SYLVIA'S SUITORS

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12075, 28 February 1925, Page 13

SYLVIA'S SUITORS

A POWERFUL STORY OF LOVE AND MYSTERY.

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.)

T

Loves Tracy.

Author of "Thero Was No Other Way," "One Wonderful Night,” "Th« House of Storm," "Rainbow Island," Etc., Eto.

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XVl.—(Continued.) Soon after ter fate tree am e known, Winter wanted Furneaux, but his colleague was not in the house- The telephones having broken down, owing to the collapse of a standard, and the necessity of snbduing the lire having put a stop to any immediate search' being made in the park, AYinter thought that the pair of them would be better employed, if they transferred their energies to the local police station . , . He found Furneaux seated on the lowermost step at the entrance; his colleague was crying as though his heart would break, and Trenholme was trying to comfort him, hut in vain. “What’s up now?” inquired the superintendent, thinking, at 1 the moment, that his friend* and _ comrade was giving way to hysteria indirectly owing to the blow he had received. Furneaux looked! up. It was the darkest hour of the night, and his chief could not see the distraught features wrung with pain. “James,” he said, mastering big voice by a fierce effort, “my mad: antics killed that unfortunate woman! She was aroused by the shots. She would cry for help, and none came. God! I can hear her now! 'Then she ran for refuge to the man who, has been everything to her since she was a barrack-room kid in India. I’m done, old fellow. I resign. •' I can never show my face in the Yard again.” “It’ll do you ai world of good if you talk.” said Winter, meaning to console, hut unconsciously wounding by cruel sarcasm. “I’ll be dumb enough after this night’s work,” said Furneaux, in a. tone of such utter- dejection that Winter began to take him seriously. “If you fail me npw, Charles,” he said, and his utterance was thick with anger at the crassness of things. “I’ll consider the advisability of sending in my papers. Dash it;” He said something quite different, hut his friends may read this record, and they would repudiite an exact version with acorn and disbelief, “are we going to admit ourselves beaten by a half-bred hound like Hilton Fenley? Not if I know it, or I know you. We’ve got the noose round his neck, and you and I will pull it tight if wo have to follow him to ”

“Pardon the interruption, gentlemen,” said a voice,. “I was called out o’ bed to come to the firo, an’ took a short out 'across the park. Blow me, if I didn’t kick my foot against this!” And P.C. Farrow, who had approached unnoticed, held out an object which seemed to be a rifle. Owing to. his being seated, Furneaux’s eyes were on a level with it, and he could see more clearly than the others. Ho struck a match; then there could be no doubt that the policeman had actually picked up the weapon which had set/ in motion so many and so varied vicissitude*. But Farrow had more to say, It bad been his happy lot during many hours to figure bravely in the Fenley case, and be carried himself as a valiant man and true to the end. “I. think I heard you mention Mr Hilton.” he went on. “I met Dr Stern in the village, an’ he tole me Mr Hilton h'ad borrowed his car.” Furneaux stood up. ■'Continue, Solomon,''’ he said, aila Winter sighed with relief; the little man was himself again. “That’s all, gentlemen, or practically a)J. It strack me as unusual, but Dr Stern said Mr Hilton’s motor was out o’ gear, an’ be wanted a car in a desprit hurry.” “He did. indeed!” growled ’ Furneaux. “You’re quite sure there is no mistake?” “Mistake, sir? How could there be? The doctor was walkin’ home. That’s an unusual. thing. He never walks a yard if he can help it. Mr Hilton borrowed the car to go to St. Albans.” • “Did he, indeed? Just how did he come to find the car waiting for him?” “Oh. that’s the queer part of it. Dr Stern is lookin’ after poor old Joe Bland, who’s mighty bad with—there, now, if I haven’t gone and forgotten the name, something-itis—and Mr Hilton must have seen the car stannin’ outside Bland’s house. But wjia. was he doin’ in tloxton at arf-past twelve? That’s wot beats me. And then, just fancy me stubbin’ my toe against this!” Again he displayed the rifle. os though it were an exhibit, and he was giving evidence. “Let’s go inside and get a light.’ said Winter, and the four mounted the steps into the hall. * Robert Fenley was there, red-faced as ever, for he had helped in putting out the fire, but quite sober, since he had been very sick. . Some lamps and candles gave a fair amount Of light, and Robert eyed Trenholme viciously. “So it was youl” he said. 1 thought it.was. Well, my father and mother are both dead, and this is no time for settlin’ matters, but l’U look you up when this business is all over.” , , ~ . . “If you do you’ll get hurt,” said Winter brusquely. “Is that your rifle?” and he pointed to the weapon .in Farrow’s hands. “Yes. AA’here was it found?’ } “In the Quarry Wood, sir, but a’:most in the park,” said the policeman. I “Has it been used recently?” i Fenley could hardly have put a | question better calculated to prove his own innocence of any complicity in ithe crime. | Winter took the gun, meaning to open the breoch, but ho and Furneaux ! simultaneously noticed a bit of black ' thread tied to ono of the triggers. It ihad been broken, and the two loose I ends were some inches in length. I “That settles it,” muttered Fut- ! neaux. “The scoundrel fixed it to a thick branch, aimed it carefully on | more than one occasion—look at the sights, set for four hundred yards—- ; a.nd fired it by pulling a cord: from bis j bedroom vindow wht-n Ire saw his fa- [ ther occupying the exact position

where the sighting practised on Monday and Tuesday showed that a fatal wound would be inflicted. The remaining length of cord was stronger than this packing thread, which was bound to give way when force was applied. Well, that side of the question didn’t bother us much, did ’it, Winter?” “May I ssk who you're talkin’ about?’’ inquired Robert Fenley hoarsely. “About that precioua rogue, your half-brother,” was the answer. “That is why he went to his bedroom, one window of which looks out on the park and the other on the east front, where he watched his father standing to light a cigar before entering the motor. He laid the cord before breakfast, knowing that Miss Manning’s habit of bathing in the lake Would keep gardeners and others from that part of the grounds. When the shot was fired, he pulled in the cord ” “I saw him doing that,” interrupted Trenholme, who, after one glance at the signs of his handiwork cm Robert Fenley’s left jaw, had devoted' his attention' to the extraordinary story revealed by the detectives. “You saw him!” and Furncaux wheeled! round in sudden wrath. “Why the deuce didn’t J’ou toll me that?” “You never asked me.” “How could I ask you such a thing? Am I a necromancer, a wizard, a thought-reader?” Trenholme favoured the vexed little man with a contemplative look. “I think you are all those, and a jolly clever art critic as well,” he said.Furneaux was discomfited, and Winter nearly laughed. But ’he cat ter at issue was too important to i.e treated with levity. “Tell us now what you sew, Mr Trenholme,” he said. “When the 6hot was fired, I reoognised it as coming from a high-velocity rifle,” said the artist. “I was surprised' that such a weapon should be used in an enclosed park of this nature, and looked towards the house to discover whether or not any heed would be given to the incident there. From where I was seated I could see the whole .of the south front, but not the east side where the brass fittings of the automobile were alone visible, glinting through and slightly above a yew hedge. Now, when Miss Manning returned to the house and entered by way of a window on the ground floor’ I noticed that no other window was open. But, after the report of the gun, I s’aw the end window of the first floor on the south-east side slightly raised, say six inches, and someone in the room was, as I regarded it, gesticulating, or making signs. That continued nearly half a minute, and then ceased. I don't know whether the person behind the glass was a man or a woman, but someone was there, and engaged in the way I have described. If your theory is correct, the notions woulfl be precisely those you suggest, similar to those of a fisherman reeling in a line.”

“Your simile happens to be exact,” said Winter. “While Hilton Fenley and my friend here were having a dustup in the Quarry Wood, I searched his room, and, among other things I came upon a salmon reel carrying an exceptional quantity of line. So, our case is fairly complete. I’m sorry to have to inform you, Mr Fenley, that not only did your half-brother kill your father, but he tried his level best to put the crime on your shoulders. He over reached himself in sending for Scotland Yard men. We have seen too much of the seamy side of life to accept as Gospel truth the first story we hear. The very fact that jHilton Fenley was attacking you in your absence prejudiced us against him at the outset. There were other matters, which I need not. go into now, which converted our dislike into active suspicion. But- it is only fair that you should understand how narrow was your escape from arrest. Had the local polio© been in solo charge I am hound to say you would have passed this night in a cell. Luckily for you, Mr Furneaux and I set our faces against the notion of your guilt from the beginning. Long before we saw you we were keeping an eye on the real criminal. When you did appear, your conduct only confirmed our belief in your innocence.” “I told you why, you will remember,” piped Furneaux. But Robert Fenley said no word. He was stunned. He began to feel ill again, and made for bis room. Sylvia had not been seen since she hear of Mrs Fenley’a death. The detectives collected their belongings, which, with tho gun, and a bag packed with various articles taken from Hilton Fenle.v’s suite—the reel, for instance a suit of clothes hearing marks, possibly of moss, and the leather portfolio of papers—were entrusted to Farrow and another constable for safe conveyance. Accompanied by Trenholme the)- walked to Easton. On the way the ; artist supplied sufficient details of his two meetings with Sylvia to put them in possession of the main incidents. Furneaux, though suffering from a splitting headache, had recovered the use of a vinegary tongue. “I was mistaken in you,” he chuckled. “You’re a rank impressionist. Indeed, you’re a neo-impression-ist, a get-busy-and-do-it-now master of art. But she’s a mighty nice girl, isn’t she?” “Meaning Miss Manning?” said Trenholme coldly. “No, Eliza 1” “Sorry. I misunderstood.” “Ore noml You’ve got it had.” “Got what bad?” “The matrimonial measles. You’re sickening for them now. One of the worst bymptoms in the man is his curt refusal to pdrmit anybody else to admire one bright particularly star of womanhood. If the girl hears anothei girl gushing over the young man, she’s ready to scratch her eyes out. By Jove! It’ll be many a day before you forgot your visit to Itoxton Park this morning, or yesterday morning, or whenever it was. I’m mixed. Life lies been very strenuous during the past . fifteen hours. If you love me, James,

put my poor head under a pump, or I’ll be dreaming that our lightning sketch performer here, long John Trenholme, late candidate for the P.R.A., hut now devoted to the cult of Hymen, is going to marry Eliza, of the White Horse, and that the fair Sylvia is pledged to cook us a dinner to-mor. row night, or is it to-night? Oh, Jimini, how my head aches I”

“Don’t mind a word he’s saying, Mr Trenholme,” put in Winter “Hit ton Fenley hit him a. smack with that rifle, and it developed certain crack? already well marked. But he’s a marvellously ’cute little codger when you make due allowance for his peculiar ways, and he has a queer trick of guessing at future events with an ac curacy which has surprised me more times than I can keep track of.” Trenholme was too good a fellow not to put up with a little mild oha.fi of that sort. He looked at the horizon, where the faint streaks of another dawn were beginning to show in tlje north-east.

“Please God,” he said piously, ‘‘if I'm deemed _worthy of such a boon, I’ll marry Sylvia Manning, or no other woman. And, when the chance offers, Eliza of the White Horse shall cook you a dinner to make your mouth water. Tims will Mr Furnenux’s dream come true, because dreams go by contraries!” (To bo continued.)