Tie Merlewòd Mystery.

Waikato Times, Volume 112, Issue 18704, 2 August 1932, Page 4

Tie Merlewòd Mystery.

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... CHAPTER 11. (Continued.) “My father was puzzled. ■ His brother’s letter had said nothing of any intended departure, and it was ■strange the servant was in ignor“‘When did they leave?’ he asked. "The negress replied that they had both" been in to supper Hie night before, and when she went to bed botli were in the parlour. " ‘But no one been to sleep. Bed ■parae 'aß ! it was .. las’ night. Me frighted.' “She .scarcely looked it, with her inscrutable countenance. My father himself forthwith searched the house —without result. In a small room leading out. of the parlour (apparently his brother’s snuggery, for upon the walls were - evidence of his South African travels —a Zulu shield, surrounded by assegais, spears, and knobkerries, a sjambok of hippopotamus hide,-, and.other trophies), he found upon the writing table a letter, recently written, and marked ‘Copy.’” ;At this.: point Peter Burden rose, and going to a desk beneath the window, unlocked a drawer and took from it a bundle of papers neatly tied together. "These are. the Merlewood documents," He said. "The 'letter I have spoken of is amongst them." After .a brief search ho drew out a paper endorsed "Adam Brown.” “I will read this to you,” he continued, resuming his seat, and putting on his glasses. "This, remember, so far as Is known, was the last letter written by my uncle:

“ ‘Dear Brown, —Sorry to hear you are ill. I haven’t forgotten how you nursed me through that fever. So as I think a rest from trekking and digging and prospecting may sooner or later be welcome to you, I have writ-, ten my brother In London, making over to vou, freehold, a cottage situated within the grounds of this house, it is yours to do whit you like with, and I hope you will live to enjoy it. I myiself have not found money or property much good. I hope you will have better luck. ‘Your old pal, ‘Arthur Burden.’ ”

He handed the letter to his godson. Michael, glancing over it, saw that it was penned in characteristic handwriting. A professional caligraphist would probably deduce from a . temperament at once generous, ambitious, artistic, and impulsive. Certainly it was an uncommon hand,, easy to recognise as It was easy to read. He returned it to his godfather, who folded up the letter and replaced it In the packet. “ Did Brown ever claim the oottage?” Michael asked. “ Yes. He’s there now —been living in it 30 years. Oh yes, he’s got the cottage all right. I was abroad when lie returned from South Africa, but it was arranged by correspondence, he having produced satisfactory credentials. As a fact, I have never come across him. The Lake Country is a long way from London, and I’ve only been to Merlewood once, at the time I inherited it. Some day, perhaps, I may go and live there myself—who knows?”

He paused to readjust his spectacles, then drew a second paper from the packet. “ This," he said, opening it out, "Js the letter I have told you of received by my father, and the cause of his journey to Merlewood. You had better hear what my uncle wrote. We'll skip what is Irrelevant: "‘ It has not taken me long, my dear brother, to discover the vanity of riches. Once I used to think if only I had money I should have all I wanted. Well, I have it—and property and a wife. All dust and ashes, my dear Peter. No happiness anywhere. My life has been a failure, though most people would think me lucky to have come on those diamonds —the poor devils out there did. I think there’s a curse on them. It’s that makes me hesitate to make you a present of some of them. Shall I say a present, or will it prove to be a legacy? I l'ccl as if some evil fate were close upon me—■dogging my footsteps, as men follow one out there with intent to murder and rob. Well, if death overtakes- me, at least the .stones are safely concealed here at Merlewood. I have told no one where they are.

“ ‘ But I want you to come and visit me here in order that I can give them safely into your own hands.’ ” “ So you see,” Peter Burden continued, looking up from the letter •over his gold spectacles at his godson, “ it is extremely unlikely that the murderer found the stones. For my part I fully believe them to be hidden in some safe place, either in the house itself or even somewhere in the grounds. A similar area to cover and under considerably better conditions than diamond-hunting in South America, my boy." ‘lt all happened a long time ago—" Michael began, a little doubtfully.

“What difference docs that make? None at all. It only proves how well the stones have been hidden, and that they aro to-day in the same place in which my uncle concealed them.” He replaced the letter and locked his desk. “ Well now, let us return to my father’s account," he said:

“As his brother and sister-in-lay were not In the house, lie searched the outbuildings before giving the alarm. He told me that he remembered passing the well between the house and the big Westmorland barn. An idea struck/him that perhaps the missing pair lay at the bottom of it, it was so unsheltered, and its -gaping mouth so blackly suggestive. . 1 . ?

“ The stables yielded nothing . . . he told himself it was absurd to seek them there. The barn remained the only unexplored place, and to it lie ■went— only to And the big doors fast locked. "There was a ventilation opening in the side of the building, and by dint of peering closely my father saw that which made his blood run chill—the bodies of two human beings lying upon the floor. “Without delay he burst open the door. When lie described lo me Ihe ■sight which met his gaze I have always been able to realise ils serious effect upon him. "My uncle and bis wife lay dead in a pool of blood. Apparently she had fried to shield her -husband, for her arms wore about him. Both had been •shot dead —my uncle Ihrough the head, she through the heart. “Though my father searched closely there was no weapon to he found. The murderer had got away with it, and had locked the door of Ihe barn upon I lie scene of his crime, hiking Ihe key with him, doubtless in order to gain lime.”

“Well, il nil happened 100 Inns' a fro for there to be any ehanee now of

(By Mrs J. 0. Arnold.)

STIRRING ADVENTURE STORY.

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finding- out' who. the murderer may have been," Michael said with decision. “What interests me is, where are the diamonds ? Though I think it’s a thousand chances to one that they will ever be found, and there is always a possibility that the murderer got hold of them somehow."

''These diamonds are at least as easy to seek as the visionary ones in British Guiana,” Peter Burden said bluntly. “Ten thousand pounds’ worth—South African stones, too, finer in quality and/larger in -size'than South American ones. Anyway, it’ll be a nice occupation during your visit to Merlewood. Only keep your own counsel." A motor horn -sounded. “Well, good-bye, sir, and thanks most awfully. I’ll certainly follow your advice,” Michael said, -shaking hands with his. godfather. Ten thousand pounds’ worth of precious stones, possibly hidden away and to be discovered in a remote Westmorland, house—one-half to be his for the finding! 'From roof to cellar, inside and out. Michael Atherton meant to search Merlewood. If he did not come upon the treasure there it would not be his fault. .

"That’s put the young man off Britis 'Guiana, for a time at any rate,” Peter. Burden said to himself, as he back in his comfortable Daimler, "and he's about as likely to find diamonds in one place as in the other—honestly, of the two, I’d rather back Merlewood." CHAPTER 111. “I hope Michael won’t find us too quiet, away here in the wilds," Mrs Sylvester -said as she poured out the breakfast coffee on the morning of her nephew’s expected arrival. “If he needs a holiday and likes the country, I should think he will love it,” Ruth Dean said. “We aren’t without attractions, are we?" Personally speaking, they certainly were not. Ruth Dean, Mrs Sylvester’s companion, was a good-looking, attractive, and capable girl; Mrs Sylvester herself, with her handsome presence, her white hair dressed a la Marquise, made a picture of gracious dignity. N Michael’s aunt congratulated herself upon having Ruth with her; she would be a great help in entertaining him—for, of course, John couldn’t be counted upon. “I dare say he’ll want nothing better than to roam about the country at first,” she said. “At any rate, he knows how secluded we are, for it was he who first told me about Merlewood, though he has, I understand, never •been here himself." Then, glancing at Hie clock, “John is very late this morning; I haven’t heard his bath water yet.” “He looked so tired last night,” Ruth said, her bright expression clouding, “I wonder if it is wise for him to work so long and so closely." “You certainly do all you can -to help him,” Mrs Sylvester rejoined quickly. “You were three whole hours in that barn yesterday afternoon, my dear. From two to five without a break.” “Did you mind?v The girl's smile was so alluring, her tone so coaxing, that Mrs Sylvester shook her head amiably. There was no resisting Ruth. “No, my dear, of course, not. I’m only too glad for you to help him. But it’s more than you undertook to dol" she added. “I like being of use to the professor ■when you can spare me," the girl -said warmly. “I think It’s just a piece of luck that I had that intensive training, and went in for science during the war. For I really do think I am useful now and then." “That’s putting it modestly. John told me yesterday that you were invaluable." Ruth hushed. Mrs Sylvester happening to look at her at that moment, thought how handsome -she was, with her glossy shingled hair, her hazel eyes, sunbrowned skin, and humorous lips. Good as all these might be, it was the individuality of her companion that held Mrs Sylvester most of all. A nonentity, however beautiful, would not have appealed to her. Ruth Dean had the priceless gift of personality. Mrs Sylvester had more than once told herself, with the outlook of her generation, that Michael would probably fall in love with Ruth at first sight. John was different from most men and had, she believed, remained Immune. He regarded Miss Dean merely as -a useful assistant in his research work. The door opened and her son entered the room at the moment. Apparently his mother had missed hearing the bath water. At any rate, here he was, his morning toilet completed. “I’m afraid I’m rather late. I’ve been down to the laboratory for a few minutes —something I overlooked last night.” “Working before breakfast, my dear? I wish you wouldn’t—l wish you’d take tilings more easily," his mother said deprccatlngly. “It was a small matter, but nevertheless important.” Professor Sylvester answered, and at once began his ■breakfast. He was a -handsome man of forty, tall, black-haired, pale-skinned, with the well-shaped head of the scientist, and thin, nervous hands fitted by Nature for delicate manipulation. His eyes were brighter than his mother cared to see, tiis movements quick and nervous. H" was. ns n n-i still convalescent after serious illness. What precisely had led to the complete nervous breakdown which closed the scientific career of John Sylvester —so far at least as the world which had known and appreciated his work was concerned—had never been dofiniicly cleared up. A brain specialist of repute called into consultation attributed his eclipse to overwork —an opinion which was generally accepted. When the crash came Professor Sylvester retired and went to live with his mother at Merlewood. It was a peaceful spot admirably suited for convalescence. After a year’s rest he set about altering Ihe -old Westmorland barn near tlie house to suit his own purposes. It was soon done, and Sylvester, happier than ho had been since 1 1 is breakdown, filled Ihe building with apparatus necessary for Ihe carrying out of certain experiments Interrupted bv liis illness.

Ills mother seldom intruded upon his privacy. She knew the ways and needs of scientists —splendid children more than aide, to walk alone in all respects save Ihe common everyday ways of life. She regarded the newlyequipped barn with satisfaction. It, would give her son what lie neededcongenial occupation. Sometimes lie inviled her in.

“This wonderful apparatus makes me feel very ignorant," she had said

when this occurred the previous day, looking about her. 11 1 don t know what it means. “It is quite beyond me, dear.’’ Her glance rested upon him. How distinguished in appearance, how handsome he was! Yet he had never been in love. Science had been his .only mistress. “I don’t want Michael In here, Sylvester said suddenly. “This sort of thing doesn’t interest him. He ought to have gone farming—Africa 01 Australia. I’ve got some important research work on the way just now, and can’t 'be interrupted.’’ His brow furrowed. lie passed his hand —the fine, slender hand of the true scientist —across his eyes, and sighed a little impatiently. “Of course, he mustn’t come near you, dear. I expect he’ll want rest and quietness himself for a bit. He’s had such a .trying time, poor fellow. I hope you don’t mind my having asked him to stay? You see, poor dear Aunt Ethel ——” “Of course, I don’t," Sylvester interrupted quickly. He knew _ his mother’s affection for her late sister. He didn’t mind Michael coming if only he would entertain himself. “For my part, I shall enjoy having him. It will make make a little, break ”

"I hoped that Miss Dean kept you from being too dull,” her son said quickly looking at her a little anxiously. "Ruth? Of course, she does —she makes all the difference. She is such a dear, bright girl. What a chance it was- that I selected her out of the forty-five answers I had to my advertisement. I chose her from the rest because I liked her handwriting and the wording of her letter.” “Excellent reasons," Sylvester said. His dark eyes wandered to the' array of apparatus before him —strange, unaccustomed, even to eyes familiar with such things. What wonders were being wrought within the narrow space of that converted 'barn! Mrs Sylvested detected his glance, and knew that she must not stay longer. “How are the experiments progressing?" she asked, moving towards the door. The professor was already busy with a coil. “Slowly 'but surely, I hope,” he answered. “Not!dng that I can follow, I expect?” She put the question without for one moment anticipating an affirmative reply. Nor was his answer other than she had expected. “At the present stage I am afraid not. In research, my dear mother, it is an old maxim never to show or dipcuss unfinished work. Wrong conclusions may be arrived at. I can only say that the marvellous possibilities of science, physics in particular, fill me almost with awe. . . , Nothing appears to be scientifically impossible. .... The most extravagant flights of the imagination may in time become facts beyond question. . . I am now exploring an entirely new field.” “Well, don't overdo it, dear. You really mustn't. 1 know how you love to experiment for hours together—hut the price, my dear John, the price!” “I prefer to think of—the reward," her son answered quickly. “The tremendous fascination of stirring unplumbed depths , , , of glimpsing the elusive —of searching the void—surely any price is little enough to pay " “Except health,” Mrs Sylvester interrupted firmly. She did not want to remind him of all that his enthusiasm had already cost. But she must ccrtalnlv sound a note of warning. “All right,” he answered, with his rare smile. “I’ll call off the moment I feel it to be necessary.” And with that his mother had to be content. She could not speculate even remotely upon the nature of tlio strange experiments upon which he had told her he was engaged. But he had certainly used some expressions that had aroused her curiosity. . . .. From the first day of her arrival Ruth Dean had shown unexpected in-

terest in Sylvester’s work. His mother, at first faintly suspicious of the spreading of nets, had by now, come to regard Ruth’s devotion to the professor a? simply the hero-worship offered by a clever girl to a brilliant pioneer.

(To be continued.)