ON THE NIGHT OF THE NINTH

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 27, 2 February 1932, Page 15

ON THE NIGHT OF THE NINTH

BY J. R. WILMOT author of "Zora—the invisible." "The Monday Night Murder, - "The Moorcrort Manor Mystery," etc.

CHAPTER XV. The Mysterious Visit. Stanton Dale, once on the trail of the ftan he knew as Dr. Driver, experienced a feeling of curious' exhilaration. That there was some mystery about the doctor, the young man had no doubt whatever. His discovery of the doctor in London could mean one or other of two" things. Either the rector was considerably improved and fit enough to lie left or else the medical man had decided that he would seek further advice. Dale had never shadowed anyone in his life before. He had read about the *rt in novels and had arrived at the conclusion that so long as one kept one's quarry in sight, all was well. In actual practice, however, the game of shadowwg partook unto itself an almost endless succession of difficulties. Had the Strand wen empty at the time those difficulties would not have arisen, but Dale discovered that to keep one's eyes riveted to a man's back in the midst of dodging wis /way and that in the drifting tide ™ chequered humanity was well nigh unpossible. Fortunately however, he not permitted the slight form of /■Driver to get many paces ahead of «!? i* ore makin £ U P his mind to follow, aaawhen the doctor crossed over opposite 6 *j;W Courts the young man narrowly jWMW forming the subject of a coroner's quiry M an omn jjj US BWerve< x towards kL tt avoiaiD g a private car which ?J drawn U P momentarily at the kerb, and 1 g himself hastily backwards, , neard the driver curse even above Tkl'" 7 - ° f the hastily applied brakes. ,e "ncident was over and done with in «w seconds, but those few seconds ctwuJ ent mat crially to have infli»™r ti6 gap between him and his seen • and ' he was only ■' ust in time to wive r turn and signal a passing *r*j caiD. Stanton Dale dashed forward as the ~*J. stopped and realised that the £*w>on was decidedly one for quick hut 6 must follow ) ol course, VOTjjj 0 ?' rfi an y other moment there <jf+jv T e keen an endless procession Howtti, 6im P ] y crying out fares, but Was Tm b need was desperate there Pa« • 6 * n6 to be seenbefor m ' ho watcl 'ed Driver pause «tnJt 6 - enter ing— obviously giving intoTJT,* 0 the driver, and as he did tratw, , note of the vehicle's regisa2 , plat ! w hieh read Y.F. 7934. the traff his eyes penetrated awav ?«li The otner ta: « was moving Then! • direction of Fleet Street. With * * B . pled one coming towards him. unt»«„ * l gh of relicf he saw it was gettof+tT Heedless of traffic danthfrM»..v« fc Usy junction of streaming inESS?"' ie da «hed into the roadThedzroer saw-an

excited young man waving his arms like an eccentric semaphore. He pulled into the kerb and inclined his head interrogatively. "There's a taxi cab not more than a hundred yards ahead of us," intimated Dale, breathlessly. "Number- Y.F. 7934. It can't have got far. I want you to follow it —keep it in sight. I'll make it worth your while." Without waiting for the driver's reply, Dale flung open the door and dropped back on the seat. The driver, a phlegmatic specimen of his kind, grunted, made a mental reference of the number he had been given and set off. Down Fleet Street they went, dodging omnibuses and private cars with a skill that caused the young man to marvel. Unless they picked up Y.F. 7034 before the junction at Farringdon Street, the chase would have to be abandoned. But luck was with them. A hundred yards from the crossing there was as nice a traffic jam as it was possible to find. A new driver, apparently, had stopped his engine in front of a line of omnibuses which could not draw out because of the constant stream coming from the opposite direction. Dale stood up and poked his head through the window. Exactly five bus lengths away was taxi cab Y.F. 7934 and the young man, presenting this piece of news to his driver, exhorted that gentleman to "creep a little closer." With wonderful dexterity the gentleman referred to managed to reduce the distance rather considerably, so that when the raw recruit to motoring had coaxed his engine to respond once more to the. starter, it was a relatively easy matter to keep the other cab in sight. The chase was now comparatively comfortable. They turned right at the junction, across Blackfriars Bridge, straight on past the Elephant and into Walworth Road. Camberwell was not a district Dale knew particularly well, and he began to work out his next move. Before him sat the driver, apparently oblivious to everything except the back of the cab he was assiduously following. "Cab's pullin* up, sir," called the driver, "Wot shall I do?" "Drive straight on," announced Dale, and take the next turn to the left. Then pull up sharply," The driver did as requested, and as they passed Y.F. 7943 Dale crouched down. Driver' was alighting. It was possible that he would spend a moment of two paying his fare. "Wait for .me," almost shouted Dale, as he leapt out. "Very good, sir," replied the man at 1 Turning swirtiy into the main wmougSre?Dale saw the other caVjust . mo ling away. Hc.saw, too Dr apparently -pn«mscions -of *b<* feet.-tb^j

ho had been followed, turn down Marble Street] at the corner of which lie had halted his cab. Dale ran rather than walked the intervening distance, and ho was just in time to see the doctor pause before a house and lift his hand to the knocker. CHAPTER XVI. Unobtrusively Dale counted the houses, and when the doctor hod been admitted, ho pulled his felt hat a little further over his face, tucked his hands into his coat pockets and walked past. "Number 17, Marble Street," he said to himself, i«s he glanced furtively at the ill-painted door of the house the doctor had entered. "Now what can he be doing down here? This certainly isn't a district where one comes to consult a medical specialist." He walked on a little distance looking over his shoulder occasionally lefit the doctor should leave unobserved. It was a puzzle. It added to the mystery of which, he felt, the doctor was manifestly a part. That there was some connection between 17, Marble Street, Camberwell, and Craylingham Rectory, he had little doubt, but how to discover what precisely that connection was, seemed well night impossible. Having followed the doctor from luect Street he was none the wiser. A little further along, however, he encountered a. diversion. It came in the form of a. violent rapping on the door knocker of one of the bouses. It was so violent, indeed, as to be imperative. Glancing in the direction of the disturbance he saw a small, weedy man in a fawn overcoat and bowler hat hammering at the door like a demon. Dale paused a few paces away, interrogation in his eyes. The little man in the bowler hat turned away with a final slam of the iron knocker and caught sight of the young man. His face was a picture of despair and fatuity. "Something wrong?" inquired Dale, ingenuously. "Everything's wrong," growled the man. "That's the eighth time I've been there for the rent in three days. Enough to send anyone to Colney Hatch, it is. And it ain't as though there were no ono in. I seed her right enough peepin' through the curtains. Well, I reckon it'll be the bums for the likes of 'er, and no ono in Marble Street deserves 'em more." Dale was thinking rapidly. Who better than a rout collector was likely to know the residents of Marble Street. "I'm thankful to have met you, sir," said Dale, brightly. "You're the very man I've been wanting to meet. I'm looking for someone in Marble Street, hut so far I've drawn a blank. You see. it's like this. I represent a firm of solicitors in the city. One of our clients in New Zealand has recently died and ,left us the difficult task of rounding up his relatives, all of whom, I may say, share in his fortune. It has been difficult for us to verify the few documents which have come into our possession, but one of them concerns a Roger C'owardine, whose address is given as 17, Marble Street. Camberwell. I have just called at that »mi.v..o rnlv to be told that no such gentleman is known there. Now I wonder if you can help me? Do you t a. Soger CasEardiaea?* —

The little man was all attention. He seemed to have forgotten his disappointment of a moment ago. "Can't say as I do," lie intimated, musingly. "I collect tho rents on both sides of Marble Street here, and there's no Cowardine on my book. You're quite sure of the name, sir?" "That was the name with which we were furnished. It's rather funny, don't you think," Dale pursued, "that the address should definitely bo given as No. 17. I suppose there's no chance of more than one family living at that address ?" The rent collector laughed, a thin, but quite amused laugh. "It's funny you should mention No. 17, sir," he said, "because that's about the only house I never have any trouble. Mr. Brewster's tho name, sir. Gent livin' on 'is own. Quite a toff ho is, too, sir. A cut above this neighbourhood. Ought to be livin' in Ighgate." "A. professional man, I suppose," said Dale, trying to appear as disinterested as possible. "Now, that's where you 'ave me, sir. T don't know 'ow Mr. Brewster earns 'is livin'. Though I call at all hours of the day and on diff'rent days of the week, 'e's always at 'ome. No. that's not quite right, sir. There was once, I remember, when 'e wasn't in. About six weeks ago, I think. I could hardly believe me senses when I got no reply to me knock. Thinkin' as 'owe might be round at tho back, I goes round. The yard door was on the latch, sir, and in I walks, quite nat'ral like. But the door to the 'ouse was locked. I knocked —three times in all, and I was just turnin' away when I smelled somethin' queer —like burnin', sir. It seemed to come from the 'ouse itself. Thinkin' that perhaps there was a lire, I looks in at the window, but couldn't see nothin'. Then I looks down where the cellar window was. It was boarded across, but through a chink I caught sight of a red glow I was certain then, sir, and I was just turnin' away, hurried like, when the door opened, and out comes Mr. Brewster. '"Well, Mr. 'Erbert,' 'e says—that s me name, sir—you don't usually use the tradesman's entrance.' I explained that I couldn't get no answer at the front and 'ad come round to the back. l thought I smelled a fire, sir, I mentioned, 'and I'm sure there s somethin burnin' in the cellar!' Mr. Brewster was laughin' sir. 'Of course there is, Mr. -Erbert,'' ses 'e! Didn't you know Id not central Jieatin'T That's my furnace, and he handed over the rent just as usual, sir." , Dale had been lapping up the man s story with obvious interest. So the mvs'terious Mr. Brewster, who was seldom awav from home, had a furnace in the cellar. That was interesting— very interesting indeed. He thanked Mr Herbert and mentioned that he must get back to the City once again to verify the address. Perhaps there was another Marble Street. Like as not there was. There was no sign of Dr. Driver returnin- as he passed the house and made his way back to where lie had bade the taxi await his return. It was now growing dusk. 'Waterloo he told the driver, and settled himself back in the seat. . At ten. o'clock that night he arrived at .GrajOingham station- Eee&Jg HH**W»

would enjoy the walk back to the manor, ho had not telephoned for the car to meet him, and he set out to walk. During the journey down from town ho had been mizzling his head over his discovery in Marble Street. Of course it was possible that Dr. Driver had gone to Number 17 on a purely professional visit. Perhaps Mr. Brewster was a gentleman whose health was precarious, and Dr. Driver was attending him. As against that theory was the discovery by Detective Fordyce, of Scotland Yard, that neither of the two Drs. Driver mentioned in the medical list could possibly be tho Dr. Driver who was in attendance on the rector of Craylingham. And then there was the discovery that Mr. Brewster had a furnace, in his cellar; that he had told Mr. Herbert, the rent collector, that he had installed central heating. That explanation might have been sufficient to set the simple mind of Mr. Herbert >&t rest, but he, Stanton Dale, having viewed the property in Marble Street, realised that the central heating explanation was a sheer impossibility. No one short of a lunatic would go to the trouble and expense of installing a central heating plant in a house which consisted of three bedrooms, two living rooms and a cellar, and more so if that person lived alone in the house. Of course, another possibility was that Mr. Brewster was, indeed, a lunatic. That would also give some credence to the theory that Dr. Driver was visiting him in a mental capacity. Stanton Dale confessed to himself that he was not an authority on lunatics. It was yet another part of the puzzle. If was a brilliant and starry night. Hardly a whisper of wind disturbed the trees. Occasionally an owl hooted. Somewhere in the distance a rabbit screamed in mortal combat with its enemy the stoat. Dale shuddered. Just beyond the church he fancied he heard something —a low, grating sound as if something was being dragged across hard, resisting ground. Instantly his senses were alert and he crept as he had crept forward many a time out East through the tangled undergrowth in search of game. The rectory windows were blacked as he stole into the garden. Beyond him was the church. The noise was repeated, and when it had ceased he heard the low murmur of voices. Someone out there beneath the shadows of the church was issuing instructions, Noiselessly he went forward, through the gap in the hedge at the bottom of the rectory garden into the low-walled churchyard. He had never approached the church from this direction before and he realised that the utmost caution was necessary if he were not to betray his presence. He moved slowly until his hand touched the wall that bounded the churchyard. There was something happening up at the church. The confused murmur of voices intermixed now with :i slight squeaking came to his ears. ■Realising that it would be fatal to approach any nearer he climbed the wali with the intention of getting round to the other side where the church door was. Beyond the wall was one of the many narrow and tortuous creeks with which the district was woven. He could hear the low lapping of the water through ,fha reeds.

Then just ahead of him he saw a tiny red glow in the darkness nnd stood pressed against the low wall, motionless. For a moment the apparition confused him, but a moment later, when the red spot moved in a downwards direction, he heaved a eigh of relief. Someone was down by the creek smoking a cigarette in the darkness. Quietly he moved forward, crouching on hands and knees. He came suddenly on the bank of the creek. Then, feeling his way with his hands, he drew nearer the unsuspecting watcher. The reeds were now shoulder high, and even greater caution was needed until, finally, he emerged on the fringe of them, still keeping his eyes fixed on that scarlet beacon before him. Suddenly the glow was extinguished and for a moment ho waited not knowing what the man might bo about. Then he heard the sharp grating of a match followed by a flare as the man lighted another cigarette. The man cupped his hands and the light was sufficient for Dale to see hi* features clearly, but he judged that he was a young man and that he was wearing a low-peaked cap. But curiously enough the man appeared to be standing actually in the creek itself. Before he had time to speculate on the phenomenon, there came the squeakingsound he had heard before. It came slowly towards and reminded him of something somewhat in need of oil. Slowly it"camo nearer. The watcher quickly "extinguished the tell-tale glow of his cigarette and moved forward. Dale could see his blurred shadow distinctly. "Easy there! Easy!" growled a voice. "And if you don't get those blasted rollers oiled there'll be something worse than hell to play." Dale started. That voice. Where had he heard it before? He felt himself trembling violently. Whatever it was. was coming closer out of the gloom and now he saw the ribbon width of light from an electric torch guiding the way. He could by now make out a dull massed shadow that moved slowly, apparently on a four-wheeled trolley, such as warehousemen use in unloading street wagons on to the warehouse elevators. On the trolley was a large crate. Of that he was certain. "Get your planks right, you blasted fools," 'swore tho voice. "And don't forget what I said about the oil. That noise can be heard for miles. I warn you if it is heard there'll be some shootTen minutes later whatever it was that had been brought down the creekwas safely lashed to the flat-bottomed boat that'had been waiting. ' Dale waited until those in charge of tho boat had poled away downstream: then he retraced his steps with the same caution, for the voice he had heard in the darkness was the voice of the man who was supposed to be desperately ill at the rectory—the rector of Craylingham. (To be continued daily.)