THREE STRANGE MEN

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23163, 8 October 1938, Page 14 (Supplement)

THREE STRANGE MEN

CHAPTER XVl.—(Continued)

JTHEX he did a singular thing. He took the fork from his empty supper plate, carried it like a deadly weapon to a corner where lay some of the loosened whitewash, and stuck it into the floor. He glanced reflectivsv at the knife also, but put aside whatever may have been his thought about it. "What a fool I was," he miittered, "not to ask Boxwith for ?a-ifeather bed." . The ale had done his head no good. He got down to the floor, blew out the scrap of candle, and lay pulsing to the beat of the rain outside. That pulsing lasted through many weary hours. A grey-eyed morning looked in from the window high up in the wall, and found him contemplatively awake. The rain had ceased. It was too early_ for his captors to be about. He rose quietly and stepped over to the invitation of the morning. With an agde leap he caught the narrow ledge with his fingers, drew himself up, and peered through. He saw a shabby green enclosure with a broken gateway; the remains of a hay cart on a single rotting wheel; part of a narrow, rutted road that wound between low hedgerows and occasional trees; a glimpse of flat, misty fields, with the ghost of a church tower far beyond; and everywhere suggestive of loneliness, neglect and silence. One or two birds flew past, but no twitterings could he hear. . „■** .

He was in an old farmhouse, and ' this had been one of its store-rooms. The place was no longer in the world. From this he turned to the casement "which had been boarded tip on the outside. He could not break through this without rousing his captors; the timbers behind the glass were held in place by bolts driven through the frame from within.

He went to the spot- below the little ■window where he had stuck his fork into the flooring and sat down there, and began to scrape patiently at the edge of one of tlie f boards. The wood came up in soft strips. At last he squeezed his fingers through, and the timber pulped and crumpled in his grip. A foul, clammy mess clung underneatty. This was the cause of the odour i—dry rot. Cautiously he pulled tip a piece of board which broke at a short length. He looked at the sickly, unwholesome -fungus on the underside. He could make an aperture big enough to pass through. The depth below was less tlian two feet, but he could crawl, <lamp and noisome as it was. , A glance showed him little peering spots of light where the vents were, almost choked up; and by degrees he crawled far enough to surmise that certain loose gaps in the parti-walls would admit him under the flooring of adjacent rooms in the house. Also, he found a small rusty axe-head, with a decayed shaft that fell' out when he touched it; and this he put into his pocket. He could get away—he had no doubt of it now. One of these vents should be grouted out. All he had to do was to hide his time. Sorely was his patience to be tried. Had it been otherwise, it must have caused hint more suffering of mind than anything else he had ever known. * CHAPTER XVII. NEBVB Mr*. Cordery, all pxcitement at the wire recaircd from George Parmitter, presented herself post-haste at Leadenball Street to consult with Sophie.

By C. T. PODMORE (COPYRIGHT) ' " Author of ** The Fault," etc.

A thrilling «tory of a my«teriou» inheritance an 4 a queer tangle of human emotions.

"Secure possession of the cottage at once" —that was the injunction. And the question was—How ? Sophie suggested Torknev's advice. Mrs. Corderv vetoed # that, sinco the lawyers were now so rigidly neutral, had been so unhelpful, and were otherwise concerned with their late client's affairs-. Even less feasible was the idea that;mother and daughter should take even the shortest temporary dotjiiciie at the cottage. What was George thinking of? The only rational alternative seemed to be the police. But the police were virtually in possession now, keeping close watch in the neighbourhood; and this wire would only prompt curious questions. If the wire meant anything, might be strange doings there before long. The upshot was that Mrs. Corderv went back home, while Sophie got in touch with Headley Barling bv a telephone call to Abinger's Hotel. Barling came to see her.

More than once Mr. Darling had evaded confidences on what Mas going on. This time his indifference was to ho brushed aside. He was shown the wire, told the difficulties, and presented with an outline of the situation, of which Mrs. Corderv thought it was time he knew something, if events were to make them still more iwdebted to him than they were already. Mr. Barling's expressive face registered every appropriate shade of feeling. Yet somehow ho did not seem greatly impressed; nor was he so surprised as Sophie had expected. He was like a stage-listener —almost.

"Mother shares the right, in one sense; to speak about this." Sophie said. "Mr. Parmitter evidently imagines—he didn't at first —that the search will end at Tooting. Hut that ought to be ridiculous." "It would be," Barling laughed. "This is London. It will (end in the clouds." "Still—"

"Of course I'll go—l'm intrigued. And I think I agree with you about the police. Whv give them a reason for butting in what they too might laugh at? Secret papers —buried treasure. It is not their case." Barling laughed again, but instantly excused himself. "What a . lure, though."' lie added. "Men fit out ships ana sail awav, and have lost'money in thousands, for the simple chance-of it.-Lives, too!" "Yes, lives, too." Sophie agreed. "Treasure or not. tlie search is always real enough. So is this." "I understand perfectly," said Barling. "I can enter into unusual things, especially the romantic, with the zest of a boy. 1 shall, in fact, quite believe in it for that reason."

So it tvju Barling who answered the wire. The telegram was in his pocket, and he was going to see that no intrusion on the contents of the house at Tooting was likely to happen lor want of proper surveillance by the police. ~ It was early evening when he got there. Nobody was about. Curtains were drawn. There was an air of sorrowful loneliness about the place, from which other nouses seemed to have grouped themselves apart. Barling let himself in as it' he lived there. G?rc,v «.light came dinilv through the curtains; Yn<l here and tliero a ray was on the floor or up the wall. He stood absorbing the* utter quietude. Then he went upstairs. Dead silence awaited .him. and absolute stillness, save of the' shadows that moved upon him in the radius ol a little flashlight lie produced. There was li landing, and some closed doors. Jf he had heard that lonely call ol tieoffrey Parmitter —"Sieve Corderv,

are you there "—-lie might have fancied it coining again with the quiet opening (it one of those doors, lint tlie shrouded twilight that came through each as ho opened it tor scrutiny conveyed no thrill of that sort to Mr. Barling's nerves. He just listened- to the methodical soft tread of his own footsteps. as lie returned steadily and with delibcrato slowness down the stairs. v

Barimg unbolted a door that admitted him to tho shallow cellar. He saw a square, low-rooted plnce, with a bricked floor. Part of the floor had been repaired recently. Underneath, the stairs was a black recess where lay a few garden tools. Tho door leading outside appeared to have been left unbolted.

He was reflecting on this, when tho door opened, and a man in a trilby and a buttoned-up light overcoat stepped in. . "flail"! What are you doing here?" ■""-"That." replied Bnrling. "is what 1 must ask of you. Who are you?" "Hardv. Scotland Yard. What's all this "

"Oh, if that is the case, I'll explain," responded Barling. "I've been asked by Miss Corderv to come over and see that the house is quite secure; Mr. Parmitter has sent a wire about it. That's all. -Apparently it was not." "That's all right. If you want your bird back, you leave tho cage-door open. What is Mr. Parmitter afraid of? Thieves?" "That's it, I think." "Where is he?"

"In Chatham, it appears." "He knew there is police observation. Seems mighty urgent. However, we'll go inside." "Certainly," agreed Barling. "This way."

ffnrdv fastened the exit, and followed this unexpected visitor up into the living-room. The detective switched on the light. Then he said, "You have not told me who you are." Darling drew a . card from _ his case. Hardy,-glancing iit it, put it into his pocket. "Anything else?" he said. "Excuse me, won't you?" "Certainlv."

Barling drew out his wallet, from ] which he extracted a number ol papers, i These he laid upon the table. Hardy, taking up several, saw that they corroborated the card and finally glanced at one which appeared to have been screwed up lor waste, but oil second thoughts preserved. It was an imaddressed note without a signature. It ran: "Kreyne says Markham will seo you at 11 o'c." Barling had forgotten this. He watched Hardy's face as he read the paper, but it gave no extraordinary sijrn, even.as he said gently. "Ah! How do you explain this note?" "j don't explain it. I came across it at Ahiuger's Hotel, where 1 am staying at present." Did you find it in your room?" "In a room that had just been occupied by someone else." "Who was that?" "A man named Rumely. John Biimely—of Bristol, I believe." "What number was that room?" "Number 101." "Is he there now?" "\ T o." "Wliv should vou keep this note, Mr. Barling?" "Wliv? Really I don't know." "I am asking," Hardy said incisively, "because J. happen to know something about I''rev no and Markham." "1 don't," returned Barling; "and 1 didn't even read tlie note till afterwards. Some business or other. T know do more about what it was than you do." Hardv shrugged. "Perhaps less!" he returned shortly, "Are you acquainted with this man l{iiniely?'' "I have met him. I should not care to cultivate his acquaintance. A crook, 1 imagine." "H'm. Possibly. You're involved, you know." Barling put. a hand in his pocket. "Here's the wire from Chatham. And this"— from another pocket —"is the key of the house which Miss Corderv me to come here." Hardy looked ha filed by these credentials. "I'll keep this paper, anyhow, and glad of it. When we go from here you'll he able to establish your status, no doubt. It there's anything more you can tell me, Mr. Barling—' "There's one thing. Bumelv has gone from Ahiuger's to the Pilgrims Hotel, but I don't know under what name: it may he Diggs, or it may be Boxwith. Ask for him there." Barling could not help but realise that, this inevitable line of inquiry must bring things to light, which were at present outside Hardy's ken. But he wanted to he done with Hardy; for he had not vet satisfied himself that George Parinittcr's injunction was adequately met by the police. Crime kept their quarry away. Parniitter's interest was different. It attracted. Police or no police, Barling meant to pass the night in this house where murder had been done. And, -when ■ Hardy had -finally done with hint, he did pass the night there. (To be continued daily.)