ADVENTURE MYSTERIOUS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23012, 13 April 1938, Page 9

ADVENTURE MYSTERIOUS

(COPJ'IUGUTJ

By. FRANCIS MARLOWE World-famed author, traveller and dramatist.

STRANGE MYSTERY SURROUNDS A BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND HER LIFE IS IN DANGER, BUT A DESPERATE AND DETERMINED LOVER APPEARS-

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued) "I'd better explain further," Dick said, "and you'll see that if there's any breach of the law it will be started by other side and not by us." Everton nodded understanding and Dic-k continued. "I want you, if you will, to undertake to look after a lady, a friend of mine, who's at present at the Colonnade Hotel. I don't want reports of her movements—nothing in the way of uespionage is necessary. I just want to be sure that she will be safeguarded." " She's in some - sort of danger, then? " Everton queried. " Can't you tell me what it is? " "Frankly, I don't know," Dick replied, " All I can tell you is that she's being shadowed by a map—abduction or perhaps bodily injury is what I fear," Everton pursed his lips and looked solemnly and thoughtfully at Dick for some minutes, then he pressed a bellpush. " We'll attend to it, Mr. Leslie," he said, heartily, " and Long is as good a man as you can have," " He'll have to do his work unobtrusively .and not let the lady scent his interest iii her," Dick warned him. Everton nodded, and to the girl who at the moment appeared in answer to his ring, said: — " If Mr. Long's in the office, ask him to step in here." "■ "He's just come in, sir; I'll tell him," the girl said, and vanished. "You can take Long with you straight away," Everton told Dick. "It will save time if you give him your instructions on the way to the Colonnade." " Exactly what I'd have suggested," sa 'fl Dick and j-ose just as Long, a lithe but stalwart man of about 30, entered the room. " You've met Mr. Leslie before, k° n g>" said tho ox-inspector. " He's fTota job on that'l want you to handle. You' 11 take your, instructions from him until he's finished with you." "Am J to report to him direct, a ' r ? " tlie man asked. " Mr. Leslie will tell you that, but you can telephone to mo if you want advice or help." "Bight, sir.'' Highly pleased at having the business so expeditiously arranged, Dick hurried along to the street, and within little more than half an hour iroin the. time lie had spoken to Patricia ' l,e hnd the; agency man planted in her hotel, primed fully with descriptions of bet- and her shallower, and enthusiastically responsive to his injunction to seo .that no harm touched her. With his mind still greatly exercised Over his day's • adventures, hut more peace than ii had been at any time Stono had told'him of Patricia's gs>artutp from the Antler's Hotel, lie ||took a \vestbound bus at the top of within a few minutes after

he had left Lour. It was not yet six o'clock, somewhat early for dinner, but as "lie had not eaten since he breakfasted at Norwich, he left the bus at the end of Shaftesbury Avenue and entered a restaurant in the Piccadilly neighbourhood, where, in fairly cheerful spirits, ho consumed a chop, a halfpint of Burgundy and a Welsh rarebit. Over this meal ho looked through a late evening paper - which lie had brought in with him, but though it contained a more extended report of the death of Mr. Edward Tuscan, and still hinted strongly at murder, it failed to suggest an explanation of the tragedy. Over a cigar Dick speculated for a. while on this angle of the mystery into which he had drifted—he had become convinced that Tuscan's death was in some way linked with Patricia's troubles —and as his mind dwelt on it ho found himself debating the disquieting suggestion that the whole grim business hinged on the letter that he had failed to deliver to' the dead man. The thought was startling and distressing, but once it had occurred to him he could not rid himself of it. He recalled, troublously, that Patricia's panic movements began on the receipt of news that the letter had not reached Tuscan; lie remembered also how vehemently sho had told him th«it ho roust not pnrt Mitli the letter to anyone. In these facts, in view of subsequent events, lie now saw an arresting significance. But to what did the.v point? Could it be, ho wondered —the notion thrilled him unpleasantly—that he carried in lus pocket a document that meant risk ot death to the possessor of it? Scarcely that, he assured himself, or Patricia, before giving it to him, or since, would have couvevcd to him some warning of danger. And yet there was Tuscan s death, and her own stealthy .journey and present predicament to be explained. The deduction that leaped to his mind was inevitable. Ihe letter was the key to the malignant mystery, and, without doubt, it carried in it the socds of death. . „ ~ . , .. In his concentration of thought his ei< r ar had gone out. He relighted it, and in the light of the conclusion he had come to began a Iresli dissection ot the mystery. One aspect of it, at least, as it presented itseli to him now, was satisfactory in that it removed the oppressing sense of responsibility lor Tuscan's death. If there was no flaw in his reasoning it was clear to him that even had Tuscan received the letter he would still have died—it was not his failure to receive it that decided his fate, it was because he was believed to have it in his possession that his life, was taken. Pursuing still the same hue. ot thought—Dick found his logic irresistible —ho was able to explain to himself Patricia's situation and movements. Doubtless sho knew that the letter intended for Tuscan carried peril with it. but with Tuscan's understanding and connivance had tried to minimise this by choice of place and method of delivery. Their arrangements upset bv his unlucky failure to reach 1 uscan in time, Dick read in that Patricia, realising that danger only passed from her when the letter had reached its destination, had taken the promptest measures to escape it. Obviously, n

thero were an enemy plot afoot to got hold of tlio lettL'r in the course of its transmission to Tuscan, the plotter's activities would concentrate on Patricia immediately it was known that ho had not received it. So far Dick was in every respect satisfied with his arguments and deductions. But he had reached the point now where lie had to account reasonably, and —this above all — without prejudice to Patricia, for his own position in the queer business. If his theories were correct —and they involved belief that Tuscan had been murdered by a baffled seeker of the letter —then lie, and not Patricia, was next in the line of fire, and Patricia, callously, cold-bloodedly, and without care, for his peril, had set him there. Aware of the risks to which possession of the letter exposed him, knowing of Tuscan's murder, she had given him no warning, had expressed not even a hint of concern as to tho dangers ho might have to face. Frowning, and with an irritable shake of his head, Dick crushed the lire of his cigar stump into an ashtray. So this was the end of his logic, he reflected bitterly. It had brought him to a conclusion he could not possibly accept. A ridiculous, an inconceivable conclusion.

Still frowning, brnm-wcary, and disgusted with the apparent futility of his carefully erected theories, he signalled the waiter for his bill. He was finished with trying to solve the mystery, ho decided; it was too intricate and bewildering in its complexities for bis poor detective faculties. Then, as he was pocketing his change, in an illuminating flash, he saw that lie had solved it. Not anywhere was there a flaw in his theories, and bis deductions from them were absolutely faultless. The letter Patricia had given him was undoubtedly the key to the mystery; Tuscan had as certainly been murdered by someone who believed that he had received it; Patricia was fearful of danger from her connection with it and was trying to escape it, but—and this dovetailed in as neatly as the completing piece of a jig-saw puzzle—he himself, though ho was in possession of the fateful letter, stood in no peril whatever, because, except Patricia, no one knew ho had the letter. She had displayed no anxiety about him, had not shown a sign of concern as to possible danger to him. Why .should she? She knew he was in no danger because the fact that he carried tho letter for which Tuscan was murdered was her secret and his, and lie had no fear that she would permit anyone else to share it. Exultant in the triumph, fully demonstrated to his mind, of his faith in Patricia, Dick gave his waiter a smile from which that hardworking man got more comfort than from the liberal tip be had received. At the door of tho restaurant he hailed a taxi and gave tho driver tho address of his South Kensington flat. CHAPTER XV. PATItICIA IS AIIKKSTI'D In his sitting-room, about half-an-liour later, a lighted cigarette between bis lips, ho drew the mysterious letter from his pocket and ga/.ed at it thoughtfully. No longer was he tempted to open it, nor did he encourage in himself any curiosity as to its contents. Ho wns concerned with it now only as a trust reposed in him by Patricia, which, when the time arrived, he must show had not been misplaced. How best to dispose of it, what to do to ensure its safety while in his care, were the questions with which his mind was occupied. To keep it in his Hat or at his office, to deposit it at his bank, to hido it in some place whore it would

bo safe from discovery, even if it became known that Patricia had given it to him—all these expedients he passed in review. But in the end, having carefully weighed the merits of each, 110 chose none of them. It was essential, he decided, that he should have tho letter always with him, for at any moment he might be asked by Patricia for its return to her. His mind made up on this point, he enclosed it in a plain envelope which lie took from his writing desk, gummed tho flap down securely, and returned it to his pocket. For some time thereafter he remained at his desk, writing letters and wading through papers. A glance at his watch when ho had finished this work told liim that it wanted only a few minutes to nine o'clock. For a few moments 110 moved aimlessly about the room, then chose a book from his shelves, lighted a fresh cigarette, and settled himself comfortably to read. Ho had been reading for about threequarters of an hour when tho tinkle of his telephone bell aroused him. Instantly—how anxiously he had been awaiting that ring! ho dropped his book and sprang to his writing desk. The call, as he expected it would be, was from the private detective Long. "There's nothing of importance to report," the agency man toid him. "Miss Langley has just gone up to her room. She hasn't left the hotel all the evening, and I expect she's turned" in for the night now. I spotted tho man that calls himself West hanging about her bedroom while she was at dinner, but I gave tho corridor chamber-maid a tip to keep her eves open, so he was headed off in that direction. He's settled in the smokeroom now." "That's very satisfactory, Long," Dick said cheerily. "I know 1 can trust you to keep up the good work. "You can, sir," tho man replied. "Any lurther instructi.>|js, sir?" "None, just now," Dick answered. "I'll be leaving here at half-past nine in the morning. Ring up at my oflice if you want me after that." He replaced the receiver with a smile of satisfaction. His smile was chiefly at the thought of Mr. West, of Brighton, prowling the corridors of the Colonnade seeking for a chance of stealing from Patricia a letter which she had not got. But with a quickly succeeding thought the smile laded, and his face became grimly serious—Tuscan had not had the letter either, and he had been murdered. His face whitened in swift awe of tho dire possibilities this thought suggested, and with something like a groan he sank into tho chair from which tho telephone call had aroused him. Then, suddenly, as fear had seized him, he saw that in his hands was the sure means of securing Patricia's safety, and the same inspiring flash of intuition made crystal clear the reason of the puzzling attitude she bad adopted toward him. So obvious now was this reason that lie called himself a dolt for not having hit on it bHore. With clear-headed vision she had seen that she herself would be the quarry of the hunters directly they found that Tuscan had not received the letter which she was to deliver to him. Knowing that the letter was temporarily safe, and willing to take her chances while it was thought that she still had it, she had broken promptly the chain which linked him with peril, and, insistent on his acceptance of her decision, had treated liim as a stranger, when but for her guarded warning he would have spoken to her at Liverpool Street Station. Her splendid courage! Dick gave it the tribute of a long in-drawn breath and a squaring of his shoulders. Aware of her risks, she had elected to play a lone hand. Heroically—as Dick saw it—she had thrust him out of tho

danger zone, resolved to face alone tho perils which would have beset liim had she allowed it even to he suspected that she had used him as her messenger. How glad, how inexpressibly glad, he was that hot for an instant had ho misjudged tho gallant nature at which ho had looked through her eyes. Clear as daylight now was all that had previously perplexed him in Patricia's movements and behaviour. It was to shield him that she had made her hurried departure from the Antlers Hotel and sought to hide herself from him. It was plain that she realised his peril directly ho had told ■her that he had failed to reach Tuscan at tho appointed time and place, and had made up her mind instantly to let it bo thought, risking everything that this would involve, that the letter was still in her possession rather than expose him to the dangers accompanying suspicion or discovery that she had entrusted it to him. it was apparent now, too, why, beyond warning him to make no further attempt to deliver the letter, she had expressed no anxiety ns to its fate. She know that it was safe in his keeping so long as her enemies were ignorant of his existence. (To ho continued daily.)