Serial Story. The Laughing Girl Mystery

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 67, Issue 136, 21 March 1947, Page 6

Serial Story. The Laughing Girl Mystery

| By VIOLA PARADISE. I

| (Copyright). |

J CHAPTER X. SEARCH FOR MARLIN Dr. Coe asked one question: “Who killed Marlin?” and at the news that Marlin wasn’t the victim, he -sighed with relief and closed his eyes, murinuring, “Leave me alone now.” But when Sheridan said, “Hadn’t I better telephone Mrs Coe?” he sat up suddenly. “Not on my. account!” And then, more feebly, “I’m all right.” Mr Alby’s doctor arrived shortly and confirmed this statement. “Ordinary exhaustion,” he said. “Otherwise 0.K.” “Well enough to give testimony at—say four this afternoon?” Alby queried. \ “Sure.” “Testimony ” Dr. Coe asked wearily. “What has all this to do Vfith me?” Alby left the explanation to Sheridan, . He knew that Alby was listening not only to his story, but to the very words he chose, to his every intonation, and even, as it were, to the items he omitted* He knew, too, that Alby missed no flicker of expression that passed over Dr. Coe’s face. When SlWklan finished, Alby mere- - ly said quietly, “We’ll telephone when we need you this afternoon. I’ll question the other witnesses first;. Meanwhile I am leaving some men here.” As Sheridan pulled on bis own glove, Alby asked,' “Where did you get that scratch on your hand?’ 1 Sheridan started, and then laughed shortly, “Not from the Florentine dagger,’'’ he said. “It’s odd,” he continued, “how guilty an innocent man can feel when a district attorney asks him a sudden question. We suddenly see a possible misinterpretation > of some slight detail, like this scratch. Which, to answer your question, I got on a loose prong in a ring which Miss Sayre wore the night before last. I should think,” . Sheridan continued, “that this incorrect; reaction of guilt, this very feel of guilt in almost any innocent person who,knows he’s being watched and studied, would lead you detectives astray.” “It does-r-sometimes,” Alby replied. “Not often.” They were, silent the rest of the short distance to Marlin’s address—an old- fashioned brick apartment house in a shabby block between Second and Third Avenues. Marlin’s name was not in the hall. They rang the superintendent’s bell. ‘ ‘You mean that Englishman ? He moved out long ago; ’round Thanksgiving. No, I don’t know where. Mrs Brown, though, or her daughter, might know: He. roomed in their flat.” Mrs Brown lived on the first floor, front. She showed them into what she called the parlor bedroom, which contained a brass bed, a piano, some plush chairs, and countless knic-k----nacks, photographs and d’oyleys. “You’ll have to . excuse this parlor being a bedroom,” she said. “We used to have the whole floor when Mr Marlin lived here, but these hard times a person’s got to do what they can, especially with my daughter out of work, and ” Alby stopped the flow of speech, or rather directed it into the pertinent channel. “No,” she said, when questioned, “I don’t know where Mr Marlin moved to, and I can’t say as I care. If I knew, my daughter, Susie, wouldn’t let me have any peace. Though what she could see in an old man like Mr Marlin—not that he was really old, but; forty if be was a day. But for a girl nineteen—and for him to invite her to Coney Island, and get their picture taken together, well, it keeps the young men away. Right now, thank goodness, she’s going steady with a nice young fella. I always told her ‘Mr Marlin isn’t a marrying man.’ ” “Did Marlin take her out often?” Alby Asked. _ - “Not as often as she’d of liked,” said Mrs Brown. “He was always sailing he had to spend his week-ends at the museum, and maybe he did, but be careful what you believe that any man says, I told her. My land, when be had their pictures taken together at Coney Island, well, Susie she thought lie must be gone on her. And then he moved, and not a word out, of him.” “Have you the picture?” Mrs Brown took it from among many on a wire rack. “There. Though it don’t do her justice. Nor him neither. But that lump back of his ear is plain—so plain you pan almost smell him.” “Smell him?” Alby prompted. “Now, whatever made me say that! Of course, he did have a smell to him. Not real bad, but sort of tobacco-y, only not quite. Not that he wasn’t a clean man; tidy as a cat. But he did smell. Why I told Susie, for a week after he left that I could smell him every time I went into this room.” “Why did he leave?” “Just lost his temper, sudden, and no need, either. He forgot to pay his rent two weeks running, and I reminded liijn. Now wouldn’t anybody? He never answered a word, but next morning there, on his pillow, was the money and a note.” “Have you tire note?” “No, I haven’t. But is said nobody ever accused him of wanting to get out of paying his rent before. Susie kept after me till I wrote him a letter to the Metropolitan Museum apologising, but it came back, marked unknown at this address.” “Where is Susie?” “She’ll be back any minute now. She goes to see her grandma Sunday mornings.” “I’ll see her later. Meanwhile, I’ll borrow this photograph,” said Alby. “Well, my land, I don’t know what Susie’ll say. Gracious, Mr Marlin ain’t wanted for something, is he?” “Did he seem the sort of man who would be wanted?’’ “But be was honest as daylight,” she added. “I never thought he meant to do me out of the rent. Why, like I wrote him in my letter, that come back, I’d no more accuse him of cheating than of murder.” She stopped short. “My land,” she narrowed her eyes aT Sheridan. “Your pitcher was in the paper this morning, about that murder of the girl that died laughing! And you ” “From the District Attorney’s Office,” Alby told her. “Just when ; was this' picture taken?” “Two weeks to the day before he left. I remember on Account of when she bought the new hat. But a mur- ,

der! And Mr Marlin being asked for! Just wait till I tell Susie.” Susie entered at that moment, young and slim, and smart despite the cheapness of her clothes. . “Susie! Mr Marlin’s been connected with a murder!” her mother exclaimed. “And these gentlemen ” “With a murder!” Susie’s thin eyebrows went up. “I don’t believe it.” “The one in this morning’s paper. The girl who died laughing.” “He never did it!” Susie cried passionately. “I don’t believe lie did it!” (To be Continued).