THE FERROL MYSTERY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 19195, 8 December 1925, Page 16

THE FERROL MYSTERY.

BY 0. GUISE MITFORD.

SYNOPSIS. Mark Ferrol was the secretary and agent cf a colliery which was worked below and around tho ground where ho lived. Alone. one wet, dreary night, Ferrol went to a sate in the wall, opened it., and took out a pocket revolver. After careful examination he Blipped the weapon into tho inner pocket of his coat, relockod the safe and walked to the window, noticing as he did so that the gas lamp in the road had becomo extinguished by the fury of the wind and rain, l'rrsently. with the collar of his coat turned ui and his hat drawn low over his forehead, he left the house, making for the S-indroek Hotel, a place he had never never before honoured by his patronage, end called for a glass of whisky. A little later on, preparing to return, he was joined by one of the colliery workmen, named James Wilson, to whom he remarked on the darkness of the night. As they stood side by side on the doorstep Ferrol suggested that Wilson should give him the support of his arm and see him heme. '?his was cheerfully assented to. Ferrol tipving him later for his trouble. On the following morning Ferrol's housekeeper found 'dm on the floor shot through the heart. The office safe was open, and Treasury notes were missing. Investigation proved that Ferrol's accounts were in order, and that he was in no financial difficultv. Some two months later, on a fine frosty morning, a gentleman— a stranger—entered the Sandrock Hotel. He was Mark Ferrol's brother from Australia. That night John Ferrol informed Wilson that ho wanted all the information possible in connection with his * brother's murder. This v.-as willingly given. , That same evening John Ferrol inter- ' viewed the landlord of the Sandrock Hotel, who gives Ferrol all the information available in connection with the murder of Mark. Ferrol inquires closely regarding James Wilson, who saw the murdered man home the night preceding the crime, and also o-sks for information in connection with his late brother's housekeeper. CHAPTER VI. /Continued). John Ferrol made._a further note upon the paper in frOnt of him. When he . next spoke he appeared—both by his voice and manner—to have put tho subject of his brother's murder out of his mind. "Put the liquor upon the table, and help yourself," he said, with a glance toward the sideboard. " Thank you, sir, I think I will. This room gets a bit hot with a big fire and the windows shut. I suppose you are accustomed to the heat, sir, where you come from?" I " I have lived in a temperature that is always over one hundred degrees in the shade during the summer, and I have known it go up to one hundred and twenty-five degrees," Ferrol answered easily, as he re filled his own glass. "Why, the winters in most parts of Australia are warmer than your summers in this country." " Fancy that! Well, here smy best respects, sir." . . " There is one other point I wish to speak to you about now," Ferrol said, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Do you know if my brother ever referred to mvself ?" "Your brother was a very reserved man, sir, and ho did not talk about his private affairs to anybody. Of course, it was known that he had a brother in foreign parts, arid it was pretty freely said that—that—" . "What was pretty freely said? " That you were a very rich man, and had made a pot of money out of fanning. It rather interested the people about here, as there is not much to be made in that way in this country now, unless a fellow lias' plenty of capital behind him. It seems to me, there is only one profession for a working man in these days here, if he wants a soft job and good wages." '/ And which is that one ?" "To be what they call a Labour agitator. You only want one thing in that line of business, and that is the gift of the gal)—wth a loud voice and plenty of cheek." John Ferrol's thin lips relaxed into a smile. _ / "I am inclined to agree with you, he said, " but those jobs would not be easy to get, nor so. well paid, if the working men themselves did not so reaoiiy listen to what the professional agitator tells them. Nothing is so easy as to make promises, especially when you are going to spend other people's money in carrying them out. Few things are more difficult than to fulfil them honestlv if you get an opportunity of doing so. That is the .fundamental weakness and hypocrisy which most ox that sort of agitation." " But the men are all right, sir." " Yes. They are individually. The British working man is the best representative of his class of any, country upon God's earth. It is when he joins his modern trades unions, and other similar organisations —which were never intended to be pol tical—that he becomes like one sheep in a flock, and follows his leader blindly wherever he is led. The remedy of all" La sour troubles lies in the hands cf the working men themselves, if they 4 get the right people to lead them, and a practical programme that will command public ' sympathy and support." John Ferrol snapped his fingers impatiently. "At present they have neither, and simply ■ play into the hands of their own worst enemies- —the sO-cailed Socialists, the Communists, tnd other men who are either political cranks or professional crooks. _ " That is quite right, sir. But ■it is difficult to get the men to see the truth for themselves." Mr. Winter rose from . his chair as he spoke, and glanced at- the clock upon the mantelpiece. 1 Well, it .s time for me to get along downstairs now, sir. I can hear my missus opening the doors, and that means that my work is cut out for the rest of evening. Thank vou, sir, and good-night." (< _ ' "Good-night," Ferrol replied; lam much obliged for tho information you have given me." CHAPTER VII. One of the most important characters in the history recorded in these pages was a certain young man who was known by the name of Clifford Wilson. To say that he was only known by that name is due to the fact that there had always been some uncertainty in the village of East Grassland with regard to his parentage. He had made Ins home since earliest childhood with the aforementioned James Wilson, in a small colliery house in one of the side thoroughfares branching out of 'the High Street.' Surprise had often been expressed—by those who took any interest in the matter—that two men of such opposite characters should continue to share the same rooms. The accepted explanation was that Clifford Wilson was the natural son of the older man, and, being both honourable &nd loyal to his principles, he considered it his duty to make things as comfortable as possible for his disreputable parent.. For James Y> ilson was not only known as one of the hardest drinkers in the district, but he was also termed "slacker",by all who had the questionable privilege of his acquaintance. He believed in enjoying the maximuin of idleness that could be obtained by a minimum of work. He posed as a widower of many years' standing, but who his wife had been, and whether he ever had a wife at ail, vvoro questions to which the local " gossips had failed to find any answer. His son, Clifford, was a steady and much respected young fellow, years of ace, and he was an assistant in the --'rocery department of tho East Grassland Co-operative Stores. It may bo as well to state here that Clifford was the accepted lover of Rosie Marshall, who lived at Roker's Farm with her father. He was the brother of Mrs. Tracev, late housekeeper to the murdered m_;i, Mark Ferrol. It was understood between the young couple that they would be married as soon .as circumstances permitted Clifford to have a home of his own, and the only obstacle to their union was personified" by the man, James Wilson. During his life-time their marriage was impossible, for, though he was still only in / years that are termed middle-aged, it was a matter of surprise to those who knew him best that he had not long ago succumbed to the effects of his frequent and heavy drinking bouts. , The weeks passed evenly by, and with the dull monotony that, is the daily life of such people as live in the scattered pit villages of Northern England. Only cne event o! interest had stirred the ripple 6* local interest into a mild excitement. . ....

(COPYRIGHT.)

Mr. John Ferrol had taken up his residence upon his newly-acquired estate, and lie had lost no time in making his personality recognised as one of the most important residents in the neighbourhood. Yet this was done only by direct means, for he was rarely seen outside the boundaries of his property, and it is probable that not more than a score of people knew the man by sight. But practical evidence of his wealth was soon made apparent in the district where he :ud made his home. Thero was no doubt that he was a generous man, for 110 local appeal readied him in support of a worthy object that did not. claim his ready sympathy. It was rumoured that only one request had been refused by him, and 1 that was one too " kick-off" at a benefit match upon the East Grassland football ground. But he had sent a cheque for £lO to the secretary, which had probably done more good to the beneficiary than" would have resulted from any number .of kicks at a football—or at any other object. Also, he had not found much difficulty in persuading Mrs. Tracey to return into service as his house-keeper at Me.-vdowhaugh with the same duties as those she had so well carried out in the home of his late brother. He had offered her good wages, and she was not the sort of woman to refuse them without good and sufficient reasons. The only person to regret these now arrangements was the worthy landlord of the Sand rock Hotel, for he" not only lost a good patron, but a generous one as well. It was getting late one Saturday night, early in February, when Clifford Wilson and his sweetheart started off to walk the lonely road that led from the villago to Roker's Farm. The girl had been doing her shopping at the stores, and it had long been their custom to meet after closing time, and for the lad to see her home after a visit to the pictures. In the summer months they spent their evenings under more healthy conditions, wandering through the neighbouring fields or along tho sweet-smelling lanes and pathways. Her hand was passed under his arm, where it rested warm in his sheltering caress. In his free hand he carried her well-filled basket. "How are things going with yon, Cliff ?" shes asked, as they passed tho last houses of the village street, and stepped briskly into the darkness of the country road ahead of them. m " Much the same as usual, little one, the young man answered, and there was a note in his voice that made her look up at the unseen face of her lover. " It is no better at home ?" " It. will never be better there," he replied, rather bitterly. J' I gave up expecting that long ago." "Poor lad—and you might be so happy! Tho pressure of his arm upon her wrist tightened lovingly. "We might both he so happy, he whispered. "It does seem hard luck upon a fellow that the sins of his father should he visited upon his children. It all seems so useless—so helpless—and God knows I trv to do my best." " I know you do, darling, and it makes me love you all tho more, if that- is possible —to feel that you are strong enough and good enough to come out whito through all those temptations." "What temptations?" The girl hesitated before she replied. "It is so difficult to put my thoughts into words," she said softly, ' but I often feel that—that such deardful things might happen if—if you were some other lad, and net yourself." % " "What other things, lassie ? " Again she hesitated. "Most other boys, situated as you are, would not have stood the strain of it all for so long, without doing somethingsomething—oh, it is so terrible, that the thought of it makes me shudder!" "Go on, Rosie. Tell me what you mean." "You might, either have purposely so neglected your father as to hasten the end which" is bound to come soon, or—and this is far worse—you might have followed his example, and become a drjpksodden brute like what he is. It is a wonder to me that you have kept so straight." "I do not think I could have done so, if it had not been for you, lass, and for my love of you," Cliff replied. "You do not know how I long to call you my little wife, but you would never be that if you did not love and respect me. My darling, how could you respect me, if I lost all respect for myself?" He stooped, and felt for her mouth with his lips. "It is a waiting game," he whispered, "and the best of our years are passing from us, but I should not like there to be any regrets on that score when the time comes for us to be more—more than lovers." A sound, very like a sob, came from the girl beside him. "Has it been harder than usual this week, then ?" she asked. "No," he replied. "One week is just the same as another, as far as that goes. I just live in heaven, when I am with you; I exist upon earth, when I am working at the stores; and I suffer in hell the whole of the short time I spend at home." He gave a hard laugh, and pressed her hand very tight. "But what is the use of worrying about it? We can do nothing but wait till better times come. The only thing that troubles me is that they are a long time corning." "Poor darling. lam sure something has happened. You are not a bit like your own self to-night. What is it ? It was the lad's turn to hesitate now. "Well, there is something, Rosie, and it will relieve my mind a good deal if I tell it to you. I know it will not go beyond yourself." "Not one single word." "By some means or other, which I cannot guess or find out, my father is obtaining more money now that he used to have from bis work, or from me. I do not know how he gets it, nor where it comes from, but there are the facts as plain as possible." "What are the facts, Cliff ?" "He has not done a stroke of work for tho last two weeks, yet he has more money to spend on drink for himself and treating his mates. To-day, he refused to take tho money I always give him out of my wages—and said ho could do without it. Each night he has been drinking—not a cheap beer, but on spirits which 'ho could never afford in tho old days, i And tho worst of it is that he does not go to tho Sandrock now to get his drinks. Ho buys a bottlo of whisky or brandy at a time, and soaks in it at homo till he is sick and incapable." "But where does he get his money from!" "Ah! That is just what I want to find out." (To bo continued daily.)