THE SEAL OF DEATH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20491, 17 February 1930, Page 16

THE SEAL OF DEATH.

BY. ROSITA FORBES.

CHAPTER XVIII. That night the long black car repeated its journey to Maidenhead, but, at the beginning of.the muddy cart-track wliic led to .Wingate's house it was turned under the trees and the lights extinguished. i( "You're sure the beggar's away,' asked Langley, emerging from his chauffeur's coat. " I sent him a wire in the name of a personage whom, for a long time, I ve suspected," returned Jim, striding up the lane, so sure that his enemy would be on his way to answer a summons lie dreaded not disobey, that he took lijtle trouble to cover his approach. "Whose name?" asked Pongo.

" If I told you, you'd think me mad," returned Jim. The two men kept to the grass on either side of the drive but, whci» they reached the front door, Jim held his finger on tho bell till he heard steps approaching. The valet, who had followed Win'gate's fortunes through an ill-sperit decade, opened the door and, immediately, Rattiker pushed across the threshold. Pongo followed and the servant found himself protesting that his master was away, that he was alone in the house and that he had orders to admit no one, to two unmoved and unbelieving strangers. " I want to see Madame Lcpuy," said Jim, and the valet's breath whistled between dry lips. " I don't know the name. There's nobody hero, I tell you," he repeated and, immediately, according to pre-concerted plan, Pongo dived for his legs. Half stunned by the subsequent fall, the valet, nevertheless, put up a good fight, bu'l, within a couple of minutes, Jim was sitting on his chest squeezing •the breath out of him, while the man's arms flailed wildly and harmlessly round his opponent's head. Meanwhile, Langley was making a neat parcel of his legs with the cord he drew from an unusually capacious, pocket. When the valet was securely trussed, his assailants carried him into the neareut sitting-room and locked (lie door on hint. " Now then," said Jim, " it's sonu)where on the attic floor," and he led tie way up to the gallery, turning on lights wherever he was sure they couldn't be seen from outside. Irom there he followed the direction taken by Wingate and his jackal on the night he had rescued Lois, with-the result that the two soon found themselves at the foot of a winding 'stair. Up this they went, and Jim's torch revealed a massive door closed across the top. No amount of effort would open it. " Locked," muttered Rai;tiker. " I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if the creature downstairs hc,s the key." Pongo had taken t.fcie torch and, by ils light, was examining the N lock. " Tlie key's on the inside," he remarked, and the two men stared at each other. "Is there anyone with her?" asked Jim.

■ " Not that. I know of," returned Pongo, and .explained that his information concerning the probable presence of Madame. Lepuy, suspected by Rattiker since tfce moment Lois had denied screaming, had tome from a private enquiry agent who, at' his instigation, had cultivated the [valet's acquaintance and heard of the supposed sister who was such an invalid that she could never leave the house. " There's another way in through that infernal wall," muttered Jim- We ll have to try it, I suppose." They retraced their steps, approaching the attics from the other staircase, but ■were baffled by the apparent solidity of thei wall which terminated the passage. ' "There's some way through it. Wingate worked it the other night, ' insisted Jim and was deaf to his friend s suggestion,that, since the main door was 'locked inside, it augured that the lady whose presence they suspected, was c;ipaL;e oi shutting herself in. " There's probably some stunt by which she can fasten this contraption, whatever it isfi on the other side," • he said.

Jim ignored the remark while his fingers tested the mouldings of the false pane is •which appeared to be a purposeless decoration. No one in their senses' wpuid take the trouble to adorn in this fashion a lath aiid plaster wall across an ait:lc corridor! - There must be 'some reason far the ornate woodwork, and it , .must be something that worked quickly to account for Wingate's instantaneous disappearance Rattikeir paused in the middle of Ins meticulous examination. "D'you smell anything';'" he asked suddenly. Langley, with the air of a beneficent bull-terrier, obediently snuffed the air. " It's a bit musty. No, by Jove, there is something." • ~ , .. Jim's face was grey. My God, if we r can't, get hold of this infernal thing, we shall be too late,'" he said, and " un ß himself, full weight, against the wall. A panel crejiked, and he repeated the effort., •bruising his shoulder. " There must be a hatchet or somein the cellar." suggested Pongo, his excitement showing' in the darkneiis of his round blue eyes. " I'll sprint for "' it,."' ,11 He was out of sight before Jim coultl say anything and, after a short interlude, during which Rattiker, grim with anxiety, wrenched frantically at any jprojection jwithin reach, was back triumphantly clutching . a wood-chopper. With Lin), they attacked the lower portion of the wall, but it was not until the stem splintered the laths that some mechanism iwas affected. As Pongo wielded the hatchet and Jim drove his shoulder againiit the yielding woodwork, a spring clicked and the two were precipitated into the second half of the passage. Picking themselves up, they found t.lie corridor widened oil to :i little landing from which one door, locked on the inside, obviously gave on to the stairs which had been their first way of approach. (If the other two doors, cue opened into a sitting-room which was empty and from belfind the other, a close-fitting affair covered with baize, drifted the odour of gas. ' Instinctively, both men crushed their handkerchiefs over moutfr and nostrils and. as Rattiker wrenched open the door, Pongo dived back into the passage to retrieve the hatchet. It was as well he did so, for Jim plunging into a room filled with fumes, failed to open the window- which was effectively screwed down. Gulping and choking, '"blinded by the water in his eyes, Rattiker struggled with the catch. His braiin Was already clogging when Langley catapulted into the room and drove his aire through the window. *, , Beneath his frenzied blows, the whole frame gave way and both men leaned into the night. " Jove/' spluttered Pongo, drawing in great breaths of frosty air, but Jim, green-faced, with streaming eyes, was already searching for the escape. Fortunately, it was not difficult to .find. Chi either side of the fireplace.gas was whistling through the opon cock of a bracket. Hattiker closed them both, hut he was swaying when' his friend dragged him back to the window. •:> ' In a few seconds ho had sufficiently leSBfiW to stftjrger towards the bed whei e--5 - SLu* * RoMeh-lVaircd woman, vii . •«<?„, ' over the side.

A STORY OF LOVE, MYSTERY AND ROMANTIC ELEMENT.

(COPYRIGHT.)

CHAPTER XIX. Jim, still using iho handkerchief as a gas-mask, bent over tho prostrate figuie. The woman must once have been lovoiy. She was small and slight with regular features, but her eyes looked as if they were sealed by the purple stains underneath, and her skin was the colour of lead.

Rattiker signalled to his friend and, holding their breath, they picked up the girl—she couldn't have been more than 26—and stumbled with her into the adjacent sitting room. " Thank the Lord!" ejaculated Pongo, sweat beading his forehead, but his friend, having shut the door and opened both windows, was bending over the couch. The woman's head hung a little sideways and the fierce metallic gold of her hair made a pathetic splash of colour against the sombre cushions. She was wrapped in an expensive dressing-gown whose soft lace and chiffon accentuated her terrible stillness. Jim fumbled among them, but could find no trace of her heart. Her pulse was equally still. Then he lilted a lid fringed with incredibly long lashes, but the eyeball was rolled back, stilt and congested. Very gently, the man arranged the frivolous rose-coloured silks, and, while he did it, he had the absurd impression that such a woman, who had lived for her beauty and its effect on men, would so robe herself for the tragedy that was to end her life. * , . Pongo, looking very sick, was at his elbow. . , " She isn't dead, is she.' he asked.

. Jim nodded. ~, "What are we going to do about it. muttered the other. , Rattiker was wondering at what houi Wingate had left the house. 1 erhaps the inarticulate valet would be able to inform them, and at that moment, he realised the peril of their situation. t Langley was shaking his arm. \Ao« better look round a bit, Jie urged. " The gas will have cleared. Without a word, Jim began a thorough inspection of the room in which they stood. It was comfortably, even luxuriouslv furnished, to suit the tastes of someone who liked rich, dark colours and the soKest of chairs. There were no books, photographs or flowers and the flimsy French writing-table gave no. more evidence of correspondence than a couple of vivid quills stuck in the ink-pot. Rattiker picked them up and found the ml* significantly dry. ; " There wasn't anyone who d be particularly keen about hearing from her again, 1 suppose," commented Langley. "Except the police," retorted his friend, and was immediately sorry, for the stillness of the small, remote figure on the sofa was at once a protest and a stricture. Hurriedly they examined the few receptacles the room contained and, finding nothing more incriminating than scent pastilles and the immensely long, scented cigarettes beloved of Eastern women, they went back to the bedroom. A sickly odour still clung to the overflounced bed and drifted from the open doors of a wardrobe filled with subtly indiscreet frocks. Poor girl, born, bred and married on an orange farm within sound of the bluest sea in the world, for whom love, when it came, irresistible as a wind out of the. desert which, like a golden scimitar, encircles the iruitgardens of Syria, had meant a welter of ill-chosen luxury and a violent death. Jim, so musing, and annoyed with himself because he could picture Wingate, first ardent, then amused and tolerant, and then, because he was cruelly intelligent, contemptuous, was searching among a heap of charred fragments in the grate. Someone had recently burned a number of papers. The man's eyes hardened. Had Wingate's contempt turned to such hate that he had murdered the woman he'd once loved sufficiently to challenge, for her sake, the law of every civilised country and the particular vengeance of the Cavaliers, or had she, tired of life, put an end to it? • . , Methodically, Rattiker went through every drawer and every cupboard even looking under the pillows and mattiess, but there was nothing to find. Before leaving, he reconsidered the charred remnants in the grate, and, after a short hesitation, ground them into dust. 44 I suppose you realise old fellow, remarked Langley, " that we're leaving more than enough evidence to hang us. Jim nodded.. " Has Scotland Yard got your finger-prints ?" he asked. The other chuckled and pulled himself up with a start. "I don't like leaving her like this. It's a ghastly end, he said, but Rattiker did not reply. He picked up a coverlet embroidered with butterflies and carried it to the dead woman's sofa. When he had arranged i , she. looked like a tired story-book princess bewitched into sleep. Ihe leaden lines seemed to have faded and her features were setting into the relentless beauty of death. „ /." l can't bear to cover her face, saul Jim in a hoarse whisper. " She d. resent it. She was always so—sort of fiercely a Pongo was or.lv too glad to get out of the room. He was making rapidly for tha stairs when his friend • stopped him. " What are you going to do about that vale: chap ?" * r . They stared at each other, Langley taken aback, and Jim coolly considering. The uania thought was in both their minds. To save his own skin, the man would make Ibe most of the arrival of two masked strangers who demanded to see his master's guest. He would be able to show the signs of a struggle in the hall, possibly the mark of cords on wrists and ankles.* There would lie plenty ol evidence upstairs to corroborate his story. " We're in the deuce of a mess, said Pongo. «„T I " Urn," reflected Rattiker. "How much d'you suppose that fellow'll dare to tell i Suppose he knew what was happening upstairs,, d'you think he'd dare risk the P °Langley shrugged his shoulders. " The car'll take a j)it o' tracing. Standard size and new." • Jim was an older hand at, the game than the man who'd been his fag at Eton and whose services had recently been offered on the score of " positively nothin' doin' this season. Hunt in s otf and there are no birds. Anythin for a bit ot' adventure!" He reflected that, to Scotland Yard, even new tyres are as individual as hounds to their huntsman, but he said nothing. 1 In silence the two men descended .the stairs, and, at Jim's suggestion, they made a thorough search of the house from box-room to scullery, before turning off the lights. The room where thev had left the valet was still locked on the outside but, when Jim opened the door, a blast of cold air met them. The window was wide open, and there was no sign of the prisoner. With a hearty oath, Langley picked up the scattered bits of cord. The ends were clean cut as if they d been severed with a knife. " That lets us out," remarked Rattiker with a smile. (To be continued daily.)