Barbara On Her Own

Taranaki Daily News, 23 July 1929, Page 13

Barbara On Her Own

By

EDGAR WALLACE

CHAPTER XXIV. How the man rattled on! Atterman grew quite exasperated. He never even mentioned the drowned Pecker. “It was taken from the safe in Maher’s office by Mr. Julius Colesberg—this gentleman” —he did a little introducing —“the junior partner.” “I had better tajco that down,” said the detective, and lugged, out his notebook again. “Make that Tate junior partner, said Julius nervously. “I don’t want to sail under false colours.” “But you were junior partner when this bag was taken from the safe? ’ said the detective. -Ho was one of those stupid men who preferred to fasten himself on the visible felony; to him a larceny in the hand •was worth a hundred murders in the bush. “No, I wasn’t exactly senior—junior in the firm, when I took the bag. As a matter of fact—” Julius became more and more incoherent —“I took the bag because I promised my friend Maber that I would take it. You see?”

“No, I don’t see,” said the obtuse officer of the law. “Did Mr. Maber tell you that his blood-stained shirt would be in that bag?” “No. he didn’t,” admitted Julius. - “Has the bag ever been kept in the safe?”

“No, that’s it,” said Atterman eagerly. “The girl -put the bag in the safe.” He stepped back to observe the effect of his portentous words. The detective did not so much as say “ah, ah!” “What I want to know is this,” he said, with exemplary patience. “Mr. Maber told you to take the bag from the safe?” “Yes and no,” said Julius. It seemed an artful kind of answer to him. “Did you know the bag was there?” “I did.” “And did you’take the bag from the safe knowing Miss Storr had put it there?” “That is the fact,” said Julius, who thought that this sensible man had at last taken a plain, common-sense view of a complicated situation. “Very good,” said the detective. “Now, when did you take it?” , Julius looked at Atterman, and Atterman looked at the clock. , 'lt must have been about two ociock yesterday morning.” “In the night?” “The morning,” said Julius. J-t sounded better that way.

“How did you get in?” “Through tho staff door.” The inspector jotted this down, too. “With a key?” Julius nodded. “A pass-key, I suppose?” Julius nodded again. “Which was given to you as managing director?” „ “You’ve got it in once, my dear icllow, said Julius. “Were you a director when you used that pass-key and opened that safe and took that bag?” _ “Xo, I wasn’t” admitted Julius. J>at for goodness’ sake, keep to the subject of the murder.” . “I'll get back to the murder in a minute. Tho point is this, gentlemen: Wo’ve had a complaint at the Yard that a patrolman in this division saw a man breaking out of Haber’s some time after 2 o’clock yesterday morning, that he pursued him and eventually lost sight of him. Now, I’ve heard how you got in—how did you get out?” “Through a window,” said Julius, growing desperate as the prison gates opened inch by inch for him. “I want to tell you about Mr. Maber. He was a very kind, goodhearted man, but rather influenced by women. This girl—” ' “Never mind about this girl. The inspector was almost offensive. “Did you 'jump out of that window dr didn’t you?” “I’ve told you I did.” . „ “And you were chased by the police ? “Of course I was.” - “Then come along with me,” said, the inspector unexpectedly. In a dim, impersonal way Julius realised that somebody called Julius Colesberg was walking side by side down a dismal street towards a building which advertised its character by the display of a large blue lamp. This Julius was made to stand, near a. steel pen, the other Julius watching curiously, and was told that he would be detained on suspicion of having broken and entered the premises of Maber and Maber between the hours of 2 and-4 a.m., and further, with assaulting Police Constable Thomas Wellbeloved in the execution of his duty. “Wellbeloved ?” croaked Julius, in his dream. “What an extraordinary name!” Sir. Atterman, very short of breath, had loyally accompanied Julius to the station. Now, plucking up all his courage, he spoke his mind. . “What about the murders ?” he asked, in a deep, booming voice that did not seem to belong to him. “We’ll go and see about those murders now,” said tho inspector. “Perhaps you’d like to come along ” “No, no, thank you very much,” said Mr. Atterman hastily. “You know where to find me—l’m Atterman, of Atterman Brothers.”

“I know avlio you are,” said the Inspector, and there was so much, of menace in his tone that Mr. Atterman went suddenly cold.

No word of the Mapping Stairs murder appeared in Hie morning newspaper that Barbara Storr scanned at seven o’clock as she sipped her coffee. Nor had her night’s rest been disturbed by the call of any representative of th j law. Probably, had a charge been preferred against Julius Colesberg, she would have been called upon in her capacity of prosecutrix, but no such charge was made. He was sent home, more dead than alive, at half-past three o’clock, with the warning that he might at any moment bo rearrested and charged Avith felony, house-breaking, conversion of property, receiving the same knowing it to be stolen, conspiracy to defraud, illegal possession, and assaulting tho police.

Each station official who intervieived him gave him a different version of his offence, except that they were all unanimous as to tho charge of assault. His experience and these horrific warnings were not conducive to sleep. Haggard and frightened, he sat up the remaindei’ of the night in Mr. Atterinan’s study and got Avhat comfort he could from the magnate’s assurance that Barbara Etorr’s hours of liberty were few.

"I hand it to these London policemen,” said Mr. Atterman enthusiastically. “They've got a quiet, silly way with

’em that kind of gives you a wrong impression, but when they get their noses down to the bloodstained trail of crime, they never let up till they have the thug behind bars.”

Julius shivered. “You’ve got to get me out of this trouble,” he said pettishly. “You know perfectly well that I didn’t want to burgle that wretched bag! You and your fearful assistant between you have got mo to the prison gates.” “Listen, boy,” said Mr. Atterman, dropping his hand affectionately on his friend’s shoulder. “When you come out there’s a position for you in my store. I’m not the sort of bird that forgets anybody who’s been useful to me. Maudie was only saying last night —” “Who’s Maudie?” grumbled Julius. A slow, sweet smile illuminated the dark, unpleasant features of Mr. Atterman.

“She’s wonderful!” he breathed. “If it wasn’t for this Maber business, I’d be the happiest man in the world tonight. She’s going right back into the orchestra to-morrow, and the peroxide blonde who is leading can either take the euphonium and a back seat or quit. That baby wouldn’t stay another minute at Maher’s when she knew her Atty wanted her.”

Julius was gazing at him open-eyed. Ho had never seen Mr. Atterman in his tender moments. It was an unforgettable sight. They, too, searched the paper for news of the tragedy; but, whilst they Were disappointed, Barbara was ignorant of what she .was missing. Maiidie’s letter puzzled her a little. The reference to the underlined past was bewildering. She had had no “past” in common with Maudie, any more than she had with Mr, Lark, CHAPTER XXV. From information received, Maudie had not put in an appearance at the band, but her return had been actually billed, and spies going across to Atterman’s had returned with stories of an ornamental announcement of the return of Maudina, the silver cornetist from the leading opera houses of Europe. Moreover, the soon-to-be-deposed orchestra leader had been half a note flat all the previous afternoon. It was 10 o’clock, and she had opened all her letters and dictated most of the replies, when Mr. Lark flew into her room in a state of agitation, a cheque in hjs hand. “What’s this, Miss Storr?” he asked. His voice held its old querulous ring. Contact with money brought out all that was worst in his nature. “Who is Hammett?” She took the cheque from his hand, examined the amount and the signature, and almost collapsed. “Hammett is a lawyer,” she said faintly, and Mr. Lark was momentarily relieved. It seemed right that lawyers should receive large cheques. , if it had been for ten thousand, Mr. Lark would have been unperturbed. “That’s 0.K.,” he said. “Only I had never seen the name before, and I was scared—but, of course, a lawyer—” She shook her head, incapable of immediate explanation. “It’s —it’s a forgery,” she managed to say at last. “I didn’t draw the cheque at all. And it doesn’t belong to our series, anyway.” Mr. Lark stared horror-stricken at the oblong elip.

“I noticed that. I said so to my young lady. Shall I ’phone the bank —” She stopped him. “Not yet. Just give me a few minutes to think it over, Mr. Lark. This is rather a serious matter for me.”

She meant really that it was rather a serious matter for the absent, Mr. Maber. If she took action, exposure would be inevitable; if she did not take action, she was condoning' a felony. At that critical moment of her affairs, Alan Stewart called with three half-page spaces up one sleeve and innumerable treble columns’ up the other. “And you’re the luckiest girl —” he began, and saw her troubled face. “What on earth is the matter?” ho asked, all the business man in him disappearing at the sign of her distress. She must tell him. something—he ought to know. Without stopping to analyse his right to information, she felt that an advertising man who didn‘t know was something of an anomaly. He was rather like a clock without works.

“A man has forged a cheque,” she said miserably. “Well, prosecute him. Do you know who it is?” She nodded.

“I can’t prosecute him, because, if I do, he’ll—he’ll tell something I don’t wish to be known.”

Alan’s face went suddenly bleak. “Somebody—is blackmailing you?” he said unsteadily. “Yes,” said Barbara, avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He sad doAvn opposite to her, and, reaching out his hand, grasped hers, and she was too unhappy to offer any objection to his action. “Who is it?” he asked gently. “Hammett. You won't know him; he’s a little laAvyer—” “I knoAV all about Hammett,” he interrupted. “Everybody in London knows Hammett. He’s the thieves’ last refuge.” He might have added that he was also an associate of blackmailers, but did not wish to hurt her.

“Can’t you tell me ?” he asked gently. She shook her head. “Is it” — lie found it hard to say —“a man ?” She was staring out of tho window, her face averted. Her lips moA-ed. “Yes,” he saw rather than heard. Alan’s hand tightened momentarily. “Somebody you’re rather fond of?” His voice Avas hoarse and unnatural. She looked at him quickly. “Do you knoAv?” she asked. “I can guess,” he said bitterly. ‘You’re trying to protect him, and Hammett, knowing* your—association, has forged the cheque, expecting that you Avill not prosecute:” “What am I to do?” she Avas looking out of the AvindoAV again. “If I have him arrested —the Avhole thing will come out, and that ivould mean absolute —Avell, it would be terrible!” He Avondered Avhat Mr. Mabe”, with his old-fashioned distaste for scandal and his horror of publicity, would say to this, Avhat advice he Avould give in the situation. Barbara’s position was a very responsible one. She not only held her oivn, but her employer’s honour in her hand.

(To be Continued.)