In The Flashlight

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 627, 2 April 1929, Page 5

In The Flashlight

By

Bernard Rowthorne

Author of “The Jewels of - Sin,” "The Shadow of the Tamen," Etc., Etc.

CHAPTER XXIV. The elderly lawyer permitted himself to smile. “Well,” he said, you couldn’t expect me to put it so crudely, though I will own it is rather late; from which I conjecture that something very important has brought you to see me.” “Yes.” she began. “It’s about No—about Mr. Mayhew. I ” "Please be seated, Miss Melford,” broke in the lawyer. “That chair there is one that l can recommend, and we shall lose nothing by talking over your business in comfort.” Margaret took the chair indicated, a cosy one near the fire, and the lawyer watched her while she unbuttoned her heavy coat, then he spoke. “You have come about Mr. Noel Mayhew?” "Yes,” she said. and, as she answered, held out to him the note which the Creole woman had sent to Noel Mayhew. “Read that. Mr. Strickland.” The lawyer took the note, put on his Pince-nez, and with an air of deliberation began to read; but when he looked up his staid countenance betrayed his excitement. “The note that poor woman sent! Where did you get it, Miss Melford?” “I found It at the entrance to the wood. It had been trodden into the earth.” The lawyer nodded. “If we can get hold of a sample of that woman s writing ” “We can do better,” interrupted MarSaret. “The woman’s father, Mr. Otto Freedlam, is at the Mayhew Arms. I have shown him that note. He recognises his daughter’s handwriting.” “Good!” cried Mr. Strickland. “The clouds are breaking for Mr. Noel. This note and Freedlam’s testimony will be invaluable.” “But. that is not all!” said Margaret. “Indeed! You have something else up your sleeve, Miss Melford?” “No,” she answered with a smile. “In my glove.” She slid the glove off as she spoke, and handed the key to the lawyer. Mr. Strickland considered it a moment, then he looked up. “Um! A safe-key! My dear young lady this does not tell me very much. Perhaps you will explain the meaning of it?’* Tm afraid T can’t.” she said, “but I can tell you how it came into my hands." For the third time thar evening she told the story of what had followed Donald Mayhew’s accident, and the lawyer listened, with growing wonder showing in his grave countenance, and when she ended, he looked at the key in his hand. “There is more in this than meets the eye!” he commented thoughtfully. “Yes.” “This key arouses in me a stronger curiosity than I have ever experienced in my professional life.” . “I am hungry to know what is behind it myself,” said Margaret.. The lawyer nodded. “That is more than understandable. 1 am not in the

habit of attending the cinema halls, but from what I know of them this key would seem to be in line with their extraordinary dramas. I feel in the bones of me that some strange denouement of the Hawton Carew mystery hangs on this key.” “T am sure of it! That dying man’s words, cryptic as they were, would have left no doubt in the mind of anyone who heard them, as I did.” “I can well believe it,” said the lawyer. He considered a moment, then he said, “I think I will ring up Mannington. the Chief Constable, and ask him to run down here. He is a late bird at both ends of the day, and I don’t think he’ll mind if he thinks there is any chance of delivering Noel Mayhew from his awkward predicament. When I have got him, I think you had better telephone to your father

“He is not at home.” “Then to the servants. You must stay the night here. I will get Mrs Strickland down in a few minutes “There is really no need, Mr. StrickThe lawyer smiled. “I thought you were curious about that key, and the secret that it holds! “So I am.” . “Then. If you wish to see the secret unveiled, you must be on hand to catch the early morning train to go to London with Mannington and myselt. U “Of OU co a ur r B e! ? Mr. Strickland, I would not miss it for worlds.” „ “Then I will telephone Mannington. “There’s my car ” “It can go in my yard, said tl lawyer, smilingly, and went out to the telephone. In five minutes he returned. “Mannington will be here in ten minutes. I got him at the County Club, where he is playing bride . When he hears your story I don t imagine he will be quite so resentful at the interruption of his game as he appears to be at this moment. “He is cross?” asked Margaret. “Very' He swore at me over the telephone—a most reprehensible habit’” The lawyer smiled, and then chuckled. “But in a few minutes you will give me my revenge, I fancy. And when the Chief Constable had arrived and heard Margaret’s story, the look upon his strong, handsome face afforded the lawyer full and complete satisfaction. “No. 402! This is the safe, sir! “Thank you, my man. Now you can leave us.” . The Safe Depository official withdrew and Mannington fitted the key in the safe, while the lawyer, with a little light of excitement in his eye. watched him: Margaret by his side scarcely able to stand still. The Chief Constable turned the key and the handle and as the heavy door swung open peered inside. Then he thrust a hand in and drew forth a large square envelope, sealed; hut bearing no superSfcrlption. Holding it in one

hand, he opened the drawers of the safe with the other, and explored the shelves. Then he spoke. “This is all,” he said, looking at the envelope curiously. “Oh, do open it, Mr. Mannington!” cried Margaret. “Impatient! Miss Margaret?” inquired Mr. Mannington, with a smile. “So am I; I will own; and Strickland is dying with curiosity, though he won’t own to it. Well, here goes! to deliver us from the tenterhooks!” He broke the seals carefully, cut the flap of the envelope with a penknife, and then took out the contents, a package in a thin strip of cotton wool tied with tape. He cut the tape, and as the cotton wool was thrown aside, saw a sheet of glass, on the top of which reposed an envelope. He lifted the envelope and then gave an exclamation. “A photographic negative!”

With a wondering look upon his face he held it up to the light, frowned, altered the position, then gave a whistle. “Phew! ” “What is it?” asked Mr. Strickland quickly. “Take a look!” said Mannington quietly. “It’s almost too astounding for belief!” The lawyer took the plate and holding it in position, examined it. Then he started, and an amazed look came on his face. “Why ” he began. “Why!” “Exactly! A negative—well, of a crime! I think we must go to New Scotland Yard and get a print from this as soon as we possibly can. Would you care to take a look, Miss Melford?” Margaret took the plate, her hands trembling a little as she did so. As she examined it, her face was pale and there was a strained look about her eyes. “Can’t make out the features of those two people, I suppose, Miss Melford?” “No, Mr. Mannington;” “We’ll see them right enough when we get a print,” he said, as he took back the plate and carefully rested it on the cotton wool. ‘ I fancy we’ve got some unique evidence in the annals of crime. But perhaps this envelope will give us some clue to the plate.” He opened the envelope, and taking from it a folded sheet of writing paper, straightened it and began to read aloud: Marlow Farm. Hawton Carew. Dear George,— * This is the photographic plate that I want you to take to the police in the event of my disappearance or death, by violence, within the next few days. The negative was taken automatically in the Mayhew woods, on the night of September 11, when I had set the camera to take a night photograph of a pair of owls. I was in another part of the wood at the time, but saw- my flashlight fire, and hurried to the place to see two men holding a third, while on the ground there was the dead body of a woman. I heard two of them charge the third with having killed her, which he denied. I waited till the two went away with the third man a prisoner, then I crept up and removed my camera, etc., as I didn’t want to lose it, nor yet to be mixed up in a nasty affair. ’When I got back to the farm, it struck me that since the flashlight had been fired, there might be something on the plate; so X

developed it, and found that I’d photographed the murder. Any newspaper in England would pay a lot for this quarter-plate, and maybe the police authorities wouldn’t mind buying it at the professional rate; but the man who'll pay most for it is the man who is on the plate; he can afford it, and I reckon to ask him £5,000 for it. It’ll be worth every penny of that to him, and he’ll pay up right enough; but lie’s a tiger, and I shall have to be careful; and that’s why I’m writing this note, and why I shall leave the key of the safe with you. If .anything

goes wrong with me, the fellow will pay for it with his life, if you take this to the police. As he finished reading the note, the chief constable looked at Mr. Strickland with a curious expression on his face. “Blackmail! ” “Yes!” answered the lawyer, a trifle absently “And he died before he. could send the key to ‘dear George,’ -whoever lie may happen to he.” “And by violence,” said Mr. Strickland, in an odd voice. “Ah, Strickland, I was wondering if that would cross your mind.” “But it’s impossible that Donald Mayhew can be the man on that plate. He only landed from the African boat yesterday.” “Is that so?” There was a note of

relief in Mr. Mannington’s voice. “I’m jolly glad to hear it. It gave me a shock when I remembered that he drove the car which killed the writer of this precious letter. But come along; we’ll go to the Yard, where they’ll set us up with a print of this in a few minutes, then we’ll have the solution in our hands.” They left the Safe Depository and drove to New Scotland Yard, where the assistant commissioner, who was and old friend of Mannington’s, welcomed them cordially, and then asked carelessly: “What wind blows you here this morning, Mannington?"’ The officer gave a grim laugh. “I’ve something you’d like for your Black Museum, hut which you won’t get—something that you haven’t got the like of.” “Indeed!” The assistant commissioner was politely incredulous. “Yes! But you can have a print when you’ve made me one,” said Mannington, producing the plate, “and I want one in double quick time. It doesn’t matter about the fixing. I want to see the faces on this plate as quickly as possible.” The assistant commissioner took the plate, ■ an'd then asked curiously: “What is it, Mannington?” “Well, if I’m not mistaken, it’s a photograph of the Hawton Carew murder at the very moment of the crime.” “Phew!” The assistant commissioner added nothing to the whistle. Touching a button, he waited until a plain clothes officer came in. “Take this to Jarvis. Tell him to print a copy as quickly as he can. Tell him not to mind the fixing. I want to see the picture as speedily as possible.” “Yes, sir!”

The officer saluted and departed, and then the commissioner spoke again musingly. “I’ve read about your Hawton Carew business, Mannington. It has a queer look. Are you expecting that photograph to prove that in Noel Mayhew you’ve got the right man?” “Heaven forbid! But I’m willing to take very long odds against it doing so?” “You don’t think Mayhew did that particular business, then?” “No, thank heaven!” “But it looked black against him at the magisterial hearing, between that certificate on the dead woman, her presence at Hawton Carew just after Mayhew’s own arrival there, and the story he told about that lost note?” The note has been found, and the dead woman’s father will identify her handwriting.” “So! Then I think Majthew will get his discharge. But that will leave you rather in the air again, won’t it, Mannington?” “You are forgetting that plate,” answered Mannington. “If that doesn’t put us on very firm ground I shall he disappointed.” “Ah, yes—the plate. If it is what you think, it will be pretty direct evidence.” They fell to talk fg of other things, but Margaret heard nothing of what they said. She was listening—listening for a step outside the door, pray-

ing for it to come quickly, and yet halfdreading its coming. Then a tap on the door sounded, and an odd silence fell. “Come in!’* said the assistant-com-missioner. Another plain-clothes man entered, carrying in his hand a folded sheet of blotting-paper, which he laid on the desk in front of his superior. That officer lifted the upper fold of the blotting paper, looked with keenly-inter-ested eyes at the photograph which lay underneath, and then nodded. “Thank you, Jarvis. Print off a couple more copies and fix them as quickly as you can.” “Yes, sir.” The man withdrew, and as - the door closed behind him, the commissioner handed the blotting paper and photograph to Mannington. “It’s a clear photograph—and a startling one. You should be able to get your man from that!” Mannington opened the blotting paper, and as he did so an utterly startled look came on his face. “Great God!” he whispered. “You know him?” asked his friend. “Yes; I’ve dined with him a dozen times.” He turned to the lawyer and Margaret. “I am afraid it will be a shock to you, Miss Melford; but it is as well that you should learn now as later. See if you recognise the man?” He handed it to her, and she looked at it, while Mr. Strickland looked over her shoulder. Scarcely had she made the startling recognition when over her shoulder she caught the lawyer’s voice. “John Carston. as God lives!” Mannington was the first to break the silence. “Read that,” he said, as he tossed the dead man’s letter to the assistant commissioner. “It will tell

you most of what you want to know. I must get busy on the telephone. Carston may hear of Harvey’s death, and may feel that he is in danger.” He seated himself at the desk and, taking up the telephone instrument, gave instructions for a trunk call, and a number. Then followed a short period of waiting, during which all sat silent, the assistant commissioner conning the dead man’s letter, Mannington waiting for the call, his mind busy with the orders he was about to send; Margaret very white-faced, with horror shining in her eyes, while Mr. Strickland watched her closely. As the assistant commissioner laid down the letter, the lawyer moved toward him quickly and whispered to him. “Certainly!” answered the official, quickly rising from his chair. “It was thoughtless of me.” He went to a cupboard, there was a chink of glass against glass, and then he approached Margaret, carrying with him a glass of wine. “Old Madeira, Miss Melford,” he said pleasantly. “Drink it off —no sipping. You need it I am sure after the shock you must have had. Margaret took the glass with a shaking hand, and obeyed his instructions. After a little while she felt better, the colour came back to her cheeks, and a moment later the voice of Mannington giving instructions impinged on her consciousness. “Yes. Precisely as 1 say. If he attempts to leave the house he is to be arrested at once. The watch must be a close one. I shall get down by the 12.15 and you will have a car waiting for me. I will pick you up at the Hermitage gates. But remember on no account must he get away. Got that? Right! Ring off.” As he finished speaking he looked at the clock. “Just comfortable time

to get the train. “I’ll take this prim, and leave the plate w r ith you for a few hours, Cunningham. I shall want it for the magisterial hearing, you know.” “Yes! And this man whom you already hold, whom this photo exonerates completely?” “Will be released on his own recognisance, of course. And jolly glad I shall be to see him set free. I’ve always known him as one of the straightest, and it was almost a knock-out to me when he was charged.” “You won’t want any help, I suppose ?” “No! The affair is perfect \y I straightforward. Arrest, trial, and ; the rope.” Mannington turned to the lawyer. “Will you catch this train with me, Strickland? The sooner Noel May hew is at liberty the better, and you can get the magistrates together in order ■ to set him free. I shall be busy, but I’ll give the necessary instructions. “Of course I return with you, Mannington. “And there’s no question as to what Miss Melford will do I fancy,” said Mannington, with a smile. “I have the taxi waiting and I think we’d better start.” (To be continued daily.!