HEADS AT THE POST

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 103, 3 May 1930, Page 12 (Supplement)

HEADS AT THE POST

By ARCHIE- BELLAIRS.

. \ CHAPTER X.—(Continued.) "Geoffrey, you are a fool!" Juley was now agitated. "Suppose somebody did see you? You say that no one did; but how can you be sure? Why, they'll say you murdered him! Oh! Geoffrey! Can't you see it? Oh!" She shrank back with one hand covering her mouth, and stared at him again. She began to sob. "Stop that, Juley!" he ordered sharply, knowing that he must speak roughly and force her to keep control of herseli. "I tell you that nobody saw us, and we left no evidence of our presence. I realised the danger at once, and took no chances. Armvitch was murdered by the receiver with the fish-shop—Fred something or other, they called him. And, incidentally, Armvitch was called by another name by them. Ikey something. There isn't a scrap of danger for me. I have my 'notecase back — they only bought the contents, and nobody but Bluff Tom knows that I ever had the note —and he'll say nothing." ' , "But suppose he does ? Suppose he tells the police?" "He won't—and you know it as well as I. Calm yourself, dearest. Look at the matter without creating difficulties. They will find him, and the hue and cry will start for the murderer. And they'll find him. I have nothing whatever to fear 5 in fact, I am quite sure that the police will never even hear my name. But, my dear, they will hear yours — and you must be prepared. Don't forget that you are in London." "What do you mean, Geoffrey?" "I mean that you are heavily in debt to Armvitch; that he lias been murdered; and tha 1, on this very nir ' t you are in London. That is enou o ,i. I suppose they know at home that you are j here 1" "Of course!" "And I suppose that you can give a detailed account of your movements?" "Of course! Why do you ask?" "I'm asking, Juley, so that you will not be taken by surprise by the police. They will question you. They must find out. They will want a statement of your movements. You can satisfy them, so that is all right. When did you arrive ?" "My train came into Liverpool Street at 7.35. I went straight on to the Carlton, where Daddy had booked a room for me. I, telephoned you, but you were not at home." "I had already gone down East." "So I waited for you to telephone me, but no message came. I waited and waited, and then I could bear it no longer. I came here. Roberts let mo in." "What time waa that?" "Perhaps half-past nine." "And you've bee a here ever since?" "Of .course. You seem surprised." "Only because it is now nearly midnight. You must have had a very boring wait for me." "Not boring, Geoff; you see, I was m vour room, and there was so much to interest me. Still,, it did seem rather a long time- I would not have waited, only I simply felt that I must tell you this very night, I could not possibly wait another day." "That's right," Geoffrey murmured approvingly. Then, after a silence, he added: "There is nothing we can do ex-cept--wait for news. There is sure to be a sensational story in the morning papers, and the police will be very busy. You can only wait, and only tell the truth when they come and ask you where you. were." "And what about Daddy 1 "I had thought of him. Of course, you don't want to tell him, do you— that is, not unless you are absolutely compelled?" "I'd rather he didn't know what a perfect fool of a daughter he has. But in any case I suppose he will have to know. Otherwise, how am I going to get the money to pay ? I must honour my signature." "Quite. But that hardly arises just yet;' there ia another three weeks before the first month expires. Much can happen in that time. To tell you the truth, I am hoping to find a way to force tfcfit blighter, Garland, to pay. And that is why I would like you to go back and say nothing whatever to him; especially keep on the same terms with him, and don't let him suspect that you think there is anything wrong." "You really mean that I must leave Altredo with him?" "Of course I do. We shall only he able to get at him if we have access to his'stables. That was my sole reason for giving him a horse to train for me; 1 wanted to be able to come and go and keep my eyes open; I wanted to watch you, my dear." "Which horse is it?" "Fortune's Best." "Oh, th?,t! Why, it's only a plater. What do you hope to do with that?" "I hope to beat Altredo! Take care that I don't even yet, my girl." "You make me smile, Geoff. The two are not in the same class." "Nevertheless, very unusual things happen on a racecourse. You ought to know that. And. especially when these clever trainers are out to win." "We'll see, my boy. But enough of this; it's quite time I was in bed. Will you take me back?" "And you'll be a good gis and not worry —and above all, you will say absolutely nothing to anyone about our conversation? You fully comprehend how serious it would be for me if the police wer<3 to get to know that I had been in that room and had seen Armvitch lying there? Say nothing, and leave Garland to me. Go on just as before. Be an even bigger mug." CHAPTER XI. Garland is Threatening. As Geoffrey had anticipated, the papers next morning contained a full story of the discovery of the dead body of Armvitch. The reports were fully written up, but the careful reader saw that they contained little more news than a bare outline of the facts. Armvitch was discussed at some length; it was generally known that he was a moneylender, and there were the personal stories of th 6 man who lived on the same landing, and the lady who lived underneath, neither of whom had either seen anyone or heard a sound. Someone had declared that a taxi had remained outside the building for some ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, but that person had not thought to notice the number. It was no unusual thing for a txxi to remain there. There was nothinj suspicious in this fact, and the polio* wid no attention to it.

Geoffrey read every report. He had heard before of cases in which the police paid no attention to detail, but he knew that such-a statement was ridiculous. Scotland Yard gained its successes because of its painstaking attention to detail, and he wondered how long it would be 1 before the taxi would be traced, and the driver interrogated. And on that day, would the : driver have a good or a poor memory? As far as he could recollect, the man had paid practically no attention to his ■ fares. He himself, he was. certain, had not come directly under the man's notice. George Garblay had engaged him, and' Geoffrey had left him and Bill Fransen to finish their journey together. Those two worthies would be dumb, without the slightest question. There was something fascinating about reading the reporter's description of the scene which 1 he had witnessed first. The room showed no sign of a struggle; the man had been killed when ■the heavy vase descended upon the back of his head. Great force had been used. In the ordinary course of events such a blow would not have been heavy enough to cause death —there was an authoritative paragraph on the strength of the human skull and the force needed to crack it. But all this, while interesting to the readers of the paper, helped Geoffrey not at all. He could have wished there had been some clue to the actual murderer. He wanted an assurance that he had not been seen and was not suspect, that he had left nothing behind him. But on such scores the papers were silent. However, it was no good worrying, and lie went on with his usual routine, determined that he would not allow the tragedy to interfere with his life at all, or with the formation of his plans to complete the downfall of Garland. Juley also spent the morning reading the papers, and when she learned that no clues existed, she was content-V-but before she could make certain she had to read everyone of the London morning papers. That done she did a little shopping, largely in order to substantiate the excuse she had made for coming to London, and then she packed her bag and returned home. The journey was uneventful, but when she descended from the train at Newmarket, she was surprised to find Garland on the platform. The trainer came up to her at once, and, raising his hat, greeted her: "Good evening, Lady Julia. May I have the pleasure of driving you home? I don't see your car outside, and I particularly want a word with you." "Is Altredo all right?" was the girl's instant question. She looked up at the man, and in the poor light of the station it seemed to her that he Pis worried. He did not at once answer, and her suspicions were confirmed. "Is it Altredo?" she asked again, rather anxiously. "Don't you think a station platform the wrong place to discuss business?" was the reply. "I can tell you all I have to tell between here and Broadene." "Very well. I hope it is nothing serious." She allowed Garland to take her bag and accompanied him to the car. He drove quickly away from the station and through the town. Then, when he had gained the comparatively quiet road beyond, he slowed down, and half turned on his seat towards his patron. "I hope you enjoyed our chat last night," he said, in a low suave voice. Juley turned to him with a protest on her lips, but the peculiar expression on his face held her quiet for an instant. Then: • "I did not see you last night," she replied. "You have, made a mistake." "Indeed, I have not. You surely .remember that you came up to my place about seven o'clock and caught the night mail to London, after our long talk about about the colt and racing generally." "You are making a mistake, Mr. Garland. I arrived in London at half-past seven. I was not near your place yes r terday." "But you were. It is most important. You must remember." "I don't know why you should make such silly statements. Please remember that I am not a child. Is there anything wrong with you?" "Nothing. But it happens to be important to me that v you should recall this particular visit to my place. I insist that you do." "I was not near your place. You know it as well as I." Juley was puzzled. She wondered if Garland had suddenly gone mad and looked about her. But the trainer trod on the accelerator, and turned the car down a side road. Juley sat up in alarm. "What are you doing, Mr. Garland? Be good enough to'turn your ear round at once and take me home." She was on her. dignity now, but as Garland looked at her, that dignity disappeared, and was replaced by a strange feeling of uncertainty. Night was coming on fast, and this road was deserted. She made another effort. "Unless you stop this car instantly, I shall scream for help," she said firmly. "I mean it. Stop at once!" "Certainly I'll stop," was the retort, delivered in a sly tone. "I was merely trying to save your reputation. I have heard that you spent the night with your lover, Geoffrey Verington. That is a nasty thing to be said of any lady. I thought you would prefer the other." Juley's heart went cold. "1 mean that you were seen entering the. rooms occupied by Geoffrey Verington, and that you there for hours. What have you to say to that ?" "I was waiting for Mr. Verington to return home." "Oh! Where was he?" Juley sensed a trap. And at that moment it dawned on her.that there was much more behind the man's insinuations than had appeared at first. Garland i.oticed her hesitation, and hit hard. "Do you think I believe, that, or that anybody will believe, it? I don't blame you. I know what it is to be young . . . Oh! you little devil!" For Juley had suddenly slapped him across the face with - all the force she could muster. "You beast!" she exclaimed. "You cad!" Garland's eyes glinted. "I've a good mind to give you a hiding for that, my lady," he snarled. "But, you'll listen to me, instead, and you'll veil do as I tell you— or . . ." He left it at that and continued: — "It so happens that you and I are in pretty much the same boat. You've seen the papers. Last night, Armvitch was

murdered —and if you don't remember, Armvitch is the man who lent you three thousand five hundred pounds, and who holds your paper for six thousand. You were in London last nighti You were in your lover's rooms. It happens that I also was in London. I saw you go in, and I know that you didn't return to the, Carlton until after after one ft.m. What do you say to that? "But Armvitch was no friend of mine, and it suits my book as it suits yours not to have been in London last night. Therefore, we were together at my house discussing racing. And if you- cannot remember then I'd better remind, you." "I have nothing to fear from you.'* "Very nice. Then, when the police call on me, I shall tell them what I know —that you owed Armvitch £6000, and that you were in London last night with Verington. And I'll see that Lord Sprenton knows —and I'll see that all the world knows. I've only to tell that story to one or two pals to get it all round the place. They'll love such a tit-bit. Perhaps you were earning your six thousand? No, you don't, not this time, you little spitfire." * "Let go my hands, you vile beast! Let go. God! that I should ever have touched a cad like you. You loathsome beast!" Garland smiled. "Words break no bones. I've finished. You were with me last night. Tell the police the other story if you like, and accept the consequences. Who killed Armvitch? "You! You're not only a filthy hound, I but you're also a murderer." > I "Bah! You're like a romancing schoolgirl. I'm driving on now. I'll take you home. Bear in mind what I tell you, and remember that I'll stand by y° u > even if your chivalrous lover won't, for, as sure as you are alive, if you tell that tale to the police they'll start finding out not only where you were, but where your precious Geoffrey was, too. The last thing that Armvitch saw—was your promissory note. TVhere did it com© from ? And with that he turned the car, trod on the accelerator, and, refusing to discuss the matter further, drove in silence to the gates of Broadene. . "Don't forget," was his parting advice, "you came to Hylton about seven- o clock. You and I discussed racing for a couple of hours. Then you caught the night mail to London, and you stayed at the Carlton. Take my tip, if you value his neck, say nothing whatever about Geotfrey Verington. If you do, I wont be answerable for the consequences. You see, I know something—and I'm not telling you all I know —not by a ■ - sight. Good night!" . , Punctiliously, he raised his hat and raced off, leaving a girl behind, who stared after him, whose mind was in a turmoil, and who saw through the mist of her fears only a rope which swayed, and which ended in a noose. For a long time Juley stood outside the big gates, considering the threat of the trainer and his demands. And one phrase stuck in her mind. "Take my tip, if you value your neck, say nothing whatever about Geoffre~ Verington." And after that came "The last thing that Armvitch saw was your promissory note." There was no doubt about the meaning of those words. They meant that Garland knew that Geoffrey had been-in Armvitch's flat. They even suggested that he knew that Geoffrey had murdered the mono-" lender. And as she thought, it seemed to her that there was a good motive for such an act by Geoffrey. She could realise how easily a case could be made out against him. He had been incensed at the treatment accorded herself. And following the loss of the note, he had been taken to Armvitch by the thief; a quarrel had resulted, and in the heat of the moment Geoffrey had smashed the man with the vase and sobbed upon finding him dead. Geoffrey had murdered him to protect her! ■ . And all this would result from her saying that she had been with Geoffrey Garland had spoken the truth when he said that if she mentioned his name the police would at once go and interview him. Geoffrey firmly believed that no trace of his own presence had been left and that nobody had seen him. If that was so, then his name need never be mentioned; no suspicion concerning him would arise. What was she to do ? Should she protect Garland and save Geoffrey in so doing, or should she tell the truth and immediately direct suspicion upon her lover, who, she realised, would have some difficulty in clearing his name, and who, indeed, might well be charged with murder, and have a very difficult case to answer? Garland, she strongly suspected, knew far more than he lisd told her, else why his eagerness to establish an alibi ? When a man went to the extent of blackmail there was something more than ordinary fear behind. And what of herself! She had to see her position quite clearly Well, whatever happened, she could clear herself of any charge. But Geoffrey could not, and so she must protect him. It never occurred to the distraught girl that she ought to tell Geoffrey and allow him to guide her. She was concerned only with her fears and with doing her utmost to save him from any suspicion. Her dilemma was terrible, and as she turned up the drive she wondered how much more she would be called upon to bear for her folly in turning away from old friends and entering the influence of that villainous trainer. Her mind was still in a turmoil when she entered the house. Fortunately, her father was in his study, and she gained her room without meeting anybody but the butler. Her maid, however, came o her room at once. "Oh, my lady!" she exclaimed at sight of her, "you do look dreadful. Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you some-brandy?" "Thanks, I'm afraid Fm rather tired. Yes, I think I would like . . ." Her voice trailed off to silence, for In that moment someone had knocked at the door. (To be continued daily.)