THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

Taranaki Daily News, 11 August 1930, Page 14

THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

By

ANTONY MARSDEN

“And you’ve missed nothing, you say. “You’ve been through your effects ?” • ’ “That’s easy. I’d nothing on me but a watch and a wad of notes. ’ “Notes all there?” “I’ve not counted them, but I guess so. If he’d been taking any he'd have taken the lot.” “That’s true . . . Can you suggest any reason, other than robbery, why anyone should drug you?” . .The American stared him defiantly •in the eyes.' “No, sir, I cannot.” - “Any reason for. keeping you from - any place wher<J you might otherwise have been at the time?” - The man shook hie head. “I wasn’t going'any place in particular, anyhow.” < „“0r .frbm meeting any person?” the detective pursued. . < ‘ “Who in hell could I meet? I don’t know anyone here.” . •. ' “You’ve made no chance acquaintances since you".landed?? ‘ " “Not yet,” thfe American chafed restlessly. “But I’ll make more’n I want, I guess, if that photo, appears. Say, ’"what about getting along and stopping it?”

•'* “I shan’t keep you much longer, Mr. ■i-Smith . . . In short, then, you come to England -as a visitor—no engagements, no special mission—?” • / The other man rose and walked a pace br two across the room as though to satisfy himself that he was regaining • his strength. Then, abruptly: “Yes, sir. I’m here on holiday; just rubbering around. I’ve planned a walk-tour in the William Shakespeare country. Now you’ve found out as much of me as I know.myself; but if you want to know any more you’d best ask it quick; for I warn you, as soon as I’ve picked up a , thing or two from the depot I’m olf—before the queue of confidenec-men begins to line up outside!” •• The detective .rose too. “Then I’ll wish you good afternoon, Mr. Smith — but we’ll -meet again?” , “I hope not,” returned the American, without rancor. “Good-bye!” They heard the lock shoot home as he closed the door behind them. The detective turned to the manager. “You’ve had that message ’phoned through for me to Bow Street?” 7 “Oh. yes, Mr. Thornton. Your men should be here by now.” I, Downstairs in’the manager’s private office two plain-clothes men awaited them. Inspector Thornton nodded to the older of these. “Evening, Sergeant —!” And glancing .at the other man: “ I don’t know you?” 1 Constable Brock, sir, the detectivesergeant explained. “He was posted tu the division only this week." • “So much the better. . . Now, eon-, stable', listen carefully. 1 have some reason to .believe that the front-entrance of the hotel is being watched. The watcher may know me or the sergeant by. sight, but .he won't know you. I'm going to post you at the door. After ten minutes or so, if you have anything to report, you can come back and .tell me . . .. You two came in by the back way,' seregant, I suppose ?” “Certainly, sir.” ‘

» The inspector turned to the manager. ~< ;i want to borrow a spare porter’s uniform, if you have such a thing.” “Oh, yes,' Mr. Thornton.'” “Slip into it, constable!' And out you go!” . ■‘ As the door closed behind the • manager and constable liispector Thornj ton scribbled a few names on a sheet of paper and pushed them across. “Any information about these?” ' The sergeant studied them. “Number One’s on. the Moor just now. Number Two’s gone abroad.. Three’s .in Gias:gow— ’ • " - , ■> “And Four—Eddie Roper?” demand- ' ed Thornton keehljr. / ' ■' “Eddie -Roper’s at large in the West ■ End, sir, I believe.” Thornton tapped his teeth thought-: fully “Edie was the man," he mused, ; “who doped that Bond Street watchman two .or three years ago. He used a pad of cotton-wool on that occasion, I think ■ ’ Would Eddie recognise you,hi'the street,'Tynan'?’’ <■ • “I don’t know', sir. Eddie's been’, dpeJ fating in .New 'York for the last 18 months— ’’ ' • “New York? The devil he has!” exclaimed Thornton; ’ then, ruminating hgain; “I’duiot heard of that . . yc-es, Eddie might be the man.” i '■ Sergeant Tynan - looked curious. “You’ve seen the assaulted man; sir? Doesn’t he know what his assailant . looked like?” .“I dare cay he knows all right,"'was the inspector’s terse comment. “Trouble is, how far.can we rely bn his evidence?” And as the sergeant stared at him in ■ surprise: “There’s more here than meets the eye, Tynan. First point:’ this fellow upstairs doesn’t seem to have been robbed, though I daresay he was searched; either the doper wanted to secure some object, or document, which the other might have been carrying; or he’d some reason for wishing him put.out of action for an hour or two.; in the latter case he’ll probably hang round -for awhile, to make sure if our friend upstairs remains in the hotel. Second point: our friend upstairs —he's from New York, by the by—doesn’t seem to care a damn if bis assailant is caught or not; at least, he shows no great eagerness to help us catch him. He seems much more* concerned to keep his own identity dark. Which is mighty x odd.” '

’The hotel manager’s head came round the door. “May I interrupt you.;” “Of course. Come in!” The manager closed the door after him. “Here’s a new development,” he began iff a puzzled tone. “A young girl’s just called—went straight to the bureau clerk —told him she'd had a message that her father had met with an accident . and had been brought here.” Thornton stared. “Her father? Did she ask for him by name?” “I think not. She seemed very up- ' got. Juet asked to be taken to her 1 father at one—" “And then <” i “I took her. She’s up there now. in ■ his room.” Thornton digested this. And presently: “You were there when I questioned ’ him. He gave us to understand that he w ; travelling alone?” “He certainly did.” the hotel manager nodded. “But that’s not the oddest thing about it. insncctcr." “Well?” “When he was brought in .from the ' street be was still unconscious. He has ge'n't no message since, to his daughter or

anyone else; for I’ve been with him all the time right un to when yon left him.”

“Is there a telephone up there, in the room you gave him?” “There is no telephone on l that landing at all.” Inspector Thornton stood up- “This is getting mighty interesting, Tynan!” “You’d o like to question him again?” the manager asked. “I’d like nothing better. But I fancy I’d be wasting my time . . . Come in!” A knock sounded at the door, and next moment a man in the long, frogged livery of the hotel appeared. “Well?” Thornton asked, then, recognising Jiim: “Oh, it’s you, Brock! Something to report?” ' - The constable saluted. “There’s no one loitering on the pavement, sir. Fog’s lifting, but°it’s still drifting about and sometimes it’s too thick for anyone to watch the hotel from the other side of the' road. But there’s a taxi,” he went on, “drawn up against the kerb a few yards away. Been there ever since you sent me out, sir. The flag’s down, and I fancy there’s a man inside.” “Which way?” “On the south side, sir.” Thornton picked 1 up his hat. “Come, Tynan! /If there' is a man in it, I think we’ll learn more . from watching him than from our friend upstairs—”! He turned to the .'manager; “If Mr. —-Smith goes out, don’t interfere with him. And if he asks fpr me-r-but.l guess he won’t —tell him I’m gone for good . . . The back door, Tynan, eh?” And the two.'policemen departed. ’ • #' * The bureau-clerk, tvhen a young lady asked him for . the man who had met ‘with an accident, had sent a page-boy upstairs. ■ ' ■The boy tried the door and found it locked. “Someone inquiring for you in the lounge, sir,” he called. Another pause; then the curt answer reached:him: “Go to hell!” The boy,, rightly assuming these instructions to be figurative, descended as far as the grolind floor, where he gained the ear of The manager. Some minutes afterward that gentleman himself was outside his guest’s door. “Mr. Smith — the hotel manager speaking. I’ve a young lady asking for you, whom I think 3 you would wish to see.” The door opened, slightly, and the American appeared. .lie had now clearly quite recovered from. the treatment he had received, .and a .light of battle shone in his eye. “Has your bull stopped that photo', yet?” he demanded belligerently.- " < t • - “J—l' don’t know.' I’ve no doubt—” “That .means he hasn’t, then.' And I allow your-lady- is the. first of the queue. Tell her to go to—” 4 “But it’s’ yotlr daughter, Mr. Smith.”. .The manager glanced nervousuly towards, the far end of the corridor, whore a figure stood waiting. ■■ “My d— . . . Say, come again?” “Your daughter’s-'had word of your accident, and is asking to see ytu.” “My daughter? What’s she' like?” rapped otit the American sharply. • The manager gave him a harassed smile. “Why, she’s - a .very charming little lady, Mr. Smith—from the little I’ve seen of her —” . "'

For a moment the other ’stared at him. Then, with a sort of cynical resignation and unmingled with curiousity: “Very good. Since my.'daughter’s .here, you can show her up. Then you ca u go awa y —go right a way! ” He lea n - cd forward ferociously., ‘‘And. when my first cousin and my 'grandfather come, you can tel! them I’m dead —no, tell them I’ve just lost all my money, playing chequers with a nice clergyman on the train; .that’ll shoo them .away!”. And abruptly he closed the door. He was seated sprawling in a chair on

the far side of the room when the doo reopened.

A girl entered alone; young I—she 1 —she was certainly not out of her teens—with wide and innocent eyes. She paused only to make sure that the door was latched behind her, before hurrying forward eagerly. “Father! What’s happened? You’re all right—?”■ The American raised his head.

As he did so, the girl pulled up short in the middle of the floor. He heard her catch her breath. Then she advanced another step or. two, peering at him, incredulous. At last, recoiling: “Who —who are you—2” . she gasped. “Why, I was going to ask you the same question, > miss/* returned Mr. Smith urbanely. But the young girl etill stared fixedly at him,’ fascinated, an though then*

was something in his appearance that held her spellbound. At last: “I had a message .. . from my father,” she began unsteadily, “saying that he had had an accident, and had been brought here—” The other returned her stare. “You’re sure the message wasn’t from your friend in the Trilby hat,” he proposed quietly, “to say the sort of goop you were both looking for was waiting here to be plucked?” “I—l don’t understand . . . Oh, but yuo’re .making fun of me!”.she broke out piteously, and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know who you are. I thought I'd find my father here. I—l thought you were he, till. I saw you close.” v The man in the chair leaned forward, suddenly tense, and a new light of comprehension dawned in his eyes. “I’m like your father, then?” “It’s —it’s uncanny!” She stared at him still. “You’re younger—lots younger —I can see that. Yet from the door just now . . • But, you see I've never really known my father till a week ago,” she concluded surprisingly. The man made no comment. He remained seated motionless. There was a pause; until the girl resumed, in a trembling voice: “Oh, if you’re playing some joke on me . . . with that message you sent . . . please, please!” ' . ’ He rose then, laid his hands upon her shoulders, and stood - looking down at her. “I’m playing no joke. The joke’s on us both,'l guess. I’ve had a—sort of an accident,’ all right; but I sent no message.” “Then who —?” “Whv, I allow' the joker must have sent it—our unknown humorous friend. She stared up at him, perplexed. ‘Then . . ', you don’t think my father’s ha<’ all accident?” . “I'm dead’sure'he hasn’t, I’ve had it for him, see?” Then, with sudden tenderness i “My dear, if I said anything just now to hurt your feelings, forget it; J—l was maybe kidding you just to save my face, because ■ you’d taken me by surprise. Now I’m beginning to think I see. the point of the joke. And —l’d sure like to help.you, if. I may? ’ “But I don’t understand.” She backed away from him. . He' began pacing up and down the room, and in short, jerky (sentences set himself to explain. “Just now I said I’d had a kind of an accident, A fellow "ot hold of men and doped me up. In a° taxicab. Didn’t rob me, though—mark that! Same fellow must have sent that message to you; no one else could have ... It was 'phoned to you, eh?” The o-irl nodded. “Yes. In a strange voice —a man s. “Where were you then?” “At home—l mean 'in a bungalow upriver. My father took it this week.” “And before that you lived?” “I was at a convent-school in Brussels. Last, week my father landed unexpectedly from New York, and brought m? over here.” ■ > “From New York, ch?” The American, listened with increasing interest. -“I .hadn’t seen him for six years—not since I was ten. That’s what I meant by saying I hardly knew: him till a week ago. Now I’m kceeping house for him — I "can cook, you see!” ’•Just you" two alone,' eh?” The man nodded 'to himself., “Sure, that bears me out . . . This joker thought he’d fix?d your father all' right, when he'd shanghaied me. Then he miked off and summoned you by ’phone; that fixed you likewise'. Looks like some gang had planned to, raid your happy home and wanted the coast clear for them?” The girl heard him out.' wide-eyed. “Wo. can ’phone home from here?” she suggested. But he shook his head. “If your pa's there himself, he'll hand them a surprise? And' if the gang’s there, we should only be warning them! I allow we’d best so ourselves, right now, if you’re game to take me?" “Qb, quickly!” she cried. The other picked up his bat, “I’m at your service, Miss— I haven't asked what you’re called?” ' “Irma.” “Irina what?” ho .smiled-. For a brief instant’the girl seemed to hesitate.' Then “Irma Smith,” she said, adding steadily, as she met his eyes- with a kind-of scared determination —“John Smith is my father’s name ” " “The hell it is!” rapped out Mr. Smith .involuntarily, and then, some-

what abashed: “I beg your pardon. Miss Smith. That—that sort o’ aide-slipped out . .. Allow' me —!’’

He. held open the door for her. and the two hurried away. As they ran down the thickly-carpeted stairs, ths chime of the lounge-clock floated up to them, striking seven. Up Twickenham way the fog, which had 60 materially helped in the doping of Mr. John Smith, took the form of a thick blanket of river-mist. Damp and chill, it had descended late that afternoon on the outbreak of mushroom bungalow,? which disfigured the Thames within easy distance of the Southern Railway Station, veiling their ugliness even from the sandy road which stretched flatly behind them. (To be Continued).