The House in the Way

Taranaki Daily News, 5 September 1935, Page 15

The House in the Way

By

Colin Hope

CHAPTER ONE (continued). “He hasn’t had all the bad luck,” put in another of the party. “I’ve dropped nearly ten pounds to-night, and I m not moaning.” „ , ! At first it seemed that Frank was going to stay to argue over .the suggestion that he had “moaned, but with astute generalship the leader of the three card flayers, whose name’ seemed to be George, laughed away his protests and hurried him out into the night. Chichester was inclined to follow the youth. He would ’iave given much for a few more minutes with the girl, but he knew that there would probably be something of a scene when Frank met his sister, and he had no wish to participate. He would, of course, have liked to protect the girl from her brother’s petulant anger, but he was sure that she was well able to look after herself, and it was probable that she would not welcome his interference. The three card players left The Whip singly, but Chicherter guessed that they met again outside the inn and he watched the barman closely for any sign that would help to confirm his suspicion that Harry, too, was in league with the strangers. CHAPTER TWO. A CRY IN THE NIGHT. The last rustic had scarcely left the public bar when Chichester bade his host good-night and retired to the only spare bedroom The Whip .possessed, and although he went early to bed it was not long before he was sound asleep. He slept soundly for about three hours and then awoke suddenly. He had schooled himself to awake at any desired time and he noted with satisfaction that the illuminated dial of his watch showed that he still had five minutes to spare. He had intended rising at. two o’clock.

He lay for a few minutes listening intently. When he was satisfied that nobody was about, he rose and dressed swiftly. Then he raised the window and swung over the sill. The sash made no noise, for he had greased it well earlier in the day.

The roof of a lean-to shed beneath the window made it easy for him to close the window before dropping the few feet to the ground. Once again he paused, his eyes searching the darkened inn yard for a sign of movement, his ears carefully attuned to catch the slightest sound. At last he was satisfied. He crossed the yard, vaulted the low wall and hurried along the road .which led. to the house where he had met the girl the previous evening.

From time to time he stopped and drew into the deeper shadows to make sure that he was not followed, but there was no sound to indicate that anybody but he was abroad. Although there was not the slightest evidence that he was being watched, he did not relax his vigilance, but hugged .the shadow of the trees, and, where possible, walked soundlessly on the grass verge. He seemed to cover the ground without any visible effort, just gliding along like some indefinite shadow. Once, when a meadow gate fidgeted gently in the breeze, he stopped and whirled about in a split second, and then dropped soundlessly to the ground. Not for several minutes did he move again, but lay perfectly still, tense, ready for whatever might come. . The previous evening he had done the journey in little over half-an-hour. This time, because of his infinite caution, he was fully an hour longer. When he passed the house occupied by the girl and her brother, his caution increased. His object, a house a little further along the lane, loomed darkly against the night sky. Chichester had made the journey twice before and he knew just how to approach the house. He made a detour just beyond the girl’s house, wormed his way cautiously across the open meadow and so came to the high hedge which bounded the grounds of the second house, “The Wychets” it w’as named.

The Wychets stood well back from the lane, and was surrounded by several acres of ground. A speculative builder, long since gathered to his fathers, had built the house—to be one of many—with the idea of selling it to a well-to-do city man with a desire for a reasonably priced country week-end house. The boom which had given birth to the builder’s idea had been replaced by a depression before the house was completed and potential customers had been few and far between. The house had stood unsold, unlet, and unwanted for a long time until at last it had been taken by a Mr. Singster, who let it be known that he was a retired chemist with a passion ror research, i Little was known of Mr. Singster or of his researches. Tradesmen had reported that his servants were a particularly uncivil lot, not given to answering questions or to welcoming the opportunity to exchange the small talk with those delivering goods to the house. Mr. Stevens, the local butcher, . had gone so far as to express the opinion that the servants had the appearance of a gang of gaol-birds. The opinion had been expressed to a few of his cronies in the bar parlour of The Whip, but it had apparently reached the ears of somebody at The Wychets, for on the following day Mr. Stevens was told that he need not call at the house again for orders.

All of this Chichester knew—he knew a good deal more in fact, about the occupants of The Wychets—and as he crouched at the side of the hedge he wondered how much more he was to learn before they realised that he was greatly interested in their doings if they did not already know. As he waited, considering his next move, he heard a sound that sent his heart into his boots. Soft feet padded over the grass on the other side of the hedge and a dog sniffed suspiciously. Chichester cursed beneath his breata. Here was a complication for which he had not bargained. The dog, or dogs, if there were more than one, could be silenced, but to do that would be to reveal his activities to the inmates of the house. Even if the dog was not vicious—and he w s sure that it was—just a bark would be enough to bring men from the house to inquire the cause. He began to fear there was little

Author of the “ Phantom Killer.”

chance of his learning much more without revealing himself, and to do this would be to spoil all his hopes of success.

Another „ night he could come prepared. A little drugged meat or even a chloroform pad might enable him to silence the animal for a short while without the occupants of the house being any the wiser, but Chichester had no desire to wait for another night. Every delay meant added danger to himself and to his plan.

The dog had evidently detected him, for if was directly opposite to him on the other side of the hedge, straining as far as possible through the tangle oi branches and whining softly. Guy knew it was only a matter of minutes before the whine developed into short, snappy barks, and then into a fullthroated growl. His journey had been in vain. There was nothing he could do but return to the inn and come hotter equipped another time. The dog’s increasing impatience warned him that the sooner he went the better and, with a sigh of resignation, he began his return creep over the open meadow. Scarcely had he reached the front of the girl’s house—The Oaks—when the sound of the opening or closing of a window reached his ears. This was no false alarm. The peculiar squeak of a moving sash was unmistakable. He froze into the shadow and waited. The sound seemed to come from The Oaks, and he wondered what Frank or his sister could be doing at a window at such an hour. Had he not been so much on guard he might have laughed at his fears. Surely it was no unusual thing for a window to be opened—even at five a.m. He had almost made up his mind that there was no cause for alarm, and was about to resume his journey, when the night was split by the sound of a shrill scream. There was no doubt this time. The sound certainly came from The Oaks. Chichester threw caution to the winds. He was sure that the girl was in danger—what danger he did not know, could not guess. He crossed the road in a flash and vaulted the low fence, his eyes searching in the dim light for an open window. The front windows all appeared closed, and he hurried around to the rear. As he ran, kis eye caught a movement in the shrubb/y and he started towards it. Started, but never reached his objective, for as he passed one of the large oaks which gave the house its name, there was a movement behind him. He whirled to meet the new menace, but too late. . A shattering blow descended on the side of his head and he fell like a poleaxed steer. CHAPTER THREE. THE FACE IN THE DARK. Guy was not the only one who heard the sound of the moving sash in the night. Frank Fanshaw had slept but little. The affair at The Whip had unsettled him, and although he knew he had been very much in the wrong, he would not admit it even to himself. He blamed Netta, his sister; he blamed Guy Chichester and he blamed his bad luck that he had lost money that he and Netta could ill afford to lose. He had some suspicions about the honesty of the three men with whom he had played cards, but because he had been unable to detect anything wrong, he was prepared to defend their integrity against all comers. If he admitted they had fleeced him, it would be tantamount to an admission of his own gullibility—and that was the last thing he was prepared to concede.

There had been something of a scene when the pair had arrived home. Netta had chided him for wasting the money and he had been particularly sore because she had interrupted the game at The Whip and because she had shown how lightly she rated him as a man of the world.

A desire to be a man among his elders is common to all youths and in Frank the desire was even greater than in the average. All i.. all, he considered himself very badly done by, and throughout the greater part of the night he turned and tossed. The disquiet of his mind would not allow him to rest and it was not until the early hours of the morning that he fell into a light, troubled sleep. Thus it was that he heard the window open and the scream which closely followed. Although half awake at the time, it was some minutes before he appreciated the -ignificance of the sounds, drew on some clothes and hurried to his sister’s room. There was no electric light or gas at the house, but he carried a powerful torch, and with the light of this he saw the form of Netta lying inert, half out of bed.

He lit a lamp and lifted her on to the bed. As he did so the girl’s eyes opened, and she shuddered. ■ “Oh, it was awful, Frank,” she murmured.

With all his faults—faults that are shared by many adolescents —Frank was really intensely fond of his sister. She was his only living relative, and the bonds between them were very strong. “It’s all right, old girl," he said, soothingly. “Take it easy and then tell me what it is all about.” He looked about the room. The window was still blowing in the early morning breeze. A chair near the bed had been oVerturned and there were muddy footprints on the carpet. He turned his attention again to Netta. She was fast regaining consciousness and was struggling to rise. “Get me a glass of water, Frank, she said, “and close that window. I shall be all right now. It was silly of me to go off like that.” Frank did as he was told and the girl soon revived and dressed. The youth had no further inclination to sleep and he pressed her for an account of the occurrence.

“Were it not for the fact that the window was open at the bottom, I should think it was just a nightmare,” she began. “I didn’t sleep very well. I was worried about you, especially about last night, and I lay thinking about all sorts of unpleasant things for a long while. THE MAN AT THE WINDOW. “It must have been about three o’clock before I fell asleep and it seemed

only a few minutes later when I was awakened by the sound of the window opening. I could just dimly see the shape of a man’s head and shoulders and almost before I could think what to do, he was in the room and standing over me. “I don’t think I was very frightened then, for I don’t know why anybody should want to harm us, and if it was a burglar,” she laughed ruefully, “he would get a very poor haul here. “I managed to find enough courage to flash my torch in his face, and it must have been then I screamed. Oh, Frank, his face was terrible, even now I shudder to think of it—” "Face terrible! What do you mean?” (To be continued).