The Mysterious Masquerade

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 662, 16 January 1933, Page 12

The Mysterious Masquerade

by . . •

J. R. WILMOT

CHAPTER XXin,— (Continued.) Roger selected a chair within view of the unconscious figure and lit a cigarette. His face was serious. “Why the devil should Silver have instructed Judson to behave in this extraordinary fashion? I suppose the truth is Silver's got the wind up. He considers me dangerous. Well, it is better to live and learn than to be dead and ignorant.” Judson made a noise like an animal with indigestion. He moved his head and apparently tried to lift a hand to console it. Then he opened his eyes and stared vacantly about him. “Xo need for alarm, Judson,” smiled Roger. “You are quite safe for the moment. The idea of securing your hands and feet in that crude fashion belongs entirely to my man Cleveland. He reads too much, you know, and that gives him ideas he would never normally possess. As soon as he returns with the coffee he will decide whether you would be more comfortable without the rope. “Now I want you to be a good fellow and tell me something about yourself. You see, we’ve never been properly introduced. I’m yearning to know your family history and whether you -were a good lad at school. And I’m certain there must have been some extraneous influence in your life which caused you to adopt a career of crime. Now, "sir, what about it ?” Judson turned a pair of sullen eyes at Barling. “Have you sent for the police?” he asked, quietly. “Ah, the police!” smiled Roger. “Useful people, the police. Know ’em rather well, in fact. There’s a certain inspector at Scotland Yard who haunts my sweet life. I’d never met him until a week or two ago and now—we’re nearly inseparables. But perhaps you know him, fellow name of Blayton?” “Of course I know him,” answered Judson, humanly. “Look here, Mr. Barling, for God’s sake don't tell Blayton about this. I’m sorry, real sorry I am. I’ve been a fool, 1 can see that now. What good was it going to do me if I’d laid you stiff? Give me a chance, Mr. Barling?” The man’s voice was pleading, now. “Here’s coffee,” announced Roger, brightly. “You’ll take a cup, Mr. Judson? It will do your head good. Sorry I had to give it such a naety knock, but I thought it best at the time. Cleveland, release Mr. Judson, he's going to be such a good boy in future.” Cleveland looked doubtful as he turned away from the table where he had set down the coffe. “Do you think it’a wise, sir I” “I think we shall both be quite safe, Cleveland,” smiled Roger. “Mr. Judson would hate you to telephone to our good friend Inspector Blayton.” Cleveland unfastened the cord that bound the man’s wrists and ankles, but his demeanour while performing the task was such as to suggest that he was handling a snake of doubtful ancestry. “Now Mr. Judson, drink this coffee,” commanded Roger, handing the released man a cup of steaming liquid. Then he turned to the hovering Cleveland. “I don’t think you need wait, Cleveland. I’ll show Mr. Judson out myself.” It was nearly half-past two when Roger opened the door and bade Mr. Judson a pleasant “good night.” During the interval of drinking coffee and the time of departure, Mr. Judson had done a deal of talking very largely because Mr. Judson knew when he was and was not dealing with a “mug,” and he had early arrived at the decision that Roger Barling might talk as if he were a fully-fledged fool, but he was anything but that. After he had gone, Roger Barling did not go immediately to bed. Mr. Judeon's talk had done him a world of good. He had learned of Judson’s apparent infatuation for Molly Carstairs and also Paul Silver’s suggestion that he, Roger Barling, might be a whole heap safer if he were out of the way, and Roger, being broadminded realised that Judson had been animated by the very best of motives when he had made that lucky (as it appeared) swipe at him in the darkness of the landing below. He had heard something of the truth regarding Molly Carstairs and for the first time he realised the danger the girl was in and how very necessary it was for him to keep a close watch on events in the near future. Not for one moment did he doubt the girl. He felt that her motives were eminently above reproach. Roger was about to turning in when the door of the room opened very softly and the still dress-ing-gowned figure of Cleveland entered. The elderly man moved carefully and in one hand Roger saw the gleam of a revolver. “My dear Cleveland, what’s the matter now? Going ratting? And where the devil did you get that nastylooking little thing?” “Just thought I’d look in, sir, to sec if everything was all right. I couldn't bring myself to go to sleep again knowing you were alone with a potential murderer, sir.” Roger laughed. “We parted quite good friends, Cleveland. You may not believe it, but that man is a mine of information ” “Very good, sir. There is nothing else you require?” “Nothing, Cleveland, except that I do wish you’d put the.safety catch on that little plaything of yours. It unnerves me.” CHAPTER XXIV. Proof of Deception. Major Aldous Carstairs hated to distrust anyone without very good cause. He had been back in London a month, and he had enjoyed every moment of it. But at the back of his mind there was a recurring doubt. He had expected Molly to be changed. After all, when last he had seen her. she had been but a. baby. Now she was a woman; and the process of change from one to the other he realised could quite materially alter a person, and when he added to this the fact that the girl had suffered a temporary disturbance of her memory, he wondered why that little doubt of his still persisted i It has been said that a mother always knows her own child, but whether the paternal parent is so gifted has never been proved to the satisfaction of the scientists. The elemental link that binds mother and child together is something stronger than instinct, but there is no link with the father that is at all comparable.

Major Carstairs hated the doubt that was in his mind. The girl was strange to him, it is true, but under the circumstances what could be more natural? When a girl of Molly’s age suddenly finds herself in the possession of a parent whose society and influence she had never known, the individual reactions on one another are certain to be unusual, and it was this thought that comforted him most in those moments when doubt assailed him. He felt it would l>e an impertinence on his part to question Paul Silver about the girl. Silver and his wife had, ostensibly, been very good to her, but when be bad questioned Molly about the Silvers—when, he recollected, lie had suggested making them a present in recognition of all that they had done for her, the girl had begged of him to do nothing until she was able once more to remember something about the past. Her request had struck him as being rather odd. but he had, nevertheless, fallen in with her wishes. Yet this and a host of other things had fed the fires of his doubt until now he felt as if he could know no peace until he had posi tive proof of Molly’s identity. To-morrow he determined to run ovet to Paris. It was fortunate that he had recalled, from one of Silver’s letters to him, the name of the finishing school Molly had been sent to. He would inquire there. He would arm himself with a photograph of her—one which he had persuaded her to have taken a week ago. To-night they were to pay a visit to the Silvers at Hampstead, Paul Silver having that morning telephoned to say that they would be delighted at the prospect of knowing how father and daughter were faring. Well, he would mention, quite casually, of course, that he had some business on hand in Paris, and that he would be away for a day or two. It was also his intention to ask them to “keep an eye on Molly” during his absence. Or perhaps it would l>e still better if he entrusted her to Roger Barling. He decided that, in many respects, this latter course would be |>re ferable. Molly seemed rather out of sorts, he thought, and over lunch, which took at a West End hotel, he asked her where she had been the previous night while he had been speaking at Sir Hugo’s meeting. “I stayed at home for once,” she smiled. “I had thought of going down to Chelsea to visit a friend, but I decided after all to settle down with a novel. I felt so tired, as I told you at breakfast, that I went to bed. ridiculously early.” “You don’t think we’ve been rather going the pace a bit too much?” he inquired. “I should hate to think that you’re knocking yourself up." “I don’t think that’s possible,” she laughed brightly. “And there’s no need for you to worry yourself about me,” she added. “I’m as fit as a fiddle.” “You don’t appear to be eating much lunch,” he intimated, doubtfully. Molly leaned across the table. “Young women who desire to protect their figures against the ravages of obesity never eat much lunch,” she told him, seriously. “You wouldn’t like to watch me grow fat, would you, now ?” But though Major Carstairs joined in the laughter with her he sensed that there was something weighing heavily on the girl’s mind; something in fact, that had not been there yesterday. As for Molly she had lived in a semidream since her visit to the real Molly Carstairs the night before. Fear gnawed at her heart. The secret which she carried there was growing too big for her to share alone. There were times when she felt like buttonholing the first person she met in the street and pouring out her story; throwing herself on the mercy of anyone. It is a form of hysteria not entirely unknown, and comes of acutely concentrated introspection; the bottling of a highly gaseous mixture in a vessel too small to allow of expansion under pressure. She W 8.3 aware, too, that to-day Major Carstairs seemed somewhat different, and her panic increased when she wondered whether he suspected anything. And Molly’s fears would have been heightened had she known that Major Carstairs that morning had been informed by the caretaker of the building that at eight-thirty the previous night a gentleman called inquiring for Miss Molly, and that it was this, and this alone, that had prompted the Major’s inquiry at lunch as to where she had been the night before.