The merlewood Mystery.

Waikato Times, Volume 112, Issue 18703, 1 August 1932, Page 4

The merlewood Mystery.

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(By Mrs J. 0. Arnold .)

CHAPTER I. Michael Atherton was down on his luck. He had, in fact, jjeen in that unfortunate position more or less ever since the end of the war. The 'prosperous and -opportunity-providing world lie had left behind when he Joined up at the first rousing, inspiring call to take up arms, had completely changed when he came back s to it, older by more, than his- years of service. All the jobs were already filled. Unconscientious objectors and robust malingerers were installed In most -of the permanent ancl lucrative positions. He had tried hard to get work, and, with the exception of ill-paid temporary jobs, had failed. He had just been sacked from the last one because he was redundant. So at last he w'as growing desperate—and desperation can be the parent of unexpected progeny. The future loomed up dark and hopeless before him. The one cheerful prospect In the midst of all this depression had come to him that morning in the form of an Invitation to visit his aunt, Mrs Sylvester, at Merlewood, her home in Westmorland. "But for you we should never have heard of this delightful old place; so do oome and se;e it —and us. The present will be a very suitable time since you tell me you are leaving your Arm almost at. once." The Arm, Michael reAected grimly, was, on the I 'contrary, leaving him. However, though the journey north would make a hole in his small reserve of cash, the holiday would be a welcome change, and give him time to think things out. For lie had decided to try his luck elsewhere than in England—to go -overseas and do a gamble in fortune if he could. It was in this mood that he was sent for, and went to see the best friend he had in town —Peter Burden, a moderately successful stock-broker, and his,godfather to boot. "Now tell me about this wild-goose scheme you've got in your head. Diamond hunting, eh?" Burden asked "Well, I’m not going to repeat the old programme, I’ll swear,” Michael replied almost violently. “I'm neither going to answer advertisements, all of which end in wanting capital when you -get to the root -of them, nor do I intend wearing out my boots in search of a job. I’m going out to British Guiana, to try my luck.’’ ... i Peter Burden stroked his chin in silence, ; looking at Michael thoughtllls nephew was prepared for argument against his proposal even foxstrenuous opposition to it, but not quite for his godfather’s comment when it came. , , .. "Even if you are successful, and had the apparent luck to And diamonds, you might:- come to regret it " *■ "I’ll chance that." “Well, apart from -that, the conditions are not by any -means easy. Ive had occasion as It happens,; to - look into this question of late. The diinculties connected with such an entex’prise, are, for a man without capital, almost insuperable ” He proceeded to enumerate a few of them. The diamond fields, it appeared, could be reached only by river. Formidable rapids had to be negotiated en route; there were neither roads nor railways. Food and baggage had to be conveyed on the heads of highly-paid blacks or buckboat Michael’ said he was aware of all th Peter Burden, however, continued •his recital remorselessly. It was possible, he declared, for all one’s possessions to be lost if a porter missed his foothold in an eddy. All machinery plant, and so forth, must be -conveyed at great risk and high cost. And without experience and capital a man, would not have a dog’s chance. Michael’s -Jaw set.- He smiled-—-the faint, derisive smile of one who had already weighed all these obstacles, and remained undismayed by them. “Then there’s malaria —and, dysentery,” Burden said, in a voice of Anality. “Unless you’re immune you d probably bo a dead man in no tune. “I’ve had a taste of both in East Africa," Michael said. “I’m not nervous. Anyway, I've made up my mind and —I'm going. As to coming to regret it, as you suggest, that s still to be proved, you’ll admit." “I’ve known a ease of a successful diamond seeker who made a fortune in South Africa, yet would have done better never to have gone out or found the stones ——“ , ‘ .. "Must have been a fool, said Michael brleAy, with conviction. “Ho was my uncle —my father's only brother. And he didn’t live to enjoy the fruit of his labours." Michael’s- face Aushed. Recollection came to him of a former tragedy in his godfther’s family. He .wished lie bad not spoken so hastily. “Of course: I remember. He was murdered, wasn’t' he?" He rather felt that to own a murdered relative was only one degree less objectionable, than to have had an ancestor who was hanged. An unpleasant business in either case. He had rather a vague knowledge of the affair. / /

“Yes, and the murderer was never discovered. You are going to the house where the tragedy occurred. ’ “Merlewood ? I never heard that. Perhaps my aunt wouldn t have taken it if she’d known. But It happened-a long time ago, didn't it It s forgotten’by now, I expect." Ills godfather made a rapid mental calculation. “Nearly fifty years or thereabouts," he said. “It Is n long time, as you say, and the murder lias remained a, mystery ever since. Or perhaps I should rather say, the murderer has neve- been discovered from that day to this. Moreovor, if was a double crime—husband and wife were both victims," “Detectives were not as smart perhaps in those days as they are in these,” Michael said. I don t think I ever heard the details.” "It was a shooting case. The precise motive for the crime, as well as the identity of the murderer, have ever since remained a mystery—or-at best a matter of surmise. As, however, I want lo prove to you that a successful find in diamonds does not necessarily make for happiness. I’ll tell you the tale —in the hope that it may influence vour present resolve. Get into that chair" —lie' pointed to- an easy one opposite to his own “I’ve some lime vet before my car comes." Burden lived out at Purloy. and Michael had timed his towards the close, of the afternoon. . There was plenty of time to heal’ -the story—though the young man told himself that tiio ill-rate which had overlakcn lids former diamond seeker was little likely to have any effect upon Ids own decision.

"My uncle Arthur went out In South Africa when quite ft young man—-twenty-two or thereabouts—-for the desire' to-get-rlch-quick was as keen

at that time as it is to-day. He went, encountered and overcame considerable hardships, found his diamonds right enough, and came back a rich man, bringing a young wife with him, tire pretty daughter of a storekeeper at Kimberley. He bought Merlewood in addition to renting a house in town. The latter saw little of him, as he was fond of the country, and the beauty of the Lake District attracted him strongly. It was whilst he and his wife were staying there that both were murdered—shot in the barn adjoining the house. And in ail these years the murderer has never been brought to justice.” v. “Surely suspicion fell on some one?” Michael asked, with a slight air of boredom; “or was it never'suggested they might have -committed suioide?" “One question at a time, my boy. We'll take the second one Arst. It was clearly proved at'the' inquiry that even supposing my uncle shot his wife, he could not have indicted his own fatal wounds upon himself. 'For one thing, no weapon was ever discovered. So that disposes of the suicide theory. As to-a suspected person, yes, there was one." "Couldin’t they bring it home to him?" “No —for the simple reason that he disappeared. He was a shadowy person from Arfet to last —hut-undoubt-edly be had been In the neighbourhood. From the meagre details .that came out about him at the time of the murder, he would appear to have been with my uncle in Kimberley, and was supposed to be a man referred to as ‘Dick.’ From the description g*ven of him be was about the sa'mo'age as -my uncle, and by all accounts a handsome fellow. It was" suggested that he was a former lover of my uncle’s wife out’ in South Africa. But that may have been merely gossip.", . "It sounds pretty likely he was the wanted man," Michael said. “Pity they didn’t get him." “He had a clear start of tvvieve houx’s at least. You must remember thex*e were neither motor cars, telephones, nor wireless in' those days. Escape was comparatively easy for a quick-witted, able-bodied criminal." “Quite so.” "However, my uncle had time before his tragic death to carryout certain wishes of his. He wrote a letter to -my-father, obviously-in a state of great depression, and asserting-that he felt a premonition of coming death or disaster of some sort., In it he made over to .my father, without legal formalities, diamonds worth ten thousand pounds ’’ ' “But he hadn’t the stones in the house,- I suppose?" Mlohael ~ interrupted quickly. “He would have disposed of them long before?" “Apparently lie had not realised all •his takings," his godfather answered. “Were they really worth as much as he estimated " “Their value was never tested, because from that day to this they have never been found,” Burden answered. “Stolen, of course,” Michael said. “A case of robbery as well as murder." “I can’t say as to that. No doubt the idea was entertained. But let mo Anish. In addition to the money, Merlewood was left to my father. That was duly arranged through the lawyers.” Michael whistled softly. "By Jovel Pretty handsome gifts 'all together!“ “However, I shouldn’t have sent for you to talk upon this subject if you hadn’t proposed going upon a wildgoose chase to British Guiana after diamonds,” Peter Burden said, looking Axcdly at his godson. “Where's the conneotion?" Michael asked. . , '“I suggest," his godfather went on, ignoring the interruption, “that you should do a little diamond seeking a “little nearer home. It occurs to me that before tui'nlng pork-knocker in British Guiana you -might try your hand at Anding the diamonds hidden somewhere at Merlewood, and which now belong to me." “But isn’t it likely that a murderer who didn’t stop at shooting two people, was a thief as well, and carried off the stones with him? There’s the motive for the ci*lmc, clear as dayligtht.” “It sounds possible, but is hot probable. We will go'lnto that presently. . . . . There is a distinct statement that the gems were ,ln safe keeping," “They might have been -concealed in a belt roUnd the murdered man’s waist, and have been -easily taken after ■he was slidt," Michael suggested, the habits and customs of diamondseekers being familiar to him. "I think not," Burden replied, with conviction. “However. I suggest you undertake the search. I am prepared to go shares if you And the missing diamonds. We’ll say on a basis of Afty-Afty. Will that do?” Michael Aushed. Ilis heart beat quickly. It seemed the best thing that had come his way for many a day. “I say! That’s too good. You shall give nxe' a fair commission if I conxe on them, but not one-half.” “Either that -or nothing. I’ll tell you frankly that I’m afraid it’s a safe offer,!’ his godfather answered. “Very likely," Michael agreed with a langh. “Anyhow, trying to And them and to discover as well who was the Merlewood murderer, will give me entertainment whilst I’m visiting Aunt Edith." “Don’t talk about it to any of them." “Why not? They konw the tale, don’t they?" “Yes. Mrs Sylvester was astonished that the place was to be had so cheaply, and asked me point-blank for the reason." “And you said ’’ “I told her that murder had been committed there and the house had a bad name In consequence. Then she wanted to hear particulars—and on learning that the barn and not the house was the scene of the crime, decided ( o become my tenant. That and the absurdly low rent settled the business." “Did she aslc if it was haunted?” “No, she did not. Your cousin, Dr. John Sylvester, is a scientist, and scientists are not easily convinced without proof. Probably your aunt lias no belief in ghosts, but holds her son’s views." - “What’s the tale? Some silly yarn, I suppose?" Michael persisted. “The villagers say the old barn is •haunted, and give it a wide berth after daylight. Such talk is quite natural in the circumstances. You may take it for what it is- worth," Peter Burden said. “Which is nothing," Michael added. “Thai’s as may he. They are Anding out curious filings these days. I myself am not prepared lo say re valiants are are impossible.” Ho glanced at bis wrisl-walcb. “There is still lime to give you a few details of the case; they-may be of use to you in your role of amateur detective and -diamond-seeker. Remember,

I heard the story first-hand from my father himself.” “Thanks," said Michael. "I'm all attention." CHAPTER 11. He wanted to know all there was to be told, and sat listening with absorbed interest whilst his godfather—probably the one man alive who knew most about the unsolved Merlewood mystery—related what he, in his turn, had been told. “Upon receiving his brother’s- letter my father at once decided to go to Merlewood. The generous gift referred to in it meant much to him, then only a city clerk, lie did not attach much importance to his brother’s melancholy premonition o’f approaching death, hut was inclined to regard it as the result of a touch of malaria or something of that kind, and to translate it as meaning that, though his brother had brought home a fortune in diamonds, he had for the time being lost his health. However, he made arrangements- to go north without delay and visit him at Merlewood. He wrotg to that effect, hut would, in fact, .arrive almost as soon as his letter.

"There was no railway within miles of. the house, -so after leaving the train he went as far as . the coach would take him, to a c-outry inn, where he put -up for the night, continuing his journey on foot next morning after ah early breakfast. "He reached Merlewood shortly after eight. It- was a grey autumn morning, driving clouds obscuring the sun. He t-old me that a curious foreboding—akin to that described by his brother—took possession of him as he neared the house, increasing to little short of apprehension by the time he reached the hall door. “He described to me the air of melancholy about-, the place, its loneliness and grim aspect, shut in as it was by a belt of yews, -gloomy and almost sinister/ . .

“It was, of course, a very different habitation then from what it Is- noav, when the melancholy trees have been cut down, and 1 , wide, clear windows have replaced the old -small latticed casements. In short, my father wondered what his brother had seep in the place to cause him to buy It —forgetting, no doubt, that my uncle loved these green solitudes after the sunbaked tracts of the rainless area in which he had found his diamonds, and the wild crowds of adventurers with whom he had associated. “He pulled' the bell-chain and waited. . . ." Peter Burden paused. He had told his tale so far with such easy Auency that Michael wondered if he had written down, his father’s tragic experience when it was Arst related to him, and had recently re-read it in. order to re-fresh his memory, for his godeon’s benefit. “To his great, surprise/ his summons was answered by'a black woman —a young negress.-" If .she had' been an ebony statue it could scarcely have been more impassive. She Axed her great black eyes upon him, but accorded him no welcoming grin as she Waited with one dusky hand upon the doorpost for him to speak. Her reception made him feel an intruder*, so that he hastened to inquire for his brother, explaining at tide same time the reason for his early arrival. " ‘Mas’r’s not in,’ she~said stolidly in thick accents. She did not invite him to enter. “However, he went in, annoyed at the manner of his reception. The house struck cold and cheerless. He could not shake off the unpleasant -sense that had accompanied him throughout the journey, hut pulling himself together, suggested to the negress that* no doubt his brother would return -shortly to breakfast? “ ‘Mas’r and Missis both gone. Tansy cant’ And ’em nowheres.’ “Tansy was evidently her own name —she shook her woolly head as she spoke It. (To be continued,)