“THE GNOME MINE MYSTERY”

Franklin Times, Volume XXV, Issue 14, 4 February 1935, Page 7

“THE GNOME MINE MYSTERY”

Roger Merriton halted his nervous .pacing and glanced at his watch. Tenthirty. Clyde Brent was already ten minutes late for his morning appointment. ■He threw himself into an easy chair before the fire and lit a cigarette.

It was the third of February, thirtyfour days since the death of his uncle -and the turning of his small world topsy-turvy. Yes, many things had occurred in that interval. The most important, to Rogers’ mind, was the verdict of the jury, a verdict that left a stain on the hitherto untarnished name of Maxwell —the verdict of death by suicide. A stupid verdict. He had protested vehemently and deplored circumstantial evidence that had caused it, but to no avail. His tribute to the -stability of his uncle’s character and 'his sane optimism, together with his eager planning for the future just a few hours before his death, were listened to courteously, but made no Impression on either the coroner or the jury.

As he left the courtroom, friends had surrounded him, proffering sympathy; but it wasn’t sympathy he desired, it was support, and that was lacking. * Even Miriam sided against him and joined with her guardian, Clyde Brent, in admonishing him and telling him life was too short to resurrect the past. And, had Roger been his normal self ,he perhaps would not have censured them so severely, for it • wasn’t alone the nature of the wound, and finding beside the body the dead man’s own revolver with one cartridge . missing that had decided the jurymen, Tmt the sensational fact that ruin had stared the financier in the face. His books disclosed he had recently ■suffered losses that would have knocked the props from under the most entrenched fortune. “The old tale,” mumurmed his cynical, matter-of-fact circle, “caught like many more in the whirlpool that had swept Wall Street with the rest of the financial world on that fateful twenty-fifth of 'October —so what was more natural than to take the easiest way out? He had not headed the procession.”

Such reasoning maddened Roger, p Turning his back on his skeptical .sympathisers, he withdrew into himself, and pondered, reasoned, and ■ delved until he felt he had schooled 'his deep affection for the dead man iinto subservience to cold logic, logic which assured him his instincts had .not been astray in writing the grim •word “murder” against his uncle's However, two big query marks ' impeded the way: 1. From whom did the telephone -call originate the night of the ■ tragedy ? “2. What was the mysterious scheme broached by his uncle, but undisclosed? But, despite these unanswered questions, Roger had come across what he believed to be tangible evidence. In accordance with instructions, old Marvin had succeeded in conveying the contents of the waste-paper baswithout arousing the suspicions of the police. It had been a full basket, but the searcher showed no evidence of interest until he came to a crumpled sheet of paper near- the bottom, which, upon smoothing it out, he recognised as having been torn from the pad found on the desk, directly in ' front of the body. Roger had caught his breath sharply as he had bent over his find. An observed might have wondered what there was on an apparently blank piece of paper to ponder over. A scrawl about an inch long and two -blots of ink made up T ihe contents of ■ the sheet.

Many minutes had elapsed before be withdrew his eyes from the seemingly insignificant markings. Lighting a cigarette, he had leaned back in hia chair and sent his mind backward to the previous night. He had left his uncle going through preparing either verbal or ?m data, obviously for an There was no living person who had cognisance of that visitor except himself, and his knowledge, was so meagre as to be practically valueless. He had no proof as yet—here his eyes had wandered again to the crumpled paper —that the telephone appointment had been kept. On the other hand, from his knowledge of his uncle, he would say it had. Something of unusual importance had detained him at bis desk until after 11 o’clock New Year’s Eve. Corroborating the doctor’s opinion as to the time of the tragedy was the butler’s testimony tbfit at 11 o’clock he bad been bidden by his master not to wait up any longer. Marvin stated he had locked the front door, but it would have been an easy matter for bis uncle later io arrange the latch so his expected visitor could walk in without ringing the bell and arousing the, servants. Here Roger had sat upright. Would not that latter fact prove his uncle’s •caller was not only familiar with the

* By PEARL FOLEY (PAUL DE MAR) of Toronto. (Copyright). *

house but that he desired secrecy as well? A secretive and a lone worker, Austin Maxwell had seldom taken even his nephew into his cofidence when it came to big deals. Therefore, Roger had felt further sumisings at the present would be like perpetually hanging one’s head against a stonewall. However, there were two significant points on which he had made up his mind sitting alone in his room that New Year’s morning. One was that two adversaries had come together the previous night in his uncle’s - library; the second was that his uncle had been murdered by some one he knew intimately and with whom he had close business associalions. Further than this he could not go until —his eyes had involuntarily sought the crumpled sheet of paper. Carefully, and with gloved fingers he had folded and placed it in the small wall safe of his sitting-room. It was into this same apartment Clyde Brent was ushered that February morning.

CHAPTER 11. The financier was a man past sixty, of medium height. . There was nothing to set him far apart from the ordinary man who measures success with a golden gardstick. . His wellpreserved appearance and air of. affluence carried with them the assurance that to him the chief necessities in life were a first-class cook, limousines

to minimise physical exercise, and a well-regulated household to cater to his moods.

A large nose and small, shrewd eyes counterpoised. with astuteness the sensuality of protuberant jowls and heavy underlip, while the diamonds glinting from the bright hued tie and the third- left finger, indicated a certain ostentatiousness and sanguine self-confidence.. ,

Add a forceful personality, a hearty manner, punctuated with frequenl bursts of laughter, and you have a fairly complete picture of the president of the well-known bond house, Brent, Motherwell and Fields, and the guardian and uncle of the - charming Miriam Branscombe.

Advancing breezily into the room, he grasped Roger’s shoulders. “How are things going?” he boomed in a hearty voice. “Ah. my boy,” shaking his head dolefully, “it’s a sad business this altogether, a sad, sad business. Poor old Austin ! —Tf he haYl come to me now—proud as Lucifer though. Of course, it was that Oromwell Steel smash that finished him,” he continued, -dropping into a chair beside the table and helping himself to a. cigar from an open box. “A - veritable landslide that, carrying everything with it. Ah, well,” with a sigh, “there were more than Austin Maxwell couldn’t face it.” “Mr Brent,” Roger’s voice was low and tense, “Austin Maxwell could have faced it. Moreover, it would have been his wish to face it.” “Eh?” Clyde Brent brought himself up with a jerk. “God bless my soul —you’re not still harbouring that childish notion that there was foul play!” “I am. and some day I’m going to lay my hands on the murderer, and when I do —”

The older man stared blankly at the grim-faced youth. “But how can you turn your back on facts? Do you suppose a man could creep unawares upon your uncle and shoot him at close range? Why, it’s ridiculous. Austin Maxwell was too wide awake to let a man shoot him in the face.” “Ah, but did he creep on him? You, knowing my uncle as you did, can’t believe he was the sort of man to take his own life.” “A man’s nervous system is a delicate affair, and a crisis such as your uncle faced snapped more than one man’s moral fibre.” “Maybe, but it didn’t snap my uncle’s, and what is more, I believe the scoundrel who killed him was the cause of his financial collapse, and that if my uncle hadn’t foully met his death, there would have been no collapse. He had plenty of friends and financial connections who would have gladly pulled him through—you, for instance—as a life-long-—” “Yes —T’d have given him half my possessions but your uncle’s chief boast, as you yourself know, was that a Maxwell had never yet placed the burden of granted favours on a friend. Why,” with an amused chuckle, “the only stale story he ever indulged in was about that pioneer ancestor of his iri the days of California’s gold rush, who bulged his knapsack with paper so his comrades wouldn't offer him food. Yes. I can hear now old Austin’s voice thrill as he boasted his proud ancestor went hungry for three days, and when they found out his ruse, in order to get food into him had an Indian buy it from them and sell it over at a profit to their hungry comrade. By George—vour uncle was a chip off the old block —only he didn’t give us time to find out his ruse until too late.” And Clvde Brent

gaMmaasffiafefegiß - - furtively wiped his eyes. "But,” abruptly, “you apparently have a theory—if so, let’s have it.” There was a note of interest in the older man’s voice which Roger was quick to notice. “My theory is that my uncle was murdered by some one whom he knew well.” “Well, of course, it could have been no ordinary thug, for there was nothing stolen,” rejoined Brent, indifferently. Roger hesitated. Should he divulge what be had done since the inquest? Why not? Clyde Brent had been a close associate of hs uncle, and was the possessor of a keen, analytical brain. Besides, he had kept his thoughts so bottled up, he felt it would be a relief to discuss matters with some one. “As a friend and business associate of my uncle, sir, I know you are as interested as myself in bringing the criminal to justice, if 1 can persuade you there is a criminal, and I am going io confide that I possess a piece of evidence that, may accomplish this.” “You don’t say!” Clyde Brent withdrew his interlaced fingers from the table and sat up very straight. “Why didn’t you bring up your evidence at the inquest?” . he inquired abruptly, his shrewd eyes fixed on Boger’s face. “My evidence wasn’t complete then.”

“Do you mean to say it's complete now—that you can prove your uncle did not take his own life, and can lay your hands on his murderer?” “I can answer your questions in a few days’ time. Inspector Brodie is taking the matter in hand. However, I’ve convinced the inspector at least that .my uncle received a visitor the night of his death.” “Um, very interesting, but I’m afraid, Roger, my boy, my answer will have to be ‘l’m from Missouri’ when it comes* to believing your uncle met with foul play. I’m not burdened with an imagination and when you have plain facts to present I’m ready to listen.” “I have the plain facts right here.” As he spoke Roger crossed to the wall safe and took out a black box from which he extracted a piece of paper that laid it before his visitor. “That’s the clue that I believe will solve the mystery of my uncle’s death.”

Clyde Brent picked up the paper, only the next moment to transfer his puzzled attention to Roger. Before he could give vent to his bewilderment at being handed a paper containing merely an ink stroke and a couple of blots. Roger broke in: “I’m not surprised at your scepticism sir, but I’m going to ask you to follow me closely and when I’ve finished you’ll perhaps agree that my seeming madness is only logical reasoning.” Clyde Brent leaned back in his chair, his full underlip protruding pugnaciously and his keen gaze fixed.on Roger’s face. “From the first,” began Roger, “nothing could convince me my uncle took his own life, and I began at once a search for evidence of foul play. I recalled the telephone conversation overheard New Year’s Eve, when my uncle grudgingly made an appointment. Sensing from his tones that friction existed between him and his prospective caller. I began to visualise what might have happened. As Marvin had retired at 11 o’clock, the appointment must have been made for after that hour, and, as it is not likely even a close friend would have a latchkey, my uncle must have slipped out and unlocked the door.” “There was a heavy snowstorm New Year’s Eve. Did you notice any footprints?” interrupted Clyde Brent, who was following closely the words of the narrator.

Roger shook his head. “No. but that, isn’t strange, as I didn’t reach home until 5 a.m., and besides, the snow had drifted.” Clyde Brent, nodded and knocked the ashes from his cigar. “It’s all theory, then? You have absolutely nothing tangible to work on?” he said practically. “I’ll let you decide that for yourself when I finish,” rejoined Roger. “T was too dazed at first to realise anything but th/it my uncle was dead. After the police arrived their questions stirred my mind to normalcy. As I’ve said before. I could not accept the suicide theory, knowing my uncle as I did.” “You think, then, the crime was deliberate murder? To my mind your uncle was too wide awake to let any one arm himself with a revolver from his desk and fire point blank in his face. No, I can’t see any sense in that theory.” And Clyde Brent’s lower lip shot out, while his brows contracted in a protesting frown. “I don’t think the murderer did arm himself. The matter of the revolver will have to remain for future solving. And” —Roger's voice became impressive as he leaned toward his listener —“doesn’t the method of attack prove, that the assailant was well known to my uncle and utterly above suspicion ?” But Clyde Brent’s face was sceptical. “My dear boy. T’m afraid you’ve buried your practicality in a sandbank —why the revolver alone refutes any such theory, and besides, if your uncle had been entertaining his own brother, that wouldn't necessarily affect his vision. No man that wasn’t

blind and deaf could be attacked in that way without putting up some sort of struggle, and even you must agree that there was every evidence of your uncle having met his death calmly—- ! should say deliberately.” “Yes,” said Roger quickly, “he died without knowing he was attacked.” (To be Continued).