SCANDAL AT BARONS COURT

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22499, 17 August 1936, Page 17

SCANDAL AT BARONS COURT

By ALAN GREY Author of ** The Mischief Maker ™

(COPYRIGHT)

CHAPTER XXIII. — (Continued)

Sir Bertram Foulkes, meanwhile, bad been in the woods —possibly because lie suspected his niece was meeting Brice—had seen the quarrel with Howard, anil had walked with his niece part of .the way home, but not all the way. Sir Bertram, Whaley believed, had genuinely known nothing of the murder until he had heard Jenny Lea scream, when sho had seen the face of her husband and had seen his glaring eyes.

Jenny Lea and Conway Sowell, too, were innocent of any complicity. It was just the fact that Brice had been Jenny's husband and had thus made an obvious motive, that had brought suspicion of Jenny and her lover. Similarly, Paulino Vines had been worried because she was deceiving her employer; her connection had been one of chance, not intent.

The only person not yet cleared was Aunt Agatha.

Whaley told himself, grimly, that he would get the truth from her, before the night was out.

An idea suddenly flashed through his mind.

"Get all the others collected in the lounge," he said to Bilson, "and make it as quick as you can." Bilson wheeled round.

Howard Lane and Evelyn were looking at the inspector, and in the eyes of the girl Whaley saw horror and despair. He looked at Lane, and was surprised to see the man's face was calm, and there was a glimmer of quiet humour in his eves.

"Well, Lane," said the detective, "why don't you admit the truth, instead of hedging? You can't get away, now."

Howard Lane shrugged his shoulders. "You ought to be satisfied with the evidence you've got," he said. "I'm not going to confess to murdering Lester Brice —because I didn't kill him." Whaley rubbed his chin.

Evelyn Foulkes turned toward him, and her face was bleached white. Her hauds were clenching and unclenching. "I—T was making it- up!" she burst out. "I didn't see anything —I swear —" "Come, now," Whalev's voice was kindly. "I'm sorry, Miss Foulkes, but you mustn't let yourself go like that." "I —" began Evelyn.

(To be continued daily)

Sho stopped as the little figure of Agatha Foulkes appeared in the doorway. Her aunt's face was set grimly.

"What's this?" sho snapped. "More mental torture?"

Whaley turned heavily toward her. "Don't talk like that, Miss Foulkes," he said harshly. "Yours is the only story I haven't got now. You'll have to talk soon, unless you want to seo vourself arrested."

"That's no talk for a police officer I" snapped Agatha Foulkes, doggedly.

"Whether it is or it isn't,'' said Whaley, "I'm just warning you that you're not showing yourself in a very favourable light, madam. Anyhow kindly go downstairs, into the lounge. I want to talk to all of you together."

The thin lips of the older woman tightened. She pushed past the policeman, and took Evelyn's arm. iogether the two women walked downstairs, followed by Whaley.

He could not help but admire the doggedness of the woman. And she was a wonderful friend to Evelyn. Whaley gritted his teeth. Was it still possible she would make a statement to counteract the evidence of Evelyn Foulkes? In the lounge he found that only Sewell and Jenny Lea were missing —and, of course, the man Dawson, who had returned to Barrington earlier in the day. Jenny and the American came in, looking tired. Jenny had a voluminous gown round her, and Sewell was without his collar and tie, while his feet were thrust into carpet slippers.

Bilson, Whaley and the shorthand writer were in the room, too. Whaley closed and locked the door before looking round at the eight people who had played their various parts in the affair of Lester Brice.

The policeman's voice was calm but grim. " Now," he said, " I've had so many different stories that I can't bo sure which is the exact one in each case. I want all of you to speak, frankly, now. And —" Whaley's lips hardly moved, but the words came out icily " —l'm going to stay here until every statement is checked by everyone else. I'm going to have the absolute truth!" Only Jenny Lea, Pauline Vines and Seweli looked unaffected by his words. Even Colonel Lane, looking at his son, was obviously anxious and worried, Whaley started on his task grimly. He had a pad of paper in front of him and he tabulated the times that the various actors in the drama had been in the woods about the time of the murder. One by one, ho was able to knock out members of the party. Pauline Vines was cleared, Sewell, Jenny I.ea, Sir Bertam. By the closest possible attention to detaii, Whaley was able to satisfy himself that those four people had definitely been seen away from the hut before the time Evelyn had seen Howard emerge.

The Chief Inspector was working on the basis that the moment Howard Lane stepped from the summerhouse, to be seen by Evelyn Foulkes, was the moment immediately following the murder.

That had been three-twenty. Evelyn had seen him, and hurried away immediately. She had definitely reached the house at three-thirty, and it had taken her ten minutes to walk from the summerhouse. Whaley's questions grew grimmer, He turned at last toward Agatha Foulkes.

" Now," lie said gruffly. " Where were you at twenty minutes past three, Miss Foulkes?"

Agatha Foulkes tightened her lips. "At a few minutes before that time," snapped Whaley, " you were see?i by Cleeves entering the hall. You looked —agitated. You had obviously seen something that had worried you—and you saw it at the time the murder was committed." He paused for a moment, and then rapped: "What was it?"

Agatha Foulkes made a great effort to retain her composure, but her hands were trembling. " Nothing," she muttered. " Nothing at all. . . ."

Whaley swung round, his eyes blazing, toward Howard Lane. " You saw her," he barked. " Where was she?"

Howard Lane swallowed hard. Ho was rubbing his forehead with his right hand, pressing the heel against his skin. In a very low voice he said: " Outside the —"

"Howard!" Agatha Foulkes' voice had regained its firmness. " Don't say a word! 1 won't allow it!"

Whaley seemed not to hear the interruption.

A WELL-TOLD MYSTERY STORY WITH A SURPRISING CLIMAX

" All right," he said, " I'll tell you. I don't seo why she should risk her life. I saw her outside the summerliouso She looked in and saw me—"

Her face was absolutely colourless.

"Well, Lane!" Howard looked hesitantly at the older woman, who was leaning forward in her chair and staring at him. llien he looked back at Whalev.

"Stop!" Agatha Foulkes cried again, and before the policeman could stop her she had leapt across the room to Howard's side. " You mustn't, you idiot! Don't tell them anything!" Whaley was smiling grimly. "Get away from Mr. Lane, please!" he said, and there was a harsh note in his voice. He needed no telling, now, that Howard had committed the crime, and the woman could prove it. " Now, Lane. What did she see you doing?" The youth licked his lips. He was looking anyivhcre hut at the inspector, who was drumming his fingers 011 the desk. It would not bo long, now, before he had the truth. He told himself 110 had been wise to get them all together. The cross-currents of emotion were playing the tricks lie had expected. Agatha Foulkes had already said enough to convince him she had seen Howard Lane kill Brice.

Evelyn was sitting and staring at her fiance.

Her eyes were dull, and slio looked more like a wax figure than a creature of flesh and blood. Gone was all the vitality that had made her so lovely. She was desperately unhappy—in the throes of real despair.

"Sir Bertram was sitting stiffly in his chair. His eyes blazed, and from time to time 110 muttered to himself. Next to him Colonel Everard Lane was undergoing the terrible ordeal of seeing his son gradually but inflexibly drawn to the gallows. The colonel was going through hell!

Whaley did not speak for several minutes. There was no need. Howard Lane would break down, soon. It happened, suddenly, completely. " I —was bending over Brice's body," lie said, " when she looked through the window. The gun was in my hand—" Whaley's eyes glinted. •' Yes—"

"But—" Howard Lane's voice grew stronger. He squared his shoulders, and now he faced the inspector unflinchingly. " I did not kill Brice," he said. " He was dead when I went into the summerhouse."