THE Novelist The Mystery of Ryeburn Manor.

Otago Witness, Issue 3972, 29 April 1930, Page 70

THE Novelist The Mystery of Ryeburn Manor.

By

JOHN LAURENCE,

Author of “ The Sign of the Double Cross Inn,” etc.

(Special for the

Otago Witness.)

T-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! Robert Harding looked up from the book he was reading, “ The Psychology of Women,” halfturned in his comfortable leather chair, and stared at the heavily-curtained window. The din of the bell was maddening, and he rose with a muttered imprecation, jerked back the curtain, and looked out.

A policeman was standing on the pavement looking up at the house next door, and one or two idlers had stopped at tlie unusual and irritating sound of the clamorous alarm.

“ Why the dickens don’t they turn it off?” he grumbled. “It’s enough to wake the dead.”

He dropped the book on the table and lighted his pipe afresh. The noise of the automatic burglar alarm was irritating. The sound was continuous and virulent in its unvarying malignity. He was not in the mood to listen to it with any feelings of pleasure or patience. “It would come when Jennings was enjoying himself,” he muttered, turning away from the window. He went down the stairs and opened the main door which guarded the entrance to the building, and the two flats, of which he occupied the upper one. “How long are the bells of St. Mary’s going to play out for you and me, officer ? ”

The police constable smiled sympathetically. “ Can’t say, sir. The sergeant has gone to the station to telephone. If the keys have been deposited with the Burglar Alarm Company they’ll be here in half an hour and stop it. If not, we shall have to get into communication with the occupier.” Harding wondered if the keys would arrive and stop the bell, but he made no comment.

“ Then the horror will go on ringing for a week perhaps. That’s a cheery outlook. Can’t you get in? What’s a burglar alarm for? Do you realise the place may be ten deep with burglars standing in the dining room, drinking cocktails? ”

“I’ve had a look round the back, sir. There are no windows forced or open. Those alarms often go off through the vibrations of passing vehicles. Do you possess a skylight, sir?” Harding groaned inwardly at the ponderous phraseology of the constable. “ I really couldn’t say. Why ? ” “ There might be a way over the roof, through your skylight and theirs,” explained the constable. “ I could get in and stop it when the sergeant returns. I’m not allowed to move till he does.”

“ I’ll go back and have a scout round,” volunteered Harding. “ Anything’s better than listening to a monologue by a bell Robot. A bit of alpine climbing will keep me in form for the winter sports.” The constable grinned. He reflected, as he looked at the athletic, wiry figure of the other, that Robert Harding would be quite a tough proposition to tackle in a scrimmage. Harding closed the door and made the way up the stairs, leading to the top of the two flats. He paused 'at his own and picked up an electric torch. He had never yet had the curiosity to penetrate up the rather gloomy-looking, unused stairs which led upwards past the door of his own luxurious flat. Vaguely he remembered, as he began to ascend, his man Jennings saying it led on to the roof, through a loft where the water gfnr « + o-U<ss yveTC. When he turned the corner of the first flight he came out on to a small landing. From it, leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling, was a short ladder of about a dr>z<m rungs. With difficulty he pushed back the rusty bolt and the trap. It swung back on its hinges as he climbed upwards and came to rest against one of the upright pillars supporting the roof. Harding flashed his torch round. The dark, gloomy, sloping space immediately beneath the roof was thick with dust, and his fingers were begrimed from the ledge on which he had rested them.

To his left he could make out the huge cistern which acted as the supply for +’•" n -' 4 -c He hauled himself up gingerly i the floor joists, thick with the soft undisturbed dust nt

'•ight the beam of light revealed a small door in the wall. Cautiously he stepped from joist to joist, and shot back the bolts holding the door, and stepped out on the narrow ledge between-the roofs of the two buildings. On both sides the roofs sloped down to this ledge, which was flanked on each side by a broad gutter. Opposite, within a few feet, was a replica of the door through which he had just come.

“ Bolted on the inside, I suppose,” he declared. The air had been very heavy and stuffv under the roof, but out here it was clear and fresh, despite the warmth of the

early summer night. Harding walked along the gutter to the parapet and peered into the street. All round he could see the twinkling lights of London, a fairyland from a viewpoint which was novel to him. He stood watching for a moment, trying to identify buildings. The sound of the alarm bell rose, with maddening and insistent clarity, above the murmur of traffic. .Unexpectedly there came from behind him the sound of a rusty bolt being drawn from its socket, and the creak” ing of rarely-used hinges. Harding turned quickly and crouched d'uvn. so that he should not be seen against the sky. He smiled grimly to himself. So the burglar alarm was really a burglar alarm, after all! The intruder. must have seen the constable waiting in the street and had made for the roof. Harding moved silently a few feet to the left, so that the slope of the roof partly hid him, and" peered through the darkness in the direction of the noise. The door in the roof of th n other house was slowly opened towards him, effectively hiding for the moment whoever was coming through it. “By George, it’s a woman! ” ¥ ¥ ¥ THE GIRL IN THE CASE.

She was turned away from him, a slim .igure silhouetted against the skyline, and he edged quietly a little nearer. She half turned and looked towards the door through which he had come. He saw her for a moment in profile, caught a glimpse of a small, wellshaped, close-fitting helmet hat, of a firm, delicate chin, a straight, small nose, and then the impression was lost as she stepped hurriedly across the low wall and bent to enter the door opposite her. Harding moved swiftly, and as he stepped through the door” after her he switched on his torch. “ Oh! ”

The gasped exclamation held in it a world of terror. In the light of his torch he saw the slim figure swaying by the edge of the open trapdoor, numbed for a moment by the shock of his un-looked-for appearance. Her piteous blue eyes were wide open, her lips quivering, her body shaking. One gloved hand clung desperately to the upright beam. “ Who are you ? ” she gasped. Despite the cadence of fear her voice had that musical quality which spoke of good breeding. Harding took a step forward and put out a protecting arm. “ Careful, you’ll fall through. Sorry I startled you. I’m quite harmless, really. I live in the flat below and heard the burglar alarm and came up to investigate.” The fear died slowly in her eyes, though the continued quick rise and fall of her breast showed him that she had not recovered from the shock he had given her. “ I heard it, too,” she said haltingly. “ I—l was alone in the house. I was afraid to go downstairs. I remembered there was a way out on the roof. I put on my hat. I thought I might come down and find a way out.” She spoke jerkily, and her eyes watched him as though trying to pierce the gloom to see what kind_"of man it was to whom she was speaking. He turned the light down to her feet, and haifconsciously noticed that her ankles were slim and delightful. She appeared utterly out of place in that dusty, dark loft, almost in her fragility like a piece of Dresden china. He could imagine her in a ballroom, swinging round to the strains of some popular fox-trot, happy and smiling.

“ I’ll show you a light,” he said, turning the beam on to the open trap-door. “You’ll be all right now. Mind how you go down. It’s fearfully dusty.” I know. The light shone on her upturned face as she felt for the top rung of the ladder with her foot. There was still that look of watchfulness and fear in her eyes. “ I took you for the burglar when I say that door opening,” said Harding, as he joined her at the foot of the ladder. “But the police say they don’t think there’s a burglar there at all. Thev think the alarm started itself. You’ve nothing to worry about. You must have been frightened out of your life to make a bolt for it to the roof. Most women would have fainted. I’m sure if I’d been seared like that I shouldn’t have waited to put on my hat and gloves. This is my flat. You’d better come in for a moment until I tell the police waat’s? happened.” She gave a suppressed gasp as he pressed down the hall switch and held the door open for her. “Not the police, please!” Harding looked at her sharply. The natural ivory creaminess of her "smooth complexion had paled and her blue eyes looked into his with an appeal in them he could not immediately resist. A

dark, curly wisp of brown hair escaped from under the brim of her close-fitting hat and caught his attention. The expression on her face was a mixture of .appeal and utter despair. “ Better come in and tell me your trouble. You’ve been scared out of your life. I can see that.”

In the sitting-room she held her gloved hands before the fire as though she were cold, though the night was warm enough to make a fire almost unnecessary. “ Better sit down and tell me what’s happened,” said Harding. “ Here, drink this. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

He held out the cocktail he had mixed, and she smiled gratefully, though her hand shook so that some of the liquor was spilled. ¥ ¥ ¥ THE VANISHED STRANGER. “ Now I wonder what the devil you were doing alone in the house?” thought Harding, as he watched her sip the cocktail. “You don’t look as though you ought to be left alone. Poor kid, you're seared stiff.” She put down the empty glass and the colour came back to her cheeks.

“The police?” she said questioningly. “ When that bell started I went downstairs and talked to the policeman outside,” he explained. “He asked me if there was a way over the roof, so they could get in and stop it ringing. I offered to find out. I’ve only been here the last few weeks, so I haven’t done much exploring. When his sergeant comes back he’ll be free to come up. Perhaps you’d better wait here till they’ve made sure there’s no one in the house.” “No, no!” she protested. “I shall go and stay with friends; I couldn’t bear the police asking me questions.” “ There’ll be no need to ask questions.” “ Please, please don’t tell them I’m here, that you found me on the roof. I can explain everything!” she cried wildly.

He was puzzled by her attitude. If she had not been so clearly one of his own class he would have been suspicious of her. But he couldn’t believe for one moment that she had done anything which would make her wish to avoid the police. She seemed to him hardly more than a child, though her appeal to him was that of a beautiful woman in distress. It appeared to him that she was distraught from the double fright she had received, first from the alarm bell which was still monotonously ringing, and secondly from his own sudden appearance in the loft. She did not seem capable of thinking clearly, though afterwards he was to change his opinion. He did not realise until later, indeed, how close a guard she had kept of her tongue, how she had allowed him to do nearly all the talking. “Why, what is there to explain?” he asked.

“ No, no, I didn’t mean that. I mean they’ll ask me questions. I don’t think 1 can stand it to-night.” There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes, and Harding capitulated. “ All right, then, I’ll say nothing about you to them,” he agreed.' “ But I must go down and tell that policeman I have found a way over the roof, or he’ll wonder what’s happened. You sit down and keep quiet. I’ll see you home afterwards.”

She sank down in the. chair in which he had been reading when the noise of the alarm had disturbed him. Her small figure seemed almost lost in its comfortable expanse. She appeared utterly weary and worn out. Harding turned" at the door and saw she was watching him. He nodded cheerfully and went out, his last impression being of a pair of appealing blue, trusting eyes which he could not betray. He found the policeman chatting with a police sergeant. The latter looked at him sharply and the policeman explained. “ This is the gentleman who went to see if ther e was a way across the roof.” “ I found it, all right,” laughed Harding, holding out his dust-grimed hands. “ 1 noticed their skylight door was open, so you can get in.” “ You’d better go up, Jim,” said the sergeant. “ I’ll keep an eye down here. The man’s coming from the Burglar Alarm Company,” he added, turning to Harding. “ I expect him any minute. Shouldn’t be surprised if he got here before you got through. You won’t be troubled much more to-night, sir. Anvbody in the flat below you ? ” •“ I believe tlle y’re away,” replied Harding. “ I’m a newcomer here, so I can’t really say. But if they are in I should have thought that that infernal bell would have brought their noses to the windows.”

He turned and led the way upstairs, and afterwards followed the constable up the ladder.

“ Do you want me ? ” he asked, as the constable flashed his bull’s-eye lantern round.

“No, sir, I’ll be all right now. Thank you very much, sir.”

Harding stood for half a minute, head and shoulders in the loft, watching the constable make his way across the joists toward the door in the wall, before lie went back to his flat.

And then he received his second shock that night. The girl he had left in the sitting room was no longer there. As he stood staring at the empty chair he was conscious of a curious silence, and it slowly penetrated his half-conscious mind that the alarm bell was no longer ringing. b

¥ ¥ ¥ THE PEARL. A quick search of the flat made it clear to Robert Harding that the girl whose beauty and distress had swept him off his feet had gone, had left without so much as “ Thank-you.”

“Well, I’m damned!” he cried. “Of all the ungratefulness of the human animal commend me to a pretty woman. Pah! What the dickens does he know about it? ”

He picked up the book he had been reading and dropped it again as his eye caught the glint of something white by the leg of the chair. “ A pearl!” he muttered. “ A souvenir which I can return. I wonder how she came to drop it? ” He slipped it into his pocket, and dropped into the chair. Was it fancy, or could he detect the fragrance of the girl who had sat there a few minutes ago?

“Darn it!” he growled. “She should not have left like that. I hope she's all right.”

Somehow, he felt fliere was something wrong in the way the girl had gone. She had impressed him so that he could not believe that she would do anything which was not right. He decided that she must have been so distracted that she had not known what she was doing, had fled merely to get away from the sound of the bell which had so frightened her. As the thought came to him there sounded a sharp ringing at his own bell. Downstairs he found a very ollici.iilooking sergeant, whose manner was distinctly brusque. “May I use your telephone, sir?” he said, and stepped inside without waiting foi Harding s permission. He seemed to be in a desperate hurry. “ The bell’s stopped,” began the latter. “ Hie man arrived just after the constable wont upstairs with you,” said the sergeant. “We got in first and stopped it, and met him coming down the stairs. Where’s the telephone?” Harding indicated the instrument in the hall.

. Victoria 8000,” snapped the sergeant into the mouthpiece. “That Scotland lard? Ls Inspector Vidler there? Inspector Vidler ? ”

Seigeant Mason, of Kensington, speaking. I’m speaking from 89 Ditchling road, West Kensington. A man has been found murdered in No. 80.” Io Harding the hall seemed to darken momentarily, and he stared with incredulous eyes at the sergeant, who was watching him as he listened to his superior speaking. Murder!

. The word was a shock to him. He instantly had a vision of a slim mrl with terrified blue eyes and tremblmg, kissable lips; a girl who could no more kill a man than she could kill a fly. He set his teeth as the sergeant replaced the receiver.

you say murder, serge‘?",V ' 110 a , ske(L “ Tl,is is terrible.” that s what set the alarm off,” said the sergeant. “ Gave me quite a turn when I found him downstairs. Back of his head bashed in with a poker. You t Cll t d’ 1 ” anything ’ sir ’ before th e bell

Harding shook his head. “We found one of the bottom back windows open,” continued the sergeant. I thought at first he escaped bv the roof I remember you’d told me‘you’d found the skylight open?” Harding took a firm hold over himeHe was thankful the sergeant had said “ he.”

“ Come in and have a drink. This is terrible,” he repeated. He poured out a generous three fingers of whisky for the sergeant and himself.

“Inspector Vidler, did you say? I seem to have heard his name before.” . The sergeant nodded as he tossed off his drink.

The best man they’ve got at the Yard. Hes been promoted over tlm heads of dozens of them. He’s the youngest inspector in the force. I shouldn’t like to have Inspector Vidler after me if I’d done anyone in. May as well hang yourself at once and get it ever. He’ll probably want to talk to you to-night, sir, if it’s not too late.” “I’ll be here,” replied Harding. “ Though I don’t see what help I can give,” he added, cautiously.

¥ ¥ ¥ MURDER!

“You never know, sir, with the inspector. He’s pretty quick on the uptake. lou might have seen something or somebody as didn’t seem important to you, and he’ll fasten on it like a limpet. He’s a rare one for dragging information out of people without them knowing it. I’d be netting downstairs, sir. He’ll be here quicker than greased lightning. Hello, somebody coming in!” His ear had caught the sound of a key rattling in the lock.

“That’s my man Jennings,” explained Harding. “He patronises variety shows. I believe it was the Coliseum to-night.”

He accompanied the sergeant to the door, and saw out of the corner of his eye the man-servant hovering in the background. “ Anything good at the Coliseum, Jennings?” he asked.

“Mr Seymour Hicks was in a play which was rather blood-curdling,” replied Jennings, washing his hands with invisible soap. “He murdered a man off-stage, so to speak, and was having a little colloquy about it.” “ There’s been a murder next door, Jennings.”

The man-servant’s heavy eyebrows elevated themselves, and the invisible soap was used with great vigour.

“Murder next door, sir?” he repeated,

“I said murder next door,-Jennings. I wish the dickens you’d wash your hands and get the job over. Scotland Yard will be here shortly. Have a few

sandwiches handy and coffee before you go nosing round.” ‘

“Very good, sir.” “If he weren’t so confoundedly useful I think I’d sack him,” ruminated Harding. “That habit of washing his hands will drive me to murder him some day.”

He paid no further attention to Jennings. He had something much more important to think about as he drew up his chair before the fire and poked the latter into a cheerful blaze. “Now, old son,” he reflected, filling his pipe; “you’ve got to make up vour mind what to do, and make it" up Either that girl’s a murderess or she’s not. If she is, you’ve got to tell this Vidler person all about hen If she is not, you can keep your nioutli shut in the hopes of running across her and hearing her story. “Bashed on the head with a poker, that was what the sergeant said. Little Blue Eyes wouldn’t have the strength to do that.”

He got up and looked out of the window. Already a crowd had gathered from nowhere, as it were, in that mysterious way crowds do gather in London on the slightest provocation. They were gaping up at the house next door as though they could see through the very walls and watch the movements of the police. “ Looks as though Scotland Yard has arrived,” said Harding to himself. “ Though I didn’t know they used the most expensive straight-eight limousines. That’s what they mean by the Flying Squad, I suppose?” •He turned away and stared into the fire. His subconscious, emotional mind was made up as to his course of action, though his reasoning powers were still fighting against the decision he had come to.

“ Darn it, I can’t hear her get intq the hands of the Yard,” he growled. “ They’ll frighten her stone cold. Supj posing she’s got no friends? It’s all bunk to accuse her of murder, or burg? lary, or anything.” ° As no one yet had yet done so, Robert Harding’s protest was a little premature, but it showed very clearly in which direction his sympathies lay. If Inspector David Vidler had arrived with the sergeant there is little doubt he would have learnt all about the encounter on the roof. As it was, when he did appear just before midnight Hardt ing had worked himself up so much as to the possibilities of little Blue Eyes being hanged by the neck until she was dead that wild horses would not have dragged any admission from him. “ Sorry to trouble you, Mr Harding, so late, but murder is a serious busL ness.”

Harding sized up the man before him very carefully as Jennings brought in a tray of coffee and sandwiches. He saw a pleasant-faced, well-dressed man about town. The face seemed vaguely familiar, though he could not place it, Rather to his astonishment the inspect tor was in full evening dress. That seemed incongruous with Harding’s ideas of Scotland Yard. He expected to see heavy regulation boots in place of the perfect shining patent-leather shoes. The inspector shook his head in reply to the offer of a cocktail.

“ I’ve just come from a regimental re* union,” he explained. “ Coffee, yes. Just happened to call in at the Yard and heard about this affair next door.” “I saw you had had your whack at Jerry,” remarked Harding, looking at the row of medals on the inspector’s lapel. .-./‘I had four years in the air.” The inspector rubbed the corner of his right eye with his forefinger. It was a trick of his with which the other was to become well acquainted, a trick which showed he was thinking deeply. ¥ ¥ ¥ THE FATAL QUESTION. “ Are you, by any chance, the Major Robert Handing who brought down the Zepp over Brussels in ’fifteen?” Harding acknowledged the challenge, and the inspector chuckled softly. “Only son of Sir John Harding, educated Dulwich and Trinity, Cambridge.” he quoted from “ Who’s Who.” .“ Sublieutenant, Royal Naval Air Service, 1914; Lieutenant, 1915; Captain, Royal Air Force, 1917; Major, 1918, Brought down one Zeppelin and forty-two enemy machines. D. 5.0., D.F.C., Croix de Guerre ” “Stow it!” growled Harding, flushing. “ I want to forget the war in the air.” “ That’s why you still have your own aeroplane and tour the country in it,” said the inspector. Robert Harding grinned at the shrewd thrust.

“ The roads are getting uncomfortable. Haven’t I seen you before? Your face seems familiar.”

The inspector’s forefinger Tubbed his eye, as though to get a clearer vision. “ You were acting as second to Barnett, of Trinity, when I knocked him out,” he said, gravely. “ Good Lord, you’re D.V., God-willing Vidler!” exclaimed Harding. “I didn’t expect you to become a —to go to Scotland Yard.”

Policeman hardly seemed the word to use where David Vidler was concerned. It all came back to Harding—the inter’Varsity boxing championships, the heavy-weights, Billy Barnett, of Trinity, versus David Vidler, of Brasenose. Never, as long as he lived, Harding reflected, would he forget that final punch of “ D.V.’s,” that battering -ram smashing blow on Barnett’s chin, which lifted his fifteen stone clean off the boards and sent him a helpless, unconscious, sagging wreck doubled over the ropes.

“ Yes, I became a common copper in |he street,” said Vidler. “ I hope my feet don’t betray me.” “I thought you’d got money?” “ No reason why I shouldn’t do a job pf work, eh? It doesn’t prevent you from acting as Britain’s ail - ambassador and advertiser, does it? -I should think with your propaganda work you must have put a good many thousands into the pockets of British aeroplane manufacturers. That light aeroplane stunt of yours across Europe and Russia to Pekin, for instance.” “ Don’t get me talking shop or you’ll stop here all night,” protested Harding good-humouredly. “Have a cigar. I can recommend them.”

He was beginning to understand now why David Vidler had risen so quickly. He vaguely remembered after that fight with Billy Barnett someone telling him that Vidler was one of those unusual products of the ’Varsity —a first-class athlete and a first-class honours man in science. Harding felt that the sooner the other came down to asking questions the better, for the sooner would his own prdeal be over. He put the direct question.

“ What about this murder next door ? Who is it?”

“Do you know them at all ?” asked Vidler.

“ Don’t even know who lives there,” replied Harding. “ A man named Lee and his wife. He’s in the export trade. Got plenty pf money and a house called Ryeburn Manor in the country between Winchelsea and Hastings. He’s down there now, apparently. The murdered man’s pne of the under servants. Did you see anybody suspicious to-night?” The fatal question had come, and ■Harding braced himself to meet it. He turned and looked into the fire as he replied, for he had not learned to face people, look squarely into their eyes, and lie easily.

(To be continued.)