“A COIL OF ROPE”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 280, 26 November 1931, Page 12

“A COIL OF ROPE”

SERIAL STORY

(By

FRANK GILBERT).

| CHAPTER XVll.—(Continued.) Just then Button looked up from the paper she had been studying and took the telephone from Eric. “Say that again,’’ boomed Button. Silence. Then: “Yes, ring me again in half an hour for instructions, ’’ and he hung up the receiver, and at the same time gave Edio a searching glance. But his young assistant's face was set like that of a Sphinx, and he went on with his work. In the meantime Webb had telephoned yet another person in that same building as sheltered Button and Eric. Pauline Hampden, brought by her father’s death to the necessity of working for her living—heard the ring and answered it. Webb asked her to meet him for lunch just before one o’clock at a restaurant near by. She agreed ,and went on with her work. He had told her that he had some important news for her, and she wondered what this could be. At length the luncheon hour came round, and she went gaily to meet him. The last few weeks had seen a great change in their relationship. He had grown tender and devoted, and she looked back always with pleasure to the time spent in his company. Hers was a quiet, drab life now, and although she would have been welcomed by many of her old set at dance clubs and restaurants, she had now neither the money nor the energy to expend on such amusements. Webb, however, seemed to bring a brightness into her life, and as she greeted him that day she detected a well of excitement bubbling within him. They selected a seat a deux In the restaurant of his choice quite near the office. “I cannot stop long, my dear,” he announced. “I’ve got to catch the two o’clock to Paris.” “To Paris?” she exclaimed, surprised and mystified. They had srrang-ed to go to a theatre that night, and she had been looking forward to seeing the play for some weeks past. “I’m sorry about to-night,” he went on; “but really it’s most urgent and important business. Prepare yourself for a shock. I’m going over to identify Erlo Croft’s body.” She shuddered, and he went on to tell her of his conversation with Harker, but he spoke to clear ears, for the news of Eric’s death came as a great blow to her. The last message she had received from him was that telegram the day following his arrest and escape—but that was a long time ago, and the thought of his guilt had grown stronger and stronger; it* had been supported by Webb’s subtle suggestions, and also by the fact that never once had she had a letter from Eric.

“Yes,” she contrived to say as she saw Webb gazing intently at her. “It certainly is a bit of a shock.” But a moment later there same to “her an even greater shock. Slowly approaching the table at which she was seated there came a young man, irreproachably dressed in clothes of an unmistakeably French cut. He was looking for a seat, but for the moment his eyes looked full into hers. It was obvious that he recognised her, but, equally, recognition came to her. As in a dream she heard Webb say, “There’s no doubt, my dear, that this body lying In the Paris Morgue is Eric Crofts.” Yet—unmistakeably alive and glowing with health, and only two yards jehind Webb's back, was the real Eric Crofts! CHAPTER XVIII In a life that had been by no means devoid of excitement and variations Eric Crofts could have passed no half hour which was more uncomfortable or irritating than the time he spent in that city restaurant. Two yards away were seated his one-time friend, Webb, lunching with Pauline Hampden. Normally he would have made himself known, but in his role of Emile Cottel, and mindful of Dodet’s warning, he dared not now take the risk. Webb, at any rate, believed him to be dead, and doubtless had told Pauline. He had an especially uneasy feeling that at any moment Pauline would disclose his presence to Webb. Erlknew that Webb was supposedly working on Button’s behalf to trace the murderer of John Hampden, and feared what might happen were Webb now to confront him. There were other complications, too. Eric, having now established himself in a position in Button’s own office, and hopeful jf discovering that his suspicions of Button’s activities were well founded was not anxious to share his secret with Webb, who most certainly would Inform Button.

Besides, it fitted in with Eric’s plans that Webb should be golpg off to Paris to identify his body. Eric had every confidence that Dodat would handle Webb in such a way as to leave no doubt In the Englishman’s mind that Eric was dead. Yet, sitting so near to the girl he loved, Eric swallowed a bitter pill in the realisation that he could not make himself known. Sa? must be brought to believe that he was not alive until he was able to achieve his ambition of seeing the real murderer of her father convicted and sentenced to death. But until that day could come much difficult and dangerous work had to be done, and many more links in the chain of evi jdence had to be found. In the meantime, he must carry on as Emile ICottel. 1 Presently Webb rose. He appeared to be in a hurry, for he kept looking at his watch. Then he called for his bill, paid the waitress, and suddenly, lo Eric’s amazement, bent over Pauline and kissed her. She smiled “good bye” charmingly, and watched him pass out of the restaurant with huge strides. Then she sat toying with the spoon of her coffee cup. Directly facing her was Eric, and when three or four minutes had elapsed, and It seemed reasonably certain that Webu would not return, she fixed her eyes full on those of Eric. He had more than once in the old days of their friendship told himself —and her—that she possessed the most wonderful pair of eyes he had even seen, and now he believed that to be more than ever true. But in her eyes now was something unfathomably deep—inexpressibly baffling to him, and he was glad of the diversion caused by the waitress bringing him his coffee. Suddenly toot her arkk

leaned forward to say—• “Would you care to take your coffee with me?” He hesitated between Impulse an cautious desire to again wltu the girl he loved, and remembrance of Dodat's warning. The former won. and he took his cup with him to her table. She broke the silence and asked a question again. " Are you wise In coming here?" “Don’t you think so?" “Well—you see—" she stammered. “ I'm supposed to be dead. I suppose that’s why?” he asked. Then, as silence fell again between them, his voice grew tender, caution was thrown aside, and he spoke from his heart. “ Pauline, my dear— have you forgotten that I love you ” She still kept silence, and he went on. "It hurt me—no one but God knows how much—to see Webb kiss you Just now. Tell me, dear, It can't be that you love him—that your love for me is dead?” Her voice was hard as she answered him. “ Could I love the man who killed my father?” " Good heavens!" he groaned, “You can’t believe that." “ The police do.” she retorted coldly. “ But you Pauline—surely to goodness you don’t." “ And Leslie does," she said. “Leslie? You call him that. Tell me—does he mean anything to you?" “Yes—we are engaged 1” she replied quitely. “ Then you have forgotten me ” he said with a catch In his throat. “ The same as you forgot me—you fled and sent no word!” “ But I wrote to you,” he urged. She shook her head. “ It’s no use, and I think I ought to warn you that it you value your life you had better get clean away -without delay. 1 know I ought not to -warn you. My real duty Is to call a policeman and have you arrested. You see I recognised you through your disguise—rather clever of me, wasn’t It?” “ I’m afraid It’s not much good m: saying anything more,” he said quitely. “ Goodbye 1 Some day you will learn the real truth, and, It I were you, I would go easy until then. Goodbye, Pauline." He bowed, and a minute later he left the restaurant and was making his way back to Button's office. His duties there occupied him fully for the next few days. He had fount Button Involved in various enterprises which quite opened his eyes. In some cases the magnitude of the undertakings was surprising, and he was concerned in quite minor affairs. He found Button was a man, who, despite his ostensible fondness for the Chapel of which he was a deacon, was ' nevertheless engaged in much bus! ness of a nefarious nature, and Erie marvelled that the man could reconcile his Sunday conscience to certain acts committed on week-days. Obedient and painstaking, Erlo was nevertheless working with his eyes skinned, keen to pick up even the slightest scrap of Information likely to assist the case he was trying to build up against his employer. Button even told him one day that he was giving satisfaction. “ You seem to possess an unusually good knack of getting to grips with a knotty problem, and absorbing all Its different. points, Cottel," he said, adding- “ You must have been well trained." Eric forbore giving a reply. He was content to be gradually allowed Into the other's confidence. It required all his skill and presence of mind to carry out his role successfully, but -he was spared only the knowledge that he was working for a definite object. After office hours he spent a quiet leisure. His pleasures were few and his mode of living simple. He dared not go to the places he would have liked. For instance, he badly wanted to revisit his old flat In Bayswater, to call on the friends at Thornton Heath who had aided his escape, and also to pay another call to Gradcross Street.

Quite unknown to him, his goings and comings were observed, and on one ocaslon after he had visited The Times office and had Inspected and read carefully the reports of the Inquest on John Hampden, he had gone away unconscious that a Scotland Yard man had watched him. £rom the llbarian the detective had learned the subject of Eric’s reading, and a report had been made that same night to Inspector Harker. This piece of news was important to Harker, and yet it puzzled him. Webb had called In only that day to say he had visited the Morgue In Paris, only to find that the body ot the man supposed to be Eric Crofts was actually that of another man. "You see, Harker, I did not go lo your great Dodat first. I made my way as a private Individual to view the body and there could be no doubt that the body 1 was shown was not Crofts at all. I knew Crofts well, and I presently visited Dodat and told him so. He was furious, and asked me It I doubted the word of the “Surete."’ * I said I did, and we had a first-class row. However, whatever may be Crofts’ fate, the body I was shown was certainly not his. I don t suggest that Dodat was trying to hoodwink me, but It may be that he was trying to cover up the failure of his department to find Crofts. It seems strange, doesn’t It?" Harked nodded. He did not convey his suspicions to Webb, but when later he received the report that the young Frenchman, Emile Cottel, was interested In the Gradcross Street murder he raised his eyebrows and sank Into profound thought. Eric, for his part, was deeply moved by the detailed account he had read of the Inquest, and a great longing to g > once again to Gradcross Street began to grow on him. There were many points he wanted to clear up, and he felt that a sight of the house where the crime was committed might help him. So one night, after he had followed Button to his home In Acton, he could not resist the temptation to follow again the trail that he had followed that fatal Saurday night. .(To M conUuued.i