THE TENTH EMERALD

Waikato Times, Volume 118, Issue 19664, 26 August 1935, Page 4

THE TENTH EMERALD

; SYNOPSIS. | Clive Anstey is the managing; director ior the Continental branch of Anstey and ' White, Jewellers and art dealers. Some months ago an emerald cross, containing; ten stones, once the property of Louis XIV. came into his hands, lie sent it to his firm in London, Arnold Mortimer, who has done considerable business for Anstey and White’s with collectors, takes charge of the cross and. oilers to find a customer for it. But wilie It Is In his possession his flat Is burgled and the cross stolen. For certain reasons Clive suspects Mortimer of faking the robbery, and. writes to him from Paris under the name of Eden, posing as a collector of antique Egyptian emeralds. The bait is successful, ror after an Interval Mortimer writes that he has been rortunatc enough to And Eden three exceptionally fine stones. Ann Littlejohn, in an effort to augment her widowed mother’s Income, and to obtain necessary delicacies for her crippled brother, takes a Job at Simon’s Curio Shop in the Brcmpton Road. Betty Marks is he” fellow worker, and is engaged to Victor, old Simon’s son. Joe Bland, an ex-C.I.D. man, not on the straight, is In Mortimer’s pay. Mortimer has a half-brother Ralph, whom he uses S 3 his pawn. The relation between the two is kept secret. Mortimer often has business with old Simon, and is a regular visitor to the Shop. K Q is in love with Ann. He invites Ann, Betty and Victor to dinner in his flat. While the party is in progress, Eden calls, and is Invited to Join them. ATter dinner Mortimer produces the three emeralds. Suddenly there Is a crash on the landing outside. Phelps, the elderly butler, has apparently fallen down the stairs with a tray or crockery. (Eden, for his own ends, has previously “ arranged ” this crash with Phelps). On re-entering the room two or the emeralds are missing. All are willing to he searched except Ann. She, on a sudden impulse, has put a sprig of grapes into her handbag to take home to her brother. The discovery of them would be too humiliating. Clive, who has fallen in love with her, olTers to escort her home, lie takes her to a restaurant and there produces one or the emeralds from his pipe. (He himself "Is puzzled as to the disappearance of the second stone.) At Simon’s the next day Ann finds the other emerald in her handbag. (She has a good Idea that this is the work of Betty Marks, who is violently Jealous of the attention Mortimer pay Ann), time Mrs Ultlojohn’s income is very much time Mrs- Littlejohn’s Income Is very much reduced. Ann is at her wits’ end. Mortimer steps in in. the nick of time and oilers marriage, in despair she agrees. Phelps has been dismissed from Mortimer’s service, but Clive takes a house on the downs and installs the old man there as butler. Phelps has a son in the C.I.D. Clive flies to Paris to make certain the emerald is rrom the cross, and news comes that ho has crashed. Bland finds out who Clive really is, and tells Mortimer. The latter realises he is suspected. Clive is in a French nursing homo and Ann hears that he has lost his memory. Mortimer and Ann are to he married on Thursday.

CHAPTER Xl. (Continued.) There was not even the smallest need for it now. “Whitelands” had I been taken for a period of twelve months at seven guineas a week—a wonderful price—and six months' rent had been paid in advance. The very fact that the news had reaohed them only a few moments after Ann had accepted .Mortimer seemed like a warning straight from heaven. But Ann had only laughed at such a notion. “Am I to be so mean as to break my word because we shan't, after ail. starve?” she demanded indignantly. "It only makes It all the more impossible. I could never hold my head up again if I did.” “I’m Just miserable to think of you going,” Mrs Littlejohn wailed. “I feel sure now that it will be a dreadful mistake. Don’t do It, Ann. Please ! don’t. You could wait a little while at least. Such a rush—lt’s hardly respectable. And I’m sure you won’t get me to come to any Register Office to see my daughter married. It would be too much like. . . . "Assisting at a murder," 'suggested Ann with a flash of her old humour. “Or a funeral, perhaps. There now, • Mums darling I please don’t be ridiculous and darlingly nonsensical. You’ll come, you know you will; and probably • weep a few sweet tears and thoroughly enjoy It." "I shall not,” Mrs Littlejohn re- . torted with unusual vehemence. Ann had also to face Johnny’s dls- . pleasure, but it was not of a kind to be taken too seriously. “I dunno what girls want to get married for at all," he grumpled. “You’ve got me. And when you do ' there’ll be nobody. And we shan’t _ see you again—ever." "Oh yes you will, silly,” she assured him. laughing. "Ever, ever, ever," he vociferated. "I know. Marryin’ I huh! What’s mnrryln'? .... Chris! hugh!”. . . . 1 he took refuge In abysses of inarticulate contempt. On Wednesday afternoon, while Ann was out shopping, Mrs Littlejohn was thrown Into a flutter of pleasant excitement by one of those visitations which always seem to have a touch of the miraculous about them. Sir William Anstey, whom she had not seen for many years, called upon her. When they had talked of old times and old friends, Sir William spoke of Ann. lie had heard that she was keen on a career. He could do with a secretary if she was willing to no- 1 cept it. He mentioned a commencing salary of two-hundred-and-flffy a year as though It was rather little to offer. I Mrs Littejohn’s first thought was ’ that heaven was again holding out a chance of retreat for Ann. Sho poured , out then the whole burden of her worry. "Mortimer!" exclaimed Sir William, sharply. “Do you mean the dealer? Arnold Mortimer?" His manner alarmed her. "Why? Do you know something about him? I What has he done? We thought him ■ such a charming man, and so—so —” J the right word eluded her. | Sir William would have given a great ! deal to tell her what Phelps had told him. But he had given his word, and he was scrupulously honourable. f : Nevertheless, if the seeds of doubt | :ould be sown in Mrs Littlejohn’s j i nind, so much Ihe better. j “I can’t say anything against ihe ' i man,” he temporised and Ills manner ; suggested that it was not for want of i inowledge. "The point is, docs she i •cully care for him? From what you tave told me I don’t think she does.” His grey busy eyebrows came down ; n a straight frowning line. The whole uirpose of his visit was concentrated i n the impressive way he spoke now. ‘Mrs Littlejohn, you must slop it. At \ ill costs you must stop it. At all h lost S.” I 1 Well, ho had done what he could. It ' ] vas a pity Ann was not at home. But ( ic could wait no longer, However, < lerhaps the seed he had sown would l tear fruit. Morning settled that question for | lim. Mrs Littlejohn telephoned him, t md she was nearly distracted. She f. lad done her utmost, but Ann had t eareely listened. Mottling now could j make her change her mind. She was ; o lie married at 2 o’clock in the after- f icon. And to crown all, they were, ending uu ambulance for Johnny at JL

By LINDSAY HAMILTON (Author of “The Blaok Asp," “John Smith —Blackmailer,” Etc., Etc.).

3.0. She would go with him as already arranged. But what a calamity! What confusion and chaos of disaster! Sir William tried to console her. 'But when he replaced the receiver his 'face was the picture of consternation. Phelps, arriving a few' moments later, found him pacing up and down like a caged tiger. “Something has got to be done,” he hurst out. "It’s got to be stopped. “Ijt’s got to be. Do you hear me, jPhelps? We can’t let her marry that scoundrel. And Pm bound hand and foot, bound by a stupid promise, but, , if there is no other way ” j Phelps coughed. ' "Mr Clive’s last {words to me, sir, were to do nothing | without his spoken sanction," he said. I “Yes, I know that,” broke in Sir ! William impatiently. "But he could j never have forseen this impossible ; situation. He would be the first to j agree if—if he only could. But he’s helpless to do anything. We must take things into our own hands.” I “If 1 might suggest something, sir.” "Anything, so long as it’s sensible.” I “Why not ring him up, sir, and ask his permission to use your discretion in the matter?”. Sir William had been sorely tried. This w'as too much for him. He lost his temper. "Why the devil must you stand there and exasperate me with your infantile suggestions, Phelps?” he stormed. "Haven’t I been trying and hoping all week for the least sign of an improvement. Only an hour ago I rang through. And still that everlasting report, ‘no change.’ It’s maddening. What with worry about Clive, and now this—for pity’s sake, man, if you must speak say something at least half-witted.” Unmoved by this outburst Phelps repeated his suggestion, and added, "If they will give him a message', Sir William; he may not know what it’s all about, but I think he would certainly agree to give you a free hand.” Sir William stopped dead in his pacing. By heaven, you’re right, Phelps 1” he exploded. It's me that’s a half-wit, not you. Put a call through at once.” Sir William fretted and fumed in the interval of waiting, but his call came at last. He had some difficulty in making them understand at the other end just what it was he wanted. But he seemed satisfied at length. Phelps judged they had gone to deliver the message. lie watched Sir William’s face anxiously. Presenily

Sir William became alert, followed swiftly by transfiguring joy. “Clive 1 ... my boy! ... is it really /you? i . and you know me? . . .-you are all right again?" For some little while they talked. Then Sir William hung up the receiver, He turned to Phelps looking the picture of despondency. “We’re to do nothing—exactly nothing,” he said. Then with bitter irony he added: “No, I forgot. You’re to wait here for Instructions. His exasperation exploded violently. “What in the name of sanity does he think he ■can do now with his instructions? He can’t do anything himself, and he won’t let us lift a hand to save her. it’s maddening.” Phelps slowly - wagged his head in melancholy agreement.

CHAPTER XII. Arnold Mortimer had experienced most things in his eventful life, but never before had he been so nervous. In another hour Ann would belong to him for ever. But an hour was sixty minutes, and every minute a potential enemy—sixty chances still of losing her. While dressing he tried to keep his mind on the days and weeks ahead. It was to be a quiet wedding with only the two necessary witnesses; then for business reasons, a reception at the Ritz for the more distinguished of his friends and clients. At 7.30 they would be starting for Paris. After that, a Mediterranean honeymoon. He had said nothing about it to Ann, but he had secretly made up his mind to call at Salonica. What a triumphant climax it would be to stand on the. quay-side where once, as a wretched, barefooted, urchin, he had sworn to conquer the world, and with Ann beside him feel that he had not failed, since he had forced it to yield him such a prize. Though he would actually be out of the country when the Coptic chalice deal was* completed, he would still be able to round the job off nicely. Bland was to meet him in Paris on Friday. The chances of failure were hardly worth considering. Ralph had never failed yet. Bland was to be trusted with the proceeds of the sale, not because he was honest, but because he could not afford to be otherwise. The ! consequences would be too sudden and ! drastic, and he knew it. And Simon, though a craven at heart, was 100 | deeply involved to back out now. i Mortimer’s telephone rang out and J lie started anxiously, imagining than i here was the crisis his overstrained nerves had been anticipating. Tlie voice that answered his sharp, questioning “hello” had a very marked foreign accent. ' “Me es lair Mor-tee-mair?" it inquired. .“Yes. Who arc you? What do you want?” he snapped irritably. “Moi —I am Ambrose, Beauty Salon, Bond Street,” was the urbane reply. “I liaf a message from a client in the Salon who come for zc hair wave —• Mees Leo-lel-zhon.” “From Miss Littlejohn," Mortimer repeated blandly. An hour ago Ann had been at home. But, of course, if she rushed off to have ljer hair' done at the last minute “Well, what is it?" he asked, reassured. “She meet you at Oxford Circus at a quarter to two o’clock.” “But look here," Mortimer objectid. “Are you sure you’ve got that light? I had arranged to call at her hit at that time. And it’s half-past me now. There must be no mistake lbout this. It's very important.” “Ah, oui, tnonsier. I understand. M'selle explain everything.” “Ask her lo come to the ’phone,” said Mortimer. “It is impossible. She have zc vavc. Time go so queck. She ask im lo give you zc message.” Amiroise seemed to be losing a little of sis urbanity. “You call for her at snc-forfy-l'.ve at Oxford Circus. She lo a leclle shopping there. G’est den? i make you my compliments, ■lonsieur.” The click in (he receiver told Morimrr that his caller had rung off. He danced at ills watch. There was no imo to be lost. Ilis car was waiting n (he court below. He hurried down, old his hired chauffeur to drive to Oxord Circus, and got in. (To be continued..)