The Marten Mystery

Taranaki Daily News, 27 July 1934, Page 15

The Marten Mystery

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

CHAPTER 6 (Continued). f ‘ 1 “Masterful young woman, that Miss i Cave,” Martendale remarked as the but- t ler again withdrew. “She snubbed me I like anything last night. I suppose I was a bit abrupt—hardly knew what I was saying as a matter of fact—and she turn- 1 ed on me like an insulted duchess. Fact! 1 Not that I think any the worse of her, 1 seeing we were all so nervy. Must say < I like a spirited wench, ’specially when - she’s such a good-looker!” 1 John’s lips tightened, and he looked 1 up quickly with an indignant frown, a i glance entirely lost on Martendale, who < had seized an evening paper and hastily ; turned, not to the account of the inquest, ; but to the City page. s What he read there seemed reassur- i ing. ' “Bad enough, but might have been a < lot worse,” he said, throwing down the ; paper and mixing himself a second I drink. “We shall weather the storm yet, as Rodin said last night, though I didn't believe him then.” “What storm? What do you mean? John demanded, picking up the paper. He saw that considerable space was de- 1 voted to the tragedy and its probable : effect on the financial world, but did not J attempt to read it. His brain was too : tired, nor would he have been able to < understand the technicalities. • He dropped the paper and looked up. : Martendale was watching him intently, but shifted his gaze as their eyes met, : “I’m utterly ignorant of Joe’s affairs, 1 and of yours, and all this conveys no- ] thing to me. I shall have to go into things, of course, but I can’t start to- : night. Who’s Rodin, though? What’s he i got to do with it?” “You don’t mean to say you’ve never heard of Henri Rodin?” Martendale ex- ’ claimed. John’s keen ears detected a < note of relief in the tone, that decided ' his immediate line of action. 1 “I may have done. The name sounds ( familiar, but I’ve never met him. I’m • sure of that.” ' “You must have heard of him in South > Africa. He’s the big. noise there, and : elsewhere.” “Really? What in?” “Why, finance, of course, my dear fellow,” said Martendale condescendingly. “Ah, that accounts for it. I don’t know anything about finance—high finance you call 'it, don’t you? Can’t make head or tail of it —never could.” “That so? Then you’ll never make a fortune, John.” “Depends on what you mean by a fortune. And I don’t want to, if it means coming to such an end as Joes, John said gravely. “It wasn’t finance sent Joe off his head,” Martendale rejoined quickly. “It was his wife, with her extravagance and her tantrums. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth, and though he was always infatuated with her, it was like living with a whirlwind. Just wore him down till his mind gave way. But it’s we who have to suffer for it, unless we can weather the storjn, as 1 said.” . “Well, what’s this Rodin got to do with it?” “He’s in with us —or we with him —to the neck. Though as you’re such achild in these matters, as someone used to say—l don’t suppose you’d understand if I tried to explain. 11l leave that to Rodin. He’s anxious to meet you.” “Me? Why, what can he know about me? ” x t aThe quick question momentarily aisconcerted Martendale. “I rang him up in the lunch interval. He’s dining with me at my place tonight, and I wish you’d come along too. You’ll have to meet him sooner or later, ; and the sooner the better. And why not put up at the flat for a few days, anyhow? I’d be jolly glad if you would.” “Can’t. Thanks all the same. You forget Cyril and Nancy. I dread to meet them, but I’ve got to stand by them. They may be here any moment now.” He spoke with a decision that forbade any further argument, and rose, glancing at the clock. Martendale took the hint, arid at long last rose to depart. “Then I’d better push off before they come. I don’t know ’em at all, .poor kids—haven’t-set eyes on them for years. See you to-morrow morning, then? And we’li fix up an early meeting with Rodin.” “And if there’s anything whatever I can do, you know, you’ve only got to i say so,” he added out in the hall, as I Tattam helped him don his fur-lined overcoat. “Where can I get you on the ’phone if necessary”. Here, or at your hotel?” “Here. You’ve sent for my things, Tattam?” “Yes, sir, They’re in your room, the one next Mr. Cyril’s.” “Just as well to be on the spot,” Martendale remarked. “You might give my love to the poor kids, John. I don’t want ’em to think of me as a sort of bogey—wicked uncle and all that, don’t you know ! My car there ?” “Waiting, my lord,” said Tattam at the open door. “Right oh! Good night, John.” He went heavily down the steps to the big car. Just in time, for as it moved off the other arrived. John ran down, opened the door before the chauffeur could alight, and Nancy tumbled out into his arms, and clung to him sobbing. “John—oh, John!” He had never been “uncle” to her and Cyril, when they were such pals on that joyous visit years ago, though she was then only ten and Cyril twelve. He carried her in as if she had been a baby, kissed her heartily, and set her down, A pathetic little person in her trim blue school suit, small and slight for her age, with a white, woebegone j face and red eyes.

The others followed, and he turned to greet Cyril, as Miriam slipped her arm round Nancy’s shoulders and led her away. “Hullo, John,” Cyril said quietly. ( “Hullo, Cyril.” That was all, just then. English to the backbone, in moments of emotion they were both utterly inarticulate. Bui j the grip of their hands was more eloquent than words. - The boy had grown rapidly since John last saw him, tall and manly-looking for his age, as Nancy was short and childish , for hers. Very like his handsome mother, with her chestnut hair, clear skin, bright , and usually merry blue eyes. Now his young face was pale and drawn, expressionless as a mask, mute evidence of the self-restraint he was exerting. Only his blue eyes seemed alive, and in them John ; saw such horror and fear —deadly fear as he had never yet seen on any human . face. 1 CHAPTER 7. TATTAM’S DISCOVERY. . Miriam Cave took charge of the situa- I tion, to John’s immense relief. Her quiet, ; self-possessed, matter-of-fact manner, her loving sympathy with and understanding of the bereaved youngsters, un- . expressed in words, but none the less eloquent, rendered her a most comforting presence. They all went through to her workroom, very inviting and home-like, with the big fire and the high tea Tattam had prepared for them. By tacit consent they avoided any direct reference to the tragedy that overshadowed them. Cyril maintained absolute silence, mechanically ate and drank what was set before him, then rose and went out, returned immediately with a copy of the Evening Standard, and sat down by the fire, holding the paper so that it concealed his face as he read. Nancy made a gallant effort to control herself and take part in the low-toned, desultory talk on such safe topics as school, John’s voyage, and his African farm. After tea she snuggled into a big chair beside Miriam and fell fast asleep, worn out with the grief and emotion of that long day. “Let me carry her up to bed,? John suggested. “Yes, do,” said Miriam. "She’s to sleep in my room. I had her bed taken in, for she will be glad of company when she wakes, poor child.” . , She led the way up the staircase, switching on the lights as she went. The silence that brooded over the great house was awe-inspiring. . , “You’ll come down again? John asked, in an undertone, when he had laid half-awakened Nancy on the bed, and kissed her good night. Miriam shook her head. “I must stay with her. But you 11 go back to Cyril? I’m very anxious about him.” , ~ “So am I. He’s taking it hardly, poor Jad -” x t . He glanced back as he went out, and saw the reflection of her fair face, pale and tired, but animated with such tender compassion, as she bent over her for- , lorn young charge. What a wonderful girl! This time yesterday he had not known of her existence, and to-night they were like old and tried friends, so near in sympathy that they seemed to understand each Other almost without speech. Since their talk last night he had only exchanged a very few words with her, after the inquest, at which she had given her evidence more clearly and intelligibly than any of the other witnesses, not even excepting old Tattam. When John re-entered the room downstairs he found Tattam alone there, clearing the table. . “Mr. Cyril’s gone up to bed, sir. ai ' least, that’s what I made him out to say. It’s been an awful shock to, him, no wonder. Such a merry boy he’s always been, just like my lady. I declare I should 'hardly have known him if I’d i met him in the street with that dreadful look on his face. And it’s hard to know what to do or say when he won’t speak i a word or even look at you. Doesn’t ' seem hardly to know that you’re there ’ at all!” ' , vx t ■ “I’ll go up to him presently, but 1 think it’s kinder to leave him to him- [■ self 'for a bit,” said John, seating himi self wearily. “God knows, I want to comfort him, but how to begin I.dont t know.” , “I say, Tattam, why don’t you let somei one else clear those things? You’ll be I knocking yourself up next, and that will > never do.” “Oh, I’m all right, sir. Better when 1 keep going, for I can’t bring myself to sit down and rest, just at present, with ' my mind working in a whirl, as you , may say. Besides, there’s no one else at band except cook and Mrs. Higgins the . housekeeper, and it’s not their work. ’ (To be continued).