SUNDAY. DECEMBER ~I.

her arms-pale, blonde, and remote.Clover Lane thought herself lucky

to have landed on a New York paperat the age of 21. Her father, deadnow, had been a famous foreign cor-respondent.She had been at it for 10 months

now and was still trying to masterthe technique of a profession thatseemed to her unbearably compli-cated, altho her father had alwayssaid that it was simple arithmetic ifone could read, write, and disbelievein one's fellow men. She lacked thelion heart, or the common sense, orthe brass, or whatever it was thatmade the good reporter.

THE courtroom door swungback slowly and Clover Lanewalked in, and down theaisle, looking like a medieval

page, her head flung back, her fairhair sweeping her shoulders in aGarbo bob, and her blue eyes, pale asaquamarines, fastened on the judge.His glance swooped in her direc-

tion, cold with reproach for the in-terruption. Embarrassed, she slidhastily into the one vacant chair atthe press table. Only that morninghe had warned the reporters to curbtheir restless comings and goings.This was a murder trial, not a prizefight, but she had had to make a tele-phone call to her office.Saint in stained glass, thought Jus-

tice John Bryant, less annoyed whenhe saw who it was. He had beer.vaguely troubled for days by herfaintly angelic demeanor in the murkof the case he was hearing. But re-porters were like that-either saintsor devils. They seemed to him to bemostly devils,He knew them well. His county,

rich and dotted with big estates, hadseen more than its share of frontpage murders, and he had listened totoo many women deny that they hadkilled their husbands and lovers. Bydegrees he had met most of the starsof the New York papers. He likedsome, tolerated others, and thoughttheir trade a menace to jurisprudence.The evidence in the case he was

hearing was airtight-so much sothat the prosecutor was getting cas-ual. Always a mistake. Four of thejurors looked soft. He could read ac-quittal in their faces. There was nodoubt in his mind that Letty Stone-ham had shot her husband thru awindow as he sat silhouetted againstthe shade, reading his evening paper.Justice Bryant was 52-an ascetic

slightly miscast on the bench. Hisgray eyes were level, cold, and incred-ibly bored as they watched the slowparade of witnesses going past. Obvl- Bryant sat on the bench. An attend-ously he had never let his own pas. ant watched him suspiciously as hesions fly. He disliked disorder, frenzy, I got close to Clover and whispered indeceit, and sentimentalism, but the her ear.pattern of his working life was thick ••Mr. Levitt wants you on the tele-with all these offshoots of frayed hu- phone, Miss Lane. We've got tomanlty. duck."At home things were different. Clover elbowed her way thru the

There the atmosphere was one 01 ex- crowd waiting at the courtroom doorqui site order, reason, and placid affec- to get a glimpse of the womantion. He had been married for 25 charged with murder. She shut her-years to a woman reserved and stable. self up in a telephone booth alongHis one child, Joan, had started on the hall and listened anxiously to Mr.the same road-a bride last Easter, Levitt's voice snarling at her: I< 0,cool as the sheaf of lilies she held in hello, there you are at last. I thought

Her City Editor Putsthe Pressure On«You can write, but you can't get

news," Charlie Levitt, her city edi-tor, had told her acidly a week ago."You've got to toughen up and getwhat you go after. . . • I'm afraidyou haven't got the old man's knack,"he added brutally.Clover lacked nothing, however, in

the eyes of Hank Martin, sitting be·side her at the press table now, look-ing bored and inattentive. Hank wasa star of the first water. He workedon a rival paper to hers, and some-how he was making her newspaperdays absorbing, with his gay good na-ture, his abhorrence of bunk, his finesense of values where his work wasconcerned. He laughed a lot at CIa·ver-sometimes so much that it hurt.

When it came to news he wasready enough to ditch her, for he wasfull of the figh ting spirit and wasboth keen and acid at his work.

Matty Lennox came lumberingdown the aisle toward Clover, tryingto make his 200 pounds of flappingflesh look obscure in the courtroom.Matty was her photographer andcameras were forbidden when Justice

•• •

ByIshbel Ross(Copyright: 1939: Bv Chicago Tribune-New

York News Syndicate, Inc.)

the line had gone dead. Is JusticeBryant still on the bench?""Yes!'I< Good. We've just had a tip that a

girl's been bumped off-on his estate,of all places. Standard News hasn'tgot it yet. Hop out there quick. It's28 miles from where you are. I'll as-sign some one else to the Stonehamcase. Now go to it, until I get one ofthe men out there."Clover dived out of the booth and

outraced Matty to his car. He alwaysdrove as if the devils were in pursuit,and before long they flashed thru thehigh stone gates that inclosed JusticeBryant's 300 acre estate.The house glimmered thru the

trees-an English effect, long andlow, spacious and cool looking. In thedistance a pond lay sapphire-blue ina stretch of grass, and near it stooda summer house, a rustic effect builtof logs and half smothered in holly-hocks.Standing at the door of the Bryant

house, his brick-red face familiar bynow to Clover, was Inspector HenryGluck, who had put bracelets on theStoneham woman and many anothermurderess In the county."And what are you doing here?"

he demanded as Clover and Mattygot out of the car.

I< What would your guess be, In-spector?" Matty retorted. ••We gota murder tip and it can't be any newsto you."••Was the Judge on the bench when

you left?""Yes," said Clover. ••He was.""Couldn't have got the message,

then," said Inspector Gluck reflec-tively.

I< Who's dead?" demanded Matty.••Name's Audrey Harrington. She

lived on the next estate. She wasfound over there "-he pointed to thesummer house-" shot thru the head.It looks as if she was sitting in achair listening to the radio when hernumber was up. The gardener foundher slumped on the floor. Yes, Matty,she was young, good looking, anuwhat you would call a luscious bru-nette."

"Thanks," said Matty. "Any sus-pects? "••Don't let your imagination run

riot," warned Gluck. "Nobody saidthis was murder. All we know is thatit was a shooting, and we haven'tfound the gun."••I suppose she shot herself and

then hid the gun," Matty suggestedsa tiricaIIy.Gluck turned aside impatiently.

"Stranger things have happened," hesaid. "Now no more questions tillthe Judge shows up."Ten minutes later he arrived. He

passed Clover and Matty without aglance, his tall figure looking longerand leaner without the shelteringfolds of his black silk robes. ••Comewith me, Gluck," he said briefly.

Clover and MattyStudy Death SceneLeft to themselves, Clover and

Matty crossed the lawn, studied thesummer house from all angles, thenstepped unmolested into a sunnyroom furnished with peasant rugs,pine benches, and a wicker chair witha linen cover that told the story. Itwas stained with blood and a detec-tive mounted guard beside it. Therewere stains on the hardwood floorand on the gayly colored rug close tothe chair.Matty took shots to his heart's con-

tent. He had finished and was out-doors when Justice Bryant appearedwith his wife and Inspector Gluck.Clover's glance went with swift curioosity to Mrs. Bryant, a slim figure inwhite, composed and surprisinglyyoung looking. They went inside andclosed the door.Soon half a dozen cars drove up,

unloading a swarm of their col-leagues.Hank strolled toward Clover, cas-

ual as usual, but she saw in his eyethe flicker of interest that only agood story could arouse in him."Swell yarn, this, Clover," he re-marked with rare enthusiasm .•• Some-thing different. You pulled a fast oneon us, didn't you?"" The office had the tip. It wouldn't

have been fair to tell you."Hank doffed his hat ceremoniously.

"It would not," he agreed.When the Judge came out of the

summer house and saw that the presshad congregated in full strength, heinvited them into the library of hishome.

I< I don't know how you fellows get

wind of things so fast," he remarked, ~"but since you're here, I'll give youan outline of what seems to havehappened. It's still quite sketchy.You can pick up the rest from thepolice." Miss Harrington was a family,

friend of ours, went to school withmy daughter, was in and out of thehouse at all hours. Her father is J. C.Harrington, stocks and bonds. Hermother is an invalid and, by the way,I would advise you not to go bother-ing her.••Well, today she lunched here

with my wife, as she often did. Theother guest was Richard Bremner, anold friend of ours. When they werehaving coffee a telephone call camefor Mr. Bremner which sent himhurrying into town."Half an hour later Miss Harring-

ton left, telling my wife she wouldwalk home thru the woods-a shortcut which she often took. She left ingood spirits. My wife saw her gothru the French doors to the lawn.Then she went upstairs for her usualafternoon nap, and that's the last weknow."An hour later the gardener, hos-

ing the flowers outside the summerhouse, noticed a trickle of blood run-ning under the door. He stepped inand found Miss Harrington crumpledon the floor, dead, and the radio play.ing swing music." A spate of ques-tions broke loose as the Judge fin.ished speaking. He answered some,waved off others." Of course Bremner is being

brought in for questioning," addedInspector Gluck, who had stoodquietly in the background. "And thepond is being dragged on the chanceof finding the gun."The reporters scattered to tele-

phones. Clover and Hank found abooth in a dreary vine trellised road-house a quarter of a mile away. Clo-ver got Mr. Levitt on the wire.••I'll send out two men at once," he

told her. "Go over to the Harringtonhouse and see what you can dig upthere. Give everything you've got inthe way of straight news to DuncanBeals, who'll be out there in a coupleof hours. Do a feature on the womenyourself. This story's too big for youto cover slrrgle-handed,"Clover hung up the receiver slowly,

her exhilaration gone. Hank, whis-tling cheerfully as he rustled thruhis notes, saw the clouds gather inthe pellucid blue eyes. ••Taking the <rl

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