The Secret of the Square

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXIII, Issue 3250, 13 February 1933, Page 2

The Secret of the Square

(Published by Special Arrangement.)

CHAPTER XXIV. The Marked Man. That same evening something had affected Job Luck very powerfully. He seemed to be losing command-of himself. An expression of the deepest anxiety, almost amounting to agony, marked his face, his features were / twitching, his hands were never at - rest, as he wandered from room to room in the almost unfurnished house. Crumpled up in one hand was a scrap qt‘ paper thickly covered with pencil writing. During one of his wanderings he paused under the lamp in the hall to read it for the twentieth time, and then again mounted the stairs to the .top floor,- where, standing some little way back from the window, he remained gazing out into the street. Suddenly his attention became fixed. "There they are!” he muttered to himself, as he caught sight of Woodward, Mansfield and Hope walking together. “What am I to do? What am I to do? Ah* what’s happened?” as he saw Hope sink to the ground. "It’ll be murder, after all,” and he dashed down the stairs with the intention of offering help, but in the hall his reso- , lution changed and he stopped and quickly returned to the upstairs window. .He saw the uaconsclous Hope driven off, and Mansfield enter a second taxi and follow rapidly. “I wish Redmond would come back,” he muttered with a deep sigh. “He must know of this, but I’ll stick to what I promised. He was good to dear old Tom, and I can’t forget that. No, Come what may, I’ll stick to my promise.” By this time he had reached the hall again, and was just sitting down in one of the carved oak chairs when he heard the sound of thb key in the lock. Starting up, he reached the front door and held It as his brother entered. “Well?” “This.” Such was the greeting between the pair. - Crundall almost snatched the piece of paper from Job’s hand and, standing, where he was, read it. .- As he fini&fietf hSs' lips moved in a great oath and then he stood silent, lost in • ,v - ,- * V .;' 5 ’ - ""Come to my room,” he suddenly exclaimed, leading the way up the stairs. “Anything more?” he asked when they .wfere inside.;. - : For the fraction of a moment there was a pause, which Crundall did not seem to notice, and then the reply came—“ Nothing.” Redmond glanced at his brother, but Job stood as though cut in- stone, • • '55 absolutely without movement or expression was he. “Stay where you are; 1 must think,” and then after several minutes’ pause, “go and order the car round again at once. The men won’t have gone home yet. Look sharp.” - Five minutes later found the car standing at the door and Crundall about to enter it. ”Mind, you’re not to go to bed till I get back,” he said to Job. “There may be something more to-night; do you hear?" "Yes, I hear.” “Then do as I tell you. Fenchurch Street Station,” and the car disappeared round the corner of the square. Arriving at his destination, Crundall sent the car back and took a ticket for Plaistow. The note he had received had upset him more than he cared to show. Things at the office had gdne far from well that day, and now this news had come on the top of all. But he possessed an iron will . * and determination, or he would never have attained the position he had, and this was now called into play. On reaching the address in Fry- ■ street, the bulldogs gave evidence of his approach long before he rang the bell, and their master was evidently not in bed, for after Crundall had . -given a particular treble knock, the ddor was silently opened and he was admitted. Not a word was uttered till the back ’' room was entered, where a light was burning. “Where’s Armstrong? And what’s the meaning of all this? You’re not ; s - fit to be trusted with anything. You’re no more good than a child,” comtnenced Crundall furiously. “I waited at the office till six, and then as the man I sent you had not returned I

' . guessed things had not gone as they ..,,; ought to have done. I looked for one - of you to come, but you wouldn’t take the trouble, not,you, you lazy hounds! ■ ■ ' You expect me to keep you, yet you dp nothing for It. And then when I get home I find this. This!" shaking the scrap of paper In his face. ‘.‘Why, ..... a-child, could get ropnd you. I’m ashamed of you, and you call your- ? sdlves men. . Where’s Armstrong ” ‘Through all this harangue the man stood quietly, with a smile on his face, regarding Cruudall, never offer- •* ' ing to make a reply. At last he said: “Have you done? Now, then, p’raps you’ll let me get a word In?’’ “Go on.” “He’s gone to the crib at Leyton. He ought to have gone to a hospital, but you see he couldn’t very well, could he?’’ “And how came you to let him get winged in this way? You bungled the affair, of course. You always do. And you never got the papers after all. Oh, you’re a set of idiots, women, chil*_dren, fools!” This further outburst had the effect of rousing thie man’s temper at last, and he strode across the room. Tak-

By WILLIAM LE QUEUX. Author "The Enchanted Peril,” “The Seven Secrets,” "In White Raiment,” "Whatsoever a Man Soweth,” etc., etc.

ing Crundall by the collar, he shook him like a terrier would a rat, at the same time saying: “Drop it; you’ve said enough, and I’ll have no more of It, You pay us to work for you, but blackguarding isn’t in the contract; if you want that luxury you must pay extra.” The man was far the stronger of the two and did what he liked with him; and when at last he let go Crundall was gasping for breath. “You shall pay for this, you infernal hound!” he spluttered. “I really think 30t,” the man replied as he took a paper from his pocket and held it in front of the breathless man. "Where In the name of Fate did vou get that?” almost screamed Crundall. But the only answer was a grimace and a wink, as It was returned to safety, having done its work by taking all the bluster out of Crundall; and the remainder of the interview was more or les#’ an ordinary conversation. Certain arrangements were made and instructions given, and then Crundall prepared to take his departure and find his way back as best he could.

As he was leaving the room his companion said: "Strange, but those dogs are exceptionally quiet. What’s the matter?” “Gone to sleep like sensible animals, I should think,” replied Crundall, with a laugh.

“They don’t sleep—at least, not at night. Come with me and see.” And they made their way to the door opening on the garden. It was slightly ajar. The man started and turned furiously on Crundall, exclaiming: “What game have you been up to? By heaven! if you’ve been doing any•tblng to- my -dogs- you shall smart -hr. ‘“I’ll' hTowlTae whole gaff, never mind what It costs me. Come on; I don’t let you out of my sight till I know.” And getting behind Crundall he forced him down the steps into the garden. Still there was no sound, and on reaching the kennels they found the two dogs lying motionless in front of them.

Turning on him, his face contorted with rage, the man seized him and would have struck him, when Crundall ejaculated: “Don’t be a fool; the dogs aren’t dead, I can see them breathe. Look for yourself. They’re drugged; pour some water over them and they’ll come to.” Their owner did so, and found it as Crundall had said. They were not dead, only heavily drugged and quite unequal to standing or uttering a sound in the way of a bark. "What have you been doing with them?” he asked. “Don’t talk rot! You know I’ve done nothing." How could I? Let’s get them, into the house; we can look after them better there without being seen.” And together they dragged and lifted the unconscious animals into the back room. This accomplished, Crundall would have taken his departure, but Marsh stopped him. i "No you don’t,” he said. “You’ve brought all this trouble and you stay and see me through it. When my beauties get round you can go. not until.” Crundall made a virtue of necessity and stayed, helping the man till the dogs were well on the way to recovery. And all the time Marsh kept addressing him as though he had been the cause of their undoing. When at last they were.able to relax their efforts, Crundall asked: “What made you think I had anything to do with this job, Marsh?” "If you hadn’t, who has? Tell me that.” "I can’t. Some fellow who’s got a spite against you, I should think; or else ” "Yes, just so, or else . And Who’s put them on the scent if you haven't?” “Don’t be an idiot, Marsh. You know I shouldn’t.” "At any rate, I must clear. Somebody’s been here and heard all we said. Remember the door was open, and it was not open for nothing; and I must have something to go with, so shell out.” “Yes, you’d better go, no doubt abbut it,” replied Crundall, slipping a note into the man’s hand. “It’s a most infernal nuisance. Everything’s gone wrong to-day and unless things straighten out a bit it strikes me 1 shall do well to clear out too for a time. Well, let me know where you get to.” "Oh, I'll let you know fast enough; p’raps sooner ’ than you will care about, for one can’t do- much on this,” he said, holding out the note. “You shall have more if you want it, but I haven’t another in my pocket now. By Jove! do you know it’s five o’clock? I shall be able to get a workman’s train now, but I don’t care about going in this top hat. Haven’t you a cap you could lend me, and you could burn this?” “Yes, I can oblige you with one of Armstrong’s,” replied Marsh, and thus equipped, Crundall made his way cautiously from the house, keeping as much in the shadow and in back lanes as possible. But he might “have spared himself the trouble, for all the time he was being silently followed by a figure that never lost sight of him for a moment till he was seated In the train for Fenchurch Street, hemmed in and crowded by a throng of early toilers going to their work.

Even after that, though he knew it not, he was followed right across the city, till on Holborn Viaduct he was able to secure a taxi and finish the remainder of his journey more at his ease. It was only when the door closed after him in Chesterton Square that his follower consented to desert him. Redmond Crundall was a marked man. CHAPTER XXV. Some further Suspicions. Crundall indulged himself but little that day. A couple of hours’ sleep was all he allowed himself, and he was down at his office at the usual time. He had much to do. Matters had gone so contrary with him of late that it was a toss-up whether he weathered the storm or not. Arriving in Coleman-street, he found a man in shabby fashionable dress awaiting him. His face grew black when he caught sight of him, though he apparently did not see him as he passed into his own room. Having gone through his correspondence, he directed the caller to be shown in, when there took place an interview that in no way went towards relieving his worries. Both men spoke low so that nothing could be heard in the outer office. But as the stranger came out he said: “As I’ve told you, I’ve given him a hint already, and if by to-night that does not arrive, he’ll hear a good deal more; so now, Mr. Crundall, you know how to act.” “Quite so, quite so. Good morning.” But his words were no index to the state of his mind, for when the door of his room was again shut he sank into a chair and never moved for ten minutes, so deeply was his ingenuity at work. Suddenly, with an imprecation, he hurriedly wrote a telegram to Mrs. Loraine: “Stay in this evening. Must see you.—R.” And pressing the electric button, despatched it, at the same time bidding the clerk show* in the callers, of whnm tb*> miter nffipp was bv this time quite full. It required a man of Crundall’s temperament and clever business capacity to satisfy them all and keep them-'in-hand. His task was a Herculean one, and it continued for the better part of the day. Besides seeing people, there was a ceaseless flow of telegrame to answer —to answer in a diplomatic and non-commit-ting fashion. In the midst of it all a small note was brought in to him, and on his visitor leaving the next to enter was Job Luck. His face was white and terrorstricken, and terrible anxiety was marked on every line of his countenance. He hardly waited until the door was closed before he burst out; “Redmond, the game’s up!” “What do you mean? Quick.” “There’s .been a man watching the house for hours. He looks like a detective; he’s never moved out of the square. He’s waiting for you, I’m certain. I felt I must come and tell you. Oh, Redmond, do be careful. You ” “Get along back and don’t come here with such drivelling tales to me, man. You ought to know better. You’re an utter idiot. Job. I’ll kick you out neck and crop if you do this kind of thing again. A great booby like you to be frightened by a loafer. Be off with you—you hear?” “But, Redmond, for the sake of old times, listen ” “I’ve no time for such nonsense. Be off and never dare to come here again.” “You mean this?” And the figure of the little man seemed to stiffen with indignation, and grow taller. “Yes, I do. That’s my last word.”

"Then I never will come here again, happen what may,” said Job. "I’ve tried to do my best for you, and you treat me more like a dog than a brother. Henceforth you may work for yourself.” And without another word he left the office. While the scene between Crundall and his brother Job had been taking place, Mansfield had met his friend Woodward at Mrs. Hope’s house. They had found that Claud had passed a bad night and was now delirious; his incoherent ravings, in which the names of Grace Sugden, Mrs. Loraine and other of his former acquaintances were mingled, wandered from scenes in India to the finding of the papers in the house in Chesterton Square. But what appeared to be most deeply fixed in his mind was the noise that had so nearly led to his capture on his house-break-ing expedition. Again and again he would pause as though listening, and raising his finger would exclaim, "Hush! There it is. Listen! It’s coming. There, didn’t you hear it? What is it? What is it Tell me. Listen, there it is again. Wait a minute! Now then. Hark* There, over there.” And he pointed to a corner of the room, moving his hand. “It’s close now, over me, under me; I don’t know where. Now it’s going again.” And his hand moved on, following the imaginary sound till he was pointing to the opposite corner. "Now it’s gone, gone! But it’ll come again. Tell me—tell me—what is it?” Mansfield, who had accompanied Woodward to Claud’s room, stood listening to the wanderings of the delirious man with rapt attention, and when Maggie would have tried to soothe him, said: "Let him go on, If it does him no harm —will it. Woodward?” His friend only shook his head, and again Claud went through the scene in the empty room, and always exactly the same way, and always in doubt as to where the sound was, whether below or above him; but every time describing it as starting in the distance, approaching, and then dying away in the opposite direction. At length Mansfield moved his position, saying quietly: “I’m glad I came; he’s given me an

idea, and I believe it’s a true one.” And then as Woodward was about to question him he picked up a bundle of papers lying on the top of the chest of drawers, exclaiming: ‘‘What’s this, Miss Maggie?” “Only some papers Claud brought back from the office one evening.” “Look at that,” said Mansfield, holding them out to Woodward. “Do you see it? It’s identically the same. Exactly the same yellow thread running through the string. You’ve never seen anything like that except once before, I’m sure. May I take it, do you think, Miss Maggie?”

“Which —the papers or the string?” “Only the string.” “I’m sure you may. I can soon tie them up with another piece.” “Now I don’t care, Woodward,” carefully winding it up. “I can clear you before any jury in the world. But never mind that now; just get Hope on his legs again.” And Mansfield went downstairs to talk to Mrs. Hope, while Woodward was busy giving instructions to Maggie. He wanted her to let him send in a nurse, but she would not hear of such a thing, unless Claud grew worse. Her firm, on hearing of her brother’s accident, had given her permission to remain at home, and as long as she was able she would attend him. When Woodward joined the others below he was able to give a cheering account of the patient and announce the crisis as already passed.

On leaving the house Woodward found he had barely time in which to reach the Police Court before his remanded case was called on.

“I feel a jolly sight more comfortable about it than I did last time, old chap,” said Mansfield, as they drove along. “I’m going into the witnessbox to-day and shall blow the case to ribbons in no time. Talk about Sherlock Holmes, he isn’t in it with me,” and he laughed merrily. When they reached the Court and Woodward had found his solicitor, t'he latter, too, seemed in very good spirits. “You won’t be kept very long today, I think,” he said with a smile. “Ah, there! The case is called on now!”

The prognostication proved correct, for the police at once intimated that they did not propose to offer any evidence against the prisoner. “In which case he is discharged,” said the magistrate shortly. Woodward’s solicitor jumped up, full of indignant remarks about the injustice his client had suffered under, and how he was fully prepared and anxious to meet the charge. But the magistrate would listen to nothing, merely saying with a smile: “That will do, sir. There is no charge against your client, and, of course, he leaves the Court without a stain on his character.”

“But, sir ” persisted the lawyer. “Next case.” And the matter was at an end.

Directly they were outside in the •afreet he said •

“I knew the police had something up their sleeve, and had given the ‘beak’ the tip that they didn’t want it to come out just at present, and that was why he was so short with me. You saw him grinning. He’s really not a bad old boy, but always will have his own way. However, there it is, and I congratulate you, sir; though we should have smashed them to-day if they only would have heard us.” After a little further conversation the group broke up, Woodward and his friend driving off to the square.

“Well, that’s one thing cleared off our minds,” said Mansfield, as Woodward re-entered the cab, having stopped at a post office to send a wire to Ella to apprise her of the result. “It won’t be long before we clear up the rest. You’re not going to do any work to-day till you go to see Hope again this evening. I want you with me. And first of all we’re going to that house along here,” as the taxi, drew up before Woodward’s door. “Stop a moment. I must tell Simmons the result.” And they entered the house.

The first thing that caught Woodward’s eye was a telegram lying upon his table. He tore it open, glancing at the contents, and threw it across the table to Mansfield, saying: “By Jove! you were right. My uncle’s never been here!”

“I told you so; I told you so,” replied Mansfield with a laugh. “Sherlock Holmes again, you see. But don’t waste time, go and tell Simmons and then come with me.”

With a very matter-of-fact air, Mansfield went to the door of the neighboring house, accompanied by his friend. It was shut, but he rang the bell. On the caretaker coming, he walked straight in and up the stairs. The man would have made some remark, but Mansfield gave him no time. “This is the room, Woodward,” he said, entering the one as described by Hope. “And this certainly seems hollow.” And he gave a blow on the sloping front wall. The moment he did so there was a faint metallic sound. “Listen,” and on his repeating the action the sound was again heard. “There’s something curious here; I should like to see what’s behind.”

He was about to make a small hole with his knife in the plaster, for the paper was not yet hung, when he suddenly paused, and clutching Woodward’s arm, whispered: “Listen! Listen!” Far away on the left came a faint “swish” that each moment grew louder, till it appeared close to them, and then died away on the right. “That’s it!” exclaimed Mansfield. “Now I understand. I don’t want to see any more here. Come on.” “Where are you going?” "To the root of the matter. To Hoggin’s room." (To be Continued.)