"The Cry in the Wight,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 22 March 1935, Page 7

"The Cry in the Wight,”

(COPYRIGHT.) PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER 111.- -Continued

“Blank covers/’ lie commented. “There isn’t a tiling. But, I say, Eansome, what about the domestic staff? There aro two maids’ attics and a serving man’s room upstairs, but there isn’t a sign of them.’’ “Holidaying —or gone out for the night. They’ve nothing to do with the business, I’ll swear. We’ll find them to-morrow all right. Better ring up the local station for a constable to be put on guard here when we’re gone. There’s a telephone in the hall. Might call up tho Yard at the same time and see if there’s any message come through from Southampton. ’ ’ lie resumed his task at the bureau, and Dearnley went out to the telephone. After a little time he heard the other’s voice. “Wliat name? . . . Repeat . . . Spell carefully. Got it. . . . Man’s sure? . . • Can’t be any mistake ho thinks .... Good! No That’s all.’’ A moment later, Dearnley was back, carrying a piece of paper, torn from a pad. “There’s the name you’re wanting,” he said as he handed tho paper to his superior. “Address, too!” The inspector read the name, with some eagerness. ‘ ‘ Sir Martin Charlton, Charlton Magna, Somerset. Um! I knew ho was a swell.” _ “Adventurous by nature! Just come back from Tonquin. Soldier of the Legion and so on,” said Dearnley. “Now how the deuce do you know that? The purser didn’t send you all that splosh.” “No,” Dearnley grinned. “It in half the papers this morning. I react it my own little self, . . .’Come to think of it, a fellow who’d been in the Foreign Legion might be fit for anything nasty. It isn’t a school for saints. And that knife-handle is of Eastern make or I’m a Dutchman. Sooner we’re in touch w r itlc Sir Martin Charlton the better, I think, and it’s a goodish way to Charlton Magna —” “Man’s in London! ” said the inspector a little sharply. “I told you that I saw him less than two hours ago. We have got to find him.” “A needle in a haystack; a particular dead leaf in a wood; one pea in a sack of peas —” “Boish! Sir Martin Charlton is an easy mark. The man is distinctive; couldn’t hide in a crowd if he tried —” “Wonder if, by any chance, ho hid in the Legion. I’ve known more than one man do that.” “Why the dickens should he do that?” “Why tho dickens should the heir to a baronetcy go to the Legion at all?” “Well, he’s back anyway, and I’m going to find him to-night. He’s the only live wire in this business, except that girl. And we shall have to find her, too. I’ll take that handkerchief and those papers, which don’t amount to much, except that they show Studholme did some queer business up and down the world. I’ll leave you to have another look round. But, for the Lord’s sake, don’t let the local Dick get messing round that knife.” “I’ll warn him off,” laughed Dearnley. “Think you’ll find Charlton tonight?” “I’ll pull him in before breakfast you’ll see,” answered the inspector confidently, and went his way. CHAPPTER IV. About the time that Ransome left Pondicherry Lodge, Dick Hadleigh entered his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, to find Charlton there awaiting him with some impatience'. o “You, old man!” he cried, in a voice that expressed undisguised relief. “Been here threequarters of an hour,” answered Charlton, tersely. “Sorry! If I’d known —” “Dick, I want Miss Rowthorne’s address if you know it.” “Well, as it happens, I do; but —” he glanced at the clock—“you’re never going to call on her at this hour?” “I am. I’ve got to. It is so urgent, that if necessary I shall call her from her bed.”

“Um!” Hadleigh considered him a moment. There was a certain ■worried look in the other's grey eyes that was noticeable, and suddenly he shot a question. “Charlton, did you go to Pondicherry Lodge?” “Yes; twice!” “See Studholme?” “No!” “Ah! he wasn’t at home?” “Yes, he was. He was dead with a knife in his neck!”

“Good Lord! What are you telling me? You’re not joking, old man?” “No, it’s the simple truth. I think ho must have been dead when I called the first time. He certainly w'as on the second occasion. Listen, I’ll tell you, then you ’ll know why I want Miss Rowthorne’s address. ’ ’ Ho told the story of his double call at Pondicherry Lodge, tersely and simply, and at the end, Hadleigh whistled softly. “Charlton,” he said, “this is serious. If those two fellows tell what they know, or that woman Queenie — and the police learn that you wenj; to the place to find Studholme —” “I know! That’s why I must see Miss Rowthorne at once. There’s a way out for me, though. That fellow who sent the telegram making an appointment with Studholme is the man responsible, if I know anything.” “True! But that telegram? It must have been vague if Studholme thought it had come from you. You can’t count on that too much.’l’ “No, I’m not counting on it at all. I’m counting on the silence of those two fellows, Hoppy and Harry. They don’t want to be dragged into* the affair.”

“There are the taxi-drivers who took you to Sharpnell’s Lane. The police will get into touch with them in no time.”

“I know it. That’s one of the reasons for seeing Miss Rowthorne. I want to warn her. Thank heaven the man who brought us back can’t have her address, and it’s little enough that he can tell. Give me the address.”

Dick Hadleigh asked no more questions. Going to a desk ho rummaged for a little time, and returned with a man’s card. “That’s her brother’s card. I know him slightly though I haven’t seen him for a goodish bit. He’s rather a wild bird. Bobbie and he share a flat,, but I fancy he doesn’t use his share much.

CTo be Continued)

BY OTTWELL BINNS. (Author of “The Lavenham Treasure,” “Diana of the Islands,” “The Mystery of the Atoll,” etc.)

You’ll come back here? Remember, I am by way of being a lawyer, and it seems* to me you’re likely to need expert advice. ’ ’ Charlton laughed a little grimly, “Oh, I’ll come back and report, never fear. ’ ’

He stopped sharply at the expression which came on the beautiful face. There w r as doubt, fear, and anguish all mingled, and she whispered brokenly: “My—brother!”

The words broke on, Charlton’s ears with the thunder of revelation. Hadleigh’s description of the man leaped in his mind —“rather a. wild bird” — and in a flash he understood the reason for the girl’s extreme apprehension. She was afraid, not for herself, but for her brother. His comprehension of the truth must have been clear to her, for she cried in sudden anguish. “Y —you see! God pity me! What can I do?” He did not know. With her conviction momentarily swamping his power to think and with no knowledge of the ground on which it was based, he remained dumb, unable to help her. So for perhaps ten seconds they stood, the girl’s eyes full of despairing appeal. Charlton’s aghast as he considered the tragic possibilities; and then, through the intense silence, there. came the sound of footsteps on the landing. “Oh!” cried the girl in' a tragic whisper. “Someone comes —at this hour. Who?”

He departed forthwith, .taking the visiting card with him. In the Strand he engaged a taxi and presently descended in a quiet Bloomsbury square, where most of the houses were obviously private hotels. The one he sought described itself as Cleevc-court, and was arranged in flats, with name plates in the vestibule. He read the plates; found that the Rowtliorne flat was number three, and since the lift gate was locked, climbed the stairs. There was a bell push outside number three, and as he set his thumb upon it, he wondered if the girl were at home, or if she had really gone to Euston in flight from London. He heard the bell ring, and* two seconds later caught a sound of movement within. The girl was at home then, thank heaven! Footsteps approached the door, hesitated, and then ceased, and for a moment his mind visioned the girl standing on the other side of tho door, doubtful, tense, apprehensive, wondering who her late caller might be. He knocked gently on the door, and, to reassure her, softly called her name. “Miss Rowtliorne! . . . Open ... It is I —Charlton.” Instantly there was a response. The door opened and the girl stood there, very pale, dark shadows under tho blue eyes, and, as he could see, quivering and afraid. “What . . . what—” “Suppose you ask me in, Miss Bobbie,” lie said, deliberately using that friendly name to reassure her. “This is not the place to talk secrets.” “Secrets?” she whispered and a tragic light flashed in her eyes as she stepped aside. Charlton entered the room and the girl closed the door find stood for a second quivering still, and plainly in very deep trouble. Then she spoke. “You . . . went back?” “Yes,” he answered quietly. “And y—you saw him?”

He shook his head and as he did so became aware of a half-packed suitcase on a settee, with some articles of feminine attire lying near. Was she going away? he asked himself; and as he thought she was, he did not need to ask why. Then ho spoke — “No. But. I know that Studholme is dead, stabbed —” “Oil!” she broke in quivering. “It was horrible. I saw him.”

“I suggest as much,” he said,” and I have come to warn you.” “To—to warn me? ’’ Bobbie ' Rowthorne shivered and looked at him with such terrified anticipation in her eyes that, whilst he wondered, he hastened to explain. “Well, you know you drove there in a taxi-cab, and you left in another, in —er —circumstances that would rivet the fact upon the mind of the driver. One or other of those two men or possibly both may go to Scotland Yard. And you may be visited by some inspector in search of information.” “Dear God!” she whispered. “I was afraid of—of—that. And that was why I —l changed the taxi.” “Yes. I guessed that much. That was why I came along to tell you to be quite frank with the police.” “Oh!” she cried desperately. “But—how—how can I? If you knew what I was afraid of —I cannot tell you. It — it is all so very terrible.” She broke off and a light of utter despair gleamed in the blue eyes. Then a thought struck her, and she inquired suddenly: “How did you find me?” “Oh,” he answered lightly,'“l had luck there! Hadleigh, the man I was with at tho Medici, recognised you, and l;e has some acquaintance with your brother —”