e*8





THE ARMY POST MURDERS





THE
ARMY POST MURDERS
by
MASON WRIGHT

FARRAR & RINEHART
INCORPORATED
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK



1
COPYRIGHT, 1931, BY MASON WRIGHT
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OE AMERICA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED





CONTENTS
I. THE UNEXPECTED GUEST, 3
II. MURDER IN CAPTAIN BALDWIN'S QUARTERS, 14
III. VANISHING HANDS, 22
IV. THE GENERAL'S EDICT, 32
V. JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND, 44
VI. THE WOMAN LIES, 64
VII. THE WOMAN CONFESSES, 86
VIII. THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN, 98
IX. THE FIRST CLUE ?110
X. ENTER JENNIE HUGOT, 115
XI. IN THE STUDY, 125
XII. AND THE EARTH WAS WITHOUT FORM AND
VOID, 133
XIII. CORPUS DELICTI, 145
XIV. THE SPINNING COMMENCES, 157
[v]


CONTENTS
XV. DOUBLE MURDER, 172
XVI. QUAGMIRE, l80
XVII. JIMMIE BOODLER MOVES HIS LODGINGS, I
XVIII. THE ENEMY MOVES, 213
XIX. JENNIE HUGOT TALKS, 224
XX. FERRET, 237
XXI. MUTILATED RECORDS, 246
XXII. THE MISSING PAGES, 260
XXIII. TRAPPED, 273
XXIV. DEATH TERRIBLE TO SEE, 293
[Vi]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS





CHAPTER I
THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
DOROTHY BALDWIN stood close to the
mirror of her dressing table and with her
third finger carefully smoothed the carmine on her
lips, then wet them with her tongue, and rolled
them back and forth between her teeth. She backed
away, languorously patting her yellow head, while
she surveyed herself with a critical eye.
A door at the back of the house slammed. Heavy
footsteps sounded, came up the back stairs, and
thumped across the floor of the room next to
Dorothy's.
"Is that you, Hal?" she called.
"Yeah," from the adjoining room.
"Sort of late aren't you?" Dorothy tapped a
cigaret on the dressing table, and lit it from a tall
table lighter. She took several impatient puffs before
her husband appeared in the doorway, unfastening
his Sam Browne belt.
"Late is right. A bunch of horses down at the bat-
[ 3 ]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
tery broke out of the corral, and we've been chasing
them all over the State of Oklahoma." Captain
Baldwin took off his belt and his blouse and tossed
them on one of the twin beds, "What are you all
dolled up for?"
"Have you forgotten?"
"You mean because it's your birthday?"
"No, you never remember that. We're dining with
Minna and Jerry Costain. Have you forgotten?"
Hal groaned, and sitting heavily on the edge of
the bed, took the spurs off his boots.
"Have we got to go? I'm tired as the devil."
"Oh, you don't have to dress up. Wear your civies.
They're not having anybody but us. I should think
that once in a while you wouldn't groan and com-
plain; especially since it's my birthday."
"Oh, all right." Hal drew his hand across his
forehead, looked patiently at his wife, and flung
himself back on the bed. He hitched his legs up,
crossed them on the silk coverlet, and threw an arm
across his eyes.
Dorothy stamped out her cigaret, and crossed
angrily to the foot of the bed.
"Hal, how many times have I told you not to
lie on the beds with those horsy, sweaty boots on?
The whole place smells like a stable. I've provided
a room for you to keep those smelly uniforms in,
[ 4 ]


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
and I've told you a million times I won't have them
in here." There followed a moment of silence. Dor-
othy Baldwin stood at the foot of the bed with the
foot board gripped tightly in her hands. Her face
twitched spasmodically; her nostrils dilated, and she
controlled her temper with difficulty.
"Hal," she continued in a low voice that trembled
with rage, "do you hear me?"
"Yes, Dot." Hal sighed deeply, and taking his
arm from his eyes, lay looking up at his wife. She
was trembling. He watched her trim little body quiv-
ering with anger. The beads on her dress refracted
the late afternoon light that shot through the win-
dows of the bedroom. Developing another one of her
temper tantrums—she'd been having a good many
lately; more than usual. He couldn't understand
them. The doctor had called it nerves. Her constant
irritability, her emotional reaction to the slightest
stimulus had recently been recurring with greater
frequency. Tears, entreaties, demands—if these were
unsuccessful, she had lately resorted to violent rage.
She was definitely reacting on her husband's dispo-
sition. For a time he thought that she needed medi-
cal attention,, but examination—to which she sub-
mitted only after the most careful and convincing
arguments—proved her physical condition to be per-
fect. She had a good home, in which she had taken
[ 5 ]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
particular pride, and all in all, her existence should
be one of serene happiness. But lately
She was talking again; stridently now. The hard
tones of her voice struck Hal's ears like the rasp of
nails on a blackboard. Her high pitched voice filled
the room like the rising unison of countless shrilling
crickets.
"Get out," she screamed, "get out! Take those
foul smelling clothes of yours and get out. Do you
want to drive me mad? Goddamn you, get out!"
Something in Hal snapped. He sprang from the
bed, and gripping his wife by both shoulders, shook
her violently. Her hair loosened and fell about her
shoulders. She screamed foul words at him.
"Stop it, stop it! Snap out of it." Hal called to
her, as though she was far away. He shook her again,
convulsing her whole body with the shock. "Get hold
of yourself, you little fool—Dot, do you hear me?"
The rigidity suddenly left her, and she went limp in
his arms. The wild, set look left her face, and she
began to sob brokenly, then hysterically.
"Let me go—let me go, Hal." She made a feeble
attempt to remove his hands. "Oh, for God's sake—
let—me—go!" She wrenched herself free, staggered
blindly to the bed and flung herself across it, face
down, her arms flung wide, her hands clutching the
coverlet. Smothered, throated sobs racked her body.
[ 6 ]


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
Hal stood over her for several minutes, watching
her regain control. He was torn between wanting to
console her, and knowing the best course was to leave
her alone. He crossed to the dressing table, procured
a cigaret from the little cloisonne box, and with trem-
bling fingers lit it. Pausing for a moment, with his
back toward the bed, he inhaled deeply from the
steadying cigaret. Then he walked softly over to the
bay window, and stood gazing out.
Perhaps, after all, Dot's trouble was caused by
the monotony of this God forsaken post; humdrum
army existence. Each day a perfect match for the
next—like a string of glass beads. She was an urban-
ite—born in the roar of New York, raised in its syn-
copated tempo, incubated in an environment that pro-
vided instantly the satisfaction for every want and
individual desire. She had never been thrown on her
own resources, and consequently she had none. She
had grown up dependent upon the countless diver-
sions of the metropolis. Now, suddenly, she had been
compressed into the constricting environment of an
isolated army post. She liked to go to the theatre;
there were none. She went to night clubs; there were
none at Fort Comanche. Hal recalled first meeting
her at the Club Alababa. She was there with a party
of gay, chattering youngsters.
He proposed to her in the summer of 1917, at
[ 7 ]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Delafield Pond at West Point, when Hal was
mathematics instructor at the United States Military
Academy.
Dorothy sat under a tree on the bank, watching
Hal dive. Then he came out of the water and walked
toward her. He was dripping wet.
"What nice lean hips you have, Hal," she said.
"I've never seen you in a bathing suit before."
He slipped into pongee silk bathrobe, and lay
down beside her. "I've been trying all afternoon to
summon up enough courage to tell you something,
Dot."
"What is k?"
"I've got my orders for overseas," he said calmly.
She looked at him suddenly, fear in her eyes.
"Hal!"
"It's true, Dot. I've got to go next week."
She was very still for a moment, looking out over
the rippling pond. Hal sat up quietly and took her
hand. The contact suddenly sealed mutual, unspoken
desire. Dot slumped a little, and buried her face in
the damp folds of his clean dressing gown. She
began to cry softly.
"Will you marry me, Dot, before I go?"
Between her sobs, she nodded vaguely, without
looking up.
Hal came out of the war a Captain. Dorothy
[ 8 ]


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
joined him at Norfolk, where his transport docked.
Together they went to Fort Comanche for station—
Dot's first army post.
At Fort Comanche, they lived a routine life.
Dorothy struggled bravely to adapt herself to the
new environment. She busied herself with her new
home, sang at her work and strove valiantly to please
her husband. But in her heart she hated the place.
She hated the housework. This resentment smol-
dered in her for several months before it began to
manifest itself in her disposition.
She commenced to complain, first about one thing,
then another; never about anything tangible, but she
complained about things in general. She was filled
with self-pity. She suggested that she needed a
change and wanted to go home. When Hal told her
that he had no money available, she clutched at this
opportunity and had one of her temper tantrums—
the first Hal had witnessed. Then she began to run
up bills, to buy clothes far beyond her means, com-
plaining the while to everyone, posing as the neg-
lected wife—seeking consolation, and gloating with
morbid delight if anyone expressed commiseration
for her.
Captain Baldwin turned from the window and
gazed abstractedly at the prostrate figure of his wife.
She seemed suddenly to have become a stranger to
[ 9 ]


THE- ARMY POST MURDERS
him. He could not understand her. He realized now,
with a crushing rush of consciousness that he and
the woman he had taken for his wife did not know
each other. They had plunged into the intimate asso-
ciation of marriage with nothing to go on but an
acquaintance with each other's party personalities.
The depths had never been sounded.
Captain Baldwin walked slowly over to the bed,
and leaning over, stroked his wife's head;
"Come on, Dotty. Gather yourself together."
Receiving no answer, he turned and went into his
own study, and closed the door. He switched on the
lights, kicked the boot-jack from under the bed,
slowly inserted a boot between the prongs, and drew
it off. After a bath, he was in the act of putting
cuff links into a soft blue shirt, when the front
door bell rang. Hal paused to listen. Presently it
rang again. He looked at his wrist watch and
frowned—six-thirty—then slipping into a dressing
gown, he went downstairs and opened the front
door.
Colonel Martin Kalendar, commanding officer of
the 15th Field Artillery stood there, his gaunt figure
silhouetted against the darkness.
Captain Baldwin failed to conceal his astonish-
ment. Colonel Kalendar laughed softly;
"I see I am early," he said in rich, bass tones. "My
[10]


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
watch must be off. Mrs. Baldwin said half after six,
I believe. May I come in?"
Captain Baldwin stepped aside. Colonel Kalendar
swept softly past him, and taking off his hat and
coat, revealed his immaculate evening clothes.
"It was most thoughtful of you two youngsters
to invite me to dinner, and I understand I am doubly
complimented, since today is your wife's birthday."
Colonel Kalendar removed a package from the
pocket of his coat, and then placed the coat on a
chair.
"Yes—yes, it is her birthday," Captain Baldwin
stammered, "if you'll make yourself comfortable,
I'll tell her you're here." Harland stepped across the
hall and flashed on the lights in the living room. "I
must apologize for my ", he indicated his attire.
"Oh, quite all right Captain, quite all right. I'm
often caught unawares myself when my housekeeper
is out." Colonel Kalendar tucked the package snugly
beneath his left arm and strolled into the living room
chuckling to himself. ,
Baldwin, trembling with a strange emotion that
he had never before experienced, went quickly up
the stairs. He felt cold sweat trickle down the sides
of his body. He entered his wife's room and quickly
closed the door. Dorothy was readjusting her hair
at the dressing table.
[»]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Who was that?" she asked casually.
Harland tried to appear calm.
"Kalendar," he said in a voice that sounded
strange.
"Colonel Kalendar? Oh!" Dorothy laid down the
comb, and turned quickly to her husband. "Hal,
what's the matter? Don't look at me like that!"
Baldwin stood very still. "Haven't I forbidden
you ever to ask that man to the house?"
"What are you talking about? I haven't asked
him."
"Don't lie to me. He's downstairs now. He told
me you'd asked him to dinner tonight."
"That I had asked him?"
"Yes."
"I did not. I've never asked him here."
"He says you did."
"How could I, when we are going out?"
"It isn't enough to have the whole garrison talking
about you and Kalendar. Do you have to ask him
here?"
"I tell you I"
"Go down and get rid of him."
"Hal, will you listen to me?"
Baldwin's jaw shot out. He threw open the door,
and stood to one side, "Go down and get rid of
him."
[12]


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
"Hal!"
"Do as I tell you."
"I will not." Dorothy Baldwin drew herself up.
"Go down and get rid of him," he commanded
in ominous tones.
Dorothy paused a moment, then darted a venom-
ous glance at her husband, and swept defiantly out
of the room and slammed the door. Hal listened to
her high heels click down the stairs and then went
slowly back to his room.
[13]


CHAPTER II
MURDER IN CAPTAIN BALDWIN'S
QUARTERS
CAPTAIN JERROLD COSTAIN and his wife
lived next to the Baldwins in the north half of
the double set of officers' quarters. At twenty minutes
to seven, Minna Costain was in her kitchen, busily
engaged in blending a hollandaise sauce, when Har-
land Baldwin entered the house through the back
door.
She saw at a glance that he was upset. His face was
extremely pale, and as he stood with his back against
the door, she noticed that the muscles of his jaws
worked rapidly. His eyes swept the room with a
glance, then rested on Minna.
"Is Dot here?" he asked thickly.
Minna turned back to the stove, pushed the
double-boiler of sauce off the hot fire, and wiping the
palms of her hands across the breast of her bungalow
apron, she walked toward Hal.
"No, she hasn't come over yet." Minna stopped
[Hi


murder in Baldwin's quarters
and leaned against the table that stood in the middle
of the room. "What's the matter? You look as
though you'd seen a ghost."
Hal Baldwin took a few steps, his eyes wandering
about the room and then he began to feel through his
pockets for a cigaret.
"There's some cigarets on the sink," Minna said
pointing, "and give me one."
Hal took a cigaret and passed the package to
Minna; he struck a match, and broke it. It fell sput-
tering to the floor. He stamped it out with his foot,
and lit another. His hands shook violently as he held
the match for Minna to get a light. She looked up at
him obliquely as she puffed at her cigaret.
She leaned back again against the table and with
a hissing sound, blew out a great cloud of smoke.
"I suppose you and Dot have been at it again?"
"She's queered the detail for tonight all right."
"How's that?" Minna looked down to contemplate
the glowing tip of her cigaret. Her voice was very
low.
"She's asked Kalendar to dinner."
Minna's head jerked up at the words and she
watched Baldwin through narrowed eyes as he
turned away to flick the ash of his cigaret into the
sink.
"Funny, isn't it? What do you think of that?"
[15]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Baldwin laughed nervously and leaned against the
sink.
"You mean he's over there now?" Minna meas-
ured her words.
"Yes."
"Where's Dot?" Minna's eyes flashed to the clock
on the kitchen cabinet, then back to Hal.
"She's over there with him?"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm not sure of anything."
"What's she doing?"
"I told her to get rid of him. Where's Jerry?"
"What?"
"Where's your husband?"
"Upstairs asleep, I suppose," replied Minna,
quickly averting her eyes.
"I'll wake him up. I've got to have a drink." Hal
started toward the door leading into the pantry.
Minna stopped him.
"Wait a minute, Hal." Minna moved away from
the table. "How did you find out Dot had asked
Colonel Kalendar to dinner?"
"He told me so when I let him in."
"What in God's name did she do a thing like that
for?"
"I wish I knew."
"If Mrs. Dempsey ever gets hold of this it will
[16]


murder in Baldwin's quarters
be all over the post in no time. She'll spread the news
that either you approve of Dot's conduct, or you are
too stupid to realize the situation."
"She has already done that."
Minna Costain knew Mrs. Dempsey as the gar-
rison gossip. There is always one woman on
every army post who delights in snatching every
breath of gossip, editing it to her own satisfac-
tion and spreading the story as rapidly as the
available means of communication will permit.
Mrs. Dempsey was such a character at Fort
Comanche.
The front door slammed, and Minna Costain
started violently. She turned suddenly and started
across the kitchen, as Dorothy Baldwin burst through
the swinging door from the pantry. The instant she
saw Hal, she stopped. Her eyelids fluttered. She
caught her breath, and after shaking her head several
times, said:
"I didn't tell him, Hal. I didn't tell him."
"What do you mean?" Hal moved toward her
slowly.
"I didn't go downstairs to him. I couldn't. You
frightened me. I'd been crying. I didn't want him to
see me. I went down the back stairs and walked down
officers' row."
"Why are you trembling?"
[17]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"I haven't told him, Hal, he's still there—waiting.
Didn't you see him?"
"No."
Minna turned, and walked over to the door into
the back hall, and called upstairs to her husband.
"Jerry! Oh, Jerry!"
"Yes," came the reply from above.
"Come down here—double time. Hell's broken
loose." Minna turned back into the room. A faint
sardonic smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
"Don't make me go back there, Hal," said
Dorothy.
"I told you to get rid of him. I meant it."
"You do it, Hal. You tell him it was a mistake."
She spread her hands pathetically. "Look at me. I
couldn't let him see me like this."
Dorothy Baldwin turned away and began to weep.
Minna came over to her, and patted her shoulder.
"There, there, Dot, what's the use of upsetting
yourself this way?"
The sympathetic touch was too much for Dorothy;
she clutched Minna frantically, and burst into hys-
terical sobs.
Hal watched the two women a moment, and then
said:
"I'm sorry, Minna, that you should be party to
this scene."
[18]


murder in Baldwin's quarters
"That's all right. I've been through a lot of them,
but if you two kids don't stop this eternal rowing,
something serious is liable to happen."
Minna quietly took Dorothy's hands from around
her shoulders, and made her stand up straight.
"Listen, Dot," she continued, "don't be foolish.
Anyone would think that Colonel Kalendar was try-
ing to break up your home, and you know that such
an idea is absurd."
Jerry Costain came running in, buttoning his uni-
form blouse.
"What's up?" he inquired curtly.
"These two have had another battle," said
Minna.
Hal turned to Costain, "Colonel Kalendar's next
door—thinks he's staying for dinner. Says Dot asked
him."
Costain glanced quickly at Dot. "That's a fine
how-do-you-do. What's to be done about it? All this
rowing I've heard going on down here won't forward
matters."
Minna spoke suddenly. "Hal, there's only one
thing to do; all this temper, and what-not won't help.
Go over and tell Kalendar the truth. This affair has
come to a show down now, and you'll have to make
the best of a bad situation."
"What affair?" retorted Hal.
[19]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Oh, don't be an ass, Hal," said Minna, "you
know perfectly well what I mean."
"Minna's right, old man," added Costain with a
short laugh.
Hal Baldwin thought for a moment. He looked
at his wife standing by the pantry door, her face
streaked with tears.
"You're right, Costain, I'm damn well fed up
with Kalendar. I'll settle this matter once and for
all." With a quick, impulsive movement, he turned
and hurried from the room.
Costain exchanged glances with his wife, as they
watched him go.
"When he gets back, he'll need a booster charge;
I'll fix a stiff one for him." Costain walked over to
Dot. "O.K. Dot, it's all fixed. Perhaps a little one'll
help you too." So saying, he went into the
pantry.
Minna fished in the pocket of her apron, and
pulled out a compact. She proffered it to Dot.
"Here, jazz yourself up a bit. You look seedy.
There's a mirror on the side of the kitchen cabinet."
Dot took the compact and walked slowly over to
the mirror. After a moment she spoke. "Thanks,
Minna, for what you did."
Minna was at the stove again. "That's all right,
only I didn't know you were afraid of Kalendar."
[20]


murder in Baldwin's quarters
There was a moment's silence punctuated by the
sound of Minna beating the hollandaise sauce.
"I believe this stuff has curdled." She leaned close
to inspect, "yep, curdled is right, but it tastes just as
good."
The back door flew suddenly open and Hal stag-
gered into the kitchen, his face ghastly white. He
stood clinging to the door knob, swaying on his feet.
"Jerry—Jerry, for God's sake—quick!"
Costain rushed through the swinging door, and
looked at Baldwin.
"What's the matter?"
Baldwin moved his lips but no words came forth.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
gulped convulsively, then said:
"Colonel Kalendar's— over— there— he's—he's
been stabbed."
[21]


CHAPTER III
VANISHING HANDS
FOUR terrified people stood in the doorway of the
Baldwins' living room, staring at the body of
Colonel Kalendar. He sat bolt upright in a chair next
to the table in the center of the room, his back toward
the door. His left hand lay curled on the arm of the
chair, elbow outside; head thrown back. Over the
point of the left shoulder, the hilt of a knife was
visible.
The overhead chandelier, which Captain Baldwin
had turned on half an hour before, shed a garish
light on the horrible scene. The window shades had
been pulled down, and a thin column of smoke as-
cended casually from a deep pewter ash tray in
which the smouldering butt of a cigaret had fired the
remnants of others. The silence of death brooded
over the scene, interrupted by the hard staccato
breathing of the four people crowded into the door-
way.
Without warning, the dead man's left hand slipped
[22]


VANISHING HANDS
from the side of the chair, the arm straightened
limply and hung dangling from the shoulder.
Baldwin started. "Quick Costain. He isn't dead."
The two men moved softly into the room, and
went around the chair so as to face the body—Costain
first, followed by Baldwin, who stood fascinated at
the sight. He stared at the body, then shuddered.
Kalendar's head was thrown back, his eyes rolled
up as though he had tried to look at someone over
the top of his head. The jaw hung open in a strained
grin, and a few strings of saliva dangled from the
lower lip. From the left bosom of the shirt—just at
the heart—protruded the large hilt of a long butcher
knife. Beneath the edge of the blade, there was
only a trace of blood on the white bosom of
the shirt.
Costain gripped the hilt of the blade in his left
hand, and gave it a tug. It did not budge.
"This was struck with powerful intent. It seems to
have pierced the wood on the back of his chair. I've
got to get it out—the poor devil may be still living."
Costain caught his breath, and with a final effort un-
fixed the point of the blade, and drew the knife from
the body. It glistened blood in the cold light of the
room.
Dorothy Baldwin groaned hoarsely, and slipped
quietly down the door-jamb to the floor. Minna
[23]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Costain stood against the wall, her spread hands cov-
ering her face, to shut out the scene.
Costain turned the knife over and over in his hand,
staring at the blade with squinted eyes. His wife
looked out from her hands. "Put it down! Put it
down!" she screamed.
Costain looked at his wife, and laid the knife on
the table, then reaching over the side of the chair,
he raised the left hand of the dead Colonel, and
paused to feel a pulse.
"I can't feel a pulse—there may be, though." He
dropped the hand. "Now listen to me, every one of
you "Hal began to talk incoherently to the
women. "Stop that damn chattering—this is mur-
der." He stared with quick eyes at the terrified
group. "We're all implicated, every one of us. Get
that?"
"I swear before God he was there—like that,
when I came after him," groaned Hal Baldwin,
looking appealingly at Costain.
"Never mind that," snapped Costain, "we've got
to keep our heads. You especially Hal—you found
him." Hal Baldwin turned away, wincing. "Now the
easiest thing to do is to answer every question they
ask. Hal, double time over to Doc. Zabriski's quar-
ters and bring him on the run. I'll get hold of Gen-
eral Phipps. This matter must be reported imme-
[24]


VANISHING HANDS
diately." Costain started toward the door. Baldwin
hurried after him, and plucked him by the sleeve.
"Listen, Costain, what the hell's all the hurry? I
think we better fix this story up, don't you?"
Costain turned, his eyes flashing.
"What do you mean—fix the story?"
"I mean we "Hal suddenly hesitated, his
eyes widened. "No—Costain—no. I didn't mean that
you're insinuating—good God—you think I"
"Never mind what I think—get the surgeon, and
hurry. I'll hustle these women upstairs." Costain
shrugged his sleeve loose from Baldwin's grip.
Captain Baldwin rushed out of the room, and run-
ning out of the front door, slammed it behind him.
Still leaning against the wall, Minna turned to her
husband. The black, beady eyes in her drawn and
pallid face were wide open with fright.
"What shall we do, Jerry? What shall we do?"
she cried.
"Keep your head—you'll need it," he cautioned
in a low whisper, glancing around as though to dis-
cover unseen eyes.
"Why, why did we ever come over here? I'm
going home," Minna groaned.
"You'll do nothing of the sort. You're going to
stay here with Dot while I go for the General."
"No, Jerry, no." Her eyes searched his face. "I
[25]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
couldn't stay alone with—that." She cast a terrified
glance at the body.
"You're going to stay here with Dot, I tell you."
Captain Costain bent down, and slipping his arms
under Dorothy Baldwin, lifted her up. He jounced
her heavily into a more comfortable carrying posi-
tion, and turned to his wife.
"Go upstairs and show me her room."
Minna, with a last glance at the body of Colonel
Kalendar, left the room hurriedly and preceded her
husband up the stairs. At the head of the stairs, she
pressed on the hall lights, and entering a room to the
right, lit the chandelier, then went over to one of
the beds and threw back the coverlet.
Jerry followed her into the room, and deposited
Dot's limp form on the twin bed nearest the bay
window. He felt her pulse, laid his hand on her cold
head.
Minna stood at the foot of the bed watching him
under drooped, cynical eyelids.
"See if you can find some aromatic spirits of am-
monia in the bathroom," Jerry said, looking at his
wife across his shoulder.
"Go to the devil," she cried.
"Minna!" He straightened up.
"You don't seem very damn anxious to get the
General," she said hysterically.
[26]


VANISHING HANDS
With a lightning move, Jerrold was at his wife's
side. "Shut up, you little fool. Do as I tell you. You
don't know who's in this house."
Minna's hand flew to her mouth. She turned her
head and looked at the door to the hall.
"My God, Jerry, I can't stay here—I'm afraid."
"You've got to. Get the ammonia and give her a
teaspoonful in some water. I shan't be gone fifteen
minutes."
"Jerry, I can't stay here alone."
"Why not?"
"Suppose someone should come in—what would
I do?"
"No one will."
"But, I'm afraid, Jerry. I'm going with you."
"No, you can't; you've got to care for Dorothy."
He patted her shoulder encouragingly. "Be a good
sport. You've got to play your bit too."
She looked at him doubtfully. "Well, I'll try."
Jerry darted quickly out of the room. Minna
rushed over and locked the door to the hall, then
went into Hal's room and locked the door leading
to the back stairs.
She flew back to the bed on which Dorothy
Baldwin was lying and sat down. Reaching impul-
sively for one of Dorothy's hands, she gripped it
tightly in her own.
[27]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
She listened intently. Her ears attuned themselves
quickly to the silence. She heard nothing until pres-
ently the sound of a self-starter on a motor came to
her—a familiar sound—her car going off—Jerry on
his way for General Phipps. The sound of the motor
car died away in the distance. Then silence—heavy,
oppressive silence. Downstairs in the chair—that
body—she had never seen anything like that before
—a butcher knife in his chest—cigaret smoke— Her
ears caught a furtive sound—someone walking? She
shook Dorothy's arm fiercely.
"Dot! Dot!" she cried, looking closely at her
unconscious companion.
Dorothy Baldwin stirred.
"Dot!" she cried again.
Dorothy Baldwin's eyes fluttered and opened. She
lay quite still blinking at Minna.
"Dorothy," continued Minna, "I'm glad that you
are all right."
"Where—where is Hal?" Dot muttered.
"He's gone for the surgeon."
Dorothy Baldwin's hand closed with vise-like grip
on Minna's; she muttered something incoherent, and
fainted again.
Minna could hear the tiny French clock ticking
on the dressing table, and began to count the ticks—
one—two—three—four. Anything to keep her mind
[28]


VANISHING HANDS
off the thing downstairs. The beams of the moon
crept across the floor—full moon—moonlight; how
white corpses look in the moonlight—still and cold—
death—a butcher knife in the chest.
She remembered Colonel Kalendar; tall, allur-
ing, a deep resonant voice. She had been over to his
quarters many times, for recipes—his housekeeper,
Jennie, was a wonderful cook. She had studied him,
and decided he was unusual—unusual—yes!
Her thoughts were interrupted. Motors in
the street—slamming automobile doors—voices—
strange voices—then—oblivion.
General Alonzo Phipps, the commanding General
at Fort Comanche, alighted gingerly from Captain
Costain's modest coupe and stood shrugging his
shoulders in his handsome uniform coat. Costain
stopped his motor, and stepped out. The men stood
facing each other for a moment.
"Murder, you say, Costain, murder?" inquired the
General, glancing over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir. It appears to be. Colonel Kalendar is in
there in Captain Baldwin's living room. There's a
butcher knife in Kalendar's chest."
"Good Lord! This is most horrible—most devas-
tating—well, well!" The General cleared his throat.
This was a new situation for him, and he was not
quite confident how to estimate it.
[29]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
After Lieutenant Clovis Bowles, General Phipps'
aide-de-camp had alighted, Costain closed the door
of his coupe, and turned toward Captain Baldwin's
quarters.
"Er—ah—just a minute, Costain. You say Colonel
Kalendar was murdered?"
"I suggested he was, sir. He's sitting in there,"
Costain nodded toward the quarters, "in the parlor
with a carving knife in his chest."
"Murder, undoubtedly!" allowed the General.
At that moment two figures loomed in the dark-
ness. Captain Baldwin and Major Zabriski, the post
surgeon, came walking rapidly down the sidewalk.
"Well, well, well, Zabriski, this is a fine situation
for a peaceful command. Captain Costain assures me
murder has been committed."
"I don't understand it, General," panted Zabriski.
"Captain Baldwin appeared at my quarters in a most
hysterical condition. You'll pardon my delay, Gen-
eral, but I was not in uniform when Baldwin
arrived."
"Quite right—quite all right, Zabriski, I never
wear my uniform in the house either; it constricts
my abdomen—ha, ha! Shall we go on, gentle-
men?"
General Phipps propelled his diminutive body up
the walk to the Baldwin quarters. Captain Costain
[30]


VANISHING HANDS
and the aide followed, trailed by Major Zabriski and
Captain Baldwin.
The five mounted the steps, opened the front door
and passed into the quarters.
General Phipps and Costain entered the living
room ahead of the others. Costain stopped suddenly
and stared wide-eyed and bewildered ahead of him.
The body of Colonel Kalendar had disappeared.
[3i]


CHAPTER IV
THE GENERAL'S EDICT
GENERAL PHIPPS walked defiantly around
the room, his heels clicking on the floor when
he stepped between the rugs. He irritably rapped a
shining bootleg with his reed crop. Captain Costain
and Hal Baldwin stood side by side at the door,
open-mouthed, silent, staring at the vacant chair.
Lieutenant Bowles regarded the two officers with
quaint inquisitiveness. At length General Phipps set-
tled like a humming bird in front of the window,
facing his officers. He clenched his hands behind his
back, and rocked to and fro on his feet.
"Well, gentlemen," he began, "do you 'think
because it is Hallowe'en that you are privileged to
play pranks?"
Baldwin merely shifted his eyes to General
Phipps. Costain cleared his throat and muttered:
"I don't understand, General. He was there, in
that chair, dead, when I went for you."
Major Zabriski, who had stood to one side when
[32]



THE GENERAL'S EDICT
they entered the living room, addressed the Gen-
eral:
"Pardon me, General, if you will." He turned to
Costain, "Where ms Colonel Kalendar when you
left?"
Harland Baldwin answered, "There in that chair."
He pointed to the chair by the table in the center of
the room.
Major Zabriski walked over to the indicated chair.
He paused facing it, carefully took out his rimless
eyeglasses and adjusted them on his nose. Leaning
over, he inspected the chair closely. He passed his
hand over the face of the chair back, and suddenly
jerked it away; looked at it, then turning to the
General, exhibited his hand.
"Blood, General." He raised the palm of his hand
to his nose, and inhaled deeply. "Human blood, sir."
He closed his fingers over the dark splotch on
the palm, then opened them, "Fairly fresh—just
becoming sticky. If I may venture a suggestion,
I think that you are, perhaps, incorrect about
this being a Hallowe'en prank. Something has
happened here." He took off his glasses, and
holding them poised in his left hand, gazed ab-
stractedly at the officers about him. "Am I correct,
gentlemen?"
Captain Baldwin nodded. Costain did not indicate
[33 3


THE GENERAL'S EDICT
"She's upstairs, sir."
"I see," resumed the General, "and when you dis-
covered Colonel Kalendar had arrived for dinner,
what did you do?"
"I excused myself, and went upstairs to acquaint
my wife of the fact."
"Acquaint her?" The General raised his eyebrows,
"Didn't she know it?"
"I mean I went upstairs to tell her that Colonel
Kalendar had arrived."
"I see," General Phipps relapsed into silence.
Major Zabriski turned to the General, holding
the bloody butcher knife delicately between his
fingers. The surface of the handle he guarded with
a piece of paper torn from a magazine on the table.
"There's been murder all right, sir. As far as I
can tell, a fiendish blow was struck. The hole in the
back of the chair appears to be just about the size of
this knife blade, and the blade is covered with
blood."
"Is that the knife with which Kalendar was mur-
dered?" inquired General Phipps, looking at Baldwin
and Costain.
"Yes, sir," Costain replied, "as far as I know. That
was the knife I found."
"How, then, does it come to be on the table?"-
Costain cleared his throat. "After we discovered
[35]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
the body, we stood there in that door a moment.
Then suddenly the left hand slipped from the arm
of the chair. Baldwin and I rushed over to Colonel
Kalendar. I thought of course that he was still alive,
and I pulled out the knife."
"Was he alive?" with a glance of professional
interest, asked Major Zabriski.
"I don't know," Costain answered. "I was too
excited to tell, really. I sent Baldwin for you."
"All of which gets us nowhere," concluded Gen-
eral Phipps. "And you, Costain, have you any-
thing to add to what Captain Baldwin has told
me?"
"No, sir, we were all here together."
"We?" The General raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, sir," continued Costain, "Captain Baldwin
and his wife, I and my wife. My wife is upstairs now
with Mrs. Baldwin."
"I see, you were all going out to dinner together,"
the General said.
"No, sir," added Costain, "Captain Baldwin and
his wife were coming over to my house for dinner.
My wife had asked them."
"Then the Baldwins were over at your house?"
"Yes, sir."
"But Colonel Kalendar was here. Was he here
alone?"
[36]


THE GENERAL'S EDICT
Captain Baldwin broke in, "No, sir, after I let
Colonel Kalendar in, I went upstairs to tell my wife
—I told you that—and to finish getting dressed. I
was in a dressing gown when I let him in. My wife
came downstairs to—to tell him there had been a
mistake."
"And you finished dressing?" inquired General
Phipps. "After you were dressed did you come
down?"
"No, sir, I went down the back stairs and over to
Captain Costain's quarters."
"Why did you do that?"
There was a tense pause, and then from Baldwin,
"I'd rather not answer that question, sir."
"I see," the General said, and looked with dis-
approval at Baldwin.
At this moment Lieutenant Bowles returned.
"I can find no trace of the body, sir. I've searched
the premises. Colonel Kalendar's hat and coat are
on a chair in the hall. I assume they are his, because
the hat has the initials M.K. punched in the sweat
band, and sewed to the inner lining of the inside
pocket of the coat is a tailor's label"—here Lieu-
tenant Bowles consulted a pocket memorandum book
—"McVey and Scott, tailors, 122 West 45th Street,
New York, New York. Colonel Martin Kalendar,
December 14—1918."
[37]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
The General smiled. "I congratulate you, Bowles.
Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Baldwin and Mrs. Costain are com-
ing downstairs. I suggested that the General might
desire to interview them."
"I hardly think we need press this distressing situ-
ation to the point of embarrassing your wives, gentle-
men. However, there are one or two questions I
would like to ask them."
"Yes, sir," from Baldwin.
"Yes, sir," from Costain.
Minna Costain entered the room, Dorothy Bald-
win leaning heavily on her for support. Both women
were agitated. Dorothy looked appealingly at Gen-
eral Phipps, and began to weep softly.
"Chairs, Bowles," said the General.
Bowles procured two chairs from against the wall,
and set them side by side near the center of the room,
facing the General. Minna helped Dorothy to one
chair, and then sat down beside her. Costain remained
leaning against the wall opposite; Baldwin moved
slowly over behind his wife's chair, and laid his hands
on her shoulders. She reached up and gripped one
tightly.
General Phipps spoke in a gentle voice, "I am very
sorry, Mrs. Baldwin, that you are involved in this
terrible affair—and you too, Mrs. Costain."
[38]


THE GENERAL'S EDICT
Minna looked defiantly at him—her black eyes
narrowing to slits.
"I'm not involved," she muttered in a low voice,
filled with venom.
"Nevertheless, I must ask you two ladies a few
questions. Mrs. Baldwin, your husband tells me
that Colonel Kalendar arrived unexpectedly for
dinner."
"Yes."
"And that you came down to tell him there had
been a mistake and"
"I didn't come down. ... I never saw him."
Dorothy Baldwin gripped the sides of her chair and
spoke in shrill, passionate tones. "I wouldn't come
down. I ran down the back stairs and out of the
house."
"Oh, you left the house?"
"Yes."
"Why did you do that?"
"I don't know. I was frightened, I guess."
"Why?"
"I was afraid of Colonel Kalendar."
"Why should you be afraid of him?"
"I don't know. Oh, General, please don't ask me
any questions now."
General Phipps came a little nearer Mrs. Baldwin.
"I'm afraid I must, Mrs. Baldwin," he said. "You
[39]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
went down the back stairs, and left the house, you
said."
"Yes."
"Where did you go?"
"I went for a walk." Dorothy bit her lip, realizing
the absurd sound of this statement.
"I see." The General tapped his boot. "That left
you, Baldwin, alone in the house."
"I never saw Kalendar again, General, until I
came back from the Costains' quarters and found him
murdered. You see"
"No, I don't see. I'm damned if I see." The Gen-
eral's eyes flashed.
"Bowles!"
"Yes, sir."
"Get me the United States District Attorney over
our leased wire to Oklahoma City—Patterson's his
name. I want to speak to him personally."
"Yes, sir." Bowles went into the hall and picked
up the telephone. He stood in the living room door
as he put through the call.
General Phipps again addressed himself to the
people in the room. "Colonel Kalendar has been
murdered in your quarters, Captain Baldwin—the
body is spirited away; none of you is willing to tell
me what happened; you all beat around the bush.
Pve given you an opportunity to tell me everything,
[40]


THE GENERAL'S EDICT
but you are hiding the facts in the case. Do you un-
derstand that? You're hiding what you know; you're
not telling me the truth—any of you. Do you expect
me to believe a cock and bull story about a body
being spirited away fifteen minutes after you saw it
here—dead? There's something fishy about this and
I intend to probe to the bottom of it."
General Phipps looked from one to the other, in
anticipation of some remark. He remained silent for
several moments, then his gaze finally returned to
Baldwin.
Baldwin moved uneasily in his chair, "But, sir, you
don't understand," he began, in an apprehensive
voice, "let"
"I understand that you found Colonel Kalendar
murdered. I understand that you and your wife have
concealed something from me and also that"
"Pardon me, sir," Bowles interposed, holding out
the telephone, "Mr. Patterson is on the wire."
General Phipps stepped across the room and took
the telephone, "Hello, Patterson. General Phipps at
Fort Comanche speaking. Yes,—How are you?—
That's good— Say, Patterson, there's been a nasty
murder down here at the post—no—no. Colonel
Kalendar has been killed. Yes—Yes, I know. No—
no. Several officers of my command are involved.
I'd like you to send down a competent man to handle
[41]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
the affair with as little notoriety as possible. I under-
stand that James Boodler from Washington is now
on a case of yours. Yes. Can you send him? I know
him, you see, and it might make things simpler to
have him here— Good. When may I expect him?—
That's excellent. Yes— Good-bye and thank you.
Yes, I'll take care of that."
General Phipps handed the telephone back to his
omnipotent aide, and turned to the gathering. They
looked at him thunderstruck.
"You have had your chance, all of you, to be
truthful about this affair. You have not done so. This
is murder on a military reservation in time of peace.
It is a matter of federal jurisprudence; entirely out-
side the province of the military articles of war. Cap-
tain Baldwin, you will consider yourself under arrest
in quarters. I can take no action against you, Mrs.
Baldwin, but I advise you to remain at home until
such time as the civil authorities, who will arrive
tomorrow, give you your freedom. Captain Costain,
you will remain within the limits of the post until
I see fit to relieve that restriction, and I trust that
you will also acquaint your wife with the advisability
of doing likewise. Mr. Bowles, give the necessary
orders to have a guard immediately placed on these
quarters, with instructions that no one is to enter or
leave here without written authority from me. Place
[42]


THE GENERAL'S EDICT
another guard inside with orders that nothing in this
room is to be handled or removed until after the
civil authorities have inspected the premises. You had
better remain here until the sentinel reports on."
General Phipps moved briskly over to the door,
and turning back said, "Coming Zabriski?" The Gen-
eral deliberately set his cap on his head, drew on his
gloves, took a final all-including glance at the gath-
ering and departed, followed by Major Zabriski.
[43]


CHAPTER V
JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
FORT COMANCHE station is four miles from
the post. A forlorn greystone doll's house of an
edifice squatting alone on an expanse of prairie. A
thread of breakfast smoke floated lazily from the
chimney. An olive drab "official" car lumbered up
to the station platform and stopped. Lieutenant
Bowles stepped out and banged the door; spoke a
word to the driver and sauntered across the platform
to the station. One half of the building served as a
waiting, baggage and freight room; the other half
housed the station agent. Lieutenant Bowles rapped
on the door and entered.
"Hello, Perkie," he said, addressing an individual
in overalls and a cast-off soldier shirt, "the Fort
Worth on time?"
"Good mornin', Lootenant. I ain't had word's yet,
but I reckon h'it is. H'extry fare spacials mostly
keeps t'time. How's your General? Have a cup of
coffee?"
[44]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"One passenger, Perkie, way back in car ninety-
six."
Lieutenant Bowles looked back, and far down the
track saw a white coated porter descend to the
ground, and reach back into the car and withdraw an
armful of baggage.
Lieutenant Bowles trotted nimbly down the track,
arriving at the car just as James Everhart Boodler
stepped off the train.
"Thanks, George. Here," Jimmie Boodler tossed
the porter a silver dollar, "buy yourself a new gold
tooth."
"Thank you, sir." The porter saluted, stepped into
the car, waved to the conductor. As he slammed the
door, the train pulled away leaving Lieutenant
Bowles and Jimmie Boodler standing on the road
bed.,
"I presume you are Mr. Boodler?" asked
Bowles.
"Yes, sir, I am," Jimmie held out his hand to
Lieutenant Bowles and grinned, revealing a row of
even sparkling teeth.
"I'm Lieutenant Bowles, General Phipps' aide-
de-camp." They shook hands, and Bowles noticed the
terrific grip the little man had.
Jimmie Boodler tilted his hat to the back of his
head, threw back his coat lapels, and placing his
[46]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
knuckles akimbo on his hips, looked around him at
the desolate Oklahoma dawn.
"Well, can you tie this?" he muttered half to
himself. "James Everhart Boodler solves Lone
Wolf Murder. Ha! Oh, murder me not on the lone
prairie."
"I beg your pardon?" said Bowles, as he straight-
ened up with a bag in each hand.
"Oh, nothing, I'm just struck—struck dumb with
the scenery you've got around here. Here, gimme
some of that baggage."
He took one of the bags and together the two men
started down the tracks toward the station.
"If I'd known this place is so ritzy, I'd have
brought my wardrobe trunk," laughed Jimmie.
"It isn't much of a place for dressing up. We
rough it here—very seldom wear a blouse—just
O. D. shirts and campaign hats."
"And boots," smiled Jimmie, contemplating Lieu-
tenant Bowles' immaculate footgear.
Bowles laughed. He liked Jimmie Boodler al-
ready. He had a way of smiling and of looking
straight at you that got under your skin.
"I suppose you wonder how I get into these
boots?' said Bowles.
"No, I can guess that. But how do you get out of
them?"
[47]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
As they approached the car, the station platform
grew narrow, and Bowles fell behind Jimmie
Boodler. He noticed he was nearly a head taller
than the diminutive detective.
As they got in the car, Bowles was surprised to
see Jimmie pull out one of the jump-seats and sit
down.
"Wouldn't you prefer to ride back here?" asked
Bowles.
"No thanks. I'd rather sit here. I want to see what
you look like, and you probably are itching for an
opportunity to look me over."
"Well, I "stammered Bowles, growing red.
The car started and lurched away down the road.
"That's all right, Mr. Bowles . . . Mr. Bowles.
That won't do, will it?"
"My first name is Clovis," said Bowles, a little
bewildered at the apparent facetiousness of Jimmie's
dynamic personality.
"Names are funny things, aren't they? Consider
the congruence of mine. Jimmie Boodler. Ever been
to West Point?"
"No, I came from civil life—college, I mean—
during the war."
"Then you don't know what Boodle is?"
"I can't say that I do," laughed Bowles.
"Well, the cadets at West Point have a candy
[48]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
store where they buy stuff and smuggle it into bar-
racks. That's contraband, and they call it boodle, and
they call the store 'The Boodlers'. I've never been
able to discover whether there's a contraband sugar
daddy hanging on my family tree or not."
Jimmie turned and looked out of the car. He
smothered a yawn. Bowles had an opportunity to
scrutinize his face—lean, rather good looking with
a tinge to the cheeks. The dark beard gave evidence
he had not yet shaved this morning. His black eyes
were surmounted by thin expressive brows. Bowles
couldn't see his hair; he had on a gray felt hat set
at a jaunty angle. His educated hands looked tem-
peramental but remarkably capable. His clothes were
well cut, fashionable, and so quiet that they seemed
incongruous. Bowles thought that the tie at least
should strike a false note, but it did not.
During the silence, Bowles fell to wondering
about this enigma opposite him. Boodler was not the
type he had conjured for a detective. He speculated
on where Jimmie came from, and what he used to do.
Then suddenly without turning to look at Bowles,
Jimmie said,
"I used to be a college professor."
"What?" gasped Bowles.
Jimmie turned and snapped his eyes at the young
officer. "Isn't that what you were wondering?"
[49]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
Jimmie looked seriously at Lieutenant Bowles. "I
guess you're right. I never looked at it from that
angle before."
The automobile stopped. The soldier driver sprang
out, and opened the door.
"Well, here we are. You're quartered at the
club." Lieutenant Bowles stepped out and addressed
the soldier, "Corporal Judson, put Mr. Boodler's
bags up in apartment twenty-three."
Jimmie Boodler got out, and stood looking up at
the brick building neatly trimmed with white.
"You chaps certainly are well fixed."
They walked up the path, and mounted the steps
to the porch. Bowles paused at the door of the
building.
"I'll have your breakfast sent up. Judson'll show
you the apartment." He flipped up his left cuff to
consult his watch. "I've got to see General Phipps.
I'm late now and that's one thing the General won't
stand for. I'll phone you in about an hour. Make
yourself comfortable. S'long." Bowles saluted, and
turned away down the porch.
Jimmie found his apartment comfortable. There
were three rooms; living room, furnished with pon-
derous government mahogany furniture; a bath-
room, then a bedroom next. He looked out the liv-
ing room window—evidently toward the back of the
[5i]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
house. Two soldiers went by on an ash wagon drawn
by sleek mules. The soldiers were singing:
"You're in the Army now,
You're not behind a plow.
You'll never get rich"
The telephone rang. Jimmie turned from the win-
dow and crossing to the desk, took down the re-
ceiver.
"Hello. Oh, yes, steward. That's right, three min-
ute eggs, coffee and toast. I don't suppose you have
such a thing as a morning paper—yes, I thought
not."
Jimmie hung up, sauntered into the bedroom,
unpacked leisurely; shaved and bathed.
"I suggest a jolly suit of tweed in this bracing
prairie air," he mused. i
He dressed slowly, ate his breakfast, and dumped
his belongings around the room in his usual helter-
skelter manner.
At precisely nine o'clock there came a knock on
the door. In response to Jimmie's lusty "come in",
General Phipps entered, followed by Lieutenant
Bowles.
"Well, well, well, well!" chirped the General
jovially as he entered the living room and ap-
proached Jimmie with extended hand. "I thought
[52]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
we could talk more quietly here than in my
office. The post is in an uproar. How are you,
Jimmie?"
"Great, General, thanks. How's yourself? How's
Mrs. Phipps?" Jimmie grinned so broadly that he
bared both rows of his teeth.
"She's well—wants to see you—dinner or some-
thing as soon as you can spare some time from this
er—a—investigation."
"I can manage that." Jimmie drew up two
chairs and placed them facing the desk. "Sit
down, General—come on, Clovis, take the weight
off your dogs—this'll probably be a lengthy
palaver."
General Phipps sat down, and loosened his Sam
Browne belt. Jimmie hopped to the desk, and sat
facing the General.
"It certainly knocked me for a loop when Patter-
son gave me your message." He looked at Bowles.
"I haven't seen the General since that Brinstead case
in Washington—remember that bird, General? He
was an eight minute egg if I ever saw one." Then
. again to Bowles, "Tried to get away with half the
treasury. He was a quartermaster clerk. What hap-
pened to him, General?"
"He was shot by a guard during the riots at the
Leavenworth Disciplinary Barracks last spring," an-
[53]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
swered General Phipps, "I understand he was the
ringleader in the uprising."
"Great," muttered Jimmie, "the less of that ver-
min there is in the world, the better I like it." Jim-
mie leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, "Now,
General, let me have the dope on the trouble down
here. Everything, remember. Bowles, you check him
up, and if he misses anything, stop him."
"Bowles is an expert at that," laughed the Gen-
eral, and settling back into the chair, he launched into
the story of the murder.
An hour later, General Phipps came to an abrupt
halt.
"And that is about all we know."
"Well, it's not much for a starter, is it?" allowed
Jimmie. "However, nothing tangible to begin on
makes the case interesting. Have you made a search
for the body?"
"Yes, I had that done, but found no trace what-
ever."
Jimmie, who had paced the room during the nar-
rative, paused in front of the General, who handed
him a paper that he drew from the breast pocket of
his blouse.
"I have appointed a board of officers to cooperate
with you in every way."
Jimmie glanced at the paper:
[54]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Now," Jimmie thrust his hands into his trousers
pockets and rattled some change, "have you made
any search for this body?"
"Lieutenant Bowles searched the premises last
night," replied the General.
"And found nothing," nodded Jimmie.
"Precisely," added Bowles.
"Have you searched again this morning?"
"No."
"Good. I'd rather do that myself."
"That is what I surmised," agreed the General.
"And you say this Colonel Kalendar—is that his
name?"
"Yes."
"How do you spell it?"
"K-a-l-e-n-d-a-r," pronounced Bowles. "And
here's a list of the names of all the people involved."
Lieutenant Bowles handed Jimmie a page which he
tore from his memorandum book.
"Thanks." Jimmie took the list, studied it a mo-
ment, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it on the
desk. "You say that Colonel Kalendar arrived at
Baldwin's house unexpectedly?"
"Yes."
"Baldwin let him in, went upstairs, told his wife
to go down, then he got dressed, went out the back
way and next door to Costain's, peculiar name."
[56]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
"Yes—so Baldwin says," added the General.
Jimmie turned to Bowles, "Think you could
sketch me a rough plan of that house, young fella?"
"Sure—but it will be rough."
"All right—I want to visualize the lay-out."
Lieutenant Bowles drew his chair over to the desk,
and searched for some paper.
Jimmie Boodler continued his remarks with Gen-
eral Phipps.
"Yet both Baldwin and his wife deny ever seeing
Colonel Kalendar. I mean, Baldwin admitted the
Colonel to the house and never saw him again until
he found him murdered. Mrs. Baldwin never saw
him at all."
"Yes. That's as I understood it." The General
shook his head, and pressed his lips together. "How-
ever, there seemed to be something fishy about the
story."
"Yes, there usually is, General." Jimmie paused
and contemplated the tip of his shoe, then, "I sur-
mise, from what you have told me, that you think
the Baldwins are mixed up in this."
The General did not reply immediately. He pyra-
mided his fingers, and sank into profound medita-
tion.
"I really don't know," he replied at length, "I
hate to suspect anyone on such slim knowledge as
[57]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
we now have, but "he shook his head slowly,
"it looks bad for them."
"Have you considered any possible motive, Gen-
eral?"
"Information that is sufficient grounds for a mo-
tive has recently come to my attention. It is common
gossip on the post that Mrs. Baldwin was having an
affair with Colonel Kalendar."
"And her husband found her out," added Jimmie
with a grunt.
"Evidently he did. You see, Jimmie, life on an
army post as detached from civilization as this one
is, naturally restricts people. They have no outside
interests; nowhere to go for a change of environ-
ment; a week-end or something like that. They turn,
therefore, to themselves for amusement. Friend-
ships develop into intimacies, intimacies to—well,
anyhow people become too intimate. Gossip spreads
with appalling rapidity and each retelling finds a
once simple story being embroidered and elaborated
until at length a fabric woven of the most prepos-
terous insinuations and lies results. I have no doubt
that Mrs. Baldwin saw Kalendar frequently, but
then what of that? So did Mrs. Costain."
"Oh, I see," said Jimmie, "this Colonel Kalendar
was one of your muddy Romeos."
"No, not at all. I never considered him such. He
[58]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
was an eccentric, rather an aloof individual—kept to
himself most of the time. I always suspected he was
engaged in some sort of esoteric research. He was
absent-minded to a point of rudeness, but I always
thought that a pose with him. He could remember
when he found it convenient to do so. Until he came
here, I hadn't seen him for years. He was a oeculiar
individual."
"How do you mean peculiar?"
"Well, as I have said, he was eccentric—tempera-
mental. He had a queer streak of cruelty in him."
"Brutality?"
"No, not just that. Of course, you understand that
a long time has elapsed since I have had any intimate
association with Kalendar, but I honestly believe he
enjoyed seeing people suffer."
"You mean he was a sadist?" asked Jimmie.
"Good Lord, no. But he did queer things. I re-
member a tale that came to my ears during the
Philippine Insurrection. Kalendar caught a Spanish
monk who was furnishing the Insurrectos with infor-
mation of our troop movements. Instead of handling
the case according to law and custom, he had a pit
dug near a white ant hill; had this priest bound, and
buried him in a standing position up to his neck.
Then he took his penknife and deliberately slit the
lower lip of his victim, acquainted the white ants
[59]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
with the situation, and sat quietly down to watch the
horrible carnival."
"An interesting sidelight, General, though some-
what nauseating," replied Jimmie, swallowing heav-
ily, "and this Mrs. Baldwin, is she in any way the
type of woman who might be drawn to such a char-
acter as Colonel Kalendar?"
"Not in the least. She's a pretty little creature
—blonde, rather stereotyped beauty. Thoroughly
spoiled I should say, and not overburdened with
brains. I know very little about her. Until recently,
I had always regarded Baldwin and his wife as a
happy couple."
Lieutenant Bowles rose from the desk, and handed
Jimmie a paper. "I'm afraid I can only give you a
rough idea of the floor plan."
Jimmie glanced at the drawing and smiled.
"That's rough enough," he chuckled.
Bowles stood beside him and pointed to the sketch.
"That's the first floor; drawing room, den and hall.
Those are the front stairs; those the back; dining
room, entry and kitchen. The Costains' house is ex-
actly like this one, except that the arrangement of
rooms is reversed."
Jimmie studied the drawing carefully. The Gen-
eral got up, sauntered over to the window, buttoned
his blouse and buckled his Sam Browne belt.
[60]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
r

F1R.5T FLOOR.
My architect friend, Lawrence M. Elliott, reproduced this
legible plan from a hasty drawing Jimmie Boodler sketched
when he told me the case. M. W.
[61]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"This is the room where the crime was com-
mitted?" asked Jimmie, pointing to the Baldwins'
living room.
"Yes," replied Bowles, "there, in that chair I have
indicated."
"Well, General," continued Jimmie, glancing up,
"I guess that's all I can do until I look the
place over, and have a talk with these people."
Jimmie folded the plan and slid it into his coat
pocket.
"Have you evolved any theory, Boodler?" asked
General Phipps.
"None, my point of view is virginal," said Jimmie.
"Well, I must be off, Boodler. I shan't go to
Baldwin's with you. There's absolutely nothing I
could do to help. I'll turn Bowles over to you until
you get oriented. He'll take care of your wants."
The General held out his hand to Jimmie. "I hope
you clear this up quickly, Boodler, and I don't want
you to spare anyone. This is my little kingdom and
you have my authority to go the limit."
Jimmie shook hands.
"I'll let you know later about dinner; until then,
adios." The General saluted casually and left the
apartment.
Jimmie turned to Bowles. "Now what's the low
down? Is this another one of these love triangles?
[62]


JIMMIE BOODLER TAKES COMMAND
A shoots C because C has swiped the affections of B
from A or vice versa."
"I don't know a thing, Boodler, other than what
General Phipps told you."
"Naturally this bunch would hide things from
General Phipps."
"Yes, I suppose they would if any one of them
was seriously implicated."
"Then it's up to me to dig up the concealed
dope."
Jimmie picked up his hat and coat, and said to
Bowles.
"Well, young fella, let's go take a look at the
premises."
[63]


CHAPTER VI
THE WOMAN LIES
LEAVING the club, Lieutenant Bowles and
Jimmie walked towards the Baldwin's. The
atmosphere outside had grown warmer, and the rays
of the sun had melted the frost from the burnished
grass. The two men crossed the south edge of the
parade ground, and turned north along officers' row.
"What's that building with the high wall around
it over there?" asked Jimmie, "the jail?"
"Yes," replied Bowles.
"I'm glad to know where that is, we may need it
in a hurry."
Jimmie glanced with interest at the neat row of
officers' quarters; red brick trimmed in white, with
squat comfortable looking verandas. "Does the gov-
ernment give each one of you fellas a house like
these?"
"Yes, if you've got enough rank to rate one, and
if you're married. Otherwise, you live at the club."
"Pretty soft," muttered Jimmie.
[64]


THE WOMAN LIES
"Yes, pretty soft if you're married. The married
officers get all the gravy in the Army," said Bowles.
Then he added, "This is the old part of the post
where we are now; built in the frontier days. The
wall around the guard-house—the jail, as you called
it—was used as a fort. All the women and children
were herded in there in the event of an Indian raid."
"Indians, eh? What brand?"
"Comanches, mostly. There have been some pretty
hot scraps right around here."
"Any of 'em left—the Indians, I mean?"
"Oh, yes, about a dozen; the last of the old Indian
Scout company still live out on the range, and come
to the post the end of every month to be paid off,
and draw rations. They're getting pretty old and
feeble. It makes me sort of sad to see them. The last
of that fine virile stock passing out. I always like to
remember them as I read about them when I was a
kid. There was something romantic and thrilling
about the American Indian. But now "Bowles
shook his head.
The two men walked on, wrapped in thought.
Then Jimmie spoke: "I remember as a kid read-
ing about Comanche Indians—pretty tough bunch,
weren't they?"
"Yes," replied Bowles, "they raided the frontier
posts a lot, and when they did—it meant bloodshed.
[65]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
General Albert Foss was killed here in an unexpected
Comanche raid about 1872."
Bowles paused in front of a set of quarters.
Jimmie noticed a neat sign tacked to the rise of the
front steps, "Captain Baldwin."
"Here we are," said Bowles, "that's Costain's
house next. This is the last set of the old post quar-
ters. That next one is Colonel Kalendar's house.
That's a different design, you see."
"So he lived next door," mused Jimmie.
Jimmie followed Bowles up the walk to Baldwin's
quarters. A private soldier on guard at the foot of
the steps saluted smartly. Bowles saluted him.
"Good morning, Sergeant," nodded Jimmie,
affecting an offhand salute. "You on patrol duty
here?"
"Yes, sir," replied the soldier, staring straight
ahead.
Bowles mounted the steps, opened the front door,
and bade Jimmie enter.
The light was dim inside, and a moment passed
before Jimmie saw a soldier standing at attention
in the living room doorway.
Lieutenant Bowles closed the front door, and
joined Jimmie.
"This guard has been here since last night,"
Bowles indicated the sentinel, "with orders not to
V
[66]


THE WOMAN LIES
allow anyone in the living room. Will you want him
any more?"
"No, I don't think so." Jimmie looked strangely
at the sentinel.
"All right, soldier, you're relieved," Bowles said.
"Where are Captain and Mrs. Baldwin?" he added.
"Upstairs, sir, They haven't been down since I
came on."
"I see. You'd better stay around. There may be
some errands. Wait in the dining room."
The soldier saluted and walked away. Jimmie fol-
lowed him with his eyes.
"Dumb egg," he remarked, "standing around the
house with his hat on."
Bowles laughed softly, "He has on side-arms—
pistol. A soldier never takes his hat off when he's
under arms."
"Oh, well, I'll learn. This is all new to me."
Jimmie turned to the living room door, and stood
for a moment looking in. The room was in semi-
darkness. The shades were still pulled down. A faint
smell of stale tobacco smoke reached Jimmie's sensi-
tive nose. He addressed Bowles:
"Would you mind putting up the shades, and
seeing if all the windows are locked?"
Bowles crossed the room, and raised the shades in
the windows facing the street, then those facing to
[67]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
the south. "All the windows are locked," he
reported.
Jimmie did not answer. He stood studying the
room. On either side of the refectory table in- the
center stood a Queen Anne armchair. The one on the
left faced away from the door. A pink jade lamp
with a betasseled silk shade stood in the center of
the table. In the right wall was a fireplace, beside
which set at an angle, was a large divan. Two
straight-back chairs stood side by side half-way be-
tween the windows that opened toward the street, and
the refectory table. A small gate-leg table in the left
corner of the room held another reading lamp, and
beside the table squatted a large easy chair, covered
with a flowered chintz. The drapes in the windows
were chintz of similar design. A deep piled Chinese
rug of blue with beige border covered the center of
the floor.
Lieutenant Bowles leaned his elbows against the
window sill, and remained silent, watching Jimmie
Boodler as he walked slowly into the room. His
hands were in his pockets, jangling the inevitable
change, in tempo with the tune that his pursed lips
softly whistled. His eyes roved restlessly all over
the room. Walking up behind the chair to the left of
the table, he drew his hands from his pockets and
laid them on the back of the chair.
[68]


THE WOMAN LIES
"This one?" he inquired, regarding Bowles with
arched eyebrows.
Bowles nodded.
Jimmie whirled around, and looked out of the
room. He walked back to the hall door, and turning
again into the room, stepped slowly back to the chair,
counting his strides.
"One—two—three—four—five—six," he mut-
tered, and arriving again behind the chair, he looked
down at the refectory table.
"That the weapon?" he said, pointing to the
butcher knife. It lay on the table exactly where
Major Zabriski had left it.
"Yes," Bowles said advancing toward the table.
"Major Zabriski, the post surgeon handled it last
night, and I see the piece of paper he used to pre-
serve the finger prints is still clinging to the handle."
"Finger prints?" laughed Jimmie derisively, "say,
young fella, if you or anybody else can identify
finger prints on that knife handle, I'll blow you to
a Rolls Royce."
"But the criminal surely handled it."
"Suppose he did? If he struck the blow with that
knife, he squeezed it so tight and drove so hard that
his finger prints are smeared and blurred all over the
handle." Jimmie picked up the knife. "If nobody
had been using the knife; if it had just been washed
[69]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
clean even, you couldn't tell much. No cook puts a
clean knife away holding it by the blade—like that.
You hold on to the handle when you put a knife in
a drawer. So the cook's printed on here too."
"The Baldwins have no servants."
"Then Mrs. Baldwin is convicted because her
finger prints are on her own knife. Don't be dull,
Lieutenant. I don't even know it's her knife, do
you?"
"No."
"Well then!" Jimmie contemplated the knife.
"What are these initials, Q.M.C. branded on the
handle?"
"Quartermaster Corps. That's the supply branch
of the Army. The knife is government property,"
said Bowles.
"Do they all have this eyelet for hanging up,
screwed in the end of the hilt?"
"No. I never saw one like that before."
Jimmie laid the knife down on the table. Next he
turned his attention to a box about four inches square
and fourteen inches long covered with purple silk
that lay on top of a piece of white wrapping paper.
"This package has not been here long, young
fella."
Bowles crossed the room and stood beside Jimmie.
"How do you know?"
[70]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
opened the package? If Kalendar opened it, who
was in the room with him at the time? Why should
he open the package if he was in the room alone?
Perhaps it was opened by the criminal after the mur-
der had been committed. Now look about and see if
you can discover the string with which this package
was tied."
Jimmie put the dagger back in its box, shut the lid,
looked under the paper, but found no string.
Lieutenant Bowles looked beneath and around the
table, but found no string either.
"Never mind," said Jimmie, "interesting because
it indicates an incompleted, or possibly an interrupted
task but probably of no importance."
Jimmie strolled around the room, looking casually
at everything, then he returned to the chair and stood
facing it. He leaned over to inspect the hole in the
back.
"That hole indicates a terrific death blow all right.
Whoever delivered it was either a big fellow in a
rage, or a smaller man gathered emotionally for a
powerful blow—or vice versa. Take your pick—it
doesn't mean much. Excuse me, young fella, if I
ramble on like this."
"I find it fascinating," declared Bowles.
"Well," said Jimmie with finality, "I guess I've
got everything in here pretty well in mind. I'd like
[72]


THE WOMAN LIES
now, to see these suspects. I want to see them sep-
arately, and I'd like to begin with the most impor-
tant. Let's have Captain Baldwin down."
Lieutenant Bowles dispatched the sentinel for
Captain Baldwin.
While Jimmie Boodler was waiting, he took
another turn around the room, and came to rest
with his back to the fireplace as Captain Baldwin
appeared in the doorway.
Jimmie noticed he was a man of medium height,
with rather a sullen face; sullen because the fullness
of his lips gave a pout to his mouth; weak, thought
Jimmie. Not much strength of character—no punch.
Nice hair; well built; generous eyes.
"Captain Baldwin?" asked Jimmie, with a friendly
smile, and extending his hand. Jimmie didn't move,
but watched Baldwin as he walked toward him with
an easy, graceful stride, but hardly one that could
reach the chair in six steps. He shook *hands with
Baldwin, but found nothing indicative of power in
the grip—rather the contrary. Jimmie indicated the
chair to the right of the refectory table.
"Won't you sit down, Captain? You'll probably
find it easier to talk if you do."
Baldwin turned the chair so that it faced Jimmie,
and sat down bolt upright. His eyes searched Jim-
mie's face nervously.
[73]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"I'm Mr. Boodler, Captain. I've taken over the
investigation of this case at the request of General
Phipps."
"Yes, I know," nodded Baldwin.
Jimmie was silent for several moments, watching
the effect of his purposely penetrating gaze upon
Captain Baldwin. Baldwin held it for a moment, then
dropped his eyes. He ran his hands along the arms
of the chair, fingers extended, banged his palms
down, and again looked at Jimmie.
"Well?"
"One thing, first, Captain. Everybody is innocent
until he proves himself otherwise. Mine is not a
game, Captain, of checkers or bridge. There's noth-
ing competitive—or combative about me. I'm on the
level. But remember one thing," Jimmie lowered his
voice, "I've never yet lost a case ... see the point?"
"Thanks," muttered Baldwin, after a pause.
"Now, sHoot the works."
Captain Baldwin settled into his chair, and crossed
his booted legs. "Well, when I came down to let
Colonel Kalendar in"
"Wait a minute," interposed Jimmie, "I know
about that. Go back a bit. What did you do yester-
day?"
"I was at the Battery all day."
"What time did you get home?"
[74]


THE WOMAN LIES
"I think it was about a quarter to six."
"Had you seen your wife at all that day?"
"No, not till I got home."
"You got home about quarter to six?"
"Yes."
"And Colonel Kalendar arrived about six-thirty?w
"Yes."
"What did you do when you got home?"
"The usual routine. I went upstairs and talked to
my wife for a while. She said we were going next
door to the Costains' for dinner. She was all dressed,
and told me to hurry. I bathed, and was putting some
studs in my shirt when the door bell rang. . . ."
"What time was that?"
"I remember I looked at the time; it was six-
thirty. I put on a dressing gown, and went down-
stairs."
"Why, if your wife was dressed, did you go down-
stairs to answer the door?"
Baldwin hesitated. "She asked me to."
Jimmie smiled. "You went down, opened the
door, and were surprised to see Colonel Kal-
endar."
"I was, yes."
"You hadn't expected him?"
"I most certainly had not."
"Then what did you do?"
[75]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"I ushered him into the living room, and went
upstairs to tell my wife."
"Did you notice whether or not Colonel Kalendar
carried a package?"
"Yes, I believe he did."
"What sort of package was it?"
"I didn't notice particularly—a small square one,
I think."
"After Colonel Kalendar went into the living
room, you went back upstairs to tell your wife?"
"Yes."
"And you sent her down to tell him there had
been a mistake?"
"I did."
"And she did not come down, but sneaked out the
back way."
"I believe that's what she told General Phipps."
"Now, Captain Baldwin," warned Jimmie, a caus-
tic tone in his voice, "this won't do. You and your
wife had a scrap, didn't you?"
"How do you make that out?" parried Baldwin.
"It's obvious. Now, tell me the truth; you and
your wife had a row over Kalendar, didn't you?"
"Yes, we did."
"You don't like him, do you?"
"I didn't want him in my house. I'd forbidden my
wife to see him."
[76]


THE WOMAN LIES
"What prompted you to do that?"
"People were talking."
"And you believed them? You suspected your
wife because of maligning gossip?"
"No."
"I mean, you cautioned her to avoid exposing her-
self any further to the possibility?"
"Yes."
"And having involved herself yesterday, you re-
fused to extract her, and as a punishment made her
go down and explain the error?"
"That's one way of putting it."
"Then, as I understand, you dressed, went down
the back stairs, and crossed next door to the
Costains'."
"Yes."
"Did you hear anyone talking in here as you went
out?"
"I don't think so."
"It isn't a question of thinking, Captain, you either
did or you didn't hear voices in here. Now which
is it?"
"I didn't hear any voices."
"Are you sure your wife came downstairs?"
"No."
"How long were you at the Costains' before your
wife joined you?"
[77]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Only a few minutes."
"So you see, Captain, some time remains unex-
plained."
"How do you mean?"
"I believe your wife says she did not come down-
stairs to see Kalendar."
Baldwin remained silent.
"Didn't your wife say she had not seen him?"
"Yes."
"When did she tell you that?"
"Next door, when she came into the Costains."
"So you came back to clear up the matter, to tell
the Colonel there had been a mistake?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone come back with you?"
"No."
"So you see, Captain, you are in a tight place.
Now, can't you help me? Is there nothing you can
add to what you told General Phipps last night, and
what I have just wrung out of you?"
"Why should I say anything? It's up to you to
prove General Phipps' accusations—not up to me to
help you."
"General Phipps' accusation?" Jimmie raised his
eyebrows.
"Yes, he has placed me in arrest in quarters. That
certainly is an accusation."
[78]


THE WOMAN LIES
"Oh," muttered Jimmie, "Bowles what's to be
done to release Captain Baldwin from arrest?"
"Do you wish it?" asked Bowles from across the
room.
"Yes," replied Jimmie, "at once, please. There,
Captain . . . now?" Jimmie spread his hands.
Captain Baldwin got up. "Is that all, then?"
Jimmie strode over to the table and picked up the
Japanese dagger. He opened the box and showed it
to Baldwin.
"Ever see that before?"
Baldwin looked at the dagger and shook his head.
"Doesn't belong to you?"
"No, I never saw it before," declared Baldwin.
Jimmie put back the package. "That's all, Captain.
Thank you. Would you please send down Mrs. Bald-
win?"
"May I come with her?" Baldwin asked, a note of
pleading.in his voice.
"No, I'm sorry. I must see her alone."
Baldwin bowed stiffly, and retired from the room.
Lieutenant Bowles advanced a step or two from
his vantage point. "You didn't ask him about the
murder!" he exclaimed.
"No, he wouldn't have told me about it if I had.
Queer chap, Bowles. Know him intimately?"
"No, very slightly. I know her better."
[79]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Jimmie looked suddenly at Bowles. "That's in-
teresting. And friend husband sat in the background
while his wife danced the jig?"
"No," explained Bowles, "he was rarely with her
on parties."
"I see—a serious young man; all wrapped up in
his work."
"Yes. What we call a 'career man'."
"What's that?"
"A man who does nothing but pound away at this
army game. Everlastingly working where there is no
work, planning where there's nothing to plan, cast-
ing about trying to dig up work to do—sort of the
college grind type—you know."
"Lord, yes!"
"Do you want to see me?" came in plaintive, fem-
inine tones from the doorway. Jimmie turned around
and beheld a ravishing blond, carefully posed in the
doorway.
"Mrs. Baldwin?" he asked.
"Yes—my husband tells me you are the detec-
tive." She advanced with extended hand, her cling-
ing, grenadine velvet tea gown trailing behind, Jim-
mie took her hand. It felt warm and damp, and he
noticed that the nails on the stubby fingers were
chewed to the quick—nerves, he thought.
"Isn't it too horrible, Mr. er—a?"
[80]


THE WOMAN LIES
"James Boodler, Mrs. Baldwin."
"Mr. Boodler," she sank wistfully into the divan
by the fire-place and looked up smiling, "Oh, Clovis
—do give me a cigaret. It will steady my nerves,"
she simpered.
Lieutenant Bowles hurried over and gave her a
cigaret, then snapped on a lighter.
Jimmie noticed that her nerves were deadly
steady; that she executed every movement with a cal-
culated, controlled precision. A neurasthenic, he
thought, and, in all probability, the biggest mytho-
maniac in seven counties.
She threw her legs up on the sofa in a careless way,
designed to appear nonchalant; adjusted her gown
to suit her ideas and leaned back, smiling at Jimmie.
She patted the sofa with her rouged finger tips,
"Come and sit beside me, Mr. Boodler."
"No, I like you better from here," mused Jimmie.
"You remind me of Troubetskoy's "Lady Resting."
"Really?" beamed Dorothy Baldwin, batting her
eyelids, "I love Russian portrait painters."
Jimmie smiled, then added, "He wasn't a Russian,
and he didn't paint portraits. He was a Pole and he
wrote poetry."
"Oh, well, I like poems too. I simply adore Oscar
Wilde. Once I learned the 'Ballad of Reading Gaol'
by heart:
[81]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
'Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!'"
She stopped suddenly and regarded Jimmie
through her thick eyelashes.
"Very apropos, Mrs. Baldwin, but just what
meaning is it intended to convey to me?"
Dorothy Baldwin averted her gaze, and began to
breathe rapidly.
"I don't know that it's intended to convey any-
thing." She turned her head and looked inquiringly
at Jimmie. "You began by being rather rude 5 I
retaliated by being rather flippant."
"I apologize." Jimmie bowed, and smiled wisely.
Dorothy Baldwin said, "Thank you," and took a
puff from her cigaret.
"Now tell me, Mrs. Baldwin, can you add any-
thing to your husband's story?"
"I don't know what he has told you."
"He has told me everything."
"Really? Then what is there for me to add?"
"I mean, in corroboration."
"I'm perfectly willing to answer your questions,
if that's what you mean."
1
[82]


THE WOMAN LIES
"It is—you and your husband quarreled last eve-
ning. I want to know more about that from you."
"Well?"
"What was the row about?"
"Oh, different things—nothing out of the ordi-
nary."
"Meaning Colonel Kalendar?"
Dorothy Baldwin started perceptibly. "No, mean-
ing me," she said, sitting up.
"What about you?" Jimmie stepped over to the
sofa and stood above her, glaring down. His di-
minutive form seemed suddenly to assume a com-
pelling, projecting force.
"He came into my room with his dirty boots
on."
"No—no—no!" objected Jimmie. "That was only
an excuse, why did you quarrel with him"
Jimmie waited a moment. Dorothy twisted her
handkerchief into a ball. He watched her muscles
work.
"Do you always take your rage out on your hus-
band?"
"I was angry because he complained about going
out to dinner—yesterday was my birthday."
"Birthday!" echoed Jimmie.
"Yes."
Jimmie glanced quickly at the table, his eyes nar-
[83]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
rowed. He jerked his head around and stared at
Dorothy. "Mrs. Baldwin, did you ask Colonel Kal-
endar to dinner?"
"No—I didn't—truly I didn't," she looked up
frightened—stirred inwardly by the mention of the .
name.
"Do you know why he came, then?"
"No."
"Well, if he came to dinner, he must have had
some reason."
"I—I don't know what it could have been."
"Your husband told you he was here?"
"Yes."
"And what did you tell Colonel Kalendar?"
"Why I "she stopped dead, snarled in the
perverse meshes of her own distorted emotion.
"You did see him then?"
"No!" She sat up suddenly, her eyes wide with
terror.
Jimmie stepped to the table, snatched up the silk
box, and darting back, thrust it open under Dorothy
Baldwin's eyes.
"Where did this come from then, if you never
saw him?"
"I don't know."
"He brought it to you."
"No—no!" she cried.
\
[84]


THE WOMAN LIES
"He brought it to you as a birthday present—you
opened it here, in his presence."
Dorothy sprang from the sofa and with a frantic
gesture knocked the box from Jimmie's hand. The
dagger clattered on the stone hearth. The woman
leapt to the sofa, and crouched there livid. She ran
her fingers through her hair, and disengaged it from
its moorings—her jaw shot out viciously; her eye-
brows raised so that white showed all around the iris
of her eyes.
"It's a lie," she snarled, "he doesn't know I saw
him—he's a liar—with his Goddamn sanctimonious
smirk—he doesn't care what I do "she sobbed
convulsively, then she screamed hysterically—"I
hate him—oh—my—God!"
Then tension left her body; one hand shot up,
and covered her mouth. She sank slowly to the sofa,
and lay sobbing convulsively.
[85]


CHAPTER VII
THE WOMAN CONFESSES
JIMMIE BOODLER sat down in the chair occu-
pied by Captain Baldwin a few moments before,
and waited patiently until Dorothy recovered from
her spasm.
Ten minutes elapsed before the woman stopped
sobbing, and with an effort sat up on the sofa. She
fumbled blindly in the folds of her gown, found a
handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. She twisted up her
hair, and caught it with one or two hairpins that she
managed to find on the seat of the sofa. At length
this silly toilet was completed, and she settled back
on the sofa, her hands folded in resignation upon her
lap. She looked at Jimmie with the lofty expression
of a martyr prepared for doom.
Jimmie leaned forward in his chair, arms on his
thighs, "Feel all right now, Mrs. Baldwin?" he
asked quietly.
"Yes, thank you. I feel better." She blew her nose
feebly. "May I go now?"
[86]


THE WOMAN CONFESSES
"No, Mrs. Baldwin. There's a lot more you must
tell me, and now that you have got hold of yourself,
I think you will be able to talk a lot more freely."
Jimmie reached back to the table, and took the
butcher knife in his hand. He held it toward Mrs.
Baldwin. "Does this belong to you?"
Dorothy Baldwin looked at the knife, she nodded
vaguely, and averted her eyes. "Yes, it belongs in my
kitchen."
"When did you last see it there, do you remem-
ber?"
"My striker sharpened it for me yesterday morn-
ing. It was very dull. He hung it back on the rail
over the kitchen table where I keep it."
Jimmie rose from his chair, placed the knife back
on the table and crossed to the fireplace. He picked
up the Damascene dagger from the hearth, and re-
stored it to the box.
After he had set the box on the edge of the mantel,
he turned to Dorothy Baldwin. "Let's be truthful,
Mrs. Baldwin. Colonel Kalendar did bring you that
dagger for a birthday present, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did," replied Dorothy, her voice calm
again.
"Do you know any reason he may have had for
bringing you such an unusual and expensive gift?"
"He often loaned me books to read—new books
[87]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
—and he did not like the way I ripped open the
pages. I used to do it with my finger, or a cigaret-
holder, and that made jagged edges, so he gave me
that thing for a paper cutter."
"Was the package wrapped when he gave it to
you?"
"Yes, in that white paper there on the table."
"What kind of string was it tied with?"
"It wasn't string," continued Dorothy, "it was
tied with red silk cord—about the size of my little
finger," she added, holding up her hand. "It had a
tassel on it, with jade trinkets."
"How intimately did you know Colonel Kalen-
dar?"
"Until last night, I thought I knew him very
well."
"You went to his house frequently, I understand."
"You've found that out too." she smiled scorn-
fully.
"Yes."
"Oh, I know everybody on the post is talking
about me. But none of them understands—none of
them ever knew Colonel Kalendar. He never wanted
them to—and how right he was. I knew the tongues
were wagging—sneaking gossips, with nothing to do
but meddle in other peoples' affairs—I didn't care.
I don't care now. I've done nothing to be ashamed
[88]


THE WOMAN CONFESSES
of." She looked imploringly at Jimmie. "Mr. Bood-
ler, I've been cooped up here in this house for
months—alone most of the time. Hal is away all day.
He gets up at the crack of dawn, and never comes
home until after dark. He doesn't pay the slightest
attention to me. I've been left to paddle my own
canoe among strangers. You should have seen the
way they looked me over when I first got here. It's
been terribly lonesome—I'm used to having a lot of
people around me all the time—people to talk to—
that will be nice to me. Hal doesn't seem to care."
Jimmie let the woman talk on in her rambling
way. The narrative, voiced in pitying tones, in her
halting way, cast an illuminating light on her dis-
torted personality. She was calm now, because she
was happy. She had found a perfect listener to whom
she could pour out the agony of her imaginary ills.
The fact that Jimmie Boodler was there to discover
her guilt or innocence of the murder was entirely
overshadowed by a desire to tell him her troubles.
However, Jimmie Boodler realized that he was
not at Fort Comanche for the purpose of acting as
father confessor to a neurasthenic woman. He in-
terrupted Dorothy several times during her story,
and put her thought back on the right track. There
was nothing of importance in what she had to say
other than her admission of intimacy with Colonel
[89]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Kalendar. Once again Jimmie diverted the flow of
talk into his own channels.
"When you came downstairs, Mrs. Baldwin,
where did you find the Colonel?"
"He was standing there by the fireplace, just
where you are."
"And did you tell him that there had been a mis-
take about the dinner date?"
"No, I never did."
"Why not? Isn't that what you came down for?"
"Yes—but he began to talk right away. As soon
as I came in the room, he told me how nice it was
for me to ask him to dinner on my birthday. He
asked me how old I was, where I had spent most of
my life, and lots of other questions, and then an-
swered them all himself. He acted very queerly. I'd
never seen him like that before. He came and sat
down beside me on the sofa, and asked me to tell
him frankly if I really loved my husband. I told him
I did. He threw back his head and laughed." Dor-
othy's body shook violently, and she shut her eyes to
blot out the memory. "I can hear him now. He told
me there was no such thing as love—for other peo-
ple. It was nothing but lust. He said a man could
love only the thing he feared, and then that was an
obsession. Then he gave me that papercutter. I
opened the package at the table, and took out the
[90]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Yes ... I guess that was the reason why I was
so frightened. I thought he was listening."
"Now, Mrs. Baldwin ... I want to be quite
frank with you," said Jimmie, coming over again
close to Dorothy. "Do you know whether or not you
came back into this room after you went into the
kitchen?"
"No. ... I can't remember."
"It is very important. You have told me a great
many details of what you did yesterday. What you
have not told me has been suggested by other things
that you have said. You see?" Jimmie paused for a
moment. "For instance, you have told me that the
butcher knife with which Colonel Kalendar was
killed belongs to you, and that you remember the
unimportant little fact that your striker—whatever
that is—sharpened it for you, and you remember
where the striker put the knife after he had sharp-
ened it. That leads me to a conclusion that is not
exactly in your favor."
"You mean. . . ."
"I mean that you must have been thinking about
the knife, else why should you be so well acquainted
with the facts concerning the disposition of a weapon
that played a part in your daily routine. It is too
commonplace, otherwise, to be of any consequence. I
must ask you to try to remember whether or not you
[92]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
mie, and with the air of one completely vindicated,
walked slowly from the room.
Lieutenant Bowles stood up with an effort from
his chair, and shook himself out.
"Good lord, Boodler, imagine being married to a
woman like that."
"I thought you told me that you knew her
well?"
"So I did, but I see I was mistaken. What a tem-
per!"
"No, it isn't temper," corrected Jimmie, "it is
the woman ... an interesting woman." Jimmie
walked to the table in the center of the room, and
leaning on it, looked across at Lieutenant Bowles.
"This may have the complication of being a patho-
logical murder."
"And what on earth is that?" asked Bowles with a
look of bewilderment.
"Mrs. Baldwin may have committed this crime in
a moment of mental aberration. She was evidently in
a fugue after her scene with this extraordinary
Colonel . . . frightened into it I guess ... at any
rate, she had a complete lapse of memory. It may be
that she committed the crime without knowing any-
thing about it."
"Such a blow as that?"
"Theoretically, the power of the blow means
[94]


THE WOMAN CONFESSES
everything. As a matter of fact, however, if a
woman is roused to sufficient anger she has greater
strength than the average man ... at least that is
my belief. Woman has power to stand greater pain;
woman has more patience; in fact, woman is a much
more enduring creature than man. Therefore, I be-
lieve that woman is also capable of greater physical
reserve. I know I have been laughed at by many
physiologists and psychologists, but that does not
change my opinion. Those birds play with a lot of
corpses, charts, idiots, morons or what-nots, and with
a grandiose gesture arrive at theoretical conclusions
that encompass the behavior of all humanity. My ex-
perience has been practical and on the seamy side of
life. Take your pick."
"But you said she could commit murder and never
know that she had done it," objected Bowles.
"Yes, she could . . . and how! A woman who
loses her memory because of hysteria, or any of the
other causes, is capable of anything ... so is a man
for that matter. Witness the case of a vivacious girl
of eighteen who fell in love with a farmer twenty
years older than she. They married and had a son,
and later two daughters. She was happy with her
children and devoted to her husband. They had been
married for some time when she began to flirt with a
man who came to the farm on business. Her husband
[95]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
reproached her for this, and they quarreled often
about it . . . That, it seems to me, Bowles, parallels
our case so far. At any rate, one day they quarreled
more bitterly than usual. The next morning while
the husband and the son were milking, they heard
shots. They rushed to the house, and found the two
little girls shot through the heart, lying in great
pools of blood. The mother was unconscious for
three days, and when she recovered, she could re-
member nothing of the crime.* So you see, Bowles,
it is quite possible that Mrs. Baldwin has done a sim-
ilar thing. What have we to go on? Nothing. What
have I discovered here this morning? In reality,
nothing."
"But surely you have some facts to go on," sug-
gested Bowles.
"Yes, in the matter of fact, I have. I know that
murder has been committed. I know that I have an
extraordinary neurasthenic on my hands. I know
that the deceased must have been a strange bird . . .
I must know more of him ... he suggests to me
millions of motives. I know that I have one Captain
Baldwin who is not willing to tell me all that he
knows. Now, if you can fit that mess together as it
is now, and gather anything from it, go ahead, young
fella. As for myself, I am famished. The Baldwin
* Karl Menninger—"The Human Mind."
[96]


THE WOMAN CONFESSES
woman sapped considerable of my vitality. Where do
we eat?"
"I think we had best have a bite at the club," sug-
gested Bowles.
"And after that, I should like to have a talk with
Captain and Mrs. Costain. I think you might as well
arrange now to let these guards go. I have no desire
to keep these people under arrest. Many an indi-
vidual has unintentionally hung himself because he
was given too much rope."
[97]


CHAPTER VIII
THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN
AT precisely two o'clock, Jerrold Costain ushered
Jimmie Boodler and Lieutenant Bowles into
the living room of his quarters. Minna Costain,
who was sitting in a chair near the window,
rose as they entered the room. She addressed
Jimmie:
"I am so glad that you have come. My husband
and I have been sitting in the anxious seat ever since
you arrived. You spent the entire morning at the
Baldwins', didn't you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Costain," replied Jimmie, "I'm afraid
I was there longer than I expected to be." Jimmie
noticed that Mrs. Costain was a wiry little creature,
with coarse black hair parted in the middle and
drawn straight back in an attempt to lend distinction
to her otherwise ordinary features. The only striking
thing about her was the remarkable expressiveness of
her eyes. Her husband, on the other hand, looked
more interesting. He was enormously friendly, and
[98]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Captain Costain," Jimmie began, "how long have
you known Colonel Kalendar?"
"Only since I have been here. He was command-
ing officer of my regiment."
"You never knew him before?"
"No." Costain squirmed around in his chair and
crossed his knees.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite."
"Why do you ask that?" inquired Minna.
"I am trying to find out some details about the
man."
"Since we have been here," interposed Minna, "I
have known him better than my husband has. I have
been many times at his quarters. As a matter of fact,
I helped him a great deal with his research."
"What sort of research was he doing?" asked
Jimmie.
"He was writing a book on the destructive forces
in nature. The last paper I typed for him was some-
thing about the 'Survival of the Fittest.' It was a
distinct departure from the usual interpretation. I
recall that, because, as a rule, I merely copied his
long-hand, but the last work caught my interest and
I read the whole thing through first."
"You acted, then, as a secretary to him?" asked
Jimmie.
[100]


THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN
"Yes. I did it for the money. What with this mis-
erable army pay, one has to do something to keep
the wolf from the door."
"Uhm! yes, I suppose so," mused Jimmie, look-
ing around the room. He saw no evidence of addi-
tional income having been spent to beautify the
home.
"And during your many visits to the Colonel's
did you ever see Mrs. Baldwin over there?"
"Oh, yes. She came over quite frequently. In fact,
I introduced her to him."
"And their acquaintance became rather, er—a—
intimate?"
Minna moved uneasily in her chair, and at-
tempted to glance at her husband, as though for a
cue.
"I don't think I quite know what you mean, Mr.
Boodler."
"I mean exactly what I said, Mrs. Costain. Were
Colonel Kalendar and Mrs. Baldwin having an af-
fair?"
"Since you put it bluntly—they were having an
affair," Minna accented the last word, and then
smiled bitterly.
"Why do you say it like that?" asked Jimmie.
"Oh, tell him, Minna. Stop beating around the
bush," advised her husband.
[IOI]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Jimmie turned his eyes to Captain Costain, "Then
there was something?"
"Of course there was," Costain declared. "The
whole post has been talking about it. Minna came
home every evening and told me the latest dirt. I
think it is damn shabby of Baldwin to let his wife
run hay-wire the way she has."
"Jerry and I have argued about the matter for
months," parried Minna, "but we decided not to
say anything about it to Hal or Dorothy. I don't
think it is a good policy to get mixed up in other
- people's domestic difficulties."
"A very wise decision, Mrs. Costain," exclaimed
Jimmie.
Captain Costain looked down, and laying the fin-
gers of his left hand on the palm of his right, rubbed
the cuticle of the nails with his thumb. Jimmie no-
ticed that he furtively turned his lowered eyes on his
wife.
"What time was it, as nearly as you can remem-
ber, Mrs. Costain, when the Baldwins came over
here?"
"It was about quarter of seven . . . possibly a
little before."
"You answered the door?"
"No, Hal came in the kitchen way."
"Did he seem agitated?"
[102]


THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN
"He did. I remarked on it at the time."
"And when did Mrs. Baldwin arrive?"
"Five or ten minutes later, I should say."
"Where were you?"
"I was in the kitchen cooking dinner."
"And where were you, Captain Costain?"
"I was upstairs shaving."
"What happened when Mrs. Baldwin arrived?"
"She seemed to be in quite a state of nerves," said
Minna. "She had a few words with her husband . . .
something about Colonel Kalendar coming for din-
ner at their house. I knew that something was up, so ,
I called Jerry. He came down in a few minutes
and advised the Baldwins to tell Kalendar the
truth."
"We finally urged Hal to go back and tell the
Colonel," injected Costain earnestly.
"Did he go?"
"Yes . . . almost immediately."
"He said he was going to settle this matter once
and for all," added Minna.
"He said that?" Jimmie bit his lip.
"Yes."
"How long was he gone?"
"It couldn't have been more than two or three
minutes," continued Costain. "Then he came back
and screamed for me. I was in the pantry mixing
[103]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
some drinks. I rushed into the kitchen and he told me
that Kalendar had been murdered."
"What did you do then?"
"We all went immediately over to his house. Kal-
endar was there in the chair with the carving knife in
him. . . ."
"Go on, Captain." Jimmie noticed that Costain
was utterly detached in his recital of the story. The
horror of the scene did not react at all upon his
emotions.
"I thought I saw him move, and I went over, and
tried to draw the knife from his body. It was stuck
fast, and I had to pull again to get it out. Then I
sent Baldwin for Major Zabriski."
"Did Baldwin go at once?"
Costain hesitated. His wife looked at him, as
though urging him to proceed, but as he hesitated she
took up the thread.
"No, he did not go at once. My husband picked
up Mrs. Baldwin, who had fainted. Hal stopped him
in the doorway of the living room and said: 'Don't
you think we had better fix up our story?'"
Jimmie looked quickly from one to the other,
"And you, Captain Costain?"
"I made some reply, and sent him for the sur-
geon. Then I carried Mrs. Baldwin upstairs to her
room, and went for the General."
[104]


THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN
"Why didn't you telephone?"
"I don't know. I did not think of it, I guess. I only
had one idea . . . and that was to clear the thing
up."
"You said that after you entered the room, you
thought you saw the Colonel move?"
"Yes, we all noticed it. His left hand fell from the
arm of the chair."
"You went over to the chair?"
"Yes, when his arm fell, Baldwin and I both
went to the chair. I withdrew the knife and then felt
the pulse."
"Was he dead?"
"I couldn't feel any pulse."
"How long did it take you to get the General?"
"I think I was gone about fifteen or twenty min-
utes."
"How long would you say he was gone Mrs.
Costain?"
"I don't know, exactly. I was upstairs with Dot.
We were alone in the house with that body. I re-
member I thought I heard someone walking, and
fainted. When I came to, I heard voices outside . . .
sometime later Lieutenant Bowles came upstairs
and found us—you remember that, don't you
Clovis?" She turned to Bowles, who nodded his
head.
[105]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"When you came back downstairs, Captain Cos-
tain, was the body still in the living room?"
"Why, yes!" said Costain with astonishment.
"How do you know?"
"Why, I left my hat in there on the table, and I
went in to get it."
"Your hat?"
"Yes."
"You had a hat when you went over to Bald-
win's?"
"Certainly!"
"But you told me that when Baldwin came back
to your house you were in the pantry, and that after
he told you Kalendar had been murdered, all of you
immediately went over to his house."
"Yes, that's right."
"Then where did you pick up the hat? What made
you think of a hat in a situation like that?"
"I must confess I don't know." Costain laughed.
"All I know is that I had a hat. I haven't the faintest
recollection where it came from, or how I got it."
Jimmie laughed, and Minna, who had been sitting
staring tensely straight in front of her, relaxed.
"Well, Captain," concluded Jimmie, "we all do
those things. You heard about the fella that stum-
bled over something in the dark; picked it up, and
when he got under a street lamp, he discovered he
[106]


THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN
had an armful of wood." Jimmie waited a moment,
but saw the irony of his remark was lost.
"Twenty minutes later," continued Jimmie, "you
came back with General Phipps. When did Baldwin
arrive?"
"The same time we did. He came down the line
with Major Zabriski, and joined us on the walk."
"That's right," injected Bowles from the dim re-
cesses of the room.
"You all walked into the house, and found that
the body had vanished."
"Yes," nodded Costain.
For several minutes Jimmie was silent. He walked
around the room, his hands in his pockets, rattling
change. He gazed at his feet and seemed to measure
his stride to fit the pattern in the carpet. Suddenly
he stopped in front of Costain and said:
"Would you mind giving me another of your
cigarets? I seem to have left mine at home."
"Sure," said Costain, offering him one from the
package.
Jimmie lit it, and took several puffs. Then strol-
ling over toward the window again, he turned and
smiled at Costain.
"You know, Captain, this is the most puzzling case
I have ever been on. There are no conflicting stories.
Nobody seems to know a thing that is indicative.
[107]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
I can't even get my hands on a clue that will start
me going. Now, I thought when I came over and
had a talk with you and your wife, that you would
be able to put me on the track of something that
might give me a start."
From his corner Bowles drew himself up and
looked with astonishment at Jimmie. He could not
understand this sudden change in the detective's
tone of voice. It had suddenly become intimate, al-
most childish. It had lost that automatic staccato
quality that his ears had become accustomed to. He
could not imagine what Boodler was up to.
"Well, I wish we could help you, Boodler," said
Costain, "but I don't exactly see what we can do."
"I'll tell you what I want you to do," said Jimmie
very confidentially. "I need someone just to keep his
eyes open." He paused and looked from Minna to
Costain. "Do you understand what I mean?"
Jerrold looked at his wife, and then back at Bood-
ler. "Yes," he replied in even tones, "I think I do."
"Well . . .?"
There was a pause.
"No, Jerry," cautioned Minna with a nasty look
toward Jimmie. Costain pursed his lips, and narrow-
ing his eyes looked at the detective.
Jimmie smiled. "I understand. I just thought per-
haps. . . ." He walked to the table, stamped out
[108]


THE COSTAINS ENTERTAIN
his cigaret in an ash tray, and with a deft move-
ment, secretly slipped the butt into his vest pocket.
"I guess that's all for the time being. Sorry you
can't see things my way. Good afternoon, Mrs. Cos-
tain." He walked to the front door, preceded by
Costain.
At the door Jimmie paused, and held out his hand.
"Thanks, just the same, old man. I know how you
feel about it—sort of dirty work."
Costain shook his hand. "That's all right. I wish
you luck in clearing this mess up. Just let me know
anytime I can help."
"I shall, Captain," said Jimmie with a meaning
look, and with a nod to Bowles, left the house.
[109]


CHAPTER IX
THE FIRST CLUE?
JIMMIE BOODLER cut across the grass, and
stopped in front of the Baldwins' house.
"Well, that's that, young fella," he commented,
tilting back his hat and scratching his hair, as he
turned to the Costains' quarters. "What the hell kind
of a place is this Fort Comanche?"
"What do you mean?"
"Living in this prairie air must give a fella the
fantods. I've never seen such a conglomeration of
unique people gathered together for the purpose of
confusing the ends of justice. Outside of yourself
and his nobs—your boss, I mean—this bunch is
capable of anything. How did you like that nice
friendly little gathering?"
"You mean the Costains?"
"Yes, but not only them. I have never seen. . . ."
Jimmie hesitated, and then impulsively slapped
Bowles on the shoulder. "I don't see any reason for
spilling my troubles to you."
[no]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Yeah," drawled Jimmie, "and do you know
why?"
"No."
"Well, I'll tell you," he pointed his finger at the
aide-de-camp, "You!"
"Me?"
"Yeah, they were afraid of you. You're branded,
see? You've got the stamp of his nobs all over you.
They were prepared for me; had the stage beauti-
fully set, but they didn't expect you. . . ."
Bowles looked at the detective in astonish-
ment.
"Don't let that worry you, young fella. I played
a sap hand in there . . . nothing else I could do.
But you go back and put your rosy pink ear to the
keyhole, and I'll lay you two to one they're talking
me over right now! Come on. I want to check up on
one thing here."
They went into the house and Jimmie crossed the
living room to the refectory table, took the sheet of
paper in which the dagger had been wrapped, and
grasping the pewter ash-tray, he dumped out the
contents on the paper. With his index finger, he
poked about in the pile of cigaret butts and pres-
ently segregated one, which he pushed to one side.
Reaching into his vest pocket, he drew out the butt
and laid it beside his new discovery.
[112]


THE FIRST CLUE?
"How's that for onions, young fella?" he
chuckled.
"Two of those Old Mills," remarked Bowles,
leaning close to inspect the cigaret.
"Yeah. It would be interesting to know when Cap-
tain Costain smoked that cigaret here in this room."
Jimmie lifted the paper of cigaret butts, and bend-
ing it, dumped the refuse back into the ash-tray. He
blew the ashes from the sheet of paper, and laid it
down on the table. "Bowles, have you got a cigar
store here?"
"No. We get all our smokes at the P.X."
"And what is the P.X.?"
"The Post Exchange; our general supply store."
"Oh, yeah? Well, you find out from them if they
sell these Old Mill cigarets . . . and while you're
there, you might get me a tube of shaving cream."
Bowles drew his memorandum book from his
pocket and made a note.
"I hate to sashay you all over the lot, Bowles, but
there is one more thing I would like you to do for
me. I want to go to Kalendar's house, and have a
look around."
The two men went into the hall. Jimmie stopped
beside the chair on which still lay Colonel Kalendar's
hat and coat. He picked up the hat, and looked inside.
Then he took up the coat, and went through the
["3]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
pockets. He took out a pair of dirty chamois gloves,
a package of paper matches, and a ring of keys. He
put the gloves and matches back in the coat and
dropped the keys in his pocket. "Now, young fella,
unless I am very much mistaken, you are going to
have the surprise of your life."
[»4]


CHAPTER X
ENTER, JENNIE HUGOT
AFTER Jimmie Boodler rang the doorbell of
Colonel Kalendar's quarters, he had to wait
several minutes before the door opened.
"Ever seen this Hugot woman, young fella?" he
asked Bowles.
"Oh, yes. I've seen her at the Commissary, and the
Post Exchange, and striding around the post. She's
rather a formidable creature . . . walks like a
man," said Bowles.
"Do you know how long she's been with Kalen-
dar?"
"No."
"Are there any other servants?"
"I don't think so. I know very little about Colonel
Kalendar's personal habits. He had a striker when
he first came here, but the soldier couldn't get along
with Jennie. I believe she beat him up one night."
"Oh, one of those, is she!"
Presently the bolts were shot, the door flung open,
["5]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
and Jennie Hugot stood there in the semi-darkness
of the hall. She was a tall, powerfully built woman,
with a cast in the left eye, which gave the impression
that her gaze was never directed at you. Coarse skin
hung about her jowls in loose folds. Enormous
breasts overflowed the high corset into which her
body was strapped. She stood with her feet spread
apart, and her knotted prehensile fingers laced
together across her abdomen.
"What do you want?" she muttered in a voice
startlingly masculine.
"We have come to see Colonel Kalendar's quar-
ters, Jennie," remarked Lieutenant Bowles.
"You can't come in."
"This gentleman is the detective investigating the
death of Colonel Kalendar, Jennie. He wants to look
around the house, and talk to you," explained
Bowles.
"You can't come in," Jennie looked Boodler over
from head to foot, muttering something incoherent
to herself. Then with a swift gesture, she reached
out one hand, caught the door, and slammed it
shut.
Jimmie stepped quickly forward to insert his foot
in the doorway, but he was the fraction of a second
too late. There followed a rattling of the bolt being
shot, and then silence.
[116]


ENTER, JENNIE HUGOT
Jimmie turned blankly to Bowles, "Gentle little
Jennie," he said cocking his head to one side and
nodding quizzically. "How would you like to have
that amazon hanging around your home sweet
home?" Jimmie withdrew from his pocket the bunch
of keys that he had taken from Kalendar's coat. He
looked at the lock on the door, then at the keys on
the ring. Selecting a key, he inserted it deftly into
the lock and turned it spftly. He withdrew the key
cautiously, and with a quick twist of the wrist, he
turned the knob, at the same time kicking the door
open with his foot. It banged violently against the
door-stop. He stepped lightly into the hallway, tilted
his hat to the back of his head, and with arms
akimbo, surveyed his surroundings.
He sniffed at the musty odor of unaired corridors.
When his eyes became focused to the half-light, he
saw, in the dim recesses of the hallway, the face of
Jennie Hugot glowering at him.
"Come here, sister!" he commanded in harsh
tones.
Jennie Hugot emerged from the shadows of the
hallway and advanced slowly. She stopped at a dis-
creet distance, and again clutched her hands across
her generous abdomen.
"What's the big idea of slamming the door?"
asked Jimmie in ominous tones.
["7]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"I don't want you in here. Isn't it enough that the
master has been murdered? Why do you have to
come prowling around his house?"
"Don't yell at me, there's nothing wrong with my
ears."
"Then get out!"
"Cut that!" growled Jimmie, "what you need is a
good sock in the jaw."
Jennie Hugot unfolded her hands, and clenching
them at her sides, came close to Jimmie. Her breath
was heavy with the odor of corn whiskey. "You'd
better get out of here," she muttered.
"Oh yeah?" Jimmie met her diffused gaze with
utter contempt. "Listen, sister, you better get used
to me. I'll probably be hanging around here a lot
of the time, and if you're not a good girl, you'll be
a sick one."
She stared at him for a moment, and then backed
away several paces.
"Well, what do you want?" she grumbled.
"That's better," Jimmie sniffed and sweeping her
with a contemptuous gaze, walked slowly down the
hall.
He paused at the first door on his left, and looked
in the living room. Set with furniture in formal ar-
ray, the room appeared to have been little used. On
the wall opposite were double doors that opened into
[118]


ENTER, JENNIE HUGOT
a dining room, and beyond that, Jennie informed
him sullenly was the kitchen and her room.
Jimmie turned to the housekeeper, "I want to see
the rooms Colonel Kalendar lived in."
Jennie turned, and without further comment, led
the way down the hall. She grasped the bannister in
hand, and began to heave her body up the stairs
which creaked heavily beneath her weight. Jimmie
followed close behind her ponderous figure. On the
second floor she turned down the hallway, and threw
open a door at the front of the house.
As Jennie entered the room, Jimmie noticed her
lean over and snatch up something from the floor.
When she turned toward him again, he saw she had
a ferret in her hand; its lithe snake-like body squirm-
ing to free itself from her grip. She strode across
the room to another door, that had a small oval hole
cut at the bottom, and stooping down, she thrust the
ferret through.
Lieutenant Bowles hung back in the hallway.
"Come on in, Bowles," called Jimmie, "and shut
the door. I think we are going to be here for quite
some time, so you might as well make yourself com-
fortable." Jimmie turned again to the Hugot woman,
"Does that ferret belong to the Colonel?"
"Yes, they do," muttered Jennie, holding her
position at the door.
["9]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Has he got more than one?" Jimmie's eyebrows
went up.
"Six."
"What did he do, hunt rabbits with them?"
"No, he just has 'em."
Jimmie threw his hat on the bed, and sat down. He
looked around the room. In addition to the large bed,
the room contained a large mahogany bureau sur-
mounted by an ornate mirror, a tall clothes press,
and an easy chair that stood over beside the win-
dows.
"Where does that door you stuck the ferret
through go to?" asked Jimmie, pointing.
"That's the Colonel's study."
Jimmie Boodler grunted, and rising from the bed,
walked to the center of the room. He pointed to a
chair. "Sit down, Jennie, I want to talk to you."
Jennie regarded him sullenly, then slouched over,
and came to rest in the chair.
"Now, Jennie Hugot, that we understand each
other, you better start by telling me the truth . . .
understand?"
The woman sat glowering up at Jimmie.
"What do you know about what happened last
night?"
"Nothing."
"Did you go out yesterday?"
[120]


ENTER, JENNIE HUGOT
"No."
"What time did Colonel Kalendar go out?"
"I don't know."
"Did you know he was going out?"
"No."
"He didn't tell you that he would not be home for
dinner?"
"No."
"Was it his custom to go out without telling you?"
"It was none of my business what he did."
"Well, how did you know then whether or not to
prepare meals?"
"When he was going to be home, he'd tell me."
"How frequently did Mrs. Costain come to the
house?"
"Nearly every day."
"What did she do here?"
"I don't know . . . some kind of work."
"You mean to tell me that Mrs. Costain came to
his house every day to do work, and you have no idea
what she was doing?"
"Yes."
"You let her in every time, I suppose."
"No."
"Oh, she had a key."
"No, the Colonel never locked the front door, and
sometimes she'd come in the back way."
[121]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Mrs. Baldwin came over here a lot too, didn't
she?"
Jennie Hugot's eyes flashed, and a sinister grin
spread over her lips. "That little fool," she chortled.
"Oh," commented Jimmie, with a glance at
Bowles, "you didn't care much for Mrs. Baldwin?"
"The same as poison jellyfish," muttered Jennie,
clearing phlegm from her throat.
"Did Mrs. Baldwin do work here too?"
"No."
"How often did she come over?"
"Too often to suit me," she snapped.
"How often?"
"I never kept track of her."
"Then it must have been very often."
"Yes."
"What did she do?"
"They used to talk—her and the Colonel—when
she wasn't slobbering with cryin' spells."
"Temper, you mean?"
"I don't know."
"Did they ever quarrel?"
"He never did. She did."
"Do you think that Colonel Kalendar . . . liked
Mrs. Baldwin?"
"He didn't like anyone. Unless it was for. . . ."
Jennie stopped suddenly, and looked away.
[122]


ENTER, JENNIE HUGOT
"Unless it was for what?" suggested Jimmie.
"Nothin'," concluded Jennie.
"You've got a pretty convenient memory, sister,
I advise you to think things over, and decide to tell
me a little more about this venom that's consuming
you. First, you pretend you don't know anything
about these women; then I unbutton you, and find
out you know a hell of a lot—from peeking at key-
holes."
"That's a lie."
"Yeah? Well, we'll let it go at that."
Jimmy walked to the door of the study, and found
it locked.
"Open this up," he commanded, turning to Jennie.
"I can't. I have no key."
Jimmie drew the ring of keys from his pocket, and
put one in the lock. In a flash, Jennie Hugot was at
his side. She clutched his arm, and drew him away.
"Don't go in there, mister. That's him in there.
The room is cursed. Stay out. He'll rise and murder
you if he knows you was in there."
Jimmie frowned. This sudden, passionate outburst
of terror bewildered him.
"What do you mean, that's him in there?" he
demanded.
"That's what he was ... in there. Don't go in
there, mister ... let the memory of the dead be,
["3]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
mister. Go away, both of you ... go away, before
something terrible happens."
The woman tugged at Jimmie's sleeve. He threw
off her grip, and turned again toward the door. She
darted in front of him, and flung herself in the door-
way.
"Get out of my way," snapped Jimmie. The
woman did not move, but stood terrified, her breasts
heaving and breath rasping in and out of her throat.
Jimmie gripped her outstretched wrist, and twisting
it deftly, threw her off balance, then quickly shoved
her to one side.
Still holding to her wrist he said, "Go to your
room, and stay there, do you understand?" Then he
let her go.
The expression of sullen hatred came back to her
face. She turned away, strode over to the chair in
the window and sat down.
"Come on, Bowles," Jimmie opened the study
door and went in, followed closely by Lieutenant
Bowles, who cast a parting astonished glance at Jen-
nie as he disappeared into the adjoining room.
[124]


CHAPTER XI
IN THE STUDY
JIMMIE stepped to the center of the room,
and looked quickly around. "I don't blame
the old woman!" he exclaimed with a cryptic
smile.
Bowles closed the door, leaned against it, and said,
"Heavens, Boodler, I thought from the way she
carried on that we'd find Kalendar's body hidden in
here."
"She startled me for a minute too. No such luck,
though." He strode over to the window and threw
up the shades. "Kalendar's body may not be here, but
Kalendar's character is." He paused, fascinated by
the bizarre surroundings. Suddenly, from beneath a
cabinet that stood against the wall opposite, a ferret
peered, then emerged, and slinking across the room,
sniffed Jimmie's trousers.
"Hello, young fella!" he said, squatting on his
haunches to stroke the sleek fur of the little rodent.
Bowles called Jimmie's attention to the fact that
["5]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
there were several more ferrets huddled under the
desk.
Jimmy stood up. "Yeah, the old woman said he
had six. Interesting, Bowles, damn interesting."
Jimmie watched the ferret slither back to his ob-
servation position beneath the cabinet. "Interesting,
because the Colonel did not hunt with them. That's
about the only use I ever heard of them being put to.
They'll go down a rabbit warren or a fox hole and
run 'em out. Electric companies use them sometimes
to crawl through pipes. They tie a string to them, and
in that way complete the first step preparatory to
pulling a cable through the pipe. But as Colonel
Kalendar was neither a hunter nor an electrician, I
can't figure out what he'd want with a half-dozen
ferrets."
Boodler sauntered over to the cabinet, and stood
staring in utter amazement through the glass doors.
Bowles joined him.
"Well, I'll be a dromedary," gasped Jimmie,
"here's food for thought."
The shelves of the cabinet were lined with bottles
and jars containing strange specimens; a clutching
human hand, torn from the arm at the wrist, floated
in pale yellowish liquor; two scorpions stood perpen-
dicular, back to back, in a jar of alcohol. An enor-
mous hairy tarantula crouched within a glass box;
[126]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Tortures; A set of Darwin; Gross' Criminal Psy-
chology; Flagellations, by Porter; The Psychology
of Pain; there were shelves of books on the lives
and habits of animals, books of human behavior, his-
tories of war, histories of crime and punishment.
Most of the books were thick with dust, but a few
choice volumes that dealt with the more violent
forms of destruction showed evidences of having
been frequently handled. Hung along the wall above
the bookcase were strings of amulets and charms. On
top of the bookcase, lay a manila folder packed with
pages. Jimmie opened it and glanced at several of
the neatly typewritten sheets. Presently he grunted,
and addressed Bowles:
"Listen to this, young fella,"
"'Nature is essentially destructive. She creates that she
may destroy; she builds that she may tear down. She fash-
ions the spring, languishes in the magnificence of her sum-
mer, glories in the torture of fall, then in winter kills all
the beauty she created, only to repeat the operation, stringing
an infinitive chain of her own holy trinity—make, worship
and destroy. Herbage grows to fatten the beasts, and the
beasts destroy the herbage; man destroys the beast, and in
turn, man destroys man. The fowl in the air, the mammals
on earth, and the fish in the sea, destroy each other, or are
destroyed by Nature . . . Nature, the omnipotent pro-
genitor, fertilizes the plasm of birds, the ova of man and
beast, the anther of plants, and the roe of fish so that like
shall beget like . . . only to be destroyed. . . ."'
[128]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
stinct to destroy that he may live. The primitive
axiom of 'survival-of-the-fittest' is fading further
and further into the background of life as the pattern
of our advanced civilization becomes more complex.
But every once in a while there appears an individ-
ual in whose brain the door to those dark, anthropoid
ages has been left ajar. He may or may not experi-
ence a reversion. It depends largely upon the quality
of his mental stamina. Colonel Kalendar gave way—
possibly under the stress of some terrific situation.
Then the destructive complex dominated his life. He
admired it, I fear. Witness this room, terrifying in
its contents; witness the excerpt from his thesis that
I read you. The man's pen reflects the pathos of his
distorted mind. And lastly, Bowles, witness the col-
lection of ferrets. Do you see now why he had them
as pets? They are destructive little beasts; never sat-
isfied with killing one chicken, but must destroy all
the birds in the henhouse. He admired them for this
quality, which he regarded as a prerequisite to life. I
dare say he was devoted to them ... as devoted as
he could be to anything."
Jimmy paused in his soliloquy. From downstairs
came the muffled sound of a gramophone. Two fer-
rets slunk across the room, and disappeared through
the hole in the door.
Jimmie rose from his chair, and shaking him-
[130]


IN THE STUDY
self violently to cast out his thoughts, smiled at
Bowles.
"Come on, young fella, let's get out of here. I'm
beginning to get mentally chilled." He consulted his
watch. "I've got to get Patterson on the 'phone, and
give him a report."
The two men left the room, locking the door
after them. Jimmie looked around the bedroom, but
Jennie Hugot had vanished.
"I want to keep a close eye on this Hugot woman,"
said Jimmie as they walked downstairs. "Could you
arrange it so she can't get off the post? And I'd like
a good substantial lock put on that door to Kalen-
dar's study."
"I'll take care of that," said Bowles, fishing for his
memorandum book.
Downstairs the noise of the gramophone grated on
Jimmie's ears. He paused, and looked curiously
down the hall, then tiptoeing to the door of the
living room, looked in. Jennie Hugot had collapsed
into a squat leather chair, her head sunk on her
breast, her right arm hung over the side of the chair,
and her hand clutched an empty glass. The gramo-
phone scratched out a blatant jazz tune, and groaned
to a premature stop.
Jimmie crossed the room with a bound and lean-
ing over, listened a moment to Jennie's stentorian
[131]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
breathing. He took the glass from her fingers,
smelled its contents, making a wry face.
"Dead drunk, on corn bilgewater," he muttered,
turning his head toward Bowles. "I guess she is safe
for a time."
[132]


CHAPTER XII
AND THE EARTH WAS WITHOUT FORM
AND VOID
A T half-past six, Jimmie Boodler lay splashing
■LA. around in the tub, singing lustily to himself.
He had talked with Patterson over the telephone,
and rendered the report on the result of his first
day's operations—which was nil. However, he had
expressed a keen interest in the case, which com-
pletely reversed his sentiment on coming to such a
forsaken spot as Fort Comanche. He was superbly
happy, because he was completely baffled. The
perspicacity of his analytical powers was never
sharper than when he was actively engaged in piecing
out a jigsaw puzzle of human emotions. He knew
that among the people whom he had today ques-
tioned, the guilty individual was tonight stewing un-
comfortably in an iniquitous broth.
The encounter in Colonel Kalendar's study had
upset him. He hated scenes like that. Not that he
had any qualms about death, hacked bodies or all the

[i33]


WITHOUT FORM AND VOID
forced. Mrs. Phipps, who had obviously been in-
structed by her husband not to promote a discussion
of the disgrace that had visited his command, con-
tented herself with chirping innucuous innuendoes on
criminals in general, and wiggling coyly in her chair.
She toyed with the food, complained that she was on
a diet, and continually patted the folds of her im-
maculately coiffed blondine hair. General Phipps
made several futile attempts at badinage, only to be
greeted with his wife's "Oh, Alonzo, how can you
say such things?" So at length the General withdrew
to the protection of a porcupine silence. Lieutenant
Bowles kept up a desultory conversation that saved
the meal from utter chaos.
When at length dinner drew to a close, Mrs.
Phipps rose, and extending her hand to Jimmie re-
marked, "You sit right here with Alonzo, Mr.
Boodler, and thrash out this murder." She cast a
defiant look at her husband which meant—"There
now, Pve said it!" "I have to go to a meeting of the
altar society. We make layettes for expectant sol-
diers' wives you know, and it seems to me that our
enlisted personnel is unusually prolific this year." So
saying she minced out of the room.
General Phipps watched her go, and then turned
to Jimmie. "She called that meeting herself. A sort
of get-together for the express purpose of solving
[i35]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
this crime for you, Jimmie. Ha, ha, ha!" he chuckled,
"She never fooled me in her life." The General
settled back in his chair, drained his enormous cup of
coffee, lit a cigar and squinted at Jimmie through the
clouds of smoke, "Well, Jimmie, what have you
found out?"
With his fruit knife, Jimmie drew a geometric
design on the damask cloth. "There is no doubt that
a baffling crime has been committed. I hoped that the
solution would be simple, so I could comply with
your wishes and clear the thing up in a hurry. I
can't. It'll take me some time—of that you can be
sure. To begin with; from the story you told me, I
concluded that the murdered man was the usual
obnoxious type that can't leave women alone. I pro-
ceeded on that hypothesis, only to discover that I
was wrong."
"In what way?" asked the General.
"Colonel Kalendar was a pathological case. It
wasn't a question of women with him. The man
should have been in an institution. There was noth-
ing vicious about the trouble he made, or the gossip
he set rolling—he couldn't help himself. I'll be
interested to know the intimate details of his record
in the World War. Do you think I could get hold of
them?"
"Yes, yes, of course." The General addressed
[136]


WITHOUT FORM AND VOID
Bowles. "Wire the Adjutant General in the morn-
ing for the necessary information, Bowles."
"Colonel Kalendar was a type that would have
inevitably been killed by one means or another,"
continued Jimmie. "How he was killed, we know.
Why he was killed, remains for me to discover. Now
there are five people who could possibly have com-
mitted this murder; the Baldwins and the Costains
constitute four; and Jennie Hugot's the fifth. Could
there possibly have been anyone else? Yes, but so
far we have only five suspects to work on."
"Do you believe it was one of those five you have
mentioned?" interrupted the General.
"I have not the faintest idea, General. But I'm
banking on you to give me some red hot suggestions
when you have heard what I have to say."
"Go ahead," nodded General Phipps.
"First, let's take a look at the Baldwins. Kalendar
was found murdered in their house, having been
lured there on a pretext of a dinner date. He was
killed with a knife that belonged to them. It was
common gossip that Mrs. Baldwin was supposed to
be having an affair with Kalendar—as a matter of
actual fact, she was not—her husband, who I believe
is a little uncertain of her, took the gossip seriously.
He had ample motive but I doubt that even in a fit
of emotional urge, he could bring himself to commit
[137]


WITHOUT FORM AND VOID
confess that I don't like them. As sure as I'm sitting
here, they've both got a lot more to tell me about this
affair. Take them together, they're tricky. I mean by
that, they have a way of setting things to their own
advantage. When they knew I was coming—Bowles
telephoned them at my request—they set the stage.
They used an old gag to put their faces in shadow
when I interviewed them. They cleverly maneuvered
themselves so that the setting appeared perfectly
natural. They thought I was an awful sap, and now
they are convinced of it." Jimmie smiled broadly at
Bowles.
"You mean because of that confidential line you
handed them before we left?" asked the aide.
Jimmie nodded, and drained his demi-tasse.
"What was that?" inquired the General, leaning
forward with renewed interest.
"I took them boldly into my confidence, and told
them that I wanted them to keep an eye on the Bald-
wins and to report everything they found out to me.
They refused, naturally. I was intentionally obvious.
Now, having classed me as a dumb egg, they may
try to direct my stupidity into channels which are
advantageous to them. Get the point?"
The General nodded, and Bowles beamed on
Jimmie with a look of genuine admiration.
"Then too," continued Jimmie, "they insinuated
[139]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
certain things obviously designed to shunt my sus-
picion to the Baldwins. Apparently the two families
are pretty good friends, and that sort of stuff was
uncalled for. Costain told me about the same story
Baldwin did, only Costain went a step farther. He
said that when he left his house, and rushed over to
the Baldwins', he took his hat with him. That doesn't
smell good, General. Murder had been committed,
and that word has an ugly sound. It doesn't seem
natural that under the circumstances a man would
delay to get his hat. Finally, I discovered that Cos-
tain smokes Old Mill cigarets . . .'*
"Oh, by the way," interrupted Lieutenant Bowles.
"I talked to the Post Exchange Officer. He told me
that he ordered those cigarets especially for Captain
Costain and that so far as he knows, no one else on
the post buys them consistently. He said that once in
a while an enlisted man would buy a pack to try out
something new, but he seldom came back for more."
"In which case the enlisted man shows better judg-
ment than the officer," commented Jimmie sarcasti-
cally. "However, to get back to my point, I took one
of Costain's cigaret butts back to the Baldwins' and
found in the ash-tray on the table an Old Mill cig-
aret butt, lying on top of most of the other butts.
Now the interesting question is: when did Costain
have either the time or the inclination to smoke a
[140]


WITHOUT FORM AND VOID
cigaret during the gruesome scene that took place in
the Baldwin living room when the four of them
found the body? And that brings me to a fact which
includes all four suspects. None of them has suffi-
cient physical strength to dispose of that body. The
two women could have done it together. They were
alone in the house during the time Costain came to
get you. I think that hypothesis is ridiculous. Costain
might have the strength; I'm not sure about that.
So much for those four. Now we come to Jennie
Hugot. Physically she is a colossus, powerful, over-
developed. Mentally, she is deficient. A woman of
low order, of decided animal instincts; sufficient rea-
sons why Kalendar tolerated her, and gave her com-
plete sway over his menage. She is faithful, intensely
jealous, and under ordinary circumstances probably
perfectly docile, but once aroused she would demol-
ish anything that got in her way. I feel reasonably
sure that she was jealous of Kalendar's superficial
attentions to Dorothy Baldwin. A staminal devotion
for her master—as she calls Kalendar—interrupted
by jealousy based on hallucinations of theoretical
infidelity would impel her to any extremes. I am
inclined to be interested in her."
"What are your theories about the disappearance
of the body?" asked General Phipps. "You have not
mentioned that."
[141]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"I have no theories. The disappearance is not un-
usual. I have been on many cases where the body
had disappeared. The Clinton murder at White Sul-
phur Springs. In that case, I had no body for nearly
a week, then it was found in the tonneau of a car on
an old automobile dump some twenty-five miles
away from the scene of the crime. In the Van Alten
case at Farmington, the body had vanished. I had
several hot clues, but no real evidence of murder—
such as I have here. I had about given up that case,
when the body was discovered in the Connecticut
River about five miles below Hartford. Unless the
body has been destroyed, which is hardly likely in
this case, it will show up. They always do. There is
only one thing to do and it is this; work and wait.
You can never tell when a clue will pop up that
points directly to a solution. It is much the same with
disappearance cases. Either alive or dead, the victim
usually comes to light. The only completely baffling
disappearance case I know of is the case of Dorothy
Arnold. So I'll stake my bankroll that Colonel Kal-
endar's body will come to light at the most unex-
pected moment.
"Now there is one thing I would like to ask you,
General, seeing that I have monopolized the con-
versation so far; have you any knowledge of enemies
that Colonel Kalendar might have had—excepting,
[142]


WITHOUT FORM AND VOID
of course, the local situation involving the people we
have under observation? Can you think of anything
that might spring from other sources? As I have said,
Kalendar was a man destined to be killed. There may
be other sources of information that I have not yet
hit upon."
The General pondered over the questions for sev-
eral minutes before he attempted an answer.
"No, I can think of nothing—nobody. It may be
that some enlisted man is involved, but I wouldn't
know how to put my finger on that supposition with-
out something to go on. I must confess, Boodler, I
am completely at sea, and your talk tonight hasn't
done much to clear me. I can only urge you to press
on as rapidly as circumstances will permit, and bring
this affair to a conclusion—it looks bad. Within a
day or two, when the news leaks out, every yellow
journal in the country will be pestering us for news
... on their heels will come the War Department
authorities, and finally, if we do not iron the thing
out, there will be a storm of political invectives
emanating from Congress that will lash me pretty
hard. So I urge you to proceed with all haste."
"You can count on me, General. But don't you
worry about any slimy remarks from Congress. If
anything breaks, I'll handle them for you. You get
the idea?" Jimmie smiled, and screwed up his nose.
[143]


CHAPTER XIII
CORPUS DELICTI
HE following morning at half past seven,
dressed for the hunt, emerged from the Officers'
Club. Jimmie had found that Bowles' boots did not
fit him so badly after all. The breeches were a trifle
large for his diminutive legs, but apparently he was
not conscious of the fit. Outside the club an orderly
stood holding two saddle horses. Breath steamed
from their nostrils in the sharp, crisp air of the No-
vember morning.
Bowles mounted, and instructed the orderly to
adjust Jimmie's stirrups to the proper length. When
the soldier had completed the operation, Jimmie
mounted, settled himself in the saddle and smiled at
Bowles.
"Feels strange, young fella. This plug I'm on
won't cut up, will he? You know I'm just a pas-
senger."
"No," laughed Bowles. "Old General Grant's

Boodler and Lieutenant Bowles,
[145]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
docile as they come. He's got some speed left in him,
and will follow the crowd. All you have to do is
enjoy yourself." Bowles gathered his horse, and
moved out. "Let's go. The crowd assembles down at
the other end of the post."
"This is a new gag on me," remarked Jimmie, as
they trotted easily along through the post. "I never
heard of coursing jack rabbits with wolf-hounds.
Whose idea is it?"
"Oh, there's a bunch of rich ranchers live around
here that do it more for fun than anything else. I
have yet to see one of the hounds catch a rabbit. It's
a beautiful sight to see these hounds run, though;
they're so graceful. They chase by sight, you know.
They haven't a very keen sense of smell."
The two men rode out of the post and along a dirt
highway that cut the plain, to a point where several
cars were drawn up alongside of the road. There
were a number of officers and several women on
horseback.
As Jimmie drew near, he recognized General
Phipps.
"Hello, Jimmie," called the General in jovial
tones. "I am glad to see you didn't get cold feet."
Jimmie noticed that as he rode up the conversation
ceased abruptly, and the assembly gaped at him with
curious eyes.
[146]


CORPUS DELICTI
"No, General," smiled Jimmie, "I didn't get cold
feet, but the ride isn't over yet."
The General turned to the gathering and holding
his hand out toward Jimmie, as though he were ex-
hibiting him, chirped in loud tones,
"I want to present Jimmie Boodler, everybody."
Jimmie nodded affably several times in the gen-
eral direction of the crowd. Some officers rode up,
and leaning over in their saddles, introduced them-
selves, and reached across to shake Jimmie's hand.
The women nodded impersonally, and returned to
the continuity of their interrupted conversation.
Jimmie shook hands with several civilians in ten-
gallon hats, who sat in elaborately carved cowboy
saddles astride pinto ponies. Off to one side, two
ranch hands were busy keeping disentangled a pack
of Russian wolf-hounds that strained at the leashes,
and yelped continuously.
After several moments' delay, during which some
late arrivals galloped up and joined the party, one
of the civilians in a big hat addressed the ranch
hand,
"All right, Alf, turn 'em loose."
The hounds were released. The man in the big hat
began to issue commands to the hounds: "Heel,
Borzoi! Kate, git back there. Heel, you hound, heel!
Frank, charge! heel!" After quite a commotion, the
[1473


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
hounds settled behind the horse, and the rancher rode
off, followed in column by the rest of the party,
chatting and laughing.
They cut across the plain to the west, and rode on
over the rolling country. Suddenly the leader gave a
sharp command. There was a wild yelp. The hounds
were off. The riders whipped their horses into a
gallop, and rode out into a line.
Jimmie spurred General Grant, but the old horse
knew this business better than Jimmie did. He sought
a place in line, and kept abreast with the party. The
pack of hounds ran with graceful undulations over
the plain. Ahead of them at some distance bounded
the jack rabbit.
The rabbit turned suddenly, and tacked to the
south. The hounds wheeled, followed by the horses,
and the hunt galloped away in the new direction.
The pace was terrific. Jimmie noticed that old Gen-
eral Grant was puffing pretty hard. Bowles shouted
at him to give the skate the spurs. Jimmie drew his
legs out to drive the spurs home, and at that moment
General Grant stumbled and fell. Jimmie was
thrown violently to the ground, but he managed to
hold on to the reins. The horse scrambled to its feet,
and stood looking down at Jimmie, snorting fool-
ishly.
"Whoa! Whoa!" coaxed Jimmie, rising cau-
[148]


CORPUS DELICTI
tiously. "That's no way to behave, General Grant.
I thought you were a gentleman."
The horse shook himself violently.
"Oh, you're not, eh? Is that the reason you take it
into your head to dump me, all of a sudden?"
The animal raised his head, ears alert, and gazed
away at the departing horses, whinnying half-
heartedly.
At that moment, Lieutenant Bowles came gallop-
ing back, and drew up in a cloud of dust.
"What's up, Boodler?" he asked, staring down in-
quisitively at Jimmie.
"I wouldn't know, Lieutenant," laughed Jimmie,
brushing the dust from his breeches. "This animal
took a sudden dislike to me, and here I am un-
horsed."
"Aren't hurt?" smiled Bowles.
"No," said Jimmie, shrugging himself.
Bowles stood in his stirrups, and craned his neck.
"Well, I don't see any use in following that crowd.
We would never catch up with them. What do you
say if we amble back to the club, and get the drop on
the bunch for breakfast Kidney stew and waffles,
you know."
"I think that's a swell idea. But do you think this
beast is O.K.?"
Bowles surveyed General Grant with a critical eye.
[i49]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Lead him off a bit. He may have sprained a
tendon."
Jimmie led the horse away. The animal walked
normally.
"There's nothing the matter with him. He prob-
ably stumbled in a prairie-dog hole. He's all right.
Mount up, and we'll ride back to the post."
Jimmie mounted, and the two men rode back in
the direction of the post. They had gone several
hundred yards, when in the sky a flock of strange
birds appeared; enormous creatures, flying very low
in a wedge-shaped formation. There were a dozen
of these amazons of the air. Jimmie looked up as
they whirled overhead, no higher than the roof of a
house.
"What are those?"
"Pelicans. Pretty late in the fall for them. They
come from the California coast ... on their way to
the Gulf of Mexico for a change of scenery, I guess.
I understand there used to be great flocks of them
pass over this territory, but the Indians have killed
off lots of them. They land here for the night on the
ponds. The Indians wait in hiding until the birds
light and then wade out and club them. The birds
have such a tremendous wing spread, they can't get
away in a hurry. Pelican feathers make fine com-
forters and mattresses."
[150]


CORPUS DELICTI
"But I thought that a pelican was sort of a dirty
gray," remarked Jimmie.
"Some of them are," added Bowles, "but these are
California pelicans. They are white with lemon-
yellow throats."
"Yes, I noticed the yellow of their breasts, but I
thought it was the reflection of the sun."
"No, that's the color of the fowl," said Bowles.
Jimmie looked over his shoulder to watch the re-
treating birds. "They fly like animated box cars.
They must have a wing spread of five or six feet."
"At least that," agreed Bowles.
At that moment Jimmie's horse swerved violently,
stopped dead in his tracks, and reared back on his
haunches. Jimmie was almost unseated. Bowles' horse
followed suit. The two men succeeded in quieting the
beasts. They came to rest several paces away to the
right.
"Well," remarked Jimmie, "what has got into
your ear, General Grant . . . smell something you
don't like?"
"What's up, Boodler?" inquired Bowles.
Jimmie looked around in his saddle. Behind him
lay a pool of crude oil. "I don't know, this horse
sensed something."
Bowles dismounted. His horse was trembling with
fright. He patted its neck and tried to lead it back
[151]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
into the trail, but the animal reared up, and snorted
violently.
"Come on, Ginger," he coaxed, patting him gently
and again attempting to lead him back.
"Wait a minute," cried Jimmie, still looking back
at the oil pit. "What's that tar pit over there?"
"That's not tar, it's a seepage of crude oil. We
dam them up, and use the oil for keeping up the
roads on the reservation. You see a lot of that natural
seepage in this part of Oklahoma. . . . Black gold
oozing out of the ground."
Jimmie dismounted nimbly from his animal, and
handed the reins to Bowles. "Here, hold these," he
said, curtly, and with a bound was on top the earth
dam that retained the flood of oil. He looked in, and
Bowles heard him whistle.
"What's up?" called Bowles.
"Come up here, young fella, let those horses go,"
he cried.
Bowles knotted the two bridle reins together and
rushed up to join Jimmie.
Jimmie pointed into the pool of oil. "Look there."
In the center of the pool floated a body, face
down. One arm was flung out to the side. The legs
were beneath the surface of the oil.
"Good heavens!" gasped Bowles. Both men stood
staring at the silent form. A sudden disturbance
[152]


CORPUS DELICTI
bubbled the surface of the pool, and the body floated
away to one side.
"Well, I'll be a dromedary," Jimmie muttered,
"that's it, or I miss my guess."
"You mean Kalendar's body?" gasped Bowles.
"I don't mean anything else. . . . Bowles . . .
get on that horse of yours and ride like hell for the
post. Get the ambulance, a couple of soldiers and
some grappling hooks. Wait . . . maybe I can wade
in and get the body out."
"Don't try it, Boodler, some of these pits are fifty
or sixty feet deep. Anyway you can't swim in that
soup."
Bowles ran down the embankment, untied his
horse, turned Jimmie's loose, mounted and galloped
away. General Grant raised his head from grazing,
saw Bowles' horse leaving, and took off after him
with a surprised snort.
Jimmie sat down on the edge of the dam, and
looking around, noticed that he could see the outline
of officers' row just over the rise of ground to his
left. Evidently in the hunt he had doubled back on
his tracks, and was now about half a mile to the west
of the post. He turned his head and again contem-
plated the body floating in the pool of oil.
It was Kalendar's body all right. But how had it
got there? Who would have conceived the crazy idea
[i53]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
of trying to dispose of a body in such a crude fashion.
. He gazed at the oil soaked corpse, and watched it
slowly float around in the pool.
He scrambled down the bank, and began to
scrutinize closely the road. With his foot he poked
the ruts along the sides, then got down on his hands
and knees. He broke off several pieces of the frozen
dirt and looked at them.
"All old wagon tracks," he muttered, "been here
since before the first freeze up."
He got up, and walked around the pool, but found
no evidence of new automobile or wagon tracks.
Fifteen minutes later Bowles came up, riding the
running board of the ambulance that bounced and
lurched over the rough prairie ground. The motor
drew up, and four soldiers in white coats climbed to
the ground and looked excitedly at Jimmie. Two of
the men had grappling hooks, fastened to the ends of
long poles.
"You men!" shouted Bowles, "bring those hooks
up here." Bowles mounted the embankment. Jimmie
turned and saw that the body had again floated into
the middle of the pool. One man flung out a hook,
but could not reach the body.
"I can get it, sir, if you'll let me go in," he said.
"Don't be a fool," remarked Bowles, "do you
want to drown? Get a piece of rope from the car, and
[154].


CORPUS DELICTI
lash those two poles together j that should reach
him."
One of the men shouted to the driver, who
brought a piece of rope. The soldiers lashed the
handles of the grappling hooks together, and fas-
tened the rope securely. Then two of them took hold
of the wabbly combination, and lurched it into the
pool. It fell short of the body and sank from sight
with a thick gurgle.
"Pull it out, pull it out!" admonished Bowles.
"Now wait a minute, soldiers," cautioned Jimmie,
"there's nothing to get excited about—take your
time. Now, go after it easy."
The soldiers withdrew the hooks from the pool,
again raised the apparatus, and poked after the body.
This time the hook engaged in the coat, and they
began carefully to draw the body toward the shore.
"Easy, easy!" cautioned Jimmie, "or you'll lose
it again."
The men drew slowly, and in a moment the body
was at the edge of the pool. The two remaining sol-
diers sidled down the bank and reaching into the
pool, grasped the clothes on the body, and dragged
it to the bank. The other two men dropped the
grappling hook, reached down, and gripping the
body by the extended arm, pulled it up to the top of
the embankment.
[i55]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Jimmie reached into his pocket, and whipped out a
handkerchief. Quickly and deftly, he wiped the oil
from the rigid face of the corpse, and looked inquir-
ingly at Bowles, who stood staring down in abject
horror.
"Well?" said Jimmie brusquely.
"Good Lord, Boodler," gasped Bowles, "that's
Colonel Kalendar, all right."
Jimmie greeted the information with an affirma-
tive nod. He looked down at the body and noticed
there was something tied around the neck. He
cleaned oil off the neck with his handkerchief, and
whistled softly to himself.
"Strangled, Bowles; not only stabbed, but
strangled. See that cord around his neck." Jimmie
leaned closer to the body. He disengaged the ends of
the cord from beneath the shoulder blades. Each end
of the cord had a tassel on it, surmounted by a piece
of filigree jade.
"The cord from the Damascene dagger," said
Jimmie, "tied about his neck so tightly that the flesh
has burst, and fastened with a clove-hitch."
[156]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Zabriski by the sleeve, pulled him to one side of the
walk, behind a clump of trees.
"Look," he said, pointing down the walk.
In the distance, just visible in the fading afternoon
light, Jennie Hugot emerged from the Costains'
quarters, strode rapidly across the grass, and disap-
peared up the steps of Colonel Kalendar's house.
"Now, what the hell do you suppose she was doing
there?" mused Jimmie.
"Wasn't that Kalendar's housekeeper?" asked the
medical officer.
"Yes," Jimmie said. "Listen, Doc, has that woman
ever been to see you?"
"No, not that I recall. I don't think she has ever
been in my office. Why?"
"Nothing," said Jimmie, stepping out on the walk
again. "Let's get under way. I'll be late for this
meeting at Baldwin's."
When the two men reached the walk in front of
Baldwin's quarters, Jimmie shook Major Zabriski
by the hand, "Swell of you to hurry that post mor-
tem for me, Doc. Thanks for the help and the in-
formation. I'm glad too, you agree with my theory
that it was physically possible for Mrs. Baldwin to
strike that blow. You're the first medical man that I
have not had a row with over that pet theory of
mine."
[158]


THE SPINNING COMMENCES
"Well," smiled the doctor, "I'll see you tomorrow
night. What time did you say that board of officers
is to meet?"
"Eight o'clock at my diggings. I want to get them
straight on the dope so far."
The two men parted. Jimmie walked up the steps
to Baldwin's and entered the house without ringing
the bell. He found Lieutenant Bowles waiting for
him in the living room. Captain and Mrs. Baldwin
were not there.
Jimmie raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Where
are they?" he asked.
Bowles nodded his head toward the hall, "Dot's
in the kitchen getting some tea."
Presently Captain Baldwin came in, wearing a
wrapper. Mrs. Baldwin followed him wheeling a
small tea wagon which she halted in front of the
sofa, and sat down.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Boodler," she said, "when
Clovis told me you were coming, I thought you
might like to have some tea. It's getting so beastly
cold out."
Captain Baldwin stood by the table with his hands
thrust in the pockets of his dressing gown.
"What kind of cigarets do you smoke, Baldwin?"
asked Jimmie.
"I roll my own," replied Baldwin. "Look here,
[159]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Boodler, now that you have found the body, how
much longer is this going to keep up?"
"Is what going to keep up?" asked Jimmie.
"Making free with my house."
"I wish I knew, Captain. I don't like it any more
than you do."
Mrs. Baldwin began to make the tea. "How will
you have yours, Mr. Boodler?" she asked, smiling
her brightest.
"I don't care for any, thank you," said Jimmie.
He turned to Bowles, "Go next door, and tell the
Costains I want to see them over here. And make it
snappy, will you, young fella?"
"Sure," Bowles said, "Costain's officer of the day
—I'll have to telephone him at the guard-house.
Since this affair the old man makes the O.D.
stay his whole twenty-four-hour tour at the guard-
house. I'll have him come right up." Bowles left the
room.
Jimmie said to Baldwin, "Now look here, it isn't
going to do you a damn bit of good to go around here
with a chip on your shoulder. You're in this thing
deeper than you think you are. Get that? And you
better loosen up and give me the straight on this
before somebody does it for you."
"What do you mean?" demanded Baldwin.
Dorothy Baldwin stopped in the act of pouring a
[160]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Dorothy shuddered, then, "No, it did not."
"This is the cord from your birthday present, isn't
it?" Jimmie held out the cord, stained from the oil.
Dorothy nodded, and averted her head. Jimmie
addressed Baldwin, "Will you corroborate what your
wife has said?"
"I said I wouldn't tell you anything. Why should
I? For Christ's sake leave me alone, will you? I told
you I had nothing to do with it."
"I didn't say you had. I said your wife had."
Baldwin wheeled on Jimmie. He lunged, hands
outstretched, reaching for the detective's throat.
Jimmie caught the right wrist with his hand and drew
Baldwin on. He gripped Baldwin's neck, and pull-
ing violently, threw him over the right hip; Baldwin
turned a complete somersault, and landed heavily on
the floor. Mrs. Baldwin screamed, and hid her face in
her hands. Jimmie stood looking down at the officer.
"Now, cut that stuff, Baldwin. It won't get you
anywhere. Get up on your feet, you damn fool. I
thought you were a soldier."
Baldwin stood up. He rubbed his wrist, and sat
down in a chair. Dorothy looked up, and stood glar-
ing at Boodler, hatred in her eyes.
"What's the idea of getting theatrical?"
Baldwin did not answer, but sat staring at the rug.
"I said your wife knew something about this. Do
[162]


THE SPINNING COMMENCES
you understand that? . . . Has she told you she
saw Kalendar?"
"Yes." Baldwin's voice was hoarse with emotion.
Jimmie looked at Mrs. Baldwin. "How long has
this affair of yours been going on?"
"Look here, Boodler," interrupted Baldwin,
"can't you go about this thing decently—like a gen-
tleman?"
"Sure, but when I did, you didn't give me much
help. All you have to do is answer my questions.
Well, Mrs. Baldwin?"
"I've been seeing Colonel Kalendar for some
time."
"How frequently did you visit his house?"
"Every day, sometimes oftener."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I couldn't help it. I just went."
"Did you ever quarrel with Kalendar?"
"Yes, several times."
"On the day Kalendar was murdered, did you
clean the house, Mrs. Baldwin?"
"Yes, I do that every day."
"Swept up, dusted, emptied all the ash-trays, I
suppose?"
"Yes."
"Was Captain Costain over here at all during the
day?"
[163]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"No, he was not."
At that moment Mrs. Costain came into the room,
followed by Bowles.
Jimmie nodded curtly to them, and pointed to
chairs. "Sit down. Sorry I had to bring you over
here, but it's better if we are all together. Then when
I've gone, you'll all have the dope, and you can carry
on your phoney stories so's they'll all tie in . . .
only they don't . . . get the point?"
"I don't get the point," said Mrs. Costain.
Costain entered the room. "You telephoned,
Boodler, that you wanted to see me here?"
"Yeah, sit down."
Costain took off his saber, laid it on the table, and
looked curiously at his wife.
"Sherlock Holmes is talking riddles again, Jerry,"
said Minna, smiling sarcastically.
"Sit down, Captain Costain," said Jimmie, ignor-
ing Minna's attempt at humor.
"Listen, Baldwin, I want this straight," continued
Jimmie, "when you all came over from Costain's,
did any of you stop for a conference in here long
enough to smoke a couple of cigarets?"
Captain Baldwin did not answer. Presently Dor-
othy spoke.
"No, we did not," she said, "but I remember that
there was a cigaret butt smouldering in the ash-tray."
[164]


THE SPINNING COMMENCES
"One of Kalendar's, I suppose you want me to
believe?" said Jimmie, "but he didn't smoke Old
Mills." He looked at Costain.
"How do you know what he smoked?" asked
Minna.
"I know. That's enough," said Jimmie. "No, Cos-
tain, you are the only one who smokes Old Mills.
The Post Exchange gets them specially for you. No
one smoked when you all came over here. There was
an Old Mill butt on top of one of Colonel Kalendar's
fancy Turkish cigarets in that ash-tray." Jimmie
pointed to the table.
"And what does that prove?" asked Costain.
"Nothing," replied Jimmie.
Minna threw back her head and laughed loudly.
"It proves nothing, but it infers a lot," continued
Jimmie. "I just want you to know everything that
I think, so's Captain Baldwin over there will under-
stand that I'm playing square with all of you."
"I don't get you," said Costain.
"Oh, no?" drawled Jimmie lazily, "I guess youVe
got a suspicion what I'm driving at. Captain Baldwin,
did you know that your neighbor here had peached
on you?"
Baldwin turned in his chair, and looked at Jimmie,
"What?" he asked vaguely.
"Costain told me that you tried to fix up a story
[165]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
with him, when you found Kalendar's body in
here."
Baldwin gripped the arms of his chair, looked con-
temptuously at Costain and then stared down at the
rug. Suddenly he looked up at Jimmie, and said,
"That's right. What of it?"
"What of it? Do you realize what that means?"
"Certainly I do," replied Baldwin, "it means that
I wanted everyone to tell the same story. Isn't that
natural?"
"It's a natural thing to want, but it hasn't worked
so swell, has it? Faking stories." He looked hard at
everyone. "I'll say you have, all of you. You, Cos-
tain, better be more careful where you throw your
cigaret butts when you're smoking to steady your
nerves. You smoke when you're excited. You've
lighted one skag off another ever since you came into
this room. You came down here and smoked a cigaret
that night after everybody had gone. You, Baldwin,
want to be more careful about admitting the truth of
a statement by attacking people, especially me.
You're a give-away. Get the idea?"
Jimmie thrust his hands in his pockets, and jangled
change. There was a moment of silence in the room,
then he said,
"Costain, when you came over from your house
the other night, you said you saw Colonel Kal-
[166]


THE SPINNING COMMENCES
endar's hand fall off the arm of the chair, is that
right?"
"Yes," said Costain.
"And you were not sure, therefore, whether he
was dead?"
"He was dead all right."
"When you came downstairs, did he have this red
cord tied around his neck?"
Costain twitched in his chair, his eyes glanced at
the cord Jimmie drew from his pocket, "I've never
seen that before," he muttered.
"I didn't ask you whether or not you'd ever seen it
before. I asked you if Kalendar had this tied around
his neck."
"I don't remember. I don't think he had, or I'd
have seen it."
"Mrs. Baldwin tells me that when you came over
from the other house there was nothing around the
neck. Isn't that right, Mrs. Baldwin?"
Jerry turned to where Mrs. Baldwin had been
sitting but she had vanished from the room.
"Humph!" muttered Jimmie.
"Mrs. Costain, what was Jennie Hugot doing at
your house this afternoon?"
"She came over to see me about something."
"Yeah . . . what?" asked Jimmie.
"That's my business," snarled Minna Costain.
[167]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Tell him, Minna," cautioned Costain, "that's one
piece of information that won't help him much."
"Well, if you must know, she brought me a
ferret."
"Now, I'll tell one," grunted Jimmie.
"Well, if you don't believe me, ask her yourself,"
Minna Costain nodded toward the door.
Jimmie turned, and saw blocking the door to the
hall the hulk of Jennie Hugot.
"That's true, mister. I brought her one to keep the
rats out of her house. They make nice pets too . . .
sort of reminders not to tell all you know." She
smiled sardonically.
Minna Costain was out of her seat like a flash, and
across the room to Jennie. "What do you want here?"
she whispered.
Jennie pushed her aside, and strode across the room
to Captain Baldwin, and stood towering over him.
"You better go over and get that woman of yours
out of my house, or I'll kill her," she said in menac-
ing guttural tones.
"Mrs. Baldwin?" demanded Jimmie.
"Yes," said Jennie, turning her ugly gaze on
Jimmie.
"What is she doing?"
"Rummaging through his things . . . she
sneaked in ... I didn't hear her come. She's got
[168]


THE SPINNING COMMENCES
feet like cat's . . . that's why the master didn't
hear her."
"What are you driving at?" snapped Jimmie.
"I know ... I saw."
"Saw what?"
"The other night through the window ... I saw
her standin' in the kitchen ... by the table . . .
she reached for the carvin' knife and took it
down . . ."
"That's a goddamn lie!" cried Baldwin.
Jennie bared her teeth, and laughed hoarsely. Her
body quivered loosely. Then she stopped suddenly,
took a deep breath, and blew it out fiercely.
"You better get her out of the house," she said to
Jimmie. The corners of her mouth were drawn down
and her lower lip protruded viciously.
Jimmie quickly left the room, picked up his hat
from the table in the hall, and ran out of the front
door, followed closely by the lumbering figure of
Jennie Hugot.
Outside a fierce wind blew, and a flurry of snow
stung his face as he ran across the lawn. He entered
Kalendar's house, and leaped up the stairs two at a
time. The bedroom door was open. He went in. The
study door was also open. He paused a moment to
listen. Sobs came from the study. He tiptoed over to
the door and looked in.
[169]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
The study had been completely demolished. The
cabinet glass had been smashed; the contents lay
strewn about on the floor. The desk had been rifled,
and the open drawers hung loosely from their
grooves. Books torn from the book-case had been
thrown about the room. In the midst of this chaos
Dorothy Baldwin sat on the floor before a fire of
papers that blazed in the grate. Her legs were tucked
under, her face buried in her hands. She sobbed con-
vulsively.
Jimmie walked over, and knelt beside her. He was
about to speak, when a noise at the door attracted his
attention. He turned and saw Jennie Hugot standing
there, breathing hard. Her face was contorted in
rage. In her hand she held an army automatic pistol.
"She's done it," Jennie yelled, "she's burnt every-
thing up." She leveled the pistol at Dorothy Bald-
win.
Jimmie leaped at her, and knocked the pistol from
her hand. It went off with a crack, and a bullet tore
through the floor. Jennie screamed, and held her
wrist with her left hand. Jimmie spun her around,
and placing his forearm beneath her chin, gripped
the door jamb with his hand, pinioning her to the
wall. He turned his head, and cried to Dorothy
Baldwin:
"Get out of here . . . get back home!"
[170]


THE SPINNING COMMENCES
Dorothy Baldwin dragged herself to her feet,
crossed the room, and hurried quickly away with un-
certain steps . . . still sobbing.
As Dorothy Baldwin disappeared through the bed-
room door, Jennie Hugot drew her hands between
her body and Jimmie's; took a deep breath, and with
a terrific lurch, burst his grip. She shoved him
violently from her. Jimmie lost his balance and fell.
His head struck the corner of the bed, and he sank
to the floor unconscious.
[170


CHAPTER XV
DOUBLE MURDER
JIMMIE BOODLER opened his eyes and
frowned. As he moved his head to look around, a
stabbing pain shot through the back of his neck. He
sucked in his breath sharply, and closed his eyes. For
several moments he lay still trying to pierce the dull-
ness of his brain, and piece out a recollection of what
had occurred. He was lying on a bed ... a com-
fortable bed. He opened his eyes again, and without
moving his head, saw that he was in Kalendar's bed-
room. Outside, he could hear the howl of the wind,
and the spatter of snow driven against the window
panes. Blizzard, he thought. Bowles said there was
going to be one . . . wonder where Bowles is?
He slowly raised his hand, and placed it behind his
head. His fingers felt a bump at the base of his skull.
He rubbed it. For a moment the pain was intense,
then as he continued massaging, the sharp shooting
pains diminished, and there came a dull ache. With
his free hand, he felt for his watch, and held the
[172]


DOUBLE MURDER
illuminated dial close to his eyes. "Eleven o'clock
. . . unconscious about five hours . • . that damned
Frankenstein of a woman certainly knocked me into
a cocked hat . . . she must have laid me on the bed
. . . easy for her 5 she could probably throw a piano
across the room. . .
Supporting the back of the injured head with his
hand, Jimmie swung his feet over the edge of the
bed, and sat up carefully. He let go of his neck,
paused a moment, then moved his head slowly from
left to right. It felt better. He reached over, and
turned on the lamp beside the bed. Beneath it on the
night table, stood a glass of milk and some crackers.
On top of the glass of milk lay a note written on a
piece of paper. Jimmie took it up, and blinked at the
writing. It read:
"I didn't mean to hurt you that bad. You hit your head
on the bed when you fell. Drink this. You can sleep in his
bed. There are a blizzurd going on.
J enme.
Jimmie laid the note down, and made a face at the
milk ... he hated milk. He stood up and walked
unsteadily over to the door. It was locked.
"Humph?" he muttered, and crossed over to the
window to look out. There was no porch roof, noth-
ing but a sheer drop to the ground. A street lamp
glowed faintly through the driving snow. The wind
[173]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
howled dismally, and piped a squeaky note through
the cracks in the windowsill. A soldier plodded
silently past, bent into the wind, one arm across his
face.
Jimmie turned from the window, yawned widely,
and wiped the sleep tears from his eyes. He walked
to the middle of the room, and stood blinking
stupidly. He moved his head, and felt the bump
again. It had commenced to throb.
"Damn her," he muttered, and sat down on the
bed. He slowly took off his coat, slipped out of his
trousers and shoes, threw back the covers of the bed,
and rolled in, relaxing with a gentle thrill. He
turned off the light, sighed comfortably, and went to
sleep.
*****
Telephone ringing . . . telephone ringing. Jimmie
awoke with a jerk and sat up. The telephone rang
again. He turned on the light beside the bed, and
picked up the telephone.
"Hello," he said hoarsely, and then cleared his
throat.
"Is that you, Boodler?" came a voice over the
wire.
"Yeah . . . what the hell, Bowles?"
"Something terrible has happened at the Bald-
wins'. Can you come right over?"
[174]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind,
cried:
"Hold your hat, young fella, and don't miss these
keys. You'll have a time finding them in the snow if
you drop them."
Bowles held out his cap. Jimmie leaned out
of the window, and aiming carefully, dropped
the keys. They fell into the cap. Bowles took
them out and disappeared up the front steps of
the house. Jimmie crossed to the door of the bed-
room, and a moment later heard Bowles coming up
the stairs.
The key turned in the lock. Jimmie flung open the
door.
"Quick," he said, running down the hall, "we may
be too late already." He darted down the stairs, fol-
lowed by the bewildered Bowles.
Jimmie fumbled in the downstairs hall for a light
switch, found it, and turned on the lights. He walked
rapidly down the hall, through the living room, and
paused in the dining room to turn on more lights. He
pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, and
paused there to light a match, and find the light
switch. A long string hung from a ceiling light. He
pulled it and lit the room. In the left wall of the
kitchen, the door to Jennie's room stood open. He
went over, and looked in.
[176]


DOUBLE MURDER
"She's beat it," he muttered, "that's a tough
break."
"You mean Jennie Hugot's in this mess?" asked
Bowles.
"How the hell do I know? . . . She's gone. I
might have known she'd make a break after this
afternoon." Jimmie looked at his watch; four o'clock.
"Say, young fella, what time does the next train
leave that station of yours?"
"There's a local train for Oklahoma City at four
forty-five." Bowles flipped back the cuff of his blouse
to consult his wrist-watch.
"It's four now," continued Jimmie, "can you get
a car in a hurry?"
"I think so ... in fifteen or twenty minutes. I'll
have to dig up a driver."
"Can you make the station before that train gets
in?"
"I can try."
"That's right. You'll probably find that station
agent entertaining Jennie. Believing me out of the
way for the night, she thought she had a straight-
away for a break. Make it snappy, or she may get
away yet. If you find her, bring her back to me. I'll
be at the Baldwins'."
Jimmie hurried out through the back door. He
crossed the yard diagonally toward the front of Cos-
[177]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
tain's house. The storm had ceased, but the wind was
still blowing hard. Its raw edge bit into his flesh. He
trudged around the Costains' through the deep drift-
ing snow, and climbed the steps to the Baldwins'
quarters. The house was ablaze with light, and one
of the front door panels had been smashed in.
In the hallway, he saw several soldiers standing in
their overcoats, dripping melted snow onto the car-
pet. Captain Costain was walking up and down in the
living room, smoking a cigaret.
"What's up?" asked Jimmie from the doorway.
Costain came over to the door, and jerked his
thumb upwards.
"Upstairs," he said, "both of them."
"Baldwin and his wife?"
Costain nodded his head.
"Who found them?"
"These soldiers and I." Costain nodded toward
the enlisted men.
Jimmie went into the hall, and started up the
stairs followed by Costain. He paused on the landing.
"You wait downstairs, Costain. I'll take a look
alone. If there's anything I want, I'll let you
know."
At the top of the stairs he paused to listen over
the balustrade to the voices downstairs. Two soldiers
were talking. Costain had evidently returned to the
living room.
[178]


QUAGMIRE
"Yes, sir," nodded the soldier, fingering his cap.
"What do you know about this?"
"I was on post number three, third relief, sir,
and . . ."
"Wait a minute, soldier," interrupted Jimmie,
"you'll have to talk civilian talk to me. What do you
mean, post number three?"
"That's my beat, sir, from this house up to the
end of officers' row. I walk down the front, and then
up the back of the line."
"What time did you come on?"
"Two o'clock, sir. I walk post from two to four."
"Who was on before you?"
"Private Hicks, sir."
"Where's he?"
"Out in the hall."
Jimmie called Private Hicks. The soldier stepped
into the living room, and stood beside Jenkins. He
was a tall raw-boned soldier with a southern drawl.
"Hicks, you were on this beat, number three, be-
fore Jenkins?"
"Yes, sir. He relieved me up at the other end of
the line a few moments after two o'clock." The sol-
dier adjusted the set of his web belt and pistol
holster.
"While you were on duty did you see or hear
anything in this house?"
[181]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"No, sir."
"Were there any lights burning in here?"
"No, sir. They wahn't no lights in any of the
officers' quarters all along the line. I reckon they'd all
turned in."
"Jenkins, did you notice any lights in this house?"
continued Jimmie, shifting his eyes to the other
soldier.
"No, sir. I didn't see any lights all the time I was
walkin' post."
"Did either of you men see anyone go in or out of
Colonel Kalendar's quarters, or these quarters?"
asked Jimmie.
"No, sir. I didn't see anybody," said Jen-
kins.
"Me neither, sir," nodded Hicks, "only the
relief."
"All right, Jenkins, tell me what happened."
"Sir, I was coming down the front of the row
about three o'clock. I was walking kinda slow on ac-
count of the wind, and the snow was deep too. Just
as I got in front of Captain Baldwin's quarters here,
I heard a woman scream. I heard it real plain. I
stopped and looked at the house. First time, I didn't
get where it was coming from. Almost right away,
they come two more screams . . . wild like . . .
from upstairs."
[182]


QUAGMIRE
"Sure they came from upstairs?" interrupted
Jimmie.
"Yes, sir . . . sure. But I couldn't swear which
room. ... I know now, though. The screams come
from the room where she was murdered."
"Then what did you do?"
"Well, sir, I stood there on the walk for a mo-
ment. That last scream died away, sir, like the woman
had fainted. I didn't know exactly what to do. I was
scared, sir." Jenkins grinned sheepishly. "I was look-
in' at the window upstairs. . . ."
"And you are sure there was no light?"
"No, sir. There was no light anywheres in the
house. Then I goes up the walk, and rings the front
doorbell. I know'd something was wrong, and I
thought I'd oughta help. I waits, but nobody an-
swered the door. Then I rings the bell again hard."
"Did you hear anyone moving inside?"
"No, sir, not a sound. I waited a few minutes,
then I tried the door; it was locked. Then I goes
around to the back door, and tries that; it was locked
too."
"Was it snowing when this happened?" questioned
Jimmie.
"No, sir. It had quit snowin' some time before."
"It quit about one o'clock, sir," volunteered Pri-
vate Hicks.
[183]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Did you notice any footprints around the back
door, Jenkins?" asked Jimmie.
"No, sir. I don't remember any. I didn't look, to
tell the truth, sir. But if they had been, I guess I'd
'a seen 'em. The snow is pretty deep."
"All right," growled Jimmie, "if there were any,
I guess they're gone now." He glanced at Costain
and noticed that he was watching complacently over
his pyramided fingers.
"Then I come around to the front again, and
banged hard on the door. After I'd waited a minute,
I fired my pistol in the air three times . . . that's
an alarm, sir. I waits on the front porch I guess about
five minutes when Corporal Finn come runnin' down
the line from the guard-house. Finn is the corporal
of my relief, sir. He's out in the hall if you want
to see him."
"Yeah, bring him in, Hicks," nodded Jimmie.
Hicks went into the hall, and returned with the
Corporal.
"Corporal, when you heard Jenkins here fire his
pistol . . ."
"I didn't hear it, sir," corrected the Corporal,
shaking his rugged head.
"Well, how did you find out then?"
"The call was relayed in from post number two
. . . that's the next post to Jenkins', south of here.
[184]


QUAGMIRE
He called to number one who walks around the
guard-house. Simmons was walkin' number one. He
stuck his head in the guard-house and calls, 'Cor-
poral of the Guard, number three.' I come a runnin',
sir, because Jenkins here is a pretty steady soldier.
I've never known him to call for help before . . .
so I knew something was wrong. I thought at first
maybe he wanted to go to the latrine, but then . .
"I see," interrupted Jimmie, appraising Jenkins
with his eyes, "and when you got there, how
long was it before you decided to force an
entrance?"
"We didn't break in, sir," replied the Corporal.
"Why not?" asked Jimmie.
"Well, sir, Jenkins didn't act like he was exactly
sure just what had happened—other than he had
heard a woman scream, and he thought it must of
been the Captain's wife. I didn't want to go breaking
into an officer's quarters without proper authority,
sir."
"So the two of you stood on the porch, and talked
over what you were going to do?"
"Yes, sir," answered Finn, and Jenkins nodded
his agreement.
"Fine!" exclaimed Jimmie, "and while you were
palavering on the front porch, the bird that pulled
this job got away."
[185]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Corporal Finn's conduct was absolutely right,"
interposed Costain from across the room.
Jimmie glared at the officer, but said nothing;
then, "All right, Corporal, then what?"
"I told Jenkins to wait here, and I went back to
the guard-house, and reported to the Sergeant of the
Guard. He woke up Lieutenant Darling, the Officer
of the Guard, and he went in and got Captain Cos-
tain out of bed. Then we all came up here."
"Who is the Sergeant of the Guard?" asked
Jimmie.
"Sergeant Stubbs, sir," replied Corporal Finn.
"Is he here?"
"Here, sir," called Sergeant Stubbs, stepping
smartly in from the hall.
"You've heard what's been said, Sergeant?" said
Jimmie.
"Yes, sir. I came up with Captain Costain."
Jimmie leaned against the fireplace, and turned his
eyes on Captain Costain. "And now, Captain, that we
are at the point where you arrived, suppose you take
up the narrative."
Costain rose from his chair, and sauntered over to
the table in the center of the room, where he stamped
out a cigaret in the ash-tray. He looked at Jimmie,
and smiled pleasantly.
"Certainly," he said.
[186]


QUAGMIRE
He put his hand on the table, and drew himself
up to a sitting position facing Jimmie and the four
enlisted men.
"Everything so far has been correctly told you,
Boodler." He nodded to the men. "I commend you
men on your accurate memories. Sergeant Stubbs and
I forced the front door, or rather Stubbs did. The
lock would not give under our weight, so he put his
foot through the paneling, and unlocked the door
from the inside."
"Yes, so I noticed. How was the door locked,
Sergeant Stubbs?" questioned Jimmie.
"It was bolted, and the night chain was on,
sir."
"Who went to the back door?" continued Jimmie.
"I sent Corporal Finn there after we got in the
house," answered Costain.
"Was that door locked, Corporal Finn?" Jimmie
asked.
"The door was locked, and the key was on the in-
side, sir."
"How about the windows?"
"They were all locked," replied Sergeant Stubbs,
"that was the first thing the Captain made me in-
spect."
"And what happened after you got inside?"
Jimmie asked Costain.
[187]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"I stood in the hall for a moment, listening. Then
I called up the stairs. I got no answer and I called
again, louder. Then I told Sergeant . . ."
"You called three times, sir," corrected the
Sergeant.
Costain smiled, "Yes, Sergeant, I believe I did call
three times—each time louder. Then I told Ser-
geant Stubbs that undoubtedly something had hap-
pened because I knew that . . Costain stopped
and put his tongue in his cheek.
"You knew what?" prompted Jimmie.
"I knew that Baldwin was a light sleeper,'-" replied
Costain blandly.
"All right. So far so good. You got into the house,
and found that it was all locked up from the inside.
Then what?"
"I told the men to wait downstairs, and I went up
to see what had really happened. Well, you know
what I found."
"Yes," Jimmie squinted at Costain.
"Who searched the house, Sergeant?" he asked.
"No one, sir. The Captain said it would not be
necessary when I suggested it to him."
"Believing, of course, that by that time the mur-
derer had got away?"
"No," said Costain, "it never occurred to me that
the person would be hiding in the house."
[188]


QUAGMIRE
"It never occurred to you that she wasn't?" par-
ried Jimmie.
"Yes."
"Thank you, Captain." Jimmie nodded with an air
of finality and pursed his lips. "Well, I guess that's
all for you men. You can go on back to your bunks.
I'd like a guard on this house though, Captain, until
tomorrow. Sorta like to look things over in the day-
light."
Captain Costain made the necessary arrangements
for a sentinel to remain in the Baldwin kitchen
throughout the remainder of the night.
"I want a few words with you privately, Captain.
Would you mind waiting a few moments?"
"Certainly not," replied Costain. He nodded to
the soldiers. "You men can go. And the less you talk
about this affair when you get back to the guard-
house, the better. Understand?"
They all said, "Yes, sir," and filed out.
Jimmie scratched his head, and thrusting his hands
into his pockets, took a turn around the room. Costain
lit another cigaret, and stretched himself out on the
sofa. Jimmie paused at the fireplace.
"Well, Captain, what do you make of it?"
"This sort of investigation is beyond me, Boodler.
I'm afraid I can't help you." Costain inhaled deeply,
then blew out a cloud of blue smoke.
I [189]


QUAGMIRE
anything is as obvious as this, it seems to me it has
taken you a long time to make up your mind to
move; too long, obviously."
"Well, you see, Costain, the obvious is usually
wrong. I've been told black is black before, but it
usually turns out to be white, or better still—no color
at all. Some investigators jump at conclusions, others
have conclusions thrust upon them. I prefer to do
neither . . . get the point?"
"This Hugot woman . . ."
"Is on the fire," concluded Jimmie.
Major Zabriski entered the room, out of breath.
The snow clinging to his boots made them look as
though they were wrapped in cotton batting.
"Good heavens, Mr. Boodler, is this really true?"
he panted.
"Yes," said Jimmie. Then he turned again to Cos-
tain. "That is all, Captain. I should like to see Major
Zabriski alone."
"Certainly," said Costain. With a stiff bow, he
sauntered out into the hall, put on his coat and cap,
and went out the front door.
Major Zabriski took out his eyeglasses, and set
them on his nose. He peered at Jimmie, "What has
this command come to? Do you mean to say that both
Baldwin and his wife have been done in?"
"Yes," said Jimmie, reaching into his pocket, and
[190


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
stove. The air was heavy with the succulent odor of
frying bacon. Major Zabriski was sitting at the table
in the middle of the room scribbling notes with a
pencil stub on a piece of paper bag. He looked up
when Jimmie entered, and licked the pencil point.
"I do believe the furnace in this house has gone
out," he complained, thrusting the paper into his
pocket. "I am nearly frozen. The kitchen is warm
and I smelled Private Hicks' coffee cooking."
"Hicks," said Jimmie, "while you're on patrol
here, I don't want anybody messing up the footprints
around the back of this house—and pass the word
along to the man who relieves you, understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Hicks, "I'll see to it."
"Well, Major," began Jimmie, throwing his hat
on the table, and crossing to warm his hands at the
stove, "what about it?"
"It's the most horrible thing I have ever experi-
enced," declared Major Zabriski, taking off his
glasses, and polishing them vigorously with his hand-
kerchief, "I don't understand it."
"No, it would be easy if you did. How long have
they been dead?"
"I should judge about two hours."
"That would make it about three o'clock. Death
instantaneous?"
"Yes . . . another terrific blow, Mr. Boodler,
[194]


QUAGMIRE
similar force to the one that killed Colonel Kalendar
... a brutal blow, sir."
"Yes," commented Jimmie, "and the woman?"
"Captain Baldwin was killed first . . . evidently
awakening Mrs. Baldwin."
"The guard on the beat said he heard her scream."
Private Hicks turned from the stove, a cake turner
poised in his knotted freckled hand, "I'll say he did.
I never seed a body as skeered as he war when we
come up."
"We understand, Hicks," admonished Major
Zabriski.
"Yes, sir," murmured Hicks, and returned to the
task of frying eggs.
"Do you live in a house like this one, Major?"
asked Jimmie.
"No. I live up the line in the new part of the
post."
Hicks turned again from the stove. "About ready
to eat, Mister. How do you like your eggs, sunny
side up, or over easy like me?"
"Over easy," smiled Jimmie.
"And you, sir?" asked Hicks, blinking at the
Major.
"I don't care for any, Hicks," replied the surgeon,
resetting his glasses more firmly on his nose.
Private Hicks flipped over Jimmie's eggs, cooked
[195]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
them a moment longer, and shook them onto a plate
that he had ready at the back of the stove. He poured
out a cup of coffee, and set that on the same plate.
After adding a generous portion of bacon, he handed
the dish to Jimmie.
"There you are, Mister, the bacon ain't just right,
but I never could work on a strange cook stove."
Jimmie took the plate, "That's all right, Hicks, it
looks mighty tasty to me . . . sure you won't have
some, Major?" said Jimmie as he set his plate on the
table.
Major Zabriski sniffed, and rubbed his nose,
"Well, I might take a cup of coffee."
While Hicks was pouring coffee for the Major,
Bowles entered the kitchen. A blue nose protruded
between his turned up coat collar and the visor of his
cap. He took off his cap, turned down the collar of
his coat, worked his face, and rubbed his hands before
he could speak.
"Well, what luck?" asked Jimmie.
"I got her," growled Bowles, moving toward the
stove, and holding out his hands to its warmth, "but
she wasn't at the station."
"No?" Jimmie set down his cup of coffee.
"No. I found her in the road about a mile this side
of the station. We nearly ran over her. She had
walked that far, and passed out in the cold . . . the
[196]


QUAGMIRE
chauffeur nearly ran over her. We put her in the car,
and tried to revive her, but couldn't. She was out
. . . cold. She's down in the hospital now. Hasn't
come to yet. She had a hand bag with her . . . not
much in it, but Kalendar's will." Bowles reached in
his pocket, and threw the paper on the table.
Jimmie reached for it, and opened the document.
For several moments he read in silence, then laid the
paper down.
"Interesting, Bowles. Did you read it?"
"No. I did not."
"Interesting. Kalendar left everything to Jennie
Hugot and Dorothy Baldwin."
Jimmie returned to the business of supper. He
gazed at his plate. The fried eggs had cooled in a
pool of gray bacon grease. He pushed the plate to
one side with a grimace.
"Hicks, your eggs have congealed, but I'll have
another cup of coffee. It's not bad."
[i97]


JIMMIE MOVES HIS LODGINGS
he had to go to headquarters, and that he would be
down to stables before we was through groomin'."
"Good," said Jimmie, tucking in his muffler. "Last
night, Sergeant, when you entered the Baldwin quar-
ters, was there anything that struck you as particu-
larly peculiar?"
"I don't know exactly what you mean, sir," replied
Sergeant Stubbs.
"You must have been considerably shocked by the
carnage you saw upstairs?"
"Yes, sir, I sure was."
"And the other men too?"
"Indeed they were, sir. Some of them belonged
to Captain Baldwin's battery."
"I gather that Captain Baldwin's men thought
pretty highly of him, didn't they?"
"That they did, sir. He was a fine young man.
There never was a holiday meal but what both him
and the missus came down to the mess to eat. He was
always a square shooter, and saw to it that every man
in the outfit got a square deal. Sometimes officers
plays favorites, but not Captain Baldwin. I've been in
the Army going on thirty years, and I disremember
a better officer."
"I understand how you feel, Sergeant. I sup-
pose you and the men stayed upstairs for some
time?"
[i99]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Yes, sir, we did. It fascinated me, like it did the
other men, I guess."
"And Captain Costain too? He was there with
you?"
"Yes, sir, for a few minutes."
"Oh, he left?"
"I don't remember, sir. He must have. The first
thing I remember was hearing him downstairs talk-
ing to someone."
"Yes, undoubtedly Lieutenant Bowles, the Gen-
eral's aide, had arrived by that time."
"No, sir. It wasn't Lieutenant Bowles. I remember
when he came. It was some woman he was talking
to."
"Oh," said Jimmie carelessly, smiling at Sergeant
Stubbs, "he was down in the hall."
"No, sir, his voice came from the back of the
house."
"Did you hear what he was saying?"
"No, sir, I didn't ... he called for me in a
minute, and I went down with the rest of the men
who'd come up with me."
"Was that when you asked him about searching
the house?"
"Yes, sir."
"And quite rightly he said that it was not neces-
sary?"
[200]


JIMMIE MOVES HIS LODGINGS
"Yes, sir."
"Then what did you do?"
"We looked to the doors and windows. They were
all locked."
"The back door was locked too?"
"Yes, sir . . . everything. That's what makes it
all more the mystery to me. With everything locked
on the inside, how could anyone get into the quarters
to do murder?"
"That's the problem, Sergeant, the puzzle that's
been put up to me."
"I'm glad I'm not in your boots, sir."
Jimmie smiled, and then continued, "When you
came downstairs, where was Captain Costain?"
"He was in the living room, smoking a cigaret
... as I remember, standing in the middle of the
room with his back to the table."
"He must have been upset too, wasn't he?"
"No, sir, not much. You see, Captain Costain don't
get much excited about anything, sir. He seen too
much of blood and guts in the war to get excited
over anything."
"Did he see much active service?"
"Yes, sir, quite a bit."
"Did you serve with him during the war?"
"No, sir. He was most of the time with the 35th
Division, I believe. I was with the 89th."
[201]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Do you know his wife, Sergeant?"
"No, sir. I've seen her a couple of times, but that's
all. I understand she's a quiet little body."
"Do you happen to know the housekeeper Colonel
Kalendar had?"
"Jennie Hugot . . . her that's in the hospital
now?"
"Yes."
"I should say I do. She's a hell-cat, sir, or I never
seen one. Jarvis, from my battery, was Colonel Kal-
endar's striker when the Colonel first come here.
Jennie Hugot couldn't stand Jarvis around buttin'
into her work, and one time she beat him up some-
thin' terrible. Yes, sir," Sergeant Stubbs wagged his
head, "Jarvis had some fancy stories to tell about
her."
"Could it have been Jennie that Captain Costain
was talking to downstairs last night when you heard
him?"
The Sergeant laughed, "Oh, no, sir. If it had of
been her, I'd have known it. You can hear that bitch
bellow across seven counties."
Lieutenant Darling came across the corral. He was
an immaculate young officer, with a ruddy complex-
ion, and a firm stride. He smiled pleasantly at
Jimmie, and held out his hand as he came up.
"Good morning, Mr. Boodler. You don't look
[202]


JIMMIE MOVES HIS LODGINGS
I
as though you had lost any sleep. Awful mess,
isn't it?"
Jimmie shook hands from his perch. Lieutenant
Darling saluted Sergeant Stubbs with his riding crop,
and said that would be all. The Sergeant returned
the salute, and walked back toward the picket lines.
"Say, young fella," said Jimmie, as soon as Ser-
geant Stubbs was out of earshot, "while you were at
the guard-house last night did anything outside of
that alarm for Baldwin's quarters happen?"
"No." Lieutenant Darling frowned in contempla-
tion, and then looked up at Jimmie, who noticed that
the pupils of the young man's blue eyes were un-
usually large—as though they were myopic. "No,
nothing else happened."
"Do you remember what time the alarm was
raised?"
"Yes, it was about three o'clock . . . right in the
middle of a relief."
"It couldn't have been at two o'clock?"
"No, because we were changing reliefs then, and
during that period there is considerable sleepy con-
fusion in the guard-house."
"Then during relief I gather the guard-house is
quiet?"
"Yes, everyone except the non-commissioned offi-
cer on duty, goes to sleep."
[203]


JIMMIE MOVES HIS LODGINGS
so we had no room for them in barracks this month.
There are several of them at the guard-house."
"They are pretty good trackers, aren't they?"
"None better. They can pick out a trail where you
wouldn't see a thing. I've been hunting with them
when they'll follow a bear track from horseback at
a good stiff trot, and I couldn't see the trace of a
track in the trail."
"Do you suppose I could borrow one of them for
about an hour? I'm not much on tracking myself, and
I've got a job to be done."
"Sure, I'll telephone for old Sergeant Crow Foot.
He's the best of the bunch, and would do anything
for me."
"Thanks. Tell him to go on up to Captain Bald-
win's house, and wait there for me . . . no, tell him
to wait there for Bowles. He knows Bowles, doesn't
he?"
"Yes. They all know Bowles, he pays them."
"Good. Tell him to follow Bowles' instruc-
tions."
Jimmie hopped down from the fence, and held
out his hand.
"Well, thanks, Lieutenant," he said, "I've got to
be getting back on the job. I always like to watch
horses, that's why I came down. See you soon at the
club."
[205]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
The two men shook hands, and Jimmie walked
away to the end of the corral, and vaulted over the
fence. In the next corral he saw Captain Costain
walking up and down behind a picket line, supervis-
ing the grooming of horses.
*****
Lieutenant Bowles sat in Major Zabriski's office at
the hospital, waiting for Jimmie. When he entered,
Bowles jumped up.
"Say," Bowles said, "the old man is sore as the
dickens at you for not waking him up last night. He
wants to see you right away."
"Oh yeah?" drawled Jimmie, "well, I can't see
him now, there are more important things on the
docket, young fella. What he wants to know will
keep. Where's the doctor?"
"He's with the Hugot woman . . . she's not ex-
pected to live . . . pneumonia."
Jimmie whistled, "That's bad. Has she said any-
thing yet?"
"No," replied Bowles, "Zabriski won't let her
talk."
"Can she talk?"
"I don't know."
"Well, I'll take care of this. I've got another job
for you. Now get this straight. It's important. You
go up to Baldwin's. One of these Indian Scouts
[206]


JIMMIE MOVES HIS LODGINGS
named Crow Foot'll be waiting there for you . . .
know him?"
"Sure I do."
"All right. You go into Baldwin's by the front
door. Go out the back door, and over to Costain's
. . . watch out that you keep clear of those foot-
prints going from the Baldwins' to Costain's back
porch. Get Mrs. Costain and tell her that I want to
see her at the Baldwins'. Bring her over by the back
way ... be sure that she keeps clear of those foot-
prints. When you get her in Baldwin's house, I'll
telephone you that I can't get there right away. You
take her back by the front way. Then get this Indian
to tell you whether the footprints she made coming
over with you are the same as the others crossing
behind the two houses. Get that?"
"Yes, but what's the idea?"
"Just this: I think that Mrs. Costain was over at
Baldwin's after the storm was over last night. I know
that Costain was downstairs talking to some woman
after the crime was discovered. I wouldn't know
whether the trails are hers or not. This Indian will,
and I've got to know." Jimmie consulted his watch.
"It's twenty minutes of twelve now. I'll telephone
you at twelve o'clock."
"But suppose Minna Costain isn't there?"
"I'll take a chance on that."
[207]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"What about the general?"
"He'll keep in this cold weather."
Jennie Hugot lay in the ward on a flat hospital
bad. Her huge body spread like a jellyfish beneath
the covers; her gray, sunken face startling against the
white relief of the pillow slip. Her breathing was
labored, and convulsive. On the enamel table beside
the bed stood a glass of pinkish fluid with a glass tube
in it. Major Zabriski, in a white smock, listened with
a stethescope to her breathing. His glasses were
perched perilously on his nose.
As Jimmie entered the ward, Zabriski stood up, a
finger to his lips, the tubes of his stethescope
dangling from his ears.
"Sh! She's at last asleep . . . after a fashion,"
he whispered, and gripping Jimmie by the elbow
ushered him from the room. "It is impossible for you
to get anything out of her now; she is in very bad
shape. I will compliment myself if she pulls through.
She has been unduly exposed for a woman of her
years."
"Has she said anything?"
"Only delirious remarks."
"What?"
"For some time she kept repeating Kalendar's
name; then something that was utterly incoherent
[208]


JIMMIE MOVES HIS LODGINGS
about the will ... by the way, what about that
will? You didn't finish the story last night when we
broke up."
"Nothing," said Jimmie, "he left everything to
her and to Dorothy Baldwin. The bank reports that
he has a balance of about thirty thousand dollars.
They do not know anything about any other accounts
he may have. I searched his rooms this morning but
found no record of any other accounts. Apparently
Mrs. Baldwin succeeded in burning everything but
that will. Jennie undoubtedly had that in her posses-
sion before Dorothy Baldwin went over there. The
Baldwin woman destroyed all evidence that would
connect her in any way with Kalendar, and she suc-
ceeded more than well."
"What do you want me to do if this woman has a
lucid moment?" asked Zabriski.
"Find out everything you can about her move-
ments last night. Telephone me, and let me have a
crack at her. If she dies before we get the con-
fession, the solution to this affair here may die with
her."
"You think she committed these murders?"
"I don't know. She might have, and again she
might not have."
"That's enlightening," sighed Zabriski, adjusting
his glasses.
[209]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Jimmie changed the subject, "Have the bodies
been removed yet?"
•"Yes," replied Zabriski, "Captain Sellers is work-
ing on the autopsy now. The report will be at
headquarters early this afternoon. A copy will be
delivered to you at the same time ... as you re-
quested."
Jimmie looked at his watch, "Good lord," he mut-
tered, reaching for the telephone, and taking down
the receiver. . . . "Give me Captain Baldwin's
quarters . . . hello? ... Is that you, Bowles?
. . . This is Boodler. . . . Tell Mrs Costain that I
will not be able to see her now. . . . I'll let her
know when I get through. . . . She's there? . . .
Good." Jimmie hung up, and pinched his lower lip.
Then he smiled at Major Zabriski. "Well, let me
know if that woman recovers sufficiently for me to
talk to her, won't you?" Jimmie grinned, and don-
ning his coat, bade Major Zabriski good-by, and left
the hospital.
Jimmie walked along officers' row, and when he
came opposite Baldwin's quarters, he cut across the
lawn, so that he would not be observed from Cos-
tain's quarters, hopped over the railing to the porch
and entered the house.
Bowles was waiting for him in the parlor.
"Well, what did you and your Crow Foot
[210]


THE ENEMY MOVES
The two men climbed back up the stairs to the
first floor.
"Close the stair door," said Jimmie, as Bowles
made to follow him into the front hallway, "that will
keep some of the cold out."
Bowles closed the cellar door and shot the
bolt.
"Until other arrangements can be made, I'll have
my striker come up and build up the fire. The pipes
are likely to freeze in this weather."
They went into the den. A desk, very neatly
arranged, stood between the two windows. The
drawers were empty. On top of the desk stood a
prick-file stuck with many unpaid bills. A check-book
lying beside the two perpendicular patent fountain
pens, showed a balance of seventeen dollars and forty
cents.
"Was Baldwin heavily in debt?" asked Jimmie,
tossing the check-book back on the desk, and turning
to Bowles.
"Probably not ... no more than any of us. I un-
derstand from gossip that has been going around on
the post that Dorothy had involved him somewhat in
the past few months. But there isn't much opportu-
nity to spend a great deal here."
"No, I should think not," retorted Jimmie, satiri-
cally.
[215]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"Did Baldwin drink much? He's got quite a lot
of booze cached away in the cellar."
"No. He rarely took a drink. He kept some on
hand for his friends more than anything else."
"Meaning . . . ?" smiled Jimmie.
"Meaning nothing," laughed Bowles, "you can't
ask a witness incriminating questions."
Jimmie chuckled, walked out of the den, and went
upstairs.
Someone had straightened up the Baldwins' bed-
room. However, when Bowles entered, he was con-
scious of a heavy atmosphere which pervaded the
chamber; a sensation of thick silence and grisly
gloom that follows irf the wake of death.
Jimmie stood for a moment contemplating his
surroundings. He walked over and opened the door
of a small closet next to the fireplace. It was filled
with women's clothes on hangers. There was a row
of shoes on the floor, and a shelf piled high with all
kinds of hats. On the floor in one corner lay a small
suitcase. Jimmie reached in and picked it up. Taking
it to one of the beds, he threw it down and sprung
the lock. The suitcase was completely packed with a
woman's things . . . ready for a trip.
"Well, this is interesting," he muttered. "I won-
der where she was getting ready to sneak to?"
"Sneak?" asked Bowles.
[216]


THE ENEMY MOVES
"Why hide the suitcase in the closet?" retorted
Jimmie. He closed the suitcase, and left it on the
bed. Then he sauntered over to the dressing table,
and poked through the drawers. Finding nothing
there that caught his interest, he went over to a small
Queen Anne desk between the windows. There was
a piece of blue blotting paper on top that had had
face powder spilled on it, which had been ineffec-
tively brushed away. There were two letters on the
desk from a department store in Oklahoma City; one
an advertisement of a sale, the other a letter from
the credit manager asking for a payment on a due
bill. In one desk drawer, Jimmie came across a letter
addressed to Captain Baldwin in a sprawling femi-
nine backhand. The envelope was not sealed. Jimmie
took out the letter and read it. He whistled, and
scratched his head.
"Listen to this, young fella.
'Hal:
I do not love you any longer, so I am leaving you to-
night. It's rather rotten of me to sneak off like this, but I
can't fight the thing out with you. I haven't got the
strength. I shall sue you for divorce on the grounds of
incompatibility, and I trust you will have the decency not
to obstruct the suit. 'Dot'."
He turned the letter over in his hand. "It's dated
last Thursday. That's the day Kalendar was mur-
dered. This throws a new light on the problem."
[217]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Jimmie tossed the letter back on the desk, and
stood for a moment looking out of the window.
He drew in a deep breath and blew it out
impatiently.
"That the Baldwin woman should be planning to
leave her husband on the day Kalendar was mur-
dered lays the way open to several conjectures.
Baldwin might have got wise to her plan. It's pos-
sible that she was considering running away with
Kalendar. Baldwin's conduct has been none too laud-
able. We can never find out what actually happened
in this house when Kalendar came unexpectedly to
dine. Who invited him? It appears now that it might
well have been the Baldwin woman, believing that
her husband was going to be away, and then finding
that his plans had been changed. No one can tell us
the truth of that except the Costains, and I don't
think they will. However, my rambling suppositions
will only account for the death of the bizarre
Colonel. As far as the Baldwins are concerned, my
hypothesis necessitates a separate and distinct motive
for the Baldwin murders, and therefore, again I am
wrong. The methods in both cases were similar . . .
blows with a knife; a method that takes steel nerves;
a method that is used of a necessity for quiet. Crimi-
nal methods usually differ, and as they are identical
in this case, we can reasonably assume a single crimi-
[218]


THE ENEMY MOVES
nal." Jimmie smiled at Bowles, "Well, here I am,
thinking out loud again."
"That's what I like about you," allowed Bowles,
"go on."
"I would if I had anything to go on, but as
usual, I am stumped. I'm sorry for your sake, young
fella, that I have failed to fulfill your expectations
of a fictional detective. I hope you are beginning to
see that the solution of a mystery requires more
patience and stick-to-it-ness than anything else. Well,
let's go on through the house."
Jimmie picked up the letter from the desk, and
returning it to the envelope, put it in his pocket.
He walked through the bathroom into Baldwin's
study. He found nothing in there that interested
him. A row of boots with trees in them stood against
the wall. In the closet hung several uniforms. A
bureau, two chairs and a mahogany table completed
the furniture in the room. There was nothing illu-
minating in any of the drawers. Jimmie walked into
the hall, and looked in the store-room; three trunks
and several large packing chests covered with dust.
Nothing in there worth hesitating over. The guest
room opposite the Baldwins' bedroom offered noth-
ing of interest. Evidently it had not been used in a
long time. The shades were down, and the room had
an unused odor.
[219]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Jimmie returned to the hallway, and went up the
back stairs to the third floor. There were three rooms;
all of them small and low-ceilinged. The slope of
the mansard roof cut into the rooms, and the dormer
windows were quite deep. There was nothing in any
of the rooms. They had never been finished. Jimmie
went to the division wall, and looked it over care-
fully. In the ceiling of the room at the front of
the house, abutting on Costain's there was a trap-
door.
Jimmie looked at it for a long time, and then sud-
denly glanced down at the floor. With the toe of his
shoe, he drew a distinct line in the dust on the floor.
He laughed.
"No one came through the trapdoor. Look at the
thick dust on the floor. No marks anywhere except
our own tracks. Well, I'd hoped for some luck to-
day, but I guess we don't get it. Now there is only
one other thing that. . . ."
A door banged violently downstairs. Jimmie stood
for a moment listening intently. Bowles whispered
something and Jimmie silenced him abruptly with a
quick gesture. No other sound followed. Jimmie tip-
toed cautiously to the head of the stairs, and stood
with one ear turned toward the stair-well, his eyes
roving aimlessly as he listened.
Silence.
[220]


THE ENEMY MOVES
"Damn funny," he muttered to Bowles, "sounded
like a door at the back of the house."
"Might have been the back door," whispered
Bowles.
"Not deep enough a sound for that heavy door.
. . . Shallow noise."
Jimmie straightened up, and went down the stairs,
pausing a moment on the second floor to look around.
Apparently satisfied of nothing unusual there—all
the doors were open—he went down the back stairs
to the first floor. He was about to enter the front hall
when he noticed that the door to the cellar was open.
He turned to Bowles.
"Didn't you close this cellar door, Bowles?"
"Yes, and shot the bolt. I remember distinctly
doing it. That's funny." Bowles stuck his head into
the stair-well and listened:* No sound rewarded his
attention.
Jimmie went into the front hall. In a moment
he called to Bowles.
"Come here, Bowles."
Bowles came into the hall. Jimmie pointed to the
floor. There at his feet lay a small lemon yellow
feather about the size and shape of a lima bean pod.
"Know what that is?" asked Jimmie.
"Sure," said Bowles, stooping down to inspect the
feather, "it's a feather from the breast of a pelican.
[221]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
You remember, you asked me about them at the hunt
when a flock flew over us."
"The kind Indians make comforters out of, eh?"
"Yes."
Jimmie picked up the feather. It lay in the palm
of his hand. He stared at it, frowning, and then put
it in his pocket.
"Let's take another look at the cellar," he said,
and turned towards the stairs.
Jimmie searched diligently, but found nothing.
The cellar was cold and empty; no sound other than
the dismal wail of the furnace draught.
When the two men returned again to the hall,
Jimmie paused at the spot where he had discovered
the pelican feather, and stood contemplating the
floor.
"You know, young fella," he began, "I'd swear
that feather wasn't there when he went through this
hall a little while ago. And I know damn well that
you locked that cellar door. Something mischievous
is going on unseen around here, and I intend to see
it. Do you suppose the General would have any
objections if I moved over here for a while?"
"No, certainly not," said Bowles, looking aston-
ished, "but what do you want to stay in this dismal
place for?"
"I don't know," laughed Jimmie, "intuition, I
[222]


THE ENEMY MOVES
guess. Will you have my things brought up? Perhaps
you can get that man of yours that's going to attend
to the furnace to look out for me as long as I'm here.
I don't require quite such constant attention as the
furnace, so perhaps he won't mind."
[223]


CHAPTER XIX
JENNIE HUGOT TALKS
T sunset that afternoon a bitter breeze sprang
up, rattling the windows in Jimmie's rooms at
the Officers' Club. He was busy packing the last of
his belongings preparatory to moving to the Bald-
wins' quarters, when Major Zabriski entered the
apartment without knocking. His glasses were fogged
opaque from the sudden change of atmosphere. He
snatched them from his nose with an impatient ges-
ture, and rubbed them briskly against the breast of
his coat, peered through them, and perched them
again on his nose. Then he surveyed Jimmie ab-
ruptly, and took off his coat.
"Well, Doc, what's on your mind?"
"You appear to be leaving," said Zabriski, nod-
ding curtly toward the suitcase, "have you settled
this affair?"
"I'm not leaving, I'm moving up to Baldwin's
house. This bachelor building's too noisy. I can't get
my homework done."

[224]


JENNIE HUGOT TALKS
Major Zabriski rubbed his chin, and frowned dis-
approvingly at Jimmie. "I have brought you the
report on the post mortem examination." He reached
in the side pocket of his blouse, and pulled out a
formidable looking document, which he handed to
Jimmie. "And here's the dagger." He took that from
the other pocket, laid it on the desk, then sat down,
stuck out his feet, and thrust his thumbs in his Sam
Browne belt.
Jimmie glanced through the report. "Looks like
you'd gone into a lot of detail, Doc." He threw the
papers on the desk. "Just what did you find? I
haven't got time right now to read all your report."
Jimmie sat down facing Zabriski.
"Something that I don't think you knew," said
the Major, winking wisely, "there were two wounds
on Mrs. Baldwin; one below the heart that missed
it; the other one in which the knife was left. Evi-
dently that will account for her screams, and the
strained position in which the body was lying."
"Yes," muttered Jimmie, looking away out the
window, "it does; it also shows a diabolic intent . . .
a mad ferocity!"
Major Zabriski drew his brows together in a puz-
zled frown. "It indicates a mental condition that I
have never been able to understand, Boodler. To me
there is something terrifying about a person who be-
[225]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
haves as this criminal has. I can understand one shot
from a pistol, one plunge from a knife, either in a
moment of insane rage or with premeditated, delib-
erate intent; but the criminal who empties the entire
pistol clip into his victim, or who plunges a knife
again and again into a body is beyond my meager
powers of understanding."
"It's not unusual, Doctor. Italians not only stab
again and again, but they usually leave their knives
in the victims."
Major Zabriski continued after a pause. "It is also
interesting to note that the wounds in the case of both
Captain and Mrs. Baldwin penetrated the body a
distance corresponding to the length of the blade of
the dagger. As you already know, the same was true
of the wound in Colonel Kalendar's body. All three
of the blows were extremely well calculated, and
decidedly brutal."
"Obviously done by the same person then?"
"I wouldn't go so far as to swear to that, Boodler.
However, I give it as my opinion that you are cor-
rect."
"How about the Hugot woman; any signs of
improvement in her?"
"Yes, she is not getting any worse."
"I want to talk to her."
"Well, I hardly think that advisable at the present
[226]


JENNIE HUGOT TALKS
moment," said Zabriski, shaking his head so violently
that his glasses wabbled.
"I've got to have a few words with her, Major,
can't you arrange it without publicity?"
Major Zabriski considered a moment, and then
pursed his lips.
"It is strictly against orders."
"I don't doubt that, but the circumstances warrant
an infringement. She's a vital witness. Suppose she
dies? Don't you see what that would mean?"
"Yes," Zabriski concluded, "I do. I'll fix her up
so you can have a few moments with her. Suppose
you come over about half-past seven tonight. The
hospital is quiet then . . . you understand?"
"Yes, of course. Much obliged."
Major Zabriski rose, and gripping the tips of his
shirt cuffs, thrust his arms into the sleeves of the
great military coat that Jimmie held open for him.
For a moment Zabriski stood, cap in hand, run-
ning his finger idly around the sweat band, and star-
ing at the floor. Then he suddenly looked up. "Well,
I guess that's all. . . . I'll see you tonight at seven-
thirty. If I'm not there, wait in the office for me."
"Queer bird," thought Jimmie after Zabriski had
left the apartment.
Jimmie telephoned Lieutenant Bowles, and asked
him to bring a map of the reservation around to his
[227]


JENNIE HUGOT TALKS
the dotted lines which represented a road. His finger
paused.
"There," he said.
"How far is it from Baldwin's house to that pit?"
continued Jimmie.
Bowles took a narrow strip of paper, and meas-
ured the distance from point to point. Then he placed
it over the map scale. The distance read exactly one-
half mile.
"And exactly how far is it from Baldwin's house
to the General's house?"
Again Bowles measured the distance, and said,
"It's a little over a mile. Just about a mile and an
eighth, I should say. The scale doesn't show such
short distances, so I estimate the eighth."
"And from Baldwin's to Major Zabriski's quar-
ters?"
"That's just up at the end of the line beyond
Baldwin's."
"But how far, how far," said Jimmie impatiently,
"that's what I want to know!"
"A little over a quarter of a mile."
Jimmie nodded. "Half a mile to the pit, a mile
to the General's and about a quarter of a mile to
Zabriski's." He paused and looked thoughtfully at
the map, jangling the change in his pocket. "Can I
keep this map for a while?"
[229]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
let you know when we are through. . . . Now Jen-
nie, Mr. Boodler is going to ask you some questions.
Don't talk, just signify yes or no to what he asks
you."
The woman closed her eyes for a moment, and
then opened them and looked dully at Jimmie, who
came to the side of the bed and said:
"You saw Mrs. Baldwin take down the carving
knife from the rack in the kitchen the night Colonel
Kalendar was murdered, is that right?"
The woman shook her head vaguely.
"You did not see her?"
Jennie shook her head again.
"Why did you tell me you had, then?"
She spoke in thick gelatinous tones, "I saw her
with her hand on it."
"But you told me you did not go out that evening.
You lied, then?"
Jennie nodded.
"Do you know who invited Colonel Kalendar to
dine out on Thursday evening?"
Jennie frowned, paused, then shook her head.
"Had you heard that Mrs. Baldwin was going to
leave her husband?"
A bitter smile spread over the sick woman's
lips.
"Was Colonel Kalendar going with her?"
[232]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
downstairs talking to a woman, and he seemed posi-
tive that the woman could not have been Jennie
Hugot. Add the fact that Costain lied about his
acquaintance with Kalendar, and the thread of this
affair snarls.
Jimmie's ruminations brought him to the Baldwin
house where a light glowed feebly somewhere in the
back hall. The place looked foreboding. Jimmie
screwed up his face. The prospect of spending sev-
eral days there left him frigid. A glance at the
Costain house revealed the living room lighted. He
hesitated, then decided to have a talk with the
Costains before he turned in for the night. When
he told them that he had moved to the Baldwins',
their conduct might be interesting to observe. He
rang the doorbell, and consulted his watch—ten
minutes past eight.
[236]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
"What did she say?" asked Costain, speaking for
the first time.
"Nothing."
Jimmie turned to Costain, and caught him smiling
faintly at his wife. Laying his hat on the table, and
taking off his coat, Jimmie turned to the fire, and
rubbed his hands together vigorously. Costain got an
overstuffed chair from beside the window, and car-
ried it over by the fire.
"Sit down, won't you?" he said, indicating the
large chair, "you look cold."
"Thanks," Jimmie said, and sat down.
There was a pause. Both the Costains looked in-
quiringly at Boodler, in expectation of his reason for
the call.
"I stopped in primarily to tell you that I have
temporarily moved to the Baldwins'." He smiled.
"I thought I had better tell you, because if you
heard noises next door you might think there were
ghosts prowling around." Jimmie made the re-
mark casually, looking from Minna to her husband.
Neither moved. Minna continued to stare into the
fire.
"What's wrong with the bachelor building?" asked
Costain.
"I haven't had a great deal of sleep since I got
here, and the bachelor building is not exactly con-
[238]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Minna Costain moved uneasily in her chair, and
reached down to stir the dying fire.
"For one thing, you told me that you never knew
Colonel Kalendar until you came to this post."
"Well?"
"That is not true."
Costain drew deeply on his cigaret and contem-
plated the tip.
"Is it?" asked Jimmie.
"Well, in a way . . . no," confessed Costain.
"You were in Kalendar's regiment overseas. Isn't
that true?"
"Yes. I was."
"Then why did you hold that fact back?"
"I couldn't see what any past acquaintance with
the man had to do with this case."
"It's an unimportant point, I'll admit, but don't
you see that if you will not play fair on little things,
it casts a shadow on all your statements."
Costain's hands began to tremble, and for the first
time Jimmie noticed that he was agitated.
"You don't want to get any deeper involved in
these murders, do you?"
"God, no!" muttered Costain.
"Well, if you don't tell me the truth, you will
be." Jimmie paused before the next remark. "My
interpretation of your denial about your acquaintance
[240]


FERRET
with Kalendar is that you didn't want me to know
that you ever knew him before, and the deduction,
therefore, is that at some previous time you have had
trouble of a kind with him."
"It was a foolish thing for me to do. I did not
think. I was frightened, frankly. I did know him,
and I was in his regiment in France."
"Had you ever any trouble with him?"
"No."
"And that is the truth?"
"Yes, yes. It's the truth. . . ." Costain's face
blanched.
Minna interrupted him, "Jerry, the fire's dying.
Get some more logs, will you? It's getting fright-
fully chilly in here."
"All right, m'dear. You'll excuse me, Boodler."
Jimmie nodded, and Costain left the room. Jim-
mie stared after him.
There was a long pause before Minna spoke.
"There is something I ought to tell you, Mr.
Boodler. You are evidently so omnipotent that you'll
find it out anyway." The last part of this remark was
uttered with cutting sarcasm.
"Yes, Mrs. Costain. What is it?" Jimmie raised
his eyebrows.
"I was at the Baldwins' house last night, shortly
after the discovery of the murder."


FERRET
"No . . . not to understand what's being said,
but you can recognize voices."
"I see . . . well?"
"Then I got up and dressed. I went out the back
way and over to the Baldwins'. Jerry was downstairs.
I knocked on the back door, and he opened it. I asked
what had happened, and he told me. Then he told
me to go home, and keep quiet; not to say I'd been
over . . . that it might mean trouble. I came home,
and made a cup of coffee, and sat here terrified the
rest of the night."
"And when did you see your husband again?"
"Not until late this morning when he was re-
lieved as officer of the day, and had been to stables
at the battery. He came home and changed his
clothes. Then he told me everything that had hap-
pened."
Costain returned at that moment with several logs
in his arms. He dropped them beside the fireplace,
and brushed the bark and dust from the front of his
shirt. Minna rose, and crossed to the window seat,
saying that as her husband had forgotten to bring
any kindling he would need some newspapers to
catch the blaze again.
Costain knelt down to attend to the fire, and as
he did so, he stuck one foot out behind. Jimmie saw
caught to the heel of his left boot, a bright yellow
[243]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
pelican feather. He looked to be sure that Minna's
back was turned; then with a quick movement he
leaned forward in his chair, and plucked the feather
away. He closed his hand around it just as Minna
turned to come back. She handed the papers to her
husband, and sat down again.
Costain relaid the fire, and set in a log. The sec-
ond log was too fat to fit neatly in the fireplace, so
he set it end up on the hearth, took a small hand axe
from the set of fire-irons, and with a single nice blow
split the log in half. He laid the two halves on the
fire just as the papers caught. He watched the
spreading blaze a moment, then rose and dusted off
his knees.
Jimmie put his hand in his pocket, and worked
loose the feather which clung tenaciously to his damp
palm.
"Will you have something to drink?" asked
Costain, "I have some fairly good beer."
"No thanks," replied Jimmie, rising, "I've got a
few notes to make, and then I think I'll turn in. I've
been going pretty steadily."
He picked up his hat and coat and walked to the
doorway. "I suppose there are plenty of bedclothes
in the house. I'm not used to this bitter cold weather;
we don't have it in Washington. Maybe I'll want to
borrow a comforter from you."
[244]


FERRET
Minna laughed. "I can loan you plenty of blan-
kets, but I haven't any comforters."
"Well, if I need any additional bedding, I'll send
Hicks over to borrow some from you."
When Jimmie entered the Baldwins', he heard
someone stirring in the kitchen.
"Is that you, Hicks?" he called.
"Yes, sir," came from the back of the house.
Jimmie went into the kitchen, and saw private
Hicks sitting at the table applying iodine to the
fingers of his right hand. The soldier looked up and
smiled, then shook his fingers, and blew on them.
"Stings," he said.
"Hurt yourself?" asked Jimmie.
"Naw. I was down coalin' the furnace when one
of them weasels like Colonel Kalendar had come
across the floor and says hello. I picked it up and the
bastard bit me. I didn't know they was one of them
things in this house."
"Neither did I, Hicks," remarked Jimmie, rub-
bing his chin, "neither did I." He looked in the
direction of the cellar stairs and grunted.
"Never had one of 'em bite me before neither. I
used to raise 'em t'home, and sell 'em to the ware-
houses fer ratters."
"Where is it now, Hicks?"
"I don't know, sir. It scuttled off into them crates."
[245] .


CHAPTER XXI
MUTILATED RECORDS
GENERAL PHIPPS was upset by the crazy
events that had disturbed the tranquillity of
his command, and by the fact that Jimmie had gone
along so far without consulting him as to procedure.
The next morning he sent for the detective. "After
all," he had said to Bowles, "I am still the com-
manding officer here, and I should be acquainted
with the progress of events. I am surprised that
Boodler has taken such liberties. I told you yester-
day I wanted to see him, and you reported he re-
marked facetiously that I would keep in this cold
weather."
Bowles said "Yes, sir," and perceiving the Gen-
eral's venomous glance, changed it to "no, sir," then
ventured to suggest that perhaps Boodler had
rather wait until there was something definite to
give to the Commanding General. In all events,
Lieutenant Bowles secretly realized that the Gen-
eral felt slighted, and considerably alarmed, and
[246]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Colonel Price was kept waiting, and I'll be glad to
apologize to him."
"That won't be necessary . . . who locked you
up in Kalendar's?"
"The Hugot woman."
"And yet you say you have nothing to tell me. I
think you have."
Jimmie walked over close to the General's desk,
and leaned across it.
"Listen, General, if Colonel Price is sore because
I kept him waiting, that's too bad. And I may as well
lay my cards on the table with you. If I came run-
ning to you every time I thought I had something,
you'd have to lay a cinder track between here and
the Baldwin house. I don't blame you for being wor-
ried. This is one grisly case. Who can tell who is
going to be bumped off next? Maybe you're on the
docket yourself. But I've got to work this thing out
in my own way. You know me well enough to know
that. When the time comes, I'll give that Board of
Officers all the dope. Until then, I can't, and won't
say a thing. People talk, you know, without meaning
to say anything, and they might spill the beans if
several of them began to embroider information that
I had given out . . . and you told me yourself that
they do dress up stories. That's the way I feel
about it."
[248]


MUTILATED RECORDS
take, General. I'm not sure it has anything to do
with it."
"The old records are locked up in the cellar of the
Guard House, in the old Indian Cell Room," said
Bowles. "Costain moved them over there when he
was Adjutant."
"Take Boodler down there then, Bowles, and
show him the place. You'll find it interesting outside
the records, Boodler. They had a lot of Indian pris-
oners in there along in the seventies. They mutinied.
The soldiers shot down about forty of them. It was
after that they built the cell, I think . . . safer, I
suppose."
*****
The Guard House was surrounded by a stone wall
about twenty feet high, and one hundred and fifty
yards on a side. To the top of the wall had been
affixed broken bottles. The gateway had once con-
tained a door of some sort, but now the rusted hinge-
posts protruded nakedly from the wall. The Guard
House proper was square. A porch ran all around
the building. Inside, on the right of a long hallway
that led back to the cells, was the squad room where
the members of the guard slept. At the left of the
hall, just inside the main door was an office; next to
that on the left, small rooms were reserved for the
Sergeant of the Guard, and the Commander of the
[251]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Guard. The Officer of the Day used the last room at
the left end of the corridor, next to the guard room,
where the garrison prisoners were kept. Across the
hall from the Officer of the Day's room a flight of
stairs led down to the cellar.
Jimmie followed Bowles down the stairs. Bowles
carried a large old-fashioned key in his hand, with
which he poked an electric button at the foot of the
stairs. At the back of the cellar a brilliant light ap-
peared, and Jimmie perceived that a portion of the
cellar had been partitioned off with heavy iron
bars.
"That's where they used to keep the intractable
red men," said Bowles, as he inserted the ponderous
key into a clumsy old padlock attached to a hasp on
the heavy iron cell door.
Jimmie looked at the door, and noticed that the
rusted hinges had been recently oiled.
Inside the cell, Bowles turned on another over-
head light, and with an inclusive gesture, indicated
rows of filing cabinets, and packing boxes.
"There's the complete history of this post. Now
if you'll tell me exactly what you want, and give me
ten men and a month's grace, I may be able to find
it. Remember that in the old days there were no
typewriters, no mimeographs—thank God—no filing
systems that amounted to anything."
[252]


MUTILATED RECORDS
"Man was a casual worker and a graceful drinker,"
said Jimmie, pausing to look around.
The filing cabinets sat against the three barred
walls of the cell, and against the foundation of the
cellar, stood packing boxes. A large old battle map,
mounted on canvas, hung from the great rafters
against the cellar wall. Along one beam were sus-
pended eight old brass lanterns.
"So this is the ignominious end that the glorious
and glamorous frontier days have come to . . .
musty immortality in the cellar of a jail." Jimmie
shook his head, and looked at Bowles, "What I want
to see, young fella, are the original plans for this
post."
"Well, let's look around." Bowles unfastened his
belt, took off his blouse, and rolled up his sleeves.
Jimmie smiled. It was the first time he had ever
seen the immaculate aide willing to soil himself.
Bowles went to the far end of the cell, and
squatting in front of a filing cabinet, struck a match,
and inspected the locator cards on the surface of the
drawers.
"Morning and guard reports for 1880 and 1881.
They won't help." He moved along the far wall,
and looked at another cabinet—history of the Second
Infantry . . . Letters received and letters sent.
"Here we are," said Jimmie, from the opposite
[253]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
side of the cell. "Original records of Fort Comanche.
Let's have a look in this cabinet."
Bowles joined him, and together they opened the
cabinet. The top sliding drawer contained a number
of letter books.
Jimmie took out one of the "Letters Sent" books,
and opened the pages, yellowed with age. The old
joints cracked stiffly.
"Just think, young fella, every letter that went
out from headquarters had to be copied out in long-
hand in this book. Handwriting is certainly a lost art
today. Look at this manuscript; isn't it beautiful?"
Jimmie laid the book back in the drawer, as Bowles
announced he had found a volume which purported
to contain the original plans and considerations of
Fort Comanche. It was a big ledger. The two men
carried the book to the center of the cell, under the
electric light, and opened it.
On the first page, written in envious penmanship,
on evenly handruled lines, was the congressional
authorization for the permanent construction of Fort
Comanche. There followed several pages of figures,
appropriations, expenditures and reports—then a
title page, "Plans and Specifications, drawn by Lieut.
William E. Preston, Corps of Engineers."
Jimmie turned the page. He paused and leaned
over to look closely at the book. Suddenly, he turned
[254]


MUTILATED RECORDS
several pages hurriedly, then nipped them back, and
ran his fingers along the inner edge of the binding.
He grunted.
"Someone has ripped out the original plans,
Bowles."
"What!"
"Yeah, somebody's taken a knife and cut out the
pages that should have the plans of this post on
them."
Bowles sat back on his haunches and looked with
amazement at Boodler.
"Heavens, Boodler, the old man will have a fit!"
"Yeah, I suppose so," mused Jimmie, browsing
through the remaining pages of the book. . . col-
umns of figures, specifications, expenditures. In sev-
eral places more pages had been cut from the book.
"Pretty good find at that. Somebody's been monkey-
ing with this for no good reason . . . and not so
long ago." The traces of a knife blade were vis-
ible on the back of the following page. Although
the book was amber with age, the stump edges
where the pages had been cut out were white,
indicating that the mutilation had been recently
committed.
"I wonder who it could have been," muttered
Bowles, staring at the book.
"If I knew that, Bowles, I'd be bidding you a fond
[255]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
farewell, and taking the first train to Washington."
"You mean that this is connected with the mur-
ders?"
"And how! Now listen, I'll tell you what I know,
and we've got to work fast. Last night. . . ."
Jimmie stopped abruptly, and stared across the
cell. His eyes widened with amazement. Slowly he
extended a hand, and touched Bowles gently on the
knee. Bowles looked up from the book. Jimmie
hushed an impending remark, and nodded to the
opposite side of the cell.
Bowles turned his head, and there beneath the old
battle map, stood a ferret blinking its beady pink
eyes.
"Don't move," cautioned Jimmie in low tones.
Both men sat motionless for several minutes. The
ferret, gathering courage, crossed the floor toward
Jimmie, hesitating several times, and sniffing suspi-
ciously of the air.
Without moving, Jimmie be^gan to make a hissing
sound with his lips. As the ferret came near, he held
out his hand very quietly and rubbed his thumb and
finger together in a coaxing motion. The little ani-
mal made a sudden decision, came over and sniffed
the tips of Jimmie's fingers. With a sudden move,
he gripped it around the neck, and held it up,
squirming in his hand. Jimmie stood up.
[256]


MUTILATED RECORDS
"Get that sack over there by the door, Bowles.
I don't want to lose this little beast again."
Bowles scrambled to his feet, and got the sack.
Jimmie dropped the ferret in, and tied the top of
the sack in a knot.
The bewildered aide stood staring at Jimmie.
"I don't get you, Boodler," he said.
"We got it in the bag now, Bowles; the
whole thing; the whole thing." Boodler was ex-
cited.
Jimmie laid the sack on the floor, and walked to
the battle map hanging on the cellar wall. He tore
it down with a fierce yank, and found behind it in
the cellar wall, a small heavy oak door about four
feet high. One lower corner had rotted away with
age, and in the hole, someone had stuffed the rem-
nants of an old Indian comforter, which Jimmie
pulled out, and a flurry of yellow pelican feathers
swirled about on the floor.
"Well, I'll be a dromedary," he muttered, "I
might have known it. This is what I get for being
so damn cautious, and always wanting everything
in the bag before I make a move."
A heavy hasp and padlock held the door. Jimmie
threw his weight against it, but it would not budge.
Bowles added his weight, but the two men were
unable to break in the door.
[257]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
swung the padlock back to the outside of the
door.
Bowles clicked on his flashlight, and came back to
Jimmie, who motioned him with the beam of his
light to precede him into the passage.
Jimmie entered the passage, easing the battle map
back into position, and gently closing the door behind
him. He paused a moment.
"Be careful of your footing, Bowles. It feels
pretty slippery in here."
The passageway led downward for a short dis-
tance and then leveled off. About twenty-five yards
farther on it turned left, and continued straight
again. Jimmie judged that they must be some twenty
feet under ground.
Suddenly Bowles, who was slightly ahead of
Boodler, stumbled against something, and fell. His
torch went out. He swore under his breath.
"What the hell!" remarked Jimmie.
Bowles scrambled to his feet, and recovered his
lamp. The two men cast down the beams of their
torches and saw a flight of steps leading upward
which had been invisible in the flat gray dimness of
the tunnel.
They mounted the steps, and the air became sud-
denly warmer. Jimmie put out his hand and care-
fully felt his way along the wall. The light from
[262]


THE MISSING PAGES
the torches so blended with the vagueness of the
stone walls that the illumination was ineffective.
When they had gone what Jimmie judged to be
a hundred yards, the wall to his left became warm
to the touch. He halted.
"Funny that this cold wall should suddenly be-
come warm." He cast the beam of his lamp onto the
wall, revealing a small section about four feet square
made of brick, whereas the remainder of the walling
so far was made of rocks, evidently gathered from
some nearby stream-bed.
The two men moved slowly onward, for about
ten yards, at which point there appeared another
similar brick patch in the bowlder wall. Then fol-
lowed a gap of about sixty yards, and then two more
bricked up portions, approximately ten yards apart 5
then another gap and again the operation had been
made.
Jimmie paused and flashed his light into Bowles'
face.
"Do you know where we are, young fella?"
"No, I'll be darned if I do," said Bowles.
"We're under officers' row. I should judge under
the front porches. Say, how many sets of houses are
there between the Guard House and the Baldwins'?"
Bowles thought a moment, and then said there
were three. "Darling and Smiley live in the first
[263]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
double set; next comes Moore and Thomas; then
Halloway and Keefer; then Baldwin and Costain."
"And didn't you tell me that first morning that
Costain's house was the last building on the old post,
and that Kalendar's house marked the beginning of
the new post?"
"Yes, I did," said Bowles.
"There's an entrance from this passageway to each
of these houses. Probably get-aways into the com-
pound. They've been walled up. We've passed two
sets. There should be one more set walled up, and
then we should come to Baldwin's quarters."
Jimmie brushed hurriedly past Bowles, and
walked down the passageway as rapidly as the
uncertain footing would permit. A short distance
away, he passed two more walled-in spots. He did
not stop to inspect them, but hurried on.
Bowles followed, carefully picking his way over
the fallen rocks. He had no desire to stumble again,
as the last fall against the unexpected steps had
barked his shins, and they were commencing to sting.
When Bowles caught up with Jimmie, he found
the detective on his hands and knees, looking closely
at another walled partition. The bricks had been
picked away, and were piled loosely but neatly back
into the hole from which they had been extracted.
Jimmie whispered excitedly to Bowles:
[264]


THE MISSING PAGES
"Give me a hand here. I want to take out these
loose bricks. This hole lets into the Baldwin cellar
as sure as shooting."
Jimmie worked feverishly, taking out the bricks,
and handing them to Bowles, who piled them up
beside the hole. In a few moments, enough bricks
had been removed to admit the passage of a body.
Jimmie whispered to Bowles to follow him, and
squatting down on his haunches, squirmed himself
through the hole. Bowles followed.
They found themselves in a cellar, behind a pile
of crates. With agile manipulation, Jimmie snaked
through the crates, and in a moment was standing
in the open cellar of Baldwin's house. To the right
was the vegetable cellar, with the lock torn off the
door, and ahead, toward the back of the house, the
flickering glow of fire through the furnace door
dimly lit the cellar.
Overhead sounded the heavy tread of footsteps,
as they marched slowly into the living room. Then a
pause, followed by scratching music from a victrola.
"Hicks, making himself thoroughly at home dur-
ing my absence," whispered Jimmie, as he turned to
crawl back through the crates.
The tunnel regained, the men were occupied for
several minutes replacing the loose bricks. When the
task had been silently completed, Jimmie took his
[265]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
hat, and swished away the footprints they had made
in the dust on the floor of the passage.
Then, lighting his lamp again, he turned down the
passage. Ten yards farther on, a similar hole had
been made in the bricked-up portion of the passage-
way wall, with the bricks loosely replaced.
"Costain's," muttered Jimmie. But he made no
move to verify his statement.
Shortly beyond this point, the passage came to an
abrupt end. An enormous rock with dirt all around
it gave evidence that the early settlers of the post
had excavated no further.
Jimmie was about to turn back when the rays from
his lamp suddenly reflected something cached at one
side of the big boulder. He flashed his light on the
spot again and knelt down.
Stuffed under a projecting corner of the rock, he
found some papers which he took out, and casting
the light from his torch on them, saw that they
were the missing pages from the records of Fort
Comanche.
"This completes everything," whispered Jimmie,
shoving the papers into his pocket. "Come on, let's
get out of this hole, and start things moving."
It was three o'clock that afternoon before Boodler
had sifted out the details of his discovery. He had
remained in Bowles' apartment some time going
[266]


THE MISSING PAGES
over the old plans of the post. They had been badly
damaged by crushing them under the rock in the
tunnel. But he was able to make out the plans for the
passage built as an avenue of retreat for the women
and children of the post in case of a sudden Indian
attack during a time when part of the garrison might
be away on frontier duty. It appeared that some such
catastrophe had nearly happened in 1872, at the time
General Foss had been murdered. The passage had
been constructed with Indian prison labor. This bit
of history was written on a page which had been
pinned to the plans.
After Jimmie had satisfied himself with the con-
tents of the pages, he had returned with Bowles,
and put the records back under the rock at the end
of the passage. They replaced everything in the cell
room exactly as it had been, except the lock on the
door; that was beyond repair.
Further investigation was made to ascertain if
there had ever been a duplicate key to the cell lock,
but none was brought to light. Therefore, another
had been made to fit it as Jimmie had the original key
from headquarters. The definite dates of Costain's
tour as Adjutant were ascertained. During the early
part of the spring, an order had come from the War
Department to search and arrange all the old per-
manent records of the post. It was then the plan of
[267]


THE MISSING PAGES
that he did not want to be disturbed again during the
night. He had his boots off at that time.
"After he spoke to you that last time, do you know
that he undressed and went to bed?" asked Jimmie.
"No, I doubt if he did. It's against orders to un-
dress. You can take off your boots and blouse, but
that's all. I remember he had his boots off."
"And did you not see him again until you called
him after the alarm had been raised?"
"No."
"And you are sure he was in bed then?"
"Yes, he was in bed, asleep."
"How do you know he was asleep?"
"I don't, for sure, of course. However I believe
that he was asleep."
The telephone operators who had been on duty
Sunday night were questioned, but no record of local
calls was kept. There had been no outgoing nor in-
coming toll calls from the Costain house. The opera-
tors could not recall whether any local calls had been
made from Costain's on Sunday night. They remem-
bered that there had been no calls to the Guard
House except the one from the alarmbox. But they
said that about ten o'clock Captain Baldwin had tele-
phoned several places trying to get in touch with
Boodler.
*****
[269]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
Darkness had settled when Jimmie stood up,
slapped the desk with his open hand, and said to
Bowles:
"Well, young fella, what do you think of it
now?"
"I'm astonished, Boodler, utterly astonished."
"Are you convinced?"
"Yes."
"So am I, but that's not the point. Stop and con-
sider. Let's assume that Costain is our man. We
haven't got a thing on him."
"What!" expostulated Bowles.
"That's right . . . not a thing. We haven't got
evidence that's worth a nickel in court."
"What about the cigaret butt, the hat, his lies
about knowing Kalendar, the pelican feathers, the
hole from the tunnel into his house and the other
one into Baldwin's. His tour as Adjutant, the muti-
lated records. Nothing against him? I'd say you had
plenty."
"All circumstantial. That won't go . . . not with
me. I've got to get him cold. Everything you've
mentioned is circumstantial. Can you prove that
Costain did all this? You cannot. He's got enough
witnesses for the defense to make me look like a
monkey in court. Darling would testify that Costain
was asleep in the Guard House all the time. His wife
[270]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
arms, beating his spread fingers together in a tempo
to a tune that his lips half whistled.
He consulted his watch, and glanced impatiently
at the door. Where the devil was Bowles? He should
have got rid of Hicks, and been back by this time.
Jimmie regarded it necessary to get Private Hicks
out of the Baldwin house tonight, and as Hicks had
appropriated the guest room, and moved some of
his plunder up to the house, indications were that he
had ensconced himself for as long as the "coffee
coolin' job," as he dubbed his detail, lasted. Hicks
would probably be in the way; in his innocent igno-
rance, and desire to help, he might ruin the scheme.
So Hicks was to be suddenly ordered on stable
guard.
Jimmie also wanted the ledger from which the
pages had been torn, and had asked Bowles to get
that from the cell room, as Jimmie's presence there
for the third time that day might start the soldiers
on guard to talking, and there was no telling how
quickly gossip would spread through the command.
He did not want any of tonight's preliminary
arrangements to look like a "plant". If Costain got
wind of anything, he might make a break. So far,
Jimmie was certain that Costain had no suspicion of
the day's developments.
As he drained the last of his coffee, Bowles entered
[274]


TRAPPED
and snapped his fingers, but the ferret remained in-
different to coaxing. Jimmie consulted his watch.
Time was getting short.
"Damn!" he muttered, standing up. He rubbed
his chin for a moment, contemplating how to secure
the animal without frightening it. He had about de-
cided to whip it out with the end of a bath-towel,
when he looked down and saw the little beast sniffing
the tips of his shoes. He leaned over easily, talking
gently, and with a quick movement gathered up the
ferret, and put it in the shoe box. He returned to the
living room, tied the box with a bit of string, put on
his hat and left the apartment.
He cut directly across the main road, and con-
tinued on until he reached the Guard House. The
snow was falling so thickly, that he had some diffi-
culty in keeping his bearings. He did not want to
walk up the front of officers' row for fear of meet-
ing Costain, who by that time, must be on his way
in response to the General's command.
He found the Guard House wall, skirted that and
turned down the back, continuing his way along be-
hind officers' row. As he passed the second set of
quarters, he looked off to his right, and in the light
of a street lamp, thought he saw a figure plodding
away in the direction opposite to his. "That is prob-
ably Costain," he thought, gathering the shoe box
[279]


TRAPPED
"One thing they do in the Army better than any-
where else, and that's carry out orders."
He sat down in the parlor and waited for five
minutes, then he went down into the cellar, and made
a great noise shaking the furnace, and shoveling in
coal. He came back upstairs and put on his hat. He
took the ferret from the shoe box, held the animal
under his coat, turned up the collar with his free
hand, and went out the front door.
He ran across the lawn, and rang the Costains'
doorbell, and in a moment he heard Mrs. Costain
coming down the stairs. She opened the door part
way, and peered curiously out into the darkness.
When she saw who was there, she opened the door
wide.
"I couldn't imagine who could be out a night like
this," she said, closing the door behind Jimmie, and
looking furtively at him. He held his right hand in
his coat, clutching the ferret.
"Yeah, it is pretty bad . . . worse than the other
night, only not so cold."
Minna was looking at his hidden hand.
"I was down in the cellar banking up the fire for
the night . . . Hicks isn't there tonight, had to go
on some extra duty. . . ." He took the ferret from
beneath his coat. "This pet of yours came out of the
crates, and tried to make friends with me. I knew
[281]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
per; that the walls weren't so good. He would not
let Bowles take off his coat and hat, but took him
upstairs to the guest room where the two men sat
on the bed with no light in the room other than the
reflection from the hall chandelier, and talked for a
few minutes. When Bowles finished his story, Jim-
mie consulted his watch, got up and went to the win-
dow. He stood looking out for some time, nodded his
head and whispered that Costain had come back
hurriedly, and gone into his house.
Jimmie told Bowles that he was going across the
hall to the other bedroom, but that he did not want
Bowles to come over until the shades were pulled
down, and that after he did come over, he was not
to say a word above a whisper. Boodler left the room,
and crossed the hall. In a few minutes he beckoned
to Bowles.
Jimmie set to work to empty the closet in the
Baldwin bedroom of all Dorothy Baldwin's clothes.
The two men carried everything into the closet in
Baldwin's study. When the bedroom closet had been
emptied, Jimmie procured two small chairs from the
guest room, and set them in the closet, facing each
other.
Next he disappeared into the guest room, and
returned in a moment with his arms full of pillows.
He directed Bowles to turn down the covers on the
[284]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
confused. He began to concentrate on the strange
figures flowing from one geometric design to another
that his eyes made behind themselves, against the
blank darkness of the closet.
Suddenly he heard a new sound. It was not the
sharp crack of the old house, easing its aged joints
in the chill of the winter night; it was a soft sound
. . . felted . . . the sound of a hand drawn over
plush . . . almost inaudible; the velvet movement
of padded feet upon carpet. His heart lunged,
pounding a swollen beat into his ears. He felt
Jimmie's hand touch his knee and then grip it
fiercely ... he understood ... he listened. Some-
one was breathing close to the closet door . . .
breathing, waiting and listening. Bowles held his
breath as long as he could, and then let it escape ever
so gently holding his chest high. People always
sneezed or coughed in the dark, he remembered. He
must not do that . . . there was no tickling in his
throat . . . thank God he didn't smoke. Sounds
again . . . footsteps moving away softly across the
carpet toward the beds . . . then silence for a mo-
ment.
A voice sounded in the room.
"Boodler!" it said. Then a long pause. Again a
little louder, "Boodler!"
Through the crack in the door, Bowles saw the
[290]


THE ARMY POST MURDERS
ferret that pulled your bung. That's where you
slipped. Obvious afterwards, if you couple that angle
with the fact that Baldwin tried to reach me by tele-
phone after he had caught the animal in this house,
and took it back to you, and spilled the works. That's
what he did, isn't it?"
"Yes—that's what he did." Costain laid a fore-
arm across his stomach, and leaned forward to hold in
his insides. He watched the blood drip from him to
the rug between his feet. In a minute he said, "I
never could find the damn thing after that."
"I had to set the trap for you," continued Jimmie,
"I knew you'd done it, but I didn't have you cold.
Now let's have the works."
"What's the use." Costain's blanched face was
calm when he looked up at Jimmie.
"Sorry you did it, are you?"
"Sorry, hell! I'm glad, see? I'd do it again, and
do it better. I wouldn't scheme it elaborately. I'd
kill him clean and let it go at that."
"What about the Baldwins?"
"I couldn't help that.'
"You used the Baldwins as a plant to cover you
up. You knew he hated Kalendar, and had threat-
ened to take action against him several times. You
had the stage all nicely set for yourself. Who asked
Kalendar over to the Baldwins' to dinner?"
[294]


DEATH TERRIBLE TO SEE
"What's that to you now?"
"Your wife?"
Costain took his teeth out of his lower lip and
smiled, "You can't mix her up in this."
"No?"
"No! You can't make her an accessory after the
fact, because I'm your only witness, and I'm on my
way. Besides, she had nothing to do with it."
"Where were you when Kalendar went into Bald-
win's?"
"Upstairs in my house watching for him. I saw
him go in, and went through the tunnel into Bald-
win's, and waited at the head of the cellar stairs until
they'd all gone out."
"How did you know your scheme would work?"
"I knew the Baldwins. I knew just what they'd
do. The only thing I didn't figure on was when Kal-
endar's hand fell off the chair. I thought I hadn't
stuck him right; that maybe he wasn't dead. I had
to get rid of them all in a hurry; I knew I'd have
to finish him. Dot Baldwin helped me there by faint-
ing. I hadn't planned on disposing of the body. I
don't know what put that idea, or strangling him
with the cord into my head. They just came. I took
him out to the oil pool in my car. I went out to the
garage later that night to clean the car, but there
was no blood on it."
[295]


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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