Royal Anne Hotel

Kelowna’s Community Social Centre
Noted for Its Hospitality, Service and
Excellent Cuisine
W. E. JENNER, Manager

KELOWNA

B.C.

FUMERTON’S LTD.

DEPARTMENT STORE
411 Bernard Ave.
“Where Cash Beats Credit’
DRY GOODS, SMALL WARES,
MEN’S FURNISHINGS, ETC.
KELOWNA B.C. |

Jenkins Cartage Ltd.
*

Hauling Contractors - Furniture Moving

*

Phone 20
1658 Water Street

Kelowna, B.C.

Success to
THE SHOULDER STRAP

*

KELOWNA CLUB
KELOWNA, B.C.

lan F. Collinson

MOTORCYCLES - BICYCLES
Sales and Repairs

“The Deeley Line”

Phone 1000 - 1423 Ellis St.
KELOWNA

B.C.

CKOV

“THE VOICE OF THE OKANAGAN”
KELOWNA, B.C.
630 KC

Basic Station C.B.C. Trans-Canada
Network

THE

RANCH SUPPLY CO.
“OYAMA'S SHOPPING CENTRE”
GROCERIES
GENERAL MERCHANDISE
Phone Oyama 3555

AYAMA BRITISH COLUMBIA

Lumby Timber Company

LIMITED
Manufacturers and Producers of
DOUGLAS FIR - LARCH - IDAHO WHITE

PINE - PONDEROSA PINE - SPRUCE
CEDAR - COTTONWOOD
LUMBER
LUMBY BRITISH COLUMBIA

Page Twenty-six

tioned him, and he helped all he
could. He remembered going to see
Curry alright, with the old gun in his
pocket. He remembered the bitter
words hurled at each other, and he
also remembered pointing the gun at
Curry, warning him to keep back,

then ... but that was all he could
remember, then... there was a shot,
and, well the police crashed in

through the door and found him.

It had been ridiculously simple to
convict him at the trial. The people
across the hall heard Storm’s very
words, “Stay where you are, Curry, or
I'll shoot.” They knew it was serious,
so they called the police and waited
in the hall. No one could get in or
out after that without being seen. So
it was positively established that
Storm and Curry were in the room
alone. And it was just a big room,
with one door, locked on the inside,
and one window closed, and nothing
outside the window but a bare flat
wall four stories down. The powder-
burns on the front of Curry’s shirt
showed that the gun was close, per-
haps less than a foot and a half away.
Storm’s prints were on the gun, the
policeman had taken it out of his
hand. And the fatal bullet was fired
from the gun Storm held in his hand.

Then there was the police testi-
mony.

“We were outside the door when
the shot was fired. We broke in just
a second too late. Storm was standing
over Curry with the gun.” All this
was positive, and conclusive evidence.
There was no defense against it, the
police were there—almost witness to
the shooting. There was just one
puzzling question asked by the de-
fence counsel that did not get a satis-
factory answer.

“What do the dead man’s finger-
prints on the barrel mean?”

The prosecutor’s face had hardened
with impatience.

“Who else could have fired the
shot?” he thundered. “Storm’s prints
are on the gun, the police were there
and Curry and Storm were alone in
the room.”

Storm didn’t need to be told that a
shot from his gun killed Arnold
Curry. Or, that they had been alone
in the room. Somehow, he knew that
everything they said was true. Still, he
was puzzled, because there was a per-
sistent, though fleeting recollection in
his mind, of something happening
just a split second before the shot. It
seemed important, but he couldn’t be
sure whether it was real, or just the
overwrought imagination of a con-
demned man grasping at anything for
help.

But suppose there was something he
ought to know? Suppose he hadn't
killed Curry? In a half formulated
sort of way, that’s what the fleeting
thought seemed to mean. The worry

of it weighed on his shoulders by da
and pressed on his mind at high
Through the grim prison routine, da
after day, he tried desperately to cle,
his memory, but at that certain spc
in his mind, there was only a quec
ringing emptiness. They had ¢
amined the wound on his head an
said it was healing nicely.

The early-morning sunshine W:
brighter now in the prison-cell. It cy
sharper shadows, and the man sittin
up in bed had developed a strang
agitation. The lower part of his arr
were moving again in queer rhythm
gestures at his sides, throwing ores
moving patterns on the wall. He w;
trying to speak, he swallowed har
and a thick, barely audible voice cam
from his throat.

“It’s coming back, I’m beginning
remember.” On some inner part of h
brain, a picture was forming. Slow]
and vividly it took shape, growin
clearer and clearer. There was a feelin
of unreality about it, he felt detache
as if he were watching the grit
drama, yet singularly, he knew that h
himself, was the principle actor.

He had only meant to frighte
Curry with the gun. He could see :
all again. Curry’s thin lips, his bri
liant, mocking smile as he reached ou
with unbelievable rapidity and twis
ed the gun from his hand. Then, i
the same motion, he had swung th
gun by the barrel .. .

It was as simple as that. Storm r
membered the sickening crunch
the gun-butt against his head, an
the white roaring flame near his face
The jar had discharged the old gur
and Curry, holding it by the barre!
with the muzzle toward his chest, ré
ceived the bullet just below the neck

There was a stunned surprised lool
on Curry’s face as the bullet struc
him. For a moment he swayed on hi
feet, Storm himself had gone down ot
one knee under the blow. Somethin:
thudded to the floor and his hand
clutching out for support, came dow1
on it. Instinctively, he grasped th
thing and managed to get to his fee
again,, his vision blurring rapidly
Then he noticed Curry’s face, con
torted with pain, perspiration beading
on his forehead. Suddenly, his bod)
stiffened and he collapsed to the
floor. At that moment, police crashec
in. Storm remembered seeing then
through a hot haze, he swayed drunk
enly as a policeman took the gun out
of his hand and asked about the
blood on his head. Then his thought:
whirled ...

The man on the prison-cot had
fallen back, arms still moving at his
sides, still muttering. Presently, his
voice came in a hoarse whisper.

“It looks like I did it, I couldn't,
my arm, I couldn’t hold... that...
high ... Curry had ... gun, he hit .-.
me, it went off. He had it, his own

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