MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

Waikato Times, Volume 128, Issue 21356, 26 February 1941, Page 8

MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

By PETER MANTOV

NEW SERIAL STORY

CHAPTER V.— (continued) “Just an hour and a half, Inspector. Pretty good going, all things considered.” “Three miles—and in that,” said Court, glancing out of the window. The curtains were drawn, but had caught up at one corner. Well, xve’ll just have to wait. You’ve no ideas, I suppose?” Bill said he hadn’t, and a few seconds later Mann appeared with Sergeant Draper, a nondescript little man, who might have been seen in any big office. The clerk type, to Bill Arden. Court introduced him. Draper had a rather high-pitched voice, not unlike his uncle’s secretary. He had decided now that he disliked both Inspector and sergeant, and he hoped he would have better luck with the Yard men when they arrived. Theft—blackmail—the possibility of political associations, and mixed up in it that girl with the direct blue eyes. To seriously suspect she was implicated, was absurd. Did Court really think so? He had taken the trouble to send Mann out of the room while he had asked ‘questions about the girl, and it seemed quite likely that Court was serious. Well, he would find out his mistake. Bill Arden cocked his head on one side suddenly. He had felt that he must get to Manby Home when he had first heard the news, and now he was here. He had had no clearly defined ideas, excepting to be on the spot. Well, supposing he did a spot of investigating on his own account? He had the right, he supposed, of looking through his uncle’s papers. The solicitors would have, anyhow. The idea cheered him, although he had on several occasions told himself that the one thing where an amateur was useless was in detection. On the other hand, if there came a need for action, he might be able to do something towards clearing up the mystery of his uncle’s murder. And action would help a lot. Stalemate The body of the murdered knight was in his bedroom. The study had been cleared, after the photographs and finger-prints had been taken, and the officials had gone back to Guildford. After their departure the snow had come. And here they were, half-a-dozen or so men, and three or four women servants, with tne dead body of the owner of the house in their midst. It was stalemate. Horn was smiling a little, when Court and Draper left the drawingroom. “Well, Arden, I suppose now you’re here, you’re wondering what to do?” “Thought reading?” flashed Bill. “As a matter of fact, I was cursing the snow.” “Again!” Horn’s smile had a soothing effect. “Supposing you have a chat with Mann? He may not mind talking to you, but I fancy he was a bit chary of the Inspector.” Bill cocked one eyebrow. “Didn’t you take to the gentleman?” “Not altogether. All right in his way, of course, but not exactly likeable. Ah—here is Mann.” The secretary came in, his bony hands rubbing together. He peered nervously about the room, as though to make sure that the Inspector was away, and then closed the door quietly. His thin face held a glint of excitement that Bill Arden was quick to see. “Hallo, Mann ” “Excuse me, sir. There is something I feel I must tell you before—before Mr Court returns. But—l would like your understanding to keep it secret, sir—if you know what I mean? “It doesn’t affect the murder?” asked Bill slowly. “It—it’s hard to say, sir. It—it has something to do with this dreadful blackmail that was worrying Sir Nicholas, at least I think so. He—he was anxious to get back to business, sir.” Bill whistled. “Tired of retirement, eh?” “Exactly, sir. And he had been making arrangements with a certain firm to take up a position on their board. You will not need telling that Sir Nicholas was one of the finest financial men in the country and—and this new syndicate was particularly anxious to obtain his services. You understand, sir?” “I’m beginning to,” said Bill grimly. “Who are the people?” Again Mann looked over his shoulder, as though he was afraid of being overheard. Then, with an exaggerated whisper, he said: “The—the Greater Electrical Syndicate, sir. It has bought one of the biggest electrical manufacturing concerns in the country, worth—of course, millions of pounds. And — and—but you see what I mean, sir?” Bill Arden looked at the man. Mann was eyeing him appealingly, as though he was sure he could rely on the other’s understanding. And it was dawning. “I’m beginning to, Mann. If uncle had lived he could have looked after this new syndicate. Without him, it might have a difficult job to keep going. Is that it?” Mann nodded. He looked speechless, and the words were uttered with a considerable effort. (To be continued daily)