The Murders at Madlands

Franklin Times, Volume XXI, Issue 68, 12 June 1931, Page 7

The Murders at Madlands

BY AIDAN de BRUNE

CHAPTER XXXVI. “Am I to consider myself under arrest?” Bobby spoke as InspeetorAVilliams passed the lounge on which he and Myrtle were seated, some . halfhour after the scene in the dining-J room, that culminated in Godfrey Mac- , kenzie’s arrest for the murder of his wife. “Can’t see how you’ll get anything less than a lifer,” retorted Williams. “From the way you behave I can’t say more than you well deserve it. One thing, you won’t have to serve your sentence at Long Bay or any other well-known guest houses run by the New South Wales Government. No. you’ll have to live in splendid misery “Kind of female prison?” Bobby mused. “Well I don’t know.” hhe detective scratched his chin. “There’ll be -a lady governor, that’s a certainty. He turned to Myrtle. “First act went over strong, Miss Haffervale. Gerald Preston played up well, didn’t he?” _ _ .

“Gerald?” Myrtle looked puzzled. “I didn’t think that you had let him into the secret. Why, it was only as -von seated yourself in uncle’s chair ■that you whispered to me not to be startled at anything that might, hapPe “Bobby in the role of the virtuous accused!” Williams guffawed. T had to laugh when I saw h.m stand n« at the foot of the table, wearing th.. smile of injured innocence.’ “But, what was it all about girl questioned, greatly P u ** led ' B ° Z by says that it was true that he had the second pistol, and . . ■” “But he told me of lending it to Gerald,” explained the detective. . he hadn’t done —well, there have been quite an aura of trou e around his curly head.”

Bobby nodded. "And, my telling you was just an idle thought," he stated, laughing. "Came into my mind last night, .iust after someone took a pot-shot at me in the dining room." "I heard that shot." The girl shivered. "I was afraid to come downstairs and see what had happened for, of course, I was not supposed to be at Madlands. I sat up in bed and waited for Keston to come and tell me what had happened."

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"But lie.came to you immediately] after the shot was fired," Bobby laughed. "How do you know that?" The girl looked astonished. "Edgar Wallace —the mind of Mr Reeder —and all that sort of piffle. Guess, can't you, Williams? Well, don't you remember remarking on the long interval between the shot and Gerald and Keston coming downstairs to inquire what was wrong?" "Oh, that!" The delective raised his heavy eyebrows. "By jove, that's right. Keston going to Miss Haffervale gave Master Gerald just the time he wanted to get upstairs and tuck himself into bed again."

"That's so!" The young man wedged himself more comfortably into the angle of the lounge. "Time and to , spare. Can't you imagine our young friend lying in bed and wondering j what was happening down here —and waiting for Keston to come and officially inform him of the shot in the dining-room. Why, he must have developed grey hairs, wondering if the old man had slept through it all. Almost put a kink into his plans." "But ..." Myrtle was frankly puzzled. "Bobby, you surely are not accusing Gerald of shooting at you in the dining-room last night." "Just one shot, old dear." Bobby spoke sleepily.,- "Every dog's entitled to one bite. I shan't object, unless I'm the catastrophe. Say, Williams, is every murderer entitled to one victim on the same theory?" "Don't know that." The detective laughed. "But policemen are allowed one whang at each newspaper-man who talks nonsense. Still ..."

"Can't get Branston off his mind, Myrtle." Bobby spoke in a false whisper. "Newspaper chap who cal- ) led himself the Shadow Crook. Baf- j fled the police no end—and in conse- ' quence for ever more, world without end, journalists are disgraced in the Police Department's eyes." "Oh, shut up, Bobby." The girl, laughed. "Don't take any notice of him, Inspector. He's beginning to believe that he alone solved the Mad- , lands mysteries." j "There's still the shooting of Sir Rupert to explain." Williams spoke in a low tone. "At present I uanH see light. There's no doubt, but that Gerald shot at Bobby last night, and 1 then assaulted rne outside the dining-

room door to obtain the bullet I'd dugout of the wainscoating. He confessed that the gun had never been out of his possession and I found the bullet in his room to-day. But ..." "To shoot across a dining-room full of people." Suddenly Bobby sat upright. "Inspector, I've got a hunch."

He jumped to his feet, dragging up the girl with him and ran into the dining-room. The detective followed more soberly. For some momments the young man wandered about the big room, studying the small table from all angles. At length, he went and sat down at it, taking the seat he had occupied during the meeting. "Take that seat, Inspector." He spoke imperatively. "The one Gerald occupied. Now Myrtle, will you take your seat at the big table. Good! Ready!"

For some full minutes he sat back, with closed eyes. Then he commenced to speak in an undertone. "The meeting has been on for some time. Sir Rupert has been handing out one of the long tedious speeches financial magnates of this, the greatest city in the southern hemisphere, love to inflict on suffering humanity. He has said piles of nice things about his niece and ward. He has praised tier beauty in the most extravagant

tier beauty in me mosi, exi-ravagum, “Girls still wear pins. Bobby, bear, although they have abandoned hatpins,” Myrtle spoke sweetly. “My best period blue pencilled,'’ mourned the journalist. “1 see I have fallen under a permanent subeditor with a ruthless pencil. But let us proceed. Where was I? Ah . .

"Sir Rupert has explained the growth of the Haffervale Trust. He has proudly declared his beautiful and learned niece to he the most bloated capitalist of Australia. He proposes that io token of her assuming the sceptre of finance over the capital of the southern lands and seas that she shall seat herself at the head of this table. Gracefully he turns and halfbows. . . . Say, Williams, that was your clue to rise to your feet." "Eh?"

"Eh? Of course! Blow out my best scene." Bobby spoke bitterly. "Mix your clues, forget your lines. Haven't we rehearsed this scene until . . .oh, get to your feet you . . . you policeman!"

With a grin at the bewildered girl Williams rose to his feet, facing up the room. Bobby sprang from his chair, thrust, the detective aside, roughly and ran up the room: to fall on his knees beside the girl and hold her down in her chair. For a minute he held the picture, then released the girl with a little hug and pet. He turned to the astonished Inspector. "Solved, oh future Commissioner of

Hie New South Wales Police Department!" he announced with, a flourish.

"Robert Trayne, of the "Mirror" staff again traces a mystery to its lair —if mysteries really possess anything so beastly." "But ... I don't understand." blurted Williams. "Neither do I." Bobby laughed at the expression on his companions' faces. "But it is so! All we have , to do now is to find that gun." "Easy to say that." The inspector snorted. "If instead of all that playacting you'd told me where to find that gun, you'd have done more good." "The gun was here —you don't doubt that. Couldn't have had the shot fired without the gun. You ask, then; where is it?" For a long minute lie studied the room and furniture, then turned to the detective. "Say, Williams, you're certain I didn't kill Sir Rupert?" "Sure —unless you had a third gun on you. The one you lent Gerald wouldn't take that bullet. Now get on with your work, you newspapersleuth, or confess for all time that you're a dud detective." "There's Ibbottson?" demanded Bobby suddenly. j "In the library with Parsons and Carriday signing papers." Williams grinned broadly. "You've put the fear of little devils into that bunch, Miss Haffervale. You and Bobby are considered too dangerous to be free and alone so they're going to chain you permanently together and load you down under tons of gold—for the welfare of all good financial crooks that choose to visit Sydney." "Good!" In a couple of steps Bobby : reached the door. "I'll be back in 1 a second."

He was back in less than a minute, carrying Ibbottson's heavy walkingstick. Again In the dining-room he examined it carefully, testing the ver bands in every way.

"No good, Bobby, I've been over all that." The detective laughed. "I thought, of Ibbottson's walking stick when you first spoke of Gerald bringing it'down to the chair beside you. There's no gun in it. In fact, I believe the stick's solid wood,, right through." "Yet ... it must . . . be . . ." The journalist was plainly puzzled. "The handle's just right. High bands, just in tbe right places. It must be ... it must be. And yet ... it isn't. ... it ... IT IS." He brought, the stick down, with a powerful blow across his knee. Just beneath the second band there appeared to bR a weakness in the wood, for it gave way with a splintering sound. A few seconds and Bobby turned to I face bis companions, pointing at the ' detective a long slight pistol, the trigger of which was constructed so as to

lie flat along the barrel. “I see the scene now.” The look of the dreamer had come again on Bobby’s face. “When Gerald rose from his seat he knocked down Ibbottson’s stick. There was nowhere to leave it up there so he brought it with him to my table. He was nervous, excited, for he knew something of the revelations Sir Rupert proposed to make that morning. He sat in that chair, playing idly with the stick. In some way he touched the spring and the handle containing the pistol came apart from the stick.” “But why did you rush from your table to me, Bobby?” asked the girl, curiously. “Work of the - sub-conscious brain, old dear. Gerald must have found the pistol and some little devil was whispering in his ear to shoot and end the trouble. Perhaps I overheard

LIU/ ti. wu.wxvt that, whisper, anyway I was told you were in clanger. I jumped to you and that gave Gerald his chance. The confusion my movements caused covered him effectively. When he had fired the shot and had seen Sir Rupert fall he jambed the pistol bach into the stick and dropped it under the table.” “Well!” The Inspector gasped. “I’d have sworn that stick was solid, right through.” “So it was, after the shot was fired. Bobby grinned. “Gerald bungled in putting that pistol into the stick again. | Didn’t get it in the right way or something. Anyhow he had to close it down by brute force and of. course broke the spring, or put it out of action. ’ When you examined the stick . . _ _ ~ Irl O C Q T"1 IT* 011

Williams it was as solid as an non rod. Then, you satisfied and the stick standing in the dining-room unguarded and unwanted Ibbottson walks in and unconsciously walks away with it. Jove, what a story 1” “But ” The detective took the fragments of the stick and examined them carefully. “Sure, Bobby, you ve solved the mystery. Well, well, who’d have thought of that. “Strange, but true!” A moment and Bobby took his arm and led the Inspector gently but firmly to the door “Williams, will you corney my apologies to Mr Adam Ibbottson for smashing his stick in demonstrating how —well, how the contents were used Tell him I’ll buy him the finest, walking-stick in Sydney, to-morrow as a thanks-offering. But, before 1 leave for the city I have one more job, a very important one, to tackle. “4nd that?” Williams looked perplexed. “We’ve solved all the mysteries haven’t we?” “We have solved many, this last couple of days, comrade.” Bob^ r hand gently urged the detective into the hall. “Now I have to solve the greatest mystery of all —alone.” “And that?”

exact date.of my wedding-day —you blanketty-born idiot." Then he shut, the door softly—but very firmly. (THE END).