Island's Thorne

Waikato Times, Volume 103, Issue 17385, 23 April 1928, Page 12

Island's Thorne

CHAPTER XXL—(Continued.) A little, old man, with a crumpled, whimsical, chubby face, opened the gate and came towards them. He lifted a tattered cap politely to Sydney, and waited. “This is Miss Thorne, Jownv,” said Neil. “Proud to meet ye, mem,” said the old man. “Me and yer fadder was friends lang syne. He was a great sportsman whatever. We’s a’ reet man, I want a word wi’ ye. I ha’c man, T want a word wo’ ye. I ha’e just heard down to t’ Thorne Arms that, t‘ owd lad oop at Island’s Thorne has been done to death. Is it the true word?" “Yes,” returned Neil. “It’s true enough. I am sorry to say.” “I thowt it must be,” went on Jowny complacently. "For they were laitin’ (looking for) lads to sit on Crowner’s jury for inquest to-morrow. I mun ha’e a bit chat wi’ yon Crowner mysel’.” Neil’s quiet eyes suddenly became very keen. "What do you know about it?" he asked sharply. "I was oot i’ a boat flshin' on t’ lake last neet,” returned the old man, well pleased to have an audience to whom to tell his tale, “and I seen something that was a bit queer. So I thowt I’d happen tell the foak at inquest aboot it. I coom to see what ye think on it, Neil." “What did you see?" demanded Fraser, in a voice that would not stand any trifling. Sydney stood beside him listening in intent silence. They both felt that they might be on the track of a valuable clue to the solution of the mystery. It was quite immaterial to all three that Jowny had obviously been poaching on Thorncwater, where Ashing between 0 p.m. and 6 a.m. was strictly illegal. “I was workin’ t’ otter,” said Jowny, "in t’ bay, close under Island’s Thorne, in yon spot where fish lies o’ neets; t’ moon was as bright as day. I cast my e’en over t’ house, and I seen a man coom oot o’ oopslairs windy and climb doon t’ girt wisteria that’s a’ over t’ hoose on t’ lake side. It was t’ windy first fra’ t’ end o’ t’ hoose.’ “That is one of the windows of the library,” said Neil in a hurried aside to Sydney, who nodded. “Yes, Jowny, what sort of a man was it? Could you see him plainly?” “Aye,” said Jowny. “That could I. I seen him right enow; it was just I as light as day, I'm after tellin yer, wi’ a great full moon. An’ a proper queer lad he were an' a . lie don t belong to these parts. I’ve never set eert on him afore, but I would knaw him again. He was all dark, that lie were, wi’ some strange, ootlandish ! claes on him. Sort o’ bright pink I colour they were.” Neil looked hard at the old man, wondering if his brain was gi\ing at last. , , "Bright pink I” lie echoed. )iou had not been spending a happy evening at the Thorne Arms, now, had you, Jowny?” , „ "1 had not." Jowny’s dignity was hurt “I’d had nobbut yan (one) glass o’ t’ stuff they calls beer these days, and that wouldna’ harm a man no more nor a glass o’ water. I m tellin’ yer I seed yon pink man coom doon’t t’ westeria and leg it along terrace intil wood. Ae ken weel eno -where it is, where t’owd bridle path went that runs through t’ girt bog, ■ and roond t’ the lake head. There , was a track yon road to Park Head r when I was a bit laddie, but naebody gaes yon way the noo. It is a queer carry on to see two lads gae by th3J | owd track i’ yan neet, I’m Lhinkin’.’’ ( “Two lads,” said Neil. "Come, ( Jowny, who was the other. Aou liaie ( only told us of the pink man so far. ( What else did you see?” ] "Why,” returned Mr Wilson, plain- j ly charmed at the attention his com- j munications were receiving. “Some j half hoor —yes, I knaw it must hae been a good half boor, for I heard c stable clock chime t’ quarter twice—afore t’ pink lad went his way. Well, * as I 'were sayin\ half an hoor afoie seen some yan come roond t’ hoose oot o’ t’ lir (little) door and gang that same road through t’ old bridle way.” , .... , He paused, and looked craftily at Neil; there was something almost cunning in his face. “\nd did vou know who that was. said Neil. “Was it a stranger too?" “Na, nal" Jowny chuckled. “I knawed him weel eno’. It was yon daft thing. Mr Ormandy, going coor|.in’. I seen him agoin’ many a neet afore.”

CHAPTER XXII. The Inquest. TTie coroner’s inquest was held at ! Island’s Thorne, in the breat banquetI fng hall, built by a Thorne, who had I loved the society of his neighbours, in i the sixteenth century. It was a long, i lofty apartment, with a musicians’ ; gallery at- one end. and large xxin- ; dows Ailed with coats of arms in rich j stained glass. At a table sat the Coroner, his clerk, | John Wroule, Lord Francis Croft, Mackey, and a gentle-looking man j with dreamy grey eyes. Inspector j Hume, from Scotland A r ard. \fter the preliminary formalities 1 were got through, the Arst, witness I was called, Mattel Lucca, the dead man’s valet. ; "You have been in Mr Thorne’s ; service for many years, I understand,” began the Coroner. "Now, we want I you to tell us exactly what happened I iast. night as far as you know.” Lucca glanced round the crowded hall with mournful, dark eyes. He i seemed numb and dazed with grief, and the shock had almost turned his brain. “I took my master his dinner,” he began in a low mechanical voice, ns if he were being prompted. “All was as usual, and after he had eaten, I cleared the things away. Then he sent me to ask Mr Ormandy to come and sec him, which I did, and Mr ■Ormandy came. Later, as was customary, *1 took up a tray of fruit and Whisky and soda with glasses. Mr Thorne always liked a drink and some fruit before going to bed. lie and Mr Ormandy were sitting over by the writing table: master had a paper in his hand, and I think he had been reading to Mr Hugh, anyhow he slopped when I came in. Mr Hugh was looking very cross and upset, and he scowled at me as if he was angry at being interrupted. The master dismissed me, telling me he had all lie wanted, and that I was to wait for him in his bedroom, which 1 did every night, and help him to get into bed. I waited and waited; I was worried, and it seemed a long time. I had the door of the room open, and T sat opposite it watching for Mr Ormandy to leave the library, and my master to come. After a while Mr Ormandy came down the corridor: he was in a '£ hurry. 1 heard him go into his

(By FRANCIS VIPOND).

(Copyright.)

own room; then, later, I heard a door open, and he came out dressed In a light shooting suit. I heard him go into the gallery from tho corridor, and run down the stairs of the side staircase, where there is no carpet. He seemed In a hurry, but took no pains to disguise his movements.”

Lucca glanced round the court, and continued. “Again I waited, expecting Mr Thorne to come to bed at any minute, but he did not come, and at last I got nervous. He had had several nasty heart attacks lately, so I went to see if he had been seized with another, and had been unable to reach the bell to summon me. I knocked at the door of the library; there was no answer, though I could distinctly hear some one moving about the room. I listened, but did not hear the sound of voices, so concluded that master was tidying up. But I was not hap-py in nry mind, and something made me knook again, and getting no answer I went in." The man paused and shuddered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably at the memory of the horror of that moment when he opened the door. Then, with 4 great effort, he continued his story.** “The room was terrible," his voice broke. “The table on which the tray had stood had been overturned, and the fruit was strewn all over the Aoor, the glasses and decanter were all broken, and the master was lying there all doubled up. I went to him thinking he had fallen, but when I turned him over I saw that he was dead, and that it had not been a heart attack, for his head was terribly injured." "Do you remember it the windows were open or closed?” asked Hume, leaning forward as Lucca paused again and relieved himself with some heartbroken sobs.

“They were wide open,” he said "with the curtains drawn tightly across. It was a very warm night, and though Mr Thorne always had a Are, and complained of the cold, he liked plenty of air. I think I must have gone out of my mind after that, for I don’t know what 1 did, till something'made me go and rouse Simmons and William. It was Simmons who woke the chauffeur and sent him in to Nidchcstcr for the doctor and the police, and, of course, Mr Hugh was not there; he had gone out. I told them all that Mr Hugh had murdered his uncle, for I thought he had; we all thought it wjien he did not come back. We found his dinner clothes all lying in a heap on the Aoor in his room just as he had stepped out of them, an unusual thing this, for Air Hugh’ is a tidy man, and very particular about his clothes as a rule. But what puzzles me most is that the suit of pyjamas that William had laid out for him on. his bed for the night was gone. (To be continued to-morrow.)