SERIAL STORY JOHN GELDART

Waikato Times, Volume 118, Issue 19765, 21 December 1935, Page 23 (Supplement)

SERIAL STORY JOHN GELDART

CHAPTER XXIII. (continued.) He tormented himself with douhts as the taxi bore him towards Maida Vale. ' It seemed an age before it finally deposited him on the pavement before the house in Christleton Road, and he flung himself headlong at the door. A perturbed Aunt Hilda was waiting for him in the hall, and she came forward as he entered. “I’m glad you could come, Mr Clarke," she said. “Paula wanted me to send for you right away. Sir David is on his way here himself." Even in the midst of his anxiety, Brian could not quite repress a little feeling of elation that he had arrived before Abbott. “What has happened?” he asked quickly. “I don’t know,” she replied. “A strange man came here to see her about half an -hour ago and he left just before I called you. I don’t know what happened. . . . but there, you had better go in to her yourself-” She pushed him towards the diningroom and entering, Brian saw Paula • sitting in a 'chair before, the fire. She seemed to be weeping, and going to her at once, he placed his arms tenderly round her shoulders, kneeling .on the carpet by her side. “What is it, dear heart?" he whispered softly. "What is the matter? Are you hurt?” She started at his words and turned her face to his. “Oh, Brian, I’m glad you could come. You’ll never know how thankful 1 was to hear over the ’phone that you were safe. That man has been here again. . . . that man I told you about who tried to blackmail me. He has changed his story now, but Brian, j lie said lie had positive informaion j that could send someone who was near and dear to me to the gallows. Those were his very words.” “Someone ‘near and dear to you’,?” Brian repeated.

“Yes, he would not tell me Whom—all he would do was to hint. Oh, he seemed so sure of himself. Brian, how can he have learnt all he says he knows?” ' “Most probably he doesn’t know anything: he’s only guessing. But why didn’t you send for the police, Paula, and give him in charge?” “Oh, I was so afraid,” she sobbed. “I didn’t dare to do anything: he seemed to have such an evil sense of,power about him, Brian. If you had only seen him. And I was afraid for Leonard’s sake: all my old fears came back: I fancied perhaps that this man had. actually seen Leonard pull the | trigger. ... I sent for you immediately and for Sir David, because. . . .” | “Because we were the ones who were nearest and dearest to you, Paula?" he prompted softly. “Yes, Brian,” she whispered. “And I am so glad that you are safe. Tell me, nothing has happened?" “Not a single thing has turned up since I saw you on Monday aftei-noon,” he declared. "I haven’t seen Bill or McKnlght or Sir David, and I have heard nothing further In the case at all" Here Is Sir David now," she said j suddenly, dabbing at her eyes with a i ( lace handkerchief, and the next moment 'there was a sound of footsteps ( and Abbott almost ran into the room, j He looked as though he had been running, his face was red with exertion and his breath came in deep gulps- “ Paula, Paula," he cried, “for c God’s sake, what has happened? That ’ telephone message—it nearly .drove j j

By /. L. MORRISSEY.

'(Author of “ High Doom,” Eto., Etc.)'

me frantic. I half killed a clumsy brute of a taxi-driver who got me Jammed in a traffic block at Charing Cross. Tell me, girl, tell me I” She repeated what she had already told Brian, and the change in his attitude was remarkable. He seemed ( to calm down visibly: his agitation fled : from him and in its place seemed to j leave a chill calmness that Brian found greatly puzzling. He seemed Ito become cold suddenly and Brian ■ could see that his finely shaped hands were clenching and unclenching, j “Some one who was near and dear Ito you?” he murmured softly, as though to himself. “You oan think of no one else —leaving aside your brother—who would come Into that category besides myself and . . . .Mr Clarke?’ “No one,” and she shook her head. “You say he seemed to know something?” “Yes," she replied. “He seemed to know all about Leonard. ... he said that things would come to a head on Friday. . - . then he laughed,—oh, so horribly. What can he have meant, do you think, Sir David?” “I don’t know, my child,” he said, in a voice that was quite free from inflection. “But as long as I know now that you yourself are quite safe, I can rest easy. Nothing else matters now, my dear, but your safety and your happiness. Mr Clarke, you understand that, don’t you?” “Yes, sir,” said Brian, feeling suddenly like a small boy being entrusted with a great charge. He felt proud at the same time that the elder man should have said those words with such a significance, for he had seen what an ascendancy Abbott had over Paula, and it was evident that she looked upon him, and he upon himself, as her unofficial guardian. Sir David stood looking down at her without speaking. “He demanded money, of course?” he asked. “Y’es, but this time he was much greedier and much more ambitious in his demand. ' He wanted five thousand pounds—sufficient, he said, to enable him to get away to a new country where he could start again." Abbott’s lip curled and he laughed, harshly. ‘‘That's an old story,” he said shortly.' “You would never get rid of such a man like that, my dear. He would stay here, near to you,, where he could bleed you white of all you had. And he said that on Friday things would come to a head, unless this money was forthcoming. . ~ Rest content that everything will be all right. Think no more about it, Paula. The man Is a bluffer, doubtless, and yet he Is committing the vilest crime known to mankind. I will leave you sow, Paula, but do not be alarmed, I 3hall be quite safe. Good-bye, my Sear, and remember, you will not see - his man again."

She shook his hand and he left her with a smile. Brian accompanied him to the front door and as they stood on the threshold, he asked ; a question. ' •»> “Sir David. . . .” he hesitated a moment: then: “About the will. What has happened? Have you any hope of upsetting the condition?" Abbott shook his head. “The solicitor was right,” he said slowly. “I have had the best legal advlce on the point and they tell he that nothing can be done to reverse it.” "Then Paula loses her inheritance?” said Brian, trying hard to keep out > of his voice the note of joy, for he had I been fearing that the wealth that

might come to her would raise a barrier between him and the girl. Sir David looked him keenly in the face- “ Are you sorry, Mr Clarke?” he asked abruptly. "It may seem heartless to say it,” confessed Brian, flushing, “but I am hoping. . . . that is to say, I mean that I have a sufficiency, and if Paula had not known of this money, she would never have felt as though it was hers. I appreciate the loss she will feel, but I shall do all in my . power to make up to her for it, and the fact that she does not get this money certainly makes it easier for me—to put it in a way, that to a stranger, might seem selfish.” “And lam no stranger, my boy,” I said Abbott with a smile. “I like you ! for those words, Glaike. No, the will of Marmion is of no use to her. That is not the way. Bui everything must come out to the appointed end.” He repeated the words softly to himself, going down the steps, and the sound of them buzzed in Brian’s ears as he went back to Paula. It seemed to his excited brain as though they must have some meaning if only he ooulcl fathom it, but at that moment he could make nothing of them beyond the vague optimism expressed by a man who was normally so decided in his statements and views. Brian returned to Paula thoughtfully and ho did not tell her of the strange impression he had gathered from Abbott’s last words. She seemed more bright and cheerful now that slid had seen both of them, and he spent the rest of the evening with her and her aunt, chatting and trying to make the girl forget the painful interview she had.had. He stayed so late at the house in Christleton Road that it was ten o’clock before be woke to the remembrance that he had not carried out his intention of calling on McKnight. As he left the house, he decided that it was now too late to do this, and he went off to bed, full of a confusion of thought that he found very disturbing —One half of his mind being taken up with Paula and the_ other half with those strange words of Abbott’s and with his yet more strange manner. As he settled himself to sleep, he felt a consciousness steal over his mind that he was on the verge of some ‘great and tumultuous event- It could not have been more than an intuition, but it coloured his imagination to such an extent that he dreamed that night of seeing Paula, chained and defenceless before a devouring, black-winged dragon, while he and an enlarged and valiant Sir David Abbott battled with each other for the honour of being heist. George.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Sudden Death In the City. Brian would have been disappointed had he sought Mr McKnlght at Scotland Yard at any time on the Tuesday or Wednesday, for the detective left London on Tuesday morning and by three in the afternoon was speeding southward over France as fast as the Blue Train could carry him. He arrived in Nice at mid-day on the Wednesday and left again in the afternoon, and on Thursday evening at seven o’clock he stepped from the train at Victoria, tired, Jaded and tra-vel-strained, but with a quiet smile of satisfaction on his face. ,JIo did not leave the station until 'two hours later, and then for nine hours he was swallowed up in the dark of teeming millions that is the city of London. He arrived at his flat at six a.ml, and steadfastly averting his eyes from his bedroom, he breakfasted, and after a bath and a shave, set off for Scotland Yard. There was much still to do and much to think over before he could hope to see the trap closing, and as he walked vigorously along feeling much refreshed, he fell to wondering how he might manage to fit in an hour

or two of sleep before he began to put his plans into operation. Resolutely, he put the thought of sleep from his mind and, -arrived at his office, he sat down at his desk, filled and lighted a fresh pipe, giving himself over to reflection. But lie had been unwise to relax, for the moment he folded his . arms and leaned back in his chair tired Nature asserted her sway. llis pipe fell from his mouth, his breathing became more even, and presently the famous detective was sleeping soundly. An hour passed away Into two hours, then three and still he slept on, and it was the violent ringing of his telephone bell that finally roused him. For a dazed moment he stared at the instrument. Then, fully awake, he took off the receiver and held it to his oar. An excited voice reaching him, announced itself as that of the superintendent of polloe In charge of the Cannon Street police-station. "It’s a good job I found you in, Mr MoKnlght," said the voice- “There’s a fellow been brought In here who has some connection with the case you are on now—the Marmton killing. Shot in broad daylight in the City. Walked up to a constable and said he had something of Importance to communicate about Marmlon’s death. Then —according to the constable—-he just seemed to crumple on the pavement. Doctor says he was shot with a bullet from a noiseless air-riflle. The man’s here now, but he’s unconscious. You’ll have to hurry—you’ll come right now, sir? We’ll take 'down anything lie says until you arrive, of course. G’bye.” With his mind racing feverishly, the detective rushed down the corridors and out of the building. What new development could this daylight killing mean? Who was this man who had boen cut off so suddenly, just when he was about 'to speak? Tie was in a breathless and excited condition wfien he flung himself through the doorway of t*/- station. The superintendent met him and led him through to a back room. “Has he spoken?" were MclCnight’s first words, and the other shook his head.

“No, sir, not a word. < In fact, he hasn’t recovered consciousness since he was brought in half an hour ago. He should have hoen taken to the hospital in the first place, of course, but he collapsed so here that we thought it best to bring him In and lay him down, and tho doctor then said that he must not be moved. Ar.d also, I thought -it best to keep him here, in case he spoke. . . .” “You did quite rightly," cut in the detective. "I suppose you have the constable here whom he spoke to?” (To be continued.)