all kinds littered the floors. A trunk, pried
partly open, sprawled in theecentre of the
room amongst the heavy, old world furni-
ture, while another, which had _ resisted
marauding hands, spoke eloquently of the
purpose of the marauders. :

“Let's get out of here,” the Sheriff
shivered and nodded towards the door.

LAKESIDE AUTO CAMP

JAS. D. HARRISON, Proprietor

Tourist Cabins, Summer Cottages
Bathing Beach

*
OLIVER, B.C.

OLIVER DAIRY

The Only Government Inspected Dairy in
the District

e
OLIVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA

Telephone 15
HOTEL OLIVER
E. S. and T. W. Hall, Proprietors

On the Main Cariboo Highway and in the
Heart of the “Cantaloupe”

Fully Licensed Good Beds
OLIVER, B.C.
| P.O. BOX 58 PHONE 73
“INSIST ON THE BEST”
Get it From

___CARTER’S BAKERY

ICE CREAM, CONFECTIONERY
and LUNCHES
OLIVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA

Oliver Sawmills Ltd.
Manufacturers of
Western Pine Box Shooks
P.O. Box 98 Phone 78

Oliver, B.C.

SOUTHERN OKANAGAN
MACHINERY

Machine Shop - Blacksmith Shop
Oxy-Acetylene and Electric-Arc Welding
Manufacturers of Orchard Equipment
and Welded Irrigation Pipe

“Repairs and Service to All Electrical and
Mechanical Equipment”

OLIVER, B.C. CANADA

Z

Page Seventy-two

“This is a job for the State Police.”

While a watch was placed on the haunted
house, and Sheriff Inglee awaited the arrival
of State Police and detectives, horrified
residents of the rural town of South Hanson
got little sleep. That murder had struck in
the midst of this God-fearing settlement,
wiping out its wealthiest, and leading, citi-
zens was terrifying enough, but word that a
strangled voice without a body had shrieked
blue murder and emitted agonized cries for
help while the victims lay cold in death
sent icy shivers down their spines and froze
the marrow in their bones.

A wire from District Attorney Esa
French to State Police headquarters brought
Detectives H. Philbrick, James Collingwood,
Hollis Pinkham and George Pratt hurrying
to the scene with Will Elliott, local photo-
grapher. Elbowing their way through the
awe-stricken and curious crowd that had
gathered like vultures at the scene, Coroner
Kingman and the Sheriff led them to the
pitiful body of the murdered girl, still lying
where she had been struck down. A search
of her clothing gave up a few quarters and
dimes, a couple of massive keys, and a
peculiar open-faced watch. Carefully lift
ing the blood-smeared body of the once
beautiful young woman, Collingwood scrut-
inized the patch of bare earth beneath it.
“Are you certain,” he turned to Inglee,
“that this spot has been carefully guarded?”

“Certainly,” the Sheriff bridled. “We had
it roped off right away—and we've had a
man on guard ever since.”

“Then how do you account for these?”
The detective pointed to clean-cut foot-
prints in the black loam. “Those prints were
made by a man in a hell of a hurry,” he
gestured towards the deep toe imprints,
“and he was headed towards that house
over there,” he nodded towards the Blake
home. “And look,” he examined the foot-
prints minutely, “that left boot’s been
patched near the toe there.”

Detective Pratt whistled softly. “That
bird was sure in an all-fired hurry. If we
can get our hands on the man who wore
that patched shoe it’s my guess we'll have
the key to this killing.” Leaping forward
he snatched up an errant piece of green
paper caught by the wind, then picked up a
couple of tarnished silver coins. “I guess,”
he turned to Collingwood, “you'd better
stick a board over these footprints till we
can get a plaster cast. They’re liable to come
in mighty handy.”

Leaving the housekeeper’s body under
guard they proceeded to the Sturtevant
home. Aided by the Sheriff they conducted
a swift examination of the large and gloomy
interior, while Coroner Kingman checked
over the bodies that lay outstretched in
their own blood where the -miscreant’s
bludgeon had laid them low. Everywhere
the place showed evidences of a hasty
search; drawers were ransacked, closets
turned upside down and trunks pried open.
It was evident that the thief, or thieves, had
decamped in a hurry leaving much of the
loot still scattered throughout the house.

As Pratt and Collingwood searched a

rifled trunk for fingerprints an agonizing
shriek rent the death-like stillness of Rd
house of doom. “Help! Help!” They’ |
murdering me... ” The phantom Voice
echoed through the building only to end in.
a sudden strangled silence that left the ke
tectives eyeing each other with ashen faces
“Where the hell... ?” Pratt gazed ina
the wide eyes of his companions. “Where -
did that come from?” In vain they search)
the place from end to end. The bodies of
the murdered men, stiff and cold ip death,
alone rewarded their search. Fearfully ty
detectives eyed each other. Could Current
gossip be correct—could the place fy :
haunted? Twice now that blood-curdling
cry had echoed through the death house yet |
Simeon and Thomas were long since beyond _
emitting that stricken cry for aid. |

“Help! They're murdering me...”
Again that sepulchral cry echoed through
the halls, as though actually coming from
the lips of the dead.

Suddenly Inglee leapt forward, threy
open a door and pointed a trembling finger,
With beruffled feathers a huge red and
green parrot in a brass cage half-hidden in
the shadows surveyed the intruders with
burning black eyes that glistened with hos
tility. |
“Well... Tl be damned!” Pratt’s drawn
features lighted with a grim smile. “So!
that’s the ghost!” 4

“Yes,” Inglee’s voice still trembled. “I
forgotten about that parrot. It belonged to
Mrs. Buckley. She treated it just like it was

vIc®

BOWLING
COFFEE SHOP

@
OLIVER, B.C.

Hotel Reopel

D. C. KYLE, Proprietor
Air Conditioned

All Modern Conveniences

Dining Room, Coffee Shop and Cabins
PREMISES LICENSED
Phone 40
"The Home of the Cantaloupe”
OLIVER B. C.

THE SHOULDER STRAP