Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1950)

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Neet leaves tender skin soft and smooth, free from razor stubble. Just apply Neet like any cream, then rinse off and hair disappears like magic. instinct about how things will break. When I saw he was puzzled about the chief's behavior I began to get really upset. "He's hardly even sent me on any wild goose chases this time," Paul complained one evening. "What's he doing in there anyway?" He jerked his head toward the inner office, where Perry sat in unaccustomed isolation. "Thinking," I retorted. But Paul saw my uneasy frown. He shook a late paper out on my desk. "Look at here. Noble makes the headlines again. You know what, Delia — if Bob Noble wasn't the prosecutor I'd give more than a dime for our chances. As it is — the chief and Noble have had too many court battles. Noble's just got to win this one if he wants to get anywhere in state politics — and there's no doubt he wants to get there! He'll fight this tooth and nail." "So?" I said coldly. "Let Noble fight. The chief '11 still win. We're on the right side." Paul shrugged, and my heart sank as I saw that he wasn't so sure about that "right side." "You know Perry won't take a client who might be guilty," I insisted. "Give him time — we haven't even started our defense yet." Paul stabbed at a subhead in the paper. "Get this — prosecutor hints mystery witness. Did the chief say anything to show he knew this was coming? No. Usually he's way ahead of the other side — calls all the turns. That's what I mean. Something's loose with this case. I don't like it." Well, I didn't let Paul know it, but I felt just the same way. What was Perry planning? What was he waiting for? What was he so hopeful about? Next day, I began to get a glimmer. This was the day Noble's mystery witness was scheduled to take the stand. If the prosecution wanted a sensation, they got one. When the witness's name was called even Judge Neumann's gavel couldn't quell the gasp that went up from a couple of hundred throats. Perry jumped as if he'd been stung by a live wire. As for me, I went limp with astonishment. What was Allyn Whitlock doing in this business? I guess every town has its Allyn Whitlocks. Long ago she had been the debutante flower of a family that balanced its wealth with its dignity and had plenty on both sides. Long, long ago. She finished her first season with a scandal so explosive that the details were still told in whispers, and ever since then there had been a trail of escapades that flashed her name across breakfast tables at least twice a year. Her family kept her in money, but had nothing else to do with her by mutual consent. Under Noble's smooth, smug ques tioning, Allyn testified that she had an apartment just down the corridor from the late Wilfred Palmer's. "So that's it," I thought. The blackmail business must have been doing well if Palmer could afford to live in a building that was fit to shelter glamorous, lacquered Allyn Whitlock, her eight fur coats, her fabulous collection of emeralds, her noted series of boy friends . . . and her bad, bad reputation. Somebody must have been paying him the kind of blackmail that runs into four figures. I wondered if that was the reason for Perry's optimism? I couldn't tell from his face what he was thinking. Like everyone else, his attention was riveted to Allyn. And how she knew it! Watching her, I felt that special irritation that any girl feels when she comes face to face with a scene-stealer. You know the type — no matter how good-looking you may be, a girl like Allyn comes into a room and you're nowhere. They send out a ray or something, and you can't see anything but what they want you to look at . . . themselves. As Noble's questions began to pick up speed and point, I stopped looking at Allyn as a woman and started really listening. It became pretty evident that she wasn't up there just to show off her figure. Unless Perry broke her down in cross-examination, Allyn Whitlock — charmingly anxious to cooperate with the law, carefully phrasing her words in her elegant finishing-school voice — had succeeded in putting Martha Smith into the electric chair. Briefly, what she had to say was this: On the night of the murder she had planned an early supper and bed, and was relaxing alone in her apartment when a shrill scream startled her. Running out into the corridor, she saw a girl in a tan coat who stood hesitating before Palmer's door. Suddenly the girl ran toward the service stairs. Allyn, abruptly aware that she herself had on only a flimsy nightgown, had retired into her place again. But a few moments later a seething commotion in the hall persuaded her out again. Throwing a coat over her shoulders, she had followed the excitement down to Palmer's apartment, and offered her help to the distracted building manager. She hadn't seen the girl again, but she would know her anywhere. And in hesitant but unwavering tones, as one who must do her duty no matter how it hurts, she identified Martha Smith as the girl. It was one right between the eyes for us. From the look they gave each other, I saw that Martha and Don had realized the full force of the blow. Martha seemed to come really awake. She swung round to Perry, her eyes enormous with horror. "She's lying! Mr. do you have a kindly heart? Or, do you KNOW someone whose good works and unselfishness deserve recognition? You can tell about it AND win a valuable prize on "ladies be seated9' Monday — Friday ABC Stations JOHNNY OLSEN, M.C. For details of "The Kindly Heart" contest, reao. TRUE ROMANCE magazine now at newsstands !