THE SPOTTED OUNCE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20958, 22 August 1931, Page 14 (Supplement)

THE SPOTTED OUNCE.

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued.) Since lie did not wish Dr. Walther's name to be mentioned in connection with the case, he heard her reference to the earlier visitor to the inn, with indifference. " That was months before," he said. What I want to hear about is the night of the suicide. Did you hear a shot, or shots fired ? " She shook her head, " None at all. But I sleep heavy." " I suppose it was your duty to clean this room where Mr. Italph slept?" he asked. ".Yes, when—l mean before he did himself in," she agreed. " Could you describe it to me in detail do you think ? " he aske.d. " I could tell you what was in it," if that's what you mean." " Yes, that's it. Carry on." She reflected for a moment, and then began to describe the simple furniture of the room as she had last seen it. He listened until she had finished, and then asked her if the walls were bare.

"No, silly!" she said, laughing. " There wore pictures, of course." "What kind of pictures?" he asked. She told him at once, and, in telling hirn, disclosed an incapacity for the most rudimentary intelligence. She knew apparently that the smaller picture, depicting a hunting scene, had been hung on the front wall in a line with the window, and she had no doubt heard the evidence with regard to the picture scarred by the bullet. But it had not occurred to her that the pictures had changed places since she had cleaned the room on the day prior to Ralph's death. Hast gave her the ten-shilling note he had promised her, and went off. He had been careful not to suggest the positions of the pictures as he had found them, and consequently her evidence was proof that the bullet-scarred one had hung originally on the wall facing the window. " There is something fishy, although Ralph and Rolleson may have been the same man," said Hast as he went back to his office. " I'll swear he never shot himself anyway! " At the office he found a note left for him by Thomas. His assistant had not been able to trace anyone of the name of Walther at Ealing. It would be a long job in any case. He had visited various places where letters could be directed for a small fee, but had drawn blank in nil of them. He had been about to call on Inspector Fane to make inquiries, when he had received the wire calling him off. He was about to start for Croydon, where lie hoped to get some information about Mrs. Ralph and her friends. He would report every evening. Mrs. Ralph was a problem to Hast. Sho had impressed him favourably by her frank answers to his questions. She looked, he told himself, not only pretty and appealing, but honest. Still there was something fishy in the affair, and she was obviously the one who would benefit most from Ralph's removal. In criminal cases first impressions must not be allowed to count.

He saw Inspector Fane, of the C.1.D., foreign section; that day. The inspector was always helpful, a.na Hast was or>» of the few outsiders who realised the extraordinary value of Scotland Yard, and did not cherish the absurd delusion that, it was a museum for second-rate brains.

" Don't forget that you may be dealing with a British subject, Mr. Hast," he said. " I haven't come across that name in my little lot. You see, Walther may be merely Walter, with an aded H. But I'll ask "one of our men, who is not on the foreign side, to let you know if he has heard anything of the fellow." Hast had to be content with that. He turned his attention next to the task from which he had taken Thomas —the tracing of Dr. Walther to an address in Ealing. It was three days before he succeeded in discovering that the man had stayed for a short time at a boarding house in that suburb. He had not attracted much attention there. He had paid his bills promptly, and kept for the most part to the bedsitting room he had engaged. He had not mentioned his business, if he had one, and it was at first assumed that he had retired from practice, and was living on his private means. Hast, however, was able to get in touch with one of the guests; a man who was inquisitive by nature, and had once seen Walther by chance ascending the stairs in an office building in New Bond Street. He. admitted that he was curious to know what Walther was doing there, with a latch-key in his hand as he went up, and he had followed him, and seen him enter an office on the third floor. " No one seems to have taken much notice of him," said Hast to the proprietress of the boarding house, as he was leaving. " I shouldn't have remembered him either, if it hadn't been that a lady called to inquire for him after he left," the proprietress said, curiously. " I suppose you are not her husband ? " Hast shook his head. " No, I can assure you of that. May I ask what she was like ? It may have been a friend of mine, who was also anxious to see Mr. Walther."

She told him at once, and there was little doubt in his mind that the woman was describing Mrs. Carey. " You're not police, are you ?" she added suspiciously.. "No. Mr. Walther owes me something, that's all," he replied, and got away before sho could ask' him for further details.

He took a taxi to New Bond Street, and as ho drove he felt at once triumphant and worried. If Mrs. Carey had called on the man, then the man was linked tip in some -way with the case. For she had given the impression that the Dr. Walther of the inn was not a friend, only a man she had thought was a friend. Then why take the trouble to follow him to Ealing? Ho debated seriously the question of seeing Mrs. Carey, and asking her bluntly For an explanation of her strange conduct. He decided finally against it. He was paid by her husband to examine the claim put forward by the Public Trustee, not to harrass Mrs. Carey, or elicit facts which might be damaging to her or her husband. It was true that Norma Carey had said he was to go thoroughly into'the case, but that certainly did not mean that she would not resent questioning, which plainly suggested that sho knew more about the tragedy than sho had admitted. He visited the office which had formerly been occupied by Walther. It had now been taken by a furrier's agent, who knew nothing of the former tenant's activities. But inquiries in other offices in the building elicited some curious facts. No one knew Walther's occupation. He had taken the office for three weeks, but was rarely there. The agpnts had been glad to let the unoccupied office for that short period, since the temporary tenant had paid sixty pounds down. On three occasions fashionably-dressed women had come to the office, and tried to see Mr. Walther. But none of them succeeded in finding him at homo, and most of them had called at other offices, to ask if it was known when Mr. Walther was likely to be back. " Which was funny," said an officeboy, who supplied Hast with part of this information. " I bet he was in once or twice, but wouldn't open. Perhaps- lie was a bigamist! That's what some of us fellers thought." • "And pursued by his wives?" said Hast, laughing. " I suppose 110 one knows where he went after he left hero?" The boy shook his head. " I never heard where. The agents who let it might have heard." But tin agents, whom Hast next visited, did not know. They had a faint recollection of the man saying he was going to live in the Highlands, but were , not definite about it. That evening Thomas came to town from Croydon and saw Hast at his rooms. He was fairly cheerful, and not unhopeful of oventuaUy getting some information of use in the case.

(COPYRIGHT.)

By JOHN H. VAHEY. A FASCINATING STORY OF ROMANCE, MYSTERY AND EXCITEMENT.

" I went down there as a chauffeur, sir," he said, as he joined Hast in a cup of tea. " I found that servant girl, all right." "Mrs. Ralph's?" " Yes. I've taken her to the pictures, and I have an idea that she will be valuable later. I pumped her a bit about Mrs. Ralph's friends, but all I have yet is meagre. Sho is very friendly with a Mr. and Mrs. Withers, and then she has a friend called Miss Dole. Withers is a solicitor, and a decent sort apparently arid JSliss Dole is the daughter of a retired vicar. There is nothing suspicious in either of them." " Does any man ever come to the house?" " The girl says not. She has been there ten months, and never saw a male visitor, except one. I gather that to have been you. She has Oh, wait a moment, there was, of course, an official from the Public Trustee, and she has been into town a good many times to see him. The girl has heard ail about this claim, of course, and is all agog. I pretended not to be interested." llast considered. "It may be a more difficult job to get information about letters coming to the house. I don't want to trouble the Post Office if I can help it. But it would be useful if we knew had Mrs. Ralph any correspondents. _We can't afford to assume that sho is innocent, until we have more proof of it. If she isn't, then she has a confederate, perhaps this man Walther —By jove!" he added suddenlv. " that's an idea." "What, sir?" Hast got up, and went over to a drawer, from which he took sovne newspapers fastened together with a clip. " Here's the full account, from the local paper (the London ones didn't give every detail), and it mentions the marriage certificate Mrs. Ralph produced at the inquest. Let me see." He searched in the newspaper account, and presently paused with one finger on a line. " Ah, hero wo are, Thomas — " Nancy, daughter of Henry Renter." No one seems to have inquired affectionately after Henry, by the way. He may be dead, or course, though, from this, we may gather that he was not ' the late Henry Renter ' at the time of the marriage." " If he is alive, he probably writes to his daughter," said Thomas, thoughtfully. " I'll see if I can find out anything about that."

On the following day, Hast heard from Mounsoy Carey. He wrote that he had had an interview with a high official in the office of the Public Trustee. He and his wife were afraid that in the end they would have to admit the claim. It would be a serious business for them, ■j-itice most of the money Mrs. Carey had inherited from her father had been invested in land, and improvements on the estate. With land at its present low value, there would be heavy losses in realising. That, of course, would have to be faced. The Public Trustee had gone to a great deal of trouble to trace George Rolleston, and everything seemed to point to the fact that the man had not been killed in Afria, as reported, but had gone to America, and later married Miss Nancy Renter, now known as Mrs. Ralph. Ho added that,, speaking for himself, and nob his wife, he would be glad to know if a murderer could inherit. Was there not some legal bar against it, on the ground that it was contrary to public morality ? Would Hast advise him to oppose the claim on those grounds ? llast wrote to him at once, reminding him that there was no definite proof that George Rolleston had killed anyone, that he had not been tried or convicted on a charge of murder, and could not therefore be legally styled a murderer. The facts seemed to hint that he had been one of (he two men- in that hut up the Limpopo, he added; but hints were of no value in Jaw.

During the next two days, he was very busy, trying to traco further activities of the man who had called himself Dr. Walther, and had no further reports from Thomas, who was still at Croydon. The third day he was sitting in his office, studying a resume of the case which he had drawn up the previous evening, when Thomas came in, smiling. " I think I have some news for you, sir," he said. " The girl tells me a letter came first post." Hast nodded. " Sit down. What makes this letter important." " Well, it came from abroad," replied his assistant. "It struck me that Walther was a foreign-sounding name too.''

" If the man's name is really that," Hast agreed. " Well, where did it come from ?"

" She says Broogs, and I take that to be Bruges, sir. Anyway, it came from Belgium." Hast nodded again. " I suppose that is the first letter Mrs. Ralph has had from Bruges?" " No; it seems she gets one every month. The girl remembered that, when I asked her. Is it any good, sir?" "It may be. It shows us that she has a regular correspondent there. See if you can get any more details about that letter. But you must be careful, or the girl may suspect something, and tell her mistress." Thomas shook his head. " I'm afraid we won't hear what it was about. I chaffed the girl, saying perhaps her mistress was going to marry, and live abroad, and she would bo out of a place. She said it wasn't from anyone Mrs. Ralph particularly cared about, for she saw lier throw the letter in the fire when she had read it."

Hast frowned. " That is rather interesting. Sho may have burned it for another reason than that. I suppose there wasn't the name of a hotel or pension on the back of the envelope that would help us to traco tho man or woman who wrote it?" "I think she would have told me if there had been."

Hast sat thinking for a little while, then he dismissed Thomas, telling him to carry on the good work for a short time longer. " I may run over to Bruges, and look about," he added. " But report here by letter. Don't come in, in cas© I may be away." When Thomas had gone, Hast looked up the connections. There was a train about ten o'clock which would enable him to catch the afternoon boat from Dover to Ostend, and ho would reach Bruges about five. After cogitating a little, he wired to the Hotel Brugeois in tho Rue Sud du Sablon, and asked them to reserve a room for him for three days. Ho had stayed there once for a night, when investigating tho case of a runaway financier, and had a good map of the town, which he studied carefully that afternoon.

The more ho thought it over, Hie more certain he felt that Mrs. Ralph's confedaratc, or follow conspirator, had gone to ground abroad. Bruges, while it has a British colony, is not a very large town. Also all foreign residents have to register with the police, arid those who belong to 1 he hotel and pension class of resident have their names in the books of their several hostelries. To the visitor, this foreign red-tape is nn unmitigated bore; but to the detective, who is looking for a suspect abroad, the-system has its advantages. Before he went to bed that night, he had visited Inspector Fane, and been given the name of a Belgian police official of some note; a sort of Belgian liaison officer with the foreign section of the Yard. Armed with this, and a note of recommendation from Fane, he might find it easier to get access to the records of the Bruges police, and the register of foreign residents. His passport was in order, and lately renewed, ho had little packing to do, and next morning found him on his way to Victoria. The boat from Dover started out over a calm sea, but ran into a thick iniisf iu mid-clianneu It was raining

when they reached Ostend, and went through the formalities of the Customs. Hast declared a pound of tea in two half-pound packets. ■ He might stay more than three days, and mistrusted the Belgium fluid which had been served to him on a former visit. The rain poured down as the express rushed inland. When he reached Bruges, and walked out into the cobbled square beyond the station, the streets were awash, the mud everywhere. He climbed into the rattling bus of the Hotel Brugeois, and was driven a few hundred yards to the hotel through a positive deluge. % The cobbled streets, the old houses, the shops with their rain-splashed windows, gave the dreariest of . impressions, under the leaden ceiling of stormclouds that overhung the town. At that moment no one would have taken it for a centre that has charmed half Europe. Even the carillon that chimed out from the old belfry in the Grande Place had a weary and mournful sound, as Hast descended from the dripping bus, and dashed into the hall of his hotel. But he was cheerful enough despite the downpour. Somehow he felt that hero ho was going to get to grips with the case. CHAPTER XV. Three others occupied the bus of the Hotel Brugeois from the station—a little saturnine Belgium woman, an English lady of uncertain age, and a stolid, pros-perous-looking Englishman. When Hast had gone through the formality of registration, and left his bag in his bedroom, he ordered tea, and went down to the little smoke-room which the hotel, with a constant English clientele, had furnished in a manner they thought peculiarly British. The stolid man had just been served with tea by a waiter, as Hast sat down near him, and was sarcastically commenting on the stew-coloured fluid. " Quest que e'est que ca, garcon?" he demanded. The waiter stared. " The complet, m'sieur," he replied. The Englishman grinned. " Jfc may bo the, but it isn't tea!" ho said, and turned to Hast. "I ask you! Is this tea

Hast smiled. " What? passes for tea here," he remarked. " 1 always bring soma with me, but I haven t time to make it now." " Why the devil should we have to make it?" asked the other. ' I m fond of tea. I've stayed here before many a time, and told these blighters how to make it. But what they put in is tea-twigs! You can't make tea with long twigs, can you ?" He fished out a blackish twig from the pot and exhibited it, while the waiter, with a shrug, slipped out. Hast and the Englishman got into conversation forthwith on the strength of this national grievance. The Englishman was called Wall. He told Hast that; he was travelling for a firm of motor gadget makers. Ho spent the best part of every year in Belgium, and spoke French with the accent of a Walloon. "Is it your first visit, sir?" he asked Hast, when they had talked for a little, and Hast had made haste to finish the equally bad tea the waiter had brought to him. 'lf it is. I could show you round. I love Bruges. I'm fond of Flemish art, and there are some fine things here of Memlinc's. The only thing I can't stand is the darned carillon. Every quarter of an hour. Then the church bells on a Saints' day! Deafen you.. My hat! Don't they Yankees say 'Hell's Bells!' They'vo been here I bet. Wonder how anyone can think bells make you feel saintly!" Hast assured him that he knew something of Bruges, smoked a with him, and then announced his intention of going out before dinner. "In the mud?" said his companion. " My dear man, the place is awash. Take the English fens, put cobbles down in 'em, and you have Bruges on a wet day."

Hast smiled, and got up. " No, I don't mind. It's pretty wet where I come from, Mr. Walls." He left the room to get his coat, hat and umbrella, and then walked up the Eue Sud de Sablon, past the cathedral of Saint Saveur, across the Grand Place and so by a short street into the Place du Bourg. Here was the Hotel de. Ville. and the chief police head-quarters. As he had decided not to trouble the police yet, he entered the office where they dealt with foreign visitors and residents, and after a long wait had an interview with the official in charge. This was a short stout Fleming, who showed him every courtesy, and told Hast that he had been a refugee in England during the war. It was that Monsieur wished to trace a relative living in Bruges, was it not ? There were many of his compatriots, without doubt. But they had them all in a little book, and it was only necessary to refer to that to find what was sought. It was understood that Monsieur's relative lived there ?

The official, like so many of his race, thought it more impressive to speak French to strangers rather than the unfashionable Flemish. Hast, who spoke French well, though with an accent, replied smiling that Monsieur was very good but this man was not a relative, and it was not known at the moment if he lived in Bruges permanently, or was staying in one of the hotels.

" N'importe, m'sieur," replied the official. "It is all here. If you will permit me a moment, I shall have the registers brought, and we shall settle that little affair for you." " I am looking for a man called Renter—Henry Renter," said Hast, as the other rose.

" Then undoubtedly wo do not need the register, m'sieur," observed the stout Fleming. " The name is familiar to me. Oh, yes, absolutely. Your friend resides here, I think, for some time. He has a villa in Maria Van Bourgogne Laan—that is that you go to the Avenue Toison d'Or. You cross the pretty lake there by a path, and turn to your left. The house is a new one, on this lane which runs parallel with the canal: that short canal which joins the one going from Bruges to Ostein!. Do you know it?" " You can also get to this place bv following the road parallel with the railway," said Hast. "If so, I know it." " That is it, m'iseur," replied the other. " A moment, and I will give you the number of this villa."

Hast noted the number, thanked his informant warmly, and returned to his hotel, to find Wall with a pipe in the smoke-room, reading an old copy of the Queen. " Finished your mud splashing for the day?" ho inquired, throwing down the weekly with a gesture of relief. " Perhaps so," said Hast. " But I think the rain is going over, and thpro may be a moon. The Grand Place is fine by moonlight." " You can have it, with the bells thrown in!" said Wall, knocked out his pipe, filled it afresh, and kept Hast in conversation until' it was time for dinner Dinner over, and a peep from his window showing Hast a clearing sky, with the faint radiance of a rising moon, he put on.Jiis coat and hat, lit a cigar, and strolled out. Walking quickly ho turned down into the rue de Trouveres. crossed the rue Nord du Sablon, and proceeded along the rue de Bouchers, crossing a small canal, until he reached the Avenue Toison d'Or. To the left was the railway, ahead of him was a sort of causeway, with a narrow little lake on either side of it. He passed over this, turned left, and found himself on the road which ran parallel with the Canal de derivation, which joined that for Ostend half a mile further down.

This quarter which is beyond the ramparts, and really outside the town proper, was being extensively bnilfc upon. At the end of a row of villas, Hast came on the number given him by the official in the Bourg Pluats as ' that of Mr. Kent ei's residence. (To be continued daily.)