THE MIDDLE BRIDGE MYSTERY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19720, 20 August 1927, Page 14 (Supplement)

THE MIDDLE BRIDGE MYSTERY.

BY J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND.

CHAPTER XH. Sir Roger Elmer had died a natural death, and no inquest was held. He had been in bad health for some years,*" and two doctors at least were well aware of the state of his heart. He had been much /upset by the tragic death of Lord Courtlaud, and the worry and difficulty of his duties as executor had k - ied him exceedingly.

He was not very well-known in the neighbourhood, for though he was a Sussex man, he had lived in London for many years. But his deatli, following so close on the tragedy of the Middle Bridge, attracted a'considerable amount, of attention, and Letty's name came prominently into the newspapers. That she was the sister of John Harrington made her a very interesting person indeed. Nothing more unfortunate could have happened than this focussing of attention on Letty at at time when she wanted to fight stealthily and secretly for Richard Starling. The reporters did not trouble her much, but she had to answer the questions of Mr. Furnace and her brother. Tho detective was kindness itself. "An old friend of your father's?" he said. "Yes, it was quite natural you should call to see him. And then this place would interest you"—they were talking in the library of Grimthorpe. 'T expect if the truth were told, Miss Harrington, you came here as much out of curiosity as from a desire to see Sir Roger Elmer." "Well, yes," Letty admitted. "I —I had never" been in this place except on the day, when it was open to the public —a shilling a head. But I wanted to see poor old Sir Roger again. <t is some years since " "Yes, yes, I quite understand. And when you found me in the library, you didn't care for my company. You did not want to talk over old times in the presence of a stranger." "Well, you force me to confess it. But have you eyes in the back of your head, Mr. Furance I" "Only a mirror in front of me, Miss Harrington—and a very good pair of ears. You were naturally annoyed when you saw I was to be one of the party. , You told Sir Roger that you must see him alone — that it was most important you should see him alone." Letty was astounded at this remarkable acuteness of hearing, but she merely said, " Y"es, that's right. I wanted to be alone with Sit/-' Roger. I hope you didn't think it very rude." " Not at all, Miss Harrington. I quite understand. Only it did occur to me that you might have had something of importance to say to Sir Roger, and that it upset him. You'll pardon me talking to you like this, Miss Harrington, but if there had been an inquest, you'd have been asked these questions, and many others." " Of-.course, Mr. Furnace. And I'm only too pleased to answer any questions you may like to ask." "Well, was there any matter of particular importance you wanted to discuss with Sir Roger?" "Yes. You know quite well that Sir Richard Starling is suspected of having ha'd something to do with Lord Courtland's death." " Not by the inelligent, Miss Harrington."

" Well, by the public, anyway, and I -wanted Sir Roger's opinion. He does not know Sir Richard Starling, and he was an old friend of Lord Courtland. I wanted to know just what Sir Roger thought of the whole affair—l wanted to talk it all oyer with him. I had not seen him since Lord Courtland's death." Mr. Furnace had asked no more questions, and it had seemed to Letty that . she had come out of the conflict with flying colours. But the interview with her brother had not been so satisfactory. "So you went up there to get hold of the diaries and the letters," he said to her. " I never thought you'd have the cheek to do that. Then it occurred to me that perhaps you'd do almost anything for this wretched fellow, and I , ran. up there in my car. I found that ' poor old Sir Roger was dead. Well, have you got what you wanted ?" " Yes," lied Letty, " and I've -burnt the lot." Harrington shook his head and smiled grimly. " I don't believe you could do that," he said, " steal from a dead man." / " He gave them to me," she replied. 'And that was truth enough. He had given them to her, though they had not 1 been his to give. And they were still in the secret drawer of the bureau. As yet she had no opportunity o f removing them. Once she had been to the summer house, but Mr. Furnace had accompanied her, and she had apparently aroused his sus picions, for he had, with the new Lord Courtland's permission, taken up his residence there himself. " I am certain Sir Roger would not have done anything of the sort," Harrington insisted. " I shall have to go to the police, and the documents must be searched for. But even if they cannot be found, I have read them, and I daresay Furnace will take my word!" Now, this was the very last thing Letty wanted her brother to do. His word would not be evidence in a Court of Law—no substitute, at anjr rate, for the production of the incriminating documents. But it would throw considerable light on the object of her visit to Grimthorpe, and Mr. Furnace would put two and two together, and make them into eight. She would have to come to terms with her brother. " Look here, Jack," she said, " are we to go on fighting against each otho<for all time?" "I am going to prevent you from marrying Sir Richard Starling," he replied. " That's all I care about—you and your future. Do you think I care about Lord Courtland's death ? The man was nothing to me. But you are my sister, and the guv'nor made mo promise to look after you. If Starling will leave you alone —" " Leave me alone 1 Do you think he's been making love to me?" "He will, and you're in love with him. That's evident. I'll drive him out nf England, if he won't go of his own accord. Let him go back to his swamps and his forests. That's the place for him. You'd better speak to him about it, for as sure as there's a.God in Heaven, Letty. I'll go to the police with this fresh information, unles Starling leaves England for at least two years." 7 I might go with him," laughed Letty, "if he were to ask me. I don't suppose he would. And no doubt he will ' leave me alone,' as you call it, without any threats or persuasion." After this there had come the interview with Starling himself—an interview in which all the firm ground seemed to rock and slide away from undre Letty's feet.

He came to see her in answer to an urgent letter. The tea-shop was closed for the day, and she was helping the servant to wash up the cups and plates, when the bell rang. She opened the door to him herself, and went up with him into the drawing-room. Iler hands end arms were wet, and her face was flushed with hard work. " I want to tell you exactly what has happened," she said, and she told him. " I'm jolly grateful to you, Letty," he s;ud. " You've behaved like a real pal." For a few minutes there was silence, arid then Letty blurted out, Then you didn't tell the truth at the inquest?" " I didn't say that I had met Lord Courtland out in Africa, and that I had quarrelled with him out there. Why should I put a rope round my neck ?" " Oh, Dick—it is always so much better to tell the truth. And this horrible dagger? And the inscription?" " Paper-knife," he corrected. " That's about what it is. Y"es, I gave it to Courtland—to cut the pages of his magazines. The. inscription? Oh, yes, a joke—about a paper-knife." filled hj" t - 16 °^ er knife—the one that I

(COPTRIGHT.)

" I know nothing about it. Sir Roger Elmer was right. These things are turned out in Birmingham. Yes, of course, it will go hard with me, if all this evidence comes to light. But you ? What do you think of it ?" "I —I don't understand," she faltered. " I—l've done what 1 believed to bo best."

" You think I killed Lord Courtland ?"

" No, Dick—of course I'm not quite such a fool. But this —this paper-knife—-exactly the same'" He shrugged his shoulders, and then coming close to her, he caught her in his arms and kissed her.

" You dear," he said in a voice. " You dear, splendid Letty. Ncf ono could deserve such a pal as you—no ono could be worthy to be your lover —but I love you—l think I must have always loved you—even when the spell of the enchantress was over me."

During tho next two days Letty could think of nothing but that Dick Starling loved her, and nad asked her to marry him as soon as possible. The shadow that lay over him seemed so far overhead that it could not keep away this new and wonderful light that had come into her life. Her brother noted her happiness, and knew the reason for it. He had met Starling, and the latter had said to him, " I'm going to marry Letty. You've told her I've no money and that she'd have to keep me. 1 hat's not true. I have very little money, but enough to keep myself. And I'm going to work. ' " If you had thirty thousand a year, it would make no difference," Harrington replied, curtly. " Unless you leave the country and give up all idea of marrying Letty, I'm going to smash you. It's a horrible job, but I've got to do it. Sir Richard Starling laughed. " Don't make a fool of yourself. You'll have enough trouble on your own shoulders before long, and you won't have time to throw stones at any one else." " I'll give you a week to clear out of the country," said John Harrington, and that was his last word. CHAPTER XIII. " What's wrong between you and Jack?" queried Mary Grantley. " I don't know. What's wrong with you, for that matter? What's wrong with everybody ? Why does Harold look at you sometimes as if he'd like to cut your throat or his own. And why were you crying lajjt night? Mary? Yes, I heard you —between tea and dinner. I just peeped into the drawing room, and there you were lying on the sofa, and crying. And Harold was by the window with his back to the room. I slipped out again—pretty quick I can tell you." Mary Grantley smiled. She looked- as if she had never shed a tear in her' life. The two sisters were sitting in wicker chairs on the far side of the lawn, where they had a glorious view of marshland and sea and the distant downs, behind which tho sun had just begun to dip his circle of red flame. " Nerves, Dora," said Mary, " I—l think we've all been a bit nervy lately—since poor old Lord Courtland was murdered. I suppose you and Jack had fallen out about that."

" Yes—but I'm not sure Jack isn't right I suppose you've heard Leetty is engaged to Sir Richard Starling." " Yes, yes—Harold is—oh, well, you should hsar Harold on the subject, lie's like a very dull parson in the pulpit. But Letty's going to snap her fingers at the lot of them. I admire her for that. Dora, you've been crying. What's wrong with you ? Have you had a row with Jack over this rotten business?" "No —no. It's not that, Mary. But Jack—well, he's been so odd the last few days. I believe it's that beastly woman. She has given two sittings for her portrait. There is something evil—horrible about her." "Do you know, ,1 rather like her, Dora. And Harold is quite taken with her. He wishes ho could paint —said he envied your dear Jack." "The wretch!" laughed Dora. "I'll pay him out for that." The conversation, forced for the most part, slowly petered out. Dora was miserable, and' not only over her own affairs. She knew that for some time her sister had rebelled against her married life —that Mary's gaiety had been slowly crushed by the enormous and ponderous dullness of her husband, and that Mary, when she had been gay, had been abnormally and almost unpleasantly boisterous in her speech and manner. She was very worried about Mary —afraid that she would do something strange and idiotic — run away with the chauffeur, perhaps, just to get rid of Harold. And then, after a long silence, Mary Grantley said: "I met Sir Richard Starling yesterday. He wants me to use my influence with Jack. Has he said anything to you about it ?" " Yes, he asked me to back up Letty. But I'm not sure that Jack isn't right. I think this mystery ought to be cleared up before Letty marries Dick Starling, especially as Dick was engaged to another woman until—oh, well, you must see what I mean, Mary. They ought to wait."

" Dora, I beg of you to do all you can for Letty—l think it is shameful of Jack and my husband—Dora, my dear—you must see " She paused and covered her face with her hands *and began to cry. This was so unexpected, so evidently not due to Mary's affection for Letty (which, indeed, was not very intense), that Dora was frightened. " Mary, my dear," she said, in a low voice, "what has happened ? For pity's sake, tell mc what has happened ?" " I can't tell anyone —not even you, Dora—l mean there is nothing to tell." " Oh, yes, there is, and you've got to tell me, if I'm to help you—l know you feel "rotten —you say it's nerves, but it's something else —some trouble of your own. And it's only come to you —since Lord Courtland's death. Mary, my dear —you can't carry this secret on your own shoulders." Mary Grantley shuddered as though a cold wind had come in from the sea. "It's no longer a secret," she whispered. " I would to God it were. Dora, will ,you swear to me that you will never tell anyone—the one person who knows will hold his tongue —on conditions —will you swear that what I tell you will be as sacred to you as though you were a priest, and I were confessing my sins to you." Dora put her arms round her sister's neck.

" My dear," she said gently, " I swear to you that I won't" tell a living soul." " Not Jack —after you are married t<r him?"

" Not even Jack—but, perhaps, Mary dear, you'd rather riot tell me." " Yes, yes, Dora—l ought to have told you long ago. I—we must not talk out here. It is cold and petting so dark " She lowered her voice to a whisper. " Someone might be listening—one cannot see clearly in this twilight—come along, my dear child."

They walked across the lawn toward the house. For years afterwards Dora Keston, happily married and settled in a home of her own, remembered every detail of that summer night—the strong, sweet scent of the tobacco plants that grew close to the house, the swift movement of a bat whirling to and fro against the lighted window of a bedroom on the first floor—the intense silence in which one fancied one could almost hear the sound of a whisper of the far-off sea—the pressure of her sister's fingers on her arm, gripping her so lightly that she almost cried out with the pain. All these things she remembered as part of a picture, and when they had entered the house, and were in the room Mary Grantley called her 'den,' and the window had been closed, there was the never-to-be-for-gotten portrait of Mary Gi'antlcy—white even to the lips, a pitiful hunted creature, who feared both dark and light—who shrank back from her sister's clear, honest gaze, as though some question hurt her*

" Wo don't need the electric light, do we ?" queried Mary Grantley. " 1 think the light of candles is so much more pleasant." " NO; I can't tell you in here, Dora—not In 'this house —it stifles me—there is no air—l am suffocating in this place. It—it is killing me, Dora—it is killing me." She rose to her feet, and left the house. Dora followed her, in genuine terror and and overtook her as sho was hurrying across the lawn. "I can breathe here," cried Mary, flinging herself on tho scat again. "At any rate I can breathe —Dora, the night of Lord Courtland's death, it was a stifling night—like this —I " " I don't want to hoar your secret," said Dora in a low voice. " Oh, Mary, dear —a secret about that night—something you know about Lord Courtland's death?" "A secret?" said Mary Grantley, after neariy a minute of silence. "Yes, a horrible secret. I—do not look at me—l wish it were darker so that you could not see my faco, Dora." Dora took bold of her sister's hand and looked away from her. It was late, and but for ''summer-time," it would already have been quite dark. They had finished dinner nearly an hour ago. Harold Grantley had motored into Hastings in the early afternoon and had not yet returned.

"I—you know I've wanted to escape from this life, Dora—that—that it is stifling me—that there are times when I'd do almost anything to be free." "Yes, dear, yes —I know—l know."

"And the awful part of it is that until quite recently Harold has never really beeu unkind to me—only a sort of kind gaoler and silly about trifles, and I —l've been a devil, longing to break loose and do the maddest things possible. I wanted to spend money—quantities of money—l wanted to fling gold about—squander it, buy myself jewels and heaps of clothes, and entertain like the wife of an American millionaire. This irritated Harold." "Naturally it would, Mary dear."

"Yes—of course; but he couldn't see that 1 was mad—that I really ought to have been put in a nursing home. Well, Lord Courtland " "The dead Lord Oourtland ?" Dora interrupted in a low voice. # "Yes. I saw a good deal of him during the last six months. You know I've been up to town to stay with I\ita Burman." "Yes. I could never' make out why you had suddenly become so fond of Nita Burman." "Because she won't have Harold in the house, and I wanted to be away from Harold. It was that at first—afterwards it was Lord Courtland." Dora's grip tightened on her sister's hand. "No, Mary,"", she whispered. ">io. "I let him make love t-o me. Ho was very rich. You heard some rumour that he was going to be married again. Well, I was the woman he was going to marry. I was to get a divorce —to let Harold divorce me. Then wo were to be married." "Oh, Mary—how —how horrible! "I didn't think it at the time. Lots of women have sold themselves for money —to men they do not love. Yes, it was horrible. But the horrible thing is this —a letter from Lord Courtland to me—arranging for my escape —fell into Harold's hands. I did not know this at the time. Harold read the letter and replaced it in my escritoire. I was to have met Lord Courtland tho night of the Treasure Hunt. And Harold must have arranged the affair so as to make it quite impossible for me to get away from home. I thought it was just a chance—merely bad luck. I did not mind very much. There would be other opportunities. At the moment it seemed a nuisance and no more than that." i "Yes, ves/' cried Dora Keston. * I understand, but now —you think Mary, oh, what do you think?" "I'm afraid, Dora—that is all—terribly afraid. Harold went out that night, a few minutes after the last car —that was Jack's —left here. He did not return until eleven o'clock. Do you remember that night?" "Yes, Mary dear. I thought Harold was shut up in his study—writing until the first car returned —smoking a cigarcomposing a speech which he would liver as an impromptu at the supper. "Well, he was not in the house at all, Dora. Harold went out on his bicycle—and he knew that Lord Courtland would be waiting for me at the Middle Bridge. "Harold knew that—oh, Mary—no, no. Lord Courtland at tho Middle Bridgewaiting for you?" " Yes —and Harold knew that. "Y"ou think Harold killed Lord Courtland ?" . , , T "I don't know what to think, but I know what the police will think, if they ever link mo up with Lord Courtland's affairs and know that Harold was out that night from eight until eleven, and that Harold had got hold of the letter." "They never will know, Mary dear. And you —surelv yon don't believe— — "I know. Harold boasted of it the other night, when he told me how he had read the letter and gone out to deal with Lord Courtland. 'I gave the beast what he deserved,' he bragged. 'I can fight to keep my own. Don't you forget that.' Yes, that's what ho said to me, Dora. He would tell me nothing else." Dora Keston laughed. It seemed just as well to make fun of Harold Grantley. "I don't believe he could have pot there and back in tho time," she said. "He's not used to riding a bicycle. And then there's the dagger—my dear, this is so like Harold. Ho intends to pay you out for wanting to run away from him. Don't worry about silly old Harold. When you've made friends with him again, he 11 tell you " "It doesn't matter what he tells me, Mrs. Grantley interrupted. "Sir Richard Starling has got hold of certain information. Sir Richard Starling holds all the best cards, my dear Dora. He has obtained that letter —the one Lord Courtland wrote to me, making the appointment. He came up here this afternoon to tell mo so, and he said that if there was any further opposition to his marriage with Lettv—that if Jack—your Jack—didn't behave himself—he'd hajid that letter over to the police, together with other evidenco he'd got together, and see what they made of it." Dora Keston laughed nervously. "Sort of tug-of-war," she said. "Pull devil, pull baker—Something will have to give," and then <he thought of what her sister had done filled her mind to the exclusion of everything else. To Dora even Lord Courtland's death was not so horrible as her sister's decision to run away with him.

"Mary dear," she whispered, "it isn't true. You could never have thought of leaving Harold like that." "Why not? I hated Harold. And I wanted money—money—money. I was mad. A mad woman will do anything."

"Well, I can't tell Jack this story, can I? You want me to force him to give in about Lctty and Dick Starling. But this st-ory will be my only weapon and how can I use it? Do you think I can tell even Jack about you and Lord Courtland ? Why, you made mo swear I wouldn't tell Jack. What is it you want me to do ?"

Mary Grantley caught hold of her sister's hands, and leant toward her and put her lips closo to her sister's ear. "You 'must fight hard for Dick Starling and Letty. If you were to marry Jack at once—Dora, dear, tell him you'll marry him at once. Then something will be final and settled And when you are Jack's wife, my dear, you'll be able to twist him round your little finger. You can make Dick and Letty happy. You can save —save me and Harold." For a few moments Dora Keston did not- speak. Sho put her arm round her sister and stared into the gathering darkness. Yellow lights were twinkling out on land and sea, and then suddenly, against the darkness, she saw the strangely beautiful face of Molly Pennant. "Yes, Mary, dear," she said, after a pause. " I'll marry Jack at once. As you say, that-will be something final and settled. But I'm afraid Harold will be annoyed^' "Harold ?" said Marv. "There are two Harolds, and you have never seen one of them." (To bo continued on Saturday next.)