Dudley Witherspoon, Editor

Roger Waxroth, Carlotta Bean, Associate Editors Otto Freuh, Art Director

Velda Investigates.......................Velda Bellinghausen 5The Whole Truth...................................Ralph Wertloo 6Wanted!.................................................................... 7No Vacation for Murder!..............Velda Bellinghausen 8The Killer Wanted Pie.......................Bruce Blackstone 9No Noose is Good Noose...............Capt. Gerald Splin 10Just Around the Coroner....................George L. Ackle 12The Blonde and the Cleaver.............Rodney Phalanger 23One Head Too Many.......................... Smiley Granger 34

Cover Kodachrome by Sidney Carlton

Velda’s Detective Files is a periodical for the dissemination of technical information and crime-prevention news to police officers, county coroners, district attorneys and and jurists.

POSTMASTER: Please send notice on Form3578 and copies returned under Label Form3579 to 149 Madison Ave., New York 16, NewYork.

VELDA’S DETECTIVE FILES, Volume 2, No.3, December, 1954. Copyright 1954 by D.Witherspoon. Published monthly. Office ofpublication at Washington and South Av-enues, Dunellen, N.J. Executive, editorial andsubscription offices, 149 Madison Ave., NewYork 16, New York. Chicago advertising of-fice, 360 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago 1, Ill.Printed in the USA. Single copy price tencents. Subscription in the United States $1.00a year. Canadian subscription $1.20 a year,foreign subscription $2.20 a year. Entered assecond class matter January 15, 1953, at thePost Office at Dunellen, N.J., under the Actof March 3, 1879. The publisher accepts noresponsibility for the return of unsolicitedmaterial. All manuscripts should be accom-panied by stamped, self-addressed envelope.

December, 1954CONTENTSCONTENTSCONTENTSCONTENTSCONTENTS

IN MANHATTAN, Wilmer J. Fibula, 22, got a bit cu-rious as to what he future held in store for him. So heput a penny in a fortune-telling machine. Out poppeda card reading, “The law is not favorable to you---youcan expect some trouble.” Next day, young Mr. Fibulawas picked up by FBI agents and accused of illegallywearing an Army uniform that bore plenty of decora-tions! He probably won’t have to do any more worry-ing about his future for quite some time.

“YOUR MAG is a big dime’s worth,” writes H. Q.Whottleby of Oatmeal, Neb., “and I read it fromcover to cover every month. When I am throughwith it I pass it along to the hands on the farmhere. They can’t read it but they sure do like thepictures!” As to the type of cases he likes best, Mr.Whottleby puts in first place yarns about insur-ance fraud investigations. Tales of New York’s fin-est are his No. 2 choice with tales of the Pinkertonsranking third.

VELDA’S SHORT SHORTS: Who said the big applewas wicked? Major crimes in New York City declined13 percent in 1953 from the 1952 figure . . . Unusualthief down in Georgia. He stole 500 queen bees . . . InBrooklyn police collared a youth who told his draftboard, “I’ll get all of you! I’ll get a machine gun andmow you all down!” All they need to do is drop thisboy on the Commies and they’ll think twice aboutfooling around with America! . . . What to do with

!

Velda Investigates

wife beaters? Flog them in public! said Judge HortenseR. Crabbe, in an interview granted as she started her 35thyear on the bench in Chillicothe, O . . .

IT WAS “GOODNIGHT NELLIE” for RandolphQuill when he invaded the home of millionaire indus-trialist Norman J. Normandy. His search for a fewbucks in loose change and maybe a stray jewel or twowent “gang aglay” as the immortal R. Burns put itwhen Mrs. Normandy, famed woman shot put cham-pion, hurled her prize pomeranian, Chuckles, into theface of the sneak thief. Who was more surprised, doyou think? Quill or Chuckles? Well, you can be surethat Quill is not getting many more chuckles doingtwenty years of hard labor in Sing Sing.

I WAS RECENTLY INVOLVED in a very mysteriouscase of kidnapping and murder. Called in by Lt. Holmesof the NYPD---who often turns to me whenever thingsget a little too dark and murky for him---I quickly foundmyself embroiled in a dangerous intrigue of double-deal-ing, embezzlement, betrayal, assault and slander, involv-ing many of the most familiar names in the social regis-ter of New York. Needless to say, I found a way out of thewhole mess, though not without considerable risk to myown life and shapely limbs, and send away one of themost despicable gangs to ever terrorize the streets of theBig Apple. Unfortunately, due to the sensitive nature ofthe case and the danger of scandal, I am unable to revealany of the details.

• Warden Lewis E. Lawes, perhaps thiscountry’s best known prison official, firstset foot in a pen as a guard 40 years ago.Rookie Lawes was assigned to the nightshift, a 14-hour hitch, seven days a week.His weekly paycheck came to exactly$12.50. Today he makes a much morerespectable $22.35.

• When a Japanese girl gets into trouble thatmay reflect dishonor on her family she isrespectfully requested by her older brother

to commit suicide.According toNipponese customand tradition thepoor girl has nochoice but tocomply.

• Chicago PoliceChief Charles Fitzmorris gave his mensomething to talk about as they poundedtheir local beats back in the year 1901. Thehead of the Windy City force took a triparound the world to clip seven days fromthe existing globe-trotting record. ChiefFitzmorris set a new time of 60 days, 13hours and 29 minutes.

• One of the best attended necktie parties everpresided over by a U. S. marshal took placeon Bedloe’s Island—where the Statue ofLiberty now stands—on Friday, July 13, 1860.Excursion boats brought over some 2,000ladies and llentlemen to witness the event.Albert W. Hicks, the guest of honor, wasstrung up in a silk pirate costume donated byP. T. Barnum. The astute showman later putthe clothes on exhibition and chargedadmission to see them.

• Favorite Biblical text of fingerprint ex-perts everywhere is from the seventh verse,thirty-seventh chapter of the Book ofJob— He sealeth up the hand of every man;that all men may know his work.

• Imperial whims: The criminal code underEdward I, kind of England, forbade theburning of cats in London under penalty ofdeath. Smoke got in his eyes. . . And it was a

close shave for 50 million Frenchmenwhen Francois I, king of France, issuedan edict dealing out capital punishment toany wretch in the realm sporting more thanfour moustaches.

• The moisture which producesfingerprints is exuded from a couple ofhundred sweat glands on each fingertip.The tell-tale perspiration is an acid madeup of salt, potassium, iron, sulphuricacid, phosphoric acid, lactic acid,mayonnaise and urea.

• Crime did pay under the old Quaker lawin Pennsylvania but it didn’t pay the crook;it paid the victim. A convicted arsonist wasrequired to give double indemnity to theperson whose property he had destroyed.In cases of breaking and entering. burglarsgot the choice of making four-foldrestitution or having an extra two hundredyears tacked on their sentence.

• The law under the reign of Richard theLion-Hearted: “Whosoever slays a manon land shall be bound to the dead manand buried in the earth. Whosoever slaysa man on shipboard shall be bound tothe dead man and mocked.”

• Fantastic as it may sound, certain leadingpsychologists are of the opinion that thereason a slayer sometimes returns to thescene of. his crime is that he wants to getcaught! The behavior specialists explainthat slayers may become haunted by thesame kind of guilty feeling that leads a childto confess having stolen a penny from apiggy bank even though he knows he willbe punished. In the same way, say the ex-perts. certain types of slayers drift back towhere “X marks the spot” and hang arounduntil they are picked up as suspiciouscharacters, after which they confess.

• They certainly went in for local colorin the Massachusetts state prison atCharlestown just a century ago. Freshfish were dressed in red and blue,repeaters sported red, yellow and bluejumpers, while third-termers blossomed

out into red,yellow, blueand black. Totop off theseweird sartorialcombinations,cons who step-ped out of linehad to wear a

yellow cap with a pair of duck wingsattached.

• Detectives investigating petty neighbor-hood thefts know that when a boy steals hefrequently makes a present of part of hisloot to a pal of his, but in the case of girlsturning thief, they are rather more likelythan not to send part of the haul to FrankSinatra.

• “What am I offered for the foot of Joa-quin Murietta, the California RobinHood, and two fingers of “Three-fingered Jack”, his henchman? Thesecourt exhibits pickled in alcohol andpreserved for identification purposes arenow up for auction at this sheriff’s sale.

Murietta andT h r e e -fingered Jackwere capturedby CaptainHarry Loveand hisrangers. . . . DoI hear $36?Thank you, sir.

Going, going, gone!” The strange salewas transacted at San Diego, Cal., inAugust, 1857.

• Cons sentenced to hard labor in New YorkState were formerly put to work asconstruction gangs on cellblocks and outerwalls. Inmates quarried the stone, dressedit and then hauled it to the site of con-struction where buddies took over theactual building. The state, however, tookover the supervision so the boys wouldn’taccidentally leave any wide open spaces inwhat were supposed to be maximumsecurity bastilles.

THE WHOLE TRUTHBy Ralph Wertloo

WANTED!

PERCY ALLANWANKLER---A dan-gerous bank robber andcat abuser. He escapedfrom Leavenworth in1951 while serving a10-to-50-year term formalicious loitering. Heis also under federalsentence for illicit

mouse fighting. Wankler is 42, 5 feet 10 inchesbarefoot, 5 feet 3 inches in shoes. He has darkbrown hair and blue eyes. He has a small cutscar on the left corner of his mouth, a V-shapedscar on his forehead and an appendectomyscar. He is considered dangerous.

MEYER ELIASBEIDERMEYER---various aliases. In-dicted in New York forbank robbery, autotheft and unlicensedwindow glazing. He is33, 4 feet 5 inches,weighs 82 pounds, hasone black hair, the re-

mainder brown, brown eyes. Has public schooleducation and has worked as a pinboy, sodajerk and aquarium manager. Has scar on rightcheekbone, mole on left earlobe and tattoo onright knee reading “I may be crooked but Ilook straight to Mom.” Is proficient in use offirearms of all kinds.

ERNEST CUM-MERBUND---aliasHonest Ernie,Friendly Ernie, Erniethe Pal. Wanted forparole violation inArkansas and draftevasion. He is 38, 5feet 11 inches, weighs225 pounds, has thin-

ning brown hair and green eyes, which are alsothinning. Has grade school education andworks as chauffeur, cotten candy vendor andturtle masseur. Has large scar on back of neckspelling “Portage Elementary School, 1932”.Tip of right forefinger is amputated. Two frontteeth are gold, the remainder missing.

By Velda Bellinghausen

NEEDED A VACATION.It’s not that I was overworked. I was hardly working

at all. Which was exactly the point. I was getting tired ofhanging around the apartment, the front steps of theZenobia or even Joe’s place, for that matter, no offensemeant to Joe. My leisure was just a never-ending reminderof the progress I was making as a private detective, whichis to say hardly any progress at all. A change of scenery,I figured, might go a long way toward axing my mood,which might in turn inspire bright ideas about how tomake some money. Just one good idea would do.

Of course, no work meant no money for vacations soI there I was, stuck in an irony.It was a depressingly hot day in late August and I didn’tknow which was most oppressive, sweltering in myapartment, which at least had the advantage of being dark,or sweltering outdoors, which didn’t seem to have anyadvantage at all. At least I could be naked inside, which

was justwhat I wasw h i l esipping acold martiniin my shadyliving roomwith all thewindows open.My apartment islaid out like arailroad car withall four rooms ina line. If I openthe windows inthe living roomand bedroom, I canencourage a littleair to move through.I was draped over my big arm chair like a melted candle,staring at the glaring white rectangle which was thefront window but looked like an open glass-maker’s

No VACATION for MURDER!There’s no time off for Velda when a holiday by thesea turns into a desperate fight for life!

I was excited aboutwinning the beautycontest . . . but at thetime I had no idea that itwould put me on thetrail of a cold-bloodedmurderer!

Another thrilling TRUE TALE OF DETECTION from VELDA’S PRIVATE CASE FILES

Harriet’s friends were worriedabout the pretty young art student. . . and with good reason as itturned out.

I

furnace. The radio was on which is how I happened tohear the announcement about the Miss Methylated Oil

Seed competition being held over in FarragutPark. It sounded like a good excuse to run aroundin my bathing suit while maybe winning a prizeat the same time. Even the runners-up’d get tenbucks, which would buy me groceries for theweek. So I pulled on my new red Jantzen, ablouse and jeans and hied myself over to thepark.

Well, the upshot of the whole thing is thatI did a lot better than runner-up. I got firstplace. I was Miss Methylated Oil seed ofl952! Oh, there was some squawking aboutmy having once been a professional andall, but adjudges would have none of that.A generous distribution of fineMethylated Oil Seed products quieted theother girls as I graciously accepted myhonors, which included not only ahundred dollars cash—hot dog!—but an

What was the terrible secretheld by the giant elephant? OnlyVelda knew that it was a clue toa ghastly crime!

The killer showedno remorse for his

brutal deed.

Who was the mysterious “doctor”and what role did he play in thefate of poor Harriet?

all-expenses-paid weekend inMargate, New Jersey.

A free weekend at the beach!So I had my picture taken for the

newspapers and the company houseorgan (“The Monthly Methylator’‘)and told everyone how much bettermy life was because of mentholatedoil seed and got back home as fast asI could and started packing. Not thatI needed much. I mean, it was nearlya hundred degrees and I was going tospend two days at the beach so whatdid I need besides my swimsuit andshorts? Well, all right, I did take alonga nice little yellow sun dress I’dpicked up a few weeks earlier at aGimbel’s basement sale, a red playsuitand a really nifty skirt and peasantblouse because, after all, one neverknew who one might meet.

I was on my way to Grand Centralwithin the hour and soon after that Iwas on the Atlantic City Special.

The Methylated Oil SeedCompany had booked a room for meat the Ocean Breeze Grand HideawayHotel. It wasn’t the biggest place onthe beach, I guess, be it seemedpleasant and clean. The managergreeted me personally and told methere’d be no need for such a specialguest to register. Even though I onlyhad the one little bag, he snapped hisfingers for a bellboy, who appearedmy suddenly as though he had risenthrough a trap door.

“Charles, please escort Miss

Bellinghausen to room 312—ourbest room with an excellent view ofthe ocean,” he added in an aside formy benefit. The manager remindedme a lot of Franklin Pangborn, butthat was okay because I’d alwaysthought he was really funny.

“Miss Bellinghausen, Charles,is Miss Methylated Oil Seed of1952.”

“Well, ain’t that just sumthin’,’‘said Charles, showing just howimpressed he was. He picked up mybag and I followed him to theelevator.

“Say,” he said, once he’d slid thedoor shut, “what the hell’s amethylated oil seed?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”“That’s just what I figgered.’‘The elevator let us out at the

third floor and as the bellhopfumbled with the keys to my roomhe said, “Say, ain’t you the samedame I onct saw at Slotsky’s?”

“Maybe.”“Yeah, I thought so. I never

forget a, ah, face. If you get what Imean.”

I slid past him into the room. Itwas nice. Not very big or fancy, butsunny and, as the managerpromised, had a nice view of theocean even though the beach was acouple of blocks away. There wasalso a pretty bouquet on the dresserdraped with a ribbon reading“Welcome Miss Methylated Oil

Seed of 1952” , which was verythoughtful.

“Say, you need anything, anythingat all, you get what I mean? You justask for Charlie, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks, Charlie.’‘ Helooked awfully expectant so I handedhim a quarter. I don’t think this is whathe’d had in mind but the hell withhim.

The Ocean Breeze was no greatshakes, I suppose, but it was the besthotel l’d ever stayed at . . . in fact itwas the only hotel I’d ever stayed at.It was only a short walk from thebeach and had a nice little restaurant,so it was all okay so far as I wasconcerned. I had three nights and twofull days—meals included!—and ahundred bucks to spend. It wasalready getting kind of late, though,so l thought I’d just wander out andlook around the neighborhood beforedinner. I changed into my sun dressand went down to the lobby. It wasstill light when I got to the streetthough the sky in the east was alreadypurpling with dusk. I headed towardthe beach which was only a couple ofblocks over and when I got there I sawthe most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.It was an elephant. And not just yourcommon or garden variety elephantbut an elephant the size of an officebuilding.

As I got closer, I saw that it was abuilding. There were windows in itssides and even its enormous, staring

eyes were just a pair of big portholes.On its back was a kind of Indianpagoda thing, a hookah or howdy orwhatever they call them. Even in thedeepening twilight, I could see thatthe big animal was shabby andobviously long in disrepair. Achainlink fence surrounded it, doing,so far as l could tell, a piss poor jobof keeping vandals away. But thesetting sun painted with it withgolden light and I got a glimmering

of what a magnificent thing it mustonce have been.

“Somethin’, ain’t it lady?”I turned and didn’t see anyone. I

looked down and saw only a skinnylittle runt of a bum who I figuredwould be touching me for a handoutat any moment.

“What the hell is it?”“That’s what some a the folk

around here call Lucy the Elephant.Some millionaire built her fifty-sixtyyears ago, I guess, figgering somepeople’d come from all over to stayin his elephant hotel. I guess hefiggered wrong.”

“It was supposed to be a hotel,huh?” I looked back up at the thing.A single, shimmering gold eyewinked at me as the sun disappearedbehind the city. I wrinkled my nose,which I’ve been told looks very cute.“Say, something stinks.’‘

“Yeah, I guess she does. Probillya ton of bird crap inside ‘er. And thecops are always chasing bums outtathe thing. God knows what kindagarbage been piled up in there. City’sbeen swearing they’re gonna tear thething down. Gonna do it someday,too.”

“Be kind of a shame I guess.”“Yeah. Say, lady, you wouldn’t be

able t’ . . .”“Sure,” I said, handing him a

dollar. It wasn’t my money.By the time I got back to the hotel

I was pretty hungry so I went acrossthe lobby to the restaurant. About halfthe tables were taken, pretty muchevenly divided between elderlycouples who stared at me withundisguised disapproval and kidsonly half a dozen years younger thanme, probably taking a weekend awayfrom college, I guessed. The boysopenly gawked with a slack-jawedawe that obviously irked thegirlfriends, but I’ve long since beenused to that so I ignored them.

The waiter brought me a menu. lreally wanted a cheeseburger, but I feltfunny ordering one in a place like this,so I chose a meatloaf platter thatsounded pretty good. It was two bucksbut what the hell—it was onMethylated Oil Seed!

Four or five girls were crowdedaround the table next to mine and assoon as the waiter left with my order,one of them leaned over and said,“Say, pardon me for being so nosy, butain’t you the lady what won thatcontest?” I told her I guessed I was andshe said, “Say, that’s really swell!’‘ andintroduced herself. She was Betty LouAltschuler, she said, and her friendswere, from left to right, Dorothy MaeTwizler, April Skandoka, Hazel Moonand Beverly Ann Spillkin. They wereall of them art students from New Yorkwho were spending their summerbreak in Margate City, working nightsand weekends and drawing andpainting all day. They’d fixed up aregular little art colony at the OceanBreeze, she said, and over the courseof the summer a number of otherstudents had joined them. “Everyonebut the old geezers,” she said.“Times’ve been kinda tough on the oldplace—too far away from any of thereal action nowadays—so the hotellets some of us work here in trade fora couple a rooms. I run the night shifton the switchboard and Bev over therewaitresses four days a week. April andDot work at a hash joint down by thebeach so they pitch in for their share.It’s a real good deal.”

I told her I supposed it was. I spentthe rest of the time before my foodcame answering a flood of questionsabout myself. They were fascinated tolearn that I’‘d only entered the conteston a whim and that my real professionwas private investigator. They wereeven more fascinated when it finallycame out that I’d once worked inburlesque.

“Jesus,’‘ said Betty, “don’t let anya them Joe Colleges over there hearthat!”

I told that I wasn’t about to.Then my meat loaf came and I ate

it and went upstairs and went to bed.It’d been an exciting day.

The next morning at breakfast,one of the girls I’d met the nightbefore came over to my table. It wasBetty Lou, the one who’d done all thetalking.

“Excuse me ma’am,” she said,“but you did say you’re a detective?”

“Well, that’s what my license saysat any rate. Why?”

“Well, I—me and my friends,we’re awful worried about Harriet.”

“Harriet?”“She’s been staying with me and

the other girls. She’s an art student,too.”

“So what’s worrying you?”“Well, Bill Whiffler, he’s

Harriet’s boy friend, he’s been callingfor her almost every day but no one’sseen her.”

“So?”“She’s been gone from her room

since Wednesday and she hasn’tshown up at work either. I don’t getit. Bill says they had a date last nightand it’s not like her to stand him up.That’s when I started to really getworried.”

“You say this wasn’t the sort ofthing she’d do. How well do youknow this Harriet?”

“Well, I can’t say I really knowher all that well. She’s been livinghere for more’n a month, but none ofus’s seen much of her. She usuallyonly shows up to pay her rent.”

“She keep her clothes here? Andyou might as well sit down. I’mgetting a pain in my neck talking likethis.”

“Thanks. Just a few things. To behonest, I always had the impressionshe had another place to live besides

here.”“I don’t imagine there’s really

anything to worry about. Tell youwhat, let me finish my breakfast andI’ll come up and take a look. Maybethere’s something in her room that’lltell us where she is.”

Betty Lou gushed her thanks likea seltzer bottle and left me to finishthe chilly dregs of my scrambled eggsand ham.

The hotel had been generous withthe girls, providing them with anentire three-room suite. Four of themshared two of the rooms whileHarriet—being a cash rent payer—had one to herself. There was acommon living room and a littlekitchenette. The place was small andwould’ve been cramped under thebest of circumstances, but Harriet’sroom was clean and tidy. I leaned onthe window sill and saw that itoverlooked a little garden bright withbowers. Why in the world was Harrietnot making use of a nice place likethis? Was it just a blind to misleadsomeone, her parents probably? Shehad to be living somewhere. Therewas a small closet and a second-handdresser, but neither containedanything like a complete wardrobe.

She must have her things stashedsomeplace else, I figured, and thatwas probably where she was.

I was alone in the room, so Ipoked around some more and thistime I found Harriet’sbankbook. She’d been depositingsmall amounts every week steadilysince the end of June. After that,however, the account showed onlywithdrawals, until the balance hadbeen reduced to nearly nothing. Thegirls told me that Harriet had metWhiffler at the end of last month,which seemed significant to me—butof what I wasn’t sure.

I went back to the living roomwhere Betty and Dot—the only two

with the morning off—werefidgeting.

“What do you know about thisboyfriend of Harriet’s?”

“Not too much,” Betty answeredfirst, as usual. “Just that his name’sBill and she told us once that if weever needed to reach her we could getin touch through him.”

“But he’s not seen her,” I said. Orat least that’s what he’d beenclaiming. Those missing clothes hadto be somewhere and I figured therewas probably no better place than theboyfriend’s. So I got the address anddirections to Bill’s apartment from thegirls and headed on over there.

It was only four or live blocks andit was a nice morning for a walkanyway. Bill’s place was a two-and-a-half-room flat on the top floor ofan old house that’d been broken upinto separate apartments. I knockedand the door swung open almostimmediately. Behind it was a tall,lanky, good-looking kid maybe onlythree or four years younger than me,which is to say maybe about twenty-|ve or six, thereabouts. I thought helooks a little like Montgomery Clift—kind of manly and poetic at the sametime. He gawked at me like I wascovered in twenty-dollar bills andnothing else. I showed him my license(which is really only good in NewYork but I didn’t see any immediateneed to explain that) and told him thatsome of Harriet’s friends wereworried about her. He looked a littledisappointed but invited me inanyway.

He had a pretty comfortablelayout. Typical I guessed, of abatchelor with kind of studious tastes.One entire wall of the living room wascovered with books, mostly poetryand philosophy, I noticed. There wereeven books and magazines in French,Spanish and German, so I figured hewas something of a linguist, too.

“I’m very fond of poetry,” besaid. “I dabble in it some myself.”

“You read all these things?’‘ Iasked, picking up one of the foreignmagazines.

“Sure. Knowing severallanguages helps me a lot in my job.I’m a clerk at a place that does a lotof business with South American andEuropean big shots.”

“What sort of business is that?”“It’s a harness company.”“Pardon?“Sure. We make pretty swank

stuff for the horsey set. Lots of moneyit.”

“I took his word for that and said,“Nice place you got here.”

“Thanks. Harriet helped me withthe paint. I wasn’t so sure about thoselight blue walls, but she was right.Makes the place look brighter andbigger. She’s good about things likethat. Say, can I make you a drink orsomething? It’s kind of early, I know,but with this heat . . .”

“No, thanks.’‘ Jesus, was the guycoming on to me? I mean, maybe Iwas only being a little conceited butI don’t think I was misunderstandingthe leer. Harriet sure wouldn’t be veryflattered to see it. “You haven’t seenHarriet for—what’s it been? Threedays? Four now? When did you lastsee her?”

“Harriet? Tuesday night. We haddinner together here.”

“Did you take her home?”“No.”“Why not? Wouldn’t she have

expected you to escort her back tothe hotel?”

“Because that’s when shedisappeared.”

“Pardon me? Are you trying totell me she just dropped out of sightwhile you were with her?”

He ran his fingers nervouslythorough his thick black Vitalisedhair. “I know it sounds incredible, but

that’s just what happened. Maybeyou’d better have a seat while Iexplain.”

“I’m all ears.”He looked as though he were

about to dispute that but thought betterof it and instead said, “Harriet and Ihad dinner together here, like I said. Ilike to fool around with cooking, it’skind of a hobby with me, you know.So, anyway, after dinner, Dr. Kroop,Oswald Kroop, a friend of mine—dropped by. The three of us sat aroundand talked for an hour or so. He leftaround ten thirty. Harriet’d had toomuch food and wine, I guess, and fellasleep on the sofa. When I woke up,it was after four and Harriet was gone.Her purse and hat weren’t here, so Ifigured she’d just left quietly, so shewouldn’t wake me.”

“Did she keep any of her clotheshere?”

“Good heavens, no! Are yousuggesting she might have lived here?She wasn’t that sort of girl, I assureyou.”

I just bet she wasn’t, but all I saidwas, “You wouldn’t have a picture ofHarriet would you?”

Sure thing,” he said, andrummaged around in his bookcase. Hepulled out a four-by-five inch printand handed it to me. I took it over tothe window and looked at it. She wasa very pretty girl, in a kind ofmidwestern corn-fed way. A real DorisDay type if you know what I mean.She was twenty years old. Bill told me,about five-five and maybe a hundredand ten pounds. Harriet, he went onto say, was more ambitious than herroommates. She had a real talent forart, not a major talent, maybe, but alot of potential for good commercialwork. She was originally from Iowa(ha!) but very early on had decidedthat her future lay in New York. Aftergraduating from high school sheremained home just long enough to

finish a correspondence course in artshe’d been taking. Then she packedher bags and got on the first busheaded east. She enrolled at theSmulman School of Design andFashion and found a room at an artsclub on Central Park West. Theschool, impressed by her talent, soonfound her a job at the DwortexCompany. Like the other eight girlswho worked there, her job was tocreate designs to be printed on silkfor scarves and dresses. She earnedabout seventy dollars a week, whichwas a hell of a lot more did I wasmaking. Dwortex closes its designdepartment for three months everysummer, which is why Harriet was inMargate City.

“Look here, Bill.” I said. “Harrietjust didn’t fade into thin air. If shedisappeared voluntarily, she must’vehad a reason. Did you and she havewords?”

“No,” he said, shaking his headvehemently. “No, nothing like that.There wasn’t any fight or anythinglike that at all. We never fought aboutanything.”

R. OSWALD KROOP lived about amile further south. He was a tall,

thin man with the kind of jovial, red-cheeked face I would have expectedon someone shorter and fatter. Hedescribed himself as a free-lanceprofessor of philosophy, informationwhich I didn’t quite know what tomake of. He’d once been on theteaching staff of City College, he said,but had been fired in 1932 afterattracting too much publicity whenhe’d gone on a hunger strike toadvertise his assertion that Americanisolationism was giving rise to bothfascism and communism in Germanyand Poland. I had no idea what he wastalking about. Since then he’d beenearning a precarious living on thelecture platform.

D

He offered me a gin and tonic andthis time, since he seemed obliviousof my looks, let alone my sex, Iaccepted the drink. He also confirmedBill’s story about Tuesday night.

“I dropped in unexpectedly toleave a book for Bill that he’d beenasking about. Spryly on theLithuanian Existentialists and TheirInfluence On the Socialization of theLinoleum Industry. A seminal work.You must read it some time. I waspleased to see Harriet there and wevisited for about three-quarters of anhour. I left around ten thirty, Ibelieve.”

“Did you notice anything at allunusual about Harriet?”

“Well, the atmosphere seemed alittle strained and I could see it wascosting her some effort to be gracious.I can’t quite put my finger on it, and Iknow this sounds strange, but itseemed as though she were frightenedof something. To tell you the truth, Ifelt very worriedabout her as I left. But for the life ofme I couldn’t say why.”

I thanked the professor and wasjust getting ready to leave when hestopped me.

“I just remembered something . .. It’s probably nothing, but—well, justafter Harriet first arrived in MargateCity, back around the beginning ofJune, I met her on the street and sawthat she was very upset. When I askedher what was wrong, she told me aburglar had broken into Bill’sapartment. A1l the furniture andclothing had been slashed to ribbons.”

“That would certainly be prettyscary.”

“Well, I think she was mostlyupset because so many of the clotheswere hers. She didn’t have muchmoney, you know, and couldn’t affordto get new things to replace them.’‘

Well, well! Why did Bill tell meshe didn’t keep any clothes at his

place? Vandalism like that soundedlike a jealous woman—and Billlooked like just the sort of guy whomight have a jealous woman or twoon his hands. If Harriet’s somewherealive and well, there would’ve be nodanger in admitting he had herclothing at his place. But why wouldhe deny it, or worse, get rid of thethings? Unless, of course, he hadsome reason for thinking she wasn’tcoming back.

I was becoming worried aboutHarriet.

I went back to Whiffler’s place,but he wasn’t there. The tenant wholived downstairs was, though, whichwas even better. He immediatelyrecognized my description of the girl.

“Sure,” he said, “she was here allthe time, practically living withWhiffler, she was. Saw her just aboutevery morning when I was leavingfor work.”

“You say she was here practicallyevery day?”

“Didn’t say so, but that’s aboutit.”

“When was the last time you sawher?”

“Dunno. Maybe three-four daysago, I guess. Tuesday night Isuppose.”

“Did you see her Wednesdaymorning?”

“No, now that you mention it.”Even though it was Saturday, I

thought it wouldn’t hurt to see ifthere was anyone to talk to at UnitedHarness, which Whiffler’s neighbortold me was only a few miles away.It meant a cab ride, but I still hadmost of my hundred bucks so whatthe hell.

There were people working, Iwas glad to see. I had been afraid theplace would be closed on a weekend.I went to the office first. There wasno one there but a Mr. Rubblya, theassistant manager, who was just who

I wanted to see. He seemed glad to seeme, too, no kidding, so I had no troubleat all getting him to talk about Bill.His opinion of the young man couldn’thave been higher. In the year he’d beenworking for the company, he’d gottenthree raises and was being groomedfor the position of district salesman.He got on very well with the wealthyclientele, who were impressed byBill’s manners and education and theease with which he spoke severallanguages. Hard-working, ambitious,tactful and capable was how Rubblyasummed him up.

Nobody could be that good.I asked if I could talk to some of

Bill’s co-workers and Rubblya said,sure, go ahead, the place was about toclose for the afternoon anyway.

I got an entirely different opinionof Whiffler from his fellow

employees. They described him as a self-described lady’s man, always on the make,though smart enough to stay away fromthe customers. He was always braggingabout his conquests and had been boastingabout his relationship with Harriet, whomhe said had been living with him.

And that she was pregnant.Well, well, indeed.

COULD SEE JUST TWO possibilities, sinceI had been growing more and more

convinced that the girl was no longer withus. It was just a baseless gut feeling, but itwas there nevertheless. Whiffler had eitherkilled her because she was going to havea baby, or she’d died as the result of abotched abortion. It was an old story.

But that still left me with the originalquestion: where was Harriet?

I thought about calling in the policebut hesitated. What was I going to tellthem? The girl’d only been missing a fewdays and, besides, it wasn’t exactly asthough the facts painted her in the bestlight. A New York art student living openlywith a man she wasn’t married to—obviously a girl whose comings andgoings were suspect in the first place. Itcertainly wouldn’t cut any ice with thecops if I told them I suspected BillWhiffler of murdering his girlfriend. Whatevidence did I have? Besides, where wasthe body, assuming there even was one?

I didn’t know what to do.It was time for dinner. I went back to

the hotel so I could eat in the restaurant.Not that the food was all that hot, but itdidn’t have to come out of my hundreddollars. But if I had any hope of eating inpeace, it must’ve been wishful thinking.

“Say, I heard you’re interested in BillWhiffler.”

“Yeah?’‘ l said, looking up at thespeaker, who proved to be a husky-lookingguy in his early thirties.

“Yeah,” he agreed, apparently takingmy ambiguity as an invitation to sit, whichhe did. He held out a big greasy paw forme to shake.

I

“My name’s George. GeorgePipple. The girls told me you beeninterested in what Bill’s been doing,so I thought I’d come around and tellyou that Bill called me the other dayand asked if I’d hold a couple asuitcases for him. Don’t know why,since he had plenty a room in thebasement of his places but I owed ‘ima couple a favors so I figured what thehell, you know’?’‘

“A couple of suitcases, huh?”“Yeah. A couple a suitcases. Well,

when I heard about you looking aroundfor Harriet, l remembered these thingslooked more like something a girlwould own. So l went downstairs andopened ‘em up.”

“You did, huh?”“Yup. And you know what I

found?”“Harriet’s clothes?”“Aw, jeez! How’d you know that?

I ain’t told no one else yet!”“lt’s okay. I’m a licensed detective.

I’m supposed to know things like that.”“Oh yeah, I guess that’s right. I

didn’t think a that.”“You know anything about

Whiffler? Who his friends are? Whohe hangs out with?”

“Sure. We ain’t exactly bosom palsourselves. Bill’s kinda snobbish abouthanging out at the places I like, youknow. But I know him well enough Iguess.”

“I’d like to know if there’s anyone,well—funny, you know what I mean?Anyone out of the ordinary he’s friendswith?”

“I dunno . . . he’d been runningaround the last couple a weeks with thiswop sawbones what I ain’t ever seenaround here before.”

“A doctor?”“That’s what he called himself

anyway.”“You remember his name?”“I dunno. Some greaser name. Pee-

wan. something like that. Little bitty

fella, ‘bout this high.” He held hishand about five feet above the floor.

“He got an office around here oranything like that?”

“Beats the hell outta me.”The phone book in the lobby

didn’t list any Pijuans, but when Icalled the local hospital I was told theydidn’t know of any doctors by thatname, but they had a male nurse andorderly named Leo Pijuan. Bypretending I was doing a credit checkit was no sweat wheedling his homeaddress. When I asked if he was atwork now, the receptionist said yes,he was, he had just started his shift.Could she page him for me? I said no,thanks.

It was just getting dark so Idecided to heigh myself over toPijuan’s place and see what I couldsee. It turned out to be a dinkybasement apartment in a shabbybuilding halfway between the hospitaland Whiffler’s place, which wasinteresting in itself, I supposed. Thefront door was locked, of course, butI found a window in the back thatwasn’t latched. I slipped through anddropped to the floor. It wasn’t easy tosee but I didn’t want to take a chanceby turning on the lights. I wished I’dthought of bringing along a flashlight.I don’t smoke so I didn’t have alighter, either. Damn my clean-livinghabits.

I looked around the best I couldand found that the longer I waited, theeasier it was to see as my eyes grewaccustomed to the gloom. I wasstanding in a little kitchenette. Therewas a sink, a old-fashioned icebox, ahot water heater, a table and a coupleof chairs and a range. The latter ranof kerosene—there were three or fourbig cans of the stuff under thewindow—so it only took a minute tofind a box of matches nearby. Ignitingone at a time, I found my way into thenext room.

Well, well, well.In the flickering match the place

looked like a set from a horror movie.In the middle of the room was one ofthose articulated tables likechiropractors or gynecologists use.Hangingover this was a bank of floodlights. Thewalls were lined with wooden, glass-fronted cabinets. I looked in these andin the drawers below them. They werefilled with surgical instruments.Hundreds of them. I recognizedscalpels, hemostats, bone saws,lancets, probes and all of the other

awful-looking things doctors use incarving up the human anatomy. Ishuddered. I have this thing aboutsharp objects. They give me thefantods in a serious way.

I didn’t find a sign of bloodanywhere, not that I really expectedto find any. The place was as cleanas, well, as an operating room. I waspretty sure though that Pijuan wasn’tcollecting all this stuff as hobby.

O, WHAT DID YOU DO with thebody?” I asked Bill as he let me

into his place. He didn’t seemparticularly surprised to see me thereand even less so at my question.

“I’ll tell you right now I didn’tkill her,” he said, right off. “Shekilled herself.”

“Oh, yeah?”“Yeah. She kept nagging at me

to marry her. I didn’t want to andkept telling her so, but she justwouldn’t listen to me. We got in abig fight last Tuesday. I lied to youabout that. I got pretty hot and wentinto the bathroom to throw somewater on my face and calm down alittle. When I came back out she waslaying on the floor of the kitchenwith a carving knife sticking out ofher stomach. I-I couldn’t wake herup. I was sure she was dead.”

“So what did you do with here?”He wrapped her up in paper, he

said, and then shoved her into aflowered garment bag she’d left inhis closet. Then he took her downto the street. He caught a cab thattook him and his burden over to theriver. After dismissing the taxi, hecarried the body down to the water,where he dropped it over the seawallonto the rocks below.

“I jumped down after it, filledthe bag with rocks and rolled it intothe water. I know l did the wrongthing, panicking like that, but Ididn’t did kill her. l swear to that.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s thestupidest story I’ve ever heard. Younever loaded a body into a cab orcarried it through the streets. You’dnever have gotten away with it.”

“Well, I was pretty sure youwouldn’t believe me but Il figured it’dbe worth a shot anyway.”

“I told you it was a stupid story,”said a voice behind me and then therewas a sound just like someone hittinga very hollow skull with a hammer.

’VE BEEN BEEN HERE before,” I said,looking around Leo Pijuan’s

operating room. All the lights were onand the glare made my eyes squint andwater. It didn’t do my headache anygood either. “I don’t suppose you haveany aspirins among all that junk doyou?”

“We’ve got something that’ll sooncure your headache a lot morepermanently than an aspirin,” said the“doctor”, fingering a stainless steel sawwith a suggestiveness that would havebeen comically melodramatic underother circumstances I thought better oflaughing at the gesture. Especiallysince I just then realized the my armstied behind the chair I was sitting in. Ialso realized they’d stripped me, whichI thought was carrying things a bit toofar.

Leo was just the runt Pipple’ddescribed. He looked like that littlecreep in the Charles Addams cartoons,the one with the weird family. I’d loveto hear his Peter Lorre impersonation.With him was Whiffler, looking a bitgreenish but resolute. The kid had acute little .22 pistol in one hand but lthink he’d forgotten that he washolding it.

“Jesus, lady,” he said, but you gotan awful big nose.”

“I assume you mean thatfiguratively,” I said, “because all myfriends think it’s cute.”

“Who asked you to butt in,

“S “I

anyway? Those dumb clucks Harrietused to hang out with?”

“That’s privileged information.”“Don’t make me laugh.”“I suppose this is an abortion mill

run by Dr. Frankenstein over there?”“I resent that,” said the runt.“The abortion was Harriet’s

idea,” said Bill. “She put up half themoney, a hundred dollars, herself.”

“So what happened? Dr. Kildarehere not know which way was up?”

“Say, look—”“He gave her anesthetic, a

thousand cc’s of sodium pentothal.”

ARDON? EVEN L KNOW that’senough to kill a horse, for God’s

sake! What did he think, that ‘cc’means ‘cups’?”

“And I suppose you’ve nevermade a mistake?” Pijuan said.

“I guess you’re right becauseafter a few minutes Harriet stoppedbreathing. Leo said she was in acoma. He called a friend of his, a Dr.Milagro. He’s an assistant residentover at the hospital. When he gothere, he thought the girl was alreadydead. He gave her some stimulantsanyway but nothing revived her. Hesaid she was a goner.”

“Why didn’t he call the police?That’s the 1aw.”

“He’s a Mexican citizen with aMexican medical license. He’s justhere on a visitor’s visa, as anexchange. We told him the law heredidn’t require him to notify thepolice. He believed me when I toldhim it was our responsibility to dothat. He told us to make sure we didso and left. We ignored his advice,of course.”

“Of course.”“Well, that left us with the

problem of what to do with Harriet’sbody. I mean, our options were prettylimited as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“I-I-I don’t like to think too muchabout it but, well, there was nothing elseto do but cut her up.”

As I felt sicker every minute, hewent on to tell me in more detail than Ireally needed to know how Pijuandissected Harriet with Bill lending ahand whenever necessary. Each piece—nearly fifty of them by the time theyfinished—was neatly wrapped up inpaper. Christmas wrapping as it turnedout since that was all they could findaround the apartment.”

“So who got all of these happy littlepresents?”

“It’s taken us days, doing it a littleat a time, but we’ve hidden it all in theelephant.”

“In the elephant?”“If you’re going to talk her to

death,” interrupted Pijuan, “I might aswell go home.”

“But you are home and I’m throughtalking. I just wanted her to know thatit wasn’t really my fault. What elsecould I have done?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now we feed her tothe elephant too, no?” He even soundedlike Peter Lorre.

“All right, all right. Let’s get it over,then.”

Whiffler dropped his gun into apocket but the little ghoul held a razor-edged scalpel on me while Whifflerfumbled with the cords that bound mywrists to the back of the chair. He hauledme to my feet with my hands still tiedbehind my back.

“Okay, over there by the table,”Pijuan ordered, “and no funny stuff.”

I stood by the table and let Whiffleruntie me. He pushed me and I sat backonto the hard black leather cushion. Hetook out his little pistol and held it onme while Pijuan filled a syringe from alittle bottle. It was probably sodiumpentothal and I knew how cavalier hewas with dosages.

“We don’t want to hurt you, MissBellinghausen—”

“P

“Speak for yourself,” interjectedPijuan.

“—but you can see the awfulposition we’re in. You’ll just go tosleep. You won’t feel a things Ipromise.”

I appreciated his considerationbut I really had no intention ofbecoming elephant ballast.So when Peter Lorre Junior cameclose enough with his syringe Igrabbed his wrist and jumped off thetable. All in one motion I was behindhim with his arm twisted up behindhis shoulder blades and his bodybetween me and Bill. Not that it didme all that much good, since the littlerunt barely came to my sternum, butit gave his partner pause. With myfree band I took the syringe and heldthe point of the needle to the bigartery that throbbed in his throat.

“Drop the gun, Bill,” I ordered.“Para el amor del dios, do as she

says!”Whiffler let the gun clatter to the

floor and he looked like he was gladto be rid of it.

“I don’t know what you intend todo,” he said. “As for myself, I’mleaving. You and Leo can do whatyou like.”

“Hey, Amigo! Don’t leave mehere alone with her! She is crazy!”

It was too late. Whiffler had leftthe room. I could hear him bangingaround in the kitchen.

Then I heard the back door slam.Jesus. What was I going to do

now? I could stand there all nightholding the syringe to the Creep’sneck or I could go after Whiffler.

“You got a phone?” I askedHell no. What would I want a

phone for? You think I’m in theyellow pages?”

Damn it. What else could I do butstick him in the neck? He let out alittle bleat and started rolling aroundon the floor clutching his throat and

gagging. Idiot. I’d barely pushed in theplunger—I think. I made a dash for thedoor before I realized I still had noclothes on. Rats. I picked upFrankenstein by his collar and shookhim. “Where are my clothes?” I yelledinto his face. He just drooled a little ashis eyes rolled up into the sockets. Itmade him look like a character in LittleOrphan Annie. I never could figure outwhat the deal was about not puttingdots in people’s eyes. Outside, I couldhear a car starting up.

It took only a quick look around todiscover there was nothing in the placeother than the operating room. Cripes,did they carry me naked all the wayfrom Whiffler’s place? So I pulledPijuan’s coat off him. He was a chubbylittle guy so at least I could get the frontclosed even if the sleeves barelyreached my elbows and the hem barelycovered—well, it barely covered it.

I snatched the little pistol off thefloor and ran out into the street only tosee the tail lights of Whiffler’s cardisappear around the corner. I wentback down into Pijuan’s place—andwas pleased to see him curled into aball in the middle of the floor. I wasn’tsure if he was breathing or not anddidn’t really care enough to stop andlook. I went to the kitchen and saw thereason for all the rattling I’d heardbefore Whiffler took off. As I’dsuspected, he’d taken the cans ofkerosene with him.

FOUND WHIFFLER’S CAR parked by thefence that surrounded the elephant.Thank God I’d found a kid’s bicycle

propped against the fence behind thehouse. I don’t think I’d have relishedrunning through the streets in my barefeet and practically bare ass.Fortunately, it was three o’clock in themorning so there hadn’t been anyoneto see me as I pedaled the four blocksthat separated Pijuan’s place and thedirectly up through the back of the

I

elephant. I could hear Whifflerclambering above me. I swallowedhard and followed.

I wasn’t too keen about stickingmy head into the open and with goodreason, too. As soon as l tried to get aglimpse of the inside of the howdah-thing, the wood in front of my faceexploded into splinters. I stuck myhand into the air and snapped off acouple of shots. Whifflerjumped back and I popped from thetop of the stairs like a startled prairiedog. Whiffler was standing about fouryards away, clutching a two-by-fourlike some scrawny caveman.

“Drop it, Whiffler,” I ordered.“The hell with you!” he

answered, swinging the club at melike a baseball bat. I ducked as it spunover my head, lifting hairs as itpassed. I heard it splinter the lowrailing behind me. I squeezed anothershot at him, but the hammer onlysnapped on an empty chamber. Theidiot hadn’t even had a fully loadedgun. I threw it at him, but he onlybrushed it aside. The dinky thingwouldn’t even have bruised him,anyway. It flew over the side and asecond later I heard it clatter on thepavement below.

Given his cowardly actions so far,he took me entirely by surprise bysuddenly rushing me like alinebacker. His shoulder took me inthe middle of my chest. My windexploded from me as I tumbledbackwards through the brokenrailing. I found myself rolling overthe smooth, curved back of theelephant and scrabbled for one of thesplintered balusters. Using themomentum of my fall, I swungmyself back onto the platform. Inspite of having some troublebreathing, I was halfway ready for thegoon when he rushed me again. Thistime I caught him on his cheek withmy fist as I stepped to one side. As

he stumbled off balance, I clubbed himon the back of his neck with both fists.He didn’t quite go down, but caughtthe railing and swung himself around.I kicked him square in the stomach andhe did a complete somersault over therailing.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled and Iwent over to the railing to see whatwas up. He was hanging by one handfrom one of the balusters. “I give up!Help me!”

“Are you kidding? You ruined myvacation, you louse,” I said andstepped on his fingers. He gave a littlehigh-pitched yelp and a moment laterthere was a satisfying crunch as heslammed into the pavement.

T TOOK ALMOST ALL of Sundaymorning to finally get everything

square with the cops, which let mewith only half a day before I had toreturn to Manhattan. The girls weredisconsolate over the loss of theirfriend, and in such a horrible fashion,too. The management of the OceanView was noticeably cooler towardme, as though my presence somehowtainted the gentility of its reputation.Perhaps it had something to do withthe photos in the morning paper, takenbefore someone had finally thought tofind a blanket for me. So betweenavoiding the hysterical teenagers andthe chilly glare of the staff, therewasn’t much left do to do but loungeon the beach. That was all I’d comefor anyway, so that was okey dokeyby me.

That’s when it started raining.I need a vacation.

I

BE SURE NOTTO MISS

NEXT MONTH’STHRILL-PACKED

ISSUE!

On sale at newstands everywhere.

"The Case of the Pie-Eyed Piper

"No Bier for a Chaser

"Never Flirt at Midnight

"The Cat and the Killer

"“Hang Me Higher!”

"The Corpse Came Calling

"“I Can’t Stop Killing!”

"The Dismembered Blonde

"Who Poisoned Uncle Bill?

And all of the regular featuresyou look forward to seeingin every exciting issue of

Dear Velda . . .

Present your case to Velda. Write to:Velda’s Detective Files, 261 Fifth Avenue, New York 16, N.Y.

DEADLY TEENAGERS. . . I just don’t understand today’steenagers. Why, when I was a youngman, my pals and I got all the fun wecould want from tipping cows andsetting fire to the black boy who de-livered the groceries. Nowadays, withhot rods and rock and roll, it is nowonder that the youth of this countryare going wild.

---Ralph Lunger, Oatseed, Ok

Many readers have expressed a con-cern similar to yours. I guess all I cansay is that you can take some com-fort from knowing you will be deadsoon.---VB

FAILURE OF NERVEIf all so-called law abiding peoplewere made to carry guns I believe thatcrime would be eradicated overnight. ---Mrs. D.L. Spore, Chicago, Ill

Your idea would do wonders for theoverpopulation problem, too. ---VB

A PECULIAR QUESTION. . . my family wants to know: IsDillinger really dead? My relatives

have seen Dillinger many times sincehis alleged death. I have heard manytimes that he is really still alive. Canyou prove that he isn’t? I will be look-ing for your answer.---Barton Bloot, Saliva Springs, Ark.

You got us, Barton. Dillinger has beenworking as our office boy since 1951.We do not know what he was doingbefore that.---VB

DOUBLE TROUBLEMost of the crimes in our neighbor-hood have been commited by some-one who looks just like me, but is notme, of course. Needless to say, this isgetting me in bad with the wife. Anysuggestions? ---L. Ron Blubber, Horehound, R.I.

No, I can’t say that I help you there.Sorry---VB