THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22402, 24 April 1936, Page 26

THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

By JOHN HUNTER , „ „ Author of "When the Gunmen Came." "Buccaneer's Gold," "Dead Man a Gate, etc.

(COPYRIGHT)

AN EXCITING STORY, PACKED WITH THRILLS AND MYSTERY

CHAPTER V.—(Continued) Mr. Brendon himself supplied a diversion and a spur to Jeff's hesitant intentions. He suddenly wheeled round and hit the gunman full in the face 'with a whirling fist. The man went reeling backwards, and Mr. Brendon turned to bolt. Out of the car, sideways, launched the driver, and he got Mr. Brendon round the waist in a Rugby tackle. The other fellow, mouthing, was scrambling up, and it was at this point that Jeff came rushing across the road. The gunman, about to go to the assistance of the driver, saw him, and lifted his gun. Jeff set his teeth, looked for a split second into the bleak eyes of death, and, jumping like a cat, punched with all his strength. The blow took the man in the mouth and skittled him to the house wall. He hit the brickwork and slid to the flags, dazed and helpless. The driver, seeing this, loosed Mr. Brendon, and as lie did so, Jeff got ono homo on the side of his head. It was a pretty punch. It knocked the man against the ear's front wing and toppled him back on to tho bonnet. Mr. Brendon, freed, dishevelled, turned for a moment toward his saviour, and, thus turning, checked his movement for a single second of frozen immobility, while from his lips came a high and curious cry—as though with thi£ sight of Jeff, fear had suddenly dropped on him like a mantle of snow. Then he was scuttling off down the road as fast as his limping leg could carry him. Jeff did not blame Mr. Brendon for bolting. Neither of tho ruffians in charge of tho car was knocked out, and at least one of them had a gun. In fact, Jeff did not stop to think much about the innernesses of the affair just then. He also took to his heels and sprinted along the little street. The man against the wall reared himself to a sitting position, his hand covering his mouth. He mumbled words through split lips as his companion scrambled off the car bonnet , "Follow that guy who butted in. Don't lose him. Maybe he's just a chance stranger. Maybe he's not. We can't afford to take risks." The other man shook himself, pulled a hand across his somewhat rocking head, and ran like a hare after Jeff, keeping in the shadows, and managing to get a sight of his quarry after Jeff had turned the further coiner. Jeff, thinking himself not followed, had eased up, and thus the man had no difficult task from then on. The gunman dragged himself to tho upright, ejected two useless teeth, and cursing violently, walked away in the opposite direction. He and his companion had stolen the car anil now had no further use for it. It stood by the kerbside, its engine still running Blowly. Jeff walked on, making generally in the direction of Victoria. It had been a curious adventure. He had always believed in his own "hunches," and ho realised that this particular one had not led him greatly astray. Eespectable citizens are not formally subjected to attempts at abduction. Who and what was Mr. Perceval Brendon that a couple of bandits should turn up in a car and try and spirit him awaj ? Also . . . Jeff stopped in his stride and exclaimed aloud with surprise, so that a man passing him turned and stared at him as though he had gone mad. . There had been that cry Mr. Brendon had uttered when he saw Jeff. A strange cry, compounded of amazement and fear, with recognition strongly charging it. Recognition . . , Jeff tried to reject this, but it persisted. He was sure there had been recognition in the cry. Yet how could Mr. Perceval Brendon recognise him? How was it ]>ossible for a man of whom he had never before heard to know him on sight? It was a problem beyond immediate solving. Jeff pondered it all the way to Blackheath and was still thinking of it when he admitted himself to Aunt Sarah's house. , The car driver had trailed him the whole distance, and, having; seen him safely inside, he rang up a mid-London telephone number, and made a comprehensive report of the proceedings. .The man to whom he mj.de the report was Mr. Julius Turquin. CHAPTER VI On this particular night, when Jeff's "hunch" took him definitely into the orbit of danger and murderous intent, wherein moved Mr. Paul Barclay and Julius Turquin, a consultation took place in a room at Scotland Yard. Very high officials were present, including an assistant commissioner, the Chief of the Special' Branch, a highly-placed detective officer, and that investigator, who, in spite of Barclay's airy reassurances to Kimber and Mrs. Allard, was known as Smith —the mysterious and elusive personage whose cunning probings below the surface of the crime stream had brought forth, from time to time, such surprising catches. Various information lay on the table before those present. It had been brought from records, and quite a number .of people would have been uncomfortably disturbed had they beeen permitted a short study of the documents on view. The detective officer was speaking. He was large and placid, with sleepy eyes, a wide spread of bull-like shoulder. He was addressing the assistant, commissioner, a titled personage who once graced an important cavalry regiment, and who still bore about him those indefinable marks of his class and kind. Before the detective was a paper to which he constantly referred. "On April 4th last year," he said. " Strangway's was raided. Eleven thousand pounds. That was the beginning, sir. Then —-May 10th. Smash and grab at Pollington's. Twenty thousand diamond necklace. May 27th —car holdup of mail van. Three thousand. Juno every month from then on—to now. Just over a hundred thousand pounds' worth -of loot—and never a clue, Smash-and-grab, car banditry, and, when apparently necessary, plain gang-work—guns and knock-out jobs." He paused, and, grinning crookedly, added: ""And the press getting more and more restive. There was a letter in the Times to-day—" The assistant commissioner nodded. He knew too well the unrest —even alarm—which these unchecked and regular depredations were causing. They had gone on now for nearly two years—a cycle of crime which seemed unceasing; murder, robbery, violence—the criminals had run the gamut of lawlessness. Every effort on the part of thn police had failed to find even tho narrowest of trails which might lead them to the man or men responsible. The newspapers featured each successive crime more heavily than its predecessor. Infuriated citizens wrote to their favourite papers and cried out against the police. Motorists sarcastically pointed out that the men in uniform might be doing . more useful work than checking number plates and licences and reporting extinguished lights. In effect, all the ordinary concomitants of an outcry against the police were present. And it was serious—very serious indeed. "Of course," said the detective, "we can, sitting here, say that Julius Turquiii is responsible for it all. But what I

we have to do is to say it to a judge and jury, and convince the 12 good men and true on that jury that wo are right. I'd do away with juries if 1 had my way." The Special Branch man grinned. "You want dictatorship, Sam, with yourself in the big job. You'd hang 'em all, wouldn't you?" "Well," i»nid the detective slowly, "the world wouldn't bo any worse off if it lost its habitual blackmailers, drug peddlers, white slavers, bludgeon swingers and gunmen, anyhow. Murder or no murder. Ifou tread on a snake before it can strike, don't you?" The assistant commissioner spoke, and they were s lent. "I've collated various information here," he sr.id, in his clipped and military accent ii. "There is, undoubtedly, some connection between Turquin and the man Brendon, who has that house in Pimlico. Turquin is reported to have visited the house once, and once only—about seven months ago. We've tried to follow that lead, but iailed, so far." He turned over a sheet of paper and referred to that beneath it. "Now, l.i,st night, Julius Turquin visited Mr. .Paul Barclay. I have here a report on I,he investigation I ordered into Barclay's affairs. It is a very confidential report. I'm not going to trouble you with all its details, because only one is important to this discussion. It is this —that Barclay has no visible source of income. He lives well, in a nice house. He holds no securities of anv kiwi, and he does no work of any kind. Ho pays largo sums of money into his bank at irregular intervals." The assistant commissioner looked round the table slowly. "Those sans are always paid in one pound and ten shilling notes —not new notes, but used ones . . . untraceable. Tho bank has, naturally, never questioned thesis payments, for the account is in order, is never overdrawn, and, because of the largeness of the sums, valuable to them. Where does Barclay get that irioney, and why does he pay it m notes of such small denomination? I have a list of credits here. For example, onci is for over a thousand pounds . . . ten hundred and twenty in pound notes, ninety-five in ten-shilling notes —all dirty, crumpled, much used, been through many hands before they reached his, We have no right to question him . . . but the question still remains." There wr.s a short silence. Each of them was admitting, without putting it into so many words, that they were definitely up against it. They suspected Turquin. They could prove nothing at all. They groped toward Barclay, and the reason they did so was because he had a mysterious source of income. It might merin nothing. They looked askance at Percival Brendon because Turquin called at his house one night. All surmise, wild, rather desperate, ffimsily conceived. It spoke eloquently the difficulty in which they found themselves. Smith spoke for the first time. "What about this man, Mahoney?" The detective officer answed the question. "A washout," he said. "A drunken lounger who mixed up with all manner of shady people. He was v of the stuff of informers. He'd sell his best friends for a pound note. Somebody rumbled him and put him out." Smith nodded slowly. "Perhaps. But I've had some questions asked at his lodgings—discreetly, of course. He was liable, when very drunk and exalted, to boaft of friendship with the man, Brendon." Smith smiiled: "And how did Mahoney live? We ask that of Barclay. Why not of Mahoney? He also' had' no known source of income, no pension nor other allowance. Yet he always had money for drink, and he neither toiled nor spun." They were giving Smith close attention, for they had the highest of respect for the brains of that remarkable personage. The quiet voice went on. "And Brendon. How does he live? What does he do? He puts a brass plate on his door, but it announces only his name. His attendance at his office—l use the word because I can find none better—is irregular. Sam, here, I believe, once had Eis post watched. That so?" The big detective nodded. "Quite right. Drew nothing." "So," said Smith. "What is Brendon ? Where does he live ? What are his connections, socially and otherwise? Why should Turquin call on him ? Why should Mahoney mention him? And—" there was a pregnant pause—"on which bank of the river was Mahongy killed?" The Spenial Branch man leaned forward. "You re not suggesting Brendon killed Mahoney?" he asked quickly. "I'm suggesting nothing," said Smith. "I'm merely trying to ensure that nothing is forgotten by us; nothing at all. We can't afford to overlook a single point. Mahoney knew Brendon, and boasted of that acquaintancesh'D vihen nis tongue was loosed by drink—as though knowing Brendon was highly important to Mahoney. And Mahoney had no money of his own, yet always had money to spend. Sup{>ose Brendon has a secret—which is argely true, though it might not bo a dark secret. Mahoney was, as we know, a born informer, a seller of secrets, and, therefore, a discoverer of secrets, else he'd have had none to sell. It is feasible that Mahoney hit on Brendon's secret, and Brendon slew him under the fog?" "A long shot," commented the assistant commissioner, and added—"perhaps too long. We mustn't let fancy run away with us. And now, I want to talk to you." But Smith checked him. "1 know. I quite understand why I was summoned here to-night. We have, after all, only gone over old ground, and the object of this meeting was clear to me from the start." A pair of very level and steady eyes travelled round the table. "Gentlemen, I realise that you are anxious for my safety. I'm saying it for you. I appreciate it immensely. I know you are going to make one last effort to dissuade me from the course I myself suggested a week or two ago. But you won't. 1 aim going on. If you say it is dangeious, I shall not disagree with you. while, at the same time, not pretending to be heroic. It is dangerous—if all wc think is true —but not more dangerous than other jobs I have done. And under the present circumstances it is tho only way. So I beg of you to say no more about it." Ihey were a little uncomfortable. I hey sat and looked at each other. They knew.Smith was taking the greater risk, was treadling hourly with death—if all they suspected proved to bo fact. The assistant commissioner said quietly: "Thank you I" It closed the argument. The Special Branch man made a contribution to the diseussion. "My memory did a spot of work today, he said; and grinned at the big detective. It was plain that they took a delight in "chipping" each 'other, got a memory, Sam, you know." You don't sayl" said the big man, blandly. "Just over a year ago," went on the Special Branch man, "I was in Paris on that job connected wtih tho Prime Minister of Karania. It's nothing to do with this matter. While I was there the Paris branch of the Southern Consolidated Bank of Great Britain was robbed of about five thousand pounds. I am, as you know, very friendly with Fragart of the Surete, and he had charge of the case, and gave me a front stand seat, so to speak. Very interesting; watching his methods." (Continued in Supplement)