SERIAL STORY “The Devouring Fire”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 189, 12 August 1931, Page 10

SERIAL STORY “The Devouring Fire”

BY

LORD GORELL

CHAPTER XXXlV.—'(Continued.) He made a great effort to rally his strength to greet his visitors. He looked up at Frances with a sincerity of affection there was no disguising, taking her hand between his own and holding it as be asked with the most tender solicitude of her doings and welfare; and he gave La-tham one of his old penetrating glances before relaxing into friendliness. When Latham stammered out a few' grateful sentences of thanks for his faith in him, his advice to Scott-, and his kindness to Frances, the old man waved them aside. “I was glad,” he said tremulously, “to do what little I could. it wouldn’t have been right not to, with my experience. And she’s much in my heart: I think of her all day long.” Latham was touched. “Well,” he answered gratefully and with the awkwardness of a young man in love, ■ she’s worth H, I must say.” ‘‘Worth it?” repealed Mr Birch with a sudden vehemence, as though he had been contradicted. “Of course she is! There never was a. girl like her, never any one so gentle and so good! No one knows her as I do—not now. You think you do, I daresay, and you may in time. But I’ve watched her ever since she was born. Ah, she was a lovely child, as merry as the day is long! No one could do too much for her!” he added almost fiercely. ”1 would—” a fit of coughing interrupted him- when the spasm had spent itself, he passed his hand vaguely over his forehead, laid it again on Frances’s, and fell into a quiet reverie, muttering inaudibly to himself. He scarcely seemed to hear their further remarks until, as they rose to go, he clutched Frances by the sleeve and said appealingly, “It’s so long since you came, my dear. J was afraid you’d forgotten me—or were angry. Gome often. 1 shan’i be here much longer.” “I will,” she promised. ‘l’m ashamed I haven’t been before.” '"That’s a good girl,” he murmured, releasing her with a happy sigh. “Poor old boy,” said Latham, as they regained the lane “He’s pretty well finished, isn’t he?” “I’m afraid so,” she answered sad ly, “It’s so often the way with men like him. They carry on until one forgets how old they really are, and then get a chill or something and fail suddenly.” “I’d no idea be was as fond of you as all that.” “Not 1. But I think he got a bit mixed, because he hasn’t known me so very long really, only the last couple of years. He’s got very feeble since I was there last: I must try and go In regularly.. •The blustering gales and the frosts of March gave way gradually to spring. Frances was unexpectedly elated towards the end of April to learn accidentally that tlie practice of going in pairs to take the letters down to the pillar-box by the gates at night had fallen unnoticed into desuetude. She reported this gaily to her husband. One evening towards the end ofi May they sat together in the library ■ after dinner in intimate peace, discussing the future so stainlessly unrolling. They spoke together, low and very happily, of that joy in their lives which in due time should make them no longer only two; their thoughts had never been further from the past At ten o’clock with a young husband s solicitude for the coming motherhood Latham urged his wife upstairs; he sat on a little while, giving himself time to smoke a cigarette while he dwelt upon his happiness, and then followed her. me next morning as n* was going in to breakfast Richards stopped him with. “Beg pardon, sir, but you forgot to close the windows in the library last night.” “By jove. so I did. No norm Jone. I hope?’’ “.No,, sir,.” ’ Well, it was dashed careless of me.” “I thought I ought to mention it, sir.” Quite right; I’ll set doesn't occur again.” Carelessly Latham "went into breakfast. The meal over, he took th« paper with him Into the library, Frances coming with him to prolong the moments together before she must go and interview the cook as U the day’s arrangements. He lit a cigarette and they strolled together to the window. “It is jolly,” said Frances, one arm round him, looking out on to the elear depth of colour of the lawn with its edges spangled by the shadowy tracery of the young leaves of the surrounding trees. “It’s very peaceful.” he agreed. “Just as well; did you hear Richards blowing me up for leaving the windows open in here .last night? I forgot all about them, thinking about you.” “Oh, Jim anybody might walk in.” ‘ I know; I’ll be more careful ani other night. Any way, nobody burgled | ns, so it doesn't matter for once.” He turned as he spoke to flip the ash off the end of his cigarette; then ais jaw dropped, his eyes half started out of their sockets, Frances felt his arm overlapping hers stiffen with a convulsive jerk. Even before he spoke she knew the descent upon them of something cold and terrible. She glanced up, frightened, and. seeing his face while and twitching, cried in anxiety. “Jim, what is it? ’ ' Look I” he said wildly. On the white paint of the window frame about four feet from the floorievel was a single finger-print, a trifle smudgy, yet distinct enough for both to notice with irrepressible shuddering that its whorls and ridges seemed to be unevenly interrupted towards ti e centre by ?he line of a long, irregular cut. CHAPTER XXXV. Cold Shudders. For several minutes Latham and Frances stared at the ominous, in'redible smudge, mute and shaken. When silence was at last broken it was only by Frances’s saying feebly: ‘‘Get me a chair, Jim; I think I’m going to faint.” He half carried her with impetuous agitation across the room and set her down in one of the easy chairs, away from the window, suddenly grown so horrible; his own eyes strayed back to it in spite of himself. “I'll get you a glass of water. 63 he w-id dully-

“No, don t leave meT she orfe J. ”I’ll be all right in a moment. Oh, Jim, this place! Shall we ever be free from these ghastly things? It’s —it's coincidence, of course?” “Must be,” he murmured haggardly. “It’s Florence’s mark, I suppose,” went on Frances, striving to still her agitation. “K’s her job to do this room, but —but ” her voice trailed off Into miserable silence. “It must be that, nothing mors,” he answered. “It’s—it’s just an accident, but —but it’s horribly like what was photographed and shown In court.” “Oh, don’t, Jimi"' Silence lowered on them, Frances trying to fight, down her dismayed feeling of nausea, Latham forcing himself to go to the window and study the cause of their fear. He returned, lips sternly compressed and bis eyes grim. “It may be only Florence,” he said almost fiercely; “probably it is; but it’s too damned like that accursed photograph. I can’t help it, Fran,” seeing the frightened strain of her gaze at him; “I’m not going out. of my mind, though this sort of thing’s enough to drive any one crazy; but that photograph is burnt in upon my memory. And I’m going to get to the bottom of this. He strode across the . room and rang the bell When Florence entered, in a state of defensive mutiny, not knowing at all why she was wanted, but believing that all such summonses could mean only one thing—complaints—Latham attempted accordingly to be both cheery and chatty, and signally failed to be either. He led Florence to the window, showed her the mark, and asked her if she had made it; as he did so he tried vainly to take an unobvious glance at her thumbs. Florence waxed indignant; of course she had not made It; her hands were not dirty, and if she bad happened to leave a mark on the paint she would have washed if off. Left alone together, Latham faced Frances squarely, “I’m going to get to tha bottom of this,” he repeated obstinately. “That girl didn’t make it. but she didn’t deny its existence; she didn’t say she couldn’t see & mark there. We’re not imagining—there is a mark, and I’m going to find out how it got there.” Frances, lying back in her chair, white-faced and trembling, could not but agree. “D’you know what I think we’d best do?” she said, “I think we’d better get hold of Inspec - tor Farrant." “That’s a good idea.” agreed Latham heartily. “He’s a thoroughly decent fellow, though he did have it In for me, and it’s his- pigeon. We’il get him here, tell him the whole story, and show him the damned thing. It can’t be the same mark conceivably but we’ll put it up to him to find out what the blazes it means.” Latham returned from telephoning, rather self-conscious and embarrassed but greatly relieved ‘‘That’s a thundering good chap,” he said. “I wa? lucky to find him disengaged, and he’ll come along as soon as he can.” They discussed It round and round, backwards and forwards, but could arrive at no conclusion which seemed In the least degree satisfactory. It was with a sense of unbounded relief that they at last heard Richard’s smooth but inquisitive voice informing them that “Inspector Farrant was here and would like to see you, sir.” “Show him in.” said Latham heartily. Farrant came in. bowing slightly in acknowledgment, of Frances's greeting, and turned to Latham, who stretched out his hand with, cordiality.

"very good of you io come, Inspector,” he said; “but this has bothered my wife and me a good deal. We want to forget the 16th of June as far as ever we can, of course; and it almost seems as if someone didn’t want us to.” “I rather understood from you on the telephone,” answered Farrant, “that It, was more than that—that some one has been trying to put over the spook business.” “There’s a suggestion of it, certainly,” admitted Latham. “The finger-mark’s over there on the win-dow-frame.” Farrant, glanced casually in the direction indicated, and then drew out from his pocket an official envelope. “I can soon put you at your ease as articles we found In her bedroom In to one part of It, at any rate," he observed. “I've brought along the photographs in the case, sir—those made admittedly by Tressway on London and that made here in my presence of the mark on the windowframe. You will remember, of course, that, they were demonstrated to be identical ?” “Yes.” “Well, now, I’ve my magnifying glass, and we’ll soon demonstrate the difference with this new fellow.” Farrant walked across to the window, Latham and Frances following with a. thrill of eagerness. As he approached, Farrant halted. He had hitherto been a little casual, now he suddenly stiffened into tense interest ‘This is more unusual than I expected,” he said slowly. “Somebody knows something.” “What d’you mean?” asked Latham, surprised. “Why, sir, this. It's exactly where the other was; not just somewhere about the same place, but exactly in the same spot. A small point, sir, but significant—as small points so often are.” “Significant? Significant of what?” panted Frances, suddenly pale. “Of this. You may recollect when we met at Mr Birch’s in the winter, I said I wasn’t completely satisfied that there wasn’t someone else in 11 besides Tressw&y, This looks as if I were right.” “I don’t understand,” murmured Latham. “D’you mean began Frances, but she could not finish. “Don’t take on,” said Farrant, looking at her with kindly understanding; “I’m not meaning Mr Latham. That won’t be re-opened; it can’t be; you can’t try a man again for the crime of which he's been acquitted. Of course I don’t mean him; he convinced me, as well as the judge and jury. If he hadn’t I shouldn't be talking.” “What do you mean?” asked Latham. “Some one else in it?" “Yes, sir. Mrs Latham may not have told you of our talk at Mr Birch’s—let me see, in November/• .{To b*