Interrupted Romance

Franklin Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 31, 20 March 1939, Page 2

Interrupted Romance

By JULIE ANNE MOORE

(Copyright)

INSTALMENT 2G. For the space of perhaps ten seconds Polly’s brain refused to accept the fact that Angus had been shot, although the sharp report still rang in her ears. Then she was suddenly moving toward the window? Angus’ left hand shot out and clutched her arm. “Do you want a bullet in your head? Stay away from •that window.” She did not look at him. She was staring at the small ragged hole in the window screen. He had stood there on the porch, -a shadow in' the night, and trisd to kill Angus. Angus said, “I’d better get to a doctor,’* pressing a hand to his right shoulder. “Must have shattered the bone —but that’s better than gelling it in the heart.” He turned towards the door and for the first time she found tier voice. “Why did he do it? Why should he want to kill you?”

Facing her again, Angus said through teeth clenched from pain, “Why? Perhaps he objected to my taking you in my arms. More likely, though, he had no intention of shoot-

ing me at all. He must be an atrocious shot —unless the bullet was deflected by the screen, which isn’t quite reasonable.” He paused and leaned forward. “Don’t you understand, Polly? The conversation you overheard last night removes all doubt of his guilt. With the information you could give them, the police would have a watertight case. That bullet, Polly was meant for you.” “For me?” Polly stared at him, incredulous. “But if he wanted to kill me, why didn’t he do it while he had me tied in the library?” “Either because he didn’t know of the telephone device under the rug, or he had forgotted it at the moment. You must have said something . . . Polly nodded, quickly. “Yes, I did. I told him I had heard every word he said. He pretended lie didn’t know what I meant.”

“There’s the answer, then. He didn’t know —but he got to thinking. Perhaps he went back to the library

to investigate and found the gadget under the rug. Once he did know what you meant, he had to get you out of the way in a hurry.” His face' screwed up and his eyes closed. He said abruptly, “I’ll get someone downstairs to drive me to the doctor’s and get back as quickly as I can. Slay with Evelyn and keep an eye on the windows there.” He went out nul Polly turned to take up her vigil again by the bed. But soon she realised that Evelyn was dead. Polly rose and moved towards the door. Perhaps she had accepted this as inevitable. - Or she was no longer capable of feeling anything? Certainly she felt nothing now. Nothing at all. Evelyn was dead —but so were Fordell and Marco. Violent death was commonplace in this house. Sheila must know, of course, Sheila and the police. She was going down to tell them. It was, she knew suddenly, the last service she would perform in tliis house. As quickly as the police would let her leave, she was going hack to Society stree,t —to Aunt Jo’s. Aside from Tod, there had never been any valid reason why she should slay here. Arid now Tod . But however clearly it was indicated that Tod was another victim of this maniacal slaughter, she could not bring herself to concede it ... . She opened the door, softly, closed it, and started toward the front stairs.

Halfway along the hall, she halted in her tracks. Behind her a door had opened. She spun around. A man was coming out of Julian’s room—a Big man whose battered grey cap was pinled down over dark glasses that pressed against his eyes. For a moment his face was turned toward her. Then, a hand sliding along the wall, feet dragging, he was moving in the opposite direction, groping his way towards the hack stairs. Impulsively she started aft.-r hirn, and a name sprang from oer lips: “Mel Dyson . . .!’’

’ The blind mute's name shrilled through the hall in a high piercing shriek that carried to every part of the house and beyond.

He was on the stairs Ihcn, no longer groping, l)iil running as fast as' his long legs would carry him. Polly heard a door flung open and, a moment later, a low guttural cry and Hie thudding sounds of a scuffle in the dark hallway below. On legs I hat trembled under her weight, she descended the stairs. All was quiet now, but she sensed a presence in that dark pit. A current of cool air came up and moved across her face. She knew what that meant: the outside door had been opened.

Tiie light switch was lo the left of the kitchen door and she was groping her way toward it when a low groan came up out of the blackness of her feet. Quickly Polly backed away—then she tightened her will, and reached the door. She scratched Hie wall with frantic lingers until she found the light button. in the flood of light that filled the little hall she saw Julian Cleaves sitting on the floor, head rocking between iiis hands. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Julian —I thought

Wetl, I’m not,” Julian said, irrit-

nldy. “Give me a hand, will you?” When she had helped him lo his feet, he said, “I couldn’t slay in the hns-

pital with hell breaking loose here. They won’t know I’m gone until morning.” Te stared down at the open door and seemed suddenly to remember something. He said, earnestly. “I tried to hold him, Polly. I had just come in the hack way when I heard you shouting upstairs—heard him coming down the steps . . . Was it really Mel Dyson?” But Polly’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Who stabbed you, Julian?” I-Ie shook his head. “I don’t know. 1 was under the shower when he slipped up behind me. He caught my neck in the crook of his arm and choked me. 1 didn’t know he had used a knife until I came to at the hospital. He didn’t do much damage at t:iat.” His eyes closed for a moment, then his voice dropped. “Is Mother all right?” Polly thought, “1 can’t stand here talking like this. The police must know about Mel Dyson before ho gets away.” But she could not ignore Julian’s last question and she told him the truth and left him there. •The street lights threw a dim glow over the hack yard. Several cars were parked there, but Polly saw no sign of life. Voices came to her, the rumbling voices of men. They came from the front of the house and she was hurrying towards them when she heard a motor start up. By the time she could retrace her steps, the small roadster was turning into the street and the yard was alive with men. The roadster was well on its way before the second car reached the street and went off with a loud roar. Another car followed, and another and only a small coupe remained when Polly ran across the yard. She was on the running hoard when it swung back in a half circle and turned toward the gate. Then the motordied. Polly leaned over, saw the lone figure under tiie wheel —heard Chief Carter’s mumbled oath as he kicked the starter. Without a word she jerlcee the door open and dropped into the seat beside him. Carter barely glanced at her ' determinedly renewed his attack on the starter pin. The motor purred for a moment coughed —and died again. Polly knew that the island police chief was tense with excitement, but she hazarded a question, “Who was it —in the first car? Did you see him?”

He had the motor going at .last and once in the streets he stamped on the accelerator. “We heard a shot outside,” he said, as if both in answer to her question and to clarify his own thoughts. “Sounded like it was down on the beach, below Garbrook’s place. We went out to look around and that’s where we were when somebody let out a screech. A woman in Fordell’s h< use. 1 was the first man hack in the yard and a car was just starting out. It don’t make sense, but 1 got a good look at the driver and if it wasn’t "Mel Dyson, I don’t know black from while.”

Polly said, “It’s foolish to say it was Mel Dyson. An eye specialist would know what he was talking about.”

He grunted —in agreement, she thought. But he said, “Anybody can make a mistake; doctors make plenty.” They were crossing the inlet bridge then and Carter’s eyes were glued on the tiny points of red light at the far end of the causeway leading to Mt. Pleasant. Polly stared down at the speedometer. She knew the acceleraior was on the floor, hut the needle hovered over forty-five. Abruptly siie asked, “Can’t this thing go any faster?”

lie didn't, answer that. He said, ‘ I didn’t have a chance to talk to you about Mrs Forded. Know anything about it?”

Polly looked up, but Carter’s eyes were set on die road ahead. “I know she was stabbed, some time during the night, in the living room.” She paused. “She’s dead, you know.” His lace half turned to her, turned away again. lie had expected that. ‘ Too bad,” he said. “When did you hear about it—the stabbing?”

“I happened to he a witness to it,” Polly said, “an ear witness.” She thought, “I’ll probably regret it the rest of my life, hut I’m going lo tell the truth, about everything.” And when she had told him, Carter said, dubiously:

‘•You wouldn’t make up a phony story just because you happened to lie sore on Brell would you?” Polly bit her lips remained silent. ML Pleasant was asleep. At the junction of the coastal highway and the road leading to the Cooper River hiidge and on to the city Carter drew uji at the side of the road and fixed an inquisitive eye on the tyre-tread marks under the street light. Obviously all Ihe cars had taken the bridge road. Five minutes later Polly gripped Carter’s arm and pointed ahead. A quarter of a mile away half a dozen little red lights lined the right: side o’’ the highway. • Accident,’” Polly said.

Carter nodded, “Looks like it

They were within a hundred yards of Hie parked cars when the sharp blast of the machine behind them slapped at tlreir ears. Carter’s hands tightened on the wheel and for a moment Polly thought he would hold to Hie middle of the highway. But after that moment’s hesitation he jerk11] the wheel to the right. The speeding vehicle shot by teetered for an in-

slant on the soft shoulder and swept past the parked cars ahead. Carter grunted. “Looked like Fordell’s station wagon, with a woman at the wheel.” “Yes,” Polly said in a small, tioubled voice. “Yes —it was Sheila Cleaves.” To be Continued).