THE GOLDEN SANDS RIDDLE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 268, 25 August 1941, Page 7

THE GOLDEN SANDS RIDDLE

by ALEXANDER CAMPBELL.

CHAPTER VI

QUESTION OF SHARES,

So it had come—the searching question about his sudden wealth. Peter reflected that this girl, whom he was now quite certain he loved, looked very like her father, as she faced him with uplifted determined chin and grave blue eyes. Mere evasiveness would help him little, he realised. “What does it mean?” he repeated slowly. “Why', Lucy, it means just what you’ve said. I have, in fact, come into a fortune.” He took her arm. “I’d meant to tell you, only this business about Mr Monte turned up and I didn’t have a chance. And the whole thing happened so suddenly that I can scarcely believe it myself.” “Well, tell me, now,” she commanded. “I’ve come into £10,000,” said Peter. As he said it, he wondered if it were true. Supposing the whole thing turned out to be an elaborate hoax? Supposing there were no such firm as Morton and t)owney, stockbrokers, of Johannesburg? Supposing no cheque arrived in the next mail from the Reef? But that was absurd. The newspaper could not have lied; and they had said very definitely that Golden Deep stock had soared. “You’ve heard of Golden Deep?” he went on, before she could say anything. “The mining stock? Well, I happened to have bought some. And this morning’s paper said that the stock had roeketted overnight. So I sold out. And I’ve made £10,000.” “You mean you’ve been gambling on the Stock Exchange?” “Not exactly gambling,” said Peter lamely. “I’d just bought the stock as an investment.” “When did you buy it? It couldn’t have been as an investment, unless you bought it years and yeaifs ago,” said the mining magnat’s daughter wisely, “because the papers say it’s been worth nothing for 'ages.” “As a matter of fact, I bought it quite recently,’ said Peter lamely. “How recently?” “A day or two ago.” “Then you knew it was going to rise?’ “I thought it might. You forget,” said Peter, “that I’m a mining engineer.” . . “Yes, but even mining engineers can't foresee the kind of marvellous discovery that has happened in this mine,” said Lucy. “Let’s say I had an idea,” said Peter.

“That means you gambled,” said Lucy. “And it must have been quite a big gamble for you, if you’ve made £10,000.” ' “My savings.” “Supposing you had lost?” " ' ! “But I didn’t,” Peter pointed out. They had come out to the front of the hotel, into the blazing sunshine. The glare of the streamlined, white bulk of the hotel building competed with the glare of blue sky and bluer sea. Lucy lifted a flushed face. “I’m sorry I bothered you with all those questions. Of course, I congratulate you. You’d better be off, if you’re going to be back here in time for lunch.”

But the congratulations had sounded a bit thin, thought Peter grimly, as he got into his stride towards his hotel. He was angry with himself for having deceived the girl about the purchase money. That wouldn’t do. He would simply have to make a clean breast of the Avhole' affair, and hope that she would believe a story that, though true, was unfortunately fantastic through and through. And if it came to a wider telling, would anyone else believe him? \ 'As he came round the corner, very hot with fast walking under the glaring sun, he sighted Inspector Quayle, standing on the pavement before his hotel, gazing earnestly at a rather battered two-seater drawn up at the kerb. It was Peter’s car. But Quayle’s greeting was sauve and even cordial. “Ah, Mr Crosby! Finding it a bit hot, eh?” Peter nodded briefly. “Yes. Did you want to see me?’ “I thought I might have a word,” said Quayle, with a diffidence that deceived neither of them. At Peter’s suggestion they entered the hotel; and either by accident or design, Quayle steered a way to the very table where Peter had sat —was it only the day before? —with Monte, and watched that mysterious, jovial man spill banknotes between the glasses. And it was the same waiter who served them. Peter thought he gave Quayle a look of recognition. “Quite a pleasant spot, this,’ 1 said Quayle, making a gesture. “But not, of course, to be compared with the Orient. Have you known Sir John Carr long?”

Peter suddenly rebelled against playing the mouse to Quayle’s cat. It was obvious that the policeman had something on him. He ignored the question. “Making any progress with your investigation?” he asked bluntly. Quayle carefully fitted a cigarette into a black holder, and lit it. ■ “The beach murder?” he asked. “Oh, a little.” “Who might have done him in?” Peter inquired. “Who might have knowledge of who did him in?” amended Quayle gently. As he ordered drinks, Peter saw a paper lying on a chair. He saw his opportunity. Leaning over, he turned carelessly, and the Golden Deep headlines, which he knew were there, came into view. “Ah,” said Peter, “are telling me!” Quayle showed interest, “You had some shares?”

Peter nodded brightly. “I did. As a matter of fact, I’ve made quite a bit. of money. I sold out this morning.” “Ah!” said Quayle. He seemed to see light, a 3 Peter had been hoping

Mystery, Detection and Romance.

(Copyright).

he would. “Perhaps—pardon me it I’m being inquisitive —perhaps that’s why you’ve decided to move to the Orient?” . Peter nodded. “Yes. I felt I could afford it, now.” Quayle drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. He appeared enlightened, and at the same time puzzled. Peter grinned at his quandary. “You were wondering at my sudden step up in the world,” he said boldly. “I saw you looking at my car. But these things, happen sometimes, you know.” ■■ „ “You must have been on the inside, said Quayle. “Not many people knew Golden Deeps were going up. Got some mining friends?” , “I’m a mining engineer,” said Peter.

That answer had not satisfied the knowledgable Lucy; but it appeared to satisfy Quayle. His eyebrOws went up. »So — And you come from Johannesburg?”

“Yes.” - . , , Quayle leaned across the table. Ive a notion that our Mr Monte came fiom there, too. And I’ve also a notion that he might have something to do with mining. I suppose you never encountered him, or heard his name mentioned, maybe?” < . , Peter shook his head. “Johannesburg is a big place,” he reminded the policeman. Qffayle nodded. He .seemed satisfied He finished his drink and stood up. “Well, many thinks, Mr Crosby.” He winked. “If you get any. more good tips like that Golden Deep one, I hope you’ll pass it on!” 9 “NOBODY EXCEPT

Peter Cro3by might have been less well pleased with himsplf if he could have heard Sir John Carr and Terence Parry, talking as they sat in the Orient’s sun parlour —a snowy white terrace, shaded by awnings, overlooking the blue sea. The handsome young man wrinkled his brow in a frown, as he observed: “I like the chap, really. But what worries me is this sudden coming into money. It just doesn’t happen, you know.”

' Sir John chuckled. “Because you’ve always had money. I don’t pretend to know our young friend’s secret. Doubtless he’ll tell us himself in good time. But I’m pretty sure there’s nothing dishonest about it.” ..., Terence said gravely: “I can tell you Crosby’s secfet. He has told Lucy; she told me half an hour ago. He has made a pile gambling on the Stock Exchange.”

“He told her that?” Sir John Was frowning. “Yes,” said Terry. “Apparently he’d bought a packet of Golden Deeps a few days ago. Of coUrse as you know they’ve roeketted ——” “Golden Deeps!” Sir John Was staring at Terry as if he could not believe his ears. He repeated in a whisper: “Golden Deeps!”

Terence Parry looked hard at the mining magnate. The older man’s cheeks seemed to have Ibst their usual ruddy colouring. He was gripping the arms of his chair tightly. “But he couldn’t have bought Golden Deeps!” barked Sir John. “I tell you, he couldn’t! Nobody knew about them. Nobody! Except -’ He stopped abruptly.

“I bet you knew,” said Terry, with the ghost of a smile. He Was watching Sir John ankiously, relieved to see that the colour was coming back to his face, after that first' stiffening shock.

Sir John nodded. “I did,” he admitted. “But I didn’t teil Crosby—or anyone else who could have told him. The thing’s a mystery. Wait!” He paused and turned his head. Francis Gould came on to the terrace. Against its snowy giare he looked rather like a black crow. He walked with a stoop, and a lock of dark hair hung on his brow. His thick black eyebrows were drawn down in a habitual frown. i “I say, Gould,” said Sir John. Bring me the leather portfolio marked P and C.” Gould nodded. Terence watched his retreat with amused eyes. “One of these days,” he remarked, “our ) friend will fall in love, or get drunk. Then you’ll see an exhibition of whoopee! No one could remain so bottled up as he is without bursting some time.” Sir John smiled. “I doubt it. Gould isn’t human —not in that sense, anyway.” When Gould came back, Sir John took the portfolio with the remark: “Steel under this leather.” He fumbled and produced a ring of keys. Then, when Gould had departed, he inserted a curiously shaped key and clicked the flat leather case open. He produced a large envelope from its interior.

“The Golden Deep secret is in here. You can see the envelope hasn’t been tamperd with.” Terry thought he was oddly eager to convince him. “And in any case the contents are in a particularly difficult code. No; I can’t see any way' that Crosby could have known about Golden Deeps. I reckon it was just a lucky stroke.” But his tone was edged with worry, r Lucy Carr came on to the terrace, slim and cool in white and she was accompanied by Peter Crosby. “Has Orion fixed you up?” asked Sir John.

Peter nodded. “Yes, thanks.” He was uncomfortably conscious that the two men were watching him closely. 'He noticed that Sir John had a leather portfolio on his knees. Lucy noticed it too. You’ve been working,” she accused her father. “You promised not to look at any papers while we were here.” *

Sir John smiled. “Just looking up a reference, my dear,” he said. He handed the portfolio to Peter, who took it in some astonishment. “I say, would you mind giving this back to Gould,

my secretary? You’ll find hint downstairs. And we’ll join you for lunch directly.” » .. Peter took the leather edge with scarcely a glance at it. “Certainly. Excuse jne, Lticy.” He. found Gould in the of Sir John’s suite, working among ai, mass of papers. He introduced himself briefly, and handed over the case. “Thanks,” said Francis Gould. He glanced up from under his black dyebrows. “I believe- you’re a mining engineer?” 4 j “That is so,” said Peter, in surprise. Gould dived into his papers. “I wonder if you would help me* with this? I want to check over these calculations . . He handed Peter a list of figures and notations. The figures referred to ore grades and estimated yields —but a brief glance was enough to reveal that they contained, some grave errors. “I say,” he said. “Something wrong here, isn’t there?’ 1 Gould showed no concern. “Is there? I thought there might be. Woujd you mind giving me the figures that are wrong?” Peter did so, and Gould made a pretence of writing them down. But he showed little interest in them. Pester handed back the list, his head in a whirl. “Thanks so much,” said Gould.. Without another glance, he turned to 1 ; other papers.

(To Be Continued). "V"’ _ The characters in this story are en tirely imaginary. No reference is intended to any living person or to any public or private property.