THE KNIGHTSBRIDGE MYSTERY

Hawera Star, Volume XLV, 25 November 1925, Page 8

THE KNIGHTSBRIDGE MYSTERY

BY CARLTON DAWE

CHAPTER IX. MARJORIE MELVILLE. But who murdered Poppy Wilton was still being asked. Perhaps not with the early insistence, but often enough to make the question extremely unpopular with those who were investigating the ease. The Yard felt the stigma attached to failure; the unthinking masses always expect authoritv to work miracles. Penbury was sure the culprit would be found among the alien rogues of the underworld who trafficked in prohibited drugs; even his rival, Samuel Barden, had reluctantly come to the same conclusion. He was for wholesale arrests, and any method that might unbare the truth. Why were the woman’s companions, friends, acquaintances, or whatever they called themselves, allowed to wander a.t large? 'He would have collected them, gathered them up, put them face to face with each other, and questioned mercilessly. This slackness on the part of Penbury, for so he considered it, could end in nothing but disastrous failure.

When questioned by his superiors in this matter Penbury was for giving certain suspects plenty of rope. That was the principle on which he always worked. There were at least half a dozen , on whom he was keeping a steady watch. One false step on the part of any of them and he would know how to act. In the meantime he was prepared to watch and wait. He was dealing with a gang of the most cunning, clever, and unscrupulous criminals in the world; watchful as cats, agile as monkeys. When lie did gather in his net he expected to find many strange fish entangled in its meslies.

In fact he liad dreams of making a great dramatic coup, of descending like an avalanche on the whole nest of rogues and vagabonds. The apprehension of one would lead to the arrest of many. By one stroke he not only hoped to capture the murderer of Poppy Wilton, but also to scatter the nefarious band of secret traffickers who were responsible for so much vice and misery. But ho must be permitted to follow his own rule and precedent. Other men other ways; for (him there was only one way, that of Michael Penbury.

At first it was believed there would be little difficulty in solving the problem of the murder. It was known that the victim had not been fastidious in the choice of her associates; the 'people who directly or indirectly supplied her with the prohibited drug might, upon occasion, proceed to the extremity of crime. Would Brookham, blatent and bad as he was, have the courage to put his neck in danger? An access of passion; sensuality, avarice! But Quincey was shrewd and clever; there was an easier way of making a living, risky perhaps, but devoid of extremest penalty.

Nobby Wang. So far that yellow serpent" had succeeded in. eluding his vigilance. He knew perfectly well what he dealt in, how he lived, and one of these days he would surely get him. Ho had a great desire to get Nobby, whom ho considered more dangerous than a score of Black Q.’s. The nigger was wickedly shrewd, hypocriticalI ly cunning, but about him was a pre- | posterous absurdity that made him not j wholly revolting." When caught he I would probably own to his delinquen- | eies with a grin. But the chow was different. He never grinned; could not, in fact, in the Brookham manner; seemed incapable of making a jest. Solemn, quiet, and watchful, he went about his business with an immobility, a dull placidity, which was the despair of those who tried to read his thoughts. v Penbury knew all about those periodic absences from the West End, though ho had never been able to trace Wang to the scene of his debaucheries. Shielded by his compatriots, he was fairly secure from police interference. While the law permitted such scum to infest our great cities the most strenuous efforts of him and his men would never eliminate the evil. If he were a dictator, a Cromwell, or even a lesser man, he would without hesitation instantly deport the coloured scum. Political complications. Pooh! There wouldn’t be much in it if a strong nation stood firm. This' fetish of British citizenship; equality before the law for all races and creeds! In the abstract excellent, in reality a farce; political jargon, cant, dangerous humbug. The nigger from Africa or the coolie from India the equal of the imperial white race! What ari absurdity! So thought Michael Penbury, who, unlike the law makers and theorists, came in personal contact with the foul refuse. Before lie could lay Nobby Wang and his like by the heels, and have them sent out of the country, how many lives, homes, families were they to be allowed to wreck? This Chinese outcast; scented, curled, welldressed, and not bad-looking for one of his race; insidious, slimy, creepy; after all, he was but one of many. To send him packing would not obliterate the evil. There were others' waiting to fill his shoes. Here a.nd there to de port a convicted felon was a mere trifling with the matter. That was not tiie way Michael Penbury would deal with the problem. From Wang and Brookham to the man Wrightson was but a step. Here again he thought long and hard. Once get Wrightson in the dock and his face ought to convict him of any iniquity. A down 3£ad faco without extenuation; low bred, cunning, crafty. Presently lie would collect the whole bunch of them; dissipate them in prison air. Constantine Levita. He was more than suspicious of that sleek merchant from the Levant. Eustace Frankford finding sanctuary in assumed respectability. Nell Hobson, the woman who had Hung her taunts at Quincey P. that night in the Bo.no bar. Once again he had encountered her; sought by cajolery and threats to obtain information. But he found her strictly reserved, suspicious, doubly on hoc guard. She knew nothing. He promised her protection, but she was afraid ! to speak. Moreover, he saw that she was beyond reclamation. Pallid face, sunken eyes, trembling limbs; too plainly these told their tale. 1 What a galaxy of sin, depravity; the off-scourings of a great city; the re- ] suit of the higher civilisation! Penbury’s mournful eyes grew mournfuller as he viewed the scene. And the worst ' of it was they were gradually wearing him down. Here and there an arrest \ and a deportation; some insignificant 1 male factor haled from his haunts and * lost. But the game went on. Inadequate laws, inadequate punishment, f and high offenders shielded. What could * a man do with such a situation, how ‘ grapple with it? (

(Author of “Desperate Love.” “Euryale in London,” “Virginia,” otc.)

He thought often of Marjorie Melville, the dead woman’s friend. -H-o knew she was still at the same theatre; wondered if she had kept her word and pulled up. Did they ever pul up? He found himself flunking a good deal about her. She had been intimate with the dead woman; she might tell him much, if she would. Moreover, he had a curious yearning to know more of the intimate side o± 1 oppy Wilton’s life, and this quite apart from any professional advantage he might hope to gain. These wopien interested him profoundly, these thriftless, reckless women, who seemed to forget that they could not always be young and beautiful. It was such women lie hoped to save; other fellows’ sisters, other men’s daughters. When he thought of them rage flashed up in lus melancholy eyes; he wanted a giant s fingers so that he could strangle the poisonous brood of vipers that infestou their path.

Marjorie Melville replied at once to his request for an interview. He found her in a tiny flat in a remote West Kensington Street. No sign of luxury now; the glamour of Pnrkgate Mansions was presumably a thing of the past. But. the tea was laid daintily. He noticed the spotless tea-cloth, the shilling spoons and knives, and above all the change in the appearance of his hostess. Something had happened to her some charm was added which intrigued him deeply. All her flaunting recklessness, both in dress and manner, was gone. She was a reserved, nervous, almost shy Marjorie Melville. Clear eyes looked at him; there was a smile, almost like a whimper, trembling in the corners of her mouth. “Yes,” she said, guessing his thoughts, “I’ve taken your advice, Mr. Penbury, and cut it all out. When our piece goes on tour I’m going with, it. They’ve offered me a small part.” “Good',” he said, his mournful eyes lighting up. He watched her slim lingers; daiiity wrists. Sometimes their eyes met, then would come the sweeping of long lashes, the drooping of heavy lids. She tried to be brave; was brave. This wa.; a very formidable person to entertain; once her imagination had pictured him as implacable nemesis. Certain people spoke his name with contempt, or whispered it as if fearful of the sound. “I’m sorry I’m not able to congratulate you, Mr. Penbury. If you only knew how I’ve prayed for your success; wished I could help you.” “I wonder if you could?” “Is that why you have come?” “One of my reasons.” “There were others?” He looked round the room, then traight at her. “At least I can con gratulate you,” he said. “Poppy’s death frightened me.” “Tell me about her,” he said. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell hat you don’t know, or guess.” “You were fond of her?”

“ Very. She had a thousand lovableways; and she was pretty, so pretty.” “And bad,” he muttered harshly.

“That’s what the world says now, but I think she went through a prettyhard time. Anyhow, she‘s paid dearly. I only knew her as a big-hearted woman, ready to share her last pound or her last crust'with a friend.” “Is this true?” he asked, his eyes glaring at her with sudden intensity. “God’s truth,” she said. “But I had always heard of her as a flaunting harpy; one of those women who bring shame and degradation to her sex. : ’ “It’s a lie, Mr. Penbury. She w.a* independent, reckless if you like; would go her own way, would not be baulked. But she was lovable with it all; just the kindest thing in the world. And as for being a harpy, she hadn’t ten pounds in the w'orld when she died. ’ ’ “You are very loyal.” “Is that a crime?” ‘ ‘ She was an habitual drug taker. ’ ’ Again he spoke harshly, as though determined to cut out all sentiment." “No, I swear she wasn’t.” “You mean she never took it?” “Not that either. She was foolish at times, and subject to dreadful fits of depression.” “Remorse?” he continued relent-

lessly. “Perhaps. Mr. Penbury, you know your world, the ’ bad perhaps better than the good.” i‘There is a good?” “You don’t think so, but there is. Even the bad has some good in it.” “I have never found it,” he answered moodily. “Had slie never been warned?” “Yes, more than once; some anonymous well-wisher.” “Whom she laughed at. Did she never guess it was, the police?” “I don’t know; but who could dream Hint it would end in such a way?” “That way, or a worse. Perhaps it was better that she went so soon, before she became a moral and physical wreck dying by inches.” “She was too proud for that.” “You have a queer notion of pride, Miss Melville.” “Probably; but such a thing may be found even where least expected.” “The pride that associates with Black Q. and Nobby Wang. Could any woman sink lower?” “I sec you are determined to look at he blackest side.” “You don’t deny the association?” “Is that the right word?” You know those men, what they are; why don’t you do your duty and arrest them?” He looked at her, looked in a way that brought the blood to her face. “I may have my reasons; also it is not easy to procure witnesses in such cases. ” “If you mean that I .... But I never came in personal eontast with ihem; I only know them by repute. Dt> you suspect cither of them of ”

“Tell me about Constantine Levita,” he said. The blood deepened in her face. “You are very cruel.” “I have no time for sentimentalities,” he answered gruffly. “What shall I toll you about him?” she asked in a low voice, swallowing the sob in her throat. “What is it you wish to know?” “You are still friends with him?” “I have only seen him once—since that day. I hope never to see him again.” “Then you have realised that he is not a desirable acquaintance?” ‘ ‘ Yes\ ’ ’ , She was surprised .at her humility in the face of his insistent provocation. Why, with indignation leaping like fire, did she submit to his uncompromising hostility? What was there about this man that made her wish to pleas- 1 him? Vainly she tried to analyse the sensation. In the glare of his 'mournful eyes she cowered, yet was fascinated by it; would not have avoided ir oven if she could. \Vas it the know-

ledge of what ho was that awoke so many strange emotions; the things he did; the amazing b±e of adventure? Assuredly not; these were insignificant trifles Was it then the man? She did -not know; feared, trembled oddly at the thought. Why had she waited for his coming with such nervous, impatience; why dress the shabby room to its best advantage, ana herself, herself most of all? “Ask me everything,” she said; I will help you all I can I want « help you if vou will only let me. Only I’m afraid I really don’t know much; not nearly as mue.n ns you. It vould be the happiest day of my life n could help you to succeed. A very human look came into lus eyes, the first she had ever seen there. They softened perceptibly; she almost thought they dimmed. Then lie smiled It was not often he smiled. His friends said he had never smiled-since lie came back from the front; certainly he had found little to make him smile since he had taken to the unmasking of villainy. But it leant a surprising kindness to liis strange hard face. It gave her a glimpse of the inner limn, and she liad a sort of vague idea that she knew now why she had felt so excited at his coming, and whv she had taken such pains to look her came to pump you,” he admitted, the smile deepening. “Pump away,” she laughed. “I don’t kiiow how. You have dislocated the machinery. ’ ’ “I’m going to help you all I can to find the man who murdered Poppy Wilton. You have picked up the scent., Mr. Penbury. Follow it,” she added vehemently, “follow it!” “Then you think I’m on the right track?”. His eyes narrowed. If curious when wide open and staring, they were singularly compelling when peering through half-closed lids. Wide, there was a suggestion of vacancy about them which had deceived more than a shrewd observer; but when seen, as now, there was a mysterious and profound intelligence in them which awoke a thousand strange conjectures. “I am sure of it.” “These men, they stilt molest you?” ‘' No. ” “You think they are willing to let vou escape?” “I am not afraid of them —now.” “Why now?” he asked. “With you to help me.” “Levita?” ' “I hate him,” she said. “But if I can help you.” “You would take that risk?” “Any risk. Tell me what to do.” “Be"yourself—the self you are now. You cannot do, or be, anything better than that.” He came close to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She trembled at the contact; felt his iron fingers crush her flesh, yet she neither wavered nor whimpered. His deep, melancholy, grey-blue eyes were burning into hers; searching her very "soul, it seemed. They added a deeper confusion to her dazed, senses. She held up her face, her hungry mouth to him. / A frightful spasm shot through him: he shook like a leaf. Then he put her gently from him. He said: “My dear, you will be very precious to someone—some day. ’ ’ (To be continued.)