MR. JUSTICE MAXELL

Auckland Star, Volume LIII, Issue 227, 25 September 1922, Page 10

MR. JUSTICE MAXELL

CHAPTER XV. j Who killed Sir -Tnlin Maxell and his j wife? When l had their bodies been hi-Men Tlics. were the two questions, vr'iih were to agitate England for the j tr:uliiioiiiil SjuK'C of nine days. For one : day. at any rate, they formed the sole i fo;iie of speculation amongst the intclli-p-ni -erti.n nf a hundred million people. The lirst question was easier to answer] linn the second. It was olivioUS to the! n.M.-im-n thnt the murderer was Cart-! wight, whose threats of vengeance werej ri-i-.illi d nnd whose appearance at Bourne-1 nwulli luid Iwn des-i-ihcd at second-hand l I-.- jl-e d.-tcctive ill clinrge of the ensP.l F ; r-i hand information was for the] in. an. -nt d-iiied the pressmen. for, 'Cmnthv. fully dressed, lay on his bed in ;i sound sleep. Happily for him, neither l then :i"i- later did any of the enterpris-j in_- newspaper men associate the "A.C. j ie his name with the wanted criminal. 11,- \\ns al least spared that embarrass-j ment. ! Hut tie story of his vigil as "a friend, nf Sir ,li hn's" was in print long lieforc: lie woke ill) to find a small and impatient j army of reporters waiting to interview: him. He answered the reporters' in-1 te. nitrations as briefly as possible,; hutlwd and changed and made his way to j tlie Imtel where the girl was. She was| leaving as he arrived and the warmth of i her greeting almost banished the depres-1 sion which lay upon him. She put herj nriii through ' hia so naturally that he did nnt realise his wonderful fortune. •I've got something to tell you." she said, "unless you know already. All my money has gone." He stopped with a gasp. "■You don't mean that?" he said seriOllslv. "It is true." she replied. "I believe it was very little and my loss is so inslg-1 nifieant 'compared with the other awful nltair that I am not worrying abut it." "Bit Sir John had money?"' She shook her head. "T have just seen bis lawyers." she said, "they have lieen to the hank and j tllere is not. a hundred pounds to hisj credit, and that amount will be absorbed j by tli" cheques he has drawn, TTe drew j a very. very large sum. including ray j money, from the hank two days ago. You know." she went on. "'I think that Sir| John contemplated leaving for America? i He had already given mc a hint, asking] mc how loner it would take mc to pack I tnv belongings and I fancy that had j something to do with the telegram he received -" "Announcing Cartwright's escape.*' nodded Timothy. "He was so kind and so gentle." said the girl, her eyes filling with tears, "thnt to mc he was more like a father. Oh, it is awful, awful!" "But you?'* asked the agitated Timothy, "what are you going to do? Good heavens! It is dreadful." •'I shall have to work." said the girl practically and with a little gmile. "I do not think- that will kill mc. Hundreds of thousands of girls have to work ■ fnr their living. Timothy, and I shall have to work for mine." Timothy drew a long breath. "Not if I can help it. you won't." he said. "I am sure I shall make a lot of money. I can feel it in my bones. If a man takes a joli " "You mustn't talk like that." she said. pressing his arm. "and anyway, how could I let you help mc or keep mc? That sort of thing isn't done—not by nice girls."' She laughed, but became sober again. "Do you know that Sir John was very much interested in you?*' "In mc?" said Timothy. She nodded. "I told you so the other day. T think he liked you. because he was saying how uncomfortable you must be at Vermont House, living in that queer little room of yours." Timothy was startled. "How did he know I was living at Vermont House?" he said. She smiled. "Vermont House happens to lie Sir John's property," she said. "In fact, I think it is the only realisable piece of property he has, now that the money has gone " "What shall you do immediately?*' asked Timothy. She shook her head. "1 don't know," she replied. "I think th.- first step is to get out of this hotel. which is much too expensive for mc. I have a few pounds in the bank, but that won't last very long." At his earnest entreaty she agreed to Fee a solicitor and appoint him to save whatever was possible from the wreckage of Sir John's estate. Two hours passed like as many minutes, until Timothy remembered that he had an appointment with a London reporter — one Brennan. Brennan he had known in his cinema days and Timothy literally fell upon his neck. "I've nothing to tell the boys that hasn't already been told," he said, putting down the newspaper which Brennan handed to him. "T am as anxious for news a* you are. Have there been any developments?" "None." said the reporter, "except that Sir -lohn had no money at .the bank and no money could be found in the house." Timothy nodded. "That I know," he said, "all his securities were drawn out two daj'B ago. That was the stuff that C'artwright was after." "Does Miss Maxell know ?*' Brennan began. "She does know and she took it like a brick." "It was about twenty thousand pounds." Brennan went on. 'The only other clue the police have is that the safe was opened by Maxell's duplicate key. The old man had two sets made, one of which he used to keep in his combination safe in his bedroom and the other he carried around with him. Miss Maxell told a story that the night before the murder Lady Maxell asked her to secure possession of the keys in order to open a bureau." Timothy nodded. "1 see. Is it suggested that Lady Ma sell detached the key of the safe and that it was she who opened it ?" "That is one theory,'' said the other, "the police have bodies of 'em They've got everything except the bodies and th- nun liner. Sow, come out with that story. Anderson ! You must know a great deal more than you've told, and I'm simply without a new fact that these evening papers haven't got. to hang my story on. Why did Cartwright come to your room, anyway ? 110 you know him ?" "Tie was nn acquaintance of my father's,*' said Timothy diplomatically, "and perhaps he thought I knew Maxell better than I did." "That sounds pretty thin." said the reporter. "Why should he come to *rou ."

By EDGAR WALLACE.

"Suppose T am the only person lie j knew or knew about," said Timothy | patiently, "Suppose he'd been all ' round Bournemouth trying to lind a 1 familiar name." j' "There's something in that,"' admitted i' the reporter. ' "*uyway." said Timothy, "I was a kid' l when he went to gaol. You don't imagine I knew him at all. do you ':" i Mc had gone out to meet the girl for- i getting to take his watch and now he ' was looking round for it. "Here is a theory." said Brennan sud- i denly. ••Suppose Lady Maxell isn't dead • at all." : "What do you mean ?" asked the other. "Suppose Cnnwright killed Maxcfl and Lady .Maxell witnessed the murder. ■ Suppose this fellow had to decide whether lie would kill the witness or', whether he would go away with her 7 ■ You said the motorcar which came to' the house in the middle of the night )• was the same as that in which Lady j Maxell came home. Isn't it likely that she should have told the murderer, for ■-oiiic reason or other, that the car was coming, because evidently she had arranged for it to come, and that, they went away together '.' Isn't it likely, too, that she was in the plot, nnd that, so far from being a victim, she was one of the criminals v We know her antecedents. There was some trouble over her stabbing a young American, Reggie van Khyn. In fact, most of the evidence .-eeins to incriminate her. There is the key. for example. Who else but she could have taken the duplicate key ? Doesn't it look as though } she planned the whole thing, nnd that her accomplice came in at the last moment to help her _ret away, and possibly to settle Sir John ? "Take the incident of the two locked bedrooms. Obviously somebody who lived in the house and who knew the family routine must have done that, i Both Sir John and Lady Maxell were in the habit of fastening their doors at night, ami the servants did not go into the .bedrooms unless they were rung for. It seems to mc fairly clear that Lady Maxell locked the doors so that the suspicions of the servants should not be aroused in the morning.*' "If I had your [lowers ot deduction." said the admiring Timathy, "I should never miss a winner. Where the blazes is my watch ?" '"Try under the pillow.*' said Hrennan. "1 never put it there." replied Timothy, but nevertheless turned the pillow over and stood gaping. Fo r beneath the pillow was a long, stout envelope, with a tell-tale blood stain in one corner. "For the Lord's sake !*' breathed Timothy, and took up the package. It bore no address and was sealed. "What on earth is this ':" he asked. "T can tell you what those stains are," said the practical Brennan. "Is there any name on it ?" Timothy shook his hear.. '•Open it." suggested the reporter and the other obeyed. The contents were even more astonishing for it consisted of a thick pad of money. They were new Bank of England notes, and were hound about by a tight band of paper. "Tin the band was written in Sir John's handwriting: — "Proceeds of the sale of stocks he'd in trust for Miss Mary Maxell, £21300." 'the detective in charge ol the case was a man of many theories. But his new theory was an uncomfortable one for Timothy Anderson. "This puts a new light upon the case," said the detective, "and I'm being perfectly frank with you, Mr. Anderson, that the new light'isn't very favourable to you. Here you are, outside the building when the crime is committed. You are seen by a policeman a few minutes after the shots are fired, and a portion of the money stolen from the house is discovered under your pillow." "Discovered by mc," said Timothy, "in the presence of a witness. Are" you suggesting that, whilst I was with your policeman, I was also driving the car, or •' that I was wearing Cartwright's cap) which was found in the grounds? Anyway, you've the. finger-print of your man ' and you're at liberty to compare it with mine.*' i "It isn't a finger-print anyway." said the detective, "it is the "print of a knuckle, and we do not keen a record of knuckles Xo, T admit thai the motorcar conflicts a little bit with my theory. Have you any suggestion to offer?" Timothy shook iiis head. "The only suggestion 1 can make."' he said, "is that C'artwright. in a hurry to get away and knowing the position of! my room, hid the money there for fear j he should bp caught with the goods. At | any rate, if I were the criminal I would I not hide a blood-stained envelope under I my pillow. I should at least have the ] intelligence to burn the envelope and ' put the money where the servants of j this house could not find it. Why. don't I you see," he said vigorously, "that any | of the servants at this boarding-house l , _ would have found the envelope if I i hadn't?" j The detective scratched his head. "There's something in that," he said. "It is a very queer case." J "And it is being investigated by very] queer people." said Timothy irritably. ' A little further investigation, however, relieved Timothy of all suspicion. He had not returned to the house until ten o'clock that morning. The maid, who bad taken him a cup of tea at eight, noticing that he had been out all night, thought it, was nn excellent opportunity to straighten the room, to "_ret it off : her mind." as she said. She did not re- i make the bed, but had tidied it. Whilst I sweeping she had seen thp envelope ! lying on the floor near the open window and had .picked it up, and for want of a better nlaee, thinking "it was private" had slipped it under Timothy's pillow. As Timothy had not bevn out of sight of the police since the tragedy until his I return to his lodgings, there could be no ] question that he had any part in hiding the envelope. Whatever irritation he felt was dispelled by lis large and gen- , erous satisfaction when the poverty which threatened the girl was averted. But why should Cartwright hide the money there? Why should he stop in his headlong flight to come to the window, as evidently he did, and throw the package in the room?- There wefe a hundred pieces where he might have left "That cousin stuff doesn't wor!T." thought Timothy, "and if you think he's going to rely upon his relationship with mc and can. use mc to look after his money, he's made one large mistake." j He saw the girl again at the official inquiry, and met her on the day after |

She ■was going to Bath where she had some distant relations, and they had met to gay good-bye. It was a gloomy occasion—less gloomy for Timothy than for the girl, because he was already planning a move to the town in which she was taking up her quarters. This cheerful view was banished, however, when she explained that her stay in Bath was merely a temporary expedient. '"Mrs. Renfrew has wired to mc, asking mc to come —and it seems as good a place as any for a few months. I don't I think I shall stay here any longer," she said. ''I want a change of air find a | change of scene. Timothy. T feel tin' I ishall never get over Sir John* dea'h." "Never is a very long time, Try dear," said Timothy gently, and the girl could only wonder at the tender kindness in his voice. She had little time to wonder, bowever, for she had n proposition to make to him and she hardly knew how (o j reduce it to words. "Arc you--are you —working?" she asked. Timothy's broad smile answered her (plainly that he was not. ; j "The fact is," he said airily, *T haven't [ ! onitc decided what I am goint. to do | jlf you were going down to Bath for; inrood. I was going down to Bath also. | 1 Maybe I could start a druggist's! 'or buy a stOTe, or run errands for some-1 body." I am tbe most ft.-c.-mvmoduting: worker." "Well " stlic and strapped. "Well ?" he repeated. "I had an idea tha<t maybe ymi would like to go on and conduct an independent search—independent of t-he police. I mean—and find something about the man who kil.ed Sir .Im'in. and perhwp* | bring him to justice. Yon know. T| think you are clever enoniarh." she went on hurriedly, "and it would ho workafter your own -lcar.." j Tic was 10-okini'. at her steadily. ;' "Quite right, Mary," -he said quietly. I "K-'t that involves spending a whrnle lot; of money. What mi«ruided person do • vo-.i suiarrest would send mc cut on that kind of job?" 1 "Weill. I thought " she hesitated, j and then a little incoherently, "you &ro. j I have t!he money—mainly through yon j j—my own money. I mean. I feel I have: a -duty to my poor uncle and T cowld ju-t j trust yon to do your very I could, afTord it. Timothy ,-'' she laid her | band on hi- arm nnd looked tap at bimj almost beseechingly—"indeed T can j ■afford it. I have more money than T j *ha.l. ever upend." Tie patted her hand softly. "Mary," he said, "it is just tlie kind of job I should like, and with anybody's money bnt yours, wi'.iy. I'd be out ofj the country in two shakes, looking fori Mt. Cartwrijht in the most expensive | cities e>f the world. But, my dear, 1 ) cannot accept your corn-mission, beoaii-se I know just iv'ha-t lies behind it. You think I'm a restless, rather shiftless sort of fellow, and you want to give mc a good time—with, your money.*' He stoppe-d and shook *ii_ hf-ad. "Xo, my dear," he said, "thank you, but, no:*' She was disappointed and for n moment a little hurt. "Would two hundred pounds—?"' she suggested timidly. "Not your two hundred." he said. "That lawyer of yours s'bould take hetter care of your money, Mary. He shouldn't a-lilow yen. to make these tempting offers to young men." he was smiling now. "Will you go abroad?" "Perhaps—some day." she said vaguely. "Sir John wanted mc to go— and I feel that I sftiould ,be pleasing him. Some day, yea, Timothy." He nodded. "Maybe I*ll go over at the same time as you." he -saw). "I thought of taking a ohanc* in Pari . for a. while—you can make big money in Paris. "In—a while?" the smiled. "In a miimite," -said Timothy grimly. I "if the horse and the jockey are of the same way of thinking, I know a fellow «i!k> races pre<tty extensively in France. He baa a horse called Flirt -" She held out her hand for the second time. "Timothy, you're incorrigible." she said. She did not 9ee him again for twelve months, not indeed until, after a winter spent in Madeira, ehe put her foot over the gangway of the s.s. Tigi'anes and • ■met the cruir.ziical smile of the youth ■who was waiting to receive fier. j For Timotihy had l been in Funciial a month, seeing but unseen, since Mary was general.y in bed l>efore the Casino woke uip and play reached any exciting level. (To be continued daily.)