THE MALLARD MYSTERY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 20088, 27 October 1928, Page 16 (Supplement)

THE MALLARD MYSTERY.

CHARLES D. LESLIE,

CHAPTER I. THE RETURN OF ULYSSES. Possibly not one Londonor in fifty has ever heard of Brackers, but then Londoners as a class are notoriously ignorant concerning any part London outside their own orbit. Ask any provincial whoso business brings him to London two or three times a year, or any American who " does Europe" every other summer, and in three cases out of live you will be told that Brackors is one of tho three big Bloomsbury hotels opened since the war, caravanserao cater ing for a particular class, the transitory visitor.

Brackers makes no claim of being "homo from home," neither tells you that their eggs and butters come straight from their private farm; they do not advertiso such attractions as billiards, bridge or tho dausants; no, they say simply: "Eight hundred bedrooms, inclusive charge foi bed, bath and breakfast. 7s 6d." and leave it at that.

Brackers, in short, is built to meet the need of the man who is in London for one, two or three days only, and asks nothing from his temporary home but a bed to sleep in and a bath and breakfast in the morning, before he goes forth on tho business of the day, bo it worK or play. As brief and fugitive as its a vera go patron is the appearance of Brackers in this tale. A story must begin somewhere, so if you please, we will start with the arrival of.lan Mallard ;t Brackers, where ho slept tho night before going to Grosvenor Square to call on Lord Mallard, and, willy-nilly, found himself involved »u tho Mallard mystery. The Mallard Mystery- I take the title from the newspapers—is a story with a hero, in which it diPers from ' Vanity fail- and " The Old Wives' Tale, to namo two notable novels; but, as its namo implies, it is a mystery story. I shall come to that immediately, but 1 want first to introduce the hero. Lan Mallard was born toward the end of the last centurv. When he indulged in a seven and sixpenny stay at Brackers he was just short of thirty. Much had ho travelled, much seen and done, and 1 am therefore entitled to allude to hnn as Ulysses, though, unlike his prototype, he had neither wife, nor house, nor son, nor dog awaiting him in England; only his eccentric—to use a polite word—cousin, Lord Mallard, of Grosvenor Square. If lan was a Wellsian hero, I would hero devoto a hundred pages or so to his past, starting from his birth, which took place in New Jersey, and following hun from childhood to school, from school to an adolescence which synchronised, so to speak, with the war. 1 would enlarge u. length on his military exploits in l'ranfio, Italy, Palestine, and Mesopotamia, then I would spread myself on what befell nun between the peace and Brackers. But if tho reader doesn't mmd, we will tako all this as written . . It was shortly after midnight when a taxi sped into the square, of which Brackers occupies nearly the whole ot one side, and drew up before the main entrance. ' A man in a serge suit, carrying a small canvas bag only half-full, alighted and paid off the driver. Ho looked about thirty, which, as wo know, was his age, and his appearance sugges e that he had been travelling a good deal recently, and not first-class His face was tanned, his hands scarred and swollen, ho wore a wellcut suit, badly creased, cheap boots and hat. But his voice, when bo addressed the night porter, was unmistakably that of a gentleman. "Can I have a room? The night porter, a large phlegmaticlooking man, with a cold eye and an infinite knowledge of the world, replied with a formal politeness. "I think so, sir," and made to consult a sheet that decorated his box msit e the entrance; then whistled down tho tube to a minor myrmidon, who appeared suddenly from nowhere. "Is that all your luggage, sir said the night porter suddenly,' as if he had only just noticed the poverty of the traveller's equipment. The reply was in the Socratic form. "D'you want me to pay in advance, said lan. "If you've oo objection, sir, and perhaps you will kindly sign your name here." The production of a pound note had certified the traveller as a fit and proper person to stay at Brackers. Grasping the pen the visitor wrOi.e "lan Mallard," and after a pause, smiling at a joke peculiar to "from Java, per s.s. King Oscar. "Number 642," said the night portet, handing the key to his subordinate, and the procession of two, the traveller, who had insisted on clinging to the canvas bag, in the rear, set forth. ' lan, oddly enough, never remembered how he got to 642, whether by stairs or lift; lie only vaguely recalled a long tramp along carpeted corridors, past innumerable doors before the guide stopped, and inserted the in a lock. A minute later he was asking if the traveller wanted anything. Replying in the negative, lan dismissed him with a shilling; the pourtf note just changed happened to bo his last, but this was not the time for petty economies; to-morrow he confidently expected would see the end of his financial troubles. To an ordinary eye the hotel bedroom looked rather unattractive; to its temporary owner it was a veritable Aladdin's palace. A bed, a full-size singlo bed to sleep in, and a room to himself. He felt a sybarite as lie stood, a tired man, under the electric light, and .shedding his clothes, revealed a coarse flannel short and much darned pants in which, for the best of reasons, ho' intended to sleep. To-morrow, if all were well, ho would sleep in pyjamas. How beautiful the bed looked! Murmuring "Homo is the sailor, homo from the sea, and the hunter home from tho hill," lan crept between the sheets, switched off the light, and two minutes later slopt the sleep of the weary. Lan did not dream; he was too tired; but whilo he sleeps let us just glance briefly at a career which, as we have seen, had brought him to Brackers -with a pound in his pocket, and not a spare shirt. Tho canvas bag held nothing but n sailor's jersey, much the worse for ■wear, and a tattered pair of flannel trousers. If the reader asks why tho cousin of a Peer should cling to such clothes, I would reply that ho had learned in a hard school to hold tightly to such possessions as lie had. It was not always so. Armistice year had seen him scattering notes as though they were inexhaustible. That was tho time when about four million men were shedding khaki or naval uniform and asking themselves "what next?" As though in answer to tho question lan's bankers forwarded him the following letter from Lord Mallard. Mydear Tan, I learn with much pleasure that you havo come safely through tho war and arc now in London. Many years ago your father and I were great friends, and I would like to make the acquaintance of his son. Come aud see mo and tell nie your plans. Perhaps I can help you— Sincerely yours, Mallard. The young ex-lieutenant, had ha known it, stood then at tho parting of tho ways, and. ]iko many another in like case took tho wrong turning. He felt restless' True, in tho war he had dono much travelling, but always under orders unable to wander as he liked. There . was nothing to keep him in England. His parents were dead, and his nearest lclatives tho. Mallard cousins. Twenty years earlier his father bad quarrelled villi Lord Mallard and severed all relations with him. lun felt no desiro to

A CRISPLY-TOLD STORY EY AN EFFECTIVE WRITER.

VCOPIIIIGUT.)

co to Grosvenor v Square and see his cousin; for reasons which, seemed good to him ho despised Lord Mallard. He felt a desire to go abroad and seek his fortune oversea?. Ho felt tho call of

"Something lost beyond the ranges, Something waiting for you." Of money he had ample. His father had sunk most of his capital in an annuity, but by adding his gratuity to what his father left tliero was, even after certain expensive hectic nights in London, over a thousand pounds, ample as tho nucleus to a fortune. He needed no patronage from the unworthy head of the house of Mallard. So ho joined forces with a friend, another ex-officer, and sailed for the East with a intention of embarking in the rubber industry. A brief note to his cousin before ho left London acknowledged receipt of his letter and regretted that the writer had no time to wait upon him in person. Ho was going abroad, probably for good, and remained " Yours faithfuily, lan Henry Mallard." Barely a year later when tho thousand pounds'had "evaporated in an unfortunate speculation lan regretted that letter. But he was young and still full of optimism, and found his way somehow to Polynesia where, if he had only kept his money, he could have turned it over and over again pearling. In such picturesque surroundings, however, it was impossible to feel despondent long. Then tho wanderlust drove him to Australia where lie landed rich in experience but empty in pocket. The next turn in fortune'# wheel found him on a sheep farm, and had lie stuck, tho owner, a decent ex-public school man, who valued his society, would have taken him into partnership. But a woman, intervened, his employer's wife. Australia, like the Mother Country, contains bad men and women as well as good. Had Tranter, the sheep farmer, been unmarried, lan's life would have taken a different turn. Tranter's wifo, whom her husband adored, was beautiful, bored, and bad, and, casting eyes of love on lan, essayed the rolo of Potiphar's wife. Very reluctantly lan had to play Joseph, lo betray a friend who trusted him was not in his code, and ho fled to Melbourne and there, angry with life and himself, went to the devil. Yes, for six months he went utterly to the devil, and if he escaped the insido of a jail it was more by good luck than virtuous living. He got mixed up with a low class racing gang and lived by betting and betting coups. At this period also ho drank more than was good for him. Ho also consorted with the women of the set, and ere long realised the truth of the dictum that " the female of tiie species is more dangerous than tho male." Lor. as the favoured lover of " Queen Ann," a notorious character in the underworld at that time, ho achieved a prominence, which, like the sailor in Kipling's ballad, brought him " a knife thrust unawares. ' but luckier than " blue-eyed Hans " he landed in a hospital, and not in tlis Hoogly, or rather, its Australian equivalent. "In plain prose, another of Ann's lovers, with her connivance, stabbed him just above the collar-bone, missing the heart because he wouldn't stand still to be butchered. This proved a blessing in disguise, for, in the hospital, an elderly nurse, with a plain face and a heart ot gold, talked like a mother to him, and, more to the point, when he came out convalescent, she obtained a post for him as clerk in a merchant's office. But lan had a soul above mechanical quill-driving, and when he had saved a little money he resumed his wanderlust. He reformed, eschewed wine and women, and tried hard to establish himself. All in vain. With only a little capital he could have started fortune-making over and over again, but his capital had gone. As the years went by his hope sagged, his spirits fell, and, in his mind's eye he looked back at London, which he recalled as a city of pleasure; in London, too, dwelt Lord Mallard (if he wasn't dead) ; Lord Mallard, whose offer of help he had spurned a3 a callow youth who, because he'd survived the war, thought he knew everything, and set himself up as a censor of morals.

How or why, he happened to be in Java when this attack of home-sickness became unbearable does not concern us, but in the British Consular Office he got a look at the current "Who's Who?" which informed him Lord Mallard was still alive—after all he was barely sixty and hypochondriacs usually live to be old. Lan sat down and wrote his cousin a diplomatic letter, confessing that he had failed to make good, and proposed, his wanderlust being satisfied, to return home and pay the call he had been invited'to make eight years earlier. Having posted this he shipped before tho mast on the King Oscar, and in due course reached London CHAPTER IT. A TRAGEDY JN GROSVENOR SQUARE. Just 24 .hours after lan reached Brackers, P C. Tomkins was strolling past the Connaught and cast a casual glance at that dignified and highly select hotel which everybody has to pass going from Berkeley to Grosvenor Square. Beyond this landmark of pre-war London, much building was proceeding; on either side of tho .road scaffolding was ascending to tho skies.

This thought did not enter the head of P.O. Tomkins. He merely noted that the square seemed empty. He was about to turn to ti.e loft when a uniformed figure loomed into his ken and, halting, he saluted his sergeant inspector, Sadler by name, a promising young officer of superior typo who had recently been transferred to that district. " Good evening, sir," he said. Evening, Tompkins; anything to report ?" " No. sir." Hero tho conversation would have ended, and each have gone his separate way but for the fact that both were interested in boxing, and members of the Polico Boxing Club. The conversation had lasted five minutes or so when tho inspector, who was standing lacing north, saw vaguely, for his mind was occupied with the subject under discussion, a motor-car pass liirn coming out of Grosvenor Street; " and that's that." ho concluded, " and if any one wants easy money, thov can back tho New York team."

" 'Clio," said Tompkins, glancing to tho left, " there's that motor-car stopped before Lord Mallard's houso "

"Oh, is his house that side? I've been learning about him. The Mad Lord, who hasn't left his room for twelve years " " It's funny. Ifim having visitors at this hour," commented Tompkins, watching two mt'ii alight and advance to tho front door.

"Why?" " Because bo never has any callers." " But has.i't he got a girl he's adopted living with him? Sho must havo friends ?"

" Yes, Miss Ashley. But sho's away to-night ; gone to a dance at Guildford, and sleeping there." " Y'..u so !in to know all about tho house, Tompkins." "Well, J (!■', sir; you see my mother's Lord Mallard's cook-housekeeper."

"Oh 1 But I fancy I know more about the. Mallards than you. I had to read history for my last examination, and by chance learned quite a lot about thw familv."

Tlio night, was dark and warm; Grnsvenor Squaro is not particularly welllighted. The motor-car which had drawn up was some fifty yards distant; it lay a black blob in the dim view of nt 100 L and garden. The inspector, feeling disinclined for exercise, stood, legs a-straddle, at the corner of tlio street, and was moved to givo his subordinate the history of tho Mallards. '1 ho peculiar irony nl~ t!us proceeding is to lie revealed shortlv. 1 hoy chiiiiu 1 onikins. to be descended iiozii one of William the Conqueror's £ol-

lowers, and, like many oilier families, cannot quito substantiate the claim. It is undoubtedly true that a Siour de Mallard camn from Normandy with William and fought at Hastings. Ilis shield, emblazoned with three wild clucks, is the heraldic emblem of the family. But after him (hero is never a sign of a Mallard in English history, till we come to the loign ot George 111. .When William Pitt was Prime Minister, and the war with the French dragging on, money was needed and Pitt sought the assistance of city financiers. Among them was a banker named Edward Mallard, ayid presently for bis services Pitt made him a baron This first Lord Mallard admittedly began life as an obscure bank clerk; he died a millionaire. A war profiteer, Tomkins, if ever there was one. He took the heraldic device of his ancestor—if he was his ancestor—and is the founder of the family. A third-rale lot, the Mallards; not one of them has ever done anything creditable, except stick fo tho money the first lord left. " The only Mallard that was any good was a younger soon who fell at Waterloo. Captain Mallard, of the Duke of Clarence's Foot Guard's. Ah! fighting was picturesque in those days! Drawn up in a hollow square on that famous ridge no regiment on that historic afternoon, while decimated by French cannon, more stoutly withstood tho charge of the French cuirassiers. Twice, history lolls us, tho French horsemen reached the top of tho ridge, aud nearly broke the thin, red line which opposed them. Then it was that Captain Mallard, while rallying his 'lien, met a soldier's death. A gigantic cuirassier rode at him, and with his sabre cleft, his head in two. But his squadron avenged their officer; raw ploughmen for tho most part, for most of Wellington's peninsula men were in America; .hey cut down the Frenchmen, reformed and continued firing and reloading til! the French ~osts melted away, and old Bouey packed up and ran. lomkins, 1 hail three years in Franco, and more than one of them was in tho front line, but tliero nevei was such bonny fighting as in the Napoleonic wars. ' " I was in Salonica myself, inspector. "Of the Lord Mallard who died at tho end of the ia-it century," continued Sadler, full of his theme, " the father of tho old lord, and his brother John, strange tales are told. Put briefly, he was a Doctor Jokyll and Mr. Hyde, a philanthiopist and a profligate. Outwardly he led an exemplary life. Ho subscribed largely to charitable organisations und sat on boards of management, lie supported temperance leagues and spoko in r,lieir favour. Ho was chairman ot two foreign missionary societies, and on the committee of tho Bible Society Indeed, no philanthropic association asked his am in vain. And yet. there were rumours, and the truth camo out after his death, tho old rip kept a harem, and was a secret drinker. It is suggested he was mad; there was insanity on his mothers side, and she died in a madhouse. Let us bo charitable and accept this theoiy. Let us continuo to be charitable and agree that a touch of insanity has passed to his sons. Bad eggs, both. The elder was nothing more, than selfish till twelve years ago, but the honourable John—there never was such an utter rotter. He's been twice -in prison, and, indeed, ought to have spent his whole life there. But he sessed a certain superficial charm, which enabled him to pick up a wife far too good for him. He luoke her heart before he was thirty, and has earned the deadly hatred of his brother. I doubt if anv two brothers hate each other more than" Arthur, Lord Mallard, and Lord John. Tliero is no entail of money in the family, and von may bet your boots if Lord ' Mallard died to-night, not a penny would g(. to Lord John nothing bJt tho bare title, and I guess the old Lord is sick he hasn't an heir, so as to avoid his brother succeeding. But he s been too selfish to marry. _ How long has your mothei beer) in service llieie . ." A little over two years. "Never seen him, I suppose? "No sir, the only servants lie sees are Dexter, the butler, a housemaid, and his own man, Mr. Arrowsmith. And his medical man calls regularly. Miss Hope Ashley goes and sits with him daily, but nobody else, so mother says, during the two years she's been there. "Every summer there's a spring cleaning of the room, and whilo it's on he camps in the conservatory. But ic s never crossed the threshold. Funny whim, ain't it, sir, a man with a big 'ouse in Grosvenor Square, and a big income to match, and his health perfectly good, making a prisoner of himself " _ , . '"He's a war victim, lomkins, grinned ihe inspector. " The story goes he had a bad fright the night Zeppelins were first seen over London. Then he had a vision or something that _ told him 110 harm would befall him it he kept to his room, but that danger and death awaited him outside. So he ? shut himself np ever since." "Oh, is that it. sir? The servants didn't know for certain. You see Mr. Dexter, who's an old family servant, never discusses his lordship with mother or the female staff I looked in to see mother for five minutes this afternoon, and they've had quito an exciting day, sho said. His voting cousin, Mr lan Mallard, called—had a long interview with the old man and stayed to lunch with Miss Ashley. 'li's a gentleman down on his luck, I gather, just arrived from foreign parts " Perhaps tho two men would have gone on talking; they were, as tho reader may surmise, slightly inclined to loquacity. Many policemen are; their work, so often done in solitude, makes them fond of conversation when they can indulge in it

" Look at that." said the inspector. All this time the motor-car had remained drawn up before Lord Mallard's house, whether in charge of a driver or not, it was impossible to say. as it pointed west and was of a closed type. Two men now emerged from' tho house carrying a long, low box which they put in the car.

" Why, it looks as though they were pinching the chest that stands in the hall," remarked Tomkins, "but old Dexter 'ud havo something to say about thai."

The policemen began lo stroll in tho direction of tho house, but cro they had gone many yards there was a faint whirr heralding tho re-starting of the car. It moved, and, rounding the corner toward Oxford Street, vanished from sight. Lord Mallard's house was peculiar in possessinir an arch of ironwork before the front door, the top covered by a lantern, or rather an empty ring for the lamp to fit into. Thus householders in the last century illuminated the outside of their houses. No lamps burn there now, but the ironwork remains, a mute record of >i dark ago which old folks of eighty or so can still recall.

When they reached the house tho inspector gave it one casual comprehensive glance, and noted it was in darkness, but P.O. Tomkins looked more closely. " 'Clio' " he exclaimed, and paused. Sadler, following bis glance, immediately noted the cause of the exclamation. The front floor was not quite closed, but si near to shut that only policemen or thieves—the two classes who from opposite motives go about looking for doors ajar—would have, noticed it. In the pious hope that it meant a robbery. Tomkins advanced to investigate. Patrol duly in tho West End is very dull, tho populace is shockingly law abiding. Ho went up the steps. Tho door swung open to the touch of his hand Inside all was dark and silent. " Where does the but I " Sadler, advancing, stopped short, his foot had struck against some object lying on the floor. He swung his torch; stretched on his sire as if in sleep lay ail old man in black.

" Yes, sir, Dexter," said Tomkins. Kneeling by Ihe inanimate figure, he turned it on its back and laid a hand over the heart.

But Sadler was staring at tho pale face and (he white hair, stained in one place by blood : a livid bruise showed on the forehead. Tic touched the wrist and dropped it. " Dead " he announced. " murdered. Til niv district, almost under my eyes, this old man has been murdered in Lord Millard's bouse, while T stood gassing' •ilio'il, tho history of tho family! 13v heavens. Tomkins. VII never rest till I find tlio murderer." (To be continued daily.)