Judge — August 20, 1927 — page 24: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JUDGE Mrs. Will McIntosh, née Plus Ultra, wife of the murdered man Homer Q. Weevlenip, the psy- chological sleuth, solver of the famous Guzzledorf murder mys- tery, stirred uneasily in his sleep as his sterling silver telephone bell impatiently tinkled. Gradu- ally, the incessant ringing of the bell permeated the wall of slumber that surrounded him, and he drowsily lifted the recei ters. Oak Street. been murdered. have killed him.” “An Will McIntosh has Somebody must obvious hypothesis, In- spector,” answered Weevlenip, stifling a yawn. (NOTE: Mr. Weevlenip | was champion yawn ifler at Yale from 1914 to 1917.) “No doubt he is at present in a recumbent position on the floor of his living room. A small, round wound just below the heart was the cause of his death, and rob- bery could not have been the motive, for the McIntosh safe was untouched. Do I err, Inspector?” “Marvelous!” roared Moran. “You're a wonder, Mr. Wevlenip. How do you do it?” “Simple, simple,” Weevlenip, “merely an applica- tion of sound psychological laws. Are you familiar with the work of Adler the Behaviorist? No? Too bad. Well, I'll be over shortly.” awned Chapter 2. God’s Noblest Work: A Man. To understand the murder case of the century you must permit me a few words about Will Mc- Intosh. Few people in the vicin- ity of the Gas House knew that The Great McIntosh Murder By Arruvr L. Lippmann their _kindly-faced _ millionaire neighbor was the father of the transfer ticket. Yet it is true that Will McIntosh had given the best years of his life to the designing of colored transfers, and today you find his transfers on eve trolley car from Boston to Frisco. Sometimes you find them in the street, too, but these don’t always get you a ride. great man was McIntosh — transfer-ticket de- signer, sportsman, elbow-bender, raconteur, devoted father and But greater than all these—he was a wit, a natural- born, effervescent jokester, al- ways ready with a quip or jest. His untimely demise blow. In fact, old-timers was the hardest blow since Great Wind of 97, (NOTE: This must not be confused with the Great Wind of ’96, which was just a puff by comparison.) radio fan. A Genius At Work, Weevlenip entered the scene of the crime and asked them to blindfold him. When this had been accomplished, he asked for a cigarette, Chapter 3 When this was pro- duced he asked for a glass of buttermilk, ‘Then he requested a “That was a nasty cut you gave that last customer.” “Yeah —I’m keeping com- pany with his cook and that’s the signal I’m off tonight.” Will McIntosh, brutally mur- dered by foul fiend nickel’s worth of peppermints. Weevlenip, blindfolded, was ready. “You will find a finger-print on the bottom of that cigar butt in the paper basket,” said Weev- lenip, stifling another (NOT record.) tine the body you will note that the left sleeve garter—the one trimmed with pink stretched in the mélée that fol- lowed _ In th’ phwat?” asked good old Detective-Sergeant O'Brien, who was making marks in his note- book. “Tn the said yawn. His 34th that day, “Then if you will ex- cuffle,” contemptuously Weevlenip. “Out in’ the alley you will find two footprints —or maybe I should say feet- prints. ‘On the bathroom sink you will find a tiny strand of red hair and there will be two car- tridges fired from the revolver in the center drawer of the library table. A careful search of the kitchen will reveal a gentleman silk shirt ripped in three pl and hastily thrown behind the ice- box. Now, will you be so good as to remove this blindfold and I shall meet you gentlemen this eve- ning at eight at my apartment to personally deliver to you the guilty party.” And, stifling a yawn, he sauntered out. Chapter 4. That Night. Inspector Moran, Cay Moran, Lieutenant Moran, Ser- geant Moran, Patrolman Moran and District Attorney Moran, not to mention seven or eight hundred comicbooks.com