THE Twelfth Crime

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 140, 20 July 1914, Page 11

THE Twelfth Crime

ts- • A Mystery of Modern London

»n»n1111>»»» By SETON CROSS

Author of "The Stolen Governess," "Queen of the Ballet, "The Mill Girl's Secret," etc.

[ COPYRIGHT. ]

CHAPTER XXVII. (continued). PHIL IS SUSPICIOUS. Treversh' was prepared with his answer, and for the first time during their conversation, thought he could see his way to get the better of Jhe iournalist. Probably he guessed that the latter's interest in the girl was not entirely professional, and determined to makethe most of the opportunity. "She left The Retreat for my sake,' He said, slowly. "Because she loved Hie." „ . He, had expected either a furious denial or an exhibition of incredulous astonishment from his opponent, but neither happened. It was true that "Wheeler was secretly amazed, but it was at the man's astounding audacity in inventing and expecting him to believe such a lie. r. n Surely even Treversh could hardly expect him to accept, seriously, the statement that a girl of Olive's character would voluntarily leave her home and live as a fugitive, for the sake of a man whom she must have known to "be a'scoundrel and a thief. But, somewhat to the other's surprise, the journalist appeared to accept this as a feasible and satisfactory explanation ©f the girl's behaviour. "Ah I see," he murmured. "I had not thought of that. But—why should all this secrecy and concealment be necessary?" ... '' Well '' answered the other, with a lialf laugh, "you know, what you told old Holgate about me. Naturally he repeated your statements to Olive, and she at once begged me to run away. I pointed out that, to do so, would merely confirm your saspicions, and that it would be better to face the matter out. I thought —I did not know, that you held sfueh good cards against me." From the man's tone-tit was almost smugly complacent — saw that lie imagined he was gaining* Juf pnds. So much the better, for he would then l>e less on his guard. "Well?" he asked, "you have not finished." "There's not much more to tell you," answered Treversh. "Olive said that she could not bear to be present at the interview, and was afraid that, if you questioned her, you would prove too clever and make her betray me. BqJ a." " So," interrupted the journalist,

"you and her guardian hit upon this faked running-away business." '' Exactly.'' "Holgate was with you in all this? He agreed to it all?" i i Yes." "Why?" Treversh gave an ugly, cunning laugh, which had something of significance in it for the other. "Because," he answered, "I know enough to—but that's nothing to do with out case, I think." "Do you? I don't," replied Wheeler. He was half-inclined to tell the glib scoundrel exactly what he thought of him, but restrained himself with an effort. After all, it proved one thing —if Treversh was reduced to telling such palpable and absurd lies, he must be in very bad case indeed. "I think we've wasted enough time," went on the journalist, after a pause. "As to this cock-and-bull story of yours about Olive's affection for you, I " "What do you mean?" asked Treversh, with heat. $ They had both risen to their feet, the one with eyes blazing in anger, the other returning the look with almost contemptuous steadiness. Treversh now realised that the journalist did not believe a single word of his story, and the thought made him furious. '' Listen to me,'' said Wheeler, at last. "You said that you wanted to know where we stood. Very well. I know that you forced Olive to become engaged to you through her guardian, you having first threatened and bullied him into giving his consent. I have been aware of this for some time, and your admission of a few minutes ago that you have a hold over the old man merely bears this out." He paused, to give the other an opportunity to reply, but, as he did not do so, he went on. "I may tell you that I have a pretty good idea what the nature of that hold is. That, however, can wait a while. I am now going to fetch Olive back." "I " began Treversh, but Wheeler stopped him. "We needn't argue the matter out again," he said. "I'm half-inclined to have a stop put to your precious games this very instant; but whether I do so or not depends mainly upon yourself. Understand this much! If you attempt to make any further efforts to get Miss

Boyd into your power, or if I find that she has suffered any harm, why''—he laughed unpleasantly —"you had better look out for yourself." He turned on his heel, determined to fetch Olive back at once. Whether Treversh followed him or%ot he didn't care, since, having admitted all the accusations, it was no longer necessary to bring him face to face with Martha. Suddenly—some instinct made .him swing round sharply —just in time to avoid a blow on the head which Treversh had aimed at him with his walk-ing-stick., The man, white with passion, again attempted to strike him. But Wheeler was too quick for him, and, dodging the uplifted stick adroitly, hit out with his one available arm and sent his cowardly antagonist headlong into an adjacent clump of gorse. Then, without waiting to see what became of the fellow, he hurried away, his one thought being to find Olive and bring her safely back. He realised now what terrible agonies of mind she must be suffering, and what her self-sacrifice must have cost her. So obsessed was he by this thought that he failed to notice an old man huddled up on. a seat not far from where he and Treversh had been sitting. Neither did he observe the halfgrudging salute of a passing police-in-spector. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TWELFTH CRIME. When Wheeler left Treversh to pick himself up from amidst the clump of gorse into which he had stumbled, it was already nightfall. The moon, being at the full, made it almost as light as day, however. In the distance, sometimes partially hidden by the intervening trees, street lamps stood out against the background of buildings in lines of yellow specks, while beyond and above them were the brightly-lit windows of the mansions and flats overlooking the Common —the scene strangely resembling that of a town viewed from the sea at night. Wheeler, as he hurried towards thp cab-rank, had neither time nor inclination to observe this picturesque and rather weird effect. His brain was in a whirl of conflicting emotions; he was conscious of one desire only, and that was to get Olive out of Martha's clutches. Even now he did not know the exact-nature of the hold which Treversh had obtained over the girl and her guardian, but he did know that it was at an end since he, Wheeler, could at any moment have the man arrested on his own confession. The position, in fact, was a decidedly peculiar one. Treversh had placed himself in the journalist's power, because he realised it was useless and even dangerous to continue denying the latter's accusations, backed as they were by almost irrefutable evidence. Therefore he had, as it were, surrendered on discretion, on the tacit understanding that if he told all no action should be taken against him. And Wheeler, whose energies were concentrated on the M'Ewan murder mystery, and who, moreover, was not a policeman, had been quite prepared to grant the conditions, within limits. But Treversh had not told all; he had lied glibly and treacherously, and Wheeler knew it. On reaching the cab-rank Phil hailed a taxi, gave the~driver the address of

the house at Camden Town, and then fi.ung himself back, on the cushions. . It was some time before he could control his emotions sufficiently to think with his usual coolness and deliberation. For almost the first time in the course of his professional career he had allowed himself to act on an impulse, and had trusted to instinct rather than reason. The more he thought the matter over the more doubtful did he become as to the wisdom of the step he was taking; though why this should be he could hardly tell. Perhaps he ought not to have left Treversh -as he did —free to work more mischief; perhaps he ought to have shadowed him. And then there was old Holgate, also left to his own devices. What might not the pair of them plot and plan while he was seeking Olive? In short, Wheeler was not at all satisfied with himself, and was conscious of a strange sense of impending evil which he could neither explain nor throw off. He tried to convince himself that his anxiety to bring back Olive was all part of his scheme for solving the mystery of the Clapham crime. But it v/as in vain. He knew that he was following the dictates of his heart rather than his reason. With an effort he thrust his doubts ;aml fears aside; he had adopted a certain course and must stick to it. He looked out of the window at the crowded thoroughfare and swore below" his breath. The cab seemed to be crawling along, and then it suddenly stopped while a policeman "held up" the traffic. Everything comes to an end, however, and at last the taxi pulled up opposite the place where Martha was living. Phil sprang *out, and, looking up at the house, felt a return of his former indefinable dread as hesaw that there were no light in the windows. Could Martha have left the place alreadv, taking Olive with her?

He hurried up the steps, rang the bell, and listened to its tinkle inside. The sound died away, but there was no j answer, no hurrying footsteps; all was as silent as the grave. He rang again, i and heard the same hollow tinkle, aud then again and again, but still no one came. •In desperation he seized the knocker and made the street echo with a furious tattoo. All the reply he got was the hollow vibrations of his knocks through the empty house. He knew for certain now that what he had suspected on seeing the house in darkness was true. He had once more been fooled and outfitted! He was about to turn away when the door of the house next-door opened and a woman regarded him inquisitively. "Were you knocking next-door, sir?" she asked. '' Er—yes, just tapping,'' he answered* sarcastically, for he had made enough noise to wake up the whole district. "The people have gone away, sir," volunteered to woman, who was evidently curious to know the reason for the stranger 's call. "Dear me! " remarked the journalist blandly, and then, with extreme politeness, asked the lady if she could remember when they went. "Why, yes, A.four-wheeler came about an hour ago, and an old woman with a girl got into it and drove away.'' Wheeler knew that these could lie none other than Martha and Olive. Fuming inwardly, he turned a calm and smiling face to his informant and enquired if they had taken any luggage with them.

"Yes," replied the woman; "they to.ok some luggage—a Gladstone bag, a hold-all, and one ,or two small parcels." "I suppose you don't know where they went, madam?" "That I couldn't say, sir; but they drove off down the road." And she pointed with her finger in the direction of the city. t "Thank you very much," said Wheeler, and, returning to the taxi, told the man to; drive him back to Clapham. So Treversh had tricked him, after all I No doubt he had sent a warning to Martha by means of Holgate. Yes, that would be it. As soon as they left The Retreat the old man must have hurried round to the post office and dispatched a wire. So that was why Trevresh had detained him on the Common with his partly true and partly false confessionsr The journalist had need of all his philosophy when he realised how completely he had fallen into the trap—a trap, too, which was partly of his own contriving. But he was by 110 means \ eaten yet, he told himself, for, though Treversh's ingenious trick had succeeded so far, it was likely to recoil with disastrous results to himself. The cipher messages in his handwriting, and which referred to numerous burglaries, were quite sufficient to justify the police in arresting him, and then, with the information that Wheeler possessed, his conviction was a i certainty. Besides, Cracksman Joe owed him a grudge and would no doubt be quite willing to supply the authorities with further information concerning his .1 imerous activities. "By Jove!" ejaculated Wheeler, who, after all, was very human, "if I get within reach of him I'll take the law into my own hands for once in a way. I'll teach the beauty a lesson;" And the look on the journalist's face boded ill for Treversh. * * * * Those who know Clapham Common will recollect that, walking from the bandstand towards the North Side, there is a path bordered with close-growing, tall thorns. There are no lamps along this path, and it is a favourite haunt of lovers oh summer evenings, being to some extent screened from public view. Early on the morning following the interview between Wheeler and Treversh Mr George Tomlin, a L.C.C. tramway conductor, was crossing the Common in this direction on his Way to the Clapham .depot. He was Whistling cheerily to himself and swinging his dinner-can when of a sudden he stopped and peered intently at a clump 6f gorse. A dark object—it might have been a bundle of clothes—could be seen indistinctly, and, with a view to closer investigation, Mr Tomlin stepped up to it. Suddenly the dinner-can fell from his nerveless fingers and the whistle froze on his lips; for there, before him, lay the body of a well-dressed man, apparently dead. (To be continued to-morrow.)