High Doom

Waikato Times, Volume 116, Issue 19451, 15 December 1934, Page 22 (Supplement)

High Doom

THE FIVE OF HEARTS. - . Sebastian Martin, Foreign Minister, met ' deatn in an aeroplane crash, but Detec-tive-Superintendent McKnight, who found an ingenious little weapon irr tbe wreckage which he took as a clue, thinks there has been foul play. Shortly after the crash Bill Cleveland, Mcknight’s Journalist nephew, who is friendly with Rosemary Martin, daughter of the Minister, is shot at while boating with a friend, Brian Clarke, orr the Thames. A medallion is found in the bushes from which the shot Sebastian Martin was one of the Five of Hearts of Bonchester School, a mutual bond or 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 Tunis, Sir Michael Loder, specialist; Gerald Harker, artist; and John Martel, ramous singer. Had the bond been broken, an’d 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 l’aola, an Italian, who wanted a locked diary bo- . longing to Martin. ( ~~ ~ CHAPTER XXXVI. McKnlght’s Free Hand. He glanced covertly at Marker's face, fine and sensitive, with its distinguished beard. Ilis gaze dropped to the man’s hands, the slender delicate hands of the artist. Was this man the murderer of his friend? McKnight shuddered and shook himself. He was getting fanciful again. The three were talking together round him, and Bill and Rosemary were chatting Together, lie shook himself free of his reflec--tions. . . ' . . “When arc you going to start, Gerry?” Mrs Martin was saying. Then she turned to McKnight. “Mr Harker is going to paint my portrait, Mr McKnight. He says it will be the last portrait he does before abandoning himself to Post-Impressionism or •something like that.” "I’ve had the pleasure of seeing some of Mr Marker’s latest work, and i think it very fine, Mrs Martin,” said McKnight, forcing himself to begeniaj. “I am sure your portrait will he a masterpiece.” ' “It will be my last in that line, .1 warn you, Peggy,” said Harker, his

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face wrinkling into a smile. "Mr McKnight is almost a disciple of mine, you know. He sees the same sort of things in my work that I do. Where others call them shapeless chunks of clay and ugly daubs, he sees the soul I try to bring out of them.” “Perhaps it’s because of his profession, Gerry,” put in Tallis, with a mischievous wink at McKnight. “It’s his job to probe behind impressions and below surfaces to see hidden things that are invisible to others.” “Your profession, Mr McKnight!” said Harker. “Why! What is your profession? I thought when I met .you the other day that you ... let me see, you came with that young reporter. I thought you were a journalist, too.” There w r as a moment's breathless pause, a pause that was an eternity to McKnight, but that could have had no significance to the others. Then Tallis broke in:— “Mr McKnight is rather more than a journalist, 'Gerry,” he said smoothly. “How exactly would you describe yourself, McKnight?” Awkward Moment. In the midst of his bewilderment the detective could not resist a sigh of relief. So Tallis was keeping his secret, after seeming to have maliciously revealed it. But McKnight had told Harker that day down at Staines that he was a detective. Was he to believe that the artist had forgotten the fact? Surely he could not be meeting detectives so often that he would forget one or two. He looked at Harker in stupefaction, but the bland, bearded face gave him no clue to the other’s attitude. Could it be one of genuine ab-sent-mindedness or was- there some deeper purpose behind it? At the momen the did not want Harker to know he was a detective, and the situation was an awkward one. If Harker had genuinely forgotten, supposing he were to remember now and thus prove McKnight a liar if he said he was something else. He decided he must risk it. ’ “Just at present,” he said solemnly, “Pm supposed to be a nervous wreck. When I’m not in this sad state I’m. by

way of being a psychologist." It was the best he could invent on the spur of the moment, but it did not seem to satisfy Harker, and McKnight flushed as the artist opened his lips to speak. “You mean psycho-analyst, Air McKnight,” he suggested. "No! Just a plain psychologist, Mr Harker,” returned McKnight stolidly, but his eyes were boring into that bland mask of benevolence. He guessed that Tallis and Mrs Martin were looking at him with astonishment, and when Harker did not pursue the subject further the detective was glad of it, for the situation had been a great strain, and it had given him no clue to the artist’s attitude towards him.

Harker seemed to be on exceedingly good terms with their hostess. Of course, there was his standing as an old friend and an old suitor of hers. But to McKnight’s keen perception there came the impression of something stronger between Marker and Mrs Martin than there was between Tallis and her. Marker was closer to Peggy Campion than Tallis was, of that McKnight was certain. All five had loved her in the past, but there seemed to be a different quality in her

voice when she spoke to him. lie was painting her portrait . . . but what more natural than that? And ytet . . - Was lie'to go further still and suspect that Harker had deliberately put Martin out of the way so that his path with Peggy Campion would be cleared? That sounded monstrous on the face of it. Yet it was possible. The thousands of crimes committed in the name of love since the world began shouted to McKnight that.here was his motive again! Marker would be the next chosen for Peggy Campion. But that might conceivably embroil the woman herself in suspicion, and he had heard no breath but that she had loved her husband wholeheartedly. This . . . said McKnight to himself . . . is going too far. You are becoming morbid. Making Amends. His train of thought- was disturbed when lunch ended and they rose from the table. Bill had evidently prevailed on Rosemary to trust himself once’ more to the tender care of “Mrs Frequently,” for half an hour later the car could be heard starting with a roar and ‘the pair departed with a wave of the hand. Mrs Martin watched them go, then turned to Harker and the pair sauntered out into the garden. McKnight and Tallis were left alone. At once the Prime Minister plunged into talk. “I dare say you’ve been wondering, Mr McKnight,” he said, “why you are down here to-day. I can set your mind at rest at once. I< asked Mrs Martin to get you dowp here so that I

could talk to you. I was pretty severe with you not so long ago, wasn’t I? 1 want to take this opportunity of making amends. Some things have happened lately which have been forcing me to think that there may, after all, be something in your theories with regard to Martin’s death.” McKnight opened his eyes in surprise. “Mrs Martin has told me all that happened on the morning when you interrupted the interview between herself and the Italian, Paola,” went on Tallis. “This is very handsome of you, sir," replied McKnight, a little embarassed. "Not at all, McKnight,” responded Tallis airily. “I was never the man to persist in a wrong course when events ' proved mb'in the wrohg. ■ Your great experience in these matters is of more importance th s an my private opinion. Mind you, I don’t mean you to infer that Igo to the limit with ' you. I sincerely hope and trust that my old friend did not meet his death violently, but I am inclined to feel that the matter should be thrashed out to the end, to satisfy ourselves that.he did not. I have had a word with Maurice Colhoun, and you may consider yourself back in your official capacity in the pursuance of your inquiries. I may mention that Mrs Martin, though privately she may deprecate their necessity, is convinced of the urgency of prosecuting those inquiries, for the sake of her husband's memory.” “This will be of the utmost use to me, sir,” said McKnight warmly. “Up to now I have been working mainly in the dark; my hands have been, as it were, tied together. You may rely on me to unearth the truth, whatever it may be.” Tallis looked at him in silence for a few moments. Colhoun had almost convinced him that this man’s discretion could be relied on up to the hill, but —was he being wise? “This man, Paola, Mr Tallis," went on McKnight. “Is anything known of him beyond what I already know?” “He was an acquaintance of ours, •that is all." “I think perhaps that lie was more than a friend of Mr Martin’s.” “As to that, I can speak with no assurance. I admit there were times when it seemed that he and Paola had something in common that was not shared with the rest of us, but——” Tallis shrugged his shoulders and McKnight surmised that either the Prime Minister could not or would not commit himself further. Plain Refusal. He changed his attack. “This diary, Mr Tallis. ... It seems to me the contents of this book would tell us much of that mysterious association. 1 take it you have it in your possession. Now that I have your consent to my investigation, would I bo asking too much if 1 asked leave to examine it?" “I am afraid that is impossible.” The words Were spoken stiffly. “But what clues have I to work upon, sir, other than that?" pursued the detective. “The tragedy is days old now. Where am I to start? I shall get nowhere if I cannot clear up the preliminary mystery of Mr Martin’s disappearance, and it seems to me almost certain that Paola had a hand in that, and so, the diary . ' . “I’m sorry, McKnight,” interrupted Tallis with a suave smile, rising to his feet. “It is impossible for me to le.t you see the hook. It contains matter which is private and very intimate, and which can have no possible bearing on the case in hand. Please do not ask again. I shall only be forced to refuse.” “But ” began McKnight. Then he saw the futility of further persistence. This man’s elevated position gave him an advantage over Hie detective whicn filled McKnight with chagrin. It seemed to him merely foolish to refuse him a sight of the dairy, lie was not to be trusted! Or wait . . . suppose it was of such a nature as to cast discredit on Martin —perhaps on others, were it to he revealed. He regarded Tallis from beneath narrowed eyelids. Suppose it was discreditable to Tallis himself.

(Continued on Monday.)