SIX WERE TO DIE

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 208, 2 September 1932, Page 13

SIX WERE TO DIE

by *Peter Qales

CHAPTER XIII. Return of Adrian Carver. The evening passed slowly as Dr. Britling waited for Levison to return. Nine o'clock . . . ten . . . eleven . . . tlie laggard hands crept sluggishly over the face of the clock, but still there was no sign of the tall, erect figure for which he waited. Daniel sat in the library with his head sunk on his breast and a chewed stump of cigar between his teeth, listening to the monotonous tick . . . tick . . . tick, as the seconds slipped away into space. Israel Straust was crouched over the inevitable game of patience before the dancing flames of the fire. Mark Annerley was mercifully sunk in slumber, his open mouth emitting shuddering snores. His wife was reading a book, but every now and then her «yes wandered from the printed page to stare unseeingly into the curling smoke and flame in the grate. At ten the sky darkened, a gust of wind swept the rustling branches of the heavy oaks that surrounded the house, and the windows were spattered with raindrops. A blinding flash rent the lowering sky, followed by a rumble of thunder, like cannonballs rolling down the golden stairs of Heaven. Then the storm broke with demoniacal fury." A tempestuous wind raged about the house, shrieking down the tall chimneys like a lost soul suffering the torments of the damned. A flood of rain drenched the turf and pattered on the brick terrace that fringed the house. Annerley shivered and sat up, blinking owlishly in the light. He listened to the furious raging of the storm and the mounting clamour of the thunder with a startled expression. The aged Jew looked up from his cards with an evil, mocking laugh. "Did you think that the Devil had come for you?" he purred. "Or are you wishing he had? Of the two, I think you fear Marky most." "Damn you!" shouted Annerley, jerking up in his chair, his face suffused with red. ' "Don't use that name! 1 can't stand the sound of it!" The old man's eyes glittered malignantly. "Marky," he repeated, his curling lips revealing the blackened stumps of his teeth. "We used to pat him on the back and call him that. "Good old Marky!" That was in the days before—" Cora Annerley shot him a glance full of venom. "What are you trying to do ?" she demanded huskily. "Wrack our nerves to shreds?" Daniel started at that. His head came up slowly, and he stared at his host with a peculiar light in his eyes. An amazing idea had been born in his brain. Supposing—but, no, the thought was too fantastic, too bizarre, to be harboured for a moment. And yet, wasn't everything that had happened in this house fantastic, bizarre? That shrunken mockery of a man, with the long hooked nose, the tapering, stringy beard, the bent form, would be easy to impersonate, just as the caricature is easiest to draw. ... He was so distinctive, his repulsive appearance was so unmistakable that a skilful actor could make himself up as an exact double. What was it that Daniel had written to his sister only a few hours ago?—" All that one can see of him, huddled alone in the wide rear seat, is a rusty black hat, voluminous black cloak, long white beard, and huge hooked nose. . . Who, familiar with the 1 aged financier, and seeing such a figure, would doubt that it was Israel Straust?

Supposing (unreal though it appeared) that Marckheim had made the old Jew hie first victim, concealed his body, and assumed his identity . . . sent the sinister warnings to the others and gathered them together at Grey Towers, where he would be able to deal out death to each in turn, disguised perfectly as one of themselves It would be exactly the master stroke of diabolic cunning that would appeal to the twisted brain of Arthur Marckheim. To kill them, one by one, unsuspected by his victims or by the police; to watch, with fiendish eyes, their antics as the shadow of death enfolded them . . •And yet, seeing that palsied trembling hand, that rheumy eye, that faintly nodding head, how could one doubt that senility inhabitated the withered shell that huddled over the card's, touching this one with a skinny talon, moving that one to another position in the intricate pattern ? But the thought would not be stilled that Marckheim might be sitting there, chuckling at his own supreme cunning, at the subtlety of hie revenge. While Daniel pondered the matter, the telephone 'bell rang. Annerley looked up dully, but made no move to answer it, so Daniel rose and picked up tlxe receiver. "Hello?" The voice of Chief Inspector Howells came to him from the other end of the wire. "Am I speaking to Mr. Levison?" "No, this is Doctor Britling. Mr. Levison hasn't yet returned from his stroll." A harsher note was evident in the other's voice when he spoke again: "I'm just leaving the Yard to return to your neighbourhood, but I thought I'd better ring up Levison to tell him that we've checked the finger-prints of the servants and are satisfied that Arthur Marckheim is not in the house." Daniel's eyes flickered to the bowed figuro inclined over the cards. "I wonder," he said, and' hung up. With another glance at the object of his suspicion, he strolled across the room and opened the French windows. The storm which had raged for an hour was abating; the subdued whine of the dying wind sounded' like a funeral dirge. As he closed the windows behind him, a fitful spasm of rain spattered his dinner clothes and dimmed the lustre his patent leather pumps, as though a giant, weary of his game, were tossing abroad his last handfuls of water. The clock in the room behind' him mournfully chimed' half-past eleven. Lighting a fresh cigar, he sauntered across the soggy lawn, his uneasiness concerning Levison returning. As he passed a bush, drenched leaves brushed icily against his cheek and dripped a cold globule of water down his neck. A light flashed in his face, but was hurriedly put out as the vigilant Mr. Moody recognised' him. "Hell of a night, sir," muttered Mr.

Daniel agreed pleasantly, and moved on. Suddenly the strident clamour of the alarm bell shattered the silence. There was a hoarse shout and electric torches flashed upon the wall that surrounded the garden. For a moment, the figure of a man was silhouetted astride the wall, then it fell side\Vays and disappeared out of sight. The gloom was pierced l>y the intersecting rays of many pocket torches and burly figures could be seen running awkwarclly about and shouting hoarsely. Then the garden was drenched in light. Daniel stumbled as the sudden brilliance dazzled his eyes, and he staggered with outstretched arms into the hands of a large man who gripped' him tightly. It was Mr. Moody, who was volubly apologetic when he realised upon whom his thick fingers had closed. The police surgeon retreated to the terrace, and, his eyes becoming accustomed to the bright light, looked search-, ingly across the cropped turf to the highl wall where the garden ended. On thaiiside of the house, at least, there was no sign of an intruder. He stood there for some minutes, watching for further developments. He started as a finger-tip touched the back of his neck, and whirled to find a slim, white-clad figure standing in the gloom just inside the French windows of the dining room. "Ssh!" The whisper reassured him. "It's me, Mary Quail. He's in my room." "He!" Daniel was startled. "You can't mean the man who just broke in?" "It's Adrian —I mean, Mr. Carver. He asked nie to fetch you." In astonished silence, Daniel followed her through the dim room and up the deserted stairs. As they reached the second floor landing, the pounding of heavy feet below apprised them that the house was being searched, Mary opened the door of her room and led him in. Adrian Carver was standing by the window watching the commotion in the garden through a gap in the drawn curtains, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "What a lark!" he breathed. "I knew I could beat their wonderful system." "You're a damned young fool!" snapped Daniel angrily. "What's the meaning of this?" The young man looked crestfallen. "It was such wonderful luck," ho grumbled, "being in a house where staggering things were happening. Murder — Gosh—l've always longed to be on the inside of a really clever murder. When Levison had me thrown out I swore to myself that I wouldn't stay out. So I've come back—and here I am." "I met him on the stairs," supplemented Mary. Adrian flashed her an admiring glance. "She's been wonderful," he said, warmly. "She knew tliere'd be a dickens of a row if I were caught, so she hid me in here and went for you. We both thought you'd sympathise." "Oh." Dr. Britling's eyebrows rose grimly. "And what did you expect to gain by this—this absurd piece of daredevilry?" "Why, why, I thought I might work under cover; perhaps discover the murderer."

Daniel uttered a short dry laugh which was utterly devoid of humour. "Didn't you realise that even if you escaped capture by the guards, such a project as you intended would lead you into appalling danger, for which you are utterly unprepared; that the man you so boldly planned to unmask might add you to his victims; that—" He broke off sharply as he realised that Adrian's eyes were glistening with enthusiasm. "Yes, I realised all that," the youth agreed eagerly. "That's the fun of the thing." "Fun!" Dr. Britling spat out the word. "Fun! You must be marl." He tossed his sodden cigar-stump into the empty fireplace. "How did you manage to escape the guards?" he asked.' A rippling laugh gurgled from Adrian's throat. "That was easy. I had it all worked out in advance. Directly I climbed the wall the alarm bell rang, as you know, and someone flashed a light in my face. I dropped into the garden. The guards were running about, flashing their lights everywhere —you know how ex-pugilists run, with awkward, lumbering strides— so I ran about that way myself, flashing my light about and shouting in a gruff voice, working nearer the house all the time. It was a perfect jdisgnise; none of them suspected me—they didn't expect an intruder to run about in the dark with them, helping them look for himself. When the boasted lighting system was turned on—this is the joke of it all —the light was so bright that no one could see a thing. I'd counted on that, of course. I sprinted softly for the house and met Mary—Mies Quail, on the stairs." The noise of pounding feet was drawing nearer; with every passing moment the' search was becoming hotter. "So," murmured Daniel, "that was how it was done. H'm, quite ingenious of you." "I thought so," said Adrian modestly. "You won't gjve me away, will you?" he added. Dr. Britling hesitated. Mary Quail put a hand on his arm and looked at him appealingly. "Oh, you won't do that? Please, please say you won't." "The guards will be here directly," Daniel pointed out. "They won't look in here," Mary whispered. "If—if you tell them the room is empty." With a chuckle, Daniel pinched her smooth cheek. "Minx," he said. "I ought to hand you over, young man," he added, looking sternly at Adrian, "but Moody might be inclined to visit his ire on you for hoaxing him so neatly." He went out of the room and closed the door. The girl and the youth, crouched close to the panels, heard him answering a question put by a gruff voice, then the searchers passed on. In a few minutes Dr. Britling returned. "They've gone downstair? again," he said. The warm lips of Mary Quail brushed his cheek. "You're a dear," she whispered. Daniel nodded to Adrian.' ."When the coast is clear I'll smuggle you down to my room. You can spend the night on the bathroom floor. I think there are sufficient towels to make you a reasonably comfortable mattress. "You utter idiot!" he added. igCo- be continued dajfyatf;