THREE

Taranaki Herald, Volume LIV, Issue 13634, 13 April 1908, Page 6

THREE

MEN ANDA MAID.

BY EOBERT FRASER.

[OOPTBIGHT.]

Published by Special Arrangement

CHAPTER XlV.— Continued

To his credit be it recorded. Winter was concerned with Philip Warren's grief of the morrow rather than Hannah's present victory. But stress of thought never controlled his tongue or his lace. He met Hannah's simpler quite genially. "Capital!" ho said. "Now, if Mr. Warren is really in the tower, and you could manage to find that ring of his — the one your sister lost, you know — and give it to him, he might foll6w her, and several most interesting people "would bo made happy." "King! What ring?" And Hannah .became . shrewish again. ' "Haven't you ljeard? I made sure Miss Marjorie would have told you. A plain, gold ring. v,ith a seal " "Oh, that? Yes, I heard some fuss. But what nonsense you talk. Mr. Warren will be caught, and tried for inujrder,, unless you policemen bungle again." "You never can tell. It's the queerest •" world,, Miss Neyland. You are judging by the coroner's inquest, of course; but affairs might assxime a very v different aspect in a court of law* f T}he. law is an ass, you know, and I admit that we policemen do often bungle." "What *a funny sort of detective you must -be. , If Mr. Warren didn't kill the J3quire, who did P" "That is.. a -question I cannot answer. Suppose you put it to the better-informed person who told you Mr. Warren Was in "the tower, for instance: " Then you. might hear a good guess*, if nothing more"." "I don't know what you're driving at," was Hannah's weak retort as she retreated. For, once the wisdom of curbing her tongue became apparent. Winter gave her no further peed just then. • He - searched for Jonas, and found , the innkeeper in the smokingroom, where some of the prominent people of the -village had gathered. Jonas was purple with anxiety and sticcess. ■ The poor man had not only discovered' that his almost unknown daughter had crept into his heart, but Hudston was drinking fabulous quantities of liquor under the stimulation of the Squired murder." So, not an unusual event with him, he was pulled two ways. "Well, sir," hey ye got him?" was the query which assailed jthe detective fi;oma dozen throats. | "Yea/* 1 said he. "I suppose you mean Mr. Philip Warren?" "Who else?" gasped one. "I might have had an eye on youj" was the jocular reply, and every villager laughed. "I don't say as I'm much of an angel," said the other man, "but I've had nowt.to do jtri' the Squire's killing, I can take my solemn davy." "And that is more than Mr. Warren can say, eh?" "Well, things do look black agin him, -W?> ' - >. r "Yet many a man has been innocent of wrongdoing who had a. harder 1 case ,to explain., Mr. Neyland, one word in yonr ear." „ , > : The canny Yorkshire folk looked at each other knowingly 1 when the. pair j quitted the room. They could take a hint, these shrewd-eyed men, and j their wits were busy to discover why the clever London detective should almost tell them plainly that perhaps the law might seek elsewhere than in Fennell's Tower for the slayer of Robert Courthope. In the po^ch Winter was speaking in guarded tones to Jonas. "Where has Miss Marjorie gone?." he asked. "To Lunnon. Her mother an' me couldn't hold her. Her fool of an aunt" — here Jonas looked around to make sore Aunt Margaret was not within earshot — "her fool of an aunt gey her fifty pounds, an' away she's gone, never to come back. What' ll become of the business?" "Business seems to be all right for the time peing, Mr. Neyland. Did your younger daughter say why she jWas going?" "Not a word! , She just came in wi' Hannah, went cryin' to her auntj: packed some things, cried a bit more, told her mother an' me not to ax her anything, 'cause she couldn't tell us if we, did, and off she popped. Damme, she was gone before I fairly knew wot was happening. Wtf fifty pounds an' all." Neyland did not choose the* living word, btit the detective caught the sob in the man's voice. The despairing father - was wondering, in dumb agony, why his, child denied him her confidenqe, . and Winter did a kindly thing when he said; "Cheer, up,' Mr. . Neyland. t Keep my ftpinion a secret, but Marjorie will be back in Hudston within a week, and you will see her a happy woman. That is all you want, I expect?" j "Why, yes, sir, 'an' bless you for i them words. May I tell her mother | you said 'em?" 1 "No. Give that as your own view, and stick to it, no master what happens. Just laugh, and bid people bail you as a prophet in seven dnys. Do you know Miss Marjories address in London?" 'tlf it's the old place, it'll bo Turner's Studios, Finchley Road, sir." As Winter strode off towards the Hudatone police station, it was in his mind to telegraph to Malton or York and advise. Marjorie to return. \ But ho abandoned the idea. "Let Hannah tighten the reins," he thought. "James is a horse of mettland he will, begin to prance. I shouldn't be surprised if he, too, goes to London. Well, let him. I can handle him more ( easily there than hen?. I am sorry lor niy romantic Philip, but I'm a detective, not a writer of novelettes, and unless I force James or Hannah to make a false move I can no more get the necessary evidence than I can fly. What I really wan' now is a trustworthy burglar, win would ransack Mr. Bennett's safe fo me. What would ho find 'there, wonder?" His subsequent proceedings that night were peculiar. After bidding the local police disperse tho villagers to bed by spreading the news that Philip Warren was under am3st, he went to the inn where ho lodged, wrote several brief letters, posted them, built up a good fire, obtained a fresh supply of cigars, and locked the <loov of his sitting-room. Then he took from a drawor a rough map of Hudston. omhracinp; Fonnoll'f. Towrr, Nethcrem! Kill, Edonhurst Court and Lancault. On the map he staged a number of

small leaden figures, types oi soldiers and army nurses which had served many purposes in their day. ±oi these were Winter's puppets when lie ! tried to reconstruct a crime, and every 'little niannikin had been labelled jvvith names famous in tho annais of tocot1 land . i'ard. Their pretuiit title*, wma iamiliar enough. Jkach leaden ba^e was gummed lo a pifce ot cardboaiu, ou which was written "I'hiUiV Oi I "llobort," or '* .Marjorie," or "James,,' I or '•Hannah," as the case imght oe. !■ i\o actor in the iiuuston drama was ! too insigmiicaut to he disguised undei the generic elas-siiicvition oi the iueit. dramatist. Here were no "\ ulr.gers, constables, servants,- and othei\>.' ; Every individual who bad the remotest connection with the doath ot Kobert Court hope was neatly ticketed with hit. or her Christian name. There were no surnames. 'lhat was a peculiarity ot tho dotoetno.'s method. lie pretended, even to hiuiseli , that he .suspected all or none until he had brought nome the quill co one or more persons, t,o he relused to libel any one by giving a name in lull. An urtrA in sucii matters, ho carried verisimilitude to its utmost limits. Hound the neck of a bold trooper of dragoons, not yet brought into*vhe cast of Winter's latest production, was tightly tied a small t piec* 1 of whipcord. "Hello!" he muttered, "it is time 1 took your noobc otf. Monsieur Jacques. Quicklime in the Old Bailey has done yon up long since." Monsieur Jacques happened to be a 'particularly 7 atrocious murderer. But Winter followed tho same formula whether the punishment was death or penal servitude. As soon as he had pounced on the oi lender, his or her leaden dummy Avas promptly garotted. "The time," said the detective, al- , tering the angle of the cigar between his teeth so that its smoke would not : interfere with his view of tho may — "tho time is 9.15 p.m. on a certain Thursday in November. Allowing for a steady run from Lrinca.ult to Hudston railway station, and granted that "Warren had three minutes to spare in which to buy Ins ticket, at 9.15 ho was vaulting over the boundary wall of Lancault." "Philip," a hussar, • brandishing a bent sword, was adjusted to that portion of tho map where the high road passed tho old church. "At that instant, Robert Courthope, presumably alive and gasping for breath, was lying on his back inside the ruin," went on Winter, and "Robert," a glittering officer of the Blues, was, placed in situ. f The right arm, pointing a sword directly in front, looked odd as the figure lay prostrate on the broad sheet, but the dramatist, who had no eye for side effects, was already arranging other members of his troupe. (To be continued.)