SERIAL STORY JOHN GELDART

Waikato Times, Volume 118, Issue 19759, 14 December 1935, Page 25 (Supplement)

SERIAL STORY JOHN GELDART

CHAPTER XIX— Continued. "Do you mean—? . . .I'd do my best, sir. I'd strain every faculty to help you, sir, if I oould. It would be worth trying and nothing wasted, if I failed. Do you mean that the dead man, Marmion . . ." he stopped suddenly, for the detective had shaken his head. “Don’t ask any questions just yet. Mr Garter,” he said quietly. “ I’m following what may turn out to be a blind lead, but there may be something in it. I’d like you to help me and I’m going to take the chance. Will you come with me?" “Just as soon as I can get my coat on, sir,” said the old man, visibly delighted at his aid being called upon. “ I’ve often and often wished that something would happen to break the monotony, since I. retired, Mr MoKniglit. You wouldn’t believe how closely I’ve followed every big oaso in the papers and I’ve sent many a letter to the fellows at the Yard, giving them suggestions. But no one ever seems to take much notice of them now r . You've got newfangled methods up there now, sir.” “Sometimes the old methods come in useful even now,” laughed McKnight. “Mrs Carter," he said to the old inspector’s wife who had looked into the room at that moment. “I’m

•taking your husband out on the old war trail again, with your permission.” “It’ll do him good, sir,” she replied with a smile. "You wouldn’t believe how he pines Indoors with nothing to do but read the papers and think.” "I promise you he won’t get into any danger, Mrs Carter,” said the detective as they left the house, and Carter himself smiled in reply.

“Don’t you worry about me, sir,” he said. “I’ve been m too many tight corners not to know that I’m destined to die in my bed.’’ MciKnight laughed. “You’ll be in no danger this trip,” he said, then added seriously: “As a matter of fact, I’m taking you only as far as the mortuary." When he had hailed a taxi and the four of them entered it, he said again: “You see, my young nephew here,” he indicated Bill, who grinned companiohably, “has a wide streak of melodrama In his make-up, and I’m afraid he has inoculated me with the germ. I’m 'guessing wildly at the moment, I’m prepared to confess, and 1 won’t, he disappointed if nothing comes of this venture. And I -want you not to build any too great hopes of the success of the idea.” “I suppose you are wanting me to look at, this Marmion, sir?" said Carter, and the detective nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Unless I’m much mistaken, he w r as a most mysterious soTt of chap. He arrived in the Argentine eighteen years ago, having apparently left behind him two children, a boy and a girl, named Paula and Leonard. These two did not see him during the whole eighteen years of his residence In Buenos Ayres until he came home suddenly six months ago and took the girl to live with him. The father and daughter were complete strangers to each other, so much strangers In fact, that the girl seems to feel no more grief over her father’s death than if he were a man she scarcely knew. Isn’t that so, Clarke?” Brian nodded. "It’s puzzled me from | the very beginning, sir," he remarked. | “I’ve hardly heard 'her refer to her father as a personality, since I met her.” “No one knew where he came from when he took up his life in Buenos Ayres eighteen years ago," went on McKnlght. “Ho apparently lived a model bachelor life there, but when he came home, several mysterious things began to happen. An unknown man began to visit him; he hardly ever left the house, and at regular intervals he used to pay over to some unknown individual, presumably his nameless caller, ‘bearer’ cheques of varying large amounts, which were all cashed through a scurvy little lawyer, w r ho rides the high horse of his irregular professional etiquette to such an extent ,that I’m not able to get the name of tho payee out of him. This looks like some form of blackmail, but j according to the people over in South America, nothing was ever known of anything questionable In Marmlon’s life there. I began to think that the blackmail might refer to something which had occurred in Marmlon’s life, before he left England, and that tills unknown blackmailer had only just now traced him. "Now comes the tragedy. Marmion is killed and all the evidence poiuts lo the fact that Leonard, his son, who knew him as little as did his sister Paula, and who had a powerful grudge against him, had killed him. You see, Marmion was holding—quite legally but morally wrongfully—certain money which should have come to Leonard. A verdict of ‘wilful murder’ Is brought in and 1 arrest Leonard Marmion,” he paused a little, and Brian could see that the next part of the story would not make easy telling for the detective. 1

‘'You’ll believe it or not, Carter," went on McKnight, “but that boy was spirited out of my hands, the moment after I’d served tlie coroner’s warrant on him, and just after a letter had been handed to the coroner with a confession of the murder signed by (tie you’ve seen, and If there is any conname of John Geldart. That letter neclton between your John Geldart and the man who is mixed up with this case, 1 want to know what the connection is." “I’ve followed all you’ve said, Mr McKnight," answered the old man shrewdly. YT see which way you’re thinking, and if you don’t mind me saying so, sir, I’m admiring you more than ever. It’s not many a man would tell me alt you’ve done, and risk being laughed at for so doing. For, nf course, you realise that there's probably no connection between this Marin ion and cither Spooner and Geldart?" “Fm willing to chance that,” observed McKnight, with a shrug of his shoulders, and at that moment the taxi pulled up before the forebidding building that belli the mortuary, and they stepped out. “You and Hill will have to wait hero for us," said tho detective to Brian as they entered the building, and the two young men wore forced to cool their heels in a. small wailing room I while McKnight and the old Inspector; went, off to view the body of Francis Mai'fnion, now lying waiting burial. ‘ i.m you think there is anything in all this. HillV Brian asked'when they were alone. "I don't see why there shouldn't be,” declared Bill stoutly. “After nil, tins bird Marmion seems to have been a shady sort of a chap, and you

By J. L. MORRISSEY . (Author of “High Doom,” Eto., Eto.)

know the old saw about truth being stranger than fiction." “Yes, but it all seems so farfetched, “Everything is far-fetched in a murder mystery,” returned Bill, serious for once. “There’s always at the back of your mind the uncanny feeling that the motives which cause one man to murder another must be so very terrible to the murderer, that they would seem outlandish and, to us your word, far-fetched, to the ordinary man.” “There’s a lot in that, old man,” said Brian reflectively. “It looks as (hough your theory is going to turn out a winner after all. And, by jove, won’t Paula be glad when I’m able to tell her that there’s some hope for Leonard, after all I” IBs face lit up at the thought and Bill dug him in tho ribs.

“Steady on, laddie,” he said with mock solemnity. “Is this the place in which to introduce the lighter thoughts of romance?” “Good Lord, no,” laughed Brian selfconsciously. “This place gives me the creeps." “Its a good job the old uncle had his inspiration at this juncture,” put in Bill. “Otherwise we should have had to have an exhumation." “Don't be morbid, you blighter,” shuddered Brain. “As if a morgue isn't bad enough. Anyway, I don’t suppose McKnight would have followed up the idea at all if the body hadn’t been still unburied. I rather think he doubts the possibilities of the situation himself." “Not any longer, Mr Clarke," came the detective’s voice from the doorway, and he and a smiling old Carter joined the pair. “What’s the word, uncle?" asked Bill eagerly. "Old Mr Carter’s as spry, as ever he was.” smiled McKnight. “We could do with his memory at the Yard to-day, I don’t mind telling you." “You see, sir" said Carter, smiling with gratification and addressing I Bill, “that fellow Spooner had a little mark on his throat that used to go up and down when his Adam’s apple moved. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it, but there it was and it used to irritate me terribly. Every word he spoke at C.eldart’s trial, sent that little scar up and down, up an down. Now I come along and this Marmion •chap, he has just the same scar in in just, the same spot. But it wasn’t only that convinced me. I’d have known him if he’d been fifty years older, let alone twenty, and dead or alive. I’ve never forgotten ft man yet." “Then that, means that Marmion 1s —or rather was, Spooner, the partner of John Geldart," said Brian and McKnight nodded. “Yes, I’ve got a clue at last, thank Heaven, that will lead me somewhere, and it’s thanks to our old friend here, Jack Carter.” “It was a pleasure and an honour to help you sir," said the old man. "Let’s get out of this place," said McKnight with a shiver. "It has served Its purpose now and the order can go forward to put Francis Marmion, or Wilfred Spooner, to rest at last." They put the old inspector in a taxi outside, the detective promising to look him up again shortly, should he again require any further help from him in the matter of the old SpoonerGeldart ease. When he had gone, McKnight turned and looked at the two young men. “Well, boys," he said, and It was plain that he was In high good-humour. "Three cheers for good old melodrama; 'Bill, as a bloodhound, you’re a wonder." Bill smirked modestly.

“Does this mean that your suspicions of Leonard Marmion are reduced, Mr McKnight," asked Brian, scarcely daring to hope as to the nature of the detective’s reply “I don’t see why you should think that,” McKnight replied cautiously. "Just because Marmion turns out to have been Spooner and because a •certain John Geldart claims to" have killed him, doesn’t explain why young Marmion had the revolver or why his sign-manual in the shape of a cufflink is found near the body, and it does not do away with the fact that he had a very strong motive for committing the crime." "I know," pursued Brian doggedly. “But surely this new development takes a little of the suspicion away from Leonard?" “I won’t go so far as to say that either,” said the detective. “You see, he was there on the night of the murder, and he vanished,’ two wost powerful indications that, even if he did not actually commit the murder, he was, at any "rate, very much mixed up with it. Anyway, the lad has disappeared and I'll feel easier when he’s under lock and key. I’m not normally a proud man, but I can tell you my pride was strained to bursting-point that day of tho inquest. It won’t be an easy day for the man who arranged that escape—when I meet him." Ills eyes seemed to snap, “Well, I suppose you are going to follow up the trail of this Spooner johnny, and see when and where and why lie. changed himself into Francis Marmion?” Bill said, changing the subject with a tact wholly foreign to his nature. Ills undo nodded- “ Yes, I’m going back to the Yard to look up that old case again. They are almost sure to have kept track of him after Geldart's trial, and if I can find when and why he went to South America, I’ll feel that something has been done." "What about the chap who was so careless with his coat?" asked Bill, and McKnighl’s face went blank. “Ono thing at a time, young ’un," lie said. "One tiling will dovetail into another if we give ’em a chance, and there is no need lo ravel the thread wilfully. Now, you two boys must run away and play, for 1 am going to lie very busy, and there is nothing i you can do to help me. By the way, young Bill, t hope you arc remembering what I said about newspaper story."

“It's a groat strain. Unde Jim,” sighed Bill. “1 have a notebook at home full of stories, all head-liners and nil different, .absolutely bursting for publication. But I’ll bo a good boy." .MeKnighf nodded. “Strict secrecy is needed more than ever now,” tic said. "If there actually Is a man named Geldart in this affair or if he is only a name, invented by the murderer from a. knowledge of Spooner’s past,, no hint of it must reach him."

“When shall wc sOo you again?" asked Bill, and his uncle thought for a moment in silence. “Maybe tomorrow, amt maybe Monday," tie replied. “Not Sunday, that’s my day of

rest. Be off with you both now.” Gently pushing them away, he jumped on a bus which was going towards the city.

Bill spread his hands with a cynical gesture. “So much for official gratitude," he said with a heavy sneer. “I go and put him on a red-hot scent and then he tells me to run away and play. What do you think of that?" "Well, I for one am not sorry for a rest,” laughed Brian. “We’ve been lagging behind him for a good bit and I must say I'm grateful for all ho’s told us. You know, it does seem a bit thick for you and me lo be barging into the case like this. . ." “Nonsense, my boy. Nonsense," interrupted Bill. “We are supplying the ideas in this case. The police are nowhere. Now, I’m off home to elaborate a new story about this old intrigue in the Spooner and Geldart archives. This is going to make my fortune, laddie. It will read like a detective story poured Into newspaper •columns. I shall have editors fighting for my stuff.” “Be careful how you pile on tho melodrama," laughed Brian. “When do we two meet again?" inquired Bill. Brian looked vague- “ There's to-night," he said doubtfully, and Bill seized on the suggestion. “There are tickets for two stalls for the ‘Delphic’ in my pocket at this moment," he said. “Isn't that where that little girl of Leonard’s is?’ asked Brian interested. "It is. Do we rest our weary bones for an hour or so, regaling ourselves with the spectacle of two dozen sylphlike damsels gyrating gracefully to the strains of jazz?’ “Just as you like: I don't mind," acquiesced Brian. “And what about a couple of rounds at Walton to-morrow?” Bill went on. Brian was, about to protest that he could not get away, when he remembered that it was on the Sunday lie was to take Paula out for the day. “Riglit-oli," he agreed. “To-mor-row's all right, but not Sunday." Bill grinned archly. “Is it the fair Paula?” lie asked, and Brian flushed. “Alia,” was Bill’s cryptic but meaningful remark. (To bo continued.)