The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 344, 3 May 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

CHAPTER XV. The man standing on the side-walk caught the sound of Vera Vanity’s tapping, and looked round in a casual way. Then, as he saw her laughing face at the window, his manner grew alert, and his face broke into a quick smile as, hat in hand, he stepped toward the brougham. It was Dorian Paxton. The actress let the door swing open, and he took her offered hand. “My dear Vera, this is a pleasure. I was thinking of you at that very moment.” “Oh, what a taradiddle, Dorian, you ” “The simple truth,” he interrupted, stepping aside a little. “Just cast your eyes forward on the left there, and you will see that I could scarcely help it.” The actress glanced in the direction indicated, and then she laughed. What she saw was a full length picture of herself upon a hoarding. “For once,” she said, gaily, "I believe you. You ” “Oh. I say, Vera, you’re going; the bobby’s given the signal and ” “Jump in, then!” laughed the actress, moving a little aside to make room for him. Dorian Paxton, amazed at his good luck, accepted the invitation with alacrity, and a moment later they were gliding forward. “Are you going anywhere in particular, Dorian?” He shook his head. “Thy way is my way, thy destination ” “I’m sure it isn’t,” laughed the actress. “I’m going to an exhibition of pictures by that newly-risen star —what’s his name?” “Siddall —Vernon Siddall.” “Yes, I think that’s the name.” “It must be! He's the only star that is twinkling in the skies of British Art just now, and though I find nature more interesting than art, I will accompany you if I may, Vera. The pictures are nothing, but you—” “Bosh, Mr. Paxton! Please remember I don’t like sugar bon-bons. But you may come if you like—you may possibly save me from falling into the hands of an even more undesirable acquaintance.” Her laughter blunted whatever sting there might have been in this persiflage, and Dorian Paxton laughed himself. "I accept the role of the lesser of two evils; though, for my part, I w r ould as soon be the greater evil as the less. I always think that there is something rather splendid about Satan, don’t you?” “Don’t know the gentleman, and have never thought much about him; but it you’re thinking of setting up as his understudy—”

OTTWELL BINNS

"I’m not!” laughed Paxton. “I follow ardently the ways of Vanity—l mean Virtue!” “The same thing if you mean me,” laughed the actress, as she lifted the speaking tube. She gave some directions to the driver, and a quarter of an hour later the brougham came to a standstill at the entrance to a private gallery in Baker Street. As they entered, the actress smiled a little to herself. She had not had the slightest idea of visiting the gallery until she met her companion, having already visited it three days before. In doing so she had surrendered to an impulse, an impulse which, as they passed into the long room with its glass roof, crystallised into a very definite purpose, of which her companion was totally unconscious. He paused before a landscape in which a cow and a calf browsed beside a running stream. “Maternity!” he quoted from the catalogue, and then screwed his monocle in his eye, the better to see the calf. “British beef!” he remarked as though pained. “Brand—that of the late Sidney Cooper, R.A.” Vera laughed, and, encouraged, Paxton continued. “That calf has a tender look. It should make excellent veal. But what a pity! What said that charming hymn of our childhood: ‘Unconscious of their doom, the little victims play.’ A - picture like that is a tract. Almost it persuadeth me to become a vegetarian.” “It would only make you a nuisance at your club if it did,” laughed Vera, moving slowly on. “A village wedding!” quoth Paxton, waving his hand toward a large canvas. “You can see that much without turning to the catalogue. It’s positively Arcadian, and as a dweller in towns I don’t believe in Arcady. But what is this next line? Portraits as I'm a saint! Mr. Siddall is versatile if he is nothing else. Provincial mayors, and rich sheriffs in their robes, and worthy aldermen —who say art is not commercial, and that artists know nothing of business? Why He broke off suddenly. having caught sight of a portrait, the which checked his babble. Unconscious that the actress was watching him closely, he stared at the picture as if it were an amazing thing; and through the wonder that filled his mind he caught the soft purr of his companion’s voice. “What is the matter, Mr. Paxton? Are you not well?” “It is not that——” he answered, pulling himself together. “It is the picture. Do you recognise it?” Vera Vanity gazed at the portrait as though she had never seen it before, then she gave a little start of surprise.

“Why, surely, it is Bierstein —Isaac Bierstein, the man who was murdered?” “Yes,” answered Paxton slowly, it is Isaac Bierstein, and a very speaking likeness. This man Siddall can paint. I wonder who that picture was done for? Bierstein himself, I expect. Meant to have it hung in some company’s board-room at Johannesburg, as like as not. He was always rather vain.” “Did you know him well?” asked Vera, her voice betraying only a trace of curiosity. “I knew him slightly myself.” Dorian Paxton scarcely marked the admission, being already aware of the fact it indicated. '‘Know Bierstein? I should think I did. I may safely say that I was the only man in London who was really intimate with him at the time he died. Scotland Yard knows that. One of the inspectors called on me within a few days of the crime to see if I could suggest any man who counted Bierstein his enemy and who might have shot him.” “How awfully interesting!” cried the actress, dropping into a convenient settee. “Were you able to help him?” Dorian Paxton sat down by her side. “No,” he answered, “I was not. There are plenty of men who didn’t like Bierstein, but there is none of whom I should like to say that he was the man who might be held responsible for Bierstein’s death.” “What a pity!” said the actress. “And the authorities haven’t found out anything themselves?” Paxton laughed shortly. “No, and they’re not likely to.” “Why not?” asked his companion, interestedly. “Because Bierstein was such a queer fish, and had such diverse interests, that it would be impossible for the police to discover which one of the various interests that he followed led to his being murdered."' “But I thought he was a financier — and nothing more.” Dorian Paxton laughed again. “He was that officially—but besides that he was half a dozen other things. For instance ” He broke off suddenly, having become aware that his companion’s eyes were full of eagerness, which

some subtle intuition told him was not altogether due to simple curiosity. “For instance ” the actress murmured encouragingly. But Dorian Paxton was on his guard for the moment, and did not respond to the encouragement. Instead, he said evasively, “It is not the thing to speak ill of the dead. A man’s sins should he buried with him.” Miss Vera Vanity laughed a little. “According to your hints, Isaac Bierstein would want a large grave then. EutyT do not know you should be so secretive —with me.” There was a delicate suggestion of reproach in the last words, and when the man looked at her it was to find on her beautiful face a look of petulance, exactly like that which one can sometimes see on the face of a charming, wilful child when it has unexpectedly encountered opposition. Dorian Paxton was completely deceived by it. The woman’s interest, though she had known Bierstein. was actuated by nothing more than the merest feminine curiosity. He laughed as he replied: “Oh, what I was going to say about Bierstein was neither here nor there, and can’t do him either good or harm now. But I could tell the police one or two things that would make them open their eyes, only it is no business of mine.” “How tantalising you are, Dorian Paxton,” said the actress quickly. “You hint at all sorts of mysteries, and you tell nothing. And I cannot endure mysteries—always I must know what there is to be known. I can understand that you do not wish to be bothered by the police—but, my dear Dorian, I am not a policeman, and having provoked my curiosity you really ought to tell me more.”

Dorian Paxton laughed at the childish petulance of her tones, and for- 1 got the wisdom which is in reserve. c “Well,” he said, slowly, “I reckon it j would make the police stare if they knew that at least three people called l . at No. 7, Carlow Gardens, on the night 1 when Bierstein was shot, and that one ‘ c 1 them was a woman!” “A woman!” There was no ques- j tion about Miss Vanity’s astonishment. , It was very marked; and her eyes as ; she stared at her companion be- j trayed incredulity. “You amaze me, Dorian!” j i “Yes,” he said, smilingly, “I thought I should!” “But how do you know?” she asked. ' 1 ! “Oh, the amateur is not always a , fool, particularly when he has clues j 4 | to proceed upon which are denied to ! < j the officials of the law.” 1 ' “You mean that you have been in- ! j vestigating? That you have found out j ! things!” j “Just that,” he answered smilingly. ; i “Naturally, after the visit of the inspector to my rooms I was interested. Questions suggested themselves to me I for answer, and as I’d been reading a 1 book by Professor Munsterburg, of j Harvard, on the psychology of crime, ! I was all the more interested in the question of who killed Bierstein. The j j work of following up possible clues j grew quite absorbing; and what I’ve ; learned has amply repaid one’s trouble with the interest afforded.” | I

Vera Vanity looked at him. He was Lalking glibly now, and, having the considerable knowledge of human nature that her profession necessitated she distrusted that glibness, and iecided that whatever he had been doing hitherto he was lying now. But 3he gave no sign, and let him continue i wordy disquisition on the absorbing nature of the amateur detective’s task to the very end, then she looked at nim with admiring eyes. “My! Dorian! How clever you are! A.nd how thirsty I am. I suppose there is no tea to be got in this place?” Dorian Paxton laughed. “Neither tea nor anything else. It’s as dry as the Sahara.” The actress rose from her seat. “Then we’ll cut the rest of the pictures or I shall perish of thirst. Tea I must have.” She led the way down the gallery, but before they reached the doors Paxton intervened with a suggestion. “Vera,” he said eagerly, “it is not far to my rooms, and I’ve some Rose Pekoe which hasn’t a rival in London. It was sent to me from China direct, by a friend who is high up in the customs there. If you would care to sample it, we might take a cup together!” The actress stopped and looked doubtful. “I don’t know,” she said, with charming hesitation; “I adore Rose Pekoe—but—but —” “Mrs. Grundy?” He laughed sarcastically. “Well, she is rather a terrible old lady, isn’t she?” she laughed back. “And in these days an actress can't be too careful.” “There’s my man,” Paxton said smilingly. “He can chaperone you, and he can make tea better than anyone in town.”

“Then I simply must take the risk!” she cried gaily, and once more resumed her way toward the street door. A few minutes later she was seated in a big easy chair in Paxton’s bachelor apartments in Jermyn Street. Her host’s man-servant as it happened was out, and he was driven to ifiaking tea himself. “If you will excuse me for two minutes, Vera—” “Don’t mention it,” she laughed. “Anything for the Rose Pekoe But you might find me something to do besides twiddling my thumbs meanwhile.” “A cigarette?” he asked, picking up a silver cigarette box. “Egyptian. Turkish, or Russian?” “Russian, thank you! And there’s that book that you mentioned by that Harvard Professor—Musty-Muster.’' “Munsterberg!” he laughed. “You will perhaps find it rather dull. It’s a psychological w’ork, you know.” “You can’t frighten me with long words!” she retorted, gaily. “Deliver the dry goods at once, and go and make the Roe Pekoe, unless you wish ; to see me carried away in an ambulance.” (To be continued.)