"GREYMARSH."

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 44, 22 February 1927, Page 18

"GREYMARSH."

By A3THTTR J. REUS. Author oi "The Mystery of the ; Downs," "The Threshold oi Fear, n etc

I boos n. —'— CHAPTER IV. That nigh: I sat in the library alone, reviewing "the events of the day. My uncle had gone out to keep an afterdinner engagement. a:id Grey remained hidden in his room. Time ebl«ed as I sat and thought. The clock on t'ne mantelpiece struck ■'.-.-■. >■::. and recalled me to the lateness >•: ::.•:• !:our. The lire was dyinir. and the ni™ht was eoii. I knocked out the a-hes from my pit'e. left the room, and \\ <nt u;-:a::>. Ti:e corridor leading to my l>edroom wa" dim. but as I passed down it I saw tha: a light still gleamed beneath Grey"s •oor. I halted before it and knocked. There was a moment's pause before Grey's voice cheerfully summoned me ] to "'Lome in '." I turned the handle and entered. Grey •••as busy writing in an alcove, books land paj>ers littered around him. his head j bent over an old-fashioned bureau. He I looked round at my appearance, ami pushed his pap>ers back. I "Do I disturb you?" 1 a-ked. 'T have finished/' he answered. "Come to the fire and i:ave a smoke." I "it is a complicated business. Haldham." he remarked, "the murder in that (lonely tower. Xot a clear-cut issue by any means. I have seen pictures of this type in which some insignificant figure. | at first unperceived. at length captures . the eye and gradually dominates the imagination, until the whole hidden con- ; ?eption is made clear. It is like that ; with this case. I am searching the shad- ; ows of the canvas for the unperceived figure: the key to the enigma, which shall make its meaning clear." "And have you found it:" 1 asked. "I cannot say that I have, definitely: but I think that I have traced part of the design. I ;::ade a discovery to-day at Grey marsh—one that helps us in a considerable degree.*' "You mean the revolver. I suppose? That did no: strike me as so very important. Anyone might have thrown it there/' "I was not thinking of the revolver," he answered: "your find helps us very little as yet. It it a partial confirmation of my theory, though, and interested me considerably at the time. I had in mind something more impor:ant than the weapon. I was thinking of this." He took the small piece of red seaweed from his pocket book, and held it in the paj.m of his hand. I glanced at the trophy in disappointment. Its importance was not apparent to me. "I should like to know how that helps you." I said dubiously; '"seaweed is common enough on this coast. As my uncle said, when you picked it up in the ' studio this morning, almost anybody might have taken it there." "Yes; if it had grown on the marshes. but the point is that this piece of seaweed did not. For the scientific details I am indebted to your uncle's library," he went on, indicating the open books on the bureau. '"But the moment my j eye fell upon that scrap of seaweed ! this morning I knew that shallow water | had never seen its growth.'' " You mean that this seaweed was washed in with the flood that night?" "Yes,"' he rejoined. "The foundations of the deep were shaken that night. This piece of red seaweed—of crimson algae—was torn from its moorings— perhaps some sunken wreck —and came floating in. Brought from the depths of the ocean to the studio, how did it get there? In my eyes it is a most important clue—one which overthrows the main conception in this case—demolishes it entirely, in fact. The theory is that Greymarsh was isolated by the sea that night, and could not possibly have been visited from outside. I never felt certain that this was so; in fact, I doubted the assumption from the first. And I was right. This scrap of deep-sea algae proves that Greymarsh was reached on the night of the tide, and reached by someone in a boat." I started. "Surely this is going too far?" I said. i "Then how did it get to the studio?" he replied. "There is no other possible explanation, look at it as you may. j As it must have been washed in on the | tide, so it must have been carried up ' to the studio from a boat. It was either I caught by an oar or dropped into the j boat, and was unconsciously carried to | the tower by the boat's rower; perhaps j fell from a sodden, dripping hand. Are I you still doubtful, Ilaidham? Well, then, I look here!" j He went across to the bureau, and | picked up something lying there. He ' held it out between finger and thumb, and I saw that it was a single frayed strand of rope, a few inches lon**. "This was once part of a boat-rope," he said simply. "I found it at Greymarsh this morning, adhering to the interstices of the outer wall. It bears out my supposition, do you see?" ! I did. and I perceived the invincible : logic of his reasoning, vet I remained incredulous still. It "was all too wonderful and inexplicable, and I could not' see beyond it to the end. His next words answered that unspoken thought. "After all, this is merelv a satisfactory beginning. HaldhamV' he said; carefully putting the seaweed and shred of rope away. '-Nevertheless, we may venture a little further, and make a few deductions about the occupant of the boat that night. Anly a mas, a powerful man. and one accustomed' to the sea, would have essaved such a venture on such a night. And he must have been a man in a frenzy. In effect, he was a madman: one who had stripped himself of all instincts of restraint and reason, and was without fear of God or man. He put forth upon that fearful j sea with infinite risk of death, inspired |by the lust of blood, to kill What toot; I siim to Greymarsh to kill Henrv Lisj kard ? What spirit of evil would* fill a man with such recklessness, such utter, such complete contempt oi death? That is part of the problem to be solved. Love? Hatred? Revenge* In this case there was no robbery, so the motive was hatred or revenge. Was it love—jealous love, I mean? The strongest of all human instincts—stronger even than the fear of death—is that primal sexinstinct which we have dignified with the name of love. In primitive temperaI ments thwarted love frequently turns to violence, as all students of the darker side of human nature are aware." Does the solution of Henry Liskard's death lie in this direction? I do not know at present, but I shall shortly find out," I had been following his reasoning with silent attention, but at this stage I interposed. "Stay. Grey; I do not grasp tkat, Wliat do you mean?" "I have been thinking of that girl we saw at the graveside. Haldham. As I contemplate the problem, her figure —

almost hidden in the sombre shadows oi the picture—gradually emerges and starts into life." "You think she loved Henry Liskard!" I said thoughtfully; "so do I, but ha* that any bearing on what you have just said? This girl—Avis Ormond—could not have gone to Greymarsh that night." "No, truly; but some one may have gone on her behalf, though not at her behest; we can be quite sure of that. Let us suppose, for example, that she had a jealous lover. That may soucd like a far-fetched assumption, but it is not so far-fetched as it may appear. It a theory which w -'1 ni in wit.i u... our known facts. Avis Onnond was deeply and secretly affected by Henry Liskard's death: she is a fisherman's daughter, lhing near the marshes that: lit to the north of and som-.* one croi-s-ed those marshes in a Ix-at that night. You may think that this is to! reason from independent circumstances, but there is an analogy between Lhem. if you look ciosely enough. lam seeking for a motive to fit the circumstances, so far as the circumstances go." "Your theory is interesting. Grey," 1 answered, "'but it seems to me to leave many things unexplained. It throws no light at all—as far as 1 can see—upon ' what hap]>ened at Greymarsh on the j second night. What took >ir Roger to: the tower, and why did he utter those strange word:-? Row did he fall; who! screamed in the studio; and bow came I Henry Liskard's body to be moved ? ' These matters are all darkness and con-1 fusion to me." | ""Give me time. Haldham. and all your j questions shall l>e answered in full. There are many threads in this strange mystery, but I shall unravel them ail before long. The problem is a dual one; I was convinced of that from the first. It is an enigma with different phases, and I am trying to trace it by independent lines of thought. So far I am satisfied with my progress, and tomorrow I intend to put part of my theory to the test. This is an unusally complicated case. Haldham. but an intensely interesting one. And now, let us think no more of it to-night." "I wish I could be of more assistance/" I said, rising as I spoke. "Patience. Haldham!" he returned, with a smile. "I shall have something; for you to do before long. Good night:'' (To be continued daily.l _____________ j