The Marten Mystery

Taranaki Daily News, 26 July 1934, Page 15

The Marten Mystery

(By John Ironside) Author of “The Call Box Mystery,” “The Red Symbol,” etc.

CHAPTER 5 (Continued). “Yes. In his previous will, made soon after the birth of the second child, he appointed his wife as sole executrix—” They were speaking in undertones that, nevertheless, reached Martendale’s ears, for he looked up, rose, and joined them. So, unobtrusively, did Inspector Snell. “What’s that about Joe making a new will?” Martendrle demanded. Twining raised his grey eyebrows and regarded him gravely. . “I was addressing your brother, Lord Martendale.” The implied rebuke had some effect. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to butt in offensively,” he muttered. “My damned nerves are all to bits, and I scarcely know whether I’m on my head or my heels! I couldn’t help hearing what you said, and it struck me that you might have told us about this will just now, when we were going over everything we could think of to account for poor Joe’s state of mind.” “It did not occur to me till I saw your brother, who is the person most concerned,” said Twining, mollified by the virtual apology. “Nor does it throw any light on the. tragedy, for assuredly Sir Joseph’s state of mind at the time was perfectly normal and equable.” “Didn’t he say anything—give any reason for making this new will all in a hurry, and leaving John here executor?” Martendale persisted, turning his haggard, bloodshot eyes from one to the other. “None, except that it had occurred.to ■ him that should pre-decease Lady Marten it would help and comfort her if she had Mr. Marten to turn to for advice, and to share her responsibilities.” “Well, that was a bit queer, wasn’t it? Seeing that, so far as he knew, John was only coming over on a visit, and would probably be at the other side of the world when he would be wanted. Isn’t that so?” He turned interrogatively to John. “He certainly only knew the bare fact that I was on my way to England. I didn’t know myself how long I might stay. In fact, I don’t know now.” “There you are! . Could there be anything more absurd than to make you executor? It’s all very well for you to say he was normal, Twining. He was nothing of the sort. He’s been queer for months— thought he was a marked man, with secret enemies and a lot of rot like that—” John’s heart sank as he listened, remembering that last mysterious letter of Joe’s. Could it be possible, after all, that his 'mind was unhinged? He was half-inclined to produce the letter there and then, but Martendale continued, rapidly and vehemently: “At least I thought it rot at the time and tried to laugh him out of it, till he actually turned shirty, and we’ve scarcely spoken for weeks. Though if I’d ever dreamt of anything so awful as this I’d have taken a different line—tried to persuade him to see a doctor or take a holiday—” They all started as the tinkle of the, telephone bell broke, in on the conference. Martendale went to the instrument. “Speaking. What? Good Lord, you don’t say so? Yes, of course, bring it along instantly.” He put up the receiver and turned to Snell. . “That letter’s turned up—the registered one we’ve heard so much of.” „ “Turned up? Where, my lord?” “At my office. Sir Joseph thought it was for me, and posted it on with a note inside. Except for that it seems quite unimportant, Terry says—from someone who wants a job and sent a lot of testimonials. But, anyhow, Terry’s bringing it along.” CHAPTER 6. • BROTHERS. At the end of that long day John Marten found himself in the library with his surviving brother. There had been much to discuss, de—cisions to be taken, many arrangements to be made during the three hours or so that had passed since the inquest ended, and Martendale had shown himself unexpectedly sympathetic and helpful. His nerves had steadied considerably as the day wore on, and as he regained self-control his manner became much less aggressive. John’s prejudice against him weakened somewhat. After all, brothers though they were by blood, they were personally utter strangers, and his essentially just mind prompted him to make every allowance for .the, other under the tragic circumstances m which they now met, for the first time since early boyhood. His own perplexity and distress, successfully hidden under an imperturbable demeanour, had increased as the inquest proceeded, and eventually terminated with the unanimous verdict, pronounced against the dead man, “Murder and suicide committed while in a state of temporary insanity.” No other verdict was possible in the face of the evidence. John’s common. sense forced him to acknowledge that. Rodin did not put in an appearance,

nor was his name mentioned, John himself was not called as a witness. There was no apparent reason why he should be, and some inner instinct forbade him to disclose the existence of that pathetic last letter of Joe’s, which had' brought him to England. It would only have afforded further and unnecessary proof of the depression and apprehension that had weighed so heavily on his brother, and that appeared to be so utterly unfounded. Even the note he had written to Martendale last night seemed final evidence of mental tension. It was a mere hasty scrawl: “Dear James,

“This fool seems to have mistaken me for you. I don’t know him from Adam, and anyhow I’ve more than enough worries of my own. “Yours, J.”

The enclosures were a letter from a man in Manchester, setting forth the qualifications of the writer for “a post in connection with your new International Syndicate,” and a number of creased and soiled “testimonials,” the ultimate return of which was requested. All the papers had been crammed into the original envelope, and that re-stamped, but not re-sealed. The flap with the broken seal was merely tucked in, and the registration marks scribbled over with pen and ink. * There was nothing mysterious about the package in itself, nothing whatever to upset any sane man. Terry, Lord Martendale’s secretary, and the manager of Sir Joseph’s city office both testified that such epistles, actually “begging letters,” were constantly received at both offices. Some question arose as to by whom the package had been re-posted in the pillar-box a few yards from the house. Adams, the footman, swore positively that this package was not. in the hall post-box when he cleared it, and posted the contents, a few minutes before the tragic discovery was made. Nor had Sir Joseph sent one of the other servants with it. Tlie conclusion reached was that he must have gone out and posted it himself, without being seen by any of the household. That was quite possible, if he had done so immediately after going to his room, and before Lady Marten returned, as there was no one on duty in the hall just then. No man in his senses would have taken that trouble over, such an utterly unimportant missive, when he had servants at command and a post-box in his own hall. But the action, as the doctor pointed out, was just what might have been expected from a man on the verge of insanity. Now it was all over, and the hush of death had descended on the house, John Marten felt wearier, more dejected and limp than he had ever been in his life. Above all things, at the moment, he wanted to be alone, to try and think things out a bit. And though he felt more kindly disposed towards Martendale, he inwardly wished he had departed with the others. The elder man, however, showed no intention of going. “Well, we seem to have done everything possible up to the present,” he remarked, stationing himself on the hearthrug, and lighting a cigarette. “Good Lord, what a day! It doesn’t seem possible so much could have happened in twentyfour hours. Doesn’t bear thinking of!” John nodded and sat forward in. his chair, staring sadly at the fire. He could not trust himself to speak. Martendale looked down at him, and touched the bell by the mantelpiece. “A good stiff whisky’s what you want, my lad. So do I, worse than I ever, did in my life before.” Tattam entered, and Martendale gave the order, adding as the old man retired, “Hi! And bring the evening papers if they’ve come.” He turned again and regarded his brother’s thoughtful face. , i j “I’m glad—if one can say ones glad of anything at such a time —that you turned up so unexpectedly to-day, John. Yet I can’t get over the coincidence. Just about the queerest I’ve ever known, ’specially. as poor Joe had actually left you his executor. That is, if the will stands, and I don’t suppose anyone will dispute it, though we all know now that he was practically off his head when he made it, poor chap.” - - ’ „ “Time enough to discuss that later, John said curtly. “Of course, of course. No offence, old man,” Martendale responded hastily. “And I’d rather you had the responsibility than me, anyhow as guardian to the youngsters. Where are they?” “At school—Cheltenham. Coming back to-night, I believe,” said John, as Tattam re-entered with a tray and several newspapers. “What time are. Miss Nancy and her brother expected, Tattam?”

“They should he here very soon now, sir, if the train keeps time. It will probably be late, for the fog's thickening. Miss Cave’s gone to Paddington to meet them. Mr. Cyril wanted to come Straight away, but Miss Cave and the Head Master decided it would be much better for him. to come to-night with Miss Nancy.” (To be continued.)