The Step In The House

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 485, 15 October 1928, Page 5

The Step In The House

By

Rina Ramsay.

CHAPTER XV. It was barely ten She slipped into the house by the side door that was screened from the public eye (if there ever was any public) by the same yew tree that secured privacy for the kitchen windows. It had been a very slow country train that, had brought her back. She thought betwixt tears and laughter of her first reckless journey thither in Richardson’s motor-car. And then she realised that she was imprudent. But the people in the garage had all believed she had gone on somewhere else by train. Tbey would have told him so when he fetched his car. He wouldn't think of looking for her lit White boro', would he? Well, he might look. She tied on her starched white apron and carried the two glasses of cold spring water that Mr. Waller qualified with whisky and the mistress drank neat, on a heavy silver tray into the dining-room. That apron, to her. was the fernseed that made her invisible; an impenetrable disguise. She never saw that a man moving quietly in the distance had quickened his pace as she entered the house, and, moving close to the iron railings, had noiselessly pulled aside a branch of the yew tree, and was jieering in cautiously over the half-blind that was fixed to the kitchen window. Richardson whistled at his work in the morning. He felt singularly light-hearted. To begin with, he had seen Elizabeth de Stair, and she was the real Elizabeth, as in his own soul he had never doubted, though he had been powerless to do what she had done yesterday—confounded her enemies. He had not had the key to the mystery, although he had been fumbling for it. He laughed to. himself as he thought of the fools who had run to flatter the interloper, and trumpet her appearance as a justification of their prejudice against the slandered girl. Very likely in their confusion they would be ashamed out of their dark suspicion that had hung so heavily on her. He even felt kindly toward Johnny Adams, who had been taken in like the rest of them, and had been a laughing-stock. He had not j'et got the length of forgiving him altogether, but he could think of him with

a scornful pity, as of a poor idiot who had over-reached himself. Later in the day he would run over to Whiteboro’ and tackle that registry office woman, the one who sold ladies’ wardrobes. He would bring her or wheedle her somehow Into telling him where to look. He had been on the right track that day, and if that over-smart detective had not put him off with his tale of her taking the train to London he might have found her sooner. As it was, he was sure of her. She was within his reach, and she loved him, and if he was not man enough to make her see reason, to wear down her frantic unselfishness, he would at least try his hard-' est. And, with her heart on his side, he had confidence in himself. He had been too sudden last night. He had taken her at a time of high-strung emotion, when she was, body and soul, exhausted with what she had just gone through. He must go gently, seem reasonable, until the minute came and he could sweep her off her feet, silence her protestation. She was his, in spite of the world and the devil, and he would make her see it. So he was thinking, as he went through his morning’s work, moving on steadily, through delays and unexpected calls on him, toward the time when he would he free to start on his search. And then something went wrong with the car. Disappointing, but not fatal.

He must put it off till to-morrow. He must have the car with him, in case he had to go into the country. Whiteboro’ was a little town, with astation, but she might be in any one of the neighbouring houses for miles about. She had taken some post, he guessed. When the message was brought to him after .dinner that Mr. Smith wanted to see him he was not alarmed Why should he be? It was probably nothing much. Perhaps, Mr. Smith wanted some further light in the case of Peter Harrison, poor devil. In his own mind the doctor was certain that in some mysterious way or other this man had contrived to avenge his sister’s wrong, but it was hardly likely they had brought it home to him yet. They might be on his track, but he expected the truth would lie hidden until some trick of fate, perhaps some trifle, betrayed the man. It was nearly always so, he had noticed. Weeks and weeks of patient investigation, and then a small twist of circumstances, and the thing was made clear.

Mr. Smith wore a graver face, the doctor thought, than he remembered. He accepted a cigar o :t of the box Richardson pushed toward him, the doubtful hut generous gift of a grateful patient, and rolled It silently between his fingers. “Don’t smoke it if you don’t like it,” said the doctor lightly. "I can’t guarantee the brand. I’ve good cigarettes here that I smoke myself.’ ’ “Thanks, thanks,” said Mr. Smith absently, as if he had something on his mind. “It’s awfully late to be calling on you, doctor, but a promise 1 made you not so long ago weighed on me, and I shan’t have time in the morning.” Richardson smiled. Why, he had found her himself, if that was it, and would have found her quicker but for their bungling. “That’s all right,” he said hospitably. “I am a difficult fish to catch by daylight. I never know when I’ll be sent for. This is the best time, really, bai'ring accidents. I’d like to hear how things are going, if you can tell me without being indiscreet. . . . Did you want to ask me anything about the business of unmasking that woman over there? You have heard of it, no doubt?” “Yes, we’ve heard of it,” said Mr. Smith. “It was a bit of a complication —rather a nasty one for our friend the lawyer, who took her up so warmly ... I haven’t congratulated you, doctor. You’re proving the will, I hear.” “Yes,” said Richardson. “I am. And as soon as I can get her to see that it’s foolish to wait until the old man’s murder has been cleared up, I hope to marry Miss de Staii’. Perhaps you can help me there, Mr. Smith.” There was a shadow on the other man’s face. He muttered something Richardson did not catch —it was quite plain that he was embarrassed. “You’re not prosecuting this woman for personating her, I take it?” he said. “She’s letting the matter drop?” “Yes,” said Richardson. “Miss do Stair is not vindictive. I wasn’t so mercifully inclined myself.” He had an inspiration that Mr. Smith was trying to gain time; putting off something he had come to say. “You’ve been working on that Harrison theory of mine,” he suggested. “It might interest you to know that Harry Dodds’s old servant goes rather in fear of him. I believe she had a hand in prevailing on her master to remain a bachelor, and the man seems to thipk she iq spoiling his daughter’s chances as well. You see the fixed idea?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Smith. “We put a man on ... He’s a reserved

man, Harrison, but like all those silent fellows, he has moods in which some trifle sets him going, and then he talks. Like a river that’s dammed, when the dam bursts, you know. We got something out of him. Nobody thought of him at the inquest, of course, and he wasn’t the sort of man to come forward. You were right, doctor; that was a good shot. He was passing about the time the night of the murder.” Richardson leaned forward eagerly. "Was he? Go on,” he said. “Of course,” said Mr. Smith, “this is confidential. I'm telling you because you—well. I have a kind of feeling I owe it to you. You’ve been very frank with us, doctor, and i respect you. I wish to God I could do something. Well, as I said, I want you to know at once what we have got from this man. It will have to come out later, but for the present it is private. He saw a light through ================

the blind in the old man’s bedroom, and a light on the upstairs landing. The landing window is the middle window, as you know, and they don’t always pull down the blind. He stopped a minute, looking up. He admitted he took an interest in what went on in that house—a morbid kind of interest; and he knew the old man was ill in bed; he thought the lights at that hour might mean he was on his deathbed.” »_ “Yes?” said Richardson. “He stood looking—gloating, perhaps,” said Mr. Smith, more slowly, “and then he saw somebody moving on the landing. He saw someone go in the direction of the old man’s room. The blind was not* down, remember, at the landing window, and there was light inside.” Richardson could not speak; there was that in Mr. Smith’s manner that made him hold his breath. “The figure, he said,” said Mr. Smith ;at last, “was the figure of a woman.” There was a short significant pause. “But,” said Richardson, “when did h' see this? What was she like? I don’t see how that could help us.” ; “He doesn’t know what she was : like." said Mr. Smith. "There wasn’t a bright light in the house, just i enough for him to distinguish the | vague shape of someone, to be convinced it was not a man. We have i | fixed the time. He heard the church ( clock strike, and went on quickly bei cause he was overdue at the gis--1 works. It must have been at the I very time you and the old man’s law- , j yer were sitting downstairs in the 1 room on the left of the front door.

and he was engaged drawing up the projected will.” “You are sure it was after Johnny Adams had come downstairs?” said Richardson. He didn’t want to see clearly why it was so vital, this shadowy outline of a woman’s figure seen by a watcher in the 3treet. He put the thought fiercely from him. He would not see. “Perfectly,” said Mr. Smith. “Mr. Adams looked at his watch before he sat down to write. He didn’t want to keep the sick man waiting too loag. He looked at it twice, and hurried a little when he found he was taking longer than he expected, before he finished and got up to go upstairs. He gave the exact times in his evidence at the inquest.” (To be Continued)