"The Merlewood Mystery”

Manawatu Times, Volume LIX, Issue 7473, 25 May 1934, Page 9

"The Merlewood Mystery”

CHAPTER XVII.— (Continued). He went round to flic collage after lunch and found the old man tucked up In a chair in his sitting-room, with, every indication of not being well. _ Michael was almost shocked by his appearance. He looked ill, and there was curious apprehension in his rheumy eyes. The affair of the voices in (he barn seemed to have affected him to an unexpected degree. ■ Michael thought it best not to refer to the incident, but asked what he wanted to know with crude directness. “I say, I want you to tell me something,” he began, after having inquired as to the old man’s health and learnt that he had had a sleepless night. “If that unlucky chap that was murdered here had ten thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds stowed away in the house after he came back from Kimberley, what form would they be likely to be in—would they be in the natural state?. And how many would there he?" “There might be five, there might be fifty, according to size and water. Brown replied. “Most likely they d bo uncut— dirty-looking little stones. “Well, how would they probably be stowed? In an iron box, do you think?” „ , “In a canvas bag more likely, as I’ve already said once before. Light, and easy to hide if necessary, Brown answered. „ “It doesn’t sound too safe “I daresay not. They rot, do canvas bags, and then the stones get lost.” The old man spoke halfsleepilv, his wandering glance roaming round the little room. “I’d give —l’d give a sackful of them not to have heard that voice last night - He was in the grip of fear. Yet what was it to him? Why should he have imagined the voice to be that of Floyd? It was unaccountable. .. • Certainly Sylvester must be right, and he was ‘‘touched.’ Suddenly Brown got on his feet, and, pointing a warning finger at his visitor, cried out In a loud and threatening voice—■ “You leave those diamonds alone—’ give up looking for them —or a curse will fall upon you!”

CHAPTER XVIII. Adam Brown’s persistency that the stones, if discovered, w'ould bring him bad luck in no way acted as a deterrent to Michael. If it were .possible to find those diamonds, he meant to do it. But so far no clue to their whereabouts had turned up. He believed the old man’s repeated warnings to be simply the outcome of the tragedy that had overtaken his friend. That single instance of ill-fortune had been enough for him. More than ever now did Michael want money. How was it possible for him in his penniless state, with little or no prospect in front of him, to approach Sir Ronald? As to the dowager, she would look upon the whole affair as audacious madness—and say so. Devoutly he washed that Marjorie’s father had been less wealthy. She had been brought up with all the comforts and luxuries money can buy. Yet she had more than once declared to Michael that she cared nothing about money. She had indeed the spirit of a pioneer, and read with avidity all books of travel —more especially of women’s adventures —that came her way, openly avowing her envy of women who had braved danger 1n order to visit unexplored countries and experience thrills in the wild. "If it were not for leaving father I’d go out to Central Africa or South America to-morrow,” she said to Michael. "I want to get a. wider life ” “You misht have to rough it, you know.” "I shouldn’t mind." Would she not? Would she really be prepared to give up her present easy life for one of hardship and even peril? Or were all these aspirations just wild ideas that would break down at ones when put to the test? "What would Lady Hele say?” "Rather, what would she not? My grandmother "would of course consider such a life of adventure, if not entirely mad, certainly wholly improper! So, between not wanting to worry father and granny’s disapproval, I don’t suppose for one moment that 1 shall ever go farther than the Riviera or the Italian Lakes —> everything mapped out on beaten linos', and a courier in attendance.”

She sighed arid pouted. Her eyes, like Mrs Jellyby’s sighting Rorrio-boola-gha from afar, looked out over the range of High Street into dim, grey-blue distances. They were wandering together ori the fell, Michael having deliberately waylaid her. He knew the path she usually followed when exercising her Cairns. It was a lonely, lovely track, yet at no great distance from the coach road. They had had many encounters there and talks together, walking leisurely, the dogs joyfully at large, and indeed scarcely heeded. “Aren’t you tired of this walk? You might find much prettier ones —with finer views,” Marjorie said, and whistled a straying Cairn. “I don’t want to see any views. I cams to find you,” Michael answered. Colour flushed her cheeks at his speech and the look in his eyes. “Do you think I can’t take care of myself? I know every inch of these fells."

"I wouldn’t presume to guide you. But there misht be —cows.” Marjorie tossed her head, flashing a glance of scorn at him. "Cows!” she repeated, in high disdain. “Cows, indeed 1 when you know I’m longing to meet lions!” "Then you’d certainly want some one to look after you." Then, greatly daring, because a quick glance had shown him a dimple in her cheek and that her eyes were kind: "Would I do?” he added. “You —misht," she answered. In slightly vulgar but expressive parlance, that did it. The next instant Michael was telling Marjorie all the pent-up tale of his love for her. . „ .

“I’ve nothing else to offer you—that’s the trouble,” he said anxiously. “1 know it sounds pretty hopeless. But I’ll work for you. . . I'll make things go, * „ Marjorie, wky doa’tyou

(By Mrs J. C. Arnold)

Instalment 18.

He- was hot and cold with anxiety. The girl beside him looked at him and then a smile dimpled her cheek. "This is so sud ” she began, a twinkle in her eye. "No, it isn’t. You know as well as I do I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you.” Michael declared and boldly slipped an arm about her waist. After which the Cairns had a scamper of unprecedented length, ana were "later on collected only with difficulty. , , . . Marjorie and Michael had arrived at one of those mutual understandings which to-day frequently takes place of yesterday’s more orthodox and serious engagements. The affair was sincere yet tentative. Marjorie would wait and Michael would work —and' both hoped, with the splendid optimism of youth, that all would he well. „ . The curious point about the anair was that Michael had not again referred to the missing diamonds. Marjorie, he remembered, had •scarcely been sympathetic as to that matter, and so he avoided it. He fell in his secret heart that she did not altogethei approve this easy solution of his difficulties. JIo guessed that she regarded money obtained in such a manner —neither inherited nor worked for—as slightly ignoble. It was not the first time his quest had appeared to him in such a light or fhe first he had felt dissatisfied with tho proposal that had once seemed so full of attraction. And undoubtedly Marjorie was the cause. Ones more he put the doubt aside. Why should he not have the money these missing stones would fetch, if only he could find them? He hardened his heart and set about cudgelling Ui3 brains to think of some fresh means that might lead to discovery. At the back of his mind Lady Hole's suspicion of the negress Tansy worked like leaven. He wished he could see more of the black woman and alone. And as luok would have it, Fortune favoured him, for that very night Mrs Sylvester asked if any of them had seen Adam Brown during the day, adding that she had heard he was not well. "I’ll go for a stroll,” Michael said readily, "anci call at his cottage on my way."

He 'thought it just possible he might get five minutes with Tansy all to himself. And so it turned out. The negress told him, in answer to his inquiries, that her master had been in his bedroom all day.

“I’m told he’s oflcn not very well," Michael said lightly. “The remains of something he brought home from Africa, perhaps. You knew him there before you came here, I’m told.

“He funny in his head," the black woman said. "Got that here—nowhere else.”

She fixed Michael with the stony stare of her black eyes.

"The death of his friend ——’ Michael began.

"No—not that either,” Tansy interrupted. "That very old. This only two days since.” Then it was certainly the voice he had heard in the barn that had upset the old man, Michael decided. Yet he saw no reason why old Brown should have been so greatly disturbed by the sound of it, more especially as he had declared it to have been the voice of the man Floyd. Had be imagined it to be that of his dead friend Arthur Burden, ihen his agitation would be accounted for. Tansy was right. He was ‘funny in his head.’

“That barn full of devils.” Tansy went on. not waiting for Michael to speak. “Very likely,” he said. “Perhaps one of them spirited away Mr Arthur Burden’s diamonds on the night of the murder.”

It was a bow drawn at a venture. But it took effect. The inscrutable expression of the black woman s countenance changed. “Di’monds?” she repeated,

"Yes —precious stones. Burden had them here at Merlewood, and they disappeared. You never saw them, I suppose? They vanished on the night of the murder. There were only you and Ann Slatterthwaite in the house at the time, you know.”

Michael spoke lightly. He wanted to get what he could out of the negress before he resorted to any kind of threat.

“Me 100 busy bother about di’monds,” she said. "Better ask Ann. She know, p'raps.”

Too busy! Surely not too busy on that fatal night, Tansy must moan, of course, that the commotion of the dreadful discovery had indeed occupied her completely.

“They weren’t very safe for a murderer to carry about with him,” Michael said, watching her closely. "And he couldn’t do anything with them. Perhaps lie hid them somewhere until lie could come back for them.”

"No place to hide,” Tansy said with decision. "Everywhere turned down-side-up when p’iicemen here years and years long ago. Weil all empty too —nothing in it. But if murderer come back, p’raps lie throwed them in later and gone dead hisself since, Y"ou better look for yourself. Tansy know nothing." A stick was struck violently -upon the lloor-boards above them, and Adam’s voice was heard calling loudly. "I want her! Bring her up!" he shouted. Tansy shook her woolly head — white wool it was, contrasting curiously with her ebony skin. "That damneat,” she said calmly, making one word of adjective and noun. Her onyx eyes, as Lady Hele had described I hem, were inscrutable—hard as glass. Michael glanced round. The cat was nowhere to be seen. Tansy went along the passage and called at the kitchen door, "Puss! Puss!” But no cat appeared. "Not come for me!" the negress said, with a grin that showed teeth still wonderfully white for a woman of her age. "You call." (To be Continued.)