THE LOCKED ROOM

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 687, 12 June 1929, Page 5

THE LOCKED ROOM

SERIAL STORY |

By

E. Clepham Palmer.

jl COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER XVIII. —OLIVE WESTERN’S STORY. Widhurst crossed the room to a desk and took up a piece of paper. "I’m going to write it down,” lie said, as far as we’ve gone. I rather think you’ll agree, old man. that the best thing to do is to retire from the detective business and return to our peaceful if somewhat monotonous bachelor existence.” In a few minutes he handed the | piece of paper to Felscombe, and stood looking at him while he read: Suspicion. Explanation. Cry for help from Cedars Nil. Apparent imprisonment of Mrs. Tuddenham .. .. Due to Illness .. . • Vague fears of Olive "Western .. Nil. Neglected garden . Due to illness of Mrs. T Frequent midnight motoring Hobby of Mrs. T. s. Excitable behaviour *>f Tuddenham .. Nil. from Sinclair to Tuddenham . - Nil. Death of Sinclair . Coroner s verdict. “Accidental.'* Arthur Felscombe's Due to desire for singular behaviour adventure. Felscombe smiled. “Yes, that s all right as far as it goes, but I don t accept your explanation of the ueg lected garden. I believe there's some, other reasons for it, and I shouldu t be surprised if the key to the whole thmg is hidden under those sinister lf ees. .. . Yes, I know you always j smile at that theory of mine, hut you must remember that we’ve only got a *ar-fetched explanation of the state of the garden. When Mrs. Tuddenham became 111 her husband suddenly packed the gardener and explained this hy saying that flowers had no right l P exist while his wife couldn't see them. it won’t do, Widhurst. It Jfay be a pretty idea, but it doesn't JV in with the man. I’m certain es got some other reason for not' haying a gardener about the place.” ‘‘What, reason could he have?” That’s what we’ve got to find out. "W one thing. I'd like to see the gardener. I'd like to have his opinahl Tuddenham, and he might be . e 1° give us a more likely explana- " on of why he was sacked.” Widhurst looked critically at his -lend. “it's no good, old man. You fnt deceive me. I’ve suspected it Yo D v 3rly a fortnight. You’ve changed, riww aven I been the same since you into that window, • • No,

you can’t get away from it. You’re in love. That explains everything It accounts for your fantastic interest in ‘The Cedars.’ It explains . . .” “My dear Widhurst," interrupted Felscombe. "Don’t do yourself an injustice. Don’t be one of those distressing people who think that the only mystery worth investigating is the mystery of woman. I assure you that I’m far more interested in Tuddenham than Miss Western. I want to solve the mystery of ‘The Cedars,’ not any other mystery. As I’ve said before, it’s impossible for me to do anything so desirable as to fall in love myself. But this affair of Slater Road ” , . , A knock sounded on the door, and the housekeeper entered gravely. “There’s a yoi'i’g lady to see you, Mr. Felscombe. She said she d rather not come in. She’s waiting outside, Felscombe hurried to the door of the flat On the landing outside he saw Olive Western —leaning against the bannisters under the electric lights, with a white face and a strained look in her eyes. “I’m awfully sorry. Mr. Felscomoe, she said quickly, as they shoo.! hands, "but I’ve come because “Please come in, Miss Western. You don’t look any too well. I hope nothing serious has happened. res, straight on. May I introduce Mr. Widhurst? We live togethei, know. Which chair would you like I’m afraid they’re all rather But it’s Widhurst’s fault.” He looked anxiously at her as she sat m an old high-backed chair by the winnow. “I’ve run away!” she said, simply. "Splendid!” cried Felscombe. “I’m delighted to hear it. You've tun away from ’The Cedars!’ Excellent. I hope you’ll never go back.” She smiled, but the strained look remained in her eyes. “What I yvant to —to tell you ” “Don't tell me anything yet, interrupted Felscombe. “I must insist on your . Yes, that’s it, Widhurst. A little claret, Miss Western. You don’t look a bit fit. She looked up gratefully. “Really not. thank you. But I wonder—l wonder if it’s possible. A little tea? "Tea! Of course, it is. Stick the kettle on, Widhurst. No need to bother the housekeeper. She’il be going in • a minute. Good! In . five minutes. Miss Western. But you’re sure a little claret ” 1 “Quite, thank you. I'm awfully' ! sorry to be such a nuisance.’ i “A nuisance. I can’t tell you how

glad we are. Have you—have you dined?” “No, but I couldn’t eat anything." “Good heavens! She hasn’t dined! Nip round to the Sceptre, Widhurst, and get—what shall we say?—a sole? Or would you rather ” “Oh, please, Mr. Felscombe, don’t worry. Really, 1 couldn’t possibly eat anything. I’m not a bit hungry.” She hesitated, and then went on quickly. “You remember you asked me to let you know if—if anything happened. Well, nothing has really happened, but this evening ” Her lips trembled, and she abruptly turned her head toward the window. The two men looked helplessly at each othei*. Then Felscombe jumped up. “Where’s that tea, Widhurst? Not boiling yet? Yes, that’s a good scheme. Pour half of it out. It won’t be a second, Miss Western. You don’t mind if we put a little brandy in. Of course not. Over there, Widhurst. Thanks.” “Steady, old man. You’re overdoing it.” “Nonsense! Extraordinary what a time a kettle takes. Good! It's singing. Miss Western. Shan’t be a minute now. What about that tray. Widhurst? Excellent!” Olive smiled as she poured out the tea, but the two men standing by the fireplace noticed that her eyes were still moist. They looked at each other in silence, and waited for her to speak. ! Suddenly she looked up. “You j really think I was right to run | away?” j “Rather!” said Felscombe quickly. | “You ought never to've been there: and you must never go back. But I d’you think you could tell us now . .’’ I “Yes, I want to tell you, though, j perhaps, you’ll think there wasn't any | need for me to leave as I did. But j 1 couldn’t stand it any longer. . . . j There was always something rnysterj ious happening.” j “Yes, I know. It must have been | ghastly for you. But it’s ai! over ! now. You must never go back.” i “I don't think I could go back,” i said Olive. “Twice in the last few days I’ve heard Mrs. Tuddenham cry. | ing. but when I’ve tried the door it [ has always been locked, ano when I’ve called out there has never been j any answer. Once, in the middle of night, I saw the door open, and then she just put her hand outside and felt ! on the floor, as if she expected to find ! something there. If was horrible. ! . . . I was so frightened that 1 ; couldn’t say anything. I just waited i tili the door was shut again, and then ! ran back to my room. I know it was cowardly of me, but I was too frightened to do anything else.” "Yes. yes. of course,” said Feis- ! combe. “Quite enough to frighten anybody. 1 wonder —was it Mrs. | Tuddenham's hand you saw?” j “Oh, yes, I think so. I couldn’t j look very carefully—l'm afraid I covI ered my eyes with my hands—but

surely it couldn’t have been anyone else’s. Could it? ’ “No, l don’t thi T ik so. Please go on, Miss Western. Did von stay in your room?” “No. I went back and knocked on the door and called out. But there was no answer. The crying stopped That was all. . . . And the same thing happened the next night—ex cept that the door didn’t open at all. And tonight, just after it got dark, when I was sitting with uncle in the drawing-room, we heard a muse in the garden. He told me to stay in the house, but I followed him when he rushed out. * There was a man climbing up the tree outside Mrs.

■ Tuddenham’s window 7 . When he 1 saw my uncle he dropped to the 1 ground and called out, 'You blacki guard!’ Then he ran straight for uncle and knocked him down. I don’t think he saw me at all Tie picked up his hat and ran out of the i garden.” “And your uncle?” asked Felscombe eagerly. Olive hesitated a moment. Then i she looked up at the two men still

standing by the fireplace, and said slowly, “Uncle seemed to me to go mad. He stormed at me for not staying in the house, and he didn’t try to catch the man. We went indoors, and he had some whisky, and then he went upstairs to the locked room.” “Did you hear anything? Did you hear him talking to anyone?” “I was afraid to go upstairs to listen. I wanted. to —but I daren't. I went into the kitchen to see Miss Daventry—and 1 told her that l couldn't stay in the house any longer. We agreed to leave together, and we walked out of the house without anyone seeing us. She went to a friend of hers, and I—well.1 —well. I remembered

2 how kind you’d been, and so I came j s j straight, here to let you know what i - had happened. And I thought perhaps r . you could tell me of some hotel where : 1 I could stay till . . . till I can find e work.” 2 “Work!” protested Felscombe. “You . must have a long rest. Don't you think so. Widhurst?” “I do. Miss Western must have -i been having a thoroughly wearying .1 time.” [

Felscombe took out his watch. “It’s 10.15. What about Miss Ashton? She could put Miss Western up to-night?” “Miss Ashton is away,” said Widhursl.

“Oh, please don’t worry about me,” protested Olive. “I could easily go to an hotel. I’ve got about £4, and [ should be able to find some sort of job tomorrow.” She hesitated, and then got up quickly from her chair. “I’m awfully sorry to have bothered you, but I promised, you know, to tell you if anything happened. And now I really must be going.” “No, we can’t let you go like this. You must stay here. Y’ou must look on this flat as your own.” “But, please, Mr. Felscombe! i wouldn’t have come if I’d thought I’d be such a nuisance. I shall be quite all right—really. I haven’t any friends I can go to in London, but there are plenty of hotels.” “Yes, but I doubt if you’d get a bed ; at this hour. The hotels are all full. And. anyhow, I don’t see how we could let you go at half-past ten to wander about London looking for a bed. It couldn’t be done.” “Impossible,” said Widhurst decisively. Olive sat down and smiled —for the first time. “I know I oughtn’t to be amused —it’s really very serious; but I'm afraid I am. You both look so awfulv worried.” “I was just going to suggest,” said Widhurst, “that we couldn’t do better than make some more tea. I’m sure Miss Western. . . .” j Olive laughed. “Y"ou know, I’m not ; a bit worried. I'm so glad to get away j from that awful house that I could sing for joy. What a dear little flat this is.” She walked about the room, examining the pictures, while the two men looked at each other. “Shall I ring up a few hotels?” said Felscombe. “I’m pretty sure we shall find they’re all full, but we can try.” “I shall never forgive myself for causing all this trouble,” said Olive. “And I’m beginning to think,” she ! added with a return to her first seriousness, “that I was cowardly to run away. I ought not to have left Mrs. Tuddenham alone at ‘The Cedars.’ I was so frightened at the time that I ran out of the house without thinking. . . . But there’s no one there now—- : j except uncle. I wonder if I ought to ! • go hack?” “Certainly not,” protested Felsi ; combe. “You ought never to have j been there at all. We couldn’t posi sibly allow you to go back. You

! couldn’t do anything if you were ; there. Y'ou musn't think of anyi thing of the kind. Let me ring up 1 some hotel at once. . . j From each one there came the laconic answer. “No room lor a week. “The simplest way out of the diffi- { culty.” said Felscombe. as he hung up the receiver, “is to make this fiat your j own—at any rate, till Miss Ashton comes back. Widhurst and I can I easily get put up. I know a man [ only two minutes from here. . . • On

our way we’ll look up the housekeeper, and tell her to get breakfast for you in the morning.”

Olive looked from oi\e man to the other. Then she said slowly, “I hate the idea of turning you out. But I suppose I must. . . . It’s very good of you, but I feel horribly guilty about it. What a bother it is to be a girl! But I’ll find an hotel tomorrow, and then I’ll get work somewhere, and I’ll never go back to ‘The Cedars’ again.” “I can’t tell you,” said Felscombe, “how glad I am to hear you say that. I’m sure there’s something wrong there. What you’ve told us tonight confirms ail my suspicions. You’H promise not to go back, and not to Jose touch with us?” “Yes, I promise. At least, I promise not to go back till Mrs. Tuddenham is well.” “That will do,” said Felscombe. He hesitated a moment, and then added: “Now we’d better leave you. You’re sure you can manage here all right? Good! You’ll find breakfast ready for 3*ou in the morning, and we’ll call, if we may. about half-past eleven. Good-night J” Olive stood smiling at the open door as they weut downstairs. Just as they reached the street a taxi dashed toward them. The door opened as it approached the pavement, and PoliceConstable Carter jumped out before it stopped. “Hello, Carter! What’s the trouble?” “I was just going to look you up. I’ve got something to tell you—about ‘The Cedars.’ You’re going out?” “Y T es,” said Felscombe, “but if you’ll j give us three minutes to slip round j to Acton Gardens we can come along with you. We’ll use jour taxi ” After arranging for a bed, Felscombe hurried back to the taxi. “Can I you come round to my rooms?” asked | Carter. “I’ve got a man there I want | to see.” | As the car turned in the road he leant forward and said excitedly: ! “We’re getting on his track. There is j another woman in the case. As usual, i I was keeping an ej*e on the house tonight, and I saw a man dash out of ! the garden as if in fear of his life, j Luckily he ran toward me, and it was i easy enough to stop him. I asked him i what he was doing, and he tried to get ! away. I kept hold of him, and be I soon started talking. After he’d said j a little I persuaded him to come along l to my rooms, and then he got quite ! friendly. He’s there now—waiting for I “W’ho is he?” “His name’s Bassett, and he’s a brother of the woman in the case. For some days lie’s been trying to communicate with his sister. Tonight he climbed up a tree outside her window. •He slipped and nearly fell. Tudden- ! ham heard him, and ran into the garden. Bassett knocked him down and dashed out —into me.” (To be continued daily.)