The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 349, 9 May 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

OTTWELL BINNS

“But Pat only stayed there a few minutes, and then returned to my aunt’s house at Lancaster Gate, hours before the murder was committed if there is anything in the doctor’s evidence. That can be proved. Besides he is quite incapable of such a crime — he ” “So is John Lancaster, and yet you have suspected him!” “But,” she cried, as a thought struck her, “how do you know that your brother was at Carlow Gardens that night? Did he tell you, or has your husband let the fact escape?” “Neither!” answered Jocelyn quickly. “I took him there myself, and I called for him as arranged at two o’clock, but he was not there. He had gone, and there was only that dead man in the house. I went in and saw him lying there ” “You saw him!” cried the actress. “You must have a nerve. I would have fainted.” Jocelyn smiled wanly. “I fainted myself on the steps of the house, for I saw a man standing there by the light of the window. T believe he carried me to my brougham ” “Who -was he? Do you know?” asked Miss Vanity excitedly. “No! I had only that one glimpse of him, 'and the chauffeur did not know him.” Miss Vera Vanity looked thoughtful, and for a moment sat quite still. She was wondering who that unknown man was. Then she nodded to herself as though she had reached a decision, and said suddenly, “I guessed that you had been to Carlow Gardens. Tell me if I have guessed right in another thing. Dirl you when you were in the house pick up that handkerchief that your husband told me about?” Jocelyn submitted to the questioning like a child. “Yes,” she said simply, “and after I was married I noticed the similarity between it and others of my husband’s. And he had sjamboks, and, as you know, he even owned to me that that night he had thrashed Bierstein. Is it any wonder that I suspected him?” “No.” interrupted the actress, “it is not really surprising, but you ought to have known that your husband is not the man to commit a crime of that sort. And remember he knows that, you suspect him, but because he

thought it •would break your heart to hear what he imagined and still imagines to be the truth ” “Ah!” interjected Jocelyn, “that is what he referred to when he said that a man must take his risks! I understand now. He was thinking that Pat’s return might lead to his arrest.” “That is something I know nothing about,” said the actress, and then, not to be deflected from her purpose, continued: “As I was saying, because he was afraid of the effect on you, your husband has stood between you and what he thought was the truth, he did not tell you what he knew, he allowed you to suspect him, and he has gone away thinking ” “Oh, please, Miss Vanity, do not say any more. I cannot endure it! And when I shall see him to tell him or whether l ever shall see him again I do not know.” For a moment she gave way, and buried her face in her hands. When she looked up, she whispered more to herself than to her companion. “I thought too much of Pat and too little of him. I believed what someone whispered about him, and I have been proud and hard—so proud and terribly hard. He would have kissed me before the ship sailed, but I would not let him. I wonder will he ever forgive me?” Her beautiful face had a tragic look, the bright eyes were blurred with tears, and as Vera Vanity looked at John Lancaster’s wife she felt that it was well for one man that the millionaire was already on the sea, and that he was likely to be engaged for some time to come. CHAPTER XIX Vera Vanity was amused. As she read the letter in her hand she laughed aloud, though there was nothing in it that would have provoked merriment in most people. Dear Miss Vanity (it ran) I was very glad to see you the other day, but am sorry you did not approve of the hair-slides, which I bought back from the beggar to whom you presented them, making for myself a profit of 300 per cent, on the transaction. I hope to see you again within the next two days —and you must bring the £SOO, without fail. If you don’t—But threats are idle, and besides you are too discerning for there to be any necessity for them in your case. J. Scharzberger. “I thought those hair-slides would give me away!” she commented to herself. "But Scharzberger never wrote this letter. The man behind

is my friend Dorian. Scharzberger is no more than a tool, and a very poor tool at that.”

She sat thoughtful for a moment looking into vacancy. Then a smile came on her face. “Why 'not?” she asked herself. “It will be fun to consult the writer of the letter as to how I should act in regard to it. And I may learn something about that other business of Isaac Bierstein. I wonder if he has missed that letter. . . . Where did I put the silly book I borrowed. I can take it back with me. It will serve as an excuse for calling on him if I change my mind about this Scharzberger business. In any case he’ll be glad to see me, 1 11 warrant.”

She gave a little laugh at the thought, and then began to make preparations for going out. Half an hour later she was at Paxton’s chambers in Jermyn Street, and on ringing the bell learned from his man that he was out.

The actress looked more disappointed than she really felt. “When will he return?” she asked. “It is very necessary that I should see him.” The man, who looked like an Italian, and who really was a naturalised Austrian, speaking excellent English, looked concerned.

“I expect Mr. Paxton back at any moment, madame.” The actress smiled at him in a dazzling way. “Look here,” she said, “can’t I go up and wait for him? He will be very glad to see me, and I want to see him badly.” The man looked thoughtful, then he suddenly raised his left hand, and, with his two first fingers resting on his lips, glanced at her inquiringly. To Vera it appeared as if he had asked her a question, and it flashed across her mind that the fingers on the lips were some sort of masonic sign—if not, the action was a very odd one. She was in a quandary, not knowing what to say, but she smiled and nodded her head in response to the unspoken inquiry. Instantly the man’s attitude changed, and he moved from the doorway.

“I did not know, madame. There are so many of ns, and one has to be quite sure. If you will come this way—”

He led her upstairs to the room where she had rested on her previous visit, but this time she noticed something, which, if it had happened, had certainly escaped her attention oil that occasion. The instant the man placed his foot on the landing a bell began to whirr inside Paxton’s Chippendale room. The same thing happened when she herself gained the landing; and she guessed instantly that concealed under the thick carpet there was an electric bell push, so fixed that anyone mounting the stairs was bound to give warning of his approach. She was surprised, but gave no sign, and thought to herself that Dorian Paxton must be very suspicious of his callers to take such precautions. The man bowed her into the room, set two or three illustrated papers

on the table near to her hand, and then departed, carefully closing the door behind him, and the bell in the room whirred as he descended the stairs. Vera picked up one of the illustrated papers, opened it, and then looked round the room. There was nothing particular to attract her attention except a framed photograph of herself, which stood on the mantelpiece. She smiled as she caught sight of it. “Clever!” she murmured to herself. “Evidently Dorian Paxton thought I should come here again.” She looked round again, and an eager light came in her eyes as they rested on the combined bureau and bookcase. She stared at it fixedly, her gaze rivetted upon the point where the light from the window gleamed on the steel of a key fixed in the lock of the bureau. She could not take her eyes from it. “I wonder if 1 dare,” she whispered. “It’s a mean thing to do, but one must fight a viper the best way one can.” She caught the sound of a taxi’s engine in the street, and distinctly heard the street door of the house open and shut. She rose from her chair, and going to the window looked down into the strest. The taxi was already moving away and told her nothing. “I wonder if that was Dorian Paxton,” she thought as she returned to her chair, and sat there in an expectant listening attitude. Five minutes passed, and she told herself that it could not have been Dorian Paxton, and that whoever it was, the person had not ascended the stairs for,the bell had not whirred. She looked at the key in the bureau once more, then she rose suddenly from her chair, crossed to the bureau, and placed her thumb and finger on the key. Even then she hesitated, not from fear of discovery, but from motives that any upright woman must feel when about to do a mean thing. But the remembrance of what Paxton was, the certainty that he was blackmailing her, and strong suspicions of AN ECONOMY HINT TO MOTHERS Most mothers will be interested to learn of the experience of a Palmerston North lady with Baxter’s Lung Preserver. She said that she found the preparation excellent for the children, but that it was a little strong. A neighbour suggested that she should dilute the mixture, adding half water to it, and that it would then be quite efficacious for the kiddies. This was done, and she now finds that her bottle of “Baxter's -1 goes very much further. Baxter’s Lung Preserver is a friend to old and young alike. It is a rich, red. warming specific which does you good from the first dose. It also possesses wonderful tonic properties which help to build up the constitution to resist further attacks. You can obtain a generous-sized bottle of “Baxter's” from your chemist or store for 2s 6d; or, better still, get the family size at 4s 6d: Bachelor size. Is 6d.—4.

! worse things decided her, and without | further delay she turned the key, and ! i led down the lid of the bureau. Sev- ! eral bundles of papers—letters and 1 documents tied with tape met her ; view, and dropping into a chair that i was ready to hand, she bent over the | bureau. As she did so a sharp. I menacing click sounded through the j still room. She looked up startled, and for a moment her blood chilled, and fear showed in her grey eyes. The sound appeared to have come from a part of the room where some rare tapestry hung over what looked like a recess For a moment she did not move, but sat quite still, staring in the direction of the tapestry, listening. There was no further sound, no sign that anyone was concealed there; but still she was not satisfied. The click had been very real, and familiar as she was with stage firearms, it had sounded to her very like the click of a pistol. Determined to settle the matter, | e rose from her chair, walked quickly to the tapestry, and resolutely lifted it. As she did so she had a shock. Behind the tapestry was a door giving admission to another room in the suite, and standing in the open doorway was a man with a pistol in liis hand. “Ah, mein dear,” he said with a smile that showed his teeth, “you are i brave and audacious. I salute your courage. But all the same you haf made a mistake —a bad mistake.” She recognised him instantly. He was fashionably dressed. In place of the ugly goggles he wore elegant goldnmmed pince-nez, but she had not the slightest question of his identity. It was the man of Euston Road—Joai chim Scharzberger. | For the moment the actress was quite taken aback. She stared at the i German and at the pistol in araaze- ! ment, then her self-control asserted it- : self, and looking at the man without I betraying the slightest sign that she ! recognised him, she said quickly, -I ! do not understand you. Who are you? j Why do you point that pistol at me?” | The German smiled his admiration. | “No, you do not know. Himmei! I How could you be expected?” i He shook his head playfully, i "But, mein dear, as mein friend j Paxton say, dat cock won’t fight. In turn I ask you what do you do here in mein friend Paxton’s rooms?” “Mr. Paxton is my friend also. I am waiting to see him. that is all.” i “No,” said Scharzberger with grim playfulness, “dat vas not quite all. You was at mein friend's desk, peeping at | j his papers, you vas ” The actress’s laugh rang clear. “My dear man,” she cried, “is that the bee i you have in your bonnet? You are quite wrong. I had grown tired of waiting. I was just looking for a . piece of paper on which to scribble a message to Mr. Paxton. Now will you put down that hateful pistol and behave like a rational being?” Scharzberger looked obstina’e. “Clever!” he said, “clever, but ’ The whirr of the electric bell in

the room brought him up short. The next moment the door behind the actress opened and Dorian Paxton hur* ried in. As his eye fell on the tab* leau before him he stopped short. “Great Jove!” he cried. “What ij the meaning of this?” (To be continued)