All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

Vulture in a Gilded Cage “Sometime last night. Killed. This time it was done with a knife.”’ She asked, “I)id it have any connection with the Eagle being killed?” “That’s what I’m going to find out. What did each of you do after we left last night ?”” “Do?” said the Catbird. “I went to my bed and slept. And there I stayed, as usual, until two hours ago, when I got up and came to feed the birds.” Barnaby looked at Marjorie, and she said, “TI went to bed too, but I didn’t sleep very well. I woke up some time ago, and there was a policeman at the stairs who said we couldn’t come down for a while, so I came up here.” “But you did try to go downstairs?” “T wanted some coffee, but I knew I could get it just as well up here.” “Neither of you heard anything un- usual during the night?” Both heads shook, hers slowly and care- fully, his with one fierce snap. “Then you don’t know that the Raven went out last night?” Again they both shook their heads, and Barnaby went on, “Or that the Dove followed her?” I was watching the girl. This time she definitely showed surprise. “But that isn’t at all like her. She never goes out, except when she’s going to her own home, and she never takes much in- terest in what the rest of us. are doing.” “Likely or not,” said Barnaby, “she did go out.” Barnaby asked whether The Dove was up, and Marjorie said, “She usually sleeps late. I'll go call her, if you like.” The three of us walked to the ante- room, where she took off the linen duster and slipped into a black jacket that matched her skirt. The black suit was probably her conception of mourning, but she was a dame that just couldn’t look mournful in anything. | We started down the stairs, but Barn- aby stopped abruptly. “I just happened 123 to think of something I have to do. You two stay up here; I’ll call you when I want you.” He didn’t have to tell me that I had been appointed a sort of unofficial watch- dog. Whatever he was up to, I was sup- posed to persuade these two not to go downstairs. We went back into the avi- ary, and for the next half hour I saw enough of our feathered friends to hold me for the next several years. I’ say one thing for the birds im the cages, though. I got more conversation out of them than I did the other two—the Catbird and the Bird of Paradise. He was in a dour mood, glaring fiercely at every- thing in sight, including me. Her interest in the world had taken flight and flown away from there. I gave up trying to get anything out of them, and just hung around. When Barnaby came back he said he was sorry to have kept us waiting. The girl asked tf he wanted her to call the He said, “No, let her sleep. I won’t be needing her for an hour or more. But you can come on down to the study with me.” The Catbird flashed him a defiant look and said, “Will you have any need of me ?”’ “None at all,” said Barnaby. “But don’t leave the house.” . E WENT down the stairs and into the study. Barnaby picked up a wicked-looking knife with a six-inch blade and a gold handle elaborately carved, nat- urally, in the shape of a bird. It had a ruby for an eye. He showed it to the girl and said, “That’s what killed her. Ever see it before?” “Oh, yes. The Eagle kept it on his desk. For a letter opener, I think.” “That’s what I thought.” He dropped the knife back on the desk and sat down. “The Dove told me about that note she wrote,” he said. “The Eagle wanted her COMmMiclooe S (©