AN OPEN VERDICT

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 224, 20 September 1924, Page 28

AN OPEN VERDICT

By INA LEON CASSILIS. {Author of "Red Dawn," Poison of the Atf," "Theßift in the Lute,")

STXOPSIS OK PREVIOUS CHAPTEBS. Gerard Elston. goldmlnjng "m partnership wllln Frank Haddon. Sα California, id summoned home to Ebgland. His father Is dangerously 111. aad lie la obiisml to leave wltboat bidding good-bje to Haddoo, who has gone for a short hollda?. He leaTes a message tar Haddon, and -mites on arriving at Qneenstoira, bat receives no rv-ply-Gcrartl succeeds to Elston Begis and great wealth. He contracts a friendship with the Wendoyer family, anil Marela Wendover quicklj becomes very infatuated with him. But at the Wendover's house he has the misfortune to meet a very fascinating woman of obsenre antecedents in Madeline Maxwell. It is just about this time that Mile. Nora Guise takes employment with Mr. Watkine Dale, the well-known private inquiry agent. After the briefest courtship Gerald marries Madeline, but even on the honeymoon he comes to realise that there la something lacking. She is bored, and openly pines for the excitement of town life,. so after three weeks on the Continent the newly-mnrricd couple return to London. CHAPTER VEX A Night to be Remembered. "Have you got the box?" said Madeline, looking up as her husband entered the drawing-room, where she was seated luxuriously before the fire. Erlston came forward to the hearth. "Yes," he said, "I have got it, by a stroke of luck. There wasn't a seat to be Had, but just as I was turning : away, a- man came up with a return —a , first tier box." Hp laid an envelope down on the little table beside his wife. "That is fortunate," said she. Only that morning she had taken it into her head to go to the Haymarket Theatre in tjie evening, where a new piece was in the first flush of success. Madeline was the more pleased because she wanted to wear a new gown, into which some startling- combinations had been introduced by the milliner—combinations upon which only a beautiful woman, could venture. Erlston was ready, and waiting in the drawing-room long before his wife appeared; but she came in at last —a dazzling vision indeed, for the robes flashed and scintillated from hem to throat, with what appeared like a firmament of various- coloured stare. There were jewels, but of course the decorations were not all jewels. What ;they were Erlston's masculine ignorance could not compass; the effect was startling and magnificent—almost too much so. as Erlston decided, and he was irreverent enough to remark, as his wife paused for admiration. "It is very handsome, Madeline; but I don't think I care much for it. • It reminds mc irresistibly of the dress of a pantomime queen, or principal fairy." "Gerard! What Goths men are! Why, there isn't a dress like this in London or Paris." "I am glad to hear it!" said he, quizzically. • •. "Luckily," said Madeline, i "men's opinions on dress don't count for much. The women will all be wild' to; wpy my frock—and most of them would'look absurd in anything of the kind."; The carriage .was announced, and Erlston put the rich mantle round Madeline's shoulders, and-led her out. The play and the acting; were good, but Erlston was too sick at heart to fully enjoy either, and Madeline, though she was fairly interested in the stage, was a great deal more so in the notice' which she herself attracted —although she was' so accustomed to admiration that one might think she had grown indifferent to it. Glyn Stangram was in the stalls, but he could not go up to the Erlston box, as he was escorting pretty Mrs. Dampier. That lady vastly admired Madeline's "fiery robe" as her escort called it, hut sensibly remarked: "It wouldn't suit mc one bit —it would simply kill mc. I am too little. It. needs a woman of great beauty and in' a commanding style, to surmount such a blaze." "I think you are right,"" said Stangram. "I haven't ever seen such a handsome couple as those two make." "I wonder," said Mrs. Dampier, "if the happiness is as handsome as the faces I" "Have you any reason 'to think it otherwise!" asked Stangram, a little startled. '-Tfone that a man, certainly a lawyer " replied she, smiling, "would recognise as a reason. They behave perfectly; Mr. Erlston would, of course—he is an excessively proud man, but we women get impressions—we hardly know how or why. I don't think, for one thing, that she would really suit him." "Ho? May I ask why?" \ "It isn't fair to speak against her. I know her co little, and people would say I envied her—that I wanted to marry Erlston myself." "You know I wouldn't say, or think that." " ' "I hope not, < and you won't repeat what I say. Men, you know, are, as a rule, terrible gossips." "I promise yo uthat whatever you say shall be regarded by mc as a profound secret." "Very well. Counsel ought to know how to be silent as well as how to speak. These two are antagonistic, I believe Erlston was dazzled—and isn't really in love with her. Madeline Erlston strikes you at first as attractive —strikes even a woman, I mean—she is. so brilliant,'so lovely; but she isn't really interesting, when you come to know her better, and she isn't sympathetic or romantic—and Erlston is both; she is selfish and narrow, and he is neither. "I am sorry if all you say is true," said Stangram. "Erlston is a splendid fellow. Hie wife should be a'gem among women, as he is among men." "It is to be hoped.he won't find that gem," said Mrs. Dampier. "It would be unlucky." The curtain went up on the third act, and talk must cease. Erlston drew a silent breath of relief when .the curtain .descended., on the fourth act. He cloaked his wife, with no lingering hand over the task, as was once-the' case, and they went down to the lobby. The usual knot of idlers stood under the huge portico to sec "the toffs" come out Erlston and his wife were standing close to the entrance, waiting for their car, the light, within ana without falling full on Madeline, who had, by an apparently careless movement, thrown back her cloak a. little Jβ ttaMW JFP» wm eeen. Jbubiag *n^

glittering, to the admiration of all and sundry. Erlston. his face turned aside, was talking to Stangram, who Lad justcome up. "Oh! moy oye!" said a hoarse voice from the crowd of onlookers, "ain't she spiff: She's 1 all afire! Look at 'er!" A dirty finger pointed, and a loud laugh followed the words. A haughty policeman swept the vulgar offender out of range, but two or three people, making their way through the mixed throng, turned their heads to see the lady who was "all afire!" and at that moment the policeman sang out "Mr. Erlston's car!" Erlston turned to his wife and saw that she was white as death, even the red lips were pale, and there was a curious look of terror in her eyes. "What is the matterT Are you ill?" lie said, in a quick, low tone. She shook her head slightly, not answering, and he drew her hand on hie arm, and led her to the car, not rapidly, fearing that if hurried she might faint, but she urged him forwards, almost running, and glancing furtively to right and left, as they crossed the pavement. "Home—as quick as you can!" Erlston said to the chauffeur, and sprang into the car after his wife. She had gone to the corner farthest from the pavement, and was evidently trying to control herself, though as evidently suffering under sudden and terrible shock. She still looked ghastly, and drew her breath with I difficulty. Erlston bent towards her, as the car drove off rapidly. "Madeline," ! he said, with a tenderness unknown for ! many weeks, "what has-happened ? Can you not tell mc?" "Not now." she half whispered. "Presently. I shall be better then." Not a word was spoken during the rest of the drive home, but when the car stopped, Madeline seemed to have regained some of her composure. She looked furtively about her, as her husband handed her out, and hurried up to the door in the same hasty manner in which she had passed from the theatre to the car. Erlston led her straight into the dining room, placed her in a chair, and pouring out a glass of wine, brought it to her. She drank it all, eagerly. "Thanks," she said, gratefully, and perhaps she really felt grateful. She rallied, the colour came into her face. She turned towards her husband, and he went up to her chair. "Don't think mc foolish," she said, with a faint smile. "I have heard you say that you believe in second sight " "Yes?" he said, gently, as she paused. "Well," Madeline went on, "just when that girl called out, I saw suddenly a figure pass rapidly by " she shuddered, and caught her breath. " It was myself, Gerard—just as I am now—with this dress—and the cloak. It turned its face, and looked at me—my own face. Oh! Gerard!" She burst into half hysterical tears, and Erlston soothed her tenderly, answering* her that she must be unwell, and it was only some fancy; and by-ana-b.7 she grew calmer, and said perhaps she would feel better when the daylight came. He Iwent with her to her dressing:; room, and there consigned her to her maid. But it was loiK past dawn before Medeleine Erlston slept, and she woke, after uneasy slnmbars, with a crushing sense of dread ami fear at her heart. It was only natural that she should not seem quite her natural felf during the day; but she made no allusion to last night, and Erlston deemed it best to let the matter drop. He was busy, too, just now, over several matters concerning the estate, and lifd a good deal of correspondence to attend to; and Madeleine was no more, alas! an absorbing subject for him. He was glad to try and escape from "thinking of her; it was a relief to find that she seemed not to need, but rather to shrink from, any care and attention from him. In two or three days, Madeline appeared to have forgotten all about the wraith,' and was planning tltfs or that amusement. "I do want to tee the Savoy piece," she said to her husband one day after luncheon.. "What day are you free?" He paused. "Any day you like next week," he said, "after Tuesday. I am engaged that evening for the house dinner at the Skollers." "Then I will send for a box for Thursday." Madeline had talked of going to Lady Jameson's At Home on Tuesday evening—that lady being always at home on Tuesdays, between ten and one. "It will be better than moping here," Mrs. Erlston said, but when the day came she complained of a headache, and it grew worse as the time passed on. "I shall go to bed early," she said to her husband just before he started for the Skollers. "A good long sleep will set mc all right. I supose you men will keep it up until the small hours?" "Naturally, Goodbye." It was nearly half-past eight when he left the house, and at nine Madeline went up to her room. But it was not yet a quarter "to one when Erlston put hie latch-key in the lock. A telegram had arrived for one of the members, while talk and laughter flowed past, to say that hie father had died suddenly. In an instant all was changed, every face was grave and concerned, the man to whom the sad tidings had come quitted the room at once, the rest,. by common consent, separated after a few expressions of sympathy with' their colleague, a few questions asked and answered, so it was that Erlston reached home more than an hour before he expected. As he opened the door, he heard a little startled' "Oh,", in a female, but not a lady's voice, an stepp'ng in quickly, saw Madeline's maid fairly flying up the stairs. "Garfield!" he said sternly, and the girl paused and turned round. No one in the house ever dared disobey its master. "It's nothing, sir/ she said faintly, but as he stood waiting she came down slowly, trembling and looking thoroughly scared. ''What are you doing at this time of the night?" said Erlston, noting that the maid was fully dressed. "You ought to have been in bed hours ago." "Yes, sir, I wasn't doing any harm. Mrs. Erlston has been very bad with the headache, sir, and I couldn't get to bed." "I'm afraid the excuse doesn't agree wr.th* your being down in the hall." The'maid hesitated, looking anywhere but at her master. "I thought I heard someone moving down Jun, air," pit* eiid, tittfr. -••■•— _...,_

"And you came down," said he, "to face a possible burglar, instead of locking , yourself up tight in your room, or going off into hysterics! But ct is not always easy to cook up a plausaible tale on the spur of the moment. Get to bed now, you need not tell any more lies, but if I catch you at any more tricks, you'll leave the house the next day. Now go!" He turned to fasten up the door, and Gartield went upstairs, glad, perhaps, to have escaped without further inquisition. Erlston, for. his part, thought little of the episode. Aβ FJkely as not one tf the men servants tsad been gallivanting, and had persuaded Garfield to sit up for him, and let him in at the hall door, which both knew would be on the latch to-night. At another time he might have inquired further into the matter, but he was too unhappy rln himself now, too preoccupied to notice the peccadilloes of servants, which laxity was a fortunate thin"- for Miss Emily Garfield. 3 CHAPTER IX. Identified. "Mysteriius murder In the East End!" '"Orrible murder at Plaistow!" "Shockin' murder in East London!" These, and a few other varieties of the same announcement, were being yelled through the leading thoroughfares early on Wednesday afternoon. Gerard Erlston was walking homewards from his club down Piccadilly, but the headline did not appeal to him. Evening papers were delivered as a matter of course in Arlington Street. He certainly would not have paused in the street to buy one for the sake of an "orrible murder." in the East End or anywhere else. When he entered the house, a couple of evening papers were lying on a table in; the hall. He took them up, and wrent to the drawing room to see if Madeline was down yet, and how she was, for hen he left home in the morning she was not up, and a message was sent to him that she felt utterly prostrated after the headache, which had forbidden sleep until dawn. Madeline, attired in a lovely teagown, was reclining in a fauteuil by the fire, a fall screen behind her shutting out the greater part of the niusky daylight of the -November day. She looked pale and ill, and hardly opened her eyes j.s her husband approached. "How are you?" he said gently. He was ever tender to suffering. "My head doesn't ache, thanks," she replied, "but I feel shattered after a sleepless night of pain." x "Well, I won't disturb you," Ereston said. He turned away, and went to his own study, where he carelessly opened one of the evening papers, glancing at the news in a general sort of way, for there was nothing of special interest going forward just now. In the absence of this, undue prominsnee was given to the East End murder which was exercising the lungs of the newsboys in the street. Erlston's eye fell upon the huge headline, and in :i mechanical kind of way he began to read how, late last night, the body of a man was found in Draper's. Lane, Plaistow; how the man had been robbed, and there was nothing upon him to indicate, hie identity; how a clasp knife was found near the body, with which the murder had evidently been committed; and then came a paragraph: "The police have issued the following description of the unfortunate man—aged about forty, sft ;9in in height, dark bronzed complexion, ■black hair, moustache and beard, regular features, a front tooth on the right side missing, and the mark of a burn upon the right temple." Erlston sprang to his feet. "My ■God!" broke from him. He stood staring at the paper in a half-stunned way.

•Then, mastering himself, he read the [■passage again. It might be only a. .chance likeness, but it might be—3tay, rthere was something more—the man's clothes were of foreign make. Erlston pressed his hand over his eyes. He had 'believed that true friendship severed iour years ago by death; was it ouly severed last night? By death—but a, death like this! Suspense was intolerable. He must know the truth at once. He rang the bell, and before the servant could answer he had flung on his overcoat and caught down his hat. "Tell your mistress," hi said; "if she should ask,- that I am called away suddenly. I don't know when I shall be at home." "Yes, sir. Shall I fetch a.taxi, sir!" "No,. I shall find one in Piccadilly." . In two minutes he was in a taxi, and driving fast to Plaistow, the chauffeur, stimulated by the promise of a double fare, dashing in and out among the trafj fie in a manner calculated to have alarmed a nervous passenger; but Erlston was not given to nervousness at any time, and just now was absorbed by feelings which made speed the one thing desirable. Plaistow was reached at last, and the cab drew up at tie police station. The presiding inspected looked up in some surprise at thi newcomer. Even policemen can occ/*si Inally feel—and show —surprise. "Good evening, sUV as Erlston raised his hat. "I wish," Erlston said, 'to see the I body of the man last night; I I think, from the description, that I may know him." The inspector pricked up his ears. "The body is lying at the mortuary, sir," he said. "We have, of course, been I making inquiries, but, as yet, no one i has identified the man. Will you come with mc, sir? I will be ready in a moment." He summoned a sergeant, and, leaving him in temporary charge, went out with Erlston, and a few minutes' quick walking, brought them to the mortuary. The Inspector unlocked the door, and the two men entered the place, which struck chill and damp, and was pervaded by a vague earthly smell. By the light di the lantern the. inspector carried, Erlston could see the outlines of a body, laid upon a broad stone slab, and covered over with a cloth. "Wait a moment, sir," the inspector said, in a low voice. "I'll light the gas." He struck a match and lighted a jet, which shone directly upon the slab. Then he romeved the cloth and drew back, giving Erlston place. The I latter stepped forward and gave one look at the livid face, locked in the awful calm of death —one look—and suddenly covered his own face in an agony of uncontrollable emotion. j four years ago they parted, these two, with the careless adieux of friends who were soon to meet again in a few days; and they mct —like this! Death is terrible when it comes by sickness or accident, to part those who have been friends and comrades; but murder! Gerard Erlston's soul swooned within him. He dropped his hands, and looked again at the rigid features, as if he would try to persuade himself that his eyes had cheated him, througn a singular likeness; but no such consolation, it was Frank Haddon who lay there, stark and cold—a murdered man. Frank Haddon, whom he had mourned as lost by a merciful fate —and that was the mistake—the cheat—the dreadful realtiy! But grief must stand aside. Erlston could have sobbed like

a woman over the dead chum who had been so dear to him, but he was not alone. He put his hand on the icyHand which would never clasp nil own [ again; he crossed the livid brow with the sacred sign, and whispered a prayer I for the soul that had passed into the i silent land; and then he reverently drew back the cloth over the dead, and turned to the inspector. He was as white as death itself, but outwardly calm and eelf-posseseed. "Yes," he said, in a low, clear tone, "I know him!" "You are quite sure, sir!' "Quite sure!" The gas was turned out, the door locked again, and the two went back to the police" station. There Erlston made h:s statement, and was bound over to appear at the inquest to be held tomorrow. What Erlston could relate, however, threw no light on the murder. He was shown the knife, but did not know it. The inspector told him all that was already known—which did not amount to much—but added that the detectives were making inquiries, and hoped to have some more evidence by to-morrow. Before he went away, Erlston said, "I -wish to have entire charge of the funeral. There will, of course, be no difficulty about that?" "Certainly not, sir, unless any relations should come forward to claim the body." "I believe there are none. My frienl always told mc he. had practically no relations." "Very .good, sir. The body would, in the ordinary course, be buried the day after to-morrow." Erlston returned at once to ArVngton Street. His thought were all "flung together in heaps." To the keen and bitter cense of loss was added the horror and the sense of mystery inseparable from the circumstances' of Haddon's death, and the anguish of the fear that the dead man might have been forced to misjudge his chum, and to believe that the latter had utterly deserted him. What lay behind this crime? Was it simply for robbery? Th : s seemed most likely. But why was Haddon in such a place as the lane described by the inspector? Haddon. when at Sahanna Gulch, was very well off, and his prospects were good. He had money in the bank; still, he might have spent that money, or lost, it in speculation. His clothes did not indicate prosperity. Haddon would have dressed better on coming to England if he could, and certainly would not have stayed in the sordid purlions of Plaistow and Canning Town. The whole affair seemed strangely mysterious; but Erleton vowed that he would spare bo money to unearth the crime, and avenge hie dead friend. It was near nine when he reached home. Madeline had dined, and was in the drawing room again, but dinner had been kept for the master, in case he should return. Erlston, with difficulty, forced himself to eat a little, but it was even harder to face his wife in his present state of mind. He needed what she could not, and .never could, give him; but she must know to-mor-row, if not to-night, and Erlston was that rara avis in terris—a man who grasps a moral difficulty, instead of putting it off. But for a while he was alone in his study, when there was no eye to see, and he gave way to the grief he had been compelled, all these hours, to* rigidly control. Then he went up to the drawing room. (To be continued Saturday next.)