THE LOCKED ROOM

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 692, 18 June 1929, Page 5

THE LOCKED ROOM

SERIAL STORY

By

E. Clephem Palmer.

, CHAPTER XXIV.— Continued. “I’m very glad to hear it. May I congratulate him?” “Certainly not!” protested Fel-i acombe. “Take no notice of Widhurst. He’s the most incorrigible j matchmaker. . . .” ’ Look here, Daisy,” interrupted Widhurst, “you know more about these things than we do. You’re a woman, and all women are experts in these matters. Well, let’s have your judgment on this. Supposing you were in difficulties, and a friend of yours—a man—refused to entertain the idea of your earning a living. Would you think he was ... in love with you?” "I should suspect him,” said Miss Ashton. “You wouldn’t be certain?” “No. It might be simply the genoval objection men have to seeing women at all independent. There wouldn't necessarily be anything personal about it.” “That’s one for you, old man,” smiled Felscombe. Widhurst refused to be discouraged. “Suppose the man insisted on taking her for a motor ride, on getting flowers for her, and on taking her Photograph by the side of a lake because, as he put it, she was exactly what Nature had stupidly left out of the foreground. What then?” Miss Ashton wrinkled her forehead. “This is really very difficult. I don’t know why you should expect me . . "You must know! every woman

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knows! You’d save a lot of bother if you’d give us your verdict.” She smiled. “Well, 1 don’t know that I’d be sure he was in love. He might be a fantastic sort of man with an artistic eye, or he might be just a flirt.”

“Suppose,” persisted Widhurst, “that he kept on saying that he was utterly unworthy of the girl, infinitely beneath her . . . and so on. What would you think then?” “It wouldn’t impress me. No man believes anything of the kind. I’d suspect his sincerity'.” “But suppose ” “Oh, shut up, Widhurst,” protested Felscombe. “Why' weary Miss iVshton with these fantastic questions? Sne isn’t even amused.” •■On the contrary,” said Miss Ashton. “I’m extremely amused. Faithful James always amuses me. P’r’aps that’s why I can never face the idea of marrying him. I’d never be able to take him seriously'.” “Suppose,” persisted Widhurst gravely, “that the man flew into a passion of indignation at the mere suggestion that some other man myself, for example —might marry her.”

Miss Ashton succeeded in remaining serious. “That would be conclusive. If a man refused to consider my' marrying someone else, I’d know he was in love with me.” “Exactly!” cried Widhurst. “Just what I said. Felscombe. It’s a perfectly clear case. Your obvious duty ”

A nurse approached. “Mr. Carter would like to see you, Mr. Felscombe.” “Excellent! Bring him in at once. And —I say, nurse—if you could give my' friend a sleeping draught. . . .” The nurse smiled over her shoulder.

CHAPTER XXV. —“CARTER, YOU MUST FIND HER.”

Felscombe hastily dismissed P.C. Carter’s offer of sympathy. “Cut out the bedside manner,” he protested. There’s no need for it. “They’ve made us look soys, but we’re perfectly' fit. Is there any news? What d’you know of the locked room? And where is Miss Western? Carter abandoned his hospital voice. “I don’t know. Probably she’s at ‘The Cedars.’ But I’ve been keeping a close eye on the place.” Felscombe raised himself in his bed. “Look here, Carter, you must find her! It isn’t safe to leave her in the hands of that scoundrel.” “I know. But he’s clever. He gives nothing away. He scored off y'ou rather neatly' y'esterday'.” “Wait till we get away' from here,” said Widhurst grimly.

“When can you get away?” asked Carter.

“If they' won’t let us out in a day' or two, we’re going to bolt,” said Felscombe. “But tell me, isn’t there any news? Haven’t you discovered anything?” Carter hesitated. “There’s nothing really definite,” he said slowly, “but I’ve found out a few things that all point the same way. You remember saying that you’d like to see the gardener —of ‘The Cedars.’ Well, I’ve seen him. and had a long talk with him. He’s no friend of Tuddenham’s.” “How d’y'ou mean?” “He suspects him. I expected to find him sick at being sacked, but he goes further than that. At first he was unwilling to tell me what he suspected, but after a time he said he was certain there was something

wrong with the garden—that Tuddenham was hiding something. Tie wanted to know why he hadn’t got another gardener—” “Exactly 7!” interrupted Felscombe. And I could have told him. Tuddenham hasn’t got another because a gardener is a man who digs.” Carter looked up in surprise. “That was exactly' what he said. He insisted that Tuddenham was afraid of something being found in the garden—underground. Not a spade has been used there, it seems, since the garderer left.”

“Was that as far as he went? Didn’t he suggest what the something might be?”

“No. He was cautious. I had to tell him I was in the police. But I could see that he’d like nothing better than to take a spade there and dig.” Felscombe turned to Widhurst. “What did I tell you? Didn’t I tell you that the key might be found under those sinister trees?”

“I believe you’re right,” conceded Widhurst. “But I don't see what we can do. We can’t dig up the wretched place.”

“If y'ou could, what would y r ou expect to find?” demanded Miss Ashton. “Hidden treasure?” Felscombe looked intently at Carter. “What would y r ou expect to find?”

Carter hesitated. “I’d rather know what y'ou’d expect to find.” “You mean that you’re not certain yet.”

“Yes, that’s the trouble. No doubt there’s something hidden there, but we don’t know enough yet to decide what it is. I’d like to see Mrs. Tuddenham. I’m not sure that Tuddenham isn’t keping her a prisoner because she knows too much.” “Have you tried to see her?” “Yes, several times, I’ve called at the house when I knew Tuddenham was away. They’ve alway's said the same thing—that she’s too unwell to see anyone ... I can’t understand it. I’ve spent hours hiding in the garden in the hope of overhearing a quarrel between them. But they' seem the best of friends. They' constantly sing duets together, and when he leaves the house in the morning I’ve heard her call out good-bye in Hie most affectionate sort of way.” Felscombe looked eagerly 7 at him. “You’re certain it’s Mrs. Tuddenham ; who calls out good-bye?” “Certain. The people in the house aren’t in the least doubt about it. They know her voice well. Miss Daventry tells me there that: it can't possibly be anyone else. . . The extraordinary thing is that she doesn’t sound a bit like an invalid. Tt beats me. I'm beginning to think she must be disfigured in some ghastly 7 way, as Mabel —Miss Daventry says, and that she can’t stand the idea of letting anyone see her. She was very pretty, you kr> w. And yet—” “You remember,” interrupted Widhurst, “that when Bassett saw Tuddenham carrying her out to the car she was wearing a heavy veil. That rather looks—” “Yes, I know! But T can’t help feeling that there's something else behind it all. Why* is the loom always kept locked? I’d give anything to see her.”

Felscombe smiled mysteriously. I'm very inclined to think,” he said

slowly, “that before very long we shall succeed in seeing her. By the way*, have you heard anything of Bassett’s sister? Is she still with Tuddenham —still changing places with lii3 wife, and posing as the invalid?” “Yes. That was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Her brother has seen her. She wanted money . . . He tried to persuade her to leave the man, but although she admitted she was unhappy', she flatly' refused. Apparently she expects to be able to marry him some day . . . But Bassett told me something more interesting. He discovered from his sister that Tuddenham’s wealthy relative who has a big place near Leatherhead, has made a will, leaving him every penny.”

Felscombe sat up and looked excitedly at Carter. “When did he tell y'ou that?” “Three or four days ago. Why?” “Good God, man! There isn’t a minute to lose.” He hesitated, and then turned to Widhurst. “We must get out of this place tomorrow. We must be in Leatherhead by dark. And t rather think that I shall then have to ask you to help me to burgle a garage.”

CHAPTER XXVI.—FELSCOMBE ON THE SCENT

In spite of Felscombe’s insistence that he had urgent business in London, the doctors refused to allow him to leave the hospital. They pointed out that —apart from the burns—there was evidence of slight concussion of the brain.

“Considering the smash you had,” said the house surgeon, “you’re both uncommonly lucky to be alive. Why worry about getting away? Anyhow. I can’t take the responsibility for letting y'ou out within three days.” Widhurst attempted to pacify his friend. He reminded him that Carter was on the spot, and insisted that nothing was likely to happen to Olive. But Felscombe refused to be persuaded. He was strangely excited.

He seemed almost afraid to open a newspaper. And yet he went to the trouble of persuading a nurse to pay the porter an extravagant sum to get nearly all the morning papers and the latest editions of the evening ones. The moment they were brought to him he devoured them eagerly. Widhurst was bewildered. He himself preferred to read a novel, and was unable to understand why his friend should take so violent an interest in the news of the day.

Felscombe appeared to have no desire to enlighten him. For the first time he seemed to be keeping something to himself. After making a few unsuccessful attempts to arrive at what was in his friend’s mind, Widhurst decided that he was anxious about Olive and unwilling to admit it. On the second day of their deteu- 1 tion Felscombe sent a telegram to Car- j ter asking him to go round to the garage and arrange for the fastest car to be sent down at once to the hospital. When the time came for their release, Widhurst was surprised to learn that their destination was not London, but Leatherhead. “Why Leatherhead?” he protested. “Surely you’re j not still worrying about that wealthy I relative of Tuddenliara’s ?” Felscombe hurriedly boarded the car and settled down at the wheel.

“ Hasn’t it occurred to you that at any moment there may be a third accident?” “To whom?” “To the man who’s left Tuddenham all his money.” The car leapt forward to the open road. “You mean.” said Widhurst, “that Tuddenham has a happy knack of faking a car to turn a somersault and catch alight. You think that Sinclair —” “Exactly! He knew too much. You remember that letter of his in which he said that he wanted to back out of something because it was too risky. Clearly he and Tuddenham had put their heads together and thought out a scheme for getting hold of the old man’s money. Sinclair, you know, was a brilliant engineer. No doubt he worked out a scheme for doctoring a car . . . Then he got the wind up and wanted to back out. Tuddenham wanted to go on, and didn’t like the idea of Sinclair being able to give him away. You see what it comes to?” ' “You mean that Tuddenham sent | Sinclair off in a faked car?” I “Obviously! Then we came in. He i knew we suspected him of some-

thing. Luckily we landed in a deep; s ditch —” ! 1 “But surely he’d stick at a third ac- ; cident?” ; J “Why should he? There’s no evi- j dence against him. The cars are ! < burnt to a cinder. Similar accidents j are constantly happening. Why should he hesitate to carry out what was , : obviously his original scheme?” “Is this what you’ve been working . out in bed? You might have let me j into it.” “As a matter of fact it was some- \ thing else* I’ve got a theory to account for the mystery of ‘The Cedars, j : But it’s so fantastic that it isn’t wor 1 | mentioning till we’ve got something further to go on. You might laugh. But I hope in a day or two — Hullo! There’s a boy with a paper.” I Eagerly Felscombe scanned the j paper which the boy handed to him as the car pulled up with a jerk. lie kept it stationary while he glanced at every page. Not until he had read j the smallest paragraph did he consent 1 to go on. “It rather looks,” he said, as he let | in the clutch, “as if we might be in time after all.” Shortly after six they reached ! Leatherhead. From the description given them by Carter they bad no difficutly in finding the house on the out- ! skirts. Felscombe drove 100yds past it, and then stopped the engine. Slowly the two men walked back to the entrance. Standing apart from the house they saw what they took to be the garage. A young man—presumably the chauffeur —was standing by the open door. In-

side they had a glimpse of what appeared to be a new car. Felscombe seized Widhurst by the arm and hurried back along the road. “We must get that car,” said Felscombe, “and I think I know the best way. It’s no good waiting till dark. We’d never be able to break in. We must get in now. It may sound risky, but it should work all right. I’m going to the other end of the road. You will stroll in and ask the chauffeur if he’s got a magneto-spanner. Say you’ve got trouble. The chances that he will come out to help you. I shall then go into the.garage and take out the old man’s car. No doubt the chauffeur w r ill see me leave. You will then offer to pursue me. He will accept the offer. What else could he do? I shall go along the by-roads to Dorking. If you don’t do over 40 you ! won’t catch me. But I’ll wait for you i at the first deserted bit of road between Dorking and Horsham —say by 1 the turning to Ockley.” 1 “And what then?” demanded WidI hurst. | “Well square him. I’ll give him £IOO on the spot. Then we’ll all three igo back to London. There we’ll buy ! another car exactly the same and hand it over to him. He’ll have all the credit for recovering the stolen car, and I’ll give him another £IOO to keep his mouth shut.” Widhurst smiled. “It’s a great i scheme, but is it worth it?’ Of course it is. We want the faked i car. P’s now standing in that garage, I’m certain of it.” (To be Continued Daily.)