John Adams High School - Clipper Yearbook (Ozone Park, NY)

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Several times he tried to speak, but only muttering that were barely heard issued from the swollen lips. Before a physician arrived, Eric Lansing died. The doctor could hnd no explanation for the death and committed the body to the care of the coroner who arrived with the police, shortly after. After a brief examination, the coroner ordered the body removed to the morgue and issued an order for an autopsy. Detective Robert Barrett in charge of the investigation assembled the guests and servants for questioning. He called one by one into the study, then fired a barrage of questions at each. Now, Mrs. Rogers, as hostess of this gathering, you ought to be able to give us some information that might account for this unfortunate occurrence, Barrett said. Now what can you tell me about this fellow Lansing? All I know is that Mr. Lansing was my guest for the week- end, at a suggestion made by a mutual friend. He is a fine artist famed for his playing of the violin. I introduced him to the rest of my friends here tonight. Then after dinner he played for us and then, -here she broke down. Wasn't there anyone here tonight, that might have been an enemy of Lansing's? No, no, not that I know of. Are you sure that that is all you know? Nothing else happen? Not that I know of. In fact, he was quite jolly tonight. You should have seen the way he and Mr. Windsor-really you kn-ow, I do think that they were enjoying a huge joke at my expense. She flashed the detective a feeble smile. They just looked at one another, when I was introducing them, then I found out they had known one another all the time. The questioning continued with no definite clues for the police to work on. Finally, when Barrett was through, Ryan, his assistant, told him there was still another person to be quizzed. Who is it? It's a fellow by the name of Windsor, Sir, shall I send him in? Oh, yes, Windsor. Yes, Ryan, send him in. . Martin Windsor was ushered into the study and seated before Detective Barrett. Full name, please! Martin Edward Windsor. Occupation? 'r s--aE- lL.ll'l'l....l4Q

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ning it along the strings of the violin. That d-one, he put the in- strument back in its case and rose. He then extinguished the light and softly left the room. After the last course had been finished, Mrs. Rogers pressed him to get his violin and play, because everyone was more than eager to hear him. He got his violin from his room. He stood before them, well-poised and very sure of himself. Women breathed sighs, and men grudgingly gazed in admiration at the famous figure. He started to play. Softly lilting notes stole from the violin as the player caressed the strings with the bow. It was a weird taunting melody, straight from the heart of the jungle. The thunder of the lion's roar, the screeching of tropic birds, denizens of the jungle calling to their mates, shadows mingling with the rippling of the murky river waters, all blended in the music that Eric Lan- sing drew forth from his violin. Toward the end of the song, he seemed a little nervous, less sure of himself than when he first started to play. A green pallor, ghastly as the mark of death spread over his face. The guests sat in electric silence, sat fascinated by the music that brought tribal dances and the beating of tom-toms to their minds. Lansing began to play faster now, moving in rapid crescendo. He looked like an African voo-doo medicine man working himself into a frenzy. The hands that had awed thousands by melodies they had drawn from the violin trembled, they grasped the bow and instrument so firmly that the knuckles grew white under the strain. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. With obvious effort he drew the bow across the strings and ended the song. The audience was silent in strained uneasiness. Sporadic handclaps rang rout, but they were suddenly choked by the feeling of an unexplainable terror. Ladies and gentlemen, the name of the composition you have just heard was the Symphony oft. With .a low moan he pitched forward flat on the floor, writhing and clutching his throat, and digging his nails into the carpet for support. For a moment nothing was said or done. Such an action had come too quickly for the entranced group. Two men nearest him rushed to the sprawled ngure. Terror and horror distorted their features. What had once been a strikingly handsome face was now a livid, twitching mask. The stricken man tried to raise himself but failed, falling back into the arms of the man holding him. 8 l'l--IE il-.ll'l'L.aI-Q

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I'm an accountant. Did you ever meet, or did you know the deceased before seeing him here tonight? I, er, that is, I- Come to the point man, did you know Eric Lansing? Yes, I did know him. That is all, Windsor. A half hour later, Barrett stood in the drawing room and faced the group which had been assembled. Now, go to the places you were in, just before Mr. Lansing collapsed, he ordered. Must we go through this horrible thing again, Mr. Barrett? Mrs. Rogers asked. Yes, I think I made myself clear, Barrett snapped. With some confusion the guests reassumed their former places. Barrett paced the floor, thinking hard. Now, listen! I am speaking to each and everyone of you. Murder has been committed here tonight, and I have every reason to think the murderer is right here in this r-oom. And I mean to find out who he or she is, he said, glaring at the faces. But Mr. Barrett, you can't possibly mean what you've just said. I won't have my guests insulted. I'd rather find the murderer than worry about insults, Mrs. Rogers, he said sarcastically. But tongues like Mrs. Rogers' were never meant to be silent. She ventured once more. Mr, Barrett, couldn't we have some en- tertainment while we are waiting? A' horrified whisper of disapproval swept the room. Sure we'll have entertainment. How about some music? Music, they all echoed. Dismay was registered on all their faces. Yes, I said music. By the way does anyone here play any kind of a musical instrument? Oh, Mr. Barrett, Mr. Windsor can play the violin beautifully. A violin, reflected Barrett, now that might lead somewhere. Put them all under the same circumstances again. The guilty one fPlea.re turn to Page 895 lO l I---lE- CIL..-lI'l'L..le