FATAL FINGERS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 1514, 9 November 1912, Page 3 (Supplement)

FATAL FINGERS.

BY WILLIAM LT3 QUF.UX, author of " Zoraida." " T' l * °' Is * 4r «" ••Whoso Findeth a Wife." " England's , [vril," " Secret* f>< Monte CarK" •• Ht Malay's Minister." " Court " The invasion of 1910." "Tiennure of Israel," Etc. CHAPTER I. IS MAINLT about TUCH.UU> (.oopuk k. • "No, keep your money, my dear sir.' , -Then tou refuse':" •' J do —absolutely. ' < Remember, I am making you a very : substantial offer. Fifty thousand pounds is not to bo gained every day. Not it' vou offer me one bundled times the amount, I have never been open to , bribery." . ' •• No. no : you can hardly call it bribery, i Mr. Goodrich I think _ ( •' I don't know what you call it. but bribery." growled the thin, whits-bearded , „ld man seated in the easy chair by the fireplace. "I've really got nothing more _ to say to you. 1 wish you'd go and leave me in peace." The other, a rather stout , red-laced, welldressed man of about 50, with a distinct, business-like air, made a quick gesture of j impatience as he stood upon tho shabby hearthrug opposite the old-man. " You've surely been left in peace long enough. For 18 years you've lived in this stuffy little room, hidden away from c.very- 1 bodv. Everyone believes you to bo dead— . thai 'you died, and carried your secret ; to the grave." ; •' And it I did, what in the name ot fate i does it matter to you, eh?" croaked old ! Mr. Goodrick. " Well, are you acting honestly and fairly towards Gordon, or Maidee, and the reft ?" queried his visitor. " Will nothing ; ,often your heart towards those who have suffered by this long self-effacement of yours '•" ; " No," replied the thin-faced, keen-eyed old fellow. " I dropped out of life purposely. I've lived hero all these years in the back streets of Pimlico because I had a motive." " What was your motive?" ( " That's my own affair," was the sharp ■ lesponse, and the old fellow spread out his thin hands to warm them by the fickle llamo of the meagre fire. - By a silly error, ; because I thought myself safe from recognition, I betrayed my continued existence. But even you, Ravenscourt, shall not tempt me to" return to life— face the past." ''My dear Mr. Goodrick, after 18 years the whole affair is forgotten. You're just « little too sensitive. Think, if you re- ' turned, what a difference in your posilion "Yes," croaked the old man, "hero in Pimlico I'm known as Nosey Goodrick, of owood-street. The boys in the street call after me, and the neighbours regard me, I think, afl a harmless crank. What would they say if they knew—if they knew the truth?" " What would the world say if they knew that you—whose great talents are perpetuated ' by that marble statue i* Westminster, and whom thousands followed to the grave—you. for whom the whole country mourned, are here, still alive aad active?" . , " Hush 1" cried the old fellow, glancing , ipprehensively at. the closed door : " Mrs. , \vres may overhear. Please do not recall ] the past, Ravenscourt —it is all too painful. : 've long ago forgotten it. Nowadays I am 1 ilain Richard Goodrick. and soon I shall lie and be buried in some suburban cemetery in the name under which I have chosen so long to live.' -' No," declared his visitor, " you don t tiean that. You'll return. It is your luty to the nation. An excuse can easily oe made." , , i Return ! Never, I tell you . cried the >ld man fiercely, starting to his feet, exiibiting the fact that he was unusually tall irid straight for his age. His white face was bony and narrow, with an exceptionally prominent nose, a shock of white hair mil long white whiskers. He was dressed n a loosely-made suit of .shabby grey whipord tweed, with a narrow stand-up collar md a seedy black cravat. The day was the 17th of .January, 1908. Ihe faint grev light of the short wintry H'ternoon struggling in increased the depressing cheerleesncss of the place, for the mtlook was upon a high blank wall. ; Tho visitor gazed around, and shuddered it the miserable abode. I'or 18 yearn iliat man before him, the bearer of one of the most honoured and renowned names in Britain —the man whose reputation *as known in every corner of the globe. lad .lived there, silent, alone, and unususDected : absorbed in various studies, reading his own obituary notices, and sneering t tie fulsome praise which those who ere his enemies in life bestowed upon Ini when they believed him dead and out 0 the way. * As Richard Goodrick, a reti,d schoolmaster, he had lived there in; th house of the worthy Mrs. Ayree and heihusbancl, paring his weekly vent punctuay and pursuing a life clock-tike in its regtarity. ■ A?art-collcctor lie had once been worldfame» and was. of course, known personally V all the great dealers in London «nd Lris. Ho, alter his " death" he dared <o longer visit them, being compelled t pursue is hobby of curio-collect-jnjr amog the smaller shops and obscure dealers. As ho food before his visitor he betrayed thf.fact t hat he was a mm of iron will, quick decide, awl very resolute. In ftis dark, Prcing eyes, which ago had not dimmed, shoe a. fire of anger at the suggestion his \sitor had made. - " I tell you* he repeated, firmly, " that 1 shall never tyeal my existence. I died— •they have burin me, fools that they were, and put- up to perpetuate my jnemory. Anai'vo footed them —fooled J<he world — Li still alive." " Tliat's just it You have withheld four aid, which, . given, would —if you Vrill pardon mv lar —bring happiness fs> many." * " Why should lb ring happinw to many?'' snapped thcquick-tompered old fellow. " 1 am the C(j man out of the f;a.me. I am doad, J'Hembe.r — une&s vou betray me, Ravenscourt." he uddeel, looking his visito. aighb and unflinchingly in the face.' " I shall not botrajr yfc Surely you know me better than ." sai the other, reproachfully. " I believe you, Raveusuj-t" the old teclusc said after a pause. « £ IUJW I to (rust vim long ago—and I. trust, you How." "Ami you will take iny adv., aI1( j oc . Cept the sum offered?" " No. ii" ' ' he cried, quickly " never Miat. \ <»ii can never bribe me. j have lived. .-<) will I die— silence.^ " Leave this wretched place. n. ( .d his visitor. "It is unfitted to yon—r<. y-ho have lived the life of the great. • is a man-el licnv you have existed Jiej ; ,ji these years." . „ " It. satisfies all my refjUiieinentJ, as the man's blank reply. " 1 am St is true, but I have my books, aid tollectioii." and he waved his thinhafj Rcross the narrow, stuffy little iVur. "What more can I desire in this, the eVi jng of my life? Do you know, \j 0 added. " l" would not exchange this qui\ , uneventful existence in a back street V, J/>ndon for all the society gatherings, th»( yachting, the racing, the Riviera, and the grouse moors in Christendom. Vvlien I 'iifd' I gladly finished with it ail. " Who knew the real secret of your death?" asked his visitor, interested. " Finnimore." , "Finmmore, your old valet. And .if died 10 yearn ago !" " Yes. And only you, Ravenscourt, ar« now aware of the fact tliat I did not die, And you I trust to maintain the strictest pilence." "You place me in a very difficult posi lion," the other said in dissatisfaction ''That night, a week ago, when I passei Jou la.-JVhiUhally something in youx-faci

struck me as familiar. You knew that I had recognised you and you cleverly evaded me. It was not until I cmployed Jewell, the private inquiry agent, that I was able to track you here to your hiding-place and meet you face to face in daylight. Then I convinced myself of the astounding truth that you, for whom the whole country had mourned, were actually aiivo !" Well, and have not other men tired of life, or, crushed by some great sorrow or misfortune. done exactly the same thing as myself '! lam not alone." " But—permit me to say so—you are notnow acting with that high feeling of honesty and humanity with which you always acted throughout your brilliant career." " Because I do not return to my proper station!" exclaimed the old man angrily. " I am th» proper judge of that. Ravenscourt, I am inexorable! I shall never leave here. Keep your fifty thousand poundsand 1 will keep my secret." •' 1 cannot forgot that I have spoken with you," said his visitor. "The hour that I have spent here with you is the strangest of my whole life—speaking with one whom the. world has lost. True, I owe you much, and it is in repayment of that I am here, offering you the sum of fifty thousand pounds, if you will only consent to return and resume your place in society and in the world of London." Goodrick smiled bitterly and stroked his .white beard. "What do I want with fifty thousand pounds lie asked. "Before I left tho world I made long and careful preparation. 1 carried with me twenty thousand pounds. With somo of that 1 speculated in curios. The contents of this room would fetch forty thousand if put up to auction. No, Ido "not want money. When I do— l have it here." " And yon actually refuse to act as I suggest!" "I do!" cried the old man, the fire of resentment again in his eyes. Ravens court. Guard my secret—and forget that you have seen or spoken with •me. I am dea<l_, remember— to all, oven to you. And," he added, looking at him meaningly, "you dare not betray me —remember!" For a moment his visitor hesitated. Then, seeing determination in the old man's eyes, he took his proffered hand and bent over it with courtly gesture, accepting his dismissal with a sigh. "If you reconsider your decision, remember that I am at any moment at your service," he said. " I shall never do that, Ravenscourt. Adieu—for always." The old man listened till the front door slammed, them, casting himself back into his armchair, held out his hands to the cheerless fire, and nodding his head slowly in self-satisfaction, croaked aloud in a weak thin voice :

That man is my enemy. He knows tho identity of Richard Goodrick! But ho does not know tho secret! Oh, no ! He will never know that— —never ! He will die before that." CHAPTER 11. THE NIGHT OK THE SEVENTEENTH. As Ravens oourt stood at tho corner of Denbigh-street he hailed a passing taxi and drove to tho Carlton Club, whera he sat in a corner of the smoking-room, pretending to read, but pondering deeply. " I wonder whether he will ever relent," ho thought". '"Why did he so cleverly disappear? Ah! that is a mystery. He admitted that he was a long time preparing for it. And yet his doctors, just before his death, had declared _ him to be suffering from an incurable disease which must inevitably prove fatal. Did they lie? Were they also in the conspiracy?" He recollected their names, and, rising, crossed the room and took down tlie "Medical Directory," The*, after a search he found that both were, alas! dead. " Perhaps he paid them to make that alarming diagnosis !"• he reflected, re-seat-ing himself in his arm-chair. "He was a shrewd and clever manone of the keenest and most far-3eeing of our time. Yet he died at the very height of his popularityat a moment when England could ill-afford to spare him. And to-day I have seen and spoken with him—the man to whom I owe my fame, my fortune, my baronetcy—• everything. I wonder —I wonder if I was mistaken a fortnight ago when I thought I passed that Italian priest, Don Mario, in the bustle of Oxford-street? I wonder whether Goodrick and ho are still friends —whether no ! it would bo impossible after what occurred. And yet," he whispered aloud, "supposing Don Mario is stil] in Londonsupposing he thought fit to retaliate!" He held his breath for a moment, pursed his lips, and the colour left his face. Don Mario ! Father Mario Mellini!" he repeated to himself. A spare, wiry, clean-shaven man in black coat and grey "trousers entered the room, and, noticing him, nodded, exclaiming, "How do. Ravenscourt.'" It was Lord Llanarth, the man who had taken the place of the dead man, and who had risen to a pinnacle of fame almost as high as that occupied by his talented predecessor. . Llanarth crossed to him, and standing j with his hands behind his back, asked him [ a question—his opinion upon a point which had arisen in Parliament on tho previous night—to which he replied mechanically, without knowing what he said. | Then, finding Llanarth to be in a talka- i live mood, and eager to escape, he rose and declared, that he must be going. , See you at the, Foreign Office re- I ception to-night?" asked his lordship. " Suppose so," laughed tho other, who. passing out, got his hat and coat and walked down Pall Mall to his own house j iu Carlton House Terrace. ! In the silence of his own fine library, the windows of which looked out upon the Mall, now bright with its long double row of lamps, he sat before the fire pondering—recalling every word which had fallen from the thin, grey lips of Richard Goodrick. 1 The latter, too. wan seated before his meagre fire in Pimlico, wanning his hands and croaking in triumph. Mrs. Ay res. a kindly, grey-haired person, whose husband was employed in a wholesale drapery warehouse in St. Paul's Churchyard, entered bearing a tray with her lodger's tea and toast. She put down the tray upon tho littered table, lit the gas, drew the blinds, and left him to his ruminations. "The old fool!"' growled her lodger as soon as his landlady had gone, and he turned and ate his tea with a relish. Afterwards he carefully slipped the small holt which he hail placed on the door for use when he wished to study undisturbed, and, diving beneath the table, he produced part of an old Sheffield plate candelabra, the base of wliich he carefully unscrewed, disclosing the cylindrical stem to be hollow. From it he shook out. a small roll of closely-written manuscript. Ho re-seated himself and slowly, with evident self-satisfaction, read it carefully, now and then scribbling some -marginal notes with a stubby pencil. " Perfectly in order," lie laughed to himself. " Ravenscourt. would bribe mo with fifty thousand pounds. No doubt he would. Here is written one of the reasons why I 'died'; tho world will never know tho other." And then he was again silent for a long time. "Ravenscourt spoke of little Maidee and of Gordon and the rest." he sighed aloud, passing his thin hand across his brow. "Ah ! ho doesn't know—he it-tie dreams tho amazing truth— does Don Mario." At that, moment the old brass-faced grandfather clock, an antique affair with onlv one hand, struck six upon its mellow bell. "Ah I - ' lie ejaculated, starting up, "it's time, I went. I quite forgot tho danger. I must 30 at once." and, rising, lie carefully put back the document into the stem 'of the old candelabra, struggled into a I rusty old brown overcoat, and. taking up •(his frayed hat and heavy cherry-wood e-Vtick, he unbolted the door anil went forth I Vito the wet and darkness. I .At the corner he halted for a moment, as r ( Nugh uncertain in which direction to pro--1 '4, but with sudden resolve he continued I u e-nbifrh-street and along Wilton Road >■ ".vctoria Station, where, entering the ® rl »pn line terminus, he met a tall, thin, •e gray-W Roman Catholic priest—a man ?, with. <Vjng face, a hook nose, a dark comit P lex ' or N-)d (jeop-set eyes, who, dressed in a, shabi, black cont of unmistakab'v i- foreign \ a narrow white collar sadly '• soiled, art, shabby, clerical hat, had "rt been anxif). v awaiting him lor the past :-Cf half-hour. \ ° \

The pair exchanged some rapid words in Italian, old Goodrick glancing with quick suspicious eyes furtively around as though in fear that they might, he observed

The priest seemed nervous, too, tor next moment they hurried across the platform* together and became absorbed in the rushing homo-going crowd of business men. Seven hours later— half-past, one in the morningßurgess, the fat and rather tempo us butler of Sir George Ravenscourt, Baronet. K.C.V.0.. heard tho front door close, and, knowing that his master had been out to the Foreign Office reception—had returned, ascended the stairs to the ground floor, and, approaching the door of the library, tapped lightly.

There was no response. He tapped again discreetly, but. louder. Then he turned the handle and entered. The green-shaded lamp was burning upon the writing-table, but tho room was empty. The man was about to ascend to his master's room to inquire if he wanted anything before retiring, when suddenly his eye caught something unusual a small blue and white Chinese vase lay upon the floor broken. He advanced into the room, when he heard a slight noise, and peering across saw to his disihay his master lying upon the carpet, half concealed by a big saddlebag chair. In a flash the faithful servant was kneeling by his side, supporting his head. "Burgess!" gasped the Baronet faintly, "I—l'm dying—a—a doctor! That paper burn it! Don't let anyone see — promise!'" "What paper, Sir George?" asked the bewildered man breathlessly. "On my table. I—l was writing it when—when he— Burn it. Promise? " I promise, Sir George. _ Bui. what s the matter, sir? Tell me, sir! Quick 1 cried the butler, who knew instinctively that his master's life was fast ebbing. " I—l came in half an hour ago, and and 1 was writing when —when — He gasped and drew a long breath. His white lips moved, but no' further sound came from them.

" Speak, Sir George!'' cried the man. "Tell me who attacked you?"

Bui Sir George Ravenscourt was deadstruck down by an unknown liand. Burgess, a servant of many years standing, raised himself and stood horrified. Upon the hand which had supported his master's head was a tiny smear of blood, so small as to be almost imperceptible. Then his first thought was of his promise to his master, and he crossed to the writ-ing-table whereon lay several sheets of rilled paper, upon oil© of which he saw some writing in tho baronets hand. It ended abruptly, the pen lay upon the floor, showing that he liad been in the act ot writing when struck, and rising from his chair had staggered towards the bell, but had fallen ere lie could; reach it. Quickly the butler, bending to the table, look up tho paper, and with a rapid glance at it folded it and crushed it into his pocket in order to destroy it afterwards. Then he went out into the hall, and raising the alarm awakened the household, after which he ran back to the, telephone and sent a message to the police. Ladv Ravenscourt, who had retired, rushed down in her drcesing-gown and prostrated herself beside her dead husband, to whom she had been so devoted, while Miss Irene Lambton knelt beside her overcome with grief. A loud ring at the door, and the police entered —an inspector with a man in plain clothes and two constables in dripping waterproof capes, and water streaming from their helmets.

All was , bustle and interrogation. Quicklv. but tenderly, the weeping widow was led away with the dark-haired gir , sweet-faced and dainty in her pink suk kimono, and the inspector at once made a cursorr examination, followed almost instantly by the police divisional surgeon, who bent beside the prostrate man, and at- once made tho formal pronouncement that life was extinct.

Burgess is closely to hearing the front door close; the room was carefully examined, but no weapon of anv kind could bo discovered. Then, in. response to a telephone message sent by the inspector to New Scotland Yard, three expert officers promptly arrived in a taxieab. As far as the policc could discover, the crime wtis cntirelv devoid of motive. \\ hoever had entered there, however, had evidently come with murderous intent. "Tho murderer probably accompanied Sir George home," declared Detectiveinspector Medland, the well-known officer of the Criminal Investigation Department. "A quarrel may have arisen!" " No," said the doctor, who himself took great interest in the investigation of crime, "the victim was seated at his writing-table when the assassin crept up stealthily and touched him in the nape of the neck with a long, thin needle. It was poisoned. See the tiny punctured wound it made—-half-hidden by the hair. Sir George rose to face his assassin and staggered across the room. He tried to get at tho bell in order to rouse the household, but. stumbled before he could reach it."

Burgess stood by in silence, a grave, dark-faced, stout man of forty-five, portly in his sombre black. Ho said nothing, because he felt tliat his master held some secret, which the police ought not to learn. He wished first to read the paper ho had secured before making any statement. Throughout the greater part of the night the keenest activity was displayed by the police. Men came and went mysteriously, and the whole room in which the murder had taken place was thoroughly investigated . As far as could be ascertained the assassin had left no clue to his identity, j The three detectives, after examining the ' latch upon the front door, agreed that the murderer must have entered there in com- j pany with his victim. Yet Burgess, the only servant remaining up. had heard no sound until the front door had slammed. Lady Ravenscourt and Miss Maidee— as Irene was always called —bad accompanied Sir George to the Foreign Office, where a brilliant reception had been held in honour of the- visit of a. foreign prince, and leaving at eleven had taken him in his motor to the Travellers', where they liad dropped him. proceeding home and retiring to their rooms. The whole affair was a complete mystery. Somehow the papers had already got wind of it, for by three o'clock reporters arrived hot-foot, thirsting for information, which the shrewd Burgess, at the instigation of the detectives, strenuously withheld. Burgess, as soon am he. could slip awav for a "moment, entered his pantry and, locking the door, took from his pocket, the crumpled manuscript which his master had been in the act of writing when struck down. Spreading it. out with trembling fingers, he read it from end to end. " That's strange!" he gasped, astounded. " Whv did Sir George .so earnestly desire this to be burned? 'Perhaps, after all. 1 ought to have told the police everything." He. stood motionless, gazing upon the floor of the narrow pantry, the strange document in his hand. Faithful servant, that, he was. he was now divided in his dutv towards his master and his duty to assist the ends of justice. He was entirely at a loss to know how to act. To give the paper to the detectives would "be to disclose a fact which., at all hazards, his dead master wished suppressed. Yet, if he burned it. he might be destroying a very valuable clue. Burgess suddenly resolved to disobey the promise he had given to the dying man. and consult, her ladyship, and ascending the stairs he tapped softly at the door of her room. Miss Maidee gave permission to enter, and the old servant found the pair plunged in the deepest grief. "Excuse me, your ladyship, but —well, may I speak to you for one moment alone? I would not disturb you at this hour of rrief were it not absolutely imperative." •' Ladv Ravenscourt can see no one, Burgess'." replied the tearful girl, quickly. "You ought surely to know that!" "But. I deeply regret, mi.<*, 1 must speak with her alone. The widow raised her tear-stained face, and motioned to tho girl to go out of the room for h moment. Then, when the door hud closed. Burgess advanced to the grief-

stricken woman, and explained how he had discovered Sir George, and what the dying man had said, afterwards handing her the piper which her husband had penned. Swiftly she read it through, then, staling straight before her. her white nan trembling, her eyes tilled with team, she cried : _ „ "What- can all this mean, Burgess. Why did my husband so eagerly desire to conceal the. facts? It must be given o the police, by all means. rh. e y s ' l " n not remain in ignorance of this another moment." . . T " If that, is vour ladyship s decision, 1 will carry it out," replied the grave-faced man, and, bowing respectfully, lie retire , closing the door softly , after him. Big Ben slowly boomed forth the hour of five as lie descended the stairs and called Detective-inspector Medland into the long diningroom. To him.he made a full statement, afterwards producing the crumpled manuscript which Sir George had been so anxious should bo destroyed. , . The quick-eyed, dark-haired detective looked suspiciously for a second into ttio butler's round face, then taking the, sheet of paper read the lines of crabbed writing from end to end. „ "That's most extraordinary! tie declared, when ho had finished. *' "J" didn't you produce this before, eh.' " Because of the promise I had made to my dying master. I was compelled to consult mv mistress first." The inspector grunted in evident dissatisfaction, but returning to the library held secret council with the two officers accompanying him, as a result of which both the latter camo hurriedly out and put on their hats and coats. "You'll not have much difficulty in finding Charlwood-street," Medland said, briskly. "It's a short turning running between Denbigh-street and Lupus-street —number 78. Bo as quick as you can, and 'phone me anything fresh you discover. _ The chief of the Criminal Investigation Department himself arrived in a motor car some twenty minutes later, and Medland, standing in the library, was engaged in explaining the principal points of the mysterious affair to his chief when the tele-phone-bell rang sharply, and the inspector crossed to the instrument. "Yes," he answered, " Medland speaking. Is that you. Wagner? Well.'" And then the inspector listened. "What? Is that so? You've found the man Richard Goodrick murderedkilled in exactly the same manner as Sir George! This is most extraordinary!" Then, turning quickly to his chief, he said: "Perhaps, sir, you'd like to listen to this amazing report, of Sergeant Wagner!" And ho handed him the receiver, telling his assistant to repeat the facts to his chief. " Well. Medland." exclaimed the gen-tlemanly-looking official, gazing at the inspector with a bewildered expression, when he had heard all the detective had to say and had himself asked one or two questions, " this certainly is a most remarkable and complicated pieco of business? Why, I wonder, did Sir George want to burn that record he had written. We had. I think, better go over to Charl-wood-street. at once," (To be continued.) Another inetalment of this very inter* esting story will be given in these columns on Wednesday next, and instalments, will appear on Wednesdays and Saturdays until its completion.

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