THE Novelist

Otago Witness, Issue 3882, 7 August 1928, Page 74

THE Novelist

; The . Mystery Maker

By

SEAMARK

(Copyeight.—Fob the Otago witness., 1

CHAPTER Vl.— (Continued.)

Varris flared up again. “You leave Marienne out of this,” he stormed. “ Leave her out of it—or I’ll go round to Scotland Yard—and damn quick.” His face was red and his knuckle-tips, clenched on the table, were flexed till they were all white and shiny. Stayne relaxed, and his head was nodding in tiny little half-inch jerks of satisfaction.

“ So—so,” he muttered. “ Touched the Bore spot, eh? Well, well. That’s nice. That brings me so much nearer the bone. Tell me, Varris, you’re very fond of your sister, aren’t you?” “ I’ll—l’ll brain the man who says a word against her.” Varris was half rearing up on his feet.

“ That’s as it should be.” The bulbous figure opposite was all acquiescence. “ Please don’t get excited on my account. I myself think she is an extremely nice girl. We won’t get at loggerheads over that angle of it. On the contrary, I admire your taste. Believe me, I think Marienne is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met.”

“ Well, then, leave her out of it,” demanded the secretary hotly. “ I have every hope that we shall be able to. Although, as I’m sure you will admit; she is already very far in it. But I’ve noticed, Varris, that when brother and sister develop family affection to the degree that you two undoubtedly have, it becomes a bond that is as strong as, and frequently lasts longer than, the more common love of husband and wife. I’m simply taking the points as they come now. Marienne was the first to approach me on this affair. She was terribly agitated—as you were. She, too, kept stalling when it came to particular points in the narrative. It was obvious to anyone who has had any experience at all of human nature that she was shielding someone.

“ Not unnaturally I presumed it was you. I judged that either you had intended taking the Demorval diamonds, or that you were directly responsible for pulping the skull of the man found murdered in the Club Tabarin.

“ Now I find you doing exactly the same thing. Every time I’ve asked you a direct question that leads to a certain line of investigation you hedge, you vacilkie, you back and fill—and finally you tell deliberate lies. Even a fool would realise that there is a reason behind it all. You’re both trying to shield someone. As there is no particular entanglement in your own life we must look for the answer in connection with Marienne.”

“ Why there? ” snapped Varris. “ Because you have already told the truth about everybody else concerned in the case. You’ve shown up Lord Demorval in a bad light—or, at least, in a poor light. You’ve painted Lady Demorval in her undoubted colours, although I’ll everlastingly hold it to your credit that you made more than one effort for her. You have admitted to being something of a fool yourself in the way you’ve handled you/ end of the ease.

“It all boils down to the theory that you are shielding someone very dear to you—or, if not that, a very great friend of someone who is dear to you. As we know it is not Marienne herself it must be someone very dear to her. It’s all very simple, isn’t it? ”

“Now, then, Varris, who originally provided the Perrigo gang with the forged plates? ” Varris reached out a shaky hand for another cigarette. He lit it with studious care, though the flame trembled badly. Stayne regarded him now without malice. “ You’ll tell me,” he said, “or I’ll tackle Marienne herself on it.” “ Only a cold-blooded brute like you,” said Varris distinctly, “would think of doing that.” “This is a serious business, my dear Varris. And now that I know so much I don’t think she would hesitate to tell. Marienne has, I think, considerably more firmness of character than you.” Varris winced. “ The man who forged the share certificates was Arthur Raymond,” he said quietly. . “ And who is Arthur Raymond ? ” " Marienne’s fiance.”

Stayne did'not move. The ash on the end of his cigarette glowed red in a long intake of smoke. He blew it out in a long, pale stream that came slowly through his lips.

“Indeed. How very interesting,” he remarked. “ I would, feardlx have

thought it.” Varris did not notice that the muscles of his face had suddenly gone stiff.

“ Probably not. But you can’t get away from facts.”

“ I have discovered that, to my great regret, on many occasions.” His voice was level, but his fingers were grinding the cigarette stub to a hot mash. He ground the long red ash, too, scorching his fingers, but if he felt the sudden stab of pain he did not show it. He continued in his subdued conversational tones.

“It is surprising to me that both of you should have found so paltry a consideration so effective a bar to imparting such essential information.” “ That is a matter we need not discuss here,” said Varris. “So far as I am concerned it need never have been known. But some of you people would do anything to hurt a woman.”

Stayne looked down at his knees and casually stroked his hair with a hand that was almost listless.

“ That is a particularly stupid remark to make,” he said off-handedly. “Is it? Why bring the matter up at all ? It won tdo any good. You’ll probably get him five or ten years, pat yourself on the back, tell yourself you’re one hell of a clever fellow—and break a girl’s heart.”

, <£ she —is she very much in love with him ? ” Stayne was not even looking at him. The matter appeared to be too petty for serious attention. “ Madly. Ask yourself, Mr Stayne. Would a girl of her character risk’her own freedom to shield an obvious criminal, unless—pah, what’s the use of talking to. you? You’d never understand if you lived to be a hundred. London’s Perfect Bachelor, aren’t you? Half the scheming mothers in 'Mayfair have traipsed their daughters through Curzon square, haven’t they ? ” Stayne indifferently struck a match and flicked it across the room.

Happen to know where Ravmond is now?” he asked.

Yes, I do,” growled Varris. “He’s located in a mansion fiat on the coolest side of the North Pole. Go on—why not cut the heart out of her? Why not telephone her and chortle out the news that you know who committed the forgeries? There’s a ’phone there. Tell her. Go on. Tell her you’ll, get him into gaol with the same ease that you got me out.”

Stayne inspected his finger nails. “ I was going to ’phone her—but I don’t think I will now. I—er—l rather think Tve got all the information I want. Thank you for what you’ve told me, \ arris. It 11 help me—help like hell. Let me see now, what was I going to say? Oh yes. About yourself. You’d better go to the office to-morrow. Yes, you’d better begin at Bishopsgate at, say —er —lo o’clock. That’s the usual offi-e hours in that neighbourhood. I’ll be there myself to see you started, and to explain the various bits and pieces vou can do to give an air of verisimilitude to your presence there. Tembridge and I will be going over to Paris later in the day. And—er—bless my soul, what’s come over me?—don’t seem to be able to think clearly, to-night—er—use this place as long as it is safe. I’ll arrange about further funds for you at the office. Excuse me a moment, I must ’phone Tembridge.”

He picked up the instrument and put the number through. “ Hello! Is that Belham ?” he called. “ Yes sir.” “ Put me through to Mr Tembridge, will you, please.” , “I’m very sorry, sir. Mr Tembridge is out.”

“Oh! Did he leave any message?” x ‘ Not with me, sir—there may be one. in the usual place.” Stayne was nettled. It was disturbing to have carefully prearranged plans blown up by an unexpected move on his assistant’s part. That sort of thing generally spelled trouble. Tembridge, by hook or by crook, would always manage to get word through to his chief before embarking on a move of his own. There was valid reason for his not using the telephone, for Stayne had already hinted that Hawker might have a tapper on the wire—and if that call were traced the Bayswater retreat would be knocked off the earth. Stayne felt more and more convinced that there was something in the wind.

“ Have" you any idea where he was going?” he inquired. When Belham’s voice came on again it was tinctured with a hint of surprise at the nature of his own information.

“I can’t say precisely what his destination was,” he replied, “ but—ah—he was wearing full evening dress. And he .requested ine to put all his—ah—night club membership cards on his dressing table.” “Did he?—damn him! ” “ He did, sir.” “ Thank you, Belham. How many did he taka, with him ? ”

“ Four, sir. The Merry Andrew, the Burnt Wings, the Avalon, and the Dead Rat.”

“ A noble assortment. I’ll be home myself as soon as I can get -a taxi.” “ The police are outside, sir. He partakes of the nature of a gentleman selling hot chestnuts from a barrow. Looks quite odd in Curzon square, sir.” “ I’ll come in the other way. Thanks.” Stayne took his adieu of Varris and let himself out of the boarding house, still protesting in a high, wheezy voice against the general inutility of all boarding houses that were not provided with electric lifts.

Out in the street he heard a newsbov. shouting something utterly incoherent from the contents bill of one of the late extra editions of the evening newspapers. He bought one as he hailed a taxi. His heart gave a great bound as he read the flaring placard, “Escaped Prisoner Recaptured.” .. The news paragraph was brief but illuminating. “An official message this evening states that Templer Varris, the prisoner who, with the connivance of two men in a blue Silent Six limousine, escaped from Scrubs Prison this morning, was recaptured at an obscure address in Wapping. He was emerging from a tavern when two detectives closed with him. Varris offered but a brief resistance, and afterwards said that he was glad to have the matter over. As in the dock, he stubbornly refused to say anything about himself. The reason for his reckless break-out from gaol remains a mystery. Chief Inspector Hawker was responsible for the tracing and arrest of the escaped man.” Stayne was actually chortling when he reached the end of the message. Three possibilities presented themselves to him at that moment. Either Hawker had committed a gigantic blunder—a thought •which was ruled out almost as soon as it was made—or Hawker was playing a deeper game than ever Stayne imagined him capable—or someone higher up was putting in some fast work. CHAPTER VII. By the time he had arrived at the home of Air S. G. Daleson, Stayne had thinned the matter down. Hawker could, gain nothing by publishing false news to the world, lhe utmost good he could hope to do would be to lull public criticism of the ease with which a prisoner could escape from a prison and get clear away. And from what he knew of Hawker that was very unlikely. That bull-headed, dogged old thinking machine was impervious to public opinion.' Public opinion was fickle anyhow, and what the public thought to-day would not necessarily be that same public’s opinion to-morrow. He had seen too many good men go wrong because their nerve shook under pressure of public criticism—men who tried to force the game along too rapidly in order to reinstate themselves as quickly as possible in public esteem. Hawker was cast in a different mould. He let the storm of public clamour break oxer him without turning a hair, and certainly without allowing it to deviate his chosen course by a single inch. He knew, like all seasoned warriors, that storms spend themselves out sooner or later and .that the waves return eventually to the sea that gave them birth. No. It was no move of Hawker’s that had occasioned that cheering paragraph in the newspaper. And yet, at the same time, something pretty slick must have been done. Hawker would not authorise such a communication as that to the Press unless he had got his man under lock and key. And he wouldn’t be fool enough to put a man under lock and key unless he was convinced he had got the right man. Someone, some high-souled young adventurer in the service of Intelligence, must have voluntarily gone Lack to prison in Varris’s stead. It was curious to say the least of it. Varris would not be very difficult to duplicate in a physical sense. He was one of a type of Englishmen of whom there are several in every crowd. Tallish, slim, fairly good-looking—one of the type that comes down from the varsities every year in dozens. Properly primed with knowledge of his part by the higher units of the Secret Service, he could pass muster for a little while anyhow. And, having got their man, with his confession, and such other proofs as he himself could furnish with a bit of well-simulated acting, it would not be a very difficult job to carry through.

There remained the problem of the finger prints. It was inconceivable that the prison authorities had not yet taken Varris’s prints. • That would be one of the very first ordeals he would have to undergo as soon as his decision not to appeal was filed. With that action he passed into the ranks of convicted crimi-: nals, and his finger prints would be added to the records with all despatch. If the authorities'did not again take the finger prints, and compare them, all would be well. But to Stayne it seemed that there would be very little

possibility of that. As soon as the newlycaptured man’s prints were recorded, there "would be a holy flare up in Scrubs prison. The cat would be out of the bag with a vengeance. So that, viewed from all points, it appeared that, whoever was responsible for Varris’s rearrest, it was only intended as a temporary move; one to cover something else that would require to be done during the time that police suspicion and watchfulness for Varris himself was lulled to rest by his recapture. And Stayne wanted to know, urgently wanted to, know, what was at the back of the brain of the Man Higher Up. He entered his house and hurriedly shed the guise of S. G. Daleson. In a few minutes he was up in the private cabinet and talking to No. 1. “ Hello, chief—fast work, I must say,” he warmly commented. “ But how long will it last?”

“ Long enough for you to get Varris through the Customs at Dover, we think.”

“ You do, eh? What makes you think the necessity will arise ? ” “ Varris would be extremely helpful to you over there, surely ? ”

“Well, he would and he wouldn’t. He’s as loyal as a dog. But he hasn’t the happy knack of quick thought. You have to hit him on the head with it before he notices it.”

“ Still, it would save you time.” “ Maybe—but I think it, would be risky. He isn’t one of us, chief, and I wouldn’t rely on his nous in an emergency. If Perrigo and Canning, or any of that bunch spotted him over there I should be in a lively hole And, candidly, I don’t think he has the natural speed to avoid detection.” “ You’re tired to-night, colonel ? ” . * * * Stayne detected a faintly bantering note in the softly modulated voice at the other end. His mind performed a lightning back somersault, and landed him back at the beginning of the job. It raced over the affair point by point and phase by phase. He arrived right along the line of reasoning, back to where he stood —and still failed to get the chief’s hint. “ Feel a bit muggy to-night,” he apologised. “ Perhaps’ I’ll ” “ Had some bad news ? ” “No—oh, no! Just a bit depressing, and—and all that. I—oh, by gosh! I’ve got you, sir. That’s to cover the Paris end, isn’t it?”

‘ That’s as we thought. Time is pretty short, and the Perrigo crowd might take the bit between the teeth. That would be pretty fatal. Thev would cut and clear—and the fat would be in the fire. As it is that news is bound to get to Paris. In all probability they already know that Varris has been recaptured. That will put their minds at rest, and if only the man in Scrubs can keep his head and not arouse suspicion you may be able to get away with it before the sky bursts.” “Thank you, chief. I’m all right at this end. I’ll be crossing over tomorrow night. Have you heard from Twenty-two ? ” “ No. Had no news here.”

“ H’m. Well, you might do a little thing for me, will you, please? Get the scouts on him. He left here some little time ago all dolled up in glad rags, and taking with him four night-club cards. Those clubs are the Merry Andrew, the Burnt Wings, the Avalon, and the Dead Rat. He’s in one of those clubs, and I want to know which.”

“ I’ll do it now, Colonel. Hold that line, will you? It’s only a ’phone job.” In less than five minutes Number One was back on the other end of the line. “ That you, colonel ? ” he asked. ‘ Number Twenty-two is in the Avalon—arrived less than ten minutes ago from the Ritz Park. He has a lady with him.” “ I rather guessed as much.” “ The lady is Marienne V.” “ And I guessed that much, too. All right, sir. I’ll go round. I think there’s something pretty big smouldering up round there. Good-night.” “ And good luck,” came softly over the wire.

Stayne hurriedly changed into evening dress and let himself out. As he walked down towards the taxi rank an itinerant vendor of hot roast chestnuts on the opposite side of the square crawled laboriously to life and began plodding along in his wake.

Stayne waited for him at the corner, fumbled for some coppers, bought a bag, and said: “ I shouldn’t worry about following me, old son. It’s a coldish night and you’d have a miserable time if I felt like playing hide and seek to-night. I don’t. But here’s my address for the next hour or two. “The Avalon Dance and Supper Club.’ It’s a night club—one of the posh ones—in Dean street. Tembridge is there, too. I’m going to meet him. Good-night. Here, take these fool nuts back; I don’t want them.”

He walked off towards the rank, leaving the plain clothes man hot under the collar,- staring after him.

Stayne arrived at the club, paused for a while as though hunting for change, and with a smile saw another cab drive up on the other side of. the road and wait there, stationary. The Mystery Maker walked over, stuck his head in at the window and said: “ Suspicious lot of devils to-night, aren’t you? Now watch me go right in. You’ll be all right there, officer—this is the only entrance.” He swung over and entered the club, nettled.. It was so darn silly to keep shadowing * man so obviously. But

Stayne guessed he was one of the underlings who had been given a job to do and was determined to see it through, though Stayne tried a thousand ruses to throw him off the scent.

He went in through the wide swing doors and on into the cocktail lounge. Late suppers were being served on that floor—a big, low room, rather loudly appointed, seen dimly through more glass doors at the far end. From downstairs came the faint sounds of a jazz orchestra playing the plug number from the latest musical comedy hit. He ordered a drink and glanced swiftly through into the long supper room. So far as he could see there was nobody in there he knew, certainly neither Tembridge nor Marienne. Night club habitues are apt to change clubs three or f ™ r times in a night, but he was 10t " to th' l * they had departed already. il>ey re probably downstairs, dancing, he mused. “In that case Marienne is going to be perfectly sweet and come over to my table—and she will ask me to dance. And if she does that I shall yet up and yelp. I know I shall. It would be just my wretched luck to hav» to run across her to-night after—after that confounded rogue Raymond—what in the name of all that’s good and beautiful does a charming creature like Marienne want to get tangled up with a criminal for? Blest if I know. Women beat me—beat me flat. John, mv son you ve done quite right to stav up on your little bachelor shelf.”

He drank his whisky and soda, and glanced round as a newcomer entered and passed through to the supper room, lhe stranger nodded affably as he went through, and muttered a polite “Nice evening.” Stayne nodded back, and felt his instincts rearing up and warning him against the man. He frowned a little, but knew that he had subconsciously taken an instinctive disliking t° linn. For the life of him he couldn’t tell why, but over a long course of years he had come to have a ferocious faith in the rectitiude of his instincts. The man seemed all right. He was well-groomed, and even a perfectly-: dressed man might have been excused wondering who his tailor was. For if Stayne himself was perfectly dressed, the stranger’s clothes were super-per-fect. There was not a line wrong with them; he seemed to have slipped into them without disturbing a single button. And there was nothing wrong with his quiet “Nice evening.” That was night club etiquette. All were members, and it was understood that all members knew each other. Formal introductions were just plain bosh, and for the sake of the general gaiety of the evening the usual assumption was that everybody should be as friendly as they felt inclined to each other.

And yet he would willingly have laid a thousand to one that there was some? thing wrong about him. Nothing flashy —but just wrong—psychologically wrong, It stood out around him like an aura. (To be continued.)