The QUEEN'S HALL MURDER

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 243, 13 October 1932, Page 22

The QUEEN'S HALL MURDER

By ADAM BROOME, Author of " Crowner'a Queat," etc

• CHAPTER XV. Suspicions. "I'm- glad to be back here again. Things at the F.O. get more hectic every day. We've not yet satisfied the Duce about Parelli's end, and now another Italian —distinguished, and a musician —gets outed too. This time in a theatre instead of the Queen's Hall. And the queer thing about it to me is that she was actually singing his music..;.

"Again, the first performance in London of a thing by Parelli—and again the tragic ending. It beats me. altogether. I should say there must be some connection; it can't be just a coincidence. But it strikes me it's going.to be the very deuce of a job for the police to find it. I'm glad I'm not in their shoes. And I imagine the Home Office in these days is at least as uncomfortable as the P.O.—if not more so."

Lettice Manton, as she sat in her grandmother's chair- listening to Stephen Garton, looked a little worn and tired.

"You know, Stephen—l suppose you'll think it's silly and all that, but we're all beginning to be a bit rattled down here, too. They don't seem yet to have connected this latest thing with Brightmouth and this neighbourhood. But then, they've only had a couple of days at it, and I shouldn't be surprised if they ended up like that. It's funny, too, that it should manage to upset things here as well.

"Grannie's not got over the death of poor little Mollie Crowther. She was quite a little protegee of hers. She had one of her heart attacks yesterday, and she's been in bed ever since. The doctor is coming twice a day. And as she|s eighty-five, mother's getting a bit nervous. We haven't dared to tell her of this latest affair. It wouldn't matter much if Parelli weren't mixed up in that, too. But you know what she thought of him; he was a sort of little tin god to her."

Stephen Garton nodded. "Yes. One doesn't like to have to say such things, but her devotion to him in anyone else, let's say, would seem a bit cracked." Lettice smiled.

"And yet," went on the young man, "she always strikes me as so sane and sensible in other ways." "We've all got a little insanity in us —even the most sane of us. It comes out in different ways, that's all." "And where's your mother?" Stephen had come down by an afternoon train for the week-end, and it was getting on for tea time. Lettice was a problemj and Stephen recognised the fact. She was cleverhad taken an honours degree—and could do a number of things well. But so could lots of other girls who hadn't had such an expensive education. Her mother and grandmother together had just enough money for it not to t>e necessary for her actually to earn ner own living. And the result was that unless something "really good turned up she wouldn't hear of taking it. And when "really good" things did turn up there was such a swarm of applicants with qualifications just as good as her own, and living on the spot —in town—where any jobs really worth the taking always materialised—that she was out of the running. Stephen Garton would have offered her a permanent position—with himself—in his flat in London, only he wasn't quite sure how he really stood with her. These modern young women needed to be approached with caution, and he didn't feel like running the risk of a snub. And then, too, he hadn't been very long in the Civil Service, and the starting pay, though adequate for one person, would look rather meagre shared between two. He had a little of his own besides—but very little; and unless he could afford to give his wife a good time, and have one himself at the same time, he didn't feel too keen on getting married. There was always, of course, the danger of someone else coming along into the running in the meantime. But Stephen Garton was a cautious young man; there was no sign of it yet, and it would be time enough for him to take action when there was.

"You know, Lettice, it seems to me that there's quite as much chance of this thing—these things rather—being mixed up with this village as with Brightmouth, or anywhere else. Yet, so far as I can make out, though all sorts of inquiries have been made—and are being made —in London, in Brightmouth —even in West Africa—precious little's being attempted here, "Yet it seems to me from what you've told me about the Police Court show at Mill Dean and from things we all know—that there's quits as good a chance of the key to the mystery's living here all the time as anywhere else they've tried. Nobody seems to have given much thought to those words scribbled on the little girl's paper bag about 'Doctor Horx.' To me that seems to link up a chance of this poor little girl's being used by the fellow, whoever he was, as a sort of smoke screen and camouflage. "As far as the police know there's no such person. Yet here Mollie Crowther has a, note on a scrap of paper in her own handwriting which seems to refer to this mysterious chap. But from what you heard at the inquiry, the parents of the girl don't seem to be any the wiser. It seems to be some sort of clue that's never been followed up. "From the business about the post office, I should have thought the girl must have known something about this doctor, for whose letters she called. Or she must have known somebody who did know him. Why her parents did not know we can't, of course, guess. She may have been afraid to tell them for some reason or other. And she appears to have been rather quiet about her own doings at times. "Perhaps Doctor Hawkes was beginning to fear that his little messenger might give him away. It seems all too mad to be true. It seems to me to be some sort of a clue —and so far as we know it's never been properly followed up." "It's very funny," said Lettice, "I admit. But I suppose it's a clue that they think can only lead to a dead-end and that it would only be a waste of time to try to follow it up. The Crowthers quite emphatically say that they know nothing whatever of any Dr. Hawkes, and that Mollie only once spoke to them of any such person.'^ "I know—l know all that. But it doesn't, to me, seem to finish the matter. It's quite clear —or pretty clear, I should have thought—that Mollie wouldn't take that note for no reason at all. And you remember that bit of evidence about Mollie being so fond of sweets—so fond that she had been in the habit of taking too of making

herself ill with them —so that her parents had to forbid her taking,them from anyone. Your grandmother knew that even; and. she told you that she even gave, up giving her money direct in case she should be helping the girl to disobey her mother's orders. "Well —supposing, for some reason— someone in this village—or in one of the villages near—got to know of this. And anyone can get to know of anything in a little tinpot hole like this. Supposing he wanted, to make use of the child in some secret way of his own. He knows her failing. He bribes her to do what he wants by keeping her supplied—on the quiet —with sweets which he knows that she can't afford, and too, she's not allowed to have by her parents. I don't say it explains the whole thing, by any means; and I'm not saying it gives very much of a clue. But when there's no vestige of a sign of anything else pointing to an explanation of the mystery I cannot help thinking it's better than nothing. You knew Mollie pretty well, didn't you?"

"Oh—l don't know about that. Everyone in the village knew her—in a way— she was a jolly little thing, and a good deal cleverer than most of the other children in the village. And sometimes, when I knew she was going over to Brightmouth, I used to get her to get things for me. It was on Saturdays in term time, when there was a school holiday. Her mother knew all about it. I never gave her any present myself: I knew her mother didn't like her getting money or presents from strangers. I used to hand over the money—threepence—sixpence—a shilling or whatever it might be—to Mrs. Crowther to keep for, her. She was saving up for the girl. And—my hat—why didn't I think of it before? It's you with your suspicions that's started me off like this."

The girl suddenly became quite excited. She sat up, and her cheeks glowed, and her pretty eyes looked more animated and sparkling than ever.

"Why,—rwhat the dickens can I have said that's started you off after a hare ?"

It was Stephen Garton's turn to be astonished. 9

"Why, of course! Why didn't I think of it before? It ought to have been so plain, too. But it only makes things more mysterious than ever. I wonder!"

Lettice lay back again in her chair, thinking.

."I say —come on—cough it up—do let's have I can't think what the deuce you're driving at."

The maid came in wi«Ji the tea tray— laid for two only—and drew the window curtains of the cosy little room. .

"Mother's out," said Lettice. "Playing golf over at Overdene —working off her energy. And as Granny's still in bed, of course, we can have tea alone and discuss my little plan."

Intrigued as Stephen Garton was to hear what it was that had suddenly come into Lettice's mind, he had to wait patiently till the maid had finished.

When the maid had finally gone and the tea kettle was singing cosily and with invitation, Lettice passed Stephen the plate of hot muffins; took one herself and began.

"To-night's not early closing night in a village," was her somewhat cryptic opening remark. "I know what you're going to say," she said, holding up a restraining hand as the young man was about to speak. "I know that Harrod's and Barker's and all the big places in London close early on Saturday. But Shallow's • not London —and it's not done."

She laughed at Stephen's complete amazement and discomfiture. "You think I'm going off the rails too —that you've discovered my own particular form of the insanity you were speaking of just now, and you don't quite know just where to place it?" She laughed again. Stephen Garton couldn't help realising that it was a very charming laugh„ despite the. fact that it was against him and that he couldn't for the life of him see the reason for it. "Well—now let's be serious." - » "I wasn't aware that I'd been anything but serious," said the puzzled young man. "I'll excuse you this time," said Lettice, smiling mischievously. "You've reason to think I'm mad, I suppose. But I think you'll see at least that there's method in my madness. What I suddenly remembered just now, when Annie was bringing in the tea, was that Mollie was having music lessons."

She shot out the latter part of the remark as if she expected Stephen to start with surprise. He certainly was surprised—but he did not start..

"Music—music again? Nowadays we seem to be living in a regular atmosphere of music and murder. ■ I say— that's rather a nice bit of alliteration, isn't it? Sounds rather like the title of a thriller."

"If you can write well enough, you may be able to compose a thriller out of the information I'm going to give you." Stephen garton was now completely mystified. "It wasn't in any joking spirit that he'd noted the connection between musie and murderl It had been dinned into the ears of the public often enough lately by the sensational Press.

"Well, but look here," he said, determined to get in an explanation of his case. "There's the Parelli case^ —how sick I'm getting of it —there was music and murder there. Then there ? s this fellow on the coast —Westcott —the District Commissioner; murder and music again. For I suppose it is murder all right to send a fellow something poisoned, so that he's bound to handle it and do himself in. And then there's this latest case of Paola Bianchi; there's murder again—and music too. It will be damned funny, to. my mind, if it doesn't turn out that there's some connection between the three, though I'm jiggered if I can see what it's going to be, or if it will ever be discovered. And now you suddenly remind me thatf Mollie Crowther was having music lessons, too. So there's more alliteration than ever; this time it's Mollie and murder and music!"

Lettice Manton pretended to look severe. She was anxious to get to "Tier new theory; but Stephen wouldn't let her.

"Then what about your grandmother? She's inclined to be music mad. There's a case of Manton and madness and music—but not, let's hope, of murder, too."

There was-a crash in the room above as of some heavy body falling. Lettice Manton went white as a sheet, 'and Stephen Garton looked nervous.

"What's that?" exclaimed the girl. "It's Granny's bedroom just above. Oh, how - a^ul—hero—"

She rushed out, and Stephen could hear her ascending the staircase that led to the room above two steps at a time. • • • •■" "It did give me a fright. I—l—when you talked about Manton and murder and music—and crash came —fro mGranny'e room—l thought—oh, I don't know what I thought. I—l think I'm beginning to feel a little hysterical." She laughed—unnaturally —there was no mirth in the sound that came from her.

Stephen got up and went over to the girl's chair and bent over her. "Lettice! Lettice! I'm most awfully sorry. It was my fault; It was a caddish thing to say—l see now. I only meant to be joking. I never—how could I—?"

Lettice took Stephen's hand in her own. She looked up at him smiling, smiling through the tears which had begun to fall. "It's nothing—nothing to do with you. It was just—silly of me. I—" "And how did you find your grandmother ?"

Lettice laughed, weakly, tout more naturally this time. "Oh—ehe was all right. She .had some books on the bed—or her music—" she hesitated on the word—"and she just happened to push them off on to the floor by accident when she "was reaching for her tea-cup on the stand at the side of the bed. She was almost as frightened as I was myself when I went rushing in. I—I—" The young man did his best to calm the girl, and they went on with thentea, talking about commonplace subjects —anything but murder, madness or music. But Lettice Manton could not for long keep off the mysterious connection of the village -with the second murder which had recently occurred.

Of course all this sent out of my head the very thing I wanted to tell you about."

Stephen Garton demurred at so quick a return to the subject which seemed able to upset Lettice Manton so deeply. But she refused to be dissuaded. Perhaps, after all, he thought, it would be better for her to get it all off her chest. He was also quite interested for his own part to hear what new theory she had', what fresh facts she had discovered which might start them off on a trail which might eventually lead them somewhere. The official efforts had not, up to date, produced anything that could be called tangible results. (To be continued daily.)

MEANS BETTER CHEWING SWEET