OUR NEW SERIAL. THE GREEN SHADE

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIII, 7 February 1923, Page 3

OUR NEW SERIAL. THE GREEN SHADE

By

HEADON HIL.

Author of ‘Millions of Mischief.” “Guile,” etc., etc.

‘That was so,” said Beryl gravely

“ And somehow or other my father fell foul of him for carrying out what one would have thought would have been his wish. At all events my terrible dad made Mr Snype so ill that lie could not officiate at Hugh’s funeral.” “ Strange,” mused Knyvett aloud, “ that agitation of that sort should give a man gout in the eyes.”

“Father says that gout flies to any part of the body where it is least wanted,” said Miss Fancourt with the air of closing the discussion. “ Where would you like to begin your researches at the Hall, Mr Vincent? Inside or out?”

“ Certainly not inside—till you have prepared Lady Fancourt,” replied Knyvett hastily. “If I could get a good view of the front elevation it would be a grand beginning. Any fairly high ground within half a mile of the mansion and with no intervening obstruction would do.”

They had turned in through the great entrance gates and were walking up the elm avenue. Without a moment’s, hesitation Beryl stepped from the beautifully kept private roadway on to the close-cropped herbage 'of the park and struck out for a fir-crowned hilTock seme little distance off.

“ That mound with the grove on top will be your best view point,” she said. “ We are not obliged to go among the trees, and indeed I have no wish to. But we can skirt the foot of the mound and climb up on the side nearest the house.”

Knyvett felt that another shake had been given to the cherry tree and that more of the ripe fruit was dropping into his mouth. From his careful study of the reports of the inquest he knew that the rising ground with the group of fir trees on the summit was the scene of Hugh Fancourt’s murder. He had been wondering how he was to get near enough to the terrain of his inquiry without giving away his real objective, and here he was being almost willy-nilly thrust into it. Verily the advice of that wise and stately Juno in the desk at The Fancourt Arms had been little short of an inspiration. Ha had “got in touch” with one of the ladies of the Hall with immediate insults that promised greater things. For the present the preservation of his incognito must claim all his attention. Beryl’s swinging, graceful stride soon brought them to the outer edge of the conifers facing the Hall, and while the girl flung herself down on the grass Knyvett made play with his “ property” sketchbook. But all the time he was concentrating on the lay of the land, measuring distances with his eye, noting the different points of view from which people on the mound or approaching it could see or be seen, and generally reconstructing the details of the crime that had been enacted a few yards to the rear in the sinister shade of those darkling trees. He glanced at his companion to see whether it would be possible, unseen by her, to step back into the grove and gain a clearer view of the spot where Mr Adam Fancourt was alleged to have found his cousin’s body. But here was an alertness in the lithe young frame which warned him that such a movement would be detected, and he went on with his bogus sketching as though his livelihood depended on the futile strokes with which he was spoiling paper.

Suddenly, while he was so engaged, a twig cracked among the trees behind him. Half inclined to make it an excuse for exploring the firs, he glanced again at Miss Fancourt, but there was no sign of her having heard the sound —certainly not of her having been disturbed by it. Probably jt had been caused by a squirrel or a rabbit, or some other denizen of the wild having its home in the grove. He proceeded with his camouflage for five minutes more, then he shut up and pocketed his sketch book. “Thank you so very much. Miss Fancourt.” he said. “I have made a rough drawing of the front elevation and I will do it to scale when I get back to the inn. I need not worry you any longer this morning.” Beryl rose leisurely and brushed some pine needles from her skirt. “ 1 shall escort you as far as the lodge gates, Mr Vincent,” she said. “ If my father were to meet you in the

park alone he would want to know, in so many words, what the devil you were doing on private property.” Thinking what a lucky dog Adam Fancourt must be if he was really this bright girl’s accepted lover, Knyvett followed her down the slope. They had traversed but fifty yards of the level when a voice reached them from the rear —a naturally rasping voice toned down in an attempt to ingratiate, like a rusty axle lubricated with bad oil.

“Miss Fancourt!” it called. “One moment, Miss Fancourt!”

They wheeled round and Knyvett saw a man hurrying down the slope on whom he had never set eyes before —a man who was obviously a towndweller in spite of his painful efforts to dress for the country. Instinct told him who this shouting person was and the next momenxt Beryl confirmed the guess. “ Hullo, Inspector Marske!” she sung out cheerily. “ What’s in the wind? Have you captured that elusive clue at last?”

The inspector came panting up. “No Miss Fanoourt,” he mouthed with a foxy eye on Knyvett, “ this isn’t business, but pleasure. lam a restorer of lost property—one of the functioift of Scotland Yard, though not the one that brought me iwto this charming neighbourhood. Perhaps you haven’t missed it yet, but here is

your ring.” As he spoke Mr Marske performed the same juggling trick which he had practised on Adam Fancourt in the presence ot Sergeant Wolfram. As by magic there appeared between the' finger and thumb of hi® right hand a half-hoop diamond ring, but there was this difference in the performance. Watching her with his cunning eyes, he held out the ring as if confidently expecting Beryl to take it. If so he was disappointed. The girl regarded the ring with a stony stare, then shook her head.

“Not mine, Inspector,” she said. ‘ Where did you find the pretty bauble?”

“ Close to where you were lying on the grass just-now,” rejoined Marske. a little note of insolent incrodulity creeping into his tone. Knyvett, who had been a keen observer of the epi sode, tok a step forward. If his vanity had allowed him Marske would have perceived that he had played a wrong card in permitting himself the luxury of disrespect towards the gracious maiden who had befriended the young man regarding him with suavely covert hostility.

“Do you not think, Miss Fancourt,” said Knyvett drily, “that* it would serve a useful purpose if you aski.i this gentleman when he found the ring? He seems to attach some importance to having found it, and all such little details ought to count.” Inspector Marske might have been stung by a wasp, so violently did he start. For the moment he lost control and glared at the propounder of the suggestion as if his cars might Lave betrayed him. But an instant inter he proved his quality and earned his adversary’s respect by adroitly avoiding the extremely embarrassing question raised. He half raised his cap to Knyvett and smiled at Beryl. “ This young gentleman, I presume, is' the sudent 1 of archtitecture staying at the inn?” he said. “An old friend of yours, Miss Fancourt?” Continued in To-morrow’s issue.