The Half-closed Door

Otago Witness, Issue 3517, 9 August 1921, Page 46

The Half-closed Door

By

J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND.

Author of “The Black Moon,” “The Poison League,” “The White Rook,” etc., etc. [Cofvricht.] CHA I’TER IX. —(G mtinned.) For a few “'moments ri’.uie (.Toad laid down the receiver of the telephone, entirely oblivious of the fact that someone was still speaking at the other end of the wire. Then she suddenly realised that she was making a fool of herself. ‘‘Did you ray there was nothing in the safe, bam?” she queried, making an effort to be calm. “(July papers? .Merciful heavens! But Charles Blindon told me that ninety thousand pounds’ worth of jewels had been stolen. Look here, bam — if you’re going to play me any tricks. Yes, yes, Ido believe you. I didn’t mean that You’re about right. If Trilliek dies. . . . Yes, we shall all have to be very careful. There is no need for us to meet—>r write —or telephone. . . . Yes, if you three boys want an alibi, I’ll say I met you in Kensington Gardens, that I dropped my bag and one of you picked it up and brought it back to me. Of cour-e, you’ll have to advertise for me to make it seem natural. It will be better for you to do that than ' for you to say that I gave you my name I and address. Advertise in The Times agony column. You know the sort of thing—“lf the ladv who dropped her bag in Kensington Gardens,” etc., etc. I’ll keep a look out for it. The Boy ! No, I shouldn’t think the Boy took the diamonds. I don’t know what to make of it. It doesn’t matter now. It’s no good crying over spilt milk. All we’ve got to do is to keep out of the storm that is coming on. Later on we’ll fix up something. Y\ e’ve been done in the ore by someone. Ring me up next week, but be careful. They may be watching you. Good-bye. Yes, it’s cruel luck on all of us.” Susie Croad hung up the receiver, and it was not until she had finished speaking, and there was silence in the room, that she felt the full force of the blow. She had worked for two years to make a success of this enterprise. For two years she bad lived at Mexham Hill, and endured the society o? people who irritated her. She had built up a new life for herself, and had completed her task by allowing Charles Blindon to make love to her. If only she could have married Charles Blindon she would not have wasted her time. Utterly as she detested the man, he was very rich and a prize in the matrimonial market. But sire could not even marry the brute. And she would have to break off her engagement as soon as possible. And even that—so small a thing as that—would have to be done verv carefully. She leant back on the cushions of the sofa and lit a cigarette. Life was treating her very ill. First, there had been the marriage of Richard Felling, and now —this. It appeared as though she were fated to have neither love nor money. Y. ell, she could wait for love, but monev was an immediate necessity. She had come to the end of the funds her husband had given to her for the carrying out. of tnis task. He would be brutally furious when he learnt the truth. He "had left everything in her hands, and she had failed. And she had sworn that this would be the last job. She could hear his slow, heavy voice speaking to her. “Yery well, it shall be the last,” he would say. “You’d better shift for yourself.” And she was engaged to be married to Charles Blindon. And she was in love with Richard Peking! On, the bitter irony of everything. So much that she could look at with longing eyes, and could not touch. She could have endured noverty with a man she loved, or she could have put up with a man she loathed so long as he could give her everything that money could buy. But now she had nothing. And she was face to face with a danger that had never come into her life before. If this man Trilliek died, the police would oe hunting. not for thieves, hut for murderers. “Murderers,” she said softly, as though, bv speaking softly, she could take something from the harshness of the word. CHAPTER X. Richard Belling, who never indulged in the luxury of an evening paper, did not read of the burglary at the offices of Blindon and to. until the next morning. And he was as certain as if he had been watching the thieves through an open window that it was the work of his old associates. The newspaper did not give full details, but it gave a picture of the broken safe, and Belling recognised the particular artistry of Peter. He had never seen Peter open a safe, but the little man had often spoken of Ins methods. “Oil, Dick,” said Alary, when lie told i her the news. “What an escape 1 Oh. imy dear boy- supposing it had been you instead of that poor fellow !” She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him, and held him close to her. “Yes, it was a piece of luck, old girl,” he replied. “Well, I’m in a safer job now —six other clerks in the room, and no revolvers about.” During breakfast they spoke of nothing else but the burglary. The newspaper had described the condition of Trilick as “serious.”

"The brutes!” Mary said mure than once. “I hope they’ll bo hanged.” And then: “Oh, it might have been you, Dick —it might have been you.” And those were the last words she said to him- as he left the house. It was that which had so deeply impressed her imagination—lll3 escape from a swift and cruel blow. But he realised that lie had perhaps escaped something even worse than that. I he gang might have made an attempt to drag him into the business, and though they would not have succeeded, they would very likely have put the police on to his track over the other affair. And, as Polling travelled down in the train to his office, he wondered why the gang had not tried to get his help in the matter. It seemed such an obvious thing for them to do. Well, of course, tuev might h-ave been afraid of him giving them away, although they had a hold over him. Possibly they might not have even known that he was there. And, again, there was a chance that Die burg ary was not the work of the gang. But he was pretty certain, as he looked a - r ' :in at the picture in the paper, that jt Deter A\ oolf who had broken open tnnt sa:e. And, of course, Susie had been in it from fir.it to last. She had given toe others all the necessary information, a.nd no doubt it was Susie who had told teem 'bat it was no good trying to get him, Richard Peiiing, on their"side. Who ebe could have told them that? And then his dismissal? That, too, was the uork of Susie (Toad, and he was very grateful to her for that. Possibly she had on.y been playing for her own hand, but it was not unlikely that she was glad ( !°, h im a good turn at the same time. Oi course, he said to himself as the tram i oared through the tunnels, "'I ought to go to the "police and tell them what I know.” , E' 4, ' ie smiled as lie pictured himself noing anything of the sort. These men had been loyal enough to him, and even a Judas might have hesitated to betray tnem. No, it was no business of his. He bad no pity for Blindon and Go. His only pity was for Trilliek, whose condition was described as serious. , ' * “ hud seen fiillick only the day oetore Uie burglary. He had called at the office to fetch away a pipe he had left there, bur William had come in and had tauen linn into the inner room to explain t 0 lum th at he, Sir William, had no cause oi complaint against him. “My son doesn't like you,” Sir William nad said, ‘ and, of course, it would never have done to keep you. The office is so small, eh r And then Sir William—rather a dear o.d chap—had opened the safe and taken out a very small diamond from a chamois leather nag. “Give that to your wife,” he grunted. “She’ll like it.” Tnat was all that had happened, but on tne way out, he had talked to Trilliek, aim had laughed at Trillick’s desire for adventure, and Trillick’s wonderful knowiedge of detective stories. And now the poor fellow was lying- in a hospital, and he had seen enough of the real thino- to last him all his life. When Richard Belling reached the offices of Ando vers (Ltd.), the big mining engineers, in Queen Victoria street, he found himself quite a celebrity. It was known that he had been Blindon’s clerk, and all through the clay he was chaffed about the burglary. “Looks as if you'd h?hl a hand in it, Belling,” laughed one of his fellow clerks who went out to lunch with him. "It was my fault,” Felling replied. If I d been there, it’d never have happened.’ ’ “How’s that, old chap?” "1 d have been a darned sight too quick with my gun.” “That fingerprint must be kept out of Tie papers, ’ said Detective Inspector Sanderson That is one of the things were got to keep to ourselves.’’ Air Elton puked up two photographs, and, laying them side by side, studied them carefully. One was a picture of the print found on Lady Bextable s safe, tlie other a picture of the print found on the J safe in Blindon and Co.’s office. Thev were identical. “The fourth member of the gang,” continued Sanderson. “tne fellow we couldn’t find. I don’t know whether we could convict the other three on this. I doubt it. Other evidence would be required. You see. Elton, this fellow, whoever he is, might be working on his own now, or with some other lot of scoundrels. ” “But of course you’ll go for the ganon” 4 Yes, when there’s other evidence. I've looked them all up, searched their rooms, and ” “Put them on their guard, Sanderson,” the Inspector interrupted. The detective laughed. “You’re out of date.” he said. “There are two ways of catching a criminal. One can either "creep slowly up to him and pounce on him, or one can fetch him right out into the open at the start and drive him into a corner. The second method puts him on his guard, as you sav, but it leaves him no chance of escape.” “Oh well, von know more about these things than I do, Sanderson. Anyhow, you are going to keep this fingerprint in reserve ?’ ’ “Yes. At present they think I only suspect them because —well. because they’re the sort of chaps that might be guilty. Of course, the Chief mav not see eve to eye with me. But I think he will. We've got the three of them shadowed, j If they're guilty, they'll make a slip somewhere. But it's the fourth man I’ve got to find. There's something interesting about that fellow, Elton —almost as if he were a ghost.” “The head of the gang, perhaps.” “Hardly that, my boy. We’ll probably have to work backwards from the diamonds after all—if we can trace’ era. I'm going round to see Trilliek. The operation will be over by now.” Sanderson made his way to the hospital, and learnt that Trilliek was still

j unconscious, and that the surgeons hail j decided nut to operate. The detective could not understand half of what was j told him, but. he gathered that it was not considered advisable to risk the patient’s ui'e. at appeared that at present Trilliek vas in no danger. I was just a question whether he. would recover iris memory or not. -And it was certainly better for him to lose Ins memory than his life. From Sandeison’s point of view, however, tnere was not much to choose between death and loss of memory. In either case I rillick would be unable to identify his assailants. Ihe next morning there was good news m the papers for Susie Croad and the three men who had risked their necks for nothing, it was publicly announced that j Trilliek was out of danger, that he had I recovered consciousness, but that, as yet, | he could remember nothing of what "hud happened to him. “But he will remember,” said Earn Felton. “It'll come back to him in time. W e ve, got to clear out before that.” “Likely, isn’t it: ' said Jimmie, who was walking with his "pal” in Ixensmg--1 ton Gardens—a meeting place chosen for I its wide open spaces and the impossibility ! of being followed without the cdindo'vecs being detected. “Yes, I know they're keeping m touch j with us," Felton replied, “and that's whv I we must be as open and above-Doara as j possible. No slinking about and meeting jin dark corners now, my sou. But this jis a glad day for us. We shan’t be I hanged anyhow.” “1 reckon Peter meant to kill him,” muttered Jimmie, “and I wish -led hit a bit harder. Dead men tell no ia!es.” “Oh, that’s how you look at it, eh?” laughed Sam Felton. “Well, I’ve not been out to the war, and I’m not keen on killing men. I’m glad the boy is not going to die. But I’m not sure I want him to get his memory back again. It’s been a rotten job, and nothing to show for it. If they track it clown to us they’ll never believe "that we didn’t take the diamonds.” “1 think I know who's got ’em,” snarled Jimmie. “Susie Croad? Well, I shouldn’t wonder !’’ Jimmie's heavy brutal face flushed red. ‘‘You say that again,” he growled, “and I'll break your face in. I wasn’t thinking of Susie. It’s the Boy I had in my mind.” “Oh, you’re crazy about Susie. The Boy! Rats!” “Look here,” said Jimmie, nulling his companion bv the sleeve, and bringing him to a halt in the, middle of a wide expanse of grass. “The Boy thought as Susie was up to some game" or other.” “Y'es, that’s likely.” “Well, then, lie knew, he was right when she got him dismissed from the office. He was a smart boy, wasn't he?” ‘Yes—l give you that.”" ”AA ell, I reckon he got impressions of thosy keys, and lie just opened the safe and took the diamonds, and timed it so as we should come along right after him and do all the damage. That’s liow I've come to look at it.” “He wouldn't dare,” muttered Felton. “He wouldn’t dare—cross us like that! Not he.'’ “AA ell, we know how to put the screw on him, don't we?” “Yes, but it’ll be dangerous.” “Not for us. For him. you mean—us coming into touch with him, so to speak. As likely as not old Sanderson’ll take his finger-prints, and then where’ll he be? Down among the dead men, eh—like old Tom Bowling.” “ They’re watching us,” said Rain quietly, “two of ’em under that big elm. D< rat turn and look at 'em.'’ ‘ft doesn’t matter. It’s all open and above-board. Look here, sonnie, we’ve got to have a look in at these diamonds if the Boy’s got ’em.” AYel 1 , you can have a.try if you like,’ said Sam Felton with a shrug of the shoulders. “But it'll break him.’ T think I’d talk to Susie Croad about it first.” “Oh., you think that, do you! Well, j you go on t.‘linking. Drag Susie Croad into this rotten business? Not 1!” “It wouldn’t be fair on the Boy—you going to see him, and putting the' police on to him. I don’t believe he could have taken the diamonds, and lie’s done us no harm. He’s stood out of the way, and that’s something we ought to be m-ateful for. ” “Grateful; get along with you! It’s money we want, not kindness." I’ll have a chat with him. or I'll leave it to you.” “A 011‘d better leave it to me, Jimmie.” “And you swear as vou’ll see him about it ?” “I swear that, and I'll take care that I don’t drag him into this iob, if he hasn't taken the diamonds. Great Scott, T can slip the police all right. Now we’d better go home. I nut in that advertisement about the bag.” “Dll, you did that, eh?” “Yes; Susie Croad hasn't answered yet, but she will. She's a brick." “She’s better than that,” growled Jimmie. “She ain't so hard. And you take this from me, my bov : if Sus'e Croad gets put awav over this job I'll kill the man as docs it.'’ CHAPTER XL By one of those accidents which occurred even in the quiet, orderly life of Mexham Hill, Mrs Hibberd was forced to part with her servant, Jane, at a few minutes’ notice. In describing .he incident the following da.v to the vicar’s wife, Mrs Hibberd—to call her bv the only name that Mexham Hill would recognise—said: “My dear—-it just happened—you could have knocked me down with a feather. I only told the girl that she was half an hour late on her evening out, and you’d think I’d accused her of murder. She positively screamed at me. I’d have kept her —for you know what it is to get servants nowadays—but she wouldn't stay. She went off in the morning and left me to cool; the breakfast.”

That was the simple and painful story, as told from house to house in Mexham Hill, with additions and alterations av cordiug to the taste of the narrator. It was a common enough tragedy in the “days of freedom” after the war, and it only differed from others of its type in one respect—the extraordinary importance of its consequences. As a child’s hoop, running beyond control, may send a pair of horses crashing to the ground, and cause the death of the occupants of the carriage, so Jane’s little bit of what she called “independence” was destined to leave its mark on the lives of many neonle who had never even heard her name. She was replaced by a tall, good-look-ing woman of thirty—one of the most superior type of servants that could possiblv be found or even dreamt of. Alice Vale answered an advertisement which Mrs Hibberd had put in the Morning Post. She had excellent, references, and she seemed to be almost too good to be true. She asked for high wages, but she was worth more than her weight m gold. For a fortnight she worked from morning to night, and never had Mrs Hioberd eaten such exquisitely-cooked din sers in Mexham Hill. “My dear, what a treasure,” -aid Mrs Blindon cne night when she and her husband and Charles Blindon were dining at 12, Portelet load. “Why, even ii Charles were not in love with you. I believe that he'd be tempted to marry you for the sake of your cook.” Charles Blindon laughed and raised a glass of port to his lips. “Here's to our treasure,” he said, “and may she be long with us.” The guests departed early, and Susie Croad went into the kitchen to help Alice to wash up the plates and dishes. It was then a quarter past ten, and there was no prospect of getting to bed before eleven.” “This'll soon be over, ma’am,” said Alice. “I mean you doing this sort of thing.” “I hope so,” Susie replied with a laugh. “But I'm not going to lose you, Alice. You're coining to our new house, and you’ll have a kitchen-maid under yon.” “Money does make a difference, ma’am, doesn’t it?” The work was finished at ten. minutes to eleven, and Alice went upstairs to bed. Susie Crcad returned to the drawing room, lit a cigarette, and lay down on the sofa. It was a very hot night, and the windows were wide open. There was not a breath of wind and the sky was overcast. The world was very quiet, for Portelet road was far from tramlines ami omnibus routes. Two moths fluttered white against the darkness, and Susie Croad Kept her eyes on them. They were the only things that stirred in the stillness. They parted and circled to and fro between the window and the electric light. They could not burn themselves to death. Modern progress had seen to that, thought Susie Croad, but modern progress had made the lives of human thieves more dangerous and liable to disaster. She knew that she herself was in danger, and she could not calculate the strength of the force that was against her. In the old days criminals had known pretty well what they were up against. But now there were different methods, a sort of open good fellowship between the police and the criminal. Sooner or later Jim and Sam and Peter would fall into some trap that would be laid for them. A chance remark over a glass of beer and a pipe, a chance jest, a glance too full of meaning—and the trap would close on tnem. They would not give her awav. But she would be left alone. Her thoughts turned, as thev so often did in these days, to Richard Pelling, happily married and free from all his old associates. She envied him, and Her envy was very near to hatred. Tt was midnight when she turned out the light arid went upstairs to her bedroom. But she did not go to bed. She seated herself at a writing table, and wrote a letter to her husband, telling him that he must send her some more monev. or she would have to come over to laris. There was nothing in the letter that would have betrayed her secret if it had fallen into the hands of the police. She .ft.an with Dear Sir and ended with. “Tours faithfully.” “ • sea'ed up the envelope, and then she unlocked a drawer which contained some documents of importance. Among tneni there was a letter from Richard idling. Tt was a letter that would cnlv have been written to a woman in whom Bn- writer had perfect confidence. She had kept it n< a weapon of defence in <ase she slim,l.l one dav be forced to fidit for her own hand. It merely nro that 1 Fid to. part ~ 'to - v, :V , affair. Tt was that ;mT i.-uhir letter ,i ; ct die v. tshed to ■,. a ■ in on so , A mii ht be forced to make use of it. She thrust her hand to the very hack of the drawer and drew out an old hand' kerchief-box where she kept the documents. Hie hov was full of papers, but the letter was net among them. 1 1 be Continued.)