“THE WAY OUT”

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 505, 7 November 1928, Page 5

“THE WAY OUT”

Or “ HEMING’S PROBLEM. ”

By

H. Maxwell.

CHAPTER XIV.— (Continued) At least two representstives ot powerful news agencies called at the Premier’s official residence in Downing Street and suggested the propriety of his making a statement to calm the public mind: and received the stinging reply that all that was necessary to calm the public mind was for them to refrain from exciting it; which reply was published in due course and fanned the flame of popular curiosity to fever pitch. 'ln the meantime other representatives had been sent to Dartmoor to Pick up details of Roger’s general behaviour during his seven years’ incarceration, while the indoor staffs were searching the criminal records for particulars of the Mary Barstow case tried at the obscure assize town of Hambleden in Dorset in the autumn of 1905. These activities resulted in an enormous sale of the evening journals, *n which the Mary Barstow case was set out in full, together with interviews with the Chief Constable, the Coroner, a od the governor of Dartmoor prison, with portraits of Sir Edward Conway Heming, of the Prime Minister, and of the First Lord of the Admiralty, and with pictures of Dartmoor, of Sir Edward’s country home, Md of the exact spot in the wood w here the body had been found. Sir Edward had declined to be interviewed: Miss Heming had refused jo see anyone; Mr. Roger Temple had k c^les f er * but was believed to be in London: it had been impossible 'or the moment to obtain photographs ©ither Mr. Temple or Miss Heming, but it was hoped the omission would soon be rectified. la a word, by Monday night the brst-class sensation was in full swing. N’ow. although this may seem a tttle thing to disturb a strong Ministry» it did, as a matter of fact, for cerraiQ special reasons, very seriously perturb the Government. They did not want a naval scandal; uo Government ever wants a naval scandal. They did not want a judicial scandal; second only to a naval scanaa *» and perhaps an army scandal, ev ery Government most dislikes a judicial scandal. They did not want to °se the Solicitor-General, and they did a °« Want a by-election. From the Government point of view &e only satisfactory feature in the situation was that Parliament was not s itting, and that therefore they could n °t be pestered by inconvenient quesabout these matters in the House 01 Commons. But, manifestlv something had to be lone.

There was a great deal of fluttering in the Ministry dovecotes. Important personages put their heads together. Communications passed between London and Wilchester, between the Home Oflice and Downing Street, between the Prime Minister and the Chief Agent of the Party, between Scotland Yard and the Home Secretary; the result being that late on Monday night a guarded statement was Issued to the Press, under official sanction, in the following terms; “No fresh evidence has come to light which would justify the reopening of the Mary Barstow case, but if such evidence were forthcoming the Government would immediately order a revision. The Attorney-General is at the present moment making a careful examination of documents in order to decide whether there are any grounds for taking action. "In regard to the alleged sale of Admiralty secrets in the year 1905, an exhaustive inquiry was made at the time, and punitive steps were taken. The missing plans were obsolete and of no value to anybody. There was no proof of bribery or corruption, but there was proof of culpable negligence, and the punitive steps then taken adequately dealt with the culprit. The public may rest assured that the personnel of the Admiralty staff, both on its executive and administrative side, are worthy of the high trust that is reposed iu them. “With regard to the murder of Raymond Compton, alleged to have been a foreign spy, the police are doing everything in their power to discover the perpetrator of the crime. It is needless to say that as soon as their investigations justify them in making au arrest they will promptly do so, actuated solely by a fearless devotion to duty and a determination to uphold the majesty of the law against aJJ offenders without respect of persorn:. The Government trusted that this might serve to allay the public ferment, but they were not very hopeful, and in anticipation of its failing, considered what other measures were open to them. The difficulty was to defend the Solicitor-General from the charge of trying to burk police action in the interests of the man about to become his son-in-law, vet to do it in such a way as to cause him the minimum of pain and distress, and prevent him from feeling compelled to resign. \t a private conference of the-powers-that-be. held at a certain office in Whitehall, the ensuing dialogue took

place—it is unnecessary to specify! names: “Stupid of Heming to land us in this mess; how on earth did he come to 'allow his daughter to be engaged to this man Temple?” “Don’t suppose he had any say in the matter; girls do as they like nowadays.” “Yes, but she's a nice girl by ail accounts, and the man’s a low cad.” “I suppose he is; he could hardly have a worse record." “Can’t the girl be induced to throw him over?” “I understand not; they tell me it is a case of genuine affection on both sides.” “Well, did he murder Compton, or didn’t he?” “Probably not; but there’s a bare possibility he did.” “Well, why not have him arrested, and let him be tried and acquitted?” “Heming would certainly resign; he couldn’t help himself. If we want

to keep Heming, we can’t arrest Temple. Nor can we appear to be sheltering Temple behind Heming. It’s frightfully difficult. It appears to me Heming will have to go.” “No, I can’t lose Heming; we must find another way out.” There was a pause here. Then; “How would it be if . . .” and the rest was an almost inaudible whisper. ‘.‘That might do,” was the response. “Can you think of anything better?” “No, I can’t; it is distinctly a notion.” “Well, we shall have to do that. Will you undertake to see to it?” “Very well, hut I don’t like the job.” “Yes, I admit it’s a confounded nuisance; 1 shan’t readily forgive Heming.’’ “Nothing else is there?” “No. Good-night.” “Good-night.” And/ the participators in this dialogue separated, haying agreed on a course of action which would relieve the Government from their pressing embarrassment in the event of the agitation continuing. Roger arrived in London early on Monday morning and procured the special licence. He spent the day quietly going about his private business. He visited his tailor, went to the bank, made purchases at various shops, looked over two or three houses in the Kensington district, bought a wedding ring, and wrote an account of his doings to Cicely. That pretty well filled up his day. He was not bothered by interviewers, because the Press representatives had not succeeded in discovering his address. On Tuesday he had intended to return to \Vilciiester, but the morning’s post brought him letters from Heming. Lady Elizabeth and Cicely, unanimously requesting him not to come till Thursday. Heming wrote: “This abominable article in the ‘Wilchester Gazette’ has set the whole country by the ears. We’ve had no peace all day dodging Pressmen, and I have had a whole series of excited telegrams from the Prime Minister’s private secretary and other political big-wigs. Cicely Is very naturally upset at the turn things have taken, and is very sorry for me; she sees now that her marriage to you is likely to have a disastrous effect upon my career. We have fixed the wedding for twelve o’clock on Thursday, and are endeavouring to preserve the utmost secrecy. You had better motor down and meet us at the church. It has occurred to me that Carstairs may have given the information to the ‘Wilchester Gazette.’ though I am at a loss to understand his reasons, for he has nothing to gain by creating a public scandal.” Lady Elizabeth wrote; “All this furore and fuss the papers are making is very unfair to you and

to Edward and cruel to all of us, and is causing me much worry and distress which I try to hide from Edward and Cicely. She poor girl, is greatly concerned for her father, for whom, as you know, she has a whole-hearted admiration. I wish you not to come here till Thursday, as I am most anxious that nothing should interfere with the wedding; I shall be immensely happier when you and Cicely are safely married.” Cicely wrote: “Did you ever know anything so horribly mean as this attack upon father? After all he has done in his splendid career, that people should he capable of saying he is trying to hide something surpasses belief. Think of it —poor father, who is the soul of goodness and unselfishness and public spirit. I wonder how many men have lived lives so blameless as his. It all makes me very wretched, for we seem to be obtaining our happiness at the cost of bringing unmerited suffering on him. I want to devote all the time I can spare during these last few days to father, so I shan’t expect to see you again till we meet at church- on Thursday. All my love till then.” These letters gave Roger food for profound and troubled thinking. What should he do: What could he advise Heming to do? What was best for Cicely? Should he postpone the marriage? Should ne break off the engagement? Her anxieties were evidently centred on her father. If exposure came, and it seemed inevitable, how would it affect her love for him? As the result of much painful reflection he decided not to reply to Heming and Lady Elizabeth, while he wrote to Cicely simply telling her he would be at the church in good time on Thursday. On Tuesday afternoon he called at the Admiralty to inquire how his affairs were progressing there, and was immediately aware of a change of atmosphere. On his former visits he had been received with courtesy and listened to with sympathetic at-

tention; now he was received with hare civility, and listened to with scarcely veiled impatience. “No, Mr. Temple,” said the head of department, to whose room he was taken, “we have no news for you, and don’t expect to have any for a considerable time to come.” “Why not? Isn’t the inquiry proceeding?” “Of course the inquiry is proceeding, but it is bound to be a lengthy business. We cannot be hurried. And yon will permit me to point out to you that this affair of yours is of very trifling importance iu comparison with the vast mass of urgent affairs we have to deal with here. You need not give yourself the trouble to call again. We will duly inform you if we desire to see you, or have anything official to communicate.” “But doesn’t the letter signed ‘X.Y.Z.’ prove beyond question ” “We have not received the original of that letter yet.” “Hasn’t Sir Edward Conway-Heming sent it to you?” “He has not," snapped the other. “So we’ve had no opportunity of examining it.” “You have seen the copy.” “Yes, perhaps, but. a sight of the copy does not help us to satisfy ourselves as to the genuineness of the original. I have really nothing to tell you, Mr. Temple; it is mere waste of time to. . . “But you don’t suggest there is any doubt as to the genuineness of the original?” “I have nothing to add to what I have already told you,” was the curt response. A bell was touched, an attendant appeared, and Roger- was summarily ushered out. He went away intensely disappointed and uneasy. Why hadn’t Heming forwarded the X.Y.Z. letter to the Admiralty? Was Heming not acting straight by him? He could not believe it. Heming could have no motive for not acting straight; it was not like the Mary Barstow case, where his own honour was concerned. And yet his failure to forward the letter was painfully disconcerting. Roger walked back to his rooms so deeply absorbed in this new train of thought that he did not notice he was being followed. He did not perceive that two men had fallen in behind him after he passed through the Admiralty gates. He was utterly unconscious of them until they accosted him as he was letting himself in with his latchkey. “Mr. Roger Temple, otherwise George Braid?” said one of them, touching him on the shoulder. “Yes,” he answered in startled surprise. « “We are police officers.” “Then you had better come inside,” said Roger, with recovered self- | possession, and led the way to his sit- | ting room.

“Now, what is it. please?” He could only surmise they had come to question him in respect of Compton's murder, perhaps to arrest him on the charge. “We are sorry to say, Mr Teiv.v* that your ticket-o£-leave has been < „.. celled, and that we are here to take you back to Dartmoor.” The man produced a warrant in proof of his authority, and offered it to .Roger to read. He waved it aside. “Tell me why my ticket has been cancelled.” “You changed your place at’ residence from Wilchester to London without giving due notice to the police.” “I have several times passed between Wilchester and London, staying a night at one or other place, without the police making any objection. Why do they object now? Have you ever known a ticket-of-leave cancelled on such trivial grounds ?”

“We can't go into .t. We can only obey orders, sir.” “I may remind you. Mr. Temple,”

said the second man, "that a ticket-ol-leave may be altered or revoked at pleasure without reason assigned.’ “At whose pleasure?” “The Secretary of State's, the Home Secretary.” “On whose advice would he act” “Presumably on that of one of the law officers of the Crown. But this is highly irregular, sir. We ought not to answer questions. I hope you are not going to give us trouble.” “I’m not going to give you any trouble,” said Roger; “when do we start?” “At once, but there is no reason why you should not communicate with your friends first.” “I have no friends to communicate with,” he answered. He thought Heming had betrayed him. An hour later he was on his way to Dartmoor. CHAPTER XV. CICELY’S UNINFLUENCED DECISION On the Tuesday afternoon, at about the hour when Roger was leaving London in custody on his return to Dartmoor, Cicely and her father were in the library. The vicar had called about the final arrangements for the wedding, and tea had been served in the library because Lady Elizabeth was entertaining other visitors in the drawingroom. The wedding plans had been settled so as to secure absolute secrecy of time and place, and the vicar had just gone. “Father, would it be fair now not to marry Roger?” Cicely asked suddenly; and then, before he could reply to the question, she immediatelyput another; “Why is mother in such a hurry | to get the wedding over?” They were standing side by side in I 1 front of the fire, and she placed her hand affectionately on his shoulder as she spoke. She was grieved for this splendid father of hers, on whose head she had brought so great a multitude of perplexities and troubles as the result of falling in love with a man with a past. Her own worries were swamped in what seemed to her the immense sea of his cares and anxieties. Heming had obviously slept badly the last two nights; there was pain in his eyes, his lips were parched and pallid, his complexion curiously livid; and it was dreadful to her to see him thus. • "Fair? No,” he answered, “unless your feelings have changed.” “My feelings will never change, father.” “Then why' do you ask? And why that odd question about your mother?" (To be continued.)