"FALSE GODS"

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 123, 25 May 1923, Page 10

"FALSE GODS"

By GUY THORNE.

of "Film City," "The Crime on -he Film," ato

CHAPTER Vl.— (Continued.) Rama was awake, the light glittered in hie eyee as he slightly moved hie head. He was" lying on his eitle, and one brown hand, waeted to a talon, gripped a shank of the portable telephone which lay upon the pillow. It was clearly, and. somehow unpleasantly, defined upon the Mack vulcanite. The trumpet-shaped receiver was within an inch of Rama's mouth, and the cracked and purple lipe were moving! It was only for the tenth of a second that Mr. Duncan thought the sick man was summoning his nurse. He remembered that a quicker way to do that was to press the ivory button. Xo! In the dead of night, in profound and sinister eecreoy. Rama was communicating with — whom ? If there had been anyone to see, the face of \V. \V. Duncan would have been no pleasant sight. There was a terrible exultation, the fierce mask of the beast of prey come at last upon its quarry ana just, about to spring! The man's quick and clever mind whirred like a mill while he watched with an ecetasy of concentration. It was to none of his dieciples that the Indian epoke. Every line of his face spelt mischief! It was covered with a rash of what seemed like little black pearls— the cold sweat of phthisis —which spoke eloquently in every bead of the horrible effort he* was making. Little by little, the listener became conscious of a dry. sibilant rustle, like an autumn leaf being blown over a stone tloor. On and on it went, with hardly a pause. Whoever was at the other end of the wire was obviously receiving instructions of some sort. Now and then, for the briefest space, the purple lips were at rest, and a slight movement of the hand showed that the receiver was being preFsed more closely to the ear. And then, once more, the endless, whispered monologue! It continued, as -Duncan afterwards estimated, for nearly twenty minute*. And then he saw the head roll aside, the hand fall from the instrument, which fell upon the pillow, and a ghastly, grey film passed over Rama's face. Mr. Duncan thought that he was in the veryarticle of dissolution. and stood frozen at his post. But it was not so. With an immense effort, .Kama touched the bell-push. It whirred loudly, cutting into the silence with a jarring note; and the echo had hardly died away when the nurse was bending over the bed and administering something in n glass. "It is time." said Mr. Duncan to himself, "for little Willy to take to the tall timbers!'" He never knew liow he got lißck to his own room. He could remember no detail of that perilous progress when lie afterwards thought it over. It was sufficient that, in an incredibly short space of time, he had drawn the curtains, switched on the electric light, and the siphon was hissing in the glass. Xever was the most intricate cocktail at Sherry's or the Astoria so grateful as the good Scots -whisky! If ever a man wanted a drink, Mr. Duncan, one of the most abstemious of people, felt he wanted one now! He was not a vain man, but he was accustomed to pay himself such compliments as he felt he deserved, and he was exultant now. He was only on the very fringe of the mystery, but he considered that he had already indubitably established that fraud of the most subtle and cunning nature was at the bottom of Kama's proceedings. What was to come, he did not know; he guessed that the tale was but half told. But he was quick to see that no good purpose would be served by speculating on the future at the present moment. This was the hour for action, and he chuckled to think that only he, the dying impostor and o*--other mysterious entity—were awaike and at work. As to that other, there was a certain room, the key of which Mr. Duncan felt for in his pocket, that might go far to solve the problem: A bluebeard's chamber of wires and switches! When the last drop of his re-animating potion was consumed he once more put on his dinner-jacket and collar, hid the distinguishing hat and the plank bridge, and, after listening carefully, stole out into the corridor. It had not changed since an hour ago. The light gleamed on the lacquered cabinets and great Indian vases against the wall. His feet sank into the rich pile of the carpet. The door at the far end concealed the enigma beyond. Mr. Duncan turned to the right, walked to the end of the corridor, and branched off at an angle, traversing a shorter passage which brought him out through a large door into the great gallery round the hall. The gallery was lit, but down i below there was the dark, empty void, i Here and there, there was a pale gleam j upon a suit of armour, and he could I distinguish the gilded pipes of the great I organ in its frame of Jacobean oak. i There was not a sound, either from down ! below there or from behind any of the ! doors, and he crossed one side of the gallery like a ghost. I The corresponding door, which he 1 opened and closed softly behind him, led to a corridor much the same as the one he had just quitted, ai/d occupied, as he remembered with a sudden, burglarious feeling, by the ladies of the household. He had an excellent iiemory, and every detail of the Castle plan u-as etched upon his brain. Another door, this time of green baize, and the long passage before him was somewhat changed in character. Here, though the carpet was the same, there were no pictures on the walls, nor were vases ranged against them. ! He flitted along until he came to the landing of a staircase going up and down. He chose '-he upper portion, and, with the greatest care, began to mount. Once or twice, when a stair creaked, he stood rigid for several seconds. He was approaching the servant's quarters, and though it was not near dawn as yet he reflected that maids and valets and footmen, accustomed to early rising and unexpected summonses, would be lighter sleepers than their masters. And he had no wish whatever to meet one of Arthur's stalwart colleagues or —lie thought of it with a mental grin—portly Mr. Pontifex, the chief butler himself, who might have been a twin of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and whose manner was infinitely more pontifical! But, so far, at any rate, this was Mr. Duncan's night—and he realised it. He gained his objective without any mishap, and this was a narrow, winding staircase which led to an attic floor. Here, the silence was broken by the vocal sleep of the younger servants. Snores in several keys blended together into a chorus, and the intruder thought of that famous

one in '-Tbe Frogs" of Aristophanes, for be was a Harvard man and a classical scholar of some repute. -At last, in the very middle of the passage, he came to a second and final flight of stairs which led directly to the little room upon the leads where the telephone exchange was installed. He crept up. Everything was in darkness, but he bad his torch and it was the work of a moment to open the door and lock it behind him. He was in a little, round room, lit in the daytime by windows in a small domed roof, and warmed by an electric radiator in cold weather. One half was taken up by tbe upright panels of vul-. canite studded with little brass connection tubes, each one with its distinguish- | ing label. There was _ padded arm-1 chair of basket work, and a table upon | which stood an empty teacup, a novel, | open and face downwards,- entitled j ''Hetty Wins Through." a half-box of chocolates, and an object which Mr. Dun- . can. a bachelor, concluded must be a ' pair of curling tongs. j Having thus cast his intruding eye | upon the innocent secrets of Miss Polly i Brooks, he cautiously extinguished bis j torch and turned on the electric light. ! Here, at any rate, the illumination would not show outside —a bird alone could see it! The journalist had a good working knowledge of the telephone system and its wiring. The American, especially in bis profession, very often has, and is nearly always far more expert in electrical matters than his English brother. He sat down upon the high, three-legged stool, rested bis elbows on tho mahogany ledge, bis head in his hands, nnd scrutinised the switchboard with care. He was only a few seconds in locating the tower corridor, an instant more tbe plug which controlled the telephone in the tower room. And here was a problem! The exchange was. of course, connected to the instrument upon Rama's bed. The rubber-covered wire was in its right position for that. But if the exchange had been called up by llama and a connection established with any other room in the building, in a little, circular space above a red disc would appear —and there was no disc there. This required thought. Tt meant one of two things. Either at the close of the mysterious conversation someone had ' been in that room and had switched off that connection, or the wiring had been tampered with in a way quite unsus- : pected by the switchboard operator. | In that event. Duncan realised that I Miss ""rooks would know nothing what- ' ever about it. It was in the highest degree improbable that she understood anything more than tlie mere operating ! of the switches. It-would be quite easy for anyone, days or months before this night, to arrange so that, by means of a cut-in circuit, he could switch himself j on to the tower hedroom at night. Which of the two was it? Even as be asked himself the question his quick i eye solved it. T T pon first opening- the door he bad been conscious that his foot had trodden on something which was not the cork matting that covered the floor. His eye I fell upon it now. It was a rather grubby little handkerchief, edged with cheap ; lace, and it bad been pushed by the open- ,' ing of the door to the exact spot where it had opened wide enough to allow Mr. Duncan to slip in. Miss Brooks must have dropped it on the very threshold, and the fact was as conclusive as though Mr. Duncan had placed a private seal on the door after her departure and had i found it unbroken when he returned. i Here was another fact of prime im- ! portance. Mr. Duncan wa_ getting on! He had established beyond any manner ' of doubt that the sick man waß in com- | munieation with someone, and that the : means of communication must have been carefully prearranged. A thought struck i him, and he turned to a farther switchboard, one which communicated with the | outside world. Was there an}* evidence ! that Rama had been speaking to some- ! one in the village, or farther away still? He could find none among the indicators', and then he remembered that, even in the silence of tbe night, that dry, crackling whisper would hardly carrybeyond the confines of the Castle. Tlie re was someone—a confederate — hidden in the building itself! He was almost trembling in his excitement as he went to the back ;of the switchboard and carefully scrutinised the dozens of wires which ran from it into the battery cupboard. But here he was at fault. It would require an expert linesman with tools to discover anything to his purpose —it was quite useless for he, him- i self, to find tbe thread in that labyrinth. But to-morrow was also a day! And a word to Dr. -Staveley and the Duke would | soon throw light upon the problem. There was nothing more to be ■ done at the moment, so he gin- i | gerly lifted the handkerchief from i ! the floor and placed it on the table, snapped out the light, and left tbe room, locking the door after liim. The return journey was as without ! incident as the first. He crossed the mysterious amphitheatre of the hall actually humming a little tune. it was a well-spent night indeed, and he chuckled to think of John Stave ley's face in the morning when he told his news. But it happened that Mr. W. \V. Duncan's adventures were not quite over for the night. He had gone a few steps down the tower corridor, and was indeed within a yard or two of his own door, when the silence was broken with shocking suddenness. From somewhere bcliind him, and at j . no great distance, he heard a sharp, resonant "twang." It sounded exactly like the string of a banjo, plucked quickly and allowed to fall again upon its parchment drum. He wheeled round in an instant, and as he did so, behind his ear he felt a tiny pricking, as if a fly had settled there and was biting him —it had not anything like the painful dignity of a I sting. He put up his hand mechanic- [ ally to brush the thing away, and then j started running down tbe corridor in I the direction of the sound. He came j to the end, and started down the branch at right angles. It was absolutely empty! Quick a 9 lightning, he ran to each door in turn, pressed his ear against the panel, and listened. Xot. a sound: He went as far as the gallery, peering out upon it and listening. He could have heard a pin drop, or a mouse gnawing at the wainscote—but he heard nothing-

What was it? He nsked himself this question a dozen times, as, with reluctant footsteps, he returned to his bedroom. For a moment be had been badly frightened, but not out of his wits. The precautions he had taken seemed entirely to preclude any human agency. He did not believe in "the supernatural and especially in the supernatural that twanged! But, as lie turned on the lights in his room, the solution came to him and he laughed. It was merely the snapping of some taut picture cord—with which, no doubt, the heat had something to do! That was exactly tbe noise that he had heard! Ho sat down in his arm-chair and suddenly felt strangely tired. His limbs were' like rolls of lead, and as he bent down and took' off bis felt boots it seemed as if there was a cord around bis forehead which was growing tighter and tighter every moment. He had just time to realise that* there was something the matter with him, when he tumbled forwards and lay face downwards upon the floor. All consciousness tied utterly away. The soulful Arthur found him thus in the morning and promptly gave the alarm, though not before he had explored his patron's pockets and found a certain key. Arthur was not wholly poet, as yet. (To be contTiiued daily.)