“CAIN”

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LX, Issue 11045, 20 February 1933, Page 4

“CAIN”

by JOHN MORRISS

CHAPTER lll—(Continued.)

Almost she found admiration for the man who had named himself "Cain’’—a man against whom everyone’s hand was raised. She had to admire the absolute nerve that had brought him to that office disguised as the owner; intent on stealing the famous Montgomery emeralds. She had to admire the steadfast selfconfidence that had held him to his iask, with the fear of discovery hanging over his head every second. She had to admire the aplomb that had helped him to overawe the stout solicitor and force him to acquiescence; if not to an active part in the theft. ■

Almost the girl could trace the crime, step by step. She knew now of the false telephone message that had taken Luther Banke into a distant suburb and there detained him for the first hours of the morning. She could vistualise the big, unnerving minute when Alec Kempton had,' unexpectedly, walked into the inner office. The quick wits that had seen the cowardice of the man and shown how to overawe him, making him a partner in the crime; the swift swoop on the coveted jewels—followed by the daring escape. The girl sighed—almost enviously. “Well, Miss Tayne?” The girl looked up, suddenly: to see the detective standing in the doorway, watching her, quizzically.

“Do you want me, Mr . . .Sergeant?” “Mister will do please.” Detectivesergeant Davidson, a tall well-set-up man of thirty years of age, smiled, as he closed the door of Luther Banke’s office and came to Martha’s desk. “ ‘Cain’ was quite an experience, wasn’t he, Miss Tayne?” “I can hardly believe him real, yet.” The girl smiled. “And to think that he was in that room for nearly two hours —and Mr Banke’s safes contain thousands of pounds worth of stones!” "Safes are not ‘Cain’s’ meat.” The detective smiled. “ ‘Cain’ never put his mark in a safe, yet.. No, he is a pickef-up of—well —considered trifles. The Montgomery .emeralds were quite to his taste, arid in his line—and they were lying on your desk, ready to his hand, asking to be taken.”

“I’m sorry.” The girl spoke contritely. “I never guessed they were in any risk.” She hesitated a moment. “You know, so many important pieces of jewellery lie there, at times. With the door to the shop protected by the electric bell, and the electric bolt to fasten it worked from my desk; I never imagined there could be a theft from there.” “Quite r a number of things we do not imagine possible happen sooner or later, Miss Tayne.” Davidson spoke meditatively. "Is that a hint, a warning, or an accusation?” Martha looked up, quickly. “Neither one of the three.’ The detective smiled, broadly. “This is your first experience of a robbery—and you have been here three years. You’re lucky, Miss Tayne.” “Mr Banke does not think so.” The girl retorted, swiftly. “The Montgomery emeralds are valuable.” “They may bo recovered.” “Do you think so.” "Jewels of that kind are difficult to dispose, of.” > “To ‘Cain’ ?” “What do you know of ‘Cain’?” The question came swiftly. “Nothing, but what happened here ‘this morning.” The girl answered slowly. ‘‘But,,T saw. him . . .and “And, what?” "I wonder now if I saw the real man.” Martha spoke as if to herself. • ■ “The real man?” There was a; note of seriousness in the detective’s; voice. “What do you mean, Miss Tayne?” “He came here disguised as Mr Luther Banke. Then he wore a short, close-cropped beard and moustache. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with signs of longstanding illness on him-—Mr Banke has been a partial invalid for quite a number of years. He acted the part—no, he was the man, in every sense. He came out of that room younger and more virile; every poise showing .confidence in himself. I held him under my gun . .’’ The girl looked up quickly. . .and I can shoot, Mr Davidson. I would have shot him if Mr Kempton had but given me a hint of the truth . .”

Her lips curled in desdain at thought of the pusillanimous solicitor. ". . . and I would have shot to kill. Yet . . L'.. .” Again she paused. “. . . yet he never showed any signs of fear. He . . .he laughed!”

"A testimonial, Miss Tayne?” Davidson smiled broadly.

“It may be. I The telephone on the desk shrilled. Martha lifted the receiver and spoke the name of the firm. She listened a moment and then held the instrument'towards the police. “Someone is asking for you, Mr Davidson." “For me?” The man looked surprised. For a moment he hesitated. “Will you answer it for me, Miss Tayne. Say . . .say that I am engaged and have asked you to take a message.” *

The girl looked surprised, but obeyed. For some minutes she listened, then drew a scribbling pad towards her and wrote, rapidly.

Davidson watched the girl for a few moments, then rose from his seat and glanced over her shoulder. He chuckled slightly at what he read. The girl looked up, slightly flushed.

“That is the message, Mr er— Davidson.” Her eyes were watchful and her tones cold.

“What do you intend to do with it, Miss Tayne?”, ~ “Should I hand it to Mr Banke?” A slight smile curved her lips. “The position is—unique.” “And the message—awkard—now Mr Kempton has left’us.” The man laughed ■ gehtly.

,“So sorry detective-sergeant Davidson met with an ... accident, Mr —•Cain' —you spell it with an ‘l’, do you not?” Martha’s heart was beating fast; yet her hand was steady as it stole along the line of the desk to where her automatic rested in the drawer. “Invariably!'’ The mirth grew in

the man’s eyes. “If you will forgive me, Miss Tayne.’’ He caught gently at her hand and drew it to her lap. T have had experience of your ability with that little toy. Forgive me! I should appreciate it as a . . .well . . . souvenir.” “Surely you don’t expect to get away again?” The girl’s brows arched. “I may be lucky—again.” He smiled slightly. “Why not?” The girl did not answer immediately. "If I call out ...” she commenced, at length.

“You will not.” “No?” She paused again. “I think T shall.” “But . . -you have bolted the door.” “Mr Luther Banke will hear me.” “Will that affect the—er—situation?"

Matha shook her head. "No, Mr Banke is not a fit man. No, I shall not call out." “Then . .” “Why did you come back here?” “I wonder if you would be offended, if I told you?” “And you—a thief?” “And yet—a man.” “Is . . . can a thief be a—man?”

‘Cain’ turned and strode up the room. Martha’s eyes went, involuntarily, to the drawer in which rested the automatic.' It was still there; the man had not taken it. Almost her hand went out to grasp it; then she drew back. She could not do that! Yet the man was a thief. He had gone from that room a little more than a couple of hours before, carrying with him the Montgomery emeralds. He might have them on him at that very moment. If she snatched at her automatic; bailed him up and called for help; the man could not evade capture. She would be praised, rewarded —and he . . . Somehow, she could not vistualise him in prison—a bound creature behind bars. She would always! see him as he stood in that room, then. Alone, playing a dangerous game against the enemies surrounding him. ‘Cain’! Yes, that was his name! ‘Cain’ alone; the outcast; fighting against every man —every man’s hand against him! The warm colour swept to her face and neck. What was she doing: what was she thinking? The man was a’ criminal —one of those beings the newspaper and fiction-writers called “master-criminals.” He was a danger to society—yet, somehow, he made her think of wild animals'— animals following - ' dictates of their instincts in the wilderness: fighting lone-handed against Nature and their enemiesin the age-old war of self-preservation. A wave of sympathy for him—hunted and friendless—swept over her; and, again, the warm colour came to her face.

“Well?” ‘Cain’ swung round on his heels, speaking almost roughly. "What do you intend to do?” “Why did you come back?” She dared not look up as she asked the question. “Don’t you know?” The girl did not answer. She could riot. For some moments she sat, impotent: then reaching under the desk, released the door-lever. The slight sound mhde the man turn, swiftly; Almost as he faced the girl, he realised what she had done. He laughed slightly, happily. “And, the gun, Miss . . Martha?”

Without a word she took it from the drawer and held it out to him. “You , . .you are,on my side?” The words came in a low, fierce whisper. “No.” The girl spoke quickly. . “Then :...?”

He crossed the intervening space with a few swift strides, until again he stood beside the desk, looking down on the girl. She knew he was there, but dared not look up. She could feel his eyes, bearing down on her.

“If you will excuse me, Mr . . Davidson! I have important work waiting. As you know, we missed the overseas mail this morning and that has entailed a lot of . . .a lot of. . .a lot of . . .” The hot tears sprang to her eyes. She brushed at them, angrily, with the back of her hand: but the tears only came faster. She groped for her handkerchief and rubbed her eyes, vigorously. When s)he looked up, she was alone. And at her elbow stood the, familiar long, narrow box—open; and blazing brilliant on their bed of white velvet—the Montgomery emeralds! CHAPTER IV. “Bo it’s ‘Cain’ again?” Sir Edmund Morgan, Commissioner for Police, looked up from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He had the uncanny ability of making officers interviewing him feel very. Uncomfortable. “So Miss Tayne said, sir.” Mark Denvers, detective-inspector, answered with, some disquietude. “She said , “Who is Miss Tayne?” “Miss Martha Tayne, personal secretary to Mr Luther Banke, of Luther Banke and Co.” The detective particularised, carefully. . “Well, what had she to say?” “Very little, sir. She didn’t want to talk —Tor some reason,” “Yet she told you that the thief’s name was ‘Cain’? How did she know that?” “He told her—when he returned the jewels.” “‘Cain’!” Sir Edmund frowned “New habit of his, isn’t it—to first steal the jewels and then return them?” (To be continued).