“The Evil Chateau”

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXVI, Issue 3450, 26 November 1932, Page 6

“The Evil Chateau”

By SYDNEY HORLER.

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.)

"Bill, you're a brick 1" he exclaimed. "I'm a brick from Brixlon —all right," agreed the other. "From now until tea-time, however, I'm going to try being a snorer from Surbiton. I'm beginning to feel my age. Grand-dad must have his forty winks. Gall me when the tea-cups commence to tinkle." The speaker leaned back in his chair and within a minute was fast asleep. Stephen was thinking of following his example when he noticed the concierge standing on the steps of the hotel. Directly he caught sight of him, the man hastened forward. "M. Caron would like to see you in the office, Monsieur," he said. There was an expression of apprehension on the man's face. "All right, Benito. I'll come straight away. What is it all about; do you know?" "Monsieur, pardon —but I think —I am not sure —it is something to do with the Police." The Police! The girl had been right, then. Oh, well, he was prepared in a measure. They couldn't arrest him for a crime which, he had not committed — or if they did, he could trust Bill Matcham to kick up enough fuss to cause the local consul to lake some sort of action. The hotel manager's face was grave as he acknowledged Heritage's appearance. "Monsieur, I apologise a thousand times," he said to his guest; 'but this gentleman is from the Police. He would like to ask you a few questions." "Certainly." Stephen regarded the sallow-faced man with the long nose and the beady but shrewd eyes. "I am at your service," he said. He wished the ordeal, for such he feared it would be, might be swiftly over, however. "I am a detective," announced the beady-eyed man. "Monsieur, who has been kind enough to say he places himself at my disposal, will be pleased to answer the questions I shall put to him." He pulled out pencil and paper and drew a chair to the table. M. Caron, pulling at his moustache, took the third chair. "But perhaps you would choose for this interrogation to take place at the Hotel de Ville?" The detective shut his note-book with a miniature bang and rose.

"Not at all. I have nothing to hide. I shall be pleased for M. Garon to hear everything that is said." The hotel manager's face lost something of its depression at the words, whereas the detective scowled as though an effective piece of stage-management upon which he had been inclined to compliment himself had been bungled. "Very well." He sat down again and frowned at Heritage. "Monsieur," he exclaimed suddenly, "do you deny that at 12.35 this morning you were walking along the quaywall outside the Casino?" "Certainly not." "Do you deny that you there bent over the body of a man—a man who was dead through a knife-thrust in his heart?" "No, I do not deny it. May I relate exactly what happened?" "One moment, please! Do you deny, Monsieur, that, instead of instantly informing the Police of this terrible tragedy, as you should have done, you disappeared like a thief or m assassin?" "Monsieur!" cried M. Caron indignantly. The detective waved a hand. "It is for Monsieur Heritage to answer that question," he said. "Why did you not inform the Police of your discovery?" he went on to inquire. "To be perfectly frank, because I was afraid I might be accused of the crime myself." "You admit that 1" The beady eyes were alight with triumph. "I have already told you so. I am- a stranger in Cannes and I did not know anything about the local administration of Justice." "It is the best in France," anounccd the detective gravely. "I have no doubt. But as a man jf the world, you will appreciate perhaps my position. I had left the Casino, having lost every penny I had in the world. It was my intention to commit suicide by jumping Into the harbour " "Monsieur Heritage!" This from a thoroughly startled M. Caron. "Yes, it's quite true. I came out here with a hundred pounds, hoping to turn it into a fortune. Of course, I was a fool. You won't be surprised to hear that I lost instead of won. Last night I intended to finish everything. But on the way to the end of the quay-wall, I saw a man bending over a figure which was on the ground. Directly he saw me this man vanished. I went to the other to see if I could give any help, and discovered that ie was dead—probably murdered by the fellow who had run away. I agree with you, Monsieur," turning to the detective, "that I ought to have informed the Police, but I lost my nerve." "That," put in the hotel-manager, "is easily understandable. I trust Monsieur is satisfied?" The detective to whom £he question had been put, stared at Heritage. "You have nothing else to tell me, Monsieur?" he asked. '

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"Yes. Lying by the side of the dead man's body was a wallet filled with money." "Oh I" "That money—every franc of it —is now in the Cannes branch of the English Westminster Bank. I deposited it there this morning." "Why, Monsieur?" "Why? To wait for it to be claimed by the relatives of the dead man." "You have proof of what you say?" "There is the Bank Manager, of course, and a friend who went with me." "Is your friend staying at this hotel?" The answer was supplied in unexpected fashion. The door burst open to disclose an excited Bill Matcham. Bill looked as though he had just passed through a nightmare and was anxious to find the person responsible. "What're they trying to put across you, Steve?" he demanded. The detective swung round, frowning portentously at the speaker. "Who is this?" he inquired. Stephen found himself grinning. He could not help it; with the advent of Matcham the scene had taken on a comical aspect. Bill, as usual, brought his own atmosphere. "This is the friend of whom I was speaking just now. He went to the bank with me this morning." "Your name, Monsieur," said the detective curtly, busy with note-book again. "I don't quite get this," remarked Matcham with an air of bewilderment; "Steve, who is this undertaker?" "A French detective detailed to investigate the death of the poor devil I discovered murdered near the Casino last night. He appears to have the idea that I had something to do with it. He wants you to confirm what I have just told him about taking that £4,000 to the Westminster Bank this morning." "Righto I" Bill turned to the frowning detective. "Now look here, Monsieur, I am a rich man—so rich that I could buy up the best part of Cannes, the police-station included, and not turn a hair. If the gentleman doesn't understand that properly," he added to Caron, "perhaps you would translate." But the detective's knowledge of Bill's mother-tongue was sufficient. "Monsieur must be a millionaire several times," he replied. "I am I" came the unblushing lie, "and what I want to tell you is this: every franc will go to defending my friend here against any charge you may be thinking of making against him. He is as innocent as you are of this murder." "No charge has yet been made against Monsieur Heritage." The remark seemed to be made grudgingly. "And no charge had better be made —let me tell you that I Now I have a few questions to ask myself. I want your attention, please."

The voice of Matcham was so commanding, his manner so confident that two out of the three other men in the room were impressed. The third — Heritage—felt inclined to shout with laughter. Good old Bill. He would have made a fortune on the stage. "The man whose murdered body was found near the Casino last night was, I understand, English. I should like his name, please." The detective retained something of his former manner. "Monsieur must please give me his authority before I can answer that." "Authority? This victim of a Cannes assassin is a fellow-countryman and you ask me for my authority! Have you heard of the famous London newspaper, the 'Morning,' Monsieur?" "But, of course." "Well, I am connected with it ... I think you would be well advised to tell me the name of the murdered man." "We wish to avoid all possible scandal, Monsieur." "So do I. You can rely upon my discretion. But it is necessary that I should know." The detective bowed. "The dead man has been identified as the Honorable Gerald Westover, son of Lord Dalrymple." Matcham whistled softly. "Lord Dalrymple's brother is one of the largest shareholders in the 'Morning,'" he said to Heritage; "the fog becomes thicker." Then to the detective: "I take it that you are satisfied with the explanation my friend has given you?" "It will be necessary for the money which has been placed in the bank to be surrendered to the Police." "Of course—after you have given a receipt for it'"

(To be continued.)