The Murder on the Downs

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 173, 24 July 1930, Page 26

The Murder on the Downs

By ANTONY MARSDEN.

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued. Sturt's jaw dipped. It was not half an hour since Buck had gone, and lie had thought himself safe from intrusion. He unclasped his fingers nervously from the bundle in his pocket and pointed to a chair. "If you please—" The stranger handed him a card. "My name's Warburton," lie said, before Sturt had time to read it. "I represent a firm of private inquiry agents, and I have called on you —" Sturt recovered his nerve. "Not from Scotland Yard, then? Your entrance is a little abrupt, Mr— er—Warburton, if I may say so." The other smiled. "I'm sorry, sir, but your clerk didn't seem too sure of my. reception, and as I couldn't tell him my errand —" 1 "What is your errand, please?" . "I am acting for Messrs. The detective named the firm of Texas land agents by whom the rent of Knottman's Gully was collected and sent on to London. Sturt listened in silence, and the detective resumed: "You have a tenant, a Mr. Wade, whose rent my clients receive for you. He pays them quarterly, their agent riding up-country to collect. The last rent was due some weeks ago —and was paid, in fact. Since then the agent has decamped—after cashing Wade's/ cheque." The lawyer stared. Wade's quarterly cheque might be inconsiderable, but it meant cash in hand; and ready money just now. • . . As usual, St r rt's first thought was for himself. "I'm sorry to hear it, Mr. Warburton. But I'm afraid we shall have to hold your clients responsible for the amount " "Oh, certainly. No question of that, I fancy. No doubt their cheque to you is already on its way. But that's not why I'm here.", "You have called, then ?" "To trace my clients' collector. It seems he realised all the cash he could and cleared out to England." "But surely this office is the last place he would come to?" • "That's the queer thing aboxit it, sir. He's been traced to Southampton, where he landed yesterday; and the first thing he did, apparently, was to go iu a business connection of our clients', there —a Mr. Baker, Canute Road—and get your address Kennedy is the defaulter's name." Sturt listened with puzzled interest. It was an odd coincidence that Buck less than an hour ago, had asked if he knew this man Kennedy. Ari he answered truthfully, as he had to Buck: "I know no one called Kennedy, Mr. Warburton. He lias certainly not been here. May I ask how you managed to find out so much as you have, and in .30 short a time?" The other acknowledged Sturt's compliment with a slight bow, and became confidential. "Why, yes, sir; I owe it you to explain that, since you've been dragged into it. Between ourselves, I've just had a little chat with a friend at the Yard —unofficial, if you don't mind? The Yard doesn't love us private firms as much as it might—and although my friend wouldn't tell me very much, I gather that the police are already looking for Kennedy too. On what charge I don.'t know, except that it isn't on this charge of* embezzlement. A queer business, eh? All that my friend would do was to give me the tip which sent me here to you—and that quite unofficially, d'you see, and on the understanding that if I found out anything we should pool our knowledge. Though with the Yard s resources I dare say they'll find him first." Mr. Warburton paused, and after a moment's hesitation added diffidently: "No doubt you'll have the Yard here before long —if they've not been already?" "I—l have had a formal inquiry," Sturt replied. He surmised that his visitor had been told nothing at the Yard about Knottman —not even the fact of his death. And Buck had particularly asked him to keep his counsel. Mr. Warburton sensed his reserve. "But maybe I shouldn't have asked you that?" "Oh, but certainly! I can tell you no more than I have said; and that's nothing, I fear. This is all news to me. I don't know anything of Kennedy, but if he calls here I'll let you know—l have your address." "I'm more than grateful, sir." And the detective took his leave. Alone, Paul Sturt once more pulled out the little bundle of letters and laid them in the ashes of the grate. It was waste —foolish waste, perhaps. He sighed as he lighted them and watched them slowly consume; but he dared take no risks, with the inquiry into Knottman's death hanging over him. When the last inch of paper was burnt out he rang for his clerk. "How is it that my fire hasn't been laid this morning?" "Well, sir, the caretaker usually comes in when I' open the office, and does your room first before you arrive. But this morning you were here before me; and as you said you hadn't to be disturbed I told her to leave your fire till you asked for it. Will you have it now 1" "I don't want it lighted," Sturt replied. "But you might ask her to clear the grate —" The caretaker came; and as Sturt sat idle, watching her, a sudden doubt assailed him. He had • cleated out the little safe, he now remembered, in haste, Snatching the bundle of letters in their rubber band in imminent fear of being interrupted? they were all there, he thought; but if any had been overlooked—? As soon as the woman left he locked the inner door again, chancing Buck's return, withdrew the panel, opened the little secret door—then drew in his breath sharply. He had done well, indeed, to . make sure. A single sheet remained at the back of the safe. • . • Sturt thrust' it into his pocket unread, nor till the„ safe was hidden again and the clerk's door unlocked did he pause to peruse it. And then he sat staring in amazement, unable to believe his eyes. " . . You may have heard that I am marrying a good man. I bear you no malice for deserting me. I only beg you in God's name and for the baby's;sake to leave me my chance of happiness, and to forget—" ' Sturt turned it over and over, incredulous. It was no copy, but. the original; he knew it at a glance—the original letter, which he believed Knottman to have taken With him to Leatherhead the evening before. But if Knottman had taken anything, he had taken

a copy. . . . Sturt recalled now that Knottman had sat down to write for a few moments with the letter in his hand, as though making a note. But a copy—? That was no use to anyone! .... Paul Sturt sat motionless, staggered by the sudden possibility that opened before him. Knottman had taken no mere copy to Leatherhead why should he? Blackmail could not be levied by such means. Knottman perhaps had threatened Meldrum —or Wade (Even on this point Knottman had not made up his mind when he left the office, as Sturt remembered now.) But he could hardly have exacted blackmail without the original letter. And if blackmail had not been paid, there was no evidence for Buck nor anyone else. Further —Sturt's eyes narrowed as he pursued the logical development of his thoughts—further, the letter remained intact. Virgin ground. And in his possession. Knottman dead, and the letter's possibilities still unexploited. . . Knottman had bungled—or had been killed, more likely, before playing his hand. Whereas he. . . . Chance was being kind to him at last —if he made haste. But haste was essential. Freedom from interruption, too. . . Sturt slipped the letter into his shoe and took up his hat. On his way out he called his clerk to him. "I've some important business to get through; I can't afford to waste more time with these police fellows; if they call, I'll be back here this afternoon, tell them. Meanwhile, you don't' know where I am—if anyone calls or 'phones, you don't know where I am.", . But if it's Wade —mind this, now. Mr. Geofferson Wade —if it's Wade, 'phone me at my club straight away. If I'm no longer there it'll be because I'm already on my way down to Leatherhead; but in that case I shall have to let Wade know." Ho went out in haste. CHAPTER XII. Cross-examination. "Chief Inspector Buck to speak to you, my lord." Buck followed Coverdale into the library, and found himself in the presence of two gentlemen, both past middle age. At a first glance, one might have found no point of resemblance between these two, so sharply contrasted were they, both in type and-in dress. But through long training, Inspector Buck's first glance was apt to be more comprehensive than that of most men; moreover, on such occasions Buck had the knack of singling out such points as immediately concerned him. What struck him now, and interested him at once, was not the contrast of the two —for that was instantly obvious —but rather a certain subtle degree of resemblance: the broad, humorous forehead, the nose drooping slightly at the tip, the deep lines, running past the corners of the mouth —in each man these betrayed to Buck's trained eye the ironic temperament. Danger signals, these. . . . Your fool, your blusterer, your too passionate or too plausible man—these will succumb to cross-examination, given rope enough; but the cool, 1 humorous, ironic type is more strongly entrenched. . . . Buck sensed that he would need all his skill should his two witnesses elect to be reticent. The detective was not acquainted with Meldrum, even by sight, for the old nobleman was the least photographed of notabilities. He knew enough, however, of Meldrum's reputation to recognise. him at once, by the grotesque shabbiness of the 'old clothes which he wore. "Lord Meldrum', I believe?" "Oh, yes, certainly—" Meldrum waved his hand towards Wade. "This is my friend and guest, Mr. Geofferson Wade." Buck bowed. "Of Texas, I understand?" And as Wade raised his eyebrows: "I've been informed, sir, that you are party to the sale of some proparty, belonging to Knottman's firm. That is the reason of your being in England, in fact," "One reason," Wade corrected him, rather stiffly. "But I'm chiefly on holiday." "Lord 'Meldrum is also interested?" Buck resumed. "Oh, yes," said his lordship vaguely. "Oh, yes. Certainly. Quite." < Buck nodded. "Yes. We'll come to that later on. Just for the present, gentelmen, I may say that I'm fortunate in finding you both together. My first object, you'll understand, is to arrive at the dead man's movements yesterday evening; you were both here, I think, when Knottman called ?" (To be continued daily.)