THE SUPER SLEUTH.

Taranaki Daily News, 5 November 1925, Page 7

THE SUPER SLEUTH.

CRIMINOLOGIST’S LIFE, EXPLOITS OF JOHN McKEENE, UNRAVELLER OF MYSTERIES, (By Rowland Walker, Author of “The Lost Expedition,” “The Old Manor House,” etc. Behind the simple legend: “John de Ville McKeene, Criminologist,” engraved on a brass plate, in the Adelphi, London, lived the most mysterious and baffling personality of the present age. A flying spy in the British Secret Service during the War, the strange, unerring genius of the super-sleuth, at times so nearly allied to madness, has. since the War. been employed in unravelling some of those tangled skeins of mystery, which so frequently baffle the authorities

NO. VI.

A NIGHT IN AN OPIUM DEN. “To-night, Kenworthy, I shall pay a visit to Chinatown,” observed John McKeene. ‘‘Oho!” I exclaimed, looking up. “So the wind sets in that quarter does it?” The criminologist nodded. “It’s a sordid spot, Mciveene,” I observed, 'hoping for some hint of the coming adventure. “All the human derelicts from the great city drift down there ultimately. And very few return.” The mystery man was not to be drawn, however. He continued smoking fitfully, his gaze intent upon the fire. Then he remarked: “Chinatown is the Gateway to the Land of Dreams, Kenworthy. To many modern De Quincey, it is the scented pathway of the Gardens of Araby, where for a while at least, human misery ends in the rainbow hues of delight. I go to smoke a pipe of opium with my oriental friend, Doctor Fu Chang, the proprietor of the ‘Celestial Lounge.’ ” “Snakes alive, McKeene, do you mean It?” I gasped, for my eccentric friend, whose hip pocket showed a significant bulge, was already struggling into his coat. “Yes, why not?” “Then let me come too. I have a craving to see the inside of an opium den.” “Not this time, Kenworthy. Thd opium pipe is not for little boys.” And with this little quip, John de Ville (McKeene stole forth. Later that evening, the criminolO' gist, disguised as a simple seaman, newly arrived from the China Seas, sauntered carelessly down one of the tortuous streets -behind Limehouse Church, and entered a mean-looking, eating-house, close to the 'Seven Bells Tavern. Within, a motley crowd of seamen of all nations, jostled with each other as they fed. Through several rooms, winding passages, and up steep, narrow stairways, McKeene passed, almost unnoticed. Once he was challenged on a dark landing. (But he had not come on this perilous quest unprepared. “Keei-Ohou!” whispered the Englishman, and the (bluish-tinted blade was returned to its carved, ivory sheath, while Wang-Su, the faithful henchman of the Chinese Medicine Man, taking the customary fee, salaamed almost to the floor, and led the Englishman into the jealously guarded sanctum, the “Celestial Lounge.” The air was heavy with thick perfume, and laden with narcotic odour. The room was sumptuously furnished, yet silent as death, save for the tick of a quaint Chinese dock, bearing the face of the Sun God. McKeene took the proffered pipe, and joined other dreamers on the couch. For an hour he smoked, not opium, but a fragrant scented tobacco which could easily deceive. He had need just now of all his faculties, for peril would soon arrive. iSoon, the lastcomer, to all appearances, had entered the portals of dreamland. It was then that the two oilier dreamers suddenly awoke, and tip-toed quietly to the Englishman’s couch. “By all the saints, Pierre, it is he?” exclaimed the first man, excitedly. “Tonnerre, so >.it is, Denis. He has walked into the lion’s den? Wake him up! ” “Impossible; he will sleep for hours yet. LV's move him into the other room, before the others begin to stir,” advised Black Denis, whose exultation that his enemy had walked into the trap laid for him, knew no bounds. Together, the two criminals dragged and carried the limp, unresisting form of McKeene into an adjoining room. There emetics and antidotes were applied, and within another hour the pseudo-victim of the subtle Chinese weed opened his eyes, and looked wearily around him. ••"Where am I?” Be moaned, feebly. “Among friends,” replied Black Denis, in jeering sardonic tones. “Look at me. Diable (McKeene!” The victim looked at the speaker, started slightly, and held his throbbing temples with his hand. “Ah, you have recognised me, M’sieur? said Denis. “You have seen me before. But this time, the - tables are turned. You are my prisoner, “Your prisoner. Black Denis?” I echoed the Englishman, appearing to regain a fuller measure of consciousness. ‘"Yes why not? But do not be afraid, mon ami. J have need of you.” “Need of me?” “Certainement. But that cun wait until you are better, M’sieur. I did not know until yesterday that you were a victim of the opium-pipe. It is a pity. You are so clever, so in“Hbw did you know that I came here, occasionally, M’sieur?” asked MeKeene, with a stammer that might have meant confusion or shame. “Ha, it was a lee tie bird that told me. So I waited, Oa pi tai ire, until you came again.” And Black Denis laughed in the face of his victim. The next instant, with a sudden bound, McKeene had leapt to his feet, and made a dash for the door-way But his enemies were too quick for him. They hurled themselves upon him. and dragged him down. “Quick, Pierre, the cord!” The next moment, the Englishman was triced and bound, hand and foot,

and made fast to the heavy chair in which he had been placed. “Aha, not yet mon Capitaine!” said Denis in biting tones. * . “Dog!” hissed the prisoner, “do your worst. 1 know your intentions and I am not afraid.”

Black Denis chuckled, and rubbed his hands gleefully. When he spoke again, however, his manner was bland and courteous. “What is it that Le Capitaine McKeene knows, then?” he said.

“That you have entrapped me to avenge the death of Jean Rache, the leader of your infernal brotherhood,” replied the Englishman.

“Then you are wrong, M’sieur.” 'McKeene arched iiis eyebrows in well-feigned surprise, and looked fixedly, first at Denis, then at Pierre, who sat five feet away, holding McKeene’s own pistol in his hand. “I do not understand,” said the prisoner. “Is it not your intention to kill me, now you have me at your mercy ?” “No; unless you provoke us to it.” came the bland reply, this time from Pierre, who cocked his weapon threateningly. “Then, tell me, 'Black Denis, why have you lain in wait for me here? Y r ou sent me the ‘Black Domino’ which is your signal for death, after I had landed your leader in the net.” “Precisely, chuckled Denis. “That was our intention, at that time. Y z ou had a very narrow escape. But the—er—Brotherhood of the Black Hand was broken up.” “Quarrelled, eh?” queried the prisoner, V'iQi a faint smile playing about his litm lips. “Yes; and Pierre, along with myself, and Jules, have seized the treasury,” continued Denis in tt quiet tones, watching keenly to see how his victim would take the news. The difficulty is, mon Capitaine, that this hoard, comprising the pick of the loot from a score of successful coups, is hidden in three boxes, in a quiet secluded spot across the Channel. It is carefully guarded night and day, by the faithful Jules, who awaits your coming.” “My coming?” echoed McKeene. “Yes, mon Capitaine. We have spent weeks in searching for you. We remembered ‘The Night-Hawk that Swoops’ and your capture of Jean Rache. We know also that once your word is given it can be trusted. Whether you leave this opium-den alive to-night, iM’Sieur, depends upon your promise to fetch that loot by air.” As Black Denis spoke his face became sinister and cruel once again. Dog!” rasped out McKeene. “I am the Hawk that swoops, not stoops. Do you think 1 would?” “Stay; you have said enough! flashed the bandit, 'his face dark with rising anger. “Bring the iron collar and screw, Pierre!” McKeene winced as the instrument of torture was produced. Yet he had known of such things done in the name of the Brotherhood. And of his own free will he had walked into the hornet’s nest. The next moment the garrotting instrument, so common even in England until a century ago, was fixed about his neck. Pierre, with hellish glee, was already twtisting the screw and McKeene’s veins were standing out aboM his neck and face. “Do you consent?” asked Black Denis, holding up his hand for the torture to stop. There followed one brief space of silence, during Which the victim struggled for breath. Then, with death staring him .in the face, and consciousness almost passing, McKeene gave the required signal. “Lose the collar,” ordered Denis. But the victim, though he recovered quickly was still bound hand and foot. “Promise this thing that I demand, M’sieur, and not only shall you go free, but you shall share 'in the plunder. Ma foi, there is enough to make us all rich for life!” “I promise,” began McKeene, still breathing hard. “I promise that within two days I will fetch these three boxeg and set them in your possession at the appointed place!” “And meanwhile, until we receive the treasure you will speak of it to noone?” “That I also promise,” replied the Englishman. “Set him free, Pierre, but keep his pistol. I can trust the word of Le Capitaine M(oKeene. I will take the Qonsequenoeq! said Black Denis.

MeKeene, free to depart, remained to chat with his enemies, and even to i sup with them. He even talked with them of the trays heaped with pearls, rubies, and turquoises, and the aigrettes of priceless diamonds, which he knew formed part of the spoil. It was the “mad airman’s’ ingenious way of doing things. He was inimitable and clever, beyond all men I have ever met, this diable McKeene. He even enthused his listeners with an account of the great Persian diamond, the Dary-i-Noor, "The Ocean of ’•Light,” and the Oiuiam.. . with a ruby as lai which he knew treasure. "Tonnerre; but v a handful of the ch< whole collection, M’s exclaimed iDenis, x towards his victim, gether. “And the treasui where is it hidden: preparing to deparl neither of you will t must tell me the exi test mistake will lai Donjon de Y’incennes, man laughed. ‘M’sieur, you knoA near the village of You went there once “I remember! An me. giving the secret “Yes, he has been days.” "That will do,” replied the Englishman. “But. the aeroplane, Capitaine, we have not one,’’ queried Black Donis. “Bah, I will steal one. It is nothing,” said McKeene. “Remember, midnight Thursday on the Marshes, at the agreed point. Two red flashes and a green.” “Heavens, what fools they are!” muttered - the criminologist, as he caught an outer circle train citywards. "And 1 thought they were really clever meu. Bali, it was Jean Rache who was the brains of the Banditti. -Since he went they have gone to pieces. Great Scott, those three boxes must be worth a cool million at the very least!” It was towards evening o f the second day that John <le \ ille McKeene committed an act of felony, by stealing a double-seater aeroplane ’ of the fastest pattern, belonging to Colonel Tempest, Chief of the British Aerial Police. Explanationls, if any such were needed, could follow later. He had given his word not to speak of the

matter until the three boxes had been handed over to the bandits. That promise was fulfilled to the letter, after an exciting and not uneventful double light across the English Channel, an unauthorised flight, in defiance of the aerial navigation laws, which set both Paris and London On the qui vivre. Landing after dusk in a remote corner of the Romney Levels, the airman jettisoned the contents of the three heavy boxes, into two large sacks at the bottc-m of the gunner’s cockpit. Refilling them with stones and turf, prepared the previous day, he taxied off once more across the level, and leapt into the air, just as a little crowd of rustics came upon the scene. Exactly at the appointed time the "mad airman” with engines cut out was nosing down towards the Essex Marshes, eastward of London, his keen eyes having already picked up the flashes from the ground party. Feverishly now, the remnant of the ‘Black Brotherhood’ fraterinity, awaited his arrival below, in one of the loneliest patches of those dismal Marshes. “Bravo, here he comes!” exclaimed Black Denis. “Mon Dieu, but he is a man of his word, this Diable !M ! cKeene. We are both rich men, Pierre!” The next instant the aeroplane touched the ground lightly, and taxied up, stopped dead with the propeller just ticking over, in the centre of the Marshes. Two shadows stole up out of the surrounding darkness. Denis! Pierre! called the airman softly, leaning over the fuselage. “Here, here Capitaine! came the immediate response. “Then, quick; here are the three boxes. Take them before the police arrive! They have heard the machine, and will be closing ;in upon us. 1 have kept my promise,” said the pilot. “Voila, one two, tree! All right, Capitaine, we have them. Give us a couple of minutes to get away, you shall have your share of the spoil. *We have a conveyance handy,” whispered Pierre. “Two minutes, not a second more!” insisted the airman. “I must return the machine. To leave it here would betray us all. Get away quickly.” The two men had already disappeared with the loot and dumped it into a conveyance some yards away. They had already forgotten their new ally, and their -promise to hand him a share of the plunder. Two minutes later McKeene opened out, taxied off, and sailed away westwards, over the lights of London. Later that night, when Black Denis and his companion, in a secret den within the confines of Seven Dials, opened £he brass-bound boxes, they were sadly disappointed. “The Cana-ile!” exclaimed Pierre, Lis fury getting the better of him. “Why did we not kill the dog when we had him at our mercy?” “Sacre bleu!” snarled liis companion. “The treasure is gone—it is mbbish, stones and earth he has brought us! - ’ “And a letter! Voila, une lettre!” cried Pierre, as they opened the third box. His hand greedily snatched at the scribbled *note .which was pinned to a tuft of grass. It ran as follows: “To Black Denis and Pierre. Herewith the three brass-bound boxes as promised. To deliver the boxes was all I promised. The stolen treasure, and it ds great, even beyond my expectations, I am handing over to the authorities. Le Diable McKeene never submits to threats. Nor does he readily forget his enemies. I remain, ohn De Ville McKeene.” “Black Denis,” queered Pierre, scowlling at his companion. “Eh bien?” , He is wonderful, this ‘mad airman’ friend of yours. Then recalling the other’s words, when the aeroplane Hove in sight, he added in biting, acrid tones:—“We are both rich men, Black Denis, rich for life.”