Telephone Vernon 378 Telegrams: Rump & Sendall Vernon, B.C. VERNON, B.C. “THE CHICKS WHICH GIVE RESULTS” Rump & Sendall . (OKAN) LID Langley Prairie, B.C. Head Office Rump & Sendall © UNITY FRUIT LIMITED Packers and Shippers of Choice Okanagan Fruit and Vegetables ® VERNON, B.C. himself facing Station Master Cyrus Bates at the little rusty red depot at the edge of town. “You say you're looking for old Civil War silver?” Bates looked up at the officer from beneath his green eyeshield. ‘I’ve got a whole flock of it right here, but I'm damned if I can tell you where it came from. Probably came in on Monday—and Monday’s always a heavy day, with the crowd going back to Plymouth.” “Looks like the bird we're after made his getaway all right,” admitted Colling- wood as detectives muddy, from their fruitless search. “How about notifying all storekeepers in Halifax, and all these jerkwater joints around here, to keep their eyes skinned for this old currency. We ought to get a line on the killer if he’s crazy enough to spend any of that dough close around.” Two days later police learned that silver similar to that stolen from the Sturtevant home had turned up at a general store at Whiteman, eight miles away. “No!” the storekeeper assured Colling- wood when he hastened there, “I ain’t got the slightest idea where that money came from.” “Better think hard,” the detective warned him. “The arrest of the Sturtevant murderer might depend on your memory.” The storekeeper wrinkled his brows. “I believe I got them from a foreign-looking man a couple of days ago,” he finally stated, “but I’m sure he was a stranger.” From other stores came word that more of the stolen loot had turned up; greenbacks and old Civil War silver. South Abington, and the entire countryside, already on its toes with wrath and excitement over the brutal triple murder, was raised to a new returned, wet and- pitch of fear and horror when word got around that the unidentified murderer had been boldly spending his ill-gotten gains in their midst and rubbing shoulders with them; prepared, perhaps, to strike again. Panicky citizens, frightened women and local newspapers urged police to greater efforts in bringing the criminal to justice and removing from their midst the menace of a brutal and unknown killer. Still stolen coins and ancient greenbacks continued to turn up. Yet not a single clerk or storekeeper was able to point the finger of suspicion at any particular person. Finally the sharp ears of Pratt picked up a scrap of grapevine gossip that sent him hurrying to the home of William Sturte- vant, the nephew. The young man and his pretty blonde wife received the officer affably. “What you heard was right,” William assured him. “T was hiking down the pike the day before my uncles were murdered. I was passing a fine grey team hitched to a wagon that had pulled up before the Black Swan tavern. Suddenly,” his eyes flashed, ‘something made me turn. A big husky man in a striped shirt was sneaking up on me from behind.” “Yes! Yes!” Pratt urged. “He gave me a black look and asked me if my name was Sturtevant. When I said it was, I thought he was going to kill me right there. He’d a club in his hand, and was all set to take a swing at me when the other man on the wagon yelled to him to lay off—that I wasn’t the Sturtevant he was after. He scowled at me, climbed on the cart and drove off.” Beads of perspira- tion stood out on young Sturtevant’s fore- head at the recollection of the incident. “What were their names? You ought to know them, you've lived around here all your life,” interjected Collingwood. “I know them by sight, all right William hesitated, “but I couldn’t tell yo, their names. I think they live around South Abington, or Bridgewater. One thing” his brow darkened, “I don’t think they meant any good to my uncles. They’re thy only other Sturtevants around here.” | Galvanized into renewed activity by whit appeared to be the first vital clue, Pratt and Collingwood were about to follow up thi new line of investigation when Pinkham burst into the room, his eyes shining — “Well,” he whooped triumphantly, “T'e found the cart that this murder stave came from. Yep!” he met their unbelieving looks _ “I found the wagon parked square in front of Mother Josselyn’s place in South Hanson, There were brackets for 12 staves and one of °em was missing. I tried this one here and it fitted to a T.” : “Which means,” Pratt cut in, “jut exactly nothing unless you've got a follow up.” “Hold your horses,” Pinkham waved his remark aside. “I traced the stave to Bill Jefferson, who identified it as one he'd cut for that same cart around New Year. Even linked it up with the others from the marks of his axe blade. There were three slight notches which left this mark on the wood,” he pointed to triple furrows. “Even took me to the place where he'd cut them in the bush. And the wood’s identical. The wagon,” he added grimly, “belongs to Zeb Thompson.” The door swung open. A messenger boy handed in a telegram. Pratt ripped it open. “More of that Sturtevant money’s tume up at South Abington,” he frowned. > “That,” he recalled, “is where William said Steve Kirstiuk Mary Human VERNON When in Vernon Stay at the KALAMALKA HOTEL : UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT } Proprietors Our Service Will Make Your Visit Enjoyable Vernon's Popular Hotel “You'll feel at home at the Kalamalka”’ THE LICENSED PREMISES BRITISH COLUMBIA PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS They will appreciate your patronage. Please mention SHOULDER STRAP Page Seventy-six WESTERN CANADA PAD and DRUM CO. LIMITED Excelsior, Bottle Sleeves, Excelsior Pads, Unitized Tops, Etc. Manufacturers of Packing Supplies VERNON, B. C., CANADA THE SHOULDER STRA?