The Shadow Crook

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 569, 23 January 1929, Page 5

The Shadow Crook

By

Aidan de Brune

(Author of “Dr Night,” “The Carson Doan Mystery,” “The Dagger and the Cord,” etc.) (COPYSIOHT.) -

CHAPTEE IV. (Continued}. “No, so far as I am aware.’’ Cranford looked up with some surprise in hi? eyes. "Of course . . . No. The jewels were never found. There was a reference to them in a magazine a little while ago. It spoke of them among other famous 16st jewels—the Kynaston sapphires and the White Trinity.” “Then, where are they?” Mason rose from his chair and walked up and down the room. “They could not vanish into thin air. Carr was in prison and could not get them. From what you have told me it is not probable he disposed of them before his arrest. Remember, the White Trinity would be a most difficult jewel to sell.” "The pearls might have been separated and disposed of singly.” “Yet you stated the pearls were diseased when Stacey Carr took charge of them. You stated Stacey Carr was arrested but a couple of days after the jewels were handed to him. He would not have had time to cure the pearls and dispose of them. Further, you have stated that withiu the past few months a reference in a magazine included them in mysteriously lost jewels. No, Mr. Hughes, I believe the jewels are still in some hiding Place where Stacey Carr placed them before the blow on his head affected his memory.” “In that, case you must start your search at 5 Carew Cane,” laughed the barrister. “I am afraid you will have a hopeless task. There's just one rhing that has occurred to me, seeming to bear on your theory. At no time has Stacey Carr’s safe been discovered. I could find no one who could positively swear he had one.” "And since the date of the police search at Carew Lane, the house has been let to half a dozen different tenants?” suggested the detective, ruefully. "I suppose it is now a ham and beef shop, and the jewellers’ fittings dispersed to the four winds of the heavens.” “That's one point in your favour,” Cranford rose to his feet and sought his hat. “You'll have to excuse me, Inspector. I am already late for an interview with a firm of solicitors regarding another poor devil in the clutches of the law. If you go to Carew Lane you will find Stacey Carr’s shop practically as he left it. If is still a jeweller’s shop, and I believe most of his old fittings are still in place.” “What do you mean?” "I can tell you no more than that.” Cranford stood on the entrance steps snd held out his hand. “It was only * few days ago I learned Stacey Carr’s old shop was still in existence. I was curious and wandered down there to verify my information.” Mason went into Phillip Street very Perplexed. It seemed incredible, that

Stacey Carr's old shop should still be in practically the same condition as in the old man’s time. For some time he stood on the pavement before Risdon Court trying to co-ordinate the information he had received from the barrister into a coherent story. There was something behind the maze of facts. He would swear to that, but for his life he could not piece

the story together without great imDrobabilities creeping in. P Stacey Carr had taken the White Trinity and the Kynaston sapphires into his charge. A few days la ter he had been discovered on the floor of his shop, insensible. He had been taken to the hospital, to awaken to a darkened memory. He could not remember where he had placed the jewels—he could not even remember the jewels. A careful exhaustive search by the police had faded to discover the hidden safe. Then had fbßowed his arrest and. finally, he had stood in the dock at D^ ] ' ns ' hnrst a broken, disgraced, old man. From the dock he had passed to the grim prison sentenced to be set anart from his feUows for 10 years. Nearly five of these years had expired and. with ordinary good conduct the old man might expect to re“"{L his freedom within the next y..ri °r "'SSS* rsuowm. .J. «•<>. « etneev Carr had come the strange raid on Police Headquarters by the raid on o 0 far as Mason Sh uld°Tefd the riddle that raid had been for the purpose of discovering

some clue to the lost jewels in the records of the dead man. In the story of Stacey Carr, convict, as recounted hv his barrister, had lurked one sinister figure—Samuel Keene. Stacey Carr had been tried •and sentenced for the theft of the jewels. Samuel Keen had, in the witness box, admitted a mania for pearls and gems. He had acknowledged hanging around the old jeweller’s shop. Had he done so to obtain the secret of the hidden safe? That was probable. Yet he had not been successful, for the jewels were universallv believed to be still lost. Where had Samuel Keene come from? The only clues were that he professed to be a gentleman of independent means, permanently resident in Victoria. Where had he gone to? A wave of anger came over the detective. What fools had ruled in the Police Department five years before? Taking into consideration the attack on Stacey Carr, affecting his memory, there was only one improbability in his story—and the police had passed it by as of little account. They had concentrated on the dazed old jeweller and had let the man who might have proved the key to their problem pass from under their hands, unquestioned. Mason recognised the theory he was building teemed with improbabilities. He had nothing to connect this Samuel Keene with the theft of the jewels. He could not show that the man had any knowledge of where Stacey Carr had hidden them. All he had was a suspicion growing stronger with every fact he uncovered. “Pondering over the Shadow Crook’s raid on Police Headquarters, Mason?” A cheerful voice at the detective’s elbow brought him to earth again. He turned to face Alec Branston. "You're out early this morning.” Mason glanced from his watch to the journalist’s face. “If I’m correctly informed, newspaper night roundsmen get to bed somewhere between 4 and 5 o’clock in the morning—and it’s barely noon, aoy. Why this restlessness?” “Couldn’t sleep." Branston laughed, slightly. “Got the Shadow Crook on my brain and tossed and turned in bed, until in desperation I rolled out. Time off, to-night, so can make up for my lost sleep then.” “What do you know of Stacey Carr and the Kynaston sapphires?" the detective asked, abruptly. “Lor! ,ou're not on that?’’ The journalist stopped in his tracks, looking at the detective, in amazement. “Why, it’s five years old if it’s a day.” “That doesn't answer my question, replied Mason. “That’s so.” The reporter fell into step again. “If you care to come up to the ‘Mirror’s’ library I’ll drag out the files of the case and you can read them at your leisure. I had a go at it some weeks back. There’s columns and columns of it.” “l’ou read it up?” The Inspector glanced sharply at his companion. “Any special idea? How old were you when it happened?” “Twenty-seven now.” The newspaper man laughed at the slightly astonished look on the detective’s face. "I'm older than I look. Suppose it’s this unruly' black mop of mine; but everyone takes me for 21 or 22. Fact, I was 22 when Old Man Carr went to trial.” (To be Continued.)