The Ypsilanti Daily Press

Battle gave a disgusted grunt.
and—and I sort of got paralyzed.
"And I could see what it meant.
I tried not to give the wrong word
—I tried to think of things quite
outside—like squirrels or flowers—
and the Amp was there watching
me with eyes like gimlets you
know, sort of boring inside one.
And after that—oh, it got worse
and worse and one day the Amp
talked to me quite kindly and so—
so understandingly — and — and I
broke down and said I had done it
—and oh! Daddy, the relief!"
Battle was stroking his chin.
"I see.
"You do understand?"
"No Sylvia, I don't understand
because I'm not made that way. If
anyone tried to make me say I'd
done something I hadn't I'd feel
more like giving them a sock on
the jaw. But I see how it came
about in your case—and that gim-
let eyed Amp of yours has had as
pretty an example of unusual psy-
chology shoved under her nose as
any half-baked exponent of misun-
derstood theories could ask for. The
thing to do now is to clear up this
mess. Where's Miss Amphrey?"
Miss Amphrey was hovering
tactfully near at hand. Her sympa-
thetic smile froze on her face as
Superintendent Battle said bluntly:
"In justice to my daughter, I
must ask that you call in your local
police over this."
"But Mr. Battle, Sylvia her-
self—"
"Sylvia has never touched a
thing that didn't belong to her in
this place."
"I quite understand that, as a
father—"
"I'm not talking as a father but
as a policeman. Get the police to
give you a hand over this. They'll
be discreet. You'll find the things
hidden away somewhere and the
right set of fingerprints on them. I
expect. Petty pilferers don't think
of wearing gloves. I'm taking my
daughter away with me now. If the
police find evidence—real evidence
—to connect her with the thefts,
I'm prepared for her to appear in
court and take what's coming to
her, but I'm not afraid."
As he drove out of the gate with
Sylvia beside him some five min-
utes later, he asked:
"Who's a girl with fair hair, ra-
ther fuzzy, very pink cheeks and a
spot on her chin, blue eyes far
apart? I passed her in the pas-
sage."
"That sounds like Olive Par-
sons."
"Ah, well, I shouldn't be sur-
prised if she were the one."
"Did she look frightened?"
"No, looked smug! Calm smug
look I've seen in the police court
hundreds of times! I'd bet good
money she's the thief but you
won't find HER confessing—not
much!"
Sylvia said with a sigh:
"It's like coming out of a bad
dream. Oh, Daddy, I am sorry! Oh,
I am sorry! How could I be such a
fool, such an utter fool? I do feel
awful about it."
"Ah, well," said Superintendent
Battle, patting her on the arm with
a hand he disengaged from the
wheel, and uttering one of his pet
form of trite consolation. "Don't
you worry. These things are sent to
try us. Yes, these things are sent
to try us. At least, I suppose so. I
don't see what else they can be
sent for . . ."
April 19th
The sun was pouring down on
Nevile Strange's house at Hind-
head.
It was an April day such as usu-
ally occurs at least once in the
month, hotter than most of the
June days to follow.
Nevile Strange
was
coming
down the stairs. He was dressed in
white flannels and held four tennis
racquets under his arm.
If a man could have been select-
ed from among other Englishmen
as an example of a lucky man with
nothing to wish for, a selection
committee might have chosen Ne-
vile Strange. He was a man well
known to the British public, a first-
class tennis player and all-around
sportsman. Though he had never
reached the finals at Wimbledon,
he had lasted several of the open-
ing rounds and in the mixed dou-
bles had twice reached the semi-
finals. He was, perhaps, too much
of an all-around athlete to be a
champion tennis player. He was
scratch at golf, a fine swimmer and
had done some good climbs in the
Alps. He was 33, had magnificent
health, good looks, plenty of mon-
ey, an extremely beautiful wife
whom he had recently married and,
to all appearances, no cares or wor-
ries.
Nevertheless, as Nevile Strange
went downstairs this fine morning
a shadow went with him. A shadow
perceptible, perhaps, to no eyes but
his. But he was aware of it, the
thought of it furrowed his brow
and made his expression troubled
and indecisive.
He crossed the hall, squared his
shoulders as
though definitely
throwing off some burden, passed
through the living room and out
onto a glass verandah where his
wife, Kay, was curled up among
cushions drinking orange juice.
Kay Strange was 23 and unusu-
ally beautiful. She had a slender
but subtly voluptuous figure, dark
red hair, such a perfect skin that
she used only the slightest of
make-up to enhance it, and those
dark eyes and brows which so sel-
dom go with red hair and which are
so devastating when they do.
Her husband said lightly:
"Hullo,
gorgeous,
what's
for
breakfast?"
Kay replied:
"Horribly looking kidneys for
you—and mushrooms—and rolls of
bacon."
"Sounds all right," said Nevile.
He helped himself to the afore-
mentioned viands and poured out a
cup of coffee. There was a com-
panionable silence for some min-
utes.
"Oo,"
said
Kay
voluptuously
wriggling bare toes with scarlet
manicured nails. "Isn't the sun
lovely? England's not so bad after
all."
They had just come back from
the south of France.
Nevile, after a bare glance at the
newspaper headlines, had turned to
the Sports page and merely said,
"Um."
Then, proceeding to toast and
marmalade, he put the paper aside
and opened his letters.
There were a good many of
these, but most of them he tore
across and chucked away. Circu-
lars, advertisements, printed mat-
ter.
Kay said:
"I don't like my color scheme in
the living room. Can I have it done
over, Nevile?"
"Anything you like, beautiful."
"Peacock blue," said Kay dream-
ily.
"And ivory satin cushions."
"You'll have to throw in an ape,"
said Nevile.
"You can be the ape," said Kay.
Nevile opened another letter.
"Oh, by the way," said Kay.
"Shirty has asked us to go to Nor-
way on the yacht at the end of
June. Rather sickening we can't."
She looked cautiously sideways
at Nevile and added wistfully: "I
would love it so."
Something, some cloud, some un-
certainty seemed hovering on Ne-
vile's face.
Kay said rebelliously:
"Have we got to go to dreary old
Camilla's?"
Nevile frowned.
"Of course we have. Look here,
Kay, we've had this out before. Sir
Matthew was my guardian. He and
Camilla looked after me. Gull's
Point is my home as far as any
place is home to me."
"Oh, all right, all right," said
Kay. "If we must, we must. After
all, we get all that money when she
dies, so I suppose we have to play
up a bit."