Beads of Silence

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 304, 24 December 1929, Page 18

Beads of Silence

j By L. BAMBURG. ~j

CHAPTER XVI. If only that sixtli of Septimus March could have followed that telegram too he would have been spared much time and travail, for one glimpse at the recipient of the pink strip of paper would have helped him cut the first thread of a the Gordian knot which faced him. The shabby iiouse in "Warrington Street, Pimlico, was dignified by the name of "hotel," but most inhabitants of that grimy district, as well as the local police, were fully aware that it was not a hotel for respectable hard-working people to visit. It housed beneath its dingy walls very often the greatest thieves in London or the Continent. To the "Royal," as it was grandiloquently styled, came every pickpocket and station thief when in funds, for it was by no means easy to get access' to it, unless plenty of good English notes were first thrust before the sharp gimlet eyes of Madame le Boix, who sat in the little glass cage just as one entered the door. To-day at 12 o'clock the hall with its dirty, fly-blown mirrors, dead palms, and moth-eaten carpet was empty, and Monsieur hurled himself forward at sight of his wife's face, noting her snapping black eyes and mouth drawn into a vicious smile. ''What is it, me belle," he asked. "Ohe! Ohe!" chuckled Madame. "See Gustavo, take this down to Jean—downstairs he is, and the rest of them, too. Didn't I say that 'the Prince' would pull it off? And he wants the 'surgeon,' too, does he? Ha! Ha! Well, he shall have him!" Monsieur took the crumpled slip, and at sight of the words his own pale and rat-like face lit as if by magic. He wasted neither words nor smiles, but darted down the little'passage and was lost to view, though his heavy tread could be heard as he descended into the basement. Opening a door of the room which in most basements is known as the "breakfast parlour," Monsieur stopped on the threshold to survey the room. Around the tables were seated both j men and' women, one and all of the criminal class, and all smoking, drinking and laughing. The air was blue with the fumes of smoke- and the reek of spirits, even at this hour of the day. The entry of Monsieur le Boix brought them to their feet. "Lo diable," muttered one, Apache written 011 every line of his sallow face. "You startled me—coming in as if the devils had raided us again." "You might have know:i I would have o-iven you better warning," was the reply. "No, no, all is safe, but here is a message from 'the Prince.' He has found the missing 'Flowers of Sleep.'" A shout of delight went up, and cries of "Good old Prince" and "bon ami" mixed indiscriminately. Le Boix spread out the telegram before Legrange, their leader, and his cherubiclooldng face broadened into smiles as he repeated the last words, "send Surgeon." "There's danger ahead," he said, "or ho wouldn't want the 'Surgeon.' Well, 'Surgeon's' got to be found, and quickly, too. ° We've lost time enough trying after that little string of beads. Over a year, isn't it?"

"Quite," put in a woman, dressed in an exquisitely-cut gown that spelt Paris at every line, and she threw out rings of pale blue smoke as she sat. "Ciel! Didn't I have to spend six month s in that awful convent as a servant, getting the lay of tho land from that fool of a Clara! Never, never again will I go through such a time!" "And I," put in another of the gang, this time a man, dressed in rough clothes which gavo him the appearance of a workman, though his hands were as white as a woman's save for the nicotinestained fingers. "I, too, didn't I spend days done up in turbans and robes right down to last week in that filthy hole tiyin« to find what had become of the rest of °that string. I still don't made that second and imitation one. "Well, well, we've all done our share," said Legrange, "it's a good job the Princo has found them, now all wo want to do is to find the 'Surgeon.'" "Who's that taking my name so freely," said a rough voice, as the door opened again, this time to admit a short, dark, wiry little man, lithe in his movements, as could be seen by the way he crossed the intervening space. He was not alone, for another man, taller and stouter in build, entered at the same time, a stranger to the gang, as was evident by tho look of suspicion and distrust which crossed the faces of the remaining men at the table. "Friend of mine," said the_ "surgeon." "Now, then, what's up ? Spit it out, some of you." He pulled up a chair, and motioned to his companion to follow suit. "First let's have a drink. George here will pay, won't you, George?" Once drinks were brought, George seemed to lose consciousncss, huddling down into a chair with little stertorous grunts. "Now, then, fire away," said the "surgeon." "What's the little game?" ° "The 'prince' has got the missing 'Flowers of Death,'" said Legrange, "and wants you to go down at once. He's at Croydale still, and says they're there." He passed over the paper, and the man known as the surgeon grinned as if a rare compliment had been paid to his powers. "Thought you couldn't do without tne, lie said with a smirk, handing back the flimsy and now soiled paper. "All right, you leave the rest to me. I'll think over the make-up; the less you fellows know the better after." . "That's true enough," approved Legrange. "We can all play the jolly innocent as usual." After a few more directions and drinks, he rose to his feet surprisingly steady considering the number of whiskies he had poured down his throat. "Well, I'll toddle along. We'll see what the 'surgeon' can do." He gave a raucous laugh. "Better take George, too, if you've cleared him out, Celie." . "You bet your life," said the girl, though speaking with a strong French accent. "No pickings after me; he's as drunk as a hog." "Where'd you pick him up, Joan? Is he safe?" "Safe!" said Jean, the "surgeon, "Lord! yes! Found him in Waterloo Station, just coiiie over with Cook's holiday party and more money than he knew what to do with. I helped him to get it changed and brought him straight along here after a few drinks."

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Legrange. "Knife him?" "Not I," said Toan. "Isn't worth it. I'll put him in a taxi with me and send him back to Waterloo, and drop out myseld en route." He laugh. and grabbing roughly at the arm of tho visitor, who had fallen almost beneath the table, he shouted:

"Come on, my boy, don't go to sleep; look at the pretty lights." A guffaw of derision went up at this sally, and George, with many grunts and hiccups, allowed himself to bo pulled to his feet, 011 which he swayed perilously, had his coat brushed and his hat and tie straightened, and clinging hard to the arm of Jean was piloted by him into a taxi which happened to pass. "Waterloo Station, cabby, and here's your fare," said Jean, who never "bilked" a driver, whatever other crimes he might commit. "See him 011 to the Lastbourne platform, I think. He s still a bit screwed, morning after the night before, don't you know, but his luggage is there, name of Buxton." "Bight oh, sir, you leave him to me, I'll 'and 'im over to the porter and shove him 011 the right way." "Good mail"; and, with a grin, Jean watched the taxi drive off. "What tho chap'll say when he finds himself at Eastbourne," he laughed, "I'd like to hear him." He laughed again. But the laugh would have been on the other sido of his face had he seen "George" straighten himself very cautiously, and sit up very alert and very unlike a drunken man as the taxi rolled into Waterloo Station. But ho was taking no risks. The taximan threw open the door, and Colton, March's own man, for he it was, giving a very fair imitation of a drunken man iust pulling himself together, said thickly: ; "All right, cabby, I'm a bit better now. Here's something to drink my health, and I'll go off and get my trunks. Don't forget old Buxton, will you?" (To be continued daily.)