THE BUNGALOW MYSTERY

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 170, 20 July 1935, Page 13 (Supplement)

THE BUNGALOW MYSTERY

(Author of "The Grand Modena Murder," "The Marsden Rubles," "Is This Revenge?" etc., etc.)

■y LEONARD R. GRIBBLE

CHAPTER X.—(Continued.) Slade glanced across to tlie cliair in which Lawton eat, retching, his head between his hands. He turned to Clinton. "Wait in here till he can talk. Then hear what he's got to say, and let me know when Dare comes round." He passed out, followed by Clay, and the two systematically began examining the sitting room. But save for the water colour hanging askew over the open door of the safe they found nothing that pointed directly to the burglar's movements. • "Well," Slade commented at length, "he did the job pretty neatly. Nothing here that , gives us a lead. And it certainly seems our mysterious visitor got what he wanted. He's cleared the safe out." He hurriedly scrutinised the steelwork of the safe. "Xot a mark, of course. Well, Clay, let's have a look in the other rooms." But as far as they could tell, the recent visitor had confined his explorations to the sitting room. "It certainly looks as though all he wanted was in that safe, Slade," remarked Clay as they returned to the sitting room and the Yard man crossed once more to the side table and glanced over the objects on it. Slade nodded thoughtfully. "Looks as though our only chance will be Care." Clinton and Lawton entered. The former nodded to the latter. "All he knows is that someone tapped on the window. He went to And who it was and was outed. Next thing he knew was Sheldon unbuttoning his tunic." "That so?" snapped Clay. The unfortunate constable nodded glumly, slipped into a chair, and began retching afresh. "Where is Sheldon ?" Slade asked Morne, who stood by the French window.

"Outside, keeping a look-out, sir." "Fetch him in." Morne returned with the constable, a young man of reddish complexion with a goodly breadth of shoulder. His cape glistened wetly under the light and drips fell from it as lie saluted. "Tell me, Sheldon, what you saw when you arrived," said Slade. "Well, sir," replied the other in a thick, throaty drawl, "I got off my bike at the gate and wheeled it down the path, and then I saw that the window was wide open. So I left my bike propped against a hedge and ran in. There was Lawton, sir, on the floor, trussed up with his own bootlaces and gagged with his own handkerchief. There was a pad in his teeth—" "Where is' the pad?" Lawton drew the object from a pocket and Clinton took it, glanced at it, and shook his head. Slade turned back to Sheldon. "Well ?" "I got through to the station 011 the 'phone, and the sergeant told me to stay in here till someone arrived. I had a look round, to see if anyone was still in the bungalow, sir, and as there wasn't I came back in this room and sat down by Lawton till Sergeant Morne and Dr. Threwe arrived, sir. Then I went out with Sergeant Morne, sir, and we found Mr. Dare in the bushes alongside the path." "That's all?" "Yes, sir." Slade faced the sergeant. "Was Mr. Dare tied up?" "No, sir. But he was gagged. Like Lawton, with his handkerchief, and with a pad in his mouth." The door opened again, and the doctor entered, supporting Martin Dare. The explorer blinked at the light. He was breathing heavily, and his face was drawn. "You took a strong dose —er, Dare?' said Slade, crossing the room to him and drawing up a chair.

Dare seated himself. "My God, I feel sick, Slade! That swine—l don't know now what happened. I thought I'd got him, and then something was jabbed in my mouth, and that was the end as far as I was concerned." "How d'you feel?" Dare grinned feebly. "Oh, well enough to talk, if that's what you mean, Slade." "This person you came upon, now. What was he like?" Dare shook his head. "Damned if I know. I only saw a shadow. The brute was masked, I know that. And he wore gloves, because I remember feeling a slippery finger jab my nose as he pushed that infernal pad in my face." Slade took a couple of turns up the room, and came back to where the explorer sat. "How did you come to be out in the grounds that time of night, Mr. Dare? Had you any special reason?" Slade leaned slightly forward, regarding the other closely, and evidently awaiting his answer with intense interest.

The explorer smiled again. "Oil, you'd better get ready to grouse at the amateur sleuth, Slade. I suppose I asked for it all right, jumping in on my own. Ach! God, I feel so sick, doctor, I don't think I'll ever eat again. But I'm damned thirsty."

Threwe brought him a glass of water. "Don't take anything else for 24 hours, and you'll clear it off," he advised. Dare nodded, handed the half-emptied glass to Clinton, and looked at Slade again. "Now start the slanging," he grinned. Despite his feelings at the moment, Slade smiled.

"Just how did you come to start your amateur sleuthing, Mr. Dare?" The explorer took a deep breath, as though to clear his and sat back in an easier attitude. For a moment his eyes closed. He presented a woebegone appearance. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were blurred with moisture; his tie drooped slack from his unfastened collar, which hung limp over the stained shoulders of his dinner jacket. Mudstains had dried out on his back clothes, and the front of his soiled shirt gaped open. He shuddered and opened his eyes

again. , . , "I can see this room from my window at Becleigh, Slade. You won't be surprised to learn I've a pair of field glasses with. me. It was just by luck that I was watching when the constable here" —he pointed to Lawton, who had given way to subdued moaning—"opened' the window. I couldn't eee what happened clearly, of course. It was all confused shadow. But I saw enough to know that something was happening connected with the murder. I waited for a minute or two, expecting another policeman to run up"—Slade caught. Clay's wry expression—"but as nothing else happened I took it into my head to go

out and snoop around on my own. If I found anything I would 'phone through to the station, and, anyway, it was plain I might be of some help." "What time was this, Mr.' Dare?" interjected Slade. The explorer made an effort to recall the time, but shook his head. "It just proves how much of the amateur I am, Slade. I know now I should have fixed the time right away. But 1 reckon I was too interested in what was afoot. 1 stayed only to put oil a hat and coat, and then I slipped down the stairs without anyone knowing and hurried here as quickly as I could make it." "Which path did you come along?" "The one 011 which I met Edmund last night. It leads right round to this room, you know." Slade nodded, his face clouded. "And where did you come upon the burglar ?" "Somewhere along the path. I can't recall the exact spot. I was on him before I knew it. Of course, I tried to dodge and get one in, but he was too quick. Ho must have been watching me pretty close before he closed. I remember now that his face was dark —- extra dark, I mean, under his hat." "Masked ?" "Yes. I suppose that accounts for it." "And there's nothing else you can tell us, Mr. Dare?" "Sorry, Slade, but there's not." The explorer managed a grim little smile. "And if you want my personal and candid opinion, I wish to the devil I hadn't had all that to tell. My innards feel like a lethal chamber."

CHAPTER XI. Farther in the Maze. Philip Seeley, in dressing-gown, slippers and pyjamas, entered the lounge at Becleigh, followed by a wide-eyed butler. For several seconds he paused, staring at tlie strange assembly of guests. Slade, hands in trousers pockets, was rocking from heel to toe before the fireplace; Clay, fingering his moustache, was apparently trying to see into the night, through a curtained window; Clinton, imperturbable as ever, was seated in a roomy armchair, going over the contents of his notebook; Morne tried to copy the attitude of his superior, but succeeded only in looking like a man in a dream who was afraid to awake; seated in the armchair opposite Clinton was Dare, his eyes closed, his head lolling to one side; a few feet away from Slade stood the doctor, mouth pursed, brows contracted.

"Well, inspector?" Seeley had decided at last to address his question to the Yard man. Slade's hands came out of his pockets, and he eased rocking. In short, crisp sentences he outlined what had happened at the \ellow Bungalow. He stopped suddenly, leaving Seeley to utter a few words of amazement and ask another question. But why have you come here, inspector? What can you expect to find at Becleigh 1 As I've told you—" I lemember quite well what you've told me, Mr. Seeley," replied the 'detective coldly, "but I must remind you that I still believe the murderer of Rosa Lee is someone in your house." Seeley's frame tautened like a bowstring. "And you quite as readily believe that someone from this house robbed that sate ? "The same person." "But this is incredible!" . 1 ficcl " to ]|av e heard that before, murmured Slade, with a sidelong glance at Dare, who was now sitting forward in his chair, a strained expression on his face. Clinton' took out a handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously. "However, the motive seems plain."

"Letters?" "Yes, letters that might have been used for blackmail. And, if you will excuse me, Mr. Seeley, I will point out that with those letters appear to have disappeared the letter your son wrote to the murdered —" "But good God, inspector—what are you suggesting?" Seeley had advanced a few steps; agitation lined his face, and his hands were clenched. The mar. was striving to keep control of himself. "Nothing!" snapped Slade, who was rapidly tiring of this constant traversing of the same ground. "I'm only pointing out a few facts. They might revive some one's memory!" Seeley took a deep breath, shook his head as though to clear it, and his chin sank down 011 to his chest. "Have you got anything to suggest, Mr. Seeley?" asked the detective. "Anything that will point to the murderer not being a member of this household?" For a few seconds there was silence. Then Seeley raised his glance. "I'll tell you my opinion, inspector, if that's what you want." His voice was now even and controlled. "Very well." "I believe Rosa Lee was murdered by her maid, that Chinese girl. The girl had a grudge against her mistress that we don't know of, she had opportunity, she knew the house, probably she'd even drugged her mistress to make the job easier—you remember how my son found her, in that condition. Again, where is that girl now? She could have come back and with keys she had stolen robbed the safe because she knew there were jewels inside. Then, too, she could have come here any time during the day and got that dagger." He paused, breathing heavily. "Well, what do you say?"

Slade shook his head. "As a theory it's weak —very weak. Mr. Secley. There are too many loose ends. For instance, why should she wait to take the jewels—if there were any ? It made the job considerably harder." "She is cunning—all Orientals are. She would see that by waiting she would disarm suspicion, and there would be less chance of her being found with the jewels on her." "Suppositious jewels. H'm! However, granting you that much, .what about this male assailant who chloroformed both Lawton and Mr. Dare ? And Orientals do not usually employ chloroform as a drug." "The man who chloroformed the man at the bungalow and Mr. Dare was an accomplice. It's obvious! The accomplice is the angle you've overlooked, and it simplifies everything —explains the crime and this burglary. The accomplice is on hand, takes the keys, and makes off. Comes back and rifles the safe, and it will be he who will presumably get rid of the spoil. Yes—obvious! You want to look into that girl's past." "She has been with her mistress for years:" "So she says."

"And the chauffeur." "1 take it he's a comparative newcomer. But wait!" A keen expression crossed Seeley's face. "I've a fresh idea. What about the chauffeur? He might very well be "the accomplice." "Very ingenious, Mr. Seeley. But I don't think it will work out that way — in the end." "Why not ?" snapped Seeley, pushing himself away from the radiator. Slade smiled disarmingly. "Because the person who murdered Rosa Lee was left-handed, Mr."Seeley!" At the words Seeley's face blanched. His shoulders slumped. All at once he shot a savage glance at Dare. "You knew that!" "It's a lie, Phil." Then Seeley crumpled. Clinton slipped out of his chair, and made way for the master of the house. Laughing* with grim quietness—he might have been enjoying some huge joke which only he himself appreciated—he fell into the chair. "My God, Slade —110 wonder!" lie muttered brokenly. A soft light flickered for a moment in the detective's eyes. "I'm not forgetting, Mr. Seeley, that one of the under-gardeners is also lefthanded." When Seeley looked up the expression on his face was almost whimsical. "Don't trouble to smooth it over. You don't believe Tilson did it. I don't suppose you've even questioned him yet - —have you?" "No," admitted Slade. "But his turn is coming." "Still, Tilson's 11-ot a star turn on the bill of suspects —eh, inspector?" Seeley laughed again, on a strident, half-chuckling note that jarred. "I just want to go round to the parage to see your car, Mr. Seeley, and then, if you've no objection, I'll question the rest of the household regarding what's happened to-night. You retired at the same time as the others, I understand." Seeley merely nodded. "But why do you want to see my car?" he asked suspiciously. Slade shook his head. "I sincerely hope I shall be able to tell you —" At that moment he was interrupted by the door being pushed open and the,entry of a young dishevelled man, who stood for several seconds just inside the room staring round bewilderedly and then fastened an earnest gaze on Seeley.

"Please, sir, it's Tilson!" he blurted out. At mention of the under-gardener's name a sudden hush fell upon the room, a silence tense with expectancy. "Well, Phipps, and what's the trouble." "He —he's hurt. Young Dicky Bcllowes found him lying 011 the road from AVestcott," "Westcott?" queried Slade sharply. "A village about a couple of miles from here," explained Clay, who upon the appearance of a local rustic seemed prepared to assert himself. "How far from Bccleigh?" asked Slade. " 'Bout three-quarters of a mile, sir," answered Phipps, from whose face perspiration was dripping 011 to a soiled Norfolk jacket of antique cut. "What's the matter with him ?•" demanded Seeley. "I don't know. Young Dicky was riding his motor bike home to Westcott, and came upon him lvin' in the road, sir. He picked him up and brought him along home. Mrs. Tilson sent me up here, sir. She also sent these, sir." He held out to Seeley something which janjrled in his hand. Seeley took it. "Young Dicky found them lvin' in the road beside him. And Mrs. Tilson said would you come over, sir? She's afraid he's hurt bi\d." For a moment Seeley eat staring at what the young man had given him; then silently he passed the object to the detective. It was a bunch of keys, with a bone tab on which was stamped with a deep impress "R.L." "Are they the keys ?" asked Clay quickly, excitement thickening his voice. "Looks like it," said Slade. '.'But we'll have to see Tilson himself. Doctor"—he glanced at Threwe—"will you please come along with us?"

"Certainly." Dr. Threwe picked up

his bag. The C.I.D. man turned to Seeley. "Perhaps you would prefer to come along, Mr. Seeley. No." Slade paused, then looked towards the explorer, who for some while had been staring moodily at the fireplace. "I suggest Mr. Dare gets to bed. He'll find the sleep refreshing, and he might wake up with a desire to sweep away the cobwebs," added the Yard man meaningly. "Cobwebs?" echoed Seeley, looking from one to the other. Dare summoned a grin. & "I found one in a corner of my room this afternoon, Phil," he said lightly. "You know my old weakness —spiders. The glib way they spin their snare fascinates me. But Inspector Slade exaggerates when he used the plural tense. Only one web —one very small, inconspicuous web." (To be continued 011 Saturday next.)