The House of Rogues

Taranaki Daily News, 23 June 1934, Page 23 (Supplement)

The House of Rogues

(By

Christopher B. Booth)

CHAPTER 13 (Continued).

Before replying to Polly’s declaration of her discovery of Bob Dolliver with the dead body of Strawn. Sheriff Edwards tugged at his moustache, first one side and then the other as was his habit, and his beetling brows were lowered frowningly as he digested this information.

“What makes you so sure,” he demanded meaningly, “that Dolliver had just found the body? For all you know, he might have shot him his own self?” “No!” cried Polly. “No!”

“Humph! Seems to me you’re a heap anxious about it.” The sheriff swung upon Dolliver. “So you was packin’ your grip, was you, when the shot was fired? What was you packin’ your grip for?” “I -was going away,” Bob answered. “Where was you goin’?” “New York.” “Why was you goin’ to New York?” pressed Edwards. “I don’t think that’s got anything to do with you,” Bob evaded knowing how damaging would be the admission that he had quit his job in a row *with the murdered man, and he could think up no plausible falsehood which would explain his sudden leave taking from the house. Sheriff Edward’s arm shot out, pointing an emphatic finger. “Nd use tryin’ to hide anything from me,” he remarked. “I’m goin’ to get right the bottom of this thing, .an’ I allow that we’ll find out why you was packin’ up whether you keep your mouth shut or not. Speak up now, why was you goin’ to New York?” “I refuse to answer that—for the present,”- Bob Dolliver answered stubbom- » ly.

Vera Kingslake checked her weeping, lowered her soaked handkerchief from het reddened eyes, and seemed on the verge of saying something but evidently changed her. mind about it. Sheriff Edwards, for all of his cocksureness of . manner, realised with 'an uncomfortable feeling of helplessness that he was getting into water beyond his depth; his mind was beginning to struggle. Again he fell to tugging at hig moustache; slowly, very slowly, he was trying to reason things out and without much of a premises to go on. A slamming door, an empty room, this girl on the stairs, the man who had found the slain man’s body packing his grip and refusing to tell why. “Now, lemme see," he said slowly, abandoning any effort for the time being: to force a full explanation from Dolliver, “this girl here—,” gesturing towards Polly. “—was goin’ up the stairs when she heard the pistol crack. Is there a back stairs to this house?” No immediate response. “You!” The sheriff thus called Jaggers attention. “Answer me, you snivelin’ idiot! Is there a back stairs?” The butler shook his head.

“No” he answered briefly. “Ah!” exclaimed Edwards with a feeling of triumph, thinking that his problem was much simpilified. “Since there ain’t no back stairs an’ since this gal was goin’ up the front ones, it’s dead an’ certain sure that the murderer was on the second floor all the time. I guesS you’d bettor account for yourselves. We’ll go around the room, sort of, each one in their own turn. You, speak up!” His finger pointed to Paul Grimshaw.

"As I explained to you on your arrival,” Paul answered, “I was down by the cove and knew nothing about it until I came back to the house just a few minutes before you got here.” “All right,” grunted the sheriff, “that lets you out. Strawn’s nephew didn't you say you was? Next!” , Jaggers repeated what he had already stated about having been in his room on the third floor. Bob Dolliver confirmed it with.

"Jaggers would have had to come around the turn in the hall and pass the door of my room to reach the thirdfloor stairs,” he said.

The other three servants came next; all of them, it seemed had been talking together in the kitchen when the fatal shot had been fired. That totally eleminated them as possible suspects. Mrs. Westbury Eastman was then called upon to account for her whereabouts at the time of the tragedy. . 'Tn my room, she answered. "How far was that from the study?'’ Sheriff Edwards. wanted to know. "At the far end of the hall.” “You hear any door slam?” "No, I didn’t hear anything—except the shot,”- shivered Mrs. Eastman. “I— I didn’t come out of my room for a moment or so; I was—et—changing my dress. Then I got out into the hall, Mr. Dolliver, my daughter and Mrs. Kingslake were already there. A moment after I arrived, Jaggers came.”

The sheriff turned to Vera Kingslake. “What about you?” he demanded. The widow twisted her soaked handkerchief between her fingers. ‘.‘l—l was also—in my room.” she replied in a muffled voice. “It’s across the hall, at an angle, from the study. I—l heard the shot; for—for a minute I was—too paralyzed to move. Then I heard—a scream; it —it must have beeh Polly when—when she saw—” Sheriff Edwards stared at her fixedly.

"Seems like,” he said, "that you’re grievih’ a lot. You some kin to the murdered man?”

(Author of “The Man from Lazy River,” “The Porcelain Mask” etc.,)

Vera Kingslake began to sob afresh. “I—l loved John Strawn!” she whispered. "I loved him!”

Mrs. Westbury Eastman lifted her chin and compressed her lips.

“I knew it!” she murmured. “I knew it all the time!”

Sheriff Edwards frowned deeply and absently fingered the glistening badge of office.

“Seems like,” he grunted, “that everybody’s accounted for, an’ it kind of narrows us down to—hum—providin’ evPr’body is tellin’ the truth—four people. One thing is certain, the murderer is right here in this room!” Paul Grimshaw’s head jerked up.

“Great Heaven!” he shouted. We’ve all been aslefep; we’re forgetting—the three-fingered man!” CHAPTER 14.

At Paul’s dramatic outburst a tense silence fell upon the big room, such a silence that the ticking of the mantel clock became almost a disturbance. Across the face of Bob Dolliver there flashed an expression of utmost relief and a half-hysterical sound slipped past Polly Eastman’s lips. “The three-fingered man!” she echoed. “Of course; the three-fingered man! It was he who—who killed Mr. Strawn—for the plates. The slamming of the door that Bob and I heard—that must have been when the three-fingered man dartted across the hall from the study and disappeared into the room with the books. I was right last night; ther was someone in that room. He—” Sheriff Edwards recovered from his bewilderment over this amazing turn of things and gave voice to a snort of derision.

“What’s all this about?” he growled, almost sneeringly. “What do you mean —the three-fingered man?” No one was paying much attention to the sheriff just now; all were too engrossed by Paul’s suggestion, even Mrs. Eastman wondering why she hadn’t thought of the same thing. '

“Gee, J. 8.,” Tommy Oliver whispered to Baskerville, “things is getting thick, ain’t they? Regular thriller, ain’t it?” Baskerville nodded.

“You’re right,” he agreed in an undertone; “it is getting a bit thick, but keep out of it, lad. Let them keep right on talking. We haven’t got our cue yet.”

“When I heard the door slam,” Dolliver was saying, “the first thing I thought of was—that room. Even before I knew that Mr. Strawn had been shot. On account of the mystery that Polly kicked up for us last night, I suppose. I opened the door and looked inside; the room—was empty.” “But, Bob!” cried Polly. “So was it empty last night after I saw the light shining through the keyhole.” Sheriff Edwards refused to be longer ignored. t “Say!” he exploded angrily. “Have the lot of you gone crazy? What’s all this fool talk about a three-fingered man an’ empty rooms. If you think that you’re side-trackin’ me from gettin’ at the bottom of this murder business—” ‘.‘lnstead of side-tracking you,” broke in Paul Grimshaw, “we’re putting you on the right track. No, sheriff, there’s nothing crazy about it, although it does sound devilish queer. ; Listen!” “Aw, I’m listenin’ alright, young feller,” grunted Edwards. “Perhaps you know something of the house’s history,” began Paul in an eager rush of words. “In the village they call it The House of Rogues, and—” “As if I didn’t know that,”, interrupted the sheriff; “if you’re going to waste my time—” “Oh, cut put that official dignity stuff;” snapped Paul. “Since you know about the house there’s no use in my going aver it, z for you’ll know then that a counterfeiter they called The Black Fox once owned this .place. My uncle bought it last winter and has had it repaired.

“Yesterday, while browsing through The Black Fox’s book-room on th? second floor—directly across the hall from the room which Uncle John fitted up as his study—he noticed a, warped board in the back of one of the bookshelves. He found that this board came free, revealing a small compartment which contained two plates engraved for the printing of counterfeit fiftydollar bills and a bundle of bank-note paper.” “We’re about to get our cue, J. 8.,” Tommy chuckle’d in Baskerville’s ear. “We’re going to get in on this—big!” The latter nodded.

“I’m cutting it just as short as I can, Sheriff,” continued Paul. “After dinner last night, Uncle John brought all of us into the room and showed us his find. Polly there thought she heard someone in the room.”

“I know I did!” cried Polly. “I've no doubts of it—now! Mrs. Kingslake thought she heard it, too.” r Vera Kingslake nodded and looked up through now swollen eyes. “Yes,” she admitted, “I thought I heard a faint noise within the room but-”

“But when we opened the door,” finished Paul Grimshaw, "the room was empty and we rather gave Polly the laugh. Later in the evening, Polly—perhaps you'd better tell that part of it yourself, Polly. I didn’t happen to be there until later.” (To be Continued).

Since mid-day the waters have been receding.