The Shadow Crook

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 592, 19 February 1929, Page 5

The Shadow Crook

- By

Aidan de Brune

(Author of ‘ ‘Dr Night,” ‘‘The Carson Doan Mystery/* ‘‘The Dagger and the Cord,” etc.) ■ ) „ (COFYB-lOHT.) f

CHAPTER XXir. ‘Because I want the real murderer to read of this arrest and the evidence I have given you agar t Warton.” The inspector spoke earnestly. "I want to shake him -to make him careless. I’m in hopes that when he knows I'm holding Warton for the N »U*ed he’ll make some bad break. Then I ran exchange a doubtful prisoner for a perfectly good one. See?” "Whew!” The reporter was silent until they again stood in the hall at Police Headquarters. “All right. Mason. I’ll back your play. Read the ‘Mirror’ to-morrow for one of the most sensational and exclusive stories ever given to the Sydney public. S’lang! Tell Collins I’ll be over for that story he promised me later.*' Mason walked through the swing- ; doors and down to his office. There \ he hesitated a moment, then went on jo the Superintendent’s room. He ! knew Tomlin was working late that m?ht. It might be advisable to see ! at once and explain his plans. Ho j Was playing a risky game and wanted aII the official backing he could get. There was a light under the door of ! J“° Superintendent’s room. Mason knocked and an impatient voice bade 1 him enter. He opened the door and his eyebrows in astonishment uilbrahams was standing before the Superintendent’s desk, looking wor- j and distressed. "Oh. it’s you. Mason. Come in. Tomlin was leaning back in his chair. a *i Unlit cigar in his mouth, his face hushed and angrv. "Here’s a nice old \ "Sydney Warton's arrest, Superin- j tendent?” Mason thought he was in tor a ‘Sydney Warton’s arrest, be i damned.” Tomlin spat out the words yeheraentlv. “Sydney Warton’s escape ,s *’hat I'm talking about. Here’s j mor** of your damned Shadow Crook’s ! v '>rk. Takes a prisoner out of the ant * s of the police and this fool c omes back alive to tell me of it.” Mason sank into a chair, dumb- ; rounded and speechless. The Shadow j trook again! When would the man | make that one mistake that would j mud him first in a cell at Police j Headquarters—the commencement or j

the long journey that would end on the platform of the gallows? “What’s the tale. Wilbrahams?” At length Mason could articulate. “You had no trouble with Warton, surely ■ \ “Not a bit.” The plain-clothes man j spoke bitterly. “We went down to the j street and 1 bundled him into a tax') standing opposite the door. On the drive Warton grew chatty. I was at tending to him and not paying attention to the route the car took Suddenly I discovered we were in a side street. A bunch of crooks rushed the taxi as it came to a standstill and bundled me out. They tied me up and drove off with the prisoner. By the time someone came along and released me they were out of sight. Stanley Etheringham obtained little j consolation in his long interview with his solicitor. Montague Mostyn. Once j the lawyer was in full possession of, | the Mintos-Etheringham speculative. I combination activities —and he had to i drag the details out of his client ' piecemeal—he made no question of ■ his opinion. Mintos was a scoundrel | and Etheringham was a fool! S Mostyn rounded off a long and un- { sympathetic lecture by pointing out j to the squatter that he had more than ! sufficient money coming to him j i through his stations and investments j without dubious speculations. He j | earnestly advised him that if lie j ( wanted work to occupy his spare time I ! to give up his town house and de ; 1 vote himself to the management of his various properties. For some reason known only to himself, Etheringham expected to i receive sympathy and consolation. Even before he had arrived at t IA ; | solicitor’s office from the Police Court, j jhe had persuaded himself he was an ) ill-used and misunderstood man —that he was not to blame for trusting the jew. Further, he had almost persuaded himself that Mintos was the victim of one of those conspiracies he had read about between business men | to smash a competitor. On his way home Etheringham came to feel that the whole world was in league to place him and Mintos in gaol, because of their superior bus! ness abilities. He was certain the j Northern Territory- Company was a perfectly* genuine concern. The reports he had read from the mining

engineers sent to the property by | Mintos convinced him of that. True, j no gold had yet been won front the j mine, but the gold might be there'— j and in large quantities, as the Jew i claimed. Had lie not, as an Individ- j ual, A perfect right to take advantage of his superior knowledge and anticipate the rise in the price of the shares ? With the air of a much-persecuted, righteous man he walked up the steps of “Avonlea.” Norma was seated on the verandah and the squatter immediately commenced the recital of his wrongs to her, coupled with a strong appeal for sympathy and understanding. To his disgust, in the middle of his eloquent opening sentences, the girl rose abruptly from her chair and went into the house. Etheringham was surprised and annoyed. He was beginning to believe | that the right sympathy between lms-) band and wife did not exist between! him and Norma. Throwing himself in | the chair Norma had vacated, he bit- j terly reviewed the last months of his j married life. Norma had been frequently absent

from home, on expeditions she had re- j fused to discuss with him. She had j claimed complete freedom of action. ' denying his undoubted right to control and censor her movements. She , had largely overdrawn her allowance, yet dressed no better than the wives j of many men with smaller incomes/. i She did not gamble; she was not extravagant in dress. What did she ; do with her money? The strong seximpulse of the man came uppermost as he mentally strictured his wife. She must have a lover, a lover in poor circumstances on whom she lavished his money: His insane jealousy, against which Norma had long battled, overcame him. He strode through the house to his rooms, to fume and fret the long night through. He would make an end of this! He would face this woman who bore his name and reduce her to a proper un- ' derstanding of her position. He i 1 would have a full explanation, and that before the new day waned. Sleep * came on this determination. He ■ rose late and dressed leisurely. He j felt perfectly calm and rehearsed the ; stinging opening sentences of his ad- • (

dress. In silence lie ate liis late j j breakfast, then sought Norma. He j found her in (he sun-parlour, over-: looking the harbour. As he enterc* (he room she looked up, then im- j mediately lowered her eyes to her j book. “Put down that book and listen to me.” He strode across the room and j stood over her. “Another row, Stanley?” Very de- j liberately the girl placed the book on j her lap. “What is it now?” “What is it now?” The man spluttered with rage. “Don't you know? I’m beset with business worries? T come home from a long and intricate consultation with my solicitors and when I try to talk matters over with you—you leave me and go to your room and lock the door.” “Your troubles?” There was mockery :in the girl’s tones. “Are not yom’ ; troubles entirely of your own mak- i mg? You have always taken your j own course; chosen your own friends “And when one of my friends is ! arrested on a perfectly preposterous j charge, you sit there and ask, ‘What’s ! j the matter?’ ”

“Of whom are you speaking?” “I’m speaking of Abel Mintos.” The squatter almost shouted the name. • “Abel Mintos, the only friend I have : in the world! Arrested and impris- | onert at the instance of jealous busi-; ness men in this damned city. Abel , Mintos, the man . . “The man I have warned you j against more than once.” Norma sat' forward, her hands clasped on her lap. j “Only the other day lie was assaulted in this house . . .” “By the Shadow Crook.” Etliering- j ham shook his fists in a frenzy of j passion. “I suppose the Shadow Crook is one of your lovers? Yes, madam. I know the life you are leading, sneaking out of this house at all hours of the night. Who do you go to meet? Tell me! I demand to know!” “I think you are mad.” The clear eyes of the girl surveyed the man with open scorn. “You know’ what you say is untrue. I have been a faithful wife to you. I would have been a true companion if you had let me; if 3*ou had not placed me on one side for a man who proved to be a scoundrel and a cheat.” “Proved!” The squatter sneered. “What proof is there? The man is charged With loitering in.the cit3*. . .” j “After climbing down from one of i the upstair rooms of this house, when j he pretended to 3*oll he was too ill to move—too ill to leave a house where his presence was a continued insult ! to me.” “An insult to you?” “Yes.” Norma rose to her feet, facing the infuriated man defiantly. “Yes. You talk of lovers. I tell >*ou the 011I3* man who has dared to speak words of love to me, beside yourself, is your j

bosom friend, tlie 1 1 onesi, upright, company promoter, Abel Mintos.” “A lie.” Etheringham moved forward as if to strike the girl. ' “He told me . . .” “What has he ever told you but lies?” The scorn in the girl’s voice rooted the man to where he stood. “He told you what your baser instincts wanted to hear. He pandered to you, guiding you blindly on the road he wanted you to travel. Now, his arrest has set you on the edge of the truth. You are discovering you are entangled in the hideous web he constructed to trap you and nte. Stanley Btheringham, have you come to tell me you will have to take your place in the dock beside Abel Mintos?” “The dock!” A shudder ran thorugh Etheringham’s bulky frame. For the moment he was silent, almost calm; then the fury that had smouldered in his breast throughout the night shook him again. “You . . . you “Well?” Norma spoke calmly. “Have you finished? Now I will sp.eak. This is the end of things between you and I. Stanley Etheringham. I have borne your rages, your suspicions. your unwarrantable accusations in silence far too long. I have strived to do my r duty by you. but you have made it impossible. I shall leave your house immediately.” “Where will you go?” The man laughed hoarsely. “To one of your lovers, I suppose. To the Shadow | Crook, who enters your rooms even in j

my presence. To Cranford Hughes “Silence.! ” “Ah, I have touched you there, my lady. The good, virtuous barrister! The man who comes here, posing as my friend! The man . . The girl turned from him withh a gesture of disgust. Btheringham strode forward and gripped her 1» the arm, swinging her round to face him. “Yes. Dear Cranford Hughes, the man who defended Stacey Carr, who stole the White Trinity' from Abel Mintos. Your father, who stole the Kynaston sapphires. Did you think 1 didn't know . . “Abel Mintos told you. I suppose.” Norma laughed, scornfully. “Would you care to know he used the threat of telling you to force me to become his mistress?” “A lie!” The squatter caught her by' the shoulders and shook her violently'. “A damned lie! You would try and part me from my only friend with your damned lies. You “That is enough.” The girl turned deathly white. “Yes, I am the daughter of Stacey Carr, the man who served five unjust years behind prison walls for the theft of jewels that were i never found. Yes. Stanley*. I am Stacey Carr’s daughter. 1m proud of my father, and despise my husband. No, no. I’m no wife of yours. Tojday ends that!" ; “Do y'ou want the police to know? Do you want the police to discover . that with your connivance Stacey j Carr broke prison under the name of I Frederick Mayne? That you, my wife,

i and he had a flat amid the harlois of the city; that . . “That Stacey Carr was foully murdered by some unknown monster in I his old shop in Carew Dane.” Norma spoke defiantly. “Yes, tell them, or 1 I will.” She hesitated a moment, and a slow smile came to her blanched lips. “Wait here one moment.” She turned and walked out of the room. For some minutes the squatiter paced the sun-parlour, striving t ■ I nurse his anger to a flame again. At length he looked up to see Norma j standing within the door, a long euj velope in her hand. “You have accused me of unfaithfulness, when I have strived with all my powers to do my duty to you. You have accused me of being a confederate of the worst criminals in tho j city',” Norma spoke passionately. ] “But what of you, Stanley Etheringham? Here, in this envelope, I hold l the proofs of your crimes. See. here ! are the letters from you to Mintos, plainly stating you knew the schemes v-ou had entered into with him were ! criminal. Again, here are letters from you to Mintos referring to some secret place in this city where you keep women . . . Oh, I can’t go on. It's too beastly! .And, you come ami accuse me of unfaithlessness! You! You! ” “AYhat do you mean' I . . 'What is the good of denials?" the girl laughed bitterly. “Here are the proofs of what I state—in your handwriting—over your signature. Book j for yourself! ” (To be continued.)