THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

Taranaki Daily News, 22 August 1930, Page 14

THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

By

ANTONY MARSDEN

“But, daddy, how' did you know?” Mr. Smith nodded towards the telephone. “A kind friend warned me —unintentionally, I fancy. The same kind friend who summoned you so urgently to come up to London. It was through pondering' his message and putting two I and two ’together that I was not taken I altogether... by surprise when I met Mr. Nash”—he bowed low to Nash again, with the same glittering smile —“Mr. Nash, on whose curious resemblance to myself I can hardly felicitate him . . . I can only hope, monsieur, that it has cost you no serious injury?" “I’m right ’enough,” was the curt reply. ’ The American, though he had now somewhat recovered from his first blank astonishment, made no attempt, to veil his curiosity, as he picked his way back across the littered floor towards the man at the window. For a few seconds, face to face, the two stood staring at . each other unceremoniously, neither speaking a ■word. Nash judged the other’s age to be somewhere between. 35. and 40—seven or eight years more than his own; sc much was evident at close quarters, and in the clear , glare of the unshaded electrics. But the gap of age made less difference in their appearance than might be supposed. Nash carried his 50 years, in the manner .of young Americans who have lived strcnpusly with an alert sophistication which made it hard to guess at first glance if he were 25 or 35;° Mr. - John. Smiht’s quick, nervous energy was of the type —the imaginative, artist type—which often gives the illusion of youth till far into midd'e age. . A For the rest, the two men were almost ludicrously alike. Lean, clear-cut features; eyes, of a peculiarly vivid blue; high cheekbones, nose rather thin and aquiline, with that slight dip at the end which betrays a sharp sense of irony—a trait corroborated by the humorous twist of the lips . . . each was a face at which one would look twice in the street, even had one no reason to remember it. . Nash wore his hair brushed back; the girl's father’s fell across his brow. With a little courteous gesture of apology, the elder man put out his hand and ruffled the younger's hair to resemble his own. Irani, watching them intently, uttered a low cry of wonder. “Oh! It’s —it's not believable!” she Qxclaimcd. “Yet it has happened,” shrugged her father Whimsically. standing back with his head on one side. And bowing to Nash again: “I can only offer monsieur my sincere condolences!” For the first time the American’s tone-' betrayed some hint of impatience. | “Well, now we know the how, at any | rate! But I allow I’d like to be told why—” . Irma cut in. “Father! What does it mean?” And in shy gratitude, looking up at Nash: “Jim—l mean Mr. Nash—has been so good to me—he came out at once—he, guessed you were being robbed —” j . ° “He guessed right,” returned ... her ! father cheerfully. '[ If he had viewed the wreckage at I first with a certain mild interest, it j seemed now to have ceased to concern , him any more. Jim Nash’s curiosity increased to bursting point. Never had} he seen anyone more entirely at his ' ease ... And since the inscrutable Mr. Smith seemed no nearer to offering any explanation of his equanimity, Nash broke out, point-blank: — “Say. this is your house, isn’t it?” And without waiting for a reply: “When this young lady told me how ■ she’d been decoyed into* town, and how | like you 1 was—why, I just did the j same as you; I put two .and two to-1 gether. I’ll own I wasn't altogether I surprised when w-e found this mess.. What beats me is why you—” I “Oh, it’s my fault, it’s ail my fault!” i the girl cried'bitterly. “If I hadn't left | the °window of this room wide open' when I was called away—” 1 “It’s not your fault at all, petite. Our visitor did not use the open window. L think. He came in at the door;, wisely,' no doubt —since he was a somewhat bulkv person, and had provided himself with a key . . . Bflt you are standing, Mr. Nash. Forgive me! Pray take\a seat and favour me. by making your'self at home for a few minutes. There are cushions everywhere —or at least the essential part of them —”. He -pointed casually. at the stuffing which littered the floor, then at some hundreds of Russian cigarettes scattered among the debris. “Help yourself to a cigarette, and don’t let’s stand on ceremony . . . Irma, child, these foggy evenings turn so chilly after dark—if you would light the stove? .The coal is also on the floor, I see . . . In a few seconds, Mr. Nash, I shall be at your service . . . No, no, do sit down! I must just find if I have been robbed—” i Nash subsided weakly and picked up, a cigarette. In face of Mr. Smith’s extraordinary behaviour, there seemed no-1 thing else'to do—at all events if he i wanted to arrive at an explanation of j his host’s attitude. “If you’ve been roblred —” he gasped. | The girl’s father . examined a gutted writing°case, and a few boxes which ne | collected from different corners of the I room. j “One may be burgled without being robbed, Mr.' Nash . . . just as one may be drugged in a. cab without being robbed —yes?” And he added sharply: “I’ll -hazard a guess that your assailant took nothing from you —says, perhaps, a letter or two?” “I had no letters on me,” Nash replied. He had begun to realise, reluctantly, that ,if lie wanted any explanation' from Mr.' Sinith he would have to humor him. “Nothing but money and a watch. He left me those.” The other nodded. “That explains a point that had puzzled me. If you’d had any letters with your, name on them, he must have found out his mistake —in which case lie certainly would :not have been obtuse enough to ’phone here to say that I was just then leaving the Golden Calf with my daughter.” For a few minutes longer he continued t- hunt through the mess; then, as though his search was done, he picked up a cigarette from the floor and stood looking down at . Nash and Irma thoughtfully as he lighted it. “Well well —things might be worse!” he observed. Nasit had ;|»y> now resigned himself to controlling his-impatience as best he

could. His curiosity, if possible, increased; for his host had now progressed from an attitude of complete indifference to the ruin of the room—an attitude puzzling enough, in all coni' science—to one of positive satisfaction. The faint smile still played about his lips, and he was rubbing his hands to- ! gether in high good humour. “Then you’ve lost nothing of value, sir?” was’ all Nash dared to say. The other shook, his head. “A few odd sheets of jottings—notes for a treatise on the breeding of wolf-hounds, which I was writing to employ my spare time; easily replaceable. And a few letters—one, only, of sentimental value to me; it was a note from the late Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia," he went on in the same quiet voice, looking at Nash steadily. “In the old days, I had the honour, to be in his service. I am a Russian as perhaps my' daughter has told you?” “She told me nothing, sir, except that you had lately come from the States, like myself.” ’ But privately Nash was thinking. “You aren’t handing me that bit of news about the. Grand Duke for nothing. Either you’re wondering if the girl’s blown the gaff on your nationality, or there’s more to come!” Jim Nash was a shrewdish judge of character; Mr. Smith, he surmised, was not the man .to impart’information about himself for mere gossip’s' sake; Nash had a fancy that his host was feeling his way towards business. of greater moment. He waited guardedly, stifling his curiosity, resolute now to let that greater business evolve itself, without aid from him. , Not so the girl, however; more impatient, or more ingenuous, she broke 1 in: “But daddy, what are you going.to do? If we are' quick, we may find out which way the burglar’s gone—” The man laughed suddenly. “Cherie, I know which way.he has gone. And I can guess, or pretty' nearly, just what he is doing now—” He turned back to Nash again, his keen eyes dancing. “He is reading mv treatise on the breeding of wolf-hounds, Mr. Nash; and as that subject does not interest him at all, he w probably—<-r—expressing his. keen’ disappointment!” And he laughed again. - ' “But daddy, this wicked mess —” To the young housekeeper, quite evidently, it was no laughing matter. She pointed in helplees indignation at the disordered room; and Nash, watching, realised that whatever pnight be the i reason of her father’s, high spirits, it j was no less a mystery to the girl than to himself. The other man shrugged. “Come, come,” he told her tolerantly. “One cannot raid a house, efficiently, without making a mess. And our friend is efficient —let us give him his due! ' Oh. yes. 1 assure you! He did this—- ■ and the other rooms, no doubt?” His two listeners nodded—“in just tliirty- . two minutes. He has missed nothing that wag here—and he made hardly a sound!” : “You were here, then ?’,’ The startled exclamation burst from Nash in spite of ; himself. “I was outside.” “But, daddy, why—?” The girl, was almost in tears. Her father picked up another cigar- ■ ette from the' littered floor. Then, lowering his tone: “Because, between ouri selves, my friends, I was more jnter- '. ested in finding where he lived, than in preventing him from stealing something which was not here. Had I interrupted him. I should most certainly have never learned where he lived —in this world at any rate,” he added sardonically. “And in the next, such knowledge, ■ though it may doubtless comfort me, I will have little practical value.” j “But you have found out now?” purj sued Irma, on whom the last insinuai tion was probably lost. ! “Surely. Else I had sacrificed my | poor property—l mean my poor landI lord’s property —in vain!” And return- | ing to Nash: /'“The first thing in stra- [ tegy, Mr. Nash, is to know where your i enemy lives. Till-then, you are like a ■ man who may be sniped at from the • forest's edge,' as he wanders over the ’ steppe.” ‘ For the first time Nash J caught a trace of bitterness in his tone. I “Aly enemy knew where I lived—as you i see! And yet I think I will not grudge I him this, since I have now matched his ’ ■ advantage.” ! j Nash rose; and never had any game I of bluff been harder to play, than that j which fie. played now as he held out his I hand.' “Well, sir, I’m glad you're satisi fled. Maybell shouldn’t have butted in iat all; at least, I'll intrude.on you no longer.” , . « But the girl gave a little cry—disappointment, perhaps? “But your money, Air. Nash? You said you hadn’t —” j Swiftly her father 'interrupted her; I and Nash, every nerve alert, guessed in J-that, instant that the Russian had i pounced in where he saw an opening 'made for him. Money,’Mr. Nash? You i have not run yourself out of ready cash ■ by bringing Irani down here, I hope?’ j '“Oh, no, sir, I’ve still a dollar bill or j two! And enough. English money to I take me back to where I can change I. them!” “But you must not risk running short. i have money in the house, if . our friend has left it.” I For the first time the studied coolI mv-s of the Russian's tone seemed to I falter. And—“ Bluff wins!’’ thought Nash to himself. “You didn’t figure I was clearing out quite so quick. You ; don’t want me to go, I guess. You've I got some sort of . proposition, half ; baked, and I took you unawares!” j Meanwhile, the elder man, recovering, j went on as smoothly as before. “Aly | dear fellow, finish your cigarette at ! least. I’ve had too little opportunity ! to thank you for all your kindness to i my daughter this evening.” “Why, any time I’ve spent with her has been my gain,” said Nash —this time with perfect sincerity. And he fancied that Irma flushed a little, as her father resumed; — “And that is ' quite apart from the inconvenience which I fear you have ■ been caused by your unfortunate like--1 ness to myself.” A moment s hesitai tion, and then: “Air. Nash, I am going to take you into my confidence on a I subject of which I have told even Irma i j notliing. Aly work —my present mission ! in London —is of a kind which may L sometimes render me liable to suchy-er —inconvenience as you suffered on my I behalf in the cab to-day. I am not free ; to say more; but I will tell you this — those who employ my services would lie > the last to wish'that any disinterested ! person should suffer through being em-

broiled in their affairs; least of all that the sufferer, however temporarily, should be out of pocket . . . Forgive me if 1 seem indiscreet —and, remember, I am not speaking for myself, but as the agent of employers to whom money is no object.” “You mpan, Mr. Smith?” Jim Nashs face was a mask. “I mean that the compensation paid for such an unhappy accident as yours to-day must be liberal.” “I "have lost nothing.’’ Nash replied. “That makes no difference. You have been drawn, innocently and unwittingly, into a business whose—inconveniences, let us say again? —I alone should bear. As things fell out, you did me an unforeseen good service; for, as 1 think vou understand by now, you made it possible for me to be in London under my opponent’s eye, when as a matter of fact, 1 was still here, with my oppoent’s under mine!” And the Russian smiled. “If we had planned it in advance, Mr. Nash, it could have fallen out no b-etter; so that whatever compensation you accept, we shall still count ourselves in your debt. For a moment he paused again, and then: “The only question that remains, Mr. Nash, is this: seeing how fortunate for me. our association has been, could I persuade you to extend it, say, for an hour, longer?” ' He leaned forward, his keen eyes glittering; and though he still smiled faintly, there was behind that smile a sort of taut expectancy'which the American could sense rather than see, “So now we’re getting down to the brass tacks!” Jim Nash told himself. *** . * About this time, in a river villa not far from Teddington Reach, the two men whose raid John Smith had watched, were absorbed in a task which seemed to claim their most rapt attention. Outside, the late evening was already passing into night. The mist still clung about the river meadows, on the ground level, at any rate; but in its higher layers it was thinning a little, and the light, streaming from the window of the big upper room where the two men were at work, fell on the tops of trees emerging ghostly from the shrouded garden below. The man with the cigir glanced up. “Shutters, Jakes!”--.he rapped out. “It’s not so thick now, and there’s no | sense jn being seen—” j The big negro latched the shutters | across. For five or ten minutes more the two worked on without speaking the white man in his shirt-sleeves at the table under tlie light, the negro on the hearth. Before the one lay a fast-dwindlmg pile of papers of all sorts and shapes, some blank, some written bn; he was working through these steadily reading them, holding each up to the light, sometimes examining the surface with the aid of’ a powerful lens; and as he finished with each sheet he passed it down to the. negro, who in turn held it to the fire, back and front, and again scrutinised it. carefully before laying it aside. “Nothing written at all, but a few letters and this damned dog-stuff!” the man at the table growled. And presently: “That’s the last of them, Jakes! No luck?” “Nothing doing, boss —The negro sat upright on his haunches, blinking his eyes. “We’ve drawn a blank, I guess —same as Ed!" « (To be Continued).