The Gorgon

Waikato Times, Volume 108, Issue 18167, 4 November 1930, Page 4

The Gorgon

I Serial Story

CHAPTER 11. (Continued.) “Oil no! Not that,” Peter urged hastily. “Keys don’t agree with me. I’ll lie down for a few minutes if I may.” Helen discarded'hat and coat while he made himself comfortable on a settee. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. It never occurred to either of them that,' his own flat was only a few yards away.. He was utterly content, while Helen was only intent on repairing .the damage she had done. When . Colonel Dainton entered the room some two hours later. * they were chatting together like old friends. So absorbed were they indeed, that neither of them heard him, until he spoke: “So,” he declared teasitigly.' “This is how my daughter amuses herself in my absence.” Taken off her guard, Helen flushed charmingly and sprang to her feet. “Oh! Daddy,” she protested reproachfully, “You’re awfully rude.” She took his arm and led him over, to He,ter. “This is Mr Southwark. I’ve been knocking him about and now we And he is a nephew of your old friend General Powter."

, Colonel Dainton smiled indulgently and shook hands with Peter. “You are most welcome, Sir,” he said cordially. "General Powter was a very good friend of mine in India.” He noticed' Peter’s swollen nose and smiled. “Helen's facts are always most illuminating." Colonel Dainton was a very different man in his own home. To the outer world he was a severe and rather short-tempered man, intolerant of opposition. He lived a retired, uneventful sort of life. Since his wife had died ten years ago, he' had deserted the open stream for the peace and repose of the backwaters. Here, father and daughter had a haven of their own, a happy family of two. If ever the great unknown world had called to Helen’s adventurous spirit, she had as yet given no sign 6f restlessness. It was not until after dinner that the Colonel spoke of his fears concerning Helen's uncle. She was at first frankly incredulous. “What I My Beloved Scallywag lost, missing! Oh, no! Impossible!” But as he slowly unfolded the story of the letter, his evident arrival in London, the withdrawal from the Bank of England of a colossal sum of money—weight hundred thousand pounds in bank notes —the doctor s story of his nervous state of fear, she began to show signs of alarm, and Peter sat listening with wrapt in- “ Uncle Jim doesn’t know what nerves are,” Helen 1 objected. He simply hasn’t got any. He could never be ‘incoherent with fear,’ as your Dr. Farrar suggests.” “He is a leading nerve specialist, my dear. One must take his woid for it,” he pointed out. “Well, I don’t believe it," she persisted staunchly, and Peter liked her all the more for her loyalty to her Beloved Scallywag, as she called him. “I have tofd.you as much as I told Dr. Farrar. But there is something else,” the Colonel went on. “Celia is coming over to look for her father. She received an alarming anonymous letter, and intends to act on its instructions and meet the writer in London.” “Don’t you think the police ought to have that letter, sir," suggested Peter. “It would at least be a safeguard for your niece when she does arrive.” “Perhaps you are right," he agreed slowly. “I have it in my bedroom. You shall read it yourself." He smiled challengingly at Helen. “I know exaclly where I put it.” Helen was the picture of chastened meekness. , , ~ “Yes, Daddy,” she said wickedly. “You always do." Hardly a minute elapsed • before he was back in the room, a troubled look on his face. “It’s gone!” he said blankly. “It as in the small drawer of my dressing table. The contents of the drawer have been disturbed and the letter is missing.” It w r as on the tip of Helen’s tongue to rail'at her father lightly, but she forbore. His distress was too evident. Peter himself accepted his word without doubt or question. The letter had been stolen.

“It looks bad,” he said seriously. “Whoever is behind this business seems to be moving with unpleasant certainty."

“I believe you are right,” the Colonel spoke with sudden resolve. “To-morrow I’ll put the whole matter in the hands of the police.”^

CHAPTER 111. The Cry In the Night. Peter sighed luxuriously and lay back in a large easy chair, his long legs ' supported by the mantelpiece. He had changed his coat for the comfort of a dressing-gown. His pipe had gone out, but he seemed unconscious of the fact. It was two o’clock in the morning, but sleep seemed out of the question. He was thinking of Helen Dainton and living again every moment of the evening. Her laughing voice still rang in his ears. The vision of her dark beauty danced before his eyes. Was there ever such a wonderiul girl? Her loveliness was a very perfect gem of rare purity; the loveliness of a charming nature vividly expressed in the splendour of her dark eyes, her finely chiselled features, her slender grace. Petei'.was in love at last, and knew it and gloried in the knowledge. He had fancied himself in love before, but always there had been something lacking. He had blamed himself, supposing that there was something wrong with his own make-up that made him ever critical. But this was different. It was the real thing. It thrilled him as he had always longed to be thrilled, ’ passionately, overwhelmingly, and nothing else in life mattered but Helen.

For the time being he did not attempt to apply his mind to the problem of her uncle’s disappearance. That must wait until the morning. He would fling himself heart and soul into the business for her sake, and, of course, for his own. It would bring him into closer touch with tier.

He readied lazily for matches to re-light his pipe. Then suddenly and without warning.it came—a shriek that rent the silence of the night and .flie very blood in his veins, the

(By J. Lindsay Hamilton.)

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cry of a soul in mortal fear. It came up, as it were, from beneath his own chair, starting low, rising into a piercing scream;" cut off dead in the height of its anguish. It was. horrible. Peter’s heart turned to stone. For a moment he sat there petrified. The silence that followed was, pregnant with fearful anticipations.;' 1 Suddenly he sprang to a drawer, seized a shining automatic, and a moment later was flying down the stairs, to the flat below. Oh, God, if it should be Helen 1

He hammered violently on the door and was about to fling himself madly at it, when there was a hurried step, the door was flung open, and Colonel Dainton stood there. In his right hand was a steel spring life-pre-server. He was pale and shaken, but the lines of his face had hardened with a grim determination.

' “Helen—Miss ‘ Dainton 1” cried Peter. "Is she—■—?” s ' “No, thank God!" he answered in a voice that betrayed intense relief. “She is all right. I think it came, from my man Jenkins’ room. The door is locked. We shall have to break it in. Heaven only knows what we shall find there.” They paused for a moment outside the room, but no sound came from within. Peter drew back a step and hurled himself at the door. His twelve stone of bone and hard muscle crashed through the panelling, and a moment later they stood in the darkness of the room. Colonel Dainton fumbled for the switch, and the sudden flood of light revealed a sight that turned their hearts sick. Jenkins lay huddled in a shapeless heap on the bed. His head was twisted back over his shoulder in a gruesomely unnatural position. But it was the expression of the face that held them rooted there. The wideopen eyes, starating out of the head, frantic' with fear, the drooped jaw, the twisted features, all spoke of an agony beyond conception. The' face and throat were scratched and torn as by the claws of a wild beast, and the man's neck was broken.

Peter rushed to the open window and peered out into the darkness. It was a drop of . twelve feet or so io the garden below. He could distinguish the faint outline of laurel bushes, a small greenhouse and the high walls of the garden. Realising that the murderer had already had time to make good his escape, he turned away.

“We had better leave everything exactly as it is,” said Colonel Dainton. “Will you ’phone for the police? I’m going to search the whole flkt."

Suddenly there was a faint rustle. Helen Dainton stood in the doorway. Peter rushed to prevent her entering the room, but it was too late. She had seen. She opened her lips to cry out, but no sound came. Only her face, deaithly pale, told of the horror that held her there speechless. Peter’s arm was around her in an instant. For a moment he thought she was going to faint. She lay Inert in his arms, one hand clinging to the lapel of his dressing-gown, her dark hair brushing his shoulder. Peter trembled, and, unable to bear the exquisite agony, led her gently into the sitting-room. 'He was amazed at her pluck. She had ventured forth from the safety of her own room to stand by her father, and that when her nerves must have been strained to breaking point by that appalling cry in the night. , Very wisely he made no attempt to talk until she had recovered from her temporary weakness.

She smiled at him gratefully, and he was amply repaid. Before he had finished using the telephone Colonel Dainton entered the room, and Helen slipped away to her own bedroom. “Whatever it was, man, beast or maniac," the Colonel remarked, “it’s got clean away.” . “No sane man could be capable of such savage ferocity,” Peter agreed. “What possible motive could there be for the murder of a harmless servant?” *

“Homicidal maniac, I sliould say. Jenkins’ window . was the easiest means of entry. Possibly it was already open.” “I’m not so sure,” said Peter thoughtfully. “That awful cry seemed to express a, fear of something worse than death. He must have cried out before he was attacked. Something scared the life out of him. The cry was cut off short as the thing, whatever it was, reached his throat. He must have been killed almost instantaneously.” “Neck broken, you mean? I should never have believed it possible, although I have' heard of some Such trick among the Hazarahs of Northern Afghanistan.”

“Yes. Either a trick or sheer brute strength,” Peter suggested. “The scratched face and throat rather point to the latter, don’t you think?”

But Colonel Dainton ' was -not listening. He motioned to Peter to be silent. His eyes were riveted on the door. He was listening intently. But whatever he had heard the sound was not repeated. Suddenly he pointed. “The door handle,” he whispered. Slowly and noiselessly it was turning. Peter’s hand slid into his pocket and closed on . his automatic. But before he could withdraw it the door flew open with a lightning thrust, and he was staring into tlie muzzle of a wicked-looking revolver.

The intruder took in the whole room and its occupants with one comprehensive glance. Then his expression changed. He laughed softly and slipped the ugly weapon into his pocket.

“Pardon the somewhat theatrical entry,” he drawled in a pleasant voice. “I was prepared for other eventualities.” Then with the utmost composure, and without waiting to be asked, he sank languidly into a chair.

(To be continued.)