“THE GNOME MINE MYSTERY”

Franklin Times, Volume XXV, Issue 16, 8 February 1935, Page 7

“THE GNOME MINE MYSTERY”

CHAPTER IV. Roger got to liis feel. lie walked to the window and stood staring at the eddies of snow as they playfully demolished their filagree work of a moment before. Turning abruptly he retraced his steps. “I can't do it,” he blurted out. ••You'll never know what the rejection, of your offer means to me. but,” and Roger’s face grew •grim, ‘■there's work to do here that only a blackguard would run from — .the tracking down of my uncles’ murderer.” The frown on Clyde Brent's face gave way to a cynical smile. “My dear boy, are yqu going to allow a foolish hallucination to ruin your life? And,” in a softer tone, “Miriam's ?” A stab of light scattered the gloom on Roger’s face, but it was gone as suddenly as it had come, followed by a < rigidity that had gripped his whole j form. I

„ Clyde Brent's alert . eyes missed nothing. In an inslant he was on his feet, and reassuring hands gripped Roger’s shoulders, while hearty tones ■•cleared the atmosphere. “Taken the wind out of your sails oh? Was young myself once—had ideals loo —hard to believe but it’s a fact. Startled my old governor so badly he thought I might slip into the •Church, so he shoved me into Wall Street —ha, ha. It cured me.” But Clyde Brent’s laugh lacked its usual ring and his hands half slipped from Roger’s shoulders. The next moment, however, he had recovered his equanimity: his underlip shot out and his shrewd eyes glinted. “Don’t, answer in a hurry, boy, lake your time. There’s ■going to be a contract- in this that’ll v keep you away from Miriam for a year, with a sly smile, “it won’t forbid letter writing. By George," glancing at his watch, “twelve o’clock. T have a directors’ meeting in five minutes. You’ll be over to the house to-night—-let me have your answer then. No—no, don’t thank me. Why, my dear boy,” and Clyde Brent’s head gave a friendly slap to the young man’s shoulder — are we on this rocky little planet for if not to help one another over the gaps’?” Excuse me, sir, there's a gentleman below. lie told me to give you this card—a most insistent person, sir.” this last.in an apologetic tong from the old butler, a couple of hours later. “Rolland St. Lambert, Kirkland Lake, Ontario,” . ” read Roger aloud. "Don’t, know him, and yet.” his brow crinkling, “the name seems familiar- —St. Lambert. —- Kirland Lake —a mine promoter no doubt. Tell bim, Marvin. I’m tied ~t »'P-" j “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he’s written a message on the hack of Ihe card.” Roger Turned over Ihe Bit of pasteboard and read the pencilled scrawl: “Am in New York just a few hours. Important that I see you. ■Concerns the Gnome Mine.” “Show him up. Marvin.” said Roger curtly. Likely another scheme his uncle’s death had shattered. The splintered, brittle pile was mounting higher each day. The Maxwell interests had radiated in a wide circumference. Roger ■ stared unseeingly at a fine old etching facing his desk. What, if Clyde Brent was right, in calling his murder tlieoty an hallucination. But no —his hands clenched on the arms of his chair —if •Austin Maxwell knew a smash were ■ inevitable lie was not . the man to Make—

Tlie opening of the floor broke in on his introspection, and he rose to con front a veritable giant of a man. Tawny headed, fair of skin and blue of eye. he appeared to Roger an incarnation of bygone ages—some young Norseman descended to glimpse a modern world —a personality that exuded the atmosphere of places where men remained young of soul and unsmeared by the sooty hand of commerce. lie came forward with a swinging gait, scrutinising Roger with a shrewdy* but friendly interest. “Ah. Mr Merriton, it. is a pleasure to meet a member of a family bold in such esteem by my father.” And his handicap matched the rest of him — warm and sincere. “You knew my uncle?" “Perhaps (he Gnome Mines will awaken your memory." said the visitor, making himself comfortable in an easy chair by Roger's, desk. Roger shook his head. “Never heard of them." Surprise flickered across the face of the stranger. “You are Roger Merriton. nephew of the late Austin Maxwell?” “And you don’t know the Gnome Mines?" Incredulity was in 11 is voice. “Oh. you mustn’t mind that —I’ve iipver hobnobbed with mines.” Ymjng St. Lambert leaned forward in his chair. “Do'you mean to say you don't know you are joint owner of the property known as the Gnome Gold Mines. Limited, situated in Kirkland Lake ?"

BY PEARL FOLEY (PAUL DE MAR) of Toronto. (Copyright).

it was Roger's turn to stare, which lie did to such effect that St. Lambe’t began fumbling in his breast pocket. “Mn foi.” he muttered, “il looks like some one’s brain is somersaulting, hut, I can’t believe it’s mine. Here, read this,” unfolding a lypcwrillen sheet. Roger took the paper which he recognised as Ihe lcUerliond used by bis uncle in business. The letter was dated Dec. 15, 1929, and was addressed lo Holland SI. Lambert : I “My dear Rolland,” can the j communication) : “The enclosed marked cheque for eighty thousand dollars, made | payable to you, will close the litl-le ; deal and make my nephew, Roger Maxwell Mcrrilon, the sole owner of one-half interest in the properly known as the Gnome Gold Mines Limited, situated in the Township of Teck, Div. No. 2, Kirkland Lake, Ontario. Send all papers to Blake Phelan of Phelan, Starkwell and Bruce, attorneys-at-law, Exchange Place, New York City* who will sen Rial everything is in order. “Hope lo see you in (lie North Oounfry some lime in the new year. 'Give my love to Mareilln.” “Your old friend, Austin Maxwell.” Roger read the letter twice. “Ft's all foreign lo me.” he said quietly, handing back the typewritten sheet. “I may he a dummy nclor, hut that’s all.” “Dummy actor!” expostulated St Lambert. “Does that look like it?” tapping, his breast pocket where he had replaced the letter. But Roger refused to become excited. ‘Do you Ihink.” he remarked; “do you think it is likely my uncle would make me a free gift of eighty thousand dollars' worth of property without giving me an inkling of the fact?” “Of course T do. Up North Austin Maxwell’s pseudonym was ‘Lockjaw Maxwell’.” “I grant you ho was reticent to the extent of eccentricity, hut,” and Roger's voice softened: “my uncle’s affection for me was genuine, and a gift like that —no.” shaking his head —“that letfoi* means something, bu: my name in it is nothing hut a code I term.” “What about the cheque.*’ “You received that all right?” '". “Eighty thousand dollars and cashed it.” Roger’s brows met in a perplexed frown. That's strange, too. in view of Ihe mess Ihe eslale is in.” “Ah”—Sl. Lambert's list came do\vn on the polished surface of Ihe lahle —"I ha I may lie Ihe key lo the whole puzzle. lie's likely done this to safeguard matters. In your name the properl y’s intact —in his il would he wiiied away with the rest of the assets —mn is oui. I have, to go down on my knees to his level-headedness. It would have mean! no end of complications if the Gnome had had the crooked finger of bankruptcy around it." “But Hull would add lo Ihe evidence Dial my uncle died by his own hand, which he did not do.” The last words fell cold and oritlle. An awkward pause followed. Rolland St. Lambert’s impatience was reslrained by Hie cold tenseness in the ollier's face. “My uncle was foully murdered. What is more he had no thought that I lungs were, going smash. They wouldn't have -cither, had he lived. Why. the night ol' his death liis last words lo me were: ’They’ll find the old man ran still swing a wicked bludgeon!' Does that took as if he’d hide eighty thousand dollars worth-of property behind my name?” “Eh bien! Don’t pelt me with a brainstorm. If you say Austin Maxwell, Ihe whitest man that ever setfoot in Ibe Northland —if you say he met foul play —I dedicate here and now every muscle and sinew lo I racking down (lie murderer.” With a spring be was nut of bis chair. Roger 100 was on liis feet, and that moment saw Ihe sealing of Hie pad dial linked the names. Morrihvi and St. Lambert, and earned ihem Ihe pseudonym of ‘David and Jonathon of Ibe Norlh.’ “So there was a battle waging?”

II was five minutes later and at Holland St. Lambert’s request, Roger hart given a brief outline of that last half hour with his uncle.

“There's no doubt in my mind it was murder.” continued the Frenchman. “But being further away from tilings I’ve maybe a better perspective than you and can see how the Judge and jury arrived at the pronouncement of suicide. Yes.” nodding gravely. “I can see their point all right, hnt in view of what T know I am going to -say right here there has been a miscarriage of justice through that overworked malefactor, circumstantial evidence. Now*. T won’t go so far as to state the motive, hut thi« much T will say, the mysterious scheme at which he hinted, and in which your assistance was snncrht. T’d wager my

lasf penny involved file Gnome Mines. If your unde was here at my elbow prompting me 1 couldn't gel il clearer —that Ihe telephone call on the night of his death interrupted what, was lo be bis disclosure to you of the eigbly-tbousand-dollar purchase be had made.” "Maybe you’re right.“ concern-] Roger, "bul wind T can't get around, is why, wlial object he bad in doing such a Ibing'—pulling so much properly in my name.” “I can give you that answer, too. Yes. I can answer Rial- question easily, for I happen to know very well—very well indeed.” ••Yes?” Roger's voice was impatient. "He put lluil.. properly in your name. Roger Merriton, because tic was already swinging the wicked bludgeon. He had struck the iirst blow, loo —on Dec. to when he made the purchase. The option didn’t close until midnight of Dec. :t 1. and for some reason lie was keeping the inirclui.se secret.” "But why should he he so secretive about a legitimale purchase?” "Because.” and the Frenchman's next words were low and emphatic, “(here must have been some one else who wanted the property.” -It’s as valuable as all that?” SI. Lambert gave a short laugh •‘Valuable? Why. man. it’s going lo prove flic Siren of the North—it's already caused one death—and who knows how many more before —” “One death ?” Roger’s face was white. “You don’t mean that you think my uncle ” “I do.” St. Lambert nodded gravely. “[ believe Austin Maxwell’s death is directly connected with the Gnome Mines.” (To he Continued)