Chipstead of the Lone Hand

Taranaki Daily News, 3 June 1935, Page 13

Chipstead of the Lone Hand

(By

Sydney Horlor)

CHAPTER XXVI. (continued.) "WhV?” , The other was stirred. Bunny, regarding him closely, decided that at one time this man might have been a gentleman. . “Because if he’s the Same man as I have in mind, yOUr brother is dead—murdered by order of the very person whose orders you were endeavouring to Carry Out td-night.” "Murdered—Jacob. . . Tell me everything you know! ... I implore you!” “I’ll make a bargain with you,” was the reply; "if you agree to give me confidence for confidence —well, then, I’ll talk. Brit not otherwise.” ' “What is' it you wish to know?” gasped the man. His face was white and drawn. ; “Who was it instructed you and the other man to murder me to-night? Was it The Disguiser?” A spasm of terror convulsed the other’s face. “Yds,” he replied in a whisper. “For what purpose?” "He wanted some papers which he thought you might be carrying. Besides, you were in his way. We followed I you from the Haussmann Club.” "Is The Disguiser how in Paris?"

"I cannot’ tell you that; WO never know Where he is—the orders come through someone else.” The interrogatory continued. “Do you 'know the man who calls himself "Pearson?” The man who was at the Haussmann Club to-night?” “He is the man who gives the orders.” “The Disguiser has headquarters in Paris?” • "Yes—but, my God! You must not ' ask me to say where they are. I’m afraid—afraid—l tell you.” His questioner nodded. ■ “I can understand you being afraid of your brother’s murderer,” he said. The man held up his manacled Wrists. "Tell fne!” he pleaded. “When you have given me the address of. The Disguiser’s headquarters—not before.” • v “No I—damn you, don’t torture me! I can’t tell you! I—” the voice trailed off. Silence followed; he had fainted. Bunny unlocked the handcuffs and started restorative methods. Within five minutes the man had come round. “Are you strong enough to hear what happened to your brother? Do you feel Up to it? Don’t trouble to talk for a minute or so; just nod.” The man inclined his head. "A week or so ago, a man, a Complete stranger, burst into my rooms in London. He insisted upon seeing me. When we stood fate to face he asked me my name—arid I was forced to call my butler in order that my identity Should be fully established. After he was satisfied, this man, who bore an extraordinary facial resemblance to you, handed me & packet containing papers. He to id he had procured them at the risk of his life and had brought them to me for safe keeping.” ■“Why to you? Who are you?” “I am by way of being a detective. The other question I am unable Ito answer. No doubt your brother had his

- i Tesson. / “Naturally, I tried to question him, but he was like a man terrified nut of his life. He would not stay, but promised if I would give him another twenty-tour hours, during which time he proposed to make certain investigations, he would tell me the whole story. Ho made an appointment tor me to meet him in Hyde Park the following evening. When I arrived at the spot, I found a dead man sitting on the seat—your brother had been stabbed through the heart. You are in the best position for knowing that the man for whom you Work ordered his destruction.” A groan came from the listener. “M’sieur,” he said; “I will fill in some of the blanks. The man who came to you—why I do not know—was my brother; it must have been my brother; no other two men in the world could be so much alike as he and I. We are twins, our name is Larouche. end we came from Geneva. “Early to life my brother Jacob wished to be a detective. He made- my father ' first smile and z then become angry. But in the end he had his way; he became a crime investigator. "Have you ever pondered on the irony of life, M’sieur? Consider the present case; whilst my brother Jacob rose to be a detective, I—sunk to be a criminal! I was a bank-clerk—and. a secret gambler. ’ Forgery was my downfall. When discovered, I was sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment. But I never served that term; the person who had resolved to make use of me saw to that. By a master-piece of audacious planning I was taken out of my prison cell ” “By the man who called himself The

Dis^uis6r? ,> 1 “By his orders. But I have said ’■ enough, M’sieur; lam tired . . He put a hand to his lips ... , A few seconds later, Chipstead sprang forward. The man’s face was ghastly; his body was racked with agony. V “Poison,” whispered Larouche—and fell back dead! CHAPTER XXVII. THE CIPHER SOLVED. For a few moments Chipstead blamed himself for the tragedy. Then he shook his mind free of the charge. If the death of this man was to be laid at the door of anyone, The Disguiser was responsible. / But why had Larouche suddenly decided to take his life? Bunny imagined he knew; it must have been because he considered /himself in some way the cause of the death of his brother. Jacob Larouche, he must have felt, was murdered through his instrumentality. If Ohly the man had lived a little longer. .That Larouche knew the vital secret, the information for which could have led him to the lai- of The Disguiser, Bunny was convinced. But rather than betray the man through whose influence he had become a _rat of the underworld, he chose death. Fear of his employer had united fiecely with reproach. Whilst he was wondering what he could do with the corpse, the telephone ran.

“Is it you, Chipstead?” called an excited voice. “I am at my flat and Dupresne is with me. I wish you to come along without delay!” “At this time of the morning?” “Certainement. I have nows of the utmost importance. My friend, I urge you not to delay.” “Oh, all right.” Carefully locking the sitting-room door, and putting the key into his pocket, Bunny walked quickly down the stairs and into the street. Signalling a prowling taxi, he stepped ten minutes later into the rooms of the Chief of Secret Police. M. Fouquieres was in the wildest state Of excitement. “Congratulate me mon ami; wd have succeeded. I knew Dupresne would not fail us; he has solved the cipher!, Smoke a cigarette--! will have him in. When the cipher-expert appeared from another room he looked aS though he had not slept for weeks. He was unshaved, his hair had not been brushed, his clothes were incredibly untidy. But the eyes behind the precarious pincenez bleamed like a conqueror’s. “Monsieur,” he said with Napoleonic simplicity, “I have accomplished what

I promised. The cipher has yielded up its secrets.” . “Splendid! I congratulate you, M. Dupresne,” replied This little paunchy man must be a wizard at his job. He was desperately anxious to know what the packet contained, but the splver was not to be thrown off his hobby-horse; M. Dupresne was Off in full cry. "The lexican system of writing ciphers —of which the . packet handed to me was a very efficient example—presupposes the existence of a similar dictionary in the possession of each correspondent. Gross, in his monumental work on Criminal Investigation, points this out very clearly. In such dictionaries, the pages are usually printed in double columns. In writing the cipher each word first of all is looked up in the dictionary, but, instead of the word found being used, the word in the same line Of the Same page but in the neighbouring column is taken. “Now, Messieur, once having obtained possession of this fact, all that I had need to do, yOu would say, of course, was tb discover the dictionary. But I need scarcely inform you that in this case no dictionary was forthcoming. “But I was not beaten—l could not, I darOd not be beaten! In iriy office I had two dozen dictionaries recognised td be used by criminals. I had to try them all, and all but one proved useless. With the twenty-fourth I was mote fortunate. Even then, if, after Gross and one other, I had not been the foremost authority in the world, I should not have entirely succeeded. As it is, however, I have been able to unravel all these dark mysteries.” “Good man!” remarked Bunny, with a glance at the Paris Polite Chief; “and now I should rather like to hear what they are.” . Fouquieres took his turn to burst into speech. ' “You remember I told you I was perturbed by a problem, mOn chCr Chipstead?” “Yes. Some master-forger was at work, did not you say, flooding the world with false French, American, English and Venezuelan bank notes. Well?” “Well!” echoed Fouquieres, rising and thumping the palm of his left hand With his right clenched flat in his excitement; “this document,” Snatching a number of-typed pages from the willing gtaSp Of Dupresne, the cipher-solver, “is an exposure of the complete organisation—the number of falsO notes issued, where they'were sent, hOW they are to be distributed— everything! It is a complete guide issued apparently to the leading members of the gang. Mon vleux, I am the happiest man in the world.” . . “With one exception!” came a spirited expostulation. “Ah, I forgot you, Dupresne. You must have the prior claim, of course. “And now I will contribute,’! remarked Chipstead. FouQUterss looked his visitor. “Explain yourself, mon ami.” “The last time I saw you, Fouquieres, you remarked that perhaps. I should not be allowed to get back to England. You remember I scoffed at the suggestion.” "You did. ■ But that was your courageous spirit—” "It wasn't; it was merely my temper. Well, maitre, you were right; an attempt has already been made 1 on my life.” “Mon dieu! But where? When?”

“To-night—or rather this morning—in the Place de la Concorde. I had been with a friend to the Haussmann Club, and, When leaving, we were followed. Two men Sprang on us with knives. My pal developed a surprising spirit of pugnacity and almost croaked one of the men whilst I attended to the other. As it happened I was carrying a sword-stick —” “It is the romantic temperament, that you possess, my idear Chipstead; you return, another d’Artagnan, to set Paris humming with your prowess.” “Just as you like,” was the crisp comment; “but this isn’t the first time I’ve found a sword-stick come in useful. I pinked my man in the arm, and he vanished. 1 thought I’d take the other home and see if I coulto’t get something out of him.” Bunny broke off: “I’ll give you three guesses who this man proved to be.” • The Police Chief made a gesture which would have reminded a previous generation of i that flamboyant actor-genius, Beerbohm Treei "Not the man With the wart? Tell me!” he almost screamed. “You forget the man with the wart is unfortunately dead.” “Mon dieu! What am I saying? I mean somgpne connected with that dead one?” “The man I took back to my flat an hour ago was his brother—and now he, too, is dead.” ... .. „„ “Dead! But did you kill him? “He killed himself. After a'dmitting he was in the employ of The Disguiser, who had made him a forger: don’t forgot that, FoUquieres, he took a tablet of poison from his pocket and was dead almost instantaneously. I should rather like to know what I am to do with the corpse. Fouquieres waved a hand,

“Dupresne ” “Non! I am not an undertaker!” A shrill cry of protest broke from the cipher expert. ' “Non! I am not an undertaker!’, “Quiet, little one ... but I will see to that.” Turning again to Chipstead: “You see that I was correct, mon ami; we each had a problem; and each has helped the other to the solution. Voila! The Disguiser is not only the kidnapper of Sir Robert Heddingly, but he is also connected with the' gang 6f forgers.” “Probably the head,” agreed Bunny; “that accounts, perhaps, for his lying low so long. He was flooding the world with spurious money. Do you know what I think, maitre?” “I prepare myself to be dazzled by brilliance,” replied Fouquieres very seriously. “I have told you that the man who poisoned himself in my flat declared himself to be the brother of the unknown who handed me- this cipher in London and who subsequently I found murdered in Hyde Park. It appears that they were twins (which probably accounts for the extraordinary likeness), and whilst Jacob —the one who dropped in on me in Lon-don-decided to be a detective, the othei went into a bank. Oh, I forgot to add that they were Swiss and that their home town was Geneva, It was ironical that one should go chasing the other, but so well aS I can reckon it up it strikes me that the crook either lost his copy of the firm’s instructions —which M. Dupresne has so cleverly deciphered-which was found by his detective brother or that the latter obtained it by threat or some other violent means. It was when he realised after what I told him to-night that his brother had been murdered because of this that the man committed SU “No doubt you are right, my friend—but our concern is with the living and not with the dead. You have to find Sir Robert Heddingly whilst I have to find The Disguiser.” "You appear to forget that I also have a slight interest in that gentleman. And it seems to me that before we can hope to find him we have to know where he can be found. I was hoping to get, that out Of Larouche, but he killed himself before I had the chance. In any case I

don’t think he would have betrayed th 4 brute—like the rest, he appeared tod afraid.” He became mildly sarcastic. "I don’t suppose you happen to have the address of this gang’s headquarters?” Fouquieres roared with laughter. “Ma foi! But, Of course! And we are going there! You and I, mon ami—not Dupresne; his stomach prevents him being a fighter.” “And my common-sense,” commented the cipher-solver drily. (To be continued).