“HE WHO FIGHTS"

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 111, 13 May 1931, Page 10

“HE WHO FIGHTS"

SERIAL STORY

(BY

LORD GORELL)

CHAPTER XXVI. — (Continued.) | “Thee are the chief of this horrible country, they tell me. Is that so I - I am the chief constable," he replied. " What is it you wish to see me about?'’ • What is it?” she cried, raising her voire shrilly. “Ah, pigs of English, is it nothing to you that 1 seek my husband?” Col. Morpeson stroked his short moustache and replied slowly, “ He is missing, then?” “Missing?” screamed she. “He is elead—murdered by that tiger of a Gregoire: and you know it!” The denunciation, which she had counted to produce a staggering effect, somehow seemed to miscarry. Mrs Dallfngton and Barbara certainly moved sharply, in surprise, and Pearson started and was about to speak, but he was anticipated by Col. Morpeson who said sternly, “ It will be of little service to your husband that you come here with such a story. He was seen returning to London on Thursday, more than 24 hours after this Gregoire was found burnt to death." “Imbecile 1” roared Madame Anatole. “ It Is I myself who have seen Gregoire in London yesterday!” “That, Madame, is impossible!" “ Impossible! 1 tell you I saw him! He had dressed himself to resemble Pierre, but it was Gregoire without a doubt. It is not he who was burnt to death; it was my husband!” Her voice rang with fury at these stolid, detestable English; but as she was speaking, the door opened to readmit Gultard, Ramonet, and their guide. Instantly, even as her hearers stared doubtfully at her Guitard bounded forward and assumed the centre of the stage. “ It is true,” he exclaimed. “ I have completed my reflections.” “Guitard!” cried Madame Anatole, retreating a step. “ At your service,” he replied, bowing ironically. He was turning on her with a fierce crackle of questions when Co. Morpeson intervened. “ One moment. This is my affair, M. Guitard: address me, if you please. Why do you say it is true, this that this woman tells us?" “ It has the simplicity,” announced Guitard quite unabashed. “In Paris we know our little rascals, I tell you. M. Gregoire we know; M. Anatole we also know. It Is long since we gained for him the little confinement; but we do not forget. M. Anatole will not be troublesome any more—he is yonder, by my faith!” “ How do you know it is he?” rapped out Col. Morpeson. “ Mordieu, how? Do you ask me how I know? Very well, I will tell you. He had the go’ld tooth, that M. Anatole, just here," he pointed to one of his right molars. “It it not so?” He swirled round on Madame Anatole, who nodded, tight-lipped. “That Is not enough, you say. Perhaps not; we are in England, I do not forget. Very well: 1 continue. This M. Anatole, he have the little misfortune; one fine day he lose his big toe, eh, on his left foot. Gregoire, he did not know that. Aha. that is always the way with our little rascals: they do not know everything as we do, and that is why we catch M. Gregoire—just like this.” He caught his left little finger in his right fist dramatically. “ Then you mean,” said Barbara slowly, “ that instead of this M. Anatole coming to the bungalow and Idling the man we knew as Brown, Brown n fact killed M. Anatole?” “ Mademoiselle has described it perfectly.” “ Then Chris—M. Frayne, 1 mean “It was as 1 told you: always I have the correctness. Pierre Anatole same as I explained: he wait as 1 explained. He wait till it is quiet and then he come out. Then, poof, when the boa-constrictor meet the tiger, it is a matter of chance who is killed, eh? J do not concern myself with chance; it is so dull! It is possible M. Anatole was in the bed-room —quiet at last, quite quiet, you understand—when M. Frayne came. Ido not know, and it does not matter.” “ But this won’t do.” objected Col. Morpeson, turning to Pearson. “ Didn’t you tell me that you've several people who saw this man. Anatole, afterwards, on Thursday?” “Ah. is that so?” interjected Guitard, instantly, with interest. “You did not tell me that, M. Pearson. You wish to think 1 am wrong, do you? But I am never wrong. It is very simple. Gregoire does not, know everything, but he is not stupid. Gregoire must not be seen, ah. no: he is dead, you understand. And Pierre Anatole is not easy to mistake, no, by my faith: tie is easy to imitate, therefore. A hat. perhaps; some moustachios. Eh, voila'.” ' >ou have the cleverness, M. Guitard,” confessed Madame Anatole, forced Io unwilling admiration. “Gregoire had Pierre's hat. I have seen it, and 1 am not blind, eh? I thought he was Pierre, for one moment, you understand. as he wished all the world to think: then I look again carefully, and 1 see him to be Gregoire. And I come hack and demand the justice.” “That will come,, rest assured,” answered Guitard with condescension. " You are, certain, Madame?” asked Col. Morpeson. “ Mon Dieu 1 Yes!” Again the door opened and the superintendent, stepped in to whisper afresh to his chief; this lime he had an air of extreme satisfaction. He was mortified at the reception of his intelligence: Col. Morpeson threw his li ;d bark quickly and said slowly, ’ uh. that's really funny.” • Hinny. sir ? ’ ‘ Yes, if anything in this grim busii ness can Im. Bring him in here lo i “Him?” cried Barbara, starting up I in sudden apprehension as the superI iulendent withdrew. “ You needn't be alarmed. Miss Dal iington." remarked Col. Morpeson. “It. would have been another story yesterday, but now—” The door opened. Christopher j Frajne, hand-cuffed and between two j constables, was brought in. He was I white to the lips, but self-restrained. I All bis frenzied escapes, all his ex I hausliug vigils, all his toils and fears I' were ended in this, arrest on the very threshold of his open return! How futile it had all been, how faint now seemed his mad eustacy al tlrst read

„ lg the fatal paragraph tlial had placet! him finally into the trap. But would lace the ordeal like A brave man- he stared straight in front ot him sightlessly and wailed there in silence for what might betide. Even Barbara’s anguished gasp and Mrs Dallington's exclamation of distress fell unheeded on ears that were listening In imagination to the dread sentence falling from the lips of a blackcapped judge. It was all over: there was nothing nov left but to seal himself impregnably in stoical courage. He had reckoned without Lucien Guitard, of whose existence he had never heard, or he would have known that there was no sealing impregnable to that little Frenchman. Guitard, with a cry of delight, bounded forward and kissed him enthusiastically on both cheeks. " Alia, my friend," he cried, “ so you obeyed by little injunction to return.” “Yours!” groaned Frayne: this was the acme of bitterness, the lowest depth of the cavernous gloom into which his fortunes were plunged. “Mr Frayne,” interposed Col. Morpeson in a voice of authority that Guitard recognised and reluctantly admitted, “ you have just been arrested on the platform of Exeter station on the charge of murdering Mr Mortimer Brown at his bungalow by Great Tor on the night of Tuesday last.” “I am not guilty of this murder.” stammered Frayne. fixing his eyes dully on the chief constable. “ There seems to have been some misapprehension,” went on Col. Morpeson calmly. “Mr Mortimer Brown, whose real name, 1 understand, is Henri Gregoire, a Frenchman wanted by the Paris police, who are represented here by M. Lucien Guitard, has not been murdered. Ha was seen in London yesterday.” “What!” exclaimed Frayne, hardly comprehending. “ The body found in the bungalow after the tire has been identified as that of a M. Anatole. You never knew M. Anatole, 1 think?” “Anatole?” repeated Frayne vaguely: he felt as though he were going mad. “No, I ” “ There does not seem to be any evidence connecting you in any way with this man, Anatole,” went on Col. Morpeson. “In the circumstances I feel that the charge against you automatically drops to the ground. If you will give me your personal undertaking to remain for the present at Pengley Park in case there are questions to ask you later, I will take upon myself the responsibility of ordering your discharge at once.” For a few seconds Frayne stared at him stupidly; then, as the meaning of the words he had heard broke in upon his understanding, he gave vent to a hoarse cry, “Discharge!” "Very satisfactory,” commented Col. Morpeson. “ You don’t remember inc, of course. It's many years since I saw you, but you’ve a look of your father, and I congratulate you; indeed, it’s an apology that’s owed you.” Then at last Frayne, as the handcuffs were removed, realised that he was not alone, as he had thought, with the chief constable, the police, and a mystifying little Frenchman. As his hands were freed, he found Barbara in them, weeping with relief and joy. Madame Anatole surveyed the scene a moment with an accentuated surge of bitterness: then she stepped up to Col. Morpeson’s table and rasped out in a voice trembling with the feelings i she could scarcely keep in bounds. “So 1 I have conic to a place of mad people, it seems. You sit and smile, and they kiss! Bah I It makes me have the illness! My husband, my brave Pierre, is murdered. But you do not care, eh?” “ Madame,” said Col. Morpeson, recalled to his duty, “ I care very much. Sit down and tell me exactly when and where you saw this man, Gregoire, in London.” “ Do not worry,” interjected Guilard with rare placidity. “He will not stay there, that M. Gregoire. Ah, no, he is restless, I give you my word. But he is our affair; we will not lose him, no. He will return to Paris one of these fine days, you see, and in Paris we know everything—everything, Madame, you understand?” CHAPTER XXVII. A Little idea. Lucien Guilard did not linger in Devon. As he sat listening with unusual attention to‘the circumstantial account of her meeting with Gregoire in London given by Madame Anatole to Col. Morpeson. a little idea germinated in his imaginative brain, and he was eager lo be gone. He was assured that she would tell no more of the truth that was of assistance to her vengeance—that was of no moment; but he gained the. impression also that even in what she did tell she was deviating from the truth. He could not put his linger upon the deviation and he knew better than to kindle her suspicious mind by asking questions that she could easily parry; but the impression remained, and it was a pleasure, to him—his task was not concluded. Madame. Anatole, certain that Mrs Dallington had betrayed her, al,templed no concealment of her previous visit to Devon. Her evidence was simple, well narrated, and perfectly clear: but it did not satisfy Guitard—it lacked something, he could not then tell what. As soon as it was finished, therefore, he took his leave will) ceremony, and, when outside, informed Mrs Dallinglon that the investigation being so happily completed, he would not fall into the error of outstaying his welcome but would resume his holiday in London immediately. Grateful for all he had done, glad now to be without him, neither Mrs Dallington, Barbara, nor Frayne raised any objection. Ramonet grumbled good-humouredly, Airs Da Hing toil warmly invited both lo visit her again and promised to renew lheir friendship when next in Paris Barbara smilingly apologised for ever having doubted him, Frayne cordially thanked him, and with smiles and bows lie and Ramonet were sent off from ipjuining household in lini» to rail'll a laic aflernuon train in Lon don. When in their seats. Ramonet allowed himself to express his mild surprise st (he rapidity o f their movements.