A Coil of Rope.

Waikato Times, Volume 110, Issue 18409, 17 August 1931, Page 4

A Coil of Rope.

(By

FRANK GILBERT.)

(Author of “The Phantom Years,” “The Notcher,” Etc.

PROLOGUE. The Assize Court was packed. “What will the verdict be?’’ was the question trembling on the Ups of all, and many curious eyes turned towards Victor Rohan, the prisoner, to see how he was affected whilst awaiting the answer, which, to him, meant life or death. He was a young man, barely of age, in fact, and yet he had been charged with a combination of dastardly crimes—blackmail, leading to wilful murder. There had been certain strange features Inclining in his favour, but the final speech for the Crown had been most eloquently delivered, while the array of evidence against Rohan had been overwhelming. Moreover, the summing up of Mr Justice Crofts had been masterly, and it seemed practically certain that there could be but one verdict. Rohan stood Impassive as the foreman of the jury uttered that damning word “Guilty,’’ and to the Judge's usual formal question before passing sentence he made no reply, and when the last dreadful words of that solemn formula were spoken, a deep hush fell on the court. Suddenly It was broken—and by Rohan. Speaking crisply, yet calmly, and pointing his finger at the Judge, he said:

“Mr Crofts, you can take It from me that some day I’ll have my revenge on you, or on your son!’’ Warders closed on him, and bore him below, while Mr Crofts sternly ordered the Court to be cleared. It had been an ordeal for all concerned, but especially for the man whose duty it was to pass that dread sentence, and although it was not the first time Sir Wilfred had been threatened by prisoners, yet the unusual words used by Rohan moved him deeply, although he, personally, had no ! fear of anyone. It was the last day of the Assizes, and he carried out his announced intention of returning home by car that I night. Me reached there soon after I six o’clock, and pausing only to hand hit hat and coat to the waiting serI vant in the hall, he strode swiftly to the nursery. He had but one child—a son, aged five, whom he idolised, the more because the chubby little fellow was motherless. “Hullo, Daddy I’’ cried the boy gleefully, as he saw his father approach. ‘Tse so glad you’ve come home I” His father smiled tenderly. “Nanny said she was ’fraid you'd be too late to-night, but she let me wait up a bit in case.’’ With infinite affection Sir Wilfred gathered the little pyjama-clad laddie on to his knee, and hugged him close. “Yes, sonny. I sent Nanny a telegram, but perhaps it hasn't come yet. Never mind. I came along just as quickly as I could. Now, tell me what you have been doing to-day, old chap.”

And In eager, boyish phrases was told the story of what he had done since his Daddy left him a week ago, while all the time those last words of Rohan's burned in SFr Wilfred’s brain. Fiercely, and with unwonted, passion, he kissed the boy's forehead, and when presently the laughing little fellow was lifted by his father into the gaily painted cot, the judge came slowly down from the night nursery, back to the room where were scattered the toys and playthings, sank down on a chair, and sat for a long time gazing thoughtfully into the fire. CHAPTER I. “By Jove! what a topping morning,’’ exclaimed Eric Crofts, as he leaped from his bed, and gazed out of his window, over the panorama of London, which spread below. He was proud of the view from the sixth storey flat which he occupied in Bayswater, and on this particular morning it seemed lovelier than ever, despite the approach of winter. Eric was a young mna, not yet 30, possessing the triple joys of health, wealth and good looks. A useful portion of this world’s goods had fallen to him on the death of his father, hut these riches had not caused any of his ambitions to wane. His outlook on life was bright and cheery, whilst he cherished in his heart a very real love for London. He knew Paris as well as most travelled Englishmen, was not unfamiliar with Brussels and Rome, and had even made a trip to New York. He had no servant resident on the premises, but during the morning a trustworthy woman—who had, in fact, i been his nurse years before—came in and tidied up his rooms. Eric was the managing director of a many-sided company trading under the name of “Novel Enterprises Limited.’’ During the war he had met In France a number of other fellows who had taken a warm, mutual liking to each other. A wish was expressed that they might come together after hostilities, and as a result the company was formed. Its scope, as its name suggests, was very wide, and it was the policy of its directors to consider carefully any proposition of undoubted honesty, coupled with the chance of success, which seemed, in any way, to bear the stamp of novelty. Recently, however, their trading results had been going from had to worse. Schemes, which when first ventured upon, had promised Instant and lasting success, had petered out. Frequently it had happened that they had received exclusive information from what they believed to be a per-

fectly reliable, and authentic source, only to find on taking the plunge which their data appeared to justify, that it was 111-founded. Some even dared to hint at the possibility of a leakage of secret information. Affairs had recently become so unstable that the question of closing down their activities had been mooted, and the directors had, in fact, recently been Informed by their chairman, that j he was seriously considering an offer i made to him by a certain financial I group In the City, for disposing of his ; interests in the company. Seeing ; that he held the majority of the l shares it was assumed that the others | would naturally follow his example, i On this particular day. on which this ! chapter opens, an important meeting 1 of the directors was fixed for noon. ■ and Eric was anxious to be at- the 1 office early in order that the most imj portant part of the morning mail could Ibe cleared beforehand. The meeting i promised to last, well after lunch, and he. was hoping to spend the evening lin the company of Pauline Hampden, I the pretty daughter of John Hampden, I the chairman of the company. I When Eric had finished drossing he J stepped across his fiat to the front I door which he unlocked and unboiled. (This was his usual habit, for he made

this little journey to retrieve the bottle of milk and the morning newspapers which were deposited on the mat outside. This morning, however, he had! something of a surprise I Tied to the I handle of the door was a length of narrow rope, the remainder of which lay on the mat. The milk bottle and newspapers were In their usual places and it was immediately obvious to Eric that the rope had been placed there deliberately. His was the only flat on that top landing., and whoever had fastened the rope to the handle must have passed the caretaker on the ground floor and climbed the fourteen Hights of stairs. Carefully Eric examined the knots. They were four in number, and the rope itself was quite new. His first thought was that either the milkman or the newsboy was responsible for what was possibly an obscure kind of joke, but, on the other hand, it was nearing Christmas, and Eric reasoned that neither the milkman nor the newsboy would be likely to imperil the chance of a handsome Christmas box by so feeble an attempt at humour. Still wondering, Eric slowly, and with difficulty, undid the knots, and examined again the neat coll. To him it was just an ordinary rope, but, nevertheless, presented a complete puzzle. “It’s some fool trick,” was his estimate, and then, as If to try and forget it all, he turned his attention to breakfast and the newspapers. Yet. ■this morning, the news failed to hold his attention, and his eyes kept glancing at the coil of rope lying on the floor.

He finished his breakfast, read his morning's private mail, and then, gathering up some papers he had brought from the office the previous day, into a somewhat worn leather case, he put on his hat and coat and prepared to lock up the flat. But at the last moment he caught sight of the coll of rope again. Something impelled him to cram this new possession Into the case, and he strode down the stairs with a wistful expression on his face. He came at length to his office in Cannon Street, and leaning back in his swivel arm-chair, before his roll-top desk, glanced at the date—“ December 13th.”

Now Eric was not at all superstitious, but suddenly the coupling of the date with that coll of rope struck a curious note In his mind. ■What did that portend? He shook off the feeling of depression which swiftly invaded his heart, filled his pipe, lit it, and then pressed -the electric bell-push to summon his secretary. Miss Mary Waters was a most efficient girl, who combined with her capable nature an attractive appearance. "Good morning, Miss Waters 1" greeted Eric, as she came into his office, her footsteps deadened by the soft, pile carpet. “Good morning, Mr Crofts I” she replied, in a soft voice. “Anything special this morning?” he enquired briefly. “Board meeting at twelve," she

answered. “I’ve brought the mail as I thought you would like to get to work on that first to-day." He ripped open the envelopes marked “Personal,” studied their contents,

and dictated replies to the girl. He worked for an hour. From time to time the telephone bell rang and he answered it. All the time his voice was crisp and businesslike, except on one occasion, when a wellremembered feminine voice greeted his ears. Then his voice mellowed. Miss Waters intuitively felt that, a woman was speaking to him.

Her eyes narrowed, a swift frown passed over her face, and then she walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. She guessed that her employer would like to speak to that particular caller In privacy, and did not wait to be told to go.. “Hullo, Pauline!” lie said. "Im so glad you have rung up. Is your Dad coming in to-day? ... “Ah, good! .... Yes. . . . Oh! somewhere about three or four o clock. I expect. We have got a lot to settle to-day. I think I had better ’phone you exact time later. . . . Yes, I'il be awfully pleased to. . . . Goodbye, old girl!’’ ‘ He sat silent for a few moments, and then murmured: “Pauline’s a good sort. . . . 1-iKe her Dad. . . .’’ He mused, a short while longer. “I think I’ll tell old Hampden about that coil of rope. He’s a wise old bird . . might give me a llne about It. . . . I feel sure there s something queer behind it all

Yes, I’ll tell him. He came back from his reverie, summoned Miss Waters again, and completed the mall. Then he worked alone for an hour, on a mass of figures, and finally made a call on the inter-office telephone. “Has Mr Hampden come In yet? he enquired. . . . "Good. Tell him I'd like to come in and see him. . . . Thanks. .• • I ’ll come along right Erie rose from his desk, gathered up his attache-case, passed out of his office, along a corridor, and came into a small, quietly furnished office, on the door of which were painted the words —"Chairman —Private." John Hampden, chairman of Novel Enterprises Ltd., was a splendid figure of a man, just past the prime of life. There was an air of kindly benevolence, yet also of stern efllclpucv and culture. He shook hands warmly with Eric, and invited him to sit down. “There are several important mat ters to attend to to-day, sir," began Eric. "Very well." responded Hampden, "I see we have just half an hour before lhe meeting starts, and I'm afraid I have bad news for you fellows. imieklv the two were engrossed in their business, and when the last paper had been examined and discussed, Eric- said: “There’s one little private matter on which 1 should value your help ' an Vnd'what‘is'ihat?" asked HampI den. "You know that if I can ever

help you in any way. I do so gladly. I For reply. Eric took from his at-tache-ease 'the coll of rope. ' "This reached me this morning, he said'. "I found it tied to my front j "'"lie glanced up at Hampden's face. I It had suddenly gone pale and Into those eyes, usually so kind, there 1 swept a” look of terror. (To be continued.) I = =