The Man Who Paid

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 319, 2 April 1928, Page 5

The Man Who Paid

XZJ

Pierre Costello

Author of * A s»nner in “ Tainted Lives,*' •• The Monev Master," Etc.. Etc

CHAPTER XXIII. —RIVETT EXPLAINS. As a matter of fact, she made no attempt. What would bo the good if her husband were really in the neighbourhood? That was the fearl'ul part of it. She was not sure herself. All that had passed—his unreasonableness, his dark moods, his cruelty to her —it all crystallised into the awful fear of last night—the fear lest he might be guilty of this deed. This inexplicable absence —that was the beginning and end of it all. She waited and she prayed—she prayed that if he had killed Shean Glyn she might die. • * * The sun shone brilliantly that day. It was cold, and a sharp north wind was blowing. At two o’clock in the afternoon Grace looked out of the window of the dining room. To the left of her she knew that the policemen were busily at work examining footprints round her husband’s quarters footprints that had been made in the mud. and that had now hardened Almost the first thing they had done the morning after the tragedy had been to board off the whole space in front of the hut, and now they were taking off the boards and crouching down with magnifying glasses in their hands, trying to differentiate the footprints, counting nail marks, measuring and making drawings. To Grace it was appalling. It made her feel as if she were one with them, just because she had to stay there. They were making drawings and taking measurements that might send another man to his death. Another man! What man? Her nerves were strung to breaking point. The sun mocked her. The hillsides were a vivid emerald. It was like spring. She never remembered seeing such clear colour, such a white, radiant clarity in the atmosphere. And then, as she looked, she held her breath. Coming towai-d her, across the rough plank bridge that spanned the inner moat, she saw a familiar figure. It was Rivett. He walked quickly, eagerly, looking neither to right nor left. Something snapped in her brain. Site to the door of the barn, and as her husband came up she fell in a limp heap at his feet. When she recovered consciousness *he first thing she was aware of was Kivett’s voice, cold and implacably angry.

“You ought to have seen to it that Mrs. Rivett was not upset by all this. I hold you responsible. It is shameful. You fellows ought to be able to do your duty without terrifying women.” The sound was grateful to her ears. It brought security. It was the voice of a master man. He would never have spoken like that if he had been guilty. She loathed herself, even as she crept back to life. In half an hour she was herself again. When she could move, Rivett told her to go to her room and rest. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I must hear everything.” “You had much better rest first.” “I couldn’t,” she repeated desperately. He gave in. She was childish in her obstinate demand. “Ask Sub-Inspector Ross in here, Norman, and let’s have it all out. Otherwise I shall go mad.’’ “Very well.” “Only first, I must tell you something Joseph told me not to, but I can’t help it. I am sure you ought to know. And now Joseph has disappeared. There is a man living in the next valley. His name is Edwin Stroud. Joseph says you knew him —he—has told me who he is.” Rivett’s rugged face grew dark with memory. “Edwin Stroud is dead,” he said. “No, he is not —he is alive. I have spoken to him twice.”. “What does he look like?” “He has dreadful scars on his face,” she forced herself to say. “What is he doing here?” “I don’t know. He told me that he —had known you. Joseph persuaded me not to tell you.” For a moment Rivett's face was like a thundercloud. Then he turned to her and said quietly: “Joseph did it for the best. I trust Joseph. But he was wrong. You should have told me, Grace. I begin to understand.” "Norman,” she went on, “last night there was a man in the camp. SubInspector Ross had almost caught him. but he got away. He left, his coat in Ross’s hands. ' It—is one of vour coats.” Rivett's face did not change. “Thank you for telling me, Grace.” he said. “Now, shall we have the sub-inspector in, and try to get to the bottom of the business?” -I have not yet told my wife why

she has heard nothing from me,” Rivett said to Sub-Inspector Ross and to his superior, Inspector Graves, a few minutes later, as the four of them sat round the table in the dining-room, the policemen with their note-books in their hands. “I propose to tell her in your presence, gentlemen. I knew nothing of this tragedy until yesterday morning, when I returned to London. As soon as I reached London, I learned that Mr. Grant, the wellknown diving expert, whom I sought, was down in Cornwall, engaged in pumping out some tin mines. I left a telegram to be sent to my wife, and went down to Cornwall at once. The telegram, I find, was not sent, owing to an oversight on the part of the hotel porter. I should have wired again from Cornwall, only immediately on my arrival I found Mr. Grant just about to descend the very interesting shaft where he was working, and he invited me to accompany him for an hour or two. To make a long story short, we made the descent safely, but the machinery went wrong when we were at the bottom, and we were imprisoned. We were released the afternoon of the day before yesterday, and I reached London yesterday morning and found all the telegrams that had been sent to me, and thus learned of this shocking tragedy.” “Oh.” said Grace faintly, “you were in danger ail that time!” “I don’t know that I was exactly in danger, but it was discomfort. It

was very wet, Grace.” And he smiled at her, his stern face transformed. Then lie turned to the policemen. “The associates of Mr. Grant were unaware of my identity, so that it was impossible for them to inform my wife of my plight. I descended on Mr. Grant quite unawares.” “Then the night when Mr. Glyn was murdered, sir,” put in Inspector Graves, with professional correctness, “you were—exactly where?” “At the bottom of the mine shaft, inspector, with one hurricane lamp, very wet feet, and nothing to eat, but a positive hero of a companion in the shape of Mr. Grant.” If the speech sounded frivolous, Grace knew that it was due to the overzealousness of the inspector's manner. “And last night, sir, may I ask where you were?” put in Ross. •‘I stayed with Mr. Gardentree in Weaveham,” Rivett replied. "I left his house at about nine o’clock this morning. I went there, because the day before, at Witterhorn Junction. Mr. Michael Lawson, of Weaveham, got into the train and told me that my wife was staying with Mrs. Gardentree. I thought this highly reasonable under the circumstances, and went there expecting to find her. I see what you are aiming at, of course. My wife has told me about my coat. You can be assured that I was not wearing that coat and that I was not here last night. I can prove a perfect alibi.” Grace’s heart bled for him. She knew the proud fury that must possess his soul at the very shadow of such a hideous suspicion, j And she could have flayed herself with whips of tire because even she ; had allowed it to poison her brain. ■‘Have you any theory at all. sir?” * asked Inspector Graves. 'There is no doubt. I take it, that some man ; was here during last night, and that ; he was wearing your coat.” "I have a theory,” replied Rivett. “and it entails a very disagreeable ex- ; planation—very disagreeable to my- : self. I have just learned that a Mr. j Edwin Stroud has been staying in the j next valley. Have you any knowi ledge of him?” “Yes, sir," Ross replied. “We genS erally take notice of all strangers who j come to these parts. A gentleman lodging with Mrs. Deird at Ebbyn j House, a dark gentleman with a very bad scar on his face." | “Exactly. Well, gentlemen, my ! theory is that Edwin Stroud killed Mr. ! Glyn and stole one of my coats at ! j A.M.C. appreciates the splendid sup- ! port it receives from the thousands of : satisfied customers, and is always | striving to give them better meat, | better service and better value. If you don’t deal at an A.M.C. Branch now, I you should start dealing at one to-day.

the same time. You are aware that Mr. Glyn was sleeping in my quarters, We had had strangers prowling about the camp at night, and, as I had to go away, I asked Mr. Glyn to sleep there, so that Mrs. Rivett should not be unprotected.” There was a silence, as the quiet, matter-of-fact voice died away. The inspector spoke first in a very doubtful tone of voice. “But, sir, had this Mr. Stroud, to your knowledge, any grudge against Mr. Glyn?” “Not the shadow of a grudge,” Rivett replied. The two policemen looked at each other. “I will explain,” Rivett said. He cleared his throat, but his voice sounded dry. "Do you know anything about an event that happened ten years ago in which I was concerned?” he asked. Inspector Graves looked vacant; but the eyes of the young policeman from Weaveham lit up with professional zeal. “Yes, sir.” he said. "You know that I—shot my first wife?” “Yes, sir,” admitted Ross, hanging liis head. "I was acquitted,” Rivett added for Inspector Graves’s benefit. “This Mr. Stroud is the individual who was also injured on that occasion, though not fatally. I believed him to be dead. The whole world understood that he died five years ago. But 1 have just learned that this is not the case.” ' But—why would Mr. Stroud have killed Mr. Shean Glyn?” Inspector Graves asked in a bewildered voice. “Mr. Stroud did not intend to kill j Mr. Glyn,” said Rivett, and his voice ‘ was more quiet than ever and laden with a grief that could never be put j into words. “He intended to kill me. No doubt he bore me an undying grude. 1 No doubt he has been nursing revenge against me all these years.” "You mean, sir?” gasped Ross. ' That he did not know I was away.” There was another. a very long I silence. Rivett's face was in the j shadow. Grace sat as if turned to ! stone. The horror of this thing was eating into her very soul. If this were true—what a useless, what a bitterly cruel death for that boy to j die. | And then, as the power of thought j came back to her, she realised that if he had not died her husband might have died in his stead, struck down ; in his sleep by that blow out of the I darkness. j And, again. Shean Glyn's boyish, ; passionately earnest words came back : to her. “I would willingly die, if it : could make you happy. That is the

solemn truth. I would be happy to die —happier to die than to live. ” And other words came to her—the strange, mocking words that Edwin Stroud had spoken—“ The second woman to suffer at his hands . . . you are young and beautiful. You must not be unhappy. It is one’s duty to save you from unhappiness.’’ She could hear his delirious voice; she could see his eyes, wild, piercing, terrible, following her up the hill . i She could stand no more. She rose I from her chair, dragging it harshly on the bare floor. "With outstretched arms she forbade them to follow her, and went out into the air, leaving the three men together. In a spirit of grim determination, Rivett insisted on the policemen in charge of the case verifying his double alibi. Both were, of course, conclusive; and Sub-Inspector Ross asily convinced himself that he had 'ever seriously entertained the hypothesis of Rivett’s guilt. The next few days were taken up with an exhaustive but fruitless search

for Edwin Stroud. who nad disappeared from his lodgings on the verv morning after the tragedy. Mrs. Dcird, of Ebbyn House, had not thought much about it. He was a very eccentric gentleman, as she explained, and often went away without giving her any warning at all, returning to say that he had been in Weaveham, or London, or somewhere on the coast. The widow Jones, when questioned, said that Mr. Stroud had occasionally been to her house, and it would have been possible for him to purloin her bread knife, which was always kept with th• - "latter on the kitchen dresser. He had once or twice had tea at her house, appearing quite unexpectedlv, laden with cakes and chocolates for the children. The police were also searching for Joseph, although Rivett told them they were wasting their time. “It is quite obvious to me.“ he said, “that Joseph has gone after Mr. Stroud. He was completely in my confidence. Knowing him to be alive, there is no doubt that he suspected him ol

; being the stranger who visited the I camp at nights.” And so it proved. On the third day | after Rivett’s return, Joseph put in an ' appearance, looking like a wild man 1 of the woods. ‘Tie’s given rne the slip,” he said 10 his master. ‘‘For all these days I’ve ! been keeping on his track, right J through the hills, but never getting up with him. He’s taken to the hills iike an animal, he has—the Lord only knows what he’s living on! Then I was almost on him —I found a fire that he’d made still burning, and some bits i of bread, showing that he’d been eat- ' ing there not long since. It was right ; on the very top of that big mountain near Glogarry. and I said to myself. Now 1 11 have a view of all the country round and I can’t miss him.* And I then if it didn’t come on to snow—a regular blizzard that hid everything until it was dark. And the next morning I knew I d lost him for good. >•» . I came back.” (To be continued )