High Doom

Waikato Times, Volume 116, Issue 19459, 26 December 1934, Page 4

High Doom

THE FIVE OF HEARTS. Sebastian Martin, Foreign Minister, m clealli In an aeroplane crash, but Dele11ve*SuperlnteiiUent McKnight, who ion; an ingenious little weapon in the wrerK age which lie took as a clue, thinks then has been ioul play. Shortly al'ler the crash Bill Cleveland, McKnig-lil’s Journalist nephew, who is friendly with Hosemarj Martin, daughter of the Minister, is snot at while boating .with a friend, Brian Clarke, on the Thames. A medallion is found in the bushes from which the snot came. Sebastian Marlin was one or the mvc of Hearts of Bonchcstcr School, a mcituat bond of affection formed in youth for his widow, Mrs Peggy Martin. The others, who dedicated their celibate futures to her arter her marriage, were premier Hubert Tullls, Sir Michael Lodcr, specialist; Gerald llarker, artist; and John Martel, famous singer. Had the bond been broken, and was there now a vendetta? These theories are being investigated by .McKnlght 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 XLVl.—(Continued.) “How about me, Uncle?” asked Bill Cleveland. “Amn’t I going to be let Into all the secrets? You seem to be picking me up and dropping me down again whenever you like." “You get on with your work for a bit, Bill,” said his uncle earnestly. ‘‘This thing is too deep for you to appear much in it. There’s a force at work Which has you for one of its targets, don’t forget. Next time the result might be worse than a nick on the forehead or a spill from a car.” “I’m not afraid of the swine, if that’s what you mean,” said Bill, with a deep flush. “No, I don’t men that, old boy,” went on McKnight. “Not for yourself, I know you are not. There’s Rosemary.” ■ . Bill nodded his head in silence and shifted his huge bulk uneasily from foot to foot.

“How are you getting on with her, by the way?” “Oh—er—fine,” stammered Bill, blushing hotly, and his uncle gave him a friendly push with his hand.

“Run along now Bill, before you come all over sentimental and make me the same.”

MoKnight had said that he was determined to bring things to a head, hut he found it harder to consider how he should do so than I he had found it to make the statement. He stayed alone in his flat all the rest of that day, thinking and thinking. He covered reams of paper yvith speculations . and theories and' probabilities. He considered each point minutely and from every different angle he could And. Every slightest fact he had in his possession boiled down to suspicion of but two of the main participants in the drama, namely Paola and the_artist, Gerald llarker: And he was afraid to think too much of Harker, for he realised that his suspicions of the man rested more on circumstantial evidence than his suspicions against Paola. The' Italian seemed to have been in it up to the neck, whereas Barker's connection with the case was at points only. First there was McKnight’s conviction that lie loved Mrs. Martin, as lie had never ceased to love her since she had been Peggy -Campion. Then there was the half-consumed envelope bearing his name found at the house of the Italian at High Barnet. Thirdly and lastly, and here Mc(Knight was conscious of a 'distinct awareness of weakness in the clue, there was the matter of the silver shield. He had appeared on the scene just after Bill had been shot at; the ■shield had been found on the spot and then McKnlght had seen that he had been wearing a different charm on his watch-chain. It seemed too obvious, and the detective knew that he was allowing his suspicions of Barker to be coloured by that fact. It seemed, on mature .reflection, more an indication of innocence than of complicity. If ‘Harker had found he had dropped the shield, what more natural than that he should at once have supplied himself with a new shield, as any one of the other three might have done. But then McKnight remembered that he had seen Harker on the morning immediately following Bill’s adventure and It seemed very unlikely that he would have been able to obtain a replica so swiftly, especially as he was out of London. And surely he would not have'such another peculiar medallion actually in his possession. So the weakness was not so very apparent as McKnight had been afraid.

Way Out?

If Marker was the actual murderer of Sebastian Martin, what a double blow It would be to take him from the murdered man's widow. But it would be belter than to allow herself to be bound to a homicidal maniac. That is what Martin’s slayer must be, thought the detective.

Me slept ill that night and was up before eight o’clock, and nine-thirty found him closeted with Paola. He did not hope for much from this interview with his prisoner, but for two hours he wrestled with him, asking question after question. But the Italian maintained a stubborn, unbroken silence. His black eyes gleamed hate at McKnight as he sat with arms folded and tightly closed lips, and at last the detective gave up the task in disgust and left him alone. He was wasting his time trying to make tills . fellow talk, he decided. He might just as well talk to a brick wall. How was he to achieve that dramatic denouement he longed for? How was he to stage that setting wherein the characters of all his suspects might rub against one another in the hope that the vital spark might be raised that would light ills way to the end? Ho pondered the problem over his lunch in the city and could obtain no inkling of how he was to do it. The lives of all the five of the men lay in such different circles that how could lie hope to find a point where Ihev all met, save, of course, that time in the past, when all five of them and the murdered man had been intimates? , , , , ,„ . Me went home at six o clock and sat for an hour in dispirited weariness. What his next step was to be he had not the slightest idea. Of course lie held the Italian in his hand and could charge him with Hie murder if lie wished. But lie doubled whether lie could carry it through. His case rested on such llimsv grounds lltal il was unsafe to risk bringing Paola to Hie dock and seeing hint escape the law, perhaps for ever.

CHAPTER XLYII. McKnlght Takos a Risk. The solution In his difficulty came fi'om outside and so simple was it that he almost doubled ids senses. Never could lie have hoped for such a colossal coincidence, such tliluss did not

B U J L. MORRISSEY

nppen in real life more than once in i years. The telephone bell had rung, d, taking off ille receiver, lie heard

• irkor’s voice. So astonished had the .(elective been Hint lie had almost dropped the instrument in ills surprise. Then lie gripped it tightly and returned the artist’s greeting. “You remember that portrait of Mrs Marlin 1 am painting,” he began. “I promised to let you sec it, you may remember. Gould you drop in this evening?'! am giving a little party to some of my friends at the studio and I thought this was a good opportunity to show you, who seemed so interested in my work down at Staines.”

“Why . . . why, I'd be delighted, Mr Harker," McKnight almost stammered, hardly able to believe his ears. Was this the act of a guilty man? Where was his evidence now? He struggled to find the right words. “Who else will there be?" he asked In a voice that he strove to make casual.

“Mrs Martin is to be here and Michael Loder and , John Martel. I tried to get Tallis to come, but he claims he is too busy. How about it, Mr McKnight? Seven-thirty at my studio in Pimlico.” He gave the address and McKnight consented to be there. This chance was too good to be missed. He looked at his watch and found it was almost seven o’clock. He barely had time to change his clothes, but lie was a quick dresser, and by 7.13 lie had shaved and changed and had rung Tip Carswell and arranged to meet him outside Sloane Square Tube Station. To See a Picture. Outside in the street lie chartered' a taxi and drove at once to Scotland Yard. Here lie experienced a great deal of difficulty in obtaining what he wanted, namely, the temporary release of the prisoner Paola on his own responsibility, lie found this impossible without a personal appeal, on the telephone to the Commissoner at his home, and even here he experienced trouble. Colonel 'Colhoun had sometimes wondered in the past whether he was wise to allow McKnight so much latitude and freedom of action. Tine, the detective always. “brought home the bacon,” in spite of or perhaps because of his unconventional methods. But this seemed to be going a little too far. But McKnight was not known as a persuasive man for no tiling, and 7.45 found him outside in the taxi with a sullen, silent Paola. They picked up Carswell at the meeting place, and the little man’s astonishment at seeing GMoKnight’s companion him forget the complaints he had been about to'utter at the detective’s tardiness, McKnight waved him to silence, and Carswell subsided into a corner, mutely wondering whether his superior had suddenly taken leave of his senses.

“We’re going j,o Barker's studio to see a portrait,” ’said McKnight brusquely as they stepped out of the taxi at the address the artist had told him. Pulling out his automatic, he passed it to Carswell.

“I want you to keep your eye on this fellow. One false move out of him and you.'-can shoot. I’d cover him myself, but I want to be free. We’re going to see a portrait,” he repeated, griinly, pi id Jed Lhe way. up the steps.'/ Paella'had started slightly at the mention- of their destination, but he stiffened again as lie felt a slight pressure in the small of his back from a bulge that suddenly appeared in ‘Carswell’s coat pocket. He walked after 'McKnight in disdainful silence. '“l’ve brought a few friends along, Mr Harker,” said McKnight brazenly as the artist met him at the door of the studio. Marker’s face was a study as he looked at the detective’s two companions. IPaola acknowledged him by a slight bow, and Carswell removed his howler hat awkwardly with his left hand.

Astonished. “Why, of course, your friends are welcome, Mr McKnight,” laughed Marker, recovering from his momentary embarrassment. "Come inside, won’t you, all of you. You’re late.’ Three other people were already in the staudio when the Party entered, and one at least of the three found Paola’s presence a distinct shock. A tiny, stilled scream came from Mrs Martin, and she gripped the arm' of the man who was nearest to her. It was Sir Michael Loder, and he greeted McKnight with a smile. The third person was John Martel, and he already had his hat and coat on and seemed impatient to depart. . With puzzled astonishment in her eyes, Mrs Martin tried to catch Me Knight’s eye. What did this mean, that he should come here with Paola, whom she had last seen when he had threatened her so brutally'? But the detective avoided her glance and gave all his attention to Marker. A tray of cocktails stood on a low Moorish tableland these the artist proceeded to hand round. "I*want you all to drink a toast to a portrait I am painting, he said with a kindling eye. _ 'He turned to a large easel set up in the middle of the room and fingered the green velvet curtain that shrouded it. Then he raised his glass in the direction of Mrs Martin, who was still gripping Coder’s arm and staring with irightened eyes at the Italian, who stood stiffly erect mechanically holding his glass in his hand. Carswell seemed as though he were glued to his side. MoKnight’s eyes went rou " d n th ® group, from Loder smiling down at Mrs Martin, to Martel, fidgeting and impatient to leave, to Mrs Mai tin trying to smile in the fact of hei fright, and to Marker himself laughm D and triumphant. It was evident l « he 'found his portrait good tom Um displav he was making. Of couise Un.J slight display of Hamhoya ee might not be out of place in Boj mian circles, and yet . . . - marshalled hi ? s suspicions of U s ina • Would any sign be given to tun ihal would point out Ins future path o him now that he had all the the drama, save one only, undu his hand'? 1 Dream Work. Draining his glass, Marker la. | down on a small inlaid stool hat o his pale lie and Paints. He took ho of the draw-string of the cm tain. “This portrait, as I think some t , ,»» iip upaan kk is to 1)C ion hist d'lspliiv of conventional art. After this 1 shall give myself whotehearlci is?« - 1 i y. ? va *- R i ! in to lie good”— here lie lh "- A \. a | • Mr » fSifiMs S.' completion. w“ U liaw. had ns ye, only four sH,iMVi,ui 1 waul lo know who lie. r ' ,1 the 'snul' of I lie pie lure •"on.e of vn„ Win. knew Mrs 1 d .. ~s pogey -Campion >l !!v"l',e'\bl" to tell me.” He pulled the string ami revealed the Purlrad. be continued.).