THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22412, 7 May 1936, Page 20

THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

By JOHN HUNTER Author of "When tho Gunmen Came," "Buccaneer's Cold." "Deaa man a v_>uic, tiu.

(COPYRIGHT)

AN EXCITING STORY, PACKED WITH THRILLS AND MYSTERY

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued) "What the dcuco are you talking about?" snarled Turquin. "You've done us wrong—me an' Wally," said Steve. "Thass what you've done, if you want to know; and I'm tho man who says it. And I don't care who hears mo, either." "Well, I can hear you." Turquin spoke dangerously. "What's the trouble?" "Them diamonds," said Steve. Turquin was now quite calm, perilously calm, in fact. Ho stood confronting Steve, very slim and dapper, and well-dressed, his somewhat ascetic face expressionless save for a twisted smile at one corner of its thin lips. "1 seo." Ho spoke softly. Steve waited for him to go on, but Turquin appeared to think that he had said enough, so Steve thought it a good idea to spill some moro. "Robbed," ho said bitterly. "The fruits of our labour lifted from under our blessed eyes. And us like a couple of mutts trusting you to tho hilt, as they say. It's enough to make any man mad. D'you know what I'm going do, Turquin?" Turquin shook his head. "I can't guess; and for tho moment I am not overburdened with inquisitiveness. Am I to understand that you accuse me of stealing tho diamonds or, rather, your share, from you and Wally?" "And tho gang," said Steve with a generous gesture. "All of us. Ditched to hell. And by you." . "Ah! Ayd on what premise do you base this extraordinary accusation?" "You mean how do I know?" asked Steve. "Yes." "Because I've been there, and the stuff's gone. Mo and Wally. Nothing doin. See?" if he expected a dramatic change to come over Turquin he was sorely disappointed. The slightly smiling, immensely aloof man's expression did not alter. "Why did you go there?" he asked, i a gentle voice. "To have a look. To make sure." Steve spoke a little uncertainly. He realised that he, who had come to hurl accusations in Turquin's teeth, had been subjected to something which amounted to a cross-examination, and that a leading question, cunningly prepared for, had just been tossed at him . . . like a challenge. "1 congratulate 3-011 on your selfeffacing anxiety," smiled Turquin. "You looked and found not, eh?" "Yes." Steve fidgetted on uncertain feet; then exploded. "You've done us. You've twisted the lot of 11s. You think you can get away with it, don't you? You think you can bolt with all the stuff and leave us high and dry. But, by God, you can't. I'll tell you that. I'll blow hell out of you first." "Quietly," purred Turquin. "Gently, pray. The situation, as you put it, is that you and Wally, consumed with anxiety on behalf of all of us, took the trouble to go to a certain place in order to assure yourselves that the—er —proceeds of a certain deal were quite secure. And that, arriving there, you found those proceeds missing. Right?" Steve nodded. He was breathing rather quickly after his outburst, and his eyes did not meet those of Turquin very steadily. "So. Well now I'll tell you something. First, turn round, and put your hands up. Hear me?" Steve saw the little gun in Turquin's hand, and blindly obeyed the command. Turquin stepped behind him, slid his left hand round and over him with the speed of long practice, found his gun, and relieved him of it. "Thank you. You can drop your arms, turn round, stand or sit down now —whichever you please. We can talk better if one goes unarmed, Steve." "Here . . ." began Steve belligerently. "No protests, please. I want you to listen to me. I've listened patiently to you To begin with, I have the stuff. 1 confess it quite frankly. The police came and searched this place. They found nothing. Now I decided that the best hiding place for the stuff was where the police had already searched, so I went and got it. In doing this I was, of course, actuated by the very same motive as drove you and Wally to that backwater —a consuming anxiety for the rights of my friends in this matter." Turquin's eyes were sly, and a little evil smile lurked in them. "You mean —you was going to split after all?" asked Steve. "Why not?" Steve's tongue touched his lips. "We didn't think of that," he muttered. "No? Man's ingratitude is, I believe, more unkind than the winds of winter. I'm surprised at you, Steve. Particularly as 3 r ou and Wally were so solicitous on behalf of everybody concerned. I should have imagined that you would, at the least, have been charitably inclined towards myself." "Well, you see;" said Steve uneasily, "1 mean to say—when the stuff was gone. What would you have thought?" "Oh, nothing," said Turquin carelessly. "And now are you satisfied?" "Sure." Steve stared at him with a wandering eye. "Beats me," he added, reflectively. "Fair beats me. Sorry, Turquin. I'm a man as knows when he's wrong, and I apologize handsomely. I take back all I said. I'm your friend. Thass what I am. I admire you. Less have a drink together." "I was going to suggest it myself," smiled Turquin, and produced a bottle, glasses and a syphon. He half filled Steve's glass with whisky and handed it to him. "To ourselves and mutual trust," he smiled. Steve swallowed the whisky. It set his head spinning a littlo more. It brought a beautiful glow to him. It wanned his heart. It charged him with splendid emotion. Turquin refilled his glass, and he again emptied it, and again it was refilled. "D'you know, Turquin," lie said, "I like you. I've always liked you. If you wanted a thousand pound tomorrow, and I had it, I'd lend it to you. I would, straight. I'm like that with my pals. Open-handed. You'll me are going to be all right. have a song." He started to moan the latest musical atrocity, but Turquin hurriedly cut him short. "Not here," ho said. "Will you have another, Steve? I don't think you should, you know. Take a walk across tho Park. Do you good." "Thass it," s.tid Steve. "Fresh air. The way to health. Exercise V all that. I'm going. I know a friend when I meet one. Thass good whisky, Turquin. Gets right at you. A man could get tight on that whisky if 110 tried. S'long, Turquin. See you in tho summer." He blundered out, and Turquin, standing for just a second or two, hurried into his bedroom. Steve had come down the stairs in relays. He avoided the lift". Lifts were nasty things, anyhow. Jolted a fellow about such a lot. And he would walk in the Park and commune with the stars. Fine chap, Turquin. Looked after all of them. A good job, though, that he, Steve, had not let slip the fact that he and Wally had intended to steal the foot. That had been clever of him. A cunning wheeze to tell Turquin they had merely been anxious to assure themselves of tho safety of the loot. And Turquin had swallowed it whole. Hadn't so much as batted an eyelid when Steve passed it to him. That Avas the best of being a clover fellow. You could pull the blinds down on anybody.

He reached the marble splendour of the entrance hall and he made his way across it something like a sailing ship m full sail going across the wind. Clever. . . . He could go and tell Wally Turquin had the stuff and was going to act straight. He could congratulate himself on a diplomacy which had touched tho heights. Across the perilous vastness of tho traffic-filled roadway was the park. He dived for it. A taxicab pulled up with a jerk, and its driver yelled: "What d'you think you're playing at, 'Arold?" "My name ain't 'Arold I" grinned Steve, ami dived 011. , 110 slid past a large motor-car; he missed a motor-bus by inches; he made the park, its serenity and its safety. And in the park they found him an hour or two later. Ho had been shot three times from behind, and 110 was as dead as the gravel path on which ho lay, face downwards. To Wally, the following morning, caino Hill, tho car driver, and one or two others of the gang. They were mad with excitement. Steve was dead —murdered; and in Steve's jacket pockets were some of the smaller stones stolen from Massonnier's. "Stovo double-crossed us," babbled Bill. "By God I The dirty swine." And while they babbled, while Wally sat and wondered, and was afraid, Turquin got through; and Turquin was unusually agitated. "Wally, have you seen the news? About Steve, 1 mean?" And, as Wally assented, Turquin went on: "I've been straight up river. Tho cache has been rilled. Do you hear 1110? Rifled! Steve must have done it. And somebody knew. Somebody got him. We've all been robbed." Wally dropped the receiver. He heard tho others all talking, yet he did not hear them. At last he spoke to them, curtly, sharply. "Guess that means we're all—out!" 110 said. "You guys had better beat it." They went. And Wally still thought —and thought. CHAPTER XVI. Mrs. Jane Allard moved slowly, and, doing so, uncovered her face and looked about the cell. She had not counted the hours during which she had been shut up in this cell, the hours which had elapsed since, just off Kensington High Street, and in one of the royal borough's quiet and sedate residential thoroughfares, a quietly-spoken, well-dressed man had stepped alongside her, and, taking her arm, had intimated that he "wanted" her. A crawling taxicab had done the rest. She had been dazed when it happened, and had remained dazed ever since. There had been talk at the police station —which police station she could not remember. It had been, to her, vague talk, but ominous, blackly, evilly ominous. The man who had taken her was educated, and ho spoke a foreign language—German. German, by God! He had conducted a talk in German with a hard-faced man with a shaven head, who had been present at tho station. And now she was in this cell. They had treated her with a certain amount of distant courtesy. Nobody had been unkind to her. They had sent a solicitor to her. There had been talk of extradition, of a certain "Home for Little Children" conducted by her near Hanover. The British police officer at the station had called it a "baby farm." (To be continued daily)