DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 8, Fall 1944 |

Transcribe
Translate

Acolyte, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 8, Fall 1944

   "She doesn't know! But that kills the whole..."
   "Of course, how can you..."
   "Please," said the professor quietly.
   "She doesn't know then," the actress continued calmly. "She tells them later. Oh, I should say they put her in the back seat. You have to know that. Then she tells them where to take here--she's very pale, of course, and beautiful and sad--and they take her there. And when they drive up to the house..."
   "Only first they notice..."
   "No, not till they get there."
   "Well, the way I heard it..."
   "Let's hear her version first," Martin suggested. "Then you can argue."
   "So they look around and she isn't there any more. And you see there isn't any way she could have got out without their knowing it, because the car was a two-door thing. That's why I had to tell you about that. And it looks impossible and they're worried; but they go up to the house anyway. And a man answers the doorbell and he asks what the matter..."
   "No!" the reporter broke in sharply. "He says, 'I know why you have come.' "
   The actress thought. "Yes. I guess you're right. He says, 'Don't tell me why you've come.' Only they tell him anyway--which is just what people always do--and he says, 'Yes. You're the tenth people' (that sounds silly, doesn't it?) 'you're the tenth people who've brought her here.' "
   "Only what he really said," the travel man explained, "is, 'She's come here every night for a month now.' "
   "But why?" the doctor asked. "What's it all about? You'd have to know the story back of it to do anything with it."
   "Don't you see? It was his wife that he'd murdered."
   "That's screwy," said the reporter. "It was his daughter. She was coming home from school and was killed in an accident at that spot and was trying to finish her journey home. That's why the suitcase."
   "It was his daughter all right," the travel man said, "but the way I heard it she'd taken poison and then changed her mind and tried to get home only she was dead."
   "Humph," the doctor said.
   "You see," Martin explained, "you've got your choice. Anything will do for your picture. That's the way with legends."
"It is indeed a curious legend, "the professor observed, "and one deserving scholarly study. Mr. Woollcott, I believe, dealt with it It think I might be able to reconcile your variant versions."
"Ooh," said the actress. "Go on."
The fire crackled and shone on the glasses. "It is basically a Berkeley legend," the professor said, "though it seems to have spread far from there. In the original form, the suitcase is correct and so is the girl's lying down. The people in the car are variously described -- I think because it occurred to various people."
The actress gave a stage shudder. "You mean it's real?"
"He means it may have several independent sources," Martin enlightened her.
"Of the explanations, yours, sir, is the most nearly accurate," the professor continued, nodding to the travel man. "It was the suicide of a daughter. She had been driven from her home because of the father's madly melodramatic suspicions of her affair with his assistant -- which proved to have been quite innocent, if terribly sincere. She had loved her father dearly. Sorrow overcame her, and she took poison.
            --7--

Saving...

"She doesn't know! But that kills the whole..." "Of course, how can you..." "Please," said the professor quietly. "She doesn't know then," the actress continued calmly. "She tells them later. Oh, I should say they put her in the back seat. You have to know that. Then she tells them where to take here--she's very pale, of course, and beautiful and sad--and they take her there. And when they drive up to the house..." "Only first they notice..." "No, not till they get there." "Well, the way I heard it..." "Let's hear her version first," Martin suggested. "Then you can argue." "So they look around and she isn't there any more. And you see there isn't any way she could have got out without their knowing it, because the car was a two-door thing. That's why I had to tell you about that. And it looks impossible and they're worried; but they go up to the house anyway. And a man answers the doorbell and he asks what the matter..." "No!" the reporter broke in sharply. "He says, 'I know why you have come.' " The actress thought. "Yes. I guess you're right. He says, 'Don't tell me why you've come.' Only they tell him anyway--which is just what people always do--and he says, 'Yes. You're the tenth people' (that sounds silly, doesn't it?) 'you're the tenth people who've brought her here.' " "Only what he really said," the travel man explained, "is, 'She's come here every night for a month now.' " "But why?" the doctor asked. "What's it all about? You'd have to know the story back of it to do anything with it." "Don't you see? It was his wife that he'd murdered." "That's screwy," said the reporter. "It was his daughter. She was coming home from school and was killed in an accident at that spot and was trying to finish her journey home. That's why the suitcase." "It was his daughter all right," the travel man said, "but the way I heard it she'd taken poison and then changed her mind and tried to get home only she was dead." "Humph," the doctor said. "You see," Martin explained, "you've got your choice. Anything will do for your picture. That's the way with legends." "It is indeed a curious legend, "the professor observed, "and one deserving scholarly study. Mr. Woollcott, I believe, dealt with it It think I might be able to reconcile your variant versions." "Ooh," said the actress. "Go on." The fire crackled and shone on the glasses. "It is basically a Berkeley legend," the professor said, "though it seems to have spread far from there. In the original form, the suitcase is correct and so is the girl's lying down. The people in the car are variously described -- I think because it occurred to various people." The actress gave a stage shudder. "You mean it's real?" "He means it may have several independent sources," Martin enlightened her. "Of the explanations, yours, sir, is the most nearly accurate," the professor continued, nodding to the travel man. "It was the suicide of a daughter. She had been driven from her home because of the father's madly melodramatic suspicions of her affair with his assistant -- which proved to have been quite innocent, if terribly sincere. She had loved her father dearly. Sorrow overcame her, and she took poison. --7--