Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

e¢ 7» eliminate suicide; besides which, there is his cry, that the old lady heard,” Wigginton remarked. “So far the case seems plain enough,” Mrs. Zea observed. ‘‘ What is there queer about it?” Well,” the captain said hesitantly, “I can’t understand Georgia Frayne’s attitude. She says absolutely nothing. She won’t deny she did it, yet she won’t admit it and explain her reason. She refuses to see a lawyer. She is booked on a charge of murder and she knows it and we have made it clear to her that it looks like an open-and- shut case against her; yet she offers no defense. If she didn’t kill her husband, what possible explanation can there be for her not denying it? It seems useless to waste any time in any other search, al- though, of course, we have followed the usual routine. There is a fire escape run- ning by the bedroom, but we’ve been unable to find anybody who saw anything suspi- cious. I brought the girl with me—also the old lady. They are downstairs now, with a couple of officers. I thought you might want to talk to them.” “ Good,” Mrs. Zea said. the wife first.” Captain Wigginton left, reappearing in a few minutes accompanied by a young wom- an—or, rather, a girl. Admitting her to the room, he left, closing the door behind him. He seemed to know my employer’s methods thoroughly. Georgia Frayne was appealingly pretty and wistful. Her face, at the present time, bore a look of deepest tragedy, the more pronounced, perhaps, from the dryness of her eyes. It was evident that she was en- ceinte, within a few months of motherhood. She was dressed simply in a blue suit, the coat of which was thrown back. At Z’s cheery invitation the girl seated herself; but her look went through and past both Mrs. Zea and myself. ‘““ My dear,” Z began gently, ‘‘ of course, you realize the seriousness of your position.” The girl brought her brown eyes for an instant to attention on Mrs. Zea’s face. “Of course,” she said simply; then her gaze melted into abstraction. “‘Won’t you tell us something about it? “Let me see 305 Surely you owe it to yourself—to—to the baby whom you will soon hold in your arms.” The quick intake of Georgia Frayne’s breath showed that the appeal had struck | a response. For a moment she struggled; then shook her head decisively. ‘““T have nothing to say,” she declared, with dull finality. . Z turned to me. “Will you help Mrs. Frayne down- stairs?” she directed. ‘And ask Mrs. Frayne, senior, to come up.” I led the girl down to the gloomily fur- nished living room that served us as sitting and reception room, and delivered her into the custody of Captain Wigginton and the two uniformed officers with him; and I brought back to the study the murdered man’s mother. A big fleshy woman, this Mrs. Frayne was, weeping noisily and calling upon the heavens for vengeance; despite which, a tragic figure in the bereavment of mother- hood. The story she recited, between eruptions of sobbing, agreed with that told us by the captain. ‘Had your son and his wife quarreled much since their marriage?” Z inquired. “No,” the woman replied. ‘“ They never quarreled at all; maybe little spats, like all couples have, but no real quarrels, you might say, till last night.” “You don’t know the cause of this quar- rel, do you?” “No, I don’t. Georgia went out visit- ing in the afternoon and when she came back she went to their room and put in. the rest of the afternoon crying, and when poor Charlie came home and went in to her she shut the door and started in on him.” “You say she went visiting—do you know on whom?” ‘A friend of hers, a Mrs. Burberson.”’ At Z’s nod I made a note of the name and the address that Mrs. Frayne gave. “Did your daughter-in-law wear gloves yesterday when she went out for her walk after dinner?” demanded Z suddenly. ‘“ Gloves?” the woman repeated blankly. “ No—I don’t think so. No, I’m sure she didn’t.” COnmiiclooolk< COL