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I pondered this for a couple seconds. Then, I snapped my fingers as realization hit me.

"Was that the cult that tried to pass itself off as a memorial association composed of Confederate widows?"

"Precisely!" exclaimed Sir Anthony: "But, Father Cypriano of the St. Hubert Society exposed them for what they truly were, and destroyed them! With considerable help, of course, from one Capt. Lancer of the Union Army of Occupation."

"It's too late for you to investigate this new lead, today," observed Mr. Galstaff: "Why not wait until tomorrow?"

"A very sound suggestion," replied Sir Anthony.

An hour later, we were eating steak with French-fried potatoes in our guest room. Or, rather, I was eating. Sir Anthony merely tapped on the edge of his dinner plate with his fork. A nervous habit I had long since learned was a sign of his mental gears turning at full speed.

"You really should finish those before they get cold," I remarked: "If only to keep from being distracted by the growls of a stomach protesting its emptiness."

"Peter, my boy?" he replied: "Rapunzel's hair, in a gale-force wind, could not become more entangled than have the different aspects of this case!"

I grinned: "You're preaching to the choir, in that regard, Sir Anthony."

"Let's see," he mused aloud (as if he hadn't heard me): "We have a gangster's widow who's apparently funding a Melissae sub-sect that was supposedly destroyed at the tail end of the War Between the States. We have a snake-charming belly dancer who was abducted by employees of the aforementioned gangster's alleged murderer. And, we have a train load of missing orphans who were abducted by a Red Indian bird-woman, who claims they're better off with her than at Camp New Hope!"

He paused long enough to shovel some of the French fries, and one piece of steak, into his mouth. During which interval, I agreed that he had given an accurate summary of the known facts.

"The only common denominator I can see," I added: "...is that both the abducted woman and the cult are originally from Louisiana."

"Botheration!" he exclaimed, banging the tray top with the handle of his fork: "You're right. Why didn't I see that sooner?"

"Blinded with hunger, perhaps?" I gently chided him, as I ate some more of my own steak.

"I'm serious. Detective Sgt. Stone said Taliaferro was one gangster who took his marriage vows, seriously. Yet, what about the late 'Tiny Dan' Bianco?"

"You've lost me," I confessed.

"You saw how popular she is with her male fans! What if she was recruited, by Taliaferro, as part of some master plan aimed at seductively luring 'Tiny Dan' into a death-trap?"

"It would have to be a mighty big trap," I replied: "According to my contacts, back in Manhattan, the man was close to seven feet tall! Hence, his nickname was actually a sarcastic misnomer. Similar to calling a chubby man 'Skinny.' "

Sir Anthony shook his head: "You don't understand. I'm saying; what if Pamela Plaisantine was part of a revived Sisterhood of Bellona? And, what if she was trying to somehow exploit Taliaferro's crime syndicate as a power base for further expansion?"

"Then, why have her abducted at gunpoint?" I countered.

"Perhaps, she had outlived her usefulness to him. But, even if I'm wrong, I think it doubly behooves us to leave here, for Arbor Vitae, first thing tomorrow morning."

As if on cue, we suddenly heard a growing commotion outside our guest room window.

"Extra! Extra ! Read all about it," some paper boy cried out at the top of his lungs: "Bianco Mob strikes back! Two Taliaferro men found brutally murdered."

I ordered Sir Anthony to finish eating, while I went outside to buy that extra edition of THE MILWAUKEE JOURNAL. When I finally managed to make my way to the front of the ensuing crowd, I gave the paperboy a dollar and told him to keep the change.

"Gee! Thanks, mister!" he exclaimed with delight (before returning to his ritual recitation).

I brought it back upstairs, and grimly read it over Sir Anthony's shoulder. To briefly summarize it? The Ford Model A we had seen drive off, from the alley behind the Bijou Theater, had been found in a warehouse somewhere along the waterfront. With a large hole in the warehouse roof; and the truck looking like a peeled banana!

More over, the truck had only had three occupants. Two of them (Ace Corona and Jamie Hillborne) having bled to death...after somehow being crushed below the waist!!

The truck's driver, on the other hand, was alive. But, in a state of mental shock. As whatever he had witnessed had proven so frightening, he had become a white-haired babbling idiot!!!

Incessantly muttering something about a giant snake-woman.

tbc
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