Boy's Cinema (1935-39)

Every Tuesday "Come on now, just between you and me, the late Mrs. Don Gregg—otherwise Violet Fevcrel—wa: V.t very popular around here, was she?" "No, sir." agreed the butler, "she was not. If I may say so! she was a trouble-maker, and Mr. 1'at Gregg dis- approved of her violently. So did Mr. Don, after a while." "He did, eh?" Piper hounded to his feet and stood over the butler. "Why did vou lie to me?" "Sir?" "Why did you tell me that Don Gregg was still in gaol when yon knew he was released two weeks ago?" "Well, but he wasn't released, sir." Piper produced the receipt Miss Withers had found. "Here's the alimony receipt," he said fiercely. " It's paid !" "Yes," said the hutler, "hut, you see, sir, Mr. Gregg paid ojily the alimony due at the time Master Don was arrested, not the amount that had accrued while lie was locked up." "Are you trying to tell me," howled Piper, "that Don Gregg was kept in gaol after this nine hundred dollars was paid?" " Yes, sir." 'Well, I'm a speckled ape." "This is no time for a confession, Osi ir." rebuked Miss Withers from the doorway. "I don't believe it!" snorted the detective. "Don Gregg is tho guy. The dame was a rat, and he knocked her off. I'm going to check on your story, mister. Where's the 'phone?" "Just outside in the hall, sir." Piper went out to a telephone on a table in the hall, and Miss Withers stopped the butler as he was about to pass her. "Oh, tell me, Thomas," she said, "what kind of a pipe do you smoke?" "A corncob, ma'am," the butler re- plied, without evincing any surprise at the question. "I paid twenty cents BOY'S CINEMA for it. and I've smoked it for twenty years." "Really?" she murmured. and walked along to the inspector, who had rung up the gaol in Thirty-Seventh Street to which divoreed husbands are committed when they fail to keep up their payments of alimony to their former wives. "Listen," he was shouting- "Have you got a guy down there named Don Gregg? You what? Oh, vou did. eh? Who's this talking? Oh, Warden Mahoney! Oh, Warden Sylvester Mahoney. Well, listen, Mr. Warden Sylvester Mahoney. I want you at my office in half an hour, and bring all the records of the case with you. Yeah!" He slammed down the instrument. and turned to grin triumphantly at Miss Withers. "Don Gregg was sprung out of the alimony gaol last night a few hours before the murder," he stated. '■ Who let him cur ?" sin- asked. "1 don't know, but I'm going to find out." He retrieved his hat from the back parlour. "In gaol, huh.'" he said. "Looks like I hit a hulIseye!" He strode towards the double front door, and Miss Withers kept pace with him. "It hurts me, Oscar," she confessed as he pulled back the latch, "but I think you've got something." "Stick around." he boasted, "and you'll see an arrest in twenty-four hours." One of the doors was opened, and Thomas hurried forward to see the un- welcome visitors off the premises. A full hour elapsed before Piper reached his own room at police head- quarters in Centre Street, and Warden Sylvester Mahoney had been waiting in it for some time. He was a lug man and a bulky one, with a florid face . and a neck that bulged over his collar 0 —a man of importance, in his own estimation. I'iper took the folder he presented, lit a cigar, and studied a document. "So this is the court order that sprung Master Don Gregg, eh?" he suddenly burst out. and stabbed the document with a finger. "1 suppose you've noticed. Mr. Sylvester Mahone that the seal is phoney and that tin- order is a forgery ?" The warden gulped and gripped at the hat on his knee-. Hi- flabby face seemed to sag. "Dear me, dear me," Iip murmured: "but. inspector, hovt was t to know?" "How were you to know?" roared Piper. " How were you to know an thing? D'you know what city this is.' D'you know what the date i-?" "I 1 think." stammered the warden, •• it's the sc\enth." "You think it's the seventh, eh? Well, it ain't !" I'iper consulted a calendar-pad. "It's the ninth!" "My mistake." Piper walked round the desk and rlung himself into his chair behind it. "Here was a guj who might have been a murderer." he raged, "and you Sprung him out of gaoi !" "He couldn't have murdered anybod while he was in gaol, could In'?" said the warden hopefully. "No," returned Piper, "and if you'd kept him in gaol. I wouldn't be hunting tor him now." "Well, it—it's all very confusing But, you see. inspector, on.' of the boys had a birthday, and a friend of his scut him some well, some bottles (or ;» little celebration." That practically was a confess that the warden had imbibed the nigh! before, and that as a consequence he had not been any too car.'ful. "Birthday!" repeated I'iper. "Whose birthday?" It appeared that Hon Gregg had had Sbe was far too scared to answer, and she shrank back against the wall as he leaned menacingly over the side of the dressing-table. September 2Ctli, 1930.