“HIGH DOOM”

Manawatu Times, Volume 61, Issue 47, 26 February 1936, Page 7

“HIGH DOOM”

corner to opposite corner two great gashes had been cut with a sharp knife. The picture had been absolutely ruined by a malicious hand. ‘‘Here is another thing that, was done here while the light was out,” he said. ‘‘Another thing your alleged assassin, Paola, did with his one hand . . . no I By heavens, it wasn’t while the light was out. I distinctly remember drawing the curtain over the picture after Marker had been killed, and the slashes oertainly were not there before. B.ut it fits in. My lord! My lord!” He gave a little groan and staggered to a seat, sat down, and put his head into his hands. Carswell, bewildered, and frankly out of his depth, stared at the mutilated canvas with his mouth agape. “It was slashed after the light went up,” MoKnlght was saying to himself in a monotone. “Here, call that man in, will you?” he cried, jumping to his feet and recovering from the trance. Carswell hastened to obey. “I’ll swear no one entered since last night, sir”—the constable was positive in his assertion, and no amount of questioning would move him from that attitude. “I have been here ever since the inspector spoke to you last night, air," he said to McKnight, with a slight touoh of grievance in his voice. “And I'vo been here ever since, waiting to be relieved, I have." “Well, that leaves only one thing left for me to believe," said McKnight slowly when the constable had again taken up his station outside the room, not without an ostentatious yawn to air his grievance further. “The slashes were made before we left the room." “Who was left in the room?” asked Carswell eagerly, and the detective considered the question. CHAPTER LI. Clearing the Air. “There was Martel and Mrs Martin, Loder, and of course myself,” he said with a smile. “But are we sure that j the hand that struck down Harker also mutilated the pioture?”

Carswell looked at him warily. Was this to be another flight of fancy? McKnight smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s all right, old man," he said, recovering his geniality. “You run along now and do what I told you about those finger-prints. Don’t take any notice of this latest development. Leave all this to me, I’ve got one more thread in my hands, that’s all.” When Carswell had gone MoKnight himself prepared to leave. He looked onoe at the slashed picture on the easel, and a smile came over his faoe. "Mistake number two,” he said softly.

As McKnight walked away from the house of the tragedy, his mind was working very fast." He knew that from now on events must march very swiftly to his desired end or else he would And that the commissioner, in his anger, would cast him off and he would be left without the means to bring of his final coup to his own satisfaction. For deep in his heart McKnight had a great love of the theatrical, and he dearly wanted to arrange things just to suit himself. Martel's Secret. “I’m wasted at Sootland Yard,” he told himself with a chuckle as ha strode along. “I should set up os a private deteotive. Then my hands wouldn’t be tied.” He had skilfully evaded all further reference to Colonel Colhoun’s urgent desire to see him and had sent Carswell packing about his business. OJ course, he could not now seek sanctuary in his own room at Scotland Yard, but that was little hardship to McKnight, for he had not been in it for two weeks, and, in any oase, most oi his constructive thinking was dona away from his office. He bought several papers and, ordering lunch, sat down in his flat to read them. Almost at once his face lit up with a smile, and he read again the paragraph that had attracted him. Celebrated tenor to leave London (ran the cross-head). Mr John Martel, the world-famous tenor, is to leave England again after only a short visit His engagement at the Queen’s Hal! terminates his contract here, and, interviewed by our correspondent at the Savoy this morning, Mr Martel expressed his desire for a complete rest and change. Switzerland is understood to be his destination, where it is to be hoped Mr Martel’s nerves will be rested and thus spare his voice to an anxious world. “Anxious world!” McKnight repeated the journalistic hyperbole with a grin. “Nerves! I’d better recommend him to see my nerve specialist.” At the Savoy he was sent up to Martel’s suite, and in the ante-room lie was met by the singer’s manager. McKnight’s last talk with Mr Banner had been anything but cordial, at least on the detective’s side. “Sorry, you can’t see Mr Martel," said Banner, as he shook McKnight by the hand. “He’s lying down at present. Says his nerves are worn to shreds by some mysterious thing that happened last night. He came on last night look r Ing as white as a ghost, and he was distinctly off colour. And didn’t the critics half tell us about it in the morning papers? Maybe you can tell me something about what happened last night." “Maybe I -could, replied McNight, “but I don’t intend to. I didn’t come here to tell you anything. ... I came here to listen to you. I suppose you know who 1 am?” “You're a journalist, aren’t you?” said Banner, mystified. Tho Truth? McKnight showed him his credentials, and at sight of them Banner started violently, and then pulled himself together sharply. “I want the truth from you, Banner," McKnight said brusquely. “I , want to know whether Martel was : with you in Milan all the time he said ; he was I have reason to think he ’ may have been somewhere else" “Well .. . Banner was tongue- 1 tied, -and his glance strayed to the In- ' ner door. ; “Out with it," said McKnight curtly. 1 "It says In the paper something about ] Switzerland. Was that correct? Where did he go to when he went away from Milan those one or two occasions? Was he in London, by any

(By J. L. Morrissey)

Instalment 39.

mT 1 was a long bow that the detective was drawing, but the shot struck home. Banner laughed a little uneasily, and then he smiled at McKnight. . “There’s really nothing in it, Mr MoKnight,” he said wlth . , a . r f°° v !p y of his easy manner, at which th ? detective looked askance. Quite simple, and innocent. It was really just a little idea of mine to relieve Mr Martel of a worry and at the same time g a little publicity. You see, Mr Martel was married just after the wa . And Just about that time he was beginning to make a name and come into the public eye. Now you know what women are without me telling y And I must admit Mr Martel has a sort of attraction for them. I guess it must be personal magnetism. Anyway, women and girls began to make themselves a bit of a nuisance about him: began writing to himforphoto graphs and trying to meet him—-one dame I remember in Vienna proposed to him. Ho stood it as long as he could, nearly a year, then he struok and .called me to help him. Th ®n it was I fixed up this little stunt. He was to be known as having separated from his wife and as having sworn off women for ever more. You know the sort of thing; the papers swallowed it whole. Of course, for a bit it didn t do any good. The woman seemed to be all the more attracted towards him. The affair seemed to lend him an added attraction, as you might say. “ was an anxious time for me, I can ten you .... regular touch and go, and for a while Martel wanted to go back on the whole thing. I begged -him to hold on for a bit. You see, the point was this. Before this stunt had been worked, he couldn’t dodge the women for fear of losing his popularity; the publlo don’t like their stars to bs stand-offish without any reason. And, we held on and it began to work, and by golly Mr Martel acquired such a reputation as a woman hater that all the women worship him from a i ‘ ar > but none of lhem’ll come near him.

Side Issue. “This wife of his,” put in McKnight, “where is she? Who is she? “Oh, she’s no one in particular. French girl he met in Paris during the war. She lives in Switzerland, and he goes to see her whenever he can get away. They're as happy as a pair of domesticated turtle doves. “That’s where he went when no was absent from Milan, then? ejaculated McKnight, “and that’s where he’s going now?" . , . Banner nodded his head solemnly. “That’s as true as I’m standing here," he said earnestly. “I’m relying on you to keep the secret, but if you doubt me you can easily look the thing up and prove ... look here, have a word with him yourself.” “I don’t think I need to," said McKnight, rising to his feet. He looked narrowly at "Banner, and his instinct told him that the man was by nature no lover of the truth. But this visit had been in the nature of. clearing away a side issue that had given him only very little trouble. ■ ■ Something seemed to tell him that this story of Banner’s was true. Of •complicity in the crimes which McKnight was investigating the celebrated and vainglorious Mr John Martel was wholly innocent. Of that the deteotive was sure. . “I’m obliged to you," he said shortly as he left, and Banner raised the outstretched hand MoKnight had ignored and scratched his head in puzzlement. 'Going straight to the nearest post office, McKnight put through two telephone calls. The first was to Bill Cleveland, his nephew, at the office of his paper. “Be ready to come if I want you, Bill," -he said curtly. “If Ido want you, it will be without a moment’s delay. 'Can I rely on you?” “Sure you can Unole," Bill shouted back. “Is it that business of the 'Five of Hearts? You know you haven’t given me a square deal over that . . . “Never mind that now, Bill," said his uncle with a’touch of impatience in his voice. “Too involved to tell you all about it. You'll know soon enough. I can promise you’ll be in 'at the kill. And I can promise you’ll he the first journalist in Fleet Street {with the inside knowledge of who (killed a Cabinet Minister and who •killed Gerald Harker, the artist.” 1 “What?” a gigantic gasp throbbed lover the wire from Bill’s lips and Mc- ’ Knight smiled a little smile. Poor Bill had been kept woefully in the • dark in this affair, and, to be fair to him, he had been very useful at times. "You mean to tell me you know who killed Martin .... but look here. . . Barker was only stabbed yesterday. You can’t say you’ve got the killer already” “Not exactly got him, Bill," replied McKnight quietly. “But the jigsaw needs only a few pieces now. All the threads but one or two are in my hands. Now enough of this, just you keep your lamp trimmed and wait for my call. Where will you be all today?” “Well, I was due to go off duty at eight to-night, but if you like I’ll stay in the office. There’s a ’phone at home in Hammersmith, but it's too far to get from there in a hurry. What d’you say?" “Fine, Bill. Stay an the office till I ring you. You’ll' never' regret it, and I don’t suppose it will be after eight anyway." “Is It a blood-trail, uncle?" whispered Bill—at least he . thought he whispered, but McKnight’s ear-drum still quivered with the sound. “Shall I come armed?"

“Armed?" repeated M'oKnight severely. "Since when have you had a lioense to oarry arms? Of course not, you silly ass. Just have a thick stick handy, that’s all. And we may need a car. Look after that end of It, will you?" His next call was to 'Carswell at Scotland Yard, and to his subordinate he spoke briefly and tersely, overriding the other's protests and scruples. "Be here at three sharp," he commanded him, and Carswell deoided to obey without question. He could tell from the tone of MtfKnight's voice that affairs were beoomlng tense, and in a mood like this Carswell knew his chief would stand no nonsense. He made a last attempt.