Saul and the Spinster

Ellesmere Guardian, Volume LVII, Issue 23, 27 March 1936, Page 7

Saul and the Spinster

ABSORBING MYSTERY STORY

(Copyright)

By Aidan de Brune

Gravely and demurely,« Paddy, walked to her chair and sat down, daintily-shod feet side by side, hands clasped in her lap. For the moment she remained the image of a reserved and old-fashioned girl; then laughed gaily. Settling her skirts anew, she crossed her legs, then quickly uncrossed them and sat up expectantly. "Mr Manning? Oh, he's a funny old stick. Why, he kisses my hand when we meet, and calls me 'My child.' I wouldn't like to be one of his children—though he has only one. Why " She paused. "Yes?" said Saul Murmur, encouragingly. "He doesn't behave like a man should who has children," continued the girl gravely. "He talks to them with—with something missing." "Yes, I understand." The Inspector nodded gravely. The same thought had struck him when Carrington Manning had spoken of Theo as his son. "Now, as to Theo— —" "Why, Theo and his father are more like friends —no —oh, you know —more like business friends, or something like that. Theo never calls his father 'dad' or 'sir,' or anything like that. Oh, how can I explain it? He speaks—speaks just like he would to you, or " Saul Murmur nodded understandingly. "How old is Theo?" he asked. "Oh, quite old. Twenty-some-thing!" Paddy concentrated on the question keenly. "He says he"s twenty-one—but I think he must be more—twenty-five, or even older." "And he's still at the University! Rather old for education, isn't he? I wonder Mr Manning didn't finish his son's education in England." "But Theo's American," corrected the girl. "He told me he had only lived a couple of years in England, and didn't like it. And " "Yes?" suggested Saul Murmur, wb,en the girl paused. "And he works—really works," continued the girl. "I've heard him and Mr Manning talking about his work. It —it's something to do with some machine —some sort of printing machine that Theo's making, and he said—he said he wasn't satisfied with it." She paused, frowning, then continued, as if picking her words: "And Mr Manning was quite cross with Theo. He didn't speak as if he were talking to his son, who was being quite clever; but as —as if he were talking to someone in his —his office. Oh, bother! You must know what I mean!" And again Saul Murmur nodded. The girl was confirming many thoughts that had .come into his mind. More, she was showing that beneath her light insouciance lay a power of observation, untrained, but which betokened a mind capable of thought, a brain capable of receiving and analysing impressions. "There is no Mrs Manning?" the detective asked at length. He tried to give his words an air of casualness, but felt he failed. "Mrs Manning is dead," replied the girl soberly. "Has she been dead long?" asked the Inspector, not now attempting to disguise his interest. "I think so." Paddy considered gravely. "I have never heard Mr Manning or Theo speak of her. I think she must have died many years ago." Saul Murmur fell silent, gazing thoughtfully before him. Paddy leaned back in her chair, watching' him, rather puzzled and excited at the examination to which the Inspector had subjected her. She felt that she was facing realities—some instinct told her that the Inspector was not asking idle questions. She fidgeted with the clasp of her handbag, then opened it and took out her cigarette case—to replace it quickly. The Inspector noticed the act, and, rising slowly, went to the sideboard and brought the girl a box of cigarettes. "You've visited at Carraway?" he asked, when the girl drew back from the lighter he held. "Quite a lot." The girl nodded. "Auntie and I have dined there several times." She paused, then added: "Mr Manning was quite interested in 'Florabella.' He wanted to know such a lot about how a modiste's establishment is run." "Did he?" The detective missed the point of the girl's remark; at the moment he was concentrating on the question of the missing Mrs Manning. "I suppose you've seen a portrait of Mrs Manning?" "No." Paddy spoke with certainty. "There is not a portrait of her in the house—and I've been all over it. I

suppose," she added, rather sentimentally, 'Mr Manning feels her loss so much that he cannot bear to have her portrait on view in any of the rooms. I daresay he has one in some secret place, amid his private papers." Saul Murmur smiled quietly. He thought he could give a vastly different reason for there being no portrait of Mrs Manning visible at Car- ' raway. Suddenly Paddy, who had been I gazing about the room during Saul Murmur's long silence, noticed the time by the desk clock on the sideboard. "Heavens!" She sprang to her feet. "Half-past ten! And Auntie I asked me to be home early to-night." The Inspector struggled out of his chair immediately, and reached for his coat and hat. Paddy protested. "You can put me in a taxi," she ordered. "That's all —and get me a good-looking one—l mean the taxi- | driver—in case I want to flirt on the way home. Now, Uncle Saul, do as you're told, or I won't join your 'police force!" Obediently, Saul Murmur escorted his guest through the building to the street. On the pavement, he selected a taxi and helped the girl into it. "You're quite sure you wouldn't like me to come with you?" he asked with the Anglo-Saxon's unreasoned prejudice against unattended females in public vehicles after dark. "Of course not!" Paddy laughed. "Why, I'll be home in ten minutes." She waved gaily out of the window. "Go inside, Uncle Saul, or you'll catch cold. Oh, and I'll come down and have a word with your managing director—oh, Commissioner, is it? I am sure he'll like to have me on his force." Inspector Murmur stood on the pavement and watched the taxi turn into Bayswater road. The girl's last words amused him. He wondered what would be Commissioner McFiee's attitude if Paddy walked into his office and applied for a position as detective. The thought moved him to laughter. In the opinion of members of the Police Department, the Commissioner was a gentleman who required strong shocks at intervals. If Paddy gave effect to her last words, Commissioner McFiee would receive a shock the next day—and not a small one. There would be those in the Detective Branch, when the story got out, who would state the shock was well deserved. In his flat, with the door shut for the night, Saul Murmur moved aimlessly about, considering the information he had received from the girl, fitting it into the facts he knew. A final "night-cap" ended the day for him, and he went into his bedroom and prepared for the night. The strident sounds of the telephone bell broke on an exciting dream scene wherein the stout Inspector was chasing an elusive Mrs Manning, nee Delevere, through Centennial Park. Saul Murmur rolled over and said a few of the things detective-inspectors say about crooks who work at hours disliked by the best trades union authorities. He groaned, as his warm feet met the cold floor, and ambled into the sit-ting-room to the instrument. "Hullo!" he said sharply. "Who's there ? Detective - Inspector Saul Murmur speaking." "Miss Mathilde Westways here," said an agitated female voice on the wire. "Oh, Mr Murmur, have you seen anything of Paddy this evening ? I asked her to be home early—and it is now after two o'clock!" "Paddy?" The Inspector was now wide awake. "Yes. Why, she came to see me this evening, and just after half-past ten I put her in a taxi, to drive home." "She never arrived—she hasn't arrived!" Miss Westways's voice was almost a wail. "Oh, what has become of her?" "Not arrived?" Saul Murmur rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes with his free hand. "Why " Then the official side of his nature asserted itself. "Now, don't you worry, Miss Westways. Lease it to me; I'll look into it at once. Just | you leave it to me; I'm sure nothing very dreadful can have happened. I will ring you up in a few minutes— when I've communicated with Police Headquarters." Hanging up the receiver in the midst of Miss Westways's thanks, he dialled Police Headquarters, asking for information of accidents to taxis since ten-thirty that night. He then switched the inquiry on to the Darlinghurst station, and hung up and went to his bedroom. In his mind was forming a series of figures—the

license number of the taxi in which Paddy had driven away, the number which his trained mind had automatically noted. He had barely shed pyjamas and struggled into his trousers when the telephone bell rang again. First, Police Headquarters reported no accidents to taxis during the period mentioned. Buttoning his collar, he was called to the telephone again. Darlinghurst had been on to all hospitals. The officer in charge reported no accidents to females or taxidrivers. Saul Murmur was puzzled. What had happened to the girl? Giving instructions that Taxi 763 and its driver should be found and brought in for questioning, he finished his dressing and went down to the street. CHAPTER XIV. Miss Paddy Burke was an essentially modern young lady, with her generation's crave for adventure and the unusual. True to her period, she boasted she feared nothing—with mental reservations in favour of mice and cockroaches. j Had she been informed, when she I arose on the morning of the day she | paid her visit to Inspector Murmur at his flat, that before she went to bed she would be abducted by a ! white-faced, sloping-shouldered taxidriver, from under the very eyes of her adopted Uncle Saul, she would have chortled with glee. Privately, j she would have considered that taxidriver was attempting a job far above his capabilities. She prided herself that she was more than a match for any one. man, and would prove a termagant handful for even a couple of her own sex. j When Saul Murmur closed the taxi door and motioned to her driver to proceed, Paddy leaned forward, and watched the stout figure of the Inspector on the pavement. Really, she thought, she had grown quite fond of the Englishman; privately, she returned to the matrimonial schemes she had previously harboured, for the linking up of the Inspector's and her aunt's lives. She watched until the car, swerving into Bayswater Road, the intervening buildings cut Saul Murmur's waiting figure from her sight. Naturally, in the gloom of the taxi interior, her thoughts roved amid her acquaintances, finally settling on the well-remembered figure of Theo Manning. Paddy acknowledged that at one time the tall, blonde youth had attracted her, not so much by his personal physical attributes and his father's reputed wealth, as by his strange gift of silence. His queer possessiveness, his ability to remain in the company of others, gaily chattering and laughing, without engendering restraint, was intriguing. Paddy, when she first came in contact with Theo Manning, and noticed his strange manner, had promptly pre-empted him from her girl friends. She was rather acquisitive of oddities. For long she had realised that, while she chose to pose as madly in love with the strange youth, she really cared little for him. He possessed no sex attraction for her and she was sufficiently modern and modernly educated to realise that love, romance and marriage were based in the first instance on physical affinity. Her few years in Sydney's social whirl had taught her more—the absolute futility of the majority of the modern youth. She realised that if the modern girl's training had proceeded a few steps further few of' the younger generation of males would be successful in their matehunting—that to a girl's free am trained intelligence the elder men proved far more attractive. Something of this she had once expressed to a girl friend who was raving over the physical attractiveness of a suitor. Paddy had interrupted the tattler with: "My dear, we modern girls have long since abandoned S.A.—now we look for C.A." "C.A.?" queried the infatuated one, perplexed. "What is C.A. ?" "Cash Appeal, darling!" retorted Paddy in superior tones. "It's so much more satisfying when babies and bills come rolling in." Paddy was quite willing to admit that Theo Manning had C.A. in large handfuls. - Possibly he also possessed i S.A. But she freely admitted to herself that neither his C.A. nor his S.A. appealed to her—all that h~ attracted her fancy was a certain popularity he had obtained in her set. He had proved satisfactory as an escort, a silent slave, willing to provide entertainment in large measure. When he developed a certain small talkativeness tending- towards the possessive, she amended her views on him, quickly and with the self-arrogance of the young. She expressed her opinions frankly, and was aghast when she found that her decisions were not accepted with resignation. She did the only thing she considered possible to do. Theo was discarded as an escort, and another chosen. Occupied with her thoughts, in

which a new male figured largely, Paddy did not notice that her taxidriver had turned from Bayswater Road into the perplexing maze of streets that lay to the south of that thoroughfare. When a dim recollection of time reasserted itself, she reasoned that she should long since have arrived at Elizabeth Bay. She decided that something had happened and rapped on the window dividing her from the driver. The man did not turn his head; his only acknowledgment of her action being an acceleration of the vehicle's speed. She tried to open the car door, to find it fastened, in some peculiar manner. She tested the division window, and found it immovable. Again she tapped vigorously on the window slide, and the man turned his head and grinned. Paddy felt intrigued. She had read of abductions; was she being abducted? The thought brought no sense of fear; she believed she was quite capable of dealing with any situation which arose. For the moment she was more concerned with the personality behind the abduction. Who was he? The taxi-driver she promptly discounted. The car sped on. At frequent intervals they passed solitary pedestrians, wending late ways homeward. At infrequent intervals they passed shops, and twice passed over tramlines. Paddy thought of shouting out of the window, but the speed at which the car travelled precluded any attempt at rescue by any passers-by on the road. Suddenly wide Oxford Street came in view, and beyond it the massive gates of Centennial Park. The taxidriver cut recklessly across the thoroughfare, narrowly missing a westbound tram, and drove into the gloom of the park. Now the roadway was lit only by the glaring headlights of the vehicle, with an occasional lamp post at long intervals. At rare intervals they passed strolling couples, but they were entirely concerned with their love adventures and gave little thought to the speeding taxi and its involuntary occupant. Sitting well back in the corner, to prevent being tossed about the fastdriven car, Paddy gave herself up to her thoughts, content to wait developments. Did the taxi-driver mean robbery ? She had less than a couple of pounds in her bag; her jewellery would not pawn for more than that. Besides, if the man meant to rob, why had he not sought a fare who looked, and probably was, more financial ? Abduction! Personal abduction! Her gay, modern spirit soared at the thought. What fun! What a story she would have to recount to her intimates the next day! She strove to remember what she had read regarding the abduction of young girls. In cases she remembered it had proved annoying and uncomfortable for the victim—but always they had been rescued; usually by some gallant unknown. That was satisfactory; but what did the girl—the real heroine of the adventure —do? In the old-time stories, Paddy remembered, they fainted, or screamed, or performed in some similar idiotic fashion. Paddy determined she would not scream; she doubted if she possessed the requisite knowledge to faint convincingly. She thought. She sighed. Surely her education up to date had not been conducted on satisfactory lines, so far as abductors and their methods were concerned! She giggled. Well, she would know better next time! About the time the car took to proceed half-way across the park, Paddy had settled on her line of action. She would behave normally and await the pleasure of t the whitefaced youth who had assumed the duties of god at the wheel of her chariot. When the car stopped, and she was free to face the person whom she believed had hired this totally inadequate youth for the adventure, she would decide how to act. Face to face with the real abductor —well, she felt she could be distinctly sorry for him! j The taxi stopped suddenly; thej driver thrust open his door and sprang out of the car. Paddy waited. It was not her policy to take the in- j itiative. Somewhat to her astonishment the door of her section of the car was not opened. She peered-out of the window, but was unable to see anyone in sight. That was strange! A moment's reflection and she tried the door. To her surprise, it swung open easily. Picking up her handbag, the girl alighted—to find herself on a lonely stretch of the park road, entirely alone. "Now, what- " commenced the girl, speaking to herself. She turned on her high heels, scanning as much of her surroundings as the deep gloom shrouding the park would permit. There was not a soul in sight. She walked a few steps from the car, then returned to it, as if to a known refuge. For a moment she reflected, then went to the

driver's seat and examined the mechanism. So far as her knowledge extended, the car was in order. She looked at the gauges, and found oil and petrol in plenty. Again she took time to reflect. A thought came. She could drive a car; then why not drive this car out of the park to some main street and there abandon it, finding another car to take her home? The police would find the car later. In the morning she would ring up the police station and report her abduction. She would tell Uncle Saul, and he would find the man—and she would be very, very sorry for hlin* The idea appealed. She glanced back over her shoulder at the long stretch of dark road over which she had been carried by her irresponsible driver—and giggled at the thought that the man had abandoned her j without even asking for his fare. Well, that was his responsibility; that and the car. He, not she, would [have the long tramp back to civilisation. Acting on her new impulse, Paddy slipped into the driver's seat and pressed the starter with her shoe. The engine did not answer. For some seconds she fiddled with the controls, then realised that the key was not in the lock. That was awkward. She had heard that car thieves had some method of short-circuiting th/ lock, but she did not feel inclined to experiment at that time of night, in that lonely spot. Fuming fretfully, she alighted from the car again. Unthinkingly, she moved a few steps in the direction of the park gates—and home. A derisive laugh and the quick pulsing of the engine made her swing round suddenly. The car was on the move, and she could see the form of the driver at the wheel. He looked back, grinning idiotically, as she thought. She sprang forward, to halt irresolutely. The car gathered speed and disappeared into the surrounding gloom. What now ? Only the long, solitary walk back to the park gates, with the irritating possibility that she would not easily discover an empty taxi at that time of night. Paddy murmured naughty words under her breath—then tried them loudly on the still night air, and felt very relieved. What a nuisance! Paddy's first thought was "nuisance," then she substituted a male and far more satisfying word. She breathed a

prayer that luck would come to her and that she would find an empty taxi at the Centennial Park gates. Then she commenced her solitary tramp. Exasperation and expectancy have disastrous effects on glands and pores. Paddy began to believe that jher nose was shining. That had to be immediately remedied, although it was improbable that she would meet anyone on that lonely stretch of park lands. She thought—then she discovered that she had left her handbag on the driver's seat of the inconsiderate taxi.