"No Smoke Without Fire!"

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 303, 23 December 1939, Page 12 (Supplement)

"No Smoke Without Fire!"

By - - Maboth Moseley

" CIRE is the thing 1 dread 1 most," said,. Count Rivoli in excellent English. "In my opinion death by drowning would be infinitely preferable to death by fire." His audience was tense, each member gazing at him expectantly. It was Jennifer Brand, an attractive girl of 22, with immense grey eyes and corn-coloured hair, who broke the silence. "Do yo on, Count, and tell us why you're afraid of fire. Fcvsonully, I should prefer it any day to drowning." He smiled pleasantly, but there was something in his manner which spoke of tragedy. It was betrayed in a certain reticenoe as his dark eyes rested on each in turn. The women experienced a slight tremor, a nervous tjirill down the spinal column. Even the prosaic Mrs. Brand, Jennifer's extremely matter-of-fact mother, confused to herself that lie was nn irresistible young man, whose eyes lin cl an nlmist hypnotic quality. While Mrs. Chapman, who was fair, fat and fifty, with an income of £10,(100 a year, clutched her matchless, pearls with such a wealth of intensity that she nearly snapped the rope in half. Guy Was Impervious Only young Guy Evesham, whose features were homely but honest, was impervious to the hypnotic glance of the lustrous eyes. The ill-assorted five, drawn together, as so often happens, by boredom, were killing time in the luxurious lounge of the Albergo Palazzo in Lugano. It was nearly the end of the season, and most of the guests had departed. For the last three days the sirocco had been blowing, bringing with it torrential rains, fearsome thunder and lightning, and whipping the waters of the lake into an angry, white-tipped, foaming sea. According to Signor Riccioli, manager of the liotel, the storm would have spent itself by nightfall and all would be able to enjoy a well-earned night's rest. Already the clouds were lifting towards Porlezza, nearly 20 miles away at the other end of the lake. The group of five, dominated by Count Rivoli, had gathered in the launge to shiver and watch the progress of the storm, hoping desperately that it would clear and give tfie hot southern sun another opportunity of shining betore they had to leave. It was while they were gazing at the black, angry water of the lake, dominated by the wild, unfriendly mountains, that the conversation turned on the horrors of death by drowning. Mrs. Chapman, an habitue of every smart resort in Europe, had a repertoire of gruesome stories relating to each.

It was she who, in describing the death of a friend in these treacherous waters of Lugano, set the ball rolling. It was she who followed up Jennifer's invitation and implored the Count to explain the reason why he dreaded fire. LiUe many women of her age, Mrs. C'hapiiDin had a morbid interest iu sudden death. Her snub inquisitive nose scented Tragedy, with a capital T, behind the Count's reticence. ".Vow, come along. Count," she admonished playfully, "don't be shy. We're all waiting." As the Count still hesitated, a faint flicker of disapproval crossed the tanned face of Guy Evesham, but he maintained a sullen, boyish silence, which in no way perturbed the Count, who was thoughtfully tapping a cigarette on the back of his case. His intelligent brown eyes, surmounted by smooth black hair, his distinguished Roman nose and his rather pointed, faun-like ears, all indicated, thought Jennifer, centuries of breeding. His contempt for Italians, as distinct from Romans, was implicit in his manner and behaviour, although l>e was a good Fascist and an ardent supporter of the regime. "Well," he began, as he lit the cigarette, "fire was responsible for the greatest, no, the only tragedy in my life." a

The women eat up in thrilfed anticipation. "It happened like this," he continued, "my _ wife and I were on our honeymoon. She was an impressionable, nervous young creature, a beautiful girl, dark, sensitive, with all the glamour of the South. "We were staying in an English country house, and I had gone with our host to inspect some excavations 40 miles north of London. On the way liome—Ave were travelling by road —xbe were involved in an accident which delayed us for some hours. It was two in the morning when we started on our homeward jour'i»ey. "Now this was thje first night since our marriage that my wife had l>een left alone. .And she hated the night, or rather the darkness, as any of us would hate the devil. Always, even at home, she insisted on locking her bedroom door, no matter how one insisted that no harm could befall her. "As we approached our destination I had a sudden premonition. I told riiy host, who was driving the car, thaf'-I could smell burning, and he told me that I was dreaming. I persisted, however, and since by this time we were south of the river and running into Surrey he agreed reluctantly that possibly I could smell a heath fire. "By this time I was exceedingly worried, although I tried hard to reassure myself. After all, there was no particular reason why I should have this premonition. I am not what you call j sychic, and if I have a vivid imagination ] know how to control it. Yet it persisted. And as we went up the drive of my friend's house I at least was not surprised at what we saw.

"A plume of smoke was rising above the trees at the far ei»d of the drive. It was followed by a tongue of red flame. "We hurried on and got out, to find everyone—everyone but my 'wife, that is—assembled on the terrace. The fire brigade had been called. But all I cared ; about was the fact that my wife wis • still in her room, caught like a rat in a ■ trap. "It transpired that after sounding t}ie alarm the butler went along to warn | her. Hife cries evoked no response, ajid he found it impossible to break open the door, which was of oak. Already the 1 corridor was alight. If he'd waited ; another instant his retreat would have • been cut off. "At this moment the firemen arrived on jkheir antiquated village engine, but 1 their presence gave me no confidence. Just as something had warned me about the fire, so I knew now that my wife . had gone for ever." The count transferred his contemplative gaze from the mour tains to the • flabby face of Mrs. Chapman. He sighed • heavily. By a supreme effort of will ; he overcame his emotion. "Yes," he said slowly. "I krxew I should never ■ see her again. Her charred remains were found later." "Oh, count, how terrible for you!" ! Mrs. Chapman cried, "and on your honeymoon, too!" He gave a silent assent. "But what a dreadful thing," she went on, "to have to stand aside ' helpless, while the person you loved most . . . was burnt to . . . Oh!" Her exclamation startled Mrs. Brand, who dropped several 6titches. "Dreadful," she echoed lamely. The count heaved another 6igh. "Yee, it was very dreadful," he said, and \urned away. "I suppose," Jennifer murmured tentatively, "she'd been overcome by the smoke." "That was the case." The count transferred his melancholy gaze. "You see, my wife suffered from insomnia and,

much against my will, was in the habit of taking sleeping -draughts. I da. not suppose for an instant that on the night of the fire she had taken an overdose, I am convinced that if she had taken nothing she would have been alive today." He shrugged Ms shoulders. "Nevertheless,- if she had not had' that curious kink about locking her door the butler would have got her out." Guy Eveeham turned from contemplation of the mountains. A thin ray of sunshine was forcing its way through the scudding clouds. The rain had stopped and the waters of the lake had achieved a certain calm. "Yes," he said ungraciously, "I think drowning would be infinitely preferable." And then, turning to Jennifer: "Let's take the boat to Oria and have a look at the Villa Fogazzaro." She made ail impatient gesture, outraged by Ilia lack of sympathy. "We shall only be caught in another storm and drenched." "No, it's clearing. Besides, I want a breath of fresh air." His expression indicated extreme disapproval,,of the room and all its occupants. "And I want to talk to you . . . alone." Signor Riccioli's prophecy came true, and after three successive . nights of storm, during which it had been impossible to sleep, a great calm brooded over the lake Lugano. The guests of the Albergo Palazzo slept the sleep of the just. Even Mrs. Chapman, whose impressionable mind had been much affected by the tale of the tragic Countess, fell into a sound slumber the moment her shinglecapped head touched the pillow. Her dreams were all of an inflammatory nature, and once she awoke in * sweat, imagining that the place was on fire and that she was trapped in her room. So vivid was the dream that she had to get out of bed; she reassured herself by trying the unlocked door of the adjoining sittingroom and peering into the deserted corridor. The following morning the brilliant sun was shining in a clear blue sky. English and American tourists re-ap-peared in gaily-coloured dr Isaes. But of the group which had assembled in the lounge the previous day, only three were present—Mrs. Brand, Jennifer arid young Guy Evesham.

They were busy making plans for the day when Mrs. Chapman, sopMjrbat carelessly dressed in a white linen "sliit, bore down upon them. She was followed by the gesticulating and wildly apologetic Signor Riccioli, who appeared to have mislaid his customary sangfroid, and was oblivious, or so it seemed, to the curious glances cast in his direction. "I insist, Signora," he spluttered. "You have made the greatest mistake! I will organise a search party . . ." . "Search party!" interrupted Mrs. Chapman, falling heavily into a chair. "Search party, indeed!" "May I ask . . .?" murmured Mrs. Brand, politely. "You may!" she snapped. "Like a fool, I left my door unlocked last night. The Count's story of the fire unnerved me. The thought of a locked 4 oor gave mc claustrophobia. Well," she made an expressive gesture, "my pearls have gone!" "Your pearls?" ejaculated Mrs. Brand. "Oh, M rs - Chapman, I am so sorry." "Have a cup of coffee," interposed Guy Evesham. "No. I couldn't touch a thing." Mrs. Chapman's amiable'expression had given place to a wild-eyed glare. "If only I could lay hands on the thief! Those pearls were worth ten thousand pounds!" At this moment Signor Riccioli was drawn aside by an obsequious waiter. When the man had finished he repeated in a dazed tone: "Count Rivoli.is not hi his room? He has gone without paying his bill ? ■ But can this be true ?" He beat his fists upon the table in a grand gesture of despair. • "I think," Guy Evesham turned politely to Mrs. Chapman, "you may guess what's happened to your pearls. In. fact, I imagine that the Count makes jquite a good income out of that fire yarn." There was a moment of acute tension while Mrs: Chapman choked down her wrath and Signor Riccioli wrung his hands in despair. It was Guy Evesham who broke it by placing his hand

in his pocket and withdrawing a rope of perfectly matched, shimmering pearls. ' . n "Here are your pearls,-Mm. Chapman. He handed 'them over carelessly, as though they were cheap imitation baubles.. «y . ■ . "Guy!" Jennifer's v exclamation was wrung involuntarily' fyoßp-he£ It- ex» : pressed a whole gamut of emotions: surprise, shock, doubt and suspicion. He laughed. "It's, all right. I didn't steal them." \ "Then—but, Mr. Evesham!" Mrs. Chapman's fingers closed lovingly _ over her pearls, "I don't i understand it at all!" "Count Rivoli," explained Guy, thoughtfully, "alias Diamond Jimmy, alias Harry the Rat, alias a hundred other names, is a notorious jewel thief. I, as a member of the C.1.D., have been acting in conjunction with the Swiss police. We've had our eyes on him for some time. I knew what he was up to when he told that yarn yesterday, so I took the liberty, Mrs. Chapman, of placing. aja. imitation rope of pearls in your je-wel case and abstracting the real ones. Count Rivoli is such a master of disguise that I was taking no chances although I had warned the Italian frontier authorities that he would probably try to escape that way. In fact ..." he broke off, as a waiter ,approached him discreetly. "A telephone call, sir. The Italian police, sir." "Ah." He smiled at. three astounded women. "I was right, you see; that's to tell me our friend the count has been arrested." "Mr. Evesham!" Mrs. Chapman's exclamation was drowned by a cry of delight from Jennifer. "Guy! You —a detective! My dear 99 "Yes," he smiled, "a detective." "And what a clever one!" cried. Mrs. Chapman. "Why, you're almost a thought reader."

"Oh, I ant," he replied seriously. IB "There's nothing I can't discover." -- turned to Jennifer, "and to give you 4* Hi proof, I can say what Jennifer : j§".i|§ thinking now." £|k|Ji The gifl blushed. "What's thatftff{ "V; "You're wondering whether or nott& marry me."' He smiled. "In fact, yon*W6 almost made up your mind to do 46. |f| To be married to a detective would"!* Sjif rather fun. Am I right?" to? She laughed. "I'll give you njy answer when you come back from the'jff? telephone . . . " ' : 4 : <$> -♦ %: