THE THIRD DEGREE.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 189, 12 August 1925, Page 20

THE THIRD DEGREE.

BY B. A. J. WAUING,

Author of " The Fatal Glove," etc

CHAPTER VIII. A Memorandum Book. Phyllis stood looking at the contents of the drawer like a person dumbfounded. There were, then, secrets in her uncle's life of which she knew jjoth- . ing!, And this hidden drawer in the old cabinet held them. There were people who wanted to know those secrets, and had not hesitated at violence in order to reach them. ■ Wi.af W ere they? .For some reason which she could not I have explained to herself she was reluctant to examine them, afraid to know what they had to reveal to her. She had in her mind a certain conception of the undo who had been so much to her, and she was literally afraid to destroy it. .Fewings was waiting for her to speak. "Xo," she said suddenly, "you have r promised to be my friend, Mr. Fewings. If there is anything in these papers which—which —" She stumbled for words. "I think I understand, :, said Fewings. "Well —I would rather you looked 'it them. You will be better able to see what they mean than I—that is, if they have any light to throw on the affair." "Very well," said Fewings. '"Let us look at them together. Here they are — first old letters, loose in a large envelope^—two, three—seven altogether. Next another envelope sealed, no address—a bulky packet this. Then a memoran-dum-book. I wonder!" Fewings was still holding in his hand the sealed package and moving it in his fingers. It gave out a sound that made him say "I* wonder!" And the sound caused Phyllis to start. He noted the expression on her face. "Shall we open this first 1" he asked. She nodded. Fewings broke the envelope and shook out on the flat of the desk a packet of papers which rustled and slowly spread and uncurled as of themselves. "Ah!" he said. "I thought as much." "Bank notes," cried Phyllis. "New bank notes," said Fewings. "Let's see how much." He picked up the wad of paper and spread it on the desk. - Holding it down with, one hand, he turned up the notes one by one. "Ten-pound notes—consecutive numbers. Total, five hundred pounds!" He turned and looked at Phyllis with a brightening eye. "Already naif-way through the mystery, Miss Lanson," said he. "We know now why somebody attempted to burgle this desk. Let's find the man, and " "And?" she questioned. "Well, never mind. I ought to know better than 16 rush at conclusions." He folded the notes and placed them in the envelope again. "Now—suppose we look at the memo-randum-book V Phyllis nodded with the same gesture as before. Fewings picked up the hook and sat down at the desk to inspect it. It was a very ordinary little book, with cash-lines ruled at the edge of each page. It was a record of ac- I count, reaching back for seven year's, I and apparently a continuation of an older account. The entries were merely notes in memorandum form. It was a private reminder, and not a formal business account. At the head of the first page appeared the entry, "S.B. re John B." The rest was dates and amounts. It showed, for the whole seven years regular payments of £5 every month. But, beginning two years back, there were entries of other large sums—all of the same size. Fewings counted them. In two years there were forty-three payments of £500 each, the last dated a fortnight before Mr. Lanton's death. The entries were at first irregular, but' latterly they came at intervals of a month. ■Phyllis watched the long finger that Fewings ran down the columns. '"Extraordinary!" lie muttered. "How much doe's it make?" she asked. "Twenty-one thousand nine hundred and twenty," he replied. Then, going back a page or two: "Three hundred in the first five years; the rest within the last two. Did Watts tell you what sum was missing at the bank—l mean, •how much he could not account for?" ."Yes; he said my uncle had within two years drawn over twenty-two thousand pounds of which there was no record." "Well," said Fewings, "here is the record. thousand nine hundred and twenty here, and five hundred in notes. It is exaxct." He avoided Phyllis Lanson's eyes as he spoke. One' question was uppermost in both their minds, and neither of them would put it into words. "What did the entry 'John B. mean?" Instead of this jPhyllis asked, another question. "WJlo is '5.8., , I wonder?" "Ai!" said Fewings, "wh.en W e know who 'S.B. is—but suppose these letters have anything to tell us about it." , He ..picked -them up. Phyllis placed her hand on his arm as though, to prevent him from opening them. Fewings paused. "I'm sorry," said he, laying the letters on.:, the desk, and rising from the chair. "I.ought not to have touched them." "Oh, Mr. Fewings," the girl exclaimed, "of course, I did not mean that. I have no. objection to your looking at them. I want you to. You're - going to help mc. It is only through you that we have got' as far as this." . Fewings looked at the arm where her fingers had lain for an instant. She smiled. *'I don't know why I stopped you. It ■wai involuntary. Don't you think one always hates to explore the unknown— especially when it may mean so much?" "I quite understand, Miss Lanson," said Fewings gravely. He took a turn across the little room, and stood by the door regarding her. How fair and fragile she looked with the glow of the electric light shining through her hair! "You must forgive mc," he went on. "I have come into the secret place of your life like a brutal whirlwind. I have forgotten my delicacy." "Oh, no, no!" she cried. "Please don't Bay such things." "Yes, it is true. I did not quite realise in my eagerness to get at the bottom of the lriystery that there might be things—l hardly-know how to put it— things which perhaps these lqtters contain —that nobody except you has any right to know or see." •'I was not thinking of that at all," said Phyllis, "or of anything of the sort. I beg you to come here and open these letters and examine them. My hesitation was only a kind of shrinking from, the possibilities of the truth. I am braver now. Come!" Fewings placed his hands "behind his back and remained near the door. . "No," said he, with a smile in turn. "I.rarely refuse a lady's command, but this time I must have my way. Open the letters yourpelf, Mias Lanson. If they contain nothing that you do not want

mc to see, if there is nothing that ought to be kept in the secret drawer, well, then I will go through them with you." Phyllis looked in his eyes for a moment or two, and then, without another word, sat at the desk and drew out the letters one by one. Fewings watched her, and saw her brows knit and a serious, nuzzled look come over her face. She did not raise her head or glance in his direction. 'When she had reached the end of the seventh letter she placed them all in a pile on the desk and smoothed them out. "Well?" said Fewings. "It's very strange," she replied. "Very strange indeed. I can make nothing of it." "Is it anything that I may know?" he asked. "Oh, yee, everything. Will you—" Fewings crossed the room and stood by her side. She picked up the papers and gave them to him. He held them under the light of the lamp and read. The first was dated jusi after the preceding Christmas. It. bore no address. It read: Dear Sir, —I send tne usual acknowledgment of your letter and enclosure. The money was very welcome to mc. Will you accept from mc the compliments of the season? I trust the boy is well. I have the honour to be, Yours truly, Samuel Belliver. I When Fewings, with his rapid eye of the journalist, had absorbed these five sentences in as many seconds and reached the signature, he started back and cried, "(Jood Lord!" He turned to the next letter, dated a month later. It was in almost precisely the same terms, omitting the reference to the season. The third was hardly different, nor an) , of the others. All acknowledged the receipt of money. The dates were within a few days of a month apart. There was no address in any case, and all were signed "Samuel Belliver." As Fewings ran through them, Phyllis sat staring in front of her with her brows still frowning upon the puzzle. Fewings took up the memorandumbook and looked at the last entries. There were seven during the present year. He compared their dates with the acknowledgments in the letters. They corresponded in each case to within a few days. Placing both book and letters before Miss Lanson, he explained to her by dumb show of fingers these facts. She nodded assent. She had already grasped them. "Strange, indeed!" said Fewings. His voice broke the silence of the little room so suddenly that Phyllis jumped. "You said just now—" she began, and then stopped. "What did I say just now ?" "You suggested, if you remember, that if we knew who 'S.B. was we should not be so much' in the dark." "Yes, I did. But I also said that I ought to know better than to jump to conclusions. We know who '5.8. , is, and we are just as much in the dark as ever. At least, I am. Of course, we don't really know who 'S.B. is. At least, I don't. Do you, Miss Lanson f" Phyllis shook her head. There was much in the mind of Fewings which he could not get out. His brain was not working well to-night, i Since he had stooped over a slight figure in black, whose head rested on hie office table, he had not been quite his own man. At this moment he knew that there were a great many questions to be asked and answered about Mr. John Belliver; but he felt a limitless repugnance to talking about John Belliver with Miss Lanson. . "It seems to mc," said Phyllis at last, "that the secret drawer which was to help us out °f the mystery has only plunged us more deeply into it. What do you make of it, Mr. Fewings?" Thus appealed to, Fewings shook himself free of his fancies. He took a seat beside her. "In the first place," said 'he, "it eeeme quite certain that the large sums of money which were withdrawn from the bank by your uncle were paid, for some reason or other, to '5.8. , It seems pretty clear from the correspondence of the entries in the memorandum-book with these letters that the '5.8. , was a certain Samuel Belliver. It is obvious that the money was paid to him in notes at intervals of about a month. A payment of : five hundred pounds was due about the time of your uncle's death, but had not been made. The money was here in the desk. Somebody knew that it was here, and tried to get it on the night befofe your uncle's death. So far, I think, we are on sound ground." : "Yes,"-said Phyllis. "The next point or Interest is the name of the person to whom these amounts were paid." Fewings pulled himself up for an instant. "It is so strange," the girl murmured. "The name is well known to us," Fewings went on. "We cannot help connecting it with our knowledge. We know a John Belliver, but I know of no Samuel Belliver—do you, Miss Lanson ?" "No; I have never heard of any such person." "But it is evident that he exists and that there is some association between him and ou rfriend." He took up the first of the letters again, and read: "I trust the boy is well." "That," said he, "can mean only one thing. Did Belliver ever speak to you about his family, Miss Lanson V "No, never. I knew nothing of it. At least—" she paused. "Yes 1" said Fewings, with his ' eyebrows raised. "I knew nothing of it, indeed. But I have a suspicion that it was some question connected with Mr. Belliver's family that caused my uncle to interfere —in between us." "Oh!" Fewings whistled. "Miss Lanson, I say—this begins to look very queer, doesn't it?" "Yea," she sighed. 'It isn't much clearer, is it?" " "Who do you think 'Samuel Belliver , is?' "I can make several guesses, but I don't know what to think," she answered. The expression of anxiety in Fewing's eyes deepened as he.Jooke'd upon thoae strange letters and tapped the desk with his lingers. "I think that in all the circumstances we ought to keep this to ourselves for the time," said he. "You mean—" "I mean that it would probably be unwise to call in the aid of the police, for example." "Yes: I will follow your advice entirely." said* Phyllis. "But whyS" "Don't yo ueee that the name of Belliver in connection with these money transactions, the mention of Jack in the letter, the burglary^" "Oh, Mr. Fewings!" cried the girl. "You don't suggest that Jack^-" "I don't suggest anything. All I mean is that other people might be ready to i make suggestions." I "I don't believe itl I can't believe lit!"

Her face was flushing and her eyes were shining as she rose from her chair to say these words. Fewings looked all his admiration. "Of course you don't, Miss Lanson. Nor do I." "Jack was the soul of honour —you know it," she said, as though demanding from him support of her opinion. "He would no more of thought of a mean and vulgar thing like this than —" "I don't think w"e need discuss it, Miss Lanson. I am of your opinion. But the point is that we should keep the discovery to ourselves until we see what comes of it. The first thing to do is to find Samuel Belliver. You cay you think Mr. Lan son's objection to your association with Belliver was connected ill some way with the question of Belliver's family. What we have to discover is— simply —Belliver s family. You know nothing of it?" "Nothing at all. I know Mr. Belliver as my uncle's assistant. I have had a general notion that my uncle intended to nvjke him a partner, and I could see that he had a great regard for Jack and a ereat admiration for hie talents." "Yes, I know that. Mr. Lanson has spoken of it to mc. It was known, indeed, to most of us. I remember very well, it must be four or five years ago, when tjie youth first began to make (himself felt. He was then merely a clerk in Lanson's office. Nobody knew how he got there, or where he came from. It was enough that he was a protege of Mr. Lanson. That carried (him everywhere." "You have been very friendly with him, Mr. Fewings," said Phyllis. "Did he ever speak to you about personal affairs?" "I don't recall a single word of any definite sort. I have only a vague idea that he was a country boy of humble origin. He never volunteered anything, and I never asked him questions. But it's getting late, Miss Lanson, and I must be going back to work. I don't tihink we can do anything more to-night. You're agreed that the secret shall be kept for the time?" "Yes," Phyllis answered. "I'll leave it in your hands to do what you think best."" "And that will be nothing till I've slept over it," said Fewings. "I'll com,municato with you to-morrow. Depend on it, we'll find the key to this mystery, and it may let us further in than we' think. Now let's put all this away where it was before." He replaced the papers and the bank notes in the little drawer, and reinserted it in its hiding. He wished Phyllis good-night, and left Black Tor to catch a late tram to the town. All the way two questions were hammering in his head: "Who was Samuel Belliver" and "What could Samuel Belliver be doing with twenty-one thousand five hundred pounds of Mr. Lanson'e money?" Phyllis Lanson sat a little while that night in a state of bewilderment still greater than that of Fewings. The maid came to her in the drawing-room to ask whether she required anything. "No," she said. She would be going to bed shortly. There was nothing she wanted. It was very good of Mr. Fewings to devote himself to her interests. He was a good fellow. He was a friend of her uncle—and of Jack. Of Jack! Where was Jack? She went to the little table and picked up the photograph that still lay on its face in the silver frame. She gazed long at that presentment of the handsome face and the dark eyes and the wilful curls. "Oh, Jack!" It was a whisper, intense, and as if forced from her. The face in the portrait seemed almost to speak to her. "Oh, Jack! I don't believe it! I never believed it, Jackl You know I never believed it, and never will! Oh, Jack! You are all I have—and I love you." She kissed the portrait fervently, and hef tears fell on it. She switched off the lights and went to her room. Next morning, when she came down to breakfast, there was a letter beside her plate. It wae from Mr. Fewinge: Dear Mies Lamon,—lt is four a.m. Since I left you I have been hunting for a clue. I have one. I shall follow it up to-day, and hope to telephone you this evening.—Yours faithfully, T. Fewings. (To be continued daily.)