High Doom

Waikato Times, Volume 116, Issue 19450, 14 December 1934, Page 10

High Doom

: BY - J. L. MORRISSEY |

something in that house, just as Mrs. MartiiThad been afraid of Paola when he had ;come to demand the diary. Where was it leading? 'How did all these dark threads finally emerge in the scarlet thread of murder?

He squared his shoulders resolutely and looked up into the sky. “ There’s but on? solution .to every problem,” he told himself, “ and, by heaven, I’ll have the answer to this one if I have to explore ten thousand avenues to reach the goal.” Then he laughed a little at these theatrical words, and, with no backward glance at the ■ sinister, house, set off for home.„

Why Choose Him? It was two days later when McKnight received Mrs Martin’s letter inviting him to Chingford for lunch on the following day. - ■ ■ ■ ■lt came as a surprise to'him, arid he found himself’wondering what had prompted the invitation. He noted she said his nephew Bill would, be. of the party,’ and he: could, readily surmise that Rosemary was. the reason for Bill’s presence.. 'But, why should Hie himself ‘ have' ‘been invited? Perhaps this was Mrs Martin’s way of showing her gratitude to him for liis opportune arrival that day When'Paola had been threatening her? ,lle wrote at once ;acceptin'g and then rang. Bill up at the, office of his newspaper. “ What’s-the big idea, do you think, Bill?” he asked. Why should Ihe invited?” “ I suppose it’s because yo.u are my family,” replied Bill impudently, and the detective laughed. “ Are you an accepted suitor, then?” he asked.' “ Practically.” “■ls this your final choice?” “ Now, uncle why bring up the past? What have you been doing with yourself lately? I haven’t heard from you. Has anything come of your Investigations ?” “ Not very much so far, my boy. All the lines seem .to be dead ends. I can’t tell you much on the 'phone of course, but I don’t seem to be much further than I was When I saw you last. There seems to he nowhere to begin. Beyond idle fancies and speculations, I don’t seem to be able to get my teeth into anything tangible.” “ You can’t get along without me, you know, Uncle Jim. Sorry I’m a little busy just now* or I’d help you and solve the case in a couple of days.” “That’s too bad, Bill. I don’t see how I’m to get along without you at all. Scotland Yard is practically at a standstill, you know.” “ Stop rotting, uncle and tell me how you’re going down to the. Martins to-morrow. How about a lift in my ’bus?”

“ Well seeing that it’s -by daylight, 'l'll risk it this once.”

“Righto, I’ll call for you about ten.” “ How can you da that? Aren’t you very busy just now?” ' “ I always have hated that sarcastic done in your voice, Uncle Jim. Of course, didn’t I say I was too busy, but when it's a case of a chap’s best girl he’s a poor sort of fish if he can’t warigle an odd day or two off.” Out of It. MoKnight was not long in mystification as to the reason of his invitation to the collage at 'Chingford, . for the first person 'he met on the arrival of Bill and himself was Hubert Tallis, the •Prime Minister.

McKnight stood stock still on seeing him, and stout heart though he was, he experienced a distinct qualm as he remembered the last conversation he had held with this man. But Tallis soon put him at his ease and made no mention of past events and led them into dining-room, where Mrs. Martin was sitting. ißill had gone into the garden at once in search of Rosemary, and when McKnight and Tallis entered Mrs. Martin was alone. But almost at once a new figure sauntered in from the garden and with a start McKnight recognised Gerald Marker, the man he had met down at Staines so soon after the attempt on 'Bill’s life. “ How are you, Mr. McKnight?” said the painter at once. “ I’m glad to know you’re a friend of Mrs. Martin’s. Why didn’t you mention it When we met first?”*. The detective was momentarily at a loss, and in his confusion could find no words to say. Curiously enough, it was Tallis who came to his rescue, “Mr.' McKnight is a. strong, silent man, Gerry,” he said with a smile. “ And a very modest one, too. I dare say he wasn’t too sure whether he was a friend of Mrs. Martin’s at the time. Perhaps that was it, eh, McKlllgllt?” . , ; . The detective smiled mechanically and shook hands with his hostess whb welcomed him cordially. “ So glad you could come, Mr. MoKnight,” she said, and the detective was conscious IfTht she was attempting to put him at his ease. It was his own fault if he found this impossible. These three were old friends; their friendship was 30 years old and he felt out of it all. These three shared something in common in which he was not included.

-When 'Bill came in with Rosemary they sat down at '.once to iunch and the detective was easily the most uncomfortable person there. Bill, with his easy good humour slipped into the party without an effort. Mrs. Martin and Marker and Tallis laughed and joked like old cronies, but McKnight himself sat silent and declined for talk. Why was he 'here? What undercurrent lay beneath this seemingly harmless little party? In Ins pocket rested the silver shield he had found near the scene of the attempt on Bill’s life—the shield that had been so conspiciously absent from Marker’s watchchain. He had noted with interest that a similar shield hung from the Prime Minister’s chain, but that the artist still wore the black onyx seal. (To he continued to-morrow.)

THE FIVE OF HEARTS

Sebastian Martin, Foreign Minister, met death in an aeroplane cras'h, but Detec-tive-Superintendent McKnight, who round an ingenious little weapon-in' the wreckage which he took as a clue, thinks there has been foul play. Shortly after the crash Bill Cleveland, McKnlghtis journalist nephew, who is friendly with Rosemary Martin, daughter of ,the Minister,.. is shot at while boating with a’ friend, ’Brian Clarke, on the Thames. A medallion is found in the bushes from which the shot came.

Sebastian Martin was one of the Five or Hearts of Bonchester School, a mutual bond of affection formed in,youth for his widow, Mrs Peggy Martin. The others, who dedicated their celibate futures to her after her marriage, were Premier Hubert Tullig, Sir Michael Loder, specialist; Gerald Marker, artist; and John Martel, famous singer. Had the bond been broken, and was there now a vendetta? These theories are being investigated by McKnight and Carswell, his assistant, and at the same time they are keeping in mind Enrico Paola, an Italian’, who wanted a locked diary belonging to Martin.

CHAPTER XXXIV.— (Continued.)

The little street was growing dark when he turned into it, and the loafstanding at one corner-gazing into vacancy idly closed one eye at ArcKnight as he passed. Carswell’s man, thought the detective, as he returned the almost- imperceptible hint. No other sign was given, as the corner was in full view of the windows of the house. AlcKnight-Passed rapidly along to the.other corner, then stood and looked back.’ The door obscured the windows. /It looked like a house of the dead/ ’But’presently, as he watched,' He-Saw the door open and a hooded form emerge. He slipped hack Into the shadows of the corner and saw that the figure was coming in his direction.' His heart quickened as he recognised her. It was Teresa Paola, the Italian’s wife. Much had happened sinoe he had first seen her, and vividly e remembered her as -he had seen her then in the car on the road from Bircastle. t'\ Hidden Trouble. '

She passed him on the other side of the road, and he saw that her objective was a pillar-box set in, the wall ■opposite his corner. Reaching it, she tumbled in her pocket hnd produced a handful of letters. With a glance over her shoulder, she slipped them •through the slot and then started to run back to the house. It was obvious that she feared detection, and MoKnight, acting, on impulse, ran accross the road and reached her side in an instant. She stopped with a faint cry, and her hand went up to her mouth. She was wearing a shawl of fine black silk, the ivory pallor of her skin and her luminous eyes. “Who are you?” she stammered. “What do you want?” “Are you in any trouble” McKnight asked the direct question, for he' had seen that the light of the street lamp cast a queer glitter on her pale cheeks, a glitter that could be nothing else than tears. “ Madame and 'I have- met before, you may remember,” he went: on gravely; ‘I am your friend. . If-you are in-trouble you have only to appeal to me.” > ■ “ Yes;. rememb.er. you,” she jerked out. V out.

“ You are. the.detective —I met you

at Mrs. Martin’s. . . No I there Is * nothing I want. I am in no trouble, why should you think that” “That was my impression,,’ he returned, “ If- I was mistaken, please pardon my impertinence' in’ stopping you.” “It does not matter, thank you,” she said hastily. “ Now you will forgive me. I must go. He will be waiting. . . ” She stopped. . . You cannot.. . . ” She stopped, unable to go 'further and MoKnight saw with concern that she was forced to take hold of the railing near by to steady herself.

“Why did you come?” she continued rapidly. “What do you want \vith us?” “ l want nothing save to help you,” he said slowly and 'quietly. “It is ■part of my duty to help those in trouble, and, from the first moment 3 saw you, I knew that you were in 'grave trouble of some sort. • I am here 'on no errand as you seem to . think; why should I be? I see that I have annoyed you. I will go. He raised ■his hat and turned to go. Then remembering he put his hand into his pocket and drew out' one of is cards. Pressing It into her hand he accompanied it with tho words: “Keep this; you may need-it some time. Remember I am your friend. Don’t fear to call one me.” She took the card and without a 'word ran on td the house. McKnlght’s !eyes followed" .her and as she walked tip the steps his eyes were attracted as though by a'-flicker of the blinds masking one of the upper windows. 'For a moment, a face peered through the glass,-but the glance was so-fleet-ing that nothing but the momentary memory of a pondescript face remained in McKnight’s mind. Then the woman went Ithrough the door: it closed behind er, and. the street was left empty and deserted.

XXXV,

Strange Invitation,

For a moment MeKuight doubted the evidence of his own mind. Had he really seen ard spoken with that woman? It had ill happened so quickly that it had seemed to he more the figment of a dream than a concrete reality. What had 1 lie encounter brought him? lie had the assurance that she was in very truto in t-ouhlc, and that Paolo was probably bullying her. The letters she had Posted might have been illuminating, but they were far out of his reach. He -comforted himself with the thought that she had ills address in case of need. But lie had no assurance that she would use that card. She had seemed almost as frightened of him as of that something that greeted her in the house. On the other hand, there was the dismaying knowledge that owing to McKnlght’s impetuosity and impinge Paola was now on his guard against suspicion. ’Further surveillance was now unnecessary.

lie passed along Hie road and spoke to the man at the corner. Touching his -cap I lie man moved off. and McKniglil turned, looking once again at the silent slmliered house. ;; gave no slightest sign of occupation or hnhilat ion.. He shrugged iiis shoulders and turned moodily away. His meeting with Hie woman had unsettled him, Hint was certain. He seemed t,o have lost ihc threads of his former thoughts completely, it was ns (hough a stone thrown into a placid si ream should raise eddies and whirlpools and wipe out. for the lime, being, all semblance of Hie easy flow of Ihe stream before its coming. Was lie a fool to he mixing himself up in all this business? Were (lie others; right.’ Was Martin’s death Just an accident? But that woman had been afraid of