means that somebody earned fifteen thousand dollars this morning.”
“Hear, hear!” came from Hildegarde Withers, triumphantly.
Chief Britt looked from one to the other. Then he went swiftly to the door. “Hey, Ruggles!”
The aged deputy appeared, grinning toothlessly.
“Ruggles, you better round up the people that just left here and tell ’em not to leave the island just yet,” ordered the chief. “Tell ’em to stick around the hotel in case I want to ask a few more questions.”
“Okay, Amos.” The deputy disappeared.
“I suggest that you give the same order to Mr. Barney Kelsey,” Miss Withers put in.
“Him? Oh, he ain’t going away. Offered to stick around as long as we wanted him to. Nice feller.”
The chief relaxed in his chair again. “You showed me your telegram, ma’am,” he offered. “I sent one myself, and I got an answer, too. I may as well let you see what Mrs. Roswell Forrest had to say when she got the news.” He presented a blue-and-white slip of his own, which Miss Withers eagerly seized:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
YONKERS NEW YORK COLLECT 5:35 P
CHIEF AMOS BRITT
AVALON CALIFORNIA
IF ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY WILL GUARANTEE MINIMUM FUNERAL EXPENSES FOR BURIAL THERE
MAE TIMMONS FORREST
“That word ‘absolutely’ cost me an extra sixty cents,” the chief told her ruefully.
“It certainly seems that his wife was crazy about him, doesn’t it?” Miss Withers handed back the message. “She wants him put under ground as cheaply and quickly as possible—and if absolutely necessary she’ll pay for the coffin!”
“Handsome of her, I calls it,” said Dr. O’Rourke. “Now if you will excuse me, I think my invaluable assistant will have a pan of chili on the oil stove over at the infirmary. The company is none too appetizing right now, but—” The little doctor turned toward Miss Withers. “I don’t suppose you’d care to make it a foursome?”
“Another time,” said that lady calmly. “I have things to do—and so has the chief here.”
Chief Britt nodded. “So I have. Only I’ll be dad-blessed if I know what they are!”
“I’m going to send another telegram,” said Hildegarde Withers. “And wait for another answer.”
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
AVALON CALIFORNIA 1:35 P
INSPECTOR OSCAR PIPER
CENTER STREET POLICE HEADQUARTERS
NEW YORK CITY
SUSPECT MURDER LOCAL POLICE BEWILDERED HAVING FINE TIME WISH YOU WERE HERE
HILDEGARDE
The answer was not long in coming, and it was to the point:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
NEW YORK CITY NY 6:20 P
HILDEGARDE WITHERS
AVALON CALIFORNIA
I WILL BE
OSCAR
Chief Britt, though he did not send another message, received an answer all the same. A messenger delivered it into his hands as he bent over a steak at Mac’s Place:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
NEW YORK CITY NY 6:25 P
CHIEF OF POLICE
AVALON CALIFORNIA
FORREST CASE HIGHEST IMPORTANCE POLITICALLY CONSIDER IT EXTREME FAVOR IF YOU HOLD EVERYTHING UNTIL I ARRIVE WEDNESDAY
OSCAR PIPER INSPECTOR NYC POLICE
The chief read it through three times and then folded it and put it away in a pocket of his soiled white linen jacket. He turned to Ruggles, the ancient deputy, who was mumbling away at a plate of milk toast beside him.
“You better go down to the carpenter shop,” he pronounced judicially, “and tell ’em not to make that pine box, after all.”
Ruggles let his mouth hang open.
“Y’ mean you ain’t going to send the remains over to the mainland on the steamer, Amos?”
Britt shook his head. “We’re going to hold everything till Wednesday,” he said.
But as Miss Withers could have told him, he was more than optimistic.
CHAPTER V
A ROUND RED SUN beat down upon a city seemingly deserted. The swarms of natives, tourists, and summer people had wisely distributed themselves between the beaches, the glass-bottomed boats, the Aviary, and their hotel rooms, leaving only a blistering Main Street, a solitary red bus, and an angular and determined lady who engaged the driver of that bus in animated
“Hear, hear!” came from Hildegarde Withers, triumphantly.
Chief Britt looked from one to the other. Then he went swiftly to the door. “Hey, Ruggles!”
The aged deputy appeared, grinning toothlessly.
“Ruggles, you better round up the people that just left here and tell ’em not to leave the island just yet,” ordered the chief. “Tell ’em to stick around the hotel in case I want to ask a few more questions.”
“Okay, Amos.” The deputy disappeared.
“I suggest that you give the same order to Mr. Barney Kelsey,” Miss Withers put in.
“Him? Oh, he ain’t going away. Offered to stick around as long as we wanted him to. Nice feller.”
The chief relaxed in his chair again. “You showed me your telegram, ma’am,” he offered. “I sent one myself, and I got an answer, too. I may as well let you see what Mrs. Roswell Forrest had to say when she got the news.” He presented a blue-and-white slip of his own, which Miss Withers eagerly seized:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
YONKERS NEW YORK COLLECT 5:35 P
CHIEF AMOS BRITT
AVALON CALIFORNIA
IF ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY WILL GUARANTEE MINIMUM FUNERAL EXPENSES FOR BURIAL THERE
MAE TIMMONS FORREST
“That word ‘absolutely’ cost me an extra sixty cents,” the chief told her ruefully.
“It certainly seems that his wife was crazy about him, doesn’t it?” Miss Withers handed back the message. “She wants him put under ground as cheaply and quickly as possible—and if absolutely necessary she’ll pay for the coffin!”
“Handsome of her, I calls it,” said Dr. O’Rourke. “Now if you will excuse me, I think my invaluable assistant will have a pan of chili on the oil stove over at the infirmary. The company is none too appetizing right now, but—” The little doctor turned toward Miss Withers. “I don’t suppose you’d care to make it a foursome?”
“Another time,” said that lady calmly. “I have things to do—and so has the chief here.”
Chief Britt nodded. “So I have. Only I’ll be dad-blessed if I know what they are!”
“I’m going to send another telegram,” said Hildegarde Withers. “And wait for another answer.”
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
AVALON CALIFORNIA 1:35 P
INSPECTOR OSCAR PIPER
CENTER STREET POLICE HEADQUARTERS
NEW YORK CITY
SUSPECT MURDER LOCAL POLICE BEWILDERED HAVING FINE TIME WISH YOU WERE HERE
HILDEGARDE
The answer was not long in coming, and it was to the point:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
NEW YORK CITY NY 6:20 P
HILDEGARDE WITHERS
AVALON CALIFORNIA
I WILL BE
OSCAR
Chief Britt, though he did not send another message, received an answer all the same. A messenger delivered it into his hands as he bent over a steak at Mac’s Place:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
NEW YORK CITY NY 6:25 P
CHIEF OF POLICE
AVALON CALIFORNIA
FORREST CASE HIGHEST IMPORTANCE POLITICALLY CONSIDER IT EXTREME FAVOR IF YOU HOLD EVERYTHING UNTIL I ARRIVE WEDNESDAY
OSCAR PIPER INSPECTOR NYC POLICE
The chief read it through three times and then folded it and put it away in a pocket of his soiled white linen jacket. He turned to Ruggles, the ancient deputy, who was mumbling away at a plate of milk toast beside him.
“You better go down to the carpenter shop,” he pronounced judicially, “and tell ’em not to make that pine box, after all.”
Ruggles let his mouth hang open.
“Y’ mean you ain’t going to send the remains over to the mainland on the steamer, Amos?”
Britt shook his head. “We’re going to hold everything till Wednesday,” he said.
But as Miss Withers could have told him, he was more than optimistic.
CHAPTER V
A ROUND RED SUN beat down upon a city seemingly deserted. The swarms of natives, tourists, and summer people had wisely distributed themselves between the beaches, the glass-bottomed boats, the Aviary, and their hotel rooms, leaving only a blistering Main Street, a solitary red bus, and an angular and determined lady who engaged the driver of that bus in animated
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