THREE STRANGE MEN

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23166, 12 October 1938, Page 9

THREE STRANGE MEN

CHAPTER XlX.—(Continued) He had nerve. It needed some to be here, conscious all the time that he was not without imagination. The feeling of being in touch with something grew in him. It was something, perhaps, of memories left about; of something hollow, as the remembrance of echoes that were gone; of a breathing something that was nothing, and that could not be heard even by the closest concentration of mind, or seen by any effort of vision. Mr. Barling re-lit his pipe and smoked calmly. Something might have, been outlined in the flicker, for he had snapped off the lighter quickly. But all remained still and dark, save for the moon above, and the cool light that lay hero and there. Then into the hush, from the door behind him, came a low, toneless voice: "Has he gone?" "Who's there?" exclaimed Barling, startled to his feet, "who is it? Come out!" The door moved slowly inward,- and a figure came into the aperture. It was an elderly man, not yet grey, his eyes sunken, his front teeth nearfy all gone. Barling's hand was on the little bludgeon in his pocket, while ho surveyed him. waiting for the next word. "Him that was here," the man said in his husky voice. "Are you Torkney's man?" "No. Who's Torkney?" "The man who was here. Who are you, then? I haven't seen you before." "You've forgot me." "How did you get inside? You weren't here—l looked." "I came over that wall. I was under the stairs when you passed through just now." "Are yoU one of Rumely's sneaking •curs?" "Dunno him, mister. I ain't no cur, neither. No—you've just forgot me." "Where hare I seen you before?" "Below Gravesend. 'bout a year since. My name's Kitson. 1 sailed with old Geoff, 1 did, at one time. Poor old Geoff, that's gone." "Ah —yes, 1 remember now. I had a chat with you by the riverside. But there's something in your inind. Don't bluff me. W 7 hat is it?" "Dunno. Gawd knows I dunno." Some vague perplexity wrung anguish from this stranger. "Been over this wall before?" "No. And never but a fev? times over the way, at the front—just to look —in the night. Murder's a draw, ain't it? I saw the funeral go, and so did you, but "you didn't see met There's been some sneaking about this place in the night. B'lieve me. I onlv thought I might see something—that's all. b'lieve me—l dunno what. 1 felt a bit glad when I spotted you here fluiet and on your own this time. Maybe you know there's something—?" "There's nothing here to see, Kitson, that need matter to you, if that's all. The man you saW has gone to send the police back here. They might want to question you if you remain. Do you want to be questioned by the police?" "No. I couldn't say any more, if I was." "I don't know about that. You might tell what you've seen." "Shadders," the man said. "Shadders." /:.«•: .r." "All right. Watch riat. I don't want you here, Kitson.'' Barling backed up the step?. .."Come ou4r-|'ll fasten that door. if I come and see yott.-again at Gravesend in a

By. C. T. PODMORE Author of " The Fault," etc. A thrilling story of a mysterious inheritance and. a queer tangle of human emotions.

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few days, Itemember that, will you? Same place?" "A.v, ay—same place—if you do come that wav."

"Leave this watching to me, do you hoar?" "Ay, ay, sir." Ou the garden level, the man paused, looking at the wall he had come by, anxious to remain; to do or say more, his miiul unsatisfied. "Nut that way," Barling said—''take your chance along the front. You have time before anyone comes." So Kitson, with a swinging, yet reluctant gait, took his departure, and Barling went back, pondering, to the collar door. Ho was wondering whether Torkne.v really meant to bring or send the polico back here. Torkney knew quite well where he stood; hut he did not know trhat Barling had already said more for himself at the Tooting office than could bo said against him. Nevertheless, his presence in the house was a trespass. Nothing serious, of course, could eventuate; but if he did fasten the cellar door, and assumed ,merely a superficial watch on the place, there would bo 110 sign nor proof of entry. So Barling made the cottago fast as he had found it, and .sat very quietly once more below the garden level, not even drawing at his pipe. Time passed slowly—it seemed. But at length, over the waste land, came a faint sound of. some distant clock striking the hour. Barling checked the time by a glance at his watch.

Midnight. Intently he listened for- the last stroke, which lost itself in the veering of iv breeze that had begun to rustle branches near by. For five minutes he listened fixedly, it seemed, to that last dim stroke, as if he followed the sound of it along the mysterious waves that were carrying it perhaps through eternity. And suddenly an impulse electrified him. and he sprang up. Something there ? Yes. Something darkly hunched and shapeless falling over tho wall. No — not falling. It righted itself, and dropped back on the other side. A half-stifled sound of fright went with it. And Barling leapt for the wall, clambered swiftly over, and followed. CHAPTER XX SUBWAY As lie had anticipated, George Parmitter heard before long some muffled stirrings about the farmhouse, which told him that Boxwith and his companions were up and about. He moved no more, on that; he had made up his mind to be quiet. But after a time > there was a scraping noise against the wall outside, and a shadow apprised him that a man was looking down upon him, as well as he could, through the little window above where he lay. And that gave him an idea. Apparently satisfied that the prisoner had been up to nothing and was asleep, the man outside descended and, by the sound of it, dropped his ladder to tho ground. A few minutes later, Parmitter got ui) to put his idea into execution. This idea was to create a diversion—as many chance diversions as he could—to cover up his real intent. Very simple. AH he had to do was to spring up to the window, as he had done before, and this time hold on, until he could release the catch and push

the window open. Hp guessed rightly that the catch, having been in regular use, would work. But the casement w»s not thrust open without effort and some noise, for it was swollen with damp and the heavy rains. The morning air rushed in, and he breathed it gratefully for a long time. Nothing happened, but that Boxwith. true to his word, and nearly true to time, sent the breakfast ho had promised. Also, a bowl of hot water with soap and a remnant of towel. The things used already were passed'out.. "You opened that window?" asked the spokesman of the two who came. "This place is too stuffy," George said: "I like fresh air." Finishing his coffee, a little later, he watched a man on the outside of the window, preparing to close it up with hammer and nnils. He called to him "That means I'll have to smash it." The answer to this was the appearance of Bo'xwith at tho door, along with the men who wore there to take the breakfast things away, surly enough to say nothing. "Look here, Mr. Parmitter, this won't do," Box with protested. "I'm doing my best for you, but you look like going short of your hors duffers, or your wine and walnuts, or something, if you carry on like this. "This place smells like old bones." "lints maybe," Boxwith suggested. "Bats is nothing. You oughter stand it quietly for a day or two. It's only fair." "Take that chain off tho door. I could talk to you better if you'd come in." Boxwith appeared to listen; then said more confidentially, "Look here now, Parmitter, you' ain't a bad feller, only a bit simple. I'll let you slip out o' this the first minute I <?an. S'help me, I will, when word comes that it's over, sure as I'm on the right side o' this door. Take it from me." "If that's all, thank you for nothing. You owo me something, Boxwith, you know." "Ain't I paying you back a bit? Tell you what! If you're fond o' reading. I'll find you a nice book to pass away the time. What about it?. There's a 'Pilgrim's Progress'; if you'd like to read about how he went on." George Parmitter glared bitterly at him. "Better," argued Boxwith, "than smashing a winder. If it had to be boarded up, you'd got no light for reading." "Thinking is my business just now." "Good thing, too, Mr. Parmitter," the other responded, "is thinking. Think what might happen, if you just won't be agreeable. Why, you're in clover. If 1 wasn't here, you might be kept, unkindly, and without proper attention, for the best part of some time longer than I've said. Listen. These two fellers that brought you here, they work together like twins; you couldn't divide 'em, only with a knife. They're absolutely selfish. They would think nothing at all about floating you the river with the tide, if I wasn't here to frighten 'em." "You frighten them?" "Yes, me. They know me. They know I'm wicked." "All right, Boxwith. We'll see." "You'll be quiet, then, will you?" Boxwith demanded in something very like a wicked torte. "Yes —I'll be quiet," Parmitter returned, with a rather different meaning. This superficial promise to bo quiet might prove subterfuge enough. A black-out of the window would imply the less desirnble alternative of being spied on from the door. In tho mellow early evening George Parmitter heard the whirring approach of a motor-car. It raced up to the front of the house so swiftly, that he barely caught sight of the back of it as it swerved helow the little window, to which again he

sprang, and not For thft second time that- day.

A smart summons upon a door close by brought some eager hubbub and voices; then quietude reigned again. A long time seemed to go by, and twilight was falling before the sounds he vaguely honrd now and then came near enough to tell George that someone was approaching Footsteps paused at the door, and amid low tones the bar was lifted.

"Are you there, Parmitter?" asked the voice of ltumely. George answered from his corner, "Yes." "Come here —I want to seo you." "Hadn't you better come in?" returned George, . without moving. "I want to see you, too. 1 should like a bit of a chat with you, ltumely—just for five minutes."

"No doubt," sneered ltumely; "but 1 haven't the time to spare just now." "I suppose not," George rejoined; "and you d have no time for anything else for a while, after I got my fingers to your neck?' "Fancy that," commented ltumely in an aggrieved tone to someone aside, "after my telling you to treat him well. Yet they tell me, Parmitter," he called, "you have behaved yourself quite decently all day. Never mind—you may have the bit of consolation I wanted to givo you. You had better have kept out, as I warned you, but the business is as nearly at an end as possible, and you will be quite at liberty before long. Good-bye." He did not hear George Parmitter's rcsponso to that; nor tho light tread with which he made for the closing door, foolish as it was to risk such demonstration of his anger. As the bar was replaced, George put his ear to the crevice and heard ltumely saying, "Remember what I've told you. The utmost respect and consideration, until t come back. If the gag is necessary, use it without violence. Let not one of you forget himself!" Geofge ? more than ever surprised by this solicitude, passed over to-the window to get a look at the car as it went away. He did not see the driver, but the tear was obviously that which had brought him to this place. A black cloth was over the number. Twilight darkened, and the last of the sunset disappeared. Parmitter was inwardly smiling-at his janitors' complacent idea that he Was reconciled to staying here for even another night. The little Window showed a squar6 of vivid deep blue of far-off significance. It was the only thing now that watched him. Ho got to his feet at last. Not the slightest sound of activity came to his strained hearing. His nerves seemed raw and exposed to the tension of these last long-drawn idle hours. He gasped with -the thrill of it when, suddenly, the silence was split by the shriek of a woman somewhere in the house. It was a shriek that died down from protest to fear and despair. There was a rush of which also died away. Then silence again. Parmitter took up the flooring and crept below. He understood Rumely's last words better now. His solicitude was not for him, but for a new captive, who had doubtless been brought in the car. So his purpose was suddenly doubled; for he would get this woman out ns well as himself, if human hands could do it. He crept along until he came to a section to which he had earlier penetrated; where in fact was one of the vents it was feasible to dislodge. Upon the flooring almost above his head was \vhere something was going on, something muffled and shuffling. Among rougher tones he could distinguish those of Boxwith. tolerant, soothing and persuasive, and through it all the low crying of a woman who had realised a desperate predicament. Cursing ltumely and all his works, to himself, George could onlv listen. Finally he heard a door ciosed and locked, and he knew the woman was alone. (To be continued daily.)