THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22405, 29 April 1936, Page 23

THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

(COPYRIGHT)

By JOHN HUNTER Author of "When the Gunmen Came," "Buccaneer's Cold," "Deaa ivian 8 utiie, cic

AN EXCITING STORY, PACKED WITH THRILLS AND MYSTERY

CHAPTER IX—(Continued) Mrs. Allard was bloodless to the lips. Her hard eyes wavered. Her right hand crushed a section of her noisy, crinkly black frock. She Rave Barclay a long terrified look, then stumbled out; and Barclay turned to Kimber. "Well, you haven't said much, have you?" Kimber smiled. The smile was mirthless, cringing, frightened. "There's nothing to say," he replied. "I'm all right. L am, honest, Bar —Mr. Barclay. It's her. Not me. I'm with you. You can bet on that. With you all the time. Why, I wouldn't, listen to that woman. As for Turquin, I'm not afraid of him. He can't bo sure. 1 know that. He's tried. But you're cleverer than he is. Miles clever. You can stand on me Barclay laughed. "Now that's what I like to hear, Kimber. Do you know, latterly I've been a bit worried over you. I*thought you intended to rat. ] mentioned it one night, 1 believe. And I'm very pleased indeed to hear youtalk like this. Very pleased." Kimber's eyes were relieved. He looked like a man who, having endured enormous strain, finds good news awailing him. "We'll have a drink," said Barclay! "And listen. Don't talk to Mrs. Allard too much. Keep her out. We'li have to get rid of her. She's served her turn, and I think she's dangerous." He was pouring out wine, and he handed a glass to Kimber, who drank it swiftly. Barclay, having sipped his appreciatively, put his glass down and said: "By the way, you haven't been out this week, have you?" "Not for an evening," agreed Kimber. "Well,, what about to-night? You can go till eleven, if you like." Ho dropped a hand on Kimber's shoulder. "I want you and I to stand together, Kimber. We did so in Paris, when wo put over that bank job, and we've done so ever since. I'm not pretending that I like to be alone. I don't. I want somebody on whom I can depend, and you're that somebody. You always have been. We'll have a little more of the old friendliness between us, shall we?" "Why—yes," said Kimber, slowly. "I'd like that. It's good of you, Barclay." "Fine! Well, if you want to go, you d better be getting ready. I'll be up when you come in. Drop in and see me. In the library." Kimber went off and to his room, where he changed into his sober, outdoor garments. His hands shook a little as he did so, and in his eyes was a deal of thought. He left the house, taking care not to meet Mrs. Allard, and, having come to the quiet road outside, he stared about him for a little while, and then walked slowly away from Barclay's gate. He was deep in thought. He reached a telephone box, hesitated, passed it, stopped." Now he was plainly agitated, and kept touching his lips with his finger-tips, displaying every sign of gigantic and harrowing indecision. He turned back and reached the box once more. He put his hand on its door, and checked himself, looking back and around. Then he pulled the door open deliberately, and went inside. The number he called was that of Mr. Julius Turquin. CHAPTER X. At the time when Paul Barclay was talking to Mrs. Allard and Kimber, Julius Turquin was also in conference, The conference was held in a superroom of his super-luxurious flat overlooking Hyde Park Corner. Two men were with him. Jetr Sanders would have recognised both of them instantly. They were the two gentlemen he had encountered on more than under one occasion and under somewhat exciting circumstances. Ihe man who had tried to search Jeff at Mr. Brendon's house was named Steve, and his companion, who had adopted the American accent, was called Wally. Turquin fitted into his surroundings admirably, an exquisite, educated, beautifully-dressed man. The others were distinctly out of place, but perfectly at their case. Wally was saying: "... and this bird don't fit in, boss. He don't fit anywhere. Sanders, I mean. What s his game? Why's he quizzing us? A bank thief that's got free. You know I m no quitter, but I'm a bit worried. I admit it. What with Sanders and Barclay and the rest. Then there's this Brendon. We bust his joint and go over it. We find nothing. A handful of furniture and blankets that ain't worth a quarter between them. It's a mystery. That's what it is."

" Perhaps not so much a mystery as you imagine, Wally. Perhaps, indeed, it has cleared up a mystery." Turquin spoke thoughtfully, was silent for a moment or two, and then changed the subject abruptly. " I've been thinking about this Smith —this Scotland Yard miracle who works in secret." Steve grinned. "There ain't no such person, Boss. Every man with sense knows that." " Then I'm an idiot," observed lurquin gently. The others stared at him. " You mean . . .?" began Steve. " Exactly. I believe in Smith." He gave them "no time for further protests or indications of amazement, but went straight on. " And that being so, I'm closing down. It is for this that I sent for you—to tell you. You will adviso the boys." _ Wally and Steve were silent. They foresaw the end of a fairly lengthy and very profitable employment; but they could not argue. Turquin r s word had always been law, and it would remans law until the end.

Turquin added: " There are one or two jobs I wish to do first, however. One of them is the last trick we shall turn together. There will be an absolutely even split on the results, including mv own end, as a bonus for all cf you. I'm going to raid Massonnier's in Bond Street." His two lieutenants literally goggled Massonnier's was the most famous jeweller's shop in London. Its stock was beyond price. Its situation in the middle of Bond Street meant that it was closely hedged about by the forces of law and order. It was guarded at night by three picked watchmen, all ex-soldiers, all expert pistol shots, all strong, active and faultlessly courageous. There were automatic burglar alarms, and all manner of contrivances whereby illicit entry could be advertised and instantly resisted. " It's a big job," said Stove, uncertainly. " And a fortune for everybody when it's done," smiled Turquin. " So listen. I've looked the thing over for some time, and for a little while I thought of a strategic attempt, a cunning plan, months of hard work, and so on; but I've decided against that. Bold action is essential, and bold action will succeed." He spoke directly to Wally. " Can you get three more midget machine-guns from Brown?" " Sure," said Wally. "But listen . ." " You listen to me," said Turquin smoothly. " We'll get the. stuff and I'll l'onco the lot through Laroche as quickly as possible. It'll takj}, perhaps, three weeks to do it properly at the best prices we can get. I'll keep an account of my dealings. I've never yet acted crookedly toward any of you, and I think you know you can trust me. Then it's a dead even split all round, and . . . good-bye. 1 shall live at Beausoleil, and, 1 hope, be eminently respectable and respected for the resb of my days." They tried to thank him. Previously, he had kept the bulk of their loot, and had divided a percentage, in grades, among them, Wally and Steve taking the highest grade, as his chief assistants. He waved their thanks aside.

" And now for the job itself." Ho opened a drawer and pulled out a map of London, a very large map, on which every street and alleyway of London's crowded lieart was clearly defined. Ho had drawn a ring round a certain section of the map, and he indicated points inside this ring with a golden pencil. As he did so he talked, explained, detailed, and the two desperadoes listened intently, now and again asking a question. Turquin folded the map and pushed it aside. " A dangerous job," he commented. " Very. But it should come off. As it so dangerous I shall direct it personally." They were appreciative of this and said so. He had a curious quality of utter fairness to his subordinates which one might reasonably have expected to be absent from a character so black and dishonest. He was ordering them to a task which might result in many deaths, so he chose to go with them. They might need his brain, his immeasurable and aloof coolness in the long minutes of peril on the night of the raid. A buzzer snored harshly. Turquin walked to a little ebony and steel casket and took from it an ivory telephone receiver. They saw his eyes gleam as he listened, after announcing his name. " Yes," he said quietly. " I will see you immediately. Certainly. I'll wait until you come. Why, of course. Nobody will be with me. I shall be most pleased." fie hung up, closed the cabinet, and turned to them. " Something very interesting," he said. " Mr. Kimber, the butler of Mr. Paul Barclay, wants to see me —very importantly and very privately. I think I am going to hear something to our mutual advantage, as the lawyers say. Er —you too had better not be on view. I don't want you to go, however. When he arrives you can wait in that room and leave the door partly open and the Ughts off." "What's he want?" asked Wally, sharply. " I don't know. 1 imagine he is going to make some -very interesting revelations concerning Mr. Barclay. He might even confirm various suspicions of mine. If he does .■% . all well and good." s " H'm." Wally looked at Steve. Steve drank from a glass at his elbow. was a short silence, which Wally broke. " You said just now there was one or two things you wanted to do before the break-up. One of them was the Mas--1 sonnier job. What're the others?" " Well, they Really don't concern you—at least not so much as they concern me," replied Turquin. " One of ! them is to find Mr. Brendon, find where he keeps those incriminating statements of his, and then see that he never again commits pen to paper to the undoing of his fellow men." " Gonna get him, eh?" suggested I Wally. " Yes. Finally. Another is—Smith. I'd like to know who and what Smith is. Smith gives me a cold feeling at 1 the spine, somehow: a very cold feel- ; ing. As I have said, I believe in him, and I always have the idea that one day somebody will touch me on the shoulder, somebody who steps out of the invisible into the visible. And that day will be the end of things. Yes. I want Smith, and I want to kill him. I mean to kill him." , Neither of the men answered him. His words had impressed them, though ' like many others, they had striven [ hard to persuade themselves that j Smith did not exist. If, however, Turquin believed in him,- Turquin was probably right; and he was more than right, therefore, in deciding to quit the | game while quitting was possible. Tur- , quin was always the wise man. There now had crept into the room , a little of the tension of waiting. With \ the arrival of Kimber would come revelation, they told themselves, and the sooner they heard what the butler had to say, the better, and the easier i they would feel in their minds. They were hardened criminals, ruthless and i terrible, but they knew the strain of their undertakings. The most desperate of human beings cannot slay indiscrim- ! inately and suffer no nerve strain. These men were thus suffering, i Time went by. Somebody had come to She outer door of the flat, and they

told themselves it would be Kimber. In a second or two the girl who had opened the door brought a sealed envelope to Turquin. It was of the cheapest variety, such as can be bought at any stationer's in a twopenny packet, and the address on it was angularly printed. "Who brought this?" asked Turquin of the girl, as he slipped his finger under the sealed flap. "A tallish man, sir, with a patch over his eye. As ho walked away, I saw that he had a bad limp. And he spoke with a sort of squeaky voice." "Brendon, bv God!" exclaimed Wally. Turquin said to the girl: "You may go " and as she went out he opened the envelope and read the brief printed message on the cheap sheet or paper inside it. "I should not wait for 'Kimber if I were you. 'He is not dead, he does not sleep. He has awakened from the dream called life.' P. 8." Turquin looked up slowly, and repeated the quotation. " 'He is not dead, he does not sleep. He has awakened from the dream called life.' " He added: "Was it Shelley or Keats?" He was fiddling with the sheet of cheap notepaper. " What killed him?" asked Wally, who had no education at all. " No —who wrote this." "Brendon," said Wally; and Turquin recovered himself and his normal alertness. " A beautiful line put to a base use," he commented. " So Kimber is dead." " Ain't we going after Brendon?" remarked Steve. Turquin shook his head. " What's the use? By the time Mary handed this to me, and I read it, Mr. Brendon was out of this building and away. A clever man. Now how should ho know Kimber telephoned me? It was from a call-box because I heard the pennies fall when Kimber pressed button A. Surely we're not tapped here?" A look of alarm flashed into his eyes, and vanished. "It's impossible," he said. "The telephone peoplo would know and advise me. Well, that's one secret buried deep —too deep for living man to probe. 1 think we've done-enough talking, don't you? Time to break up." " Yeah," agreed Wally. "Boss —what about making a regular job of getting this Brendon? I'm willing to hang around with a rod. and give him his if you'll pass the word." Turquin shook his head. " Impossible. The only way to deal with Brendon is to capture him alive, as you tried to do the other night. If you kill him, you probably kill yourselves. Take him alive. Thero's a hundred for the man who does it."

Wally and Steve hustled out. " Boss seemed a bit upset," said Stove, when they reached the pavement of Hyde Park Corner. " Didn't like Kimber being killed." Wally pulled a cigarette from a paper packet! " For a busted nickel I'd quit." he replied thoughtfully. " Yeah —the big stand, too. Sump'n's wrong, Steve. The engine ain't hitt'n' on all six, believe me. Well —it's a cock-eyed world, 1 guess. We got time to have a drink before they shut. Come on." They hurried off, and a quiet-looking man in plain-clothes who had trailed them patiently for hours, followed them. The long arm of the law was groping blindly across London—groping—till it found —. (To bo continued daily)