Into the mists

Otago Witness, Issue 3757, 16 March 1926, Page 66

Into the mists

By

E.Phillips Oppenheim.

Author of “The Wrath to Come,’* “The Hillman,” “The Tempting of Tavernake,” &c., &c.

(Copyright.—Fob thb Witness.)

PROLOGUE and CHAPTER L- The introduction shows Israel Pernham, first Baron Honerton, at a family gathering. A multi-millionaire he yet has his moments of bitterness as he watches critically the doings of his children. His gaze rests with pride on Cecil, his youngest born, a young man Just down from Oxford. A servant enters the room, whispers to the butler, who crosses to Cecil: *' John Heggs. the keeper, is here, sir. He wants a few words with you.” Cecil understands that Heggs's request concerns to-morrow’s shooting. He proceeds to the far room. Arrived there Heggs announces that his purpose is not to discuss birds, but to use a dog-whip. There is a stampede of servants. Heggs, hearing them cornlag, lifts Ceiii’b half-insensible body and dashes it on the stone floor. Then he passes out, through the servants, into the park. Later, enjoying his beer and pipe in his cottage, he Is visited by Choppin, the local policeman, who tells him that Cecil Fernham is dead, and puts handcuffs on to Heggs's wrists. He is condemned to death. The sentence would have been commuted to penal servitude for life but for the influence of Lord Honerton. He Is In his automobile, outside the gaol, on the morning of Heggs's execution. A young woman comes close to the window, and, addressing Lord Honerton, tells him that the executed man was her father, and that Honerton s murdered son was her lover. She speaks as a seeress. His wealth will lie like a curse on him and his. She passes away. He drives on. Later on he instructs his solicitors to find this young woman and make a money offer tc help her m her approaching motherhood His solicitors reply to the effect that she refuses to have anything to tio with him or his family. Israel tears the letter and burns it. That night he dies. Thirty years afterwards Joseph Fernham, second Lord Honerton, is entertaining guests on the eve of a day’s shooting. His younger son, Ernest, has just entered his father's business, a family concern. A servam enters the room, whispers to the butler, who crosses to Ernest: ' Middletor . thi- nead keeper, is outside,” adding that Middletoa awaits instructions. Ernest rises and excusei himself. He wants to have a few words with Middleton.

CHAPTER I (continued), II and 111. Three people of the party are dumfounded at the duplication of an event which took place 30 years ago. Ernest passes out. bamuel speaks quietly to his brother, Joseph, of that long past, horrible night. Without alarming the guests inquiries are quietly made. Later on there are searchings. They all prove futile. Lady Judith Fernham, the baron’s daughter, and Lord Frederick Amber leys, are among the Bhootinv party. Tbey discuss Ernest’s disappearance and the 80 yea is’ old tragedy. She studies this young man whom she is expected to marry. CHAPTERS 111 (continued). IV and V.— Judith hurries Amberleys on the homeward journey. He has something to say, but she is anxious to hear newß of her brother, Ernest. Anived the a Judith seeks parents. They a ,- e m the library, vith two men from Scotland Yard. Her father introduces Inspector Rodes. The teleqhone rings. As Judith is nearest she picks up the receiver:

‘ Ernest, Ernest, where are you?” she cries. No reply. She teils the company that she heard Ernest’s voice asking whether this was Honerton Chase Ilodes tries to get through, but fails. The line is dead. A month after this Inspector Rode i visits his chief. This man hears Rodes’ report on the Fernham case with d The inspector ac knowledges himself floored for the time being. He advises a reward to be offered of £20,000 and no questions asked. After this interview Tnspectoi Rodes, walking westwards, encounters Lady Judith Fernham. She toils him of the incident that happened 30 years ago, and advises him to use less logic and more imagination. The second Baron llonerton and his daughter, who is accompanied by Lord Frederick Amberleys, conduct Prince Edgar over their works. They finally make their way to the quarter over which Si.* Lawrence Pau’.e specially presides. He is a brilliant cnemist and is head of the scientific side of the works. When he appears Judith sees quite a young man and gazes at him in astonishment CHAPTER V.—(Continued.) “Let me present you, Sir Lawrence,” Joseph said, rising to his feet. “Sorry to disturb you, but we are very much honoured this morning. Sir I-awrence Paule, our head chemist—His Highness Prince Edgar of Galway—my daughter, Lady Judith —Lord Amberley*.” The newcomer acknowledged the introduction. "Surely I have met you lately, haven’t I?” Judith asked wonderingly. “We met in the Lawn Tennis Competition at Queen’s last week,” lie admitted. “Of course, I remember,’’ she exclaimed. I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” Paule said. “I was trying a slight experiment in the inner analyst’s room and was obliged to see it through. Would your visitors care to see the private laboratories, Lord Honerton!” “We should like to very much,” Judith declared, without waiting for anyone else to reply. Sir Lawrence turned away to give some instructions to the young man who was obviously bis secretary. There was indeed in the light of her father's information some cause for her surprise. She had been expecting to see a studious if not giey-headed veteran of science. Lawrence Paule, on the contrary, although he was one of those men whose age would have been at any time difficult to determine, was obviously under middle age. He bad the long, lean body of an athlete, a cleanshaven, thoughtful face, with a somewhat prominent forehead, grey eyes, hard and keen, a cynical twist in his mouth,

black hair, glossy, yet slightly unkempt, and worn a trifle too long. He was wearing, over his clothes, a loose linen duster, and he carried in his hand a pair of thick magnifying glasses. A single horn rimmed eyeglass hung by a cord from his neck. Judith leaned across her companions. “Dad,” she asked, under her breath, “how old is this amazing scientist ol yours?”

“Better ask him, my dear,” he suggested. “He wouldn’t ten me.”

“I’ve heard of the fellow,” Anberleyo whispered. “Tell you something about him later.” Sir Lawrence finished bis conversation with hia secretary and re-joined them. He moved to the inner door, opened it, and motioned them to pass through.

“I’m afraid,” he said, “you will find very little here to interest you. This department is devoted to purely technical experiments. My assistants are busy this morning testing a shipment of suspected drugs from South America.” They all locked around; no one with very great enthusiasm. In front of a great uncurtained window was a long marble table, on which were ranged a seemingly endless collection of glass vessels of various sizes and shapes, underneath some of which little electric fires were burning. From several of the ethers a faint brown vapour was being emitted, over which one cf the f r ur young assistants was holding some aort of a ball instrument enclosed in a s .Ik mesh. On the further side of the room a certain space was shut off by a solid mahoganv rail, with iron lattice work beneath. In the centre of this space, overhung by powerful electric lights, w*as a marble table on which wfere several more glass retorts, and a laro-e number of gleaming scientific instruments.

“What exactly gees on here?” Judith inquired. “Every parcel of drugs which comes into the place,” Paule explained, “drugs, herbs, or any component parts of our medicines, is tested, and according to any divergence there may be in its strength or purity from the recognised standard, so our mixer-in-chief varies its preparation. Sometimes, of course, we have to condemn parcels of drugs altogether. All our eucalyptus oil lately, for instance, has been most indifferent.

“And what goes on inside that jealouslypreserved space?” the Prince asked, pointing to the enclosure Paule strolled over to it and opened the iron gate with a Vale key attached to his watch chain.

“This is one of the places where I make experiments,” he said. "Sometimes, for instance, it is possible to substitute a far less expensive drug for some of these we have been in the habit of using, and procure exactly the same result. This is where I try to justify my existence as a commercial asset tc the firm.

“And succeed, too,” Joseph declared heartily. “You’d be astonished, all of you, if I were to let you into the secret of how much money has been saved to the firm inside that little enclosure.” Judith turned to her father: “Is there nothing more for us to see, Dad?” Her father pointed to a solid mahogany door at the further end of the laboratory.

“Net unless you can persuade Paule to take you into hia holy of holies,” he replied. “Has Sir Lawrence anything so intriguing?” she queried. “Is there anything beyond that door, Sir Lawrence, more exciting than blue flame, brown powder, and a lot of stupid technical terms?”

“Vastly so,” he assured her, without moving from his place. “Then lead on,” she begged. “I am in the humour to be thrilled.”

He shook his head gently. Her father intervened.

“I ought to have warned you, Judith,” he said, “that Sir Lawrence is rather by way of being a martinet about that Bluebeard’s chamber of hia. I have only been allowed to peep inside the door once myself.”

“There’s nothing going on there at the moment likely to interest any of you,” Taule insisted coolly. “In fact, the whole of this department is a Ifttle technical for the ordinary visitor.”

“Very interesting all the same,” Trince Edgar declared, stifling a slight yawn. Judith leaned towards her guide and dropped her voice. “Just a glimpse inside that room,” she pleaded. He had somehow the air of one addressing a child. “To tell you the truth, there are ghosts and evil spirits loose there. They recognise me as their master, but they object to visitors. An evil spirit evolved from gases is a terrible fellow to meet when he’s not in the humour for amenities.”

“And a distinguished chemist when lie is in the mood to be disagreeable can also be an unpleasant person when lie chooses,” she observed.

Paule locked the gate through which they had issued, and passed in front of them to the further door of the laboratory.

“I am sorry not to have had more to show you,” he remarked, with a bow of obvious dismissal. “Perhaps you may honour us on some future occasion when we are making some more interesting experiments. We have an idea, for instance, of a new' cure for rheumatism, which, if it succeeds, will make Ehgland a brighter nation.”

“Insufferable person!” Judith declared, as soon as the door was safely closed. “My dear,” her father confided, taking her arm, “he is sometimes very rude to me. I pretend not to notice it. I shall go on pretending not to notice it. Lust year lie increased the profits of his department two hundred thousand pounds. So long as he goes on doing that he can be as irritating as he chooses.” CHAPTER VI. Judith, reclining in a chaise longue, arranged in a corner of the rose garden at Honerton Chase, threw the volume of “Who’s Who?” which she had been studying, on to the grass and reflected. An early heat wave nad driven her, with her parents, out of London for the weekend, but the expedition was scarcely a success. Rachel had refused to leave the house, some invited guests had failed to arrive, and in the absence even of tennis as well as other distractions, Judith was frankly bored. There was nothing to help her to forget the shadow that brooded over the place. “Dad,” she asked abruptly, “how did you come across Lawrence Paule?”

Hfer father laid down the Times and mepped his forehead. “Come across him ? One doesn’t ‘come across’ a man like that. I own the biggest drug business in the world, and I wanted the best chemist, if money would buy him. As a matter of fact,’l offered Sir James Lenton twenty thousand a year if he’d come to us, and he declined. At that time he was considered a better man than Paule—not today, though. Paule’s easily the best man in the world, and I got him for ten thousand—and what I thought would be an ordinary bonus,” Joseph concluded a little ruefully. “What do you mean by 'an ordinary bonus’?” Judith injuired. Her father laid aside his paper altogether. This was a subject upon which he feit that he needed sympathy.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll explain. It’s this way. We put a lot of preparations on the market, as you know, but the bulk of our business is done in twelve of them, all household names, all bought up at odd times. It is the job of our chemist to buy the drugs for these—drugs or whatever else they may be made of—and turn ’em out at the price. We offered Paule—it was Samuel’s idea, and it seemed a sound one—twenty per cent, of any economy he could effect in the manufacture, provided that the preparations, of course, was turned out up to the standard. What do you think. Judith—the first twelve months he worked for us, he saved cn the manufacture, in black and white, some thing just over a hundred thousand pounds.” “Jolly good for you!” she murmured.

“Good for us—but what about him?” her father exclaimed in some excitement. “Whoever thought of him scooping up a bonus of nearly twenty thousand pounds, apart from his salary? The man’s a perfect wizard in drugs. He buys them from Botamia, and South America, India, and Cochin-China, Japan, and no end of out-of-the-way places. He seems to have correspondents everywhere, and he knows precisely what he wants. Not onlv that,” Joseph went on solemnly, “but he’s actually invented a cure for rheumatism which really does people good—we’ve tried it upon old cases. If I cared to "tend the money on advertising it, there’s another fortune waiting there.” *‘l suppose he would want a share of it?” Judith observed.

“We Fernhams have always made money for ourselves and the members of our family, and we’ve kept the ethers out. Twenty thousand a year that young man is making from us in bonuses, besides his salary And if I take up this new thing and give him a fifth cf the profits, however we work it, he’ll make another ten. I can’t bear to see money going out of the business like that.” “No wonder you’re a multi-millionaire, Dad,” she said. “What I was reallv going to ask you, though, was why don’t you ask Sir Lawrence Paule to dinner some time!”

“Ask him to dinner!” Joseph repeated blankly. “Yes,” Judith went on. “He seems all right. I’ve been reading about him. He was bora at Wormley in Surrey—no date given. His father appears to have been the head master of Wormley Grammar School. From there he went to Oxford, Leipzig, and several other universities. He seems to have accumulated all the letters of the alphabet tacked on to his name in a sort of nightmare procession He was knighted for valuable services during the war, and his chief recreations are research, tennis, and shooting. I think you might safely ask him to dinner.”

“I thought you disliked the fellow!” her father remarked.

“It is because I don’t like him,” she explained, “that I wish you to ask him to dinner.”

“It isn’t my job, anyway,” he reflected. “Ho isn’t the sort of man you can ask to come homo and take pot-luck with you. You’ve got parties two night*

next week. You’d better ask him to one of them.”

“We will,” Judith assented. “I’ll write on mother’s behalf and invite him to dine on Thursday.” “He won’t come,” Joseph warned her. “He’s often at the works till nine o’clock at night, and he sleeps there two or three times a week. He has a slap-up suite of rooms—bathroom and all. Holderne3S, who was his predecessor, had to have something of the sort, as, frequently, when they’re experimenting, these things want watching for twentyfour hours on end. Paule’s gone into the thing thoroughly, though—spent some of his own money on fitting up the rooms, and has his own servant.”

“How interesting. Still, I think he’ll come. Dad, I’ve got the fidgets. I’m going tc walk round.” Joseph suddenly dashed his Times, which lie had picked up again, on to the ground, rolled over in his chair, and reached his feet by a speedy but undignified method. “Judith,” lie confided, “it’s hell! I wish we’d never come. There’s your mother there, under the eedar tree, with her back to us all, just knitting as hard as ever she can, and saying never a word.” “Poor mother!” Judith sighed. They were almost in the shadow of one of the most beautiful houses in England, softened with age, graceful and stately, its only note of modernity the flag which flew from behind one of the top chimneys. There were peacocks strutting about on the terrace, a noisy tumult of crows from the tall elm trees. “It’s a wonderful home,” Joseph declared. “Your grandfather worked for it, and I own it, and I think if I spend another day here I shall go crazy. And your mother’s the same. We’ll stick it cut to-day, but I shall motor back tomorrow. I wish I’d never brought your mother here. We’ve had our share of losses. But there’s madness at the end of this, Judith! I'd rather find Ernest’s skeleton to-morrew than have this go on.” “You musn't give up hope, Dad. I haven’t.” Her father stopped in the middle of the narrow path. “What is it that you hope for?” he demanded. “How can he come back? Where can he come from? Why did he go away ? Can you answer me one of Uiose questions?” “1 can’t,” she admitted. “I’ve left off thinking about it. I just cling to a feeling. And, Dad,” she went on hurriedly, “you came down here for my sake. I wanted to come. I told you I had no engagements. I had a dozen. 1 broke them all. I should have come down here whether you had come or not—and I can’t tell you why.”

Her father felt in his waistcoat pocket, produced another cigar, and lit it. “Well,” he said more calmly, “you’ve had your wav. I’m going to talk to your mother. Perhaps I can get her to drive round the Park with me.” Judith wandered into tile house and made her way to the back premises. She walked with a little shiver down the stenc-flagged passage past the gun-room and through the heavy door at the end into the courtyard. A man ii» a grey knickerbocker suit was talking to one of the grooms. Something familiar in his tone attracted her notice, and she listened. “I was tcld I could see over the house at any time in May or June,” the visitor complained. “So you can in the ordinary wa sir,” the groom answered. “The trouble is the family have come Bown unexpected-like. If you care to go round to the front, though, and send your card in, very likely they’ll give permission. There’s no visitors. ”

Judith moved a step or two forwards. “How do you do, Mr Rodes?” she said. “Can I help you in any way?” Rodes removed his cap. “Very kind of you, Ladv Judith,” he replied. “I’m holiday-making near, and I had a fancy fer seeing over the house.” The groom touched his hat and departed. “What do you want to see over the house for?” Judith asked, lowering her voice a little. “I should think you knew every inch of it.” “Well, your ladyship’s not far off right,”

he admitted. “All that I really wanted to do was to walk from the gun-room once more along the passage and down the back drive as far as the gate.” “Great minds think together, Mr Rodes. I was just about to do the same thing myself. Come back with me, and we’ll start from the gun-room.”

She retraced her steps, and Rodes followed her. The gun-room was locked, b*’fc the key was speedily forthcoming. It was a rude sort of apartment with few appointments, except a case at one end of the room, in which were half a dozen puns and a couple cf sporting rifles. Nearly the whole of cne wall was taken up by a map of the estate, showing tho different spinneys and covert*. piere w.ns nothing to look at—verv little, it seemed, to think about, yet Rodes, for a few minutes, went into what was apparently a brown study ns he stood on the stone flags in the centre of the leaning against the rude deal table, bis eves reflectively upon the man. whilst Judith, standing unon the threshold, waited with carefully-veiled impatience. In the course of time Rodes, with a farewell glance nround the room, moved towards the door, passed through it down the flagged passage, crowed tho courtyard, and turned deliberately in the direction of the k»clc drive, Judith remaining bv bis side. Together they walked to the gatp and stood locking along the narrow track, from tho cleared space in the wood where great piles of timber were still heaped, to whero it curved between its high hedges towards the main road.

“Rough road for a motor oar,” Rode* observed.

Judith laughed softly. “What a blow for Watson,” she mur* inured, “after waiting all this time tor some elucidating word.’’ He produced a oipe from his pocket, and with a glance at her as though asking permission, commenced to fill it. 41 You are a Watson of intelligence,’ he declared. 4, 1 am, alas, a detective in real life, and infallibility is net my heritago. 1 can’t simply write this case down as one of my failures and go on with something else. They won’t tolerate it at the Yard. 60 here 1 am, and you probably know why.’’ ‘T think I know,” she admitted. “I am tring to use what little imagination I have been granted, instead of such skill as I may have acquired. That is what you meant when I saw you at the corner of St. James’s street, wasn't it?” “Precisely,” she assented. “Very well, then,” he continued, “we must neglect facts and probabilities. We will say that he wilfully and deliberately chose to disappear.” “I am waiting,” Judith said quietly. “Middleton, the keeper, stopped for a few minutes, as was perfectly natural, in the butler’s pantry—the butler’s pantry or the housekeeper’s room, I forget which—but he would naturally accept some slighthospitalitv and discuss the morrow’s sport before he left. Ernest walks calmly down this passage, crosses the courtyard unseen, and proceeds along this back drive. If he were in any way the subject of coercion he would no doubt have been transported into a closed car which would have been waiting in this road, rough though it is. If on the other hand he was bent on a voluntary expedition, can’t you see what he would do? He would cross the lane, cross that stil* opposite, cross that single triangular meadow, and find himself on the main road—the main road, that is to say, from Norwich to London. The road into which the lane leads is, as of course you know, a good and a much-travelled r oad from Fakenham to Holt, but it does not bisect tthe London read for another three miles. Having soared a little into fancy to bridge over a gap, I will now come down to realities. The great bulk of our police inquiries were directed towards the possibb existence of a closed car upon the Toad, or any sort of a vehicle which might conceal the results of an abduction. Now lam going on a different thesis. I have a little two-seater in the village, and I am going to motor slowly up to London from the other side of that meadow, probably taking about a week on the journey. I shall make inquiries at every place I pars, but inquiries based upon a different idea. I shall inquire about a two-seated car, or at any rate an open one, containing a young man and probably an older one who were apparently in no hurry, and who were en the K est of terms. If I fail again I shall return here and work towards Norwich.” There was a long silence. Presently there came an interruption. A bell from the stable yard commenced to ring out its noisv summons. “For me,” she explained. “That means visitors. I must go.” “Well?” he .asked a little anxiously, for he was beginning to have a curious feeling, almost a superstition with regard to this very beautiful young woman. “You have made a start,” she admitted. “You have shown that ou, too, have vision of a sort, but it seems to ine—l don’t know. I am terribly confused myself, but it seems to me that vou’ll have to wander even a little further from the usual ways before the light comes.” She turned away -••d hurried down the drive. Rodes looked after her contemplatively. A rabbit came out of his hob and sat watching him a few yards awav. “What I should like to know,” Rodes muttered, his eves now fixed upon the rabbit, “is whether she suspects anything or whether she is just spookv.” Tlie rabbit suddenly detected the odour of tobacco, and with a whisk of his tail disappeared. Rodes was left to face the problem alone. (To be continued.)