Two minute mysteries pdf download

Two minute mysteries pdf download

Two-Minute Mysteries - Donald J. Sobol COMM1,Uploaded by

WebTwo-Minute Mysteries. by. Donald J. Sobol. Publication date. Publisher. WebTwo-minute Mysteries - Donald J. Sobol Comm1. Uploaded by: Deborah S. Nicdao. WebDOWNLOAD NOW». Award-winning author Sandy Silverthorne and John Warner’s first WebTwo Minute Mysteries Book PDFs/Epub Download and Read Books in PDF " Two Web2 Minute Mysteries is a series of short interactive mysteries in which you take on the role ... read more

Haledjian, the famous detective You solve the crime! Description: "Sixty-three short mysteries, full of tricky thieves, double-dealing con men, dangerous murderers. Haledjian's there to uphold the law, but will you catch the culprit first? Description: Contains 79 quick mysteries filled with tricky clues. Solutions included. Description: Updated covers revitalize the first two titles in our extremely popular Five-Minute Mysteries series by Ken Weber, the master of the succinct whodunit. This attractive new series look is sure to appeal to young adults, introducing them to the lifelong literary pleasures of mystery novels. Each book contains more than 30 baffling cases, each with an ingenious solution guaranteed to challenge and entertain.

Best of all, every mystery is short and sweet—easy to read in less time than it takes to microwave popcorn! Description: When Earl, Joe, and Michelle receive the call from their boss, Mr. Millo, the three employeeswho are tasked to complete government researchare never sure where the assignments will take them. From the forests of North America to remote atolls in the ocean to the mountains of South America, the three tackle projects around the globe. With each mission, they face a range of challenging factorsweather, outside unknown forces, and possible kidnapping.

They often have reliable backup, but generally the trio must rely on their own knowledge, skills, and resources to get them out of some sticky, off-beat situations. Duffy, a motherly woman of sixty, smiled cheerfully. It'll work wonders, I promise. Duffy bustled about her neat little kitchen. He had always admired the kindly woman who dwelt alone and made her own living. After the sheriff had finished his tea, he rose to leave. Many thanks. Duffy's panel truck. It was parked by the south wing of the house which, he had always assumed, was her bakery, in which she 68 made the bread, cakes, and pies she sold to inns along the highway. He studied the pink lettering on the truck: "Ma Duffy's Homemade Pies, Cakes, and Bread. Back in town he telephoned Dr. The famed criminologist heartily advised him to get a search warrant, and within the hour the sheriff had returned to Mrs.

A search of the premises disclosed that Ma Duffy's pies, cakes, and bread were commercial products with wrappers removed. But the bottles of whiskey illegally secreted within each pullman loaf were strictly home brewed. What made the sheriff suspicious? The sheriff realized that Mrs. Duffy wasn't baking in the back of her house when she said, "I don't keep bicarbonate of soda on hand. Hotel Murder Dr. Haledjian was shaving in his hotel room on the second floor when he heard a woman screaming, "Help! In front of room a woman stood crying and screaming. Introducing himself, Haledjian looked through the open door and saw a man slumped in an easy chair. A swift examination showed he had just been killed by a bullet through the heart. A voice said, 'Telegram.

A masked man stood there, a gun in his gloved hand. He shot my husband, tossed the gun into the room, and ran. Returning to the hall, he noted the door at one end marked Exit. Reentering the room, he stepped on something hard. It turned out to be an empty cartridge shell. Farther to the left was another. Both were of the caliber to match the pistol. Embedded in the wall, about two feet above the seated body, Haledjian discovered a second bullet. Uffner," he said sternly. Had the mysterious killer fired from the hail into the room, the shells from his gun would not have fallen forward into the room and to the left. An automatic pistol ejects to the right and a few feet behind the shooter. Haledjian's weekend hunting trip ended abruptly when he stumbled upon the body of a middle-aged man dressed in hunter's garb lying in a shallow gorge. An autopsy disclosed that death had been instantaneous.

A bullet had entered just above the hip and lodged in the heart. Investigation by the police established the dead man as John C. Mills, a New York City ad man. Further, Mills and a friend, Whit Kearns, had rented a hunting lodge near where the body was found. Kearns was immediately brought in for questioning. A suave, impeccably tailored sportsman of fifty, Kearns looked from the inspector to Dr. Haledjian before saying resignedly, "All right. I didn't mean to run away. I suppose I just panicked. It was the last day, and for the first time we hadn't shot a solitary bruin. I noticed a rock formation and climbed to the top to see if I couldn't spot one. A bear had got to him. I shot, but only wounded the bear. It reared on its hind legs.

Just as I fired again, John got in the way. My bullet struck him, and he tumbled into the gorge. Shooting into "the clearing below" from atop a rock formation, Kearns' bullet would have followed a downward angle. But the bullet that killed Mills traveled upward -- from hip to heart. Indian Jug The day before the big Tech vs. State football game, the State mascot, an Indian jug, disappeared. Three hours before kickoff, one of the State fraternities was anonymously informed that the jug was buried on the estate of E. Van Snite, millionaire Tech grad, fanatical football booster, and notorious prankster. Six State undergraduates enlisted the aid of Dr. Arming them with shovels, the famous sleuth drove out to see Van Snite, an old friend.

The State boys gazed with dismay upon the area of ground Van Snite had indicated. It was a freshly turned half acre, scraped and rolled and freshly sown on every inch with grass seed. The area was walled on three sides, and a stone 74 walk bordered the fourth. In dead center stood a bird bath. A maple tree grew at one end of the expanse and two wild olive trees at the opposite end. But if you fail by game time, you must pay for planting the whole lawn. The State boys prepared to leave. But within half an hour they had unearthed the Indian jug -- after Haledjian had told them where to dig. That meant under the maple, whose surface roots steal food and moisture from the smaller grass roots, making grass impossible. Indian Trader Dr. Haledjian and the rest of the saddle-sore dudes on the deluxe tour of western sites entered the adobe museum and stared at an empty green-tinted glass bottle. Its label read: Doc Henry's Secret Elixir. The tour's bandy-legged little guide recounted the reason for the bottle's enshrinement.

But on his deathbed, he's supposed to have admitted it weren't nothin' but sugar water. It was Doc Henry who volunteered to go after her. For five days of sub-freezin' weather he palavered with them savages. He'd had to trade all his bottles but three fer her, and all his other stuff in the bargain. Imagine goin' up into them hills alone and tradin' a pack of crazy-drunk redskins out of a beautiful girl! After "five days of sub-freezin' weather" the "sugar water" would have frozen and broken the glass bottles. Hence the elixir had to be something with a low freezing point -- an alcoholic beverage that got the Indians "crazy drunk. Last Moreno "From the smirk connecting your ears, I assume you've hit upon a new scheme for making a million dollars," Dr. Haledjian said to Bertie Tilford. Bertie opened his briefcase and showed Haledjian a pen-and-ink sketch of a bearded man. The details were never divulged till his friend, Kiako, meeting hard times, came to me.

The weather had been far below freezing for days, and Moreno, his hip injured, failed rapidly. He stopped up the broken window with his gloves. As he tore apart a chair to build a fire, Moreno called to him. There was no time. He wouldn't live half an hour. Kiako found an old pen and a bottle of ink in a cupboard. Moreno sketched his faithful friend, and died. His last picture should be worth a quarter of a million. I can buy it from Kiako for twenty thousand," concluded Bertie. Not twenty cents! As "the weather had been far below freezing for days," and the shack had a "broken window," the ink would have been frozen solid and impossible to draw with.

Lazy Murderer According to the coroner's report, Mrs. Treddor, the town recluse, had been bludgeoned to death two days ago in the kitchen of her decaying hilltop mansion. yesterday that she had been murdered," Sheriff Monahan confessed to Dr. Treddor's been the butt of every practical joke in the book, including the death gimmick, a dozen times. Had to have it in writing. Aside from a daily milk and newspaper delivery, the only visitors who climbed up to see her regularly. You can see why. The driveway to the house was overgrown and impassable, and deliveries obviously had to be made on foot. The famed sleuth sat down in a rocking chair, the only object on the sagging porch besides two unopened newspapers. Treddor alive? Carson, probably," said the sheriff. Treddor's death, she was driving by and noticed the old lady come out on the porch to take in her bottle of milk.

Treddor was supposed to have fifty thousand dollars hidden someplace. We can't find it, or any clues. The milkman, who thought he didn't have to make his daily delivery. There were two newspapers on the porch, but no bottles of milk. Locked Room "I think I've been taken for ten thousand dollars, but I can't figure out how it was done," said Archer Skeat, the blind violinist, to Dr. Haledjian, as the two friends sat in the musician's library. He took a bottle of ginger ale and left the room. Then I turned off the lights and sat down to wait. Confidently, I unlocked the door. I kept Marty whistling in the hall when I crossed the room to the opposite wall and opened the safe.

The glass was inside. By heavens, it was half filled with ginger ale and only ginger ale. I tasted it! How did he do it? But no man could have heard -- " Heard what? Ice melting. Marty had brought with him frozen cubes of ginger ale. After setting up the bet, he had slipped the ginger ale cubes into the glass. While they melted in the glass inside the safe, Marty waited in the hail! Lookout Dr. Haledjian was the only customer in the little drugstore when the shooting started. He had just taken his first sip of black coffee when three men dashed from the bank across the street, guns blazing. As the holdup men jumped into a waiting car, a nun and a chauffeur sought refuge in the drugstore. The nun ordered black coffee, the chauffeur a glass of root beer. The three fell to talking about the flying bullets and had barely touched their drinks when sirens sounded.

The robbers had been captured and were being returned to the bank for identification. Haledjian moved to a front window to watch. As 84 he returned to the counter, the nun and chauffeur thanked him again and departed. The counterman had cleared the glass and cups. There isn't a limousine on the street. What aroused Haledjian's suspicion? The woman dressed as a nun admitted being the lookout after Haledjian had seized her down the block. Haledjian, too, had noticed the lipstick on her coffee cup and knew she was not a real nun, since nuns don't wear lipstick. Lost City "I'm really onto something big this time," said Bertie Tilford, the irrepressible Englishman with more get-rich-quick schemes than horsehair in a mattress factory.

He fished a letter from his pocket and pressed it to Dr. Can you rush me thirty thousand dollars to begin excavations? He said if he ever found the city, he'd let me in on the ground floor, so to speak. A half share of everything -- if I backed him. A mere bagatelle," said Bertie. Let me have ten thousand and I'll make your fortune! But the man who wrote that letter is obviously not an archaeologist. So no money today for your swindler, my boy! A bona fide archaeologist would never have written "in A. means "anno Domini" in the year of the Lord and, unlike B. Maestro's Choice Even by the night of the concert, Gregory Pitz, the famous conductor, hadn't decided which of his star pupils, Ivan Poser or Mark Donn, would make his violin debut.

The anxious youths dressed in separate private dressing rooms. Fifteen minutes before curtain time, Pitz made up his mind. He told Poser he had been selected; then he broke the sad news to Donn. Ten minutes later Pitz went to fetch Poser for the performance. The youth lay dead in the middle of the tiny dressing room floor, shot through the head. Trembling, Pitz locked the door and summoned his old friend, Dr. Haledjian, from the wings. Haledjian urged the maestro to play the concert and followed him into Donn's dressing room.

Hearing that he was to perform after all -- without hearing why -- Donn looked surprised and 88 pleased. He straightened his tie, picked up his violin and bow, and followed Pitz downstairs and onto the stage. The two musicians bowed to the applause. Donn waited stiffly till Pitz signaled the orchestra. Then the youth raised his violin to his chin. A moment later Donn was stroking the opening notes. Haledjian telephoned the police and advised them to arrest the young violinist. The fact that Donn was prepared to perform and therefore was aware of Poser's death indicated he was involved in the murder.

Had he been unaware, he would have stopped to rosin his bow and tune his violin before playing. Missing Button Matty Linden, a husky tenth-grade student, scowled at Inspector Winters. I didn't slug Miss Casey, and I didn't steal her purse! Unfortunately for you, a ninth-grade girl happened to enter the corridor where Miss Casey lay. The girl saw a boy in a dark cardigan sweater and brown pants leaving by the door at the far end. He held up the missing button. But this missing button proves you did it. Luckily, Miss Casey isn't badly hurt.

Now, where's her purse? Haledjian later. He claims he got a note to be in the school boiler room at ten -- fifteen minutes before Miss Casey was assaulted. He waited half an hour, but nobody showed up. What was the guilty student's error? In trying to frame Matty Linden, the ninth-grade girl made too much of a point of the cardigan, which he always wore buttoned. Since she saw only the back of a boy leaving the corridor, she could not have known whether his sweater was a pullover or a cardigan unless she knew beforehand, having stolen the button from it.

Molly's Mule Cyril Makin, the amateur amorist, sagged dejectedly into a chair in Dr. Haledjian's home. Why last year her old man scratched his ace thoroughbred from the Garden Classic because he suspected a sore hoof. Gave up a crack at a hundred thousand dollars! I told Libby about how Uncle Tim and Molly M went into the desert in ' That trip Uncle Tim hit the mother lode, richest gold strike ever. But did he 92 haul it right away? No, sir! Molly M was ailing, and Molly M came before anything. Finally Molly M had her little one, Strike-ItRich, but Uncle Tim waited another week till Molly M was strong enough to tote a load of gold. He never found the spot again. Five or six million were lost by waiting for Molly M instead of making two or three quick trips, though the poor beast wasn't fit for heavy work. No mule -- not even Molly M -- can reproduce. Murder at the Zoo The headlights of Dr. Haledjian's car flooded over a blond man darting across the road.

Haledjian spun the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes. I was running to get the police. About a hundred yards from the road, near the giraffe enclosure, lay a figure in a doorman's uniform. Do you know him? I was out for a walk when a car passed me a few minutes ago. It was traveling very slowly. Then a giraffe began to scream. The enclosure is visible from the road, and I saw one giraffe running in circles and suddenly collapse. I went to investigate and stumbled on the body here. He climbed the fence and knelt beside the stricken animal. The second bullet found the mark, though. You weren't running to get help. You were running away! Taylor claimed that he stumbled on the dead man after being attracted by the "scream" of the giraffe. Unfortunately for his story, a giraffe is voiceless. Murder Before the Concert The body of pretty Frieda Dillon lay beside her green sedan in the driveway of the boardinghouse where she had lived. She had been slain at 8 p. She had been shot twice.

The first bullet had pierced her right thigh, leaving a large bloodstain on her dark sheath skirt. The second and fatal bullet had pierced her heart, leaving a bloodstain on her white blouse. Inside the sedan was Miss Dillon's cello. The police took testimony from three persons. The landlady, Mrs. Wilson, who found the body, said Frieda had decided to attend the concert but not to play, because she had been annoyed by an over-ardent suitor, Bill. Sanders, a fellow orchestra member. Frieda hadn't practiced her cello or taken it from the car in a week. She had told him she would play, and that she'd pick him up at P. and they would drive together to the auditorium as they always did.

But he had waited for her in vain. Lazlo St. John, the conductor, said that the women members of the orchestra wore dark skirts and white blouses, and the men wore white jackets and black trousers, though minor details of style were optional. The orchestra members dressed at home. He added that Frieda undoubtedly could perform well without any practice, since the concert was a repeat program. After reading the three statements, Haledjian immediately knew Sanders was lying. Haledjian knew that Frieda Dillon had no intention of playing with the orchestra, as Bill Sanders claimed. She was a cellist, and could not possibly have performed wearing a sheath skirt. Murdered Camper Dr. Haledjian and Sheriff Monahan had scarcely finished supper when Wyatt Fulton burst into their camp clearing.

We mistook them for hunters till they announced a holdup. They tied us up and stole our money. I remembered you'd gone camping, Sheriff. So I looked for your fire. Near the body were several strands of rope and a bloody rock. A yard away was the uncut rope that had apparently been used to bind Fulton. Two sleeping bags and two knapsacks lay on the ground. On a large fiat stone were pairs of plates, forks, cups, and knives. The cups were unused. For a moment afterward the only sound in the clearing was the hissing from the fire as the small black coffee pot cast boiling drops over the brim and onto the flaming logs below.

Haledjian broke the silence. But you made one fatal mistake. Had the coffee pot been put on the fire before the two holdup men murdered Swamm, "an hour ago," as Fulton claimed, the water would have boiled away far below the brim of the small pot. Hence Fulton had just put on the pot before running to fetch the sheriff. When a mid-January thaw melted the snowdrifts in the Adirondack Mountains, a latemodel sports car was found parked on a side road near the Guilden Ski Lodge. Inside were the bodies of May Elliot and Roger Kirk, victims of rifle shots. Both had registered at the resort a week earlier under fictitious names. Haledjian as the two men stood in the trophy-hung living room of Roger Kirk. Haledjian read a maple plaque awarded to Kirk as runner-up in the World Water Ski championships.

Then he moved to a table whereon were four birthday gifts, opened by the police. Haledjian studied a book on underwater treasure hunting from Abe Merkin; a pair of ski poles from Curt Gowan; a speargun from Jim Shick; and a monogrammed pith helmet from Walt Parker. Maybe if he'd stuck to his line he'd still be alive. Never told anybody what he was up to, certainly not about the rendezvous with May Elliot. He invited four men to his birthday party here; they showed up, but he didn't, because that night he registered at the ski lodge under a phony name. My place. They all claim they didn't know where he was going skiing.

Which one? Curt Gowan, whose gift of ski poles showed he knew Kirk, the water-ski ace, was going to ski on snow when he should have assumed, as the others did, that he was going south to ski on water. Murdered Wife Dr. Haledjian finished examining the body of Maureen Page which lay on the maroon carpet of her fashionable Gables home. Page was struck fatally on the head with the butt of that pistol," the famous sleuth said. Sheriff Monahan was carefully dusting it for fingerprints. Hate the job of breaking the news of her murder. Will you do it? Then he sat down to wait for John Page. The ambulance had driven off when the distraught husband burst through the front door. Where's Maureen? She was murdered about two hours ago," said Haledjian. Suddenly he gripped the sheriffs arm. I'll put up a fifty-thousand-dollar reward! Had John Page been innocent, he would not have known that his wife had been "clubbed" to death.

Seeing the murder gun, he should have assumed she had been shot. Murdering Rival "Molly Fipps was murdered in the basement of her apartment house yesterday," Inspector Winters told Dr. But we have two suspects, Dereck Comin and Eric Hoder, a pair of rival suitors. She had been duly registered as a crew member aboard Derek Comin's yacht for the ocean powerboat race that afternoon. She'd been in his crew before. He claims he was delayed by motor trouble, which he fixed himself. Nobody saw him do it. He could have spent the hour killing Molly.

He claims he asked her to lunch. He says she refused because she had an afternoon engagement and had to hurry to the hairdresser. But he has no confirming witnesses either. One of them is lying, I'm sure of it. Whom did Haledjian suspect? Haledjian knew Hoder lied in saying Molly told him earlier she was going to the hairdresser. No woman who was going yachting would have her hair set! Musical Thief The visiting British Army Band, under the baton of Sir Roger Lindsey-Haven, had just struck up "God Save the Queen" when two gunshots rang out. Haledjian and Inspector Winters remained in their places until the anthem ended.

Then they raced up the aisle and into the streets of New York City. Two blocks away they found three policemen subduing a stocky man in a blue suit. One of the policemen reported to the inspector: "The concert hall box office was held up a few minutes ago by a thickset masked man in a blue suit. He put six thousand dollars and his gun into a paper bag and fled. When we ordered him to halt and he didn't, we shot into the air. He broke into a run and hurled a paper bag down the sewer. I heard a band playing 'God Save the Queen,' and somebody shouted, 'Halt or I'll shoot. I heard shots so I ran to get off the street. I tossed a bag of orange peels into the sewer, not money! I got excited. Just then the concert resumed. Despite the intervening buildings, strains of a march could be heard distinctly. There's a poster over the box office announcing tonight's performance of the British Army Band. You'd have done better not to have read it! The prisoner insisted he had not been near the concert hall.

Yet he never would have called the anthem he heard "God Save the Queen" unless he had seen the poster and knew a British band was performing. Had he been innocent, he would have named the music by its American words, "My Country, 'Tis of Thee. Newton the Knife As the headwaiter seated Dr. Haledjian and Octavia in a secluded corner, the sleuth observed a diner at the next table catch a squirt of grapefruit in his left ear. Care to hear about it? His body was found in a dingy Brooklyn bar. A bullet had entered his left ear and lodged midway in his brain, causing death instantly. Newton's knife was found clutched in his right hand. He apparently fell, holding it as he died. But even without the bartender's phony corroboration, I knew Figaro's account was pure fabrication," concluded Haledjian. It would have been impossible for Figaro to shoot Newton through the ear while Newton was charging him "head-on. Office Shooting As Inspector Winters looked around the cubbyhole office of John Stahl, Bart Rea said, "I touched nothing -- except the desk telephone.

I called you right away. Near his right hand was a large French pistol. But John has a red-flag temper. I couldn't calm him down. He doesn't know what he's doing when he goes crazy mad. He missed. I shot back immediately. It was self-defense. Opening the top desk drawer, he thoughtfully slid the gun inside. Haledjian that night. It fired the death bullet. The pistol bears Stahl's fingerprints, but he didn't have a license for it, and we can't trace it. He's already confessed. Rea claimed that he had "touched nothing," and that Stahl "with practically one motion" had opened the drawer, taken out the gun, and fired. Even a less hot-tempered man would never have bothered to close the drawer after pulling out a gun with intent to kill. The inspector found the drawer closed, remember? Open Door Working calmly and efficiently, Greg Verner hanged Brendon Trom in the attic of Trom's rented house. It was not until Verner tried to shut the front door that he hit a snag.

The lock was jammed. Two hours later he was driving back to the house with Dr. I should have visited him, but nobody knew where he was hiding out. I got his address this afternoon when he telephoned me to say he was contemplating suicide. I thought you'd better come with me and perhaps have a talk with him. Finding the front door ajar, he entered and switched on the lights. Five minutes later the two men found Brendon Trom in the attic. As they stood silently staring at the body, a door chime sounded downstairs. With Haledjian right behind him, Verner hastened to the back door. There stood a teenage girl. Trom," she said. Haledjian took the milk and after she had gone he called the police. Verner on suspicion of murder," he said when they arrived. Although Verner carefully built up the impression he had never visited the Trom house before, he knew while standing in the attic that the chime was from the back door.

Orange Bird For years Mrs. Sydney, the wealthiest dowager in New York City, had vainly tried to outwit Dr. As the famous criminologist selected a cigar from the tray held by the Sydney butler, a wicked gleam came into his hostess's eye. It was time for playing stump-the-detective Roach, whose hobby was bird-watching, remained behind. He followed it to the front of the house, and through binoculars watched it building a nest, high in a palm tree. Roach says DeMott shoved Houk overboard and held his head under water. He drowned before DeMott could reach him.

At the trial, it was simply DeMott's word against Roach's. Do you? Although an experienced bird-watcher, Roach didn't know his tropical flora. Obviously, he didn't watch a bird building his nest in a palm tree as he claimed. Palm trees don't have branches, only long slippery fronds; and birds can't perch -- much less nest -- on them. Steve Corrigan, the mad-dog killer, was shot to death in a Detroit boarding house during a gun battle with police, who acted on an anonymous telephone tip. Two days earlier a man had held up a Toledo bank and slain two cashiers. A guard spotted a scar on the masked gunman's right hand. Within an hour the police had the telltale description booming over the loudspeakers of every transportation center within a fifty-mile radius of the crime. Everyone with an eye to collecting the well-publicized fifty-thousand-dollar reward began insisting he was the anonymous tipster.

The Detroit police asked Dr. Haledjian to screen the claimants. The first was Bill Kempton, who told his story confidently. Carl got a seat in the back, and as the bus started, he noticed a man with a scar on his right hand sitting midway up the bus. He saw the scarred man pass the woman a note and say, 'Meet me in two days at this address. He had seen the red-haired woman crumple the note after reading it and drop it on the floor. Carl was the last off the bus and he picked it up. Here it is. Bring the next tipster, sergeant! The note was an obvious fake. Carl, the "deafmute," might be able to read lips and so know what the scarred man said. But Carl never could have attached importance to his remarks unless he had heard Corrigan's description broadcast over the depot loudspeakers as he boarded the bus. Parked Car The sleek foreign convertible was like many others in the Midcity garage except for the dead man's brown shoes and socks protruding from the opened driver's door.

William Clancy, New York's top expert on men's fashions," Inspector Winters told Dr. with Denise Mills, a model, two nights ago. When he didn't show up, she telephoned his roommate, Kurt Wagner. Wagner checked on Clancy's movements. After backchecking, we found Clancy's body. It looks like Clancy was about to take out his car for the date with Miss Mills when another car hit him and kept going. Clancy dragged himself to the telephone in his car, but died before he could use it. He carefully studied the blood which had flowed from a corner of the dead man's mouth and dried upon his striped shirt and brown suitcoat lapel. The medical examiner says he died about forty-eight hours ago. That ties in -- forty-eight hours ago Clancy was headed for his 8 p. date with Miss Mills. Unquestionably Clancy died at least two hours earlier. Haledjian straightened and stepped from the body.

Only a man ignorant of fashion would have worn brown shoes, brown suit, and a striped shirt for a date at 8 P. After dark, Clancy, the fashion expert, would have worn black shoes, white shirt, and a dark suit. Payroll Truck Driving through deserted farm country a few miles from Fort Olmstead, Dr. Haledjian suddenly came upon an army truck that had crashed into a tree beside the road. As he stopped his car, a jeep came from the opposite direction carrying two officers and two sergeants, all wearing side arms. A sergeant leaped out of the jeep and ran to the truck.

He opened the cab door. The driver was dead; the soldier beside him was dying. The famous sleuth saw the cross on the officer's collar. The other officer, a captain, said to Haledjian, "That's the fort's payroll truck. The way I see it, those poor boys were ambushed, but the driver managed to keep going till he died. We'll get help back to you as fast as we can. And don't trust anybody, you hear? Haledjian waited only until they were around a bend to flatten the chaplain with a straight right to the jaw. Haledjian realized the chaplain would shoot him and take off in his car the moment he saw his chance. The four soldiers were obviously impostors, as all were "wearing sidearms," including the chaplain. But service chaplains are forbidden to carry weapons. Phantom Killer "This one gives me the shudders," admitted Sheriff Monahan.

Tim Doherty was inside his office with Reverend Archibald. The office is separated from the outer room, or waiting room, by a swinging door set two feet off the ground. The two men were standing close to it, reading a church pamphlet. Yet he put all three bullets on the right side of the door, where Doherty was. Doherty collapsed, and by the time Reverend Archibald had time to. look, the train was pulling out. The killer had to be on it since there wasn't anybody in sight. Nobody bought a ticket to Brentwood Hills. Nobody, as far as we could determine, got off or on there. We'll never get him in a million years. Haledjian knew that the killer in two minutes had to be able to: get on and off a train without attracting notice, know the duration of train whistles, and, most revealing of all, identify his victim merely by glancing at his shoes. He was, therefore, a Pullman porter. Phony Financier "Last week I pulled off my best act yet," groaned Cyril Makin, the backfiring ladykiller.

Haledjian's study and recounted his latest tale of curdled courtship. She's accustomed to milliondollar deals being closed on the telephone. Bell's business line. So I had her meet me at noon for lunch in Behlen's, the swankiest restaurant in Los Angeles. I asked to talk with Northern Airlines at Kennedy Airport, New York. Leonard Coffin,' I said. The selling commission of 1 percent on the long bonds and Y2 percent on the short ought to net three million. flight to Zurich. By suppertime I should have the European cartel's answer. Because of the three-hour difference in time between the coasts, Makin's call, made in Los Angeles around noon, would have missed Coffin, flying at 1 P. from New York, by two hours. Post Office Box "Don't tell me Joey de Santos just handed over the Pondfield necklace to you!

Nick the Nose backed against the wall of the inspector's office. See this key? It's to Joey's mailbox in the Maple Street post office. The greasy little informer shifted his feet nervously. I bet the insurance company is breathing down your neck. Gave me his whole key ring. I duplicated everything on it, and kept the extras for myself. Just in case. Sure enough, one of the keys I had made fits his mailbox. The necklace is in one of them insulated bags. Now I figure it's worth -- " Nick the Nose's voice halted in a gasp as the inspector lifted him by the seat of the pants.

Haledjian, who was coming into the office, held the door wide for one of Nick's headfirst departures. Why did Nick the Nose get the heave-ho? Nick the Nose struck out in stating he had the key to Joey's mailbox duplicated at a hardware store. No keysmith will duplicate a United States post office key. John, the hairdresser. Haledjian, as he finished bandaging Mr. John's head. Whoever waylaid you in the alley must have used a piece of lead pipe. At two o'clock I told her I was going to the bank. I didn't even speak with them. Clara took care of two of them, and my brother Ted did the other. Whom did Haledjian mean? None of the three women sitting under the hair driers could have heard Mr.

John tell his wife he was going to the bank; hair driers simply make too much noise. Therefore, Haledjian knew it had to be the woman who was deaf -- and who could read lips. Racketeer's Death "The life policy on Mugsy McGurk, the labor racketeer, has a no-murder clause," said Henderson, the insurance investigator. I can only suspect murder. Here are the few facts I have. He had imbibed heavily in the club car until midnight. Then, helped by a waiter, he staggered to his berth, a lower in car , and lay down without undressing. In a drunken stupor, he accidentally asphyxiated himself by burying his head in the pillow -- or so it would seem. It is thought he rolled when the train made a jolting halt about 1 a. The man could have been McGurk's killer. Come into the next room, doctor. You'll see everything taken from McGurk's berth.

Besides the sheets, blankets, and a pillow belonging to the Pullman company, there was a mound of McGurk's clothes. Also the contents of his overnight bag. Among the latter were a pair of white pajamas, bedroom slippers, and a yellow bathrobe. What was the article? Haledjian reasoned the killer had smothered McGurk with a pillow and then, fearing it held his fingerprints, took it with him. The article that gave the killing away was the pillow -- the missing one. All train berths are made up with two. Reluctant Witness Dr. Haledjian and Sheriff Monahan walked slowly down the path that stretched between James Ernst's newly painted rear porch and his toolshed in the backyard. He's our only possible witness, but he denies seeing anything. Ernst claims he didn't realize the can had sprung a leak till he got into the toolshed. From midpoint to the tool shed, the drops were spaced about nine feet apart and were longer and narrower.

Haledjian was not surprised to find the padlock hanging from the inside latch of the toolshed. If he knows more than he's telling, I'll have to prove he saw Fred Kolp slain to make him talk. The drops of paint told Haledjian that Ernst was midway along the path when he saw the killing. From that point to the tool shed -- where the latch on the inside indicated he had locked himself in -- the drops were spaced farther apart and were longer and narrower, showing he had suddenly broken into a run. Rescue at Sea "Thank heaven you saw me! Haledjian's chartered fishing boat.

Haledjian reached over the side and assisted the bedraggled yachtsman aboard. Bond staggered into the shade of the cabin and sagged upon a berth. He removed his cap to wipe the perspiration from his brow, revealing a bald, freckled head. Bond gulped it frantically, asked for a second, and when he had downed it, told of his ordeal. The sails, rudder, and radio went in the first five minutes. We barely managed to keep afloat.

Also available Magazines, Music and other Services by pressing the "DOWNLOAD" button, create an account and enjoy unlimited. Description: For use in schools and libraries only. A collection of mini-mysteries in which readers play Dr. Watson to master-detective Dr. Description: Quick mysteries are presented for the reader to solve, with solutions printed upside down at end of each mystery. Description: A movie mogul has been found dead in his limousine. Yet no one saw a thing, no one found a gun or even heard a shot! You check the clues You regard the evidence You match wits with Dr. Haledjian, the famous detective You solve the crime! Description: "Sixty-three short mysteries, full of tricky thieves, double-dealing con men, dangerous murderers.

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WebDOWNLOAD NOW». Award-winning author Sandy Silverthorne and John Warner’s first WebTwo Minute Mysteries Book PDFs/Epub Download and Read Books in PDF " Two WebTwo-minute Mysteries - Donald J. Sobol Comm1. Uploaded by: Deborah S. Nicdao. Webthere to uphold the law, but will you catch the culprit first?"--Page 4 of cover More Two WebTwo-Minute Mysteries. by. Donald J. Sobol. Publication date. Publisher. WebOne Minute Mysteries ... read more

What was the guilty student's error? Indian Joe, the "varnishing American. My bullet struck him, and he tumbled into the gorge. When our photographer snapped this, it was 1 a. Two sleeping bags and two knapsacks lay on the ground.

The greasy two minute mysteries pdf download informer shifted his feet nervously. The criminologist studied the bruise on Page's jaw and the one at the base of his skull, two minute mysteries pdf download. From that point to the tool shed -- where the latch on the inside indicated he had locked himself in -- the drops were spaced farther apart and were longer and narrower, showing he had suddenly broken into a run. Standing for more than an hour in eighty-five-degree heat, as he claimed, the chocolate bar would have been soupy. For five days of sub-freezin' weather he palavered with them savages. Dunning to bed," said Brock, the aged family servant.