Beads of Silence

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 307, 28 December 1929, Page 12 (Supplement)

Beads of Silence

t=%w By L. BAMBURG. ==

CHAPTER XIX. Septimus March found that the excitement of the morning had caused him to forget a meal, and he ordered something to be brought to him as quickly as possible. To his secret gratification, Miss Clara herself came to see if lie had got everything he wanted, and March made up his mind to seize the golden opportunity and question her about her mysterious errand, though lie had a shrewd suspicion as to its object. As she stood by the table, her back, luckily, turned to the others further in the room beyond the alcove in which his had been placed, March.said sternly, though softly: "I thought you had taken flight, Miss Clara." The girl looked at him in surprise. "Taken flight," she echoed. "Why on earth should I do that? Your silly old murder's got nothing to do with me." "I'm not so sure about that," said the detective, "seeing that your footmarks •were very plainly printed in the wake of the Squire's." "Well, what if they were?" Clara said sullenly. "I don't deny that I saw the old beast oil Thursday, and stood up to him, too," she added with a snap in her black eyes reminiscent of a sharp encounter. "If it hadn't been for him, I shouldn't have had that row with father, as it was I had to go up to London " "You went to friends, of course," put in March. "Don't see what that has to do with you," retorted the girl, "but as it happens I did. I had a jolly good day in London, and came back last night." "Very late, too," said March, imper■turbably. "Any more questions" to ask?" said Clara pertly, and March took a last throw of the dice. Producing his pocket hook, he withdrew the'handkerchief and pushed it before her. "Yes, just one more. Perhaps you would like to tell me how your handkerchief —and it is your handkerchief, isn't it?—came into the murdered man's hand ?" Clara Thorpe gave a startled though quickly stiflled little scream, and made an involuntary movement to recover her property, but if March had expected her to collapse like a guilty thing before him, he was greatly mistaken. Surprise and indignation fought for conquest in her black, snapping eyes, ■but there were visible signs of guilt in her tones as she demanded: "What do you mean?" "What I say," answered March. Taking out his pocket book, he held up the scrap of a handkerchief, with its crumpled, meretricious lace fringe, one corner torn and broken. "This is your property—you can't deny it." intend to," she said, tossing her smooth, shingled head. "Though how you got it beats me. You can't frighten me with your dead man's hand business." - "More's the pity," said March, "for if you only told the truth, you and -Mr. Darford might get off more lightly. As it is, I am going up to town to get a warrant for his arrest." ""You can't—you can't do it," she exclaimed. "He hasn't done anything. He had the right to take his own property." "But not to kill his benefactor," said March. "He did not—he was with me—the whole night, I tell you." "Then how came your handkerchief in Sir Richard's hand? See, there it is, crumpled np in the middle, and this piece was between his fingers." Clara sank down sobbing softly, her face hidden in the shadow of the'alcoved window in which March had esconced himself. "I tell you I don't know," she said at last, mastering her emotion. "I might have dropped it in the churchyard where we quarrelled. I met. the crochetty old ibeast, and he swore I should never get Anthony, and I laughed at? him— and " "You showed him the proofs that you had got him,- eh?" said March, and the girl stared at him in amazement. "Yes,</I did," she cried defiantly, "he tore it away from me, and I told Him I'd have the law on him and ran away. Perhaps I dropped the handkerchief then, "but I swear he was alive, when I left him, and that aeroplane man could prove that." "What aeroplane man?" said March. "The 'plane that came over the village, only it was so low down that I could almost see the man, and as he ewooped down something'.hard . came down, too. It was a tool of some kind with a hit of paper on it, talking about the Avenger, or some such' rubbish. You find that 'plane, Mr. March." Which is just what Mr. March was desirous of doing for himself. There was everything in favour of Clara's words being true, though whether Darford was as innrcnt as she and he would make out was another question. "Well, we'll see," he said, rising to his feet. "Keep & still tongue for your own sake, my girl. The very fact that that handkerchief was where it was is sufficient to hang you unless you can give more proof. Murder and theft, or theft and murder, are ugly things to meddle with." The girl shrank under the word theft snore than murder, and March rose to his feet, leaving her to digest his words at her leisure. Giving a hasty message to Jim, lurking near, for the superintendent, and thrusting a soft cap on his head, March Bought the shelter of the old limousine, and started forth his way. No train was due for hours, but by driving to the next junction- he might yet catch one of the northern expresses. But escape was not so easy, for hardly had the worn out old machine got well out of reach of the High Street and out into one of the lanes leading from Croydale, when with a final splutter and groan the wheels slowed down and brought it finally to a standstill. March was thoroughly nonplussed. Getting out, he made an examination of the vehicle. There was abundant petrol. That was one thing to be thankful for, he said to himself. The obstruction was a mechanical one, and for the next halfhour March pulled screws and bolts and handled the levers, but all in vain. He was just about to give up in despair, when down the lane came the sounds of "Annie Laurie"—whistled in abominable time, it is true —but March was in no mood to criticise. Round the 'bend came the music-maker, and March gave vent to a little exclamation of relief when he espied the figure of "Whistling Tom." Tranter, it was, Indeed, on his way with his baskets of (bottles which had been made up during the morniii". V

"What's the trouble, sir?" he asked. " 'Our Liz' stuck again ?" "She certainly has," said March. "You evidently know the lady's habits better than I do." "Lor'! bless yer!" said Tom/ putting down the basket at the side of the lane. "I should think I do; don't suppose the inspector ever takes her out but what he doesn't have to come home in the nearest haycart. You let me 'ave a look at her, sir." March was only too pleased, to hand over the refractory vehicle to someone accustomed to her vagaries. Straightening himself ;up and brushing down some of the dust, March lit a cigarette, watching Tranter as he dived deep into the "innards," as he called it, of the refractory car. "I've got her," he cried out at length. "This 'ere bolt wants tightening. Never knew such blighters, as nuts are for workin' loose. What we wants is a monkey-wrench, one.with a good screw thread, too. Look her, sir, if I might be so bold, p'raps you wouldn't mind walking down the lane, there, and you'll find my cottage half-way down. Here's the key. Just in the first dresser drawer you'll find my bag of tools. I'll go over "the rest of 'er if you would 'op along and get that bag." "Only too glad," said March, and was off before Tranter's hands were once more busy within the works of "Our Liz." He found the cottage and opened the door. The little room, straight into which he walked, was, like tne exterior, clean and tidy enough, though the floor was stained in many places with some deep black substance which apparently soap and water failed to touch. At one side stood , an old oak dresser, and in the first drawer March rummaged for the bag of tools. Ah old copy book lay beneath it, and as March pulled the bag a leaf caught in the edge and spilt some loose cards.' March was about to replace them, when he stopped and smiled a little, for they were photographs. Not wishing to pry into Tranter's private affairs, March pushed them oaek, but at sight of the faccs he again smiled, for there was Miss Evelyn's, the donor of many a magazine, Clara Thorpe's bold and dashing, Dr. Brent's, other- strange girls' and men's faces, and amongst them even that of Anthony 'Darford. . Meanwhile "Whistling Tom," having located the seat of the mischief, Waited patiently for the return of the. whilom driver of "Our Liz," and drawing forth one of his favourite magazines was soon immersed in love troubles of Evangeline, the persecuted heroine. He hardly noticed the passing of time, and gave an undeniable start when a voice, over his shoulder said, "Here'? the bag, Tranter." "Ah! found it all.right, did you, sir? Now we shan't be long." ■ Whistling cheerily, he worked away, and in a few more minutes the nut had been tightened, the bonnet of the car replaced, and, refusing the tip offered him, Tranter started the engine, and stood aside to let the grave-faced London" detective start forth afresh on his way to uphold the rule of law and justice. ' . CHAPTER XX. Fortune was in March's favour that day, for at Wilmington Junction he was, able to catch the Northern Flyer express, and was in London in an incredibly short space of time. In his own rooms at Jermyn Court, March listened to his man Colton and the account of his. adventure with the fang known as "Les Chats Noirs." ° "They're all ripe for mischief, sir, but just what their little game is, I don't know." "You couldn't discover what the Surgeon' was going to do?" asked March, as the man stopped to draw breath._ "No, sir, I couldn't. You see, I didn't dare go back again, in case he discovered me. All I could do was to take the names of those in that room aod put the Yard on to them to keep watch." "Well, I'm going to raid the place myself and find out where they have got the rest of that Amulet—and they certainly have got it somewhere." , "They're a desperate lot, air," said Colton, apprehensively. "Can't I come with you?" - "No, better not," eaid March, with a kindly look, for this man had Allowed close on his heels in many a scrap and close corner. ' ;«I tell you what you can do, though. But first of all what sort.of a house is this hotel ?. Has it got a coal cellar ?" "Yes, I suppose so, sir," said the justly puzzled, Colton. "One of those underground affairs, I think, because I noticed the lid on the pavement while I was being bundled into that taxi." "Good; that's what I wanted to know," rejoined March'. "Well, now, off you go. Get down to the Yard, and tell Sergeant Toole that I shall want a posse of police to be ready to come down to Warrington Street in workmen's clothes, with red lanterns and barriers and make a pretence of preparing the road for digging up in the morning. Do you get me?" "I do, sir," grinned Colton. "Then tell them to sit. tight, and if I make a sign, or they hear a let them bundle in and clear up the lot." Colton, keen as mustard upon'any task entrusted tc* him by his master, spent the rest of the. afternoon and a goodly part of the long summer twilight in gathering together as hefty a set of British workmen as was possible to behold. \ . Bearing poles and trestles, a heterogenous collection of tools, and quite a lot of red-glassed lanterns, they took their way down Victoria Street and thence into the dingier purlieu of Pimlico. The gang stopped just outside the Royal Hotel, and, having marked out a perfectly sound piece of road, proceeded to ring it round with poles, lanterns and boards, and then, sit themselves down like all good workmen do, to light their pipes and discuss the? ethics of higher sport. About the same time a foreign artist with flowing beard and flamboyant tie flowing over a not too clean blue shirt, entered the portals of the "Royal" Hotel, and in perfect French demanded a room for the night from Madame. ■ Possibly the sound of her own native tongue so evenly poured forth pleased the Gallic heart of Madame, or what was more likely the sight of the bundle of crisp Treasury notes, between which coyly nestled an unmistakable "fiver," so that the newly-arrived Parisian from the boat train which had not long come in, was ushered upstairs to the top of the house to a room that was a bit

cleaner than the others owing to the simple reason that it was not used so often. Here Septimus March sat down to wait till opportunity should occur by which he could explore the lower regions, and especially the room which Colton had entered With the "Surgeon." Having seen that a revolver was "ready for service," as a famous clothiers advertise their suits, and taken the precaution of affixing rubbers to his boots, hearing the platter of plates and cutlery, March reckoned that dinner was being served, and if he were going to make an effort, now was the time. Opening his own room door, he peered cautiously out, then straightway began to descend the staircase, his rubbercovered shoes making no sound upon the stairs carpeted with thick felt. He reached the bottom of the stairs at last and paused to take breath. Now he was in the basement, on a level with the kitchens, the cellars and the breakfast parlour wherein Colton had met Les Clm,t6 Noirs." Opening a small cupboard, dark as pitch, but which with a quick flash of his pocket torch revealed that haven, the coal cellar, March crept in, closing the door softly behind him. That it was used for something more than the ordinary coal cellar was quickly apparent, for at one end was a tiny grille of iron bars, where a brick had been removed so that a listener could both see and hear what was taking place in the cellar. This he soon discovei cd by the ray of light which shone through, and; feeling his way towards this beacon, March could see the vague outline of th,: room beyond. Hardly had he down beside this when the door within was flung open, and a number —how many he could not see—of laughing men and women hurled themselves in. "'Les Chats Noirs,"' he mentally ejaculated, and wondering perhaps whether he would not be in the position of the hapless mouse were he to be caught by these black eats of the underworld. Nearer and nearer came the Aoices, and March slipped back against the wall, drawing himself flat up against it, taut and tense, waiting for the chance words that might give him the truth he needed so badly. He did not dare move, lest even m the hubbub of voice and the rattle of glasses, his presence might be made known. It was a woman's voice striking in so stridently across the hum of men's voices which told him of the authority wielded by her, and as he caught its triumphant inflections he wondered. "Has she got the real Amulets, or hasn't she," he asked himself quickly. "You have them—you've got them—" cried out one of the number, and at the sound of the tantalising laugh which •answered it, the others surged round her like rats after a tempting morsel. Like rats, too, she treated them, beating them off with her hands, as March could see by the reflection in the dirty mirror on tlie mantelshelf. "Mais oui—l have good news for the 'prince' —and for us.all. Good old 'surgeon'—he will soon have the eight now— —" . March almost groaned. So the " surgeon." was down there on the spot, and Mr. Macßride would not be on the lookout! What a fool he had been not to warn him after Colton's message, a message that had given him the news that the man known as the "surgeon" was certainly in London and on the track of the " Flowers of Death." Well,'it could not'be helped; those missing " eight" were safe, but what of the. rest? The answer came swiftly enough, for the woman laughingly went on. " We have got what you call a ' pull' over 'eem, if 'e play us up, for I—l here have the rest of the beauties " "Ciel! Bravo, Marcellefi bravo! Hold it up, the beauty, and let us see the thing-that has taken so long to get! " Ther6 came the sound of low laughter, the rustle of paper," and the woman advanced to the table in full view of the grille. High up in her hands, glittering beneath the light of the electric lamp, shone and glittered the great Amulets of Death, the sight of which gave rise to more cheers and laughter. "The little fool.says she found it in a drawer and brought it up to exchange. Lucky thing the 'prince' gave me all those old 1.0.U.'5, or I'd never have made her give it up," went on the woman, setting March wondering once more. Had it been Clara who had brought up the chain, or was it Evelyn in debt for those bridge debts of hers with Lady Mildred ?" "But what the 'Prince' will say when he knows they're missing the Bon Dieu knows, for he meant to hold them and blackmail later " "What matters a few pounds against these stones?" shouted another. "You let me deal with the ' Prince,'" said the stout man, whom Colton could have said was Legrange. ; The door in the back of the room had opened again as he spoke. , >"And who is going,to deal with the ' prince' ? asked a voice. The others turned and surged round the newcomer, and though he could not see the face March recognised the voice, and, hearing it, the full light dawned upon him. He hardly needed the sight of the speaker through the little grille to realise the truth, and knew that the secret was at an end. He did not heed the clatter of sound, so intent was lie on piecing together the various links which had puzzled him, making a clear chain, as perfect as would be that String of Amulets, could he but get his fingers on them. Marcelle had laid them on the table as she, too, turned to greet the new arrival. One and all were so excited that, like March himself, they did not notice the opening of the door until Monsieur Le, Boix's-voice startled them into action. "Have a care mes amis, there's a spy in the house, a new guest, a Frenchman, but he is not in his room . . . have a care." An uproar of tongues greeted this announcement. March held his breath, cursing the untimely entry of the hotelkeeper, for now the String of -Amulets would be gone from his ken. But lie had no time to think, for, with a bound, the men surged across he room, right over to his corner, while at the touch of a hidden spring, the grille, which was part of a cleverly hidden door in the wall swung open. The cellar was Hooded with the sudden light, and March, dazzled but desperate, made a spring forward. " The spy, he is here—catch him — shoot " A roar of voices assailed his ears, a crowd of hands bore out towards him. Ducking, twisting, and fighting with his fists, he dodged the outstretched hands and cursing figures, as he drew out that revolver and fired, not at any one of them, but at the electric light above their heads. His shot took effect. He had not been the crack shot of his regiment for nothing. The room was plunged in darkness. March shot across to the table on which lay the Amulets, slipped them into his pocket and slid beneath the table as the criwd surged out of the cellar again. Pandemonium reigifed, for now, not only were they searching for the intruder, but cries of " The police, the

police! " from Madame above, and a rush of March's workmen climbing hand over hand down the hole in the pavement made the men more bent on saving their own skins than even trying to save the precious Amulets for which they had plotted. The phot had heen heard and faithfully acted upon. Marcli made a step forward to give a hand, when a 'stray arm caught his forehead, and lie went down like a log, stunned by its force. It was some ten minutes before he recovered consciousness. Colton was bending over him anxiously—the room iva? lighted again. March's first conscious thought was the Amulets of Death, which had been so appropriately named, for he had indeed been within an inch of annihilation. To his immense relief the chain was still in his., pocket where lie had thrust it, and he sank back again, still a little dizzy with the force of the blow. " Did you get them all ?" he said, sitting up aftei 1 a few more minutes. The police sergeant saluted. "Six of them, Mr. March, though I'm not sure that we can hold them, except for having drink? served after hours." "Oh, yes, you can!" said March. "Arrest them for the theft of the famous 'Amulets of Death,' and hold them till I come." A few moments later he discovered to his dismay that the six men did not include the "Prince." (To be continued daily.)