High Doom

Waikato Times, Volume 116, Issue 19463, 31 December 1934, Page 4

High Doom

CHAPTER LI

Clearing the Air.

“There was Martel and Mrs Martin, Loder, and of course myself,” he said with a smile. "But are we sure that the hand that struck down Harker also mutilated the picture?” Carswell looked at him warily. Was this to he another flight of fancy? McKnight smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"That’s all right, old man," he said, recovering his geniality. "You run along now and do what I told you about those finger-prints. Don’t take any notice of this latest development. Leave all thi3 to me, I’ve got one more thread in my hands, that’s all." When Carswell had gone McKnight himself prepared to 'leave. He looked once at the slashed picture on the easel, and a smile came over his face. “Mistake number two,” -he said softly. . As McKnight walked away from the house of the tragedy, his mind was working very fast." He knew that from now on events must march very swiftly to his desired end- or else he would find that the commissioner, in his anger, would cast him off and he would be left without the means to bring-of his final coup to his own satisfaction.. For deep in his heart McKnight had a great love of the theatrical, and he dearly wanted to arrange things just to suit himself. Martel’s Secret. “I’m wasted at Scotland Yard,” lie told himself with a chuckle as he strode along. “I should set up as a private detective. Then my hands wouldn’t be tied.” lie had skilfully evaded all further reference to Colonel. Colhoun’s urgent desire to see him and had sent Carswell packing about his business. Of course, he could not now seek sanctuary in his own room at Scotland-Yard, but that was little hardship to McKnight, for he had not .'been in it for two weeks, and, in any case, most of his constructive thinking was done away from his office. He bought several papers and, ordering lunch, sat down in his flat to read them.

Almost at once his face lit up with a smile, and he read again the paragraph that had attracted him. Celebrated tenor to leave London (ran the cross-head). Mr John Martel, the world-famous tenor, is to leave England again after only a short visit. His /engagement at the Queen’s Hall terminates his contract here, and, interviewed by our correspondent at the Savoy this morning, Mr Martel expressed his desire for a complete rest and change. Switzerland is understood to be his destination, where it is to be hoped Mr Martel’s nerves will be rested and thus spare his voice to an anxious world. “Anxious world!” McKnight repeated the journalistic hyperbole with a grin. ■ "Nerves! I’d belter recommend him to see my nerve specialist.” At the Savoy lie was sent up to Martel’s suite, and in the auto-room he was met by the singer’s manager. McKnight’s last talk with Mr Banner had been anything but cordial, at least on the defective's side.

."Sorry, you can’t see Mr Martel,” said Banner, as he shook McKnight by the hand. “He’s lying down at present. Says his nerves are worn to shreds by some mysterious thing that happened last night. He came on last night looking as white as a ghost, and he was distinctly off colour. And didn’t the critics half tell us about it in the morning papers ? Maybe you can tell me something about what happened last night.” "Maybe ■ I could, replied McNight, “but I don’t intend to. 1 didn't come here to tell you anything. ... I came here to listen to you. I suppose you know who I am?”

“You’re a journalist, aren’t you?" said Banner, mystified.

The Truth?

■McKnight showed him his credentials, and at sight of them Banner started violently, and then -pulled himself Together sharply. “I want the truth from you, Banner,” McKnight said brusquely. “I want to know whethy' Martel was with you in Milan alt 1* time he said he was I have reason to think he may have been somewhere else”

“Well . . . .” Banner was tonguetied, and his glance strayed to the inner door.

“Out with it,” said McKnight curtly, “it says in the paper something about Switzerland. Was that correct? Where did he go to when he went away from Milan those one or two occasions? Was he in London, by any chance?’

It was a long bow that the detective was drawing, but the shot struck •home. Banner laughed a little uneasily, and then he smiled at McKnight.

“There’s really nothing In It, Mr McKnight,” he said with a recovery of' his easy manner, at which the detective looked askance. “Quite simple and innocent. It was really just a little idea of mine to relieve (Mr Martel of a worry and at the same time get a little publicity. You see, Mr Martel was married just after the war. And j'ust about that time he was beginning to make a name and come into the public eye. Now you know' what women are without me telling you. And I must admit Air Martel has a sort of attraction for them.. I guess it must be personal magnetism. Any,'vay, women and girls began to make themselves a hit of a nuisance about him: began writing to him for photographs and trying to meet him—one dame I remember in Vienna proposed lo him. He stood it as long .as he could, nearly a year, then he struck and called me to help him. Then it was I fixed up this little stunt. He was to be known as having separated from his wife and as having sworn off women for ever more. You know the sort of tiling; the papers swallowed it I whole. Of course, for a hit it didn’t do any good. The woman seemed to | l>e all the more attracted towards him I The affair seemed to lend him an add- 1 ed attraction, ns you might say. it ' was an anxious time for me, I can tell you .... regular touch and go, and for a while Martel wanted to go back • on tlie whole thing. I begged him lo hold on lor a bit. Aon see, the point was this. Before this stunt had been worked, lie couldn’t dodge the women tor tear of losin.tr his pnrmHpjfv; p»« public don’t like their stars to be stand-ofllsh without any reason \nu we held on and it began to work, and by golly Air Marled ae<|uired such a reputation as a woman baler Hint all the women worship him from afar, lull none of tliein’ll come near him." Side Issue. “This wife of I)is.” put in Mc'Knight, ‘.‘where is she? Who is she?" “°h. she’s no one in Particular. French girl he met in Paris during the war. .<he lives in Switzerland, and he goes lo see her whenever he can gel away. They’re as happy as a ■pair of domesticated turtle doves." "That's where lie went when lie

BY [ /. L. MORRISSEY

■ was absent from Milan, then ? ejaculated McKnight, “and that’s where he’s going now?” 'Banner nodded his head solemnly. “That’s as true as I’m standing , here,” he said earnestly. “I’m re- } lying on you to keep the secret, but if you doubt me you can easily look the thing up and prove . . . look here, < have a word with him yourself." “I don’t think I need to,” said McKnight, rising to his feet. He looked narrowly afßanner, and his.instinct told him that the man was by nature no lov6r of the truth. But this visit had been in the nature of .clearing away a side issue that had given him only very little trouble. Something seemed to tell, him that this story of 'Banner's was true. Of complicity in the crimes which McKnight was investigating the celebrated and vainglorious Mr John Martel was wholly innocent. Of that the detective was sure. “I’m obliged to you,” he said shortly as he left, and Banner raised the outstretched hand 'McKnight had ignored and scratched his head in puzzlement. 'Going straight to the nearest post office, McKnight put through two telephone calls. The first was to Bill Cleveland, his nephew, at the office of his paper. “Be ready to come if I want you, Bill,” he said curtly. “If Ido want you, it will be without a moment’s delay. 'Can I rely on you?” “Sure you can Uncle,” Bill shouted back. “Is it that business of the Five of Hearts? You know you haven’t given me a square deal over that . . . .”

“Never mind that now, Bill," said his uncle with a touch of impatience in his voice. "Too involved to tell you all about it. You’ll know soon enough. I can promise you’ll be in at the kill. And I can promise you’ll be the first journalist in Fleet Street with the inside knowledge of who killed a Cabinet Minister and ‘ who killed Gerald Harker, the artist.” “What?” a gigantic gasp throbbed over the wire from Bill’s lips and McKnight smiled a little smile. Poor Bill had been kept woefully in the dark in this affair, and, to be fair to him, lie had beqn very useful at times. “You mean to tell me you know who killed Martin .... but look here. . . Harker was only stabbed You can’t say you’ve gof the killer already” “Not exactly got him, Bill," replied McKnight quietly. “'But the jigsaw needs only a few pieces now. All the threads but one or two .are in my hands. Now enough of this, just you keep your lamp trimmed and wait for my call. Where will you be all today?” “Well, I was due to go off duty at eight to-night, but if you like I’ll stay in the otllce. There’s a ’phone at home in Tlammcrsipith, but it’s Loo far to get from there in a hurry. What d’you say?” “Fine, Bill. Slay dn the o(11 cc till I ring you. You’ll never regret it, and I don’t suppose it will be after eight anyway.” “Is it a blood-trail, uncle?!’ whispered Bill—at least he thought he whispered, but MoKnight’s ear-drum still quivered with the sound. “Shall I come armed?” “Armed?”, repeated McKnight severely. "Since when have you had a license to carry arms? Of course not, you silly ass. Ju.st have a thick stick handy, that’s all. And we may need a car. Look after that end of it, will you?" His next call was to 'Carswell at Scotland and to his subordinate he spoke briefly and tersely, overridthe other’s protests and scruples. "Be here at three sharp," he commanded him, and Carswell decided to obey without question. He could tell from the tone of McKnight’s voice that affairs were becoming tense, and in a mood like this Carswell knew his" chief would stand no nonsense. ; He made a last attempt.

CHAPTER LII. The Ferret. “The Commissioner . . .” he began weakly, and -McKnight cut him short explosively. “Hang the Commissioner 1” he said abruptly and angrily. “Do as I tell you and say no more about it." Leaving the post ofllce he wandered dreamily about the streets until one o’clock, then finding himself outside the “Cheshire Cheese” and remembering it was Thursday he entered and ordered a portion of the celebrated pudding, a pint of stout, and a plate of dry, brown bread. He ate his lunch with great relish, and, lighting a pipe, strolled out again into Fleet Street. He stood IcJly for a moment wondering which of the buildings held his nephew, 'Bill, then he struck resolutely up the street until he reached the Strand, where lie jumped on a Putney Bridge ’bus, and so for home. Carswell came prompt to the min'Ute, and McKnight greeted him genially. “From my talk with you on the Phone to-day,” he began jocularly, “I judge that to-day you are in one of your difficult moods.” Carswell smiled a slightly sickly snule, and, taking off his bowler hat sat twiddling it about on his knees. its really not fair of you, sir, to aslc me lo do such things,” lie began in an aggrieved voice. ' “You know- 1 have charge of the Harker business at least, and it’s as much as my. job’s wor Ml to do what you did yesterday." “What you are worrying about" 1 confess I don’t know. The man is obviously not the killer of Harker | suppose you’ve found what 1 said about the fingerprints lo be true. Where can (lie harm come in hilling him go free again if it is to serve the mam end, the tracking of the murderer ii °t Sebastian Martin?" But 1 can't see how it will, Mr MoKtughi,” said the oilier stubbornly, e tried hard lo keep from his next words the feeling of humiliation ‘Til admit you were right about (lie fin-ger-prints on that paint-knife. Tliev don I tally with Paola's own prints and " ,s , r ’ nn,|s Uic stem of the glass he US( ’ ,r - ] 11 'hilij all that, and to you it. seems to prove he didn't kill Harker. Hut at! I’ve got to go on is that the moment you released him yesterday what, happens? Harker is slabbed not Hu'oe | eel. from-where Paula is sT.indmg in the dark. No jury could get away with that, you know.” (To be coiitjiuicd.l