The Man who Paid

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 317, 30 March 1928, Page 5

The Man who Paid

{By

Pierre Costello

Author of " A Sinner in Itratf, 1 * ** Tainted Lives,’* ” The Money Master/* Etc.. Etc.

CHAPTER XX.—IN THE NIGHT. Grace had never been to a cinema. If she had, and if she had not been so weighed down with sorrow, she might have seen a weird and tragic resemblance to some dramatic picture on the screen in the events that followed on Joseph’s return. To begin with, everything was done in perfect silence, after the first whispers exchanged between herself and the elderly, plump, fair doctor and the undesired, dark, thin-faced sub-inspec-tor of police from Cumdred. They seemed to forget her. The subinspector had a constable with him, who did nothing at first, but stood on guard by the door. She stood by the door, too, the door that separated her husband's sleeping liamber from his rough and ready living room. She watched the men as in a. dream, those black shapes moving bout in the faint lamplight. Joseph molding the lamp for them, where they lirected him. She saw the doctor bending over the 'ed, examining the body. She would •ot look at Shean Glyn herself, as they ifted the dark blanket that covered iim. She did not want to see that eruel knife. She reflected in a dazed way how strange it was that she should constantly be brought into contact with the shedding of blood —she to whom it caused a horror so acute that it well nigh deprived her of her senses. First the knowledge of Kivett's crime—so nearly a double crime: and now this actual boy she had loved —yes, she had loved him—slain almost before her eyes. If she had chosen, she could have looked on his life’s blood with her own eyes. Her brain reeled. For what inscrutable purpose could God have allowed him to be cut down in the flower of his youth? The sub-inspector examined the body too. and then proceeded to make an examination of the room, Joseph following him like a burly shadow with the, lamp, the flame of which danced like a sprite. The doctor had already intimated that there was nothing he could do. Grace gazed. fascinated, at the policeman as he explored every nook and cranny of the room, opening the drawers of the dressing chest, feeling in the pocke:s of Rivett’s clothes hanging on hooks, lying down flat to look under the bed, going through the contents of Shean Glyn’s own modest trunk. JShe came to herself with a jerk *hen the doctor poured some water

in the basin on the washstand, and proceeded to wash his hands. At the same moment the sub-inspec-tor came up to her and said in a low. business-like voice: “May I have a few words with you. Madam ?” She replied in the affirmative, and signed to him to follow her. Joseph led the way to the dining room, blazing out the path with the electric torch. The doctor followed. Once out of the presence of death, it seemed to Grace that all these figures ceased to be shadows, and assumed fiesh and blood. They no longer filled her with a kind of supernatural dread. They no longer held her spellbound, so that she watched them, breathlessly, unable to move. The doctor became a plump, kindlyfaced individual, the father of a family, as she knew him to be. The sub-in-spector became a business-like little fellow, engrossed in his duty, utterly impersonal. She noticed at once that he was not a Welshman, ajid learned later on that he was an inhabitant of Weaveliam, a young policeman of great promise, but unfortunately of consumptive tendencies, who had been sent to Cumdred for the air. The constable seemed to be more or less of a nonentity, a tall s tick of a young fellow with the swarthy skin and black eyes of the country-side. Grace called to Joseph and told vim to put the kettle on and make some tea. “You must be frozen,” she said to the doctor. “Thank vou very much. Mrs. Rivett,” he answe-'''’ fibbing his hands together. “A cup of tea; would be very acceptable. I cannot say how sorry I am to come up here on such a sad errand.” He took the k;ad, being older than the policeman and more socially capable. “Our young friend here, subinspector Ross—you will understand that you will have to tell him as much as you know of this sad affair, answer anv questions he may put to you.” “Of course.” Grace saiid. “I am quite ready.” “Perhaps you would just tell us first what you do know, madam,” put in th sub-inspector. He had, as consumptives often do have, an unexpectedly deep and full voice. “I know nothing really,” Grace said. With a great €*ffort she wiped all surging emotions out of her voice. “Mr. Glyn was a friend of ours. I believe he has practically no relatives living. He had not long left Oxford University, and he was going out to Africa with my husband at Christmas. My husband was giving him

work to do out there. He was staying with us here and helping my husband. We are living a camp life, while my husband is superintending the rebuilding of the Abbey, which, as you know, was burned down.” “And Mr. Rivett, madam, where is he?” asked Sub-Inspector Ross. "He is in London. He went away last night. He meant to stay there a few days to see some experts about water that has been found under the foundations. Joseph here —his confidential man servant, has sent him a telegram from Cumdred, so he will come back at once.” “I understand, madam, that you went into Cumdred yourself to-day, and did not see Mr. Glyn before you left early this morning.” “Yes,” Grace said, and inwardly she writhed in pain at the returning horror of the thought that the boy had been lying dead even while she stepped into the car. “We did not think it anything unusual, Joseph and I, because Mr. Glyn had business in the woods that my husband has bought over in the Vywral Valley, and he often got up very early and went there. As often as not he had had his breakfast before I was up.” “He said nothing to you last night?” “Nothing at all. He knew I was going into Cumdred.” “And when you came back —did you not look for him?” “Not at first. You see, lie was often away until dark. It was not until it got later than it had ever been that I asked Joseph to go into my husband’s quarters to see if by any chance he was there and had fallen asleep.” “Those are your husband’s quarters, madam?” asked the sub-inspec-tor respectfully, but with a certain emphasis. “Yes. My husband asked Mr. Glyn to sleep there while he was away.” “May I ask wTiy?” “Because he thought it would be safer for me to have someone near me. I sleep in that room through the partition on the left. There have been stories of someone being heard roaming about our camp at night.” She caught Joseph’s eyes fixed on her with an agonised appeal. “Indeed, madam!” The young policeman’s voice betrayed uncommon interest. “Who has heard these sounds?” “Joseph, here, for one,” she answered. She could not help herself. She did not understand his fears altogether, but she realised that he did not want it known that he believed someone had been in the camp. There was still something that he kept from her. The sub-inspector turned his attention to Joseph, who explained that he could not be sure, but he thought he had heard someone on several nights. He believed it was said that some of the workmen had seen a stranger at dawn. But he did not know. The workmen were a queer lot. Then came the usual questions addressed to Grace. Did she know of any enemy who might have desired Mr. Glyn’s death? Had she ever heard him speak as if he went about in fear of his life? Had she the remotest suspicion herself who might have done the deed? Purify your blood by taking Sulfarilla. Everyone needs a tonic such as Sulfarilla Tablets. They enrich the blood and remove waste products. Is 6d a box. 2.

To all this she answered most emphatically in the negative. Then, in her turn, she asked a question of the doctor. “How long, Dr. Wells—how long do you think he has been dead?” “At least 24 hours,” the doctor answered, consulting his watch. “It is now nearly two o’clock.” “Then you think he was killed in the middle of the night?” “There is every appearance of it, Mrs. Rivett.” “And in his sleep?” “I should say in his sleep. That, at least, was a mercy,” he added kindly! “This must be terribly upsetting for you.” \ Joseph brought the tea., and the men all partook of it. Grace felt rather than saw that the sub-inspector was examining her closely with his keen, dark eyes. Presently he said, rather as a statement than as a question: “Mrs. Rivett, you think that some stranger must have been r in the camp, and that no doubt it was the same person who was heard in the camp on previous occasions.” “I suppose that must be it,” she said. “It is strange that nobody heard anything last night. And Joseph would be on the look-out.” Almost as she said the words she regretted them. Joseph had the power of instilling fear into her mind even by his silence. “I heard nothing last night,” Joseph said, “and I was awake a good part of the night, too.” “Can you tell me what Mr. Glyn’s last movements were yesterday, madame?” the young policeman went on. “Yes, certainly. Hq, and I had lunch together. Later on we climbed the hill, and watched the sunset, which was very fine. And we also had our evening meal together. Fie was verv hungry, and in the best of spirits. He talked a great deal about what he was going to do in Africa. He was looking forward very much to that new life.” “Had he any financial prospects?” Wells put in. “No—he had to make his ’own way in the world.” “Did he go to bed early?” the policeman asked. “About the same time as usual. We are always tired, afid he got up very early as a rule—sometimes before dawn.” Sub-Inspector Ross thereupon asked permission to return to Rivett’s sleeping quarters. Joseph accompanied him with the electric torch. When Ross came back he carried in his hand an object covered with newspaper. “I am very sorry, indeed, madame,” he said, “but I must ask you to tell me whether you recognise this knife. It is the knife that killed Mr. Glyn.” The doctor gave a sympathetic cough, and looked at Grace encouragingly. She gave one shudder, and then braced herself to look at the knife, from which Ross had taken the paper covering. It was an ordinary bread knife, a large knife, with a white wooden handle on which were carved wheat ears, the kind of knife that goes with the wooden bread platter of older days.

I have never seen it before,” she said, and closed her eyes, feeling sick from the strain. It seemed to make the tragedy more poignant, more horrible still. This simple domestic implement, the knife that must have cut broad at some family board, bread to ed little children in some cosy room full of laughter and love. v “It does no ** belong to you, madame?” ‘No we have nothing of the kind here. We are living purely a camp life.” askT” hat cutlery have -you, if I may “Only a very few knives, bought at Tx^ yn i5 on s in Weaveham, in October. . e have none of our personal possessions here at all.” “I see. I have examined this knife. It is quite an old one, and must, I think, have been recently sharpened.” Grace shuddered again. The doctor interposed. “I tliink, Ross, Mrs. Rivett has stood as much as she ought to be asked to to-night.” The policeman was all apologies. She reassured him, and said she was quite capable of answering more questions. But the doctor was firm. It was arranged that he and the sub-inspector and the constable would spend the remaining hours of the night at the camp. Joseph joined the constable in a vigil in Rivett’s living room. The doctor sat in a chair in the dining room, and dozed. Ross sat up, making notes. Grace lay down on her bed, and, utterly worn out in body and mind, she soon fell asleep. CHAPTER XXI.—MASTER AND MAN. Grace woke when the sun sent a great pale, slanting beam into her room through the window that Rivett had built in the end of the barn. She sat up for a second, confused and all at sea, to find that she had her clothes on. Then everything came back to her in a flash, and she rose unwillingly, mechanically, to confront another day of horror. But at least the end of it must bring the comfort of Rivett’s strong presence. He would start as soon as he received the telegram. She would hear during the morning. The boy would bring a wire up from the little office in the Gloryn Valley, near Mrs. Jones’s cottage. It was after nine o’clock by her watch. She had overslept herself. She felt heartless. How could she sleep, with Shean—beautiful Shean—lying cold and stark on Rivett’s bed? She went into the dining room. There was no sign of anybody. She went outside. Joseph came out of Rivett’s quarters. His weather-beaten skin looked grey against his red beard. “The sub-inspector and the doctor are down to the men’s huts to find out what they can,” he said. “The constable has borrowed a bicycle and ridden down to Cumdred for a coffin and a hearse. The woman from the hut has done everything for the poor young gentleman. And now there’s nothing to do but wait.” “Joseph, yoiir master will be here to-day,” Grace said, shaken out of her reserve. “I can hardly wait for him to come.” “Yes, no doubt he will be a help, madame,” the man said; but his voice sounded anxious. “Joseph,” she went on, “don’t you

think you ought to have mentioned Mr. Stroud when you spoke about the stranger who was heard in the camp at night? Joseph, don’t you really believe yourself that it was Mr. Stroud? You have always given me the impression, and now that I know the truth —” “For mercy’s sake, why should I have mentioned him?” Joseph asked resentfully. “Why? Because —well, because it would have given some reason for a stranger prowling round the camp on those nights. And they would not have associated this wicked man who came to murder Mr. Glyn with the person who was heard before.” “Why not, ma’am?” “Obviously, Joseph, Mr. Stroud could have had no grudge against Mr. Glyn.” “And you want me to rake up that old story, and tell how my master and Edwin Stroud have reason to hate each other like poison, ma’am? And how, years ago, my master put his rvt 7K ri- tt. 7tt- : rlr rr: rr. rr yr.

mark on him and nearly took his life?” Grace looked at him helplessly. “No —of course not, Joseph. I did not think of that. Oh, what a miserable tangle it all is. And when these men come back, I don’t know what to say to them.” “Say nothing, ma’am,” replied Joseph. “You have said more than enough. There’s the inquest, when you will have to say it all over again.” * * * There was no news from Kivett. The long day passed on leaden feet. Or. Wells had a few - words with Grace before he left, in the early afternoon. “Try to keep brave and calm. Mrs. Rivett,” he said, with a fatherly air of genuine kindness. “This is a terrible ordeal for a young girl like you. Of course, your husband wil lbe here before night. In the meantime, do rest, and if your head aches badly, and your nerves feel too frayed, take one of these powders. I brought them up thinking someone might need them. In these remote places one has to be prepared for everything.” Sub-Inspector Ross had gone back to Cumdred earlier, also on a bicycle borrowed from one of the workmen. He had to see the coroner, and communicate by telephone with his superior officer at Bargavenny. He himself was in charge of the Cumdred police station. The doctor was taken down in the car by Joseph, and Grace was alone in the camp for several hours. Joseph came back, and behind him was another car, containing Ross and his superior, Inspector Graves, who had hurried over from Bargavenny. It was almost dark by that time. The coffin and hearse, it appeared, would be up next morning. Still there was no news of Rivett. Grace felt like a person in a dream. “Your master may have left London on business,” she said to Joseph. “How can we possibly tell? He was full of

some famous diver, who had pumped out all the water under one of the old cathedrals in England. He lives at Southampton, I think. Mr. Rivett may have gone to see him. What are wc to do?” “What can we do, ma’am, but wait?” Joseph replied sombrely. Another night they spent with th* boy’s dead body in their midst. Grace gave the Inspector from Bargavenny all the information she had respecting him. The next morning came the coffin and a motor improvised as a heart--. The inquest was fixed lor the following day at Cumdred in the diminutive town hall. Three times that day Joseph telegraphed to his master tp the only address they knew —the H ptel Gloucester in London, a quiet, old-fashioned house in Mayfair. He was up and down the valley all day in the car. (To be continued)