The Mysterious Masquerade

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 260, 2 November 1932, Page 19

The Mysterious Masquerade

by . • • J. R. WILMOT

CHAPTER XJJL "Cleaned Out . . . Suicide." "What are you doing there?" demanded Silver, an ugly glint in his eyes. "I just happened to be passing," explained the girl. "Am I to be blamed if my passing coincides with your seeing a friend off the premises?" "I'm in no mood for sauce, young woman," Silver snapped. "But tell me," his tone suddenly became more conciliatory as though he had regretted his outburst, "do you know that young man?" "You mean the young man who stormed down the stairs a moment ago?" He nodded.

"Name of Roger Barling," he told her, regarding her narrowly. "I can't say that I do," reflected Molly, seriously. "Of course, I might have seen him before, mightn't I? He might even have proposed to me and I've forgotten all about it. How thrilling? I never looked at my lost memory in that light, did you?"

"Damn your lost memory," exclaimed Paul Silver, as he rudely slammed the door of his "office" and flung himself into the swivel' chair in front of the desk.

The truth was, Paul Silver was worried. There were moments when he devoutly wished he had never seen Molly Carstairs' photograph in the "beauty" album at Elstree; wished he'd cleared right out immediately because he was aware that Major Carstairs was on his way home from India. That way would have saved a whole heap of worry. As things were shaping he'd be a nervous wreck before he was through with it. But there was one comforting thought. Major Aldous Carstairs had always been a simple-minded man; one of those treasured trusting natures, remarkably guileless. He would probably not be staying in England more than a month or two. He was so devoted to India. The Indian Army was his life's work. Well, if this fool of a girl would only go through with it as he hoped she would*, all would be well. The major would go away again and the nice little allowance might even be increased.

After all, Silver argued, the cost of dressing a young woman of Molly's age wasn't getting any less. And if the major desired her launching in society, that would cost a pretty penny, too. One couldn't be expected to launch a major's daughter on less than 500 of the best. Paul Silver rubbed his hands together in a. way that suggested that the action was a habit with him.

But the next moment he was back on earth again. That fellow Barling had scared him—scared him badly. Young Carruthers was dead. The coroner had brought in a verdict of accidental death, but Barling had hinted that he knew differently j that young Carruthers was "cleaned out" . . . that it was suicide.

Beads of icy cold moisture stood out on Paul Silver's parchment brow. Roger Barling had become a menace. Here was a man who could, at any time he liked, put the screw on Paul Silver, and Paul Silver had no liking for people who were cruel. Stretching out an arm he pressed the electric bell on the side of the chimney breast. In fact, he pressed it three times.

A few moments later Judson appeared, a tall, good-looking man of probably 38. For five years Judson had been Paul Silver's handy-man. He drove a car; was an expert poker player and had his finger-prints neatly impressed on the records at Scotland Yard. He had been down and out when Silver had first discovered him. Judson had been spending seven long and tedious years in prison because ho had carelessly slipped up in a quite promising blackmail business, and at the subsequent trial it was discovered that Mr. Judson was no stranger to the internal arrangements of Sing Sing prison, where he had once stayed on a quite long vacation as the result of a similar slip in Baltimore.

Silver had been walking through the Green Park one spring morning when Judson had accosted him seeking financial assistance, and Paul Silver had been impressed with the man's manner; his accent, and his story about the law never giving offenders a chance to go straight. Added to which Paul Silver liked Mr. Judson's face. It looked honest, and Silver had always been a great believer in appearances. And from that moment William Judson had lived at "Lawn House," Hampstead and had been provided with the opportunity for "running ■straight."

This exercise in morai athletics had been performed, however, entirely under Paul Silver's direction, and while Judson had never willingly indulged, in anything crooked on his own account, Silver had always found the fellow's advice and instruction of incalculable value.

"Sit down, Judson," intimated Silver, motioning the man to a vacant chair. "Have a cigar?" Judson declined the favour with a nod of appreciative thanks. "You were playing the other night when Carruthers was here?" said Silver. "Did you know he was dead?" A startled look flashed into Judson's eyes, but the expression was only momentarily. "I was not aware, sir." "Well, I'm telling you it is so. The coroner obligingly brought in a verdict of 'accidental death,' but that's not everything. Young Barling has just been here and he, apparently knows the "truth. Carruthers committed suicide. He left here the other night without a bean. Do you get me, Judson?" Mr. Judson looked serious for a moment, then he nodded, comprehendingly. "That has frequently happened, sir. Young men have often an extraordinary penchant for gambling." ■ - "Quite," murmured Silver, drily. "But it happens that' Barling knows the truth —that is to say.that Carruthers did not lose his money fairly. At least Barling has hinted at that—more or less called me a rogue to my face. And I hate people who do that, Judson." For answer Mr. Judson shrugged his shoulders. "We've got to do something about it, Judson," went on Silver. "If Barling should go to the police. . . ." "That might be awkward for you. Is that what you mean ?" Mr. Judson's tone was commendably serious under the circumstances. "Not 1 only for me, Judson," returned Silver, meaningly. "So I'm to be dragged in as the scapegoat, is that it?" Judson had straightened his lithe body and his eyes glinted, dangerously. Silver saw that glint and for a moment he was panic-stricken. "You won't deny that you invented the idea, I suppose, my dear Judson ?" he. asked, blandly, but not without a trace of nervousness.

"Look here, Silver, what is it you're driving at!" asked Judson. "Am Ito infer that this fellow Barling is a menace to your happiness?" "Exactly, Judson," smiled Silver. "Exactlv that."

"I don't suppose he'll do anything about it," was Judson's comment. "In any event, murder's not in my line." Paul Silver looked horrified. "How crude you are, Judson," he complained, "but I hoped that you might know of someone who would undertake to keep Barling's mouth shut." Judson smiled. "I'm afraid that my clientele is by now somewhat scattered. A few years ago I could have put you on to a man for the job, but nowadays the game's played out. You'd have to import someone from America and the price of the best men on the other side is rather prohibitive just now, so I'm told."

"You don't think you could do anything yourself, Judson?" suggested Silver, disappointed. The ex-crook shook his head. "Nothing doing," he answered, drily. "I'm a quitter. Count me out. When you've been jugged as many times as I have, you'll think the same, too." Paul Silver sighed; then he changed his tactics. "You're rather fond of Miss Carstairs, aren't you, Judson?" The question caused Judson to stiffen visibly in his chair. "Now what exactly do you mean by that?" he demandod, fiercely. "Oh, I've just been observant, Judson. Merely observant. I've seen you casting amorous glances after her occasion • ally. And I don't blame you Judson. Molly's a fine looking girl. When I was as young as you ..." "Cut it," snapped Judson. "Cut it right there. I'm not having her dragged into this." "Just as you will, Judson. Just as you will!" smiled Silver, pleased that the shaft had gone home. "I was merely going to mention that young Barling's rather sweet on her, that's all." Judson sat thoughtful for a moment and Silver saw that his large, capable hands were tightly clenched. "So you've baited the hook, eh, Silver?" Judson had long since discarded his servility in the presence of his employer. "Well, I won't say the bait isn't attractive. But how do you know that Barling's sweet on her?" "You must take my word for that," answered Silver, "and give me credit for knowing more about the girl than you do." "I've never taken any man on trust yet." Judson spat out the words savagely, "and I'm not beginning now." "That's a great pity, Judson," sighed Silver. "A great pity. I'm afraid I'm disappointed in you. I had hopes for you, Judson, great hopes!" Judson had risen from his chair as Silver crossed tie room and opened the door. "I should think it over, however," smiled Silver. "It might do us both good, you know." "Like hell it will," growled Judson.

CHAPTER XIV. "You Mean He Was Murdered?" Roger Barling drove away from "Lawn House" in his smart two-seater. Tho sight of Molly Carstairs standing outsido. the door of Silver's "office" had taken him completely off his guard. It had, in fact, unnerved him. At a consequence, he drove with reckless disregard of hi 6 own safety and the safety of others towards the West End. Hastily garaging his car, he went to his flat. In his room he mixed himself a generous whisky and soda, and rang for Cleveland. "What would you do, Cleveland, if you'd made a fool of yourself?" he demanded of his indispensable factotum. Cleveland, being the perfect "gentleman's gentleman" supplied" the answer immediately. "Since you're no fool, sir, I should forget about it." "But what if you didn't want to forget, Cleveland? What if you wanted to keep on reminding yourself that you'd been a fool; what then?" "Is it the same lady, may I ask?" "Have you suddenly developed a feminine complex, Cleveland? Can't you answer a question without imputing a motive like that? What an extraordinary fellow you are." x "I beg your pardon, sir. I can see I should not have been indiscreet. Well, sir, to return to your inquiry. An answer to that depends entirely on tho extent of the foolishness."

"Thanks, Cleveland," sighed the young man, dropping into a comfortable chair, "that's very helpful; very helpful, indeed. Oh, by the way, Cleveland, am I dining out to-night or must we contribute toward our own cost of living?" "I have it in mind, sir, that you promised to go across to Lady Burnacre's, sir, to meet Mr. Benjamin Crackle, the sculptor." "Crackle?" asked Barling, with a smile. "That sounds promising, Cleveland. ' Bui-nacre —Crackle. Jolly good. I must remember that one for dinner, she's sure to want me to make one of my infamous after-dinner speeches." "Grackle, sir. G-r-a-c-k-1-e —same name as the famous Kational horse, sir." "That's spoiled everything, Cleveland, and just when I was trying to forget what a fool I've been." "Maybe, sir, you will still forget." "When Cleveland had gone, Roger Barling felt the spirit of dejection settle on him. Why in the name of little apples hadn't he spoken to the girl when he had the chance? But he'd been so rattled with Silver that he hadn't been prepared for meeting her. And then he wondered whether after all he hadn't made such a fool of himself as he would have done had he recognised her again. She'd treated him shabbily. She'd deliberately deceived him —given him to understand that she was all alone in a cruel, cruel world when all the time she was Paul Silver's niece.

•But the thought caused him to pause. If Molly Carstairs were Paul Silver's niece, how came it that she was living on her own in Chelsea? That didn't seem to fit. The landlady at Chelsea had been exp*3ting her to return; in fact Molly had hinted that someone might be calling to see her. It was extremely confusing and needed a great deal of explanation. (To be continued daily.)