" The Black Shadow,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 18 August 1933, Page 7

" The Black Shadow,”

CHAPTER NXIV.—FATHER AND * SON.

It was nearly six o’clock next evening when Sir Alfred and his solicitor arrived in the big car. Jimmy was on the watch for them, and cpme out into the hall at once to receive a curt and surly greeting.

“Well, liow’s Mrs D.?” ‘ ‘ Getting on very well, sir. Out of danger, we hope, though —” “Out o’ danger! I should think so. Never in it, if you ask me. A sheer try-on —that’s what it is. She wouldn’t ’ave took me in as she’s took you. No, and I wouldn’t ’ave took ’er in, neither, if I’d been ’ere —not by a long chalk,’’ he grumbled. Suppose you’ve got a pack of nurses in?” i“No, sir. Considering all circumstances, we didn’t think it advisable to have strangers about her, and as Mis 3 Grey was kind enough to take charge and sit up all night with her —•’ ’ Sir Alfred brightened. “She did that if Bless ’cr —just what she would do; though Millie ain’t worth it.. Where’s she now? —Miss Grey, I mean.” ‘‘Here,” said Jimmy laconically, looking up at the staircase, where Pat appeared. Sir Alfred bustled to meet her, hastily fixing his monocle and shooting his cuffs. “My dear Miss Pat, ’ow are you?” he inquired effusively, enveloping and retaining her hand in his great paw. “Why, you look as fresh as a daisy, though Smith ’ere’s just been telling me you sat up all night with my poor girl. I always thought you was an angel, and now I know it. Sure you ain’t done up?” “Quite sure, Sir Alfred. I’ve had a splendid rest, and am just going to take charge again. Ann’s with her now. ’ ’ “I’ll come straight up with you and ’ave a look at ’er. ” “No, please, Sir Alfred. That’s why I came down as soon as I heard you arrive. She’s so terribly weak that even you ought not to' see her at pre“Well, if you say so, Miss Pat, I’m bound to obey—your ’umble servant always. But you’ll come down again directly?” "“Oh, yes. I’ll see you after Peter, or Dr. Ablett, has been. One or other will be here soon. You see, I’ve billeted myself on the house, Sir Alfred,” she said lightly over her shoulder, as she ran up the stairs. ‘‘Billeted! I like that. Don’t you know yet as my ’ouse and everything in it, including yours truly, is yours to command?”

But Patricia had passed out of sight. Grinning widely, settling liis collar, and allowing the troublesome monocle to dangle unheeded, he rejoined the others.

“Well, I s’pose we’d better go into things. Sooner the better. What about a spot o’ whisky to start with?” “It’s there in the library, Sir Alfred,” said Jennings. '“Right you are! Then come along, you two. See ’er, Barrett?” he asked, with restored good humour. “No time to introduce you now, but you’ll see ’er again—soon and often. ’Ere’s to ’er Miss Patrislia Grey —at present! ’’

He favoured the lawyer with a significant wink, which that gentleman discreetly ignored.

“,’Elp yourself, Smith,” he said condescendingly. ■“lf you ’ave ’ad all this worry, you’re looking fit. Or rather you’re looking different, somehow. Years younger. What’s come over you ? ’’ It was quite true, Barrett, who had only seen him once before, had then taken Smith to be quite an elderly man. To-day, despite his grey hair and his limp, he certainly did look younger, and there was something else about him, something that reminded him—of what, of whom? Or had he seen and known the man before, under other circumstances?” “Thanks, sir, I’m quite fit,” said Jimmy quietly. W Shall w T e get to business?” ( “‘Yes. Fire away. What about that scoundrel, Denton?” His jaw fell and his big face paled, as briefly but emphatically Jimmy told him the conclusion the doctors had arrived at concerning Millie’s illness, also Dorothy Prebble’s story, and her conviction that Denton had murdered her lover. He turned to Barrett.

“There, didn’t I tell you that ’e tried to do me in, that night in the car? And you wouldn’t believe me.” “I never said that. I said you could not prove it. And you cannot.” “And the feller’s still at large! Where is ’e?”

“That, unfortunately, we don’t know, sir—” “What! Then nobody’s safe from ’im. ‘ E ought to be laid by the ’eels, or got away from ’ere, any’ow. Why didn’t you do as I told you over the ’phone last night, and again this morning?” “We’ve done our best, Sir Alfred. Peter Grey and Ablett and I weiit down to try to see him this morning. Their idea was to examine him, and if necessary certify him as a dangerous maniac—he is that, I’m convinced—and put him under restraint, temporarily at any rate. We found he had borrowed a couple of pounds from Prebble and taken himself off, by the early bus to Stroud, saying he might be back to-night, but they were to expect him when they saw him.”

“Then you let him slip through your fingers, and ’ave done nothing else?” “ We’ve done everything possible till you and Mr Barrett can take charge, sir. Ablett and I went at once to the Chief Constable —Ablett, of course, knows him well —explained the whole thing to him, and the police throughout the country have been warned to look out for him, keep him under observation, and report by telephone at once. The police at Newmarket and all intermediate stations —and Paddington, too —have been warned in case he should go back to Newmarket, where they came from yesterday.”

Barrett nodded. “Quite right. Any reports come through, Captain Smith?” ‘ ‘ Only negative ones, so far, sir, except that he got off the bus before it reached the terminus.”

(To be Continued).

“Well done, Captain Smith,” said Barrett. “They are bound to catch and detain him, sooner or later. If Mrs Denton recovers we may still avoid exposure and scandal. _lf not, he will have to be brought to trial.”

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY JOHN IRONSIDE. (Author of “Chris,” “Lady Pamela’s Pearls,” “The Crime and the Casket,” etc).

“What’s that? Sit down, Barrett. I ain’t going to ’ave no private conversation with anybody. ’Ad enough of that sort o’ thing with Denton. I don’t know what you can ’ave to say to me, as you don’t want Barrett to ’ear, but whatever it is, out with it!”

There was fear as well as truculence in his tone, and he shifted uneasily under Smith’s stern, steady gaze. “Very well, sir. I only wanted to spare your feelings, and to point out that you cannot possibly shelve your responsibilities towards your elder daughter and her husband, as you propose to do. Have you no decent feeling in you at all? The man may be a scoundrel, but he’s a maniac now, not responsible for his actions, and you’ve got to take responsibility for him, and for your daughter, who is as much your victim as his!' ’

“You —you dare —” Sir Alfred began and quailed before Jimmy’s eyes. ‘,‘Stop. You’ve asked for it, and you have got to hear me out. I say you are the one most to blame. Look back, if you dare, at the years that' are past, and think of your greed, your tyranny over those that are nearest and should have been dearest to you, that has blighted their lives, and now at long last has brought these tragedies to pass. How dare you say you’ll wash your hands of them? How dare you, of all men, imagine that Patricia Grey would marry you, for I know that you meant her!”

Sir Alfred cowered in liis chair, as if confronted by a ghost.

'“You dare even to think of her as your fourth wife, you who in years gone ,by have tortured and killed three women, as surely as your miserable son-in-law tried to murder Millie, but more slowly, more cunningly, keeping within the law! I can’t remember my unhappy mother—she didn’t suffer long, thank God —but I remember Millie’s — I remember Ann’s. Who could forget, who knew what their lives were with you? Of myself I say nothing, but what of your daughters, my sisters? How have you treated them all these years? I blame myself now, bitterly, for leaving them utterly in your power. But the end has come now. You’ve got your chance. I’ve told you what you are, the first I expect anyone ever has done so. It’s not yet too late to make amends—to the living—and if you don’t do it, I shall take on the responsibilities you shirk, by God I will. Yes, and take my sisters away, leave you to yourself —to the wealth you’ve piled up —by what means you best know—and that is your god!” “My Gawd! It’s my son, Fred,” muttered Sir Alfred helplessly. Barrett, who had risen when Jimmy did, laid his hand on the younger man and said in his ear. “Sit down Mr Stone. This is a shock for all of us. We must recover ourselves, and go over everything quietly. ’ ’ The door opened and Jennings burst in aghast. “Oh, sirs, come quick! There’s something terrible happeningin the park.” CHAPTER XXV—THE SHADOW PASSES. Ann rose early that morning, and went along in her gown to Millie’s room. There she found her sister asleep, with Kate in attendance, who whispered that all was well, and Miss Grey had gone down to breakfast. As she was dressing, Dorothy Prebble brought her early tea, and told her she had seen Capt. Smith, who bade her say nothing to anyone about last night’s incident on the bridge. 1 ‘ Though I wasn’t going to, Miss Ann, after what you said. I’ll leave it to him and the other gentleman. They’ll know what to do, though nothing they can do will bring my Bert back to life. I shall be glad when he’s under lock and key, for till then nobody will be safe near him.” Ann felt much the same, with an inward conviction that the day would bring something momentous. Neither Pat nor Jimmy were to be seen when she went down. She saw them in the rose garden.- Pat rose to greet her, looking radiant as the summer morning itself.

'“Why you don’t look as if you’d been up all night,” said Ann. “I don’t feel like it, though I was. But I had quite an easy time, for she went fast asleep after Jimmy came in. And she knew him, Ann; knew him instantly, though she hadn’t seen him for twenty years.” “Millie knew him!” cried Ann, turning from one to the other. “What do vou mean?”

‘'‘Tell her, Jimmy,” Pat said, and he obeyed.

“There’s every hope that she will recover eventually, sir.” “Good. Then a private asylum is the place for him, and you should be able to arrange that easily, Sir Alfred.”

■“Private asylum, where they’d make me pay through the nose for ’im? Not me! Let ’im go to the pauper asylum, if ’e’s blued in all ’e’s ’ad out of me, I ain’t going to pay another penny for ’im. I wash my ’ands of ’im. ’ ’ •' '“You can’t do that, Sir Alfred,’’ they both said simultaneously. He glared from one to the other. “Oh, can’t I? ’Oo’s master ’ere? And ’oo’s got the money, I’d like to know? I tell you I ain’t going to take any responsibility for the fellow —no, nor for Millie, either. They’ve ’ad more than enough out of me, first and last, and, as soon as she’s better, out she goes. I ain’t going to ’ave ’er ’ere, carrying on and upsetting everybody, same as she used to. For one thing it won’t be fair to my wife. . . I’m to be married again before long,” he added, looking at Jimmy. “If the lady consents,” suggested the lawyer drily. “Slie’l consent all right, when she knows the settlements I’m going to make for ’er,” he said confidently. “But we needn’t go into that now.” “Mr Barrett, I should like a few words jilone with Sir Alfred,” said Jimmy quietly, his face very white, very determined. Sir Alfred shot a suspicious glance at him.