"WHERE THERE'S A WILL"

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 96, 24 April 1928, Page 21

"WHERE THERE'S A WILL"

By GRAHAM SUTHERLAND.

CHAPTER IV.

It was just a week , after the curious and seemingly inexplicable murder of Caleb Armstrong that Dr. Hobson, whose association with the dead man had been one of utmost friendliness, was sitting in his study scrutinising the documents which the old man had left behind.

The doctor had undertaken, at the request of several well-known men of science, to go through the documents carefully. With the permission of the police, he had removed as many as he could find from the library at Winchelsea Towers to his little house on the main road.

The papers presented as oddly assorted a collection as could be conceived. Those relating to his researches in the perplexing realm of anthropology, or "ape-lore" as the doctor used chaffing]y to call it, were of the utmost importance to the professors and others who make it their life's work to elucidate, not for themselves alone, but for the world in general, the doubtful and much-discussed "origin of man."

Dr. Hobson had not had time, as yet, fully to explore the mass of correspondence and the sheaves of rough notes and comparisons that he had found. His practice, though/ not a large one, was considerably scattered, and this necessitated his having little time during the day to concentrate upon the enormous task he had undertaken.

On this wild evening towards the end of March he had sent his wife and daughter over into Merville in his car to the theatre. At about half-past seven the telephone bell rang abruptly. Would the doctor go over to a neighbouring village to attend a farm hand who had fallen in the stack yard and broken his leg ? The doctor explained that no car was available, but lie would do his best to borrow a motor cycle in ih® village.

Hastily bundling up tho maze of documents he pushed them into his safe, locked it, satisfied himself that all the doors were secure and went off on his professional mission.

Two hours later a very perplexed and angry medical man let himself into his house and lit the gas. Never before in the whole of his professional career had he been hoaxed so badly. Nobody at the address given had any knowledge of an accident. Neither had they any knowledge of anyone telephoning. As a matter of fact, there was onljj one instrument in the village and that had been out of order for nearly a week.

He struggled out of his overcoat and went into the study intending to ring up the Exchange and inquire who had rung him up earlier in the evening. The study, however, would have made an admirable picture of Chaos. The door of the safe was standing wide open. Over the floor hundred of documents and notebooks were strewn in riotous confusion. The drawers in his old oak bureau had been pulled from their recesses and the contents roughly tumbled out on to the carpet. Several of his books were also lying about. It was evident to the doctor that whoever had been at work in that room did not intend leaving any stone unturned to find whatever it was they were looking for.

The other rooms in the little villa had not escaped attention. Every drawer in the house had bf.en ransacked with thoroughness.

An entrance had been easily effected by the dining room wirdow. A small pane of glass had been cut away leaving the catch easy of manipulation. The curious part of the whole thing was that, so far as he could ascertain, nothing of value had been taken. The sideboard in the dining room was loaded with silver as it always was. A bundle of Treasury notes in the safe had been left untouched. The motive could hardly have been one of robbery.

The doctor seated himself in his study chair and surveyed the litter. What had this got to do with the mystery of Caleb Armstrong's death?

Had there been something among the papers that might conceivably incriminate someone regarding the murder? The more he thought about the matter the more convinced he became that his theory was correct. If it was correct, had the thief been successful in his quest? That was a question he could not answer.

Having acquainted the police of the episode, he rang through to the Exchange, and made inquiries concerning the telephone call to him at half-past seven. The operator, after a few minutes investigation, informed him that his number was asked for from one of the public call boxes in Merville railway station.

The doctor replaced the receiver with a frown. This was another mystery which he must leave to the police. But the incident unnerved him. There was something singularly disquieting about having one's house raided and ransacked in this manner, but, and this thought gave him some satisfaction, i£ this outrage against his homehold had anything to do with the affair at Thurston Towers, then it was evident that the murderer of Caleb Armstrong must still be in the district.

Boswell, the local inspector of police, arrived shortly afterwards in company with a constable, and Dr. Hobson explained the whole matter to him.

The officer surveyed the scene critically. He examined the safe and the dining-room window. With the aid of an electric torch he scrutinised the ground outside the window where the entrance had been effected. When he came back into the study and when the doctor had confided that he thought it might have some bearing upon the murder. Boswell laughed. "My dear doctor, whatever put such a notion into your head. Ibis—" his arm described a semi-circle about the room—•' "is nothing more than an ordinary case of housebreaking. I've seen too many of them not to recognise one when I see it."

"But," protested the medical man, "there might very easily be some connection. If there isn't, why did the burglar go to such trouble in searching those papers ?"

"The safe would naturally be the first place to be visited. The papers would be hurriedly removed in the search for money."

"That's just where you're wrong, MrInspector," said the doctor, quietly. "As a matter of fact, the money in the safe is untouched, and,those papers were all tied together when I was called away." This information seemed to sober Boswell considerably. "If that's the case," he murmured, "I'd. better report the matter immediately to Inspector Sage. But all the same," he added, "I don't quite see where the connection comes in."

"You wouldn't," remarked the doctor, casually, with a slight emphasis upon the first word.

Next morning Inspector Sage was wise enough to take the doctor's theory without comment.

"Have you found anything of much importance among those papers J" he asked. "Anything that might throw any light on the crime?"

"Nothing," replied Dr. Hobson. "Personally, I think there must have been some deeper motive for the murder than the possession of a few bundles of scientific notes."

"Quite likely, but am I right in assuming that when a man makes expeditions into places like Central Africa he may stumble across other things quite as interesting as apes and other animals." "What do you mean?" "For instance," continued the detective, ignoring the question, " a man such as Mr. Armstrong might easily discover, quite by accident, mind you, a very fertile place for diamond mining. Is that not so, Dr. Hobson?"

"Well, if you put it like that—yes. But Mr. Armstrong never mentioned anything to me about such things, H I see no reason why he should not have done."

'I think," smiled Sage, "that you are presuming just a little too much upon the closeness of your friendship with the murdered man. There is an old saying that close friends are often blind friends."

"Of course, he had his faults. What man hasn't? But I can honestly say that secrecy was not one of them." "Look here, doctor, I'm not the man to shatter the pleasant memories of friendship. I'm just a little too experienced m the ways of the world for that, but will you believe me when I tell you that Caleb Armstrong was not quite the paragon you imagined him?" The doctor was gazing at the detective intently. For the moment he did not speak. Then:

"I will believe nothing but good of the dead—unless I have proof." That ought not to be difficult, doctor," said Sage, taking from his pocket a bundle of papers. "I have received these from headquarters only this morning. They are confidential reports concerning Armstrong frora the Detective Office at Capetown. One report states that on his last expedition it was known in official circles that Armstrong had discovered an important diamond find, fc-jt where this was no one knows. He is said to have discovered it when he pushed on alone into a part of the country that had never before been explored."

'It seems to me," intimated «,he doctor, "that if what you say is true Arm, strong thought no more about the matter; that his scientific researches were more important to him than all the diamond mines in Africa. You have not shaken my confidence in him one iota." The detective smiled. He had a peculiarly uncomfortable way of smiling '*hen to imagined himself master of the situation. His eyes to be halfclosed in reverie.

"The lay mind, doctor," commented the detective, "works slowly. It fails to appreciate the little things. It is rather inclined to take too broad a view. Now to my mind, trained as it has been to appreciate the value of detail, this burglary and the information I .now possess, point clearly to the suggestion that the diamond discovery has been the motive behind the whole business. Whoever it was wh> murdered Armstrong must have known about his discovery. They must have realised, or perhaps I should say hoped, that he had recorded details of it in one of his diaries. That would explain the liMe drama which was enacted here last night." "But it would scarcely account for the murder," interrupted the doctor quickly, 'because there was no evidence to show that the papers foand in the library at the time of the crime had been interfered with. They were just as he had left them on the table."

"Truq very true," conceded the detective, "but at the same time I am confident that the two things are close!v related." J

Suddenly the detective went off swiftly at a tangent. "Have there been many burglaries in Thurston lately?" "Not that I have heard of," replied the doctor.

Then perhaps you can explain why it is necessary for a medical man to be m possession of such a neat little weapon as this, which I found in the right-hand drawer of your bureau?" And with an incredible swiftness the detective produced a small glistening revolver from his pocket.

The doctor's face had gone very white. It was almost as if someone had sriven him a terrible blow.

"But—but," he faltered, "I've never s&eiKthe thing before. Surely you must

"I was just wondering," mused the detective, toying with the revolver, "because I notice that the initials on the barrel are those of Caleb Armstrong."