MYSTERIOUS MR. MALLAFORD.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21112, 20 February 1932, Page 12 (Supplement)

MYSTERIOUS MR. MALLAFORD.

' SYNOPSIS. A "woman named Susan Wheeler is fonnrl by Charles Leicester, murdered in a. wood behind his garden. Leicester rushes to Mallaford Court, nearby, and meets a group of people there, 0110 of which was the housekeeper. Leicester explains the position stating he wants to make uso of the telephono to call for the police. When the police arrive they recognise the woman as Miss Wheeler, a masseuse, who has been sent down from London to attend to Mr. Mallaford who suffers with neuritis. As the woman was known to be wearing jewelleiy which has disappeared, it is considered tho criminal stole the jewellory and thou murdered her. A young man named Ayrton, a poacher, is questioned. The point arises ■why did Susan Wheeler go into tho wood if she was known to have left for Box llill station to catch a train. CHAPTER ll.—(Continued.) I fonnd it impossible to work with all this fuss and commotion going on 111 such tlose proximity, and instead of attempting it, I turned to a consideration of ,what was apparently the problem in this case. And I put it in this way: Susan [Wheeler, a professional masseuse, is sent down by a London doctor to try the effect of massage on Mr. Mallaford, of Mallaford Court. Sho arrives at Mallaford Court early in tho evening; she exercises her skill 011 Mr. Mallaford s arm, or shoulder, and Mr. Mallaford presents her with a £5 note, for her services. She leaves his house about 7.45 to walk to a station at which she wishes to catch a train back to London at 8.19. But sho never reaches that station; instead, her dead body is found in a little clearing in the wood beneath Mallaforcr Court, and at, the side of the lane leading from the Court entrance gates, next morning, when she has apparently been dead several hours; according to medical opinion, since about eight or nine o'clock the previous evening. There are 110 signs of struggle. She has been robbed of everything of any value —but the robbery must, havo been effected after death. And death had been brought about by a particularly brutal manifestation of strength on the part of the murderer, and it was quite evident, all things being considered, that his attack upon his victim had been as sudden as it was determined arid ferocious. It. seemed to me that certain deductions could—or must—be drawn from all this. First of all, Susan Wheeler met somebody as she descended the lane from the entrance gates of Mallaford Court. She accompanied that somebody into tho •wood, probably through the gap in tho hedge by which, next morning, the police and the doctor made their way toward the spot where her dead body had been found. And second, sho went into the wood of her own free will; there was nothing to show that she was forced in, dragged in, carried in. And thirdly, and most-Important of all, these things were proof that she knew the somebody, had no fear of the somebody, and went into the wood with the somebody to have a quiet, uninterrupted talk. So now [Who met Susan Wheeler as she walked down the lane with her £5 note in her pocket, her gokf watch-and chain intact, her little other valuables in their place, no other thought in her mind than a desire to catch the 8.19 and get home to London? Who? Once more, somebody whom she knew. It seemed to me that there could be no doubt on that point. Susan Wheeler, a professional nurse, a middle-aged spinster, evidently a highly-respectable woman, and one of more than average common eense, would not have gone into that with a tramp, a loafer, a stranger, on any pretext. It might be objected to this that she might have been lured into it by some scoundrel on the plea that a mate was lying ill or hurt; I did not consider that likely; the more I thought over the whole affair, the more thoroughly I was convinced that when Susan "Wheeler left Mallaford Court she met somebody whom she knew, went into the wood with him, and was murdered by him. So now came up another question —why ? It is scarcely necessary to say that I, personally, had no belief whatever in the police theory—that Susan Wheeler was murdered for the sake of robbery. I considered the robbery which had undoubtedly taken place -to be a piece of bluff, carried out by the murderer for tho express purpose of deceiving the police. But I took good care not to say so to not even to Lobbitt. Popular opinion appeared to be on the side of the police, and the police put forward this theory unmistakably when the coroner's inquest was opened ; the official ■who had made such elaborate notes in his book in the wood told me, as I chatted with him a little before tho coroner took his seat, that they were certain of its truth, and that they were combing out common lodging houses and their like. in all the neighbouring small towns in the expectancy of laying hands on the murderer. A common, brutal, sordid murder, this, in his opinion—done for the sake of gain. 1 liat there might be a deep-seated mystery behind it never seemed to have entered his head. There was nothing of (he unusual at the opening of the inquest; it was, indeed, a merely formal business, speedily adjourned for a fortnight. I fhmk tho people who crowded to it went awdy with the impression that tho police knew something and were keeping it quiet for a few d?ys. But nearly a week passed and nothing came out; even the newspapers began to relegate the Box Hill murder to tho category of the nine days' wonder. The curious and inquisitive crowds which at first had trooped past my cottage every day to stare at the scene of the murder began to thin; I saw a prospect of peace and quietness. And being by this time intent, on settling down to my book, 1 went up to town one day to fetch a mass of papers and notebooks from my old quartets there, and it was as I returned in the afternoon that, in the train from Waterloo, I had my first glimpse of a man who. subsequently, played a considerable part in the drama just beginning to unfold itself. This was a man who was the only other occupant of the smoking compartment into which I stepped at Waterloo. He was reading the afternoon paper when 1 got in; presently, when he hud it aside to fill and light' his pipe, I saw that he was rather a noticeable person to look at, having a remarkably well shaped head, a fine forehead, anrl a general expression of intellectual ability. In age he appeared to be between fifty and fifty-five; his dark crisp hair was thickly shot with grev, as was also his moustache; the hands, busied with pipe and match, were white, well shaped, artistic. Ho was altogether a man you would look at more than once and wonder about—but.'when you had looked at his face and expression and then turned to his attire, you saw that there was but one word wherewith to describe bis general appearance. He was shabby-genteel. The blue serge suit had heen well-cut and well-made, but long ago; the linen, clean enough, was badlyfrayed at the edges; the boots, carefully cleaned and polished, were patched in more places- than-one.. Yet the wearer of

By J. S. FLETCHER. Author of " Cobweb Castle," " The Wild Oat, etc.

A FINE STORY BY A FAMOUS NOVELIST.

these, things had it in mind to show somo little smartness, and in the shiny lapel of his well-brushed old jacket he sported a red rosebud. There was 110 conversation between me and this man in the train. But ho got out at my station, Box Hill, and preceded me clown the lane toward tho main road, walking in advance of me by some yards. Ho walked well and jauntily, swinging his stick, but when he came to the main road lie paused, looking uncertainly left and right, and as I neared him he turned on me with a smile and a question. " I beg your pardon, sir," he said in a rich, ingratiating voice, " but can you advise me as to the exact whereabouts of a house called Mallaford Court, the rest dence of Mr. James Mallaford?" I ga-ve him tho necessary information and directions, and he thanked mo profusely and went striding away. I watched him pass out of sight, but continued, when lie had gone, to wonder who and what 110 was, and what he wanted with Mr. James Mallaford—l have a habit, perhaps a bad one, of speculating about people. However, I did not indulge it long on this occasion, for I had 110 sooner opened my garden gate than I was confronted by Lobbitt, who was obviously bursting with news. " I suppose you've heard what's happened this afternoon, sir?" he said. " They've got him ! " "Got—who?" T asked. "Do you mean—the murderer?" "That's it. sir!" lie answered. "Ayrton! They took him at three o'clock—at, bis cottage. And they do say they've got full evidence! " CHAPTER 111. HELP ! As a newcomer to the neighbourhood T knew nothing of Ayrton beyond what Lobbitt and his wife had already told me, and I was accordingly in 110 condition to be either surprised or affected by this announcement. All T wondered at was the secrecy with which the polico had worked. " What is the evidence?" I inquired. " Ah, nobody knows that, sir. but the police l ," replied Lobbitt/, with a sly laugh. " But according to the hints they'vo thrown out, they've got quite plenty to hang him. It's Birchill, of course, sit- —IBirchill's been trying to get his knife into Ayrton for many a year! " I suppose they have made somo discovery," T suggested. "lou haven t heard anything ? "Nothing, sir, except that they took him this afternoon," said Lohhitt. "He s !o be brought up before the magistrate to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock. What they'vo got, against liim'll come out then, sir." I went to the local po.'ice court next morning out of sheer curiosity. The place was packed, .and I had some difficulty in finding a seat. But one of the principal police officials saw me and removes me to a better position than that into which I had managed to squeeze myself; from it I had a good view of the dock. Before the accused man was ushered into it, however, my attention was taken by another man—the man with whom I bad travelled from Waterloo to Box Hill the previous afternoon, and who had subsequently asked me the way to Mallaford Court. He had evidently put in an early appearance at the police court, for there 'he sat in the front row of spectators, in a good place, where he could hear and see everything. And just after I had taken my own place be rose, craning his neck as if to look for somebody or something at the back of the court, and I then noticed a remarkable change in his appearance. The well-worn but scrupulously brushed blue serge suit of yesterday was 110 longer on him; instead, he now wore a summer-like suit of a very pronounced check, a little loud in tone, but perhaps not too much so for a biggish man. There was something about that suit that struck a chord of memory in me—l had either seen it, or seen its exact, like before, and not very long ago. Suddenly I remembered —Mr. .Tames Mallaford had .worn a suit exactly like that when I fetched him to the dead body of Susan Wheeler! Was this the same suit ? —and if so, who was this man who had borrowed it— who looked very smart and consequential in it, and in the linen and neckwear which went, with it. and whom I had seen only a few hours before in garments which, though unmistakably once good, had become very age-worn and shabby? Ayrton came into the dock. I had never seen him before, but as soon as I set eyes on him I felt, instinctively, that he was not a murderer. He was a big, well-built man, of athletic appearance, probably between fifty and sixty years of age, decently dressed, and having about him that somewhat indefinable look which one associates with sport. He pleaded bis denial of the formal charge firmly and with a decided note of indignation; it was clear that for some reason or other he felt himself a deeply wronged man. And yet. when the very brief proceedings, prior to a remand, were over, it was evident that the police had been fully justified in making this arrest. For what came out in these five minutes was this—Birchill had contrived, during Ayrton's frequent absence from bis cottage, to make certain investigations, and he had made two damning discoveries. In a certain hole under tho eaves of an outhouse in Ayrton's garden he had found Susan Wheeler's gold watch and chain, and in the lining of an old coat, of Ayrton's, hanging up i i the outhouse itself, he had discovered tlie £5 note which Mr. Mallaford had given her for her professional services. As soon as I heard this an idea struck me—had Ayrton fonnd the woman dead and possessed himself of her valuablesßut a minute later I heard that Ayrton, invited by the police to explain his possession of these things, had stoutly and indignantly denied all knowledge of them, and had gone so far as to declare his fixed belief that they had been planted on his property by the police themselves! Ayrton had the services of a wellknown local solicitor, who, consenting lo the remand, made a strong assertion of his client's utter innocence, and added that there was a greater element of mvstery in this case than the police were willing to admit. This man came after mo as I left the court and tapped my shoulder. "Mr. Leicester?" lie asked. ' Pardon , n „ hut—the fact is, my client wants to see you, if you'll be so good as to give him a, few minutes." r stared mv surprise at him. "Your client?" I exclaimed. " Ayrton ?" tt " Exactly!" he replied. 'Ayrton! He wants very much to see you. And I ve got the necessary permission^for you to see him before he's removed. "But—why?" I asked. " I don't know linn—never seen him before this morning." . . . . He laughed slyly, giving me a significant look. " Aren't you a well known cricketer. •Mr. Leicester?" lie said. " f think I ve seen some of your performances—and heard of a good manv more." " Well V I said. " But what—" " Avrton's an old cricketer," jib went, on. " He was well-known once." f let my mind go back to what, it knew of cricket history—learned, of. course, from much study of \\ isden. " Not the Ayrton who used to pl»v for Oakshire?" 1 exclaimed suddenly. "The professional ?" " Same man! Ned Ayrton was one of the. best all-round professionals of his time—up to twenty years ago," he replied. " He's —well, come down in the world, Mr. Leicester. And look here! I believe lie's as innocent of this charge as I am. But the police have a strong case, as you've probably gathered." "All right!" I said. "Of course I'll see him. Where?" " Come this way," be replied. " I've arranged it—T. felt sure you'd agree. There'll be a policeman present, but I don't think that'll matter." He led me back to the police station and to a room in the rear in which .we

(COPYMGHT.)

found Ayr ton in the company of a couple of policemen, who, at sight of us, were thoughtful enough to remove to the other side of the apartment; they had been complaisant, also, in letting their prisoner light his pipe. At sight of mo his face lighted up; I might have been an old friend. " I'm very much obliged to you, sir. for your kindness in coming to speak t<> me/' he said. " I felt sure you would, sir—mo being an old cricketer." ' " I'm sorry to see you in• this fix. Ayrton," 1 said. " But what can I do for vou ?" "1 thought, sir, that you could maybe get other gentlemen that's known me as a cricketer to interest themselves, sir, he answered. " There's —" he went 011 to mention several names, " they d not willingly sen mo treated like this on a falso charge, I'm sure. For false it is. gentlemen ! —as falso as can be. Whatever else I may be —and it's a fact that though tho polico havo their knife into me for some reason or other Ivd never been up before the magistrate till this morning 011 any charge—whatever else T may be, I say. I'm not the sort, to murder a poor woman, or to rob one, either! Those things they found, gentlemen, were planted 011 1110!—011 purpose. That Birchill—" " [ wouldn't mention any Ayrton," interrupted the solicitor. " I hat II do no good. Tell Mr. Leicester what hu can do for you." _ " J've said it, sir! Oct some influential gentlemen to take up my case, for it s a cruel one! I'm as innocent as a child of this charge, gentlemen! On the night that woman was murdered I was at homo in inv cottage from six o'clock to seven o'clock next, morning! J never set foot outside it!" " Tho devil of it is," whispered the solicitor to me, " that lie's nothing to prove that- lint J believe him all the same." I believed Ayrton, too; I couldn t tell why, but I had a profound conviction that'the man was telling us the absolute truth, and was innocent of all guilt ic respect of the charges against him. And after telling him that I would do what £ could for him, 1 went away, and the solicitor went with me. Outside the police station we paused and looked at each other. He was a youngish man, but his general air was already that of a cynic. " This is a nice business, Mr. Lri cester!" he said. " I believe that chap s utterly and entirely innocent! But—(here's the dead woman s property found hidden on his premises!" " Yes," said I. " Who put. if there. "Aye!" he exclaimed. "Precisely! Who" put it- there? But if I could answer (hat question. Mr. Leicester—well, 1 don t think Ned Ayrt-on would be locked up manv more hours! Of course, ho continued, " you can see for yourself what all this means?" . " Vou mean," said I, " what it all means if what Ayrton savs is tho absolute truth ?" ... " Exactly!" he answered. 'That is just what I mean." • " Well," I continued, " it seems to me that it means that the actual murderer of Susan W heeler is such a damned coldblooded scoundrel that he's prepared to sacrifice an innocent man's life to shield his own!" "That's it!" he agreed. Double murder! Do you know what my idea is . This —I think Susan Wheeler was done away with by somebody to whom her existence —the mere fact of her existence was a danger, and that that somebody, to divert attention from himself, planted tho watch, chain, and £5 note 011 poor Ayrton ! Granted that, Ayrton's protestations are sincere—and as I've said before, I believe they are—l don't see that I could have any other theory." _ . " The thing, then," said I, is—who is the somebody ? Have you any suspicion ?" He gave me a sharp look that meant a good deal. " If I had any suspicion of anybody, at present," he answered, " I shouldn't say anything about it —to anyone. I say—at present, I shall wait —and watch. And you—what will you do ?" " I'll do what I can for Ayrton, as I promised," I replied. " What it 11 be I can't say. I've 110 doubt that ample funds can be raised for his defence. But that's not quite all. What I, personally, want to know is—who killed Susan Wheeler and why?" . "Big orders!" he said with another cynical smile. " Well —they say murder will out, so I suppose your desire for knowledgo may bo gratified. But don t forget that there's a damned black case against Ayrton, on the surface. " No," said I. " And don't you forget, either, that the murderer is probably a person possessed of a great many advantages, in addition to being deep, cunning, resourceful, and secret! In plain words " " Something out of the ordinary, he interrupted, as&ho waved his hand and turned away. " All right, Mr. Leicester —do what you can." After due reflection that evening it seemed to 1110 that the best way of beginning to carry out my promise to help Ayrton was to consult my own solicitor, and for (hat purpose I went up to town next morning and laid the whole matter before him. Ho listened carefully to everything in his most judicial manner and then put the very question I had expected. " You really believe what this man Ayrton says—that he's absolutely and entirely innocent of the charge of murder and knew nothing of the presence of tho dead woman's valuables in his outhouse?" lie asked. " You don't doubt his protestations?" " Frankly. I believe the man's perfectly truthful and honest," I replied. "T dare say lie's a bit, of a poacher, and perhaps not over scrupulous about his neighbour's lien roosts, but I feel assured he's perfectly innocent of this business." "In that case," he replied, " you're face to face with Ihe murderer who's not only callous but clever! Any idea—any idea at, all—who he may be?" "None!" said 1. "How should I have? T want, to find out, though." lie put his hands in his pockets as he stood 011 his hearthrug regarding me with a. quiet smile, and suddenly he laughed. ' " I see that you're already keen on helping this man," lie said. " Why, now? Is it because ho was once a wellknown cricketer ?" " Partly," T admitted, "and partly because 1 think he's being unjustly suspected." " Quixotic!" lie murmured. " Well. are. you prepared to spend a bit of money on your whim 1" " I don't mind laying out a. bit."' I said. " But what have you in .mind ?" " Well." he answered, " there's a young friend of mine, a clever chap, who labels himself Expert in Criminology. He's .just started on that line; he's done one or two smart things—one of them for me. Expert in Criminology sounds very fine- I, if 1 were doing what he's doiyg and wants to do, should call myself Private Enquiry Agent or Private Detective. But that isn't high-sounding enough for young gentlemen of the kidney of this boy. Still —he's clever, damned clever! 1 think I'd better send him down to you." " Why not let me call on him—now ?" ,1 suggested. " No," lie said. " Fll send him down tomorrow. He'll want to see the placo —the scone of the murder, tho surroundings. Will you be at home to morrow afternoon—say about five o'clock ?" " I shall!" said I. " Very good." he concluded," then expect Mr. Leslie Gray—that's the youngster's name. Leicester. And be prepared to put him up for the uight." Leslie Gray turned up at St cine Cottage. on the following afternoon, half-nn-hour in advance of his time. I found him in my study. He was lolling in tho most comfortable"of my two big chairs, and was so deep in a book—poetry—which lie had picked up that he did not hoar me enter. I stood and stared at him in amazement. Anything less like a criminal expert I had never come across! (To b© continued on Saturday next.)