THE "HOODED TERROR,"

Wairarapa Daily Times, 11 May 1932, Page 7

THE "HOODED TERROR,"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY DONALD STUART. (Author of “The Invisible Clue,” “Mister Midnight,” “'The Secret of Whispering Beeches,” etc).

COPYRIGHT.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued,

11l With his mind full of rosy dreams ij= for the future, and oblivious of the in--111 clemency of the night, Mr Stepping 111 swung off at a fair pace and made his 81 way in the direction of Victoria. He I turned in at the approach to the Stall! tion, and, after glancing at his watch, (jl entered a buffet and ordered himself !!! a whisky and soda. When the girl bcjj| hind the bar had patted her hair into Hi what she considered was a becoming 111 position, and condescended to serve ||l him, Mr Stepping drained his glass at !j! a gulp and ordered another, for his j|| vigil outside James Lathbury’s ho.use ||| had chilled him and he was glad of Hi the stimulant. I After his second drink he left the 111 bar, and Sought a public call office, jji Having assured himself that the door 8 behind him was securely closed and j|| therefore that no word of his could !( possibly be overheard by the outside I world, he gave a number to the Ex|j| change, and waited: I Presently a woman’s voice came to 1 him over the wire. A shrill unmusical I! voice, but at the same time not without j a certain charm of its own. jg “Who is that?” it demanded. I “Is that you, Lydia?” asked Mr ;= Stepping unnecessarily. “It’s Harry ||| speaking. Listen. Can you meet me ||| in half an hour? Under the clock at jji Victoria ” j| “I’m not dressed, and it’s a beastly 111 night,” demurred Lydia. “What’s jjf the great idea, anyhow?” j|| “I can’t tell you over the ’phone,” li said Stepping impatiently, “but it’s || important. Slip into something and Is come along.” 1“ 1 “All right,” she replied, without enthusiasm, “I’ll get there as soon as li I can. ’ ’

“That’s a good girl,” said Mr Stepping, and rang off. To While away the time he strolled over to the Continental side of the Station, and stood watching the little groups of people waiting to meet friends or relations from the boattrain. Humanity in all its varying types, possessed a great interest to Mr Stepping, and in no place is there presented a better chance of studying one’s fellow creatures than the platform of a London railway station. Every grade and every class can be found jostling elbows. Mr Stepping had just spotted a pick-pocket acquaintance of his, and was watching his movements with that feeling of superiority that every big crook feels towards his lesser confrere, when a touch on his arm caused him to swing round. To a man of Mr Stepping’s occupation there is always something disturbing about a sudden touch on the arm! “Hello, Harry,” drawled a lisping voice, “What are you doing here?” The immaculate Inspector Cowles stood at his elbow clad in a beautifully cut overcoat, which being open displayed the fautless evening dress beneath. In his buttonhole was the inevitable white gardenia. “ Qh, it’s you, ’ ’ said Mr Stepping, in a voice without a touch of cordiality in his tone. “See here, Cowles, I’m doing nothing that concerns you.” “Everything you do concerns me,” answered Cowles pleasantly. “What’s the game now, Harry?” “There’s no game at all,” said Stepping, in an injured voice. “Can’t a fellow wait for a friend without half j Scotland Yard butting in?” I “I’m inclined to take that as a compliment,” said Inspector Cowles. “Who would you refer to as the other half of Scotland Yard? By the way, how is the fair Lydia?” Mr Stepping regarded him silently for a moment. “Lydia?” he asked, in a perplexed voice, “who is Lydia?” “Come, come, Harry,” smiled Cowles, “you know very well whom I mean. Your charming wife, Mrs Wallace. Or did' you marry her in one of your other names?” “It seems to me, Cowles, you know a lot about my private affairs,” snailed the other. “It’s a hobby of mine—people’s private affairs,” answered the Inspector, lighting a cigarette. “It’s a hobby that’ll lead you into a lot of trouble,” retorted Stepping, “you look out, Cowles. There’s something coming to you you won’t like, and it is coming soon. Y r ou’ve been sticking your head into a hornet’s nest lately, and the King Hornet’s out to string you. My advice is, quit. ” He turned on liis heel and walked away, leaving Inspector Cowles staling after’him, a thoughtful expression on his face. Mr Stepping had scarcely been waiting by the clock for more than . ten minutes when lie saw the smart figure of his wife approaching from the main entrance to the station. Their marriage had been a peculiar one, for they had been married secretly and had never lived together. At Lydia 'Stopping’s Hat in Victoria-st. she was known as Miss Benson, and Stepping never by any chance called there, and ordinarily they passed each other in the street as strangers. But in all Stepping’s schemes Ins wife was his only confidante, and on more than ono occasion success had been won by her shrewdness and quick foresight. The mere fact that they were never seen together made her all the more useful when she had to play the role of decoy, which she did on many occasions. She was small and dainty, with a perfect figure, and her face wore a perpetual look of childlike innocence. There was a touch of hardness, however, about her large grey eyes, and an expression that would have told a student of psychology that Lydia Stepping was not quite so unsophisticated as she looked. But Lydia made it a habit to steer clear of students of psychology.

As she approached, Mr Stepping gave an almost imperceptible sign and strolled over to the booking office. The girl made in the same direction and was close enough to hear him take a first-class ticket to a destination some miles down the line. She bought a similar ticket, and they both strolled on to the platform. A train was in and Stepping selected an empty first-class carriage and got in. After a little while the girl got into the same compartment. But it was not until the train had started and drawn clear of tlio station that they spoke to each other. It had been Stepping who had devised this method of communication, and it certainly possessed the advantage of privacy for, if anyone got in, they instantly became strangers once more. “Well, Harry,” said the girl, “what’s all the excitement? I suppose you’ve got some new scheme on hand.” Mr Stepping smiled. “You’re right, my dear,” he replied, offering Lydia a cigarette, “and it’s going to be the last. We can retire on the proceeds.” iShe accepted a light from the match ho held out to her, and blew out a wreath of smoke. '“Tell mo all about it,” she said shortly, and for over half an hour Mr Stepping talked, his wife’s eyes oj>ening wider and wider and wider with astonishment as he proceeded. CHAPTER V. —THE HANDKERCHIEF. It seemed to Richard Trent that his head had scarcely touched the pillow before the shrill ringing of the telephone bell at his bedside woke him with a start. It was after two when he had gone to bed, and, as he sleepily lifted the receiver, he glanced at the travelling clock that stood on the little table and saw by the luminous dial that it was nearly half past four. “Hello,” he said, yawning into the mouthpiece, “who’s that?” A man’s voice, very agitated, answered him over the wire. “Is-that you, Mr Trent,” it asked, “this is La tilbury speaking—James Lathbury. There has been a robbery at my house in Grosvenor Place. We nearly caught the man, but unfortunately he got away—yes, got away. There was a quiver in the banker’s voice that was not solely due to agitation, but held a trace of fear in his tone. , “Why did you ’phone me?” asked Dick irritably, not unreasonably annoyed at being wakened in the middle of the night. “You should have communicated direct with the police. “I thought you’d be interested,” answered Lathbury, “it’s the work of the ‘Hooded Terror’.” Dick instantly became alert, and wakeful. “How do you know that?” he asked quickly. “He left- his usual sign,” replied Mr Lathbury, “left it upon the desk in my study. Really the audacity of the man is beyond anything I could have imagined.” “Right,” said Dick, “I will come along at once. 'See that nothing is disturbed until I get there.” He hung up the receiver, cutting off the banker’s protestations of thanks. Shouting for Albert he hurriedly dressed while the sleepy-eyed servant prepared hot coffee. Waiting only to gulp down a cup ot the steaming fluid, Dick left the flat and went in search of a taxi. It was some time before 'he was lucky enough to find a belated cab, and stepping m was driven quickly to Grosvenor Square. . . The banker’s house was brilliantly lit, and as the taxi drew up at the door it opened, and the figure of Wills, the butler, presenting a ludicrous appearance, dressed partially in pyjamas, and partially in his hamitual black attire, came out to the top of the steps to meet him. “Mr Lathbury is in the dining-room, sir,” ho announced. “It’s a shocking affair.” , ~. Dick nodded shortly, and made his way to the dining-room. The stout figure of Lathbury, clad in a brilliant silk dressing-gown, which lie had evidently slipped on over his night attire, was seated by the table, sipping a cup of tea. The hand that held the cup was trembling, and Dick 'Reeked a smile as he caught the expression on the banker’s chubby face. Evidently Mr Lathbury had received a severe shock. “Well ” 'he said, as he entered, and, refusing ’the banker’s offer of refreshment, seated himself in a chair on the other side of the table. “Tell me all about it.” . “I know very little—very little indeed. I spent the evening at my club but feeling a little indisposed, lett earlier than usual, and retired to bed. It must have been about four o’clock —yes, I think it was exactly four, when a slight noise somewhere in the house woke me. The sound seemed to come from downstairs. I listened, and hearing nothing further, I concluded it must have been my imagination—yes, my imagination.” • (To be Continued).