Front Page Woman Page #4

Mr Craig? Just a moment.

This gentleman would like to see

Mr Craig.

I'm sorry to tell you. Mr Craig died

ten minutes ago.

Died? Of what?

A stab wound in the abdomen.

Have you notified the police?

The detectives were with him until

he died.

Did he tell them who stabbed him?

No. He never regained consciousness.

I'd like to have a look at the body.

Yes, I'll go with you.

Hold it, you'd better wait here.

All right.

Thanks.

Well? It's Marvin Stone, all right.

My hunch was right. Hold on

while I call the office.

Has anyone else been here

and inquired about this man?

No. Is she a relative?

No, no. I'm the one interested.

I'm just working something out.

Hello, give me the desk.

Hello, this is Garfield.

Spike, I've found Marvin Stone.

He's dead. Looks like murder.

Can you make it in the bulldog?

Murdered, eh? Beautiful.

I'll switch you to rewrite.

Wait a minute...

I just remembered something else.

Last night at the fire, Stone turned

to the man with him and said...

"Where is she?".

And the mystery man answered...

"She went out the back way.

Nobody saw her."

A mystery man, a mystery woman,

and a probable murder.

Baby, you're doing swell.

Now find the mystery woman.

Marvin Stone dead of a stab wound.

Entered hospital under an alias.

By Ellen Garfield.

It's a thorn in my side

when I see you beaten by a woman.

She pinned a rose on me, all right.

You gotta hand it to her.

Don't let her get you down, pal.

I was one of those lovesick newshounds

myself once...

but it didn't get anywheres.

It was purely platonic.

She was a blister from Arizona.

Indian blood. Lots of money and plenty of...

Devlin speaking.

Oh, the moon of my delight.

I wondered if you've been reading

The Star lately.

Yeah, there was an interesting article

about Lydia Pinkham in the last edition.

Oh, that yarn of yours.

Well, that was just a lucky break.

You stumbled over something and

it turned out to be a corpse, that's all.

I heard a noise distinctly like

the crunching of sour grapes.

You haven't got a story. All you got is a lead.

The real story is digging up the unknown he,

the unseen she

and the guy who did the foul deed.

And that's where I come in

in my little quiet way.

If I don't beat you to it.

All right, if I turn up this murder,

will you give in?

Maybe.

If you do.

It's a bet.

Crazy.

Say, are you serious about this?

Okay, it's a bet.

It's a bet. Read about it in the Four Star.

Mrs Devlin.

Have you got any ideas?

Boy, get me all the clippings

on Marvin Stone.

Yes, sir.

Just roll that well enough alone.

All right, next.

Alexis Andre, 2000, Grant Avenue.

Alexis Andre, 2000, Grant.... say, what kind of name

is Theodorosa Rosedick?

Put it down.

I get it, everytime we find a name we can't

pronounce, that's what we're looking for.

As far as I can find out,

this fellow Stone has taken up with every woman

in the world except Whistler's mother.

You can look up the fellow's life

for the past ten years

and you'll only be half through the list.

Got 'em down?

I got two pages full.

Put 'em in your pocket and come on.

Aw, Curt, we ain't gonna look up

all these dames, are we?

You think I'm crazy?

I wish you hadn't asked me that.

Hey, Curt.

What?

Can we start this with a cup of coffee?

I'm one of those pests from The Express.

Could I bother you for a moment?

I suppose so.

The late lamented and punctured Mr Stone...

Know any tasty little details

about him?

I'm afraid I can't help you.

He never regained consciousness

and they've taken the body to the morgue.

What about his clothes?

His clothes are here.

But I'm afraid they won't give you

any clues.

The police have removed everything

from the pockets.

Well, nothing will give you less information

than a vacant suit.

But I would like to see them if I may.

Well, it's not regulation.

Aw, just a little peek.

All right, just a moment.

Come along.

No smoking, please.

I know, I was just practicing.

This way, gentlemen. Right over here.

Here it is.

Nice material, isn't it.

He'd toast marshmallows on the candles

around the coffin.

Hmm, perfume.

Can you imagine a guy spicing himself

with a vibrant smell like that?

That isn't a man's scent.

You're telling me.

Well, thanks.

Say, Toots, it might be a good idea

to take a picture of her.

Might make nice human interest story,

you know, the modern Florence Nightingale.

Oh, really...

Oh, it's not a bad idea, come on.

Right over here, now.

Let's see, what color are your eyes?

Blue.

Both of them?

No, not the down position,

the up position.

Oh, it thrills me.

Now try to look like a cross between

an angel

and an ambulance going through a wreck.

You cant' fool me, you've posed before.

You're so relaxed. Hold it!

A beautiful subject.

May I have one of the pictures?

When you see it in the paper,

just cut it out.

Better get going,

we're in a hurry.

Goodbye.

Yes, gentlemen, what can I do for you?

Did Mr Stone ever have any suits

made here?

No, sir.

Did you ever do any pressing and cleaning

for Mr Stone before he shed this mortal coil.

Before he what?

Before he kicked the bucket.

Oh, yes, I did. Several times.

I was quite shocked...

Yes, I'm sure you were.

Do you recognize this piece of material?

Oh, yes, quite well. It's off Mr Stone's suit.

I cleaned it the day Mr Stone was...

You did, eh? What time did you bring it

to Mr Stone's apartment?

I took it up to him myself that night

at 8:
00.

The night he was stabbed?

Yes, sir.

At 8:
00.

And the fire was at 9:00.

Yes, sir. Are you...

Are you a detective, sir?

I'm beginning to think so. Much obliged.

Come on, Toots.

Would it be violating a confidence

to ask you to tell me what we're doing?

Smelling out a murder.

Come on.

I want to apologize for being so insistent

upon seeing Mr Chinard.

But I'm hot on the trail of something

and I need an educated smeller

to help me out.

It's quite all right, Monsieur.

How can I be of service to you?

Will you take a sniff of this and tell me

what you can about the perfume?

It's a very fine, expensive perfume.

Not a standard brand.

It's an individual creation.

Very feminine.

Did you blend it?

No, but whoever did is a very

fine parfumeur.

It's heavy without being soggy.

It has a distinct personality.

In other words, it might have been blended

to reflect the personality of the woman wearing it.

Undoubtedly.

What sort of woman?

Naturally, I cannot be certain.

But it's the kind of perfume I would blend

for very dark, decidedly Latin, type.

That's the clue, dark, Latin type.

Of course I cannot be certain

about the Latin type.

But I know the woman for whom

this was made is a decided brunette.

Well, thank you, Mr Chinard.

I can't tell you how much I appreciate

your sticking your nose into my business.

Not at all. Well, I'll be on my way sniffing

and barking after this dark, Latin type, Elisa.

When I get her on ice, I'll guarantee you

a feature story

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