"The Cry in the Night,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 13 April 1935, Page 7

"The Cry in the Night,”

(COPYRIGHT.) PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER XXI. For 011 c brief moment after tlio failure of tlie light there was silence; then a little burst of laughter through which sounded an appalling scream. “For God’s sake —” “Queenie!” ejaculated Inspector Ransome, starting to his feet. The pitchy darkness was broken by the kindling of a match, which shed the feeblest radiance on a small table, quite close to that where Charlton and the inspector were seated. Another match was kindled almost instantly further away, and by its dim light, Charlton glimpsed the woman Queenie, an appalled look on her face, standing by the table where she had been seated; whilst in the shadow of the table was a deeper shadow which Charlton guessed must be Tiger Harry. Queenie’s cry became mere hysterical wailing that shook the nerves of the clientele of the club. As, for a second, darkness supervened, there was a sound of movement, as timid people' made for the stairs; and then again the woman screamed.

1 ‘My God! —Harry! ’ ’ The crack of a pistol filled the room with terrific sound, and the sudden flash showed half a dozen horrified faces then Ransomez’s voice shouted imperatively. “Sit down, everybody! The lights will be on in a moment. A rush for the stairs will mean holocaust!’’

That was true enough. In that darkness, if there were a rush, the stairs would become a place of tragedy. Charlton recognised that the inspector was right and he shivered at the possibility. He felt Ransome move from his side and cried out: “Where —’’

“I must get those confounded lights going. ’ ’ As he spoke the gleam of a small flash light, apparently of the small imi-tation-fountain pen variety, cut the darkness like a thin sword. It flickered here and there as a rapier might flicker in the hands of an expert, and Charlton had a sudden divination what hand held it.

“The man with that light!” he shouted, excitedly. The light found him, dazzling his eyes, and passed on. It picked out the woman Queenie standing by the table, and showed her face white as paper, the rouge upon it like shadows, her eyes wide with terror. A gibbering sound came from her lips, and the light seemed to bo moving nearer, the person who held it invisible behind the gleam. Then a man laughed. “A first-rate stunt! Bravo, Harry, you’ve given us a thrill.” “A thrill! Great Heaven!” thought Charlton, and then Queenie screamed again—an appalling blood-curdling scream—which sent more of the women present into hysterics. Charlton began to move. Here and there a match was struck, but, regarding the whole affair as some grim jest of the management, men who might have added to the feeble illumination held their hands. Here "was a theatrical stunt too good to spoil. Between the radiance of the matches struck and that of the flashlight, Charlton stumbled forward. He did not know what had become of Ransome. He stumbled over chairs, against tables, making for Queenie, on whoso face that sword-like beam rested, showing it frozen with terror. Then the pistol cracked' again, and the light from the flash lamp was jerked forward. “A hit!”• ejaculated Charlton, and continued to move forward.

Tho place was like a pandemonium now. Women shrieked and men shouted, whilst through the din came the tones of a voice crying stnetoriously. “Keep your seats, you fools! If there’s a crush on the staircase —”

Tho cries continued, but evidently the words spoken commended themselves to tho minds of those who heard for there was no mad rush for the exit. But the bearer of the flashlight was still moving forward, in the direction of Queonic and Tiger Harry, whilst Charlton himself moved towards the unseen bearer of it. “Harry! For God’s sake —”

Queenie’s voice crazy with fear sounded over the babel. The light was switched off as Charlton leaped.

“Oh! My God—’’ The sound of a shot drowned the rest of the words. The flash of it cut the darkness, and Charlton, colliding with a table, was deflected from the course he was following. Some one, hurrying, crashed into him, and ho promptly closed arms about the man. There was a snarl, an effort on the part of tho man to break free. Something seared his shouldor, and with his hold broken he went down, whilst the man he had held leaped forward. Then tho lamps in the room jumped into brief incandescence, went black, glowed again, and tho whole place was flooded with what, after the darkness, was dazzling light. Charlton, with a shoulder that seemed on fire, picking himself up, was aware of a mad scene—men with fainting women in their arms; other men crouching by the tables; more women screaming in hysterics. Ho saw Ransomc near the staircase with Dearnley at his side; Tiger Harry, a desperate look on his face, standing pistol in hand; a woman —Qucenio as he guessed—lying over one of tho tables; and the man who had been with Adrian Rowthornc bending over something on the floor. “Sit down —police orders! Sit down. You will be quite safe.’’ The pandemonium slackened a little. Men took their seats and endeavoured to quiet terror-stricken partners. Feet pounded on the stairs, and two or three men in uniform appeared. A man cried out in fervent ejaculation.

“The police! Thank heaven!” Charlton found himself standing by the table, whore the soft-eyed foreigner had been with the three girls. Tho man was in his place again, leaning back in his chair apparently not greatly disturbed bv the seething excitement about him. Then from tho floor a man lifted himself ur> —Adrian Rowthornc. Thero was a wild light in his eyes. He swaved as he stood there, surveying the room as he had done at the moment of his entrance. A stain on tho front of his shirt, showed that he had suffered some hurt,, and he looked on tho noint of collapse. Then his roving eye fell on the soft-eyed man, nearby wh<j>m Charlton was standing. “Castro!” he said in an accusing voice, with index finger outstretched. “You—”

He collapsed before he could finish

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

the accusation, but he had said suffic ient.

“Get that man!” cried Ransome’s voice sharply. The uniformed men moved forward. Manoel Castro laughed softly, and rose suddenly from his chair. A hand went to his mouth, then he assumed an attitude of defiance. There was the gleam of a knife in his other hand, and heaven knows what madness was in his mind, but Charlton, at just tho right distance, sent a driving punch which caught the man in the neck, knocking him over the chair and sending him crashing into another table, which collapsed, letting him to the floor, and before he could recover and pick himself up the burly constables had him safe.

Inspector Ransome moved forward and picked up a knife which had fallen from Manoel Castro’s hand. It was wet with blood. The inspector looked at it; and then at Queenie lying across the table, and drawing a mistaken conclusion, shrugged his shoulders. “Well! Broken eggs go to make an omelette! ... It might have been worse.”

Then he began to give instructions. “Everyone is free to go! But for the Lord’s sake don’t start a stampede! If you do, you’ll just trample each other on the stairs. Regulate the traffic, Dearnley! . . . Now! Those nearest the staircase first.”

In less than, seven minutes, but for three women who had fainted and were receiving attention from their escorts, the largo dance and supper room was practically clear. Tho police surgeon was stooping over Adrian Rowthornc whom, as by a miracle, he had brought to The Pecksniff to identify Manoel Castro. The latter, handcuffed, stood between two policemen whilst Tiger Harry, the pistol still in his hand, glared at Castro. Ransome moved forward and held out his hand.

“I’ll take that, Harry,” ho said quietly. The other surrendered the pistol with pronounced reluctance. “If I knew why the blighter had tried to put me through —’) he began, and stared at Manoel Castro as at some uusolvable problem. “I’ve never put eyes on the fellow in my born days before.”

“And that is most true,” said Castro, who now that he was a prisoner seemed inclined to accept tho situation philosophically. “Then, you blighter, what’s the idea?” asked Tiger Harry, in deeper amazement. “You must be a blithering looney.” “I do not know tho meaning of that, but if I whispered a name in your ears, possibly you would comprehend.” “Whisper in my ear! No! You’d bite me if you got the change, I guess. You can shout the name, if you want but you’ll do no whispering.” “The name, Mr Jackson, is Pedro Castro.” “Pedro —” began Tiger Harry, and stared at the man incredulously. “But you’re not Pedro —” “No! I am his son.” (To be Continued).