THE FOURTH MAN

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 115, 18 May 1933, Page 22

THE FOURTH MAN

CHAPTER XXXIL— (Continued.) Olver stopped in his story and gulped. "Of course, I -was. terrified, I called out Ms name and bent down and touched him. He was bleeding horribly. He groaned and tried to lift his head. Then he said a terrible tiling. It was, 'Olver! Curse you! You've killed me.' And he sort of gurgled in his throat and lay quiet. I thought he wae dead. I rushed back to the house and through it thinking whether I should call Marple or go to the doctor's at the end of the road. I decided for the doctor first. Just as I got to the door Evelyn was there. I was afraid to speak to her, so just went by. They said I said, 'Good-bye,' but I didn't know I said anything. I passed Quilter and Joan at the gate and bolted off down the road. Then Marple stopped me and made me go into his place. That's about all Marple hasn't told you."

"Except this," said Marple, "that together we had the most awful experience during the next half-hour. I knew who had killed Sehvyn, but I also knew that Olver, who had done the very worst thing he could do in trying to save the girls from the horror, would be suspected at once. I had to think how to deal with him. At the same time there was Selwyn lying on the garden, perhaps still alive. I put Olver where I thought he would be safe. Then I rushed down to Selwyn again; and found him apparently lifeless; but in the meantime Evelyn had been there, and when I got back to the house she was waiting for me, and I rang up doctor and police for her, poor girl." We were silent for a space after this. "Well," said Pinson, looking at Marple, "about Acton ?"

"Yes. Acton was a false alibi. You can't understand it. I don't oxpect you to. There aro reasons I did. Why didn't I tell the truth, which was that Estevan had shot Selwyn in mistake for me ? Tell the police all about Estevan? I didn't because it was the last thing in the world Selwyn would have wanted. It would have brought a still more frightful sorrow into the world. You've got to take that from me. I had to cloak Estevan and to shield Olver, who was certain to be accused. I fixed up the alibi with Weeks on the telephone. Why Weeks was ready—well, time show you, but I can't teil you now." Pinson blew smoke-rings during a few reflective moments. Then he got up and said to Marple: "It's not often one conies across a man like you, Marple. I think our friend Olver should go down on his knees and kiss your hand." "Don't be a damned fool!" growled Marple. "And, look here, Mr. Pinson, feven if your devilish sharp eyes have Seen through this, you just keep your mouth shut Oh the subject. Pedro Estevan killed Selwyn, and he jolly well came near killing me. He's dead. And that's that/' ■

CHAPTER XXXfrl. Intense meaning and deep feeling seemed to pervade this passage between the two. A titty glint of light had come to Ine, btit I was very far from understanding what appeared to be quite ' plain to Pinson. He and Marple gazed in each other's eyes for a few moments, ! &S though In a contest of will. Then PihsOh sat down again, and the tension slackened. Marple evidently wished to say no ffiore, and presently We all fotthd that j we Were tired and went to our rooms. But I had hardly begun to undres-i ] when Pihsoii Cdnie in to me. . i "Marple has Something to say to us," 1 said he. "Come alohg to his room." I I followed him, mystified and per- ! plexed. Marple received us in his bed-

room, where, in spite of the seasor, ho had a fire. He had pushed three armchairs in front of it in a semi-circle, invited us to be seated, and took his place between us. "I hope you don't mind being kept Ijp," said he. "But Mr. Pinson has guessed or divined so much that, on thilikiiig it di'er, 1 have come to the decision that I had better explain the thing froni the beginning. I'm not worrying diver* He's tif6d. Let him sleep." Pirison nodded to this. "Yes," he said, "Olver has had a Bit of a strain/ Let him rest." Marple offered cigars, which We refused in favour of cigarettess himself he Chose a large cigar, ahd pared and lit it slowly, "Sard to know," said he, "where to start oh a yarn like this. Pinson, you've loflg since guessed that the cause of all the trouble is buried in the" distant fast." "Yes, and in a far land," said Pinson. "Well, I'll begin with a school friendI ship between four boys in the 'eighties. Foilf boys of about the same middleclass standing, about the same sehooi quality, aiid almost of the same age. Very fast friends at school. Always in the sama_form. Always in the* same scrape. Largely the same tastes. I was one. "Selwyn was another. The third was Akaster. The fourth—" Marple hesitated, puffing great clouds of smoke from his cigar.

"The fourth man," ]ie said, at last, "drowned himself in your presence this afternoon. We Will call him Estevan. We were all neighbUors on the outskirts of West London, except Akaster. When we left school at eighteen wo s\voro eternal friendship with appropriate schoolboy rites. It was easy to keep that vow because we did not immediately drift away from each other. Selwyn went into his father's business. Akaster and I went up to Cambridge together. Estcvan's people could not afford to send him up, and he went into busincse. But we all met in the vacations, and the old comradeship was undisturbed. Akaster came to stay invariably with one of us. The elan was Complete." Marple paused, looking at fchs ash on the end of his cigar. "All stories are the same," he said. "Look for the woman, Of course. The four of US fell in love with two women," "Ah!" Pinson exclaimed. "Selwyn, the quietest of us, worshipped and adored a girl called Evelyn Lyster, who liked him well enough as a friend, but capitulated before the livelier wooing of Akaster, to whom Sehvyn introduced her. That ■was Selwyn's tragedy. As for me, I ! **3 never a very ardent lover, but I

By R. A. J. WALLING. Author of "The Merafteld Mystery," "Th» Third Degree," etc, etc

was rather fond of a girl, and when she chose Estevan instead of me it hurt a bit. But I'm not going to pretend I was-wounded in the same way as Selwyn. Only, that the reason why Selwyn and I were old boys, and the other two got married." Marple pushed, his chair back and walked a few steps about the room. "Dreadful marriages," lie said. "Ghastly mistakes, both of them. Akaster was brilliant. He did great things at Cambridge. But unstable. He couldn't stay. He ought to have been a big noise in engineering. But he would not apply himself. Things came too easy. He enjoyed things too much. My father had left me a bit of money—not much. When I lost the girl I looked round for a way of using it. The Argentine was booming then. I decided to go out and take my luck out there. I did fairly well. I got into the export business and stuck it hard. Learned the language. Liked the country. Hadn't been there long when out came Akaster, bringing his young wife. He scouted round for an easy job. Hadn't enough qualification for the competition there was. Fell back on me. I got him in. Within a few months the other was out there, too. Ho didn't bring his young wife. Marple flung his cigar into the fire. "Don't tell us things that are painful to you, Marple," said Pinson. "I ought not to feel any difficulty about this," said Marple; "but X get angry when I think of certain things. No, he didn't bring his young wife. Nor did he come to me for help. Ho just went to the dogs. Got in with the very worst crowd in a not very Puritanical city. Did a bit here, sponged a bit there, worked a dirty trick for anybody that wanted a dirty trick done. And so went utterly to the dogs. He was always near-sighted and wore spectacles at school. We used to call him Goggles."

; "All!" said Pinson and I together. ; "Out there they called bihi 'El Miope'; and 'El Miope Ingles,' got a terrible reputation even among the livelier sections of the'population of Buenos Ayres. The worst of it was that he got hofd of Akaster, alid soon Akaster \Vas goihg to the dogs, too. I'm not a candidate for a painted window myself, but tile life that Akaster and Goggles led was too Wicked. I d have thrown ovdr Akaster a dozen times if it hadn't been for his wife. I fear I didn't get rtiUCh credit from her. She mixed Us all up together as the authors of her troubles, poor Woman. But that wasn't tile worst. I did not know for a long time that Goggles had deserted his wife before they had been married a year. Tliat is, lie never wrote to her and never sent her a peseta. Perhaps I should never have known, for she would never have told me, if SelWyn had not found it out and Written to me about it. He wanted to look after her, old Selwyn, but I knew lie had Mrs. Akaster 011 his hards, for she had gone home while Evelyn was quite a little girl, and by that time Akaster was on the road to something worse than the kennels. So I arranged with Selwyn that through a friend of mine I would look after the deserted wife. And there were we two bachelors, at opposite ends of the earth, maintaining the families of these two fellows who were doing their best to make the name of an Eng-

lishman smell —in Buenos Ayi'es of all places in the world!" Marple flung himself down in his chair. "Do you believe, Pinsoh, that there's any eucli thing as real gratitude in the world?", he asked. "Oh, yes," said Pinson. "Don't let us get cynical, Marple. Think of Miss Evelyn Akaster and her gratitude to gehvyn." "Well, perhaps you're right. Anyhow, when Mrs. Akaster died I made a great effort to get Akaster to pull himself together, and see whether he couldn't do something for the girl. He seemed to have had a shock. It looked promising. But he could not cut clear of Goggles. Then I did a damned silly thing, PinSOfi, T thought I would try to reform Goggles as well. I got him a berth in my company, where Akaster had been the whole time. I knew his old friendship had gone, but I did not know how it had been turned into hate. He hated me for several reasons. Because I was prosperous. Because I couldn't See any sport in the kind of life he led. But above all because he had found out or suspected that I was doing something for his wife. It was a kind of morbid jealousy mixed up with envy and all sorts of motives. I'll cut it short. He had only Sbeen with us a few months

before he had dragged Akaster into a dirty business—such a dirty business that you can hardly believe it of the kind of man Akaster was. Goggles had some commercial knowledge and skill. Akaster was on the technical side <)f the business. Between them they rigged up a huge fraud on the concern with a number of dagos in their pay. It ran into thousands In less than a yearwholesale robbery. We should not have discovered it as soon as we did, but for Juan, who was a little clerk and had taken a fancy to me." "Ah," said Pinson, "you remember, Quilter, how alarmed Juan was when we told him his assailant was El Miope?" "Naturally," said Marple, "I did my best to prevent the thing from coming to the Courts, but the rest of the board would not hear of my concealment. They insisted on a prosecution. Juan was one of the principal witnesses. Akaster died in prison. Goggles served out his sentence of six years. He was released two months ago. In the meantime I had sold up, iinislied with the Argentine, and come home. I had bought my house so as to be near Selwyn, and for other reasons. And I was living a pleasantly busy life, with several irons in the iire and several good friends, including Olver and Evelyn, and Quilter herp, and his charming Joan, I was hoping to hear the wedding bells before long. Olver was an impetuous ass, by the way, and a very blind ass not to be able to see that Selwyn's motives for his conduct about Evelynwere only temporary. But all the same, it was an amusing scene on the tennis . court that afternoon. Where was I?" "You had come home from the Argentine," said Pinson, "and had given us a good account of your settlement in London, but had said nothing of the fundamental reason why wo are all in Cornwall at this moment."

"I hope I shall never have to be crossexamined by you in Court, Pinson," Marple retorted. "Well, there are two reasons why wo are in Cornwall now. The first is that two years ago I was meandering round the country on a motoring holiday, and found my way to Tregeagle's Pool, and saw there a halfruined cottage. I never in my life, or in any part of the world, struck anything so astonishing as that scene which bursts on you when you reach the top of the hill. And it was for sale —the gem of the world. For sale for the price of a tumble-down cottage, Which I bought the next day, and had repaired and furnished after a style, intending to spend a month there every summer, and perhaps to get down a canoe and footle about on the pool. Then, in the following winter, I got a letter from Juan. He was alarmed. EI Miope was coming out of prison soon, and lie had cause to know that El Miope had swoi'n Ven* geance upon him. He did not wish to be in Buenos Ayres when El Miope was set at liberty. Also, he had greatly missed me. Also, he had saved enough money to come to England. Arid the upshot was that he begged trie to have him in England in any capacity, even as a body servant, father than leave him there to face the vengeance of El Mit>pe. The two things worked together. The Cottage at Tregeagle's. Poo] wanted a resident for a good deal more than a

month in the year if it was to be kept habitable. Juan wanted a retreat where Goggles could not get at him. Who could have thought that Goggles ever would get at him there?" "It was strange," said Pinson. "It only shows that you never know." "Well, I brought him over and set him up in his lonely shanty, and he was perfectly happy. I must confess that I did not expect Goggles to come to England. I thought he would resume the journey to the dogs in Buenos Ayres. But six years in an Argentine prison had put poison into his vices. He had been nursing the idea of grievance and vengeance against me all that time. When he did get out he spent the first day looking for me, and if I had been in Buenos Ayres I expect I should have died that day, and Selwyn would have lived, which would have been the better. But that was not my joss. I had a cable •from one of my colleagues out there stating that Goggles had sailed for England as a stoker on board a tramp ship, the Whitehall Palace, under the name of Pedro Estevan, and warning me to be on the look-out for danger. That was a month ago, may be a little more—three weeks before Selwyn was killed. I think the ship got in on a Thursday." "She did," said Pinson, "and Goggles was paid off the same day." "He didn't lose any time. On the Friday I had a letter from him asking for an interview. A very curious letter. Half mad it was. He seemed to have a crazy notion that he would lure me into security by appearing to write as if on an ordinary matter of business. He said that in view of what had happened during the last six years I might be inclined to think that something was due to him. Ho said I was a very rich man, and a couple of thousand pounds would be nothing to me. Then, at the end, ho altered his tone altogether and threatened. I can't remember the exact words he used. I gave the letter to Selwyn, and I don't know what he did with it." "The letter," said Pinson, "was written on two sheets of thin paper." "How the devil do you know that?" cried Marple. Pinson made a sign to me, and I took out of my pocket-book the sheet I had carried hidden there. I passed it to Marple. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "And you two have known the secret the whole time? How did Quilter get hold of it?" "I told him." "A.id plainly," said Pinson, "Selwyn left the first sheet somewhere else, the police found it, and when they discovered > Selwyn's monev in your desk put two and two together and made five of it, and attributed the letter to you." "While I," I added, "feared that it Was a letter from Bernard which might implicate him, and kept it concealed from everybody except Mr. Pinsoil. Even now—" "If even now," Marple interrupted, speaking very solehinly, "you do not see through the whole tangle I am glad. All the ghosts are not laid yet, and the less anybody knows about this the better for the happiness of innocent people. I But I fear it is all too clear to you, Pinson." (To be concluded.)