OUR NEW SERIAL THE YOUNG ARCHDUCHESS

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIII, 18 May 1922, Page 3

OUR NEW SERIAL THE YOUNG ARCHDUCHESS

(By WILLIAM LE QUEUX) CHAPTER XVIII. “ Things are by no means what thev seem,” said Vincent, speaking slowly in his most deliberate accents. He was sitting in the private room of the most renowned detective of Scotland yard, the man who had unravelled so many mysteries.

Mr Smeaton nodded his leonine head. He was about fifty, and his hair was growing a little grey about the temples, but his intellect was as keen as ever, his capacity for initiative had reopened by experience.” “ I quite agree, Vincent,” said Mr Smeaton cordially. “We have met on many occasions and I think we have usually come to the same conclusions. It is preposterous to think that this very excellent old Colonel, according to all reports the most kindly and considerate of men, could have committed this most foul murder.”

“But all the evidence points that way, and his own admission when he gave himself up.” “ Go on, Vincent,” said Mr Smeaton calmly. “ I suppose you have a theory. You are always full of them.” Vincent smiled. “ Not this time, Smeaton. But I would like you and myself to go down to Hithercombe Hall to-morrow, inspect that room where the tragedy took place and see if. with our united brains we could make something out of it. Of course, your people are in possession of it and the Market Harborough police are having a look in also. I suppose that fact will not disturb us much.” Smeaton looked at his diary. “ Nothing on to-morrow, except what I can easily depute. Yes, suppose we go and examine that room. The odds are we shall spot something none of the others have seen. How shall we go down, by train or motor?”

“By motor,” suggested Vincent. “ By the way, I should like to bring down a third person if you don’t mind • —the ward of the late Colonel, Miss Torella.” “ Why?” asked Smeaton curtly. He was just a little bit old-fashioned. He very much resented the intrusion of women in serious affairs.

“ Just for this reason. Miss Torella knows every corner of the old house. She might be useful.” “ True, she might be useful,” repeated Smeaton. “By the way, there is a bit of a mystery there, isn’t there?”

“Certainly,” replied Vincent. He never tried to fence with his old friend Smeaton. “ But you won’t expect me to tell you anything about that. It has really nothing to* do with this mur - der. If it had I should be bound to put you on to it.”

Smeaton shook liini cordially by the hand when they parted. “ You know, Vincent, I trust you implicitly. You always tell us as much as it is good fw

us to know and the rest you keep up your* sleeve. Well, I don’t blame you. Every man for his own hand.” “ A left-handed compliment, isn’t it, old man?” said Vincent. He never resented these little stabs. “ All you deserve,” replied Smeaton with his ever genial smile. “Don’t forget we axe friends and rivals at the same time. You can’t expect me to be too cordial.

Vincent left very well pleased. Smeaton was coming down to Hithercombe Hall on the morrow. Between them they might discover something. Smeaton had the eyes of a hawk and the instinct of a Red Indian. As he walked along to Onslow Gardens to interview the grave Renoir, he wondered if it was really necessary to take down Geradine Torella.

Geradine did not like him —of that he was quite sure. Well, it was natural. He was the principal exponent of the espionage placed upon her, so repugnant to her brave young spirit. Through Renoir and his sister he ruled her. She knew it and resented his domination, although she ought to have been very grateful for it. But, on mature reflection, he thought he would take her down. She might be useless, but on the other hand she might be useful. She knew every hole and corner of Hithercombe Hall. He consulted Renoir, who was as wax in his 'hands. “I am trying to find out some way for the poor old Colonel,” he explained.

Renoir was at once sympathetic. “ Ah, the unhappy friend of my beloved master! You think she could help?” »

“ She might,” answered Vincent with his usual caution.” “ In that case she shall come,” said Renoir with conviction. “ I will see her at once.” The poor young Archduchess, accustomed by this time to have her destinies settled by other hands, bowed her head meekly. If Renoir said something had to be done, it was no use fighting him. Obedience was easier. She often thought regretfully of her deal- old guardian, Colonel Ashdown

He always got his own way, too, but he always got it in such a charming manner. He almost made her think he was yielding. Monsieur Renoir, faithful servant that he was, had not quite got that charm of manner possessed by Ashdown. Continued in to-morrow’s Advertiser.