CHECKMATE

Taranaki Daily News, 25 February 1931, Page 11

CHECKMATE

Rj SYDNEY HORLOR.

CHAPTER XXIV.-

MARY’S CHAMPION.

"Oh, my dear!” Her secret was out, but what, did she care? All her troubles eeemed over now that this man’s arms were about her. “Silence!’’ roared the Juge d’lnstruction; “who are you, Monsieur, to come rushing in like this, interrupting a judicial inquiry?” ' . Wingate, releasing his hold of Alary Mallory, turned to the official and bowed. His clothes were in rags, his face and hands were cut and begrimed, he j looked a deplorable sight—and yet he was unmistakably, a gentleman. “Monsieur le Juge,” he -said, “I ask your pardon. My name is Robert Wingate, and I have come here to give what assistance is possible in. helping to solve this terrible crime.” The official raised his eyebrows. “You are aware that the victim of this' abominable crime is Lady Wentworth, your aunt ?” he: inquired. “That fact was included in the information which the assassins, . from whom I have recently escaped, delighted to impart to me, Monsieur le Juge.’ “Did they also give you the name of the murderer?” “They did not. But I can tell, you that it was one of three people.” “Their names, Monsieur?” ‘•'A woman calling herself the Comtesse Zamoyski, a Russian girl known as Nadia and a man Jose Santos. Most probably it was the latter. He is a dope-fiend and in moments of excitement is not responsible for his actions.’ “You appear to have a very extensive knowledge of this crime, Monsieur, commented the Juge sarcastically. “It ifl unusual, in my experience, for criminals to talk so freely of their misdeeds.” “Not when they believe they have tne victim completely at their mercy. Listen » AVingate’ swayed before he could complete the sentence, and, pressing his hand over his heart, leaned against the wall for support. “A woman calling herself the Comtesse Zamoyski, a Russian girl known as Nadia and a man Jose Santos. Most probably it was the latter. He is a dopefiend and in moments of excitement is not responsible for his actions.” “You appear to have a very extensive knowledge of ' this crime,' Monsieur,” commented the Juge d’lnstruction sarcastically. “It is unusual, in my experience, for criminals to talk so freely of their misdeeds.” “Not when they believe they have the victim completely at their mercy. Listen, Monsieur le Juge —.” Wingate swayed before he could complete the sentence, and, pressing his hand, over his heart, leaned against the wall for support. “Can’t you see he’s ill ?” cried Mary, “get him some brandy.” M. Caron, who had been a silent but interested witness since the dramatic entry of Wingate, walked across to the girl. . . “Courage, mademoiselle,” he said in a voice which gave her confidence, “your troubles will soon be over. Truth will prevail. The good God will see to that. As for Monsieur-, he has been badly treated/but he 'will recover. See, le Juge is already giving instructions.” At a few whispered words, from the interrogating official, the, sergent de ville left the room.

•_ “I have sent for some cognac, Monsieur,” the former explained. •’• "That'—-is—very—kind—of—you,” answered Wingate, weakly. By the time he. took, to utter the words he showed how utterly spent was his condition. “May I suggest that you should sit down until the cognac arrives,” now said the official, and the Commissaire himself hurried forward with a chair.

A couple of minutes later the policeman returned. He carried a bottle in his right hand. “I couldn’t find any cognac, M. le Juge,” he said, “but here is a bottle of wine.”

“Give it’to Monsieur Wingate,” ordered the official. After taking a few sips a remarkable change could be seen. Colour came back into the pallid cheeks. Th© Englishman gave a confused laugh. “I’m sorry to be such an ass—but I haven’t had any food since the night before last. No,” raising a hand, “it does not matter. I want to tell you what 1 know, and then I’ll be getting along to my hotel. But, first of all, will you please tell me, Monsieur le Juge, what Mademoiselle Mallory is doing here?” The official frowned. “She is charged with being concerned in this atrocious murder,” he replied. . “Good God, man—it’s absurd, as I’ve said before. She is as innocent as I am myself.” “What proof have you of that Monsieur?”

. “This,” came the reply without the slightest hesitation. “I had known for some time that these crooks —I mean the Zamoyski woman and that choco-late-coloured hound Santos, principally —were after my aunt’s jewels. I warned Lady Wentworth repeatedly, but she was an obstinate —I mean a strong-mind-ed woman—and she would not listen. Her attitude was that the supposition of crooks infesting the Riviera was mainly ridiculous and that, in any ease, she was fully capable of looking after herself. She would not believe there was any danger. “Realising how hopeless it was to try to persuade her otherwise, I made an arrangement with Miss Mallory here. Please let me do the explaining,” he added hastily, as the girl seemed about to say something. “Miss Mallory, whom I had met in London, entered this supposed' Comtesse’s service, as an adventure. She knew the woman was a criminal—or, at least, had very grave suspicions of her being so—but nevertheless, she consented to act as companion to the Comtesse on the chance of getting an extra thrill out of life. Isn’t that so, Mary?’’

“Yes,” replied the girl. She realised that he was doing his best to try to save her, and she had to back him up. “The first morning Miss Mallory was

in Cannes, when I met her on the Croisette she told me that she believed the Comtesse was after the pearls of some rich woman—she didn’t know at the time that the woman in question was. my aunt —but all the same we entered into an agreement together. She was to pretend to be very innocent, and then, when she’-had obtained all the necessary information, she was to let me know and I was to pass the news on to my friend, Paul Joubert—-”

“And who, pray, is this Monsieur Pau Joubert?” enquired the Juge d’lnstruction.

“He is an important person in the French Secret Service—and my very great friend,” replied the Englishman impressively. “He sounds to me like a character out of a novel,” was the rejoinder. “I • confess I have never heard of him.”

For a moment Bobby’s heart seemed to Sink right down into his boots. Was it possible that Delabrae, who was an incurable practical joker, had been pulling his leg? Suppose the, lettex- of introduction that he carried was valueless—valueless 'because it concerned a mythical personage? In that case he was most probably doing Mary Mallory a dis-service, because the prejudice of this pompous ass of an official would be increased.

He had to take the risk, however.

“That docs not alter the fact that M. Joubert is, as I have said, in the Secret Service—and that, to the best of my knowledge, he is actually still in Cannes. At the Majestic, where I am staying, I have a letter addressed to him c/o Monsieur Andre, Chief Administrator of the Casino.”

The Juge d’lnstruction burst into a

laugh. “Now I am sure that this M. Joubert is merely a figure out of a novel!” he cried. “Who gave you this letter, may I ask?”-

“Another friend, Lord Delabrae,. the English nobelman.” The official’s displeasure became more marked.

“Lord Delabrae,” he repeated; “I remember him. He came to Cannes and wrote a number of disparaging articles for some English paper. He had the impertinence to say that he was willing to bet a thousand francs he could, commit any crime in Cannes and—what was his abominable expression ?—get away with it!” -

This time it was Wingate who laughed—and, having laughed, realised he had made a grave mistake. .. . . “Enough!” roared the Juge d’lnstr action, who . seemed labouring under the impression that’ his personal dignity was sufferingj “I waste no more time. You say you had an arrangement with the accused that slie should communicate, particulars of this' crime to you. It is an impossible story, and, frankly, I do not believe it; ’lndeed, this letter which. Mademoiselle Mallory has admitted is in her handwriting is sufficient evidence against her for me to cause her arrest.” “You can’t do that!” replied Wingate. “How dare you say that I cannot do it?” cried the enraged official. “Piquet,” he shouted, turning to the Commissaire of Police, ‘Wke the accused to the Hotel de Ville.”

Wingate rushed forward and placed himself in front of the girl., “No; please don’t,” Mary pleaded; “everything Will be all right. You will get yourself into trouble if you interfere.”

M, Caron added his entreaties to those of the girl. “I will find Monsieur Joubert for you,” he added. “You know Joubert!” gasped Bobby. It seemed as though the luck was turning at last. The hotel-manager bent his head to whisper. “He is a friend of mine—l smiled when le Juge suggested that he was merely a person , of imagination.. He is that, of course, but is made of flesh and blood all the same.”

By this, time the Commissaire had his hand on Mary’s arm.

“I regret, Mademoiselle, that I have my duty to perform,” he said apologetically.

(To foe continued.)