Blake thought in disgust.
As he thumbed the pages of the tabloid, his eyes were
caught by every mention of an airplane. A headline,
"MYSTERY PLANE LANDS IN HIGHWAY," lured
him on to read the item:


38 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Binghamton, N. Y., May 23: Robert Erskin, owner of
the Serve-U gas station two miles south of this city, re-
ported today that a mysterious airplane had landed on
the paved road in front of his gas station early this
morning. The pilot stated that his gas had given out. The
plane was painted a dark blue, without any distinguishing
markings. In response to Erskin's direct question, the pilot
said he had flown from Baltimore and was en route to
Albany. Erskin glanced into the cockpit, but was jostled
away by the aviator before he could see whether or not
the plane carried a license. As soon as the gasoline tank
had been filled, the pilot took to the air, using the de-
serted road for a runway, and disappeared in an easterly
direction."
Blake's attention was next attracted by an account
of the crashing of a mail plane, and the preparations
for another attempt to fly the Atlantic. No mention
was made of him and his publicity stunt for Morne, and
he was grateful to the District Attorney for not having
made that fact public. He dreaded the time when it »
should become known, as it must sooner or later.
The following morning Blake interviewed Nora
O'Connell, his landlady's maid of all work while she
was setting the breakfast table.
. "Nora, did you hear my alarm clock ring yesterday
morning?"
"Hear that tinkly little thing?" laughed Mrs. O'Con-
nell. "Why, it can hardly be heard from the doorway
of your rooms."
"It's very important. I want to be able to prove, if
it is necessary, that I slept in my own bed night before
last."
"Sure and you did that, Mr. Blake. I can prove you
slept there."


TRAILING LIGHTS
39
"That's fine! It will help me out of a hole. Just how
can you prove it?"
"I can tell a bed you have slept in by the way you
leave the covers. You don't muss them up like most
men."
"I'm afraid the District Attorney won't accept that
as a proof."
"The District Attorney, is it? I can tell him you did
sleep there. I know your ways as well as I know my
husband's—your ways when you're asleep, I mean—
and what you do when you get up. The bedclothes are
always put back over the footboard so the bed will
air. And your pajamas hung over a chair by the win-
dow. And your razor always put away, instead of being
left for me to do."
"That merely proves that I am methodical in my
habits," said Blake, keenly disappointed in Nora's
"proof". "No one would accept it as evidence I had
slept there."
"It would prove it to me, Mr. Blake. You're the
easiest man to clean up after I've ever known. I know
you were in because your door was locked at seven
when I went to call you to the 'phone."
Blake was startled. "I never heard you call me!"
"I didn't have the heart to wake you, what witty
your getting to bed so late"
"So late! You saw me come in?" There was appre-
hension in Blake's voice.
"No. I mean you get to bed so late every night that
you need your sleep in the morning. It was only a re-
porter who wanted you anyway. I knocked on your
door twice and when you didn't answer I tried to open
it to see if you had already gone, but it was locked, so
I went back to the 'phone and said"


40 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"What did you tell him, Nora?" interrupted Blake,
his heart jumping into his throat.
"I did not tell him anything—just that you did not
answer."
"That's bad!" cried the press agent. "If you had
only waked me I could prove that I was in New York!
Now, I cannot, for you can't swear that I was in"
"That I can, Mr. Blake," and Nora placed her hands
argumentatively on her ample hips. "I know your bed
was slept in. I'd swear to that before the District
Attorney himself and a jury in the court room, with my
Bible oath on it."
"But the fact that you knocked on my door and got
no answer—that it was locked—would prove the exact
opposite to any jury. Who was the reporter that tele-
phoned?"
"I just can't seem to remember his name."
"What paper did he say he was on?"
"It was the . . . That's funny, Mr. Blake. He said
a reporter on some paper, but it's gone clean out of
my mind."
. "Think hard, Nora! Was it the Times? The World?
The Star? Or the Tribune?"
"I'm sure it wasn't the World. I'd remember it be-
cause it's the paper my husband takes. I hope my not
remembering won't hurt you in any way."
"I guess it won't unless the District Attorney finds
out about it."
"Are you in some trouble, Mr. Blake? Sure and no
one could suspect a nice, quiet gentleman like you of
anything against the law."
"There's no charge against me yet. There won't be
if I can prove I slept in my own bed night before last.
The crime was committed in Ohio."


TRAILING LIGHTS
41
"Ohio was it!" laughed Mrs. O'Connell. "And a
crime! Lord love you, Mr. Blake, no one would suspect
you of any kind of a crime."
"Only suspicion of murder—"
"Murder!" cried the woman, aghast. "They suspect
you! Just let me tell the District Attorney or anybody
else what I think of them for suspecting you"
"No, Nora. Don't say anything to anybody, about
the telephone call, or finding my door locked."
"I told Mrs. Handsaker this morning when she asked
me if I'd heard your alarm clock."
"Then detectives will question her," said Blake, run-
ning his fingers through his hair. "And they'll get it
out of her some way. Well, there goes my only chance
of proving I was in my own room the night Morne was
murdered."
"Not Chadwick Morne, the actor?" cried Nora, now
thoroughly startled. "Not the parachute murder"
"Because I quarreled with Morne once years ago,
the police have me under surveillance."
"I saw him once in The Wife's Turn," said Nora.
"He was grand in that play. And now he's dead—
murdered. And you are suspected! It's just like a
story"
"Too much like one," groaned Blake, gloomily. "And
they want to cast me for the villain. Well, they'll have
to prove I was at the scene of the crime before they
can make a charge against me that will hold. I'm sorry
you told Mrs. Handsaker"
"Here she comes now," said Nora, in a low voice,
"to see if the table is set. Ask her to say nothing about
me calling you when the reporter 'phoned. I'm sure
she'd just forget about it if you asked her to."
After some hesitation, Blake did make the suggested


42 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
request of his landlady. She readily consented, for she
had no doubt but that Blake had slept in his bed as
usual the night in question. He did not explain his
reasons to her, beyond that fact that he might need to
prove he hadn't been out of the city, believing that he
had already talked too much to Nora O'Connell. But he
felt sure that Nora could hold her tongue. He was un-
easy about Mrs. Handsaker if she were subjected to a
gruelling examination.


44 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
The sheriff, continued the item, had instituted a
search among hardware and second hand dealers of
Carlstown and surrounding villages in an effort to learn
if Stoneman might recently have bought a revolver.
The man's explanation of his presence at the scene of
the crime so early in the morning was that he had gone
out rabbit hunting and had all but stumbled over the
body. He had not reported it because he had been
frightened.
Before Blake had finished reading the papers, Miss
Burton entered, closing the door carefully after her.
"There's a reporter here to see you—David Jordan
of the Star."
"Well, at least they've put one of their crack re-
porters on the Morne case. I've seen his name signed
to stories of some of New York's biggest murder trials.
They say he's really the man who solved the Dowell
case. Did he say what he wanted?"
"Some information for his paper about Chadwick
Morne, he said."
"I'll have to see him. If I ring, you come in and say
that Mr. Siddarth wants me to go to his office at once.
Show him in, please."
Jordan was a heavy, slow-motioned man of about
thirty, smooth-faced, with small gray eyes that held a
sleepy look until he opened them wide for a straight
glance full into the eyes of the person he happened to
be talking to, when they lighted up with a keen, satiric
twinkle.
"How are you, Blake. I'm David Jordan of the Star.
The city editor has assigned me to the Morne case. I've
come to you because you probably know as much about
him as anyone in New York."
"Glad to help you all I can," replied Blake, shaking


46 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Was he accustomed to wearing much jewelry?"
"He had a blue diamond ring and a ruby stickpin
of which he was very fond. He bought the ring after
his hit in The Wife's Turn and has worn it ever since."
"Know how much it cost?"
"He always said he paid twelve hundred for it. It
was quite large and appeared to be a perfect stone. The
stickpin was worth probably two or three hundred dol-
lars."
"None of the reports of his death have mentioned
either the ring or the pin. He might have been mur-
dered for them."
"If they are missing, it is quite probable. He wore
both when he was in my office two days ago. He might
have left them at home."
"Mrs. Morne has refused to be interviewed—so far.
But I've discovered some things that will make her
talk." The reporter's mouth closed in a hard, straight
line.
"About her husband?" questioned Blake.
"About herself."
Blake waited, but Jordan did not add anything to
that bare statement which seemed, from its very terse-
ness, to hold a threat. Blake was uneasy but did not
dare put a more direct question to the reporter. The
latter looked up full into the press agent's eyes as he
asked:
"Did Mrs. Morne intend to divorce her husband?"
"I've heard nothing to that effect."
"She has put up with a lot from him. How much is
she interested in James Betterling?"
Blake glanced at his own hands, resting on the desk;
they had doubled up into fists at the question, and he
became aware that the reporter had taken note of that


A NOSE FOR NEWS
47
fact. He spread them out, and closed them again as he
looked Jordan straight in the eyes.
"Is she interested in Mr. Betterling? She's been seen
with him a great deal—at the theatres, motoring, at the
beaches."
"That's natural enough. Betterling is Mr. Siddarth's
business manager and a friend of the actor and his
wife. He has been seen a good deal with both of them.
He has escorted her around when Morne was busy at
the theatre, probably at Morne's request."
"Was she at home last night?"
"I don't know. Why do you ask me?"
"It is my business to ask questions. Sometimes they
are answered. Even when they're not, that's sometimes
an answer."
"I suppose it is," said Blake, after a pause during
which he speculated on the reporter's purpose in mak-
ing that statement. "An answer refused gives you a
chance to speculate on what the reply would have been
had it been made. A chance to use your imagination."
"And why it was not answered," Jordan added, with
a swift, keen glance full into Blake's eyes. "It's reported
that Morne was interested financially in the Happy
Hours night club. Know anything about that?"
"I know nothing of his activities out of the theatre."
"Vanuzzi has been quite talkative about what hap-
pened on the Silver Lark, like a man having something
to hide. No reason to suppose the Italian might have
bumped Morne off?"
"They seemed friendly enough the few times I was
at the night club with Morne. Still, he might have been
part owner. The District Attorney mentioned such a
report."
"You've been to the District Attorney then?" Again


A NOSE FOR NEWS
49
press agent that open-eyed look, with an amused
twinkle.
"I have never threatened him about his wife," Blake
replied with deliberation as he secretly pressed the
button to call his secretary. "His domestic relations
were no concern of mine. When I saw them together he
always treated Mrs. Morne with marked courtesy."
The door opened and admitted Patricia Burton, note-
book in hand.
"Excuse me, Mr. Blake, but Mr. Siddarth has been
calling for you. I didn't interrupt you the first time.
He's leaving the office at once and wants to see you
first."
"Tell him I'll be up in two or three minutes."
When she had closed the door after her, he faced
the reporter. "Is there anything else you wanted to
ask?"
"Only this: How could the report that you had
sometime threatened Morne have got started if there is
no foundation for it?"
"I'm sure I can't even make a guess." Blake half
closed his eyes against Jordan's quizzical stare.
"A last question, Blake, and I won't keep you. When
did you see Mrs. Morne last?" He looked up at Blake
with an ingratiating smile, but something in his eyes
warned the press agent to weigh his words; he might
have been seen with her.
"At noon day before yesterday."
"Six or seven hours before Morne stepped into the
airplane, wasn't it?"
"About that, I should say."
"Was it an accidental meeting?"
"As far as I am concerned, it was. Mrs. Morne came
into my office to see me."


50 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Was anything said about her husband's airplane
trip?"
"Nothing. Now if you'll excuse me"
"Sure, Mr. Blake. Thank you for the time you've
given me. Not much to write a story about, but we
can't always get that just for going after it."
When the reporter had gone, Miss Burton entered
precipitately.
"Mr. Siddarth does want to see you, Mr. Blake.
He's signed a new star and wants a story to go out at
once."
"Call Kirk Kemerson for me at eleven o'clock, will
you, please, and tell him I'll have luncheon with him at
one."


Chapter VI
THE WARNING
It was a much perturbed young man who presented
himself at Kemerson's apartment. He had had no time,
after getting out the story on the signing of Barbara
Starrett, to straighten out in his mind the implications
he felt lay behind some of David Jordan's questions in
that disquieting interview which had developed into
something very like the questioning of a suspect.
"How's your alibi?" smiled Kemerson, rising to meet
his guest.
"I haven't any. Nobody but me knows I was sleep-
ing in my own bed the night Morne was killed. And
there are several circumstances which would tend to
disprove an alibi if I had one."
Briefly he told Kemerson of the morning telephone
call, of Nora's reply that he did not answer, and of his
interview with David Jordan.
"You are putting evidence against yourself into
my hands," said the actor with a quizzical smile.
"Aren't you forgetting that I am investigating Morne's
death for the District Attorney?"
"At least you are not starting out with the convic-
tion that I am the murderer. It's got to the point where
even that is a comfort."
"Well, sit down while Georgina is getting luncheon
on the table. Have a cocktail and forget about Morne
for a while."
51


52 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"I wish to God I could!"
"Got you jumpy, has it? Try this Martini. The gin
has been tested. It will soothe your nerves." He pushed
Blake down into an easy chair, upholstered in blue
leather, which stood invitingly by book-shelves that ex-
tended to the ceiling and covered one entire wall of
the room, under, around and over the window. Blake
began to read the titles of the volumes directly in front
of his eyes.
"I had the book-shelves built," Kemerson explained
as he poured two cocktails from a chromium shaker.
"I like open shelves. Air is good for books. Dust may
tarnish their edges and bindings; it cannot harm their
contents." He sat down by a small table upon which
he placed the shaker.
As Blake drank the cocktail, the quiet and ease of
the actor's library began to steal over him, like the
soothing influence of morphine, deadening the disquiet-
ing fear which had been increasing in intensity since
his interview with the District Attorney. The calm
peacefulness of the room, the friendly, unhurried at-
titude of its owner as he talked of his books, the
volumes of theatrical history, of editions of new plays,
and lives of actors, the lulling influence of the gin—
all restored the press agent to a more normal attitude.
When they had finished their second cocktails, Geor-
gina, Kemerson's cook and housekeeper, a large
negress of about fifty, with features that were almost
Caucasian in spite of the blackness of her skin, an-
nounced that luncheon was served.
Kemerson had not overpraised the delicious qual-
ity of the ham baked in milk and covered with thinly
sliced potato, evenly browned, which was served. The
coffee was fragrant and creamy; its odor an invitation


THE WARNING
53
to gustatory delights. Nothing further was said about
the parachute murder until they had returned to the
library and lighted cigars.
"I sent Mr. Brixton a note suggesting that he find
out if a bit of string was tied to the ring of Morne's
parachute," said the actor, and waited while he puffed
out two or three large rings of smoke. "I mentioned
that I thought the solution of Morne's death would be
found in New York and not at the scene of the crime.
Last night I received by special delivery this note."
He offered the press agent a letter written in large,
hurried but firm script.
My dear Kemerson:
I have taken advantage of your suggestion and wired
about the string. I think there are going to be a number
of puzzling angles to the case and that you, with your
knowledge of the New York theatre, can be of pertinent
help to me. The affair of the camel's-hair coat was but
child's play, I fear, in comparison with the Morne case.
Will you be good enough to call at my office tomorrow
morning at 9:30, if you are still interested in the detec-
tion of crime?
Faithfully,
Walton Brixton
"You have already seen the District Attorney then?"
said Blake.
Kemerson nodded. "That is why I asked you to have
luncheon with me. I usually don't lunch so heavily,
but Georgina seemed to feel that ham baked in milk
and sliced potatoes would compensate me for her two
weeks' absence in Savannah with her old mother, and
I did not have the heart to tell her to wait until dinner
—particularly as I had invited you. It is a dish she
likes to prepare when I have company."


54 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Are you trying to hide something from me?" asked
Blake, uneasily. "Something that Mr. Brixton said?"
"Bless you, no! I was just trying to explain ham and
potatoes for luncheon. Brixton has his hands full with
the racketeer murder case and the trial of Robert
Chapin in the failure of his brokerage firm. He is turn-
ing the New York end of the Morne case over to your
humble servant. He has an exaggerated sense of my
ability in tracking down crime, so I mustn't fail him.
And I want your help."
"Then I am no longer under suspicion!" The sigh of
relief that escaped Blake's lips told his host how keenly
he had felt the anomalous position in which he found
himself.
"Oh, yes, you are very much under suspicion," re-
plied the actor, a twinkle in his eyes, "but I feel that
having you working with me, I can keep you under
constant observation!"
Blake's smile was a wry one. "Well, there is no one
who wants the matter cleared up more than I do. How
can I help?"
"Find out for me the name of Morne's valet—but
you know it, of course. Arrange for me to meet him,
accidentally."
"His valet is a Jap—Kiyoshi. I don't know his last
name nor where he lives, but I'll find out."
"I think it would be well to interview him first of all.
As soon as Vanuzzi, or any of the other passengers on
the Silver Lark, return, I want to question them. .And
there's Mrs. Morne, of course. She has denied herself
to all interviewers. Detectives from Mr. Brixton's of-
fice failed to locate her this morning. Do you happen to
know where she is?"
"No idea at all."


THE WARNING
55
"She was not in her apartment last night." Kemerson
hesitated, blew out two lazy rings of smoke, held his
cigar suspended in the air. "Neither was she there the
night of Morne's murder." His eyes twinkled. "That
is why main attention has been diverted from you."
"But she was there early the next morning!" cried
Blake, startled.
Kemerson took him up quickly. "You know that she
was?"
"I don't know," Blake was confused by the bright
look in the actor's eyes, and hesitated. "At least one
reporter got her on the 'phone. Is it certain she was not
in on the night of ... of the crime?"
"So the detectives report. Her absence will doubtless
be easily explained, but it is one of the first matters to
be checked. I want to get into the apartment, also to
visit Morne's dressing room—or has someone else since
occupied it?"
"Miss Ballister has it now. She's bringing her play
back for a two weeks' return engagement."
"Then there's no trace of Morne in it? Nothing that
would reflect his tastes, his personality?"
"Not a thing. How would that help you?"
"I want to put myself in Morne's place—mentally,
emotionally if possible. Find out all I can about him;
let it simmer, skim off the flotsam, and study what re-
mains. If I can feel as Morne felt, get inside his skin—
Well, that's all theory, perhaps nonsense. Still, it does
help me in acting to get to know the character I am to
portray, submerge my emotions and personality in his
—even to look as the author imagined him looking.
Why shouldn't that help in the detection of crime, too?"
"To make yourself up as Morne?" Blake was in-
credulous


56 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"If you have a new suit of clothes, a new spring hat
in the height of fashion, don't you feel differently on
the street than you do if—well, if your trousers are
uncreased, frayed at the cuffs, a hole in your sock,
your hat a thick heavy black when other men are wear-
ing lightweight grays?"
Blake could but admit the force of the actor's con-
tention. Kemerson explained himself further:
"If I can get Morne's point of view of life, what he
expected from it, what he was striving to attain, I may
find out what he had to guard against, whom he had to
fear. I need all the evidence we can gather to give me
a line to work on. If I knew Morne's mind and bis
history, it would help me to put my finger on his mur-
derer. Imagination, I believe, is the first quality of a
good detective, just as it is of a good actor. Now, I
can't imagine you as a murderer—not at present at
any rate."
"You don't believe that Sidney Stoneman, the one-
legged man arrested in Carlstown, had anything to do
with Morne's death?" asked Blake.
"What motive could he have had? Robbery? It is
conceivable. But Peg-leg did not leave his home until
morning. And the examining physicians state that
Morne had been dead at least six hours before Stone-
man stumbled upon the body. It seems plausible to
suppose that Morne was dead before the parachute
touched the ground. He was killed either in the Silver
Lark or on his descent. Who besides you knew that he
contemplated taking passage on the plane, or that he
intended to disappear while up in the air?"
"I do not believe that anyone else knew—not about
the parachute leap at any rate. He may have told
several persons that he was flying to Chicago."


THE WARNING
57
"His wife, for instance. He would have given her
some explanation of his absence. You saw her that
afternoon, you say. Did either of you mention the fact
that Morne was leaving New York?"
"Neither of us mentioned him."
"His valet, this Jap, Kiyoshi—would he be likely to
know Morne's plans?"
"Possibly, but I do not believe so. Morne's disap-
pearance was to be kept a strict secret."
"Mrs. Morne said nothing that would indicate she
did not expect to be home that night?"
Blake hesitated, perceptibly, but his answer was firm
enough when it came:
"Nothing at all. She came to see me on a matter en-
tirely personal, which affected no one but herself. I am
certain she knew nothing of her husband's plans,
further than that he was going to Chicago. It will be a
waste of time to trace her movements. If she knew any-
thing that would help to clear up the cause of his
death, I am certain she would already have communi-
cated it to the police."
"Yet she may be able to throw some light on Morne's
activities and intrigues. I am afraid we must incon-
venience Mrs. Morne. Perhaps you can locate her for
me through some of her friends."
"I will try. I'll 'phone you if I succeed."
"Say nothing that will alarm her. Tell her how I come
to be interesting myself in the matter, and that I wish to
get some information about Morne. Hint that she might
prefer to give it to me rather than to the District At-
torney."
Blake promised to be discreet, and to make an ap-
pointment for her to see Kemerson before his perform-


58 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
ance that evening or just after the final curtain, if he
succeeded in finding her.
"The Silver Lark will arrive at the airport this after-
noon," continued Kemerson. "I want to look it over and
have a talk with the pilot. If you can meet me at the
theatre at three o'clock I shall be glad to have you go
along."
On his way back to the Siddarth Building, Blake
stopped at a telegraph office and despatched a message
to Mrs. Morne at her apartment, trusting to Steep, the
butler, to relay it to her:
PHONE ME. URGENT. KIRK KEMERSON INVESTI-
GATING. PLAY SAFE. SEE HIM TONIGHT. STEPHEN.
From the manager of the theatre he obtained the
name of Morne's valet—Kiyoshi Nimura—and an ad-
dress on lower Sixth Avenue. He sent Johnny Bur-
song, his office boy, with a note to the address, asking
the valet to come to the office, and busied himself with
his work until it was time to meet Kemerson. The
office boy, returning from his errand, called to Blake
as the latter was leaving the lobby:
"Kiyoshi doesn't live there any more, Mr. Blake.
The landlady said he left yesterday. She doesn't know
where he went."
"Did he take his belongings in a trunk? Or in a
suitcase?"
"I didn't ask her."
"Suppose you go back and find out. If he called a
taxi asked what kind it was, or whose delivery wagon
called; if he paid his bill. Learn everything you can.
Here's your chance to be a detective."
The boy's eyes grew big and round, and his face
flushed.


THE WARNING
59
"Gee, Mr. Blake, that'll be swell! What's Kiyoshi
done?"
"The police want him"
"Gee, the police! Is it about Morne's murder?"
"They want to ask him some questions about Mr.
Morne. I'm going over to Newark. If I haven't returned
when you go home, leave a note in the top right-hand
drawer of my desk telling me everything you find out."
"I will, Mr. Blake. I'd like to be a detective—a real
one. I'm going to be some day."
Blake tossed the boy a half dollar for carfare, and
hurried to keep his appointment with Kemerson.


Chapler VII
FEAR OVER THE TELEPHONE
"Would the air resistance make it difficult to open the
door while in flight?" Kemerson asked of Richard
Chase, pilot of the Silver Lark, when the latter had
accompanied the actor and Blake to the airplane.
"A little difficult perhaps, not impossible, even with
a strong wind. But the air was very quiet when Mr.
Morne disappeared." Chase, a stockily built young man
of perhaps twenty-five, with frank, blue eyes and a
ready smile, spoke in quick, decisive tones.
"A man then might easily have heaved an inert body
out of the plane?"
"I see what you mean: some passenger might have
murdered Morne while the others slept and got rid of
the body by throwing it overboard. It is possible, but
Mr. Morne was killed by a shot. If he had been shot
on the Silver Lark someone would have heard the re-
port."
"A revolver shot, even if heard, might be confused
with the engine exhaust, especially if it was fired in
the lavatory."
"It is possible," again admitted the pilot, "but for a
man to kill another, put a parachute on his back, drag
him to the door and dump him out—well, it just
couldn't happen without someone seeing it, and with-
out leaving traces of some sort, of a struggle at least.
60


FEAR OVER THE TELEPHONE
61
But there was nothing out of order; no spatters of
blood."
"Did you examine the plane yourself?"
"I did, as soon as the relief pilot took my place at the
stick. He had examined the ship hastily when Mr.
Vanuzzi aroused the passengers by crying out that
Morne must have fallen overboard. I don't believe you
will find any clue here. The fact that Morne's body was
found with a parachute attached to it is pretty strong
proof that he jumped from the plane of his own accord,
and was killed after he landed. The passengers said he
was wearing a large diamond ring and a ruby stick-
pin. I believe robbery was the motive, and that he was
killed after he floated to earth."
"Perhaps you are right," said Kemerson. "Neither
the ring nor the stickpin were found on the body."
"Was much money found on him?"
"Fifty dollars in bills and some loose change, ac-
cording to the District Attorney's information."
"Then he was murdered for his money and his
jewelry," declared Chase. "Mr. Vanuzzi said the actor's
bill-fold was crammed with money."
"How did the Italian know that?"
"He explained that Morne opened his pocket-book
to show him a newspaper clipping, and that he saw
quite a wad of money."
"I understand that it was Vanuzzi who reported that
Morne was missing."
"He made the outcry, but it was Mr. Layman who
discovered Morne was not on the Silver Lark. He
awakened Mr. Vanuzzi."
"Did any of the passengers report a quarrel between
Vanuzzi and Morne?"
"Not a quarrel exactly; high words. Both Miss Vane


62 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
and Mr. Layman reported that. Layman said that he
awoke from a doze about one o'clock and looked at his
watch to estimate how much of the distance to Cleve-
land had been covered, and noticed that both the actor
and Vanuzzi were not in their seats."
"Was he awakened by any unusual sound?"
"He did not mention anything of the sort; just that
he woke up, looked at his watch and wondered at both
men being in the wash room at the same time.""
"Did he see one or both of them return to their
seats?" Blake noticed an eager, snapping light in
Kemerson's eyes, and felt that the actor placed much
weight on the pilot's reply.
"He saw Mr. Morne return, pick up a bag, and go
back to the lavatory."
"That was all?"
"Mr. Layman said he went back to sleep and slept.
soundly. He was surprised that he could sleep so well
for he had been nervous, never having made a night
flight before. He was awakened suddenly by some sound
—perhaps it was the slamming shut of the door—and
saw Morne's empty chair, and the bag he had picked
up lying open on the floor. He aroused Mr. Vanuzzi
and the two men searched the ship for Morne.
When they failed to find him, Mr. Vanuzzi gave the
alarm. The only thing they found was the opened
bag."
"What was in it?"
"That's another strange thing, Mr. Kemerson; it was
empty."
"How large was it?" asked Blake. "Big enough to
hold a parachute?"
"Why, yes, now that you speak of it, it was about
that size."


64 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
she was staring at the Italian who was looking out of
the window."
"Didn't you question her further, alone?"
"I thought it was the state of her nerves, and forgot
about it in the excitement of radioing the loss of a pas-
senger to the ground station in Cleveland."
"The soiled linen," said Kemerson, betraying an ex-
citement that Blake found contagious. "You examined
it?"
"No. I never thought of it again."
"Is it still on board?"
"It was sent to the laundry in Chicago."
"Too bad," murmured Kemerson. "She may have
seen something suspicious. Blood on a towel perhaps.
That's one important clue destroyed. Do you know the
name of the laundry in Chicago?"
"It's the White House Laundry, near the airport.
I'll get the address and 'phone it to you."
"Do, Mr. Chase. Some employee may have noticed
blood stains. Such things have a habit of lingering in
the memory. What kind of a young woman is this Miss
Vane? Excitable? Easily frightened?"
"I saw no evidence of it aside from the terror in her
eyes. She impressed me as a remarkably controlled
young woman, used to admiration, able to take care of
herself."
"Did she go on to Chicago?"
"She and Mrs. Delano left the ship at Cleveland."
"Tell me what you can about Mr. Vanuzzi. Did he
make a favorable impression on you?"
"He's stockily built, of medium height. Speaks ex-
cellent English. He appeared very much excited, but
frank in his replies to my questions. A little too talk-


FEAR OVER THE TELEPHONE
65
ative; I got the idea somehow he talked so much to hide
something he did not want to tell."
"Did he make any explanation of going to the wash
room with Morne?"
"He said they went back to take a drink from his
flask. Miss Vane was awake, and they thought it might
annoy her for them to drink in the cabin. I believe
Vanuzzi was quite struck by the young woman. His
eyes wandered to her face even while he was talking to
me. He was very attentive when she and Mrs. Delano
left the plane at Cleveland. I thought she was barely
civil to him."
"Did Mr. Carter have anything to report on the oc-
currences on the airplane?"
"He claims not to have observed anything. Went
right to sleep, he said, after he had written some letters,
and was only awakened at Vanuzzi's outcry. He did
not want to give me his address at first; said he had no
time to come back to attend an inquest if the body was
ever found."
"He said 'body' did he?"
"Yes. He said it wasn't the first time a man had com-
mitted suicide by leaping from an airplane in flight."
"Where did he leave the plane?"
"At Chicago. He was going on to Denver, I believe."
"What address did he give?"
"The Tremont-Lear Hotel, Boston."
"Mr. Layman was perfectly frank in his replies?"
"Entirely so. I wish the other passengers had been as
observant and as clear and concise in their statements."
Kemerson next went over the airplane thoroughly,
without comment. Chase was eager to be of help, but
there was little to be learned from him. He was quite
evidently puzzled by Kemerson's next question.


66 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Was a ball of twine, or a length of cord, found in
the plane?"
"String, Mr. Kemerson? I did not see any—never
thought of it. Passengers sometimes undo packages on
board."
"It would be longer than that—a hundred feet or
more. Suppose that Morne was killed on the Silver
Lark, the parachute fastened to his back, and the body
dumped out. Wouldn't it have been possible for the
murderer to fasten one end of a ball of twine to the
ring of the parachute and, by a sudden jerk after
the body had fallen some distance, to open the para-
chute?"
"I see what you mean!" cried the pilot, admiration
in his voice. "Yes, I believe it could have been done!
But of course the murderer would have got rid of the
string simply by throwing it overboard."
On the train, returning to New York, Kemerson was
deep in his own thoughts and addressed but few re-
marks to Blake.
"Not much of value resulted from our afternoon's
excursion," he observed as they separated. "But I
should like to question Miss Vane regarding the linen
in the wash room, and what she saw that struck her
into silence. Vanuzzi should be at his night club
this evening. Meet me there after the performance,
unless you have been able to locate Mrs. Morne by that
time."
Both Johnny Bursong and Miss Burton had gone
home when Blake reached his office. A memorandum
from his secretary asked him to telephone a number
which he knew to be in Central Park West above the
Nineties. In the drawer of his desk was this note from
Johnny:


68 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Oh, the fools!" There was such utter contempt in
her voice over the wire that Blake experienced a glow
of gratitude. "I suppose they'll be accusing me next,"
she continued.
"They want you. Listen carefully. The D.A. has en-
gaged Kirk Kemerson to investigate the murder. He
seems to believe the story I tell him, and has asked me
to aid him. He wants to see you, as I told you in my
telegram."
"But, Stephen! I've had no telegram from you!"
"I sent it about two o'clock. I thought the butler
would 'phone it to you. Doesn't he know where you
are?"
"Yes, but there is a policeman on watch in the hall-
way. Perhaps he got your message!" Blake caught the
accents of fear in the voice over the wire. "You didn't
say anything that would—"
"No, you can trust me for that, Doris, but I don't
want the police to see that telegram. Do you dare call
up your apartment and ask Steep about it? If he has it,
tell him you know what was in it and ask him to de-
stroy it at once."
"I'll have to. I don't so much mind the police know-
ing where I am. It's the reporters I am afraid of. If
they get hold of it . . . What did you say in the
telegram?"
Blake repeated the gist of his message. "That 'Play
safe' might subject me—and you, too—to much an-
noyance."
"Stephen, why is there a policeman in front of my
apartment?"
"They have learned you were not at home the night
Morne was killed. Naturally, they are suspicious of
that and because you have hidden away. I've already


FEAR OVER THE TELEPHONE 69
been questioned about you and Mr. Betterling"
Blake stopped speaking at the gasp that he heard
plainly over the wire. There was silence for so long that
he called her name several times before he heard her
voice, faintly.
"What . . . what about him, Stephen?"
"It was a reporter who was trying to pump me. He
was curious about your being seen so frequently with
Jim. I said that he escorted you around because your
husband was at the theatre so much, and that it was
with his knowledge and permission."
"I can't thank you enough, Stephen. I hope some day
you will know how grateful I am for all you have done
for me."
"You will have to talk with Mr. Kemerson, Doris,"
continued Blake with some urgency in his voice. "It
will be much better for him to question you than for the
police to do it. See him tonight after his performance.
I will come with him—wherever you say."
"Bring him here then," and she gave him her ad-
dress, in the west Nineties as Blake had suspected.
"But can't I see you first? We've got to arrange what
we say so there will be no variance in our stories. Can
I see you in your office now, or any time before we see
Mr. Kemerson?"
"That is too dangerous. You tell Mr. Kemerson
whatever you want to. I will hear your story, and if I
am ever questioned about it will simply repeat what
you tell him. Don't forget to call up about the tele-
gram. It's most important that it be destroyed. I was a
fool to send it, but I had to reach you. I was sure Steep
knew where you are."
"He does. That's what makes me afraid. I'll tele-
phone you. What time will you be in your office?"


70 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Do it now. I will wait here until I hear from you."
He did not try to work while he waited—simply sat
there thinking out the line of action he would have to
pursue if Mrs. Morne should be cornered by the police
and forced to tell certain things that she wished kept
secret. It was less than ten minutes later when his tele-
phone rang. It was Mrs. Morne on the wire, breathless,
frantic.
"Stephen! There's some strange man in my apart-
ment! I called up and a voice I didn't recognize an-
swered. I asked for Steep. The voice said he was Steep
and wanted to know who it was calling. But it was not
Steep. The voice was nothing like his. It sounded
Irish"
"The police!" cried Blake. "They will trace the call.
Don't stay there another minute! Go out—any place.
Go to a theatre. I'll leave a ticket for you at the Irving
box office in the name of Mrs. Martin. When the per-
formance is over, I'll be in the lobby. If I'm not, get
into a taxi and drive to Mr. Kemerson's apartment. I'll
arrange with him to be there ahead of you. He is on
but a few minutes in the last act."
"I wish you were here"
"Hush!" cried Blake. "There's someone at my
door!"
He hung up and stared at the door which opened
slowly.


Chapter VIII
A LETTER FROM THE DEAD
Blake stood tense as the door into his office was pushed
wide open to reveal a postman. He was so relieved that
he beamed at his visitor.
"You are late, aren't you?"
"I'm just about through. I've got a special delivery
letter for Mr. Stephen Blake. The treasurer said for me
to come up. I heard a voice and came in."
"That's right. I am Stephen Blake." He signed for
the letter, and glanced at the address. His quickly stifled
cry caused the letter-carrier to turn back from the
doorway.
"Anything the matter?" he asked. There seemed to
Blake to be such an eager, suspicious look on the man's
face that he quickly controlled his own features.
"Just a sudden pain in my side. It's gone now."
The postman lingered for a moment as though loath
to go, but when Blake bade him an emphatic good
night, he went out, slowly closing the door. Blake
listened to his steps as he went down the single flight
of stairs to the lobby, staring meanwhile at the envelope
in his hand.
It was addressed in Chadwick Morne's handwriting!
Then it suddenly occurred to Blake that he had not
heard the postman's footsteps as he came up the stairs
and along the hallway; had not even heard the door
into his secretary's office open. Was the man a spy for
71


74 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
pleasant episode. I think I shall not try to make her
acquaintance."
With the sensation of having been visited by a ghost,
Blake took up the envelope to glance again at the
postmark. He had not been mistaken; it had been
mailed at Carlstown at eight o'clock the previous
evening—twelve hours after the actor's dead body had
been found. Why, then Morne was alive! His thoughts
whirled in confusion. Could there have been a mistake
in identifying the body? But that was impossible!
Morne's membership cards in the Lambs' Club and in
the Actors' Equity Association as well as a traveler's
insurance policy, had been found on the body. The
letter then must have been discovered by the police and
they had mailed it to him. Had they opened and read
it? The flap was gummed tightly, but there was a small
tear near the centre. He was certain the letter had been
read, and that if he did not turn it over to the police
he would be suspected of concealing something of mo-
ment in the Morne case. If he did turn it over to the
District Attorney, it would direct suspicion not only
against Vanuzzi, but also against Mrs. Morne. He
cursed Morne for having mentioned his wife. For half
an hour he sought, without results, a solution of the
quandary in which he found himself. Then he tried to
throw off all thought of the mystery and addressed him-
self to his work in a fury of concentration. He wanted
to have the next day's activities all mapped out so that
Miss Burton and Johnny could carry on without him.
But after a quarter of an hour he gave up and sat at his
desk overwhelmed in speculations.
At ten o'clock he left a note for Kemerson at the
stage door of the Booth Theatre stating that Mrs.
Morne would call at his apartment, and then returned


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD 75
to the Siddarth Theatre. There he ran into Arnold
Siddarth, a tall, lean, melancholy man, with more the
appearance of a philosopher than of a producer of
plays. His employer wanted him to watch the rest of the
act, as he was considering a change in the last scene
before sending the production on tour in the fall. It
was after eleven before Blake could break away, too
late to meet Mrs. Morne in the lobby of the Irving
Theatre. He hailed a taxicab and was driven to Kemer-
son's apartment. Mrs. Morne, arrived ahead of him,
was seated in the actor's library, twisting her hands
nervously. She jumped up at Blake's entrance and went
quickly to him, clinging to his hands. He tried to smile
reassuringly at her, and failed miserably.
Mrs. Morne was a woman of thirty, or perhaps a
year or two more, with a slender, well-rounded figure,
her hennaed hair bobbed in the current fashion. She
was dressed in gray—a color most becoming to her—
with gray hat, shoes and stockings. Her eyes, large
and gray, were upturned to Blake as if seeking an as-
surance he could not give her.
"Sit down, Blake," said Kemerson. "Mrs. Morne did
not wish to answer my questions until you had arrived."
Blake arranged the chairs so that he faced Mrs.
Morne, while Kemerson had but a side view of their
faces. The actor, perhaps to balk the maneuver, got up
frequently and walked about the room, passing behind
Blake's chair, occasionally standing beside Mrs. Morne.
"I have told Mrs. Morne," said Kemerson, "how I
happened to come into the case, and outlined to her
some of the angles we have uncovered. It is now neces-
sary for us to enter upon more personal matters. I have
the deepest sympathy for you, Mrs. Morne, and am
seeking only~uch help as you can give me in unraveling


76 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the mystery of your husband's death. As you doubtless
know, grave suspicion is directed towards our young
friend here"
"But that is utterly impossible, Mr. Kemerson!" ex-
claimed Mrs. Morne, impulsively. "He was here in
New York."
"You have seen Blake then since the news of your
husband's murder?" And Kemerson got up and stood
behind Blake so that he had a full view of the widow's
face. Blake answered hastily for her:
"I reached her by telephone after we returned from
Newark."
"You knew then where she was hiding?"
"I 'phoned to him at the office," explained Mrs.
Morne, in her turn forestalling the press agent. "He
was out and I left a number for him to call."
"How had you got the information that he was
trying to locate you?"
"I had not. I wished to talk with him on a personal
matter."
"A matter that you do not wish to divulge to me?"
"I cannot tell you, Mr. Kemerson. It is someone
else's secret, but I do assure you that it has nothing to
do with Chadwick."
"But Blake knew about it."
"I needed his help. And I had to get his promise of
secrecy."
Kemerson resumed his seat, hesitated as though he
found some difficulty in framing his next question.
"Detectives report that you were not in your apart-
ment at all the night your husband was murdered. Do
you wish to tell me where you were?"
Mrs. Morne twisted her hands, consulted Blake with
her eyes. The press agent gave a slight negative move-


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD 77
ment of his head, and was immediately aware that
Kemerson had seen that slight sign.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kemerson, but I can't tell you that
either."
"Don't you think it would be better to confide in me
rather than to have the police drag it out of you later?
For they will stumble upon something that will give
them a lead. They will have no discretion about with-
holding from the District Attorney everything they
learn. I shall report nothing that might prove painful
or embarrassing to you unless it has a bearing on
Morne's death."
"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Morne again, in real distress,
"but it is utterly impossible. Anything about my hus-
band that I can tell you I will."
"I fear you are making a mistake, Mrs. Morne, but
this is not the time to insist. That moment may come,
and soon. Did you know that Morne was leaving New
York?"
"He told me he was going to Chicago, perhaps
farther west, for a rest. I took it for granted he was
going by train."
"Did you offer to go to the station to see him off?"
"No."
"Did he suggest that you should not?"
Mrs. Morne hesitated. "I may as well tell you that
Mr. Morne and I had not been living together as man
and wife for more than a year. His intrigues, repeated
infidelities, some of which he flaunted in my face, had
killed any love I might once have had for him. I re-
mained with him simply because I did not wish to ruin
his chances, through any scandal, of becoming the great
star he had it in him to be. He had the true artist's
instincts. He was greater as an artist than as a man."


78 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"I fear that is frequently the case," remarked Kemer-
son, "but continue."
"We have had as little as possible to do with each
other since the break finally came. Of course, it was
necessary for me to be seen with him at times if only
to quiet, if possible, some of the rumors concerning him
and his . . ."
"His charming friends of the gentler sex?" suggested
Kemerson, as she hesitated. Mrs. Morne nodded.
"He had great confidence in the new play Mr. Sid-
darth has for him. I had intended, after its production,
to go to Paris for a divorce."
"Had you any intention of marrying again soon?"
Mrs. Morne flushed, twisted her gloves. "Well, per-
haps. Not right away, however."
"Did your husband have any enemies who hated him
enough to murder him?"
"Many, I should suppose." Mrs. Morne's reply was
cold with repressed resentment; red stains came into
her cheeks, and her eyes flashed. "Husbands, fathers,
brothers, lovers—there must be many men who rejoice
at his death."
"I can sympathize with your bitterness, Mrs. Morne,
but this is not getting me anywhere. It is names I want.
Facts. Who in New York hated him so furiously that
he would be driven to murder for revenge?"
"Must it necessarily be in New York? From France
to San Francisco"
"France? Yes, I remember. He was a Y.M.C.A.
entertainer overseas. Was gone for several months"
"Six months," said Mrs. Morne. "Time enough for
several 'affairs'. There was the French girl, daughter
of General Janlivert; a little American girl, a Y.M.C.A.
entertainer—Dorothy Dineen she called herself, a stock


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD 79
actress. He promised to make her a leading woman in
New York. She killed herself after he left her. Here in
New York—well, there are many—that girl of Giulio
Vanuzzi's, for instance. Vanuzzi was furious when he
found out."
"So Vanuzzi had a grudge against Morne," observed
Kemerson, reflectively. "And he was a passenger on the
Silver Lark."
"There had been some money difficulties between
them," Mrs. Morne continued.
"Was Morne financially interested in Vanuzzi's night
club?"
"It was his money that started Vanuzzi in the busi-
ness. He led me to believe he had withdrawn from the
night club after Vanuzzi entered the bootlegging busi-
ness, but I learned recently that he had not done so."
"You are of the opinion, then, that Vanuzzi hated
your husband on account of the girl, though you be-
lieve other men had reason for even more murderous
hatred of him?"
"But only Vanuzzi was on board the Silver Lark!"
"Are you willing to make a formal accusation against
Vanuzzi?" asked Kemerson, quietly. Mrs. Morne, who
had been sitting erect, her eyes glittering, wilted at
that question.
"Certainly not. I make no accusation against any-
one. If Chadwick jumped from the airplane, as the
papers report, and Vanuzzi remained on it, how could
he have shot him?"
"Mrs. Morne, do you realize how deeply Blake is
becoming involved in the mystery? It was he who
planned Morne's airplane flight, arranged for his pas-
sage, suggested his night leap by parachute"
Kemerson stopped speaking at the horrified expres-


80 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
sion with which Mrs. Morne regarded the press agent.
Her emotion was so genuine that it was quite evident
she had known nothing of the publicity stunt.
"How awful for you, Stephen! I did not know any
real suspicion could attach to you."
"Remember, Mrs. Morne, that Blake some years
ago threatened Morne's life in a quarrel over you.
Your life with your husband has been notoriously un-
happy. Blake is unable to prove that he was in his
own room the night of the murder, or even that he was
in New York after ten o'clock. He had ample time to
pursue the Silver Lark in another plane, commit the
murder and return to New York. I hoped you could
help him prove an alibi."
"But she can't," protested Blake. "She has not seen
me since that afternoon."
Doris Morne appeared overcome by the amount of
evidence that was piling up against Blake. The con-
fusion of her thoughts was too great to permit of words,
and Kemerson continued:
"You are both under grave suspicion. If either of
you can clear yourself, or help to clear the other, now
is the time to speak. What you tell me will go no
further if it has no bearing on Morne's murder."
"I don't know anything about Stephen's actions,"
said Mrs. Morne, "but nothing can make me believe
he had anything to do with Chadwick's death. And I
certainly knew nothing about it until I read it in the
papers."
They were interrupted by a ring at the door-bell.
Kemerson went into the hallway to answer, leaving
Blake and Mrs. Morne together. They saw a uniformed
policeman at the door, and Mrs. Morne turned deathly
pale.


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD
81
"Is he going to arrest us?" Her whisper was so low
that Blake could barely distinguish the words.
"They haven't the evidence to hold either of us."
"The Inspector asked me to hand you these," they
heard the officer say, "on instructions from the Dis-
trict Attorney. He thought they might be of use to
you."
Kemerson closed the door and they could barely
distinguish his voice as he conversed with the police-
man in the hallway.
"It may be your telegram to me," said Mrs. Morne
in great agitation. "What will we do if it is?"
"Sit tight, Doris. There's nothing they can prove. It
may be mighty unpleasant for one or both of us for a
time, but"
He stopped speaking as the outer door opened and
Kemerson returned, holding a large envelope in his
hand. He stood mutely regarding them for a time, then
pulled a telegram from the envelope.
"Have you seen this before?" He extended to Blake
his own wire to Mrs. Morne.
"I sent it to Mrs. Morne's apartment, hoping the
butler would 'phone its contents to her."
"Why should you need to warn her to 'play safe'?
I am not trying to trap her. I have no evidence of
guilt—merely suspicious circumstances that a little
more frankness on her part would clear up. You still
do not wish to tell me, Mrs. Morne, where you spent
night before last, nor the reason for your call on
Blake?"
Mrs. Morne's eyes seemed enormous in the pale
face she turned towards the actor. She seemed unable
to speak. She shook her head slowly.
"I wanted to convey to her," said Blake, "that I had


82 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
said nothing about the matter which brought her to
my office, and to warn her that she did not need to
bring it into the interview with you. Besides, how do
we know that the body was really that of Mr. Morne?
I received a letter from him tonight, postmarked last
night in Carlstown."
"He's alive!" cried Mrs. Morne, and leaned back in
her chair so limply that Blake thought she had fainted.
He would have gone to her, but Kemerson held him
back.
"A letter from a dead man," said the actor. "Well,
that has happened before. The letter was mailed after
his death. May I see it?"
"I would rather not," said Blake, defiance in his
eyes. "It is a personal letter to me, written while he was
on the Silver Lark."
"You have no choice, I fear, Blake. That letter is
pertinent to the case. I must read it. The policeman
who delivered the telegram is waiting in the hall for
my answer. I am sure you do not wish to force me into
a drastic action."
Blake considered. "May I show it to Mrs. Morne
first?"
"No! No!" cried the woman, jumping up from her
chair, wringing her hands hysterically. "I do not want
to read it! I won't read it!"
"Calm yourself," said Kemerson, with quiet author-
ity. "You shall not be required to read your husband's
last letter against your will, if you find the ordeal too
horrible."
The words seemed a subtle threat to Blake. "She is
terribly upset, Mr. Kemerson. I wonder she has not
broken down before." He went to her and took posses-
sion of her hands. She clung to him. "It's all right,


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD 83
Doris. Read the letter. I want you to see what Morne
wrote about you before we give it to Mr. Kemerson.
Trust me. It is the only thing to do."
Reluctantly she took the letter, handling it gin-
gerly, as if fearful it might stain her fingers. She held
it to one side as though averting her eyes even as she
read it. She began to tremble before she had finished
perusing it, and sat down weakly.
"Then it was Vanuzzi!" she cried.
Kemerson took the letter from her unresisting hands
and glanced rapidly at its contents.
"This makes a pretty strong prima facie case against
Vanuzzi. I shall pay him a call tonight. But first, Mrs.
Morne, what explanation have you for your talk with
him?"
"I thought Mr. Vanuzzi might help me with evidence
in getting a divorce. I knew Chadwick spent many
evenings at the club, with various women. Naturally,
I was startled when I looked up and saw him not
three feet away. I had not told him I intended to get
a divorce."
"The letter tallies with what the pilot told us," said
Blake. "Has he sent you the name of the laundry?"
"We've already had a reply. Two of the towels had
blood stains on them. That is a point to take up with
Vanuzzi. This letter from Morne presents an odd angle
or two that the Italian may want to explain. You may
rest assured, however, that Morne is dead."
Kemerson again opened the large envelope and took
out an oblong white paper and held it before Mrs.
Morne's eyes.
"Chadwick!" she gasped, shuddered, and fell back
in her chair in a dead faint.
Blake leaped forward and snatched the paper from


84 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Kemerson's hand. It was a photograph of Morne's
body, half concealed by the parachute.
"That was brutal!" he cried, angrily. "You might
have prepared her for so gruesome a sight."
"And given her time to compose her features and
steel her will to face the ordeal unflinchingly? No,
Blake, the lady has not been frank with me. She knows
more than she has told. In a sudden shock one often
reveals what the most adroit questioning fails to elicit.
There's brandy on that table. Give her a little."
"Well, what have you learned through your tor-
ture of her?" Blake flung the taunt at the actor as he
hurried to pour out some brandy.
"Why, that she is terrified of a photograph of her
murdered husband's body, just as she was of his letter.
No, decidedly Mrs. Morne must place more confidence
in my desire to help her. And you, too, my young
friend, must not work behind my back unless you want
me to work behind yours. I believe your story, in the
main, but you have withheld your confidence on a
vital point."
Blake forced the edge of the glass between Mrs.
Morne's lips and poured a few drops of brandy slowly
into her mouth. He watched her stir under its stimulus
and saw her eyelids flutter.
"What makes you think that?" he asked, looking
straight into Kemerson's eyes.
"Why did you ask Mrs. Handsaker to tell the police
you had slept in your own bed when she knew nothing
about it?"
Blake's hands shook as he faced the actor-detective
over the form of Mrs. Morne. He carefully lowered his
arm and held the brandy glass behind his back. A quiv-
ering sigh from Mrs. Morne drew his eyes to her face.


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD
85
He found the widow of the slain actor regarding him
with the same horror that she had betrayed at sight of
her dead husband's letter and photograph! He felt
suddenly sick, with a sensation of dizziness. He raised
the glass to his own lips and gulped down the rest of
the brandy.


Chapter IX
KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS
Kemerson put Mrs. Morne in a taxicab. Blake started
to follow her, feeling that he must learn from her why
she had regarded him with such undisguised horror,
but the actor held him back.
Did Doris Morne suspect him of her husband's
murder because he had asked his landlady to say that
he had slept in his own bed? Only a few minutes
earlier she had been contemptuous of the police suspi-
cion of him! And what did he himself know of her
activities or whereabouts on the night of the murder?
Who would believe that an innocent woman, even
though she hated her husband, would betray so intense
an emotion when confronted with a picture of his
corpse? He was aroused from his whirling thoughts by
Kemerson's voice.
"You did not answer my question. Why did you
ask Mrs. Handsaker to lie for you?"
"It was not a lie. I did sleep in my own bed. I was
just scared, Mr. Kemerson, because all the evidence
I've found tends to prove that I didn't. I was afraid of
being held on suspicion if the police learned Nora had
knocked at my door and got no answer."
"Luckily for you, I was the one to interview your
landlady. Lying comes so hard for her that the veriest
rookie would have discovered the falsehood, and that
would have smashed your alibi—if you have one. Tele-
86


KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS 87
phone her at once; ask her to tell the truth if she is
questioned. Meanwhile I will call a taxi and we'll pay
a visit to the Happy Hours night club."
Blake felt like a fool arousing Mrs. Handsaker from
sleep to rescind his request. After he had explained to
her as best he could the reason for his change, he joined
Kemerson in a waiting taxi. They sped into Fifth
Avenue, to the upper Forties and then turned towards
Broadway. Vanuzzi's night club occupied the second
floor of a brick building but a few doors from the Gay
White Way. As they entered, Gaussman's band was
blaring out a popular jazz tune to which a young girl
barely out of her teens, if that, was dancing. She was
nude except for a silver fig-leaf; even her firm, rounded
breasts and the rouged nipples showed plainly through
the gauze brassiere she wore. Her hips undulated in the
slow, rolling motions of an aphrodisiac dance which the
patrons of the place watched with weary eyes, their
food and drinks standing untasted on the tables. The
room was hot and enervating with mingled perfumes,
the fumes of alcohol and the emanations from feminine
bodies.
"The modern temple of Venus in the days of prohibi-
tion," observed Kemerson. "Drink and sex, sex and
drink; dances to arouse sex hunger, drink to deaden
weariness and pain. ... So this is where Chadwick
Morne spent many of his nights. Money invested in
the temple of Venus!"
He was approached by the head waiter.
"We do not want a table. Will you be good enough
to tell Mr. Vanuzzi that Kirk Kemerson wishes to
see him?"
"Yes, Mr. Kemerson," replied the head waiter, with
the pleased smile of men of his ilk welcoming noted


88 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
personages. "He is upstairs in his office. I will send
for him."
After a few minutes of waiting, a bare-legged girl
attendant returned with the message that the actor was
to go right up. Giulio Vanuzzi, a man of about forty,
stocky, swarthy, with large tawny eyes, and a heavy,
black mustache, was waiting in the doorway of his
office. He advanced to the head of the stairway to meet
his guest.
"I have not had the pleasure of welcoming you to
the club before, Mr. Kemerson. How do you do,
Blake?" He nodded affably to the press agent, and
turned back to Kemerson. "Come in and have a drink.
Afterwards I hope you will do me the honor of
spending an hour or so here as my guest."
"Thank you, but I have been asked by the District
Attorney to make some inquiries into the life of Chad-
wick Morne. I understand from the newspapers that
you were a passenger on the Silver Lark."
Vanuzzi's eyes narrowed. "I was. I was probably the
last one to see him alive."
"You have hurt your hand, I see."
"Just a slight cut. I do not feel it at all. Come into
the office."
He preceded his guests, drew up chairs for them in
front of the large red mahogany desk, and took the
black-cushioned swivel chair back of it. "Fire away,
Mr. Kemerson. I've been expecting a visit from the
District Attorney's detectives, but I did not know this
was exactly in your line."
"Oh, I have been fortunate enough to solve one or
two little matters for Mr. Brixton, and he designated
me to look into the Morne case. I hoped you could
help me unravel some of the lesser known facts of his


KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS 89
life. Mr. Brixton has a report that he was financially
interested in your club."
"He was," replied Vanuzzi, twisting his mustache.
"He put money into it when I opened up. He did not
want it known, but now that he is dead . . ." He
shrugged massive shoulders. "We were partners until a
few days ago when I bought him out."
"Was the dissolution of partnership entirely ami-
cable?"
Vanuzzi blinked, then opened his tawny eyes fully as
though puzzled. "We remained friends, if that is what
you mean. Mr. Morne objected to some of the things
a successful night club owner must do not to get in bad
with the police. He was afraid it would hurt him profes-
sionally if it became known."
"We all know Mr. Morne's interest in women," said
Kemerson. "We have a report that there was a violent
quarrel between you and Morne over some woman.
Did he steal your girl?"
"All nonsense, Mr. Kemerson," and Vanuzzi laughed
heartily. "Just business. Girls are cheap. One girl is
like another. If one goes there is always another."
Kemerson drummed absent-mindedly on the desk.
"Why did Mrs. Morne call on you the day before her
husband's death?"
"She said she intended to get a divorce next winter
and thought I could furnish her with evidence. I never
meddle with the private lives of my guests. Not good
business."
"Blood was found on towels in the wash room of the
Silver Lark, after you and Mr. Morne had gone there
together"
"My blood, Mr. Kemerson," and Vanuzzi displayed
his bandaged hand. "I had a bottle of Scotch and no


90 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
corkscrew. My knife slipped and I got a gash in the
palm of my thumb. We had to break off the neck of
the bottle."
"You and Morne were overheard to exchange angry
words."
"Loud words, perhaps, Mr. Kemerson. Not angry
ones. It takes a big voice to be heard clearly above the
noise of the engines."
"Do you know of any enemies who might have
wished Morne out of the way?"
Vanuzzi's eyes narrowed again; he was watching
Kemerson closely, trying to appear not to do so. "None
at all. Mrs. Morne—she perhaps wants to get married
again—to that"
Blake suddenly moved his hand and sent the tray,
bottle and glasses on the desk crashing to the floor.
"Oh, I am sorry!" he exclaimed, picking up the tray
and the bottom half of the bottle.
Vanuzzi waved aside his apology. "Never mind. I'll
have it cleared away." He rang a bell and a Japanese
in white duck coat and black trousers entered. Blake
stared at the man, smiled and was on the point of
speaking, but the Japanese paid no attention to him.
He was small, black-haired, with a stringy black
mustache.
"Clear away the broken glass, Kentaro," Vanuzzi
ordered.
"Yes, sir," replied the servant, took up the tray and
started to leave the room.
"The rest of the mess, too," said Vanuzzi, sharply.
"Then get a rag and wipe up the rug."
The Japanese knelt quickly on the floor, his back to
Blake, and began carefully picking up the broken
glass. The shape of his head seemed entirely familiar


KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS 91
to the press agent. Why, it was Kiyoshi Nimura,
Morne's valet, and trying hard not to be recognized!
"Why, Kiyoshi!" said Blake. "Are you working
here now?"
The Japanese bent closer to the floor, picking up
the tiny particles of glass. Kemerson's eyebrows went
up inquiringly as he looked at Blake. At the latter's
nod he stepped in front of the kneeling servant and
tapped him on the shoulder.
"Kiyoshi Nimura! Stand up!"
The little Japanese did not even raise his eyes.
"Kentaro is my name, sir. Kentaro Kawatami." He
resumed his search for glass fragments.
"You are as like Kiyoshi Nimura as his twin
brother," declared Blake. "Only the mustache is dif-
ferent. And that could have been grown in a week."
"My name Kentaro Kawatami," repeated the little
man, rising and dumping a handful of glass into the
tray which he then lifted and started rapidly towards
the door. Kemerson got in front of him.
"If you are Kentaro why are you in such a hurry?
I merely want to ask you a few questions."
"The Scotch—it soaks into the rug. Mr. Vanuzzi tell
you my name is Kentaro."
"That's right," Vanuzzi corroborated, "but now that
you've called attention to it, he does look very much
like Morne's valet."
"How long have you—" began Kemerson, but the
little brown man vanished, closing the door behind him.
"Are you sure he is Kiyoshi?" asked the actor.
"Almost positive. His furtive bearing proves it."
Vanuzzi protested. "He looks like Kiyoshi, I admit,
but he's not. I've seen Morne's Jap valet too often not
to recognize him."


92 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"His actions are most suspicious," observed Kemer-
son. "If he comes back, detain him and order him to
answer my questions."
"If he comes back?" said Blake.
"If he's Kiyoshi he probably won't return. Suppose
you go down into the night club and keep an eye on
him. If he leaves, hop into a taxi and follow him."
Blake hurried down the stairs. The cabaret was blue
with smoke, and it was several moments before he saw
Kiyoshi talking in the ear of a big, powerful man at a
table near the door. Blake saw the white man turn
and stare at him as he made his way across the now
vacant dancing space. The Japanese cast a furtive
glance at Blake, and then, at a nod towards the door
from the white man, started towards it hastily.
"Kiyoshi!" called Blake. "I want a word with you."
The Japanese increased his pace, and Blake was
hurrying after him when the big man stood up in the
aisle between the tables and blocked his path.
"You are making a mistake, buddy. I've known that
Jap for years—Kentaro Kawatami. He used to be my
orderly in the flying corps in France."
Blake looked up into a pair of large brown eyes in
a head that towered nearly a foot above his own. The
man's face was bronzed, his thick, brown hair curly.
His big frame fitted his evening clothes tightly, as
though they had been rented for the occasion. His
hand gripped Blake's arm so that the press agent
could not free himself without a struggle.
"If he's not Kiyoshi, why is he running away?" he
asked.
"Because he looks a good deal like Kiyoshi—enough
so that you mistook him for Morne's valet"
"So you know Morne's valet, do you?"


KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS 93
"Not at all, but I've read about him, and so has
Kentaro. The valet's wanted by the police. Sit down
and have a drink and I'll tell you all about Kentaro.
He was born in New York"
Blake interrupted with a very natural question:
"Who are you?"
"What does my name matter? It's the Jap you want
information about. You and your friend about scared
the life out of him."
"What you have to say carries very little weight
coming from a man who refuses to give his name."
"Who's refusing, buddy? I just asked what my name
mattered. It's Brewster—Lieutenant Brewster it was
during the war. Now a stunt pilot."
"Then you are the man who called on Kiyoshi
Nimura at his lodgings yesterday morning—just be-
fore he cleared out!" cried Blake, jerking his arm
free. "And that is Kiyoshi! You are helping him es-
cape!"
"Don't get excited, buddy. The telephone directory's
got a whole list of Brewsters. I don't want you to get
an innocent, inoffensive Jap in wrong with the police.
He knows no more about Morne than I do—and that's
just what has been in the papers."
"Perhaps you'd like to tell that to the District At-
torney's representative. He's upstairs."
"Sure, I'll tell it to him, or to the District Attorney
himself if he wants to know. Bring him down to my
table and I'll tell him all about Kentaro."
"I think it will be better if we go up to him. It's
more private."
"What do I care about privacy? I'll tell what I have
to say for the whole world to hear. Besides I've paid
for this food and drink. I can't afford a night club often


94 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
and I want my money's worth. You haven't had that
drink with me yet. I'll get a fresh glass"
He beckoned a waiter, but Blake refused a drink.
He glanced at the food on the table; it had hardly been
touched. He was convinced there was something false
about the man's story, but felt that Kemerson was the
one to sift the falsehood from whatever truth there
might be in it.
"I'll get Mr. Kemerson," he said, and left as a waiter
approached.
When he entered the office Vanuzzi, red in the face,
was pounding the table with his fist.
"I tell you there's nothing to it," he was saying.
"Vida Latterby may have been sweet on Morne. I
neither know nor care. She has been sweet on many
men. At one time she was my girl. I don't deny that.
I had tired of her long since—of her vanity, her want-
ing to be waited on hand and foot; most of all of her
greed for money and jewels. She was any man's for a
handsome present. She was not worth quarreling about.
Morne may have paid the rent of her apartment for
all I know."
"Well, that doesn't matter particularly," said Kemer-
son, motioning to Blake not to interrupt. "Miss Lat-
terby will have a chance to tell her story later. I under-
stand the Silver Lark was trailed by another airplane
for several hours on the night of Morne's murder. The
newspapers quote you to that effect."
"That is true. It was several hundred feet lower
than the Silver Lark part of the time and I could see
its lights."
"It might have been another mail plane."
"The Silver Lark is the only mail and passenger
plane leaving New York at that hour."


KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS 95
"Was it still following when you and Morne went
to the wash room for a drink?"
"I presume so. I saw its lights once a short time
afterwards."
"After Morne's absence had been discovered did you
do or say anything to frighten any of the passengers
into silence?"
The eyes that Kemerson bent upon the Italian
seemed to Blake to be colder and brighter than he had
ever seen them. So interested was he in the answer that
he forgot the purpose for which he had returned to the
office. He saw Vanuzzi's eyes narrow to mere slits as
though for defence against the penetrating gaze of the
actor. After a moment's silence he opened his tawny
eyes full, staring straight into Kemerson's pupils.
"I don't understand. Who was there to frighten?
And for what reason would I try to frighten anyone?
Mr. Morne was the only one on the airplane I had ever
seen before."
"When Miss Vane started to say, 'The linen in the
wash—', didn't you do something to frighten her so
that she never finished the sentence?"
"Miss Vane says that?" Vanuzzi's eyebrows drew
together in a puzzled frown.
"The pilot of the Silver Lark says it."
"Then he is very much mistaken. If Miss Vane was
terrified it was not caused by anything I did or said."
"Was any mention made of your bandaged hand?"
"No."
"Isn't that queer in itself? It was not bandaged at
the beginning of the flight. Why should Miss Vane
have wished to call attention to the blood-stained
towels if she had seen your hand was injured? That
would have explained it."


96 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Kemerson, my hand was
not then bandaged. The gash bled quite freely and I
stuck a small piece of court-plaster over it. The cut
must have become infected, for it began to fester and
become painful on the train. It was bandaged by the
doctor I went to in New York."
Kemerson's eyes kept boring into those of the Italian
across the desk. "How long has Kiyoshi Nimura been
employed in your club?"
The question recalled the valet to Blake's mind and
he blurted out his account of the Japanese's flight and
his own detainment from pursuit by Brewster.
"This man Brewster says the Jap's name is Kentaro
Kawatami and that he was his orderly in France. But
I do not believe him. It was a man by the name of
Brewster who called on Kiyoshi just before he left his
boarding place in Greenwich Village."
Kemerson was making towards the door before Blake
had finished speaking. "You should have told me at
once! Hurry! We are probably too late!"
He was half way down the stairs before Blake could
overtake him. He waved aside the press agent's at-
tempted explanation of his delay in speaking, and
darted in among the dancers, bumping into some, be-
ing bumped into by others, without offering or waiting
for any apology.
"Which table?" he tossed at Blake over his shoul-
der. "The vacant one by the door?"
"Yes; he was just starting to eat."
"And the moment you were out of sight paid his
bill and decamped!"
The waiter could tell them little. He had never seen
the big man in the night club before. He had paid his


KIYOSHI DISAPPEARS 97
bill and left hurriedly. He might yet be at the coat
room.
The hat-check girl recognized Brewster from Blake's
description; his height and broad shoulders made him
easily remembered. He had got his hat but a moment
before. He might be on the sidewalk waiting for a cab.
Kemerson ran bareheaded down into the street, with
Blake at his heels. A taxi was just turning into
Broadway.
"Call a taxi and overtake me going north on Broad-
way!" cried Kemerson, and darted westward.
There was not a vacant cab on the street and, after
waiting a minute or two, fuming with impatience,
Blake ran to Broadway and met Kemerson returning
for his hat.
"A fine pair of detectives we make! We have Morne's
valet in our hands and let him get away! We have a
man who wants us to believe Kiyoshi Nimura is Ken-
taro Kawa—something or other—and he gives us the
slip as easily as Houdini freeing himself from hand-
cuffs! Now why should two men want to conceal the
identity of Morne's valet? The Jap knows something
that neither man wants divulged."
They retrieved their hats and parted on the side-
walk.
"Meet me at the District Attorney's office at ten
tomorrow morning," said Kemerson. "We'll see if the
detectives can't run down both Kiyoshi and Brewster."


Chapter X
THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS
On the subway the next morning on his way to keep
his appointment with Kemerson, Blake's eye was
caught by the caption over an editorial in the Star,
most sensational of the large-size newspapers: WHAT
ARE THE POLICE DOING? His own name jumped
out at him from the text and he read the editorial
eagerly.
What are the police doing to solve the murder of
Chadwick Morne? Two days have elapsed and both the
District Attorney's office and the Police Department
maintain the silence of the tomb. So far as the public
knows, nothing has been done on the New York end of
the case. The reporters for The Star have uncovered
several leads which, if followed to an issue by the legally
constituted authorities, would point the finger of sus-
picion at one or more residents of this city. Suspicions
which, in justice to themselves, should be cleared up to
prove their innocence.
Was Chadwick Morne's journey on the Silver Lark a
press agent stunt, engineered by Stephen Blake, publicity
director for Arnold Siddarth? Or was it a plot, entered
into by persons as yet unknown, for the deliberate pur-
pose of doing away with the famous star? Was Morne
murdered on the Silver Lark and the parachute attached
to his body merely as a blind to direct suspicion towards
the person finding his body on the ground? The Star
98


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 99
has three further questions which it wishes to ask of the
District Attorney and of the Police Department:
Why does Mrs. Chadwick Morne refuse to state where
she was on the night of her husband's murder?
Where was a certain theatrical manager whose name
has been freely coupled with that of the actor's widow?
Where was Stephen Blake, the press agent, on that
night?
The Star believes they should come forward with
frank statements of their whereabouts on that night: If
they have any information that will help to clear up the
mystery of Chadwick Morne's disappearance from the
Silver Lark and the subsequent finding of his body in an
Ohio pasture, with a bullet through his chest, now is the
time for them to come forward.
An intense anger consumed Blake as he read the
editorial—an anger so devastating that the blood for-
sook his face. What had the newspaper discovered
that gave it such boldness? Ideas of a suit for libel, of
calling on the editor and demanding satisfaction,
coursed through his mind. This was followed by a
torpor of emotion, a numbness of sensation and of
mental indecision that left him weak and breathing so
rapidly that the air did not seem to get down into his
lungs. His station was called before he had calmed him-
self enough to turn to the news column account of the
Morne case.
It lacked but five minutes of the hour at which he
was to meet Kemerson, and he went straight to the
District Attorney's office. The actor was waiting for
him in the anteroom. He motioned Blake to a seat at
his side.
"So you have broken into the Star's independent in-
vestigation of the parachute murder." He tapped the
newspaper Blake had been reading. "But you have


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 101
who had reasons for wishing him out of the way. But
I'll read your telegram."
When he had glanced at it, he passed it over to
Blake. "Get what comfort you can out of that."
It was from the county sheriff at Carlstown:
morne's ruby stickpin and two fifty dollar
bills found where sidney stoneman had con-
cealed them. have arrested him. he impli-
cates rolf perkin who has disappeared. have
sent out descriptions of perkin asking that
he be held. clear case of robbery and murder
against one or both men. morne's diamond
ring found in pawnshop in pittsburgh. de-
scription of man who pawned it fits perkin.
Kemerson took the telegram and returned it to the
District Attorney. "All circumstantial evidence, you
see. Perkin is a farmer. Why should he go out to his
pasture at eight o'clock in the morning carrying a
revolver? Remember, Morne was killed by a revolver
shot. He was already dead when he was robbed. The
one-legged man may have seen the robbery of the
dead and claimed a share of the spoils as the price of
his silence, as this Perkin kept the diamond and most
of Morne's money for himself. Morne was shot on the
Silver Lark and his body dumped overboard."
"But the parachute?" objected Mr. Brixton.
"It may have been fastened on him after the mur-
der, and opened with a string. Or he may have had it
on, standing poised in the airplane door ready for his
drop, when the murderer fired. He may have opened the
parachute himself as he felt himself falling and losing
consciousness."


102 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Have you any evidence to substantiate your suspi-
cions?"
Kemerson detailed his examination of the Silver
Lark, his questioning of the pilot, and of Vanuzzi, mak-
ing no reference to his talk with Mrs. Morne.
"It is Vanuzzi then that you suspect?"
"He is the only logical suspect. He had the op-
portunity and the motive. He had quarreled with Morne
over a girl, and engaged passage on the same airplane
that Morne took. I believe he had learned of Morne's
proposed publicity stunt from the actor's Japanese
valet, Kiyoshi Nimura whom we found employed, un-
der a different name, at Vanuzzi's night club. Vanuzzi
denied Kiyoshi's identity, but when the valet saw that
Blake recognized him he took to flight, aided by a
man calling himself Brewster who claims to have been
in the flying corps in France where, he says, Kiyoshi
was his orderly. I strongly advise you not to drop the
case on the strength of this telegram, but to put
your men to work running down Brewster and the
valet. I am convinced they both know who killed
Morne."
"You do not suspect the actor's widow then?"
Blake gave Kemerson a pleading look, and waited in
trepidation for his reply.
"I do not believe she murdered him. She may know
who did."
Blake's look of gratitude at the actor did not escape
the District Attorney. "And this young man? Have you
checked up on his alibi, removing him from the sus-
pects?"
"I cannot trace him after he left the theatre until
breakfast time the next morning. He has found no one
to corroborate his statement that he was in New York


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 103
during that time, yet I have confidence in his statement
of his movements."
"You still maintain, Mr. Blake, that you went di-
rectly home from the theatre, and slept there?"
"I slept in my room that night. Yes, sir."
"Then perhaps you will explain how you happened
to be seen getting out of a taxi at the Pennsylvania sta-
tion at half past ten."
The blood drained from Blake's face under the cold
stare in the District Attorney's eyes and the hurt,
amazed look on Kemerson's face. He felt cold in the
pit of his stomach. He could not speak.
"Blake," said Kemerson, reproachfully, "have you an
explanation?"
"None that I can make until I am absolved from a
solemn promise. It's kept me awake nights—not being
able to tell you everything, Mr. Kemerson. But I
swear to you that I did sleep in my own bed."
Mr. Brixton's cold glance went from the press agent
to the actor, and his eyebrows lifted. "You still have
faith in his story after that, Kirk?"
Kemerson did not reply; just stood there looking at
Blake gravely. Mr. Brixton made a gesture of futility,
and addressed Blake:
"I may as well tell you that only the fact that my
friend here vouches for your truthfulness and your
desire to help clear up this mystery has kept me from
issuing a warrant for your arrest. I think the time
has come to reconsider my promise."
There was no color in the face the press agent turned
to Kemerson. He raised hands which trembled and then
let them fall back to his sides.
"I cannot hold you to your promise, Walton," said
the actor, "but I still ask that you do not issue the war-


104 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
rant. There is no direct evidence implicating Blake,
and there is weighty evidence pointing in other direc-
tions. If I learn any facts implicating Blake I will my-
self ask for his arrest."
"It is against my better judgment," replied Mr.
Brixton, slowly, "but you are in charge of the investi-
gation. I know you do not act without a definite reason.
I will issue no warrant for the present."
"When the case is solved you will not regret the
stay," said Blake. "I will report any time you wish.
Keep me under surveillance"
"You have not made a move for two days that I do
not know about," said Mr. Brixton. "The time is com-
ing, and that soon, when you will tell everything you
know in this matter, or . . ."
He left the sentence unfinished as his secretary en-
tered.
"There are two women outside who want to see you,
Mr. Brixton. Something about the Morne case, the
blind one says. They were passengers on the Silver
Lark."
"What are their names?" asked Kemerson, sharply.
"Mrs. Jackson Delano and a younger woman who
seems to be a sort of guide."
"Miss Vane!" exclaimed Kemerson. "She may be
able to give us a clear account of the happenings on the
Silver Lark."
"Send in a stenographer and then let them come in,"
said the District Attorney.
The secretary withdrew silently.
"Mrs. Delano must have returned unexpectedly,"
said Kemerson. "At her home I was told she intended
to be absent for a week. Miss Vane is her companion
—an intelligent, observant young woman from what I


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 105
have gathered. I should like to question her in the light
of my talk with the pilot of the airplane."
Mr. Brixton nodded. "Without interference from
me, I presume."
"Ask her anything you wish—afterwards."
After the stenographer had taken his place, the
secretary returned followed by a white-haired, cheery-
looking woman wearing dark glasses. She leaned upon
the arm of a strikingly beautiful young woman in her
early twenties. She was Miss Vane, of course, and
Blake felt a sense of shock that anyone so blondly
charming should be even remotely connected with such
a brutal fact as a murder case. Her eyes were large
and of the lightest shade of blue, the pupils very large
and very black. She was of medium height, an inch
taller than the elderly woman whom she solicitously
guided to the chair that the District Attorney indicated.
So trim and well developed and rounded a figure, Blake
asserted to himself, he had never seen, even in the
choruses of the arch-glorifier of feminine pulchritude,
Florenz Ziegfeld.
When Mrs. Jackson Delano had been seated, Brix-
ton addressed Miss Vane.
"You wished to see me in regard to the Morne case?"
"If you are the District Attorney you are the person
/ wish to see," said Mrs. Delano, understanding that
the remark had been addressed to her beautiful com-
panion. "I have come here for that purpose. I cut short
my visit with my daughter in Cleveland because I
believe you should know certain things that were said
on the Silver Lark the night that Chadwick Morne was
murdered."
"I am the District Attorney," replied Brixton, ex-
changing an understanding smile with Miss Vane, "but


106 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
I shall ask you to tell what you came to say to Mr.
Kemerson who is conducting the investigation for me."
"Not Kirk Kemerson, the actor?" asked Mrs.
Delano, sitting straighter in her chair, smoothing her
already smooth white hair.
"That is my name, and I confess to being an actor,"
said Kemerson. "I trust that fact will not militate
against me."
"Yes, I recognize you from your voice. I heard you
last season in The Will to Love. A magnificent char-
acterization, Mr. Kemerson. It would have been per-
fect to me could I have seen you."
Kemerson grasped warmly the hand she extended.
"You overwhelm me, Mrs. Delano. I wish some of
the critics had your perspicacity."
"You have not fared badly at the hands of the critics.
Miss Vane read all of the reviews to me. This is my
companion, Miss Vane. She was with me on the Silver
Lark." The actor shook the hand which the young
woman extended to him. Mrs. Delano continued: "It is*
a relief to be able to talk to you instead of to a police-
man. I can talk to you without feeling that I must
guard every word I say or have it used against me
later. And, after all, the District Attorney is a sort of
glorified policeman." Blake thought the laugh and
smile which accompanied that observation were most
charming. In fact, both of the women were awakening
an unaccustomed emotional reaction in him.
"I am sure there is no reason why you should hesi-
tate to tell me whatever you know about the case—"
Kemerson began, but Mrs. Delano did not permit him
to continue.
"Then you do not know as much about the hap-
penings on the Silver Lark as I do—and that is precious


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 107
little; just what my ears could give me—ears sharp-
ened by my affliction. I presume the police are ready
to make an arrest to satisfy the public they are doing
something. Or have they already found a culprit?"
"No arrest has been made, Mrs. Delano, but a young
friend of mine who is here, Stephen Blake, publicity
manager for Arnold Siddarth, has attracted the un-
favorable attention of the police for having arranged
for Mr. Morne's parachute drop from the Silver Lark
as a publicity stunt."
"Come here, young man, and speak to me." Blake
complied and was astonished at the firm, alive, linger-
ing grasp of her hand. "So you've got yourself into a
mess through your attempt to keep Morne's name in
the press?"
"I'm afraid I have, Mrs. Delano, and it's mighty
unpleasant, I can assure you."
"He was not on the Silver Lark, Mr. District At-
torney," said Mrs. Delano. "I have never heard his
voice before, and I heard everyone who was on the
airplane."
"And I saw everyone," said Miss Vane, "and he was
not among the passengers."
The young woman flushed at the look of gratitude
and admiration which Blake gave her.
"Now, Mrs. Delano," said Kemerson, "you may tell
me what you came to tell the District Attorney. I will
have a transcription made of what you wish to tell us."
"Then, after all, I must be guarded in my speech.
The police will have access to your report."
"You arouse my curiosity," said Kemerson. "You
must have overheard some very suspicious utterances."
"Angry ones—threatening ones, Mr. Kemerson. I
sat directly in front of Mr. Vanuzzi whose name I


108 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
learned while the flight was still young. He has a voice
of remarkable carrying power. He would have made an
excellent actor. His voice carried above the roar of the
motors which was deadened somewhat by the enclosure
of the cabin. Mr. Morne occupied the seat back of
mine, across the aisle. He was evidently surprised when
Mr. Vanuzzi came aboard. We had not left the airport,
of course, and I could easily distinguish every word
they said.
"'Giulio,' I heard the voice I subsequently learned
belonged to Mr. Morne—it was very actory, full-
throated and distinct—'you're taking to the air?'
"'I've been up in the air for several days,' answered
a heavier voice, which I later identified as Vanuzzi's.
'This is a good time for both of us to come down to
earth. We'll settle a number of things before we reach
Cleveland. That's as far as I'm going.'
"Then Mr. Morne asked: 'How did you know I had
engaged passage on the Silver Lark?'
"'I have ways of finding out things that concern
me,' was Vanuzzi's answer. 'No damned actor can
double-cross me and get away with it.'
"'It was that cursed Jap valet,' said Mr. Morne.
'You've been bribing him, I suppose.'
"'You'd give a lot to know, wouldn't you?' That was
all I heard then as other passengers entered amid some
confusion. Of course, what I had heard aroused my
curiosity and I kept my ears open for those voices.
After we started, the roaring of the engines bothered
me at first and I could hear no connected talk between
them, but at times the two men would lean across the
aisle, bringing their heads close together, I judged, or
one would get up and stand by the other's chair, when
I would get snatches of their conversation."


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 109
"Were such phrases as you overheard of a threaten-
ing nature?"
"Angry, mostly; some decidedly threatening on the
part of Mr. Vanuzzi. They appeared to be quarreling
over money matters at first, over some business they
had been in jointly. Mr. Morne said: 'It was my money
that gave you your chance.' I could not hear the
Italian's response save for one or two disconnected
phrases: '. . . worthless without my brains,' and
. . your money's worth. . . .'
"Then for a long time I heard nothing and I dozed.
When I awoke it was at the sound of a name—a girl's
name, the name of my sister, Vida. 'Vida was about fed
up with you anyway.' It was the actor who said
that."
"Ah," said Kemerson, "the pattern begins to work
out. What else was said about her?"
"I could hear that name many times without being
able to distinguish anything else. My ears were attuned
to its syllables. Their voices were angry. 'Men have
been killed. . . ." It was the Italian who said that,
and again: '. . . blood can wipe out . . .', after some-
thing indistinguishable that Mr. Morne had said. After
that I heard nothing more. Miss Vane afterwards told
me that both men retired to the wash room. I slept
again, how long I don't know, to be aroused by Van-
uzzi's voice crying: 'Morne is lost! Fallen overboard!
Tell the pilot!'"
Mrs. Delano stopped speaking for a moment and
then continued: "It was the last words that I heard
Vanuzzi say to Mr. Morne, and the terrifying cry that
wakened me, which made me cut short my visit with
my daughter and return to New York to tell the author-
ities of the quarrel I overheard between the two men."


110 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"You were quite right in doing so, Mrs. Delano,"
said the District Attorney. "You have given us a new
angle upon which to work."
"It fits in with what I learned from the pilot," said
Kemerson. "There is no doubt the two men had quar-
reled over Vida Latterby. That quarrel doubtless led
to Morne's withdrawing from the Happy Hours night
club. Anything further you saw—or heard—Mrs. De-
lano?"
"Nothing, but Mr. Vanuzzi took an unusual and
most solicitous interest in Miss Vane and myself after-
wards. I had the feeling that he was watching us; that
he did not want us to speak to anyone unless he was
close by and could hear; Edith had the same feeling,
I found out afterwards, but I'll let her tell that. The
sensation of danger was so strong and so imminent that
I did not tell the pilot what I had overheard. I did not
believe that Mr. Morne could have been murdered and
his body thrown overboard without some of the pas-
sengers being aware of it, but now, after thinking it
over, being sorely troubled in conscience, I have little
doubt. The ease of my own mind and conscience is
worth any danger to myself that may result."
"Danger from Mr. Vanuzzi, you mean?" asked Mr.
Brixton.
"I think from him—yes—if he should learn that I
have come to you with an account of what I overheard.
There, Mr. Kemerson, I've told you everything. I've
thrown caution to the winds, told you more than I in-
tended to, my suspicions, my own interpretation of the
snatches of threatening conversation I overheard."
Mrs. Delano leaned back in her chair, closing her
lips tightly as though nothing could induce her to un-
lock them. Her face and voice expressed weariness


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 111
but she sat up straight in the chair. Miss Vane patted
her shoulder soothingly.
"It has been a trying ordeal for her, Mr. Kemerson,"
explained the young woman. "I wanted her to wait a
day or two until she had recovered from the fatigue of
the trip home, but after the telephone message I re-
ceived this morning"
Kemerson interrupted her, a curious eager note in
his voice: "Nothing has been said about a telephone
message. What was it?"
"We arrived home after midnight and slept late. I
had just awakened when the maid tapped on my door
and said I was wanted on the telephone. It was a man,
she said, who refused to give his name but said it was
most important."
"It was Vanuzzi!" exclaimed Kemerson. "You recog-
nized his voice?"
"The voice was strange to me, a foreign voice. The
English was correct, but spoken with a peculiar in-
tonation as if the speaker were not perfectly familiar
with the language."
"What was the message?"
Blake took a step towards the girl with the uncon-
scious desire to protect her; the District Attorney
leaned forward over his desk; Kemerson stood tense
like a dog on the scent of game.
"The voice said: 'For your own sake, Miss Vane,
guard well your tongue. Too much speaking is a danger-
ous thing. Be wise; forget everything you saw on the
Silver Lark.' That was all, Mr. Kemerson. I was too
startled to ask any questions until I heard the click of
the receiver being hung up."
"Are you certain it was not Vanuzzi trying to dis-
guise his voice?"


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 113
they seemed to dart angry beams at me. I was so
frightened that I did not dare to turn around again for
a long time—not until Mrs. Delano spoke to me. Then
the taller of the two men, Mr. Morne, was not in his
seat. I saw nothing further until shortly after midnight
as I awakened from a doze. Mr. Morne and the Italian
were standing near the door. The latter had a pocket
flask in his hand. When he saw me looking at him, he
made a gesture towards the rear of the airplane. Mr.
Morne nodded and went through the door leading to
the lavatory. Mr. Vanuzzi lingered a moment before
following him, both hands employed at something in
front of him which I could not see. Then, just as he too
went through the door, I saw him place a small glass
bottle in his coat pocket, and I caught a glimpse of the
silver flask in his other hand. I thought he had re-
plenished the flask with liquor from the bottle, but later
I remembered that the bottle he put in his pocket was
too small to have held whiskey or gin. The idea that it
had contained poison flashed over me and I became cold
and frightened. All the other passengers appeared to be
asleep, and I kept watching the door. After what
seemed to me a long time, it opened slowly. I tried to
turn around to face the front of the airplane, but I
could not. I had to see who came through that door."
Miss Vane paused, as though overcome with a ter-
rifying memory, and Kemerson's voice broke the still-
ness that had settled over the District Attorney's of-
fice.
"And who came through the door? Vanuzzi?" His
voice was insistent.
"No one came through. The hand pushing the door
was withdrawn and the door closed. It was many
minutes afterwards when it opened again. Mr. Morne


114 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
came through, followed by Mr. Vanuzzi who kept his
left hand in his coat pocket. I thought Mr. Morne
staggered as he went to his seat, but the airplane
swayed a little at that moment as it fell into an air
pocket—I think that is what they call it—and Mr.
Vanuzzi caught at the back of his seat to steady him-
self. His eyes looked full into mine, and he smiled at
me. It was a ferocious smile that made me turn shud-
dering away. I heard no further sounds except the
whirring of the propellers and must have fallen asleep
in spite of the uneasiness that possessed me. I was
awakened by a cry ringing in my ears: 'Fallen over-
board! Tell the pilot!' It was Mr. Vanuzzi who had
discovered Mr. Morne's disappearance and given the
alarm."
"Vanuzzi?" asked Kemerson. "Not Mr. Layman?"
"No, it was Mr. Vanuzzi. I recognized his voice. I
was so terrified I could hardly get my breath. In the
confusion that followed I recovered my composure
enough to slip, unnoticed I believe, back to the wash
room. I was trembling so that I had to lean against the
door for support. I don't know what I expected to find
in the lavatory, nor why I felt that I must look for
something there. After a time my wits came back to
me and I searched quickly but carefully. Among the
soiled towels in the linen basket I saw one that had a
reddish stain in one end. I picked it up and saw that it
was blood and that someone had tried to wash it out
hastily, not taking time to do it thoroughly. I felt sick
and shaken. I must still have been dreadfully pale when
I returned to the cabin for one of the men, I think it
was Mr. Layman, took my arm and helped me into my
seat.
"My thoughts were in a whirl and I could not collect


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 115
them sufficiently to give intelligible answers when the
pilot asked me a few questions. As he was giving me up
as hopeless I started to tell him to examine the soiled
linen in the wash room, impelled to look towards the
rear of the airplane as I spoke. Mr. Vanuzzi was staring
at me with such anger and hatred that I could not get
the words out of my mouth. His face cleared instantly
as I froze into silence and he turned to look out of the
window.
"I was horribly afraid of him after that, but did not
dare to show it. He kept near me while I was prepar-
ing to help Mrs. Delano leave the airplane at Cleveland,
offering to assist me with our bags. I shuddered as his
hand touched my elbow in climbing out of the Silver
Lark, and I thought I caught a self-satisfied smile on
his face as I got into a taxi with Mrs. Delano." Miss
Vane paused, and shuddered. "I think I shall never
forget that horrible look he gave me in the airplane. I
am sure that Mr. Vanuzzi poisoned Mr. Morne and
threw his body overboard while we were all asleep."
"But Mr. Morne died of a bullet wound in his chest,"
said Kemerson. "He floated to earth in a parachute,
just as he had arranged with Blake to do. His body
was found under the opened parachute."
"Then the Italian shot him after he jumped!" said
Miss Vane, and her big eyes sought Blake's face where
she found sympathy and belief.
"He might have done it," said the press agent, ad-
dressing Kemerson, "and thrown the revolver over-
board. The chances are the gun will never be found."
"The evidence all points in one direction," said
Kemerson. "I think you can issue a warrant, Walton,
but with the name of Giulio Vanuzzi in place of that of
Stephen Blake."


116 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"At any rate we have enough evidence to hold him on
suspicion," said Mr. Brixton. "I fancy he'll be a little
more willing to talk when he finds a warrant hanging
over his head."
Kemerson made a curious request, coming after his
statement that now the District Attorney could issue
the warrant for which his official heart longed.
"Make it out, but do not serve it yet. Vanuzzi be-
lieves that he is not seriously suspected, or that his
tracks are sufficiently covered. We need more evidence
and I believe we will find it more easily if Vanuzzi is
at liberty in fancied security."
Mr. Brixton made but half-hearted protest at the
delay, for he had come to have great confidence in
Kemerson's judgment. He agreed reluctantly and then
asked Mrs. Delano and Miss Vane not to leave the
city for a few days.
Blake jumped at the chance to help Miss Vane
escort the blind woman downstairs and into a taxi. She
evidently did not believe him in any way guilty of
Morne's death, and that warmed his heart to her. She
offered him her hand and thanked him with a very
charming smile.
"I feel freed from prison after your evidence, Miss
Vane—and yours, too, Mrs. Delano," he said, grate-
fully. "I was beginning to think myself a victim of
circumstances, with no possible escape, when you two
angels appeared and rolled away the stone."
"I am glad," said Miss Vane. "I know you had
nothing to do with Mr. Morne's death. If I can help
prove it, I shall be happy."
"And I, too, young man," said Mrs. Delano. "I like
your voice. I am seldom deceived in voices. Come and
see me sometime."


THE ACCOUNT OF THE EAR-WITNESS 117
She accompanied the invitation with a sly smile that,
without being turned upon her companion, neverthe-
less managed to include that young woman in its com-
pass.


Chapter XI
AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT
Kirk Kemerson's purpose in keeping the press agent
constantly with him in his investigation seemed now
to have been fulfilled, for after his performance in The
Daisy Chain was finished that night he proceeded alone
to the Mornes' apartment in Central Park West. He
instructed the uniformed policeman in front of the
apartment door to admit Joseph Steep, the Morne
butler, when he arrived with a detective at half past
twelve.
"And, O'Donnell, don't be surprised by any strange
cries or voices you may hear. I am going to try an
experiment."
He made a cursory examination of the Morne apart-
ment. The living room opened off the hallway to the
right, with the dining room and the kitchen farther
down the hall. On the left side of the hallway were the
bath room, two bedrooms, a large closet, the butler's
and the maid's rooms. The apartment was comfortably
and substantially furnished with evidences of quiet
good taste—of Mrs. Morne's taste, the actor decided.
In one of the bedrooms he found a recent large por-
trait of Chadwick Morne which, after studying it
minutely, he placed on the dresser, in front of the large
mirror. Then he took from the small oblong box he
had brought with him greasepaint and pencils and pro-
ceeded to make himself up to resemble the portrait of
118


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 119
the murdered star. Under his skilful fingers he had in
a short time transformed" his own features into a face
amazingly like Morne's. His hair was coarser and
thicker, but by careful brushing it soon assumed much
the appearance of Morne's.
After a quarter of an hour, satisfied with the result,
he went to the closet and selected a suit of Morne's
clothes which he proceeded to don. The coat sleeves
were a little too long for him and the trousers' legs
crumpled over the insteps of his shoes, but the general
effect pleased him. He hung his own clothes in the
closet, made a careful examination of the bedroom,
glanced hastily into the room evidently occupied by
Mrs. Morne, and then browsed around in the library,
looking at the books and magazines which Chadwick
Morne was accustomed to glance at, if not to read.
He selected a cigar from the humidor on the table—
the brand that Morne habitually smoked—and seated
himself in an easy chair. He relaxed mentally and
physically, letting his mind become vacant for a time.
Then mentally he invoked the spirit of Chadwick
Morne, and as he sat there, motionless save for the
opening of his lips to emit puffs of smoke, an uncanny
effect was produced upon his features, his body. He
was not the same man who had entered the rooms half
an hour earlier; he was not the same man who had
glanced at his make-up as Chadwick Morne in the
mirror in the bedroom. Then he had been but the actor
. standing in the wings ready to go on; now he was on
the stage playing his part. If it had not been for the
bright light on his face and hair, anyone, ignorant of
Morne's death, entering the room would doubtless have
addressed him as the dead actor.
He was Kemerson and yet not Kemerson. He was


122 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
room, pulled the easy chair out of the stream of oblique
light from the hallway so that he himself, when he re-
sumed the chair, was in non-revealing obscurity.
"Come in," he said in his natural voice.
The outer door was opened, and the voice of the
policeman announced, "Steep, the butler."
"Send him to the library."
As the butler's footsteps came down the hallway,
Kemerson sank deeper into the easy chair until only
one side of his head caught the dim edge of light that
came through the partly closed portieres. In the ob-
scurity a change came over his features; the rounded
face lengthened, furrows came into his forehead.
Steep was standing in the doorway, hesitating, ac-
customing his eyes to the dimness. The figure in the
chair turned its face slightly towards him.
"Come in, Steep." It was the voice of Chadwick
Morne, full, musical with the trained cadences of the
actor.
"Holy Mother! St. Joseph!" came a terrified mutter
from the butler's lips, as he gasped, crossed himself and
backed away.
"Come in, Steep. I'm no ghost," came the voice of
Chadwick Morne again.
Crossing himself, his teeth chattering, the butler
reappeared in the doorway, and again hesitated.
"Mr. Morne. . . . Excuse me. ... I ... I thought
. . . The papers said . . ."
"I know what the papers say. I have read them all.
What do you say?"
"You are n-n-not a ... a ... It was not you
after all! I'm that flabber . . . You gave me a turn,
sir—my heart leaped into . . ."
But the butler did not yet advance into the library.


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 123
His eyes still stared unbelievingly at the figure in the
chair.
"Turn on the lights, Steep. Ghosts cannot endure
bright lights."
"Y-y-yes, sir," chattered the butler, and lifted his
feet with difficulty, pressed his body against the wall
as he edged his way towards the light button. With
fingers that fumbled, while his eyes remained fixed on
his dead master, he found the button, pushed at it
thrice before the room was flooded with light. He
blinked, crossed himself anew and stared at the figure
which did not disappear, but took on the full outlines
of a living, breathing body.
"Well, Steep," said Kemerson in his own voice, "do
you think I am a good actor?"
Kemerson's face resumed its normal, rounded shape;
the creases disappeared from his forehead, and he
smiled at the dumbfounded butler.
"I am Kirk Kemerson. You have perhaps heard of
me."
Steep continued to stare at the actor, his lips moved
but for a time no words came from them. A fit of
trembling seized him; he raised a hand and pressed it
against his breast. His face began to flush, and he
groped for a chair into which he sank weakly.
"Excuse me, sir. It's my . . . heart. The sudden
shock. . . ."
His face had become purple, and Kemerson, alarmed,
ran to the dining room, poured out some brandy and
took it to the butler. His teeth chattered against the
glass as he drank.
"Drink it down, man—all of it! I did not know you
had a weak heart. I merely wanted to test a theory, and
my ability as a character actor. Vanity, mostly, Steep.


124 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
An actor must act, you know, even in private life."
"Yes, sir," replied the butler, reviving under the
stimulant. "Mr. Morne did, Mr. Kemerson. ... I
beg pardon, sir. . . ." Steep, tall, thin, middle aged, his
black hair streaked with gray, started to rise to his
feet.
"No, no, man, sit down!" Kemerson pushed him
back into the chair. "You are not here as a butler, nor
I as an actor. I am investigating your master's death
for the District Attorney. I wanted a dramatic entrance
on your part, for purposes of my own. My desire suc-
ceeded beyond my expectations. Feeling more yourself
now?"
"Yes, Mr. Kemerson. My heart has quieted down."
"Just sit still and we'll chat quietly, as one friend to
another. Have some more brandy."
"No, sir. Thank you, sir. Mrs. Morne would not like
to have me drinking here, sir."
"You are not on duty now—except that it is your
duty in the cause of justice to answer truthfully such
questions as I may ask you, and to give me all the in-
formation you can about Chadwick Morne."
The butler looked up at Kemerson uneasily. "Yes,
sir."
"Did Mrs. Morne know her husband was leaving
town?"
"Yes, sir. I overheard Mr. Morne telling her. He
said he was going to Chicago."
"Did he tell her he was going by airplane?"
"I did not hear him say so, sir. She asked him what
train he was going to take. But I knew it, sir—at least,
I suspected it."
"Then he did not keep it a secret! If you knew it
half a dozen others might have known it."


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 125
"I did not tell anyone, sir. It was not my busi-
ness." Steep drew himself up straight and stiff in his
chair.
"Of course not, Steep. I did not mean to imply that
you had told anyone. What made you suspect he in-
tended to go by airplane?"
"When I packed his clothes I noticed the bag in
which he kept his old parachute was gone. He told me
once he had made more than fifty descents in that
parachute."
"You know Kiyoshi Nimura, his Japanese dresser?"
"I have seen him, sir, on several occasions at the
theatre."
"Did Morne ever send Kiyoshi to his apartment?"
"Two or three times. I was his valet at home, sir."
"When did Kiyoshi last come here?"
The butler did not answer at once. He seemed to be
trying to recall. "It was just before The Bed oj Virtue
closed. It was on a Thursday—two weeks ago tomor-
row. Mr. Morne had forgotten the handkerchief he
used in the third act."
"Was he in the habit of bringing such props home
with him?"
"He would let no one at the theatre touch that hand-
kerchief, sir. He always brought it home with him. The
Jap said Mr. Morne had forgotten it. When I could
not find it in his room, I went to the kitchen, where
Mrs. Morne was giving instructions to the maid, to
ask about it. Mrs. Morne came to get it and the Jap
was just slipping out of her bedroom. She seemed very
much upset, and spoke to him sharply, sir. 'What were
you doing in my room?' she asked. Kiyoshi said that
he saw the handkerchief on her desk, and drew it out
of his pocket. Mrs. Morne was much annoyed. She


126 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
threatened to have Mr. Morne discharge Kiyoshi if he
ever entered her room again, and said she had placed
the handkerchief in the small drawer of her husband's
dresser. But I had looked there and not found it. It's
my opinion, sir, that the Jap had the handkerchief with
him all the time—that he said Mr. Morne had forgotten
it just as an excuse to get into the apartment."
"Why do you think that, Steep?"
"Mrs. Morne never kept any of her husband's things
in her room. Then, after Kiyoshi had gone, I heard her
opening and shutting drawers, rustling papers quickly
as if she was searching for something. I was afraid she
had lost—that the Japanese might have taken . . ."
"Well, what?" asked Kemerson as the butler hesi-
tated. "Money? Papers?"
"A letter, sir; one that had just come that morning.
She always destroyed them as soon as she had read
them, but there were no torn fragments in the waste-
paper basket when I emptied it."
"There had been other letters like it, you mean, from
the same person?"
"Every two weeks until a month ago. This was the
first one in four weeks."
"Did she ask if you had seen the letter?"
Steep was reluctant to answer; he refused to meet
Kemerson's eyes.
"No, sir; not directly. She said she had mislaid a
letter with a foreign stamp. ... If I found it I was
to take it to her at once. But she continued to hunt
for it."
"A foreign stamp—what country, Steep?"
"I couldn't rightly say, sir. That is. I ... It was a
private matter of Mrs. Morne's. Might I suggest that
you ask her? I wouldn't have her think I meddled."


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 127
"Very well, Steep. I don't want you to betray any
confidences"
"There were no confidences, sir," and Steep squared
his shoulders with a certain hauteur. "I am the butler
here."
"You may as well understand," said Kemerson, "that
Mrs. Morne is under suspicion for complicity in the
death of her husband. She refuses to explain some of
her movements"
"She is as innocent of that, sir, as the babe unborn!"
asserted Steep with such conviction that the actor could
not withhold an exclamation of admiration.
"I am glad to hear you say that! I am inclined to
agree with you. Nevertheless Mrs. Morne has been
evasive. It may be necessary for us to prove that she is
innocent—against her desires and her will in the matter.
You can help in that by being entirely frank with me.
Nothing that you tell me will go to the police unless it
has a direct bearing on the death of Chadwick Morne."
"Thank you, sir. Then I can speak more freely, if
you are a friend of Mrs. Morne's. The letters had a
French stamp, and they were always postmarked
Paris."
"You have no idea of their contents?"
"A suspicion merely, sir."
"What is that suspicion?"
"I suspect, sir, it had something to do with the
child"
"Child!" Kemerson could not repress that exclama-
tion. "You mean the Mornes had a child?"
"It was some child that Mrs. Morne wished to adopt.
Her husband refused to consider it. It was usually after
she had received the letters with French stamps that
she spoke about the matter to him. I could not help


128 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
hearing at times what they said, Mr. Kemerson, the
apartment is small and my duties kept me moving
about"
"I do not suspect you of eavesdropping, Steep."
"Thank you, sir. After the next to the last letter, she
went to him and they quarreled dread—they quarreled,
sir. Mr. Morne was violent. 'Never!' I could hear him
shout even from the kitchen. 'And that's final!' They
did not speak much to each other after that."
"Do you know anything about this child—its name,
sex, age?"
"Nothing more than I have told you, sir."
"Did you ever hear Mrs. Morne make any threats
against her husband?"
"Never!" said Steep, with some vehemence.
"Did you ever hear Mr. Morne express fear of any-
one? Of having received any threats?"
"None at all."
"Did you ever hear him mention the name of Giulio
Vanuzzi to his wife, or she to him?"
Steep took his time before answering: "Never, Mr.
Kemerson."
"Mr. Betterling was a frequent caller here, wasn't
he?"
"Mr. Betterling, sir?" A cold gleam came into the
butler's eyes, his lips were drawn back into a straight,
hard line.
"James Betterling—yes. I understand he frequently
took Mrs. Morne out, at her husband's request perhaps,
while he was at the theatre."
"Mr. Betterling was a friend of the family. He some-
times escorted Mrs. Morne, at Mr. Morne's own wish.
He was never mean to her about her friends; he often
urged her to go out and not keep herself imprisoned—


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 129
that's what he called it—just because he was busy at
the theatre."
"Well, that's something to Morne's credit, isn't it?
Now as to Betterling—did you ever see him act lover-
like towards Mrs. Morne? Any secret, understanding
glances between them? Did you ever see him kiss her
or attempt to kiss her?"
A momentary gleam of complete hostility came into
Steep's eyes, but was quickly subdued. "Never. Mr.
Betterling was a gentleman."
"Well, even gentlemen can be in love with a married
woman."
"It is sometimes done," admitted Steep, grudgingly.
Kemerson seemed to have lost interest in the butler
and after a few more perfunctory questions he dismissed
him. "Thank you for the help you've been willing to
give me, Steep. The District Attorney may wish to
question you later."
The butler got up and started towards the door, then
turned back. "Beg pardon, sir, but is Mrs. Morne . . .
You don't think she will be dragged into the investiga-
tion?"
"She can't keep out of it. She is one of the suspects."
"Then I . . ." Steep reflected and apparently
thought better of it. "Is there anything else, Mr. Kem-
erson?"
"No, you may go now, unless there is something you
wish to tell me."
"There . . . There's nothing more, sir. Good night."
For half an hour thereafter Kemerson remained sunk
in the easy chair, trying to unravel the various threads
of the mystery. He had such strands of the enigma as
he had been able to discover by the middle, their origins
and ends being as yet hidden in an impenetrable dark-


130 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
ness. At length he arose and wandered about, idly ex-
amining the books on the shelves. Among them were
two theatre record books. He examined one volume
and found it filled with programs and reviews of the
plays in which Morne had appeared w stock, with oc-
casional feature stories about the actor with photo-
graphs of him, and of his leading women. The second
volume was devoted to his New York appearances.
Most of the reviews he found laudatory of Morne's
acting though not always of the plays.
As he thumbed the leaves he noticed the portrait of
a notably beautiful woman with the name of Dorothy
Dineen written under it. A newspaper clipping re-
counted the stficide of the actress who had been leading
woman for Chadwick Morne in Biashfield's Wives. The
face was a charming one, with a haunting wistfulness
about the eyes and mouth—a fragile beauty which
exerted a profound appeal despite the apparent lack of
strength of character. The face held a feminine charm
that caused Kemerson's eyes to linger on it. He ex-
perienced the sensation of familiarity with the features
that one frequently feels on seeing a person who
vaguely resembles someone else. He read the item
which told of her suicide:
Dorothy Dineen, earlier in the season leading woman
for Chadwick Morne in Biashfield's Wives, which had
but a short run, was this morning found dead of an over-
dose of veronal in a hall bedroom at No. 16A West
Fourth Street. Her body, fully clothed, was discovered by
Mrs. Margaret Sawyer, her landlady. Miss Dineen had
appeared with Mr. Morne in a previous production, but
was otherwise unknown to the New York stage. Her rent
had been paid up until today. Fifteen cents was found in


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 131
her purse. The police pronounced it a case of suicide.
Efforts to reach her relatives are being made.
The tragedy of failure, of hopes disappointed. . . .
Kemerson glanced again at the photograph, his heart
saddened by the pitiful story of struggle and heartache
behind the newspaper item. There was sadness in the
eyes, about the mouth—not the wistfulness he had
first thought. He closed the record, replaced it on the
shelf, turned off the lights and settled himself again in
the easy chair.
Here he was in Morne's apartment, wearing Morne's
clothes, made up to look like him, yet he could not feel
himself inside the character of the murdered actor;
something had put him out of rapport with Morne.
Perhaps it was his pity for the fragile beauty who had
done away with herself. He sighed as his thoughts re-
turned to Dorothy Dineen. . . . Dineen? ... He had
the feeling that he had recently heard the name, and
somewhere seen a face that resembled that of the
suicide. Well, it would come back to him in time. . . .
Chadwick Morne and his wife had quarreled, had been
practically not on speaking terms for more than a
month. Why had the butler, Steep, become hostile when
asked if he had noticed any tender passages between
Mrs. Morne and James Betterling? . . . Yes, de-
cidedly, Betterling would bear investigating.
How long he sat there, seeking to bring harmony be-
tween clashing theories, Kemerson did not know. He
had been too absorbed in his thoughts to notice any
outside noises, but he now became suddenly alert at a
rustle of paper that apparently came from one of the
bedrooms. There was someone besides himself in the
apartment—someone not admitted by the policeman on
guard. Probably a sneak-thief who thought the apart-


132 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
ment deserted. Yet a robber would scarcely be search-
ing through papers, methodically, as the intruder was
apparently doing.
Kemerson sneaked carefully into the hall, and per-
ceived under the door of Morne's bedroom a narrow
strip of light. Convinced that the intruder was no ordi-
nary thief, he advanced cautiously down the hall in
hopes of getting a glimpse of the man. It might be
someone concerned in the mystery of the star's death,
come to retrieve a bit of incriminating evidence.
Through the keyhole he could see the shoulder and arm
of a man who was running hastily through a bundle of
letters. Kemerson crouched on the floor, hoping the man
would turn his face towards the door. As he watched,
he heard a window being cautiously raised or lowered.
Perhaps the intruder had a confederate and they were
getting ready to leave. If he would learn the identity
of the searcher he must act quickly. He arose and laid
a hand on the door-knob. On the instant the slim edge
of light at the threshold vanished, and a moment later
he became aware of soft footsteps on the hall runner,
coming stealthily towards him. There was a man in the
hallway as well as one or two in the bedroom!
By the faint light that came through the window at
the end of the hallway—it overlooked the court, he
found out later—he saw the dim shape of a man com-
ing towards him, and flattened himself against the wall
opposite the door into Morne's bedroom. The figure in
the hallway stopped as though disturbed by a sound,
and listened.
Then Kemerson felt a current of air on his face, and
was aware that the door he faced had been opened. On
the instant two flashlights threw their crossing beams
full upon his face.


AN ACTOR IN HIS ELEMENT 133
A startled cry escaped the lips of the man in the
hallway who turned off his flashlight and hurried
towards the rear window.
"Chad—" came a broken off whisper from Morne's
bedroom, and the second flashlight was quenched.
In the sudden blackness, Kemerson jumped for the
living room door as a bullet fired by the fleeing man in
the hall whizzed past his nose. He stumbled and fell
prostrate. He heard the man who had shot at him
climbing out through the window. The intruder who
had been going through Morne's papers, started to fol-
low, but Kemerson who could barely distinguish his
figure, made a spring at his feet and brought him down
to the hall floor while his own body was in the living
room.


A FAST ONE ON KEMERSON 135
"Chad— Oh, it's you, Mr. Kemeison! Why the devil
didn't you tell me it was you masquerading as Morne?"
"Testing a theory—that worked too well in one par-
ticular," Kemerson replied with a rueful smile.
"You know this bird, do you?" asked O'Donnell.
"Yes, I know him. I never expected to find you
housebreaking, Mr. Betterling."
"This Cerebus of the law refused to let me in," said
Betterling, "and I had to find other means."
"Yeah, this guy came to me with a key and note he
said was from Mrs. Morne authorizing him to enter the
apartment," said O'Donnell, "to get some things she
wanted. And I told him if Mrs. Morne wanted anything
she'd have to come and get it herself, and bring a note
from the Chief of Police or the District Attorney."
"Quite right," said Kemerson. "And now, Mr. Bet-
terling, perhaps you will tell me what you wanted in
Chadwick Morne's apartment."
"That's a pretty big 'perhaps', Mr. Kemerson." Bet-
terling, a tall, muscular, clean-shaven man nearing
forty, smiled nonchalantly. His dark eyes glittered.
"You have your choice of talking to me or Mr. Brix-
ton. If Mrs. Morne sent you here you may find it to
your advantage—and to hers—to explain the reason
to me."
"And have everything I say go straight back to
Brixton!"
"Anything that bears on the death of Chadwick
Morne—yes."
"If it had anything to do with his murder, do you
think I'd ever be found here?"
"Sure you would," said the policeman, "if there was
some bit of evidence you had overlooked that might
incriminate you."


136 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Or incriminate Mrs. Morne," added Kemerson,
gravely.
"Come, Kemerson, you've got more intelligence than
to imagine for a moment that she had anything more to
do with her husband's murder than I had."
"And just where were you on the night Morne was
killed?" asked Kemerson.
"Well, than you had, then," laughed Betterling, "if
you are bound to suspect me."
"If you want to help clear Mrs. Morne of suspicion
now is your chance. Your attentions to her are of com-
mon knowledge. She has been seeking evidence for a
divorce that she might marry you. Murder has removed
the need for a divorce—and perhaps some unpleasant
revelations that might have come out had the suit gone
to trial."
Betterling gave the actor a long, penetrating look.
"What do you mean by that—specifically?"
"The nature of the relations that have existed be-
tween you and Mrs. Morne for the past two or three
years—and where you were the night"
"Why, you contemptible—," and Betterling was
springing at the actor's throat when the point of the
policeman's revolver in his back brought him to a
sudden halt.
"None of that, Mr. Betterling," said O'Donnell. "A
bullet is quicker than the hands."
"I am glad you realize the position Mrs. Morne will
occupy in the mind of the public if a charge should be
placed against her," said Kemerson. "If she is innocent,
as my investigation thus far leads me to believe, I want
to clear her of all suspicion. You can help me to keep
her name out of the case"
"You mean that, Kemerson? That you believe her


A FAST ONE ON KEMERSON 137
innocent and don't want to drag her into the investiga-
tion?"
"I do, in spite of her lack of frankness with me. And
I believe you can give me the evidence that will clear
her."
"I can, Mr. Kemerson, but at a cost to an innocent
life I am not willing to take—unless it comes to the
worst. She would be the first to bid me say nothing
now."
"There are ways to make you talk," said O'Donnell
truculently. "Shall I take him to headquarters, Mr.
Kemerson?"
"On what charge?" asked Betterling. "Am I accused
of murdering Chadwick Morne? Where is your war-
rant?"
"Housebreaking is charge enough to hold you on,"
said O'Donnell, grimly.
"I have Mrs. Morne's written permission to enter
her apartment. She will testify to that."
"And at once fasten suspicion more strongly upon
herself," said Kemerson. "What a morsel for the tab-
loids! 'Widow of murdered actor sends lover to break
into apartment she avoids since husband's murder—
What evidence did she wish to destroy?' There's noth-
ing worse you could do for her."
Betterling made a gesture of helplessness. "You are
right, of course. If you arrest me I shall say nothing,
deny everything." He took a bit of paper from his
pocket and, before the surprised policeman could in-
terfere, tore it into shreds and scattered them on the
floor.
"I'll take charge of them," said Kemerson. "Putting
torn papers together is primer accomplishment, Better-
ling."


138 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
He gathered up the fragments of Mrs. Morne's note
and tucked them in his pocket.
"Now," he said, with a new authority, "you are going
to talk. What did you come here to get?"
"Since you mix detecting with acting," said Better-
ling, savagely, "that is for you to find out—if you can."
"Search him, O'Donnell."
"Now you said something." O'Donnell set to work
in grim seriousness and went through Betterling's
pockets while Kemerson covered him with the police-
man's revolver.
"I am not armed, and you won't find anything in my
pockets. I was interrupted before I found . . . what I
came for."
Kemerson carefully examined the contents of his
captive's pockets after restoring O'Donnell's gun. He
found nothing that had any apparent connection with
the case. He returned everything to Betterling except
an empty envelope bearing a French stamp and post-
marked Paris.
"What good do you think an empty envelope will do
you?" asked Betterling, contemptuously.
"Perhaps none at all, but I should like to compare
the handwriting with that on the envelopes Mrs. Morne
has been receiving from Paris."
With an exclamation of rage, Betterling snatched at
the envelope in Kemerson's hands and tore it in two be-
fore O'Donnell could subdue him.
"Thank you, Betterling," said Kemerson. "You have
turned a fancy into enough of a fact to bear investiga-
tion. There is enough writing on this fragment for com-
parison. The letters which led to the quarrels between
Morne and his wife came from Paris—quarrels about
adopting"


A FAST ONE ON KEMERSON 139
"You win," cut in Betterling, quickly. "Come into
Morne's bedroom while I finish my search. If I find
what I am looking for, you may see it, in the strictest
confidence. Since I must, I will reveal what I have
sworn not to. You will see how far from the truth your
imaginings are."
"Now you are talking sense," observed O'Donnell in
a more friendly tone.
"Come with us," said Kemerson to the policeman.
"You bet I'm going with you," said O'Donnell, rais-
ing his gun significantly. "I'll use it, too, if there are
any monkeyshines from you, Mr. Betterling."
Kemerson switched on the light in Morne's bedroom
and looked down at the mass of papers and articles
which covered the bed—letters, clippings, documents,
collars, shirts, even undergarments. Dresser drawers
stood open, the closet shelf had been ransacked. Better-
ling went to the bed and began going through a bundle
of letters tied together. He went through them quickly,
merely glancing at postmarks and addresses. A sudden
gleam came into his eyes at one envelope he picked up,
but he quickly placed it on top of the pile of rejected
letters, from which it slid to the bed, while he continued
his search.
"Ah!" he cried as he took up the next to the last
envelope in the pile. "I thought he must have preserved
it! Read that, Mr. Kemerson, and convince yourself my
visit had nothing to do with Morne's murder."
The envelope was postmarked Chicago and bore a
typewritten address. As Kemerson unfolded the letter,
O'Donnell edged closer to look over his shoulder.
Betterling seized that moment to hurl himself against
Kemerson. The impact was so heavy and sudden that
both the actor and the policeman were knocked off their


142 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
The face of the nurse was that of Morne's leading
woman in Blashfield's Wives—Dorothy Dineen. He got
out the theatre record which contained the portrait of
the suicide: he was not mistaken, this Isobel and Dor-
othy Dineen were one and the same. Dorothy Dineen.
. . . Why, that was the name of the married woman
Mrs. Morne had said her husband had had an affair
with in France! He sought for the bit of torn envelope
Betterling had left in his hand and compared it with
the writing on the faded kodak picture; they were to-
tally dissimilar. He looked again at the blonde, wistful
beauty of the woman in her stage portrait, and sighed
with pity for her fate. Ambitious, but without the abil-
ity to succeed, had she sought escape from failure, or
was it from Morne's increasing coldness? She was
hardly more than a child, and yet life and love had
been too much for her.


Chapter XIII
"WATASH KEREO KAROSU JO"
So relieved had Blake been at the accumulating evi-
dence against Giulio Vanuzzi that he had hurried back
from the interview with the District Attorney to his
office in the Siddarth Theatre without reading the
Morne case articles in the morning newspapers. He
found Miss Burton arranging the early afternoon edi-
tions on his desk.
"I thought you would want to know what they are
printing about you," she said. "They've all followed up
that story in the Star."
"Let 'em," said Blake, almost jocularly. "The evi-
dence all points strongly towards one man, and that
man is not me."
"I'm glad," said Miss Burton, simply, "but can't
something be done about these reporters to get them to
'lay off' you? They are even suggesting . . ."
"Well, what?"
"Read it yourself." Blake was surprised at the as-
perity in her tone. She returned to her own cubby-hole
without further words. Blake looked at the papers, and
boiled with indignation.
"PRESS AGENT'S MOVEMENTS UNAC-
COUNTED FOR ON NIGHT OF MORNE MUR-
DER," said the headlines in one paper.
"SIDDARTH PRESS AGENT HAD LONG
143


146 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the second floor—Kenkichi's place. I shaddered him to
the subway entrance at Broadway and Forty-second
Street. I waited a second or two so's he wouldn't see me
following him—shaddering him, I mean—and when I
got downstairs he had disappeared." Johnny's dis-
gust caused Blake to laugh, and the boy added: "I bet
you he won't give me the slip the next time."
Blake sent a message by Johnny to Kemerson, tell-
ing him how he could be reached, and that Kiyoshi had
been seen coming out of Kenkichi's restaurant. At mid-
night he gave up waiting for a call from the actor and
went to bed. Then he fell to thinking of Edith Vane,
wondering if she were really in danger from Vanuzzi.
He found his heart beating faster at thought of the
threat she had received by telephone. What a thorough-
bred she was!—to disregard the danger to herself and
go to the District Attorney with her story of the hap-
penings on the Silver Lark. She had courage—and sym-
pathy: she had not believed he was in any way impli-
cated in the actor's death. She was the kind of a girl it
is easy to fall in love with. . . .
In the morning Kirk Kemerson 'phoned and made an
appointment to go to Kenkichi's restaurant that night
after his performance. Blake got through the day some-
how—reading the newspapers, thinking of Edith Vane,
talking with Mrs. Morne by telephone, and thinking of
Miss Vane. Eleven o'clock found him in Kenkichi's
restaurant waiting for Kemerson.
When the actor arrived he was curt and preoccupied
until the waiter came for their order; then a change
came over him; he was the kindly, urbane host; he
engaged the waiter in friendly conversation, much to
Blake's embarrassment, as it attracted the attention of
other guests.


"WATASH KEREO KAROSU JO" 147
"If you have never eaten Japanese food before," said
Kemerson, "I suggest you leave the ordering to me.
Some of the native dishes are a trifle upsetting to
stomachs accustomed to American cooking."
"I've experimented with Chinese, Russian, Turkish,
Greek and Indian cooking," said Blake, "but never
with Japanese."
"Then we'll have a double order of chicken suki-
yaki," said Kemerson, referring to the bill of fare which
was printed in Japanese characters, followed by the
native name spelled out in Latin letters, with its Eng-
lish equivalent. "While the waiter is preparing that dish
before our eyes, we'll have a plate of miso-shiru." He
gave the order to the waiter, and added: "With the
suki-yaki we'll have two orders of goma-aye and of ten-
pura. You might add an order of umani."
"Yes, sir," said the smiling waiter. "A very good
selection, and all Japanese dishes."
"And all delicious," remarked Kemerson. "You
speak very good English. Were you born in America?"
"In New York," replied the waiter, Sessue, a very
dark-skinned, wide-mouthed Japanese. "I am attending
Columbia University. Will finish my course next year."
"And then go back to Japan?"
"For a visit only. I am going into business in New
York with my father."
"Many Americans do not think a college education
necessary for a business career."
"One can never know too much," said Sessue, with
another wide smile.
He went back to the kitchen and soon returned bear-
ing a tray with a large pot of tea and two plates of miso-
shiru, Japanese bean soup, which Blake found sourish
to the taste but quite palatable. He liked particularly


"WATASH KEREO KAROSU JO" 149
"Has Kiyoshi Nimura been in here recently?" asked
Kemerson. "Do you know him?"
"Yes, I know him. He was here for lunch yesterday.
He comes here frequently."
"He's been dresser for an American actor—I can't
think of his name"
"Chadwick Morne," said Sessue, happy to enlighten
so friendly a diner. "The actor who was killed on the
airplane, Silver Lark."
"I understand Kiyoshi is a good dresser," said Kem-
erson, "and I thought I might engage him. I am an
actor, too. Do you know where he can be reached?"
Sessue did not know but volunteered to find out. He
brought the proprietor of the restaurant to their table.
Kenkichi Tanabe was a fat little Japanese with small
black eyes that glittered. Kemerson explained that he
was an actor in need of a valet and that Kiyoshi had
been highly recommended to him by a friend. Tanabe
gave him an address in the West Fifties, adding that he
thought a visit to the former valet would be a waste of
time.
"Kiyoshi did not like that job. He and that Mr.
Morne did not get along."
"You mean they quarreled?"
"He did not like Mr. Morne. He thinks all actors
damn fools. He call them peacocks who think they are
eagles."
"A most palpable hit!" laughed Kemerson.
"Kiyoshi was very angry at Mr. Morne one night,"
broke in Sessue, eagerly. "He said 'Watash kereo
karosu jo I'"
"Said what?" asked Kemerson, sharply. Tanabe
gestured to the waiter to be gone about his business,
but Sessue, who had been tipped generously and wished


150 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
to show his appreciation, repeated the valet's words:
"'Watash kereo karosu jo.'"
"What does that mean in English?" demanded Kem-
erson.
Tanabe spoke harshly to Sessue in Japanese and the
waiter bowed quickly to Kemerson and Blake and went
to a corner table where a fat man and his fatter wife
had just seated themselves.
"Kiyoshi say he never again work for those peacocks
thinking they are eagles," said Kenkichi Tanabe, with
an oblique, angry look at the retiring waiter.
"So you don't think he would act as my dresser, as
I am one of those peacocks pretending to be eagles?"
asked Kemerson, lightly.
"Kiyoshi say, 'Never again.'"
"Well, it's too bad. I need a good valet. Perhaps I
can find a negro who will suit me, but I am very fussy."
"Kiyoshi no good for you then," said Kenkichi. Kem-
erson thanked him and left the restaurant with Blake.
"We've got Kiyoshi's address anyhow," said Kemer-
son. "We'll pay him a call. First, we'll drop into a Jap-
anese restaurant farther up the avenue. I'm curious to
know just what 'Watash kereo karosu jo' means."
It was a dingy little place on the second floor of a
dingier brick building to which the actor led Blake.
Kemerson seemed to be well known there for he was
greeted with smiling bows by the passing waiters as he
went straight to the cashier's desk where sat a fat, oily
Japanese past middle age. He bowed to the actor with
much deference as he came out from behind the counter
to show him to a table.
"Not tonight, Yone, I've already had supper. I've
come to you for some information—the translation of a
Japanese sentence."


WAT ASH KEREO KAROSU JO" 151
"What is the sentence, Mr. Kemerson?" asked the
proprietor, returning to his desk.
"Watash kereo karosu jo."
"'I will kill him,' " said Yone. "It is not the best of
Japanese—not literary Japanese. It is how the common
people speak." ,
Blake was aware from the momentary gleam in Kem-
erson's eyes that the translation of the sentence had
opened up a vast new realm of speculation.
"So that's what it means," observed the actor,
matter-of-factly. "I thought it had something to do
with peacocks and eagles."
Yone smiled at the American's ignorance of the Jap-
anese words. "No, it means, 'I will kill him.'"
"Thanks, Yone. Sorry I troubled you for so trifling a
matter."
It was an altogether different Kirk Kemerson that
Blake found beside him when they were again on the
street. He was nervous and alert, quick in his move-
ments, sharp in his speech.
"Kiyoshi knows something about the murder of
Morne. I mean to find out what it is. Tonight, Blake 1
Tonight!"


BREWSTER'S ORDERLY TOLD 153
who sometimes calls himself Kentaro Kawatami. The
police have information he is living in this building.
Do you know him?"
"I've seen a Jap going in several times. I don't know
his name. What's he done?"
"He's wanted for questioning."
"You don't look like a dick to me—" began the jan-
itor, but stopped speaking as Kemerson took a badge
from his pocket and showed it. The janitor was satis-
fied. "I heard one of the women telling another a Jap
had rented a room of Mrs. O'Toole. That's on the
fourth floor rear."
"Then he's our man. Unlock the outer door for us."
Grumbling, the man went to obey. A dim light was
burning at the head of the stairway on each flight, and
they made their way softly to the top floor. The O'Toole
flat was at the back. The actor pressed the electric bell
and after a time they heard the shuffling of approach-
ing feet.
"Who is it? And what do you want?" asked a mascu-
line voice with more than a hint of Irish brogue in it.
"From police headquarters, Mr. O'Toole. You've
got a roomer here that's wanted for questioning."
"We've got a roomer here," replied the voice, and
opened the door. A tall, bony, frowsy-headed Irishman,
towering five or six inches above the actor and the press
agent, came out into the hall. "He's a very peaceable
sort of a Jap. What's he been doin'?"
"Perhaps nothing, but I want to talk with him to find
out if he's the man the Inspector wants."
"Maybe he's in, and maybe he ain't. He comes in
that late I've set eyes on him only a couple of times, or
maybe three."
Mr. O'Toole conducted them down a long hallway to


154 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the rear of the flat, and knocked on a door. There was
no answer, and after rapping again, he opened the door
and switched on the light. The room was empty. The
bed had not been slept in.
"He ain't come in yet," said O'Toole, apologetically.
"Are those his clothes in the closet?"
"Yes, they're his, and so are the things on the
dresser."
"Then he's coming back. It's half past one o'clock.
Have you a room where we can wait unseen until he
comes? It's all right. Here's my authority," and Kem-
erson displayed the badge that had convinced the jani-
tor. "And here's something for your trouble—waking
you up from your much needed rest."
O'Toole's eyes opened wide as he saw the denomina-
tion of the bill that the actor pressed into his hand.
"There's the kitchen, right across the hall from the
Jap's room. Or the dining room. You'll be more com-
fortable there, and it's nearer the outside door."
"That will do. Thanks. We'll be as quiet as possible.
Go back to bed and to sleep if you can." The man hes-
itated. Plainly, he did not like the idea of two men he
had never seen before keeping vigil in the apartment
while the family slept. "You can remain with us if you
like," said Kemerson, reassuringly, "but I'm afraid you
won't be very comfortable. The lights are always out
when the Jap gets in, aren't they?"
"All except the 10-watt hall light."
"Leave that on then, but all the other lights must be
out. If he sees anything suspicious he'll bolt and we'll
have had our trouble for nothing."
O'Toole remained with them, stretched out on a di-
lapidated sofa. He tried to get Kemerson into a conver-
sation, but the latter replied so shortly, at last telling


BREWSTER'S ORDERLY TOLD 155
their enforced host that they would scare away the Jap,
that the man fell silent, and soon afterwards began to
snore, slowly, monotonously but not very loud.
"Just the thing," whispered Kemerson. "It must be
a familiar sound to Kiyoshi and when he hears it he
will suspect nothing."
They settled down to wait. Blake all but slept two or
three times. A church bell striking three kept him from
actually dozing off. But a few minutes after that they
heard soft footfalls and the fumbling of a key at the
lock, and their senses became at once on the alert. So
quietly was the door opened and closed that only a
second grating of the key told them the man they ex-
pected was in the apartment. A moment later the light
was snapped on in Kiyoshi's room. Kemerson felt his
way into the hall, Blake following. They stole quietly
to the door, listened a moment, and then Kemerson
threw it quickly open.
Kiyoshi Nimura stopped in the act of laying a pair
of blue pajamas on the bed, and made a swift spring
towards the window. Kemerson leveled his revolver.
"Stop! This time you don't escape!"
Kiyoshi halted abruptly, raising his hands.
"See if he has a gun on him," ordered Kemerson.
"I never carry gun," said Kiyoshi. "I have done
nothing. What do you want of me?"
"Plain answers to some questions. Answer them
freely and fully, otherwise we'll take you to the sta-
tion."
"He's not armed," said Blake, finishing his search.
"I'll answer any questions I can, Mr. Kemerson."
"You know who I am then? You have seen me be-
fore?"
"Yes, at"


156 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"I'll finish it for you: You saw me at Vanuzzi's night
club when you denied you were Kiyoshi Nimura. Why
did you deny it?"
"I did not want police to drag me into the Morne
case. They would try to prove I killed him just because
I am Japanese—not American."
"That wasn't quite all, I think. Hadn't you made
threats against Mr. Morne?"
"I never threaten him. I work for him. Got good pay."
"What does 'Watash kereo karosu jo' mean?"
Kiyoshi looked quickly from Kemerson to Blake and
then involuntarily his eyes slid towards the window.
"Kiyoshi is too much interested in that open window,
Blake. See that it is closed and locked. It probably leads
to the fire escape."
"It does," said Blake, as he locked it. Kemerson re-
peated his question to the valet.
"It means, 'I will kill him,'" Kiyoshi admitted at
length.
"You made that threat about Chadwick Morne at
Kenkichi's restaurant. Why?"
"I was angry—what you Americans call mad—at
Mr. Morne. He said that night I steal money from his
clothes while he was on stage. I deny; he all same keep
on saying I stole it. He swear at me. Call me pig-headed
Jap baboon. When I say he damn liar, he strike me in
face. Choking madness still burn in me when I go to
Kenkichi's to eat. I talk. I say many things—'Watash
kereo karosu jo.' I was at my side with madness."
"You knew about Morne's airplane flight. He caught
you looking at his ticket."
"I knew before that. I hear him talk with Mr. Blake.
It was fake flying trip."
"What do you mean by fake?"


BREWSTER'S ORDERLY TOLD 157
"Not real flying trip. He jump from airplane and
make believe he killed. Get his name in papers."
"And so you told Mr. Vanuzzi that Chadwick Morne
was leaving New York on the Silver Lark."
"Sure I tell them—I tell him—Mr. Vanuzzi, I mean."
The valet had corrected himself so quickly that Kemer-
son was suspicious.
"Who else besides Vanuzzi did you tell?"
"Nobody else; only Mr. Vanuzzi. It was not secret—
only from the newspapers. Mr. Morne was partner of
Mr. Vanuzzi."
"Why did you go to Morne's apartment to get the
handkerchief he used in The Bed of Virtue when all the
time you had it with you?"
"That is not truth, Mr. Kemerson. It damn lie.
Mr. Morne send me to get forgotten handkerchief.
Through open door I saw it in room. I get it.
Mrs. Morne very angry; she say that her room. Say
she have me fired if she find me in it again."
"What did you do with the letter you took from her
room?"
"Letter? What you mean, letter?"
"A letter with a French stamp on it, and postmarked
Paris."
"I know nothing about letter. I took only handker-
chief."
"What is your real name?"
"Kentaro Kawatami my name."
"Why did you call yourself Kiyoshi Nimura?"
"The man who sent me to Mr. Morne to get job as
valet said for me to call myself Kiyoshi Nimura."
"Lieutenant Brewster?"
"I was his orderly in France."
"Then Brewster knew Chadwick Morne!"


158 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Mr. Brewster, sir, try to get me job in New York.
He heard Mr. Morne look for valet. Told me go and
get job."
"Why did he want you to change your name?"
"Please, sir, must I tell that? It reflect no great
honor on myself."
"You must tell it to me or to the District Attorney."
"Lieutenant was in death danger from mad fellow
officer. I struck at him with butt of Mr. Brewster's
revolver. He went down like log. We thought he was
dead. Lieutenant Brewster say I save his life, and for
me to beat it. He help me get out of France."
"A deserter from the army," said Kemerson. "You
struck an officer. Did he die?"
"No, Mr. Kemerson, sir. He left hospital in week."
"What was his name?"
"Lieutenant Brewster call him Jack. He was officer
of Infantry."
"Did you tell Lieutenant Brewster that Chadwick
Morne was flying on the Silver Lark?"
Kiyoshi drew himself up very straight, as if about
to salute a superior officer. "I not see Lieutenant Brew-
ster for three months till that night at Mr. Vanuzzi's."
"Did you send him that information by another, or
by letter?"
Kiyoshi again measured the distance to the closed
window before answering. Again he squared his shoul-
ders, standing stiffly erect.
"No letter. No message. Lieutenant Brewster there
today, somewhere else tomorrow; I not know where."
"Did Giulio Vanuzzi ask you to telephone to Miss
Edith Vane warning her to say nothing of what she saw
or heard on the Silver Lark?"
"I not know Miss Edith Vane. Who is she?"


BREWSTER'S ORDERLY TOLD 159
"Never heard the name before?"
"No, Mr. Kemerson, sir."
"Did you ever hear Morne and his wife quarreling
at the theatre?"
"Mrs. Morne a lady, sir. Never quarrel before
servants."
"But you may have overheard something when she
called at her husband's dressing room."
"Once when she come, Mr. Morne send me out.
When I come back his voice angry and carry through
door. He say, 'Don't be a fool. I won't have the brat
around.'"
"Do you know who the child was they quarreled
about?"
"No, sir."
"Very well, Kiyoshi. I have nothing more to ask
you at present, but you will have to go with me to the
District Attorney's office and repeat what you have
told me. The police are watching your movements. It
will be useless to try to hide again."
"I not try to escape, Mr. Kemerson, sir. The police
eye all-seeing. I have done nothing. It was just fear of
U.S. Army finding out I am that Kentaro Kawatami
who struck officer and ran out of army made me try to
hide from you."
"Hold yourself in readiness to go to the District At-
torney tomorrow. I'll let you know when he wants to
see you. And, unless you want to be returned to the
army, you had better answer truthfully every ques-
tion he asks you."
"I tell him truth same as I tell you," said Kiyoshi.
Kemerson nodded to Blake, and they left the valet
standing beside the bed on which lay his crumpled
pajamas. Mr. O'Toole was still snoring on the couch in


160 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the living room, and they closed the outer door softly
not to awake him. Kemerson did not break the silence
that had fallen between them until they were in a taxi-
cab.
"If one could subtract the false from the true in what
Kiyoshi told us we'd be further along in solving the
mystery of Morne's death."
"I thought his answers very straightforward," said
Blake. "What has he got to hide? He didn't fire the
shot that killed Morne."
"Yet he may have given the information that led up
to the murder. 'Watask kereo karosu jo'—don't forget
that, Blake. That was a threat made in earnest."
"But so was my threat against Morne at the time I
made it."
"That is why both you and Kiyoshi are under suspi-
cion now."
Kemerson dropped Blake at Fifty-ninth Street and
Fifth Avenue and proceeded to his apartment. He
found Georgina asleep in a chair in the hallway.
"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked.
"Mrs. Delano has been telefoaming you every half
hour since ten o'clock. She wants you to call her at
once. Miss Vane has been kidnapped, she says, and
maybe murdered."


Chapter XV
A KIDNAPPING AND TWO ARRESTS
Kemerson sent Georgina home with instructions not
to show up until lunch time and took a taxi to the
Times Square police station. There he learned an in-
vestigation into the disappearance of Miss Vane was
already under way, Mrs. Delano having reported the
kidnapping to the District Attorney. The Lieutenant
on the desk sent a plainclothesman to keep watch of the
building where Kiyoshi was hiding, and assigned a
detective to accompany Kemerson.
Mrs. Delano was waiting for them. She arose and
came to meet the actor as a very perturbed butler
showed him in. She clung to his hand with nervous
strength, and Kemerson admired the control she exer-
cised over her emotions despite the strain under which
she was laboring.
"I'm glad you are safe, Mr. Kemerson. I began to
fear you had been kidnapped or murdered when hours
passed and you had not returned home. I mustn't forget
to reward your housekeeper adequately for remaining
at the apartment so long to give you my message per-
sonally. I called up Mr. Brixton when I couldn't get
you. He promised to assign detectives to search for
Edith. One of them came here to see me, but I
feel much better knowing you have the matter in
charge."
"I am still pretty much in the dark, Mrs. Delano."
161


162 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Of course you are. I haven't told you a thing ex-
cept that Edith was kidnapped."
"Are you perfectly sure she has not gone away of
her own accord?"
"I was right in the room with her when she was set
upon and gagged. At least, I suppose she was gagged,
for she gave one or two frightened screams which were
suddenly cut off. I could hear her struggling to get
free."
"Where did this take place? Here?" Kemerson
looked around for signs of a struggle, but found none.
"It was in a house somewhere in West Forty-Ninth.
I'd better begin at the beginning and tell it to you in
sequence. Edith was called to the telephone an hour
or two after dinner. She came to me very much dis-
tressed. The call was from a man who gave the name of
Horner. He said a man had been injured in an auto-
mobile collision in front of his place—that the man,
who had been taken into his apartment, was badly in-
jured, and said that he was her brother Leighton and
asked that she come to see him. The man who tele-
phoned said they were trying to persuade her brother to
go to a hospital as he was pretty badly hurt. I should
have known at once that it was a made-up story, for
anyone so badly injured in an auto accident would have
been taken to a hospital instead of into somebody's
apartment: New Yorkers are not such good Samaritans
as that. But Edith was very much upset. She had not
seen or heard of her brother—he was a sort of ne'er-do-
well—in several months. I thought she had been worry-
ing about him for some time. She had gone out in the
evenings sometimes to try to find trace of him.
"I insisted on accompanying her to the address
given—S60A West Forty-ninth Street. She found the


A KIDNAPPING AND TWO ARRESTS 163
name of the man who had telephoned, Archibald
Horner, and rang the bell. A man appeared almost im-
mediately at the top of the stairway. I think he must
have been waiting there, for I had not heard a door
open, and my ears are very sharp.
"'Is that Miss Vane?' he asked just a moment after
she had rung. When she said that it was, the man came
down the stairs to meet us.
"'Your brother Is quite badly hurt, Miss Vane,' he
said. T tell you now so you will not be so shocked as to
cry out when you see him. The doctor is with him and
wants him kept quiet. I'll go on ahead and tell the
doctor you are here.'"
"He hurried up the stairway. I heard a door open
and close. It was locked when Edith tried to open
it. 'The blind woman is with her,' I heard a voice say
in guarded tones. My suspicions were aroused then and
I would have persuaded Edith to leave at once, but
the door was opened immediately and a soothing,
benevolent-sounding masculine voice bade us enter. I
thought perhaps I had been unduly suspicious, and
Edith was too agitated to pay any attention to me.
"The benevolent voice said: 'I must ask you to re-
strain your very natural emotion, Miss Vane, and be
quiet and self-controlled. Your friend can wait here for
you.'
"'I am going in with her,' I said very determinedly.
I felt a large hand under my elbow pulling me back, but
the man who had met us on the stairs said: 'She might
want someone with her—the shock—,' and I caught a
faint whisper as though someone had formed the word
'blind' on his lips with hardly the strength of a whisper
back of it.
"'Perhaps you are right,' said the benevolent sound-


164 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
ing voice, and I was led forward, behind Edith, not at
her side. We went into another room, or through,an
alcove, for I brushed against some kind of drape. 'He
is here,' said the first man. There was a silence after
that, during which I heard a door close behind me.
Then two or three screams, terrified, blood-chilling,
were cut off as quickly as they had started. I knew it
was Edith screaming, and that something horrible was
happening.
"'Edith!' I cried, 'What is it?' and started to go
towards her but was held back by that enormous hand
on my arms.
"'Be quiet!' commanded the voice that had before
sounded so benevolent but was now harsh and threaten-
ing. I heard a creaking sound as though someone had
sprung hurriedly out of a bed. I cried Edith's name
again, and was jerked back off my feet and would
have fallen had I not bumped into the man who was
holding me. He threw an arm so tightly across my
face that I could hardly breathe.
"'We'll have to gag the old dame,' said a voice. 'Get
me a towel. Take the young one along—you know
where.'
"Then I was gagged, my hands tied behind my back,
and thrown upon a bed. 'Better tie her feet, too,' said
another voice. 'No need of that,' said the man I had
taken for a doctor; 'she's blind. Lock her in. That's
enough.'
"I heard a shuffling of feet as though three or four
men were carrying something out of the room. It was
Edith, and I was helpless. I tried to cry out, but could
make but a feeble moan; struggled to get out from
under the hand that held me fast on the bed.
"'Now, just be quiet for a few minutes, Mrs. De-


A KIDNAPPING AND TWO ARRESTS 165
lano,' said the same voice, 'and no harm will befall
you—or the girl either. You'll have to stay here until
Mr. Horner gets home. You can explain to him and he'll
put you in a taxi. Sorry I can't leave you in a more
comfortable position.'
"A few minutes later I was left alone. I heard the
man lock the door. I was up off the bed in a moment,
stumbling about the room until I found a door. I could
reach the knob by turning my back and raising my
hands sidewise, but the door was locked. I felt about
the room, trying to find another door, and bumped into
a small stand, knocking something off that fell with a
clatter upon the floor.
"'Number please,' I heard a faint, metallic voice say,
and could have cried out for relief, except that I was
gagged. I had knocked a telephone off the stand! I got
down on my knees and felt around with my tied hands
until I found it. I put my mouth down to it and tried to
cry, 'Help!', and achieved only a muffled mutter, so I
tried to put fear into my uncouth noises. To imitate the
sounds of a struggle, I knocked over the stand, and
rattled on the floor with it.
"'Give me the police station, quick!' I heard the
startled, metallic voice say, and knew that my at-
tempted cries had been understood. I must have wept
for very relief though I did not know it until I felt the
tears trickling down my face.
"How I got through the time until I heard a young
Irish voice outside the apartment, directing someone
to unlock the door, I don't know. I could have hugged
that Irish policeman—in fact, I believe I did—when he
took the gag out of my mouth and untied my hands.
When I had told him everything that had happened,
he telephoned the police station and brought me home.


166 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
If you can ever do anything for him—Edward Galligan
is his name—do it and you'll have my blessing, if you
care for any such nonsensical thing. I've been trying
to get you on the 'phone ever since I got home."
"You did not recognize any of the voices? Was any
of them that of Vanuzzi?"
"I had never heard any of them before."
"Vanuzzi must have learned that Miss Vane went
to the District Attorney with her story of the happen-
ings on the Silver Lark and taken this means of shutting
her off. Locking the barn door after the horse is stolen."
"Do you think he will . . . ?" She hesitated, and
neither Kemerson nor the detective finished the sen-
tence for her. They knew the question she would have
asked, and Kemerson tried to reassure her.
"I think he will be satisfied to keep her quiet. Per-
haps he feared that she would go to the authorities, not
knowing she had already done so. But we must lose
no time. Miss Vane did not utter any name when she
cried out?"
"None at all. It was just a scream of the utmost ter-
ror."
"Was the voice that telephoned to her the same that
had warned her to keep quiet about the events of the
night of Morne's murder?"
"I think she would have told me had it been the
same."
"Well, that does not give us much to work on," said
Kemerson. "You had better go to bed, Mrs. Delano,
and get what rest you can. The police are already busy
trying to trace Miss Vane, and I shall follow out a line
of my own."
"Telephone me, please, the moment you learn any-
thing."


A KIDNAPPING AND TWO ARRESTS 167
Kemerson promised and took his leave, accompanied
by Detective Cassidy. At Broadway and Seventy-second
Street he went into a drug store and telephoned to
Blake to met him at Broadway and Fifty-ninth Street.
"I've got a hunch we should take Vanuzzi into custody
before something worse happens to Miss Vane. Take
a taxi and break the speed laws."
He had to wait but five minutes for Blake. He or-
dered the chauffeur to drive to the Traymore Apart-
ment House in Greenwich Village where Vanuzzi lived.
Dawn was beginning to break and the life of the city
was reawakening; motor vehicles and pedestrians
passed at lessening intervals. Kemerson told Blake
briefly of Miss Vane's kidnapping as Mrs. Delano had
conveyed it to him.
"I was certain you would want to help in running
down her kidnappers," he said. "She seems to have
made a very serious impression on you. I don't blame
you, Blake; she's a very charming girl."
"I admire her pluck tremendously," said Blake, "but
wasn't aware I had showed it so plainly. If it was
Vanuzzi who kidnapped her, you don't expect to find
him in his apartment, do you?"
"If he is not there—and I'm not so sure but that he
may be, just to give the impression of innocence—we
may learn something about his movements tonight."
The outer door of the Traymore was still locked, but
they found the janitor tending the hot-water fire. At
sight of Detective Cassidy's badge, the man unlocked
the door and ran the elevator up to the tenth floor,
guiding them to Vanuzzi's apartment.
Kemerson stationed Blake and the janitor at the
back entrance to the apartment, keeping the detective
with him. Their repeated ringing of the bell and pound-


168 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
ing on the door brought no response, though for a mo-
ment Kemerson thought he had detected a slight noise
as of someone walking softly within. Detective Cassidy
took hold of the knob to give the door a vigorous shake;
it opened at his touch.
"Unlocked!" he cried. "And we've made enough
racket to scare away every crook in the building!"
They rushed into the four-room apartment, and
found it deserted. But there was an intangible some-
thing about the place—a mingling of cigarette smoke,
of perfume and whiskey, faintly perceptible—which be-
spoke the very recent presence of human beings.
"He's been here," said Cassidy, sniffing at the odors.
"He's just slipped out."
"What makes you think that?"
"I don't know—the feel of the place, I guess."
"Well, here's evidence more tangible than the feel
of the place—evidence that even a jury can't dodge,"
said Kemerson, and advanced to a non-overturnable
ash receiver from the depths of which came a faint,
wavering line of smoke.
"And here's still more," observed Cassidy from the
bedroom. "The bed's still rumpled and warm. And it's
been occupied by two people. Vanuzzi must have a new
girl. And they've both just vanished."
"The fire escape!" cried Kemerson, running to the
window. It opened on the fire escape, but there was no
one descending by it, nor in the court below. "Quick,
Cassidy! Up the fire escape to the roof!" cried Kemer-
son. "I'll go up the inside stairway! Wait, here's a grip
and a suitcase, both packed and locked. They left too
hurriedly to take them."
"Yeah, we got here just as he was making his get-
away," said Cassidy, already ascending the fire escape.


A KIDNAPPING AND TWO ARRESTS 169
Kemerson ran into the outer hall, calling to Blake and
the janitor to follow him, and dashed up the stairway
two flights to the roof. Cassidy was just climbing over
the escarpment, revolver in hand.
"Too late!" cried Kemerson, after a swift look about.
"He's given us the slip."
"He can't be far away if he had a skirt tagging
along," said Cassidy. "He's in the building. They likely
followed the fire escape to the apartment of a confeder-
ate. Here, you," he called to the janitor. "Who are
Vanuzzi's friends in the building?"
"I don't know. I don't see him about very often."
"Who's the jane he's got now? Know her name?"
"It's probably that girl he calls Vida. She used to
come here a good deal until a month or so ago. I saw
her yesterday for the first time in several weeks."
"Vida Latterby," said Kemerson. "But all this is not
helping us—" He broke off at a cry from Blake who
stood at the building wall, looking down into the front
court.
"There he is! Running out to the street!"
Kemerson and the detective reached the escarpment
just in time to see Vanuzzi and a woman disappear
around the corner of the court.
"He's making for Seventh Avenue," said Cassidy.
"He'll grab a taxi or make for the subway. Get to the
street quick; Mr. Kemerson. Maybe you can pick up
his trail. I'll stop at his apartment and 'phone to the
station to have a warning flashed over the city. We'll
have all the railroad stations and bridges and ferries
covered."
Luckily, the night elevator runner was not asleep.
The janitor's signal brought him to the top floor in the
second elevator without delay. He said he had answered


170 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
the bell but a few minutes before and taken Vanuzzi
and a woman companion down from the ninth floor,
from the apartment below Vanuzzi's.
Kemerson and Blake reached Seventh Avenue in
time to see a red taxi speeding north. Again fortune
favored them: a yellow taxi was cruising along the
avenue looking for a fare. Kemerson ordered the driver
to try to overtake the cab which was speeding north-
ward.
"If it's the wrong taxi we are just out of luck," said
the actor.
By the time he had reached Twenty-third Street the
occupant of the fleeing taxi knew that he was pursued;
the driver made a sharp turn to the right towards Sixth
Avenue, taking the corner on two wheels.
"It's Vanuzzi all right," said Kemerson, with grim
satisfaction. "With so little traffic he's going to have
a hard time giving us the slip." He ordered the driver to
follow the red taxi. They saw it turn north on Sixth
Avenue, but when they reached that thoroughfare it
was nowhere in sight.
"Watch the streets running East," said Kemerson.
"I'll watch on the West."
Kemerson saw it on Twenty-fourth Street, speeding
back to Seventh Avenue. A minute was lost in stopping
their taxi and getting it headed in pursuit. Again on
Seventh Avenue, they saw it swing back towards Sixth.
Kemerson ordered the chauffeur to sound his siren as
a warning to the police. They followed the vehicle on
Twenty-eighth Street over to Fifth Avenue, and then
back to Broadway on Thirty-second Street. There it
swung north and they overtook it at Thirty-fourth
Street just as a policeman brought it to a stop by firing
a shot into a rear tire.


A KIDNAPPING AND TWO ARRESTS 171
Vanuzzi got out of the taxi and surrendered without
a struggle.
"It's you again," he said venomously to Kemerson.
"Well, what do you want me for?"
"Is he Giulio Vanuzzi?" asked the policeman on the
beat, and at Kemerson's confirmation, took Vanuzzi's
arm. "You are wanted on suspicion of kidnapping. We
just had a flash to be on the lookout for you."
"A charge of suspicion of kidnapping is good enough
to book him on," said Kemerson. "Take him to the
station."
The policeman accompanied them to the station
where Detective Cassidy put in an appearance within
half an hour. He was soon followed by detectives from
the District Attorney's office who had the charge
changed to that of first degree murder for the killing of
Chadwick Morne.
Kemerson spent an hour questioning Vanuzzi, but if
the prisoner knew anything of the kidnapping of Edith
Vane he successfully concealed it.
"I know nothing about Miss Vane," he said. "I have
not seen her since she left the Silver Lark at Cleveland.
Why should I want to kidnap a young woman who is
practically a stranger to me? I have nothing against her."
"Then why did you warn her to keep quiet about her
experience on the Silver Lark if she valued her safety?"
"Who says I warned her? What proof have you that
I warned her? That she did not make it up out of whole
cloth?"
"You ask questions instead of answering them. That
in itself is a proof. The 'phone call has been traced to
West Forty-ninth Street."
"And I live in Greenwich Village."
"But Kiyoshi Nimura has a room in that neighbor-


v 172 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
hood; Kiyoshi Nimura whom you said was not Morne's
valet, but was Kentaro Kawatami. He told you that
Morne had engaged passage on the Silver Lark. I have
talked with him, and today he will appear before the
District Attorney. You are in a hole, Vanuzzi, out of
which you can't talk yourself. You terrified Miss Vane
on board the Silver Lark, had Kiyoshi warn her to keep
quiet about what happened on the airplane; kidnapped
her when you learned she had already visited the Dis-
trict Attorney; and attempted my life night before
last in Chadwick Morne's apartment."
The last was a shot in the dark and Kemerson
watched the Italian closely, hoping he would betray
that it had hit home.
"I don't know what you are talking about," said
Vanuzzi, blandly.
"You are on the spot, Vanuzzi. The best thing you
can do is to tell where Miss Vane is. That may mitigate
your punishment."
Vanuzzi again denied all knowledge of Miss Vane
nor could Kemerson shake that denial. At eight o'clock
he left the police station and was driven to a Broadway
restaurant in the Times Square section where he
ordered and ate a hearty breakfast.
As he left the restaurant the headlines in the first
edition of the afternoon newspapers caught his eye and
he bought a copy of the Evening World. He read the
headlines and laughed aloud, startling the news-vendor
by the mirthlessness of his laugh.
"TWO ARRESTS IN THE PARACHUTE
MURDER CASE," proclaimed the streamer, while the
headline over the story read: "new york night club
OWNER AND OHIO FARMER ARRESTED FOR THE SAME
CRIME."


Chapter XVI
VIDA LATTERBY DECIDES TO TALK
The newspapers carried scareheads over the arrest of
Giulio Vanuzzi for the murder of Chadwick Morne, re-
counting his history and the fact that the dead actor
had been a silent partner in the Happy Hours night
club. The District Attorney's office had evidently given
out enough information to the press to justify the arrest
of the Italian. Miss Vane's sudden fright when Vanuzzi
confronted her with such an ugly look on the airplane,
the threat she had received over the telephone, were re-
counted publicly for the first time. Mrs. Delano's ac-
count of the kidnapping was repeated.
As a "follow" to the arrest of Vanuzzi, under a
Carlstown, O., date line, was an account of the arrest
of Rolf Perkin, charged with the murder. Editorially,
the newspapers were inclined to poke fun at the small
town police. Yet, even though Perkin had stoutly main-
tained his innocence, a bit of evidence had been dis-
covered which seemed to point to his guilt. A revolver
had been found in a pasture not a quarter of a mile
from where the body of the actor had landed. It was an
army automatic .38, the same calibre as the gun with
which Morne had been shot. It had been flung care-
lessly on the ground where the first chance passer-by
would see it.
Kemerson could not make the guilt of Perkin fit in
with the evidence he had discovered. The revolver might
173


VIDA LATTERBY DECIDES TO TALK 175
merely trying to help the cause of justice. That is the
nerve-wracking part of this job, Kirk—to know that
an innocent person is in peril and find my hands tied,
unable to do a thing to prevent a horrible crime."
Kemerson knew from Brixton's words and from his
sad voice how much he was worried over the fate of
Miss Vane.
At Kemerson's suggestion, Blake had gone with De-
tective Cassidy to question Archibald Horner from
whose apartment Miss Vane had been kidnapped, the
janitor of the building and any of the tenants who
might have overheard something. The actor went home
to snatch an hour or two of sleep. He had been up all
night and it appeared more than likely that he would
get no rest during the coming night. Kemerson was able
to sleep at any hour of the day or night, an accomplish-
ment he had acquired, he said, when he was a young
actor playing the one night stands. No one would have
believed from his appearance, when he reached Mr.
Brixton's office, that he had had less than two hours'
sleep.
"The young woman is waiting and in a very bad
temper," said the District Attorney as he shook hands
with the actor. "I am afraid we won't gain much in-
formation from her. This telegram may be of more
value to us than anything she would say."
"An anonymous message?"
"It is signed by Arthur Layman."
"Arthur Layman!" Kemerson sat up with renewed
interest. "He was a passenger on the Silver Lark. What
does he say?" He leaned forward eagerly, dancing
lights in his eyes. Mr. Brixton took up a telegram from
his desk.
"It was sent from Chicago at 9:30 this morning. It


VIDA LATTERBY DECIDES TO TALK 177
the slip again I have had a detective assigned to watch
him."
"His testimony should strengthen our case against
Vanuzzi," said Brixton. "I will send a man to bring him
in before we see Miss Latterby." He gave the necessary
instructions, sent for a stenographer and then had the
young woman admitted. Detective Dugan was at her
side.
Miss Latterby was a very striking young woman,
with very blond hair, and with light blue eyes that were
as cold as ice as she gave the District Attorney and
the actor a baleful stare. Her figure was trim and lithe
as a panther's underneath the revealing velvet gown of
Alice blue which she wore. A toque of the same material
and shade gave a piquant touch to her small, well-
molded face—a piquancy which was a part of her stock
in trade. Blue suede shoes and the sheerest of flesh-
colored silk stockings completed her outfit.
"You are Vida Latterby?" asked the District At-
torney, impersonally.
"I am," replied the woman, haughtily. "What do you
want of me that you have me brought here by this
unmannerly dick like a criminal?" She turned con-
temptuous eyes upon Dugan.
"Your friend, Giulio Vanuzzi, has been arrested for
the murder of Chadwick Morne," said Brixton. "What
do you know about the quarrel between the two men
that led to the tragedy?"
"Nothing!" snapped Miss Latterby.
"But you knew they had quarreled?" queried Kemer-
son, softly.
"Why should I know that?"
"Because you were the cause of the quarrel. Come,
Miss Latterby, we know you were Vanuzzi's 'girl' and


VIDA LATTERBY DECIDES TO TALK 179
some unexpected quarter, but met only the sneering
smile of Detective Dugan.
"That has an ugly look, girlie," said the detective.
"Going back to the old lover just after the new one has
been murdered."
"That's a lie!" repeated Miss Latterby, trying to put
scorn and outrage into her voice, and not succeeding
very well. She twisted her lips and her hands.
"It's the truth, and you know it, and are afraid,"
said Dugan, with a sly look of admiration at Kemer-
son.
"You were with Vanuzzi last night in his apartment,"
continued Kemerson. "I saw you fleeing with him
towards Seventh Avenue this morning. The janitor saw
you in the building, heard Vanuzzi address you by
name"
"What do you want me to tell you?" asked Miss Lat-
terby. "I did go back to him after Mr. Morne's death.
He was crazy about me—promised me anything I
wanted." Her surrender was complete. "I knew Giulio
hated Mr. Morne—had sworn to kill him and me too,
but I knew nothing about Mr. Morne's publicity stunt.
He told me he was going to fly to Chicago. I did not
even know what airplane he was going to take. I did
not see Giulio after I left him except once until two
days ago when he begged me to go back to him."
"You have seen him only once since you left him—
when was that?"
"A week after I left him. I was waiting for the traf-
fic light to change at Fifth Avenue and Forty-second
Street when he saw me and got into my taxicab. He
asked me to leave Mr. Morne and go back to him.
When I refused he became abusive and threatened to
kill both of us. I told him if he did not get out of the


180 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
taxi I would. He got out then. 'You've had your warn-
ing,' he said, 'and you can tell Chadwick. Morne that
includes him, too.' I did not see Giulio again until day
before yesterday."
"Did Mr. Morne seem frightened when you told him
of Vanuzzi's threat?"
"He just laughed. He went to Giulio's night club the
next evening though I begged him not to."
"What did he do there?" asked Mr. Brixton.
"I was afraid to go with him. He said he discussed
business matters with Giulio, and that Giulio did not
have the nerve to kill anybody."
"Did Mr. Morne carry a gun after you told him of
Vanuzzi's threat?"
"He never carried a revolver. I don't believe he ever
owned one."
Kemerson confronted her, drawing up his chair so
close that he looked directly into her eyes, not a foot
from his own.
"Did Mr. Morne ever say anything to you about a
quarrel with his wife? A quarrel about you or anyone
else—about a child?"
"Mr. Morne never mentioned his wife to me, nor
anything about a child."
"Did you ever see him show fear of anyone? Or hear
him admit that he feared anyone?"
"He never said anything about it, but once I saw him
show fear. We had stopped in front of Dalton's restau-
rant and he got out and held the door open for me. But
instead of helping me out, he got hurriedly back in. He
was so pale that I could notice it by the light from a
street lamp. I looked out. A large, bronzed man stood
in front of the restaurant and stared at him. Mr. Morne
ordered the driver to take us to another cafe. When I


VIDA LATTERBY DECIDES TO TALK 181
asked him why he did not go into Dalton's he did not
answer. I was curious and asked who the big man was
that had stared at him so. 'Just a fellow I knew in
France,' he said"
"In France?" asked Kemerson, quickly. "Did he
mention the man's name?"
"No; he said nothing more about him, but he was
afraid. He was still pale when we sat down at a table at
Montini's."
"Did you ever see in his possession a letter post-
marked Paris?"
"He never brought any of his mail to my apartment.
I never saw any such letter."
Kemerson sat drumming his fingers on his knees for
a moment, evidently disappointed.
"Do you know who Edith Vane is?" he asked,
sharply.
Miss Latterby looked away: "I have read that she
was a passenger on the Silver Lark the night Mr. Morne
was killed."
"Did Vanuzzi ever mention the name to you? Think
carefully before you answer."
"Not to me. I heard a Miss Vane mentioned once
when he was talking to a man from the night club yes-
terday. It was his visitor that mentioned the name."
"What did he say?" asked the District Attorney.
"He said, 'Miss Vane wouldn't believe that.' Giulio
closed the door then and I did not hear any more."
Kemerson and the District Attorney crossed glances,
and the actor continued his questioning of Miss Lat-
terby with a new keenness in his voice.
"Miss Vane has disappeared. Did Vanuzzi say any-
thing last night, to you or in your hearing, that would
indicate he knew anything about her?"


182 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"No, sir; nothing."
"Did he receive any telephone calls? Or make any?"
"Someone 'phoned to him."
"What did Vanuzzi say? Do you remember any of
his words?"
"I did not pay particular attention. Something was
said about an apartment, and it's being all right. I do
not remember exactly."
Kemerson considered a moment, interlacing his
fingers. "What reason did Vanuzzi give for packing two
suitcases?"
"He said the police thought he was mixed up in the
Morne case and that he was going away a few days
until it blew over."
"How did he act? Nervous and afraid?"
"He was afraid when he heard a loud knocking at the
door. He made me slip into a dress hurriedly."
"Why didn't he take you in the taxicab with him?"
"He thought we might be followed more easily to-
gether. He told me to take the subway, go to my apart-
ment and wait for him there."
Kemerson and Mr. Brixton consulted in low tones.
"That is all for the present, Miss Latterby," said the
District Attorney. "We will have Vanuzzi here, and I
will notify you after our talk with him if I want to
question you further."
As the young woman got up to go, a uniformed
policeman entered the office. "You are wanted on the
'phone, Mr. Brixton. It is Carmody. Another mur-
der."
Mr. Brixton reached for the French 'phone on his
desk. "What is it, Carmody?" He listened quietly for
a time, and then interrupted sharply. "A Japanese?
What's his name?"


VIDA LATTERBY DECIDES TO TALK 183
"Not Kiyoshi Nimura?" cried Kemerson as Mr.
Brixton replaced the receiver. He nodded slowly.
"Yes, Kiyoshi. Shot as he sat by the open window
in the room he had hired."


Chapter XVII
LIEUTENANT BREWSTER REPORTS
A MURDER
"And Vanuzzi is locked up," said Kemerson. "There's
more behind the murder of Chadwick Morne than any
of us suspect. I will go there at once."
"Not yet, Kirk. Carmody is bringing in the man who
found Nimura's body—a Mr. Brewster. It may be the
stunt aviator."
"Lieutenant Brewster? I shall be glad to have an
interview with that man!"
Mr. Brixton dismissed Miss Latterby. Kemerson fol-
lowed her from the District Attorney's office and asked
her to remain in a small room off the hallway until
Brewster had arrived.
"A man is coming in here soon," he told her, "and I
want you to watch every person who goes through that
door into Mr. Brixton's office. One of them may be the
man who frightened Mr. Morne away from Dalton's
restaurant."
Miss Latterby agreed to remain, and when Kemerson
had arranged a chair for her in the proper position, he
returned to Mr. Brixton's office.
"The case against Vanuzzi gets stronger," he re-
marked. "He had the motive and the opportunity. And
he had sworn to get Morne."
"So had Blake, years ago; and so had Kiyoshi re-
cently," interposed Kemerson, "and yet Morne did not
184


BREWSTER REPORTS A MURDER 185
fear any of the three. He did fear Brewster, if Brew-
ster is the man I think he is. Kiyoshi knew that Morne
was flying to Chicago. He told Vanuzzi and, I am quite
confident, at least one other person. And why could not
Brewster have been that other? He believes Kiyoshi
once saved his life, and got Kiyoshi the job as Morne's
dresser out of gratitude."
Kemerson proceeded to detail to the District At-
torney the story that the valet had told him. "Someone
knew of my visit to Kiyoshi and feared he might talk
too much in order to save his own skin. I would think
Vanuzzi committed this second murder if I could be-
lieve everything the Jap said, even though Vanuzzi was
in custody at the time. He might have arranged for
Kiyoshi to be put out of the way, just as Miss Vane
may be."
As soon as Carmody entered, accompanied by Brew-
ster, Kemerson went to the anteroom where Miss Lat-
terby was waiting.
"The big man is the one Mr. Morne was scared of,"
she said. "I would know him anywhere."
"That is what I suspected, Miss Latterby. I hope it
won't be necessary to disturb you further."
"May I go now?"
"Certainly, but don't try to leave town. You might be
locked up as a material witness if you do."
She promised with some reluctance. Kemerson re-
turned to Mr. Brixton's office and nodded for the Dis-
trict Attorney to proceed with his questioning of Brew-
ster.
"I understand it was you, Lieutenant Brewster, who
discovered the body of the Japanese known as Kiyoshi
Nimura. Tell us the circumstances under which you
found him."


186 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Brewster glanced keenly at Brixton and then at Kem-
erson. "I was trying to find another job for Kentaro. As
I had heard nothing from him in two or three days and
had learned of a man who wanted a valet, I went to the
address the Jap had given me. His landlady said he had
not got up yet. When he failed to respond to my knock-
ing I tried the door and found it locked. I managed
to push the key out and the landlady opened the door
with her pass-key. Kentaro sat in a chair facing the
window, his back to me, his head in an unnatural posi-
tion. I called his name and was hurrying across to him
when I saw a dark stain on the carpet under the chair.
I knew what that was; I had seen it often enough in
France. His pajamas were streaked with blood from a
bullet hole in his chest. I told his landlady he was dead,
and went down and informed the detective on guard."
"How did you know Carmody was a detective?"
asked Kemerson.
"From the fact that he was loitering in front of the
house, and from his appearance. Kentaro told me the
last time I saw him that the police suspected him of
complicity in the death of Morne."
"You are sure he was dead?"
"Not a doubt of it."
"The body was cold and stiff," said Carmody. "He
had been shot as he sat in front of the opened win-
dow."
"Could you tell at what angle the bullet entered his
chest?" asked the District Attorney.
"It looked to me as though it had been fired from a
level with his body—perhaps from the third floor of a
vacant building across the court. The bullet appeared
to have gone straight into his body, a little to the right
of the heart."


BREWSTER REPORTS A MURDER 187
"Now, Lieutenant Brewster," said Mr. Brixton,
"what was your especial interest in the Japanese that
you were so anxious to get him a job?"
"He was my orderly in France. He looked me up
when I got back to the United States and said he was
out of a job. He had been an excellent orderly and I
promised to help him. I heard of an actor who wanted
a dresser and sent Kentaro to apply for the place. I
gave him a reference."
"Who was the actor?" asked Kemerson.
"Joseph Thurlow."
"How long did he remain with Thurlow?"
"Several years, I believe. I was away from New York
for two years 'barnstorming' at air shows. When I re-
turned, I called at the theatre where Thurlow was
playing and learned that Kentaro had become dresser
for Mr. Morne."
"Then you did not get him the job with Mr. Morne?"
"No."
"Why should Kiyoshi say you did?"
"I have no idea, unless it was that I had got him into
theatrical valeting."
"Why did you urge him to change his name?"
"Now that he is dead there can be no harm in telling.
He got into some trouble—with a French girl—and
deserted."
"You advised him to desert and aided his flight?"
"I knew nothing about it until his absence was dis-
covered."
"Did he ever have any trouble with the officers?"
"How do you mean?"
"Insubordination. Striking an officer."
"Never to my knowledge."
"Were you under any special obligation to him?"


BREWSTER REPORTS A MURDER 189
circumstances under which I found the body of Ken-
taro Kawatami. Your questions seem to indicate I am
under suspicion."
"The Japanese valet is not free from suspicion,"
said the District Attorney, "and your efforts to protect
him need clearing up."
"I have explained my interest in Kentaro. If there is
nothing else you wish to ask I presume I may go? Or
am I to be held under suspicion along with Mr. Vanuzzi
and Rolf Perkin?"
"There is no charge against you, Lieutenant."
"One more question, Brewster," interposed Kemer-
son as the aviator arose. "If you and Morne were not
acquainted, why was the actor afraid of you? Why did
he get hastily back into a taxicab with Vida Latterby
when he saw you in front of Dalton's restaurant a few
weeks ago?"
A look of uncontrolled rage appeared momentarily
in Brewster's eyes, and was as quickly gone, but it gave
Kemerson the impression that he was playing with
dynamite in the person of the stunt aviator. He could
not be sure whether Brewster's anger was at his ques-
tioning or a deep-seated animosity towards Morne.
"If the young lady said that she is very much mis-
taken. I have not seen Morne, save at one perform-
ance of The Bed of Virtue, since I returned from
France." Brewster's tone was easy, natural and dis-
arming.
Kemerson pounced upon his reply. "What young
lady? I said nothing about a young lady."
Brewster seemed non-plussed for a moment, and
Brixton spoke up sharply: "What is her name? Where
did you see her?"
"The young woman you had waiting in the ante-


190 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
room," Brewster replied, coolly. "Vida Latterby she
calls herself—Vanuzzi's light o' love. She was at the
Happy Hours night club last night—and only three
days after the murder of Chadwick Morne for whom
she left Vanuzzi. Is she a stool pigeon that you place
any trust in her information?"
"She was with Morne the night—" began Kemerson
when a disturbance in the anteroom caught his ear. A
man's high voice was remonstrating:
"I came here to see the District Attorney and I'm
going to see him."
Three or four men speaking at once drowned out the
high voice. Brixton nodded to Dugan who went out to
see what the trouble was, and instructed Carmody to
get Brewster's address.
"That is all for today, Lieutenant. I do not think it
necessary to hold you as a witness in the murder of the
Japanese, but, as you probably know more about him
than anyone else, I may want to question you later."
"I shall not run away, if that is what you mean,"
said Brewster. "Kentaro was only a Jap valet to others;
to me he was a faithful servant and I want to see his
murderer brought to justice."
As Carmody accompanied him from the office, Dugan
reappeared, followed by a little walrus-mustached man
whose face was purple with anger and who was still
declaring that he had come to see the District Attorney
and intended to see him.


Chapter XVIII
TRAPPED!
"This man says Miss Vane was kidnapped from his
flat," said Dugan.
"You are Archibald Horner?" asked Brixton.
"I am, and I'd like to know what the city is coming
to," said the man in a peculiarly high voice, "when a
man's home can be invaded by kidnappers and gang-
sters during his absence. What are the police for, what
is the District Attorney's office for, if not to protect
decent, law-abiding citizens in their homes? Here I
leave the house in perfect order when I go to work and
come back in the morning to find the furniture over-
turned and marred, cigar and cigarette butts and ashes
all over the floor, my liquor—" He broke off suddenly,
mouth agape.
"I'm not concerned with what you drink," said Mr.
Brixton. "Have you any suspicions as to who invaded
your home?"
"None at all. That is why I have come to you. The
policeman on the beat said a girl had been kidnapped
from my flat and an old woman, bound and gagged,
left in it."
"That is the report I have. It was the work of some-
one who knew your habits. They knew you would be
away. Do you live there alone?"
"No, sir, but my wife and children are in Connecticut
191


192 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
for ten days with her people. I work nights. I'm a lino-
type setter."
"Do you keep roomers?"
"Not for a month or two. It was too much work for
my wife."
"Who was your last roomer?"
"A young fellow named George Groat."
"How long since you have seen him?"
"He called to see me last week. He's a waiter, or was,
at some sort of club."
"Was it the Happy Hours night club?"
"Why, yes, it was. He mentioned it several times
when he roomed with us."
Kemerson and Mr. Brixton exchanged glances. The
District Attorney nodded slowly.
"I think," he told his visitor, "that we will be able
to lay our hands on the man who made use of your flat
in your absence."
"They ought to be sent up the river. And that young
man who called on me today and woke me up. He
acted suspicious, and admitted he was not from the
police. Said his name was Blake, and he was a friend of
the young woman who was kidnapped."
"He is working on the case with me," said Kemer-
son. "Did he discover anything he regarded as signifi-
cant?"
"Nothing but a cigarette case, hidden at the side of
a cushion in a chair. It was of silver, and quite worn
but I could make out the initials, D.V. engraved on
it. It wasn't mine so I let him take it."
After a few more perfunctory questions, Mr. Horner
was dismissed, mollified. Kemerson and Dugan went
to the scene of Kiyoshi's murder. The body had been


TRAPPED!
195
of his room looking after them with that funny smile
on his face."'
They got nothing else helpful from Mrs. O'Toole
despite her excitement and her loquacity. Evidently
she had told all that she knew pertinent to their quest.
Kemerson stopped at a Broadway hotel to telephone
Blake and the District Attorney. Blake was out and
Kemerson left a message for him to call the moment he
came in. When he was connected with Mr. Brixton he
said:
"Walton, I'm going to play a blind hunch and I
want your help. I wish to question James Betterling
and Mrs. Morne in your presence. Also George Groat,
the waiter at the Happy Hours night club, if he can
be found."
"Groat is already in custody," came Brixton's voice
over the wire. "He denies all knowledge of the kid-
napping. I am glad to hear that you are getting down
to cases at last with Mrs. Morne. She can at least give
us leads—"
Kemerson interrupted. "I have talked with Mrs.
Morne. I believe her innocent of any connection with
the murder of her husband. I'm not so sure she knows
nothing about the events leading up to it. Betterling is
not telling all he knows. He is one of the men who in-
vaded the Mornes' apartment—"
"At last you are coming across, Kirk," said the Dis-
trict Attorney, with some satisfaction in his voice. "I
was sure you knew who the men were. I've given you
too free a hand—"
"That is the only way I can be of value to you,
Walton. When I have found something in which your
training can be of help to me—"
Mr. Brixton interrupted in turn, somewhat sharply.


TRAPPED!
197
hunted up the agent of the vacant building from which
Kiyoshi had been shot. He proved to be a talkative,
timid little man, wholly without guile. Yes, he had let
a man have the key to the house the previous day—a
large, military looking man. He had been too busy to
accompany the man to the house. Yes, he had given
his name, a queer name—Howard Easter. He had re-
turned the key a few hours later, saying the house did
not suit him. He wanted to take possession right away,
and the house needed redecorating throughout.
"What time was it when he returned the key?" asked
Kemerson.
"About four o'clock."
"He had the key long enough to have a duplicate
made then?"
"Why, yes, but what would he want with a dupli-
cate? He got the key from me—and he did not want to
wait for the house to be decorated."
"A man was shot this morning by someone from a
room in that house," said Kemerson, "and it is alto-
gether likely that this Mr. Easter did the shooting. He
doubtless had a duplicate key made, let himself into
the house, after telephoning his victim to wait at his
window for a signal from that building."
"Why, that is terrible!" exclaimed the agent. "What
is the town coming to when it's not safe to let pro-
spective tenants examine a house? What do you want
the key for?"
Kemerson showed him the badge with which the
District Attorney had supplied him. But the agent, his
trust once having been betrayed, was reluctant to give
the key to Kemerson until the actor suggested that he
call up the District Attorney's office. He was convinced
by that suggestion.


198 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Once in the vacant building, Kemerson examined the
door-knobs for finger-prints. They had but recently
been wiped free of dust, but on the floor were faint
outlines of foot-prints, going to and coming from the
stairway—marks made by a man with unusually big
feet.
Kemerson followed the foot-prints to the third floor.
As he expected, the window of a rear room had been
opened and closed. There were clearly discernible
marks in the dust on the sill and on the catch. Probably
the murderer had been in such a hurry to get away
from the window, where he might at any moment be
observed, that he had forgotten to wipe away his finger-
prints. Kemerson decided to call the police finger-print
expert to photograph them as soon as he left the build-
ing. There at least was one clue that would establish
the identity of the murderer once he had been appre-
hended. The window was level with that in Kiyoshi's
room at the O' Tooles, and almost directly opposite. A
bullet fired by a man standing in the window would
have struck Kiyoshi's chest at right angles and pene-
trated without deflection unless it had struck a bone.
Kemerson was startled by the creaking of a board
on the floor below. It was as if someone stepping softly
about had stood still when he trod upon a loose board.
Kemerson waited in absolute stillness for a time. Just
as he had come to the conclusion that it was one of
those noises often heard in deserted buildings, another
sound came to his ears—the careful turning of a latch
to avoid a click.
Convinced that he was not alone in the empty house,
Kemerson drew his revolver, and stepped with the ut-
most caution to the open door that gave upon the hall-
way. Was it imagination or did the knob of a door on


TRAPPED!
199
the second floor turn slightly as though it had just been
closed? The agent might have become suspicious and
come to see for himself what was going on in the house,
but there was no reason why he should conceal himself.
No, it was someone else—someone who had come to
the building for a purpose and had heard Kemerson
moving about. The murderer of Kiyoshi! He had re-
membered the telltale finger-prints and come back to
remove them!
Kemerson stood motionless, revolver half raised, for
several minutes. As no further sound came to his ears
he began cautiously to descend the stairs, stepping close
to the wall to avoid loosened boards. He had reached
the next to the bottom step in silence, but there he trod
on a board that creaked—probably the same one that
had given him warning of another person in the house.
He strained eyes and ears for a full minute, but there
was neither stir nor sound, and he descended to the
second floor hall, advancing an inch at a time towards
the door the knob of which had moved slightly.
He waited a minute or two. Then, as no further
sound of any sort was heard, he turned the knob
cautiously and flung the door wide open. No shot was
fired. No slightest sound came to his ears. Still keeping
his body hidden, revolver pointed, he leaned forward
until, with one eye, he could glance into the room. It
was empty! Breathing more easily, he entered. He
quietly crossed the floor to another door opposite that
by which he had entered. It was locked and all traces
of finger marks and dust carefully wiped off.
A slight noise, the uneasy feeling that a person has
when conscious of an unseen presence, made Kemerson
turn just in time to see the door through which he had
entered closing. He sprang forward but the lock clicked


200 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
just as he grabbed and rattled the handle. He was
locked in! Trapped! Stupidly caught in a trap by the
murderer of Kiyoshi, who had not given himself away
—had not had to fire a shot and would have time to
wipe off all finger marks and make his escape! Kemer-
son cursed his folly in having come alone to the vacant
house.
He heard a short, mocking laugh outside the door,
followed by the creaking of the second tread on the
stairs to the third floor. The murderer was going up
to wipe away his finger-prints in the dust of the win-
dow! Kemerson tried the key he had borrowed from
the real estate agent in the locks of both doors; neither
yielded. He went to the one window; it looked out
upon a narrow well across which was the blank wall of
a brick warehouse or factory. There was no fire escape
and it was a drop of twenty feet or more to the cement
pavement of the narrow court.
He heard the steps of his jailer coming down the
stairs. No longer did he try to deaden his footfalls.
Kemerson placed an eye to the keyhole in hopes of see-
ing enough of his opponent to recognize him. All that
he could see was a button on a dark coat. The man had
stopped in front of the door. As the knob moved
slightly, Kemerson jumped back ready to shoot, but
the door did not open. The knob continued to move.
His captor was removing all finger-prints. He was going
away, leaving Kemerson a prisoner in the vacant
house! He listened to the man's footsteps as he went
down to the first floor, heard him close and lock the
front door.
He was fairly caught, Kemerson thought, with a
mental compliment to his opponent. The man was
smarter than he was—craftier at least. Well, if the


TRAPPED!
201
worst came, he could let himself down from the sill of
the window and drop to the court below, risking a
broken leg. He was not yet ready for that risk. He
raised the window and fired a shot into the court. The
report was muffled by the brick walls. He shouted but
there was no reply to his calls for help.


Chapter XIX
BLAKE CASTS HIMSELF FOR THE
HERO'S ROLE
Stephen Blake went to the Happy Hours night club
within an hour after the capture of Vanuzzi to make
guarded inquiries concerning any employees who might
have been absent at the hour Miss Vane was kidnapped.
He found only a caretaker and some scrub-women
present, cleaning up the place for the evening crowd.
The caretaker had not been on duty the previous eve-
ning and disclaimed all knowledge of what might have
occurred. George, the waiter from whom he might have
got some information, had not come in.
He had recourse to Mrs. Delano who told him what
she had recounted to Kemerson. He was at a standstill,
not knowing where to look for a clue to Miss Vane's
place of captivity.
"I feel as helpless as a new-born baby," he said. "If
anything happens to Miss Vane, I'll feel responsible."
"That's nonsense," said the blind woman, tartly.
"You did not induce her to board the Silver Lark."
"If I hadn't thought of such an asinine scheme to
keep Morne's name before the public she would never
have been mixed up in the matter. I wish she had kept
quiet about the happenings on the Silver Lark, even
if the murderer should go free in consequence."
"But a murder had been committed!" exclaimed
Mrs. Delano.
202


THE HERO'S ROLE 203
"What does Morne's life matter weighed against
hers? He was a bad egg, and she's about the
sweetest—" He stopped, blushing at the warmth in his
voice.
"She is sweet and genuine and entirely unspoiled,"
Mrs. Delano remarked. "She disliked greatly being
brought into the Morne case but is too honest to let it
remain a mystery if she can help to clear it up. She
was particularly disturbed to learn that you were sus-
pected. But there, perhaps I shouldn't have said that.
She would not thank me for it."
"But I'll thank you for it, Mrs. Delano!" exclaimed
Blake. "I'm going to do all I can to help find her. I'm
going directly to the District Attorney's office. Perhaps
he has learned something. I know Mr. Kemerson will
do everything in his power."
"I wish you would show him a telegram which I
received a short time before you arrived. It's from a
man who was on the Silver Lark the night Chadwick
Morne was murdered. How he learned my address I
don't know. He is just as convinced as I am that the
Italian, Vanuzzi, is responsible for Miss Vane's kid-
napping."
"May I read the message?"
"Certainly. It's on the table by the window."
Blake found the telegram and read it:
MUCH CONCERNED OVER THE REPORTED KID-
NAPPING OF MISS VANE. BELIEVE YOU SHOULD GO
TO THE POLICE AND INSIST THAT THEY INVESTI-
GATE THE ITALIAN PASSENGER ON THE AIRPLANE.
HIS ACTIONS WERE CERTAINLY SUSPICIOUS. I
THINK MISS VANE HAD DISCOVERED SOMETHING HE
DID NOT WANT TO COME OUT. SHE WAS TERRIFIED


204 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
OF HIM AFTER MORNE'S DISAPPEARANCE. IF YOU
PREFER TO HAVE PRIVATE DETECTTVES INVESTIGATE
WILL SHARE EXPENSE. AM RETURNING AT ONCE BY
AIRPLANE AND SHALL TAKE THE LIBERTY OF CALL-
ING ON YOU. ARTHUR LAYMAN.
"Why should he offer to share in the expense?"
asked Blake, already beginning to feel a dislike for
Arthur Layman. "Did Miss Vane know him well?"
"I am certain she had never met him before. I pre-
sume he was struck by her beauty and goodness, just
as another young man I know is," and the blind woman
managed to put a great deal of archness into her voice.
"He probably wants to help in rescuing her from
this Mr. Vanuzzi. Old men and young men alike
want to help her—she has such a charming personal-
ity."
"Oh," said Blake, brightening, "he's an old man
then?"
"Mr. Layman? I'm sure not. His voice sounded very
young. Miss Vane described him as big, tall and hand-
some."
"Well, we may need his help," Blake admitted
reluctantly, "but I'm pinning my hope on Mr. Kemer-
son and the police."
Blake ran into Detective Dugan in the anteroom of
Mr. Brixton's office.
"So you've been in hiding," was the detective's greet-
ing.
"From the reporters—not from the police. Mr.
Kemerson knows how to reach me. I'm stopping at the
Maxwell Hotel under the name of John Milton. I have
no objection to your knowing it, or the District At-
torney."


206 , THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Mrs. Delano says Miss Vane never saw him before
boarding the airplane."
"She's probably right, but we'll have to look into
this. Mr. Layman telegraphed his suspicions of Vanuzzi
to me. He is either a most susceptible young man or an
old friend. He may be able to give us a new lead on
what occurred on the Silver Lark, and so help tighten
the net about Vanuzzi. But no one seems to have seen
or heard of another passenger on the Silver Lark—
John Carter. He has disappeared as completely as—as
you intended Mr. Morne to do."
"I heard the pilot mention him, Mr. Brixton, but no
one else has."
When Blake explained that George Groat, the night
club waiter, was probably the man he knew merely as
George, Mr. Brixton gave orders that he be brought
over from the Tombs where he was being held as a
material witness.
Groat proved to be the waiter that Blake knew as
George. He was a thin, hollow-cheeked man of perhaps
thirty. When Blake offered his hand the man clung
to it.
"You don't know how glad I am to see you, Mr.
Blake," he said, and seemed almost on the verge of
tears. "They're holding me here about some kidnapping
that I know nothing about. If I knew anything I'd tell,
but I don't."
"It may all be a mistake holding you, George, but a
young woman was kidnapped last night and the police
have grounds for thinking that Vanuzzi gave the orders
even though he may actually have had no hand in
abducting her. Was Vanuzzi at the night club all eve-
ning?"


THE HERO'S ROLE
207
"I think so. I saw him at different times until two
o'clock, or perhaps it was three."
"Were any of his regular employees absent?"
"I did not miss any of them. Never thought about it."
"Did any strange men call on Vanuzzi during the
evening?"
"Three men who were strangers to me went up to his
office after midnight. I had seen them once or twice
before. I think they were bootleggers. I never heard
their names."
"Did you turn in your key when you gave up your
room at Mrs. Horner's?" asked the District Attorney.
"Yes, sir. Just before I left."
"Was it known at the night club that you roomed
at Mrs. Horner's?"
"All of the waiters have to give their addresses."
"Mr. Horner says you called on him last week. Why
did you go?"
"It was just a friendly call, Your Honor. Mr. Horner
and his wife had been very kind to me, and I had
promised to call. I did not know Mrs. Horner was out
of town."
"Did you tell anyone at the club about your visit
to the Horner's?" asked Blake.
"Why, yes; I spoke of it to the head waiter, Mr.
Vincent."
"Did you mention that Mrs. Horner was away and
the apartment unoccupied at nights while Mr. Horner
was at work?"
"I think I may have. Yes, I'm sure I did. Mr. Vin-
cent had called there once when I was ill and met Mrs.
Horner. He asked about her."
"Did you ever lose your key?"
"I thought it was lost once, but it was only mislaid.


THE HERO'S ROLE
209
A stalwart officer came in followed by a small, timid
man dressed in the white garments of the street clean-
ing department. He looked askance at the District
Attorney.
"Here's something I thought you ought to see at
once, Mr. Brixton," said the patrolman, advancing and
holding out a piece of paper. "This Dago found it in
the street. It's addressed to you, and signed 'Edith
Vane.'"
Mr. Brixton hurriedly unfolded the piece of wrap-
ping paper. After reading it he addressed the street
cleaner. "Where did you find this?"
"In Twenty-fift' Street near Third Avenue. I sweepa
da street and finda da paper, tied wit' blue ribbon, lika
dis." He drew from his pocket a thin blue ribbon, and
then the half of a yellow candle. "It was wrapped
around dis."
"Then Edith is alive!" exclaimed Blake, advancing
to the side of the District Attorney. "Miss Vane, I
mean."
"At least she was when this was written—if she wrote
it," said Mr. Brixton, and tossed the bit of torn wrap-
ping paper to the press agent.
It was addressed to "Mr. Walton Brixton, District
Attorney of New York County. Urgent. Finder please
deliver." Urgent was written in capital letters and
underscored. Inside was the following message:
I am held a prisoner on the top floor of a four-story
brick house. From the window I can see the Metropolitan
Tower. The window has yellow scrim curtains. The
Tower is west from here; the shadows of the buildings
point towards it in the morning. No violence has been of-
fered me yet. I am guarded by a fat man who looks as
though he were half Chinese and a woman who seems
,;;


212 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
They visited half a dozen fourth floor apartments
which had yellow scrim curtains without result. Little
or no objection was made to their search when Blake
set forth the reasons. At intervals they saw police and
detectives entering and leaving buildings. The sight
spurred Blake on to renewed efforts; help was near if
they encountered opposition. The opposition developed
when they reached the seventh apartment. A bland,
heavy-set, Oriental-looking man opened the door and
stood solidly on the threshold. Blake's heart beat faster
as he noted the Chinese cast to the man's eyes and
features.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?"
Dugan nudged Blake's arm to be quiet and himself
took charge of the situation. He showed his detective's
badge.
"From Headquarters. We've been detailed to visit
the houses in this neighborhood. We have a description
of a certain room at the back of an apartment facing
towards the East River where it is believed a young
boy is being held for ransom. We want to look for that
room from the rear of your apartment."
"Now I'd like awfully to oblige you gentlemen," said
the man with an oily goodness of heart that was offensive
to Blake, "but we have a very sick woman in the house
and she can't be disturbed."
"We'll make no disturbance," promised Dugan. "She
won't even know we are here. A hall or kitchen window
will do."
"Even a strange footstep sets her off into spasms of
nervousness. I'd have to have the doctor's orders."
"Who is her doctor?"
Blake thought the man's black, beady eyes shifted


THE HERO'S ROLE
213
uncertainly at Dugan's question, but his answer came
so quickly that he half doubted his impression.
"Dr. Walker—Dr. Shadwell Walker—but unfortu-
nately he is out of town today."
"Police have been thrown entirely around the block,"
said Dugan, "and every apartment is being searched
thoroughly. You will find us much quieter than the
police. Five minutes or less and we'll be through."
"Can you guarantee that no more police or detectives
will want to come in to look for that room?"
"Sure. I'll give you a written order that you are not
to be bothered again, stating that I have examined all
the rooms visible from your flat. Show that to the police
and you will be spared further annoyance."
The man hesitated, scrutinizing Dugan's face from
between narrowed lids. "Very well," he said at length.
"I will admit you to the kitchen, but I warn you that
the least noise will have most serious consequences—
most serious."
"That will be O.K. We'll be quiet as mice."
"Follow me."
Blake found his nerves so taut that he was on the
verge of trembling. He was certain that Miss Vane was
in this flat. She had described her guard as Oriental in
appearance, and the man had been most reluctant to let
them in. Behind the fat man's back he nodded his head
energetically to Dugan. They heard the lock click as
the door was shut. They tiptoed down a long hall at the
end of which the Oriental-looking individual opened a
door and motioned to them to enter. The kitchen was
in disorder, unwashed dishes being piled up in the sink,
the floor sadly in need of a broom and mop.
"My wife has been too busy taking care of the sick


214 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
woman to put the kitchen to rights," explained the man
in his carefully lowered voice.
"Sure she has," replied Dugan as he went to the one
window in the room. It had dirty white scrim curtains
and commanded a clear view of the Metropolitan
Tower. Dugan leaned far out, pretending to examine
the windows across the rear yards. Their unwilling host
watched him narrowly, while Blake kept his eyes on
the fat man. Dugan motioned to Blake to join him, and
then gestured with his thumb towards a window to the
left of the one out of which they were leaning. It had
yellow scrim curtains. Even as they looked, a green shade
was pulled sharply down.
The two men exchanged glances. Blake drew back
into the kitchen and Dugan beckoned their involuntary
host to approach.
"See that apartment with the geranium in the win-
dow? That answers the description of the window we
are looking for. Have you ever seen a young boy, about
eight to ten years old, standing in front of it?"
The oily man gave a negligent glance in the direction
indicated. "No, I can't say that I have. Wait a moment,
though—that next window just to the left, I have a dim
recollection of seeing a boy at it. Yes, I'm sure I have.
Several times, in fact, now that I think of it."
"Thanks. That's where we will look then."
In drawing away from the window, Dugan, as if by
accident, bumped into the fat man, and putting out an
arm to steady himself, knocked a tumbler from the
stack of dishes in the sink. It hit the floor with a crash
and broke into several pieces.
"Blake! What made you be so careless?" cried
Dugan in a voice loud enough to be heard all over the
apartment.


THE HERO'S ROLE
215
"Now you've done it!" cried the oily man, threaten-
ingly. "I warned you"
"Mr. Blake!" cried a feminine voice from a room
across the hallway. "Here I—"
Her voice was suddenly cut off, and a sound of scuf-
fling came to them.
"It's Miss Vane!" exclaimed Blake, and sprang for
the door, but the Oriental-looking man was ahead of
him. He turned facing Blake, all his offensive goodness
transformed into black rage. Blake seized a chair and
used it as a battering ram to hurl the fat figure out of
the way just as the latter's hand was making a grab
towards his inside coat pocket. Blake entered the hall-
way and, finding the door across the way locked, hurled
his weight against it. As it gave way he stumbled into
a small room, darkened by drawn shades. A frowsy
woman, almost as fat as the man in the kitchen, was
struggling with a girl whom he knew at once, despite
the dim light, was Edith Vane. He took the older
woman in his arms and dragged her away from Miss
Vane, hurling her with such force that she fell to the
floor and lay there moaning. He paid no further atten-
tion to her, but advanced quickly to Miss Vane, his
arms outstretched. With an unconsciousness as great
as his own, the girl walked straight into them.
"Edith! Miss Vane, I"
Her face was upturned. Blake quickly lowered his
head and kissed her. She drew back, startled, and
looked at him in a puzzled way. Then he found her
arms about his neck and he was kissing her again. This
time his kiss was returned.
The report of a revolver shot in the kitchen startled
them back into a sense of their danger, and Blake was


216
THE PARACHUTE MURDER
striving to free himself from her arms, which clung to
him all the tighter, when the door opened and the oily,
fat man, a still smoking revolver in his hand, entered
and held them covered.


218 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
lowed myself to be trapped by the murderer of Kiyoshi
like a veritable ninny. I thought I was trailing him
through the empty building; instead, he was trailing
me, leading me on, laughing at me."
"He's a clever criminal, Mr. Kemerson," said Swin-
ton, with a sly smile at his fellow officer. "Even the best
of us get let down at times!"
"But were you ever locked up by the man you were
after?"
"No, I can't say that I ever was." Swinton tried
vainly to make his face appear properly commisera-
tive. "You didn't manage to get a good squint at him,
did you?"
"I did not see him at all. I heard his steps, heard his
laugh as he locked me in"
"Well, a laugh is not much to go by in identifying a
man."
Garman got his key from the actor and stated em-
phatically that he'd be blamed if he ever again gave it
to anybody who wanted to inspect that house.
Kemerson stopped at a telephone booth to call Mr.
Brixton and learned from him that Mrs. Morne and
James Betterling had been waiting in the office for more
than two hours.
"That about lets him out as far as the murder of
Kiyoshi is concerned," said Kemerson, "for the mur-
derer of Kiyoshi imprisoned me in the vacant house
not more than two hours ago. Yet there are some mat-
ters I want Betterling to explain. I'll be down in
twenty minutes."
Arrived at Mr. Brixton's office he explained more
fully his reasons for wanting to question Mrs. Morne
and Betterling before the District Attorney.
Betterling was called in first. Apparently quite at his


BETTERLING IS EVASIVE 221
"Yes. I understand. You heard no actual threat ut-
tered against the life of your lodger?"
"Not in words—no, sir. It was in the tone of his
voice. It made the shivers run down my back."
"Thank you, that will do. Wait, please, until the lady
is brought in for identification. Now, Mr. Betterling,
you still maintain you did not see the Japanese valet
this morning?"
"I have nothing to say."
"Bring in the lady," said the District Attorney.
Mrs. Morne, without a veil, was accompanied into
the office by a uniformed policeman. Mr. Brixton ad-
dressed himself to Mrs. O'Toole.
"Is this the lady who called at your apartment this
morning with the man you have just identified?"
"It is, Your Honor. That's the same dress she wore
this morning."
"You are positive in your identification?"
"Yes, sir. I'd know her anywhere."
"That is all, Mrs. O'Toole. Thank you."
When she had been escorted from the office, Mr.
Brixton addressed Mrs. Morne. "That is evidence
enough to hold you as a material witness, Mrs. Morne,
if not on a charge of murder."
"Murder!" gasped Mrs. Morne, turning so pale that
Kemerson, fearing she was going to faint, helped her
into a chair.
"The murder of your late husband's valet, Kiyoshi,"
he explained.
"But Kiyoshi is alive! I talked with him this morn-
ing!"
"There you are, Betterling," observed the District
Attorney. "Mrs. Morne admits talking with Kiyoshi.
Where did you see him, Mrs. Morne?"


222 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"At his room in West Forty-ninth Street."
"Kiyoshi was murdered shortly after you left," Kem-
erson now informed her. "He was shot as he sat in a
chair by the open window."
Mrs. Morne appeared dazed; her eyes went quickly
to Betterling's face in a look of bewilderment, doubt
and horror. The District Attorney and Kirk Kemerson
watched that intent stare and noted the slight shake of
the head with which Betterling responded.
"Mr. Betterling and the Japanese were overheard
to quarrel violently," said Mr. Brixton. "Did Betterling
threaten Kiyoshi's life?"
"Not his life! Never!" cried Mrs. Morne.
"What was the purpose of your call on the valet?"
"You may wait outside, Mr. Betterling," said the
District Attorney. "I wish to question Mrs. Morne pri-
vately."
"You win," replied Betterling. "Ill talk. I did call on
Kiyoshi this morning with Mrs. Morne. I threatened
him. And I meant it, too. But I did not kill him. Some-
one else did that job for me—beat me to it."
"Jim!" cried Mrs. Morne, and would have gone to
him had not a policeman prevented.
"I'll do the talking, Doris," said Betterling. "I
dragged you into this. There is no use in longer deny-
ing that I had murder in my heart. But someone else
hated him, too. He's got his just desert without his
blood being on my conscience." He turned to Mr.
Brixton. "Let Mrs. Morne go. Leave her name out of
this inquisition. She's been tortured enough. I'll tell you
what you want to know, insofar as I can."
"I have no wish to torture Mrs. Morne, but"
Kemerson stopped the District Attorney's words
with a gesture. "I think we may safely spare Mrs.


BETTERLING IS EVASIVE 223
Morne any questioning at present—at least until we
have checked the information that Mr. Betterling prom-
ises to give us."
After some whispered interchanges between the two
men, Mr. Brixton consented to let Mrs. Morne return
to her place of concealment. After she had left the of-
fice, Betterling lighted a cigarette and took the chair
facing Mr. Brixton, as the latter indicated.
"I would like a full statement of your relations with
Mrs. Morne. When did you first meet her?"
"I have known her for twelve years, Mr. Brixton. I
engaged her to play ingenue roles in a stock company
I was managing. She was barely out of her teens then.
She was a beautiful girl, charming, sincere, ambitious
to succeed. She worked hard and quickly proved she
had a distinct gift for the theatre. I was interested in
her professionally at first, but as I came to know her
better that interest became personal. By the end of the
season we were in love. I wanted to marry her, but my
wife would not give me a divorce. We had been sep-
arated for a year or more at that time—my fault, but
my wife had forgiven me and wanted me back. Doris,
always quickly moved to sympathy and opposed to di-
vorce, thought I ought to try again to make a success
of my married life. I advanced her to second leads the
next season. The venture did not prove a success and
when I returned to New York, Doris accepted a stock
engagement in Minneapolis. A year or so later I learned
that she had married Chadwick Morne. When they
came to New York I looked her up and was received
as an old friend. I was still in love with her. After my
wife died, a year ago, I urged her to divorce Morne
and marry me. When she was convinced that he was
strongly enough established as a star so that a divorce


224 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
would not injure him professionally—she believed that
he was capable of becoming one of the greatest of
American actors—she agreed to seek her freedom. We
intended to get married a few months after she had ob-
tained her divorce. And then our plans were upset by
the murder of her husband. It has been hard at times
for me to keep my hands off Morne when I have had
to stand by and see him abuse and torture her. He
knew I was in love with her, but his confidence in her
was absolute. He always felt that he could keep
any woman merely by crooking his little finger at
her."
"That Mrs. Morne was planning to divorce her hus-
band we already knew," said Mr. Brixton. "That is
why she has not been arrested on a charge of complic-
ity in the death of her husband, despite the fact that
she refuses to account for her movements on the night
of his murder."
"She was with friends, Mr. Brixton. They will come
forward if it ever becomes necessary to defend her
against any such charge. For the time being, their
mouths are closed lest another innocent person be-
come involved."
"I trust, and believe, that such an explanation will
not be needed to prove her innocence," said Kemerson.
"But the matter in hand just now concerns the murder
of Kiyoshi. Mrs. Morne not long ago accused him of
stealing a letter from her boudoir. What was in that
letter?"
"I never saw it."
"Then why did you go with her to Kiyoshi and
threaten him?"
"I know what the letter was about, but there again
I must decline to answer. The valet had discovered


BETTERLING IS EVASIVE 225
something that he thought she would pay big money not
to have disclosed. That first letter gave him a hint,
which visits to the apartment after Morne's death made
appear to him as certainties, and he began trying to
blackmail her, through me."
"More letters bearing a Paris stamp?" asked Kem-
erson. "Like the one you tried to tear from my hands?"
"Perhaps. What does it matter? I would willingly
have paid him a small sum, but he held out for fifty
times the amount. Carried away with anger, I threat-
ened to kill him if he ever made use of the knowledge
he had obtained. I refused then to pay him even a dol-
lar, knowing that he would try again, and hoping he
would become more reasonable in his demands."
"Why did you take Mrs. Morne with you?" asked
Mr. Brixton.
"She insisted on going. She thought a woman's pleas,
backed up by a man's strength, might have some effect
on him. She appealed to his loyalty to her husband—
and learned that the Jap hated Morne. He was cunning
and cruel—taunted her with his knowledge, which he
but half understood and misinterpreted. I could have
choked him with the greatest satisfaction. He was
armed, however, and I did not wish to risk my life. nor
to embroil Doris in any scandal."
"The Japanese knew something about Mrs. Morne's
past life then, I take it," said the District Attorney.
"Or something that would affect her future. I must
leave you to your speculations on that point."
"You had the motive for killing the valet, by your
own confession," continued Mr. Brixton. "You knew
where he was hiding; visited him in his room. From
his window you could see the vacant building across
the back yards. Easy enough to entice him to the win-


BETTERLING IS EVASIVE 227
murder, though I cannot yet see the connection."
"Vanuzzi may have issued the order for Kiyoshi's
death," said Mr. Brixton. "I do not yet see the Italian
out of the picture. Mr. Betterling does seem out of it,
for the moment at least."
"Then I take it you are through with me?" said Bet-
terling.
"For the present, yes. You could easily have had a
confederate telephone to Kiyoshi while you were argu-
ing with him."
"I cannot prove that I didn't. It is up to you to prove
that I did."
"That point will come up again," said the District
Attorney, rising. "Good day."
When Betterling had gone, Mr. Brixton faced Kem-
erson sternly. "I presume you had some reason for
wanting Betterling to believe that our suspicions of
him were allayed?"
"My dear Walton, you may have suspicions of James
Betterling. I have none."
"Then why waste my time by having him here for
questioning?"
"My adventure in the empty house has given me a
stronger suspicion in another direction—to someone
that Morne feared. He did not fear Betterling: he
twitted him about his love for Mrs. Morne. He did not
fear Vanuzzi; he patronized him."
"It is Brewster you suspect then?"
"Brewster is a hard nut to crack, and I haven't the
right nut-cracker. What had Brewster to do with
Morne? Kiyoshi might have told us. Now we may never
know."


Chapter XXI
THE CAPTIVE LOVERS
Blake was not armed. It would have done him no good
had he been, for the fat Oriental-looking man had him
covered. The frowsy woman, her moans diminishing,
got up from the floor, nursing an injured hand.
"I told you no good would come of this," she said,
scowling at the man. "With him locked up."
"We had our orders," said the man. "They haven't
got the best of me yet."
"They will have very soon," said Blake, Miss Vane's
arms still tight about his neck. "Squads of police are
scouring every building in the block. You couldn't get
through the cordon by yourself, let alone with two pris-
oners."
The fat man made no response. Still keeping Blake
and Miss Vane covered, he addressed the woman.
"Telephone Paul for instructions. Tell him there's a
wounded detective in the kitchen, and this bird has
found the girl."
The woman, still rubbing her injured hand, started
to protest volubly, urging him to let the girl go.
"Shut up. We are taking our orders from Paul now!"
shouted the man harshly. "Beat it to the 'phone." Un-
der the ugly, sinister threat in his voice, the woman
went sullenly to obey his command.
"Unless you want the girl hurt, or perhaps killed,
you'd better keep quiet," he barked at Blake. "She
228


THE CAPTIVE LOVERS 231
Blake had a wild idea of making a break for it when
he reached the outer hallway, but abandoned it when
he felt the end of a revolver in the short man's coat
pocket jabbed into his ribs. He followed up the stair-
way to the roof, across two intervening buildings and
then down the stairs to the third floor of what appeared
to be an empty building. It had the dusty, moldy smell
of a house long vacant. Its few windows were thickly
coated with dust and cobwebs. At length they were
conducted into a small room with but one high window
which gave upon a blank brick wall two or three feet
away; a table with a few chairs about it and several
newspapers lying on it. A deck of dirty playing cards
and a candle-stick with a half-burnt-out candle in it
completed the furniture in the room.
There they remained until darkness fell. The fat
man wished to pursue their interrupted literary discus-
sion, but finding Blake unresponsive to his remarks
upon Hamlet's complete sanity, gave it up and devoted
himself to a game of solitaire, his revolver on the table.
The short man sat on guard in a chair tilted back
against the door.
Blake and Edith Vane sat hand in hand, occasionally
conversing in low tones. As newly avowed lovers will,
they talked of themselves and their ambitions, eager to
know all they could about each other as if this was not
to be their last meeting. They spoke of the events on
the Silver Lark the night Morne was murdered. The
mention of Arthur Layman's name in passing recalled
to Blake the fact that both Mrs. Delano and Mr. Brix-
ton had received telegrams from him suggesting that
Vanuzzi was probably back of her kidnapping. When
he told her of the contents of the two messages a sort of
joyful expectancy shone in her face.


232 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"He said he was flying back to New York to help
search for you."
"Then perhaps he is here now!" she exclaimed in a
breathless little whisper. "We may both yet escape! He
knows. He will try to find us!" Her whole attitude was
changed; her drooping spirit revived; hope shone in
her face, in her eyes.
Driven by an irresistible impulse, perhaps of jeal-
ousy of Arthur Layman, even in the hour which might
prove to be their last, Blake, keeping his voice low,
asked:
"How long have you known Mr. Layman? Mrs.
Delano said you had never seen him until you boarded
the Silver Lark."
Her answer was slow in coming. She regarded him
with troubled eyes. "He was a stranger to me until that
night," she said at length, averting her face.
Blake thrust out of his mind as disloyal to his love
for her the thought that she had hesitated too long be-
fore answering.
"Then why is he coming? Did he fall in love with
you at sight, as I did?"
"Of course not! It's just that he—he saw that Mr.
Vanuzzi suspected I had discovered something on the
Silver Lark—just as I told Mr. Brixton and Mr. Kem-
erson—that he thought he had destroyed. Let's not
talk about that. It brings all that horrible night back
to me."
So they fell to talking about themselves again. Dark-
ness and the hour of their removal to some fate they
could but guess at, came on all too swiftly. It was soon
after nine o'clock that the long-awaited signal on the
door startled them with its abruptness. They had not
heard footfalls. The fat man grabbed his revolver while


234 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
driver's back with an expression of puzzled wonder
which she strove to hide when she saw Blake looking at
her. When he found her hand and squeezed it, she re-
turned his pressure with a warmth and vigor that de-
lighted, even while it puzzled, him.
"Down Second Avenue," commanded their jailer,
after the stocky man and the slender youth had
squeezed in beside Blake. "I'll tell you when to
stop."
The chauffeur headed East to Second Avenue and
then turned South. A blue sedan was a few yards in
front of them. At Fourteenth Street, the chauffeur, in
avoiding a collision with the blue sedan which had
stopped suddenly without signal, swerved and ran the
limousine into a pillar of the Elevated.
"You damned idiot!" spluttered the fat man. "What
the devil have you done now? A hell of a chauffeur you
are!"
"Just a minute, Cap," said the driver, getting out. "I
don't believe much damage has been done."
Two stocky men got out of the blue sedan and ap-
proached the chauffeur who volubly upbraided them
for having stopped so suddenly without giving him a
signal.
"Sorry," said one of the men, "but you've got to
keep your eyes peeled in New York traffic. Done any
damage?"
"Can't tell yet." The chauffeur examined the mech-
anism of the car. "The gas feed's broken," he an-
nounced, straightening up, and turned to the fat man.
"I'm afraid you'll have to get a taxi. This car will have
to be towed to a garage."
A third man got out of the blue sedan. It was Kirk
Kemerson! Blake's eyes nearly popped out of his head,


THE CAPTIVE LOVERS 237
Blake, bitterly. "How did you find out where we were,
Mr. Kemerson?"
"Dugan recovered consciousness—he was shot
through the left arm and knocked over the head—and
'phoned to Mr. Brixton. We knew you and Miss Vane
must be somewhere in the block, but we called off the
house-to-house search, fearing the abductors might do
away with you both before trying to make a getaway.
The block was guarded, however. Then Mr. Layman
arrived. He believed, as we did, that Vanuzzi was re-
sponsible for the kidnapping of Miss Vane. He knew
Vanuzzi's chauffeur, whom he resembles slightly, and
proposed that we take the chauffeur into custody and
let him impersonate the man. I think I did a pretty
good make-up job on Mr. Layman—at any rate he was
able to pass himself off as Vanuzzi's chauffeur success-
fully. We figured out that Vanuzzi's agents would try
to remove Miss Vane, and probably yourself, at night,
and that Vanuzzi's chauffeur would be employed for
that purpose, as a taxicab driver might prove too cu-
rious, and report anything unusual to the police. The
scheme worked. I congratulate you, Mr. Layman, on
its success. Miss Vane has been rescued and my young
friend here—well, I haven't much doubt but that his
life has been saved."
"I am glad that, with your aid, the affair turned out
so happily," replied Layman modestly.
Miss Vane turned impulsively to her fellow passen-
ger on the Silver Lark.
"Then it's you I must thank for my—for our—es-
cape from that dreadful man. I don't know how to ex-
press my—our—gratitude."
"He flew here from Chicago as soon as he read of


238 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
your kidnapping to offer his aid in the search for you,"
said Kemerson.
"I am more than repaid by the fact that you have
escaped," said Layman, looking so long into the girl's
frank and admiring eyes, that Blake almost regretted
their rescue. He had wanted to play the hero before
Miss Vane, and had succeeded in being the dupe, leav-
ing the hero's role to Mr. Layman who, he had to ac-
knowledge, played it modestly. Miss Vane clung to
their rescuer's hand so long that he became embar-
rassed and removed it. "It was Mr. Kemerson who put
my plan into execution and carried it out successfully,"
Layman added.
"We mustn't keep Miss Vane here any longer," said
Kemerson. "She needs a long rest, and Mrs. Delano is
worried sick. Take her home, Blake, and meet me at
twelve o'clock at Mrs. Morne's apartment."
"Why aren't you at the theatre?" asked Blake.
"I've persuaded Mr. Belltower to give the role to my
understudy for the final two weeks of the season—and
won that young man's overwhelming gratitude, as
there's a chance he may land the part in the road com-
pany in the fall. My interest in the role has evaporated
entirely since Mr. Brixton turned the Morne case over
to me."
He hailed a passing taxi, climbed in, and was driven
northward.


Chapter XXII
A NEW MOTIVE
The policeman on guard at the entrance of Mrs.
Morne's apartment told Blake that Kemerson was
waiting for him in the library. Seated in an easy chair
facing the door was the figure of a man hunched down
and peering straight ahead.
Blake stopped with a sort of gasp. "I . . . Why
. . . You almost had me fooled!"
"A pretty good make-up, you think?" asked Kem-
erson, a hint of jocosity in his voice.
"And how! You had me almost believing for a mo-
ment that Morne was not dead, or that his ghost was
haunting the apartment. What's the idea of the mas-
querade?"
"Just a little hobby of mine. I told you something
about it on another occasion. I like to study the na-
ture, the mind and character of a role that I play on the
stage. Merely dressing in the clothes suitable for a cer-
tain character part is not enough. That frees the mind
to a certain extent from one's own personality, but
does not fix the character of the man to be imperson-
ated. If I know what he likes and dislikes, what he
fears, what his hobbies are, whether he likes baseball or
prefers a game of cribbage or whist, whether he goes
fishing or to church on Sunday, whether he reads
Shakespeare or the modern equivalent of Nick Carter
—in fact, any bit of knowledge that the author gives
239


240 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
me to work upon—helps to fix the man's character so
that, when my mind is freed of myself, I can feel and
think, after a fashion at any rate, as the character feels
and thinks. I was just trying to carry my professional
methods into real life—trying to get inside the skin of
Chadwick Morne when he was alive. Trickery if you
will, but this make-up, these clothes (which Morne
really wore) help me to understand him."
"But does that reveal any clues as to the identity of
his murderer?"
"No, it does not give me the finger-print of the mur-
derer, or a cigarette case with his initials, inadvertently
dropped at the scene of the crime for his later confu-
sion. I am seeking for mental, not material, clues."
"Mental clues? I see. The science of deduction."
"No, no. I am not a scientist, nor much of a logician.
My powers of deduction, as far as crime is concerned,
are untrained. I have used deduction to a certain extent
in studying a stage role. I try to use such common sense
as I possess; to think, feel and act as the murder vic-
tim did; make such inferences as I can—and look to
the police for the clues that will give force to my de-
ductions and inferences, or prove their worthless-
ness."
"And what has your impersonation of Chadwick
Morne tonight led you to deduce or infer?" asked
Blake, putting more than a hint of sarcasm into his
voice.
"Almost as little as you would suppose, I am afraid.
Yet I believe that Morne was killed by someone that he
had reason to fear. And he did not fear Vanuzzi. He
was contemptuously patronizing to the Italian. Re-
member, he visited the Happy Hours night club the
very night after Vida Latterby told him that Vanuzzi


A NEW MOTIVE
241
had threatened Morne's life as well as her own. I be-
lieve Miss Latterby can be believed on that point; it
fits in with Morne's character as we knew it. Nor did
he fear James Betterling; he twitted him about his love
for Mrs. Morne. And he certainly was in no terror of
his Japanese valet, or he would have discharged him.
He did fear one man—a big strapping fellow whom
Miss Latterby has identified as Lieutenant Brewster.
He got Kiyoshi the job as Morne's valet, inducing him
to use an assumed name."
"But how could Brewster have murdered Morne?
He was not aboard the Silver Lark. He could not know
at what spot Morne would leap from the airplane, nor
where the parachute would land. Not even Morne
knew that. I think you are off on a false scent, Mr.
Kemerson; I really do."
"You believe that Vanuzzi fired the shot?"
"There is nothing else to believe. Else why should he
have kidnapped Miss Vane?"
"And that Vanuzzi, in prison, procured the murder
of Kiyoshi?"
"The Jap knew too much. He had tipped Vanuzzi off
that Morne was flying on the Silver Lark. He had
doubtless given orders for Kiyoshi to be put on the spot
before we captured him—as soon as Kiyoshi told him
we had traced him and he had promised to go before
the District Attorney. With Miss Vane and Kiyoshi out
of the way, he had little fear of a conviction."
"All quite plausible, Blake; possible even, but if
Brewster proves to be Howard Easter, the man who
borrowed the key to the vacant building from which
the Japanese was shot, does not that make him also
suspect in the Morne case? The real estate agent's de-
scription of Howard Easter also fits Brewster."


242 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"That would undoubtedly bring him in among the
suspects," Blake agreed.
"And the Silver Lark was trailed by another airplane
until about the time of Morne's parachute leap. If
Brewster knew Morne was going to leap from the Sil-
ver Lark, what was to prevent him from trailing it, cir-
cling about Morne as he descended in the parachute
and firing the shot that killed him?"
"I suppose it might be possible for a crack shot," ad-
mitted Blake with some reluctance.
"He might have fired a dozen shots, with only one
taking effect. He could then have flown back to New
York or some other place far away from the scene of
the crime."
"Wait a moment!" cried Blake, excitedly. "I read
something in the papers the next day about an aviator
who landed in a public road by a garage to get a sup-
ply of gas. It was in one of the tabloids. The man re-
fused all information about himself to the garage man
—wouldn't let him get close enough to the cockpit to
see his license"
"Where was this?" asked Kemerson, sharing Blake's
excitement. "If it were Brewster and we could get an
identification from the garage owner!"
"It was somewhere in New York State I think."
"Look up the item first thing in the morning and
read it to me over the 'phone. I have been going through
Morne's papers, old letters and scrap-books—Mrs.
Morne let me have his keys—but I've found nothing
that brings Brewster into the case. I am convinced he
knew Morne and had some reason for hating him. Per-
haps they met in France when Morne went over as a
'Y' entertainer. It may have been a question of a
woman between them. There were many women in


244 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
from your room the night of Morne's murder, nor why
you tried to protect Mrs. Morne."
"She needs no protection," began Blake, hotly.
"You had some understanding with her as to the na-
ture of her answers the night you brought her to my
apartment. I saw you signal her more than once when
I pressed her a little closely. Come, you know more
about the circumstances leading up to Morne's murder
than you have confided to me."
"But I know absolutely nothing about the murder,"
protested Blake.
"I said about the circumstances leading up to it. Who
was Mrs. Morne's Paris correspondent—the person
whose letters were of such moment that both Betterling
and Kiyoshi broke into the premises to get them?"
"I do not know, Mr. Kemerson."
"Come, be frank and remove all suspicion from Mrs.
Morne and Betterling in the murder of Kiyoshi at least.
They both visited the valet a few hours before he was
shot. Betterling was overheard to threaten him."
"I can tell you nothing," asserted Blake so positively
that Kemerson sighed regretfully.
"Nor what took you to the Pennsylvania station the
night of the murder?"
"Only that it had nothing to do with Morne."
Kemerson stood up suddenly, his eyes flashing.
"Who was the child that Mrs. Morne wished to
adopt, against Morne's wishes?"
Blake was taken by surprise; his eyes darkened, his
face flushed. He hesitated, considering what answer to
make.
"I did not know there was any question of adopting
a child."
Kemerson shrugged impatiently. "Are you still


A NEW MOTIVE 245
blinded by your old love for Mrs. Morne, or is it but a
mistaken sense of chivalry?"
"Miss Vane has promised to marry me," was Blake's
only reply.
"On that I can and do congratulate you heartily. She
is a courageous and lovely young woman."
He dismissed Blake. When alone he sank back in a
chair, the theatre record from which Miss Dineen's
portrait had been cut on his knees, reviewing such evi-
dence as had come to light in the parachute murder
case, trying to make it fit in with the murder of the
Japanese valet. He then drifted into that half dreamy,
wholly motionless, state in which the actor in him at-
tempted to capture and imprison in his own personal-
ity, the nature and character of the man whose murder
he was trying to solve.
The next morning Blake called at Kemerson's apart-
ment at noon and gave him the clipping about the un-
known aviator who had landed by a roadside garage
for a supply of gasoline. The town was Binghamton.
Kemerson pocketed the clipping and asked Blake if he
could catch the first train to Binghamton.
"Why, yes. You want me to interview Erskin, the
owner of the gas station?"
"I want you to induce him to come to New York so
we can confront Brewster with him. Unless I am
mightily mistaken he will identify Brewster as the pilot
of the mystery plane."
"You have learned something new at the newspaper
morgue then?"
"Dorothy Dineen's name in private life was Mrs.
Isobel Brewster."
"Brewster's wife!" cried Blake. "Why, then Brew-
ster is the murderer!"


Chapter XXIII
THE MISSING DETECTIVE
Blake arrived back in New York with Robert Erskin
late that evening to find the newspapers devoting
streamers to the mysterious disappearance of Kirk
Kemerson.
"SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR IN MORNE MUR-
DER CASE MISSING."
"MORNE INVESTIGATOR REPORTED
KILLED."
"KIRK KEMERSON, ACTOR-DETECTIVE, BE-
LIEVED THIRD VICTIM IN MORNE CASE."
A pyramid under one scarehead stated that District
Attorney Walton Brixton had received a telephone
message in mid-afternoon that he would not again see
his investigator in the parachute murder case.
White and shaken, Blake repaired to a telephone
booth and put in a call for Mr. Brixton at his home.
His voice was incoherent at first in the stress of the
emotion under which he labored, but at length made
the District Attorney understand that he had brought
back to the city a witness whom Kemerson had wished
to interrogate—a witness by whom Kemerson expected
to prove that Lieutenant Brewster had trailed the Sil-
ver Lark on the night of Morne's murder.
"Some years ago one of Morne's leading women
committed suicide," he added. "You may remember
the case. Her name was Dorothy Dineen—her stage
247


THE MISSING DETECTIVE 249
Morne. He had suspected as much for some time.
His theory was that Brewster was the pilot of the
plane that trailed the Silver Lark; that he learned
from the Japanese valet that Morne intended to leap
from the airplane and go into hiding, and kept close
enough to circle about the falling parachute and make
sure of killing Morne before his body touched the
earth. He believed that Brewster, in his anxiety to get
far away from the scene of the crime, did not dare
stop to refill his gas tank but headed back East and
landed only when his gas was nearly exhausted. And
that that happened just outside of Binghamton. If he
had landed at a flying field his identity would have
in all probability been discovered at once."
"Kemerson must have had good grounds for his
belief," said Mr. Brixton. "We will pursue his line
of reasoning. Mr. Erskin, did this unknown pilot say
where he had flown from?"
"He said he had come from Baltimore and was on
his way to Albany. He ordered gas and watched me
fill his tank. I was curious, of course—I don't sell gas
to an aviator every day—and I edged up to the cock-
pit to take a squint at his license. He pushed me back
without an 'Excuse me' or anything, jumped in and
started the engine. The road was straight and level
for half a mile or so, but it was lucky for him just
the same that no autos—"
"You would recognize the man if you were to see
him again?" interrupted the District Attorney.
"Dead to rights. A strapping big fellow, dark brown
hair, kind of brownish-yellow eyes—"
"Any distinguishing mark on his airplane?"
"Not that I saw. It had been newly painted—blue."
"A bi-plane?"


THE MISSING DETECTIVE 251
at in one of the clippings, was not mentioned in the
verdict.
Among the clippings on Morne was one from a
French newspaper which stated that the popular Amer-
ican actor, Chadwick Morne, soon to return to New
York, had discovered a future star in Miss Dorothy
Dineen, then appearing as a "Y" entertainer, whom
he had met on shipboard crossing the Atlantic. Blake
was convinced that Morne had had an affair with
Brewster's wife in France, had really given her a
chance at a stage career, had quickly tired of her, and
years later been murdered by her husband. Why the
aviator should have waited so long for vengeance he
did not attempt to explain.
If Kemerson had gone to Brewster and confronted
him with all the knowledge he had gained from the
morgue then there was little doubt but that the actor-
detective had been kidnapped or done to death. If
Brewster had murdered Morne, and then Kiyoshi
merely because the latter had agreed to go before the
District Attorney and tell what he knew, then there
was little hope that Kemerson was still alive. It was
with a sad heart that Blake made his way to his rooms
at Mrs. Handsaker's to get his mail, which he had
not had since taking up quarters at the Maxwell Hotel.
He did not wish his visit there known and let himself
in very quietly. Not even a hall light was burning. As
he opened the door of his suite he was assailed by the
smell of cigar smoke. Someone was in the room, or
had just left! He stood motionless, his heart beating
faster.
In the dim light from a street lamp, filtering through
the branches of a tree, he began to perceive the faint
outline of objects. He became conscious, as he listened,


252 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
of a sound, strange and yet familiar. It was his alarm
clock ticking away! And it would have run down at
least two days ago! The feeling that he was not alone
gained the force of a conviction.
Cautiously he felt for the switch and pressed the
button. The light over his reading table flashed on.
Nobody was in the room, yet the print of a body was
in the cushions of his easy chair. His eye was then
caught by a sheet of white paper under the lamp. One
corner was folded over. With a sense of suspense, he
picked up the sheet. Scrawled across the top was his
name. Underneath it was this warning:
You are meddling too much in what does not concern
you. If you value your life, keep out of the parachute
murder case or you will meet the fate that befell the Jap
valet and that is in store for your actor friend.
There was no signature. Blake felt a sudden chill
creeping along his spine. He realized that this was no
idle threat, yet his immediate reaction was not fear
for himself but for Kemerson. The actor evidently
was alive when the warning had been written—and
probably the writer of the note had but just now been
in his room! An unreasoning hope that Kemerson was
alive sprang up in his heart. His fingers turned down
the folded corner of the sheet of paper in his hand
and two words under the flap jumped up at his eyes:
"Take heed," followed by the initials, "K. K."
His heart seemed suddenly a thing of lead in his
breast. He had now no doubt but that Kemerson had
met the fate of Morne and Kiyoshi. The murderer had
let his captive see the message, and, to make it more
impressive, Kemerson had added his own warning.
If Kemerson were dead, Blake determined that his


THE MISSING DETECTIVE 253
murderer should be brought to justice even if he were
to lose his own life in the effort. He felt that he now
had the same information to work on that the actor
had gained through his investigation, and he would
carry on along that line.
He pocketed the few pieces of mail on the table,
quenched the light and stole out of the building. He
had not gone a dozen feet up the street when a slouch-
ing figure drew out of the dense shadow of a stoop.
"Beg pardon, Guv'nor, can you let me have a dime
for a cup o' coffee?"
Blake drew back, startled, his nerves on edge. He
had never before been accosted by a beggar on this
street.
"Sorry but I never give money to men on the street.
If you are hungry I'll take you to a restaurant and
buy you something to eat."
To his astonishment, the panhandler began to abuse
him volubly, pawing at him with his hands as though
they itched to encircle the press agent's throat.
"Get away from me or I'll hand you over to the
police!" said Blake.
The slouching figure drew up straight—as tall as
Blake himself—and emitted a laugh of derision.
"You're heading for danger," came a swift whisper.
"Go back the other way. Quick! Watch your step!"
Blake stood stock still, his bones turning to water.
He stared at the uncouth figure which had resumed
its slouching attitude.
"Who are you?" he whispered. "What is the dan-
ger?"
Instead of replying, the man fell to cursing him
roundly, pushing him backward, alternately begging
and cursing. Blake saw two figures lurking in the


254 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
shadow of a tree farther up the street, watching his
altercation with the panhandler, and remembrance of
the warning note he had found in his room with the
two words from Kemerson, flooded his mind. Hastily
he took a coin from his pocket and flung it to the
beggar. It fell clinking on the sidewalk, and the man
pounced upon it.
"A quarter! Thank you, Guv'nor! I'll drink your
health in—in a cup o' coffee!" and he laughed loudly.
Then he fell again into that fierce whisper. "Stay not
upon the order of your going, but go at once!" The
beggar accompanied his words with a gesture as of
slitting a man's throat.
Horrified, Blake turned and walked hastily down
the street. At the corner he hopped into a taxi, and
gave hurried directions. It was not until he had reached
his hotel that the fact that the beggar had used a
quotation from Shakespeare came to him. A panhandler
quoting Shakespeare! A great hope was born in him
on the instant; the hope that Kemerson had eluded
his captors; that the beggar was Kemerson himself!
Perhaps the warning words, "Take heed. K. K.," had
been added to the letter in his, Blake's, own room
after the actor had gained entrance to it. Among the
envelopes he had stuffed into his pockets at Mrs.
Handsaker's he found the one in which the warning
note had been enclosed. He felt certain then that
Kemerson had visited his room that very night, found
the letter, opened it, added the two words, and lin-
gered outside to warn him. Yet why should Kemerson
have expected him to drop in at Mrs. Handsaker's for
his mail this night?
Blake called for Erskin at the hour appointed and
went with him to the office of the District Attorney.


THE MISSING DETECTIVE 255
Blake was admitted at once while Erskin was re-
quested to wait in the outer office. Mr. Brixton was
annoyed; neither the detectives from his own office
nor the men assigned by Inspector Connell to bring
Lieutenant Brewster in had been able to find him.
Blake did not give the District Attorney time to
finish his observation on the inefficiency of the detec-
tive department, but thrust the warning letter into
his hands, and sketched for him rapidly the events that
had followed his finding of the note. Mr. Brixton
agreed that the "Take heed. K. K." was in Kemer-
son's handwriting, and while he did not share Blake's
belief that the beggar was Kemerson, appeared con-
vinced that the actor was alive. The information that
Blake had gathered on Dorothy Dineen and Chadwick
Morne added so much verisimilitude to Kemerson's
theory of Brewster as the murderer that Mr. Brixton
ordered his entire staff of detectives to engage in the
hunt for the missing stunt pilot, and assigned Blake
the task of keeping Robert Erskin in New York until
Brewster was found.
Detectives and police failed to bring Brewster in
during the day, and Blake spent most of the afternoon
entertaining the gas station proprietor. When he had
left his guest at his hotel, he started out on a little
sleuthing expedition of his own. He paid a visit to
Chester Garman, agent for the vacant house from
which Kiyoshi had been shot, and obtained from him
a sufficiently minute description of Howard Easter
to be convinced that Easter and Brewster were the
same. Garman was certain that he would recognize
Easter and agreed to hold himself on call for a visit
to the District Attorney's office to identify the bor-
rower of the key.


Chapter XXIV
AN IDENTIFICATION THAT WENT WRONG
It was nearly noon the next day when Blake received
a telephone call from the District Attorney to bring
Erskin to his office. Lieutenant Brewster had come in
voluntarily, explaining that he had been out of town
and had just learned that Mr. Brixton wanted to see
him. Blake telephoned Chester Garman to report at
once at Mr. Brixton's office, got Robert Erskin at his
hotel and took a taxi downtown.
Mr. Brixton placed Blake and Erskin in a room
opening off his outer office so they might observe
Brewster without themselves being seen.
"That's the man!" exclaimed Erskin as Brewster
passed the door. "Same walk, same shoulders. I didn't
get a full look at his face, but the side view is enough."
Blake then went into Mr. Brixton's office, leaving
Erskin outside until the District Attorney was ready
to confront him with Brewster.
"You know Mr. Blake," said Brixton to the aviator
who sat directly across the desk. Brewster gave the
press agent one keen look and nodded affably.
"Have you learned anything since you were last
here," said the District Attorney to Lieutenant Brew-
ster, "to lead you to suspect anyone as the murderer
of the Japanese valet?"
"Nothing at all. It may have been the work of some
256


AN IDENTIFICATION GONE WRONG 259
so nearly exhausted that you had to land in a public
road and get a fresh supply?"
"The explanation is simple enough, Mr. Brixton. I
make my living by visiting the various air shows,
carnivals, county fairs, taking passengers up for a
ride at five dollars each. Sometimes I perform stunts
with my ship. I was en route from Hartford to Buffalo
and wanted to get an early start. I was delayed in get-
ting to the hangar and, judging that I had enough
gasoline to get me to Buffalo, did not wait to have
my tank replenished. By the time I was in the vicinity
of Binghamton I found my gas so nearly exhausted
that I did not dare try to reach a landing field. I saw
a gas station beside a wide, paved road, free of traffic,
on which I could land. My plane is a small one."
"You jostled away the filling station agent when he
attempted to get a look at your license."
"Naturally. I do not like to have curious busybodies
monkeying about the cockpit of my plane."
"Why did you conceal your identity from the
man?"
"My name would have meant nothing to him. And
it was no business of his."
"What color is your airplane?" asked Blake.
There was just the fraction of a second too long
a pause before the answer, "Red," was forthcoming.
"The plane was blue that landed in the road."
"I've since had it repainted. Red is much easier to
see up in the blue of the sky. It touches the imagina-
tion of spectators more keenly."
Mr. Brixton now summoned an attendant and asked
that Erskin be shown in. Brewster nodded familiarly
to him as he entered.
"We never expected our next meeting might be fn


AN IDENTIFICATION GONE WRONG 261
wish to appear to be listening to a private conversa-
tion.
"Mr. Garman," said the District Attorney, "do you
recognize, in this room, the man who called himself
Howard Easter?"
Garman looked at Blake with a timid, self-conscious
smile; then at Erskin, and finally his eyes came to
rest on the back of Lieutenant Brewster. The latter
conveniently turned so that his face was in profile.
"Yes, sir. That is Mr. Easter." Garman pointed to
Brewster. "He is the man who borrowed the key to the
vacant—"
The real estate agent never completed that sentence,
for the aviator turned and shot at him a glance that
seemed to dry up his powers of speech. He stood,
his mouth partly open, like, thought Blake, a bird
fascinated by a snake.
"I am Lieutenant Marshall Brewster," said the avia-
tor, standing militarily erect. "I have never seen this
fellow before in my life. I could never forget such a
craven figure of a man."
He walked quickly towards Garman and for a mo-
ment his face was hidden from both Blake and the
District Attorney. They could but guess at the look
which Brewster had given the realtor from the lat-
ter's face which had gone a sickly gray and became
devoid of expression.
"Take a good look at me," commanded Brewster.
"Be sure you are right before you identify me as
Howard Easter. There is such a thing as mistaken
identity. Have you ever seen me before?"
Mr. Brixton sprang to his feet, a flush of anger
on his cheeks.
"I will do the questioning here, Lieutenant Brew-


262 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
ster. This is the District Attorney's office, not a mili-
tary tribunal."
After a moment Brewster withdrew his fixed stare
into Erskin's face, and turned to Mr. Brixton with a
harsh laugh.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Brixton, but you are try-
ing to place a net about me, and I was merely exercis-
ing my right to defend myself. This man should be
sure of his ground before he deliberately helps you
place a noose about my neck."
"New York uses the electric chair," said Blake,
softly.
"Merely a figure of speech," said Brewster, airily,
and returned to the window and resumed his attitude
of leisurely examination of the city's tall buildings. He
addressed Brixton without turning towards him. "After
you get through questioning this man, Mr. Brixton,
I claim the right to ask him a few questions."
"You will have plenty of opportunity for that,
Lieutenant," said the District Attorney, dryly, and
turned to the real estate agent. "Mr. Garman, you
identified this man as Howard Easter?"
"I ... I think I was too hasty," said Garman.
"The figure is about the same. From the side view I
could have sworn— But the full face ... It is quite
different ... I can't be . . ." Brewster turned full
towards Garman who stared at him as though fasci-
nated. "No," he said, after a moment, and there was
conviction in his voice, "this is not Howard Easter,
the man who borrowed the key from me."
The blaze of triumph in Brewster's eyes, quickly ex-
tinguished, sent Blake's pulse bounding upward with
excitement.


A CALL ON ARTHUR LAYMAN 265
Vane. He could hardly tear his eyes away from her.
They gleamed with desire. I wanted to smash his face
in. And yet, of the two men, I imagine Morne was the
more wicked and dangerous."
Blake heard little of the rest of Layman's narrative.
The kidnapping of Miss Vane had come to him in a
new light. Perhaps it had no connection at all with
the murder of Morne; Vanuzzi might have resorted to
abduction in order to get Miss Vane in his clutches,
knowing that that was the only way in which he could
ever hope to get her.
Remembering the reason for his call on Layman,
Blake asked:
"Do you know anything about the sixth passenger
on the Silver Lark—John Carter? He has never come
forward with his account of the happenings on the
plane."
"Nothing whatever," replied Layman. "I had never
seen him before. He was a very quiet, retiring man.
As far as I know he spoke to no one on the plane ex-
cept the pilot when the latter questioned him. He
said he was tired from his flight from Montreal to
New York just before boarding the Silver Lark and
had slept most of the evening. He had observed noth-
ing unusual on the flight until awakened by Vanuzzi's
shout of a man overboard."
"Where did he leave the plane?"
"At Chicago, where I got off. I heard him asking
an attendant at the airport where he would find the
Dallas plane."
"Don't you think it queer, not to call it suspicious,
that he has never made any kind of a statement about
what happened on the Silver Lark? The papers of the
country have been full of it."


266 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"If he is on a Texas ranch, or in Mexico, he may
not have read anything about the murder."
"Did he speak to Morne at all on the trip?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Did he appear to avoid Morne purposely?"
"No more than he avoided everyone else, I should
say. He went to sleep before we had flown over the
Susquehanna. Of course, it's possible that he was play-
ing 'possum—pretending to be asleep. But, no, I think
Vanuzzi murdered Morne."
"How did it happen that you were the one who dis-
covered Morne's absence from the plane?"
A steelly look appeared in Layman's eyes at the
question, yet he answered pleasantly enough. "As I
told Mr. Kemerson and the District Attorney, I had
seen them in angry talk, and had heard enough, over
the humming of the motors, to know that the Italian
was threatening Morne. I awakened from a doze and
saw that Morne was not in his seat. When he did not
return, after ten minutes or so, I went back to the
lavatory, thinking he might be—well, drunk. He was not
in the lavatory, and I stumbled over his opened bag near
his seat. I became suspicious. I awakened the Italian in-
tending to ask him about his quarrel with Morne, but
Vanuzzi gave the alarm before I had a chance to ask
him a single question. Afterwards, that seemed to me
in itself a sign of guilt."
They talked desultorily about the case for a time,
discussing the disappearance of Kemerson. Layman
sympathized with Blake's expressed purpose of never
giving up the search, if Kemerson had been murdered,
until his murderer had been brought to justice. Again
he congratulated the press agent upon having traced
Miss Vane to her place of imprisonment.


270 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Why, you are two or three inches taller than you were
a moment ago!"
"There's nothing the matter with my leg now, you
see. A man who limps is always a little shorter than
if he didn't."
Blake grasped the actor's hand and shook it hard.
"It's like one come back from the . . . That is, we
feared you might have shared Morne's fate. Mr. Brix-
ton has had the entire force hunting for you."
"And I've had hard work dodging them."
"Then you disappeared purposely!"
"Certainly."
"But to deceive even Mr. Brixton—"
"Did Walton get my message saying he would never
see me again?"
"He got it all right, but—"
"There were things I had to know and which I could
not learn in my own person. Morne's murderers knew
that I was hunting them down—and believed they had
put me on the spot, so I let it go at that."
"Murderers! Then there was more than one person
involved in Morne's death."
"Aren't two men already under arrest?" countered
Kemerson.
"Oh, that! I don't believe Rolf Perkin had anything
to do with Morne's death. Neither do you."
"You never know the perpetrator of a murder until
the evidence is all in," said Kemerson.
"Then it is all in? You know?"
"Oh, several things. Suspicions that are almost cer-
tainties. I want more than that. Mr. Brixton wants
proofs that will convince a jury. If a little experiment
I have been preparing turns out as I expect, Mr. Brix-
ton will have his proof. Until I have that evidence I


A CALL ON ARTHUR LAYMAN 271
advise you to stay in your room. The next bullet may
go an inch or two lower. You are a marked man—
make no mistake about that. You've had two lucky
escapes; the third may prove the unlucky time."
"Two escapes? I have not been shot at before. Oh,
you mean the night you warned me in front of Mrs.
Handsaker's."
"Two men were waiting for you. They had been
watching the house for two days. If you had gone up
the street instead of down you would have been
slugged or shot. I found out that a note of warning
had been sent to you. I had to learn what was in that
note and see the handwriting. I took the liberty of
opening the envelope, and added my own warning. I
thought it likely you would be calling for your mail,
as Mrs. Handsaker, who let me in, said you had left
no forwarding address."
"The warning was from Brewster, I suppose. What
I can't understand is Brewster's motive in waiting so
long to kill Morne for having induced Mrs. Brewster
to leave him. Why, she's been dead several years, and
it was several years before that that she acted in
Morne's company."
Kemerson lighted a cigar and watched the smoke
curling up.
"Did you ever hear of Ginevra Sterling?" he asked.
"She's a free lance artist. Makes drawings of stage
stars and other celebrities for the Morning Press prin-
cipally, though I have seen her work in other papers.
Paints some, does interviews. She did a drawing of
Morne in The Wife's Turn last season. Something of
a beauty, too. Why do you ask?"
"Know anything about her personal affairs?"
"Nothing."


272 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"Hum. Ever hear of her—"
The telephone rang at this moment, and as Blake
started to pick up the receiver Kemerson thrust him
aside.
"Better let me answer. You may have been trailed
here." He disguised his voice as he spoke into the
instrument, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand.
"It's the telephone operator. She says Daniel Dugan
is in the lobby. He wants to see you. Better see
him."
Blake nodded and Kemerson instructed the operator
to have him come up.
"Dugan can't get it out of his mind I am mixed up
somehow in the Morne murder," said Blake. "I sup-
pose he's found something else he wants me to explain.
He's becoming a nuisance."
"Dugan is slow, but he hangs on to the scent," said
Kemerson. "There's going to be a lot of explaining
needed when the Morne case finally breaks."
Kemerson smiled as he spoke, but it was a chill
smile, and Blake involuntarily shuddered. He forgot
Kemerson's interest in Ginevra Sterling while they
waited in silence for Dugan to arrive. Kemerson opened
the door to admit not only the detective but also David
Jordan, reporter for the Star.
"Kemerson!" exclaimed Dugan. "God! We thought
they'd got you, too! You been in hiding all this time?"
"No, I've just come here—"
"Then you've discovered the trail, too, have you?"
Dugan was a little crestfallen.
"What trail?" asked Kemerson.
"The trail leading to Blake as the murderer of Chad-
wick Morne," replied the detective, shortly, with a
hard look at Blake.


274 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
often enough in New York to know you. You've given
him tickets to a show a number of times."
"I know Don MacAdam, certainly," replied Blake.
"So he's in Philadelphia. I did not know what had
become of him."
Dugan was apparently infuriated by the nonchalance
of Blake's response and advanced threateningly
towards him. "You waved to him when he shouted
your name, but didn't wait to speak to him. Didn't
want him to see the face of the girl you were with.
Girl, huh? Mrs. Chadwick Morne, if you ask me! You
bustled her out of the station in a hurry when Mac-
Adam called your name. You were going to an airport
to get a plane in which to follow the Silver Lark so
you could shoot Chadwick Morne while he was float-
ing down in the parachute. And it was you who per-
suaded him to do it for a publicity stunt! Plenty of
publicity for him! Only it don't do him no good!"
"What airport did I go to, Dugan? And what plane
did I charter? And who piloted the plane for me?
I am not an aviator."
"That's what we are going to find out," growled
Dugan, a little less confidently. "We got ways of find-
ing out things down at headquarters." The last was
said with an ugly leer.
"If I shot Morne then who's trying to murder me?"
asked Blake. "I was shot at tonight in Bayside—"
"In Bayside?" interrupted Kemerson.
Blake nodded, and returned to the detective. "Three
nights ago Kemerson saved my life just after I'd re-
ceived a warning to lay off the Morne case if I did
not want to share the same fate."
"Any bright young man might write himself a note
of warning to bolster up a false alibi," said Dugan..


276 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
Mr. Kemerson," said Dugan, as he adjusted the hand-
cuffs about Blake's wrists. "He's had half the force
hunting for you. Just wait till I tell him you are—"
"No, no!" interrupted the actor. "He must not know
I am alive. Don't tell him you have seen me, or heard
anything about me. There has been one attempt on my
life that almost succeeded, and if the hunt for me
should be relaxed now, giving certain persons a sus-
picion that I am not dead, it will mean another attempt
to get me just when I am on the point of apprehending
the murderers."
"There was more than one, you think!" exclaimed
Dugan. "Vanuzzi and—" He nodded towards Blake.
"There have been two murders growing out of
Blake's unfortunate publicity stunt," said Kemerson.
"I intend to see the District Attorney tomorrow morn-
ing, but I have certain measures to take first. Mr.
Jordan, I rely on you not to disclose verbally nor in
the columns of your newspaper that I have been seen.
In return for your word to that effect I promise to give
you an exclusive interview regarding the attempt on
my life, and my reasons for going into hiding, even
from my friend, Walton Brixton. If you refuse, the
chances are about even that you will have been the
cause of my murder."
"I have not seen you for a week, Mr. Kemerson,"
said Jordan, soberly. "There's my hand on it, but you
must not say anything later that will get me in dutch
with my paper."
"Agreed," said Kemerson, and shook the reporter's
hand. Then he turned to Blake. "You, of course, will
say nothing to anyone to indicate you know anything
about me or my movements—for the sake of the
child."


A CALL ON ARTHUR LAYMAN 277
The last was spoken so low that only Blake caught
the words. His face reddened and then paled before
the cold threat in Kemerson's eyes.
"You . . . You have found out . . ."
Kemerson nodded curtly. "Take him away, Dugan."


280 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
And perhaps yourself into the bargain? Do you think
for a moment I came to you in this disguise for a
lark?"
Kemerson lowered the shades at the back and sides
of the limousine, and hunched back into a corner.
"I'm sorry, Kirk, but the relief and the surprise . . .
Were you followed here?"
"I believe not, but your apartment and your office
are being watched and if anyone heard you call my
name—well, you might have a third murder in the
Morne case. I've worked unmolested for several days,
but the murderer of Morne has learned since yesterday
that I am not dead, as he supposed, and I don't trust
overly much to disguises."
"Where have you been? Why haven't you communi-
cated with me?"
"The hunt you started for me helped to convince
certain persons that I was out of the way—and I did
not want that search ended until I had followed up a
clue or two, and a hunch. I don't show myself at open
windows, like the Japanese valet, nor go out in the
streets without a disguise."
"I'll have two men assigned to guard you—" began
Brixton, but Kemerson waved the offer aside.
"That would make me only the more conspicuous. I
suggest, however, that you get a policeman to take me
handcuffed into your office. If I got out of the limou-
sine and walked in beside you, my disguise would be
penetrated at once by anyone who chanced to be on
the lookout for me. And I haven't a doubt shrewd eyes
watch every person who enters your office."
"I'll pick up Detective McCarthy at Twenty-third
Street," said Brixton. "He'll probably enjoy hand-
cuffing you. He hasn't forgotten, nor quite forgiven, the


WHOSE CHILD?
281
manner in which you demolished his carefully built-up
evidence in the camel's-hair coat episode."
"I've made an appointment at your office, Walton,
at which I believe we will begin to clear up the Morne
case. Now let me sleep until we get within a block of
your office. I have not dared to sleep for thirty-six
hours."
"But first give me a hint of what you have discov-
ered."
"That will come out during the day—and the night.
A free hand until midnight is all I ask."
The actor settled himself in a corner of the limou-
sine and was almost immediately asleep. He did not
waken when McCarthy stepped into the car at Twenty-
third Street, nor when that puzzled detective locked
the handcuffs on his wrists. Brixton warned McCarthy
not to mention Kemerson's name nor the fact that he
had returned.
Kemerson opened his eyes as Brixton called his
name softly within a block of the office. He smiled as
he raised his manacled hands.
"I hope you always get your prisoners as easily,
McCarthy."
"The detective's life would indeed be a happy one
in that case."
"Don't be too gentle in getting me out of the car
into the building and up to Walton's office. Be your
natural self. Keen and suspicious eyes will be watch-
ing us."
"I'll be natural enough, Mr. Kemerson."
McCarthy was as good as his word. He got out of
the car and started pulling Kemerson after him.
"Come on now, there's no use stalling. We've got you
dead to rights."


WHOSE CHILD?
283
and wearing the stubbly beard which betrayed little
of its artificiality even in the strong light of a bright
day. Blake was brought in a few minutes later. None
of them appeared to recognize Kemerson until he
spoke.
"Mrs. Morne, I'm giving you a last chance to ex-
plain your actions and whereabouts on the night of
your husband's murder. Tell the truth now, in private,
or hear it come out publicly tonight. And the same
thing goes for you, Betterling, and for you, Blake. If
you are innocent of complicity in the murder of Morne,
that fact must be established now to eliminate you
from the glare of pitiless publicity tonight when the
whole truth will come out. Betterling, I am going to
start with you. Where were you the night of Morne's
murder?"
"I was east of the Hudson River."
"Can you prove it, here, now?"
"I have no proof. Only my word."
"Have you anything to add to your reply?"
"Nothing."
Kemerson turned to the press agent. "Blake, you
have hitherto been evasive concerning your activities
on the night in question. Instead of being asleep in
your room, as you so stoutly maintained, you were in
Philadelphia with a girl—"
A sudden, sharp intaking of the breath by Mrs.
Morne caused the actor to pause and dart a keen glance
at her face. He noted her agitation without comment,
and resumed his interrogation of Blake.
"What were you doing in Philadelphia at two o'clock
in the morning, and who was the girl with you?"
"I am under promise not to reveal that, Mr. Kemer-
son."


284 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"You slept in your room how many hours? Two,
wasn't it?"
Blake lowered his head as if in assent.
"Time enough to have pursued the Silver Lark, shot
Morne as he floated to earth, and got back to New
York by airplane."
"Have you found an airport where I engaged a
plane?" asked Blake.
"Brewster could have met you at an appointed spot.
Kiyoshi's evasion at the Happy Hours night club may
easily have been with your connivance. I did not see
Brewster there."
"He was there, Mr. Kemerson, and that was the
first time I ever saw him."
The District Attorney spoke up sharply. "That is
what you say, Blake, but you offer no explanation, no
proof."
Kemerson gestured to the District Attorney to wait.
"Mrs. Morne," he said, "whose was the child you
wished to adopt against your husband's wishes?"
At the suddenness of the question, Mrs. Morne
turned deathly pale; her lips moved slightly but no
sound came from them.
"Who is this girl—this Lora," continued Kemerson,
relentlessly, "about whom the nuns of the convent of
the Sacri Coeur in Paris wrote to you so often?"
Mrs. Morne continued to stare at him in stunned
silence, her face as white as the lace about her throat.
"Was she the natural daughter of Chadwick
Morne? Or did she bear a closer relationship to you?
Why did Kiyoshi Nimura believe that you would pay
handsomely for the letter with a Paris postmark which
he stole from your boudoir?"
Mrs. Morne turned eyes of distress upon Betterling.


286 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
still loved me. My wife died a year ago in a sanitarium
in Connecticut. I have wanted my daughter, too; to
share her with her mother. That is why I at last per-
suaded Doris to seek a divorce from Morne, that we
might be married and have our daughter with us. She
knows we are her parents but not that we are not mar-
ried. The child grew unhappy in the convent, and we
wanted her near us, so we had her sent to New York.
She arrived two days before Morne's airplane flight
and murder. Mr. Blake was good enough to find a
place where she could stay while we were arranging
for her to be taken into the home of my wife's old
nurse in Philadelphia. We did not wish to be seen tak-
ing her to that city, and arranged for Blake to take her,
at night when there would be no occasion for anyone
to question his absence from the city should it be dis-
covered. He agreed to take her to Philadelphia late at
night, after he was through with his duties at the
theatre. That is what took him to Philadelphia on the
night of Morne's murder. That can all be proved by
Mrs. Watson, my wife's old nurse, who was with her
when Lora was born and who now has our daughter."
"At last we are getting somewhere," said Kemerson.
"Where were you that same night?"
"In a Connecticut farm house."
"And Mrs. Morne was with you?"
"Yes. We had driven to my place in Connecticut on
which I am going to have some repairs made in prepara-
tion for our marriage, and for receiving our daughter.
Returning to New York late at night my car broke
down as we neared the state line. We were far from a
garage, and we spent the night at a farm house which
accommodated tourists. You will find our names on
the register—James Betterling and Doris Davis."


288 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"What was in the letter you got from Morne's apart-
ment the night you locked me in?" asked Kemerson.
"A letter about Lora from the nuns. Morne had
written to the convent in an effort to find out who the
child's father was. We knew he had received a reply,
and did not want the police to discover the letter.
Morne's valet was evidently seeking the same letter,
or anything else which would serve his purpose of
blackmail."
"It was Kiyoshi, then, and not Brewster who fired
at me?"
"Yes. I flashed my light on him as I turned it away
from you. How did you learn about Lora and the let-
ters from Paris, Mr. Kemerson?"
"I had a pretty good idea of how matters lay from
your own actions and from what the butler told me.
The clinching information I got from the letter that
Kiyoshi purloined from Mrs. Morne's bedroom.
Among his possessions I found a baggage check which
I presented at Grand Central Station. I found the let-
ter in Kiyoshi's checked suitcase; it will be returned
to Mrs. Morne after your statement tonight has been
verified, or the murder has been cleared up. I think
there is nothing more I have to ask you, but tonight
at ten o'clock I want both you and Mrs. Morne—you,
too, Blake—to be at the projection room of Atlas Pic-
tures Corporation in West Forty-sixth Street to watch
an experiment which I have some hopes will solve the
parachute murder case, including the murder of
Kiyoshi."
Mrs. Morne was still shaken from the ordeal through
which she had gone, and Betterling supported her out
of the office, after she had thanked Blake for his at-
tempts to shield her from too close questioning.


WHOSE CHILD?
289
"Kirk, what is this experiment at the Atlas Projec-
tion room tonight?" asked Brixton.
"I have strung together my theories in a concrete
manner, and want the suspects to see them unfolded.
I shall want Vanuzzi, Brewster, Betterling, Mrs.
Morne, Blake, Mrs. Delano and Miss Vane to be
present as well as two or three others whom I shall in-
vite. Will you have your men round up Brewster?
Without him the party is off."
"He is under surveillance and will be there, but aren't
you getting rather theatrical in your investigation?"
"Am I not an actor? Drama, situations, emotions
are my stock in trade. What harm in carrying them into
the detection of crime? You may answer that question
after you see my demonstration, or experiment, to-
night. I shall attempt to work upon the emotions of the
suspects as I try, on the stage, to work upon the emo-
tions of the audience. If I am a good psychologist and
a good actor and stage director the experiment should
succeed. I shall require the services of three or four
policemen in addition to those who guard Vanuzzi and
Brewster. If you have two detectives who look like
ordinary citizens, manage to seat them on either side
of Brewster, or just behind him. I fancy he may feel
inclined to leave in a hurry, and I would hate to have
my little party interrupted. And keep two or three offi-
cers outside the door."
"Any other orders?" asked the District Attorney,
facetiously. "A police wagon or an ambulance?"
"A police wagon by all means. Thanks for the re-
minder. A physician at your own expense might also
be a good idea. And now if you will be good enough to
have a policeman take me in a taxi to an address which
I will give the driver I shall come out a different man."


Chapter XXVII
A CRIME IN SHADOWS
The projection room of the Atlas Pictures Corporation
was a talking picture theatre in miniature, with a seat-
ing capacity of a hundred. There were a dozen or so
persons in the little auditorium when Lieutenant
Brewster was brought in by two uniformed officers and
conducted to a seat half way down. One of the police-
men sat beside him. A few minutes later two burly men
in civilian dress quietly took the end seats in the row
back of him.
Brewster let his eyes roam about the auditorium,
noting every person present—Vanuzzi with a police-
man on each side of him, Stephen Blake and Edith
Vane sitting together, Mrs. Delano, District Attorney
Brixton near the centre of the room with James Better-
ling and Mrs. Morne at his side. At the back of the
room, almost hidden by half a dozen policemen, was
Chester Garman, the real estate agent. Several very
husky detectives in plainclothes occupied seats near
the entrance.
"The police are out in force," observed Brewster to
the officer at his side. "Are we going to see a picture?
Does the District Attorney wish to entertain all the
witnesses and suspects in the parachute murder case?"
"Don't ask me," replied the policeman. "I was told
to bring you here and that's all I know about it."
290


A CRIME IN SHADOWS 291
"It's too bad Kentaro Kawatami can't be here. He
was a movie fan."
"Well, if we are to be treated to a movie I hope it's
a good one—a George Arliss or a Lionel Barrymore.
There are two real actors. I never miss one of their
pictures at our neighborhood theatre." The policeman
had lowered his voice in deference to the air of quiet
expectancy which prevailed.
"Tom Mix and Jack Holt are more my style," said
Brewster. "Why is everybody so quiet? It might be a
funeral."
"Don't ask me," repeated the policeman.
The lights in the auditorium were gradually dimmed
until the windowless projection room was in absolute
darkness. The policeman pressed an arm tightly against
Brewster's side.
"Afraid I'll walk out on the show, buddy?"
"You wouldn't get far. Notice the men outside the
door?"
"I'm not blind."
"Two of the best shots on the force." The officer
lapsed into silence.
In the darkness and the silence, the feeling of nerv-
ousness which overtakes many persons when they can
see absolutely nothing became evident: a nervous shift-
ing about in seats, a breath sucked in audibly was
heard; someone whispered; a man coughed, tried to
stifle it. More coughing followed; throats were cleared;
a renewed rustling as of leaves in a wind arose.
"I'll scream if something doesn't happen soon," said
a feminine voice, with a note of urgency.
Brewster did not stir, but the policeman at his side
shifted in his chair; his hand closed about Brewster's
arm. Another hand rested on the back of his chair, the


292 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
fingers touching his shoulder. Brewster leaned forward
and the clutch on his arm tightened.
Without warning the roar of a starting airplane en-
gine came from the screen as a ray of light leaped from
the operator's booth in the rear diagonally down to the
silver sheet, throwing upon it the picture of an airplane
in night flight. It was a passenger plane, for its half
dozen windows were lighted up, and human heads were
silhouetted in them. The plane turned and headed
straight out towards the auditorium, then nosed sharply
upward as a searchlight beam fell athwart the under
side of its body, picking out the name, the Silver
Lark.
The plane disappeared upward, the roaring of its
motors growing duller and dying away, only to be fol-
lowed by the humming of another motor that grew rap-
idly louder. A two-seated monoplane flew across the
screen and swung upward; a searchlight beam played
upon it, but no name or marking of any sort was re-
vealed. The pilot of the monoplane turned his face into
the beam of light, and there was a black mask over his
eyes, covering half of his face.
The plane disappeared from the screen; the roar of
its motor grew fainter, died away. The light faded from
the screen and the room was again in darkness. There
came an uneasy stirring from the spectators, hidden
from each other by the all-enveloping blackness.
The beam of light from the projection room fell again
upon the screen, the humming of distant motors was
heard, and then the passenger ship, followed by the
monoplane, swung into view, dark shadows in the moon-
light. Suddenly the door of the passenger plane flew
open and the figure of a man appeared; it was followed
by a close-up.


A CRIME IN SHADOWS 295
You were in neither city either the day before or the
day after the murder."
"I flew from Hartford to Buffalo," countered Brew-
ster, "but I was not on the flying field at either city."
The auditorium was again plunged into darkness
and a new picture appeared on the screen. The back
of a large easy chair was towards the audience, reveal-
ing the top of a young woman's head. Standing and
facing her was Kirk Kemerson. He leaned across a
table between them.
"You knew Chad wick Morne?" the shadow of
Kemerson asked.
"Yes. I had known him for a year."
"How did you meet him?"
"I was sent by the paper for which I work to draw
a portrait of him in the character of David Willcome—
the role he played in The Wife's Turn."
"You saw him afterwards. What was the circum-
stance?"
"He sent me a note thanking me for the drawing."
"He was pleased with it then?"
"He said it was the best likeness that had been pub-
lished in any of the New York newspapers, and asked
me to have lunch with him the next day."
"You accepted?"
"I did. Few actors trouble to thank an artist for
making a portrait of them."
"You saw him often afterwards?"
"Yes. He appeared to take an interest in me—in my
work. He said I had the nature of an artist and that I
was wasting my time on a newspaper. He said I had an
excellent stage presence, a personality that would get
across the footlights, and offered me a role in his next
season's play."


A CRIME IN SHADOWS 297
saw the screen being drawn up into the flies. The
shadows of Kirk Kemerson and of Ginevra Sterling
were replaced by those two persons in the flesh on the
stage. A uniformed policeman advanced from the
wings and took up a position beside the young woman.
"Now, Miss Sterling," said Kemerson, "who was the
man who loved you and objected to your accepting
Chadwick Morne's offer of a part in his next play?"
The girl did not reply.
"I must insist upon an answer, Miss Sterling. I
should hate to order you locked up as a material wit-
ness in a murder case. That would be a good deal of
a shock to your parents."
"But you can't do that, Mr. Kemerson. I know noth-
ing."
"But you do know the name of the man. Remember,
I know it, too. It will come out, but I want to hear it
from your own lips. The District Attorney is in the
audience. Must I turn you over to him?"
The girl hesitated, then pronounced a name, so low
that it did not carry into the auditorium. Kemerson com-
manded her to speak it louder.
"Marshall Brewster."
"Lieutenant Marshall Brewster, formerly of the
United States air service?"
"Yes."
"You heard him threaten to kill Chadwick Morne?"
The girl sank into a chair as though her legs would
no longer support her. She did not answer.
"Mr. Brixton," said Kemerson, "I must ask you to
place this young woman under arrest as a material wit-
ness in the murder of Chadwick Morne, and possibly as
an accessory after the fact."
"Let her alone!" cried a big voice from the auditorium.


Chapter XXVIII
DOUBLE ESCAPE
Dugan stared at Kemerson, the handcuffs dangling
from his outstretched hand.
"Already dead!" he ejaculated at last, pop-eyed with
amazement.
The stir that Kemerson's statement had caused died
away, and absolute silence reigned as the spectators
waited breathlessly for the actor's next words.
"Morne died from the effects of poison, not from the
bullet wound," said Kemerson. "I was able to get his
body exhumed for an autopsy. Perhaps the District
Attorney would like to read the report of the autopsy."
"The District Attorney certainly would," said Mr.
Brixton. He arose and strode down the aisle and up on
the stage.
"First, let me explain, Walton. I was curious about
the fact that no mention was made of a pool of blood
where Morne's body was found. I made an airplane
trip to Carlstown. There I learned that the wound in
his chest had bled comparatively not at all, and my sus-
picion that he might already have been dead when the
bullet struck him was confirmed. I then flew to Lima,
where he was buried, and, thanks to your credentials,
Walton, and an astute local chief of police, experienced
but little difficulty in inducing the authorities to order
the body secretly exhumed, to have an autopsy per-
300


DOUBLE ESCAPE
303
"You had suspected—who?"
"After an arrest had been made, I thought back over
the happenings on the first part of the flight. But that
seems to have been erroneous, since you already have
the confession of the murderer."
"What had you observed that first gave direction to
your suspicion?"
"I don't see that it matters now. It was nothing very
tangible—angry looks, raised and threatening voices.
I believe everyone in the airplane sensed a tenseness in
the relations of the two men."
"Morne and Giulio Vanuzzi, you mean?"
"Well, yes. It was quite natural in the circumstances
to connect the two names together—particularly so since
they were last seen together."
"It was you that first discovered Mr. Morne's absence,
wasn't it?"
"Yes. I aroused Mr. Vanuzzi and told him. I wanted
to ask him what had been the cause of his quarrel with
the actor, but Mr. Vanuzzi gave the alarm at once."
"Did you speak with Morne during the evening?"
"No, sir. I never met the gentleman. I have seen him
on the stage, of course—"
Layman was interrupted at this point by the voice of
Mrs. Jackson Delano.
"Mr. Kemerson, I distinctly heard that man's voice
speaking to Mr. Morne. I am never mistaken in a
voice."
"Oh, but surely you were mistaken this time, Mrs.
Delano," said Edith Vane, quickly. "If Mr. Layman
had spoken to Mr. Morne I surely would have heard
him. Mr. Layman was sitting one seat ahead of me
across the aisle."
"I am not mistaken," insisted the blind woman.


DOUBLE ESCAPE
305
A detective sprang down into the aisle to guide her. As
he did so, Miss Vane said something too low to be over-
heard to the blind woman.
"No," said Mrs. Delano, earnestly. "It is probably
of no more consequence than the other remark, but I
shall tell just what I did hear him say afterwards."
Miss Vane subsided into her seat while the detective
took Mrs. Delano's arm and led her to a chair which
Kemerson drew up for her on the stage.
"Now, Mrs. Delano, give me the exact words you
heard Mr. Layman use, if you can recall them."
"Of course I can recall them. A blind woman does
not have much to occupy her mind aside from what she
hears. 'It will hearten you for your little flight' were the
words I heard Mr. Layman say. The actor did not re-
spond. I presumed that they had gone together to get
water for their drinks, and I went back to sleep, to be
awakened by Mr. Vanuzzi's outcry at Mr. Morne's dis-
appearance from the airplane."
"'It will hearten you for your little flight,' " repeated
Kemerson, as though testing the words for some hidden
meaning. "You remember now that you uttered those
words, Mr. Layman?"
"No, I do not recall saying that, though I did make
some response, I believe, when Mr. Morne declined my
invitation. I think it much more likely that I said 'I'm
sorry' or some other conventional phrase."
"Still if you did say, as Mrs. Delano maintains, 'It
will hearten you for your little flight,' what would you
have meant by the words?"
"If I did say that—" began Layman when Mrs.
Delano interrupted.
"You did say those words."
"—then I simply meant that a drink put courage


DOUBLE ESCAPE 307
theatre and extended a bit of paper to the District At-
torney. Mr. Brixton glanced at it, read it a second time
and passed it on to Kemerson.
"See what you can make of this, Kirk."
The note read:
This man Layman is Howard Easter who borrowed the
key of the vacant building in Forty-eighth Street. Chester
Gar man.
Kemerson folded the note, placed it in his pocket,
glanced idly at Mr. Brixton, and then turned to Lay-
man.
"Is there anything else that you can think of that
happened on the Silver Lark that might help us in our
investigation?"
"Not that I recall at the moment. If anything should
occur to me I'll be glad to let you know."
"Thanks. Will you wait in the auditorium, please,
while we continue our investigation?"
Layman took a seat in the second row, about fifteen
feet back from the proscenium. Kemerson questioned
Mrs. Delano.
"You had never heard Mr. Layman's voice before
you boarded the Silver Lark?"
"No, I am sure not."
"Why did you happen to select the Silver Lark for
your trip to Cleveland?"
"It was really Miss Vane who selected it. I had been
planning to visit Helen—my daughter—for some weeks,
but I dislike traveling on trains and kept putting it off.
Miss Vane suggested that we make the trip by airplane,
as she wanted to attend to some business in Toledo while
I was visiting my daughter. Neither of us had ever been
up in an airplane, and it struck us as a kind of adventure


308 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
to fly to Cleveland. I sent her downtown to make ar-
rangements, and she selected the Silver Lark. It was to
make the trip the next night—"
"Rather short notice for an air trip, wasn't it?"
"Rather, but I had but little to do to get ready."
"How long has Miss Vane been your companion?"
"Nearly two years."
"You have found her entirely satisfactory?"
"So much so that I don't know how I would get along
without her now."
"How did you happen to engage her?"
"She answered an advertisement I ran in the Times.
I liked her voice and her manner and engaged her."
"Her references were satisfactory?"
"She had no references—at least, I did not ask her
for any. I think I am a pretty good judge of character.
She pleased me at our first interview, and I have never
regretted engaging her."
"She has a brother in New York City, I believe. Have
you ever seen—I mean, heard—him?"
"No. He is not exactly . . . Well, I am sure Edith
will forgive my saying so in the circumstances, but he
has been rather wild and caused his sister much anxiety
and grief."
"Thank you, Mrs. Delano. Oh, just a moment. It was
at Miss Vane's suggestion, I believe you told Mr.
Brixton when you first called on him, that you reported
what you had overheard on the Silver Lark?"
"Oh, no. That was my own suggestion. Miss Vane did
not fancy getting mixed up in the Morne murder case,
but after she received a threatening telephone message,
I insisted—"
"Insisted?"
"Yes, insisted on going to Mr. Brixton."


310 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
He plays the races; has been a barker at Coney Island;
played the bassoon in an orchestra; once was a waiter
at a night club—anything he can find."
"When did you see him last?"
"About six months ago."
"Did you know Arthur Layman before you were
fellow-passengers on the Silver Lark?"
"No, sir."
"You seemed to exchange a significant glance with
him as you came to the stage."
"I was not aware of any special significance. I had
not seen him since he effected my rescue. And he was
very kind to Mrs. Delano and me in Cleveland."
Kemerson was silent for a moment while he searched
through some papers he took from his pocket. He
selected a photograph which he extended to Miss Vane
with the back towards her.
"Can you identify this photograph?"
Slowly she took the portrait and turned it over. Her
hand trembled and she quickly lowered the photograph
to her lap. Her face was drained of color.
"Morrissey!" cried Kemerson, sharply. "Get a glass
of water for Miss Vane!"
"Thank you, but I do not need any, Mr. Kemerson.
That is a picture of Dorothy Dineen."
"You knew her then?"
"I saw her portrait among the Morne case pictures
in yesterday's Star."
"Did it occur to you that Miss Dineen's features are
strikingly like yours? . . . There, Morrissey, I think
you had better bring that glass of water after all."
Kemerson held the glass to her lips and the girl took
a swallow. She then held the photograph up again and
studied the features of Miss Dineen attentively.


DOUBLE ESCAPE
313
"Already dead? Then the police have been on the
wrong scent from the start!" Layman had by this time
recovered himself. "And what is Lieutenant Brewster
under arrest for?"
"For a murder he did not commit—that of Morne's
Japanese valet. He will soon exchange places with you."
"And Giulio Vanuzzi? You've had him under arrest
for nearly a week."
"We'll find out what Vanuzzi has to say. He has had
several days to think things over. Bring Vanuzzi to the
stage."
The prisoner was led forward by one of the policemen
at his side.
"Vanuzzi," said Kemerson, "Chinky Dodson and
David Vincent are outside, waiting to tell everything
they know. Before questioning them I am going to give
you a chance to 'come clean'—you know what the
phrase means."
"What do you want to know, Mr. Kemerson?"
"Why did you have Miss Vane kidnapped?"
"She was trying to pin the murder of Mr. Morne on
me. At one time I was mad enough to kill him—I don't
deny that. I even planned how I could do it."
"That was over Vida Latterby, of course?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known Miss Vane?"
Mrs. Delano jumped up from her seat at that ques-
tion and began feeling her way up to the stage, grasping
the backs of the aisle seats.
"She never met him until that night on the Silver
Lark, Mr. Kemerson," she said. "I'll answer for Miss
Vane as I would for myself."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Delano, but Vanuzzi will answer
my question."


314 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"I first saw her about six months ago, at my night
club."
"Did she come there alone?"
"No."
"Who was with her? Anyone here in the projection
room?"
"With Mr. Layman, or Mr. Merriton, or Mr. Howard
Easter or whatever his name may be."
"Did they come there often?"
"Only a few times together after that. Miss Vane was
in several times alone."
"Did you try to scrape up an acquaintance with her?"
"Well, she's a good looking girl." Vanuzzi smirked.
"She asked about Mr. Morne. Asked me to point him
out to her. She seemed especially interested in the
Japanese valet after she first saw him come to the night
club with a message for Morne. Vincent saw her talking
with the valet in a Japanese restaurant one night; she
handed him several bills. Vincent could not make out
their denomination."
"When was that?" asked Mr. Brixton, leaning for-
ward.
"The day before Morne's disappearance."
"Were you surprised when you found Miss Vane and
Mr. Layman on the Silver Lark?" asked Kemerson.
"Yes. Just at first. Then I began to watch Miss Vane.
She was watching—and trying to pretend not to—every
move that Morne made."
"What was your purpose in taking passage on the
Silver Lark after Kiyoshi had told you that Morne was
flying on it and intended to leap from it by parachute?"
"That was the plan I told you about," replied Vanuzzi
with evident reluctance.
"To kill Morne?" Kemerson was insistent.


316 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
"I alone am gu ," followed by that wavering
pencil mark. He compared her writing with that on the
note he had pocketed, and then handed both to the
District Attorney.
"This closes the parachute murder case," the actor
said. "You can arrest Edith Vane Newman and her
brother Leighton Newman for the murder of Chadwick
Morne and of Kiyoshi—"
"No! No! It can't be true!" cried Mrs. Delano, grop-
ing her way up the steps to the stage. "Edith! Tell them
it's not—"
"Stop him!" cried Mr. Brixton, and jumped to his
feet as Arthur Layman sprang to the side of his sister and
extended his hand to her mouth.
"You are too late, Walton," said Kemerson, as Lay-
man raised his hand to his own lips and drained a small
vial which had been concealed in his palm. "Prussic
acid is too quick for the law."
Stephen Blake, who had been sitting in stunned horror,
at last found his voice, and cried out in terror at Kemer-
son's words. He ran down the aisle and leaped upon the
stage.
"Edith! Edith!" he cried, and knelt by the chair in
which the young woman had slumped. She was drawing
her breath with the greatest difficulty. She stared at
Blake with widely distended pupils, as the distraught
press agent flung his arms about her. "Edith! Speak to
me! Tell me it's all a horrible mistake!"
The girl was seized with convulsive movements of the
muscles of her arms and body.
"Forgive . . ."
She gasped, and her labored breathing increased. Her
face took on a bluish cast; the spasmodic movements of


318 THE PARACHUTE MURDER
a long gasp for breath, a sigh that was almost a wail, and
all was over. Profound and shocked silence gripped
the spectators. It was broken, after what seemed
minutes, by the voice of Mrs. Delano, small, barely
audible.
"What could have made her do it?"
"That, in all probability, we shall never know now,"
replied Kemerson. "We can only surmise. My surmise
is that both Miss Vane and her brother were many years
younger than their sister, Mrs. Brewster, and that they
were devoted to her. She went overseas as a "Y" enter-
tainer, soon after having married the aviator, Brewster.
In France she met Morne who promised to make her his
leading woman—as he did—and she left her husband
for a stage career. Perhaps they did not learn the reason
for her suicide until several years afterwards. They had
an ailing parent to care for, and were freed, perhaps,
only by her death to seek out the man who had caused
Mrs. Brewster to take her own life."
"Poor, unhappy things," said Mrs. Delano. "If they
had only waited. I don't believe a jury would have con-
victed them."
"Perhaps not for first degree murder, Mrs. Delano,
but they would have got long sentences."
"I will see to their burial, if I may," said Mrs. Delano.
"I loved Edith. I would like to do that for her."
"That can be arranged, Mrs. Delano," said the Dis-
trict Attorney.
"Thank you." She felt about until her hand came in
contact with Stephen Blake who still knelt by the chair
in which lav the still, unresponsive body of Edith Vane,
clasped in his arms. Her head was on his breast.
"Come with me, Stephen. We both loved her for what
was sweet and gentle in her nature."