X-29 City of Madness by Brant House

Author:Brant House
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

MILLION-DOLLAR MURDER

HARVEY BATES felt that his new assignment had both advantages and disadvantages. He felt that while he remained in Garvey’s house he had to look upon Charlotta with suspicious eyes and this was becoming more and more difficult for him to do. She seemed such a charming companion, so generous and good-natured.

Furthermore, she seemed to delight in doing thoughtful little things for him. Because he had felt guilty of spying on her, Bates was glad to get away from the house. Still, it was hard leaving her, just disappearing as he had been forced to do. He began to worry as to what she might think of him.

But devotion to Agent X made Bates throw himself into the task before him and in a few hours he had stumbled upon some rather curious information regarding Reed P. Kennedy. This information came from a member of the circulation department of the Bugle whom Bates met when he visited the plant under the pretense of getting information on linotype-room efficiency for a printer’s journal.

The circulation man was very enthusiastic. Yes, the Bugle had statewide distribution, the man informed Bates; and that he shouldered the responsibility of seeing that all the out-of-town subscribers got their papers. “All except Mr. Franks, that is,” he added.

Bates chewed the bit of his square-bowled pipe. “Who is Franks?” he asked casually.

“Oh, Mr. Franks is the newspaper skeleton,” the circulation man said with a laugh.

Bates’s black brows crimped together. “The what?”

“Skeleton. Mystery, you know. Some say that Mr. Franks is a prospective purchaser of the Bugle. He is a subscriber in Philadelphia, and I can’t tell you much else about him. However, I am never allowed to distribute Mr. Franks’s paper in the usual manner. Old Sour-puss—I mean Kennedy—will come into the press room and snatch up the first paper out of every issue. This he folds up and slaps a wrapper around it. It goes special delivery to Mr. Franks and the Old Man Sour-puss takes it to the post office himself.”

Bates grunted, thumbed the glowing bowl of his pipe, and mentally made a note to see just what Mr. Kennedy did at the post office each day when he mailed the mysterious Mr. Franks his newspaper.

By two o’clock that afternoon, Bates was waiting in a taxi outside the Bugle press room. Ten minutes later, Reed Kennedy came out, rolling a freshly printed newspaper in a brown wrapper as he hurried to his car. Bates tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Kennedy,” he said. “Follow.”

The driver nodded, shifted gears and tailed Kennedy the distance of two blocks to the post office. Bates got out and went up the steps directly behind Kennedy. He took out an old envelope from the pocket of his coat and pretended to examine it closely before thrusting it into the mail chute. Kennedy went up to the stamp window and demanded a three and a special. Bates crowded in behind him, looked over his shoulder, and saw that the newspaper was addressed to Mr.

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