Sentenced to Death.

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 51, 23 May 1927, Page 14

Sentenced to Death.

Sy

Louis Tracy.

Author of “ The Long Lane of Many Windings/* “ One Wonderful Night/* “ Love and the Aces/* “ The To\en/* &c.j &c.

(Copyright for the Author in the United States and Canada by Edward J. Clode, Inc.. New York. All other rights reserved.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTER l.—A young officer, Antony Blake learns that he has not many months to live. He arrives at a part of Regent’s Park, where a pony and governess car are stationed. A vivid flash of lightning causes the pony to bolt. As Antony is walking, two men overtake and rush past him, one tall and thin the other short and fat. The rotund runner falls, picks himself up and tears along. Antony notices a dagger in the grass. He examines it, finally flinging it

into the long grass fringing the shrubbery. He reaches a small wooden hut. A girl is sheltering there. She tells him she was to meet her uncle, who was driving a pony in a governess car.

CHAPTER ll.—Blake takes her to her home. Her name is Iris Hamilton. Soon after he is again in the Park and he finds the dagger. The first item that catches his eye in the night’s paper is “Tragedy in Regent’s Park. Supposed Murder." Another paragraph details how Dr. EnsleyJones found a long-bladed dagger in the body of the dead man. Its description tallies with the one in Blake’s possession He taxis ro the nearest police station and tells his story Blake finds himself practically under arrest, suspected of complicity In the murder of Robert Lastineham.

CHAPTERS 111. and IV.-Furneatu arrives, identifies Blake, hears his story, and then asks the inspector for the knife Then Furneaux Invites himself to Blake’s fiat. As the two men are making their way to Antony’s rooms, his housekeeper, Mrs Wilson says that a young lady had called and left a letter for him. It Is from Iris Hamilton.

CHAPTERS Y T . to X. —Blake sees the tall thin man at Albert Gate, and alter sending a note to Furneaux, follows him in Soho. Detectives join him and they succeed In finding the haunt of the criminals. The fat man walks in and is caught. An American crook threatens Blake over the telephone. Blake attends a dinner of detectives where the mention of the name of “Natalie dortschakoff’’ strikes terror into

one of the guests. The.: Miss Hamilton rings him up but the conversation is cut short. News comes of a fight between the police and a gang at Blake’s house. Blake himself has another heart attack when he is on his way to iris He goes to the flat with a detective, and Mrs. Hamilton Is arrested for complicity in the murder. Natalie rings up Blake and he agrees to take luncheon with her. He is blindfolded and taken in a car to Natalie’s home where the villainess receives him graciously.

CHAPTER X.—(Continued). Mademoiselle broke forthwith into a light analysis of the prevalent vogue of Russian dancing. Her chatter was amusing and thoroughly well-in-formed. Blake had only to play up, which he did to the best of his ability. He was secretly astounded by her changed attitude, which, however, simplified matters for him. They had not been together five minutes in these new conditions before he discovered that her idiomatic English was of the less conventional variety. She could use the short cuts of modern speech both British and American. Referring to a well-known actor as a “priceless ass,’’ she went one better in alluding to the dislike with which a famous pianist was regarded by his fellowartists. “He’s about as popular as a wet dog in a small boat filled with ladies wearing pink silk stockings,” she said.

The meal was excellent, and the white wine served with it of the best quality. It proceeded absolutely without incident until the butler (no other servant appeared) had partly cleared the table before serving coffee, when there came, seemingly from a basement in the rear of the building, the sharp snarl of an automatic, followed by a muffled scream and a crash of china.

The man paled and hurried out, thrusting a laden tray on to the sideboard. After a momentary pause, Mademoiselle, whitefaced, too, but furious rather than afraid, excused herself to her guest and followed the butler. Blake, whose wits were more than ever on tip-toe. as it were, did not fail to catch the click of a turned lock as the door closed behind her. “Now’s my chance,” he said.

He had noted that each window, in addition to its long lace curtains, was screened by closely-woven half-blinds of muslin. It was, therefore, wholly impossible for anyone on the floor level to look out, unless these obstacles were removed, and he took it for granted that the muslin half-blinds were by way of being fixtures. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew a chair noiselessly to the western window on the north side, glued his eyes to the interstices of the- lace, and began to memorise everything that he saw.

His prior conjectures as to the position and external features of the house were correct, and need not be specified anew, because, after a v a in attempt to decipher.-a distant and half-obliterated street-name on a plate attached to the garden fence on the villa occupying the north-west angle of the intersection of two obviously suburban thoroughfares, he saw something so distinctive, so readily recognisable, that he applied his mind exclusively to the one object, and that alone. Rising some three hundred yards away, nor--nor’-west. was a church steeple. It was fashioned along the lines beloved of that master-architect Christopher Wren, though its smooth stonework could not be many years old. He knew enough of the builder’s technique to distinguish between a steeple and a spire. This one thrust three stages of lanterns above the roofline of the intervening houses. Each was octagonal in plan, with central arches and side pilasters. The topmost pinnacle was crowned by a weather-cock and the points of the compass, borne on an iron staff with curved supports of floral design. To make assurance doubly sure, he counted the stone courses in the highest “lantern.” There were eight,' each probably eighteen inches in the perpendicular.

A hurried glance at the more immediate surroundings showed the uselessness of burthening his memory with details common to a thousand similar cross-roads in outer London. ITe had seen enough. The barest description of that quite elegant steeple would serve to locate it instantly when inquiry was made in the right quarter. Getting down, he replaced the chair, not forgetting to crumple its leather covering in case a footmark remained, and went back to the table. Once there he was inclined to jot down a few notes in his pocket-book, but refrained, not because he feared discovery now, but due rather to a certain pride in a good memory. He admitted his good fortune later when he knew, almost to a certainty, that any such entry in the book would have cost him his life within the next half hour.

Mademoiselle Gortschakoff was an expert in turning a door-handle and the key in a lock simultaneously. She had not been absent more than three minutes, and her manner, if flurried, was even a trifle more imperious than she had permitted herself in the adjoining room

“Fools abound everywhere, even in England, I am told.” she cried emphatically, snatching a liqueur-stand from the sideboard, “but of all honest-to-God idiots give me the political fanatic, though such a sentiment must indeed sound strange from my lips.

. . . There has been an accident. I regret it, because it changes my plans. 1 have ordered your car, Mr. Blake. You and I may never meet again, but there is no reason why we should not wish each other well. At least, speak of n\e as you found me. . . . Will you join me in a glass of vodka? Have you ever tasted it—of the right Russian brand, 1 mean, not the fiery stuff sold in restaurants? It is a priceless

digestive when taken in moderation.” She had already filled a small glass for herself, and now placed a silver stand containing half-a-dozen variously coloured liquids in their original bottles on the table in front of her guest.

“That is it,” she rattled on, “the one with the stopper out. Of course, if you prefer a liquer brandy ” It was that subtlety which undid Blake. He knew too late, far too late, that he had wondered sub-consicously why Mademoiselle helped herself while her back was turned. But the offer of an alternative, plus a man’s natural curiosity when a woman recommends something new and rare in the way of a liqueur, determined him.

He took the bottle indicated, and poured out a small quantity. He sipped it gingerly, and liked the flavour, though it did not resemble any vodka he had ever sampled before.

“Don’t be afraid of it,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “Even a second glass will do you no harm. Try one of these,” and she proffered a cigarette case. “They, too, are Russian, a land from which comes some good and a great deal of evil . . . You may as well sit down. The car cannot be here for five minutes or so. You see, I have to summon your guide long before the appointed hour.”

He resumed the chair from which he had risen when she spoke of his immediate departure. The way he sipped the vodka seemed to amuse her. “To get the real benefit of the spirit you empty the glass at a draught,” she declared. “I suppose you have never met any of the true Romanoffs? Ah, they were men. They would pour out half a tumbler full of either vodka or fine champagne, and it would disappear like that:”

Suiting the action to the word, she drained Her own small glass, and Blake thought the example good.

Sne sat down facing him, supporting her chin on her clenched hands, with elbows propped on the table.

“You will soon feel the effect,” she laughed. “That is the test of a superb liqueur. It induces an extraordinary clarity of vision, both in the eyes of the body' and in the more delicate susceptibilities of the soul. That sounds like nonsense, hein? It is not. Confess now? Are you not aware already of a change?”

“Your vodka supplies at least an excuse for a compliment, mademoiselle,” he answered gravely. “I don’t know why I say it at this moment, but I am impelled to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on.”

“Ah!” she cooed. “That is better. You are not so cold, you English, when the supreme test is applied. You remind me of your own green fields in the winter. In other countries the grass is withered, dead. But here it comes forth fresh and verdant through the covering of snow when the sun shines. It is a pity you are doomed to die young, Mistaire Blake. I find you impressionable, and —I like you for

To Blake’s immeasurable surprise the white expanse of table-cloth which separated them began to shrink, and

Natalie Gortschakoff’s lovely, sentient face drew ever nearer. The Titian hair now glowed like a fiery halov- Her eyes were shining pools of light. Her parted lips revealed teeth of such burnished white that they reflected the rich colour of her lips. And the inanimate objects close at hand bore their share in this strange delusion. The silver was brighter, the cut flowers in a centre-piece became more radiant. The maddest sensation of all was the increased power of his sight. He could see the delicate blue veins beneath the ivory of the woman’s neck, while no petal or leaf among the roses in the vase could conceal its finest traceries.

He made a most valiant effort at regaining a self-control which he was sure was ebbing fast. “Your Russian grandees must have had stronger heads than mine,” he laughed, and his words sounded hollow in his ears. “I think I ought not to have mixed that stuff with wine. Forgive me if I say', or do, something rather mad.”

“It is but a phase—it passes,” murmured Mademoiselle, or so it seemed to Blake, because although that fantastic effect of her increasing nearness was becoming more and more overwhelming, her voice had diminished in volume, and might be reaching from a considerable distance. “Look at me steadily for a moment . . . Now, close your eyes—so . . . Yield to the desire for sleep . . . Then, in a few seconds ”

And that was the end of things for Antony Blake. He lost consciousness completely. A last feeble flicker of intelligence warned him that if he did not rest his head and shoulders on the table he w'ould pitch headlong to the floor. CHAPTER XI.—WHEREIN MANY BIRDS LEAVE THEIR NESTS. When Blake came to his senses again he was rather suddenly and acutely aware of a Cockney voice, addressing both him and another person alternately, with interlarded appeals to the Deity. “Wike up! Wike up, carn’t yer!” it was saying, and the command was enforced by a hand shaking his shoulder vigorously. “Gord’s trewth, mite, didjer ever see any young bloke so full of it? Lord luv a duck, ’ow did 'e get ’ere wiv’ a load like that? Wike up, 1 tell yer.” “I don’t think it’s liquor,” said another voice. “Seems to me to be some kind of a fit. P’raps you’d better hop it to the Lodge, an’ telephone for an ambulance. I’ll stop here till it comes. Was he like this when you found him ?” “Just a bit more ’idden by the bushes, guv’nor—that’s all. I spotted the tows of ’is boots stickin’ up. Gemme a turn, it did. Gord, sez I, ’ere’s another of ’em! But I soon sawr ’e warn’t no suicide, an’ 'is breathin’ was nateral-like, so I thort it best to ’ail you, as I’d seen you acrorse the pawrk a minnit earlier. Well, I’d better be orf . . . ’Ello-ee! Wot’s this? ’E’s a-comin’ to.” (To be Cuninued.)