THE MURDER
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I had been hinting at Jack for months at the Distribution Center, and he finally gave in and invited me to spend the weekend at his lodging house, the Manhattan newsboys Lodging House. I was thrilled! But it did not turn out to be the weekend I'd always dreamed of…
I was the last guest to arrive, at around six Friday evening. By the time I had introduced myself to the others, unpacked and changed for dinner, and joined the other guests for sodas in the parlor, I'd already gotten a funny feeling about this weekend I had long dreamed of.
Something was defiantly amiss. The other guests were all acting strange--, furtive and suspicious. While there was the usual idle chatter between this one and that one, they all seemed preoccupied. And, while Jack was the grandest chap and had a reputation for holding positively smashing parties, our host avoided all the other guests and spent time only with me. He wasn't himself…the loveable man I played cards with at the Distribution Center was nervous.
Just before eight, when dinner would be served, Jack beckoned me into the hall.
"A word in private, old chap…" He picked up a coil of Rope off the hat rack and nervously looped and re-looped it as he spoke.
I was relieved when we had the chance to speak to him alone. "Right. Now will you tell me what the blazes is going on here, Jack? These friends of yours are about the rummiest bunch I've ever met. What gives?"
He hesitated. I thought he would tell me what was going on. "Can't say, old man," he replied. "But I have my own suspicions, and you'd be a lifesaver if you'd keep your eyes and ears open and let me know what you can find out about my guests."
"But they're YOUR friends, Jack, I've never met them before. What makes you suspicious?"
"Well, haven't you wondered about their names? I mean, REALLY…they sound like persons under the influence! And they're not my friends…but I do have my reasons for asking them down. Here, take a look at these."
He took a bulky envelope filled with headlines with newspaper clips from inside his jacket pocket and waited while I skimmed the headlines. If the people mentioned in the clips were Jack's colorful guests, they certainly had high profiles in the tabloids: a mysterious kissing bandit, a fraudulent enterprise, a con man, a dark secret, a secret affair, an attempted murder.
I handed him the clippings. He put them back and patted his pocket. "I'll put these in a safe place after dinner. What do you say, old chap? Will you help me out?"
I agreed to keep a watch on the other guests at the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. For the weekend, and to let Jack know if I spotted anything of a suspicious nature. I told him I would collect clues and give him a written report of anything that looked "funny" before I left the Lodging House on Monday morning.
"Thanks, old chap," Jack sighed, momentarily relieved. "You ARE a lifesaver." He patted me on the shoulder, and we walked in to dinner together.
Saturday was pleasant enough…a bit of gambling in the morning, a positively hideous luncheon at the hands of Sarah, a few games of bridge after dinner, an early evening. I had picked up a few items of interest around the Lodging House—possible clues to the guests; mysterious behavior. And I couldn't forget those newspaper clippings…were they related to the clues I'd picked up?
Sunday a few of the guests played poker before lunch. Another group visited Central Park and the gardens in the afternoon. Beers, another disastrous meal, several rounds of cards. All was quiet, until late that evening, which was to be our last at the Lodging House…and Jack's last, forever.
I'd felt a bit queasy—I held Sarah completely responsible—and retired early. I has just fallen asleep over my book when I heard a terrific commotion below me. Raised voices…scuffling…followed by the sound of someone running.
I ran downstairs and one of the other guests greeted me with the disastrous news: Jack had been killed!
Those newspaper articles! The items I'd found around the mansion! Why, any of the guests could have done in Jack. There were motives and modi operandi in every room, for every Suspect. Poor chap: His suspicion had been well founded, after all. I shook myself back to reality and asked:
"Who did it? Where? What was the Weapon?" No reply. The other guests had already disappeared down the hall.
"All right," I mumbled. "The least I can do for jack is figure it out myself."
But I never did. CAN YOU?
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I had been hinting at Jack for months at the Distribution Center, and he finally gave in and invited me to spend the weekend at his lodging house, the Manhattan newsboys Lodging House. I was thrilled! But it did not turn out to be the weekend I'd always dreamed of…
I was the last guest to arrive, at around six Friday evening. By the time I had introduced myself to the others, unpacked and changed for dinner, and joined the other guests for sodas in the parlor, I'd already gotten a funny feeling about this weekend I had long dreamed of.
Something was defiantly amiss. The other guests were all acting strange--, furtive and suspicious. While there was the usual idle chatter between this one and that one, they all seemed preoccupied. And, while Jack was the grandest chap and had a reputation for holding positively smashing parties, our host avoided all the other guests and spent time only with me. He wasn't himself…the loveable man I played cards with at the Distribution Center was nervous.
Just before eight, when dinner would be served, Jack beckoned me into the hall.
"A word in private, old chap…" He picked up a coil of Rope off the hat rack and nervously looped and re-looped it as he spoke.
I was relieved when we had the chance to speak to him alone. "Right. Now will you tell me what the blazes is going on here, Jack? These friends of yours are about the rummiest bunch I've ever met. What gives?"
He hesitated. I thought he would tell me what was going on. "Can't say, old man," he replied. "But I have my own suspicions, and you'd be a lifesaver if you'd keep your eyes and ears open and let me know what you can find out about my guests."
"But they're YOUR friends, Jack, I've never met them before. What makes you suspicious?"
"Well, haven't you wondered about their names? I mean, REALLY…they sound like persons under the influence! And they're not my friends…but I do have my reasons for asking them down. Here, take a look at these."
He took a bulky envelope filled with headlines with newspaper clips from inside his jacket pocket and waited while I skimmed the headlines. If the people mentioned in the clips were Jack's colorful guests, they certainly had high profiles in the tabloids: a mysterious kissing bandit, a fraudulent enterprise, a con man, a dark secret, a secret affair, an attempted murder.
I handed him the clippings. He put them back and patted his pocket. "I'll put these in a safe place after dinner. What do you say, old chap? Will you help me out?"
I agreed to keep a watch on the other guests at the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. For the weekend, and to let Jack know if I spotted anything of a suspicious nature. I told him I would collect clues and give him a written report of anything that looked "funny" before I left the Lodging House on Monday morning.
"Thanks, old chap," Jack sighed, momentarily relieved. "You ARE a lifesaver." He patted me on the shoulder, and we walked in to dinner together.
Saturday was pleasant enough…a bit of gambling in the morning, a positively hideous luncheon at the hands of Sarah, a few games of bridge after dinner, an early evening. I had picked up a few items of interest around the Lodging House—possible clues to the guests; mysterious behavior. And I couldn't forget those newspaper clippings…were they related to the clues I'd picked up?
Sunday a few of the guests played poker before lunch. Another group visited Central Park and the gardens in the afternoon. Beers, another disastrous meal, several rounds of cards. All was quiet, until late that evening, which was to be our last at the Lodging House…and Jack's last, forever.
I'd felt a bit queasy—I held Sarah completely responsible—and retired early. I has just fallen asleep over my book when I heard a terrific commotion below me. Raised voices…scuffling…followed by the sound of someone running.
I ran downstairs and one of the other guests greeted me with the disastrous news: Jack had been killed!
Those newspaper articles! The items I'd found around the mansion! Why, any of the guests could have done in Jack. There were motives and modi operandi in every room, for every Suspect. Poor chap: His suspicion had been well founded, after all. I shook myself back to reality and asked:
"Who did it? Where? What was the Weapon?" No reply. The other guests had already disappeared down the hall.
"All right," I mumbled. "The least I can do for jack is figure it out myself."
But I never did. CAN YOU?