"The Evil Chateau"

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXVI, Issue 3449, 24 November 1932, Page 6

"The Evil Chateau"

O. By SYDNEY HORLER. a

CHAPTER XL—(Continued.) "The Englishman, Heritage, did not have it, on him when we attacked him this morning. Perhaps he had left it at his hotel; I left Luigi to find that out." "You watched him afterwards?" "Yes. With another, he went to an English bank. There he asked to see the Manager. Of course, I do not know what happened afterwards." "Perhaps he deposited it at the bank?" "That I cannot say. The Police at Cannes suspect him of the murder." The Count, surprised, unbent in laughter. "That is distinctly amusing. Any other news?" "He has made two friends —one another Englishman named Matcham, who is rich —" "Rich, Dorando? How do you know?" The employer's interest had been quickened. He thrived off people who were rich. "At the hotel —the Chester —he has been talking. Luigi overheard." "Yes —well, find out exactly how rich he is, Dorando; you know the way." "Yes, I know the way. But the Englishman Heritage has another friend —the Englishwoman, Miss Howard. They work together." Suspicion now leapt into the Count's face. If this was true, then something of the truth must already have occurred to Felicity Howard —and she had sent for assistance. Heritage and his new-found friend Matcham might also belong to the British Intelligence. It must have been because she was meeting this colleague of hers that she had declined to have lunch with him that morning; that much was perfectly plain. "How do you know this?" The spy shrugged his shoulders as though the question was not worth answering. "My information is correct," he said; and the Count, who knew the man could be relied upon, did not pursue the matter. "Continue to watch both Englishmen," he said; "and report to me. You had better return to Cannes to-night. But wait; there is another matter." He lowered his voice, speaking earnestly for several minutes. At the end Dorando nodded. "It shall be done," he said.

The Count de la Siagne had been a badfellow of danger so often during the past six years that the question of actual fear did not now enter his mind. But he was certainly rather ruffled as he threw away the half-con-sumed cigar and lit a fresh one. Everything pointed to this charming English girl being a potential enemy. Leaning back in his chair he marshalled his facts: An English Secret Service agent of high birth —no less a personage indeed, than the son of the Foreign Secretary of Britain had gone out of his whilst visiting the Riviera to cultivas \is acquaintance. That in itself had bc«n significant. He himself being occupied by one fact only—namely that this extremely likeable young man possessed plenty rvf money—had certainly done nothing to frustrate the other's desire. On the contrary, he had encouraged the friendship by inviting Westover to visit him at his chateau which, being above Vence, was very conveniently placed for the purpose to which he was now using it. Westover had proved to be less malleable than his mother and he had hoped or expected; and after a fortnight had contrived what had seemed the impossible. In other words, he had escaped from what had become a prison. In escaping he had taken something of extreme value —something which might be instrumental in putting a rope round the Count de la Siagne's neck, or at least in having him placed in a position of considerable danger.

Perhaps the English girl spy had had this secret emblem passed to her. Perhaps she had seen and talked \,o Westover before Dorando's knife had done its work. That would explain why she was so anxious to come to the Chateau. She guessed so much and wanted to know more. Well, he would certainly give her plenty to think about. A warm welcome should be prepared for her. Already his mother was making her preparation. The risk? What greater risk could there be in this case than in any of the others? On the other hand it seemed to him imperative that, if his surmises about this girl were correct, she should be silenced. The High Council would demand this, once it knew of the danger. In any case, the girl would be there alone —at his mercy. It might be that his mother would become jealous, and wish to hasten the end before he had received that satisfaction which was so exceedingly pleasant to contemplate. It was some considerable time now since there had been a —well, death —at the Chateau, and the fact that the Englishman Westover, had died off the premises, as it were, had caused her intense irritation. She might become impatient . . . This time, however, she would have to wait. Going to a handsome desk in a corner of the room, he pulled out paper and fountain-pen and commenced to write:— Dear Miss Howard. — I am writing to say how much I

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am looking forward to your promised visit. Gould you not come for the week-end? My mother, who is 82, but very bright and alert, unfortunately is blind and finds time hanging rather heavily on her hands. She will give you the warmest of welcomes and now joins me in cordial good wishes. Very sincerely yours, Antoine de la Siagne. The Count hummed a tune as he secured the envelope. CHAPTER XII.—BILL PUTS SOME QUESTIONS. Back at the Chester Hotel, the two friends were talking. "You look as though you'd received bad news from home," commented Bill Matcham; "what's worrying you, old son?" Stephen paid no immediate attention to the question. "I'll tell you later," he said; "what I want now is for you to repeat every word that crippled chap told you in Nicolai's this morning." "Well, it wasn't a great deal so far as words went, but it was plenty otherwise. I couldn't understand why he jumped off the deep end so much, considering they were both wrong 'uns—l had always imagined there was a certain brotherhood between crooks " "Perhaps they had worked together and fallen out," suggested the listener. "What a brain the boy has!" Matcham's voice rang with admiration; "anyway, unless he was putting up a bluff, which I very much doubt, because there doesn't appear to be any sense in that, he hates this Count joker like poison. Just jealousy, perhaps, because the other is in a larger way of business—but there it is. But look here, Steve, you look positively pipped. Can't your Uncle Bill do anything?" "Yes, you can listen to what I want to tell you." Matcham did not once interrupt. "You're in love, old boy," he summed up at the conclusion of the other's story; "and, being in love, you're not, excuse my poor French, absolutely bon in the upper story. What I mean to say is that you're inclined to look at things in a prejudiced way." "Oh, go to Hell!" exclaimed Heritage impatiently. "Certainly, but just give me time to explain a little more fully what I mean. You meet a girl here who, I am willing to admit, is able to knock spots off practically every other woman in the place. For some reason which isn't very clear to me even now, she comes the good Samaritan. So far, very good. You fall for her and, conscious as you are of not being in her class, you come the Walter Raleigh stuff and do the on-the-knee business. To cut it short, you offer your help because you feel that she's paddling in pretty muddy water. Am I correct so far?" "Go on." "Merci Beachamp. But what does this girl do when you make the offer of your good right-arm? Why, she practically tells you to forget it! Did she take back that money?" "I forced it on her." Bill shook his head. "I don't understand it and what I don't understand I try to forget," he summed up; "now that you've given her back the money, I can't see for the life of me what you want to butt >n again for. Oh, I know you're mashed on her, old man, but you'll soon jget over that. So far this girl has given every indication of being able to look after herself, so why should you worry? I hate to say it, but she may even be in with this Count fellow on some special stunt." "That's ridiculous," replied Heritage, his tone very curt; "so ridiculous that it's not worth a moment's thought. Good God! Can't you see my point? If what the cripple Hewitt said is true, she's deliberately r nning into danger —terrible danger—putting herself in the hands of a swine. I must warn her." Matcham showed commendable forbearance. "Doesn't it occur to you that that little lady knows how many beans make five?" he asked; "if the thought hasn't already struck you that she may be perfectly well aware of what awaits her at this Chateau place, I suggest it now." "I must see this Hewitt myself," replied Heritage. "By all means. I don't mind losing a few quid if it's going to set your mind at rest, Steve. And, by the way, talking about money, you haven't very much left. Here," pulling out a thick roll of notes, "catch hold of this; when that's gone, let me know." Heritage shook his head.

"I can't take your money, Bill," lie replied; "how on earth am I ever going to pay it back?" "My choice cuckoo!" exploded the ex-clerk, "have \v e got to go into all that twice in one day? Your luck will turn one of these bright mornings and then you'll have so much you won't know where to hide it. Listen, Steve: when we get lo this Villa Laurent," looking at the card which he had pulled out of his pocket, "I'll give you a free hand with One-Leg, . and then if you honestly think we ought to lend Miss Howard a hand —well, we'll go to it, I can't say fairer than that." Stephen's depression vanished.

(To be continued.)