The Splendid Sacrifice.

Otago Witness, Issue 3584, 21 November 1922, Page 52

The Splendid Sacrifice.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published bt Special Arrangement.]

By J. B. HARRIS-BURLAXD, Author of “The Half-Closed Door,” “The Black Moon,” “The Felgate Taint,” “The Poison League, etc., etc. [Copyright.] CHAPTER, Xll.—(Continued.) Sir Richard was alone in the library; there was no need for self-control, no necessity for him to have suppressed an oath, or to have stood there, opening drawer .after drawer, without so much as a change of colour or expression. Yet so perfectly had Sir Richard schooled himself in the art of self-restraint that he might leave been merely inspecting his collection. t Not a jewel had been left, and even the numbered labels had been removed. Sir Richard opened and closed every drawer, stared at the safe for a minute, and then closed the steel door. ‘‘Someone in the house, he said to himself. That was clear enough, for no one could have stolen the iewels and got away so quickly with the spoil unless the thief had known the letter combination, and had been in possession of the key. The man, whoever he was, had had an easy task. All the jewels could have been carried away in a small leather hand-bag—a “brief bag, as they called them in the shops. “Someone in the house,” said Sir Richard to himself, “or a confederate in the house.” He lit another cigarette, seated himself at the writing table and began to draw geometrical figures on a sheet of paper. He drew them mechanically, and gave no thought to the form of them. His mind was working rapidly. ‘‘There may be finger-prints,” he thought. “I shall have to call in the police over this. But Joan must know nothing about it. Joan would be furious if she learnt that I had kept all these jewels a secret from her. Yes, I must call in the police. All the doors are locked. But I doubt if the jewels are still in the house. A servant could so easily have taken them, and handed them to a confederate and locked the door again.” It was quite easy to imagine how the robbery had been carried out. But it was difficult to imagine how anyone could have got hold of the word that would open the lock, or the key. And the difficulty seemed just as great when Sir Richard unlocked the drawer in his desk—the drawer where he kept the duplicate key, and saw that it was missing. Well, there was nothing to be done but ring up the police at Winton, the nearest town, six miles away. The telephone exchange was in Winton, and it was open all night. He lifted the receiver from its hook, and a few minutes later, when he was through to the police station, he asked for the inspector, who was well known to him. “Come round at once,” said Sir Richard. “I don’t want any fuss. No one here knows of mv collection of jewels. At least, I was under the impression that no one knew. There may be finger-prints. I don’t know if that’s in your line. But come over at once. I'll let you in myself it you’ll knock quietly at the side door—yo<u know—the one next to the library. ... I don't want anyone to know about the jewels—just vet Oh, ves, vou can bring a man with you, but you needn’t take him into your confidence. . . . Oh, make up any yarn von like, but I don’t want anyone in this house to know that I have discovered the loss of the jewels. . . Yes, I can see that you understand. Well, come along sharp —bicycle— we don’t want motors kicking up a row at this time of night. ' Sir Richard replaced the receiver, and left the library, locking the door behind him, and placing the kev in liis pocket. He examined all the doors again, and, unlocking the one nearest to the library, opened it and stepped out on to the path. He flashed the. light of his torch on the grass and gravel—walked a few yards and then returned. It was useless to search for a man who had vanished in the darkness of the night. Tt was not outside the house, but within it. that the solution of the mystery was to be found. Sir Richard locked the door again, and went upstairs to his bedroom. He wanted to be quite sure that Joan had not been alarmed bv all these strange happenings in her quiet home. He listened at the door which led into her room, put out the lights in his own room, and saw no light came from under the door. Then lie was seized with a sudden desire to see her—to look upon her face as she slept. He made his way out into the corridor and turned the handle of the other door. It was locked, and he went back to his own loom. And for a few minutes that trilling quarrel seemed more to him than the loss of all the jewels. “She is only a child,” he said to himself, and a soft light came into his eyes. He was a hard man, and there was no weakness in his armour but his love for this one little woman, so fragile and so careless, like a butterfly. He would have given everything he had in the world for her love. But he was a fierce and'bitter lover. Calm in all else, in this ho could not control himself. Like Othello, he would have killed the women lie loved, and have kissed her as she lav dead.

CHAPTER aIII. Inspector Belman, a tall man of thirty with a black moustache, listened to Sir Richard’s story m silence, and asked no questions until it was finished. In fact, bir Richard had arranged all the facts, and put in all the details in so masterly a fashion that he might have been giving carefully prepared evidence in a court ot law. There were scarcely any questions to ask concerning the events of that night, but the inspector said, “A good many people must know of this collection, sir. For instance, there are the men from whom vou purchased the jewels.” Sir Richard explained that though each individual vender knew of his own particular jewel the existence of the collection had never been disclosed. “Yet if dealers got together,” Mr Belman suggested, “1 fancy that kind of thing might get out. And I daresay, Sir Richard, that you have bought from some queer customers.” “Yes—l’ll admit that—very often not from regular dealers, cr even at auction sales. Yes,” —and Sir Richard smiled—“certainly from one or two queer customers.” “And your liking, Sir Richard, for this kind of jewel? If it got about it would at once be assumed that vou had a collection. Well, later on, I’ll get you to give me a list of names. For the present,” he walked up to the safe, but did not touch it, “if you’ll open this, Sir Richard.” The safe was opened, and the inspector examined the glossy, white enamelled surface of the drawers. “Yes, Sir Richard,” he said, “there are some nice prints—many of them probably jout own, but we can soon eliminate those. This wasn’t the work of a professional thief, Sir Richard. He’d have worn gloves. I’d better take photographs now.” “You’ve brought a camera with you ?” “Yes, Sir Richard, and some magnesium wire. I’ll get you to help me. I’m not a dab at this kind of thing, but I reckon I can "get some useful negatives.” He sprinkled some fine, black powder over the finger-prints, and blew gently. A tiny cloud drifted awav and left each print clearly defined in black on the white enamel. Sir Richard came to his side and admired the result. “That’s good,” he said, “good as a picture.” It was net until two hours later that Mr Belman left Carne Court. He carried away with him a very nice little collection of negatives, impressions of Sir Richard’s eight fingers and two thumbs, a list of names, a catalogue of the jewels, a carefullv written out statement of what had happened that night—a statement dictated- by Sir Richard Pynson—and some pieces of paper, accurately cut to the measure of some foot prints he had discovered in the garden, not more than ten yards from the sidedoor. Sir Richard had told him the storv of the ghost, and Mr Belman had plenty of food for thought as he cycled back to Winton. The next morning Sir Richard had to give some sort of explanation to bis wife. “There was a burglary last night,” he said. ‘‘Someone opened the safe and stole the money I took from the bank yesterday to pay the week’s wages of the men on the estate. It's not a big loss, but the thief has got to be caught. “I thought I heard vou moving about last night, dear,” said Joan, with a smile. “I woke un and heard vou talking to someone. But I soon fell asleep again.” “That’s good. I didn’t want you to be frightened or worried. It was all rather a ioko. I went down, prepared to do battle with a desperate criminal, and I found no one at all.” He laughed. Joan asked questions and they were easily .answered. More than once he was on the point of confessing the truth. But he could not get over his fear of ridicule and unpleasantness. Tt would be time enough to tell the truth later on, when the affair was made public. He hoped that' the truth might not come out for a lona time. At half-past ten the inspector came over from Winton and proceeded to take finger-prints of the entire household. To Sir Richard, who watched the proceedings in the library, it seemed to be a long and unnecessarily tedious process. It had been made clear to everyone that there was no law to compel them to undergo this ordeal. “If anyone likes to stand out of this,' said the inspector grimly, “he or she is at liberty to do so.” , No one raised any objection, and the matter seemed to be regarded as a joke. The butler was the first to come forward. Mr Belman took hold of the man’s rightthumb, placed the outer edge of it on a copper plate that had been inked by a roller, and rolled the thumb right, round until every part of it but mo nail was covered with printer s ink. I lien he placed it on a sheet of white paper and obtained a clear impression of the markings. He did the same with tile other fingers, and repeated the process with the thumb’ and fingers of the left hand. But even thb was not sufficient for the law. The butler had to place the thumb and fingers of his right hand simultaneously on "the plate and transfer the impression to the paper, and then repeat the process with his left band. It was a messy business, but the ink came off easily enough in a bowl of petrol. It was lunch time before the last of the servants had left the. library. Sir Richard and Mr Belman and a young policeman who had assisted in the taking of the finger-prints were left alone in the room. Tile policeman was told to have bis meal in the servants’ hall. He handed Mr Belman the pieces of paper, each carefully numbered and inscribed with a name, and left the room. “Well?” queried Sir Richard. “Wha* did you get out of the photographs last night?” “Mostly yours, Sir Richard,” laughed the inspector, “but about half-a-dozen others —thumb and index finger of the

right hand, unless I’m verv much mistaken.” “Do you really know anything about it?” “Yes. Sir Richard. I’’s a hobby of mine. I daresay I’m not lip to tile Scotland Yard standard, but I'm keen on the subject, and I know mv business. I have had some very complimentary letters from Scotland Yard. Sir Richard, on the way I ve secured prints which would have disappeared if we’d waited tor an expert from London?” “I'd like to ,#e the photograph'?," said Sir Richard. Mr Belman took them from his pocket and laid them out one by one on the table. 'lhe prints were wonderfully clear. “Sat up all night over this, Sir Richard,” said the inspector. “No time to be wasted, you know. And I’m keen about this kind of thing. “You re an excellent fellow, Belman. You deserve to get on. I’ll see to it that you do get on. Show me mv own prints, will you ?” Patiently !Vlr Belman pointed cut the impressions of Sir Richard’s linger tips. “Of course, sir,” he explained. "I only took yours roughly last night, but the result was quite satisfactory. Now these,” and lie dabbed his finger on six of the impressions, “are not yours. You will see that they are onlv the marks of two fingers—a. thumb and a finger, I should say. They run in pairs— two on each of three drawers. I am beginning to change my opinion about, the thief. She was verv careful, and must have —” “She?” interrupted Sir Richard. “Yes, Sir—a woman. I think, or a boy. You observe how small they are in comparison with vours. ’ “Oh well, why not a small man?” laughed Sir Richard. “Small, de’icate fingers," the inspector continued slowly, “one of the maids, I expect. As you know, Sir Richard, from your experience on the Bench, there is generally a female accomplice in these burglary cases. The man makes love to one of the maids. The door of the library opened, and Joan entered. She looked delightful in her sablos, and her perfect little face was flushed with the cold air. “Is it all over?” she said with a smile. “I hoped I should have been able to get back from Mirchester in'time. We came home in an hour—no telling tales, Mr Inspector, if you please.” She bent over the photographs on the table and picked up one of them. “How frightfully interesting, she said. “And where are the prints you’ve taken this

morning?” Mr Belman showed her one of them, and she laughed. She seemed to be full of life and energy—ready to laugh at anything. She took the glove off her right hand—a heavy glove made of leopard’s skin. “I’d like to have a try.” she said. “I suppose one can wash the ink off one’s fingers.” “Oh. nonsense, Joan,” said Sir Richard, sharply. “Lunch has already been kept back for half an hour. And Mr Belman has packed all his things away—the roller and the ink and the copper plate; and he’s hungry.” “Well, perhaps some other time,” she said with a smile. “I’m pretty hungry too. I’ve driven 80 miles since 10 o’clock.” “Mr Belman is going to lunch with us.” “Oh, that’s splendid, Dick. T want to talk to him about everything.” After lunch when the inspector had taken his departure. Sir Richard asked his wife why she had been to Mirchester. “To see Mary, of course,” she replied. “Don't be angry with me, Dick. You can't keep me aivay from Mary—my own sister.” “You came back pretty quick the other day,” he said lightly. “1 said you might stay there for a week, and you returned in three days.” “Yes. I prefer to • take my week in instalments. And I want to stay with Mary next week.’’ “Oh well, mv dear child, we’ll talk of that later on. I've a good deal to think about just now.” “Those wicked finger-prints?” “Yes. Belman has made a duplicate set of photos and he’s left one set with me.” “Ah, the amateur detective. You dear, silly old thing.” He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. "See as much of Mary as you like.” he said. And then he left the dining room. Joan went to the window and stared out at the garden. She was smiling, as a woman might smile who had found her happiness in this life. CHAPTER, XIV. It was unfortunate that Arthur Britton should have passed the window of the “parlour" just as Mr Smith was raising Mary's hands to bis lips. Still more unfortunate was it that Mary, who had hoped bv this act of grace to keep Mr Smith at bav for a little longer, and save her money from his greedy claws, should have offered no resistance whatever. But, perhaps, the most unfortunate thing of all was that she flushed and sprang hastily t<> her feet, when her husband entered the room. There is something of the wild brast in every man, even though lie has dedicated his life to the service of Christ, and lias, or is supposed to have, all human passions under firm control. And there are moments in the life of every man, however holy, when the primeval law—itself one of the laws of Godhurls him hack from his high estate to the level of his remote ancestors. He may say nothing; he may do no not of violence, but deep in his* heart there is the lust to kill to fight for the woman that is his, lost she be taken from him. Arthur Britton's face was white as he closed the door behind him. But he merely smiled, and his eyes were in the shadow as he looked at his wife. “1 am back a bit ’earlier than i expected,” lie said in a quiet, level voice.

“I hope you are well, Mr Smith —talking over old times, eh?” The handsome young man laughed. “Oh no,” he replied. “Mrs Britton was telling me about the burglary at Carne Court, But I must be getting along. 1 have a friend coming to lunch with me.” “Well, you must come and lunch with us one of these days,” laughed Arthur Britton. “You might leave us your address.”

“Oh, Mrs Britton knows it; 29 River Row. It's not much of a Diace, but good enough for a poor man like myself. I shall be only too delighted to come and lunch with you.” He left the room, and Britton accompanied him to the hall door. Mary heard a few words pass between the two men —words spoken in a low voice. Then the hall door closed, and her husband returned. _ „ “I want the truth about this man, he said. “hirst vou told me he was a blackmailer, and now I—well, hes been making- love to you Mary. Do you deny that?” . , “I don’t deny it, Arthur, but don t be sillv about it.” , . , “I saw you both through the window, he continued lianslilv. “I’d be more careful if I were you.” >t “Oil, Arthur, don’t be absurd. “He kissed your hand, and looked as though he intended to kiss your lips. You didn't seem to mind.” , , “Arthur, dear, —please, olease don t be ridiculous. Don’t you believe m me. Cannot vou trust me?” “I have believed in you as i nave believed in God,” he answerea. But now—well, I’m just an ordinary band. I suppose it’s wicked for a priest to love as I love you. If that man comes here again I’ll thrash him. Maw laughed feeblv. Then she gave a Civ of pain as her husband caught hold of her two wrists, and looked into her truth, Marv,” he said in a low voice. “The truth about this man. “I don’t care a rap for him, you silly old fellow.” , . , „ » “Ydt you let him kiss your hand. And I daresay he’s done it before. Marv I*ve not forgotten that night when 1 came home so late—the footprints-the locked door—a door that is always left open for me when I’m going to comem late Mary, was that the same man • <1 don't? know —I don't know-Arthur, you’re hurting me.” . , , *He let go of her wrists. His toot prints are in the hall,” he said ‘ just a Faint outline —his boots were muddy and he did not wipe them caretully. uau rlnn’t be so absurd, Artnur. What's the matter with you? The man Kd my hand-he’s got foreign blood 111 “Oh I’l 1 ’I thought he was an old friend of vours and that you knew all about him" Well, I’m going to put a stop ; t all this nonsense. Who is this fe Marv made no n r n ii easv way out of all her difficuHics—a full and complete And th£wo^ Mreldv sUnding on the brink of a precipice 'if the truth were known about he , Fhe would cast everything to the winds, and leave her husband. Britton. “You wont tell me, en. Then he left the room. It was bve minutes before he returned. “H might have been the same man he said “but wearing a different pan o iFot- ’ I’ve changed my mind about lunch. I shall not want any. 1 m g om g to have it out with this fellow. (To be continued.)