“TO-MORROW'S CHILD”

Manawatu Times, Volume 64, Issue 123, 27 May 1939, Page 7

“TO-MORROW'S CHILD”

Synopsis of Preceding Instalments: Val Clarke, soon to marry Robert Greeley, a young lawyer, goes to New York from New Manchester to shop with Mrs. Warren, her Aunt Mahala’s housekeeper. Val’s cousin, Kate Hollister, fashion magazine editor, gives a party where Val meets Hugh Malcolm, playwright; Bret Gallishaw, New Manchester boy, who while on a New York newspaper, wrote a best seller; Leslie Crawford, Bret's halfbrother, and Winifred Sperry, who are starring in Hugh’s “End of Tears,” and Guy Williams, who inherited millions and has a small part in the play. Bret, engaged to Kate, married wealthy Evelyn Garfield. He hates Leslie after a losing a will contest and Leslie resents Hugh’s interest in Winifred. Guy takes Val to Pete Gaboriau’s luxurious place near Philadelphia. Louise (Lecze) Cameron, who is with Crandall Scott, greets Guy with kisses and later strikes Val who defends herself so well that Guy has to assist Leeze out. Pete’s gambling rooms are raided and Cran drives Val back. To please Kate, Val goes with Guy to Hugh’s play. During a storm scene Leslie drops dead, shot through the heart. Hurrying to the street, Val secs Hugh, who says he’s just come from the corner cigar store. Bret had left earlier to catch a train. Val’a aunt orders Leeze from her house for smoking when she appears there with Cran. Val goes with them and when she returns Mrs. Warren says her aunt does not want to see her again. A telegram from Kate asks Val to come at once and tell the police what she knows about the murder; it may save Hugh. “I am very sorry,” said the young man at the desk in the outer office said pleasantly, ‘ * but unless you have an appointment it would bo impossible for you to see the district attorney today. ’ ’ Kate Hollister nodded. “I know—l should have ’phoned for ah appointment, but there was no timo. Perhaps if he* knew it concerned Hugh Malcolm— ” The young man’s eyes widened perceptibly. “Why,” he said, “Mr. Malcolm is in with the district attorney at this moment. If you will have a seat . . . What was the name again, please?” “Miss Hollister.” The young man turned to the switchbox on his left: “A Miss Hollister, Mr. Kellogg. She says she wants to see you concerning Mr. Malcolm ...” For some minutes the grey-haired district attorney had been pacing the floor of his largo, office, occasionally glaneing at the two men who sat beside his desk. One was glum, tight-lipped, expressing nothing in his florid face; the other was smoking a cigarette, obviously perturbed, but with steady grey eyes following the restless movements of this man upon whom the newspapers had been heaping criticism for his failure to make an arrest in the Leslie Crawford murder. The j’rosocutor halted in his tracks and looked dpwn at Malcolm. “I w'onder if you can understand the devilishly difficult situation I’m in, Hugh?” ho asked, heavily. Hugh smiled, nodded, slowly. “I do understand, Walter. Both the police and your own investigator are satisfied that I killed Crawford. They have a motive in the fact that Leslie and I were not congenial, that we quarrelled on several occasions. They have a note threatening Leslie’s life—they say it was written on my typewriter. And they hold—and perhaps reasonably—that I have failed to establish an alibi because I used a door rarely used by anyone to leave tho theatre and that the cigar store clerk’s testimony proves nothing since I could have killed Leslie, gone to the store and returned in tho ten-minute interval in which the clerk can swear he saw me.”

He uncrossed his long legs and leaned over to smother his cigarette in the ash tray on tho desk. “And—” he resumed, looking up into tho man’s gravo countenance —“you arc being accused on all sides of being reluctant to charge mo with tho murder because of our personal friendship. ’ ’

District Attorney Kellogg’s white head nodded approval of this summary. After a moment’s silence he said, “I’ve let the matter drag along for weeks, Hugh—hoping that something would turn up to alter tho opinion of tho police. But—” shrugging—“nothing has developed.” “And yet,” said Hugh with a lift of his wide shoulders. “Idid not kill Leslie Crawford.” {Suddenly ho got to his foet and put a friendly hand on the older man’s shoulder. “We’ve been over this a good many times, Walter, but we always como back to the fact that you have a duty to perform and that you are only jeopardising your own career by delaying it. Naturally enough, I can’t relish tho idea of being charged with a crime I didn’t commit, but—well, I can’t ask you to delay any longer.”

For a time tho two men faced each other in silence. Then, as Hugh crossed to a window to stand there gazing down at the street, tho district attorney sat down. After a little he said: “Jeopardising my career is a matter of no great consequence, Hugh. But as district attorney I have no right to set my personal and unsupported opinion that you are innocent against the apparently supported conviction of the police that you are guilty. If I had the 'slightest evidence—” The jangle of a hidden bell brought a scowl on his forehead. With a show of irritation, he took up the ’phone. “Yes . . „?” .After a moment he turned in his chair and spoke to Hugh: “Do you know a Miss Hollister, Hugh?” Swinging around, Hugh said, “Kate Hollister? Don’t tell me you don’t know her?” Then as the significance of the question came to him, he came back to the desk: “Listen, Walter, Kate knows

By Julie Anne Moore

Instalment 12.

I absolutely nothing about this ease. She’s one of my oldest friends and she wants to help—but she can’t. Tell her you can’t see her. There’s no sense in dragging her into it.” But Hugh’s eagernes had given him away. The district attorney spoke into the mouthpiece: “Send Miss Hollister in, please.” Kate’s big frame filled the doorway. She came in. smiling, a hand held out to Hugh: “Well, Old-timer, anyone can see you’re a born killer.” Hugh presented the district attorney.

“Walter Kellogg, Kato.” And to Kellogg: “She suffers from a variety of illusions, Walter. If you’re wise you’ll refuse to hear anything she has to say. ’ ’ The detective did not rise from his chair and was not introduced. Kate took the chair the district attorney offered ai:-i Hugh sat on a corner of the desk. “I’d like to ask a question before I tell my little story, Mr. Kellogg,” Kate said. * * Has Hugh told you that a young cousin of mine saw him returning from the tobacco store immediately after Leslie was killed?” Hugh tried to speak, but Kellogg motioned for silence. “No, Miss Hollister,” Kellogg said. “I assumed he had been absolutely honest with mo and hold nothing back, but—” Gruffly, Hugh said, “This girl saw me in front of tho theatre, Walter. For all she knew, I had just come from backstage. Anything she can say will mean even less than the statement of the cigar store clerk.” “But shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Kellogg asked. He turned to Kate: “Could you ’phone this girl and have here come hero at once, Miss Hollister?” Once more Hugh interposed. “She doesut’ oven, live in New York, Walter. Wliy bring her here and expose her to a lot of disagreeable publicity? I tell you,— ” “At tho moment,” Kate said in a raised voice. i * she is asleep in my apartment. I wired her !hst night and she arrived at five this morning.” It was 3 o’clock when Kate and Val entered the district attorney’s office and found Hugh and Kellogg arguing politics. “Ye gods,” Kate said, grinning, * ‘ can’t a fellow see the district attorney without you hanging around, oldtimer?” “Not when it’s my nock you want to se him about,” Hugh replied. He advanced to meet Val, took her hand. “You shouldn’t have come here, Vhl,” he said, soberly. “You’re simply letting yourself in for a nasty experience —and to no purpose.” “I’m not afraid of nasty experiences, Hugh,” she told him, smiling. “I shouldn’t have gone away in the first place.” The district attorney cleared his throat. “If you ladies will have seats ...” They sat down, Val directly opposite Kellogg, Kate at her left, Hugh on the corner of the desk. A heavy silence settled, broken only when tho district attorney loaned forward and folded his arms on the desk. “Miss Clarke,” he said, “I understand you were among those in the theatre the night Leslie Crawford, the actor, was killed. Is that true?” Val nodded. “I was in a box—with a friend.” “Who was the friend?” “Guy Williams. He had a small part in the play.” “Yes, I know,” Kellogg said. “We’ve questioned the young man. As I recall, he said he was in the box when Crawford was killed.” Val said, “He had no way of knowing Mr Crawford had been killed; but he was with me in the box during the storm scene, which I suppose was when the shooting took place.” * 1 That is the reasonable assumption,” tho district attorney nodded. “Miss Clarke, will you tell me just what occurred during and immediately after what you call the ‘storm scene’?” “I’m afraid there isn’t a. great deal to tell. Guy and I watched the show from tho box until the lights came back on after the big crash of lightning and wo saw Mr. Crawford lying in the middle of the stage. Guy said something about that not being in the script; then, a moment later, when the curtain fell, he whispered that he was going backstage and find out what had happened and he went out ...” “Did you notico anything unusual about Crawford’s performance before that?” Val nodded. “We both did,” she said. “Guy had a pair of binoculars and they brought out every line in Mr. Crawford’s face. The scene required something, of course; but he seemed to be under a good deal more stress than necessary.” 11 That seems to be the general opinion. By the way, were you using the binoculars when your” —smiling— “ ‘big crash of lightning’ came?” Val said, practically, ‘‘ There wouldn’t have been any point, in using them then _ . . Mr. Crawford’s back was to the audience. ” “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. He was facing the window —that was the position ho was in when the bullet passed through the broken pane of the window and entered his heart. Well, Miss Clarke—after young Williams left you in the box alone, what did you do?” Val knew Hugh was watching her intently, but she kept her eyes fixed on the district attorney. She said, “Almost immediately I left the box and went out through the lobby to the street...” “Why did you leave the box, Miss Clarke?” Searching her eyes. Val shrugged. “I knew something had gone wrong and I haven’t the temperament to sit quietly when there’s excitement around, I suppose. Not alone, anyway. ’ ’

Now the district attorney put his palms down on the desk and spread his

fingers. It was an unconscious gesture, yet it was like a verbal announcement that he was about to ask a question the answer to which ho considered of first importance. “You left the box and went out through the lobby to the street, I believe you said, Miss Clarke . . . Then what happened?” Very calmly Val said, “For perhaps five seconds I stood there wondering what to do, where to go—then I saw Hugh—Mr. Malcolm ...” “That was about how long after Crawford was killed!” “I should say not more two minutes —probably less.” “I see. And when you saw Mr. Malcolm, he was—where?” Val’s direct gaze never wavered as she answered: “Mr. Malcolm was just leaving the cigar store on tho corner—coming toward the theatre.” (To be Continued.)