Some Person Unknown

Taranaki Daily News, 27 September 1933, Page 11

Some Person Unknown

(Sr

CHAPTER. XVII. At the sight of those gloves—those tell-tala gloves, Vivienne Martineau knew that nothing could ha gained by trying te deceive this persistent young man any further. She realised that If what die had told her was true—that Scotland Yard was searching for a woman In connection with Carfax Middleton’s death-—Hie danger to her was indeed far more real than she had aver imagined. ’ Swiftly her consciousness was flooded with the realities of the situation. No one had, as yet, been apprehended in connection with the crime. If what the newspapers said was to be believed, Scotland Yard were stilly very piuch in the dark about tho affair, and if it oame to. the ears of -the police that ahe-r-she, Vivienne Martineau, had beep seen in the vicinity of the house on the night of the murder, the terrible story niusv come to light. There could be no concealing it then. Yet she knew that, come What may, the truth as she, knew it must be concealed. The ponce must never know that she and her father were ever in the toils of Carfax Middleton.. Her mind was working swiftly. Tnej first shock of the situation had worn off and she realised the necessity for coolness. Nothing whatever was to be gained by panic. There was one thing, however, that was worrying her considerably. Just how far could she, trust this persistent young man who,! by his possession of her gloves,, must already be suspecting a great deal. He, had eaid that the Deputy Commis-[i sioper of Police at Scotland Yard was. hla uncle. The thought gave her hope. If she did, indeed, confide in him, he might—as he had • flpdj some way In which he could help her.:; . Her mind was suddenly made up. She .would .tell him. - . “ Yes,” she went on, calmly andj (quietly, “I admit those are my l ) gloves. I remembered them only whenj I saw you looking at my (hands in the ( car and suggested, that you should; lend me your own.” I “ You told me you had left them in the car,” Gilfont reminded her. "I take it that there never was a car. Am I correct?" 1 “Of course you are correct, sne admitted, “but don’t, you realise I had to tell you something! I had to explain in as convincing a manner as I could why you should meet me on a lonely moorland road at that hour of the night. Of course, I could havo avoided you. I nearly decided that that would he the best thing to do when I saw the lights of your car, but I wanted to get back to London. I wanted to put as many miles as possible between myself and that terrible house. Had I walked to the railway station I should never have been in time for the train, and 1 knew that, were that to .happen, I would be immediately suspected. I knew that the police wov’d soon be making enquiries for anyone seen within a radius of many miles. I simply had to accept your hospitality.” “It was jolly good luck for you that 4 cnauqeu to ne passing tnrougnwhen I did,” Gilfont suggested, warmly. “It was lucky for me, too,” he added, in a lower tone and at the same time gazing her full in the eyes. ! “Fate sometimes arranges things like that, don’t you think ” she smiled at him.

"I suppose that is so. But tell me, what were you doing in Carfax Middleton’s house?" ; "I’m afraid it is rather a long story," she answered. “And besides I don’t quite know whether I should tell you. You see, it does not concern only myself." "If you don’t mind, Vivienne —I hope you won’t mind my calling you Vivienne—l should like to know everything. I’ve been telling myself for a week or more that there must be some perfectly good explanation." "You are sure, then, that I am not guilty of the murder of Carfax Middleton?’’ Vivienne asked the question, quietly but firmly. Gilfont nedded. "Of course you’re not guilty. Only a nit-wit would possibly think otherwise.” "I don’t think your uncle or his policemen friends would be prepared to accept such an assurance so easily,” she smiled, ruefully. "It is perfectly possible for a woman to be idriven to such a desperate measure, i&nd, what Is more, when you know ! tho whole story you will readily see that I had a perfectjy legitimate motive for killing Carfax Middleton.” Gilfont was startled at the girl’s words. He was swift to notice the sudden venom that had crept into her voice.

“Look here,” he said, earnestly, “I want you to know that I am your friend. I told you that last week when we first met in London. I believe in you—honestly I do. I want desperately to help you. I don’t want you to be dragged into this awful mess, and If you care to tell me everything, you can count on me putting everything right.” "You know that’s awfully nice of you, Mr Gilfont,” he noticed that she hesitated a little over the name. “I believe you when you say you want to help me, but I realise now that I’m In a tight corner and that if ever your Inspector man gets to know the facts ' it may be very difficult for me to prove to his satisfaction that I did not kill Middleton.” “You can trust me to deal with that,” he told her, on a note of greater confidence than he really felt. “It’s a long story,” she began, “and it concerns my father. For some years he’s been blind. Carfax Middleton was responsible for that. He had some hold oyer my father about which I can never get him to speak. Sometimes he talks wildly raves .n 1 delirium, and it is only from things he has said when he has been like that, that I have been able to understand something of it. “I have long had an ide? that father was being blackmailed. Until b few weeks ago I had no idea Liat man who was blackmailing- him

RALPH TREVOR)

was Middleton. Father did not tel! me so in so many words, but it appears that Middleton had written to him telling him that 'he would wipe out what he described as ‘the ar* rangement’ if father would promise to make me marry him. I had mot Middleton on several occasions when he called at the hc*ise to sea fatherI hated him from the first moment I ever set eyes on him. - k Ho was a dC” testable reptile and I’m glad he’s dead. The man wasn’t fit to breathe the same gr as decent human beings. Of course, the suggestion infuriated father and I had a terrible time with him for nearly a week.. He raved like a. madman. But it was during those fits of , raving, Mr Gilfont, that I discovered ' that Middleton had in his possess on some papers Which he was holding over father and for which he was exacting money. , ... ntf “Father and I were comfortably on at one time, before this ogre came into our lives, but for years now we have been gradually bled of everything. Two years ago father was obliged to go to a firm o? moneylenders to meet Middleton's demands. I think he hated that more than anything I did not know even this until a short while ago. You see father has always been- so secretive about the whole business. He didn’t want me to know. Had I known earlier what I know n0w..1 might have saved him all this. I should have gone to the police about it. “Well, to come to the night you found me in Yorkshire. I was determined that I should do something to end this terror that was overshadowing our happiness. If Middleton had something in his possession which he was holding over us, I was determined to get it. I knew it was little use discussing it with father. You see, I didn't want him to know that I knew as much as I did. I decided to go to Ringdale and tell Middleton that I had surrendered; that despite the letter I had written him telling him that his offer to father had been refused, I. had capitulated. I went to the house that night, Mr Gilfont,” the girl proceeded in a low, cracked voice, “with every intention of surrender.’ My father’s happiness was more to me than my own. But I was going to be cunning. Once I had secured possession of whatever it was Middleton held —and I gathered from father’s ravings that it-was a document of some kind —I intended'to repudiate- my bargain. Somehow I decided I should escape from him, and if ever he pestered us again I should go straight away to Scotland Yard.” The girl paused as though the telling of the narrative was exhausting her emotionally. “By Jove!" exolamed Gilfont, In an effort to relieve the tension that overhung the little room. “You had some pluck.” 1 “When you’re . desperate—as desperate as I was—it isn’t pluck,” she corrected him. “But to continue. 1 took the train to Leeds and a local to Guiston Halt. I had obtained the Information about the locality from a Directory in the Public- Library at Leeds. I found a map there —an Ordinance map and I saw the house marked on it. It was dark when I arrived at Guistqn, so dark that I lost my way across the moors. How far I wandered I don’t know, and when It got to ten o’clock I was in despair of ever finding that house. I went into Ringdale, but, of course, I daren’t inquire for the direction of the house from anyone there. I didn’t want anyone to know. Fortunately I remembered that the house on the map was south of Ringdale and west from the moorland road.

“You remember how dark the night was? Well, I hadn’t gone far along the road when I heard someone whistling a tune ahead of me, and realising hoxy late it was I decided to take a chance and ask where Moor House was situated.

"Suddenly a dark shape loomed up ahead of.me, still whistling. It was a man- He stopped whistling as he became aware of me. I asked him if he could direct me to Moor House and mentioned Middleton’s name. For a moment he paused, as though thinking. Then he told me I should strike a lane about half a mile further along on the right of the road. I thanked him. He bade me ‘Good-night,’ and I heard him go on his way whistling gome crazy syncopated, tune. "There isn’t much more to tell. .1 found the front door ajar as I approached the house* I crept inside. A light was shining under the door of one of the rooms opening off the hall. I knocked on it and receiving no reply opened it cautiously. Middleton was there, Mr Gilfont. He was lying on the carpet in a pool of blood. Whether he was dead or not, I do not know. I didn’t care. There was no longer fear in my heart. I felt glad. For one moment I thought of getting out of the house as quickly as I could. Then I remembered my errand. Just then I saw the wide open door of the safe on the far side of the room by the fireplace. If Middleton had anything of value belonging to father, 1 thought it would most likely be in his safe- I instinctively took off my gloves. Why, I cannot say, my brain was in a whirl. But the safe was empty. /’lt was only then that I fully realised my position—alone in that horrible house with a murdered man. How I got out of tiiat house ! don’t know. I just started to to run, and I don’t think I had stopped until Gilfont nodded. The girl's story told utterly without frills, had impressed him deeply. There could be no question now of the girl's innocence —there never really had been, he reminded himself.

“Think you for telling me,” he said, lamely. “But before we think out what we must do next, I suppose you didn’t sec the face of the man of whom you inquired the way to Moor House?” “It was too dark for that,” she answered. “You might recognise his voice if you heard it again?” She shook her head decisively. "j didn't lake*any notice of it.” Sh'

was regarding his serious face intently.' “You IIOIIT I.link i.>-t .. . • “I’m trying desperately hard not to think at all, Vivienne,” he said quietly. (To be continued.)