All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

122 All-Story Detective handwriting. So did the Raven, who would certainly have seen her writing, on a check if nowhere else.” “Interesting thing about that,” said Barnaby. “There were two sets of prints on the note. The Eagle’s and a woman’s. Now we find out that the woman’s be- longed to the Raven. So she had already seen the note, and she had her reasons for shutting up about it. My guess is that she wanted to have a little quiet business talk with the Dove before she spilled any- thing.” “What does her husband think of the note?” “Says it doesn’t make any sense to him.” “So I guess we'll have a littke conversa- tion with the Dove ?”’ “Later. None of ’em know about the Raven yet. The cook found the body and told our man on the door. I’ve kept all the rest of them upstairs without telling them why.” He drummed on the desk and stared into space for a couple of minutes, then got up abruptly and went into the bird-cage room. It was about five minutes before he called for me to come in. A sleepy-look- ing photographer was banging away with flash bulbs, and the M. E. was yawning in a corner, waiting to get the body down. Barnaby wasn’t looking at either of them. He was standing in front of that odd fire- place arrangement that looked like a bird’s blue-plate special. There were a couple of brassy fasteners on each side of it, and one of them was swung out so I could see a little compartment behind it. I looked inside and saw it was empty. “That note has been bothering me ever since we first found it,” said Barnaby. “I couldn’t figure why we found it where we did. It finally dawned on me that he must have a hiding place over here somewhere. He was going to put it im there, but the strychnine got him before he quite made a” HE TURNED away and sighed. “It’s the old gag of having a hiding place where it’s so much in the open nobody dreams of looking for it there. But I thought of it too late. Somebody else knew about it, and whoever it was got into it last night. It was stripped clean.” I remembered something. “You said the Raven was carrying a small package when she left here last night.” “Sure. But it’s a little late to ask her what was in it. Or where she put it. We'll comb around and find it eventually, be- cause she didn’t have it when she got back here.” “Just like the needle in the haystack, except you don’t even know it’s a needle you're looking for.” He turned towards the hall. “Let’s go upstairs and talk to some of these people.” The second and third floors were dark, with the doors closed, so we went on up to the aviary. There was a little sort of ante-room, and beyond that a big room, almost the length of the house, where the larger birds were kept in individual cages. Beyond that was a smaller room with tiny humming birds, canaries and whatnot. I preferred to look at the gorgéous crea- ture who was called the Bird of Paradise. She was standing halfway down the big room with Keith, the Catbird who thought he was a falcon, and a big gaudy macaw was stalking up and down his arm, Jook- ing at her. Both of them wore long linen dusters, as if they were all set for a turn- of-the-century spin in their horseless car- riage. We walked on down towards them and he glared and she turned on that dazzling smile. Without giving it any buildup at all, Barnaby said, “The Raven is dead.” — The Catbird’s sandy eyebrows shot up and his bright blue eyes blazed for a brief second. The girl’s expression really didn't change at all. She repeated the one word, “Dead ?” like a kid who's just been handed a new word he’s not sure of. COMiicloOo@ S ©