The Half-closed Door.

Otago Witness, Issue 3519, 23 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. [Copyright.] CHAPTER XII.— Continued.) Richard Belling turned and .smiled at his wife. “Xothing, dear,” he said. then he came to her side, leant down, and kissed her. “I didn’t mean to wake von,” he continued. “You looked so tired. By Jove, it has been a hut day. hasn’t it?' 1 feel limp enough,” “But, Dick dear, what were you looking at—out there, in the garden?” “Our good landlady, hanging out the clothes to dry.” "But what were you thinking of, Dick?” ‘You, my child. I was wondering ! whether I ought to wake you up or let 1 you sleep.” ‘You frightened roe,” she whispered, and then burst into tears. “Oh, Mary dear, don’t be silly,” lie said, rather impatiently. “I woke up and saw' you standing there,” she sobbed, “and yon—you looked so queer, Dick—as if something terrible had happened.” “Oh, you’ve been dreaming, Mary, and | then you woke up and didn't expect to see a man standing by the window. I daresay you didn’t recognise me at first.” “i didn’t, Dick. I’ve never seen you look like that before. You looked as if—as if you could kill someone.” “Our good landlady, perhaps,” he laughed. “She doesn’t look her best on washing day. Mas it ever struck yon, .Mary, how extraordinarily ugly she is?” lie put his arms round her, lifted her from (he bed and set her on her feet. Then he took her face between his two hands. “Don’t be a silly child,” lie said, with a smile. “.All our trouble is to make two ends meet. We’ve nothing else, and you mustn't imagine things. Now what about food?” She kissed him and went into the sitting room. He had done his best to laugh her fears away, but sjie was quite aware of a crisis in her life’. Her fears, hitherto vague and possibly quite imaginary, had taken a more definite form. Her husband, the man she loved, was afraid of someone—of something. She had see the fear in his eyes. And she had seen more than that. She had seen the desire to fight and kill tire thing he feared. He was no coward. Whatever it was that threatened him, he would stand up against it. He would conquer, or be conquered. There would be no compromise. But the uglv side of the whole business was that lie would not allow her to help him—that he would tell her nothing, lie wanted to keep her apart font this battle—to spare her the shock of the conflict. As she prepared the supper, her mind went back into the past. She knew now that her mother had been right. There was something about her husband that lie had hidden from her—something thatthreatened him with danger. And it was creeping closer to him—so close that lie would have to destroy it or bo destroyed. And she could do nothing. She could not even watch the batile. She could only see the rock in" of the surface while the fight went, on below. The enemy was hidden from her in the depths. And her husband meant that it should be so. TTo would not yield an inch to her pleading sir to her tears. He intended to “keen her out of it.” Richard Belling, left to himself in the bedroom, took a letter from his nooket. and rea l it thing dt for the fourth time, j I,! was well written, and clearly ex- ! pressed. It gave nothing awar. but left |no doubt as to the in ten! i m of the | writer. Richard Polling had either to ; hard over certain valuable pronertv that | he did not poses*. or he would have to face the consequences. There was no j signal ure to the letter, but lie knew well I enough that it had been writien hv Deter j Woolf. Ram Felton would bnve expressed j himself differently, and .Tim Leader would j have been unite unable to write such a letter at all. Susan frond was his friend. 11 was to Susan Cread thal Ids thnipdits turned, directly he received the letter. She was n good sort, and she had power over the vest of the gang. She would not permit this sort of thing. it was characteristic of the man that lie never gave n thought be the weapon he held in his own hand —the weapon with which .-trike at Susan frond. Tt would never have occurred to him to injure or even to threaten injury to a woman who had been kind to hivn, in order to compel her to protect him. Tt would not, of course, have been very easv to prove that Susan bad any connection with the others. Rut it would have been tv s-iblc. And some men would not have hesitated to make use of their knowledge under the eh, umstaneps. Rut Richard Polling was not one of (hose men. Tf Susan froad could keep the hands of these men from his throat, she would do so. And if she no longer had her old power over others—well, he could not [ punish her for that. ffe folded up the letter and placed it in j his pocket again. TTe even smiled at the j stimuli tv of the men udm thought that ho

had stolen the diamonds iroin t.m sale. As yet, lie had no plan of action, but at i any rate it was comforting to lit ink that j he had to deal with a pack of fo ds. [ “if it were not for Mary," he thought, | “I’d come out into the open and fight them.” But he could not do that. He had already gone very near t > the betrayal of bis secret. What a fool lie had men to stand at the bedroom winduw, and stare at nothing in that idiotic fashion —for ail the world as though lie had been an actor soliloquising on the stage. There must be no more of that sort of thing. It would take days, perhaps Weeks, to get 1 that picture of himself out of his wife’s brain. Her nerves must have already been set on edge, or she would not have made such a fuss about tile matter. lie might have to teli her everything, alter all. He ought to have told her everything before he married her. it would be much harder now. He would be in the position of a man who has obtained poods —the most valuable goods in the world—under false pretences? That same evening Deiectivc-Jnspeetor Sanderson came in to smoke a pipe and talk over old times. It was Belling himself who turned the conversation to the burglary in Colchester Buildings. He learnt mailing except that the police had a clue, and that Triliiek was m? likely i. recover his memory. "The police always have a clue,” sai l Belling 'with a inn bn “It is a st-ock ! phrase, isn't it?” Sanderson was not to be drawn. Detectives do not discuss their business with laymen, even if they are friends. At ten o'clock Marv went to bed. and a few minutes later Polling said, “Have you ever had a blackmailing ease, Sanderson?” “Oh, yes, sir—two or three.” “Difficult jobs to tackle, are they not?” “Yes, sir —if the victim lets 'em go too far. I was in the Mailing affair. Wo got the scoundrels all right, "but Mailing was ruined. He'd let it go too far, sir. He'd paid money for years, and he only turned round when he was driven to despair. The thing is to grasp the nettle firmly, sir, and then it doesn't get a chance to 'sting you. Never give an inch to a blackmailer, even if you re guilty. J hey won’t give you away. They’ll go on imping and Imping that you’ll give in. If you don't prosecute, lead them to think you’ll break down some day. But don’t give a penny to them that’s my advice, sir.” Belling laughed, and turned the conversation to some other form of crime. Halt'-an-hour later Sanderson took his departure. Felling filled his pipe and lit it, and stared at the ashes in the grate. “Lead them on,” he said to himself ; “lot them think you’re the sort that's bound to give in; but don’t give in an inch.” It was excellent advice, and it came from the lips of a man who knew his business. CHAPTER XIII. Susan Croad, having once and for all made up her mind liiut she would ruin Richard Belling, had no intention of allowing any difficulties to stand in her way-. She was in that frame oi mind in which a woman could easilv persuade herself of the ju.-tice of her cause. Belling' no longer trusted her, and he had not played the game. The members of the gang- had got it into their heads that Belling had "forestalled them in the theft of the diamonds, and that he had done so, knowing that they were going to break open the .wife. ’ At first she had laughed at the idea, but now she forced herself to believe that it was the truth. He had the diamonds, and lie should give them up, and even that should not save him. £>he was sorely in need of money; but revenge, was sweet to her. (she would rather give up her share of the spoil than let Richard Felling go scot free. kite intended to overcome all the obstacles that lay between her and the accomplishment of the task site had set her*elf to perform, but she did not underrate them. That very hot afternoon in August—the same afternoon on which Marv went to see her mother- -Susan ( road lay on the sofa in the drawing room and smoked a cigarette while she reviewed her position, and estimated the strength of the forces at her disposal, and realised the weak spots in her armour. Hi the first, place it was absolutely necessary that Richard Belling should still 'regard her as a friend. If lie ever suspected that she was an enemy —so little did she know of Richard Boiling—it was certain that he won id bt able to fight her with her own weapon. She was prepared to ruin her own life in order to punish him, but she did not wish to suffer unless it was absolutely neeess-arv. j She would have to be his fn'end ami j openly oppose the others, while secretly j upholding their decisions. It would be I a difficult and dangerous pn-itiou. and i it would be complicated bv the vigi’an, ,■ : ■if the police, who were watching the I three men. She could not me, t tmv of j them openly, and if it were once known i that she was in touch wit > an;, w of them, she would have to Jigi:*. for h i life. _ _ i Then, again, her interests were op- j posed to the interests of the tlu.-e men oil one important point. They wanted : ! the diamonds, and she wanted revenge, i Their desires would ola-li v hen it wtme to a final decision n:t Richard Boiling's ; fate. She would have her own way in j the end. but she might be wed to j show her hand to ie'l the others, not perhaps in so many word---, but by her conduct, that Ac had a secret motive for involving Richard Belling in ruin. That motive might at nise opposition from Jimmie, for instance, himself in love with her. And then there was her husband—always in the background, but a force- of tremendous i mp<>rlance. Then, again, she had her own little 'difficulty with Charles Rlindon. It would not do to break “If that engagement just vet. Charles Rlindon would have to be

I pmyed very carefully, like a large fi -h ! that could break the line at any moment ! —with a win k of the tail. She lid .. t 1 want to lose ( iiarles Blindon. lie could I give her wealth, and that was all that was left in the waild for her. Her lutsband could nut- live for very long. But ho might live long enough to make her marriage to Charh * Itlin I m impossible. And the marriage with Charles Blindon suggested yet another thought. 'The diamonds had belonged to Blindon and Co., but now tnat they were stolen they were, so to speak, the property of the company that had insured them. It was not a private matter that could be bit..lied up by any exertions of her own. The ins .. ance company would tight hard to find the criminals. They had already offered a reward of £5000.' And then there was Trilliek. The doctors said that Trilliek would never recover his memory. But doctors so often me ie mistakes. If Trilliek did remember, tde gang would be blown sky high. It, would be a question of “sauve qui pent.” ami m the general confusion no one would bother about Richard Telling. lh.it was the position, so far as Stt-an ( road could .ee it. And it would be a tremendous personal triumph if she came nut of the' battle with flying colours. Slip wanted so much—the* ruin of Richard Felling, man luge with Charles Blindon, a clean cut from the rest of the gang. But lie knew what she wanted most of ail to separate Richard Polling from his wife. And that, so it scent'd t > her as she lav on the sofa, would be the easiest of ail her tasks. The girl’s mind must he poisoned. There would have to be a long-drawn out tragedy of domestic life before the police were put on the track of Richard Felling. It would be ridiculously simple—an anonymous letter to Pelbug's wife Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of an elderly charwoman—the only available servant since the departure of Alice. She was nil ill-tempered, use,e.ss old creature, but she was above suspicion. for she had been recommended to Susan by the wife of the Vicar. A gentleman to see you, ma'am,” she said. “A furriner—l don’t understand ’is lingo—there’s ’is card.” Site held out the card between her dirty finger and thumb, and Susan took it from her. it bore the name of M. A valor,” and the ad Less of a street in Paris. For a moment Susan's eyes narrowed to two slits, and then she smiled. “Please show him in,” she said, “an i we will have tea for two.” Ihe old woman left the room, and Susan glanced at herself in the gia *.=. Heavy footsteps came slowly towards the door—the footsteps of a man who limped. The door swung -open and the entrance was filled bv the huge body of Susan’s busband- _ Lite charwoman' may have been somewhere behind ban, but she was not visible. The man was over six foot in height, but the enormous breadth of his shoulders made him seem short and clumsily built. His long reddish brown beard was flocked with grev. Jiis eves were small and cold and cruel. His face was huge, even for the size of his body. His left hand gripped a thick ebony walk-ing-stick with a carved ivory handle. He held out his right hand, and laughed. “Good day,’’ he said in French. “Good day. my dear friend.” bit.-an held out both her hands and gripped his great fingers. “It is good to see you,” she cried, ‘‘after so many years. Come in, M. Avator, and we will talk of old times.” lie came forward and closed the door behind him. He flung his great weight on. the sofa and panted for breath. Don t speak English,” said Susan in a low voice. “That old cat may be listening.’’ Arthur froad made no reply. He looked at his wife for nearly half a minute without speaking. Then lie said in French, “Come here.” She came closer to him. Her back was to the light, but she felt Ins keen eves boring into her brain like gimlets. I “So you have failed, eh?” he continued. A ou’ve made a fool of us all?” “I did all I could.” "Acs—to get a husband. And now you want money.” “Y’es, Arthur. T want money. I've conic to the end of all you gave me.” “Well, you know where to get meter. You have a rich friend. If you can’t get it out of him in one way you can in another. He was very much in love with “* <h. ves,” laughed Susan, “very much Arthur frond grunted. “So wee 1 -once,” he said. “Well, he cati have you. 1 shan’t interfere. T'ni He paused and drew his great fingers j through itis beard. ' I'm dead.'' he repeated. ‘As good dead. I'll ,-ome to ! vonr wedding and give you awav. An ! 1:1.1 friend eh—M. Avntn'r. the jeweller? i Haha what a joke.’ What a su-rv for I the new s' a- pet - k An 1 you shall have a ring from tni r, too.” said S'* am impatiently. “Surely yon j haven't left Paris to come and talk non- “ No. I ve come to have a look round, j and to see you, one of the world's most ; beautiful women. And then I must .-ce j this marriage.” ■’Arthur, you don’t really think that T j intend to marry Charles Blindon while “Whv not? I nin dead. \nd what is there that you would not do? 'Ton would kill me if vi u had the chance of escaping the gallows. So whv should vou not marry this fat j ig and be happy?” Susan laughed. “T’m not such a fool,” she answered. “I can wait.” The brutal words made no impression on Arthur froad. They seemed to amuse him. His huge body shook with laughter. “Y’ott’d 1 letter make sure of him,” he said after a pause. ‘‘Well, where are the diamonds?”

•‘The Boy has got them. lie was too smart tor ns.” , - “Tell me all about it, my little one. i am in the dark. ’ . Susan told her story, and it seemed to her that she told it very skilfully. But t : ilised that she was under dose observation all the time she was speaking. She was very careful net to betray lieiself. ••Ah that young man!” said Croad, when she had finished her narrative. “Well, it may be as you say. But I think net.” . Tiie servant entered with the tea, and there was an interval in which Susan and her husband jabbered in a language the old woman did not understand. V. hen t ( were : again Croad said. will have a whisky and soda. I do nor drinl; this tea of yours. Susan left the room to get a whisky and soda, and Croad lit a. cigarette. His great face was wrinkled with smiles. He was an uglv man, but never so ugly as when lie laughed. His wife returned , uith a bottle of whisky, a glass and a syphon of soda. lie helped himself, filling the tumbler lialffuK of spirit. He drank greedily, and some of the liquid ran down his beard. Susan shrugged her shoulders in disgust, and poured herself out some tea. (j) "How much money can you give met she asked. "Nothing, my little one. It is you vno have to find money for me. Ah, business is very bad in these days. “I have bills to pay.” she continued. “I owe about two hundred pounds, 1 have always paid my bills. That has been pair of the scheme —that I should be perfectly honest and respectable. "I cannot give you money.' “Then I return tc Paris with you. I sell the contents of this house to pay mv bills.” Croad shook Iris head. “You Aiiil itay here,” he said roughly, “and you will get money out of Charles Blindou. kon will try and find those diamonds. Some of them may come my way, and then I shall know where to look for rest. 1 think it would be better for you to marry your dear Charles. - ’ “You brute!” said Susan m a cold, hard voice. “What do you think I am?” “I know what you are, my dear Susie. Oh, wouldn't you like to "kill me? But you must wait. I will give you three months. By that time you must either have found "the diamonds or have married Charles Blindon. In any case I must have twenty thousand- pounds.” “You are mad. or drunk. Supposing I refuse, vou cannot hurt me without hurting yoursel*. He laughed. “I have so very little time to live, he replied. “And you are voang with the- L. >t part of your life before you. Which of us two would suffer the most by the police getting hold of us.” She was white to the Ups with fury, but she controlled herself with a firm hand. “Money cannot be of very' much use to vou now,” she said. “There is so little time for you to spend it.” Croad laughed uproariously. “I have friends.” he said —“friends that T should not like to suffer by my death.” Then he tcok a note-book and pencil from his pocket. "I want their addresses,” he said—‘Peter and Sam and Jimmie—l should like to talk over old times with them.” "You'd better not,” she replied. “They are being watched by the police.” “Their addresses?” he said curtly. She gave him the information, and he wrote it down in his little book. "That young chap you call The Boy ? he queried. Sb.o liesltatc-.l for a moment and then she gave Richard Polling s address. She was not unwilling that her husband should be added to the list, of those wanting to destroy Richard Peking. “But don't forget." she said, “that the Bov can hit Lack at us.’’ Croad laughed and wrote down the address. “There’s going to be no quarrelling,” he said. “That must be avoided—among friends.” tie placed the note-book in his pocket, filled up Ins glass, drained it to the last drop, and rose, with difficulty, to his feet. “I must go,” he said. “I have kept the taxi waiting at the door.” “I don't know why you came,” she replied. “Well, I thought it better to make it quite plain about money matters. I've laid out about three thousand pounds on this little jaunt of yours, and so far I've got nothing in return. But I've got to have twenty thousand pounds before the end of three months. You must get it as beet you can. Then I came to have a look round and see how matters stand. And lastly I came to tell you where you will very likely find trie diamonds.” (To be Continued.)