MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

Waikato Times, Volume 128, Issue 21357, 27 February 1941, Page 3

MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

BY PETER MANTON

NEW SERIAL STORY

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued) “Ex-actly, sir! Without Sir Nicholas at its head, the new syndicate will not be powerful. It is, of course, in existence now. The shares have been put on the market. lam convinced that it would have been a tremendous success—but now that Sir Nicholas is dead, few people will buy the shares, sir. It—it might easily fail.” Bill’s eyes were glinting. “I’m following you a lot, Mann. How does this connect up with the blackmail?” “Well—well sir. Miss Wilson came with us, as you might know, when Sir Nicholas began to take an interest in this new syndicate. About the same time he received threats—he would never say what they were about, but he admitted being threatened. Several times I appealed to him to go to the police, for his own sake—but he laughed at my fears. If only ” Mann promised to go off into a fit of lamenting, but Bill was seeing the business clearer. Why the secretary had refused to tell this to the police, he didn’t know. They would have to know everything sooner or later. But that could wait. “Who are the other men concerned, Mann?” “There .are only two deeply involved, sir. Mr Matthew Bolder, and Lord Rilling. But—but wfrat is more pertinent, sir, is the firm that will be badly affected if the new concern flourished. The Mid-Eng-land Electrical Corporation, sir, and its shareholders. It is a private company, only six people are concerned in it.” Mann’s voice was going higher, and he stepped closer to Bill, as though to heighten the need for secrecy. “And the man who had everything to lose, sir, is one of the six. His name is ” Mann stopped. He was looking over Bill’s shoulder towards that part of the window that was uncurtained. Fear, such as Bill Arden had never seen before, crossed his thin face. “Look! Look!” The scream echoed upwards, and as it went there was a crash of glass, a sharp report. In front of Bill Arden’s eyes the secretary staggered, his hands flying to his chest. And as Bill grabbed him, to keep him from falling, he saw the blood on Mann’s fingers—blood on the hand near the heart. And Arden knew, even while the man was in his arms, that Mann was dying. What Is the Name? CHAPTER VII. “On the settee,” snapped Jim Horn. Bill lifted the dying man in his arms and carried him to the settee. Horn was already pressing the bell, but there was no need to summon the Inspector. The door was flung open and Court appeared, redder in the face than ever, and breathing hard. “I heard—my God!” He moved with unexpected speed for so bulky a man, reaching the settee and half pushing Arden aside. Mann’s lips were gaping, his eyes were open, very wide, filled with horror. “El-el ” The syllable was just recognisable, although the voice was no more than a croak. And then Mann’s head dropped back, and he was very still. For a few seconds there was absolute silence inside the room, broken by hurrying footsteps outside. Draper, brusque and sharp voiced, snapped a query and then saw his superior. He pulled up short, looking apologetically towards the Inspector. Court stood up, rubbing his right nand down the seam of his trousers. His expression was no longer bovine, but angry, and his voice had an edge. “What happened? I ” But he was talking to the air. Ardten and Horn had turned round as Court had knelt over Mann, and the bigger man was already half way out of the window. The wind was blowing in, cold and blustering as Horn followed, moving as quickly as the man who had knocked on his door earlier that evening. The snow outside was not lying thick against the window. Apart from an occasional squall the wind was blowing the other way, and not drifting by the south wall—where the drawing-room was built. And in the light from the roorq, they could see the imprints in the snow, and a small dark thing—the spent cartridge of the fatal shot. Horn picked it up. Arden was lowering his head against the snow and following the footprints. They ran round the house, and then suddenly stopped. Arden almost fell over as he pulled himself up. Horn was close on his heels, and head the muttered: “He went inside.” It was obvious. • There were signs of snow where the gunman had ciimbed into a small window, which was closed now, and dark. But there was no question of the way the murderer hud gone. Bill bent his eloow quickly, 4nd smashed it into the glass ol the window. It broke with a sharp report, long splinters leaping into it. He knocked out enough to clear a hole to climb through, and from behind him Horn shone the clear beam of the torch. The room was at the oack of the house, used by the servants. The light shone on a dresser, tiiied with crockery, and an electric stove. Bill stepped quickly to the door, switching on the main light. It told its own tale. Near the window were small pools of water, an overcoat, and a pair of heavy gum boots. They had been flung off hastily, one was against the wall, the other standing up in front of the window. And from the water to the door there was no trail at all. Stockings don't show one,” Arden said slowly. “Well, that makes another thing certain.” i Horn’s eyes, one above the other, j looked more surprised than ever. ! “An inside job.” | “Servants,” snapped Bill. “Unless " | “There’s someone hiding here.” I Horn rubbed his chin, and Bill hur- | ried into the passage. It led to- , wards the kitchen to the right, and ! the servants’ staircase to the left, : and it was impossible to be sure j which way the man had gone, k (To be continued daily)