Chipstead of the Lone Hand

Taranaki Daily News, 5 June 1935, Page 13

Chipstead of the Lone Hand

(By

Sydney Horlor)

CHAPTER XXVIII' (continued). The eyes seemed to be looking straight into her mind. They were cold, hard, devilish. They held her in a fascinated state of horror, so that resistance became impossible. She. tried to break away, to turn to rush towards the door, but the 9 hand on her arm now tightened. “I shall have great pleasure in escorting’ you,” she heard the man say; By this time she was in a sort of stupor, and her state of bewilderment was increased by feeling something sharp, like the prick of a needle, entering, the flesh of her arm. Now the conviction that she was in the greatest danger crowded upon her. She tried again to struggle, but gradually the drowsiness became overpowering and she sank beneath it. The last recollection she had was of recoiling from those hard, callous eyes. CHAPTER XXIX. THE CHATEAU OF SHAME. At the cross-roads where the country took a sudden dip downwards, Fouquieres signalled his driver to stop. “We are getting near, my friend,” he,said to Chipstead. His strong, eager, anticipatory voice was in curious contrast to the melancholy moaning of the wind as it came screeching across the adjacent wastes. “We may draw a blank—have our journey for nothing.” Bunny was chilled in mind as well as body. Ever since he. had taken ,up this affair, he felt he had been chasing phantoms; and now, with his spirits .at low ebb, this early mdrnin'g raid took oh an almost ridiculous aspect. Might it not be all a fake? Were they, like so. many simpletons, walking into a trap that had been baited very ingeniously for them? Fouquieres, puffing at a cigar of almost ferocious strength, gave a low, chuckling laugh. “You are like the professional boxer just before he enters the ring. You are distrait . , . but wait until the gong sounds . . . Ah, then! For myself, I would not miss this for anything.” “Even though'you may be killed.” It was in»?ossible to shake off his gloom. So many things had gone wrong. Even the special men Fouquieres had instruct- - ed fo watch the Continental Hotel where “Pearson” had been staying; according to the young American actor, Upton, had brought back no news. The man had not returned to the hotel,. Then he was worried about Susan. Had his letters miscarried or what was. the reason she had not written? The chief of police by his side was continuing to talk. “We have ten men besides ourselves; it should, be enough. As I have already told you, this fastness of our friends is a derelict chateau. It has ’ been uninhabited for upwards of a hundred years. A fiendish triple murder was committed there by its last occupant, the Marquis de Malvail who was the end .of his line, and since then the house, has been shunned. ‘ No one would buy or even rent it—The Disguiser, if it is he whom we are to meet to-night, has made an admirable choice. Another half-an-hour and we shall be there.” The car in which the speaker and Chip- . stead were riding and which led the way —the other two cars followed at distances of two hundred yards between each—plunged now into a , sea of blackness. Impenetrable darkness closed, them in on every side, and the shifting shadows caused by the car’s headlights strengthened the impression that they were crossing the threshold into a world unreal and bizarre. , "Ma foi, but a good setting for crime!” exclaimed Fouquieres. He spoke with relish, as a connoisseur delighted with a “find.” . “Is the place near here, then?” asked Chipstead. He mentally agreed with his companion that the scene was appropriate enough, but his present mood made him hate the darkness. . “It is there,” replied Fouquieres, with dramatic effect: “The Chateau of Shame.” The car had now left the heart of the wood through which they, had penetrated and had come to a great open space. This was dominated by a gaunt, unkempt, disordered mass of masonry that, in the uncertain light, looked as squalid as its

designation. . 1 “The Chateau of Shame,” repeated Bunny; "well, it looks like it.”

Fouquieres made no answer; he was • too busy.' He had ordered his driver to stop, and leave the ; car in the shadows. Soon the other cars drew up silently and the detectives they carried stepped out. Casting an eye over them, Chipstead liked their demeanour. They held themselves well/and looked hard-bitten. But, then, the very fact that they worked under Fouquieres was evidence enough of their general ability. The police chief addressed them briefly. "Once inside—-and Monsieur Chipstead and I will guarantee to get you inside—you know what to do,” he said. “If the rats are there, as I expect,, you will hunt them. - And do not be too merciful. For these are rats who carry poison in their . jaws; *if they bite you they will kill.” Almost offensively melodramatic Chipstead decided the words were: he wished Fouquieres wouldn’t be such an ass. He ■ yawned; he was wearied almost beyond expression. When in the hell was something going to happen? Fouquieres led the way forward. He stopped outside a huge door set in an immensely thick wall which stood at ' least ten feet high. “Who is the best climber?” he asked.

“Someone must get over the wall and ' open this door which of course is locked. It will save us much time—and time is valuable. We should have brought a telescopic ladder. The top of the wall may be protected.” He broke off his remarks. One of his listeners had evidently become' impatient for he left the crowd. Halting about a dozen yards from the wall, Chipstead commenced to run forward. His hands glinted. “He has the gloves of steel,” Fouquieres told himself, quietly chuckling;

“now watch.” He, like the others, saw the British Secret Service man leap upwards. He rose in the air as though some hidden force was propelling him. The hands which carried a pale gleam, as though they were washed by moonlight, gripped the top of the ten-feet wall—gripped and held.

For a moment or so ths figure of the man who had done such a surprising athletic feat, hung as though the hands had been impaled, and then slowly it was diawn up. A few moments later was heard a faint crash. Chipstead had been the first to enter the Chateau of Shame . . . " “He jumps like a stag,” said the police chief. Fouquieres knew a good deal concerning Chipstead, but he did not knowhow could he?—that Bunny had been a world-crack over the hurdles in his youth. He waited expectantly outside the huge door. There was a creaking of bolts, a loud click—and it swung backwards. Beyond was a gloom that, might have come from the nethermost pit, “The place is a wilderness; if this is a hoax, we shall, look pretty fools,” said the man who held the door. It seemed that nothing could shatter Fouquieres* imperturbability. •

“This lock,” he said; “you have noticed how well-oiled it is. ( The bolts, too, are they rusty? You know they are not. My friend, the has sounded and you have already leapt into the ring.” “Not yet,” was the reply; “we have to negotiate that yet,” and he pointed to the dark, sullen-shaped building a couple of hundred yards ahead. “No lights must be shown, Fouquieres; give the orders; they may be expecting us.” . The police chief instructed that no pocket-torches should be used. He agreed with Chipstead; in that jungle of blackness the slightest' gleam of light would show- up with startling clearness. “We had better separate and surround the place. The first to find a reasonable chance of entry to tell the rest;” Fouquieres agreed a second time and issued the order. If he felt any resentment at Chipstead taking over the command he gave no sign.

The grounds appeared extensive. They were rank and foul yrith neglect. The grass rose in places knee high. In some places bushes formed a veritable barricade. Those gloves had been of splendid help. Made of the finest flexible steel mesh, they had saved his hands from laceration on the top of the wall. Every now and then, as he advanced, he could hear smothered oaths coming from the men to the right and left of him.

Presently he found himself alone. The others must have obeyed the order to spread themselves out; He had advanced in a straight line and now ; stood practically opposite what had been once the great entrance to the chateau. How many beautiful ,women must have passed there? In such a setting, Susan . . . Hell! He mustn’t think of Susan now; he had work to do. His mood had changed. Zest had come. Although the chances were that, through The Disguiser’s damnable cunning, they were thrusting their heads into a trap, yet, somehow, he felt that his luck had changed. All through his life—not that he imagined he was different to anyone else —things ran like that. In cycles. There would be a period in which nothing would possibly go fight. With so much luck knocking about the world not a single morsel came his way. Hdw many times during the War had he cursed the ill-fated star under which some fool of a superstitious woman had once assured him he had been bom . . .

But these barren stretches, in which it seemed that circumstances were conspiring to make a fool of him, were sometimes quickly succeeded by occasions, all too brief, of course-rwhen he climbed almost to the top of the - world. Glorious snatches of joy, these! What was to be his luck that night? Good or bad? If good, he would be free to return to England the next day perhaps, to see Susan, to hold her in his arms .. . But'if bad? He shook from his face a crawling, slimy abomination, and gave that, question no further thought. It was too dangerous. He looked round, expecting to find Fouquieres at his elbow, but he was still alone. He was rather glad; he wanted to do something on his own. A foolish thought, perhaps, but he still found it galling to realise that in this, the most important job of his career, he had been forced to call in outside help. True, he had paid Fouquieres back in some measure, but—Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. He had reached a flag-stoned pathway by now. His feet slipped on the mouldy and uneven surface as he crossed it to get to the flight of steps which led up to the front door.

These steps, like the pathway, were slippery, being overgrown with the rank products of neglect. If he could have seen, Bunny knew they would have looked green and loathsome. Evidently they had not been used for a very long time.

The impression that, if there was an orthodox entrance to the chateau, this couldn’t be the one, was confirmed when he reached the front door. The wood smelled unpleasant, and had the appearance of having grown in with the structure at. either side. It would not give to pressure. He must find another way, for this door could not be opened from the outside. The return journey down the steps, brief as it was, called for special caution. A twisted or broken ankle now would be the very devil, and the chances of sustaining such a casualty were at least fifty-fifty. He reached the bottom safely, however, and turning to the left, and keeping in the shadow of the wall, he found a sudden break in the masonry. The front steps must have been built over an archway- . ~ It was so intensely dark in this confined space that he might have becomeblind. ■ It was impossible to see anything. In order to feel more freely, he took off his steel gloves and pushed them into his pocket. The groping fingers of his right hand touched what apparently was the handle of a door. This was possibly an entry into what had been the servants’ quarters and lower regions of the chateau.

Would it yield? His hand had tightened into a grip when there came a dramatic interruption. Someone was approaching; his ears had caught the sound of a footstep. With the quickness of thought, he turned aside and, hugging the wall with his shoulders, pressed into a corner where the gloom was thickest.. Soon a dark shape resolved itself. The thought that the softly-stepping one might be an agent of Fouquieres was soon dispelled. The man, walking forward unhesitatingly, rapped on the door three times. Barely a foot separated them. Burny felt himself stifling because of the inability to breath freely. But he glowed with satisfaction. Fouquieres had been doubly right: the chateau would yield something; and, once action promised, he would forget everything else and be his old self again. And now action did promise. Those raps had a significance—there had been a longish pause between -the first and second, but scarcely any wait between the second and third.

The sound of that last rap had scarcely died away when Bunny heard a Sound as of a shutter being opened. He then saw revealed through a small grill the face of a man. This was illumined by the gleam of a lantern the man was holding up. It was true then that there were people inside the chateau and that they took precaution to admit only those who were in their confidence. The few sentences that followed, evidently secret passwords, were whispered so low that Bunny could not catch them. Then there was a pause and the shutter of the grille was closed down. Was the man to be admitted? Not yet, evidently, for he was able to hear footsteps going away from the door. Bunny now did Some quick thinking. Luck was lending him some cards. There was only one way into the chateau and that was through this door—which might soon be opened! There must be one of two reasons why the man should be waiting. Either he was to be admitted after the doorkeeper had returned from apparently consulting with his superiors, or he was to be the recipient of a message. The former theory was more likely. A decision sharp and taut came into Bunny’s mind: He must enter in this man’s place! To do this, the other must be silenced. Immediately.

(To be continued.)