SERIAL STORY. “The Gorgon”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 75, Issue 142, 18 June 1932, Page 10

SERIAL STORY. “The Gorgon”

BY

J. LINDSAY HAMILTON.

SYNOPSIS. Colonel Dainton is concerned about the disappearance of his brother-in-law, Jim Rowson, the vagabond millionaire. He consults Dr. Farrar, an eminent nerve specialist who describes how Rowson called on him six weeks ago in a state of nervous collapse, leaving in his care a remarkably hideous mummy. Colonel Dainton confides in his daughter Helen and her friend Peter Southwark. During ihe night a cry of terrible '.ear is heard, and Jenkins, Colonel iainton’s manservant, is found brutihy murdered. While discussing the nurder with Peter Southwark, the li-or tlies open and they are looking ulo the muzzle of a revolver. CHAPTER Vl. (Continued.) Now he was flitting about anxiously from one spot to another, on tenterhooks lest he should miss the friend he had come to meet. Cheery greetings came to Colonel I Dainton’s ear on all sides and eagerly chattering little groups passed him. But there was no sign of Celia as yet. That, however, did not surprise him. It was impossible to imagine Celia bustling—calm, imperturbable Celia. She would be the last off the boat he told himself with a smile, half amused, half irritated. Of Eden he had seen nothing. He had said he would be there. Possibly, wtih his way of getting what he wanted, he was already on the boat. He moved aside to allow a little procession to pass. Two stewards were bearing a stretcher, and beside it walked a stout, motherly person, whose eyes were red-rimmed with weeping. They passed him amid the sympathetic murmurs of the onlookers and made their way to an ambulance drawn up waiting. Just at that moment the fidgety man with the rabbity eyes must needs dash across excitedly. He had his eyes fixed eagerly across the scattered crowd. No doubt he had seen his i friend and feared to lose him. An angry shout from one of the stewards was too late. The man tried to stop, but stumbled awkwardly and threw out an arm over the covered figure on the stretcher to save himself from falling. His abject humiliation then was pitiable to see and he slunk away dejectedly and was lost in the crowd. Still no sign of Celia, and the Colonel’s patience was evaporating. Suddenly he felt a sharp tug al his sleeve. He swung round quickly and found himself looking into a pair of timid, watery eyes. Colonel Dainton regarded the si ranger with unconcealed irritation. He was the man whose nervous excitement had already drawn his attention, first on the train and now here among the crowd on the landing stage. Confound the man! What did he want making a general nuisance of himself. He needed someone to look after him. Why couldn’t he speak now instead of mouthing awkwardly. He would stutter and apologise and end by asking some infantile question, no doubt—perhaps about trains or a man he was looking for, a man with a bowler hat and an umbrella. But Colonel Dainton was too concerned over Celia’s non-appearance to pay attention to the helplessness of strangers. “Well, what is it?” he snapped coldly. The timid little man seemed to shrink visibly. “I b-eg your pardon,” he stammered, “1 wouldn't trouble you if H wercu l so . Tne fact is, ■ he 1 plunged on desperately, “1 came to meet ” Colonel Dainton interrupted him impatiently. “Had you not better take your troubles to that police officer over there. That’s what he is there for,” he added more kindly. “But,” wailed the little man, “You d-d-don't understand. It’s your niece.” He stopped suddenly. “You are Colonel Dainton, aren’t you?” he asked in some alarm. “My niece? What do you know of my nifjee?” The Colonel’s voice held amazement, suspicion and a measure of anxiety. “Speak man. I am Colonel Dainton. Who are you? What do you want to tell me?” “She was on that Stretcher,” he blurted out, “And they’re taking her away. Look!” He pointed with extreme agitation al the Ambulance which was now rapidily moving away. Colonel Dainton leapt into unhesitating action. “You come with me,” he commanded, “1 want to know more about you.” And seizing his informant firmly by Ihe arm, he began to run. Ab ! There was a taxi, thank heaven. The queer stranger, with surprising agility sprang forward and swung open the door, and panting out an urgent order to the driver, Colonel Dainton stepped inside. CHAPTER Vll The Convalescent Home, As the ambulance drew steadily away from the landing-stage a long, low saloon car might have been observed to glide out from a near-by goods yard and proceed leisurely in the same direction. Its occupant was hidden from view by the partially lowered blinds, a precaution which was effective without at the same lime advertising itself as significant. Eden, for it was he, leaned back, and a gentle smile played over his features. Only his eyes, coldly aloof, startlingly grim, presented a striking contrast with his general air of innocent amusement. He had guessed and guessed aright. But Eden's guesswork was no happy-go-lucky plunge in the dark. If they had only known it, many a man now sewing postal bags at His Majesty’s pleasure might reasonably have guessed the uncanny accuracy of Eden’s guesses. Colonel Dainton, he had at once perceived, was being closely watched. To thrust himself unnecessarily under that vigilance when he had reason to believe he had so far eluded it would have been to invite possible failure, or at Ihe least uncomfortable compli ftatixms.

And so he smiled. Things were going exactly as he had surmised. The simplicity of the scheme was admirable —Celia drugged by a confederate on the boat; an ambulance all ready and waiting. As for the man shadowing Colonel Dainton, he anticipated no trouble in that quarter. He was there to provide against the possibility of any hitch in Ihe proceedings. Moreover, he had been his own precautions for the Colonel s safety, loung Stevens was a bright young fellow, a little over-eager in some ways, but quite up to a job of that nature. And what next? he wondered. It was 100 much io hope that the ambulance would lead him direct to one of the Gorgon’s lairs. That would be too simple altogether, and he could hardly imagine so astute an organiser taking such unnecessary risk. The ambulance had taken Ihe road to Bournemouth. Darkness had fallen, and the little saloon, with side lamps only alight, crept up to within a hundred yards of its quarry. Eden leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “You have lived here, haven’t you, Hardy? Are there any hospitals or nursing homes along this way?” he asked. “Only one that I know of,” he answered. “There's Ihe Leaverbrooke Convalescent Home about a mile further on.” “That's about it,” Eden mused. “What could be simpler—a hospital instructed from some authoritative source to collect a patient from the boat? Once there, she is removed by supposed friends, and Hie trail is lost. Infernally cool, and as safe as houses.” He grinned with reluctant admiration. His surmise proved to be correct, for a few minutes later the ambulance turned sharply through a large iron gateway and proceeded up the drive to a long white building, unmistakeably a hospital. Eden's saloon came 1o a stop almost simultaneously behind the ambulance. He leaped out, and brushing past two attendants on the steps, entered the reception hail. A tall, thin-faced woman of uncertain age and commanding appearance was sharply rating a trembling nurse. Her acid tones penetrated Ihe hall. Eden smiled. He was in luck. “Are you the matron?” he asked, blandly interrupting the monologue. She turned round with majestic dignity and fixed Eden with a coldly penetrating eye. “I am,” she said slowly. “And, pray, who are you?” Her manner merely implied that his insignificance was only too apparent, but the dignity of her position demanded that she must await proof of the fact from his own lips. “Splendid I” said Eden, cheerfully ignoring her hostility. “The patient who has just arrived is Miss Celia Rowson. Her uncle is expecting her in London to-night. Please do all you can for her. We start in ten minutes.” The matron raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know who you are,” she remarked frigidly. “But I am not accustomed to take orders from strangers. If you are interested in the patient you had better return in the morning.” Eden shook his head deliberately. “No,” he said, with a quiet smile. “Too late. She goes with me tonight. You want to know my authority, of course. There are, too, a few questions I must ask you—but not here.” W—a-uubiier wuru me matron turned and led him to her private room. The hostility of her manner had, if anything, increased; but Eden’s quiet persistence and the hint of an underlying threat in his words had decided her to hear what he had to say. A few minutes later she was a badly shaken woman. Her dignity was impervious, but struggling up through to the unruffled surface were signs of astonishment and alarm. “Of course, Mr Eden, I must accept your authority, but 1 can’t accept your story. It is absurdly fantastic. You will find you have made a mistake. Sir Eric Desmond is not the man to lend himself to such villainy.” “Who is Sir Eric?” Eden asked. “He is one of our Governors, and a most highly-respected and charming man.” Eden looked at the telegram he held in his hand. It ran: “Send ambulance collect patient from Caronia, Southampton. Instructions follow. —Desmond.” “A Governor of the hospital. Of course. That explains it.” “He made a note of Sir Eric's address on the back of the telegram and slipped it into his pocket-book. “And now,” he said briskly, “let us lake a look at the patient. The ten minutes is nearly up.” They found Celia lying on a bed. dressed still in her outdoor garments. Under the ministrations of a nurse she had struggled back to consciousness, but the puckered forehead and strained eyes told their own tale of the pain of her awakening. “Good!” exclaimed Eden, eyeing her dispassionately. “X’m taking you through to London, Miss Rowson, no\\ —right away. You must have a shocking headache, and I hate to disturb you, but the need is imperative.” Celia returned his gaze critically. What she saw evidently satisfied her. She asked no questions. For the lime she was unequal to any menial effort. She tried to raise herself, and lay back wilh a groan. “In a few minutes,” she agreed wearily. For answer Eden stepped forward with ihe utmost composure, and. slipping his arms under her, raised her gently and carried her out to the car. Celia's eyes flashed wilh anger, bul she was luo weak to resist or offer any protest against such cavalier treatment. “1 might have been a sack of coal or a piece of furniture,' she told Helen some time later. (To De continued.)