THE QUEST OF THE BLUE STAR.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14244, 15 December 1909, Page 5

THE QUEST OF THE BLUE STAR.

Tv # IJ»UIBW> ** SPECIAL ARKANOEMENT. mm*-' ■ — '•"::".'•""■".

BY JOHN OAKLEY. ': jirtJior of " The Hampstead Mystery." "The Blackmailer." The Great Craneboro* '. Conspiracy." "The Essingham '?'-''';■',> «. Peerage," Etc., Etc [COPYRIGHT.] '■ sTNOrSIS of previous CHAPTERS. V mAPTERS I. to lll.—Arnold Lamder happens ; JSnSSSu In the early hours of the mornLWring through a Grange country on the I 's&r road to Tic Worth. Tina road sinks ?JS onflw to" into a deep valley. On that ' St* Ml** «prmga out of the blackness which ■?■' S winters with a window. From his height 't rowi into a room, which ho can discern S.uv Two men aro in it. one old. one young. !?»' evidently dinagreo, and the young man Sw the room. The old man extract* soma '7. Rom • wallet attached to a leather belt JSeh h« wears round nil villi, and while so 'Sfflt curtain and watches him. she bide* '*•■' S« the young man returns. The men par- ■'■ Ad the "girl "steps out armed with a atilet- ' 5 iwnliig over th. m she startles the old ' it„ slio seVidentsMy overturns the lamp, thus 'Slowing the whole scene into darkno*. Arnold •fiSw proceeds on his Journey He ii a barS Inheriting £700 a year, and making about „ much again by hit literary work. etc. Sir Suite Dunthorne. baronet, is less fortunate, firm to live on nothing per annum, less £*• hundred a year, which is the cost of ' hStag up Tidesworth Priory To make matE? worse he Is in love with a girl of no lira. She is Marjory, daughter of Colonel Sped--faM Arnold Lamder is on his way to visit fir ifarple, but spends the rest of the Tjight at ' .a Inn in Tidesworth. The next morning the taidlorf informs him that a murder ha- been : Sited, and that the victim is old MarnjaIfflßonthome. cousin to Sir Marple, who tenant. Hollow Moore Cotlige. He lives quite m ?i™.» George Stims and his wife and doughtor looking after him. Arnold Larnder cycles to the Priory. and to met by an old man named e«n*r who has waited on the Dunthorncs 3»lly all his life. He informs Lamder that L master has been hurried off to prison and ftaMhini a note. Sir Marple implores his help, fjfrt enters, asking for Marple.' It is Marjory , gpedlowa. CHAPTER TV.—Arnold Lamder Informs Marlorr that old Marmaduks Dunthonn has been '.nwtored. and that Sir Marple is suspected. He StoHllleester. but before reaching Sir Marble ■ hirns aside to visit a lawver, and deposits .statement with him. detailing the previous .Mi's scene which culminated In the murder. Mi visits the police offices. Sir Marple says ho did not commit the murder, but borrowed money •Ssis not sanguine about his acquittal, as he had <i, his ridinir whin in Marmadukc's room. Arno'd Kunes to visit Hollow Moor, and also Thorpe En where Colonel Spedlowe lives. Cramer .mvides him with a boy whose pseudonym is : Sides him with a boy be very sharp Ind. kins He proves to be very sharp lad. search the house in Ho'low The talt hai gone from the waist of the dead man. X.V corns across it outside, but the wallet is .mnt» A rough looking man, who la bunting £ something, claims It. He says that SL bartersT owned it. Lamder tells him that C owner thereof to dead. The man shows him t Ms chest which has the Blue Star tattooed on 11 When ho departs Lamder gives Spldkins i wear, and tells him to fallow him up.

CHAPTER VI. I DOROTHY. i I had* my way down to Thorpe Heston, !■■' which I found to be a rambling, old-fash-ioned country house, carrying many signs of comfort and good living, though none of any superabundant supply of wealth. 1 . :i was received on the threshold by Marjory, tho, having seen me coming across the lawn, had run out to meet me. "Welir she asked, breathlessly. But before I could reply, the old colonel, I fins specimen of an Englishman, tall and straight, and alert for all his white hair and nearly seventy years, joined us. ■ "You are Mr. Lamder," he said. "Mar- ; jory has told una all about you. This is ■hocking news—shocking. Did he do it!" " Father!*' Marjory cried renroachlully. "My dear, you never know. I have killed many men in my time, and a man isn't always responsible for his actions. It may have been a fair fight, or in self-defence, or an accident. I did not mean, did he murder the old man, but was he concerned ' in the killing?" "I believe hun to be innocent," I re- ? sponded, quietly. • " Good, then I'll take your word for it. Id a lot sooner believe that than anything else. , But, come in and tell us as much of the stotf a* is good for us." I followed them into a bright, well-fur-fi,nished , sitting-room in which were some good books, some good pictures, a little old china, which I was quite enthusiast ;'■■•' enough to appreciate, and several other 'lips of good taste. And seated there in a low basket chair I teal them as much as I thought proper of the story—as much, that is, as was likely ; : to come out at the inquest on the following day. The old man followed the narrative with keen interest, frowning heavily at certain portions of it. "Aid you still think he is innocent?" he asked as I finished. ' '"I think—" What T thought had for that moment to be postponed, for as I uttered the words, tie door of the room was pushed open, and • girl came in. * Oh, it's Dorothy," Marjory cried. " Mr. lander, this is my sister, Dorothy." She was a year or two older than Marjory, and slightly taller. But that did not wmmarise the great difference between then. ; Marjory was sunny-haired, with the . cream and pink complexion of an English girl, and with sweet grey eyes in which ; m lore and trust and innocence. The other was in every sense a contrast, if any- : thing more lovely than her Bister, though , with a southern warmth tingeing her skin, •ad eyes of that deep violet which in certain lights looks like black. Her hair, too, wanged in heavy coils over her broad, low WW, was of the very darkest shades. , I noticed fill this at a glance as her hand lay for a second in mine, but it was not ssr beauty which held me, though the soma's lights in her beautiful eyes did set my heart beating a little more quickly than iJuaL But even that I smothered for the moment.

' i My whole mind was intent upon wondering where I had seen her before, for she -,*»», not entirely a stranger to me, I was WW. And vet for the moment I could not •' pea her. Wherever I had seen her it had Biff I «l some environment, in some dress lsf™»P«r. had made a subtle differ- «»»> her appearance. t And then with a full rush of memory, tn*t» came -.with, almost sickening assurance, * recollected. She was the girl I had seen * Marmaduke Dunthorne's house—the girl Wmt stiletto! Was she? She was like •*» yet unlike. I could not be certain. JIM distance had made that other very MY"*" , impressionist sketch. i. ***i I said, as she dropped gracefully »«.a big banket chair in the window, Wait we want is to get hold of somebody *-«aw—Dunthorne— alive "-•iter midnight." i kept my eyes fixed on the girl in the WW, hut she did not stir. After all, » most be wrong—surely, I must be wrong. "would; be folly indeed to suspect this IljgWUrUnmoved specimen of girlish love- ■ ih?i?' °; an y participation in an incident m Ml had witnessed. : ■out a couple of hours later, when I waft !»«ng my leave, I made occasion to draw JjW aside out of the hearing of the ;JP?y°« happen," I asked, "to possess JJWet cloak? One with a hood would be -It'J,?°'". she * ftid ' " but Dorothy has one. "Awft hood lined -Wth white fur." J. <lrßw , a quick breath. The girl I nad SSt *u the iletto had worn a scarlet 55 whereof was lined with ;*«twho, then, was the man? CHAPTER VII. . I BEGIN MY TASK. to tho Prioi 7 nlld set myself YtaS^. of completing the alibi I had K&fW?"' But hero I ran my head !«3vi« fe ICk wall at the very outset. I "2*lo Ti. M " mwl Dunthorne alive at the «?;»' He ,lad been fo »d dead bv ■*pSSS?ft'' a ,?°- And all I had to A «ufe I. g 4 8,r Mar P to Dunthorne'* innoIWa ln"w ~ ehow that hi* visit to the 1*8331 .° llow M ° or took place and was PTOvi ,o, ?*-? oint of time ° !, '" to 2.10 l™»tOT? i&imself had said that the 'fed k ♦ n. return homo roulfl be easily JKL *| ut that is where he wa« wrong. fcj i:^ am * to question old Cramer I f&Bßts »« anything but satisfactory

He thought it would be about midnight when Sir Marple came homo," but he" could not wear to that. " Might it have been earlier than midnight?* I asked. Oh, yes, it might have been, but 1 shouldn't think to? ' "Might it have been later " It might— yes, it might have been." » "You sat up for him?" " Oh, yes, I "at up. I dozed off asleep, and then I heard the door bang, and I went out. Sir Marple woe in the hall, and he said good-night to mo, and went upstairs. I locked all up then, and tumbled into bed." "And you cannot cay what time that was?" "No, sir, I cannot." " Might it have been two o'clock " Yes, it might have been as late as that." " If Sir Marple had gone out again you wouldn't have, heard him?" "No, sir, very likely not." " Nor his coming in again." ,~7 No, nor that neither in all probability.' * This was certainly a stroke of ill-luck. I had depended on 'old Cramer to furnish the other half of the alibi. And now he had failed me. I went to the other servants, but obtained no assistance from them. Dunthorne did not keep a largo establishment •—a couple of men in the stables, old Cramer and Spidkins in the house, and two or three women. But not one of them had heard Sir Marple Dunthorno come in. ; I could toll my story, but it would be of little enough use in face of such a lack of corroborativo evidence. The prosecution would probably set up a theory that tho man I had seen in the house of the tragedy wag really Marple Dunthorno himself, or breaking down thero in view of the positive swearing I should be able to do, they would bring up another theory that Dunthorno had been somewhero about

the premises. What I could not quite make up my mind upon was as to whether or not I should tell my story yet. When I learnt that the inquest on the morrow, and the firct magisterial hearing, were to bo merely formal affairs, and that adjournments were to be taken in both cases. I decided to wait. Was I right or was I wrong? Even now I do not know that I can decide. I went to bed that night worn out and dispirited, unable to catch a hold of the skirts of sleep. It would bo perhaps half an hour after midnight that I heard a knock at my door. I arose and opened it to find Spidkins yawning on the mat. I've only just cot back," he said. " Did you find the man?" " Oh, yes, I found 'hit right enough. 'E'p staying at the old Bridge Inn five miles out from this. They call him Hugler—Mister Hugler. I 'ting about until I'd made sure he'd gone to bed and was safe for the night."' " Good, you can take me there to-mor-row. And "now off to bed with you." I fiould have a busy day as I could well foresee. There would be first the inquest, then the magistrates, and finally old Hugler to interview. I tell asleep at last, revolving in my mind all sorts of theories and plans, not one of which, as I am bound to confess, seemed to be worth a

row of pins. I had a visitor early in the morning, a gentleman who, from his garb, I recognised as the vicar of the parish. "You are Mr. Lamder," he said. "I have been to see Sir Marple, and he told me that you were working on his behalf. If I can help—" " You do not believe him guilty ?" " I have known Marple Dunthorne intimately since he was three years of age, ami he could no more have committed this crime than I could fly." " That I suppose is faith, lacking knowledge?" I queried. " I am afraid it is," he admitted. "The case is rather black against him." " Yes—did he tell you of the money he borrowed?"

I nodded, a little annoyed that Dunthorne should have imparted that fact also to the vicar. That will go dead against him if it is known." Yea." ~ "And now is there anything I can do? I am a magistrate, and have, some influence round here. If I can heir)—".." " I want most of all, a chance of making a full and independent examination of the dead man's house," I said. " I think that can bo managed," ho replied thoughtfully. " Yes, I fancy we can arrange that." And he went on his way, a fine, upstanding figure with a massive head crowned with white hair, but for all his age, muscular and athletic yet. His breezy faith in Dunthorno's innocence came as a tonic to myself, bracing me up, and nerving mo to do battle with the odds against me. 1I walked down next, and saw old Stuns, the dead man's servant. I found him a morose, taciturn old fellow, very disinclined to impart what little knowledge he may have possessed. I think his wife would have talked if he would havo let her. but lie shut her up with a brusqueness which showed that he was at least master in his own house. I did not immediately relinquish my task, however, but kept on my questions with a persistence that deserved a far better result. " He hadn't many visitor*—Mr. Marmaduke Dunthorne," I suggested. "No, he hadn't many," old Stims admitted.

"Did Colonel Spedlowe ever come?" I asked. "I never saw him." " And the young ladies? Did Miss Dorothy ever come?" I waited for his answer with an eagerness I had some difficulty in masking. "What should she want to come for?" he said in his surly tones. Mr. Dunthorne took no account of women. It was as much as he'd do to let my wife and girl come about the house, and they had to keep out of his sight. No, Dorothy Spedlowe never came here nor her sister neither." "The fact is," I added, after some more extremely desultory conversation had passed, " I I'm a friend of Sir Marple Dunthorne's, and I want to —to prove that he is innocent." ■ " You're wasting "your time, master," he said, gruffly. " You believe "I believe it was Marple Dunthorne and no other as did that murder. I left them there together, and I found him dead in the morning. ' That's clear enough, ain't it? I tell you he did it. and it's no use talking." And lie brought his fist down with a big bang on the table before him. I left him at that, having gained very little by my effort. I made some inquiries concerning the Stimses, but again I found that the information to be gained was no adequate recompense for the time and labour it involved. They were not natives of the place, nor, for the matter of that, were they long residents there. They had taken possession of their cottage when they came as Marmaduke Dunthorne's servants seven years before, but nothing at all was known of their previous history.

The inquest was merely a formal affair, held for purposes of identification in order that interment might take place. Only one or two witnesses were examined, and then there was an adjournment for a fortnight. Dunthorne was brought before the magistrates, too, and here again the proceedings were very brief. His solicitor did not object to a remand, and the magistrates refused bail. I did not proffer myself as a witness. Such evidence as I could give would not help me. The alibi that I had in mind must be a lot more complete ere it could be of any use.

Old Colonel Spedlowe and I walked away from tho court-house together. " It looks very black,' he said, gloomily. Ho was a curious old fellow, very reserved of speech, and never venturing on a smile Evidently they were not rich, but I did not think that that accounted entirely for his 'somewhat sombre demeanour. There was more behind it all. " It is not a very cheerful outlook, certainly," I responded. " But I believe in him, and I have no intention of giving up. I have promised him to unravel it, and—" "Are you remaining here then?" "I think so." "At the Priory?" " I am not sure of that." "Come down and stay with us. I am interested in all this, as you may guess, for Marjory's sake." I demurred a little at first, but eventually I agreed. Should I have done so had I known all it meant? Probably. At all

events I think the chief motive that inspired me to accept his invitation was in order that I might have a chance of more closely investigating Miss Dorothy Spedlowe's connection with the affair. Alas! I reckoned without due consideration. 1 miscalculated my strength. Before I had been three days in that house the girl I was hunting down had become for me the centre of the universe, all that made life worth living. I struggled against it, as I need not say, but I was helpless, and after a whilo I surrendered myself to the sweet madness, hoping, almost against hope, that I might be wrong in identifying her with the woman I had seen in that house of tragedy. I became no more sure of that, indeed, as the days went on, though I made a point of putting that side of the case with what I regarded as unmistakable clearness. "It seems," I said one evening as wo sat in the pleasant morning room at Thorpe Heston, " that Marple did visit the murdered man on that night, but he left him almost immediately, and left him alive. Unfortunately, the old man lived alone. If we could find anybody who saw him alive after Marple left him — " What time did he leave?" the old colonel asked. "He was in bed," I responded slowly, " before midnight." I was watching Dorothy narrowly as I spoke, but she gave no sign. " Now," I went on still speaking slowly and choosing my words with infinite care, "if there happened to be anyone in the world who saw the old man after midnight well, we should prove an alibi for Marple, and he would go free." " But he lived alone," said the old colonel, shaking his head. "Who could have seen him?"

And still Dorothy gave no sign. But I am getting on a trine too fast ; I have yet to tell the story of my interview with the man Hugler, which took place in tho early evening of the day of the opening of tho inquest. (To be continued daily).