Beads of Silence

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 292, 10 December 1929, Page 22

Beads of Silence

jj- — By L - bam burg. —I

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS,

SUPERINTENDENT MACBRIDE, of Scotland Yard, with eight unsolved murders already on his hands, is called on to unravel the strange disappearance of SIR RICHARD WESTON, a well-known collector of Indian charms and curios and the owner of a string of amulets, known as "The Flowers of Sleep.'' He calls in . the help of SEPTIMUS MARCH, a private detective, who discovers that in the mouths of two of the mifrdered men one of the "Flowers of Sleep" have been found. While on the wav to Croydale Hall, Sir Richard's home, with Macßride, March overhears a conversation between a man and . woman, and picks up a hypodermic syringe from the spot where they had met. CHAPTER IV. At barely six o'clock the next morning Septimus March again awoke to tlie problem which lay before him. Down in the room dignified by the name of "coffee-room," though possibly such a drink was not in the inn, March got through a satisfactory breakfast, and th£n sallied forth to take stock of his surroundings, and, as he himself would have put it, "get local colour." Wandering down a stone-flagged path, he came face to face with the landlord, George Thorpe, of whom he had caught but a passing glimpse on the previous night. He met March's attempts at conversation, inquiries as to trade an'd local doings, with ill-concealed impatience, and at last March, seeing that nothing was likely to be got by further dallying, stood aside as if to go on his way, and, with a brusque "Morning to ye," Thorpe passed on his way through the gate and beyond to the farmyard which lay at the back of the inn. "Not in any too good a mentally decided March. "He's a bit on the nervous side, too." The appearance of a fresh figure coming through the gate put further studying of Mr. Thorpe out of his mind. A young girl, in the full flush of youth, but barely twenty, and at first sight, as she wore a snowy white overall, March took her to be one of the farm hands, relic of the brave land-girls who had responded so flnely in the war. But, as she came closer, he knew that in this he was mistaken. Her well legs were veiled in the . finest of fawn silk stockings, and on her pretty feet were shoes that were obviously not built for farm \vork—pale fawn, and with the highest of French heels. . March looked interested at the face, rich in colouring, with a trace of pearl powder even at this hour, and surmounted by fashionable waved hair of glossy black, shining in the sunlight. But it was the expression of the ripe mouth and big black eyes that struck the keen observation of the detective, for here was no happy maiden seeking fresh experiences, nor one content with her mode of living, but one who was in the throes of emotion ranging from grief to anger. March noted this before the girl herself had realised his presence. When she did so, she strove bravely to control any signs of emotion and stopped by March,'forcing a little smile. "Good morning," she said quickly. "I —we did not expect to see London gentlemen down so early. Have you had breakfast or V' ■ "Yes, I have," said March. "And we're not all late birds, you know," he added. "You're one of the detectives from the 'Yard,' aren't you?" she asked, and March noted that she used the words 'The Yard' as if used to that historic spot. He nodded. "Yes, I'vo got to try and solve the mystery. A man can't vanish into thin air, can he? Have you ever met him, but I suppose not ?" "I have met him," she said. "He is our landlord, you know." March raised his hat in exaggerated respect. "Miss Thorpe," he exclaimed. "I beg your pardon—l did not think "That I could be his daughter, you were going to say," the girl finished, with a trace of bitterness in her tones, her voice well educated and as different from the coarse tones of Thorpe himself as was possible to conceive. "I wish to goodness I wasn't," she added. "And the way he goes on because the Squire won't renew his lease is awful, and now he blames me ." She broke off, blushing deeply. "Blames you! What on earth for?" asked March. "Well, the old man hates any girl coming near his precious Anthony," said Miss Thorpe. "As if I can help the young gentleman talking to me." "I should think not, indeed," was his comment. "So of course when the old man turned up on Thursday and made a row, father goes for me." March made a mental note. So the squire had come here 011 Thursday. Darford was not the last person to see him alive. "About what time was that ?" he said, quietly. "Near tea-time, I think," said Miss Thorpe. " "Though it might have been earlier. But there, I mustn't stop " The figure of George Thorpe was seen approaching, and his harsh voice shouted, "Clara!— Clara! You come along in." The girl gave a little moue of mingled fright and distaste, but hurried in at the harsh command, just as Macßride, having now breakfasted, hurried out to join his comrade. "Hope I haven't kept you waiting, March ?" he said anxiously. "I slept like a top." "Not a scrap, old chap, I'm always an early bird, you know," rejoined March, "and sometimes it's the early bird that catches the worm. Ah, here's our friend Thompson, and with a car, too." The worthy inspector was indeed waiting for them, and, having announced their intention of going back .to Croydale Hall, Mr. March questioned him on the way about the fair daughter of the inn. "A lovely girl, and how such a bruiser as Thorpe comes to have a daughter like that, I don't, know," he said. Inspector Thompson laughed. "Yes, he made a rod for his own back when lie sent her away to be educated in a big convent abroad. She was a little wild thing that used to flirt with every hoy in the neighbourhood, especially young Darford, even on hiß school holidays. George had..her taught music and French, anu Lord knows what, and now he expects her to settle down into a country life like any ordinary wench. Of course, there's trouble." They were nearing the Hall now, and March ikt the subject of the girl drop as the car glided up the drive and stopped

short before the great oak, iron-studded doora. Packham opened the door, his eyes brightening as they fell on the three police officers. "No news ?" asked Superintendent Macßride. The old man shook his head. "No, indeed, sir, and shall I tell Miss Evelyn that you want her?" "No, it is Mr. Darford that we want this morning," flung in March crisply. "Mr. Darford is not up yet, sir," said Packham. "But I'll tell him you're here. Perhaps you will wait in here for him." He led them into the same room as on the previous night. "Mr. Danford is not an early riser evidently," observed March, drily. As he spoke, the door opened again, but not to admit the man_ they had expected. Budha Das came in. Once more a flood of Hindustani poured out, and March shook his head kindly. "Not yet, Budha Das, not yet," he said, speaking English for the benefit of Inspector Thompson. "But the 'Flowers of Sleep' shall be found, I promise you. See here, already I have something to show you." Diving his hand into his pocket, he withdrew it. In his palm were the two tiny "beads" which the superintendent had given him on the previous day, two of the "Flowers of Sleep." ' The effect on the Hindu was amazing. After one swift glance, he gave an inarticulate cry, sinking down on the flooi as if to do reverence before the sacred stones, and the man who had, so miraculously as it seemed, brought back two of these most venerable relics. "The Sahib, he promised them to me," he cried. "He say in his last writings » "His will," softly supplemented March. "The Amulets—they come back so 1 can go to Benares " ■ "Well, so you shall, Budha Das, flung in the superintendent. «S—sss." The gave a sibilant whisper like a startled snake The handle of the door had turned, and, obeying a gesture, March put back the stones, just as the door was opened, this time to admit a young niaa of about five-and-twenty, with pale effeminate features, somewhat close-set eyes, and showing evident signs of dissipation. His faintly flushed cheeks and watery eyes already showed that he had indulged in what is popularly known as "a hair of the dog/' and altogether March did not find him prepossessing "What the devil are you doing here, Budha Das? Clear out!" 'lie rasped. And the native cringed like a whipped do< T , though the glance from between his eyelids as he slipped silently through the door was not a pleasant Nor were the thoughts of Septimus March, for here was another enemy. Once known that the Amulets of Sleep were to be given to 'him on his masters death, what was to prevent him hastenin"- that event in native fashion? _ His flood of grief and anxiety in no way impressed March, for this* might be but a part of the plot. Gain back the sacrod stones by fair means if P os " sible, otherwise—his thoughts trailed off, coming back with a jerk to Mr. Anthony Darford, who was regarding them irritably and with a furtive look of uneasiness in his ■. Inspector Tliompson introduced his superiors, and it was quite evident that the fact that they were from Scotland Yard did not tend to make that young gentleman any easier in his mind. "More policemen?" he said somewhat rudely. "The whole place is being overrun with policemen, but nothing is done. For God's sake find my poor father and have done with all this mystery." "We are doing our best, sir, and we •have here, as you ought to know, two of the best detetctives in the world.'' Septimus March smiled and Superintendent Mcßride bridled a little, the flattery, broad though it was, pleasing him a good deal. "Not quite that," put in March, with a quiet air, "but we're all out to solve the mystery." "Well, go ahead and do it," flung back Darford, crossing over to the bell. "Better have a drink on it. I can do with a nip myself. Then get your bally questioning over and done with. I want to get out." "There are very few questions to ask, Mr. Darford," he said. "All I want is permission to go to and fro and question the servants, keep a watch on one or two people, Budha Das, for instance " Young Darford's face cleared like magic of the frown that had darkened it. "Good for you, Mr. Policeman, March, I mean, for if ever a chap was' capable of murder that nigger is, I know. I hate niggers, always have, since a kid," he added apologetically, as he sensed scorn in the grey eyes of "Mr. Policeman." "You go ahead old man, and watch all the bally lot of 'em, they ali hated the

old man, kept too strict a hand on 'em— on us all—" Packham's entry with a syphon and whisky decanter, told its own story, for he had not even troubled to come up to ask the meaning of the bell. He knew probably that Mr. Darford and the whisky tantalus were never far apart. "Have a drink with me, gentlemen, and then do what you like." "Not for me, Mr. Darford," replied March. "I never drink it in the morning; I prefer a steady hand and eye." Darford tossed off a stiff "peg," and it seemed to have a steadying effect, for when he next spoke his voice was calm and with a truer note. "That's better," lie said. "Well, all I want to know is the exact hour in which, you last saw Sir Richard," said' March. "About half-past three," came the reply. "It was after lunch, and I had an appointment at four o'clock, and I know I cursed because the old man kept me, jawing. He'd found some of my bills," Darford added with a touch of defiance, "and he was threatening as usual to change his will. He was always doing that. I ' daresay Deniston has made fifty wills for him in his time alone." "First it's me, with my bills, then it's Evelyn, with her doctors." "Does Miss Weston usually suffer from bad health, then ?" asked March suavely. "She did not strike me as being delicate." "Oh, you've seen her already, have you? No wonder you think me a bad lot, then, as I see you do. There's no love lost between Miss Evie and me, you bet. No, there's more reasons than one for seeing a doctor than that of health, I tell you, and young Brent wouldn't mind coming in for half a million, even though it were on the petticoat side. Well, I was saying I was away all day —didn't come home till late, may have been a bit screwed, too —and of course the whole household was in a stew when they found the Gov. hadn't returned for dinner." "No fear of his having had a heart attack or anything like that?" said the superintendent. "Not he. He was as fit as a fiddle, a darn sight stronger than I am, if the truth's' told." "No enemies that you know of?" Darford shook his head. "Only that nigger," he said. "I'd believe him capable of anything." He rose to his feet. "Well, I'll be toddling back. If you want any of the servants, Packham will arrange it, or the fair Evelyn. I'd like to know just who is master or mistress of this place, and the quicker we find out whether he's dead or alive, the better I shall, like it." With a nod to all three, the young man was gone, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him. (To be continued daily.)