THE SECRET AGENT

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 141, 17 June 1935, Page 15

THE SECRET AGENT

(Author or "Solution or a Mystery," "Murdor at Wrides A Park," "Who T Killed Alfred Snowe?»etc.)

CHAPTER XXI. The Finchley Road Flat. I was back again in the wood, near ] the landing-stage, eoon after darkness had fairly set in. I could make out ' the hulk of the old house quite clearly; there it stood, four-square, silhouetted against the night sky, and high above the faintly shimmering water of the lake. But there was not a gleam, not a speck of light to be seen in any of the windows. I waited some little time, watching; the whole front of the house remained black. j I was about to turn away, hopeless of I any further discovery that night, when I suddenly heard footsteps coming at a. i rapid pace along the narrow path near which I stood hidden among the tindergrowth. Dark as it was, I instantly crouched behind the bushes; the next instant a man went by on the path, towards the little landing-stage. He was humming some gay tune, and he walked heavily, as if he were of some weight. For one instant I got a glimpse of him as he passed rapidly between mo and the lake —a tallisli, broad-shouldered man. Then I heard the rattle of a chain thrown loose—the thud of a foot as it hit the boat that had been tied up there, the splash of an oar thrust into the water, then another, of the other oar, and the boat shot out into view. I hadn't noticed on coming there the second time that it was tied up at the landing-stage. Boat and man were half-way across the water on the way to the old house in a very few minutes. I could follow their progress. Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp whistle, which 6eemed to come from the house—a quick, questioning sort of whistle. The man I in the boat answered it by another. Then the boat went on—l heard it bump against masonry. And waiting a few minutes longer, -I saw a light break out in out of the lower windows of the house. I left the wood then, and made my way back to Boston —satisfied. There was somebody in Sedney High Grange into whose identity we Had got to inquire. And we should have to lose no time about it. There was a telegram waiting for me at the hotel in Boston; it had arrived, they said, two hours after I had gone out in the morning. From Chaney, of course. " And this."... Return town immediately Mosenberg found dead believed to be murder. It was well past eight o'clock when Chaney's telegram came into my hands, and a question immediately put to the hotel porter elicited the information that there was no train by which I could leave for London until 9.37. And travelling by that, I should have to face a dreary wait of three hours at Peterborough. There was no help for it. however, and after eating a belated and hurried dinner I set out, and after an hour's slow journey across the darkened Fen Country found myself in the old cathedral city with the unenviable prospect of a midnight vigil. There was no train to London until half-past one in the morning. Coing across to the Station Hotel, I prepared to spend my time of waiting as comfortably as possible by booking a room—l could, at any rate, get a couple of hours' sleep. But I got no j sleep. Turning into a lounge for a drink before going up to my room, I saw and picked up the last edition of a London evening paper, and within a few minutes was reading an amplification of the news given me by Chaney in his telegram. There was a good deal of it, and it knocked all idea of sleep out of my head. Eventually, instead of going up to the room I had taken, I sat there, reading and re-reading what the paper had to tell, and thinking over the signi- .. ficance of what it told, until it was time to go across to the station. And what it came to was this. Away up the Finchley Road there was a block of recently-erected flats, called Minerva Mansions. One of the small flats —a two-roomed affair —had been tenanted for some time by a gentleman whose name in the tenants' list was Mr. M. Moser. According to the office authoritis, Mr. Moser, when he took the flat, gave himself out as hailing from Manchester, and explained that what ho really wanted was a pied-a-terre available on his periodic visits to London, a place where he could get the privacy and quiet which cannot be got in hotels. A caretaker —an ex-Army sergeant — and his wife looked after Minerva Mansions. According to the information extracted from them by the pressmen, Mr, Moser used his flat fairly often. . He had spent a few week-ends there. He had had visitors there. They usually came on Sunday afternoons. As a rule they were lady visitors. The caretaker, who was a man of observant powers (according to the reporters), had given it as his opinion that these ladies were connected with the stage. Now, a day or two before the date on which I was reading all this it occurred to the caretaker's wife that Mr. Moser had not been seen at Minerva Mansions for two or three weeks, that he would be sure to turn up before long, and that she would give his rooms a thorough clean out, so that they would be in readiness for him when he came. She had, of course, a key which gave entrance to his flat, and, having armed herself with the necessary implements for the cleaning process, she proceeded thither. And on walking into Mr. Moser's sitting room she got the shock of her life, for Mr. Moser was sitting by his hearthstone in his easy chair, and he was dead. The local police, having arrived, communicated with New Scotland Yard and, as luck would have it, our old friend jalvane was sent up to Finchley Road. And—as I learned from the papers—it was Jalvane who got an idea that the dead Mr. Moser was-.the missing Mr. Mosenberg, and, as quickly as possible "Ot Mr. Mosenberg's assistant, Marks, to the flat. Then things began to straighten themselves out, for Marks at once identified the body as that ot his late employer. The next question was how long had Mosenberg been dead, and how had he come by his death? And what was chiefly to be noted was that on the centre table, near which the dead man sat in his deep easy-chair, there were certain things set out the presence and nature of which seemed to indicate that just before his . death he had been entertaining a visitor, and that the visitor was of the male sex There was a decanter of whisky, half full. There were two glasses; one of them was close to where Mosenberg sat. Theie was a siphon of mineral water. And there were boxes of cigars and ot cigarettes. In an aeh tray on the table t

. •* A IS ~ FLETCHER,

lay the stub of a cigar; on the floor, where it had fallen from the dead man's fingeio, lay a cigar which had never been lighted, though it had been pierced; a box of matches, from which a match had been half withdrawn, lay near it. Evidently death had come to Mosenberg with startling suddenness. The very latest thing in the stoppress space of the paper was that a first examination of the glass found near Mosenberg's right hand indicated the presence of poison. It-and the decanter of whisky and the siphon and the other glass had, of course been taken strict charge of by the police as soon as they entered the flat. I The time of waiting came to its end', and at a quarter past three in the morning I was once more in London. Middle of the night though it was, I drove straight off to Chaney's private residence and knocked him up. Within five minutes he and I were in his sitting room, and I had told him of what I had read in the paper while waiting at Peterborough. "Anything fresh since then, Chaney?" I concluded. "Anything happen —or turn np —last night?" "Yes!" he replied. "Something did turn up last night—after the papers were out. Camberwell, I'm convinced that the Princess woman poisoned Mosenberg that very night that he, she, and the parson dined together at Roccaboni's! I'd lay anything on it!" "You've eomo grounds, of course?" I inquired. "Listen!" he said. "I'll tell you. Last night, about nine o'clock, Jalvane 'phoned me to go down to him at the Yard. I went, of course, at once. He d got with him a man who'd gone there on his own initiative to give some information about the Minerva Mansions affair—man who gave his name as Jim Mason. Jalvane wanted me to hear for myself what this chap had to tell." "What did he tell?" I asked. "This! He told us he was a streetvendor of evening papers. He had his usual pitch at the corner of Minerva Mansions. Minerva Mansions—which I visited twice yesterday in company with Jalvane —is a block of flats, facing one way into Finchley Road, another way into Minerva Avenue. Mason said that, as a rule, ho and his papers were to be found at the corner where Minerva Avenue runs into Finchley Road. Having seen pictures—reproductions of a recent photograph—in yesterday's afternoon papers—pictures, I mean, of Mosenberg—Mason recognised them as being of a gentleman who lived in Minerva Mansions and occasionally bought papers from him. This gentleman, ho said, was only in that quarter at intervals, but, having a good memory for faces, he was positive in his knowledge of him. And he had something to tell." Chaney paused to fill and light his pipe. I sat silent, expectant and wondering. He got the pipe going, and went on.

"And what it was, Camberwell, was this," he continued. "Some little time ago—the exact date, of course, it was impossible to get at —he was, he said, at the corner of the flats latish one night when he saw the gentleman, meaning Mosenberg, get out of a taxicab on "the other side of the road. He assisted a lady from the cab. They crossed the road together, towards Mason. Mason stepped forward and sold Mosenberg a'n evening paper— which, incidentally, I found last night, Camberwell —"

"You did!" I exclaimed. "The paper?" "I reckon it's the paper," he assented. "Mason says that Mosenberg put it, folded, into the pocket of his overcoat as he passed on. Well, in Mosenberg's flat at Minerva Mansions an overcoat was lying over a chair —I'm speaking of my visit last night—and in the righthand outside pocket was a copy of an evening newspaper. There were other papers in the room, but it was of the latest date, so I feel pretty certain, considering what Mason told us, that this was the paper." "Then—it establishes the date?" I said. "Of course. And it's the same date as that on which Fanny Piatt and Chippendale saw the trio at Roccaboni's," he answered. "But all that will come in later. Let's get back to what Mason saw. Mason is evidently an observant man. He inspected Mosenberg's companion closely enough to remember her appearance and to describe it to Jalyane and me. A fine-looking woman in a dark fur coat —that was his description. A handsome woman, he said; he got a full view of her face as she and Mosenberg came up to .him. And he assured Jalvane and me that he would know her again whenever he met her. Well, he went on to say that he saw these two, Mosenberg and the woman, enter Minerva Mansions. Xow, ae I saw yesterday, Camberwell, there are two entrances to Minerva Mansions. One is in Finchley Road; the other is in Minerva Avenue. Mosenberg and his companion entered by the Minerva Avenue door. Half an hour later Mason, still hawking his papers at the corner, saw the woman leave the flats by the Finchley Road door." "Alone?" I asked. "Alone," replied Chaney. "She came ol ,t—alone—walked rapidly away up Finchlev Road, hailed a bus going Londonwar'd, got into it, and, of course, disappeared. And that's all. So far, anyway." "Chaney," I said, after a pause, "what do you really think about it?" "What I've said," he answered promptly. "She poisoned him." "I suppose nothing has been heard of those two —the Princess and Tavener?" I asked. "Nothing," he answered. "Nothing whatever. Like ,the other chap, they got a start. . Of course, the police are redoubling their efforts to find 'em. But —what about your doings?. Find anything worth finding down there? Expept I cafled you back too soon for that."_ "No," I replied. "I did make certain discoveries." _ Arid during what remained of the night I told him all about Sedney High Grange. (To be continued daily.)