"The Green Pearl"

Waipa Post, Volume 45, Issue 3252, 8 November 1932, Page 7

"The Green Pearl"

By g AIDAN DE BRUNE, i (Author of "Dr Night," "Whispering Death," "The Gray's Llanorl Mystery," Ete., Etc.) 8 1

CHAPTER V. <" On the facts, Detective Browne was murdered by Dr Night," said Mark Therrold.

"Loose reasoning!" Superintendent Dixon grumbled. The head of the detective branch of the New South Wales Police was a heavily built man with a square rugged face, relieved only by keen, blue eyes, shining from under shaggy eyebrows. " Thought you'd do better, Captain Therrold, with your reputation. All your facts are, that you and Browne saw a Chinese-looking individual spying on you—a Chink that Browne thought he could identify with Dr Night who gave us some little trouble a few years ago. As to the cause ox death—nothing. Can't understand what medical science has come to. We've had half a dozen deaths in this State during the past two yearssuspected murders —and the doctors ; can't tell me what drugs, or means, | were used."

"You're forgetting the presence of the Green Pearl in Brown's hands," reminded Therrold. "By the way, Superintendent, you have the pearl. I should like to try a small experiment with it."

Dixon turned to a large safe behind his desk and brought out a small box. Removing the lid, he exposed the Green Pearly lying on a bed of cotton-wool. "There's the cause of Browne's death." The Englishman spoke sadly. He stooped and from a case at his feet took a live rabbit and placed it on the desk. From his pocket he took a pair of strongly shaped pliers.

"What's the game," inquired Dixon, interestedly.

"'A little experiment in doctored jewels. H want' to find out how close I was to death, yesterday." The Secret Service man picked up the pearl with the pliers. "Hold that rabbit's head, please."

Very quietly Therrold brought the Green Pearl to the rabbit's nose, and rubbed it gently over the nostrils. Then he placed the rodent on the office floor, allowing it to roam at will. In sudden tension, the two men rose to their feet, watching the little animal. For some time it appeared interested in the warm rug thon started to hop across the room. A derisive smile was forming on the Superintendent's lips when the rabbit showed signs of uneasiness. It sat up and rubbed its nose with its forepaws. Suddenly it toppled sideways; a few convulsive struggles and it lay still. Therrold bent and felt the stillwarm body.

"So died Sergeant Tom Browne." The Engishman spoke with some emotion. He lifted the body into the suitcase. "The evidence is complete, Dixon. Now we can reconstruct what happened in the hotel corridor. Sometime after leaving my room, Browne picked up the Green Pearl, probably in the corridor. He held it clasped in his hand. Why he did not come back to me with the jewel I cannot yet fathom. Perhaps he was close to the elevators and sat down on the bench to reason things out, first. Anyway, he sat there until he died. Take care of the pearl, Dixon. It is coated with some subtle poison that acts through the pores of the skin."

"Not very strong," Dixon grumbled. "Why, it took all of ten minutes for the poison to kill that rabbit." "Possibly the power of the poison is disappearing by evaporation." Therrold answered quickly. "Possibly when Browne handled the pearl the drug was new and very strong." "But you and Rohmer handled the pearl only a few hours before," objected the superintendent. "We handled the Green Pearl." Therrold emphasised the two words. "What do you mean?"

"That thing is not the Green Pearl." Therrold lifted the pliers holding the jewel, with an expression of disgust. "This is an imitation. Why, its weight, alone, gives it away. This bit of glass weighs possibly thirty grains or more and the Green Pearl only eighteen and a half grains. I knew it was not the Green Pearl the moment 1 lifted it from the floor." For some moments the superintendent was lost tin thought. Therrold lifted the pearl on to its bed of cot-ton-wool and replaced the lid of the box. The pliers he placed in the case with the dead rabbit. "Where is the Green Pearl, Therrold ? " The superintendent spoke suddenly. "I should like notice of that question." The Secret Service agent smiled grimly. "Long too. For a guess, I'll suggest that the Soviet agents in this city have a better knowledge of the pearl's where-

abouts than anyone else." " They're " Dixon expressed contempt. "That is a popular attitude towards Communism." Therrold shook his head. "Surely you know better than that, Dixon. It's all very well to express disbelief in the abilities of the exponents of that creed and to sheer at dt as a fad that will soon be exploded. Yet, in your heart you realise that it is a great force—one that' will have to be very seriously reckoned with in the near future. We know that it is gaining fresh adherents every day, not in ones and twos, but by the thousands. You know that Communism;, as preached by Soviet Russia, has the wealth of a powerful nation behind it." "The Communists have no political support here. Every part is against them. They've mighty little support anywhere in the world. There's not a Government in the world that has given them anything but the most partial recognition."

"Yet the Communists have active agents in every political party and organisation." The Englishman spoke emphatically. "Even among the 'diehard' Conservatives they have agents working for the general unrest that is to forerun the woi-ld war that is to sweep capitalists and bourgeoise from this globe. You ask, why are they there? To encourage unrest; to persuade the unthinking employer to press more hardly on the working man. They're put there, and provided with capital to establish futile businesses, by the Soviet Government of Russia. Money talks. The exponents of the Third International have unlimited capital for their propaganda—not only from the Russian nation, which they now own, but from the tribute they draw from their adherents all over the world. Of course, we know that quite a lot of that money sticks to the fingers of the men who handle it, but there's enough to spare. Russia, of to-day, is the big financial centre for the worldrevolution to Communism."

Dixon shook his head, disbelieving-

"Of course it is difficult for you to see it," continued the Englishman, earnestly. "You Australians are living in an era of prosperity, high wages and general comfort. So long as the present standard of living is maintained at the present level there is little to fear from Communism. Let the standard of living be lowered, however, below the line where the working man will have no spare cash to play with; below the margin at which the working man's wife has to forego the luxuries she has learned to look upon as necessities, —and the Soviets will quickly gain adherents." "Some people would say that you were preaching Communism,, captain!" Dixon laughed. "There are many rich and powerful men in Sydney who do more than I to help along the Soviet re/clution," said Therrold. "Let me instance. Some little while ago a body of Australian employers went to the Arbitration Court pleading that the working man required but two shirts a year—that the working man's wife needed only one new dress in every four years. That plea did more to help Communism among the working classes than all the sermons and speeches delivered in your Domain—more than a whole year's income of Soviet Russia could command." "There's no Communism in Australia," asserted Dixon, doggedly. "A few talkers; that's all." " Keep the workers employed and amused and they won't heed Communism," laughed the Englishman. " I've spent five years in Russia, studying their methods. They can only succeed where there is poverty, discontent and envy. While the worker has a neat comfortable home, plenty of clothes for his family; money for a fair amount of amusement; he won't listen to anything that suggests change. Why, man, the Communists themselves acknowledge that. They openly state that there can be no revolution unless the workers are starving and discontented. You can hear that any Sunday afternoon in the Domain. But, go among the crowd that cheers the speakers and tell them there's a bookie: up the street who is giving greater odds on the favourite for the next big race than is general, and that crowd will melt like snow before the sun. Why? Because they've got money to burn —and while the workers have that Communism can knock at their doors in vain." Picking up the suitcase, Therrold turned to the door. Oh the street he hesitated. He had to get rid of the dead rabbit—and he would have ) to wait until nightfall to do that. He

turned and went back to the hotel. Too restless to remain indoors, he came out on the street again. Pangs of hunger reminded him that he had missed the mid-day meal. He glancea at his watch. It was past three o'clock. He half-turned to retrace his steps to the hotel, then halted. He did not want to go back there; the place held too many unpleasant memories. At the foot of Hunter Street a sign above a door attracted his attention. It advertised a first-class restaurant. The place looked quiet—and that was what he wanted. He ascended the stairs and looked about him. There were only half-a-dozen people in the room. He sauntered across to a table.

He ordered a meal that made the pert waitress raise her thinned eyebrows, then sat back to await its arrival. He had much to think over. The Green Pearl had to be recovered and he had but one solitary clue to the theft. That clue pointed to Carl Rohmer, the hotel-manager. He was certain that the man could explain the disappearance of the pearl, if he chose. True,, the search of his office had proved abortive, but the pearl was small and easily hidden. There was the girl behind the screen to be taken into account, and the Asian and girl who had peered into his room while he had talked with Browne. That girl. . . The crash of broken china brought Therrold from his reverie. A lady, rising from an adjacent table, had swept some crockery to the ground. The waitress hurried forward and the lady opened her purse to pay for the damage}, accidentally dropping a book she carried. Therrold stooped to retrieve it. As he handed it to her their eyes met. The Englishman stared at the girl in blank amazement. It was the girl who had searched his room the previous night—the girl who had been with Dr Night a few minutes before Sergeant Tom Browne died. (To be continued each issue.)