“HIGH DOOM”

Manawatu Times, Volume 61, Issue 10, 13 January 1936, Page 9

“HIGH DOOM”

(By J. L. Morrissey)

Martinhad met his death was thej correct one. s ] Talk of a Genluo. Ho looked again at the artist, and was instantly aware of an indefinable sense of liking towards the man. Undoubtedly he had charm lor all that, he was a crank. And even as to this last McKnlght was not too sure. That he had the true spirit of the artist Was absolutely beyond doubt; his reputation and his paintings put any doubt of that outside consideration. Supposing he was turning to the outre and symbolical in his middle age. Surely he himself was the best judgo of what should be his vision. “Tell me, Mr Marker,” he asked suddenly, “do you see symbolism In everything around you? I mean, in the ordinary everyday things of life. Or must your symbpllsm always be expressed in terms of the depths and lights and shadows of existence? What, for instance, would be your conception* of the spirit of man, earthbound for centuries, suddenly, as it were, given the gift of flight? Shall we say, the spirit of the aeroplane

age?” The artist pursed his lips for a moment, and McKnlght’s eyes never left his mouth. But there was no twitch apparent; the word "aeroplane", had caused in him no sudden start, no matter how imperceptible. “It’s curious you should ask,” he said at length. “I have here a rough design for just such a subject. Of course," he went on with a frank smile, “I cannot claim this as coincidence. It is perhaps natural that the unfortunate death of my friend Martin recently should have suggested such a subject to me. Hero is the sketch." He handed McKnlght a sheet of drawing paper, and the detective took it and examined it with interest. “Wonderful," he murmured, after a few minutes’ scrutiny, and he handed it to Brian Clarke. Bill Cleveland looked over his friend’s shoulder at the design, and even he was compelled to curb his irreverence at the majesty of the conception. It portrayed in rough charcoal outlines the blunt foreshortened figure of a man, in much the same attitude as that of the negro, save that here tho figure was definitely representative of the white, and specially the Nordic, races. Feet the figure had none, the knees, thick and stolid, blended into the pedestal. Uncouth, clumsy wings were folded against the

figure’s shoulders, and were evidently about to be spread. Breaking chains were sinking down the figure’s thighs towards the pedestal. On the square, symbolical face was a look of dumb agony and a tremendous Impression of frustrated, battling power, “It’s too big for words," was Brian’s comment as he handed back the paper, and Marker smiled his thanks. “It’s absolutely fascinating work for me," he said. “You see, it’s all imagi-i

nation. One has nothing to go on but one’s own conception of things. One has no models or preconceived notions of anything. These Ideas come to me at all sorts of odd moments, and I sketch them out roughly as this one. I may never execute it." “It would he a loss to the world if you do not," was McKnight's sincere reply. j CHAPTER XXIV. The Veiled Threat. “Three more of what, Mr McKnight?"

“Three more hearts," replied the detective innocently, and returned the medallion and- showed them the small red enamelled heart. “You mean three more of those little medals," demanded Bill. “Have they any connection with Martin’s death?” “They may have prove to have connection," said his uncle cautiously “It’s a bit fanciful, and I-’ll tell you the old story one of these days. Not Just now. It's too cloudy in my mind yet." With that they were forced to be content, and -upon arrival back at the house McKnight expressed his desire to go back to town. Paula and Clarke pressed him to stay, but he was insistent in his refusal of their hospitality. “I hope it isn’t the bed-settee, Mr McKnight,” said Paula with a twinkle in her eye. “Ah, no, please,” pleaded McKnight with a laugh. “I’d love to stay, but I feel I must see the old place again. Even a few days away from it makes me homesick. Bill will take me back with him, I’m sure." “Well, if you’re willing to come in my car, I’m willing to take you,” said Bill with dignity. Fresh in his memory were some very slinging and derogatory remarks of-his uncle concerning the capabilities of the beloved “Mrs -Frequently.” “I'll risk it this once,” said McKnight. Butlers are a proverbially impassive species of men, but even Howard’s dignified mien must have suffered as he left the drawing-room after admitting Signor Enrico Paola on that Monday morning. The Italian had called at 10.30, and to Howard it had seemed as though his mistress had been in two minds about seeing him. But she had finally ordered Howard to show him in, and they had been closeted together now for nearly an hour. Howard was no eavesdropper, but as he passed and repassed through the hall he could not help hearing that the voices occasionally ran high. lie stood perplexed for a moment amidst the dust sheets th'at enveloped the furniture, and then, xvith a • shrug that embraced the bare walls, he turned on his heel and went back to his pantry. His work in this house was finished now. At 2.30 the removing contractors were due, and then he would be free. Not that Howard craved freedom —he was merely anxious to start work in his new situation as soon as possible, for his two years’ service in the Martin household had made him long for the more spacious -households of his younger days, when daily entertainment had been the rule. He had been feeling of late that the stolid unsocial life of No. 21 Eaton Square was cramping his style. The rest of the staff had already left, and Miss Rosemary was in her room, packing clothes. The

Instalment 10.

front door was the only strategic point for him now. Reluctant Interview. Indeed, 'Mrs Marlin had been sorely tempted not to sec the visitor, for she had hoped that she would have been able to leave the house before he had come. Just a few hours more and she would have been away. But then, she thought rapidly, ho would almost certainly have followed them down to Chingford. Paola was not an easy man to shake off, as she remembered Sebastian had experienced. He greeted her with that half-sullen, half-ingratiating manner that was Ills usual front. Dressed carefully in a somewhat light grey that accentuated his thinness of body he stood a good twelve inches over the window, and as she took his hand she felt something like a shiver run through her. It seemed as though this man made something wither inside her. She gave a faint smile. “We are rather upset here to-day,” she explained. “I am leaving this house to-day.”

"Of course,” he murmured sympathetically as he ran his eye over the denuded walls and the packingcases that strewed the rooms. “My visit may seem ill timed, and for that I must ask your pardon,” he smiled, showing white even teeth, and the small black moustache seemed to writhe on his lips. Mrs Martin looked at him in perplexity. That there had been something between this man and her husband she had known for the past five years. He had been an infrequent visitor both at Eaton •Square and at the cottage at Chingford, and while her husband’s attitude towards him had not been altogether friendly, yet it had been obvious to her that it had not been one of enmity. “I need not, of course," he went on smoothly, “offer you my very great sympathies in your deep loss; you know you have that. I, too have lost a friend in the good Sebastian. He and I were very friendly, as I daresay'he has told you, yes?” “1 scarcely heard him mention your name to me,” was the cold reply. She was recovering in a measure the poise she had lost on his entry, and if this man had come to be unpleasant, as her intuition told her, she felt that she could give him as much as she received.

• Paola frowned at her words and i eyed her keenly. His lip curled i slightly at the dumpy, slightly ridicu- , lous figure she presented sitting there i before him. He had never admired i Sebastian’s taste very much, beauty though she was reputed to have been, i In his own mind he decided that this : woman might be difficult, and it bei hoved him to walk warily. He regarded the polished nails of his right ’ hand before he spoke again. 1 ,

“Such Matters.” “Your husband, Mrs Martin, was a i man of very wide interests,” he said i at length, “as, of course, you know ; better than I do. My association with him began about five years ago in Cremona. From that day we have 1 been firm friends. You appear to ■ doubt this to some extent, but I can | assure you it is so. I have been of | the utmost service to your husband, ; Mrs Martin, and he in his turn has been of the utmost service to me.” “If what you say is true," was her reply, “I don’t see what this has to do with me. You have never been a friend of mine—l don’t think I have

attempted to disguise that. My husband is now’ dead, and your association with him is therefore at an end:’’ “Ah I but no,” he cut in. “No, indeed, my dear Mrs Martin. The relationship between your late husband and myself is on a form that is not ended by. death. Possibly, in a man of your husband’s high position, one might say that his death almost raises its status.” “I do not understand you, Mr Paola,” was the frigid reply, although the brave words belied a queer cold feeling that was clutching her heart. “I scarcely thought you would, Mrs Martin.” lie replied dryly. “We men do not discuss such mailers with our women.” ■ Site rose suddenly to lior feet. ' “Such matters . . . .” the words were forced from her in astonishment .and dismay. What lay behind all this •by-play? “What do you mean by ‘such matters?’ Your words' are insulting; if you cannot be more explicit. I must 'ask Vou to leave this house.” j “Now, now, my dear madam,” he raised his hand and spoke patiently. “I beg of you not to allow yourself to become excited. Let us talk quietly and amicably together and the whole thing can be settled in live minutes.” “Will you slop ail this billing about tlie bush?" she exclaimed in desperation, “and come to the point. What do you want?” “Ah, now we are talking sensibly,” lie said with satisfaction. He carefully placed one creased trouser-leg over the other -and taking out a cigarcase, lit a long ihin -black cheroot. Even in her agitation. 'Mrs Martin -could not, help noticing how he studiously ignored the polite convention of asking her permission, although this was still -her drawing-room. “It all centres round a small locked hook that was in your husband’s possession. It is a diary and record of events. There are also certain letters and one or two other things of minor interest between the leaves, but the diary is the main thing. Its contents were known only to two men; your late husband was one of these and I was the other. Now that he has so unhappily passed on, it becomes my duty to take possession of the diary. I have come to collect it; that is the sole object of my visit.” “This diary you speak of,” she said, “I have no knowledge of it. it is not among my husband’s books. . .” “No, no,” he interrupted, with a flash of his white teeth. “I scarcely expected that it would -be. it is of such a nature that he would keep it with him always; it would be with his most private papers and documents." She heaved a sigh of relief. “In that case.” she said, with a cold smile, “1 am afraid 1 can be of little use to you. His private papers are now in the possession of his exe-