JEWELS OF MALICE

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1026, 17 July 1930, Page 5

JEWELS OF MALICE

COPYRIGHT

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

Tfr

ELLIOT BAILEY

Author ot •• Th* Jaoancn* Parasol ' 'The Girl m Velio- ~ Thr Snider." etc.. •»«.

CHAPTER 11. (Continued.)

•'How clid you run into those fellows in the launch?” Bruce asked. “Quite suddenly, it was such a lovely evening that I took out my own boat, as I often do. All at once they emerged from a cove and came charging down on me. One of them shouted something about wanting petrol, but I was suspicious of them from the first and turned and bolted. Finding they were overhauling me, I made for the little bay in which we met, hoping the reefs would scare' them—as apparently they did. Even now, I shouldn't have known they had any intentions except for those shots.” “No,” Bruce agreed, “they gave themselves away there —shocking bad tactics from their point of view, as they’ve probably realised.” Then he became serious. “Look here, Miss Hylton, they ought to be laid by the heels. police must be informed. You can’t go on like this.!' But Nancy Hylton pouted at the suggestion. “The police will only say the emeralds ought to be placed in safe keepj ing,” she objected, “which they can’t ibe by the terms of the will. Any- | way they can’t put a constable on i sentry-go outside the house for ever, j Besides, Aunt Emily is about as nervI ous as my hostess in town. She i knows nothing of this, and the sight of a policeman would give her a heart attack. Also 1 can’t say for certain that these people are after the jewels, can 1?” “Not much doubt about that, I should say,” Bruce rejoined. “What sort of fellow is this lawyer chap? Hid he draw up the will?” “No; it was consigned to his keeping, but another firm drew it up. I can't say I’m attracted by the man, but he said himself that the conditions were iniquitous and such as he himself would never have sanctioned had he known them.” "H’m,” Bruce observed doubtfully, 'he’s got a very strong motive for getting the necklace ‘mislaid,’ it seems to me. And, if it’s not he, who is trying to get. hold of it?” “Perhaps no one,” she answered. “The affair in London* may have been mere coincidence, and this evening’s nothing but a drunken spree. Anyway, here we are, and you mustn’t worry any more about it.” They had reached the sandy head of the almost land-locked inlet. Guiding the launch to a small stone jetty, she thrust the painter through a ring in the wall, and then, when they were both on land, held out her hand. “Thanks awfully for all you have done, Mr. Lorimer,” she said. “I can’t ask you up to the house as thaf would mean telling Aunt Emily everything, and as I say she’s as nervous as a cat. But—we may meet again.”

Bruce watched her until she disappeared among the trees, and then set out on the twomile walk back to the neighbouring town of Herringford, where he was spending an early and hitherto uneventful holiday. His face was thoughful as he went along—troubled even, as if by some inward contemplation.

He had not gone more titan two or three hundred yards when, close to the water's edge, he passed a cottage iu one of the windows of which he saw a notice "Apartments to Let.”

For an instant he paused irresolutely and then, acting on a sudden impulse, knocked at the door. CHAPTER 111. Both Nancy and Bruce would have been astonished to learn that there had been a witness of their meeting on the shore —that from the narrow entrance to a small cave some distance up the cliff an ugly tousled head with round eyes had looked down on them during the whole of their colloquy. Those red-rimmed, bleary eyes had watched the two motor-boats come tearing into view, seen Nancy swing in to the shore, and been hastily with drawn into the shelter of the cave when the bullets thudded into the cliff below, to come cautiously into view again in time to watch Bruce descend the cliff and join the girl. Their owner had listened to every word of the ensuing conversation, and the watery eyes had positively goggled when Nancy’s slip had brought the emeralds to light. Henceforth, they were fixed upon the stones as if entranced until she thrust them back into the bag. Not until the launch was hidden by the bluff did Samuel Rugely emerge from his hiding place, his eyes still boggling. He conversed with himself as he scrambled with stiff movements to the beach.

“Sparklers, by jimmy, sparklers! Why, l ain’t never seen such fine ones since—no, I ain’t never seen such fine ones in me life before. And to think as that gal at the Mill ’Ouse ’as them—poor as church mice I thought them two were. And those others blokes as fired the shots —what was they after?’’ He relapsed into silent meditation, the bleared eyes becoming slits of cunning, for in S am Rugely’s brain, too, the sight of the emeralds had awakened a vague chord of memory Sam was what is technically known as “an old lag”—an ex-criminal who for the past few years had gone straight, mainly owing to the efforts of his wife, and who now eked out a precarious livelihood from whatever odd jobs the shore afforded. That afternoon he had been searching the cave for rare birds’ eggs, which he hoped to dispppe ,qf in Herringford. when that curious little tableau had been played before his eyes.

But eggs had. been to find, and, his red face redder still from his exertions, he gazed up at the cliffs with patent distaste. “Blowed if I do any more climbing,” he muttered, “not with them sparklers lying about waiting to be picked up. I’m going ’ome.” It was regrettably evident that the sight of the jewels had awakened dormant and deplorable instincts in the breast of Mr. Samuel Rugely. Breathing hard, he climbed up from the beach by the path Bruce- had descended and set out for the head of Millsea Inlet overland, entering the cottage with the “Apartments to Let” sign a few minutes after Bruce had left it. A thin, neat little woman, with a somewhat acid countenance, regarded him as he came in. “We got another lodger,” she announced. Sam swore. For reasons of his own he found the news unwelcome.

“Ain’t we never goiug to ’ave the 'ouse to ourselves?” he demanded truculently.

Whereat his wife grew belligerent in her turn. “And who’s going to pay the rent tor it it we do?” she shrilled. “Not you, I’ll he bound. How many eggs did you get this evening? Not one! I thought as much—a lazy, loafing, good-for-nothing . . . .” Her tongue ran on unchecked, tor it there was one thing in this world that Sam leared more than another it was his wife’s tongue. “Orl right,” he said resignedly at last, “orl right, ’oo’s it this time?” A young gent., name o’ Lorimer. Said he’d fallen in love with the place —’ouse so close to the water, and such-like.” “And when’s ’e coming?”

“Straight away—gone over to Herringford to fetch his bag. Said he’d be back by ten.” Sam scowled again. “’E don’t ’alf lose no ytime,” he growled } His slow-moving brain worked at unusual speed. There would be just time to take a preliminary survey of possible means of entry to the Mill House before Bruce’s arrival.

‘Til slip out and take a look at them rabbit snares o’ mine before ’e comes, mother," he said. When he emerged from the cottage dusk had deepened into the full darkness of the early summer night, but it was not toward his rabbit snares up in the woods that he made, but straight toward the abode of Miss Emily Hylton and her niece, two lighted upstairs windows of which glinted through the trees. And presently, as he went, along, it seemed to him that a shadowy figure was flitting about him here and there among the tree-trunks. Muttering, he peered around him with suspicious eyes, but could spot nothing tangible until all at once, at a corner in the path, he humped full tilt into a hurrying man. “ ’Ere,” he began, “wot the . .

He never finished. Something crashed upon his head and he fell like a log and lay still. And there, a quarter of an hour later, Bruce —taking in his turn a survey of the house before going to the cottage— ! found him. With a startled exclamation, he went on his knees beside the prostrate man, and as he raised his head from the ground he became aware on his hand of the warm stickiness of half-coagulated blood. CHAPTER IV. Breakfast at the Mill House, owing to the disinclination of Miss Emily Hylton for early rising, was rather a late meal, and it was Nancy’s usual custom to take a stroll along the shore of the Inlet before her aunt was up. She was doing it now, on a shimmering, sunlit morning that gave promise of a glorious day. Millsea Inlet is one of those unusual creeks whose bottom and shores are of sand instead of mud. Consequently, even at low tide, the water is clear and sparkling. At high tide, with a clear sky, it is u sheet of wondrous blue. It was like that this morning, holding the girl enhanced with a beauty of which she never tired. All at once she gave a start of surprise, for coming toward her, his fair hair uncovered like her own. she saw the tall figure of Bruce Lorimer. “Good gracious,” she said, as he approached her, smiling, “I thought I was a fairly early bird, but if you’re over from Herringford already——” “I’m not,” he confessed. “In fact, I’m now a near neighbour of yours,” and he pointed across to the Rugelys’s cottage. Her wrinkled brow showed her perplexity. “But I don’t understand, Mr. Lorimer. Last night you told me ” “That I was staying at the Grand in Herringford? So I was then, but directly I left you I came across the cottage here, fell in love with it at sight, and decided to take the vacant rooms. It any case, I’d only booked at the Grand until today, so I just walked over and brought back a small

suit case. The rest of my traps are being sent over this morning.” He watched her keenly. Was she pleased or displeased, he wondered, at the news! It was difficult to say, and deftly he changed the subject. “No further disturbances last night, I suppose?” She shoolt her head. “None —and I didn’t expect there to be. I’m afraid I’ve got that wretched necklace on the brain and am too inclined to connect it with episodes upon which it probably has no hearing whatever. Are you staying here long?” The sudden question made him think that she no longer wished to discuss the necklace and its problems, and he answered a trifle evasively. “Depends on how I get on with the Rugelys, I suppose. I have to run to Town on business today, at any rate.” “I see.” She evinced no more interest than is usual in the affairs of a casual acquaintance, and after a glance at her wrist watch excused herself on the plea that her aunt, even if not an early riser, did not like to be kept waiting for her breakfast. Looking after her as she hurried away, Bruce was unable to see the slight smile that puckered the corners of her lips. “I wonder,” she murmured, “why exactly that young man made the move?” Bruce, on his part, was wondering what she would say if she knew the events of the night before. When he found Sam Rugely insensible and apparently badly hurt he had hastened at once to the cottage, having been previously informed by Mrs. Rugely that she possessed a husband. A few questions by the former convinced

her that it was Sam whom he had found and she returned with him to : the spot, and between them they carried the injured man to the cottage. There, being the fortunate possessor of a hard skull, he had quickly recovered consciousness, although he had received a nasty scalp wound, and was volubly indignant about what he described as “they dratted poachers.” After dressing his wound, his wife got him to bed, where presently he sank into his usual heavy slumber. But for Bruce there was to be little sleep that night. What had happened to Sam might well be the handiwork ot' poachers, of course, but Bruce could , not help wondering whether the shadow}- figure he described might not bear another interpretation. Suppose it were connected with the three men who had attacked Nancy Hylton on the sea that evening? The thought made him terribly anxious for the girl whose sole companions were an ( elderly lady and a maid. As soon, therefore, as he was convinced that the Rugelys were in their room for good, he reconnoitered from his own window, and to his delight saw that the roof of an outhouse just below it would afford him an easy means of progress to the ground. He had made no attempt to undress, and in a trice he clambered quietly out and in a few moments was in the garden. Moving as warily and soundlessly as he could, and taking advantage of every bit of cover, he approached the larger house. The lights that Sam had seen were still burning in the upper windows, but Bruce wished that he was sure that this denoted that all was well within. He was just debating how he could

find this out when the question answered itself. A late moon had just risen over the trees,- and* *aH- at- once ho saw two flgures- : - i evidently the girl and her aunt —em4rgfe on 'to a balcony and converse* toge’the’r for a few minutes in normal tones. Then they went in again and soon the lights were extinguished. The household had retired to bed. Not until the first glimmer of dawn did Bruce cease his sentry-go, an eerie task during which more than once he wished he possessed even Nancy’s tiny pistol. But nothing untoward happened, and with the first chirping of the birds he climbed back through his window to snatch a few hours' sleep. It spoke well for the resiliency of youth that hd was up at his usual hour, showing little sign of his night's vigil. But of this he hold her nothing and as soon as he had watched the girl out of sight he returned to the cottage, where he found Sam Rugely, a bandage round his head, sitting in his chair and reading a grimy newspaper whose date showed it to be some months old. This, on Bruce’s arrival, he pushed out of sight with rather a stealthy movement that remained un noticed by the younger man. who, after inquiring how Sam was and receiving a grumbling assurance that there was not much the matter with him, settled down to an excellent breakfast in the best parlour, that he had taken as a sitting-room. During the meal he acquainted Mrs. Rugely with his intention of going up to London for the day—a decision he had come to during his night's perambulations. The - express left Her+tflsfoi d. 4

■ little before ten, reaching the metropolis about one, but before he started for the station Bruce produced from his suitcase a book of newspaper 1 cuttings, one of which he read care--1 fully, with furrowed brow. It dealt with the theft, three months before, of an heirloom emerald necklace belonging to a famous northern family which so far he knew had not been traced. It would have interested 1 him to know that it was this identical report that Sam Rugely had been reading and had thrust so hastily aside. As he leaned back in a corner seat of his railway carriage. Bruce realised that he had a busy day ahead of him. It was his custom, as a writer of crime and mystery stories. | to collect any newspaper cuttings ■ dealing with these subjects that he • \ thought might prove useful to him. and he bad to admit that he found 5 this particular one vaguely disturltr ing, especially as it went on to state 5 that one of the leading characters in > the gang suspected of the theft was : a girl. From what he had seen of Nancy ’* Hylton it seemed ridiculous, of course, 1 to think that she could be mixed up { in a business of this kind, but he 1 knew only too well that even stranger *■ things than that were continually hap--8 pening in the world of crime. Moreover, he recalled her almost furtive - demeanour when the jewels came to ' light, and the story she had told him 1 concerning the will was certainly an s extraordinary one. 4ei ut k> be continue* tvanomoM*