OUR NEW SERIAL. THE GREEN SHADE

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIII, 3 February 1923, Page 3

OUR NEW SERIAL. THE GREEN SHADE

By

HEADON HIL.

Author of “Millions of Mischief,” “Guile,” etc., etc. “ So it was Chuggles whom I met in the avenue,” he said. “Chuggles told 1 no lie, Ted. I was at the Hall late last night, and I think I had better tell you why I went there and what happened under my uncle's inhospitable roof.” Adam began by reminding Grimsdale of the two notes he had brought him the previous day—one from Lady Fancourt and the other from Beryl—and he went on to describe the contents of each, how the first was an invitation to dinner and the second a veto on accepting it, but making an appointment for midnight on the west terrace. From that he passed on to narrate the eveiits that followed the keeping ot that appointment, relating in detail bis disturbance of the burglar at the safe, his release tof Beryl, and the intervention and incredulity of Sir Jasper. The only point on which he was reticent was the intimate conversation, so rudely curtailed, between Beryl and himself. “ Was the chap at the safe a. local, sir? Didn’t you recognise him? ” the chauffeur asked breathlessly. “No,” was the reply. “He wore a mask and nipped out through the library window before I could properly size him up. I was hampered by a heavy raincoat. But I got on to something that with luck may give me a line to him. That is why I am telling you this, so that you may keep your eyes skinned for the original of what I am going to show you.” Adam got up and went to the table, from which he picked up the drawing beard. Grimsdale also rose, and looker over his shoulder. “ What do you make of it? ” Adam queried sharply. “Blessed if I know, sir. It might be a map.” Adam laughed “ It is a map,” he said. “ The map of the sole of the burglar’s right boot. I found the imprint on the wet gravel of the terrace when I was making my get-away, and I made a mental picture of it, which to the best of my ability I am transferring to paper. Observe that the mysterious intruder wore those rubber attachments which some people affect for economy in shoe leather, or more seldom for stealth;, movement. In the case of our unknown friend the latter motive probably fills the bill. The pattern of the rubber protectors, probably sold by the thousand, would yield no clue, but do you notice anything about the heel as I have por trayed it?” “ Yes,” Grimsdale replied after a prolonged inspection. “The head of the screw fastening is missing. The chances are that the rubber came off before Mr Burglar reached his lair, wherever it was. In any case if the boot could be traced it would tell the tale.” “Well, you have got to watch out for that boot, or another print from it when next it rains,” said Adam. “I saw you driving Marske up to the Hall this afternoon. Did he say if he had found Maud Bates?” “ No, sir. He wasn’t at all com municative. Not to speak disrespectfully of so famous a man, I should say he had a fit of the blues.” Adam grunted. “ Which means that he had failed in his quest, Ted. Also that we must look out for squalls. When a vain man i:> baulked he s bound to take it out of somebody.” “ It will be Sergeant Wolfram, I expect,” grinned the chauffeur. “ Or Miss Beryl and myself, separately or conjointly,” replied Adam giavely. “Thank you for looking in. young fellow, and good night. If the student in architecture shows any curiosity about me that you cannot satisfy bring him along.” CHAPTER XIII. THE SUN ON THE LENSES. Vincent Knyvett woke in his lavender-scented bed at The Fancourt Arms with a pleasurable sense of anticipation on the morning after his ar rival. During the hours of sleep his subconscious brain had assimilated the crumbs of information he had picked up in the bar parlour and in the company of Ted Gromsdale, and he saw in them a certain amount of material that would have to be sifted. Very raw material at present, but not devoid of promise if properly handled. He had a gigantic nut to crack, bir the extensive surface of its shell was an advantage in offering several soft, spots into which he might get his teeth. At breakfast he was again the sole gubst in the coffee-room. Afterwards

he adjourned to the entrance-hall, to be welcomed by Miss Clayton at the window of her glass effice. Carefully avoiding all reference to the absorbing topic of local gossip, he sustained his character by asking many questions about neighbouring country mansions and churches. He found the bookkeeper a mine of information. “ You are better than the best guidebook, Miis Clayton,” he said. “On the same tort of principle that charity begins at home I shall start on Famcourt church and Fancourt 'Hall and work thence outwards in an ever-widen-ing circle to these other places which you have so, graphically described. I have no aoubt I can ingratiate myselt at the Rectory for the purpose of study ■ ing the church, but I am rather apprehensive about the Hall Grimsdale paints Sir Jasper as a terror. • “ He is not a pleasant person,” Mi« Clayton agreed. ‘lf 1 was you, M.. Vincent, 1 should try to get at Lady Eancourt or Miss Beryl. Ihey ar.' dears, both of them. They would sure iy be interested in your work and would probably show you round thenselves.”

•• While they are stiffeinig from this bereavement?” said Knyvett with at' air of grave r-urprise. For a mocuert the ui'crvfct Miss Clay ton was at a loss for an answer. She looked down her nose in a manner perilously akin to th-.-v adopted by ol ! maids confronted with an indelicate or

knotty problem., 'lhen, .as always, equal to the occasion, she looked up and delivered herself brightly. “ Bereaved persons, if they are wise, seek distraction,” she said. “ Good for you,” laughed Knyvett. “ That settles it. I will work it through the ladies, though if it falls to the young one’s lot to conduct me per sonally I hope her fiance, if she na-: one, won’t be jealous ” It was the bookkeepers turn to laugh. “It would be a lad look-out for you, sir, if Mr Adam did get jealous,” she said. And then, without any pressure on the pump handle, the story came out — how Mr Adam Eancourt, the baronet’s nephew and now his heir, was in love with his cousin and had incurred there by the enmity of the young lady’s father. Naturally there had been nothing of this in the newspapers, nor had Grimsdale touched upon it. Kn; vett drank it in like wine. “How frightfully interesting!” ha exclaimed. “ And Mr Adam would go for me if I was civil to his sweet heart?” (Continued in Monday’s issue).