Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

be 7»? Mrs. Frayne rose. She removed her handkerchief from her tragic, wet face. . “ My poor boy is gone!” she cried. “ It’s too late to do anything for him. But I’m going to see that he has his revenge. I’m going to see that his murderer pays!” When Captain Wigginton and his party had left, Z turned to me. ‘“ What do you think of it?” she asked. “ Well,” I hesitated, ‘“ it» certainly looks clear enough to me. Georgia Frayne quar- reled with her husband, went out after din- ner, bought a revolver, came back, resumed her quarrel and shot him.” “Then why her attitude of silence now? Why no attempted defense?”’ I shrugged my shoulders. “Consider it from the other viewpoint,” T suggested. ‘‘ Certainly there would be no reason for keeping silent if she were inno- cent. Perhaps she is intentionally making it seem mysterious and doubtful. Besides, who else could it be—surely, not his mother.” “Oh, no, no—I’m not questioning her story—at least, her sincerity in her interpre- tation of what happened. Anybody can see her grief is genuine. Those aren’t crocodile tears she is shedding.” : She picked up the revolver from the table. “How do you explain the absence of finger-prints or other marks on the reolver?”’ she demanded. “ Yesterday was a warm day and she had just been out walking. Her palm’ would certainly be moist enough to leave a mark on that polished butt. Yet, it is perfectly clean—the police can be trusted to make sure of a routine fact - Jike that. And she was not wearing gloves to protect her fingers.” Her eye, resting on the weapon, lighted suddenly in quick interest. “Look here,” she cried. I bent over. The nickeled piece at the base of the butt had become jarred at some time or other and projected beyond the pearl side piece in a sharp edge. In the crack thus formed was wedged a small wisp of rough, brown, woollen thread, and it was this at which Z was staring with such an intense interest, although to me it was utterly barren of significance. 10 A B05 “Typical of the police,” Z said, shaking her head. ‘‘ They examine for finger-prints, which the careful criminal can avoid, yet overlook all those clews which the acci- dents of life, unforeseeable and unprevent- able, scatter all about. Well, -we’ll see what we can develop. First, though, there is work for you. I want you to interview this Mrs. Burberson. Get from her what transpired during Mrs. Frayne’s call on her. Then go to the scene of the murder and examine the flat thoroughly. Be sure not to overlook any detail, no matter how insignificant, apparently. Drop in on Cap- tain Wigginton, first, and get a police pass. There is probably an officer on duty at the flat.” My emotions as I set forth upon my mission can easily be imagined. Here I was, an eager, adventurous youth, thrust into the midst of an affair of this nature. True, my part so far had been a very inac- tive one and, in fact, was to remain so for the rest of this affair. But the promise of high adventure that my newly acquired job held out for the future sent me forth in soaring spirits. Mrs. Burberson I found to be a woman several years Georgia Frayne’s senior. She Jed me into her flat and seated herself op- posite me with an air of self-righteous- ness. “‘ Georgia Frayne,” she said, ‘“‘ and I have been friends since we were girls and when she called yesterday I told her what I thought she ought to know.* God knows I didn’t intend it to turn out this way, but I couldn’t know, could I, and I thought I was doing it for the best.” She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. “Mr. Burberson,” she continued, “is a traveling man, too. He got back from a trip a couple of days ago and told me he ran across Charlie Frayne in Chicago, in a cabaret one night. Mr. Burberson was there entertaining a good customer of his, like a salesman has to do, you know. Char- lie Frayne was—well, had been drinking, and he had a woman with him and it was easy to see what kind of woman she was. When Georgia was here yesterday I thought it my duty to let her know.” “Of course,” IT murmured, inwardly curs- COmicloooks (©