The Japanese Parasol

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1011, 30 June 1930, Page 5

The Japanese Parasol

A Powerful Mystery Story, Superbly Told

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS CHAPTERS I. and ll.—Hugh Monro’s attention is attracted to a blue and red parasol, which ties opened above a moored punt. Soon lie discerns the outline of ;l girl’s figure. A nearer approach shows her to be Violet Chichester, the actress. Advancing, he calls to her No answer. As Hugh Monro lays his hand on the actress’s heart he starts back in horror. She is dead. Gwennie Bourne comes along. She was to meet Hugh here. Placing a. pocket-mirror on the actress’s lips, she, too, discovers that Violet is dead. At the request of the young man. Gwennie mounts her bicycle and goes for Dr. Marshall, who is to communicate with the police. She rides away. Hugh walks round the bend of the bank. Returning, he notices that the parasol has disappeared. Ho walks over to a copse forming part of a riverside estate. It is protected with formidable spiked railings. There is still no sign <>f the. parasol. He returns to the punt. Dr. Marshall arrives in his car, and with him is Blngdon, the superintendent of police, and a police sergeant. CHAPTER II. —(Continued). Had Violet Chichester had any real attraction for him, he asked himself now? She was undeniably beautiful, as beautiful off the stage as on—which does not always follow —and he knew that most men would have given much to have won her favours. But he I knew also that at bottom she had been 1 absolutely heartless, a creature ot

whim and lolly, taking what was offered her, and discarding it when tired as a fractious child will toss away a toy. Not accustomed to repulse, she had allowed Hugh to see that she had liked him better than most, and the very coolness and levelheadedness with which he had accepted the fact had appeared to in flame her ardour. He had begun to see that lie must walk warily if matters were to remain on the impersonal footing he desired. And now she was dead! What, he wondered, had brought, her into that neighbourhood? Had she ever had a companion with her in the punt, and, if so, where was he now? In what form had death’s summons reached her ? So he mused, when all at once the sound of a motor-horn attracted his attention, and he recognised Dr. Marshall’s car, driven by the doctor himself- coming down the lane. Gwen had been quicker than lie expected. By the side of the doctor sat the burly figure of Blagdon, the local superintendent of police, and a police sergeant occupied the rear seat. As soon as the car stopped Blagdon took control. “Keep back, everybody,” he said, pompously, “the doctor and I are to be the only ones to approach the bodv at present.” Nevertheless, it was the medical man alone, who, after a brief greeting to Hugh, hurried down the bank and uent over Violet Chichester, the oth?,is : grouping themselves uncertainly ; above. His face was grave when he ! straightened up. ! “Dead/ 5 he announced. “Been dead, I should say, about an hour,” and he I glanced inquiringly at Hugh as the j latter pulled out his watch. ; The young man regarded him with s some excitement. “Then it must have ; happened just before I arrived,” be declared. ‘Tve been here almost exj actly an hour. What’s the cause of death, doctor? Have you any idea 9 ” ] The other shook his head, j “It’s impossible for me to give an opinion at the present juncture. There will most certainly have to be an autopsy. I have given orders for a motor ambulance to follow us our, and until an examination lias been made I can say nothing. What’s that, Blagdon?” The superintendent murmured a few words in a low tone, and the doctor nodded. “No reason why you shouldn’t,” he observed. “It may be a case of natural death, of course. On the other hand — well, time will show.” With the same air of pomposity he had worn since his arrival, the supeiintendent approached the punt. He liked being in the limelight, did Blagdon, and it was with ostentatious i thoroughness that he examined the ! bank for footmarks as he descended. : Once there, however, it was not so | much the dead girl as her immediate j surroundings which seemed to atj tract his attention. He scrutinised the bottom of the punt with keen eyes, and then he picked up the handbag which lay by Violet Chichester's side. “Good gracious, Hugh; where’s the parasol?” Gwennie Bourne’s clear tones made them all start. Having delivered her message to the doctor, she had started to cycle back. The car had over- ! taken her, but she had arrived not far belling it. Blagdoiv. looked up sharply. ; “The parasol,” he echoed, “what I parasol?” “1 was going to tell you,” Hugh ; broke in, somewhat confusedly, for j in his musings over Violet Chichester ! and the excitment of the others’ ar- ; rival he had temporarily forgotten | the parasol. ' “When we first found her,” he ; went on, “Miss Chichester’s head was under a Japanese parasol—one of those cheap paper affairs, you know.

After Miss Bourne had' left me, I walked along the bank for a little way, and when I got back the parasol had gone.”

For a moment there was a tense and rather curious silence. It was broken by Blagdon. “One might have expected you to tell me that at once, Mr. Monro,” he snapped. “May be important, most important. If that parasol vanished, as you say it did, it could only have ben taken by someone. Jackson,” he added to the sergeant, “just take a look round in case anyone is skulking about.” Hugh flushed at the implied censure j in the superintendent’s tone. He ! was aware that Blagdon had an old bone to pick with him, and the scowl j with which the officer had greeted j him on arrival showed that lie had i not forgotten it. Sergeant Jackson prepared to move away. “He’s not likely to find anyone,” Hugh retorted. “I made pretty sure of that before you came. “Oh, you did, did you?” Blagdon grunted. Nevertheless he motioned to the sergeant to carry out his order, and returned to his investigation of the hand-bag. The latter seemed to contain the customary paraphernalia—a handkerchief, some loose change, a powderpuff, a wad of flat cardboard matches, and a small gold cigarette case. This the superintendent opened, bringing to view a single cigarette which he first smelt and then deliberately began to pick to pieces in his hand. A moment later he uttered a startled exclamation. “Great Scott,” he cried, “just look at this!” For a cigarette of its somewhat unusual thickness, it contained very little tobacco. The latter indeed was limited to a small amount at either end, and the body of the “cigarette” was comprised of very different material. It crinkled in Blagdou’s fingers as he unrolled it, until exposed to liis own astonished gaze, and that of the others, was a fifty pound Bank of England note which the outside wrapper of ordinary cigarette paper had totally concealed. “A queer way of carrying one’s money,” the superintendent muttered. “If I’m not mistaken, we’ll find more in this affair than meets the eye.” With the utmost deliberation he replaced everything—note, tobacco, and wrapper—in the case, and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. “Now,” he remarked, “we’ll see if anything else interesting comes to view.” Once more his large and somewhat clumsy fingers explored the interior of the handbag, and for a moment it seemed that he had already emptied it of its contents. He was, in fact, about to lay it down in the punt again when in a small inner pocket he felt something that had the semblance of a square of cardboard. He wtihdrew it, and stared without comprehension at its blank surface. Then, turning it over, for the second time he uttered a significant ejaculation, while from Gwennie Bourne’s parted lips there came a sound that was almost indicative of dismay. For his latest find was the photograph of Hugh Monro! CHAPTER 111. “So.” Blagdon observed, suavely, “there’s something else you haven’t told us, Mr. Monro—that you knew Miss Violet Chichester.” “I wasn't aware,” Hugh countered, “that I* had been asked any questions on the subject.” The finding of his own photograph in the dead girl’s possession had been as great a surprise to him as to the others. For an instant, indeed, he ! had appeared visibly disturbed, but i there was something in the superin- | tendent’s tones which aroused his anger. “I certainly knew her,” he declared, j “Miss Bourne there can tell you that Miss Chichester was an acquaintance of mine.” “H'm!” Blagdon murmured. “A close enough acquaintance for her to carry your photograph about, eh?” Hugh flushed. “That’s an unwarrantable insinuation for you to make!” he cried hotly. “I only met Miss Chichester for the first time some ten days ago. I know I no more than you do why that photoj graph was in her bag.” ■ “Oh, well,” was the careless rejoinder, “I’ve no doubt that investigation will bring that fact to light—as well as others,” he added, meaningly. Once more there was an uncomfortable silence. Blagdon’s hostility to the younger man was patent, and, although, as a police officer, he was not noted for his acumen, and was known to be something of a bull)-, yet he was a local power in the land, and his influence in consequence not negI ligible. It was the doctor who reI lieved the tension. “Here comes the ambulance,” he

remarked. “Pretty promptly on thescene.” Five minutes later all that remained of Violet Chichester was being lifted reverently into the vehicle. The sergeant had returned with the report that he had seen no sign of anyone else in the neighbourhood, and Blagdon and his party prepared to get into their car. The superintendent turned to Hugh. “I’ve no doubt that in due course you and Miss Bourne will receive a notice to attend the Inquest,” he said stiffly. “And, if you take my tip, frankness will he your best policy, Mr. Monro.” The cars departed up the lane, leaving Gwen and Hugh alone, and the latter gazed after Blagdon in almost speechless fury. “Confound his impudence ” he began, and then all at once caught sight of the girl's face. “Look here, Gwen,” he exclaimed, “you, surely, don’t think I had anything to do with that poor thing's death?” “Of course not, Hugh; hut when — why—did you give her that photograph?” He made a little movement of exasperation. “I didn’t give it to her —I’ve already said so. Surely you’ll take my word on that point?” But she made no immediate reply to the question, and, looking at her, it seemed to him that she was on the verge of tears. “I think I’ll go home now,” she said suddenly, and mounted her bicycle. And. although he called after her, she made no response, but rode swiftly away. Perplexity, pique and a gnawing sadness which eventually gained undisputed sway, consumed Hugh as he watched her retreating figure. Blagdon’s suspicions and innuendoes he could understand and tolerate. They were typical of a certain narrow type of official mind which vegetates in the rut of a countryside where nothing in the way of real crime takes place from year’s end to year’s end. The investigations at which the superintendent so darkly hinted could only expose their flimsy basis, and Hugh’s conscience told that he had nothing to fear or worry about in that direction. But Gwen’s attitude was a different matter. It argued a lack of faith in one whose trust and confidence he would have done anything to gain, which cut him to the quick. Were she is trouble, he told himself, he would have stood by her to the end. Yet at the first hint of it as regards himself she had left him curtly, unceremoniously, showing by her actions, if not by her words, that she did not believe what he had stated to be the truth. It was that which hurt.

Moodily, he walked back across the fields toward his own house a mile away. That afternoon’s experiences had turned out very differently from what he had pictured them when he set out with the firm iutentiou of asking Gwennie Bourne to be his wife. Then he had hoped to return the happiest man alive. As it was—he shrugged his shoulders and strove to fight down the sick disappointment which possessed him. It was with relief, under the circumstances, that he found awaiting him the man who was perhaps his greatest friend, and the latter, John Milton, regarded him with some concern. “Hello, Hugh,” he remarked, “what’s the matter? You look a bit off colour.” “I've reason to,” was the sombre reply, and briefly he informed the other of what had taken place, only suppressing the final incident between Gwen and himself. j “Great Scott!” Milton exclaimed, j “what an extraordinary affair. I'd i like to have a look at the scene of I it, old man, if you're -not too tired.” \ Hugh hesitated. To tell the truth, l he was “fed-up” with the whole cc- | curence, and had little desire to rei turn to the spot. But something of j Milton’s eagerness communicated j itself to him, and he nodded in agreement. ! “All light,” he said, “come along : and I'll take you there.” John Mil- | ton was a naturalist, about ten years I older than Hugh, and a man of whose ] shrewdness the latter had a consider- | able opinion. On second thoughts, he i was not averse to having his advice and assistance in the matter, j “The part that intrigues me, Hugh, | is the disappearance of the parasol. ! Someone must have carried it off | when your back was turned—there’s S no other explanation.” “I fancy Blagdon thinks I removed it myself, and hid it for some reason of my own!” “Blagdon’s a fool,” was the impatient reply, “and without the imagination of a woodlouse.” Hugh laughed.

“Also/" he remarked, “he’s had a down on me ever since he summoned me for leaving my car with the lights not burning, and the Bench dismissed the case.” “Oh, he’d never forgive you for that. Ah, here’s the spot, is it?” as they came out on the bank of the backw’ater. The punt was still moored in the same place, / and Milton inspected it minutely from end to end. The superintendent had had it stripped of everything except the paddle and pole, and it w r as soon evident that nothing remained in it that would afford the slightest clue to the mystery. Presently Milton reascended I the bank and gazed round him. “You’re quite right, Hugh,” he agreed. “The only possible concealment is in that copse yonder. I wonder—” “But the railings,” Hugh broke in. “I don’t believe anyone could climb ; ! them, and they come right down to the water this side.” “Ah, well,” said the other thoughtfully, “we’ll see. Munro,” he "went on, “I’m going to borrow this punt for a few minutes. We shall have to stand the racket if Blagdon or any of his minions come back, but I’ll risk that. I’ve an idea!” He climbed back into the craft, and this time Hugh accompanied him. They cast off the mooring rope, and, using the paddle, Milton urged the puut slowly along the backwater toward the copse. He kept close inshore, almost under a line of stunted w illow’s which overhung the water, and every now and then he stopped and sounded w r ith the pole. Once he pointed to one of the trees, level with their heads. A small branch had been broken off and was trailing in the w r ater.- He snapped this completely off, and tossed it in the bottom of the i*unt. A little further on they reached the copse, and as Hugh had said the enclosing railings "with their barbed wire ran right to the edge of the bank. But to them Milton paid little attention—his eyes were probing the tangle of undergrowth which, in place of the willows, now fringed the backwater. Then he pointed again, and smiled. “So much for your parasol problem!” he murmured. “Solved it?” Hugh asked quickly. Already some inkling of what was iu the other’s mind had occurred to him, but he waited for Milton'to explain. “I think so,” the botanist said quietly. He leant over and with a pocket magnifying glass examiued the broken stalks of some plants upon the bank; then he submitted the willow twig to the same scrutiny.

“Listen.” he * went on, “1 may be wrong, but this is my idea of what happened. The person who lifted that parasol from the punt certainly sought the shelter of the copse, but his method of getting there was by water and not by land. In other words he waded under shelter of the willows until he reached this point where he scrambled up the bank, incidentally breaking off these plants in his progress. You noticed that I sounded with the pole as we went along—it showed that the water is shallow’ enough for him to do this, although the general level would be about his chest. Where the bough was broken on the willow tree I take it he slipped aud grasped at the tree to steady himself. My botanical knowledge tells me that both the twig and the plants were broken off about two hours ago, which would be just about the time you discovered Miss Chichester.” He looked at his friend, and nodded. “A jolly good bit of reasoning,” he admitted, “and ’pon my word, John, I believe you’re right. Still, it infers one curious thing, you know*—that this fellow, whoever he was, must have been actually hiding in the water under the trees while Miss Bourne ahd I were discussing the affair.” “Or crouching among them further up the bank,” Milton pointed out. “You didn’t go along there, remember, until after you missed the parasol.” “That’s so, of course. Oh, well, now we’re here the thing is, I take it, to inspect this jolly old copse.” (To be Continued Tomorrow.)