KNIGHTSBRIDGE MYSTERY

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17780, 25 February 1926, Page 12

KNIGHTSBRIDGE MYSTERY

“ STAR ” NEW SERIAL

By

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued.)

Christine, too. was not a little embarrassed by the gleam in those vulture eyes: was terrified almost by the cruel bend in that vulture beak. All night at dinner be had watched her. It was a quiet dinner, a family gathering, with Constantine as the only outsider Brian was away on business, and Levita filled his chair. Shortly after dinner Mrs Frankford. as usual, excused herself, and was escorted from the drawing-room by her husband. Constantine seized his opportunity, perhaps a little recklessly: but the divine vision in white, bobbed hair shining like gold, banished discretion. Amazed she looked at him: at first she could not believe her ears. This little black rat! Then the blue eyes blazed, the fair face flushed. Very lovely she looked, so thought Constantine Levita; more and more desirable. He did not shrink beneath her Contemptuous glance. On the contrary, he grew many inches taller; seemed to swell in importance. This embarrassment of hers, it was charming; added a glory to the glorious. Her amazing whiteness, like a statue flushed with the morning sun! She said coldly: "You seem to be unconscious of this amazing impertinence.” For to her thinking Constantine Levita was no more than an insignificant little alien whom one tolerated. though without knowing why. 44 Impertinence ? ” he echoed, looking gravely concerned, and not a little surprised. “ Have I been so unfortunate as to convey that impression? I assure you such was not my intention; my respect is too sincere, too profound. You are the very last person in the world whom I would anger or annoy; indeed I would rather anger all the world than you. To me nothing matters but you, Christine.” Very humble was Constantine Levita: a modest little man who would assuredly efface himself if he could, but who apparently found destiny too strong for him. A deeper flush spread over her face/ at the familiar use of her name, and*had she not suddenly remembered that this was her father’s friend she might have givin vent to the rage and disgust that were consuming her. “ I am sorry,” she said, “ but you must please never speak of this again.” He called to her but she would not stay. Like one transfixed he stood watching the blank door through which she had vanished. Then his nose twitched curiously as though it were trying to smile. When Mr Levita’s nose /worked in that extraordinary manner its owner was always profoundly agitated. From the tip of the smiling nose to the smiling mouth was no very great distance. A significant shrug followed accompanied by an expressive play of the hands. Then he lit one of his famous cigarettes, and was joyously inhaling the odorous smoke when Frankford. eyes hard and shining, returned to the room. “My daughter,” he began. “ A very charming yung lady,” said Constantine. “ I have just asked her to marry me.” 44 Marry you! 44 My dear fellow, a time comes to every free man when he positively yearns for the shackles of matiromny. Folly, I admit; inconceivable lunacy, but there it is. These things are part of our nature. A wife, now; children, home; there must be something in it, some amazing secret which I am eager to explore.” He smiled urbanely, his nose twinkled as though very pleased with itself. Certainly it was a self-possessed Constantine that crossed its legs and daintily fingered its cigarette. Frankford began to explain; his daughter was already engaged. The explanation, though expressed in terms of astonishment at Mr Lexdta’s unparalleled presumption seemed to have little effect on that worthy. 44 Girls have been known to change their minds.’” he said. 44 Though obstinate as a rule, they are occasionally swayed by sound advice, especially when it comes from a devoted father. My dear fellow. I should be a proud I and happy nian.” Frankford felt himself bursting with rage. Though he might cower before I the shadow which threatened his respectability, be had sufficient courage to face graver contingencies. ” Let’s hear no more of this nonsense.” he said; ‘‘it’s too absurd, ridiculous.” Why? ” asked Constantine in that smooth voice of his. ” Such a question should be quite unnecessary.” ” The point of view,” the Greek murmured as if to himself; 44 so much depends on the point of view. Don’t be angry my dear fellow; rather be merciful and sympathise with what you conceive to be my hopeless plight. T could no more avoid succumbing to the charms of your captivating daughter than you could to. . .” His shoulders went up to his cars, but under his lids he saw the man start and change colour. 44 I onlj* beg your permission to take my chance. Failure may reward my efforts; success is not always assured to the worthy. I can but try. Sincerity, at any rate, should claim some consideration! and of my sincerity in this there can be no doubt. You do not know Constantine Levita, the real Constantine. There are many of him, as there are of most men—a fact I am sure you can appreciate—yet only one, one that is very real. No, my dear fellow, don't say anything more just now. This has come as a surprise to you? Rather singular in its way, if you consider that I. have seen Miss Christine. Before I had that honour. now; but since! Ah!”

He blew a cloud of smoke ceilingwards and with a rapt gaze saw it take many singular shapes, which in all probability ultimately assumed one shape, one face; a delicately rare white face amazing contrast to his own dull swartness.

But there was something beyond this protestation of affection which caused the father much uneasiness. A new Constantine was peeping through the old shell, provokingly suave and sinister; somethin" 1 that su""ested the cat with its claws hidden in the pad. Even if there were no Brian Cranbourn in the foreground the thought of Christins and Constantine Levita would be too absurd to contemplate for a single

instant: but with that strenuous and very determined young man stepping in between the Levantine's chances of success were indisputable remote. Which in its way was relief of a sort, but not wholly satisfying.

CHAPTER VIII.

A PRECIOUS TRIO. But in the meantime apparently little progress was made in solving the Knightsbridge Mystery. The Press still indulged in sarcastic comment on the inefficient-' of Scotland Yard; Parkgate Mansions was still an object of considerable interest to those who had little else to think of. Groups of idlers would stand in the street and stare up at its many windows trying to guess which of the various rooms had witnessed the tragedy ; passengers on the ’buses appeared to be equally interested. Michael Penbury, unmoved by popular clamour, pursued his customary way. Yet it would be far from true to say that he ignored it. He knew perfectly well that much was expected of him, both from the public and his superiors, and that failure on his part might seriously tarnish his reputation. Moreover, there were rivals in t.he camp, and noe in particular, Detective Barden, a shrewd-eyed, gingerbrowed fellow, who for his shrewdness, his rat-like burrowing in unwholesome places, had been transferred to the plain clothes ranks, and had won not a little distinction. From the first he had taken a dislike to Penbury, whose promotion he may have thought too rapid, or perhaps because he imagined Penbury gave himself airs. This was truly an offence Burden was quite incapable of committing, for he was nothing more than an exalted policeman ; never would be anything more. But he was shrewd and cunning, with much faith in his own cle\ T erness. and secretly criticised with severity his chief’s method of procedure. He, personally, would have rounded up the cocaine gang, for among them he felt convinced the secret was hidden. Poppy Wilton was known to have indulged in the habit; she had jewels worth stealing, worth committing murder for. Detective Samuel Barden thought he could have managed this matter infinitely better than the man who had it in hand.

Yet Penbury was far from idle. Given a reputation one must endeavour to live up to it. Great efforts were made to trace the missing jewels, but so far the culprit had made no attempt to pledge them. No one had seen a stranger enter or leave the mansions. Yet he knew that one stranger had been there that fatal Sunday afternoon. Odd that no one should have seen him. Was it owing to the fact that Sunday was a sort of off day, the day when at least half the staff would be absent?

(To be continued.)