The Sign on the Roof

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 235, 4 October 1935, Page 15

The Sign on the Roof

CHEYNEvAzIIi

AUTHOR OF THE "DEATH CHAIR," "THE GOLD KIMONA," "DEADLY FRESCO," ETC.

CHAPTER XVIII. "In the meantime, Lariat, as arranged ' writes a letter to Charles telling him 1 that ho has seen the sign on the roof, 1 i.e. identified the proper trapdoor, and that all is well. "Charles, at two o'clock, goes out on to Bardon's doorstep and sees the light go on. He knows that Lariat liaf arrived. Ho knows, also, that you arc still at the party to which ho has deliberately sent you, and he knows that his mother is away in tlio country where ho has sent her. "Twenty minutes later, knowing that Lariat will leavo the flat by the same way as ho entered it, Charles leaves Bardon's flat and wi Iks down the Crescent. When he arrives at tho bottom he pushes through tho hoarding, climbs to the roof and waits there for Lariat. "Soon after that Lariat appears and walks along the roof. As ho is preparing to climb down Charles deliberately "throws him over the edge, intending to kill him that way, and if that fails, to descend and finish him off as he lies injured on the bricks. "And our case is that Charles' idea was that it wouldn't matter if ho were caught, because no jury is going to lind a man guilty of murder when that man arrives home to find a man who has already been suspected of an affair with his wife, and, in a fit of rage, kills him. "You know as well as I do that this case which I have just outlined to you, this murder accusation against Charles, is pure rubbish. You will say, and rightly, that Charles could disprove it easily, and I entirely agree with you._ "Charles could* disprove it, but, in order to do so, he has got to tell the real truth. Tho only way that lip can break the chain of circumstantial evidence which I propose to produce on Tuesday morning is to tell the j)olice tho actual facts of the case. "So that he is forced to acccpt either the accusation of murder or, to clear himself of it, to recount in detail tho plot against Diane of which he is the author. "If he does so the rest is easy. Charles will find himself faced with a proposition, which will, in the long run, lead to another criminal charge, one of conspiracy, being brought against him, and the way will bo easy for Diano to divorce him. -- "In any event, it looks to me as if the truth will eventually have to come out. But, at the moment, until we have dealt with Charles, I think, Herbert, we will say nothing about it. Now are you going to do what I tell you?" Herbert nodded. "Oh, yes, Bitterly," he said. "I'll do what I'm told. I don't quite understand what you're getting at, but I think I'm prepared to leave this matter in your hands." "Now, listen. I want you to do exactly what I tell you. I want you to go home and awaken Charles. I want you to tell Charles that I know the whole truth about the Lariat business, that I've got a definite idea that he was the person who killed Lariat, and that I intend to go to the police first thing in the morning. "I rather fancy this will annoy our friend Charles. He will be furious. He'll tell you it's a lot of drivel. Your attitude is that you've heard what I've got to say about it, and that it looks pretty black for Charles; that you have just left me, and that the best thing ho can do is to come round hero and see me at once. "YouH find he'll come round all right. I shall expect him round here, in fact, within about ten minutes from the time you get home." • Herbert nodded. "All right, Bitterly," he said. Bitterly put his hand on Herbert's shoulder. " "Nothing is ever as bad as it seems," ho said. "And we've all got to grow up some time. If this rotten business turns you from a young waster into a decent man, then it will he well worth the death of that skunk, Lariat. Life's up to you, Herbert. "Now, get along and send mo Charles. I'm looking forward to tho interview." Monday, November 13, 4.30 a.m. Bitterly stood outside the street door waiting for Charles. He had not the slightest doubt that Charles would come—and quickly; his instinct for self-preservation would see to that. Bitterly knew that when Herbert had told Charles the story which they had arranged Charles would give vent to an outburst of temper, followed vory quickly by a great fear for his own safety. Then, with a feeling of security, born of the fact that Bitterly's accusation of murder was, in reality, false, he would dress himself and hurry round to walk into the trap that was prepared for him. The journalist heard hini before he saw him; heard his staccato steps on the pavement. In a minute Charles appeared round the corner, and, in another few seconds, stood facing Bitterly.

"Now listen, yon rat," lie said. "Don't come round lier with any of your cheap exhibitions of presumed temper, and remember that all the time I'm talking to you I'm keeping iny hands off you with great difficulty. Remember that if I'm not kicking the life out of you it's only because I've got something very much better up my sleeve in store for you. Now, sit down." Charles Vallery sat down in the armchair by the side of the fire and looked at the other. His eyelids were twitching, keeping his mouth company. He was scared to death. He watched the other closely. Bitterly, standing on the other side of the fireplace, looked down at him, still smiling. "So Herbert told you that I had said you murdered Lariat, did he? Well, the joke is I did, Charles, and the joke is I can very nearly prove it. I'm calling it a joke because, of course, I know you didn't kill Lariat. Somebody else did. Herbert did. Do you know why he did, Charles?" Vallery said nothing. He could not speak. "I knew you'd come running round here," Bitterly continued in the same level monotone, "just because you were frightened and just because you don't know how much I know. But I know the lot. I know the whole story. That letter gave you away, Charles; that was the last thing I wanted to complete this interesting jigsaw puzzle. And another joke is that you thought that letter was going to convince me of your innocence. I have seen with your viewpoint that 'honesty is the best policy.'" Bitterly sat looking down at the thing opposite him, smiling like a devil. "Ihat was a good idea, Charles, but not quite enough. You didn't think that I'd get out on the roof and see the sign too, did you? I know why you arranged for Lariat to write that letter to you. •

He had dressed liyrriedly. Beneath the upturned collar of his overcoat Bitterly could see the collar of his pyjama jacket. His face was white and his mouth was working, twitching with rage or fear. Looking at him, Bitterly wanted to strike out at the face before him; to keep on hitting it until he had knocked every semblance of humanity from the features of this human rat. But he found it not difficult to controlJjinHjelf J After all, his revenge would be mo" complete the other way. He grinned in Charles' face. "Hello, Charles!" he said pleasantly. "Do you want to see me?" Vallery gulped. He could hardly speak. "Look here, Bitterly," he said after a moment, his face taut with malevolence. "Young Herbert's just been back to see me. He's got some cock-and-bull story about my having something to do with Lariat's death. Apparently you're responsible for that story. Apparently—" "Just a minute, Vallery," said Bitterly. "You know, it's not il very good place to discuss murder, is it? On a doorstep ? Come upstairs." He led the way up the stairs, walking slowly. Behind him came Vallery. Bitterly was still .smiling very ominously. In the sitting room Bitterly closed the door behind Charles. When he spoke he was surprised at the quietness of his I own voice.

" Jt was a very pretty little plot, Charles, quite charming, a plot of which a husband and a son might feel very pi oud. Just so that you know how much I know I'm going to tell you the whole story, and just because I'd like you to know that you're a fool, I'm going to tell you just how I -vas able to piece it together. "Last Monday, just a week ago, for these are the early hours of Monday morning, Lariat ennie to you somewhere in the region of three o'clock. When you told mo that he came round to borrow money you told the truth. You refused it, and, as you refused it, Charles, you got an idea; I should think the lowest, filthiest idea that a man ever got. You remembered the fact that your wife's name had once been coupled with this man Lariat's, and you wanted to get rid of her, didn't you, Charles? Why? Because you wanted to marry Bardella, with whom you had been having an affair for months, whom you used to meet on Friday nights when you were coming back from Beaconsfield; and here was the chance. If you could only get Lariat discovered in your wife's bedroom, you coukl divorce "her, couldn't you, Charles, and marry Bardella and Bardella's new-found money? "And what could Diane do? Nothing. Friendless, suspected by you and your mother of something in connection with this man in Ceylon, and with no money to fight, she would have gone under. Your plot would have succeeded. So you put up the idea to this skunk, Lariat, and he agreed to do what you wanted. Then you telephoned Bardella and told her that you had to have some money quickly. Bardella dashed round to her bank and drew £100, most of which, I imagine, she gave to you. You gave some to Lariat on account, obviously, promising to pay the balance to him on Fenehurch Street station last Saturday morning, when he was supposed to go hack to Ceylon. Lariat told you he'd been to see Diane; ho told you he'd been to see Herbert. All this helped your plot. You could accuse Diane of having already met this man. "What you didn't know was that Lariat was going to change one of those banknotes at the Green Fly and I was going to trace it. "Then, what was the next thing? You had to have your evidence, didn't you? So you telephoned Bardon, whose invitation you had refused that morning, knowing that you could sec the light go on in your flat hall from his doorstep. You told him that you could come 011 Friday night, but that you would be late. Then you arranged the details of your plot with Lariat. Your mother was away at Westover. She was out of the way. Bardella had already left the flat and you were going to arrange to get Herbert away at a party; the coast would be clear for Lariat, but, just so that there could he no mistake, Lariat was to climb up on the roof and scout around; 110 was to identifv the trapdoor leading down to the hall outside your wife's bedroom, one night before the big night, and he was to let you know when he had done this by writing you that letter, the letter he was so keen to "ft posted on Thursday night. Then, on Friday night he was to get through the trapdoor at two o'clock and he was to switch the light on in the hall so that you could know the time had arrived when you and that precious mother of yours were to dash down the street from Bardon's house, slink up the stairs and discover this misconduct of your wife's. Then the rest would be easy.

>. "But, unfortunately, Charles, most -unfortunately for you, Herbert decided that he was sick of his party; he came home. He went on to the roof to find the cat, instead of which he found Lariat, and very properly he hit him and knocked him over the edge. That disposes of Lariat, and a very good disposal, too. "Now. Charles,* do you think, having heard this pretty little story, that any jury is going to find Herbert guilty of even manslaughter. I don't. "You see, Charles, the unfortunate thing is that every step in the game is provable. The banknote, another of the Bardella banknotes, that you were foolish enough to give to Herbert in payment of his winnings, definitely proves that you had the money from her. The letter that you received from Lariat was the signal to you to get in touch with your mother and bring her back on the Friday afternoon so that she 'could act as a witness on Friday night. That is why you never told anybody

that she had come back and that is why, after you left Bardon's, you sent her off somewhere to stay the night, before returning to Westover and then eventually coming back to the flat as originally arranged. "A very pretty little story, Charles. And I'm going to make you tell it. I've arranged with Herbert that he says nothing to anybody. To-morrow morning I'm going to the police. Formally, I'm going to accuse you of the murder of Vincent Lariat, knowing perfectly well that the only way you can disprove my accusation is by telling them the truth." (To be concluded.)