Sentenced Death

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 52, 24 May 1927, Page 16

Sentenced Death

by

Louis Tracy.

Author of “ The Long Lane of Many Windings,” “ One Wonderful Night,” “ Love and the Aces ” 41 The Token,” &c., &c.

(Copyright for the Author in the United States and Canada by Edward J. Clode. Inc., New York. All other rights reserved.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.—A young officer, Antony Blake learns that he has not many months to live. He arrives at a part of Regent's Park, where a pony and governess car are stationed. A vivid flash of lightning causes the pony to bolt. As Antony is walking, two men overtake and rush past him, one tall and thin the other short and fat. The rotund runner falls, picks himself up and tears along. Antony notices a dagger in the grass. He examines it, finally flinging it into the long grass fringing the shrubbery. He reaches a small wooden hut. A girl is sheltering there. She tells him she was to meet her uncle, who was driving a pony in a governess car. CHAPTER ll.—Blake takes her to her home. Her name is Iris Hamilton. Soon after he Is again in the Park and he finds the dagger. The first item that catches his eye in the night's paper is “Tragedy in Regent’s Park. Supposed Murder.” Another paragraph details how Dr. EnsleyJones found a long-bladed dagger in the body of the dead man. Its description tallies with the one In Blake's possession. He taxis ro the nearest police station and tells his story. Blake finds himself practically under arrest, suspected of complicity in the murder of Robert Bastingbarn.

CHAPTERS ill. and IV.—Furneaux arrives, identifies Blake, hears his story, and then asks the inspector for the knife. Then Furneaux Invites himself to Blake's flat. As the two men are making their way to Antony’s rooms, his housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, says that a young lady had called and left a letter for him. it is from Iris Hamilton.

CHAPTERS V. to Xl.—Blake sees the tall thin man at Albert Gate, and alter sending a note to Furneaux, follows him in Soho. Detectives join him and they succeed In finding the haunt of the criminals. The fat man walks in and is caught. An American crook threatens Blake over the telephone. Blake attends a dinner of detectives where the mention of the name of “Natalie GortschakofC" strikes terror into one of the guests. Then Miss Hamilton rings him up but the conversation is cut short. News comes of a fight between the police and a gang at Blake’s house. Blake himself has another heart attack when he is on his way to Iris. He goes to the flat with a detective, and Mrs. Hamilton is arrested for complicity In the murder. Natalie rings up Blake and he agrees to take luncheon with her. He is blindfolded and taken In a car to Natalie’s home where the villain*>ss receives him graciously. Injudiciously he drinks some vodka and loses consciousness. He wakes up with Cocknev voices in his ears.

CHAPTER Xl. (Continued). Blake had heard and understood every word of this brief conversation, but discovered an annoying physical numbness which forbade, movement and made difficult even, the lifting of his eyelids. He assumed hazily that his brain had recovered consciousness first, and that the lethargic body would quickly follow suit. Indeed, he seemed to pass rapidly through the concluding stages of a nightmare, save that mental stupor had taken the place of a dream. He felt himself being raised to a sitting posture, and held there gently enough, while the cheery accents of Cockayne encouraged him to ‘‘sit up an’ tike nowcice.” His more balanced vision rested first on a policeman, who was feeling his pulse quite professionally, watch in hand, and checking the throbs of the radial artery. Then he took in his surroundings, which were distinctly rural, while the sun was at an angle which bespoke the lapse of several hours since- last he saw daylight. “By Jove!” he said with a wan smile which had the instant effect of restoring colour to his cheeks, “I’ve been here longer than I counted on. And, by the ; way, where am I?” “In wot the pipers call a remowl' pawt of seclewded ’Emstead,” answered the man whom he had not yet seen. “’Emstead?” he repeated. “Where’s that?”

The policeman grinned. “He means Hampstead," came the explanation. “But the point is—why are you here at all, and how long had you been lying there before the parkkeeper found you?” Blake, rather astonished at the way in which his faculties were returning, elected to say nothing at the moment of the circumstances which led to his present ridiculous plight. “I’ve a wonky heart,” he said. “Evidently it gave out. Yes, of course. Hampstead Heath. I came here after lunch, about two o’clock, and now it’s “Great Caesar’s ghost! Nearly halfpast five! Where is the nearest telephone?” “Lucky you didn’t pass out altogether, sir,” said the constable, having taken the measure of the “case” by this time. “Are you really all right now? And have you lost anything?” Blake rose, still helped by the other man, in whom he soon recognised a park attendant .who unquestionably

had passed many years in the British Army. He searched his pockets, but nothing was missing. Money, chequebook, note-book, pipe and the rest —all were intact.

“No,” he said. “I suppose a sort of protective instinct caused me to roll under these bushes. If it were not for you, friend, I might have remained there till night-fall,” and he proffered a pound note to the park-keeper, who protested sturdily that he ’ad done nothink, not ’e. He would sooner have given a dollar himself than discover a dead body, which was his lot far too often.

Blake, however, insisted so firmly that he would at least pay the money to be taken without delay to a telephone. The policeman wanted a little more enlightenment, and was unable to guess why this well-spoken young man withheld it. Still, there was no offence against the law in toppling over in a faint on an unfrequented path near Golder’s Park. “If I was you, sir,” he said, by way of parting advice, “I’d see a doctor about that heart of yours. Three hours and more is a long time to lie unconscious, and it was a deuce of a job to get you roused up. Sure you’ve not been taking anything? I don’t mean alcohol or poison, of course, but any sort of drug?” “I had a glass of vodka after luncheon,” laughed Blake. “Vodka? What’s that?” “It’s a Russian likoor,” put in the park-keeper. “I’ve ’ad some. Corpsereviver we used ter call it at Harkangel. It touches the spot orl right, I can tell you.” Blake hurried him off to that telephone at the “Lodge” which was so nearly utilised to summon an ambulance. There, with slight delay, he got on to Scotland Yard, and no sooner was his voice heard over the C.I.D. branch line than Furneaux cackled elatedly: “Mille diables! Here’s the warrior himself. That really you, Blake? Well, the manager of the Pall Mall branch of your bank has just brought in the note you left in his care. You’ve timed things like a movie director. Where are you?” “In a house on the north-west side of Hampstead Heath.” “Is that the house? But, of course not. I’m crazy with the heat. You’ve been drugged and deported—that’s what has happened to you. For heaven’s sake, man, talk.”

"I will when you let me. Never mind my adventures—they can wait, though you’ve summed them up rather accurately already. Well, the house you want can be found at once if you will take particulars of a church spire situated somewhere in north London. Got a writing-pad handy? Here are the details.” Furneaux did not interrupt at all until he had a full description of the landmark that was to be sought for. “I’ll have that phoned to every borough surveyor’s office in that district within five minutes,” he said. “You’ve certainly stirred things up here, young man. Is there anything else you think we ought to know?” There was no mistaking the underlying sarcasm of that concluding ques-

tion, but Blake had the happiest of retorts.

“Yes,” he said. “Someone was shot in the place about a quarter to two this afternoon. I am beginning to believe now that this event accounted for the lady’s change of plan. She probably meant sending me away as I came, blindfolded, but simply dared not risk it after this ‘accident,’ as she called it, occurred. That is why I was disposed of differently.” “Tut, tut! How interesting! Next?” “I am now going home. I want some tea. I can be there, I imagine, within half an hour.” “And there, I imagine, I shall wait on your lordship. Why, man, if I had your flair for excitement in the best criminal circles I’d be a K.B.E. in a month, whereas Winter here is only a C.B.E. after 30 years of monotonous existence. Well, mes adieux! . Don’t start anything fresh till I see you.” As it happened, the telephone being affixed to a wall in an open passage, the park-keeper 'could not help overhearing Blake’s share of this conversation, and he was a quick-witted fellow. “Beg pawdon, sir” he said, when the instrument was hung up, “but I know that there steeple you spowk of. It’s St. Mawk’s, Belsize Park.” “Are you sure?” demanded Blake. “Well I carn’t s’y as ’ow I’ve cahnted the stownes in the top stowry sime as yew did, but the rest of it is a trew bill. It’s St. Mawk’s right enough. There ain’t any other church like it in this pawt o’ London.” Back went Blake to the telephone. This time Furneaux was almqst irritated. “You again?” he cackled. “What is it now? You’ve found the church, of course?” “An excellent scout here has found it for me. When the dust subsides you must see to it that he is rewarded.” “He may be wrong. The more excellent a man is the more likely he is to be a well-meaning busybody whose statements are quite unreliable. However, unless you don’t feel up to it,

meet me at six o’clock or thereabouts outside your St. Mark’s. I’ll be in touch with the local police station in any event, and by that time your church will have been identified.”

Blake agreed. As a last service, the park-keeper put him on the right road to find a taxi, and he was set down at the church some minutes ahead of the appointed time. He recognised it at first, sight; there were eight stone courses in the uppermost lantern! Beyond settling in his mind the direction of the road leading to Natalia Gortschakoff’s residence he did not push local investigation farther. It might be a bad blunder to attempt such a thing. He might be seen and recognised. Above all, the affair was now in the hands of the police, and he was not yet aware of the exact methods they, meant to adopt. Shortly before six a number of sol-idly-built fellows began to drift toward the church from various points of the compass. They, of course, were policemen in plain clothes from one or more neighbouring centres. Each man eyed him furtively, but was ludicrously unaware of the presence of his comrades. Then. an inspector and two constables rn uniform showed up. They also were curious about him, but no one tackled him openly, for the sufficient reason that an ordinary citizen has a perfect right to stroll quietly around a church in a London suburban square on a summer’s evening if he has a mind to. At six o’clock precisely Furneaux and Sheldon arrived in a closed car. The little detective beckoned to Blake and the inspector. “Jump inside,” he said. “We’ll attract less attention that way. Now you”—this to Blake —“tell us just why we are here.” Blake reviewed the occurrences of the mid-day hours rapidly but with convincing accuracy. The others listened intently. Even the local inspector knew that a crucial stage in the Regent’s Park murder case had now been reached.

“Found the house yet?” snapped Furneaux when Blake had no more to say. “No, I thought it a mistake to start searching before you came.” “Splendid. If only all amateur sleuths had so much sense. This is your church all right. I have had two long-winded assurances from two borough surveyors that it is the most exact modern replica of Wren’s architectural style to be seen in London. Can you make sure of the house?” “I shall be absolutely certain when 1 see this steeple from the same angle and at the same distance.” “Right. Tell the chauffeur where to go. He will drive slowly, and you can look back through the rear window.” A minute later the car was passing a corner house, facing north, with its two easterly and three westerdly windows on the ground floor. The flight of steps at the entrance allowed for a half basement, and the drawn white curtains rendered assurance doubly sure. “Carry on!” said Furneaux to the police chauffeur. “Pull up in the next side street. Then you, inspector, will hurry back for your heavy-weights. By the time you join us again we can determine where the stops must be stationed. Tell them that no one must'get away, no one. They are to shoot if necessary. You, Mr. Blake, may hang around, but you must take no part whatsoever in the operations.” The plan of attack was admirable. It. need not be detailed because it collapsed at the outset. When all possible exits were closed, Furneaux, Sheldon, the inspector and the uniformed men passed rapidly along the entrance drive and mounted the steps. The bell was answered by the butler without any marked delay, and he appeared to be honestly mystified when the whole five crowded into the hall and closed the door. “Now, my man,” said Furneaux, “take me at once to Mademoiselle Natalia GortschakofC.” “There is no lady of that name residing here, sir,” was the civil answer. “Well, then, what is her name?” “The lady who has rented this house is a French lady—a Madame Gautier, sir. But, may I ask ” “Who I am? Certainly. A detec-tive-inspector from Scotland Yard. Where is Madame Gautier?” “She has gone away, sir. She left about two o’clock, and expects to be away some days.” “I thought so. Are you alone here?” “No, sir. There are two maids and a kitchen-man, who does odd jobs about the house.” “And where is the man who was shot here at a quarter to two?” At that the butler paled perceptibly. “There was a bit of an accident, sir,” he began, but Furneaux cut him short, though not in a bullying fashion. “I am not holding you responsible in any way,” he said, “but you had better understand at once that the woman you know as Madame Gautier is wanted, with many of her associates,