The House of Silence

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 83, 9 April 1929, Page 17

The House of Silence

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. JA2* GREGORY, an attractive young air], becomes secretary to GIDEON BARNISH. an eccentric old man. who is compiling a history of rare jewels. He lives at 17, Courtney Row. an old house which unaccountably depresses Jau Next door live MR. AND MRS. PHIPPS, a devoted old couple, and opposite is PHILIP STRODE, a Rugby international, who is in love with Jan. One night alter working till midnight Jan is horritied to discover the dead body of a man in one of the rooms. INSPECTOR ADCOCK, of Scotland Yard,' and P.C. MATHERS take charge and discover! that the dead man is I JULES MERItIDEW, an Englishman resi- 1 dent In Paris. His death was due to j poisoning, but how he came into the house is a mystery. It is discovered that lie' came to London to see an art dealer • about his miniatures. Meanwhile Jan is i startled by a declaration of love from 1 MARTIN, Barnish's manservant, who begs I her to leave the house. Philip also plearl<!»l with her to leave, but she determines J" stay. The nest day Barnish sends her to Boulogne to meet ; M. LECOQ, and obtain a description of a j tiara he possesses. While at Lecoq's house they are Interrupted by the French Police and driven away in closed cars. CHAPTER XVl:—continued. But as the journey continued, Philip felt more and more sure that all was not well with M. For oue thing he did not like the shifty nature of the Frenchman's eyes. Neither did lie like the way ho had of glancing apprehensively out of the carriage window every time the train stopped at a station. M. Lecoq was quite obviously nervous, but what, Philip asked himself, had an innocent man to be nervous of? If the story M. Lecoq had told the police was true, he was the injured party. Yet as he sat there Phiiip was convinced that M. Lecoq was head-over-heels in something shady. When they reached Paris, Philip's intuition had something startingly tangible to substantiate it, for as he was following the Frenchman from the station platform he saw another man tap M. L«coq lightly on the shoulder, and when the man turned round to extend a hand to the other, Philip whistled softly to himself. The man who had met Lecoq was the man who had followed Philip that night lie had 'taken Jan to dinner at "The Flowing Bowl." This discovery acted like a tonic on Philip. He felt that there was something in instinct after all; or was it just sheer good luck? Still, that didn't matter. What did matter was that he believed he was on the right trail. It was a difficult matter to keep the two men in sight, but Philip managed it tolerably well. He followed them out into the street. Followed them, too, I when they doubled back on their tracks [ and re-entered the station, where they paused for a moment and then slipped out through the side entrance that led to that maze of narrow streets that lie at the back of the Gare Du Nord. Not for a moment, however, did Philip permit them to escape him, and after ten minutes' dodging in and out among those mean streets with the myriad of children playing about the deep gutters, j he saw them enter a small, unobtrusive ] cafe in the Rue Saint Claire. i For a moment Philip waited at a respectable distance cogitating as to what should be his next move. It was certainly difficult, because there was always the possibility that M. Lecoq's : companion would recognise him, and I that was the last thing that Philip de- i sired. Finding, however, that he was ! becoming an object of curiosity among | the gamins, Philip decided to take a bold step. He walked across to the Cafe Eclaire and pushed open the door. The hot, sticky odour of cooking food and unwashed humanity assailed his nos- •. trils as he found himself in a small ves- j tibule, the door opposite him being fitted | with glass panels that were opaque, ex- | cept two small orals in the centre. j Through convenient apertures ! Philip gained a satisfactory view of the j room within. Most of the table's were j occupied by the bourgeoise of the district, but at length the young man's gaze fell upon M. Lecoq at a table over in the far corner. There were four j people at the table, and one of them had ' his back to the door. They were stran- ' gers to Philip, but just then, as luck wonld have it, the man with his back to him turned to attract the attention of a dyspeptic-looking and somewhat overworked waiter. But that half-turn was enough to Philip, and he managed to smother an exclamation of surprise. Then, with a satisfied smile, he found the street again. He felt confident that the fates had been inordinately kind to him. But what did it all mean? What was this jig-saw puzzle, that confronted him ? And why was Gideon Barnish, who had sent Jan | to France, because he could not get away | himself, conferring in a squalid Paris i cafe with Monsieur Henri Lecoq and the man who had acted as watchdog over | Philip's movements in London? ' CHAPTER XVII. | Mathers Speculates. | Constable Mathers was an ambitious j young man, and when Inspector Adcock had asked that he assist him in unravelling the mystery of the dead man • at No. 17, Courtney Row, he had quite j naturally felt that it was a step nearer 1 the promotion which he hoped to obtain. But there was another reason apart from natural ambition why Constable ! Mathers was anxious to succeed. She had a pair of the bluest eyes you ever saw, hair as brown as the moor 3 when > the heather has gone, and the most j provoking of dimples in the centre of ! her chin. j Peter Mathers had met her during the | first week's holiday he had ever had as I a member of the Metropolitan Police. He had gone down to Brighton for a • few days, and Margaret Berry had in- | stalled herself at the same boardingestablishment. The friendship that ensued seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to both of them. They discovered that they had much in common, and Margaret did not tip-tilt her little nose and look superior when she learned that Peter was not the junior partner in a prosperous business, but just an unromantic policeman. Margaret had a job in London. She sold folderals and fancies behind the mahogany counter of a London store, and whenever possible she spent her leisure in the custody of her constable. On these occasions it was her wont to ask him about his work, and when Peter confided to her the news that he was working with Inspector Adeoek —"tha Inspector Adcock, you j know"—Margaret was thrilled. She I

By J. R. WILMOT

(Author of "Zora, the Invisible," etc.)

wanted Peter to succeed, and she felt that he had only to be given his chance tor him to do so. I They had discussed the mystery at •Courtney Row 011 several occasions* and Margaret had said: "It sounds alto- . -ether too bewildering to be true, but there must be some explanation. Do ! you think the man Barnish knows more .about it than he cares to admit?" , . ' don t know, Peter had confessed. I He coukln t possibly have done it himj self, because he was working upstairs ! i with his secretary—Miss Gregory— at I : the time." j And nou you say she's missiii'"' mused Margaret, as they sat together !,. a . ,t a^e in the Strand Corner House flunking hot col Tee and listening to the orchestra. '"Don't you think that ; seems fishy ?" Peter had to admit that he didn't I know what to think. "I can't think she's in it at all," he 1 remarked. "She's not that sort of ! girl.'' I But suppose Gideon Barnish crot j someone else to murder Jules Merri- ' dew," persisted Margaret, '-because he ■ wanted him out of the way. What could be better, if he wanted to divert suspicion from himself, than that the body of the murdered man should be found under mysterious circumstances ' in his own house?" Peter smiled. But that s altogether too grotesque," ~e told her. 'The man's got a perfect alibi with the girl as a witness. Besides, how did the body come to be wheie it was found? YYe ve already decided it didn't get there through the I window, and the front door was bolted from the inside. The irirl admits that ; she had to take the chain oil when she i went out in search of me." "There's no need to scoff, Peter," said Margaret, a trifle piquecl. ''I was onlv suggesting—" "Of course you were, sweet one," interrupted Peter gallantly, "and I'm not ungrateful for the suggestion." An hour later, after "Peter had taken > Margaret home to Hampstead. he turned I in at his own lodgings and stirred the I fire in his back room into some semblance of life. What a game this was. to be sure! Peter Mathers felt convinced that Inspector Ad cock hadn't a single thcory regarding the case, and that to all intents and purposes he was "stumped." From the comfortable depths of his armchair Peter began to sort out the •' facts all over ajjain. When he had finished with the facts he turned out a few theories, all of thein hopelessly unsatisfactory, and out of regard for Margaret he included hers as well. It was certainly novel. Supposing Gideon Barnish had known Jules Merridew? Peter had always thought the man to be uncommonly deep, and they had only his word for it that the murdered man was a • complete stranger to him. But Gideon Barnish was such an ultra-resnectable man. He had a reputation. His workin the interests of science were well known. It seemed inconceivable that a man of such standing should resort to murder. Had it been an ordinary murder—a I crime perhaps of violence—even the j irreproachable character of Gideon Bar- ! nish -would not have mattered in proxi- | mitv with the facts. But it had to be I remembered that, according to the 1 medical evidence, Jules Merridew had ! met his death by the consumption of cyanide of potassium administered to •him in a glass of wine. Those were the only facts which Jhe police had in their possession. The rest was mere conjecture. They were still no nearer deciding where and by whom Jules Merridew had received that wine and why it was considered that his existence was a danger to someone. At every turn Peter felt that the mystery became more and more baffling. IXo theories could be formed that adequately fitted the facts; and yet the ! radius was a very narrow one. The | murdered man had been dressed in evenI ins: clothes that did not belong to him. ■ What did that mean ? Tt meant that I possibly while on his way to the railway station he had met someone who had invited him out somewhere: somewhere I where conventional evening dress was a j i prescribed necessity. i Peter felt excited at the way this idea | hai! occurred to him. Why hadn't he •thought of it before? Why hadn't Adcock thought of it also? Of fcourea it was absurdly simple, now. Bnt where had Jules Merridew been taken? Peter remembered that Adcock had said that the evening dress suit had lx?en tailored in Paris. That meant that whoever had lent Jules Merridew that suit was someone who made a habit of purchasing clothes in the French capital. Paris! Peter almost jumped out of , his chair as the significance of the name ; stimulated his imagination. Jan Gregory had been sent to France by Gideon Barnish. Jan Gregory had mysteriously disappeared. Adcock'had told him that : only that afternoon. Peter felt that if he was not exactly seeing daylight it | was at least the first faint glimmer of dawn. And it had all come about because of what Margaret had said. Good old Margaret! Peter glanced at his watch. Adcock had said that he would not lie wanted until the morning. . It was eleven o'clock, so Peter not knowing what would he re- | quired of him to-morrow, decided to turn in. He was about to suit the action to the word when a knock came at the door below, and realising that Mrs. Perkins would have to come from the top of the house to answer it, Peter went dowi, himself. It was foggy outside and a man stood at the door looking like a grev phantom. '•That you, Mathers?" he'asked. "The Inspector wants you immediately. I've got the car down the rorfd. You'd better look slippy." "Right!" responded Peter, with alacrity, and a minute later he was beside Jervis as he coaxed the high-powered car through the misty wet blanket. ■'Sorry to turn you out on a night likes this, Mathers," said Adcock, "but I've got a job for you. I want you to go to Paris. Start to-night. You will report as early as possible to Inspector Gurrand who will tell you how far things have gone. But there's something more thin that. Our friend Barnish went to Pans this afternoon. Keep an eye on him. Also there's a man named Phipps lives next door to Barnish, you remember in Courtney Row. If you find he's in Paris, too, let me know immediately." Constable Mathers was literally astounded at Inspector Adcock's instructions. It seemed as if the Inspector had got the whole affair at his finger tips— and just when Peter had been telling himself that he was "stumped." "Shall I take the car, sir?" asked Peter, realising that the train had already gone.

"j r' And by the way. Shave on that fascinating growth that you call a moustache and decorate yourself in your plus-four suit awl anything else that will make you look like a raw tourist in France. Things are moving. Mathers. 1 always said they would if we waited long enough. Vou'li And plenty to do when you get in Paris, but don't be too active, and if you want to use that young man •Strode, do so, by all means. He's there, too." Constable Mathers wont back home to make the necessary adjustments to his appearance as had been indicated by his superior. An hour later Jervis was driving him to Dover, and it was not verylong after he had arrived at Calais that Peter Mathers, looking remarkably different from what he usually did in London, had booked a room at the Hotel (oneours in the Rue Sans-Pierre, and generally gave the impression that he was "out for a good time.''

(To be continued daily.)