Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

Record Details:

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■ Bill said: "It isn't that I'm jealous, but if you'd only let first time in their long friendship, couldn't confide in Lively. This was a secret that spelled danger for everyone who knew it. "Just promise me," Sunday begged Jackey, "that you won't — won't do anything until we know for sure whether Arthur is dead or alive." For Jackey now wanted to go to the Silver Creek sheriff and make a clean breast of the whole affair. Reluctantly, he promised Sunday at last that he'd wait at least until the body had been found. And that was the situation when Lord Henry Brinthrope, Arthur's brother, arrived unexpectedly in Silver Creek — to find that Arthur, with whom he had intended to discuss the local Brinthrope mine holdings, had disappeared without leaving a trace behind. It was only a day after his arrival that his inquiries led him up the trail to Sunday's cabin. She watched his long-legged fig ure climbing the steep trail with a sense of panic. And yet there was no use in running away. Her only hope was to meet him, answer his questions directly and apparently with honesty, and do her best to keep him from interrogating Jackey. Bill Jenkins had already told her Lord Henry was in town. She'd known this moment was inevitable. Drawing a deep breath, she went to answer his knock. He wasn't at all like Arthur, she saw when she opened the door. He was taller and a year or so older, and there was a strong line to his chin that Arthur hadn't had. Most striking difference of all, though, was in his eyes. They were direct, honest, friendly, and they told her at once what Jackey had meant when he said he didn't like the look of Arthur. Jackey would like the look of Arthur's brother. "I'm Henry Brinthrope," he said. "And you must be — well, you must be Sunday. I'm sorry, but down in the village I can't remember that anyone ever mentioned your last name." "It's Smithson," she said blushing. "But everyone calls me Sunday." "No wonder — it suits you perfectly." He had an English accent too, like Arthur's. "It's probably impertinent — but how did you get it?" "I was an orphan, and I was left on Jackey's and Lively's doorstep on a Sunday. So — they just called me that." "Logical enough," he smiled. "They said in the village that you know my brother, and I thought perhaps he might have told you where he was going." "No," she said quickly. "No — he didn't. Did he know you were coming?" He shook his head. "I wanted to surprise him." No need to tell this lovely child just why he had wanted to surprise Arthur: that funds were strangely missing from the Brinthrope Mines, and it was more than likely Arthur could, if sufficiently frightened, explain their disappearance. "Well," he said lightly, "it doesn't really matter. Arthur's always making up his mind to leave a place overnight. He'll turn up, I suppose." But when he had gone back down to Silver Creek, he wired a firm of private detectives in Denver, asking them to send one of their best men to see him. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Bill Jenkins was paying his weekly call on Sunday. (Confd on page 66) FEBRUARY, 1940 15