CHECKMATE

Taranaki Daily News, 13 February 1931, Page 10

CHECKMATE

By

SYDNEY HORLOR.

. z CHAPTER XX. FEAR. The Comtssse looked at her commiseratingly. “You etill don’t look quite yourself, dear,” she remarked. Here was a. Heaven-sent excuse. “It’s my head,” she replied; “I wondered if you would mind me going down to the town to see a chemist ?” Quickly all her hopes were dashed. f “I shouldn’t be satisfied with any chemist, Mary. You go back to bed and I’ll call a doctor in—l have had a very good Frenchman recommended to me.” The prospect turned her almost sick with dread. Did the woman suspect anything? In spite of her visit the night before, was she still in doubt about the story she had been told? And then—that doctor? Suddenly she became so stiff with- terror that the desire 1 to rush out of that sun-filled room became almost uncontrollable. This fear was not inspired by physical cowardice, but through the dread that if she were incapacitated the plot against an unsuspecting woman would be successful.:

“No,'.my dear, you certainly must not.go out to-day,” she heard the Comtesee add on a note of finality; “you look feverish to me, and Cannes is notoriously dangerous to anyone with any suspicion of a temperature. It’s the sudden changes, you know.” She had to put up some sort of resistance. '

“But I’m quite sure I haven’t any temperature—it’s just my head. Honestly, I shouldn’t think of going to bed.”

“I am responsible for you, Mary, and you must please do what I consider is best for you. Now do not let ue have any further argument—you go back to bed, and I will telephone for the doctor. No,” she added quickly, with a look which Mary had no difficulty in interpreting, “I forgot, I shall not be able to ’phone to the doctor because”—there was a pause—“something i|as gone wrong with the line. There has been a breakdown, I expect —the telephone system is not very efficient on the Riviera.”

“That will save you the trouble of speaking to a doctor at all, then, Comtesse —for I certainly should not see him if he called.”

The woman gave her a quick, darting glance. “You are not going to be difficult, I hope, Mary?” she said. “If you mean by ‘difficult’ refusing to go to bed when I am not really ill, I am afraid I am.” Then, remembering all that depended on her keeping her nerve, “But do not think I wisli to be; troublesome in any other way.” AIJ time sjie .was speaking her brain was rapping out'a message: “You must get away quickly—she will try to keep ypu here—that w’as a lie about the telephony. She really does suspect. Your very life may depend upon you getting away. That was a' clumsy excuse about 'wishing to go down to the town to see a chemist' and she saw through it at onee.”

But, to get away quickly—it was the only chance. “Please excuse me a minute, Comtesse—l want to fetch a handkerchief.”

“I will ring for Nadia” —but directly she had spoken Mary had turned and walked rapidly out of the room. ' She affeeted not to fear the reply. She would have run had she dared. Directly ehe was out of the house she would take to her heels, but in the villa such speed would have doubled any suspicion already existing. ' She did not go to her room, of course —there was no time for that—but instead of turning to the left where the staircase was situated, went straight on. She could explain to Marthe, the old French cook, that she was going out into the grounds that way. At the back there was a small iron gate opening on to a road. Once out there she would ask the first passing motorist to give her a lift into Cannes. She would go to the Majestic and ask for Wingate. She would tell him the whole story. He would understand, he would be certain to understand. ... It all seemed so simple. Simple until, with a quick backward <rlance, she approached the door of the kitchen. Then a hand reached out and seized her wrist.

“She’s trying to get away!” screamed a voice which she recognised at once as belonging to Nadia, the masquerading maid. VL always said her innocence .was too good to be true. , Catch hold of her other arm, Jose, if you don’t want her running to the police.” ■ With the desperation that despair gave her Mary struggled. But both her assailants were relentless —the girl especially so. The hatred which Nadia had formerly evidenced in look pow took on a physical form. With every fresh indignity she committed, she gave a shrill exclamation of pleasure. It was utterly beastly. When she was entirely overcome, her, strength utterly spent, the final touch was added. Smoking a cigarette, the Comtesse Zamoyski appeared on the scene. “Tie her up" take her to her room and lock her up,” she ordered. • » ♦ • “You arranged things very nicely, Jose—l am quite pleased with you,” re-

marked the Comtesse. The sitting on the sun-drenched balcony a few minutes after. Mary Mallory had been locked, a closely-bound prisoner, inside her room. “Where was Wingate taken?”

“To a place in Nice from which he will have considerable difficulty in escaping.” “But where J” persisted his companion. “The House of Hell,” was the reply. “I agree,” said the Comtesse, slowly, “that he will, have difficulty in escaping from there, providing, of course, you have passed him over to the right people.” 1 “Giovanni and Bertchod are seeing to it.” Santos smiles as one expecting approbation. “Yes, ; we can depend on them,” responded the Comtesse, giving him back smile for smile. •

In this casual way did these two discuss the terrible fate which they knew must await the Englishman,' Wingate, unless a miracle intervened. There are many centres of vice and crime, in the world., Travellers give lurid accounts of the indescribable things to .be;witnessed at such places as. Port Said, Cairo, Naples and in the underworld of practically any capital,. but it is generally co needed. by those who know their world that . the establishment known succintly as “The House? of Hell,” which is a large building-situated not many hundred yards distant ...from the famous Promenade des Anglais, at Nice, is where the Devil performs his choicest handiwork. It is to this palace . of vice that wealthy debauchers flock from all over the world. Outside the building . can be. seen, as many ~as.;,fwo thousand motor-cars—all 'of the most luxurious makes. If. the numbers’ of, these cars were looked up and the owners ascertained it would be'found -that many great and famous men figured among them. >' i S ’ 1 ... t Only the merest hint can be given here of what takes place nightly inside the House of Hell. There is a risk in going there even as a member —but there is a very real and terrible danger in going there as a prisoner,-, a; prospective subject for blackmail, such as was the fate which had been arranged for Robert Wingate. Beneath the House,of Hell there exists a veritable catacomb of secret passages. Here a mail can be done to death and his fate remain for ever a mystery. The House of Hell is never visited by the police. It has far too many illustrious personages represented oir its membership roll. “The coast now seems clear,” summed up the Comtesse; “I think I will look ‘ into the Casino this afternoon and have a word with Lady Wentworth.” .. Lady Wentworth "listened; With apparently the greatest interest to what the woman on the other side of the table was saying. It was the the dansant hotiy at Les Ambassadeurs. ■ ■

“I cannot promise you a gamble, Lady Wentworth,” the smooth, admirably-con-trolled voice went on, “but I thipk I can promise you some good music after dinner. Midal has agreed to play,, and Sophie Conway,' the soprano, to ,sing My niece, Miss/Mary Mallory, would be enchanted if you would come.” “Is that very charmingigirl who passed me the bank-last- night your niece, Comtesse?” /■ / ' '

“Yes, my brother, an American, married an When both’ her parents died five years ago I took Mary under my wing. She is a very dear girl, and I have grown, awfully fond of her.” “I can very well believe that. Well, since you have been kind enough to go out of your way to invite me, I think I will come to-morrow night, Comtes .c —if only to.have the joy of meeting such a radiant creature as your niece ( again. Tell me, where is this villa bf yours? What do you call it?” “The Villa Graciosa. It’does not belong to me—l am merely renting it for ■ the season. If you will tell me the name of your hotel I will send a car to fetch you. We dine at eight. Music will be from nine until eleven, and afterwards, perhaps, we could make up a party for the Casino. My niece is anxious to try her luck again.” . “I am staying at the Chester. I will be ready at twenty minutes to. eight tomorrow night.;if that will allow sufficient’time.” • . .

“The car shall be there, Lady Wentworth. Mary Vwill be charmed to know that you are coming.” '

“Tell her,” replied Lady Wentworth, not to be outdone in courtesy, “that I am looking forward to sharing a bank with her.” The Comtessc Zamoyski smiled. “I will,” she said. - . The parting between the two was of the most friendly description. (To be continued.) •’