THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

Taranaki Daily News, 29 August 1930, Page 14

THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

By

ANTONY MARSDEN

“But yet. What else can they do? [ Their one hope now is to keep watch ; on me day and night. They can’t be | certain what my message is; but at } least they can nee to whom I deliver j it.” i “And where do I come in?” Nash i asked quietly. ! The Russian leaned forward, and tor the first time Nash caught the note of tense excitement underlying his pleasant tones. “My friend, can you not see? lilt you arrived on the scene you, with your fantastic likeness to myself—l was one against many. Now I am duplicated, yes? This afternoon, all unintentionally, I achieved the impossible—l. was in two places at once! And what I did this afternoon unconsciously I can repeat to some purpose now!” “You want me to lead these fellows off?” , . , “Not at all! I want you merely to remain here ... Picture my enemies, Mr. Nash. They are more than onethree at least. While lam on the move I cannot cope with them. One follows me so far, another picks me up, a third watches the bungalow. Twist as I will, I cannot shake them off . . . But suppose I sit still, in full view of-them? I concentrate their attention; yes ? One watches, or all three watch—it does not matter;, they know where I am, they are satisfied ... “And now, suppose I am not there, after all? Suppose it is you, my double! They are all happy, their at'tention is concentrated, they draw the breath of relief! ... And all the while lam elsewhere, unshadowed!” He laughed suddenly, exultantly. Well —?’’ Nash gasped. “By thunder, that s a great scheme! I stop here and show myself-” “You sit here in the lighted window, Mr. Nash, with the curtains not drawn. You smoke the pipe of peace, you he ( waved his hand airly—“you read, you play chess with Irma. For an hour or so. And for me, that hour is enough! Well—you consent?” Jim Nash nodded. “It’s dead easy, Mr.-Smith. You’re giving money away M And all at once the girl laughed. “I shall have time to mend your coat for you, Mr. Nash.” ' | ■ “His coat?” Her father looked up sharply. “What ■ has happened to tris coat?" ‘ ... Nash was already pulling off his jac- I ket. “Your friend did this for me, Mr. Smith,” he smiled. He held out the jacket, turning back the sleeve to show where the doper’s keen knife had ripped them; but as his glance fell on his skirt-wrists he uttered a cry of surprise. “Why, he’s been at my cuff-links, too!” The gold links were still there once more it seemed obvious that robbery had not been the motive of the attack; but they had been unfastened, as though for some reason the chloroformer had wanted to roll back Nash s shirt-sleeves ... The Russian’s sharp glance travelled from the cuffs to the upper sleeves, where the clean knifecut that slit the jacket had parted the shirt also; so that when Nash raised his hand, the under-surface of his upper arm was visible. “So —?” muttered the elder man. “Then our friends know even more than we had supposed!” ( As the Russian spoke, his glance, flickered for an instant towards the n-irl on the divan, and their eyes met. Nash marked that swift exchange, and all his suspicions returned. There wan something between these two, he was ready to swear—some knowledge connected with those puzzling slits in his coat-sleeves . . . Next moment the girl had dropped her eyes, and her father handed the coat to her. “But yes, petite, you must mend Mr. Nash’s jacket for him, certainly. It is the least we can do! . . . A pretty domestic scene,” he went on gaily. “Father and daughter in their holiday home. And it will not be lost on those who will watch outside, believe me!” He picked up his hat, preparing vo take his leave. But Nash stayed him, suddenly. “And suppose they don’t stop outside, Mr. Smith? What then?” Irma sprang up indignant. “Oh, they won’t surely dare to call at the house, again, after what they’ve done!” she cried, pointing at the floor. “Am I. to ’phone for the police?” inquired Nash shrewdly. For the first time in their acquaintance, he fancied that Mr. Smith was momentarily taken aback. Then the Russian, recovering instantly: “The police, Mr. Nash? I—think not . . . As I have said, my mission is one of very great delicacy; and though I could, of course, put this—this burg-i lary in their hands if I liked, there are reasons why I should still prefer to manage without them • . . Our friends are aware of this; and should they wish to call on me, the fact that I knew that they had lately raided my house would certainly not prevent them!” For a moment he stood there silent, deep in thought. Then: “Yes—-ye-es,” he resumed. “We must not lose sight of any possible move in the game. Qnr friends have tried robbery with violence, and have failed; about this time, if my surmise is correct, they are realising their failure . . . Yes, it is possible 0 that my arch-enemy may return to make terms with me, as a last resort.”

Nash nodded. In hin own mind he felt less and less disposed to believe a word of the Russian’s story. This tale of diplomatic negotiations was no more than a blind—the game of international politics was not played on sucn lines, outside the romantic story-books. He felt convinced that the elusive Mr. Smith was engaged in some far more questionable enterprise, more especially since it appeared that the police could not be invoked to protect him. And Irma—? How far the girl was implicated he could not tell; that question must be shelved for a while. In the meantime, the more he learned of this affair, the more his curiosity gripped him. He had plunged in it now, he told himself, with both feet; and the best way to find out more was to keep on plunging. And yet—there was a fantastic sort of honour at stake; since he had pledged himself to the impersonation, it seemed to him that he could do no less than his best, and <rive the mysterious Mr. Smith a square deal, a sporting run for his money. But to do that he must have some clearer notion what was required of him, should the enemy reappear. '

I “You say this fellow may turn Up to i try and make terms,” he began. “What | terms is he likely to suggest? And how ; am I to receive them?” “All that I need is time,” the other : returned. “If our friend tires of merely : watching you, and decides to present i himself—play for time! ” “If the man shows up at all,” continued the Russian, “he will probably offer to buy your secret.” “But I can’t sell a secret that I haven't got!” Nash cried. His host’s teeth gleamed in a smile. “Precisely, precisely! That is your line, Mr. Nash. The truth, the whole truth —or as much truth as seems desirable. To tell the truth is always so simple, is it not?” “But why not? . . . You receive him amiably, with polite surprise. He has come for—what? He replies, he is here on business which you know very well. His manners, I ought to warn you, leave much to be desired; he looks like a gentleman, but when you come to know him better —oh, la-la! . . However, Vou still persist, politely, that you don’t know him at all,, that he is making a mistake. You are John Smith/ you say—yes, keep on telling i him that. It is a nice name, as names go, and I have had pleasure in using it; but it is not my own —” “I’d never supposed it was," Nash put .in quietly; and the two men both laughed. “You are John Smith. If he has fancied otherwise, why, you are desolated, but what can you do? Meanwhile, time is slipping by —” “But it won’t take an hour to tell him I’m John Smith,” protested Nash, “since he will know before I start that I’m pulling a game on him.” “It may take some considerable time. But you’are right; one must prepare against everything.” For a few moments more the Russian meditated. Presently: “Suppose, then, that he declines to accept the truth. He persists. After a little you admit that you are not John Smith, but the man he is looking for—” “What name now?” Nash asked sharply. “That is immaterial. He propounds his terms. You consider them. Still the clock moves on. You decline —” “And if it’s still too early?”

“If it is . . . mon dieu, but I have it now!” the other cried suddenly. “Listen, Mr. Nash. If you are driven to it, you accept his terms, after lengthy bargaining. You undertake —but get these words °right, if you please —to let him see the document of which he is in search. But it is neither on your person nor in the bungalow —he has good reason to believe you there, yes? It is in safe-deposit, this precious document, in the strong-room of a hotel in the West End. If he will come with you, he shall have his wish. The time of your journey up' to London is now added to that which you have already spent; also, there is the time which he must take on his way back . . . yes, yes, this is excellent! 1 should have thought of it before.” “And what next?” “Why, having drawn him off to the hotel, you tell him the truth—the entire naked, devastating truth this time! You have been hired to impersonate someone else, and that is all you know. After which. I veiituie to foretell, it may be needful to procure for him the services of a doctor, yes?” But this time Nash was not quite so ready to join in the laugh. “I guess I'll have to hand him that last bit after I’ve got him right in the dead centre of the public lounge,” he surmised. “If not. I allow 11l be the one that’s needing the doctor.” “Have no fear, my friend. It will not come to that You will be clever enough to hold him in play, I think, without leaving this place; for he will have no reason to be in a hurry, remember, so long as he is with you. I need an hour only—one hour, from th© time we separate . . . And, anyway, it is most likely that he will not visit you at all. Irma, child, a word with you—” He beckoned the girl, who went out at his heels. Nash hoard him open and close the door of one of the other rooms. , “And that’s a word that I’d give something to hear!” he told himself. But they were back, the pair of them, in two or three minutes, and Nash observed that Irma’s father was replacing the cap of his fountain pen, “And now, I go." the Russian said. “If our friend comes, he should be taking up his post among the bushes in twenty minutes. Make things as easy for him as you can, I beg—one of these curtains well drawn back, and yourself in the lamplight. But give me a couple of minutes to get away. My bicycle—’’ But he got no further. Without warninor the sound interrupted them a sudden, peremptory knock on the hall door. “So soon—?” he breathed.

Never had Nash seen anyone move quicker—or more silently. He was by the light-switch at a bound, and plunged the room in darkness. Next moment he brushed past Nash again, and a faint oblong of less inky blackne-w showed as the curtain was pulled back. Nash clutched at him, on the sill. “Say, wait! Am I supposed to kno.v this cliap?’’ “Only by reputation!” laughed the other beneath his breath. “Lights up, now—quick.” But when Nash reached the switch and prei-sed it down again the curtain hun<x motionless as ever across the open win Sow, and Mr. Smith was gone. The knock sounded once more. Nash went out into the hall. As lie pressed down the switch of the electric liglit, he had no notion whether to expect one visitor or perhaps all the three at whose existence Irma’s father had hinted. He flung open the door; but the light showed only a single figure—a bi<> burly man, who stood well back from” the threshold, with his hat pulled over his eyes. “Mr. Smith at heme?” a gentleman’s voice inquired. “I’m here,” said Nash. “It’s late, I know,” the voice went on, “But I’d like a word with you . . Beside the curtained window of the living-room, Irma, listening tensely, heard the faint creaking of the chain as a bicycle sped away. Then followed the sound of the church clock, beginning to strike nine in the distance. Inspector Thornton could not have spent long in mastering th© Karin dossier; for soon after 8.15 he wae Lack

at Bow Street, talking to Sergeant Tynan. “Any message from the Twickenham police?” was the first thing he asked. “Yes, sir." Tynan had the transcript on his desk. It seemed that “Capri,” the bungalow to which Eddie Roper had telephoned from Charing Cross, was owned by a gentleman at present abroad; it had been vacant up to the beginning of the week —the constables on whose beat it was were quite sure about that. Now it was let; but nothing was known of the new tenant, nor had the post office delivered any letters there sine© the tenant came in. (To bo Continued).