The Man She Never Married

New Zealand Times, Volume LI, Issue 11739, 29 January 1924, Page 3

The Man She Never Married

ntjLyjfT

Coralie Stanton and Heath Hosken

Authors of " Throe Men Who Cams Baca.” Sword and Plough,” Th* Ac , Ac.

|CO P Y R IO BT.|

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued). “Mr Dearth, I presume,” said Velvet, calmly. “That is my name,” replied the tall man. “And may I ask what you are doing in my house?” It seemed a perfectly reasonable question. Mr Velvet’s agile mind was working with lightning rapidity. Ho did not like the look of that large revolver which threatened at any moment to put an inglorious end to his life's work. “I had no idea,” he said, “that the house, was occupied.” “That’s a lie,” said the tall man. in broad Lancastrian. “You saw me at the window a minute or two ago. And even if you thought the place was empty, is that any reason for your breaking in. Who the devil are you?” “Do you mind,” said Mr Velvet very gently, “do you very much mind putting that ugly lethal weapon in your pocket. 1 hate firearms. I always think they might go off suddenly, don’t you know?” “This one certainly will, if you piay any hanky-panky with me. Don’t make any error about that. Put your hands up. Quick, too.” Mr Velvet, perceiving that discro tion was the better part of valour, and, indeed, having no choice in the matter, obediently put up fits arms. Whereat Mr Dearth raised a stentorian voice that echoed and re-echoed through the empty house, revcrberat ing like a peal of thunder. “Fry!” he bellowed. “Fry! Come along here, and be mighty quick about it.” So there was someone else to deal with. This looked like developing Into a nasty business. Mr Velvet ci perienced all the reputed sensation of the rat in a trap. Only one faint gleam of comfort remained with him. Surely that bull-like bellowing voice must be heard by Anatole, the chauffeur, outside. And surely Anatole would come to his help. A momentary distraction just at this moment would give Mr Velvet a chance —a dog’s chance, at any rate. “Coming 1” csiime a shrill voice, from the hall. “Coming. /What’s the row?” A moment after, a pale-faced, little, old man, in his shirt sleeves, appeared at the top of the staircase. velvet took swift stock of him. He was bald and very thin and cadaverous. His clean-shaven face waa bluey white ; his little, close-set, beady eyes, and hu thin nose and lips gave him the appearance of a rat. “Caleb,” shouted Dearth, in a voice that suggested undue nervousness, ir that the rodent-faced Fry was very deaf, “go through this fellow’s pockets, and see if he’s unarmed. I’ll cover him. Don’t be alarmedj and—oh, no, you don’t!” he burst in furiously, as Velvet made an involuntary movement with his hand towards his hip pocket. “Make a movement, and I’ll blow your head off!’! And he oertainly looked quite capable of carrying out his unpleasant threat. Assuredly Mr Velvet,was in 6orry blight.' For all that, it was very apparent that the little old man called Caleb was far from happy; but it was equally obvious that he was completely dominated by the tall, bearded giant of a north country man. For a brief moment Mr Velvet was tempted to adopt an official attitude, give himself away and boldly announce that he was a detective officer and call upon both men to surrender in the name of the law. But he remembered that he had no charge against either !of them and, moreover, that he was in France. Besides which it was highly improbable that they would go to the length of murder if he showed no resistance, and it was quite possible that he might ascertain who they were and what they were up to in the seemingly deserted Chalet Gilderoy, and what connection they had with the tall, dark women who sent telegrams in the name of Vicars. Nevertheless, it was rather too exciting to he altogether pleasant. Something had to be ventured at all costs. Dearth’s creature was cautiously advancing to him. Velvet thought his long, claw-like hands looked like the talons of a carrion bird. “Look here,” said Velvet, in a remarkably steady voice, considering the circumstances, “I warn you not to lay hands on me.” “Rats!” was all that Dearth said and laughed boisterously. “And,” said Velvet, “if you think you can do any violence to me you will be very disappointed. I am not alone here. I warn you.” “Keep your mouth shut, or 111 shut it for you,” retorted the amiable Mr Dearth. “I’m not using any-vio-lence to you, am 1 ? Not yet, at any rate What Ido later on depends on yourself. Now, Caleb, my son, go through his pockets, and we shall know where we are.” So the little rat’s name was Caleb— Caleb Fry. Mr Velvet found some slight satisfaction in registering such a comparatively unimportant fact on the tablets of his memory, i Caleb did his work well. Mr Velvet came to the conclusion that he was no novice at the game. “Aha!” cried Dearth, as the big Colt automatic was produced. Oh, hoi So he doesn’t like firearms, does he? Afraid they might go off suddenly—eh? Doesn’t like violence! Hal Cet on with it, Caleb. He may have another. Take no risks. Hand it over.” Mr Dearth put the Colt in hie pocket. He never for the fraction of an instant took his evil eyes or hie large revolver off the unhappy Mr Velvet. Never had that little gentleman been so insulted; never before in all his long experience had he found himself in such an undignified position, or such a dangerous one, if it came to that. Caleb Fry’s long fingers extracted Mr Velvet’s pocket-book, cigar-case, watch and chain, and a variety of other things of value to Mr Velvet. “Put ’em all on the table,” Dearth shouted to the little man, who in stature was even shorter than the gnome-like Mr Velvet, though in weight Mr Velvet could give Caleb several stones. The tall, burly figure of Dearth towered commandingly over the two little men so utterly dissimilar in personal appearance. When the search was completed, Dearth said, “Now, just step into that room,” indicating the door on the opposite side of the hall, “and we will continue our conversation, and you will perhaps be so good as to explain why you burglariously break into my house armed with a great Colt automatic. Go on! Get a hustle on you ” Then, fust as Mr Velvet was turning to obey the commands of the gaoler, came a most stupendous crash of glass, followed by another crash as

of some heavy piece of furniture fallinz downstairs. “Heavens I” gaped Dearth, gazing up at the ceiling. What s that? What—what the devil—what —— It was all Mr Velvet wanted. Anatole had not failed him. Like a panther he sprang at the great man and dealt a lightning blow on the tip of the beared chin. It was accurate, incredibly swift, and there were tons of weight behind it Dearth went down like a felled bullock. The next instant Velvet had wrenched the revolver from his nerveless fist and extracted his own automatic from th© pocket of tne insensible man. It was all over in a moment. Th© little rat-faced Caleb Fry whinnied out in-terror and tried t© -make a bolt for the staircase. “Stop!” shouted Velvet. “Come back. Don’t be in such a hurry. Stop, I say!” , . The little man did not stop; but it is doubtful whether it was as the result of Mr Velvet’s peremptory command or the Bight of Anatole, the ohaffeur, gripping a formidable weapon in the shape of a jack in his right hand. Anatole was out for blood. “It’s all right,” said Velvet in French. 1 The tables are turned. It was a tight corner. Never had a more interesting five minutes. Hope you haven’t hurt yourself. ’ ’ “Is he dead?” gasped Anatole, gazing at the prone figure on the floor.^ “Shouldn’t be surprised,” said Velvet grimly. “I put every ounce I had into it. But collar the* little gentleman there—Mr Caleb Fry, Monsieur Anatole Vernet,” said Mr Velvet effecting an introduction. “The other gentleman’s name is Dearth. Now I w'ant to tie up Mr Fry, and, if Mr Dearth looks-, like recovering, to tie him up, too. I want to go through this place thoroughly. It looks quite interesting.” Mr Velvet recovered his property from the table, and commenced to open the windows, “A little fresh air would help matters,” he said. At which' Caleb Fry, trembling with terror protested. “Y n u must not, you must not,” he beseeched. “It must not be done.” A minute or two later Mr Velvet was engrossed in an examination of the papers on Mr Dearth’s table, .while Anatole, who was enjoying himself immenely and feeling that he was actually a reincarnated Gaboriau’s “Monsieur Lecoq,” had skilfully .tied up both men, Dearth and Fry, and was carrying out a minute examination of the house, opening windows and shut ters, and unbarring doors. CHAPTER XVI. It must be admited that Mr Velvet was taking a very high hand and taking a very considerable risk into the bargain in calmly forcing an entrance into a stranger’s house, making prisoners of its occupants, and taking the liberty, of going through the private papers which lay in a certain methodic order on the big kneehole table in the English-looking study. 'As a matter of fact there were not many papers to examine, but such as they were they were sufficent to allay any doubts which had arisen in his mind as to the legality and inadvisability of his course of action. In the first place there were several English newspapers of recent date, all of them evidently having come through the post. In the waste paper basket he found several wrappers and. empty envelopes addressed, “Roger Dearth, Esq.” Post® Ee6tante, Boulogne-sur-Mer, Pas de Calais, France. The postmarks covered a period of about a On the table was a neatly tied' bundle of legal-looking papers and several unopened letters, these also addressed to Roger Dearth: at the Boulogne Post Office. The unopened letters would certainly suggest that Mr Dearth had not long received them, and, as he had only just arrived at this deserted house, he nad most likely brought them from Boulogne. Mr Velvet opened the bunch of legal documents first of all, and submitted them to a cuisory survey. They all appeared to deal with the matter of the Probate of the Will of a certain Nigel Scamp, deceased. There were some Inland Revenue papers and accounts, copies of Affidavits, some solicitors’ letters and official documents dealing with Death Duties. Mr Velvet was about to tie up the papers and dismiss them from his mind, when amongst them his eye fell upon a familiar . object'. It was nothing more or less than one of the many thousands of tills recently issued by blip Metropolitan police at Scotland Yard offering a reward of £IO,OOO to anyone who should give information concerning the present whereabouts, dead or alive, of John Vicars. Mr Velvet returned to the perusal of the legal papers with awakened interest. He took up a folded foolscap document endorsed “Copy Probate • f Will of Nigel Scamp Esquire, deceased,” opened it out and read it. It was a short will made five years ago in Liverpool. It Tan as follows: “I. Nigel John Vicars Scamp, late of Bloodshot, Prince Consort Western Australia, but now of the Red Rote Hotel, Liverpool, in the County > f Lancaster, merchant, hereby revoke all former testamentary dispositions and declare this to be my last will and testament. I appoint mv old friend, Roger Dearth, of 116, Rue Petit Perpignan, Bordeaux, ana the Chalet Gil aeroy, Hardelot, Pas dee Calais, France, wine merchant, sole executJr and trustee of this my will. 1 give, devise and bequeath all my real and personal property of whatsoever nature or quality unto him in trust, directing him to pay all my debts, funeral, and testamentary expenses, and thereafter pay the income arising out of my estate to my nephew, John Vicars, whose whereabouts can be ascertained from his publisher, Messrs Cornice and Ouso, of Paternoster-row, London. E.C/., until ho, my said nephew, shall attain the age of thirty-five or marry, in which event or either of them, J give the whole of my estate to my said nephew. Subject nevertheless tnat it my said nephew should predecease me or shall not marry before he attain the ago of thirty-five, I give and bequeath the whole of my ical and per sonal estate unto the said Roger Dearth absolutely.” That was all. The will was signed in dua order and attested by two wit-

nesses. (To he continued).