"The Jackal"

Manawatu Times, Volume LV, Issue 7032, 16 December 1932, Page 9

"The Jackal"

(BY J. LINDSAY HAMILTON.)

CHAPTER I. — (Continued). of Paris, Jerry had heard the name whispered; in the remote wilds of Albania “Jackal" spelt unreasoning .error; in the foul haunts of Port Said outcast women and men of no race banded together in the secret society of Jackalltes. Once he had heard the name in a low night club in Lonlon. And wherevor it was heard .he hell-brew simmered and boiled over. And this was tho report which had been stolen from his room, and now .ay before him. He went through the pages carefully. “All complete,” he mused. “Anyhow, no one could possibly decipher it without the code key." A sudden thought struck him, and ho raced away up to his private sitting room. The thief had left plenty of evidence of his work. Drawers stood open, and their contents were scattered about the room. His trunk had been forced. Whole boxes of cigars, which had been standing piled up in one oorner of the room, now littered the floor, and every one of them had been broken open. But Jerry had oyes for none of these. He went straight to the halfempty box of cigars lying carelessly open on the table, and selecting one from the centre, examined the gold band. The cigar appeared to be a perfectly ordinary one. And so It was, at both ends. But when Jerry tore 'Off tho band and removed the outer leaf of the cigar, a small metal tube was revealed running down the oentre of It. This he removed carefully, and, unscrewing the tiny stopper, Inserted a pair of tweezers and drew out a roll of finest oiled silk. Even so, a stranger might have been at a loss to decipher the microscopic characters which appeared to have been scratched upon it with a needle. Jerry sighed with relief and satisfaction. "Dear, dear Anna,” he murmured, “not this time. I supppose you were too clever to run off with a bundle of senseless gibberish. His eyes, ranging round the -dls ordered room, fell suddenly upon the visiting oard on the mantelpiece. Anna Voronoff’s! What had she to say for herself? He picked It up and read the few pencilled words, and an exolamation of astonishment escaped hlrn. Then laughter had Its way with him. Anna! Incomparable Anna! The same irrepressible, mocking, subtle Anna. “Forgive the little prank. The temptation was irresistible. Your own fault, dear foolish one. You should not have tried to bluff me.” So that was it, a harmless prank after all. Yes, that was tike Anna. The temptation to test her old powers, to play the adventuress again, had oeon too much for her. And yet how had the thing been .vorked? Rudolph obviously, and that I irgued a perfect understanding be- j nvecn the two. Perhaps it had been i pre-arranged. She had spotted him in 1 ;he town and prepared this little joke. Then her surprise at meeting him had men all acting. Heartless little Anna! He laughed amusedly, and went in iearch of Rudolph. “Sir?" Rudolph’s expression was is gravely deferent as ever, and with)ut a shadow of apprehension. “Madam appears to have left some,vhat hurriedly," said Jerry, "Nothng amiss, I hope. She gave you a lote during lunch. I wonder ■” “Quite so, sir," agreed Rudolph •eadily enough. “It was to telephone Hr Carol Jenning at Doone Manor ;hat Madame would be home In about in hour.” . t He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, tnd then handed Jerry a visiting card ’olded In a scrap of poper. “Delayed through meeting an old ’riend. Home in about an hour, he The card contained simply Rudolph’s nstructions: “’Phone my husband." Jerry remained lost apparently in idmlring contemplation of the bold lajndwriting. In reality he was thlnkng of Anna’s thoroughness. It must aave been Rudolph who had rifled iis room, but she had covered him very satisfactorily. “Madam is wonderful," he remarked iloud. ,' The gravity of Rudolph’s face relaxed. There was no mistaking his fervent, wholehearted agreement. “Never could there be one so wonlerful, so exquisite ” “Must say I admire your taste, Rudolph. Try one of these.” And, as though bestowing a prize tor good conduct, Jerry handed him a. cigar, and dismissed him.

CHAPTER 11. At Doono Manor. Doone Manor, >or, as Its ancient name rs, Baron’s Keep, is approached by land from one direction only. The road from Market Appleton runs straight and level for several miles alongside the canal-like river, and then, at the little hamlet of Enerby, takes a right-angled turn over the bridge, and proceeds across the fens. On the far side of the bridge, however, an open lane follows the line of the river, and after a mile or so comes to a dead end at the old mansion. Between here and the ridge of sandhills just visible in the distance, stretches Denman's Marsh, a waste of sodd,en ground, mire and reeds, broken here and there by an amorphous expanse of open water. Seaward of the manor the river loses its rigid regularity of line to penetrate'the northern portion of the marsh. Attempts have from time to time been made to drain this low-lying land, but owing either to the cost entailed or to the doubtful advantage of such an enterprise, they have all proved abortive. A desolate and dreary outlook this view from the rear of the old manor I According to historians, the old Norman castle, Baron’s Keep, served as a fortress to guard against invasion from the sea by way of the river, of the rich arable lands that lie to the westward. At all events, the massive bastioned tower with its high rounded arch and iron-latticed door, which must have formed the main entrance to the oourtyard, faces full on to the river. The tower is all that remains of the old castle, and the present manor, which faces west, has been built, as It were, into the ruins abutting on it. The incongruity of style and period is, however, not so blatant as one might suppose, for the architect has made some attempt to

Instalment 2.

preserve a uniformity of form and structure; as witness, the massive walls, the south turret, and embattlements along the whole frontage. Old John Doone, though secretlj treasuring his historic possession, had never gone so far as to consider the Norman wing habitable. He had spent a good deal of money In keeping it in a state of preservation, but essentially It was a “sight” rather than a part of the manor. Sinco his death, twenty years ago, Doone Manor had remained untenanted. Nothing would have induced Marla to claim her heritage, and neither Alfred Doone nor his sailor brother, Eric, would have oared to take it over, even had they had the option. They were perfectly content to draw the Income—mostly In farm rents—from the estate. Until a week ago Alfred had not vl6lted the place for years. He had come for a specific purpose: to make the acquaintance of the niece he had never met. Truth to tell, his family conscience had been giving him a deal of trouble. His sister Marla was on his mind. For the banishment of her from the family of Doone, It might be possible to atone through her daughter. Anna must be accepted into the fold, and the family be once more re-welded Into one harmonious whole. Such was the sentiment that animated Alfred Doone, for his was a kindly heart. “Fussy old woman,” Erio always called him impatiently, but then fu3s and sentiment were Eric Doone’s pet antipathies. In his sitting-room, a cosy room •overlooking the marsh, Alfred Doone sat writing to his brother. It was a •lotter he had begun two days ago, and left unfinished. And now he seemed In a fever of doubt as to how to continue It. He chewed his pen, dipped it in the Ink, threw it down upon the table, and began to pace the room. Once he stopped and seemed on the point of tearing the letter to pieces, but no—■ho laid It down again, and resumed his restless pacing, punctuating his steps with mutterlngs and exclamations. Finally he came to rest again at the table, and as though tuat might assist him to solve his problem, began to read aloud the lotter which he had written:—• "My Dear Brother,—* “You will see by the address (h’m, yes, yes, yes) .... and now that I have met the dear girl and her charming husband, I can only lament that the fates have kept us so long unknown to one another ... as for Carl, he Is a quiet, unassuming fellow, and I should eay a brilliant artist, though I am no judge of such matters. I wish he would not wear his hair so long, and for one so young to wear a beard struck me at first as stupid affectation. I spoke to Anne about It, but she tells me his mouth and chin were horribly disfigured In an acoident some years ago. Anne is quite devoted to him, and he to her. Such delightful devotion between young people in these days of selfishness and silly flippancy is deeply touching (h’m, very true, very true, Indeed). ... With all respect to our deceased parent, I must say that I have always considered his treatment of Marla was harsh in the extreme. But the wrong done to her is ene that can •In a measure be righted. Indeed, I have already done what is in my power. Anne shall receive at once what Is only hers by moral right, that Is, one-third of the inoome from the estate. It is all arranged, so do not let this disturb you in any way. I take it entirely upon myself, and I can well afford It, as you know. . . If only I could persuade them to leave this desolate, forbidding plaoe. I'm sure Anne would be only too glad to, but Carl seems strongly attached to it. I know you will laugh at my foolish fancies, but I cannot help feeling that there Is an active spirit of evil and oppression brooding over the place. Small wonder the Doones who have lived here should be acoursed. You remember the old doggerel In the legend—

•Since Jaspar Doone his soul to the Prince of Darkness did sell, In each generation one Doone gives body to the marsh, and eoul to hell.’ Nowadays we are more prosaic. We shall say there is a taint of insanity in the family. I'm not surprised. This house and the surroundings are enough to drive anyone insane. And there is more in it than that. You will think me mad, hut I feel the fascination of the marsh myself. Perhaps lam overimaginative; the old legend and the gruesome associations of Doone Manor have been getting on my nerves. At all events I am leaving in a few days, and hope to bring Anne and her husband back with me to London. Helen is returning from her tour with the Wiimots in a few days. She is very anxious to meet her unknow cousin, and will come straight on here. Meanwhile, I must try and laugh, as you will, at my fears and fancies. Carl speaks of wild duck on the marsh. Perhaps an evening’s shooting might lav the ghost for ever; grasp the nettle you know. That would certainly be your advice. I think I will take it.” The epistle came to an end, and Alfred Doone went on repeating absently to himself, “H’m! I think I will tako it—d think I will take it." ■His restlessness then broke out again. "What shall I do? On paper It would look so—l can hardly believe in it myself. But I must tell someone. No, I can’t write. I’ll see him at the earliest possible moment." Decision arrived at at last, he began to write rapidly at the foot of the letter—- " Eric, I must see you at onoe. It is imperative. I dare not commit It to paper, and you would only think I was mad. Thank God Helen arrives the day after to-morrow and I can get away from this ghastly place. Shall I? I begin to wonder? Or am I the Doone of this generation?" "ocq be continued.)