The Johnny Clark Murder Case

The death of autumn plants is not unobserved in Broadway. There's a tolling of bells by thin, shivering fellows in white wigs and baggy Santa Claus suits. And hands of hawkers are not so nimble and fleet, numbed with winter darkness.

And from trumpet, solemn removal of derby for the passing of autumn song and modulate quick cream into Rudolph the Red Knows' drain-deers. And remember, how were the days of the falling leaf? And remember, how were the days of the falling leaf?

Tastes their glow, watched them flicker, watched them die. Then go search somewhere else. Only 25 more shopping days. And North on Broadway and then East, where wealth is framed by winter river. The room is paneled wood, gleaming in firelight, a carved desk, a sheen of wine-red leather chair.

The soft glow of firelight also on the face of a boy, dead of a bullet wound between the eyes. And the man over it. Proud. Neat Chuff, wouldn't you say? Yes, as it was, Mr. Barker.

I'd say nothing you would hit him, wouldn't you say? Ed, Eddie, please. Please. We're listening, Car. What did he want to tell us? Nothing. Just nothing. Fightful thing, I suppose, for a woman. You see, Mr. Crova, my wife has never looked upon death.

Not at least to my knowledge. Cora, dear, is this the very first time you were... Just tryin' to inform me, Mr. Barker, exactly. What happened, how it happened? Quite obvious, wouldn't you say? Just tell me. I'm quite obvious. I would say the open safe money he tried to steal now littering my library floor where I

Potted him. Eddie stop it. Why should I do? The man asked me. He had to know exactly how it was. I thought it little deep could have killed me if I hadn't got their first.