WANTED—A DYING MAN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume V, Issue 368, 10 June 1911, Page 7

WANTED—A DYING MAN.

* Being a Strange Chronicle from the Note-book of John Lyon, Elucidator, Known as the " Lion of the Law."

Bj S. H. Agnew, Author of "The Castle Mystery," etc.

CHAPTER I. A MAN FOR SALE !

" Seen this advertisement, Chris ?" " No. I haven't seen the paper this morning." Christian Lesage leaned forward as he spoke, and perused the notice tc which John Lyon had referred. It was in the Agony column of the " Manchester Indicator " and the detective had made it more prominent by marking it with a blue cross. " Man for Sale !" he read. " The doctor gave me only twelve months to live; I will sell myself for the highest offer, for scientific or other purposes. Am willing to take any personal or moral risk, and will place myself unconditionally at the disposal of any purchaser.—Apply G., Box X 143, ' Manchester Indicator ' Office."

It was plain that Lesage could scarcely credit the evidence of his eyes. He rubbed them dazedly, and then read the amazing advertisement again, this time- aloud. " Well—l'm—blessed !" he ejaculated then. " I never heard of such a thing. It's illegal. The editor will get a dose of the stone jug for putting that in, I'll "bet a guinea." " I don't think so."

" I do ! Why, that advertisement is tantamount to sowing crime broadcast. Just think what it means— a man willing to sell himself unconditionally to the highest bidder ! The newspaper people must have been mad to print it, and I'll wager that they'll hear from Scotland Yard ere long not to mention the Manchester police." Lesage ceased his harangue suddenly and caught sight of his chief's face. Lyon was smiling in a most peculiar way, and he broke into a laugh as he met his assistant's glare. " I believe you know something about that ac. :" the latter said, suspiciously. " Though why the —" "As a matter of fact," the elucidator interrupted, lazily, " I put it in. It was only after a great deal of argument and permission from the department at New Scotland Yard that I could persuade the newspaper people to .put it in." " And now it is in what earthly good is it ?" Lyon grew grave as he sat up to answer the question. " You know why we are in Manchester ?" he asked, quietly. Lesage started. " You mean the poison cases ?" " That is correct. In less than six weeks seven different people in Manchester and Salford have been mysteriously poisoned. Even experts from London have failed to ascertain the nature of the poison, and how it had been administered was an inscrutable mystery in every case. I have followed the course of events closely, and come to the conclusion that there is a professional poisoner at work in Manchester."

" A professional poisoner ?" " Precisely. I mean a man who will remove any man who is in the way for a sum of money. In all these poisoning cases the victim has either been rich, or somebody has benefited directly by the death. But there has not been a scrap of evidence upon which to base suspicion, and the general impression even among the local detective force, is that some new disease has invaded Manchester."

Lyon paused thoughtfully, drumming with his fingers upon the table. The other man filled the interval by perusing the queerlj-worded advertisement looking more puzzled than ever when he had finished.

" I hope you will pardon my obtuseness, Jack," he said, at length, with a grin. " But I really fail to see how this can aid us in finding an unknown and diabolically clever poisoner."

"It is simple enough, although something in the nature of a shot in the dark. If, as we imagine, there is an expert poisoner in Manchester, he would welcome the chance of having a subject upon whom he could experiment. You will remember that Caesar Borgia used to entrap people for that very purpose, but of course he lived in more lawless days than ours."

"You think that this poisoner will see your advertisement and answer it ?"

"I should not be surprised. I have arranged with the editors of the ' Guardian,' the ' Post,' and other dailies to reproduce the ad., with a few notes on its strangeness, so that our man can scarcely miss it." "If there is such a man," put in Lesage, sceptically. " I have taken a small house in Marshall Street, and it is there that anybody who answers the advertisement will be directed. I think I may as well be off at once. I shall spend the day there, if nothing else turns up."

Yawning, the elucidator rose to his feet. His Manchester office consisted only of two rooms, situated in a building in Mosley Street. Outside tall blocks of warehouses shaded the windows, the thoroughfare being given up almost entirely to industrial purposes. Lyon was never very particular about his surroundings and the disorder of his dens often amazed clients who had read of the almost bewildering extent of his cases. Th€ outer room in the Mosley Street office was furnished plainly for the reception of clients and was in no way noteworthy. The inner apartment, however, was in striking contrast. The detective slept, worked, and had hifi meals there, and a thousand odd-

ments were crammed into every nook, and corner.

Jumping over the table upon which the scattered remains of breakfast were evident, he pushed his way to the dressing-table and for a few minutes was busy with a make-up box. He had then recourse to a big wardrobe in another corner of the room, selecting a set of garments and slipping into them with the celerity oi an actor.

When the change was accomplished, he was utterly transformed, his identity merged in the character he intended to impersonate. He was welldressed, but in rather shabby garments, with a general aspect of care:cssness, such as one may see in a blind man or one mentally afflicted. rlis eyes were surrounded by black lollows and sparkling feverishly with m injection of belladonna ; a hectic lush dyed his cheeks, and by an aIroit manipulation of false shadows he had imparted to his countenance c vvorn and sunken aspect that was startling to a degree. " I'm off now," he said to Lesage, finishing the disguise by donning a ;oft slouch hat. "If anything turns ,ip I will wire to you ; if you do not icar from me by one o'clock you can lisguise yourself as a window cleaner or anything else that occurs to you, ind call on me. Don't forget ; my address is No. 128. Marshall Street, and my name is George Graham."

He waved a farewell and descended the stairs, altering his usual walk to a quick, nervous stride, which acrorded admirably with his adopted ;haracter.

CHAPTER 11. SILVER NOB'S SECRET.

Crossing into Tib Street, Lyon walked onward till he found himself n the Oldham Road, Marshall Street leing a turning from that busy highway of commerce. As he came in sight of his newlyacquired residence, he found that a visitor had already put in an appearmce. A tall man was playing an impatient tattoo on the knocker, and 3e turned hastily as the disguised letective stepped up behind him. He ivas splendidly proportioned, with ;he development of a Hercules, and lis immaculate morning-coat did little to hide the knots of muscle that rippled around his arms and shoullers. One peculiarity about his appearance struck the elucidator in stantly—his features were young and strong, but his closely cropped hail was as white as that of a man of eighty. It shone like spun silver as the sun glinted upon it. " I beg your pardon," he said, juickly, surveying Lyon with swift, searching glances. " Are you Mr. George Graham ?" " That is my name." " I came in answer to your advertisement in the ' Indicator.' " The elucidator simulated a start oi surprise.

" I scarcely expected anyone sc soon," he exclaimed ; "in fact I was more than doubtful whether J should receive any answer to so mad 1 proposition. Come inside, will you ?"

The visitor followed into the stuffs smelling passage, and Lyon slammed the door and locked it ere conducting lis visitor into the ill-furnished sit-ting-room. Seated one on each side of the meagre fire, they faced each other until the silence became irksome. Then Lyon spoke.

" If you will tell me your name—"

" Call me Silver Nob. It is the only name I care to be called by my colleagues. I will be plain with you.' : He bent forward with sudden resolution, his big square chin squared aggressively one finger pointing straight it the detective. " I am a lineal descendant of the Borgias—the last one. I practice the art which 'was almost perfected by mj ancestors. I am a poisoner, and I require a subject upon whom I can try some new poisons and antidotes which I have invented. I find it simple to try poisons on strangers " —he showed his white teeth in a grin—' but it is difficult to be on hand to test the antidotes. You realise what I want ?"

" Yon want me to be the subject for your —experiments ?" the Lion 0 the Law faltered, apparently aghast. " You've grasped it. I offer you as much money as you care to ask foi while you live. And you are not likely to die before your time is up. I am a magician with my vials—a veritable prince of poisoners !" He spoke with a enthusiasm that was almost fanatical. " What is your illness —consumption ?" " Galloping consumption. I have a year to live at the utmost. ] thought that I would enjoy my time if I could get money to do it with,' Lyon responded in hollow tones ol despair. "As you see —I am poor—devilishly poor, I have nothing tc sell but my miserable bddy, but if ] could get anything for that I wil\ spite the world by finishing my life ir the midst of every luxury that the world can offer." Silver Nob smiled. His face was not good to look upon at that moment. It reminded John Lyon of a friend who sees a victim yielding tc temptation.

" Come with me, and you shall live like a king," he hissed. "We were made for one another. You may think that I am a bold man to reveal my secrets to you, but I tell you that I fear no man ! I am master of a thousand ways of disposing of a man by the art of poison ing, and if you even thought o) playing me false you would be dead within an hour. Y'our food, your books, your clothes, the very aii

you breathed would be saturated witl poisons !" He rose suddenly, altering his voic< from a threatening whisper, to tone* of jovial friendship. " I can see you agree," he cried. " I will not stop longer as I feai your little advertisement may attract the police. If they do mak* any inquiry, say the thing was dom for a wager. Come to this address

at midnight —not a moment before, as you value your life. Knock twice and give the pass-word—' The last of the Borgias,'—on demand. You may spend the day in closing this house. sTou will not need it again." He flung a square of pasteboard on the table and made his exit, without .vaiting for Lyon to make any reply. The elucidator seized the card as the door slammed behind his strange visitor, and read It with glistening jjes. It bore a pentagon imprinted in blue, and -beneath it appeared the words, " The Assassins' Club, Moat Hall, Hyde, Manchester." " By Caesar !" the detective murmured. " A daring rogue !"

CHAPTER 111. THE MYSTERY OF A MIDNIGHT

WEDDING. It was near to midnight when John Lyon left Chris Lesage and the automobile which had brought him to Hyde and set off along the highway to Stockport. Inquiry had elicited the fact that Moat Hall was a lonely Did mansion situated in a lane close to Castle Hill. It had originally oeen a monastery, and had been vacant for many years prior to the ;oming of Mr. Purslane, who had purchased the premises for a mer» song.

As he had expected, Lyon experienced the utmost difficulty in ascertaining anything definite concerning Mr. Purslane, indeed, there appeared to t>e nothing definite to be ascertained. Some said that he was old, others that he was young ; a few stated that he was ugly as sin and never showed his face outside the front door, and other stories had it that tie lived abroad three parts of his time, or that he was a chronic invalid. The information which the detective found at his disposal was in fact, so chaotic, that it was worse than useless. But it proved to his entire satisfaction that Silver Nob was as cunning a villain as had ever .Hatched his wits with the law. It had been a dark and stormy evening, and it grew doubly dark as midnight drew near. The road to Moat Hall was veiled in a darkness which ;losed round the eyes as thick as folds of crape, filling the lungs with a fog-like sense of oppression. To the jastward the lightning was playing low along the horizon, sending blue Flares to searcli the darkness, and muttering thunderously at intervals. Not a breath of air was stirring ; the very trees seemed to be holding their breath in expectation of some itunning catastrophe. With a revolver up his coat sleeve ready for almost immediate use, the Lion of the Law made his way boldly up the narrow lane, straining his ejes in vain for any sign of Moat Hall. His directions were meagre ; he knew that it was situated on the right, and that was all. Stepping with the caution of a burglar, he kept to that side of the way, occasionally rubbing his hand amongst the prickly hedge to make sure that he had not reached Silver Nob's domain. Ten minutes had passed, and he was considering the wisdom of employing his electric torch, when a sound in the distance brought him to a sudden halt. Faint at first, but steadily increasing in volume, there came from some point on the road ahead a steady, droning sound. A motor ! Lyon uttered a stifled ejaculation of wonderment. The lane led to nowhere in particular, and Moat Hall was the only house in the vicinity. Could Silver Nob be engaged on one of his midnight expeditions of crime ?

The question was soon answered. The drone of the car drew slowly nearer, and presently three glowing eyes of fire swept into sight. It seemed to be travelling at a mere srawl, and the headlight was moving in a fashion that made the elucidator stare for a minute ere he realised the truth.

"By Caesar !" he muttered. •" I believe it's Silver Nob, and he's looking for me. There's someone in the car with a powerful lantern, ;earching the hedges as they go along. I'd better walk on." Suiting the action to the word, he advanced at a brisk pace, and was soon within two strides of the big motor. The moving circle of light swung round and focused upon him as he did so, and next instant a poice hailed him from within the car —unmistakably that of Silver Nob. " Here you are, Mr. Graham !" he ;ried heartily. "We were searching "or you. You are late."

" I did not think your house was so far distant from Hyde Road. Station." Lyon responded in the weak, consumptive voice he had adopted to suit his character. "It is so dark, too, in these lanes. I hope my absence is of no serious account?" He halted by the door of the motor, which was a powerful Fiat, as le spoke, and peered inside. As his jyes grew accustomed) to the dazzling »lare of the lantern he saw that Silver Nob was seated in one corner, enveloped in a long ulster covering aim from head to foot. In the other Lyon caught a glimpse of a priest — or at least of a man attired as a clergyman. He did not have time to observe more closely. His employer threw the door open at that moment and dragged him inside by main force.

" Right away, Ormiston," be called to the man at the wheel. " And 3rive like the very devil." A roar from the engines was the response. The car shuddered and then hurled itself forward with a spring, like that of some wild beast. Silver Nob, sinking back in his uorner, drew a shade over his lantern and then turned to Lyon. "To be frank your presence is of the utmost importance to us toaight," he shouted* *'You are go ing to be married."(To be Continued.)