“VIPER’S VENGEANCE”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 79, Issue 101, 30 April 1936, Page 10

“VIPER’S VENGEANCE”

■; 1 SERIAL STORY

by RALPH TREVOR

(Chapter 111 continued.) J “Death was pretty slick, Doc,” remarked the shorter of the two. Then lie turned to the proprietor of “The. Sign of the Twin Moons” and asked: “Ever seen this man before?” The man with the face like an olive ; wagged his head. “-No —never. ’ •'And who are these?” he went on, I motioning with his thumb to Ronnie and the Canadian. Ronnie stepped forward and was about to explain when the Canadian ; pushed him aside firmly and effee- . lively. “J guess you’re the police,” he ! began. “You guess right first time,” • grunted Detective-inspector James | Adcock, of Scotland Yard. The heavy sarcasm was lost on the Canadian. “I guess I happened to be I handy when this guy was bumped | off,” he explained. “This young ' fellow here helped me carry him in I here. Everyone else was too scared, i More than that, 1 noticed this young chap take something from the body, ; It’s here. 1 asked him about it. and j I guess again that there’s some i ‘phoney’ business on hand.” lb* ! handed the small slip of pasteboard . that Ronnie had found. Adcock scrutinised the card carefully for a moment; then lie looked up into the hard-bitten features of the Canadian. “Thanks.” he muttered. Then lie turned to Ronnie. “And just where did you find this?” he asked. Ronnie told him. “1 suppose it must have been pushed where 1 found it as soon as the lights went out.” “So the lights went out, did they?” exclaimed Adcock, turning his attention to the proprietor. “What was the cause of that?” Andreas Nickopolus spread out his hands with a gesture of helplessness. “How can I tell?" he wailed. “I do i not know. A fuse, perhaps.” “Were they out for long?” persisted ; Adcock. “.Not more than a minute.” The Canadian supplied the answer. “So I guess it couldn't have been fuse trouble.” “Thanks,” murmured Adcock, as he strode to the door, followed by the police surgeon. When Ronnie returned to the room everyone was seated at the tables or on the chairs around the walls. A policeman in uniform was standing guard at the door. Ronnie made his way towards the table where Cara and Hugh were seated. “J don't think jou should have got mixed up in this,” grumbled Hugh. “How could 1 help it?” protested Ronnie as he slumped into the. chair. “Cot anything to drink?” Hugh indicated a bottle of whisky on the table. Ronnie helped himself Io a liberal measure and drank it neat. “You'll fell belter now,” Cara said, and Ronnie noticed that her spirits had revived. “Did they find out anything—the police, I mean?” Ronnie shook his head. “t. don’t think so, but 1 suppose, we’ll all be searched.” “Searched!” exclaimed Hugh. “Whatever for?” “The gun, of course. If you’ve, got a gun, Hugh, old man, it's going to be a wk ward.” Hugh grunted. “Wish we’d never come to this confounded place. I suppose they’ll keep us here, all night.” and Hugh helped himself to a glass of whisky and relapsed into an unaccustomed silence. CHAPTER V. Unknown Intruder*. It was almost three o’clock In the morning when Hugh Reynolds slopped the car outside, Ronnie’s Hat. Hugh was still chafing under their experience al “The Sign of the Twin Moons.” Cara, with a more elastic philosophy, took Hie inconvenience in her stride, as she, was accustomed to do with many of the other irritating things of life. She was quite satisfied with her visit to the place, because something out of the usual rut of life had happened there. She bade an affectionate “good-night” to Ronnie as Hugh let in the clutch with less care than usual, and the car lurched on its way Into the darkness. Ronnie mounted the stone staircase without hurry. The lift-man went off duty at ten o'clock, and while tenants were at liberty to operate the lift themselves if they felt so disposed Ronnie very rarely did so. He paused for a moment outside the door of his Hat, fumbling for his key. A single electric pendant supplied the illumination for the narrow landing, wl»ch served three doors. Ronnie found his key-bunch and was about to insert the key when he noticed for the first time that the door was not closed. It was standing ever so slightly ajar. He gazed at it unbelievably, his eyes widening. The only other person in possession of a duplicate key was the caretaker, Joe Witherby, who lived with his wife under the ea'.es, and Ronnie knew Joe better than to suspect him of entering the Hat in his absence unless a matter of emergency had arisen. Even so, Ronnie argued, Joe would never have left the door open. The strange events of the day crowded into the young man’s mind with the swiftness of children into a circus tent when the doors were opened. He became instantly suspicious. He remembered the girl’s exhortation to protect the Viper; remembered, too, the dead man down at “The Sign of the Twin Moons,” and the card with the tell-tale words on it that had been stuck into the dead man’s shirt-front. 07 course, it was nothing more than freak coincidence that he should have been the one to discover it. Anyone else might have done it, for that matter, and yet . . . Ronnie gingerly pushed the door open a few inches and peered inside the small darkened hall and listened. .No sound came from within. I Emboldened, he inserted a hand I inside the door, and his fingers closed | on the conveniently-placed electric- : light switch. He pressed the little bakelite lever, and a warm orange glow sprang into being. The first thing he saw was the door of the cloak cupboard standing wide open and its contents dropped into an untidy heap on the Hoor. Ronnie pursed his lips. 3e was normally a tidy being for a

man, and he was quite certain that j when, earlier in the evening, lie had • taken out bis overcoat the remaining ■ garments were hanging, as they ought to have been, from their pegs. Cautiously he stepped inside 111'J hall and gazed around him. His bag p lof golf clubs that always stood in the ■ angle beside the door had been i emptied out without regard for their < ; safely. They were strewn around. J ' Even his sponge bag was hanging < open, with the dry sponge exhibiting I thirsty pores. j He opened the door of his lounge j and snapped on the light. Here a i further spectacle of disorder met his < | eyes. Worse than that, his comfort’ , I able furniture bad been slashed to ; I ribbons and the hair stuffing of Hie ] I upholstery fairly littered the carpet, j | He turned swiftly to his bedroom, to ; find his bed in complete upheaval, i while the remainder of the room i looked just as if a bagful of monkeys • had been settling a long arrears of 1 i differences. Drawers had been opened 1 I and their contents scattered around, i and even the bathroom had not beer, j overlooked. A cake of soap had been , cut into a dozen small pieces. i Ronnie wandered among this exhibition of vandalism perplexed, .yet he had no doubt now what, it meant. Someone had visited his Hat in search of the Viper, and that someone had t been singularly thorough, but that had u not been thorough enough. A smile broke on the young man's lips as his eyes sought, the leather case that J housed his Kleanquik Kleaner. 11, was < true that had been opened, but the contents had not been removed. They , lay there gleaming under the electric < light, a tribute to the chromium : plating of the nickel parts that were guaranteed neither to stain nor peel. Carefully he stooped down and I gently stroked the little cylindrical j I dust-container, and noted that the j screw cap at the end had not been < I tampered with, and smiled as he rei fastened the case and straightened himself. It was then that he remembered that small folded slip of paper that some- ' one—a woman, he had thought at the f time.—had pressed into his hand 1 during the minute the light had failed ‘ at “The Sign of the Twin Moons." f For a moment ho searched his pockets • feverishly. He remembered now how succeeding events had taken his mind s away from it. Ah, there it was, deep down in one of the pockets of his j waistcoat. Carefully he unfolded it. It was just an ordinary piece of paper, and f judging from the ragged edge it had j been hurriedly lorn from a larger piece. Straightening out the multi- { tudinous creases, he saw written thc-c > in faintly indefinite lead pencil: '• “MEET ME AT MARCHAMPSTEAD, ; FOLKESTONE ROAD, TO-MORROW, ; FIVE O’CLOCK. IMPORTANT.—V." Ronnie sat down on the edge of his rumpled bed and read the message ■ through for a second lime. Then lie i ran his fingers through his hair. A ; doubt crept into his mind. When the 1 incident had happened he had believed that only the girl he had seen at, “Th l ' Sign of the Twin Moons" could have been responsible for pressing the note into his hand. He had argued that she must have been tolerably well aware of his position on the dance floor Im- j mediately before the ligtits had been • extinguished, and that she had taken ' that unexpected opportunity to pass ■ him the note. Obviously she could no? 1 have written it while she. had been < dancing. She must have had the paper ' in her hand perhaps half the. evening ; awaiting an opportunity to pass it on j to him. And what belter opportunity « than that? I On the other hand, Ronnie realised' that in the darkness and Hie disorder he might, have obtained the possession of something not intended for himself - at all. What if this note he held in , his hand wasn't from that girl at all, but from someone else—.someone connected with the murder of the man on the dance floor? The thought chilled him. lie felt that he was being caught up in a vortex of intrigue that he could not understand. Jf Hie girl had only given him an inkling that afternoon of what the mystery' of llm Viper was he might have understood; but to be kept in utter and complete ignorance of the affair was not only mystifying, it was oddly disconcerting. He didn't like the look of things. For all he knew the girl might be a crook. . . . Ronnie Bayford steadied himself a! the thought, Ilion he shook his head. She couldn’t be that. He was certain. ; If she had been a crook she wouldn't I ' have trusted him; and yet ; another doubt foisted itself upon him. Why hadn't she recognised him when ' their eyes had so obviously met at the ' night club? He passed a hand across ‘ his brow and found it unexpectedly ' moist. uut in the lounge the mantel dock chimed three times. Ronnie verified its ‘ accuracy by a glance at the watch on ’ his wrist. ' Three o’clock' Time for bed. Bu! ' what a bed! He couldn't possibly sleep in that linen and blanket chaos, 1 and it wouldn't be sporting to ring for j Joe's wife to come and remake the thing. Besides, Mrs Joe had something of a reputation for nosing out other people's business and she would be sure to place all sorts of fantastic J interpretations on the disarray of his 5 rooms. She might even suspect him of having had a quarrel with a guest. So Ronnie decided to straighten ’ things out for himself as best he ' might. It was easy enough to bundle •' ; the things back again into the drawers, , ' hut the bed presented certain difficul- ’ , ties of a complicated nature. »| At the end of a ten-minute struggle, I ' • however, the bed looked more orderly, ; and, locking his doors, he decided lo - • “sleep on it." But hardly had the •1 decision been arrived at then the tclc--1 phone bell tinkled. j The instrument was housed on a bracket in the hall. Ronnie listened to I its tintinabulatory voice for a moment, I indecision in his mind. Who could be wanting to ’phone him at this absurd > hour? Then he thought of the girl. . Perhaps something had happened io , cause her to make a change in the arrangements for to-morrow—or, , rather, for to-day. That is, if It was the girl who had passed him that note. 4To be continued)