"GREYMARSH."

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 43, 21 February 1927, Page 16

"GREYMARSH."

By ARTHUR J. REES,

11 Author of "The Mystery of the | j Downs,"' '"The Threshold of Fear," etc. I j BOOK 11. I CHAPTER 111. Xext morning -we went over to Greymarsh, by way of the Langham Road. We were shown to the drawing-room, and Linda Liskard came to us there. She offered her hand as Templeton introduced I us, and I looked her straight in the face. In her rare beauty many qualities I i were mingled, with ju?t the touch of ' sadness which made her perfect—for me. i The enigmatic quality of her personality | impressed me; she seemed to be ! enveloped in some subtle aura of reserve and mystery, within which she dwelt. I ] secure and apart. As we talked I ! j thought of all she had already undergone and might yet have to go through. Did ?he know of the official suspicions; did she guess that her friendship with the I dead man had been closely scanned ? I Was she aware that shame — perhaps I worse things than shame—might yet ! overwhelm her. and bow down her beaui tiful head? Shame? It seemed far 1 enough from her. just then. Yet I was conscious of something slightly strained j in her composure, and more than once, I as she talked to me, her large, sad eyes ] turned broodingly towards Grey. She I wondered why he had accompanied me; jl guessed that at once. I It was my uncle's duty to enlighten i her, and he performed it awkwardly enough, after he had talked with her I about Sir Roger and the state of his old friend's health. He was still unconscious, it seemed, but his medical adviser thought his condition had slightly improved. My uncle was glad to hear it, he said; very glad, indeed. The conversation turned to other things, descend- ' ing to the level of the weather before he could summon up courage to bring out the subject in his mind. At length, in an altered voice, he referred to the tragedy, i 1 "Xothing fresh lias transpired, 1 sup- ! j pose?'' he asked. j J The reference—so I gathered—was to I j the activities of the police. The local ' inspector—his name was Quinland —had been backwards and forwards to Grey- i marsh since the tragedy occurred. More • recently these visits had almost ceased, i Lady Liskard spoke of them with a j gleam in her strange golden eyes. Xo; nothing had happened, she said. j "I have been telling Dick arid Mr. i Grey all the circumstances/' my uncle | went on. "Mr. Grey, has come at my invitation. He would like to go over the j watch-tower —if he may." She looked towards him gravely. '"For what purpose?" she asked. 'T have asked Mr. Grey to make some further investigations," said my uncle, ' after a pause. "He is famous and clever —perhaps you have heard of him?—and j he comes as Dick's friend. His visit may j be helpful—l trust it will throw some light. The truth must be reached, Lady Liskard, for Roger's sake—as well as your own." She did not reply for a moment, and ' once more her eyes brooded on Grey. A j faint colour rose to her cheeks, but I i could not guess her thoughts. She \ turned to my uncle again. j "If you think so, Colonel Templeton," I she murmured listlessly. "I must be J guided by your advice, as my husband's I nearest friend. You must do as you think j best." "Thank you," said my uncle, and I almost immediately rose to go. ! Grey rose too. They said good-bye. j aJid she looked after them with troubled i eyes. I shook hands also, and was fol- | lowing my companions through the door I when she softly uttered my name. | "One moment, Mr. Haldham. May I ' speak to you?" j — I turned back. She was standing close ! behind me, near the door. As I drew near j she lifted her head and looked me in the ! face. I was conscious of her beauty and : femininity; of the dazzling provocative ' lure of her eyes. She regarded me for a moment in silence, then with a gesture of appeal stretched out her slim white hand. "Mr. Haldham, if anything should be j discovered, will vou come and let me I know ?" * j I heard this request with surprise, but before I could speak she hurried on. I "Your friend, Mr. Grey, looks clever, j and possibly he may find" out things. I j am terribly anxious—for my husband's sake —to know all that occurs. Anything which throws light on this dread- | ful mystery —you understand?" j I It was with a feeling of perplexity 1 that I followed my companions across j j the deserted grounds to the Tower. 1 Grey and Templeton were standing i before the easel, looking at the unfinj ished picture there. I went and joined I them, but one glance was sufficient; j | that uncompleted study of a sad-faced I I nun by an open grave repelled me even | • j more than the pictures on the wall. But I ! it had caught Grey's attention, and j seemed to hold his vision to the exclusion of everything else. "Curious," he muttered; ''elusive—yet I undoubtedly there." "The picture is characteristic of ' Henry Liskard's art," I heard Templeton say. 1 "Xo, I cannot get it," Grey went on I in the same undertone, as if he had not j heard the other's words. He turned impatiently away, and passed through the heavy curtains to the inner room. Templeton and I followed him there. Templeton stood near by, watching Grey with attentive eyes. From the bedside Grey looked towards him and spoke. "You said last night that the body changed horn a straight posture to a diagonal one, lying from left to right. Are you certain of that? That means— as I understand you—that the head was farther from the window than when you saw the rody overnight." "Yes," answered Templeton; "I will show vou the exact positions if vou like." He went over to the bedside and stood beside him, and began his demonstra-. tion with quite an eager air. Grey i watched him attentively, but the eeriness of the place had got on my nerves. Once more - Grey stood before the picture on the easel. "Haldham," he said; *have a look at this picture, and. tell me if you can i trace any likeness there." I looked again and shook my head. "Xo," I j,aid; "the picture conveys ' nothing to me." "It is cleverly done," observed Grey critically, "but I think I am right. ' Henry Liskard had a model for hie nun. and the model was his brother's wife. ; It is a veiled likeness—deliberately ; veiled. You and Haldham missed it, and it was only by chance that I dis- i covered it myself.. The artist has painted! . I the nun with a downcast and partly hid- • I den face, so that only the lower portion , j —the lips and chin—are revealed. But , j the mouth and chin are Lady Liskard.V \ 1 "As I say, I cannot see the likeness j i myself," returned my uncle, "hut if it ( j exists there is no reason why Henry 1 J Liskard should, not have sought" a model j

in his brotuer s wife, with what object—if he did so—would he endeavoui to hide ho face !" '"I cannot say, at present," Grey replied, "the picture is symbolic oi something, but what the exact meaning of the symbol may be I am not at present prepared to say."' He turned away from the easel, and began to examine the room. As my uncle and I watched him we saw him bend down, and with the point of his pocket-knife, detach something very carefully from the thick red carpet on the floor. Then he | rose to his feet, turning over something in the palm of his hand. My uncle went j towards him eagerly. "What have you j found? " he asked. I "Merely this." Grey answered, holding ! out his hand with a smile. On his palm ■ lay a fragment of dry seaweed, of a feathery, lace-like texture; in colouring : blood-red. My uncle*s face fell. I '"Seaweed:'* lie exclaimed, in a dis- ■ appointed tone. "•There is enough seai weed and to spare on this part of the j coast. 1 might have brought that up on ! my boots, if it comes to that." j "'Seaward is certainly common • enough." Grey returned, w'ith a smile, but I observed that he put the piece care- | fully away. Tiien he resumed his examination of the room. j "1 think that is all," he said at ; length. i We left the studio and went downstairs. Outside the sombre exterior of t;ie tower Grey stood for some moments, j looking up. He tested the iron-holds with ! his hands, and then climbed up a little i way. From below I watched his fingers ; whiten as they tightened upon the worn, rusty bars. He climbed almost to the first window, then dropped back again. ; "A (piaint ladder: ' he remarked. ; '"Strong enough, but one would need a •steady head to climb to the top. It ] would be easy to slip." J My uncle regarded him in sombre silence as if he fully understood the purpose of that test." But Grey was looking across tin- grounds towards trie i marshes and the distant sea. ! '"Come' " lie said simply. "We have 'finished here. Before we return, 1 want to have a look at, the coast." ; We walked back across the wet sands in silence Grey making towards the long side wall. The direction of our walk ; brought us to a large quantity of seaweed, wet and dank, which had been washed up between the sands and the outer wall. Through the damp, eling- ■ iug stuff we picked our footsteps, and°l j heard my uncle mutter, sotto voce, that | we could pick up enough of it and to spare. 1 followed in the wake of my two I companions, mentally running over the different things Grey had said. As I did so I stepped on something in the squashy depth of the seaweed: something round and hard upon which my foot twisted and slipped. Mechanicallv I ' stooped and felt for it and rose with ;some small metal article in my hand. j At first 1 was not quite sure what it was, for it was covered with seaweed and coated with thick rust. Then my heart thrilled with excitement, for it had the shape of a small firearm. I tore avvav ( the encumbering seaweed. Sure enough, i crusted with rust and corroded, there' j lay a small revolver in my hand. I j called to my companions. They turned, and I held out the weapon I had found] | My uncle trnmediatelv became excited. "Where did you "get that?" he i stammered out. j "My foot kicked against it in the | seaweed," I explained. I had not moved and I indicated the spot. i '"But how did it come here?" he went | on. ! "It has been thrown into the water" isaid Grey, quickly. "A stroke of luck |this, it you like. Well done, Haldham! I The thing might have lain there for ages a chance had not fortuitouslv ! directed your foot." He took the revol-1 Ver irom me, and looked at it closely I turning it over in his hands. "It is a cheap, inferior type of weapon, of the kind you can pick up for a few shillings in any p-awnbroker's shop, but just as effective at close range as one of superior make." He glanced towards ray uncle. "Sir Roger was hardly likelv "to have had a weapon of that'kind in his <uinroom, I suppose?" c Templeton shook his head. "Liskard was very particular about his firearms, and rather proud of the Greymarsh gun-room, too," he replied. "He has a line collection of weapons, ancient and modern, there. The police went through the gun-rooin after the tragedy, and came to the conclusion that the weapon had not come from among them. Do you think that Henrv Liskaid was killed with this?" "I am sure of it," returned Grey rapidly. "I see how it happened—vesyes. I begin to see. Now, if you "and Haldham will wait for me in the car I should like to spend a few minutes examining these walls. I shall not keep you long." He placed the revolver in his pocket and turned away abruptly, his usual cold impassivity replaced by an excitement most unusual in him" My uncle and I retraced our footsteps to the coast road and entered the car. From it we could see Grey's figure bending over the wall between Greymarsh and the marsh. He went along it slowly, examining the masonry, occasionally testing the rough and crumbling fabric with his hands. I could not conjecture his object, but he remained engaged in this task for a considerable time. Nearly three-quarters of an hour elapsed before he came towards us in the waiting car. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting," he said as he entered. "The next moment the car was gliding on its homeward way. It was past the luncheon hour, and I drove rapidly back. The road wound inland, and Grey arsh and its watch tower soon vanished from sight. The road sprawled up a long lonely hill to the church we had passed overnight. I looked towards the grave on the other side of the low stone wall as we passed, but the churchyard was empty, then. In the rear seat of the car Grey asked my uncle something, and I heard part of my uncle's reply.. . . "yes, it is Henry Liskard's grave . . . no, not in the family vault. For some reason they buried him outside." So the grave in the churchyard was Henry Liskard's. But who was the girl that stole to the churchyard in the gloaming, to weep over the man who laid beneath that sodden mound, murdered, with a bullet through his heart? I was to learn that a little later, as we sat smoking after our belated meal. Our visit to Greymarsh had set my uncle talking anew of the tragedy, the inquest, the investigations, and the funeral of the murdered*man. That had been a solemn and affecting ceremonial; a great concourse, the churchbell tolled, special sermons from the vicar in the church and at the grave. The county turned out to pay respect to a dead Liskard of Greymarsh, as my uncle nicely expressed it, forgetful that the human appetite for sensation will follow it to the brink of the grave. Not only the county magnates were present, but a crowd of villagers and fisherfolk from the marshes as well. Among them

I I my uncle had particularly observed a young girl dressed in black. As the coffin was lowered he saw her face. She was a girl called Avis Osmond, the daughter of a blind fisherman who lives on the cliffs beyond the marshes, several miles away. '"I wondered to 6ee her at the funeral," my uncle went on: "because it was rather a long walk for a girl to come. But her presence was brought under my notice again in an unusual manner, I when I was driving my car home. It was nearly dusk when I started—the vicar's sermon at the graveside was really of interminable length—so I decided to take a short cut along the old road which runs to the marshes and the former customs house. Off it a grassgrown lane branches across country, saving two or three miles. As I was driving slowly, looking out for this track, I overtook this same girl, Avis Ormond, walking with dropped head by the side of the road. She never nooked up as I passed her. but I could see that she was sobbing as though her heart would break. It was a pathetic little picture to encounter by the wayside: this slender little dark-eyed girl in black—she lost her mother some months ago—crying softly to herself on her way across the marshes home. A turn of the road soor. hid her from my sight, but I have thought about her several times since." Grey heard this through in silent attention. Then he said— '"Pathetic, as you say. but rather curious also! Do you think she was grieving for him" '•For Henry Liskard? 1 have a*ked myself that question more than once. But I hardly think so. Their way in life lay too far apart for that." "There may have been some acquaintance—some friendship—between them." (To be continued daily.)