WEB CENTRE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22345, 17 February 1936, Page 17

WEB CENTRE

(COPYRIGHT)

By RALPH TREVOR Author of " Death in the Stalls," " The Eyea Through the Mask," etc., etc.

AN ENTHRALLING STORY OF MYSTERY, LOVE AND ADVENTURE

CHAPTER I.—(Continued)

"Of course, you must not forget that people of mixed nationality—his mother was a Hungarian and his father a Pole —do not all react in the same way to British conventions. Doubtless in his own country—he's a naturalised Britisher by the way—the possession of wealth is characterised by a desire to flaunt it. Some Britishers I have encountered have reacted in just the same way. It usually means that they are unaccustomed to the possession of money; that it has drugged their sense of proportion. You understand, PeterP" "The noveau riche idea?"

"Exactly! Well, my boy, before sending you out on your strictly unofficial quest in search of information concerning Mr. Vorsada, I want you to take back to your flat these papers," indicating a batch of documents on his desk neatly tied around with green ribbon. "They will explain something concerning this man's business activities, and when you have read them I think you will agree with me that he has a finger in more financial pies than any other man you can call to mind." "And what's the next move?" asked Peter, curiously. "I think I'd rather like you to cultivate his society for a time, and just keep your eyes open." Sir Maxwell paused, pressing the slender tips of his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh, and there's one other thing. On no account must you call here to see me until I send for you. If you have any information which appears to you to have any bearing on the man's activities, write me a confldential report." Sir Maxwell rose to his feet. "Good hunting, Peter, my boy, and don't forget Aunt Eunice's two thousand." "Not on your life, sir!" replied the Honourable Peter, enthusiastically. CHAPTER n. Carleon Towers, a genuine Tudor mansion, stood on the southern slopes I of the North Downs on the Kent and j Sussex borders, almost obscured from ! view from the main road Londonwards | by trees forming a complete semi-circle in the extensive parkland that beset it. J It was a delightful old place, redolent | with history, and there had been no little heartburning when Sir Gideon Playfair was forced to sever a generation of association with the place as a result of a bad financial smash. It became necessary for Sir Gideon, under the rentless pressure of his creditors, to sell Carleon Towers to the highest bidder. It was in this way that Renol Vorsada became the proud owner of the property, and in doing so he achieved an ambition that had long been burning in his brain. He had no illusions regarding his popularity. At one time ho had imagined that his acceptance of British nationality, ten years ago, would have given him the requisite cache. Yet he was not bitter in the sense that his disappointment made him anti-social. He was sufficiently astute to know that his wealth was all the power he needed; the golden key that unlocked the apparently impregnable doors of London and county society, and at fifty he was not only the owner of Carleon Towers and a house in Mayfair, but he experienced the satisfaction of knowing that when his invitations to houseparties were issued, they were accepted with alacrity, not by the parasites of society, but by large numbers of men and women with a lineage considerably more impressive than his own. Neither was Renol Vorsada a-mean man. To some he may have been dubbed ostentatious, but in certain directions he spent money generously, yet always with a quite definite purpose. Much of his benefaction was directed toward the cultivation of prominent people. It was a social investment that at no time did he ever have occasion to rue, for-it was this wise distribution of his financial favours that had increased his power a thousandfold. It gave him power over individuals as well as over groups of classes; it provided him with an entree into the most exclusive of coteries, and few important social occasions were held at which ho was not present. He was in stature, a short, rather thick-set little man, clean-shaven, with close-cropped grey-b!ack hair on his large bullet-shaped head. His eyes were black beads that darted quickly hither and thither as he conversed; his nose was long and out of all proportion; a veritable beak. The mouth was expressive, even sensitive, with thin hard lips that had a habit of twitching when the remainder of the face was immobile. But it was his hands that always attracted most attention from the observant. They were not ordinary hands. It seemed almost as if the whole strength of his being had been concentrated in them. They were large, thick-jointed and grotesquely hairy after the manner of an ape. Anyone other than Renol Vorsada would have taken measures to disguise them in some way, particularly by way of depilation, because it was their hirsuto attribute that first attracted attention.

But Vorsada was proud of his hands. They were his one link with the past, and every time he looked at them he pictured his early years in the Balkans, when those hands had on more than one occasion saved his life. Sometimes when he regarded them, pictures of the past framed themselves in his mind. Once again he saw the fingers tightening their grip on some swarthy throat, until such time as the owner of the throat had seen fit to comply with the verbal demands made to him. On one occasion a man had been stubborn and Vorsada had felt the burly figure grow limp in his iron grasp. Times had changed. The man had developed from his primitive state, but the metamorphosis had not meant that he had lost his cunning; rather had his wits been sharpened in the process; forged in the firo of experience.

We meet him now standing with his broad back to the roaring fire on the open hearth of the hall of Carleon Towers. Around him thronged twenty or thirty people, awaiting the summons to dinner in the long, oak-beamed dining hall. Two magnificent diamonds radiated a cold, blue lustre from the white oasis of his shirt front. They were the only obvious symbols of his power, but they were not disregarded by his guests. One of those guests took a particular interest in them, but it was not a predatory one. The Honourable Peter Worthing, 'standing chatting inconsequentially to young Lord Rayford, "could not resist admiring tho complete aplomb of the man. A moment later their eyes met, and a smile of greeting came to Vorsada's lips. Peter excused himself and strolled over to the fireplace. "So glad you wero able to come along, Mr. Worthing," smiled his host. "But what a pity you cannot stay with us until Monday."

Peter looked apologetic. It had not been difficult to get an invitation down to Carleon Towers, but it did not suit Peter's book to accept Vorsada's hospitality until Monday morning. He wanted a free hand, added to which he told himself he could doubtless gain considerable information from a perusal of the guests, and what he pleased to call ; 'the lie of the land." Exactly what Peter meant bv this trite expression it would be difficult to assess, but he did realise that tho task his uncle had set him was b t y no means an easy one. He was sufficiently astute to realise that under no circumstances

(To be continued daily)

must he give Vorsada the slightest grounds for suspicion, and it was partly for that reason that he had only ®F? e P$ 6 d the invitation for dinner on this Saturday night. r> n „J' m S ? rry - t00 ' Mr - Vorsada, because you ve got such a jolly • crowd -If!: ?»J 8 " Have B you co,,LtS t) d r i' b a o t°? yj° toria " S3Li^?P ™4 h VZ ninrl /i a l ort of antidote to the Past S le y S ea?s e > - S head"' sm j? ed a P d nodded his deSrv hit u ?°! lced ust th at tenaSmtf « ad sefc bimself rigidly itt• t 1 nons ense. Worthing ■' fel . ven 1,8 t o enjoy, Mr. tiouslv "on i remarked, sentenleisure' Tf l m ° re our leisure " *l® serious with our revolting hands with^?* 1 th ° S ? ESS " T6mo to " niek V' a Peter 8 "tofa Iy i,i m dmvn m +f ' Ga i ily - " 1 sometimes. slip down there when I feci T wint + n alone with myself No doubt you'll jusf. not ' reaiiy - it,s >«'Sf to™ pS len°ee in t L SenSed . iust - a hint of <*alhe® odd not Krr 08 ' but ° f thlt down first thing i n the morSing m ' n £"P from Bristol, and I arranged Just *lif+l" l if - my P,ace for h,nchhut a littJe business talk, that's all, but f it s rather important, neverthe-

Business? But I thought . » Peter aughed. " Yes, 1 know what yu p lk M - • tbat business isn't in ml+tlr 0 ' ? e !c th 7 't, is—just yet. As a matter of fact, Ive been thinking things over latelv .... feel flint !j ug ii\w be doing a • iob ° f w°rkand all that sort of rot. A fellow gets thinking that way at times. Perhaps knows?" " E servG mQ < who

Reno] Vorsada did not appear to display any particular degree of interest in the young man's remarks, for suddenly he said: "Ah, here comes your partner for dinner, Mr. Worthing."

Peter followed the direction of his gaze with interest. Coming toward them was a man and a girl. They were strangers to him.

Vorsada bowed as his guests approached. l c, '\ W *, lc . om . e > Santley," he smiled, . a " d .A h ' s ls y° l 'r daughter, Maryon, isntit?"

Robert Santley was a man of about Vorsada s own ago; tall, spare and lather soldierly in his bearing. How do you do, Miss ' Santley. Allow me to praeent to vou the Honvo,?^ e f r Wc * thin S- He will escort you in to dinner." • P . et f r Worthing was none too sure just how he replied to that introduction, because the picture-like beauty of h™os!i rr ?• momentarily breathless. Her hair was dark, but her eyes were blue, and her small, oval face revealed a sense of character he w nev er noticed in a woman's face before. Which was all rather odd beSc.f r et f 0 u . Worthin K bad long 'been of .being one of the few eligible bachelors m London society who was Mnrvn « P fT° to feminine attack. i Maryon Santley was smiling np a t Peter P crl , ia Ps; nevertheless mal I° reallsed thac th e smile " W * appear even more attractive. gested 3 a cocktail? " be sug- ,, d hke that," she told him, as away. 6XCUS themselves and wandered Peter Worthing had a reputation as a conversationalist, but during dinner no one would have suspected it. Here \f r l~? no of . the most charming ™!f+ i*a , ever imagined he would meet —obviously waiting for him to entetan her „„d h e-?he felt rata party 0B at a comi 'ng-out

Most of the women of Peter's acquaintance gushed and giggled at any kind of conversation, but" Marvon bantJey seemed quaintly serious. No she did not go to many parties. Daddv wasn t keen on them. He wasn't a ZZZuh Star il and scintillated ra,ther shabbily whenever they were invited OUT}.

didn't you want to come tonight?" asked Peter. The girl shook her head. "Not really, she confessed, toying uncertainly with her halibut, ''but Daddy wanted to, and it's so unusual for him to want to go gay that I thought I'd better come just to look after liira " Peter laughed. " What quaint things you say, he observed. " Surely Mr. Santley . . ho ended the sentence lamely.

? n ,' smiled, as he hesitated, I know you must think it odd, but you see Daddy and I are really quite inseparable, and usually he's so busy that he's no time for amusement. So you may take it that Daddy needs me to look after him."

The serious note in her voice alarmed Peter immediately. It seemed so unnatural. At that moment he glanced across the table in the direction of Robert Santley. He was paying little heed to the chatter of a platinum blonde on his right, who was keeping up a quick-fire prattle. Occasionally ho nodded his head as if in agreement. Apart from that he progressed mechanically with his meal. Peter's eyes left Santley and travelled to the far end of the table where Vorsada sat like a Bhudda with a mask for a face.

Peter turned his attention again to the girl at his side. She interested him because she was different from the majority of other women, and also because she was striving, quite gallantly, to give him the impression that she was at her ease. So he told her about bis cottage near Sovenoaks. " Just a little shack, you know; not far from here. I'm going back there to-night." "To-night?"

He nodded. Then, daringly: "I'm rather sorry I am, now." Maryon Santley darted her companion a swift glance, and their eyes met. The next moment she knew she was being unutterably foolish. She was blushing. After that conversation rippled merrily and spontaneously from Peter's accustomed lips, but all the time he felt conscious that the girl was not happy, and it was just that thought that made him ' anxious. Why had Robert Santley accepted Vorsada's invitation for the week-end? Who was Robert Santley? To the best of his knowledge he had never heard of the man before. And this was his daughter —a girl who ought to have been enjoying every moment of this wonderful night, for there was no doubt that Vorsada knew how to entertain. Peter told himself he could give points to many a practised hostess in Mayfair. After dinner there was dancing in the hall. Yorsada had engaged a really good band for the occasion. Peter danced with Maryon Santley much more than he should have done, but Peter was prepared to fling the conventions to the winds. The girl intoxicated him, and without setting herself out to do, so. She danced well, too, despite her confession that she " went out " very little, and while they danced Time semed to be of no consequence.