THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22406, 30 April 1936, Page 20

THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

(COPTRIGHT)

By JOHN HUNTER Author oi "When the Gunmen Came," "Buccaneer's Cold." "Dead Man's Gate," etc.

AN EXCITING STORY, PACKED WITH THRILLS AND MYSTERY

CHAPTER XI Lillian once more lunched with Jeff, but this time they did not eat in a mid-London restaurant, but, on her advice, at a little place in one of the south-western suburbs. It was, she pointed out, safer for Jeff. His two assassins could not possibly cover all London, and if he avoided the district of flash dives and garish criminal haunts, and stuck to the districts of the working people, he was likely to miss them. So far as both of them could tell, the police had not been asked to look for him by the authorities in Pacis. The French police evidently had decided ho was somewhere in their country, and agents, gendarmes and other officials of the law were keeping a sharp lookout for a tall Englishman who had escaped from prison. Jeff was full of his adventures. He began to tell her how he had broken into Brendon's place, when she stopped " What did you do that for?" she asked. He nearly blurted out his connection with Paul Barclay, but checked himself just in time. " Oh, 1 just thought him a strange fellow. I don't know. I—" She gave him a long look. " Jeff — there's something you are hiding from me. What is it?" He returned her look; then lit a cigarette and tried to smile. " What should I hide?" lie asked. " That's just it—what?" She paused and added: " Please don't think I want to go too deeply into your affairs. Only your conduct is so extraordinary. I mean —this man, Brendon, has nothing whatever to do with you. Why should you take the perfectly hideous risk of breaking into his premises?" Jeff drew deeply at the cigarette. She saw resolution shape in his eyes. " I'll tell you everything," he said, quietly. " And you must forgive me for doing so. The man I'm after is your uncle, Paul Barclay. You said he was a friend of Brendon's. I knew already Brendon was a curious sort of cuss. 1 don't know. . . I have hunches. I followed one. Has that finished everything?" " My uncle? You mean —Uncle Paul did that robbery? The one you —" " Not so loud, please! I know he did it, Lillian. 1 know it. Only 1 couldn't prove it. He had himself and two other witnesses against my single word. That's all. Nobody at the trial believed the truth, when I told it —the conspiracy into which he drew mo. I'm ever so sorry to bo saying all this to you, but I've wanted to do so for days. It clears everything away. I felt I was deceiving you. Of course, I can't expect you to be—friendly—with me any more, but I shall always—" She spoke gravelj'. " Don't be silly, Jeff, please! What Uncle Paul did can have no bearing on my affairs. Tell me what happened in France?" He gave her details of the callous confidence trick which was played upon him by Barclay and Kimber and their minor associate. "I trusted them, you see," he ended. "I was a fool, I know. But Barclay has that way with hiin." " Kimber . . ." said Lillian quietly. " He was acting as Uncle Paul's butler till last night. He went out and did not come back. He hasn't returned all the morning. But what an extraordinary thing I I mean—Kimber being butler and yet confederate. " He was a sort of valet then, or. Jit least, posing as such," said Jeff. " I've hurt you, haven't I? Please do forgive me." " It's all right," She tried to smile " You see, I can't have too much afTor tion for Uncle Paul, in anv event 1

never been associated wish him in any way, until now. You're sure of all your facts, aren't you?" " I've put them before you," said Jeff. " What do yon think?" Lillian nodded slowly. " You must be right," she assented reluctantly. " How terrible! I feel I can't stay in the house any longer." " Oh, but you must. Please I Don't let my troubles wreck things for you." She was thinking. She looked up slowly and met his eyes very clearly. " Jeff, can I help you?" she asked. "You mean —with Barclay ?" There was incredulity in his tone. "Why not? It isn't treachery. There's something wrong, you know—somewhere. I know that already. There was a maid at the house, Betty. She left a day since. But she talked to me and told me curious things. And I believe vour story. Believing it, I must believe tJnclo Paul to be a villain. He has allowed you to be ruined for life, to go to prison in his stead. You can't talk about treachery with a man like that. You can only talk of justice. Let me help you," " But how?" asked Jeff. " I don't know. But I'm in the house. It means that you have to run no danger now. You haven't to come round trying to spy on him. I can do all that. You can keep away." " And let you run the risk," he said, bluntly. " There'll be no risk." Her eyes were very warm and gentle, a little shy. " There would be for you, and—well, I'd just worry. That's all." " Why . . . Lillian . . ." They sat and looked at each other for a long moment. About them the modest little restaurant buzzed with life; fellows from nearby banks and shops coming in for lunch, chipping the waitresses, greeting friends; people calling for food, settling bills, consulting the menu. And all non-existent, all swept away ... all unseen; so that they two Sat quite alone in a world which had, miraculously and suddenly been made for their happiness. Lillian was a little flushed. Jeff thought she was the most beautiful woman who had ever lived; and though quite a number of young men near them would hardly have endorsed so high a compliment, it was certain that those same young men had an extremely fine appreciation of her appearance, if their furtive glances had any weight behind them. " I worry about you," said Jeff at last. " Always." Lillian's hands were close together, the fincers moving aimlessly. Her cigarette fell from its holder. She ignored it. " Some people have worried about me at times," she smiled. " But I don't want you to do so." " I said always," repeated Jeff, quietly. " Oh, but you mustn't. You'll make it hard for me if you do. As though I've taken on a trust too big. I—l mustn't be thinking you're worrying. I want you to be sure I'm all right." " I want to mako sure you're all right," said Jeff. He reached across the table and dropped his hand over hers. Quite a dozen people saw him do it. A couple of young gentlemen grinned, but mentally acknowledged that they would have liked to do the same. A red-faced person with a grown up family took one look at Jeff and then prosaically ordered boiled beef and carrots —which about covered his emotional reflexes at this time of life. A faded ladv who was a trusted clerk in a local solicitor's office turned her head away. She was not iealous, she was not bitter, as faded Indies are popularly supposed to be. She was just . . , thinking . . . And tw'Q "•'Mper« crifre'ed. and thought Jeff won-

derfully handsome and manly and rather wished he would hold their hands, individually and collectively. But neither Lillian nor Jeff were aware of all this. They still sat in that world which had been so miraculously made for them alone. " Darling," said Jeff quietly. " Don't do it." Her eyes were like velvet, dark and soft and gleaming quietly. " I shall," sh*e smiled. " Listen. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll have a signal. And if ever I want you very urgently I'll send it through. Something which I can say on a telephone without arousing suspicion, even if anybody is present. Are you on the telephone at your diggings?" " Yes. Museum 000934." " Good. Well, fix this. Tell your landlady and her servants that if ever this comes through when you're out, it's for you directly you return. I shall say: ' Will you tell Madame Fleurette I shall not want the hat.' Write it down. If ever you receive it, you'll know I'm in danger, though why I should be in dancer I can't guess. Now has that eased your mind?" Jeff had jotted the little message in his pocket-book, reluctantly releasing Lillian's hand in order to do so. " A bit melodramatic," he grinned. " But I'll see everybody in the house knows it. And I'll be round at Barclay's like a shot if it comes through." Lillian laughed. " It never will," she said; which shows that even clever young women cannot see far into the future. At that moment a voice asked: "Have yon finished with the sugar, please?" They woke up—metaphorically speakjng. The voice of tho waitress destroyed, in a split second, that wonderful world in which they had sat for many eternities —alone; just as it is reputed that the voice of a certain great singer could crack a wine glass when the correct note was sung. Thev looked round. The young gentlemen nastily began to eat. The faded lady resumed the novel she always perused at lunch-time. The red-faced person was demolishing boiled beef and carrots with commendable zest and wondering how he could get round a knotty problem in his business which had arisen during tho morning. The flappers sighed and spooned up ices. The big world had started turning again. The everyday things of everyday life were buzzing and living about them. The waitress took the sugar . . . " I say," said Lillian, flushing more deeply than ever, " those people have been watching us." " Let 'em," said Jeff grandly. "Anyhow, they'll only be jealous of me." Lillian laughed, catchily, delightfully. It was rather nice to hear him say that. He added: " Do you know what I'd like to do. I'd like to stand on this table and tell them all about it at the top of my voice. I want to run along the street shouting it. I want to point you out and say 'That wonderful girl loves me. I know I'm not fifc for her; I know she's a million times better than I am. But she belongs to me. She's mine!' That's what I'd like to do." " And you're certainly not going to do it," retorted Lillian; and went on, gravely: " Jeff, take care of yourself. Don't run any risks. Don't get taken, will you? If you did you'd let my heart be taken with you—and broken. So be ever and ever so careful —if only for me." " For you—anything," he said, quietly. The waitress presented the bill. It was a busy place. Tables were constantly wanted, and the young lady who had brought them their food considered that romance should be reserved for quiet evenings at the pictures. Jeff paid it. He gave her half a crown. The vastneas of the sum rendered her dumb. She usually found twopence tucked under a plate edge—and not always twopence. She stuttered thanks, and as Jeff, proudly, proprietorially holding Lillian's arm, took her from the restaurant, the girl confided to her im- • •• • .. . ... 1.1 ;i

ing business that she wished a "potty fellow " would bring his girl in every day. They were out in the main street. Putney Bridge was not far away, and Lillian was to travel on the tube from there to mid-London. Jeff was to make his wav home by devious routes. All this Lillian had insisted upon before thev met. Jeff was to take no risks at all. " Well," said Jeff awkwardly, " I suppose I'd better be going. When can I see you again?" " Three days' time," said Lillian. " For lunch. Here, if you wish." " I'd rather here than the Savoy," ho said. 14 I'd like to eat in this place for the rest of my life. I shall never forget it." "I think you'd get tired of the food," laughed Lillian. "So, three days." She gave him her hand. " 'Voir, darling," he whispered; and his eyes met hers. He" saw the uncertainty in them, the hesitance, the gentleness People were brushing by them, ignoring them. He suddenly stooped and kissed her full on the lips. She walked to the tube station, and her heart-beats were like hammer-blows. Somehow —this was different. She had always thought that one day a man she wished to do so would make love to her. Many men had told her they loved her, for she had that beauty which drew men to her side in numbers. But here was the man she wanted to listen to. He should, she thought, have talked to her under moonlight in an old garden—or in the lazy, shadow-cooled shade of a river backwater —or on a great hillside, open to the high winds. Instead —the little restaurant was behind her; and in that little restaurant, in that tiny, gathered together bit of the ordinary world, Jeff had made love to her. On the crowded pavement he had given her his first kiss, while lifo thundered by. And it did not matter. She realised it as she walked. The surroundings were nothing, the setting was naught. It was love that mattered, love that endured, love which had to endure through workaday years, love which did not need romantic surroundings, glamorous settings; love which shone like a star and held its light when life was shadowed and grim and weary. All through her journey she thought of Jeff, and it was only when she crossed Paul Barclay's threshold that she forced herself to normality and coolness. Barclay was waiting for her, and she thought he looked anxious. "Where have you been?" he asked. For the first time since her arrival there was a hint of impatience and fret in his voice. "I told you I shouldn't be home to lunch, uncle," she said. "Is anything wrongP" His manner changed, and he smiled wanly. "I didn't mean to bo sharp," he said. "Yes, something is wrong. The police have been here." Lillian stook stock still. "About Kimber," ho added. "He's been found. Some bushes on Clapham Common. He's dead—murdered." Barclay paused. "Tell me," said Lillian. "Well—it's a bit ghastly, though he obviously did not suffer. Tho police toll me that their doctor's examination shows that he must have been forcibly chloroformed and afterwards his . . . throat was cut. . . ." "How terrible I" Lillian pushed past him and up tho stairs to her room, leaving him standing in the hall. In the room, with the door shut, she stood and leaned on her dressing table, and stared at her own reflection. Her eyes no longer shone as they had shone when she left Jeff. Thev were lacking in lustre, and beneath them were great dark rings She was afraid. Kimber . . killed . . . throat cut . . . chloroformed. silenced . . and in silence. Mr. Perceval Brendon was very fond of steel It made no noise.