The Laughing Girl Mystery

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 67, Issue 160, 19 April 1947, Page 7

The Laughing Girl Mystery

? Serial Story. |

| By VIOLA PARADISE. i

) (Copyright). | fWTV.VTV.V^.VTVkVTWW.^.VIV.VTV.VW.VfV*VTV.VI CHAPTER XXV. SHERIDAN’S “CONNECTIONS” “I don’t remember. Tbit I think it wasn’t hers. I think she was a visitor, too. I remember being disappointed because some cousins who should have been there'weren t, My mother said, ‘ It’s too bad Ihc* little boys who belong in this garden are away.’ ” “Then there was an old man. At least he seemed old to me. I think his last name was Sheridan. But 1 was told to call him Cousin Something—l can’t remember what.” “Your memory is rather erratic.” “Isn’t that natural, Mr Alby? Try to remember one of many tea-parties to which you were dragged at the age of nine. Even what I do remember may be inaccurate. Even Daisy I don’t remember quite right. '. remember liking her. And I remember the color of her eyes because they just matched the lavender where the sundial was. And her taffy-coloured hair. But her mouth—remember, Adelaide, I told you last night that her mouth wasn’t what I expected! Daisy, I believe, had crowded, uneven teeth. Of course, they could have been straightened.” Alby interrupted to say to Harrod: “When we’re through here, get a report from the medical inspector on her teeth.” Then, io Sheridan: “This morning you spoke of your great-aunt, Mrs Hartley. * Would she know _ the names of your English relatives?” “Possibly. Though she’s not connected with the English side of the family.” ' “Tell me that rigmarole about your family tree again.” Sheridan smiled. “My only direct English ancestor was a great-grand-mother named Phyllis Sheridan. She married a Frenchman, Auguste Dinard. Their son, my grandfather, came to America and married an American girl, of Dutch extraction. Their son, my father, married my mother, Isabel { Hartley. My Boston great-aunt is a Hartley. So she may not have been interested in our English relations.” “She might. We’ll telephone her.” “All. right,” said Sheridan. “I do telephone her now and again, so it won’t frighten her.” Sheridan was about to pick up the receiver, but Alby said to Harrod, “Get it on the extension. Mrs Anne Hartley, Hotel Brunswick, Boston.’’ Sheridan nodded. As Harrod waited for the connection, Adelaide murmured to Sheridan: “That explains everything, my dear—why you looked at her so—so lovingly.” Harrod, at the telephone extension, took down the conversation with Mrs Hartley. She began by deprecating Sherry’s extravagance, but when he told her the call was costing nothing she settled down for a long talk. “By the way, Aunt Anne,” Sherry said, “do you know the names of any of my English relatives?” “Of course! And, Sherry, you must send them wedding announcements. There was Ashbury Sheridan. He lived near Clovelly, but out in the country. If you address if just Clovelly it will reach him.” “Asbury—was that the cousin I was taken to visit as a child?” “Yes, and he had two sons, Percy and Harold. There were other Sheridans, too, but I believe your parents didn’t visit them.” “How about a little girl named Daisy?” ■ “Imagine your remembering her? Yes, her mother was a distant relation of your cousin Asbury’s wife. What did you say her last name was?” “I didn’t. That’s the thing I wanted to know.”

“Well, you’d better not tell your Adelaide that! Because your mother said you took a shine to Daisy. Let’s see . . - Satterly, that was it; Daisy Satterly. Her people lived in Birmingham. They were just visiting the Sheridans.” “Thanks,” said Sheridan. “'And now tell me, how’s .the sciatica?” “Much better, dear. But I don’t think I’ll have the strength to come down to the wedding. • I did think I might manage it ” “No, no, you musn’t. Adelaide and I will visit you as soon as we get back. How’s Aunt Constance?” “Always well. If only I had her iron constitution!” “Let me say a word to Aunt Constance, if she’s there.” “Here she it. Good-bye, dear. If I don’t speak to you again before the wedding, you know my good wishes.” “Of course I do, darling. . . Hello, Aunt Constance. How are you?” •“Fine, Sherry. How are you?” “Fine,” said Sherry. “Aunt Constance, I want you to do something for me. Don’t let Aunt Anne guess what we’re talking about and keep your end of the conversation gay, will you? There’s some bad news—a horrid mix-up. That Daisy Satterly I was asking her about—wait, a minute, let her hear you laugh . . Thanks . . . . You’re sure she can’t hear me? That Daisy Satterly is dead . . murdered. And there’s some connection between the museum and the murder. . . . Has the flower show been held in Boston yet? Tell Aunt Anne it was lovely here . . . Aunt Constance, my name is mixed up in the murder ” “But you didn’t ” “No, of course I didn’t.” _ “Aunt Anne is saying, ‘ Didn’t what ?’ ” “Didn’t ever see as lovely a flower show as that one we saw together in Boston last year . . . Aunt Constance, this murder is bound to be cleared up presently. But keep the New York papers out of her way. will you ? It would give her such a needless shock. . . . You’re a brick!” “Wait a minute,” said Aunt Constance, “Anne wants to talk to you again.” “Sherry,” said Aunt Anne, “be sure to look up those English relatives. 1 just remembered something your mother told me. About you and Daisy Satterly. About a year after your visit, old Asbury Sheridan’s solicitors sent some paper to your parents. Your mother just laughed about it. But you can never tell. I don’t recall the details, but your mother said —I remember her very words —‘ it eighteen million persons more or less should die,’ she said, ‘ including little Daisy and all her future offspring, why our Sherry will come into a whopping big English fortune.’ ” (To be Continued)