THE HANGMAN’S NOOSE

Evening Star, Issue 20993, 6 January 1932, Page 3

THE HANGMAN’S NOOSE

By JOHN L. CARTER,

[All Eights Reserved.]

CHAPTER VII. AN EVE-WITNESS. Alas, for Hubert’s carefully laid scheme! There had been a witness of his struggle with, and subsequent slaying of, Sir Ambrose; one quiet presence who could make all his preparations useless; one in whoso hands his very life might rest. That person was Johnson. Johnson had seen from Sir Ambrose s face when ho opened the outer door that there was something unusual afoot. Sir Ambrose had told him to go to bed, too. Shortly after that he heard voices upstairs when there should have been no one there but Sir Ambrose. Consequently, his curiosity aroused, he had tiptoed up learn more of the mystery. Perhaps in the circumstances it was not to be wondered at that ho should be interested in any secret guest of Sir Ambrose s. Johnson was Irish. On this occasion he had hurried up to the keyhole and received a shock far from pleasant. Tho woman who was with Sir Ambrose was Captain Braid’s wife! In his alarm at all that this meant he had retreated to his own place, waiting there in fear and uncertainty. He felt that ho ought to do something—but what? Ho had served in tho army under Captain Braid, and he had up to now respected his wife. At last, like the wise servant he was, ho decided to wait for orders, thus clearing his conscience of a dimly-indi-cated Jbut perplexing duty. He had watched through the bannisters from the steps leading to the basement, and had seen Hubert and Stephen come in together. He had seen the captain go up the stairs and Mrs Braid come down, and shortly ' after the captain _ come down again and go off with the little woman. He felt his heart beat quickly as he saw Dr Braid take those stairs three at a time. He had waited anxiously for a few moments, and then, in spite of certain dismissal if he were caught, he had crept up after him and into Sir Ambrose’s bedroom, and heard tho quarrel. He had felt all the time that Mrs Braid was “ straight,” and he believed every word that tho doctor said, and backed him in his heart. When the shooting began and all was over, quicker than lie could _ have said “ Snap,” he had been afraid. He wanted to go up to the doctor and tell him that he had seen it all, that he would back up his story—any story he liked to tell—but he was afraid. That awful cunning look in the poor doctor’s eyes! As like as not the doctor would put him out of the way too, for fear he might tell! And so he had stayed there just behind the curtain, and watched and pitied, easing his conscience by thinking that perhaps it would be safe. to tell the doctor next day. He felt that he must tell him—he could never keep it to himself. He wanted to rush in and say “ I saw it all ” —to keep near the doctor for safety, and to make some plan that would reassure them' both. The only thing that stopped him was that crafty look in tho doctor’s eyes. And so the terrified Johnson sadly turned away and left the bedroom. It was this movement that Hubert had heard, and when he thought he saw tho curtain move, hut he had been too late to see the serving man disappear. Johnson sat up all night in a mixture of terror and mental effort. The former was not less foreign to his nature than was the latter, and between the two he was a hopeless wreck by morning. In the end he decided that lie would “discover” the body himself, and so bo the first to tell the doctor, when, if an opportunity occurred, he would also tell him that he knew all, but that he would die before ho breathed a word. But for all that something told him that he would never dare to tell the doctor, although he felt already that he was going mad with keeping it to himself. _He sat. on and on, waiting for the time when he must go and “discover” that laughter-struck corpse. But what troubled him most was the fear that the doctor might commit suicide. CHAPTER VIII. THE NAME ON THE PISTOL. It was eight o’clock. Johnson was standing trembling on tho mat outside Hubert Braid’s bedroom. He had turned the knob, but could not summon courage to enter. That had been the way for'tho last halfhour. Ho had indeed begun at 6 to gather together his scattered fragments of courage, but not until half an hour ago had ho left his own room. And now he had tried that knob so many times _ that he was beginning to feel that it would be simpler and far less of an ordeal to confess to having killed Sir Ambrose himself.

The clock in the hall was striking 8, and with a sudden resolution, as ho realised how late it was, he thrust at the # knob which had lain for the last five minutes in his hand.

At last he was inside. Johnson had been wondering whether it was not on the cards that ho might have to make a discovery that morning after all. The doctor had been strangely quiet. But no; the doctor was safe enough. Three times he tried to call “Doctor,” but nothing but a genuine bedside whisper came forth. Then he angrily took himself in hand, and shaking Hubert by the shoulder he shouted:

“Doctor! Doctor! Wake up!” Hubert woke with a splitting head. He had forgotten the night before. A stiff drug had done its work well. “Oh, doctor!” said Johnson, “Sir Ambrose, sir. He’s been—had an accident.” He had nearly said “murdered,” and only just remembered. Hubert sat up in sudden recollection, which struck Johnson as a fine simulation of surprise, and made him gasp with fear. If the dotcor could act like that, what was to stop him throwing the blame upon him? Hubert saw the look on Johnson’s face, and asked himself what it meant. But of course the man must of necessity be nearly scared to death. The fellow could not connect him with it. Absurd!

Johnson grew more uneasy as ho went on with his stammering tale. He felt that ho was acting in the way that the guilty man would act, while the doctor only looked startled and upset. And he had not a doubt that the police would fix the'crime on himself. Should ho toll the doctor now and beg for mercy? But no, not yet; time enough when the police had been sent for. His halting story finished, Hubert said nothing, but pulling on a dressing

Author of 1 Peggy the Aeronaut,’ ‘The Pilgrimage of Delilah,’ etc

gown lie rushed off to the room above, with Johnson following close behind. Hubert dreaded going in, and stood aside, but Johnson also hung back, and so ho set his teeth and went in. He must act out this mean business — there was no help for it. And he acted it to the life, kneeling down and making a show of examining tho body. At last ho looked up to find Johnson regarding him with shocked, open mouth, and burning eyes. What could Johnson know? But of course the man had not yet recovered from the shock of discovering the body, and was still half scared out of his wits.

Hubert’s seemingly callous manner had shocked and terrified Johnson, who was more than ever convinced that ho himself would bo hanged. He still hoped, however. He wanted to know his master’s mind, to have some indication of what he must expect. “ Was it an accident, sir? ” he asked, while ho busied himself opening a window. Ho had felt ready to choke for some time. Hubert started. What did the man mean? “ Johnson,” he said sternly, “ come here.” Johnson obeyed. He could not have said, “ Yes, sir,” to save his life. Hubert was convinced by his manner —such is the unreliability of facial expression—that the man knew nothing. “ Can you read, Johnson? ” he went on. He was still rather perplexed. Johnson’s jaw dropped. Ho had not a doubt that tho doctor meant to trap him. Ho paused for a moment to consider whether ho should reply at all. “ Why, yes, sir! ” Hubert then pointed to tho card pinned to the dead man’s coat. “ Then what is this card ? Does that look like an accident? ” Now was Johnson’s Waterloo. Ho knew it. He dropped down on one knee and began biting his nails as a ready and reasonable excuse for delaying his answer. “ What card, sir? ” Safe once more. “ Yet you never saw this card? ” said Hubert accusingly. “It was dark, sir, then. It’s only just breaking light now, sir.” It was true. So Hubert cofild trust Johnson once again. But Johnson was not at all relieved. “ Have you any idea who did it, sir?” ho asked. Ho wanted Hubert to accuse him at once if ho intended to do it at all. Ho had risen to his feet now, and was industriously brushing an imaginary ir -h from his knee. He could feel Hubert’s eyes staring hard at tho top of his head, so he kept on brushing. At last he stole a glance up at Hubert. He was correct in believing that the doctor was watching him; Hubert had been startled nearly out of his senses. Seeing Johnson’s furtiveness, he said bluntly: “ Look here, Johnson, my man, you seem to know more of this affair than you care to admit. Come! Say straight out what you know. I will stand by you and sco that you don’t get into trouble.” That alarmed Johnson more than ever. The doctor would stand by him? What did he mean? Was he wanting him to take the blame, for a considera* tion, or was he just experimenting to see how far he dare go?

“ I swear, sir, on the tombstone of my dead father, that I know nothing whatever about it, sir. I went to bod right early, sir, last night.” He said this in a slow, solemn tone, and . .übert was convinced ho was speaking the truth. “ Well, then, how is it you are so confoundedly jumpy?” “ Well, sir, it’s only natural. This isn’t what you’d call an everyday occurrence,” ho said, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “ Besides, I can’t help thinking that this might be stuck on me. We shall have the police round, and first thing they’ll say; ‘ Who discovered the body?’ and then they’ll try to wrap me up with their questions.” Hubert smiled. This accounted for Johnson’s strange, suspicious manner. “ Don’t you worry about that, Johnson. I’ll see that you don’t come to any harm. No one would make such a charge against- you.” And Johnson was satisfied now that no matter what the doctor might do, he would not try to shift the blame to his shoulders. ‘‘ You had better ring up the police,” said Hubert. “Wo may as well got this cleared up at once.” And poo" Johnson was glad to get away. Hubert then locked the door and went back to dress. Before ho was fully dressed a police officer came. “ Detective's come, sir,” said Johnson. Cured of his strange fancies, ho now felt greatly concerned for his master, and ho was on the point of whispering the fact of- his having witnessed the fight, when Hubert told him to show the man into the bedroom. He mistook Johnson’s anxious expression for fear for his own safety. After giving Johnson one or two matter-of-fact orders, Hubert turned to face the officer. It was hard to realise that the man did not suspect him; could not see it in his eyes. Tho officer was very respectful, and Hubert gave him tho key of the room and sent Johnson to show him tho way. Ho felt that he ought to go up himself, but somehow he could not do it. Ho was afraid of what tho man’s trained eyes might discover. Ho felt that he must make a bolt for it oven now, and as ho listlessly wont on with his dressing ho wondered whether it would be called murder or only manslaughter. He was rather inclined to tho idea that they would call it murder—but of _ course they could never trace it to him! There was nothing whatever to fear! For all that, he felt at times as though ho must rush up to the detective and tell him the whole story, and have it out. It would drive him mad, this suspense! When he had finished dressing he still loitered in his bedroom, and did not go upstairs to where that man was rooting about for clues. His life was in the detective’s hands, and until ho should have finished his investigations Hubert was in fear and doubt. At last, after a wait which seemed like hours, Johnson came to say that the detective wished to see him.

“Anything fresh turned up?” ho said lightly, and Johnson blinked and said: “ I hope so, sir—l mean, not as I knows of,” and hurried away to stare at a meaningless rasher. With his heart thumping loudly, and feeling half-suffocated, Hubert wont upstairs. The detective was waiting on the landing. Hubert looked for the gleam of steel handcuffs, and wondered whether he would fight or submit quietly.

CHAPTER IX, THE AKEEST.

CHAPTER X. THE HOUSE OE HOIUIOES,

“ I believe you said, sir, that the only injury was the broken neck?” said the man respectfully. Hubert cleared his choking throat; “ That is so. Evidently he fell in the struggle.” So the man did not suspect him then! “ Can I ask you to help me to lift the remains to the couch, sir?” said the man.

Hubert had carefully kept his eyes away from the body, and now he must touch it once more! Ho could not refuse.

“ Certainly,” he said, and together they lifted to the couch all that was loft of the brilliant and versatile Sir Ambrose Gorvais. When it was done ho went over to the window which Johnson had opened earlier, and filled his lungs with the foggy air. He was not left for long, however, for almost immediately the detective gave a sharp cry, which made Hubert wheel round sharply. Tho man was intently examining something which he held in his hand. Hubert shrugged his shoulders. It was only tho pistol which Sir Ambrose had used.

“ Tried to defend himself, I suppose,” said Hubert casually. He was not alarmed, since he did not know that it was Stephen’s pistol. “ Wait a bit, sir; there’s a name on it,” said the man, closely examining tho finely engraved name plate. “ Sir Ambrose Gervais, 1 suppose,” said Hubert quietly. “If it had belonged to the other man ho would not have left it behind.”

“ No, _ sir,” he said deliberately, “ this pistol didn’t belong to the deceased gentleman, but to Captain Stephen Braid.”

After weeping out her heart in that big easy chair Rosalie had fallen asleep, and Stephen had found her there at 3 o’clock, much to his surprise. Ho had thought that she had gone to bed. So she was not entirely heartless, lie thought. Then, with a lump in his throat and careful not to wake her, he took her in his arms to their bedroom. She did not wake, although -when he drew her closer so as not to hurt her in the doorway she seemed to answer to his pressure, and her face, which lay on his shoulder, pressed itself to his cheek. He wondered if she knew what she was doing; and then he shuddered at a fresh thought. He had laid her in the bed just as she was in her evening gown, and after taking off her shoes he covered her up with the bedclothes. Then he had bent down to kiss her, but chocked himself. He would never kiss her again! In what was she altered, he wondered. She looked just as pure, as good, as beautiful as before. Perhaps she was only altered in this: that she was his no longer. , And so he said farewell; and left her there. And as ho continued his vigil in his dreary study he realised that he would always love her, although he must refuse to love her or to live with her. * • • • At 10 o’clock the next ihorning Rosalie was awakened by her maid roughly shaking her. “ Get up! They’re going to take the master!” At once Rosalie sat up. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew that it was something awful. She needed no further urging, but sprang from the bed and ran out into the hall. There stood Stephen with three policemen. Like a stone from a sling she sprang towards him, and her soft loving arms clasped tightly round his neck. . “Don’t goj” she wailed, and then: “ Oh, take me too!” Two of the policemen turned their backs, while the other cleared his throat and frowned at his left boot. Stephen’s head bent lower, unconsciously, and her slender white neck went more slender still as it stretched up to meet him. And so they kissed. And he had vowed that ho would never kiss her again! “Sorry, ma’am,” said one of the men. “ We’ve got to take him. He’s charged with the murder of Sir Ambrose Gervais.” And so, without a word from him, they parted. What did the men say—charged with the murder of Sir Ambrose Gervais—he was dead, then. These w;erc the thoughts which passed through Rosalie’s troubled brain.

As soon as the police had taken Stephen away Rosalie ran to the study window to see the last of him. The last of him. That conjured up visions of a court of justice and a scaffold. She saw Stephen go down the path into the road, but the hedge screened him just as he turned. Then she watched him climb into the cab, and two of the policemen got in with him, and one joined the driver on the box. A moment more and the cab was gone, and there was nothing _ lelt but the loitering crowd of morbid loafers and errand lads.

She staggered back to her bedroom and sat thinking. It all seemed so unreal—too horrible to be true. The night had been more than she could boar. She was old-fashioned enough to believe that afflictions were sent for some good purpose. Surely, then, this was not necessary. Had she not wept enough and humbled her soul sufficiently during that long night? At length, after a discreet knock on the door, her maid entered, and Rosalie began to change her evening gown for a walking costume. When the evening gown was off Rosalie held it up, and after regarding it sadly for a few moments lot it fall from her fingers to the floor _ “I shall not want that again,” she said. “ Take it away at once.” It was a new dress, and the maid looked at her in mild surprise, but still she took away the dress. While dressing Rosalie pondered many things. How had she come to bo in bod? Could it bo that Stephen found her fast asleep and carried her there? He must love her still, just a little. Oh, how she wished that she could have waked when lie had her in his dear arms! Yes, lie still loved her. How dearly she loved him, too! She began to hurry, realising that every moment was of value and reproaching herself for selfishly sitting thinking of nothing but her own feelings. There was the ternblo coincidence of Stephen’s visit to Harley street to he explained away somehow. Why had not they arrested her, too? She then thought of Hubert, and the thought relieved her. No doubt ho was doing all that could he done to secure Stephen's release. As she pinned on her hat she remembered for the first time that she had left Stephen alone with Sir Ambrose, and with a moan she sank to a chair, the hatpins falling from her numbed hands to the carpet. What had ho done?

She could not think clearly, and she sat there in hopeless fear, with eyes closed, and her anus hanging limp at her sides. Then the maid came in. and she had to rouse herself. Six) got up and bent over her dressing glass, and told the maid to ring up Dr Braid.

Soon the maid returned to say that Dr Braid was out, but would return about eleven. Rosalie decided that she would call round at The Larches on the way for Pamela Temple. Hubert’s fiancee. Pamela would be only too glad to go with her. And so she set off across the park to walk the short distance to Colonel Temple’s house. Arrived there, she found that Pamela had heard nothing of either the death of Sir Ambrose or Stephen’s arrest. “Ob, they will release him.” said Pamela, comfortingly, when she had heard Rosalie’s tearful story. “We can get a good detective —I am sure Hubert will know of one—and all will be well. I shouldn’t bo at all surprised to hud that the real murderer has been found already.” Tor the first time Rosalie felt that there might be a glimmer of hope. There was a great satisfaction in having Pamela’s strong, confident nature to lean upon, and soon she dried her tears and gave several little hysterical laughs, which, though certainly premature, were at least comforting. Pamela Temple was a tall, handsome girl of twenty-two, who, owing to her calm, assured manner, passed for several years older. Her face had strength without any sacrifice of beauty or softness, and her hair, a rich chestnut, exactly matching her eyes, lay in thick, carefully arranged masses about her head. They were in Pamela’s bedroom, and Rosalie was smiling fondly at Pamela. She had great faith in Pamela, and not only did she admire her beauty and compare herself most unfavourably with her freind, but she envied her for her strength of character and her firm views on things. Rosalie never pretended to “ views,” and as for beauty, so long as Stephen had thought her the most beautiful thing in the world she had not cared what anyone else thought. “ Oh, it is good to have you, Pam!’' cried Rosalie impulsively. At which Pamela smiled happily. When they were ready they set out.

Pamela had her doubts about saving Stephen. She was not at all sure that Stephen had not killed Sir Ambrose, blit there was no use in making Rosalie miserable by telling her her doubts. Stephen had been in the room alone with Sir Ambrose, fully believing that Rosalie had gone to Harley street to bo with him. The thing looked too obvious to Pamela, and she could not even hope that there might be any other way out. She felt very impatient with Rosalie for having gone at all, and certainly her little friend had been mad to go at night. But Pamela said nothing about that. Rosalie was still a child, and Stephen ought to remember that and look after her. She could not have told him exactly what way he was to look after her, but she blamed him for all that. On their arrival at No. 3a Harley street a policeman showed them into the waiting room, where a few minutes later they were joined by Hubert. “Have you any news?” said Pamela at once. Then she saw how pale ho was, and all her protective instincts were aroused. "Oh, darling! How ill you look!” she cried. Ho smiled faintly, and then took them each by an arm and led them to a couch. , “ Oh, I’m all right,” ho said shortly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come at once, but there is a man here, a of Sir Ambrose, who lias been looking round, and I bad to stay with him. That is bis motor outside. He is up there now.” Pamela noticed Hubert was looking extremely worried, and it seemed to her that this man upstairs bad much to do with it. “ Will he be saved?” asked poor little Rosalie, in a strange pleading tone, almost as though she thought that the matter rested with Hubert. Ho put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, “ Don’t ho afraid, Rosalie. We shall have Stephen out before very long.”

Then he turned to Pamela on the other side. He was hungering for sympathy. “ Pam, it has been a terrible time!” he said.

She did not answer, but pressed his hand, which already held hers. It cut her to the heart to see his fine eyes so bloodshot and sunken, and to feel how his hand trembled. “Poor Hubert!” she whispered, and he was comforted for the moment. Rosalie was crying now, crying for joy at his assurance that Stephen would soon be at liberty. But all at once she stopped her crying and turned to him again. She had remembered that Stephen had been alone with Sir Ambrose. “ Oh, but are you sure?” she said hopelessly. “ Don’t make me hope. What do you know r P” It seemed to her that he could not know as much about the night before as she did. Hubert paused. Pamela felt his hand twitch and tighten on hers. “ I know enough to clear him. I can’t tell you more. You must lot no one know that you were here last night, Rosalie. He has admitted that he was here, but be has not mentioned you.” Rosalie was trembling and her heart was singing. He knew enough to save Stephen! “ Oh, why can’t you do it at once?” she cried, impatient and pleading. Hubert looked round hurriedly to the door, raising a warning hand, “ It was foolish of me to say even that. But it is true. Stephen will not be convicted.” Pamela was curious to know more. It seemed strange that Hubert should know so much and still look so worried. Was ho lying, as she had done, just to soothe Rosalie? Ho'had risen now, having put her hand gently back on her lap, and was gazing out of the window. Pamela was frightened. He seemed so hopeless. Could it be the shock. But Hubert’s nerves were like iron, and he had gone through worse things before. “ You are sure you haven’t said this just to hearten Rosalie?” she asked in a low, tense whisper. Hubert gave her another sharp look as she stood there at his elbow. He was wondering how much to tell her. He knew that she could bear more than Rosalie, and lie knew that she would love him just the same when she knew all. But no—better wait awhile! Probably he would find another way out, a way by which both Stephen and himself might be saved. But he would tell her a little. Enough for her to be able honestly to comfort Rosalie. “ I saw Sir Ambrose after Stephen left the house.” He watched to see how she took it. Even as ho said it he regretted doing so. She did not reply at once. She took in the fact quickly enough, but the accompanying ideas required some arranging. Hubert saw that she had gone paler, an 1 he feared now both for her and for himself. What a fool ho had been to speak! “ Alive?”_slio said. And for answer ho jerked his head, while he watched her and gripped the coins and keys in his pockets until they cut into his hands. Rosalie came up just then, and probably saved the situation. “Yes, alive!” he said, “and here are the letters.” He took them from his coat and gave them to Rosalie. What trivial things they seemed now to distracted Rosalie. “ Put them away and burn them later,” he said. Pamela had listened with growing alarm. How had Hubert got the letters? If Stephen had not killed Sir Ambrose who else could have done it? If Hubert confessed to having seen him after Stephen had gone, would lie not be suspected of the murder? There was sucli a strong case to prove that one of them had done it. She well knew Hubert’s quixotic nature, and it was her turn to tremble now. Perhaps

(To be continued.)

he had done it I She knew that he would not think of consequences at such a time. “Hubert! Oh, Hubert! Do be careful, for my sake!” She seized his hand, and then a mement later she had both hands on his shoulders and was looking into his face. “ I could not bear anything to happen to. you.” Rosalie was standing a little aside, looking the surprise she felt. She could not understand at all. Hubert had his arm round Pamela, and ho felt happier and more hopeful, too. •He noticed that she did not ask him whether he had done it. She did not want to know. She wanted him to save himself, no matter what had happened. Then he put her away very gently, and turned to Rosalie. “ Don’t worry, Rosalie,” he said, trying to speak cheerfully. “ All will come right. You will have your Stephen in a day or so.” And now with his arm round Pamela he went slowly towards the door. “ I want you to go now. I have a heap of things to do. This Wintersley will want me a little longer.” Again Pamela noticed the strange, harried look when he mentioned the dead man’s cousin. As they passed through the hall she saw a tall, thin man with a very large, thin nose and a sharp, jutting chin talking to the policeman who had admitted them. Pamela glanced from him to Hubert, and saw again that look on Hubert’s face. She had not a doubt that this was Wintersley. _ His eyes were on her, and from this moment, when she realised that Hubert feared this man, Pamela hated him. At the door they paused to say goodbye. “Is that the man?” she said in as casual a tone as she could assume, and Hubert nodded.

“ By the way, Pam., you had better take Rosalie home with you, and keep her there until this is settled. I will ring you up if I have any news,” and with that he left them and turned back into his house of horrors.