The Green Bungalow

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 416, 26 July 1928, Page 5

The Green Bungalow

BY A POWERFUL WRITER.

<4^

Fred M. White.

Author of “ The Crimson Blind," " The Cardinal Moth." “ The House on the River," &c., 4*.?

CHAPTER XVll—Continued. “Still, you ought to have done so,” Shute said, in a tone of mild reproach. “Let me see—what time was it last night when we left off work? Pretty late, wasn’t It? Ah, I remember now. When I looked at the clock in my working-room I saw that it was past one. X think I mentioned the matter, Miss Frond.” “You certainly did,” Nettie agreed. “And, moreover, you apologised for keeping me up so late.” “Then there must be two of these gangs about,” Vickery exclaimed. “It’s not possible that the men who came to my house had the infernal cheek to come on here afterwards. They had plenty of time, as far as that goes.”

“Well, if they did, I suppose my light scared them away,” Fishbourne said. “I had got into bed when I heard Miss Frond knock at my wife’s door, and I hopped out to see what was going on. They would see the light, of course.”

How true this was, Fishbourne hardly realised. For it was nothing but the sudden burst of light in his room that had scared Shute and his confederates in their attempt upon the safe, which they had Intended to supplement with a visit to Vickery afterwards. And at that last moment they had decided to leave their host’s property alone for the time being, and content themselves with the other job, which they had planned for some time past. And Shute smiled to himself as he realised how perfectly that little scheme of his had worked out, and how, in case anything went wrong, he had established the neatest and most complete alibi. As he sat there listening to the disjointed conversation going on about him, he chuckled inwardly at the manner jn which he and Macglendy had thrown their pursuers off the scent, and were safe in the knowledge that, while the roads inland were being diligently searched, Macglendy, in a motor-boat, was making his way out to sea.

“Well, something has got to be done about it,” Vickery said fussily. “The police seem to be utterly useless. This is the third daring burglary we have had in the course of a week, and not so much as a sign of the thieves. I am going to get a man down from Scotland Yard. These locals are all very well, biit they have no imagination. It's the work of one gang, beyond the shadow of a doubt. And the sooner they are laid by the heels, the better.”

But it was useless to stand there discussing the problem, and shortly afterwards, the little baronet went hi's way, leaving the others to talk over what had happened, and make their arrangements for passing the day. Nettie crept up to her room presently, with her head in a whirl, and sat down to try and make something coherent out of what she had just heard. She was quite convinced now that she had

seen Shute with someone else the night before on the terrace, and, if he had not been up to something wrong, why should he not have confessed that, for some reason or another, he had found it necessary to leave the house in the dead of the night. It-did not occur to Nettie, for the moment, to associate the burglary at Vickery’s with Shute’s escapade. But, at any rate, without getting herself into trouble, or making vague accusations which she could not substantiate, she might write to Blythe and tell him everything that had happened. Beyond doubt, he knew a great deal more than she did, and, besides, she had come to Fishbourne Towers at his urgent request. And, thereupon, she sat down and wrote to Blythe at great length, omitting nothing, and telling him all the details that she had gathered as to the burglary at Vickery’s. It was a long letter, and, by the time she had finished, and posted It herself in the village, it was close upon luncheontime, and when she entered the diningroom she saw that Macglendy had returned. “Yes, I managed to get away,” the latter was saying to Fishbourne. “I caught the last train down to Brighton and motored over here as soon as I had dealt with my correspondence. But I am afraid that I can’t stop over to-night, because I am going north tomorrow. Still, I must make the best of It.” It was not an unpleasant luncheon party, on the whole, though Nettie was somewhat quiet, watching Shute and Macglendy, who, however, appeared to be completely at their ease. The two drifted off presently on to the terrace, where they paced up and down smoking their cigars, and, apparently, enjoying the sunshine. “Well,” Shute murmured. “And how did it go?” “Couldn’t have been better! I flatter myself that it was a very neat job. Was there any trouble at this end?” “No,” Shute replied. “But there easily might have been, if I hadn’t foieseen matters. The girl saw u last night. It was she who aroused Fishbourne, hence the light in the latter’s window, and our', change of plans. Vickery was here this morning, foaming at the mouth, but he let out that the robbery took place shortly after twelve o clock, and that is where my little scheme for altering the time came in. So I am able to prove now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I was in the house at the time the burglary was committed, all of which goes to show that you can’t be too careful. But I will tell you all the rest of it when we go to bed. Meanwhile we had better go back to the house’ and make ourselves agreeable. Fishbourne hasn’t the slightest suspicion ot anything wrong.” CHAPTER XVIII.—THE DEADLY DRUG. Blythe sat at his breakfast the following morning, turning over his correspondence, most of which was trivial enough, until he came to the letter from Nettie Frond. This he read with the deepest interest two or three times before he tore it into fragments and dropped it into his empty coffee cup. He smiled to himself to think that Nettie had told him

a great deal more than she knew herself, because most of the things she had to say in her letter tallied exactly with a theory that he had built up in his mind. But, all the same, he was a little anxious and uneasy. Another day had passed witout a sign of Harley, and Blythe was beginning to feel that something was seriously wrong. He went out presently on to the front, and walked to the Hove lawns almost as far as Shorehaven. He stopped from time to time to scan such small craft out at sea that the glasses he had brought with him disclosed, and, presently, a more satisfied expression crossed his face. Out there, some mile or two off the shore, was a vessel which he recognised at once as Harley’s hired yacht. This was entirely to the good, and Blythe sat down on a seat to think it over. If Harley was on board, tnen there was no reason whatever why a visit should not be paid to him. If, on the other hand, he was not there, then it might be possible to discover some information about him. Therefore, a little time later, Blythe stepped on board a motor-boat which conveyed him to the yacht, and he hoarded her without the slightest hesitation. He knew perfectly well, at any rate, that Shute and Macglendy were out of the way, and that there was nothing to be feared so far as they were concerned. But once he had climbed the deck, he found himself doomed to disappointment. So far as he could see there was no one on hoard at all. It was only a small yacht, with a couple of tiny cabins, and a nutshell of a saloon, the sort of yacht that a good sailor man and three hands might handle easily. But there - was no one on deck, or in either of the saloons, until presently Blythe unearthed a grimy youth in the cuddy. “Where is everybody?” he asked. “All gone ashore, sir,” the boy explained. “Mr. Harley, be told us last night as there would be nothin’ doin’ to-day, an’ so they’re ashore enjoyin’ theirselves.”

“Oh, indeed,” Blythe said blandly. “So you are the crew, are you? The bosun tight, and the midshipmite, and the crew of the ‘Nancy Bell.’ How long have you been at sea?” “Oh, I don’t belong to ’em proper, sir,” the boy . replied. “Only they wants me now an’ then, when they’re goin’ to sea these nice nights. We cruise along towards the east, maybe as far as Littlehampton, an’ gets back in the daylight.” “That must be very enjoyable,” Blythe said. “Were you off somewhere last night then?” “That’s right, sir. We goes off just after dark, and gets back here in time for breakfast. Not as I worries much about It, becos I ain’t wanted after dinner time, and I goes to sleep.” “Then you don’t know what happens? But where is Mr. Harley? "Was he here last night?” “Yes, sir, he come aboard about half-past six, and precious bad he were. Been out in the sun, as they says. They had to ’elp ’im over the side, ah’ down ’e goes in ’is cabin— —-” “Here, what’s that?” Blythe demanded. “Do you mean to say that Mr. Harley was drunk when he came on hoard?” “Not ’arf, ’e wasn’t. Why, Mr Macglendy fairly ’ad to carry ’im down to ’is hunk. An’ ’e wasn’t much better when ’e come ashore this mornin’, an’ that white as never was.” Blythe had a profound satisfaction in the knowledge that he wasn’t wasting his time. Indeed, on the contrary, he was picking up a vast amount

of invaluable information. He had learnt, at any rate, that. Macglendy, who was supposed to be in London on business, had actually been on board the yacht by 6 o’clock the night before, and had sailed with her, probably as far as Littlehampton, which was within easy distance of the house where the burglary of the night before had been committed. But it seemed a strauge thing indeed, that Harley should be taking a hand deliberately in that midnight adventure. And yet it w r as not possible to disbelieve the boy who was telling his story in the most natural way in the world to a man who would have been able to detect a lie in a moment. Therefore, what did he mean by saying that Harley had come on board in a state of hopeless intoxication, and that, when he had left for the shore that morning, he had been in little better case? It seemed hard to believe that Harley, an athlete to his finger tips, with the keen eye of perfect health, could have so suddenly lapsed into such a state of moral weakness. No, there wrns something behind all this, something exceedingly sinister, and Blythe was going to get to the bottom ot' it. But where had Harley got to, and where had he been hiding himself all this time? It was quite clear, from what the boy said, that his employer was in the habit of

remaining on shore all day, and cruising about in the darkness. But to find Harley’s retreat during the daytime was apt to be a difficult matter. Blythe put his hand in his pocket i and displayed a pound note to the de- I lighted eyes of his small companion. ; “Now, listen to me, my lad.” he said. “And pay careful attention to what 11 am saying. I am a great friend of Mr. Harley’s, the best friend he has in the world, and I have come here to find him. Do you know where he is ?” “I don’t, sir, and that's a fact,” the boy said. “*E comes, an* *e goes ashore in a motor-boat, and I sees no more of him all day. If I knew. I’d ! tell you, right enough.” “I am quite sure of that,” Blythe | said, as he put the note into the boy’s hand. “I must find him myself, I sup- ; pose. Now, I don’t want anybody to know that I have been here to-day, and you are not to mention my visit to a j soul. If you do, I am bound to find it out, and there •will be an end, as fa£ as you and I are concerned. But if you keep silent, and keep your eyes open at the same time, there will be tw r o or three more of those notes for you before y r ou are many days older. Look about you, and, if you see anything strange happening, make a note of it.” The boy grinned as he tucked the note away in his pocket. “Mum’s the word, sir,” he said. “You leave it to me.” (To be Continued)