THE FATAL GLOVE

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 107, 7 May 1924, Page 14

THE FATAL GLOVE

mAPTKi: XIII.—t Continued). INnson raiped hi? eyebrows. Tin , lady litinii wiihuut ii word. The major pointed to i< c-uair. "Now. Mr. —cr —Pinson. T am exceedingly busy (his morning. Will you stale your business ;is mjoii as posible?" "Xii iiooil ti> waste your time in doing that, major," replied Pinson. "1 have stated it." "It is lhat you wnnt tn liav a convprs.Ltiim wiili my daughter* That is a remarkable request frtmi a stranger. You must admit that we an. , practically strangers."' "Inliappily, yes." said Pinson. pleasantly. "JHit, on the other hand, Miss I'layfair and T are old acquaintances. 1 have met her several times in London." '■(Hi. yes,"' said the major. "1 don't doubt a hundred men have met her in London; but that '' "You .arc going to say that that no excuse for disturbing her at homo. In the ordinary way." Pinson continued, "1 should prefeetly ogrec with you. But my present business is of high importance, and I can assure you il docs not brook a refusal." "What!" cried the major. '"You come here to browbeat mc in my own house 5" "My dear major, I should never dream of attempting to browbeat any man," said Pinson, getting up from his chair. "Hut let mc tell you this"—and he pointed the admonitory linger at the angry and astonished gentleman—"let mc tell you that I never allow myself T.> be browbeaten by anybody, in his <jwn house or anywhere else." Major l'layfair gazed straight at the linger outheld and grew redder in the lace, but said nothing. "It is well," Pinson went on,' '"that we should understand each other. If any difficulties are placed in the way of my seeing Miss Playfair, there are legal means of overcoming them. But J do not want any unpleasantness. This is a perfectly proper and natural request. 1 beg that you will ask Miss Playfair to give mc an interview of ten minutes on business of the utmost consequence to herself and to others." "You can't see my daughter," said Major Playfair. "Why?"" "Even if I were inclined to be bullied by a lawyer fellow into giving way, as J am not inclined, you could not see her c-iie is not here." "Well," said Pinson, "I must say that i us is a most lame and impotent conclusion to such a demonstration of illlemper on your part, major. Why i-ould you not have told mc at once that Miss Playfair was not at home?" "It is none of my business to answer >our impertinent questions,'' he responded, flaring up a^ain "I assure you that they are not impertment. although they L v be ° ude 7y expressed," said Pinson. "Will y ou be good enough to tell mc when Miss Play lair went away'" "No." "Or where she may be found?" j\o. a 'virv"/ h , aVe the - honour to wish JO" Jiead but your own " and n ourTV Va , ked ° Ut ° f the room ana out of the house. It was quite unlike that customarily cool and collected lawyer to lose his temper. But somehow, he told himself litn ?l? JOr irritatecl h ?™- He did not T n th , c ™I?'> He liked him "till Jess on, pM Sem the face of Mrs Playfair, and observed the way in winch her husband treated her AH the same, he ought not to have ost lus temper. He was on important business, business that might be vital to Lysons, ami instead of venting his temper on Major Playfair, he should have been exhausting every device- that he could invent to get an interview with the major's daughter. "There is something fishy about you " he apostrophised the red-faced old man as he walked along the road towards the village. "Your lobster visage is fishy your drunken eyes are fishy, your conduct ,s fishy. How did a girl like Miss llayfair come to have a father like you V But these speculations were not much to the point. The question, was to discover some means of finding out the whereabouts of Miss Flayfair. He thought of Grainger's acquaintance, the pretty servant-girl. He supposed that was the maid he had seen in the hall at The Cottage. Pinson did not like the idea of attempting to get information about her mistress out of a serving-maid. But the case was urgent. He stood irresolutely, looking at the dog who sunned himself in the dusty road just outside the inn. There was a light footstep behind him. The dog seemed to recognise it, for he lazily wagged his tail without getting up. Pinson turned. The footsteps was that of the servingmaid herself. As she passed him slfe gave him a significant look, and walked on without speaking. She passed through the silent street and round the corner, where Sergeant Furze had drawn up his car, the other morning. When she was out of eyeshot of the houses, she turned. Pinson, who had followed her, came round the corner a minute later. "Good morning," said he. "We have met before to-day." "Yes, sir," said the girl. "My mistress sent mc to see if I could overtake you and to give you this message: that the master will be out this afternoon. He is going by the boat at two o'clock, and if you can wait so long she will be glad to see you after that." "Ah!" Pinson's exclamation was a deep-breathed expression of relief, j "Thank you. Tell your mistress that I shall call at a quarter-past two, and that I want to catch the boat at four o'clock." He hung about at the inn until from the doorway he saw the smoke of the steamer going up the river. Then as ! the clock showed the quarter he rang again at the door of The Cottage. Mrs. Playfair received him in the drawing-room. "My behaviour must eeem strange to you, , said she. bSi^t 1 ? least >" said Vinson. "Most rnesTaJ" f lndeed ' 1 half-expected some you V houla *we Bought a meeting with iy£y n £ZZT>\*£ laxity,'■ Mr. Pinson, « To " * "ke your face, woman to say tlit ??„ a i'" w a * old Victor Itfsons speak erf ' lmve llear 4 and my daughter W Y ° U as «• Wend, -Srou are a lawyer and oned 7°°world. Help mc, CL , lnan o£ «><! help mc!" w ' p "™a. Oh, do

By R. A. J. WALLING. Author of "A Silver Dagger," "A Sea Dor of Devon," etc

Shi. leant towunU him witli li.>r hanrla clasped »nd a look uf misery on lior "My dear lady." said l'iii>oii. "yon may, of roursi , ," rely on mo Un- »ny ; lipl|i I run give you. lint tlir condition i is that you must first help mo." "Huu-7 Jlow enn 1 help you 7" "I camp liiTo to-day. ;is I tliink you hoard nn , say. to pel an interview with i your daughter. Major Playfjiir, for I some unknown reason, seoms to have taken a dislike to mc. and he lias told . mc first that Miss I'layfair is not hon\ : and next that he refuses absolutely to tell mc where flic is or to assist mc in liny way to see her.' , •Yes. I know." said Mrs. Playfair, I with eyes downcast. ""You are aware that my friend T.ysons. lies in prison accused of a terrible crime. I have undertaken his defence. To secure evidence which is necessary for that defence. I must see Mies I'layfair. 1 do not know, my dear madam, what t lie deep trouble is of which you speak, but if it is in any way connected with this case you may depend on it that the best service you can do yourself as well as mc is to give mc this information at once." "Oh, I cannot!" she cried. "Why?' , demanded Pinson, with impatience. "Because I do not know myself wliere my daughter is" "What!" he exclaimed. "Why. Miss Playfair was here two days ago, and I Lysons saw her." j '-Yes, that is so. And that I take to I be the origin of the mystery, it is all I dark to mc. Listen, Mr. Pinson. Do I you know Mr. Brewster? Yes, of course I you do. yon mentioned his name to my husband. He and Victor Lysons met here that morning and had a violent quarrel and Lysons knocked him down. . Kver since then 1 have been shivering j with apprehension about what would happen. I cannot tell you all the cirj cumstances. But there is some link between Major Playfair and that man, and in some way my daughter is mixed up with k." Pinson had been listening with less and less attention. My dear Mrs. Playfair." said he, "if you will pardon mc, we will go into that at a more convenient time. It is urgently necessary that I should see Miss Play,air." ''1 have told you that you cannot see her." "And again I ask why?" 'Because I do not know where she is. After she knew that Victor Lysons had been arrested, she became very strange, and 1 could not help thinking that she was contemplating doing something desperate. .She had that look about her. Last night she went to her room as usual about ten o'clock and this morning she was not there. Her bed had not been slept in. She had disappeared." Pinson gave a long slow whistle. "Mrs. Playfair" said he, "I ask your pardon for my thoughtlessness. Let mc think a moment." He took a turn or two up and down the room. His hand fingered the pocket where he kept his cigarette-case, and brought it out. He took a cigarette, and twirled it, as was his habit when puzzling. Then he looked up. and with a hurried motion restored it to the case. "Pardon me,' , he said, "just two questions. Am I right in supposing that, in spite of the engagement with Sir Richard Fallofield your daughter, was very fond of Lysons '!" "Yes very. The Fallofield engagement was distasteful to her. She would never have entered it but for her father" "Quite so," said Pinson; "'I understand that. And you have told mc that she was deeply upset on hearing of the arrest. One more thing. When Lysons left here, having quarrelled with Brewster, did Brewster see Miss Playfair afterwards?"' "No. He was closeted with my husband for a long time, and then went away. But before Lysons came, Mr. Brewster and my daughter had a long talk in the garden. It was that talk which Lysons interrupted. It was something that was said which gave rise to the quarrel." "Ah!" cried Pinson. "Is that so? Are you sure of it?" "Yes. I was in my bedroom which looks on the garden. I saw it all." "Ah!" said Pinson again. "Ther. we are not far from the truth. The scent is hot, my dear Mrs. Playfair. You need have no fear about your daughter. I see what has happened as clearly as if I had been here." "Oh, do you think so ? Are you sure ? Y*ou give mc hope when it is all dark," said the lady wringing her hands in doubt. "Wliere is the major?" said Pinson, suddenly breaking the subject. "He has gone to Totnes for the afternoon. He will be back early this evening." "Can I see you to-morrow, alone, if there should be any need ?" "I daresay I can arrange it. If you call at the house next to the inn and ask for Mary Bowles, they will send for ! my maid, and I shall know what the ! message means." "Very good, Mrs. Playfair. Xow I am going, and I think that when I see you again I shall bring you news of your daughter." Pinson was in a brown study all the way back to Buckfast. He was weaving a chain. Many links were missing, but he was piecing it together bit by bit. "What a fool Lysons is!" That reflection constantly interrupted ' the train of his thought. From Buckfast station he went straight to the police-office. "It's rather late, in the day," said he to Sergeant Furze, "but will you give mc a short visit to Mr. Lysons, sergeant? It is important for.his defence." The sergeant made no difficulty. I'inson was at once' conducted to the room where visitors were received, and Lysons was brought to him there. The two men gripped hands. "We're getting on," said Pinson, in answer to a question about the proceedings of himself and Grainger. "But, my dear Lysons, I must tell you that you are yourself the most consummate fool that ever got himself into a mess." "How so?"' asked Lysons. "Well, when a man gets himself into a hole like this, and then asks other men to get him out of it, he should at least be candid about it. He should tell them what he knows himself, and not leave, them to go fumbling about in the dark." "Where have I been lacking in candour, PineonV "Don't ask mc to tell you. My dear Lysons, you „,. quHe W(jU aw^o of

what I mean. You have not lied to mc, but you have not told mc the truth about that night."' "Well, go on. 1 have told you all illi-re is any need for you to know. What else?' , "J)on"t you sec, you quixotic fool, that I must know everything? Everything, 1 say, without reservation whatever!" "I have told you everything 1 am going to tell you, Pinson, or any other man." "I have no patience with this," cried Pinson. "Good heavens, Lysons, don't you see what it means? If the police were not more idiotic than yourself, they would now be in possession of a

piece of evidence that would hang a SDotless saint!" ""What is that?" "They would be able to prove beyond doubt that you came into the. George and Dragon at two o'clock in the morning through the skylight." "Nevertheless, Pinson, T did nothing of the sort,' , said Lysons, looking at him steadily. Pinson shrugged his shoulders. "Tell that to the Marines,"' said he. '"Lysons, we can get you out of this in two sticks if you will only tell mc faithfully how you spent that night.' , "I cannot tell you anything more than I have told."

"Let mc tell you, then, Lysons. There is a person who could prove an alibi for you, and get you free at once." "I will not discuss it."' said Lysons. But he had given a startled glance at Pinson before he spoke. '"This,"' said Pinson, "is not mere folly, Lysons. It is sheer madness, I tell you! You persist in a ridiculous tale about having spent the night in the inn when it is plain to an imbecile that you did nothing of the sort. You know that it is possible to prove an alibi with regard to the murder of Fallofield, and although you are in gaol charged with that murder you refuse to say a word. Madness, sheer madness!"

The ingenius Pinson was perhaps not quite so angry as he seemed. He watched Lysons very carefully while he was speaking. As he finished he looked up. ".Vow, Pinson," said he, "may 1 remind you that it was on your invitation that I came to gaol, and on your assurance that with the assistance of Grainger you could get mc out?" "Yes. that's all very well. But when we said that we thought we were in your confidence and could rely upon our facts. Now I find that I cannot do that. Your facts arc not facts at allWe may be floundering into the most ghastly mistakes simply because we do

not know the truth. It is absolutely necessary, believe mc, that we should know what you did that night." "On that subject, Pinson, it is useless to Ask mc any more questions. I have said all 1 am ever going to say." "Will you, then, induce the person who knows what your movements were to speak" Lysons leapt up. "No!" he shouted. "I would rather hang to-morrow than say a word on the subject!" "Thank you. my dear Lysons," said Pinson smiling. "1 like your heroics. You do them very well. J have found out all I want to know."

"What do you mean?" cried Lysons. "Hush! Xot so loud, my dear fellow. Here's the constable coming to see what's the mattter. Lysons, you are a simple fool. If only the court could see how easily you can be turned inside out they would not think it worth while to put you on your trial. Such a man is incapable of stealing yesterdays newspaper, let alone committing a diabolically clever crime." Tho force arrived at that moment to say that the time of the visit had officially elapsed. Pinson shook hands with his friend. He mused, as was his fashion, on the way back to the George and Dragon.

"Pinson." said ho to himself, '"youwore built not for a cross-examining counsel, but for a timatour detective. You have de<lurti'<l from very slight evidence every essential physical fact about thi* crime. I am pruud of you. i Now it i.s up to yon to find the motive. Go on .tihl roii<|ii<T.'" Tom IVngelly met him in the doorway. "Ah," said ho, -tliere\ a telegram just come for you. Mr. I'inson." (To be continued daily,)