“The Japanese Parasol,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 12 October 1929, Page 7

“The Japanese Parasol,”

(Copyright).

CHAPTER XXL —Continued. “Bless my soul,” he muttered, “but this transcends everything. Lucas and that poor young Monro drowned! I never heard of such a series of mishaps in all my born days. Why,', if things go' on like this, I might be the one to kick the bucket next!”

An unpleasant thought, which afforded Blagdon the most acute discomfort. He was destined to reeive a further shock that morning—two more, to be exact—but the first, occurred on the return of the constable with the cloak, and two wide-eyed boys in tow. “Name of Gwen Bourne,” the man remarked,, as he pointed to a tab upon the garment, and the superintendent stared aghast. “Merciful heaven,” he murmured, “what next? That will be Miss Bourne of Ravenswood. is this another tragedy?” Putting the cloak under his arm, he got out his bicycle, and pedalled off to the Bournes' house, where he found, a considerable state of commoting

reigning. “If you iaa 'm,” Ellen, the maid,- rey,iai-ked as she brought her mistress's breakfast into the bedroom. —Mrs Bourne always breakfasted in bed—“there's a telegram for Miss Gwen. I found it in the letter-box; one. of them dratted boys must have put it there instead of delivering it. Shall I take it to her?” “A telegram? Dear me, whatever can that be?” Mrs Bourne took the envelope, and turned it over in her fingers as if she expected it would bite her. “Yes, you’d better give it her at once. She’s not down to breakfast yet, then ” “No, m’m, not yet.” Ellen departed, and her mistress applied herself to her breakfast. Like Blagdon, she felt that things werg moving too quickly for her these days, but that did not impair her appetite. She was placidly cracking an egg when the girl once more burst into the room, her pound country face alight with excitement. “If you please, m’m, Miss Gw'eii's not in her room.” Then, with the' awed consciousness of having more than once read the phrase in her favourite series of novelettes, she added: “And her bed’s not been slept in.” * Mrs Bourne ceased cracking her egg, and sat up a little straighter. Such a contingency as that mentioned seemed to her impossible, and she did not believe it. Nevertheless, she put on a dressing-gown and went to see for herself. Then she sat down helplessly on a chair. “Dear me,” she said, “how very—how very remarkable.” Whereat Ellen began to giggle in that inane and overwrought, hilarity which is the prelude to hysteria. Fortunately, a ring at the. front door' bell put a stop* to the incipient attack, and she rushed downstairs to answer, it, returning with a countenance on which awe and agitation were still more ■ strongly mingled. Ellen was having the thrill of her young life.

• “If you please, m’m, it’s Supt. Blagdon, and he says he must see you at once. ’ ’

Her mistress raised a bewildered hand to her forehead. “Dear me,“ she murmured, “how very extraordinary. Help me to dress, Ellen. ’ ’ Blagdon did not like his errand. He heard Mrs Bourne’s slightly incoherent statement that her daughter was missing with a grave face. It seemed to bear out his own sinister forebod-

ings. “Is this her cloak?” he asked pre sently.

“Why, yes; did you find it in the garden? She must have left it there when she saw the dear colonel off the premises. How careless of her.” It was on the tip of Blagdon’s tongue to tell her it was not found in the garden, but she was as‘yet so patently unalarmed that he forbore to disillusion her.

“When did you last see yoqr daugh ter?” he inquired.

“Last night; I left her talking to Colonel Winthrop.”

“Did she go out with him?” “I don’t know; the dear colonel brought bad nows —that detective fiom London and poor Mr Monro appear to have been drowned —and it so upset me that I went to bed. But she may have done so, for a little way—she often did you know. But I’m sure dear Colonel Winthrop wouldn’t let her come to harm. She was engaged to Hugh Monro,” she added ineonsequentlv. Blagdon caught His breath. > o that was' it! He felt he understood now the meaning of that cloak. Grief at her fiance’s death. ...

But lie asked one more question. "When did you first find she was missing?” "When Ellen brought the telegram —that reminds me, I wonder what was in that telegram?” "Telegram? What telegram?” After some fumbling, she produced it from her bag, and handed it to the superintendent. "Those tiresome boys —” she began, when Blagdon cut her short. "With your permission, I think we ought to open this,” he said. "Oh do you? Perhaps so; I won,dcr who it can be from? I never— 1 ” He slit it open, and when he rea Hugh’s message he passed Ins hand through his scanty hair in a motion of utter bewilderment. It was so tota - ]y a t variance with what he ha rea

(To be Continued).

BY ELLIOT BAILEY. Author of “Mr Benson’s Business,” “The Campden Hill Mystery,” “The Mablethorpe Tangle,” etc., etc.

“Spoofed,” he said disgustedly, “absolutely spoofed. Never met such a plausible rascal in my life.”

His chagrin amused Lucas. “He spoofed me, too,” lie admitted, “so no wonder he did you who had no cause to suspect him. Still, I don’t mind betting his race is almost run. Even the wiliest old fox gets caught at last.” “I hope you’re right,” was the hearty reply. “I only wish I could be in at the death. To talk Irish, Lucas, that fellow’s brush will be a feather in your cap.”

“I’m not wearing it yet,” the other said, more soberly., “Still, as I remarked, I' hope to do 1 so.”

An uneventful run brought them to Hengrave police station early in the afternoon, and there they found Blagdon, not yet able apparently to sort his ideas of these later happenings into anything approaching order. He was- certainly less surprised to see them than he would have been had he not read Hugh’s futile telegram to Gwen —and in this respect the arrival of a detective-sergeant from the Yard with certain instructions soon after he had got back to the station further enlightened him —but Lucas’s brief and emphatic recital of what had taken place on their week-end jaunt left him with open mouth, and well-nigh dazed.

“Colonel Winthrop!” he gasped. “Tried to murder you, you say? But —but he’s ono of the leading lights about these parts!” “Possibly,” Lucas Tetorted drily, “but I’ve known a churchwarden rob a till before now.”

“Well, well, well! Marvels will never cease. Even now, I can hardly believe it.”

“You’d have believed it all right if you’d been standing on that reef with the water slowly creeping up to your chin,” was hte sardonic response. “Eh, Monro?” “He certainly would,” the latter agreed, “but I don’t wonder he’s surprised. Winthrop was a little tin god in my eyes, too, until recently. One would never have thought ho was a villain.”

“And how great a villain we have not proved even yet,” Lucas added gravely. “It is with a view to discussing ways and means of doing that that I’m here now, Blagdon. You’ve carried out the Yard’s instructions, I

suppose?” “Yes, although I cmouldn’t see the force of them at the time. However, what you say puts a different light on matters. But Winthrop—you could knock me down w’ith a feather!”

in the paper. “Listen,” he commenced, and then it was that he received his second shock that morning. From somewhere near at hand a scream rang out—a woman’s scream — so shrill, so terrible, that he sprang to Ills feet in startled horror. For a moment lie stood spell-bound, and then dashed into the adjoining room. From that lie ran to another, and then to a third, until he had searched every corner of the house without avail. He only found Ellen, pale and trembling in her kitchen. She, too, had heard that dreadful scream, which had not been repeated. CHAPTER XXII. On the morning that saw the finding of Gwen’s cloak, and Blagdon’s interview with Mrs Bourre. DetectiveInspector Lucas and Hugo Monro said good-bye to those good Samaritans, Jim and Maggie Hines, and set out in a police l car for Winthrop’s bungalow at. Cowham. They still wore their fisher garb, but meant to change into their own spare things at the bungalow, and the B.ichcster police had undertaken to return ’their clothes to the Hines. With them, in ease Winthrop should be found lying low at the bungalow, went Supt. Malloek, a sergeant and a, constable, but they had no expectation that this formidable force \vould be needed for the cologoFs retreat was already being I ,y'(l''hcd, and the report was that there was no sign of him, and that apparently lie had never returned there. All the same, Lucas was going to take no chances. It was evident as soon as they reached it that the house was empty, being locked up just as they had left it for the sea trip which had had so drastic a termination. The police made short work of the lock, and the colonel’s erstwhile guests retrieved their belongings. Winthrop s were still there, and Lucas w'eht through thorn pretty carefully, without, however, finding anything that afforded him the slightest satisfaction. Matlock then left the constable in charge of the place, who could, if necessary, call upon the assistance of the local policeman, and they all departed for Biche'Stcr Under the curious eyes of a group of villagers to whom such unusual doings were a landmark in their lives. They dropped Malloek and his sergeant in Bichester, with many expressions of hope from the superintendent that they would lay their quarry by the heels. He could not'get over the fact that he had actually had the colonel in liis power, and had let him go.