THE SPOTTED OUNCE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20947, 10 August 1931, Page 15

THE SPOTTED OUNCE.

By JOHN H. VAHEY.

(COPT RIGHT.)

A FASCINATING STORY OF ROMANCE, MYSTERY AND EXCITEMENT.

SYNOPSIS. The Spotted Ounca was built-in Elisabeth's time, and is on the banks of the River Hanger, and stands on the estate of Mr, Mounsey Carey. One morning Mounsey and his wile were discussing the :nn and its fortunes, and the tenant, John Hodd, whom Mounsey suepects of poaching on their gaine preserves. .Norma was a daughter of one Eolleson, a millionaire. Her brother, George., inclined to be wild, had run nway and joined a ship and had since died from a blow on the head. Norma had married Mounsey a year later, after her brother's death, and _ was a rich woman. One a visitor named Dr. "Walther arrived at the Spotted Ounce for a few days. Carey thinks Ivor ma is looking seedy, and tries to persuade her to have a holiday. Norma, however, declares she is well, but to please her husband groes to town for a day and n nipht,. ostensibly to stay with her friend. Fay Can son, but actually she put up at a quiet hotel in the West End. and er>_e.nt the claylight hours in a hired car. She was looking for a certain Dr. "Walther, though his name was not in the directory, or even a medical reference book. Meantime. Mounsey at home is worried about poachers cm his preserves. One morning Mrs. Carey, after returning home, visited the vicinity of- the Spotted Ounce and has a chat with Mary, one of the maids, who says that business is quiet, and she mentions Dr. Walther's name. CHAPTER ll.—(Continued). Norma smiled and turned away. She seemed undecided for a moment whether to go on to the village, or return over the broken causeway of the old bridge. In the end she went home very thoughtful, and sat down in the library till lunch, with a volume of the encyclopedia, to read an article on " Second Sight." She was originally neither superstitious nor credulous, but of late she had taken to reading articles on this subject, and wondering if there was anything behind the claim to foresee events or to look forward into the future, and she was still vaguely disturbed.

Her husband was the last man in the world to whom she would have applied for a ruling on this debatable theme, but his healthy scepticism that, morning had braced her a little. What could dreams mean after all? Most of them were so inconsecutive and disordered that the occurrence of one bearing some resemblance to reality was perhaps apt to make a stronger impression than was warranted. " I expect I am hipped, and that accounts for it," she told herself as ishe replaced the volume in the shelves. " It's silly making a mountain of a molehill."

She hated herself for her errand that morning. But ever since she had paid that furtive visit to Dr. Walther, she had been afraid that it might come to her husband's ears. Not that Mounsey -would be suspicious, for he was not that type of man. But inevitably he would ask questions which she would not want to answer. Then there was John Hodd. She admitted that she did not like the man very much. She would dislike the situation still more if he was really the unscrupulous fellow Mounsey thought him. He had been most polite and respectful that evening when she had gone to the Spotted Ounce, but she hoped that he did not recognise the necessity she had felt to conceal the visit from her husband. By this time he had probably forgotten it. If Mounsey had heard, he would have spoken of it before. "I'll be glad to get away," .Norma said to herself as she went in to lunch. " The whole thing will blow away." When Mounsey came home to tea he looked particularly cheerful. "I think I've* got the blighter!" he said as he sat down, ' and by the met est accident." • She started- " Got whom, darling " " Hodd, of course. I was c-n the point of leaving, when who should come up but old Appleby from Gareham._ He s lost pheasant eggs like biases this was going in off the deep end about it. But it appears his keeper was on the track, did a spot of Sherlocking on his own. and traced the little plotNorma bit her lip. " Not to Hodd ?" <c No, but near enough. The is Hodd's cousin, and Appleby says the two are thick as thieves. As soon as I finished my tea. I'm going to raise Cam with oar friend below." Norma shrusged. "My dear, I sbouldn t rush it. The pheasants' eggs must have been stolen at least two months ago. You've given Hodd _ a warning, and I should "wait to see if the thing stops—as a matter of fact," she added, emilins, •• J -want you to drive me over after tea to Matcham." "Can't that wait?" he asked, anxious to follow up his triumph. "Not so well as _ Hodd," she replied. " I must get something." lie considered, as he sipped bis tea. and she glanced .at him covertly. If he was going to drive Hodd into a corner, Hodd might turn ugly and mention something she" wanted forgotten. febe was relieved when her husband looked at her and nodded. _ _ , " Bight! I'll give it a miss to-day. I>ik. why didn't vou tell ine you wanted something. I came through Matcham home." "Because, darling, yon have liked to buy what I wanted," said Norma smiling. Mounsey Carey never let anything wait very long. He was one of those energetic men who often insist on doing to- i day what had better be put off until j the morrow. But, having given way j about that afternoon, he was up and dressed while his wife was still asleep, and going with his quick, buoyant stride across the park. , , . Norma came down to break] ast at nine, to find Mounsey gone. She bit her hp when she was told that her husband had gone over the Spotted Ounce at eight, but she did not, wait breakfast for him, which was just as well. At ten he turned up, excited and breathless, and for one anxious moment she thought he had rowed Hodd, and heard of her visit to Dr. Walther. But Mounsey, though he looked at her cunously for a moment T\hen he came in, was hot <>n another subject.

" When you talked about a premonition the other day, I wonder what it was, old girl," he said. '* Not about a. death, eh V She turned Tory pale, then recovered herself, and forced a smile. '' Certainly not a death, Mounsev. Why ?" He shrugged. " Because there's been one. Yon remember I told you about a one-eyed fella staying there that I didn't exactly cotton to?' 1

" Of course." " Well, it appears he's huffed himself

out." . " What do yon mean 1 Killed himself ?" ' , , " Absolutely. Seems to have had a pistol, and shot himself through the head." " How terrible!" "A messy business. I'm afraid. I'ou know I got/ down early, meaning to tell off our friend Hodd. When I got there, there was a dickens of a rumpus. Hodd was bouncing about as if bereft, the women were mostly in hysterics, and the constable measuring up everything ixj sight. They asked me to stay until the doctor came." t . Norma drew a deep breath. ' Did yon see him ?" " Yes. But yon didn't need a doctor to know what was up. I had a look at the poor devil myself. He seems to have sat down in a chair near the window, and done the job. The inquest will be to-morrow if that can be fixed up, and will be an easy affair.'' She nodded. " Did the maids lenow he- had a pistol ?" "No. But there it was all right, an automatic of a stumpy kind. Hodd says

his name was William Turner, but that s ajl he knows about him. The police, of course, will go through what he has, and see." Norma looked rather distressed. _ " 1 saw Mary yesterday, and she said he had lost an eye in the war. Perhaps ii preyed on the poor man's mind I wonder if be is married." " I hope not." said Mounsey. setting to on his breakfast with appetite undiminished by the tragedy. " Hodd said he wrote asking for a room, and giving an address in Carshalton or Croydon. He didn't talk much to him, and certainly never mentioned a wife." "it would have been dreadful if he had had one," she murmured. " You will go down, of course ?" " I expect I shall be foreman of the jury," said Mounsey. " 'Tisn't often the* foreman knows beforehand the verdict to bring in." He smiled, saw how pale she was, and added hastily, " Sorry, old thing! I shouldn't have sprung this local horror on you when you aren't at your best. We'll cut it out now." " You still insist., Mounsey, that 1 " 'Course I do. You're looking like a ghost now. Tell you what it is, young woman. You cut along and write to Cook's now about that world trip. Can't do it too soon, if you want good cabins." "But what about dates?" she asked. " Ask 'em to send you particulars of all the tours and all the dates of sailing, and well go into it when I come back." " Are you going out again?" " Yes, worse luck. I promised I would run over to see the coroner. But there I am again! Sorry!" " I'm not so delicate as all that comes to," said Norma, as she got up. " E>on't argue with your lawful husband," said he, grinning. " Take your pen and write i" CHAPTER IH. Mounsey had been gone half an hour, and Norma was addressing a letter in the library, when Mr. Marcey was announced. Norma started when she heard the name, and turned to see her visitor enter, with a smile of apology on his heavy face. " Mounsey has just gone over to see the coroner, Mr. Marcey," she told him, when they had exchanged greetings. I suppose you wanted to see him." Marcey, a friend of Carey's, was chief constable for the county, a kinsman of the Marceys of Killv Castle, and one of the best shots for 20 miles about. He was six feet in height, a burly man, with an ugly face, relieved by a cheerful smile. " I heard," said Norma, looking down. "It does seem terrible. I don't think anything is known of the poor fellow — except that he is called Turner, and lost an eye in the war." He shrugged. "We don't even know that." She stared at him, then went across the room and returned with a box of cigarettes. "Do smoke," she said., and Marcey nodded. " But this is very strange. You don't even know it?'" " Can't be sure," he said, lighting op and staring at her. She sat down again. She was interested and puzzled. " I wish you would tell ms exactly what that means." There was a momentary pause, while Marcey puffed. He raised his eyebrows, while seeming to ruminate. " The fact' is. Sirs. Carey, that his linen belies him," he said. " It's marked with the initials * G.Pi.' That's really what I wanted to see Mounsey about. I don't know that _we can hold an inquest to-morrow on Vvilliam Turner, when that may be an alias." She was interested now. " How extraordinary! What are yon doing about it?" Marcey told her. "Well, we've wired Scotland' Yard to know if they have any record of the man, and we ve sent up his finger-prints. Then we are sending out an'"S.O.S. from London on the wireless to try to get hold oi next-of-kin. Anybody knowing a man, called by some name beginning with E., who is away in the country fishing."

"Do you think he is a criminal?" He shook his head. " No, I don't. I mean he doesn't look a criminal type, and there may be a dozen reasons for changing a name."

Though he was chief constable, Norma did not think Sir. Marcey was the man to ferret out a crime. He was slow and heavy; social influence had gone to tiie making of that appointment. An educated man, and a good sportsman, he was not 'particularly intelligent. " i suppose you have taken possession of his papers?" she said. " Absolutely. They are not. illuminating, but then a fellow wouldn't carry much about with him going fishing."

" And he really shot himself ?" *' Had two tries at it The automatic had two empty in it. Seems to have sat down with his back to the window, and fired. Rather odd, that "

Norma nodded. " You mean sitting down at the window ?" " Yes. One shot must have gone wide. We can't trace the bullet. T other did the trick, poor chap." Norma looked surprised. " But surely a man who shot himself wouldn't miss like that?" Marcey knocked the _ ash off his cigarette. " Well, he did."

" Can you tell -" " Absolutely. His door was locked, the gun was there, and there were powdermarks and burning on his face. That shows the close quarters, of course. " I see. The window was open, too. " Rather. It was the dickens of a hot night. I could hardly sleep myself. The doctor thinks he was dead about twelve. Confounded nuisance this eleventh hour hitch about the name. But once we get that squared up it won't take long to finish the inquest. I had an invitation to shoot Brown's flappers to-day and tomorrow," he added, with a disappointed

air. Norma was faintly amused by his characteristic disappointment. Duck-shooting was really more to him than investigation. " But are you needed .' she asKeu. " Shouldn't be if this quirk about the name hadn't come in. If there is anything fishy about the fellow, I have to see. about it." He rose, and Norma held out her hand. " Won't Vou stay to lunch 1 Or must you go?" , TT ... , He obviouslv wavered. He liked Norma, and be'liked the cooking at Care Hanger House. _ _ . "Awfully good of you, but I don t think I ought to. Unless "he looked more hopeful. "I might t get through to Mounsey on your 'phone. ' " Do," said Norma. "I expect he 11 be back for lunch, anyway." While Mr. Marcey was telephoning to Mounsey Sergeant Dives, of the local police, "W-as examining the roorn_ at the Spotted Ounce in which the visitor had been found dead. _ Dives was & xnnn Willi 3.muitiOGS * 1)0$ altogether a fool; but certainly no genius. When he had first arrived on the scene he had recognised regretfully that fate had baulked him of a murder which might have made his name. Your most _ ambitious policeman can do nothing with_ a suicide; he can only make a fuss about it. But even a fuss in the country may bring your name into prominence, and make your superiors wonder how far you might not have gone had the suicide been a murder! (To be continued daily.)