SOMETHING ORIGINAL

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVII, Issue 23767, 21 September 1940, Page 4 (Supplement)

SOMETHING ORIGINAL

Short Story

WHEN Charles came in that night, Helen v saw that he was suffering in his soul. Her arms encircled his neck instinctively to ease his hurt. Silently they walked into his study. He was so worn, so tired. It made hei heart ache. But in spite of their haunted look his eyes still smiled his love at her. "Glad you're home, mv dear," she said. . . "Glad to be with you, my wife, he answered. In these short sentences they felt the solid strength of their love. He slumped despairingly into a big chair. . . , , Charles Harvey was Assistant District Attorney of the county. Ho was young, handsome, daring; admired by his associates and respected by the force. In six months 110 had won a reputation for playing straight and for untangling the most confused clues. That was why, two days ago, he had been summoned to the impressive office of the District Attorney. His chief was nervously pacing the floor. After several throat clearings ho said, "Harvey, I want you to take over the Widow Burns case." He added with just a suggestion of a sneer, "I don't want to discourngo you, but this will bo a tough one." The crime, committed two weeks before, was the most brutal murder in the town's history. And the murderer had not been found. "When will this mysterv be solved?" the papers were demanding. "W T hat are the police doing? Are any of us safe?'.' One morning Helen had said, "Why don't they put you on the case? You would soon find him." Into her soft brown eyes had come a shining glow of worship.

No wonder, then, that as soon as ho ,had left tho District office, tho record of tho case in his hand, ho had gone to a telephone and called Helen. "I'm glad, dear," she had whispered. "I'm proud of you."

He had worked on the data all that 'day and late into the night; had studied each detail, checked every possible clue, read and re-read tho coroner's statement. A gnastly crime. The seventy-year-old woman's head had been beaten to a pulp with a hammer. The hammer had been found, yes. But there were 110 fingerprint? 011 it. Its wielder had planned well. Ho had entered tho house through an unlocked kitchen window on the night the housekeeper was awav, showing that he knew the habits of the household. The widow was reputed to be wealthy and, distrusting banks, to keep her money in tho house. Charles had gone to the house. Once neat and clean, it looked now as if mischievous monkeys had ransacked it. Closets were emptied, bureau drawers strewn about, the desk broken apart, a small cashbox smashed open. And that great dark stain on tho carpet —so sinister. . . Hours of investigation. Yet no clue except the hammer, and that an almost useless one. Late as it was when he unlocked his own front door, Helen was waiting up for him. Cheek against his, she had murmured, "Well, have you solved the mystery already?" He had kissed her gently and laughed, "Givo mo at least twenty-four hours, madame." But later he lay staring sleeplessly at the ceiling. Ho Telt hopeless, beaten before he started. Then, remembering tho faith in her brown eyes, ho had renewed his determination to succeed. And now, at tho end of another day, he had come home crushed, filled with black despair. After dinner Helen played the piano for him. Presently she stole over to sit at his feet, as she often did. It always helped him to talk of whatever burdened his mind. Tonight it was liis heart that cried for relief. "It was such a big hammer," he • began. "So heavy, it took a strong man —a fiend—to swing it so savagely. 1 knew I must find him. Unapprehended, ho would surely strike again. The community -must be made safe. Don't you see,*! had to find a way." His Voice begged for understanding, for sympathy, for love. "Last night I planned, I struggled, I schemed. Nothing but that hammer with its strango marking, that lialfmoon indentation —made, perhaps, as you suggested, by a blacksmith 011 his anvil. I'd check every smithy in tho county. And then I thought of an idea a way, perhaps. Something original, something tho others hadn't thought of." His voice trailed off, infinitely sorrowful. Helen caressed bis cold hand with her cheek. Puzzled, she questioned gently, "You found it—and yet you are not happy?" Ho did not seem to hear, though he resumed: "This morning I bought a big box of candy and a shiny nickle detective's badge. I went to tho Jay Street school.:

By SUZANNE SILVERCRUYS

At assembly I spoke to the children. I told them the police needed their help; that if any child could give information 110 would be a real hero to the town. I showed them the box of candy. I showed the badge. And then I lield up the hammer. I described the indentation. They strained to catch my every word. They were so intense . .' . their eager faces. . ." Helen waited silentlj', almost breathlessly. The voice struggled on as though in a confessional. "To use such a hammer, I said, great strength was needed. It could belong only to a powerful man. And then. . . then I asked if any of them knew to whom such a hammer could belong. Oh, God—a lovelj' blue-eyed boy put up his hand. Ho said with pride, 'lt's my daddy's.' "