"NO HONOUR—"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22161, 15 July 1935, Page 17

"NO HONOUR—"

SYNOPSIS Stephen Adams and his wife. Vera, host and hostess of The Man in Green, a charming country inn. are discussing the situation that has arisen through tire action of their landlord in refusing to renew their lease. Sandymun. the landlord, a vicions old j man, is beted by the majority of the in-j habitants of Mington. an unspoiled village j in which The Man in Green is situated, and he ard Adams quarrel fiercely. Adams is further irritated by the action of two vicious-looking tramps who upset the atmosphere of the public bar, and ask to be directed to Sandyman's house, and | by two local men* Henderson and Rees. both of whom make themselves objectionable. (CHAPTER II. —Continued) Stephen, far from happy because of his own troubles, felt the atmosphere of the bar more than he could stand, and soon handed over to his assistant, put on his coat and, after telling his wife of his inteution, went outside. There were only two directions he could, take, for " The Man in Green " stood on the main road —poor main road though it was—and there were no side roads for some distance in either direction. He had no wish to walk through the village, for company was the last thing he desired that everting, and so he turned and went slowly along the quiet thoroughfare that linked llington with the main London road. Wis mind was in a state of chaos. Thoughts of his affection for the busii ness he and Vera had built up were ' hopelessly mixed with those of Sandy- ! man and all his beastliness, and on I top of this his intolerant anger against I the four men who had unwittingly ' helped to make his evening tbe more 1 miserable, grew with every step he took. He walked slowly and aimlessly, | scarcely knowing not caring where be ! went, so long as he could find solitude. | In this he was successful, for he reached | the main road without seeing a soul, | and then sat on a bank watching, witbj out interest, the endless stream of cars, ! lorries and 'buses on the great highway. After a while he felt tbe chill of | the night air through his light coat j and at last decided that it was time i to return to the inn. As be approached " The Man in Green " he began to feel i a little ashamed of himself. Truly the | inn could get on quite well without ; his direction for a while, but none the ; less be did not feel particularly proud j of the fact that he had quitted just j because things were not going as j smoothly as they might have been. | After aD, losing the place would be l just as big a blow to Vera —a greater | one, perhaps. Men, as a rule, were | fairly adaptable, but it was always I something of a wrench to a woman ! when she was forced to leave her home | —however poor it might be —to start j all over again.

Stephen began to call himself un- \ i complimentary names. He was, he told i | himself, a quitter, a low-down rat, trri ing to leave a sinking ship, a human ! jellyfish without an ounce of pluck, ! and several equally nasty things that no real man would admit to being. Finally he asked himself what he intended to do about it, ana throwing back his shoulders, cocked his head slightly on one side and smashed home a stunning left that must have completely eliminated his phantom enemy. Quite a childish pantomime really, but one the like of which many better men have indulged in when quite sure of their privacy, and one which did I Stephen a power of good. It made him i laugh at himself, and when Stephen j laughed he felt that he was being j cleansed and refreshed. He was ready I for the two sinister strangers, ready | for both Henderson and Rees, and, | above all, he was ready to tell Sandji man to go straight to blazes. A tiny voice brought him back to I the world of reality. " Do vou hate him as much as all ■ that:-*' the voice piped. Adams stopped and peered into the ! gloom of the roatisnle. A ridiculously : small being —probably under four foot ' ten, sat atop a.n old stile, his legs ! dangling like those of a small child, j Stephen realised that his performance | had been witnessed and he felt very I uncomfortable. | " Oh. I was just letting myself go," •he explained lamely. " Sort of getting I things off my chest. Didn't think there 1 was anybody about, or I Ehouldn t have i done anything so idiotic." i " Not" idiotic. Perfectly natural," the 1 stranger answered. The voice was i lowered, but it was still something | of a squeak. It reminded Adams of the shrill twittering of a little bird disturbed j at some important task. " I often feel the same way myself, | the little man went on confidingly, j l4 Unfortunately, lam not so large or : so muscular." He looked up admiringh !at Stephen's huge frame. " I have to ! be content with just stamping a foot—i not a very effective foot, either, he ! complained. " You staying near here.' ' Stephen | was interested. ! "I don't know. I hope to. I am I looking for an inn—' The Man in i Green ' —is it about here? Not too far j away, I hope. 1 thought there would be i a 'bus, but 1 ha\e walked from | Ashbury. A long way—a very long way I —and there has been no 'bus. Have 1 i much farther to go?" The voice was i more shrill and very plaintive, j There is a bus. It. runs twice daily," Stephen answered. "Unfortunately it makes its last journey about five" o'clock. However, it is not far to ' The man in Green.' 1 happen to be the landlord—at present. I we can make you comfortable sir." " Yes, I am sure you will. ' Ibe Man in Green ' is quite famous in its way. The food is good. I am told—very good !—and 1 like good food." The man fumbled in an inner pocket, ; Stephen saw that he was taking snun i—a strong odour was diffused about him. He slid from the stile and tell in ! at Stephen's side. Adams walked slowly lout of consideration for his companion's i short legs, but he need not hate troubled, the quaint little man was not likely to be left behind. His feet fairly twinkled, so quickly did they move. Adams thought of the ten miles between Ashbury and Mington and was astonished. Stephen learned that the stranger s name was Mr. C'rooker, and that he was —or had been until his retirement — a partner in a firm of publishers famous for their productions of finely printed books. Adams handed Mr. Crooker over to his wife, and Vera seemed to conceive an immediate liking for the quaint little stranger. It was too late for dinner, she explained, but .sbe could soon put a hot meal in front of him if he desired j it. Alternatively there was ample cold fare. Perhaps Mr. Crooker would like some ham, some veal and ham pie, or there was beef, lamb. *

By COLIN HOPE Author of " The House in the U'ay." etc.

(COPYRIGHT)

A FIRST - CLASS MYSTERY THRILLER

Mr. Crooker preferred the veal and ham pie Actually he was not too particular, his chief concern was for quantity. Nevertheless, he preferred the pie—be was, he admitted, particularly iond ot veal and ham pie, especially there was a suitable salad. It was unfortunate, of course, that there could be no real tomatoes—no outdoor English tomatoes. Vera was one of those poor misguided souls who had not acquired a taste for tomatoes, and she was hardly able to appreciate the little man's explanation of the finer shades of flavour of this fruit. They must be outdoor grown to have the finest flavour, he explained, and above all they must be picked warm, with tbe mid-day sun full on them. However, it was June, and so there could be no such tomatoes. Neverthe- | less, there would be a salad, and it must be strong in onions—very strong in onions. Vera promised to do her best and bustled away. At the door she paused. There was cold tart, but perhaps Mr. Crooker would not like a sweet at so late an hour. ! Mr. Crooker did like a sweet at | whatever the hour. Cold tart seemed I very attractive indeed. In fact, Mr. | Crooker was a very hungry man. He I would give his best attention to anyj thing Mrs. Adams would put before j him. j Vera was beginning to respect her latest gues':. An artist both as a cook j and a caterer, -she could admire those j who appreciated the food that was put before them, and Mr. Crooker obviously intended to do his best to win ber approval. Then he spoilt himself in her eyes. She mentioned wine and he shuddered. " No wine—nothing to drink at all with the meal, please," he said. " But I should like some tea. Very weak and sweet." He looked up at her and blushed like a guilty child caught robbing the larder. "A iittle weakness of mine," he confessed. " I am afraid I drink a lot of tea, at all hours. Let me have a large pot, please, and plenty of water." A little while later, Mr. Crooker, a newly-washed and dressed Mr. Crooker. sat down in front of a huge meal in the private dining room. Although it was fairly warm indoors, he insisted i on sitting very close to a big fire, and | when Vera left him he was already ! attacking the pie with a gusto that reminded her very strongly of a schoolboy at a Christmas party. Before starting on the food he had drunk two cups of a watery concoction he callec tea and a third stood at his elbow. " I can't understand how he does it," Stephen said, when his wife tolc ) him of the food she had put before thf j little man. "He must eat his owi j weight at every meal —and as for th« weak tea —u gh t "Oh, it's quite usual with thesf undersized people," Vera answered " I've never seen anybody drink te* as be does, but these small men alway; eat well. I've noticed, too. they a!way: marry very big women and have enor mous families." Fortunately Mr. Crooker knev nothing of this libel, for he was : bachelor. He was hot a woman hater but he knew that he could not ente married state with any woman—a least not with any woman of his clas ; —and be allowed' to eat as he. did

| Love of woman had. never made him J i endeavour to subject his love of good j j food, lots of Rood food. Stephen did not stay long in the j public bar. Closing time was at hand, j ! and business was a little quiet. Hender- j j son and I'ees were still in there. Rees j | was playing cards, but Henderson ! j seemed to be fidgety. Twice in a few j minutes he went outside, and came back. He had been drinking rather heavily, too. Stephen guessed. His face was flushed and his speech a little incoherent. Stephen strolled into the hotel lounsre and Crooker came down the stairs. The little man was smoking a cigarette, held daintily on the extreme tips of his lips, and as he came he took it in his | hand and held it far in front of him j while he lifted up his face and blew | the smoke ceilingwards. | " What a card!'.' Stephen said under I his breath. " Just like a kid with his , i first gasper." Crooker came on. He was enthusiastic. The hotel, he said, was wonderful—a veritable paradise. As for the food —well, Mrs. Adams was a treasure beyond price. Stephen agreed, and his guest prattled on: "1 think I shall stay here for rather 1 a long time if you can put me up. he said. " I love the country—especially in the summer. I don't like the cold, you know. Yes, I should like to stay for quite a while. ! "By the way," his voice was ' lowered, but still the squeak persisted, ! "doesn't Frederick Sandyman live near here 5 " u Sandyman, the brewer? " " Yes " Stephen hesitated before answering. In a single evening two apparently separate and unconnected strangers had inquired for Sandyman. Strange. The man had few friends —scarcely one in the district. It was said that only tjiose ! of his relatives with an interest in the ultimate disposition of Sandyman's ! money took the trouble to be even distantly polite to him. He was a widely 1 known man, but nevertheless it 'was j strange that there should suddenly be such interest in him " He lives near here," Adams said 2 at last. " Scarcely a mile away. He 1 owns this house, as a matter of fact. And he is a . . ." I " Yes, yes, of course," Crooker in--3 terrupted. " I know. I know. Not very nice, is he? What has he done to J you, by the way? But perhaps you would rather not tell me. Excuse my t inq uisitiveness. It's another of my r faults, 1 fear." Stephen had reached the stage when ' be was glad to tell almost anybody of his worries. He seemed to get some * satisfaction out of letting others know I* just how base his landlord was. , Crooker said nothing during the reI cital. He made sympathetic noises, and [ when Stephen had finished he looked t up at him and smiled. " Don't worry too much," he adi vised, "the worst never happens, you r~ know." s Stephen returned to the public bar 3 a few minutes later. It was closing time, and it was his habit to lock up ' personally whenever possible. Usually his habitual tact and firm--1 ness made the task of moving the lingerers quite an easy one, but that night he had some difficulty in clearing 5 the premises, liees hung about and ! Henderson almost refused to go. The two men seemed to be deliberately j waiting for something. They appeared to be afraid of leaving the hotel. , At last all were outside and Stephen 3 shot the bolts, then, thankful that the c trying evening was ever, he leaned on the bar and lit a pipe. He did not - rest for long, however, for hardly had i the sound of departing footsteps died 1 away when there came the sound of j other feet—heavy, running, lumbering e feet, and then a terrific tattoo was r beaten on the door. (To oe continued daily)