Serial Story Young My Lord

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 73, Issue 147, 24 June 1930, Page 10

Serial Story Young My Lord

By

COLONEL H. CURTIES

All Right* Reserved

CHAPTER XXXl.——(Continued.) “Look at me, Monsieur,” the porter asked. “Do you not see that lam like Binstead the porter who was killed—everybody tell me so.” “You might have been mistaken for each other in a fog,” the Inspector observed, “or In the dark.” “C’est ca,” screamed the porter. “That is where it is, in the dark; Binstead, perhaps, was murdered in the dark in the mistake for me?” “But why should you be murdered?” the officer asked. “Have you done anyone an injury?” • Michel waved his arms. “No, I never did nobody no injuries, but it is the likeness. Igo in fear. Perhaps this murderer may kill me. I want the protection of the Surete, you police.” The Inspector threw down the pen he was holding. “Do you want us to send an officer to walk round the Leviathan Hotel with you every night? Rubbish; you are a strong fellow—carry a thick stick. You’ve got the wind up. That's what’s the matter with you!” Michel went our of the Inspector’s office murmuring: “Thick steek, thick sleek, while I am being m rderedl” CHAPTER XXXII. A Surprise. With the agreement signed and a cheque for live hundred pounds—three months pay in advance, plus two hundred pounds for travelling expenses—in his pocket, Edward considered himself started on his commercial career. He had gone through that mysterious ceremony of “sending in his papers” and had withstood the ordeal of the Guest Night at the Tower Mess given in his honour as a send-off, waking in the morning a sadder but a wiser man, with a yearning for sodawater, which the thoughtful Brown had placed handy beside his bed, iced. Even Beano, who accompanied Brown, looked reproachfully at him. There was nothing to do but pack up and depart to Monte Carlo to learn the business.

A first thought to take Beano with him had to be dismissed; the restrictions about bringing dogs back into England were too severe. In addition, he expected to spend a good deal of his time travelling in America. No, Beano had to be left at home, and he could think of no better home for her than with Brown and his wife. This arrangement, hid she been consulted, would h±?* suited Beano exactly. When he deposited her in the shop at Westminster he left a happy dog behind him, who made no effort to follow him, sticking close to the curtseying Mrs Brown in the hope that she would presently sit down before the fire; comfort with Beano was the first consideration—it lay on top of the basket of her desires. So the days soon sped by. Edward settled up any little matters which he had outstanding in England—and they were not many—and made his father the richer and more comfortable by the five hundred a year which he settled upon him—all he had in the world of his own; but he was determined to begin his business career relying entirely on his own exertions for his support. His bank balance was agreeably swollen by the generous treatment he had received from Mr Westgarth, but he was resolved to take care of the money, as he knew there would be many heavy expenses before him in the States. So Brown packed up his master’s clothes for the last time. “A man who is going to rough it in the States,” Edward explained to him, “must learn to do for himself. I must reserve the luxury of a valet until I get old.” But Brown received a handsome present in addition to the pension settled upon Beano for her residence in the Brown family. The valet came down tn Victoria with the baggage and tears in his eyes. “I shan’t get another like ’im, Susan,” he confided to his wife before he left home in the early hours of the morning. “I expect I shall get one of these blighters who turn night into day and spend most of their time and money on the tiles, and bring bits home to Barracks with them.” • But Brown was too good a servant and too well-known in the Regiment to be long without a good master. As a matter of fact, he was absorbed by a sober and steady Major of regular habits. Edward’s baggage had been weighed and the slight excess paid for, it was not much, for he was determined to travel as light as possible, as a matter of habit. He was sauntering towards his reserved seat in the Pullman car when a man touched him lightly on the arm. “Are you Lord Gunswick?” he asked. Edward looked at him hard; he was a stranger to him. The man smiled. “I think I ought to tell you,” he said, “that I am Inspector Dorset of the G.1.D.” “Yes,” answered Edward, looking at the card the Inspector had handed to him. “I am Lord Gunswick.” “I am sorry to inform you,” the Inspector answered, “that my Department cannot allow you to proceed on your journey until you have given an explanation.”

CHAPTER XXXIII. The Detective’s Questions. “I cannot understand why you should prevent me proceeding on my journey, or what explanation you can require of me,” Edward replied to the detective. “I am very sorry, My Lord,” Inspector Dorset answered, “but the circumstances are urgent. What I propose is this; I have secured a first-class compartment on the train to Dover, and in this we can discuss the matter in hand without interruption. If there is no necessity to detain you in England you can proceed on your journey to Monte Carlo. Perhaps you would like to have your baggage transferred into the first class compartment.” Edward, much mystified, made no objection to this, and a porter trans-

ferred his small bags into the new seats. Then he and the inspector entered, closed the door and windows, and the detective stated his business. “It was only by the first post this morning,” he began, “that I received a letter which concerns you.” “Concerns me?” queried Edward. “Yes, concerns you, and very materially,” was the answer. “For some time past,” continued the detective, “we have been very much annoyed at the Yard by the visits and letters of a man—a foreigner—named Mitchell or Michel, who appeared as a witness at the inquest on the night porter who was murdered in the Leviathan Hotel. He states that he goes in fear of his life.” “For what reason?” asked Edward as the train sped on towards Dover. “For no real reason,” the officer answered. “He thinks the other night porter was murdered in mistake for him—they divided the night work —• and that the murderer is coming back to do for him.” Edward had cursorily read accounts of the murder in the newspapers, but of course this was all new to him. He became interested. “And now,” proceeded Inspector Dorset, “we receive this morning a letter from Michel in which he mentions your name.” “Whatever for?” Edward asked. “I have never heard of him." “He finishes up,” the officer said, “with this curious statement: ‘lf I am murdered go to Lord Gunswick and ask him if he knows Baron Vermouth'.” Edward sat in thought. He was beginning to see light in the matter. At the same time he saw that he would have to answer the inspector's questions with the greatest caution or he would involve himself in this disagreeable case. “I came across a man of that name at Monte Carlo a few weeks ago,” he answered, “but he was discovered to be an imposter and left hurriedly, with the police after him.” The inspector smiled. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, “if there are a good many of that sort over there.” He referred to the letter he was holding in his hand. Edward saw that it was in the same handwrtiing as that which he had received from the bogus baron. This moved him to still greater caution. He began to realise who the porter was. “Have you any objection, Lord Gunswick,” the detective proceeded, “to telling me how you became acquainted with this Baron Vermouth?”

Edward felt himself on safe ground; he could answer this question fully, without fear of complications. He was very anxious to keep Maxton's name out of th© matter. He feared if he did not that he would be forced to produce Vermouth's letter, which would contain a charge against Maxton that it would be impossible to prove. “Vermouth forced himself upon me at Monte Carlo,” Edward answered, “and wanted to fight a duel with me. He sent his seconds to me ” “Excuse me;" interrupted the officer. “What was the duel about?” “It was about a lady to whom Vermouth had been paying his attentions in the character of a baron. I was dining wftti the lady and another friend at the club, and I suppose Vermouth got jealous.” The inspector made a few notes. “Somehow the affair got to the ears of the police,” Edward continued. “The Chef de la Surete called upon me while the seconds were there, and told me that Vermouth had bolted, and assured me that I should not be troubled with him any further. If you want to know aything fuurther about Vermouth I am certain the Chef de la Surete at Monte Carlo will be abte to tell you all about him.” The inspector made a few more notes in his book and then closed it. “I am quit© satisfied, Lord Gunswick,” he said. “You have answered the questions I have put to you clearly and without hesitation. My department, on my .report, will not place any further objections to your resuming your journey.” CHAPTER XXXIV. Flowerland. Th© next few weeks were beautiful in the eyes of Edward. Monte Carlo was throwing off the last of winter and entering straightway into summer, and Edward was seeing it all for the first time. . The mornings' were agreeably spent by him in the company of Mr Westgarth, sometimes in his private room, sometimes in walks in the neighbourhood, to the Rock of Monaco, th© big new promenad© on the sea wall, or even out to Cap Martin. In these interviews Mr Westgarth laid the foundation and built up in Edward the beginning of a business life. The afternoons Edward had to himself. As regards Mary, Edward had determined to maintain his resolve. At her invitation he played a round of golf with her at Mont Agel, amid the loveliest surroundings; but there his golfing with her ended. He could not refuse to play a game of tennis with her, Vera Weston, and a friend, at La ’Festa; but that was not repeated for some time, despite the urgent requests of Verna, who seemed to think he had come over to Monte Carlo for the sole purpose of dancing attendance upon her. “I don't think he is very sociable,” she observed to Mary- “Whenever I ask him to take me out it is always ‘business, business’; and I don’t believe he does any. He is always thinking. I wonder what he is thinking about?” “Why don’t you ask him?” Mansuggested. But Mary herself was getting much dissatisfied. Here was a man that she. had been able to make a friend of, ami he was avoiding and neglecting her. What was it all about? What had she done?” She consulted her mother. “Mother,” she said, “what have I done to offend Lord Gunswick? We used to be such good friends; he was one of the few sensible men I have met, and now he scarcely takes any notice of me at all.” (To be continued,).