“These clippings have to do with the murder of a man by the name of Craig. Howard Chandler Craig. Twenty-nine years old, unmarried, employed as a book-keeper by the Roxberry Estates. Let’s see. Where was the murder committed? Wait a minute. Here’s a heading. Los Angeles Times, June 11, 1937. ”
Hale said, “Now wouldn’t that be something? Suppose the murderer escaped and came here—” He picked up one of the clippings, started reading through it. It had been folded over a couple of times, and he unfolded it and looked at the photograph just about the time I was reading the details of the account.
When I heard Hale’s quick intake of breath, I knew what caused it.
“Lam!” he said excitedly. “Look here!”
I said, “I’m reading about it in this one.”
“But here’s her photograph.”
I looked at the coarse-meshed reproduction of Roberta Fenn’s picture. Underneath it were the words Roberta Fenn, twenty-one-year-old stenographer, was riding with Howard Craig when holdup occurred.
Hale said excitedly, “Lam, do you know what this means?”
I said; “No.”
He said, “I do.”