IN THE LIBRARY

Northern Advocate, 29 October 1932, Page 7

IN THE LIBRARY

[BY “THE BOOK-MAN.”]

TTTR THIRD WARNING.

By A. Muir. (Methuen and Co.)

Those who like a story with unexpected twists, foolish mistakes of judgment which some stage trick sets right before long, only for both mistake and correction to be repeated a number of times, will probably enjoy this talc. Certainly the interest is not allowed to flag, and for the larger number of pages wo are kept in the dark as to just what all the pother is about.

Fears of something unknown, lights in an empty house, a search, or rather a series of searches for something at first not indicated, but obviously of great importance or value, attempted murders, abductions, and all the other set pieces are interwoven, not without skill and the arousing of an expectation sufficient to keep the leaves turning rapidly.

The narrator learns, quite unexpectedly, that an almost forgotten uncle in Scotland has died, and that he is now the Laird of Bfaekenbridge, with a small but comfortable income and a large, unwieldy and more than a little decayed family mansion upon his hands, and' as he soon finds, a mystery which not only intrigues him, but also irritates and exasperates him, because of the intrusion into his affairs of some unknown busy-bodies. Thus instead of leasing the house and enjoying the rent, which is what the family lawyer and other friends advise, the new laird determines to see the matter through in his own person. He has a fair proportion of the usual luck, both good and bad, and, to the critically inclined, a fortuitous friend too often and too aptly appears just in time to rescue the heir from some foolish mistake which had every appearance of finally turning the scales against him. That the hero is trustful to the point of irritation, not once.but repeatedly, may be necessary for the interest of such a story, but it does not raise one’s opinion of his shrewdness or even, almost, of his commonsense. Fortunately, his courage, obstinacy and determination to follow his enemies to the end*serve as a fair counterpoise. The smuggling of pieces of war mechanism out of England, in conjunction with a search for some hidden diamonds, make an excellent setting, and, given some determined and unscrupulous scoundrels, one is reasonably sure of being amused, and that is all for which one looks in a mystery adventure. If there are a good many attempted murders, or what seem at first like that, at least no blood, or very little is actually spilled. “Dirty work?” Smith put his elbows on the table. “I’m very interested, though I don’t know what you mean by dirty work. But if I can be of help you can count on me. ”

I looked round to make sure the door was shut. “By dirty work 1 moan this. Since I’ve come to Brackenbridge I’ve had three damned narrow escapes from being finished off.”

“What?” Smith’s bright brown eyes were wide and unwinking in the steady candlelight. . ‘ * How on earth—you moan, of course, accidents? You don’t mean—”

“I do. Two of them were deliberate attempts to lay me out. The first time it was a knife. The second it was by rifle' bullets. The third time happened last night, but that possibly was unpremeditated, though .perhaps the narrowest, squeak of the lot.”

Smith’s forehead puckered in horror and surprise. Then he shook his head. “My dear chap, you can’t be serious. That sort of thing isn’t done nowadays. Is there a catch in it somewhere —if so, let’s have the joke. ” ’

“It’s a pretty grim joke,” I said abruptly. “You mean it’s true?” demanded Smith incredulously. “Good God, man, the thing’s monstrous! Where’s the object? What’s the point of it?” “That’s what I should like to know.”

Smith pulled slowly at his cigar. "Tell me all about it," he said. "How exactly did these things hap pen?"

I related baldly and briefly the circumstances of that evening in the cottage as well as my fishing expedition up the burn. "And last night," T concluded, "I was in the library of the Hall when I was shot at in the dark. The weapon was I think an air-pistol."

"You stagger me!" Smith put down his cigar, and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "Of course you've told all this to the police?"

I shook my head. "That's not the way to lay 'em by the heels." "You're probably right. Yes; I think the police would do no good, except make a bungle of it. But tell me—you said something about 'Seymour .... Do you moan to connect Seymour in any way with these extraordinary attacks?" "No, I don’t go that length. All I say is there’s something queer about the man." I paused and wondered whether I should relate the whole ot the events since I had come to Brackenbrulge—my uncle’s, will, our seeing Seymour that night in the library, and so on. While I hesitated Smith cut in with;

“You mean you can’t see any connection, but you feel there is one."'all the same?” •

Exactly. Though I may say it’s all mighty obscure.” • ;; v Smith refilled our tiny glasses with cognac, and sipped his thoughtfully. “I can’t see Seymour in the picture somehow,” he said l at length. “In the first place, he could have no earthly motive in wishing you ill. Besides, I don’t• honestly believe he has it in him!” “I’m not so certain about that.” “Well, I can see him dithering about witli a paint-box, and spinning yarns about Shanghai, but I can’t see him running knives into people. “Possibly not. I don’t say I’m laying too much stress on the Seymour idea.”

“Do you know,” said Smith, lying back and tilting his chair, “I do. believe it’s some half-baked lunatic who’s got a grudge against you. It’s the only reasonable explanation;l can think of. Some village idiot from the district who’s got an anarchistic' germ in his blood. A sort of ‘Down with all landlords’ obsession. You, being the laird here, are the handiest landlord for him to go for.”, “Well, it’s mighty uncomfortable. But I’ll get him yet, though I wait a year.”

“What,worries me about that,” declared Smith, “is that he might got you first!” “Well, jolly good luck to him!” “It V you who need the luck, ’ ’ said Smith grimly. “If I were you, Drysdale, I’d clear out and. let the lunatic blow off his steam on- someone else. I know if I had that sort ■ of thing hanging over me, I’d' be in a mortal funk day and night.” “To be frank, ’’ I blurted but boldly, “I am. But that doesn’t make any difference. I’m not clearing out till there’s a bit of clearing up done first.”

Smith nodded slowly, and twisted his liqueur glass in his long fingers. “You mean you’re really going to stick it?” he said at length. “No persuasion from a pal—” " “I’m going to stick it to the end!” I banged the table with my fist in.

sudden vehemence. “I.tell you, Smith, I won’t clear out for man or devil:— ” “You won’t alter your mind?’’ “I tell you I’m going to - see it . through!’’ . . ' -■ “It’s a pity,’’ murmured Smith slowly, . „ ’

“Why is it a pity—”

The rest of the - sentence was a mere gurgle in my throat. For Smith had suddenly pulled open a drawer in front of him. And now he was leaning forward, gazing at me. His eyes seemed to have narrowed to broAvn pin-points of light. .And his hand held a revolver that was' pointing between my eyes. “Mv friend! ” ’

His voice was hard and metallic;’ the easy dhiwl had gone, the Bohera-j ian air thrown off. ;

“My friend, if you will not clear’ out of your own accord, you must bo cleared out. You have had three warnings. You have taken none : of them.”

He suddenly looked past me overmy shoulder and nodded. The door mpst have been silently opened behind me. For at Smith’s nod a cloth was thrown round mv face. And hands gripped, iny wrists and ankles. X kicked and struggled, but in a couple of minutes was bound and helpless on the floor. Then I was picked up and carried out by strong hands. The last thing I heard in that room was a laugh. Smith had said some words and there was laughter in reply: low malicious laughter that made me tingle with bursting rage. For of a sudden, I recognised it. The laughter was Seymour’s.