“The Marten Mystery."

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 79, Issue 64, 16 March 1936, Page 10

“The Marten Mystery."

A Thrilling Serial Story

By

JOHN IRONSIDE.

(Chapter XXIV Continued). Then a shout was heard from outside, and the policeman, standing close to the door, opened it. “Someone’s coming!’’ called the driver of the police, car, who, under orders, had remained al the wheel. Stumbling, dragging foolsteps were heard in the darkness beyond, and as the policeman moved towards the sounds a wild figure staggered past him into the light, lurched forward, and clung for support to a pillar of the porch, staring dazedly at the little group within. “John! t di, John” cried Miriam, and ran to him. John Marten it was, pale, dishevelled, hatless, his hands torn and bleeding, his clothes plastered with wet mud: a disreputable, distraught, drunk-en-looking object. “Miriam!” he muttered hoarsely, and, making a gallant effort to recover himself, slipped his free arm protectingly round her, and glared defiantly at the others, who hurried forward. “Freeman!” he exclaimed, recognizing him . “ Yes, we guessed you were here, and came after you. Lome on, weTI get out of this, and soon have you all right again, ami hear all about it. Into the car, both of you.” He saw that John was on the verge of collapse, and with the aid of the policeman hustted them both into the car, and produced a flask of brandy that he always carried ready for emergencies. Norton turned grimly to Hermann, who stood stammering and staring. He was either utterly taken aback or was a consummate actor. “So he was here! What do you know- about it?” “Nothing at all, I give you my word, sir!” Hermann protested vehembntly. “ I’ll swear lie’s never been inside the house to-day! And, as I’ve told you, there's no one here but me and the house-servants. Mr. Devlin may be back to-morrow.” “What’s his address?” “I don’t know, sir. None of them. They all went off in such a hurry. Hut Mr. Devlin is sure to telephone fmm Paris to-night or to-morrow. What name shall I give him, when I tell him what’s happened? ” “ You needn’t give him any. Your name’s Hermann, isn’t it? ” German nationality? ” “ No. sir. British subject. Born in Glapham.” “ How long ha\e yon been in Mr. Rodin’s service? ” “ Nearly two years, sir. Since just after he came to live here. I was for many years with Hie late Mr. Justice Farley before then — till he died, in fact.” ” I see. Well, good night .... Nothing more to be got out of that fellow,” Norton remarked as he took his seat in the car. after giving brief instructions to the driver. “ And personally I think he’s just, what he appears, a highly-respectable and discreet factotum. But we'll keep an eye on the place for Hie present. I’m going Io drop Evans outside, and send a. relief along later. . . . Feeling better, Mr. Marten? Good. We’ll hear all about it when we get back.” John hadn't the least desire to talk. The one thing that mattered at the moment was that he was sitting beside Miriam with his arm still round her. She was safe, had escaped from Rodin’s clutches, and had instantly returned to rescue him, bless her! That much he had gathered from her, and Freeman, during Norton’s brief colloquy with Hermann, and whatever else might befall, for the lime being he was blissfully happy. So was she. To them both it seemed a short drive this time, to be welcomed, almost with tears, by faithful old Tattam. “Thank God. sir! T knew they’d find you. And dinner’s all ready and waiting, sir. You must need’ it, and Miss Cave and these gentlemen too.” That was so like old Tattam. Never forgetful of their creature comforts, even in times of stress and danger ! During the meal .Tohn related his story. Only for short intervals had he been entirely unconscious. “I don’t, know what the stuff was . . . except that it was gas of some sort . . . and they must have given me more than one dose, for once or twice I came round a little, though I couidn t move or speak, felt helplessly drunk, in fact, and thought I’d better lie low and seem worse than I was. There was another man in the car beside me when ave stopped, though when he was picked up I don’t know. “There seemed to be some delay and altercation. I lizard Devlin’s voice, nut could only catch a word here and there. ‘You can't bring him in here now. . . . We’ve got to be off slick. . . . Put him in the cottage . . . HI come right back and fix him . . .’ Then we went on bumping over rough ground, and I drifted off again. “The next I knew I was lying on some sort of hard bed that smelt mouldy. It was pitch dark, and I could ‘just make out that there was a small window. “At first all was quiet, then there were sounds at a little distance, and lights flashed, torches or lanterns, and presently I heard the roar of an aeroplane taking off —that was quite unmistakable.” ‘T know where you were. In an empty cottage near the hangar. !• saw it on Saturday!” Miriam interposed. “Why did they do it? . . . But never mind that now. Go on!” “There's not much more to tell. I couldn't move for a time —couldn't even think consecutively, though I guessed I was in Rodin's grounds. At last I managed to get up and feel about the room. There was some furniture in it, a chair or two, and a table. The door was fast, and I couldn’t force it, and the window wouldn’t open, so I smashed it out with a chair—that’s how I cut myself.” His hands were neatly bandaged. Miriam had seen to that. “I managed to crawl through, and stumbled about, trying to get my bearings and find a way out, till !• saw the lights of your car, and made towards ’em. Y’ou know the rest. Wonder what would have happened if I hadn't found you all there?” “You may well ask that!” said I Freeman. “He meant to keep you | away from that meeting to-morrow at any cost. Well, you may thank your lucky stars—and Miss Gave here — I Afta-i we got. down when wo did- I

And now, thank goodness, -we've got something definite to go on. For, of course, you’ll take action against him at once for this outrage, Mr Marten.” “You’ve got to catch him first,” I rton reminded them dryly. “And I lake it that won’t be easy!” EH APTER XXV. j Rodin’s Luck. I Next morning early John went to Martendale, and found him still in bed, I suffering from the effects of an over- ! night debauch. Despite his fretful I protests that he had an awful head, ‘ and couldn't go into anything at this < unholy hour, his brother sternly in- ' sisted on relating Hie whole grim story, beginning with his own adventure last night. Except for his concern at the news of Rodin’s curious mishap, Martendale appeared more amused than astounded, and asserted—‘‘Well, you brought it on yourself, you know. If you hadn’t been so damned obstinate it wouldn't have happened.” “Then you were in it!” “All's fair in love and war—financial war specially, y’know,” he said evasively. “And you’d have been all right but for Henri's accident. What rotten luck for him. 1 always loathed that cat. Hope he killed the brute, and that he'll soon get over it, poor old chap.” “You planned it!” “Not I. Didn't know the details, only that we didn’t mean you to be at the meeting if it could be prevented, so I left it to them. You wouldn't have come to any harm if Henri had been there, only kept out of the way till to-night. But I suppose, under the circs.. Devlin lost his head and didn't know what, to do with you.” I, “And you're my brother, you un- < spcakable scoundrel!” cried John in righteous wrath. “Are you such an infatuated fool that you don’t realise what Rodin is? That it he who planned and carried out the murder of Joe and Delia, and the devil only knows how many other's 1” That startled him. He sat upright in bed, staring at his brother. “You're mad! Like poor Joe himself!” ■ “I’m not. Just listen to this.” Tersely but. vehemently, his burning indignation giving him unwonted power of speech, he told him the facts, or what he and Freeman were convinced were the facts, suppressing only Freeman’s name. .Martendale, heard him out, more or less in silence, but refused to believe. “It’s a lie! A whole tissue of lies!” he shouted. “You’ve always been against Rodin, and against, me, confound you! Just you wait till Henri gets back: he’ll make the lot of you sit. up! You and your precious ’tec will believe a lying swine like that Garrett —against Henri Rodin, who's a genius and a. gentleman and rny good friend. You’re mad, as I said before. Mad as a hatter!” “Am I? H's no use trying bluster with me, James. I’ve put you wise, for your own sake. After all, you arc my brother, and blood’s thicker than water. But T warn you that if you continue to be one of Rodin’s tools and dupes you’ll find your neck in a noose, as he will, sooner or later! And you’re not going to wreck the Marten Line while I’m alive to defend it.” “You're going to tell this damned yarn to-day?” “If I find it necessary.” “What ah' -t criminal libel, eh?” “That’s r y look-out,” said John. But the bluff served. Martcndale alien ■.-. d :! presided over the meeting, but. said so little in support of his own i ■solution that an overwhelming majority supported John In rejecting the proposition to amalgamate with Lord Martendale's inler- ' national group, and deciding to maintain the old line’s time-honoured independence. Thereupon Martendale fulfilled his threat of resignation, and took himself off on his yacht, in a sullen but. unwontedly subdued mood, taking with him as skipper the little Welshman, Captain Lewis, whose resignation had also been tendered and promptly accepted. If on taking thought he accepted leven part of John's revelation, and feared what, Garrett might confess, Kinder olllcial interrogation, that fear proved groundless. | Garrett was never brought before i the magistrates. He was found dead ! iin his cell that morning, having hanged i himself. But Lord Martendale only (learned that news from the evening papers. “They ought to have kept a stricter eye on him,” was Freeman’s disappointed comment. “Rodin’s luck still [holds!” I On a December afternoon some i months later, when he returned home i to the pleasant flat overlooking the Park, where he now In-stalled, with Tattam in charge, John Marten found Freeman awaiting him, and, as on a previous occasion, beguiling the time by playing patience. The tragic house in Carlton Square was up for sale, and in the City all was going well with the Marten Line under its new chairman. The two men greeted each other cordially. “Finish the hand,’’ John suggested. “It's come out this time.” He .gathered up the cards. “Thought i’d just look in to see how things were going. You’re off to Chelcombe I to-morrow for Christmas, I hear, to Miss Cave's people.” “Yes, for a fortnight or so. My niece and nephew go over to-day.” “Give my compliments to Miss Cave. Tell her whenever I think of her I metaphorically take off my hat to her! A wonderful young lady. The I ‘one woman in a thousand’ that old Solomon said he’d never been able to find!” “John laughed. “I’ll tell her. You'll be seeing her up here before long.” “Then she’s coming back to town?” “Well, yes. Fact Is . . . we are to be married in the new year.” Freeman held out his hand. “Good! Congratulations indeed. That’s the best news I’ve heard for I many a day. Though, mind you, I'm not surprised I”

* You" "never ar*. . . . -Here's i Tattam with tea. You’ll stay for a cup, Freeman?” “Thanks. I never refuse, as you know. Tattam looks years younger since you moved in here,” he added, as the old man withdrew. “Yes. Good old fellow. He's coming down to the wedding, of course. It will be very quiet. Just ourselves,” “Lovely little place, too.” “You know it?’’ “Only there once, and for 8 few minutes. That’s the only time 1 ever saw Rodin face to face.” John paused, cup in rand, and stared at him. “You were there? At the funeral?” Freeman’s eyes twinkled. “In a way. You heard about the mysterious woman in the churchyard that he and Devlin were so upset about?” “Of course. Why, you don't mean to say . . “That she was ‘no lady’? Yes, I pride myself a bit on that make-up! I’d had a lot of practice, years ago, in the war. They always used to cass, me for a woman, a young ’un sometimes, when we got up shows, and 1 always got. away with it; . . . You see, I was going down to Bristol on the jo-b, and knowing Bodifi would be there, thought I’d go through Chelcombe, and try and get a look at, him. But. 1 didn’t, intend that he should have such a look at me that he’d know me when he saw me again. It was a jolly good makeup, though I say it, ami he was thoroughly taken in, though he smelt a. rat directly afterwards. “Jt was lucky J did try it on, too, for if I hadn’t -seen and spoken to him then I should never have attempted to bluff that fellow Garrett. Not that it -was any good, except to satisfy my own—or rather, our own—private convictions.” “Yoip’ve heard nothing more of him —Rodin, I mean?” “Yes, but not much. Thai’s what 1 really) came round to tell you. Our latest nformation is that he's gone to an old castle near Budapest. Bought it and settled in, just as he did at Twickenham, and in half a dozen other places in the world. So I bet there’ll be trouble of some sort In that corner of Europe pretty soon/ He stirred his tea reflectively, and continued—- “ Did you ever know’ such luck as his, Mr -Marten? We know that he was the power behind at least three cold-bhpoded murders without counting young Adams—but we can’t prove it against him. Then, if it hadn't been for that queer frenzy that seized him when he was talking to Miss Gave, and his scrimmage with the cat, we’d have got him for kidnapping you, and a lot more must have dome out. But he makes his get-away, quite naturally and legitimately, and recovers from his injuries, where! anyone else would probably have died of blood-poisoning. And the moment he heard—as I’ll be bound he, or Devlin, did, at once—that we’d been there, and were on his track, he v’ust abandons the place. Staff paid off, and nothing against any one of ' them- the servants, I mean—that we ' can oiisjover.” It! s all shut up still, I suppose?” “Ves, not a soul there but the ! lodgf-keeper, a surly old fellow who’g ! a solrt of -fixture. Been there for I years. Rodin took him over with the placle. And he knows nothing, except | than it was a soft job, for which he was well paid.” pAell, I suppose we’ve seen the last of him—Rodin, I mean.” said Jomn. j Xou have, I hope. For your own ’ Not you, or Miss Miriam, are afraid of him, for Jj 4iriow you’re not. But you’ve bo til

nad trouble and sorrow enough through him. As for me . . He picked up his patience cards, stowed them in their case, and added: “I never leave a job unfinished. If i we both live long enough I’ll get him I yet. His luck won’t hold for ever I” (The end.) j