THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

Taranaki Daily News, 13 August 1930, Page 14

THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

By

ANTONY MARSDEN

Here and there the faint whine of a Gramophone betrayed the boredom of beleaguered householders. The rent was silence.

A man came stepping eagerly alo tg the sandv footpath —none too sure of his whereabouts presumably, for he kept stoopiuo- to decipher the fantastic names Inscribed on the garden gates. A well-built, athletic figure of 35 or more, he seemed in the pink of.condition; but for all that he was panting sharply, as though, despite the fog, he had "ridden fast and recently upon the bicycle—a lady’s machine—which he now pushed along the deserted path. Presently the name ho sought rewarded him—“ Capri,” it read, in gold paint upon a gate not otherwise distinguishable from the dozen more which he had scrutinised. He paused there, listening towards the hidden bungalow with curious intentness. From the tower of some neighbouring church the chime of six floated on the still air. But from riverward no sound. He raised the latch with care, easing the gate as it swung open as though he feared the creak of its hinge. Once inside he stepped off the patch and wheeled his bicycle along the strip of lawn m the lee of the front fence; there were some bushes at the end of this in the ano-ie of the neighbouring boundary; he pushed the machine behind them, out of sight, and struck in towards the bungalow.

On the.'side nearest.the invisible road a casement window stood open —that of the living-room apparently, since a tobacco-jar and-telephone stood just inside on theVsiil. -Once more "the man listened, crouching low, till he had satisfied himself that all was quiet within. Thbn he rose confidently, hurried round the angle of the house, and without more ado proceeded to admit himself at the door with his latchkey. ‘•lrma.” he called. But' once more there was only silence. As be stood there within the tiny hall, the doors of all four rooms of the place were within reach of his hand. He opened them in turn —two bedrooms, a kitchen-bathroom, with a door opening on the lawn towards the river; lastly, the larger room that faced towards the road.-

“Irma?” he called again. He stepped into the living-room. Near ! the window," an open novel lay on | the divan, face downwards, with its j leaves crumpled under it as though the i reader had flung it aside in haste; A | half-filled cup of tea stood .on the window-sill, steam curling faintly up, from it. The telephoned earpiece had" not been replaced on the .stem, but lay at the full length of its flex among the cushions of the divan. The man felt those curiously; they were perceptibly warm. I

He restored the ear-piece to its hook, picked up the filled pipe that lay by the tobacco-jar, and had already pulled out a box of matches when he seemed to change his mind. Into his pocket went the pipe, as his quick eyes roved round the room up towards the ceiling, evert . . . but there was no ceiling, or at least no space between the room and the roof; the plaster followed the eloping rafters, roof and ceiling, were one. He opened a cupboard next, and even made as though to try and conceal himself there, standing upright within it; but the space was not de.ep enough. He shook his head impatiently, and returned to the hall.

But his oddest action was yet to come. For perhaps 30 seconds he remained at the half-open front door, still intently listening; then, closing it after him, walked round flip outside of the bungalow towards the river-front. Here a long, narrow lawn ran down to the water’s edge, flanked on each side by a row of evergreens; on the lawn, dimly, two deck-chairs - loomed through the mist; the man picked up one of these, pushed through the evergreen hedge with it, emerged in a narrow little alley between the hedge and the fence; and there, surprisingly, adjusted his chair at leisure to wait.

But indeed the athletic householder’s procedure, for the last hour or. so, had' been odd in the extreme. It was no day, certainly, for faring abroad, yet he' had left his. comfortable quarters about 5.40, made his. way afoot through the fog to the Southern railway station, and thence booked to Waterloo; maybe he feared he was delaying the coloured gentleman who stood behind him at the ticket-office window, for he cried out his destination to the booking-clerk with quite needless emphasis; yet he had gone no father than Richmond, when he alighted to present to the porter there a cloak-room ticket for a bicycle—that bicycle, in fact, on which he had now returned post haste through the fog to hid starting-point, and which now lay concealed among the evergreens not far from where lie was seated.

Sented quite contentedly, too, despite the mist and the chill . . ~ He faced the corner,of the bungalow, looming taint a few yards away on the other side of the hedge. Rarely, the stumbling footfall of some home-going resident reached

him from the road. It was towards the road that he seemed to be listening; then came low voices, suddenly, from elsewhere altogether. The listener turned his head, for the voices were behind him—down by the riverside, whence there was no access to the bungalow; unless, indeed, . one landed on the little boat-slip at the far end of the lawn. He heard no sound of footsteps. over the grass, but when the voices came aerain they were within a few feet of him, close up against the hedge on the other side. The listener rose, tensely and silently.

“I don't like it, boss! This quiet place has me jumpy—A pause. Then: “Wait here a minute. If I pushed through them bushes maybe I’d slip along behind and take a slant at the house, to make sure?” The listener held his breath. His hand was in his jacket-pocket now. nor was it the unsmoked pipe that his fiimers closed on. But a second voice answered immediately, gruff and reassuring:

“Cut that out! You saw him off in town? And we’ve Ed's word he’s picked him up and fixed him. What the hell’s biMncr you?” “But the girl?” “Ed’s ’phoned the girl, and put the wind up her. Sue’s been gone this halfhour. you fool."

“If they can go, they can come back, I guess.” “Not without Eddie ’phoning here the minute thev make a move. Ed’s watch-

Ing them. Even if they taxied out we’d have a half-hour’s warning." “Aweight, Mr. Woolcroff?, you know best.” But the speaker sounded tar from happy about the enterprise on which he had come. As he spoke he turned his head fearfully, this way and that. The gruff-voiced man had his back towards the hedge, through whose thick leaves the listener was now peering; no more than a broad shape looming in the midst. The subordinate was near enough, as he turned, for the listener to see that he was a negro. ‘‘Hang round outside the gate, you black streak of funk,” the gruff voice resumed. “If any tradesman’s boy turns in you can start whistling ‘Sonny.’ I’ll want a quarter of ah hour, I guess. I’ll toss a fistful of gravel into ~the road when I’m ready for you to join me. Now fade!” The negro slunk off round the far side of the house, and after half-a-minute’s pause the other mail followed. The listener heard the door-latch click and then click again; clearly the raid had been planned out in a thoroughly workmanlike manner. • But it was characteristic of the odd behaviour of the man in the hedge that ho showed no inclination to protect his property. Instead, he moved softly down the narrow alley between the hedge and the fence till he reached the river. He glanced inshore; but had the fog been only half as thick he would still have been invisible from the wdndows of the bungalow. He stepped out on the boat-slip. And there, securely moored, was a. natty motor launch—dull grey, with a line of white along her gunwhale and a snug cabin for’ard. He moved from stem to stern, unhurrying, fixing the details of the launch in his memory. Then he returned to his former post. But a full half-hour had passed, before he heard the bungalow door close softly and a fight rattle of gravel on the gate. The raider regained the lawn without a 1 sound. As the dim, bulk of him moved down the hedge, the negro caught up with him. • • “Law, boss, you been a time!” The gruff, voice chuckled. “I’ve cleaned him up, though. If there's a scrap of paper left in that dam’ house it’s what’s stuck on the walls! We can go through it at home.”, j The two men departed. Not for five I minutes, during which time the launch j Had drifted far downstream, did the i man in the bushes hear the sudden | sputter of her engine. Its throb approachi ed and died away again as the unseen boat forged past the garden, well out in mid-current. ' From somewhere along the road the church clock chimed seven. Tile listener emerged, a faint smile ol satisfaction on his lean features, and pulled out his long-deferred pipe with a grunt of relief. He was walking leisurely towards the. gate when the teleiphqne started ringing. He paused, frowning thoughtfully; then stepped from the path to the open window of his living-room and picked up the instrument. “Well?” His voice was horse and thick —some- ' how not quite the voice one would have associated with the clear-cut, ascetic profile of the man at the window. Almost one might have wondered if he wore copying those gruff tones to which he had just now listened. “That you, boss?” The words came—cautious and pitched low. For a fraction of time the man at the window hesitated, his eyebrows raised. Then, with the same faint smile: “Yes.”

“He’s loft the Golden Calf—and the oirl, too. Watch but!” A pause; and then, anxiously, “Got that?” “Vea,” said the recipient -of this message again, and hung up the receiver. He recovered his bicycle, dragging it out from undergrowth that twanged loudly on its spokes in the hush of that shrouded evening. Soon he was pedallino- cautiously along the deserted road. He left the machine outside a boathouse where punts were for hire, and discovered the waterman. —J want you to find, out something for me, if you will;” he. began. “Anything I can do, sir—” With slow emphasis tho visitor described the launch which he had scrutinised half an. hour ago; her size, cut and colour—even- the number of her registration plate, it seemed, had not escaped him. “And you want to know who owns her?” the waterman asked. “It doos not matter very mticn who owns her if you can find where lie lives, was the reply. The man considered. “I’ve seen her about,” he said. “Ay. she’s been up and down the river more’n a bit, just the last few days ... Tell you what. sir. In a few minutes I’ll be going across to the other side for my tea. There a a Conservancy man lodges over t..ere. When he comes in he’ll likely snow what you want, right off. ’ Not in no hurry, are you?” “How long will you be.?” “That dep°eiids if tlic man I’m speaking of is late home or not.” “I’ll wait as long as I can. If lam not here when you come back you can let me know, yes?” And he passed over a retaining fee at the sight of which the waterman’s alertness visibly increased. H V7liv, yes, cir. Wlicrc/ll I find you t “At'the ‘Capri’ bungalow half a mile down the road. But, please, you understand, I do not wish this affair to go beyond ourselves?” He spoke English faultlessly, though with an occasional turn of idiom that betrayed tho foreigner. “That’s all right, sir. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He laid down the mop he had been plving, and put on his coat. The man from “Capri” had sat down on a pile of punt cushions, as though prepared to wait for some considerable time; and on the back of an old envelope he wrote, thoughtfully, the single word —“Woolcroft.” In the act of stepping aboard his ferry the waterman paused. “By the by, sir—if I’m . to come to your con-fidential-like. what name do I ask for?” The man from “Capri” looked up. “Oh, Smith—just John Smith,” he said A keen observer, passing the Golden Calf Hotel a little before seven o’clock, might have remarked the coincidence of two taxis drawn up at different points of the kerb there —each with its flag down, neither showing any haste to get ir der way; In the one more remote from the hotel Inspector Thornton had found leisure to elaborate his instructions. (To be Continued). ■ -