Half-Closed Door

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 704, 2 July 1929, Page 5

Half-Closed Door

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J. B. Harris-Burland

CHAPTER IX.— (Continued.) “Oh, yes —got. money ot' his own. Besides, it wouldn’t be part of his plan to set half killed/' Two policemen removed Trillic-k on a stretcher, and the doctor followed them.

“There'll be an operation/* said the Inspector to Blindon, “and no doubt Triliiek will be able to describe the fellows in a few days.” “A few days! You’re not going to *nit for a few days.” “Oh, no, sir. We’ve plenty to go on w ith. I daresay we’ll have them before Triliiek can speak. This was a nigh-class gang, and there are not many of them in London. A smart bit of work that, sir,” —and Mr. Elton Pointed at the safe. “A job that’s genially done at night.” . “Couldn’t have been done at night this case,” said Blindon, and he explained the precautions that were taken to guard the office. The Inspector smiled. “They’d soon and out all about that, sir.” “There was the fellow we had before Triliiek,” Blindon continued. "Who was he?” Blindon gave a description of Ricliard Pelling and added: “I don’t sus-

Author of ** The Black Moon." *' Th# Pouon League/’ " The White Rook," &c., &c

poet the man. He was a fine soldier. We couldn't get on with him because he was inclined to be impertinent.”

The Inspector seemed to have heard of Captain Felling, and when he had written down all the particulars, he said; "This was no amateur's job, sir. And I think I know the parties. We needn't detain you, sir, unless you like to stay. Where is- Sir William?” “He's gone down into the country for the day.”

"I envy him, sir,” said Mr. Elton. "‘Well, we won't keep you.” “I'd rather stay,” said Charles Blindon. "I was coming here at half-past two in any case.” "Eh, what’s that?” queried the Inspector sharply. And when Blindon did not reply he said. "I didn't quite understand you, sir, when you said you were coming here in any case at half-past two.” "That was my original intention,” Charles Blindon replied, "but I changed my mind.” “Did anything happen to make you change your mind?” "Yes. My father wanted me to go down to Tunbridge Wells with him. And then he said he didn't want me. So I thought I'd come to the office.”

"Ah. it was Sir William who changed his mind, sir?” “Yes —you can put it like that if you like. I say, you don't seem to be doing much, Inspector.” “No, sir—not for the moment. But a good deal is going on—all the same. We may have our men in less than an hour from now.” It was unfortunate, from the point of view of the police, that no one in Colchester Buildings had seen a single member of the gang enter or leave the office of Messrs. Blindon and Co. It was also unfortunate that the police did not at first suspect the Felton gang, but turned their attention to three other bands of criminals. Their reasons for this was obvious enough. The Felton gang had been broken up oy the Bextable affair, and as yet, so far as the police knew, it had not come together again. In fact, it seemed very unlikely that it would ever come together again. as Jimmie had served in the war and had, presumably, acquired a desire for a more honest path in life. It was not, therefore, until twentyfour hours after the affair in Colchester House that Detective Inspector Sanderson called to see Sam Felton and found that gentleman smoking a pipe and reading the morning paper. “Hello, Sam,” he said. “Taking it easy?” Felton smiled. He was in his shirt sleeves, and the tiny sitting-room that he occupied, looked out on a minute patch of green in the back garden. A stunted tree threw grateful shade across the lawn and window. “What's your trouble, my boy?” he said lazily.

“You. Sam. Seems as though you can't keep your hands from picking and stealing, as they say in the Prayer Book.” “I suppose,” Felton answered coldly, “that I've got to put up with any sort of insult. But I have some civil rights, and so I tell you to just clear out.”

“Come, come, Sam, you needn’t cut up rough. There's a little job down in the City you can tell me something about, I expect.” Felton laughed. “I’ve been reading about it,” he replied. “Very smart, but 1 can’t take the credit for it.” “Well, we’re going to search your rooms,” said Sanderson in a less pleasant voice. “Certainly, certainly. I don't even ask to see your warrant. Perhaps you'll let me so on reading my paper. You can run your hands over me first if you like, and then let me have a little peace.”

He stood up, held out his coat, and allowed Sanderson to search him thoroughly. Then he sat down, relit his pipe, and turned over the pages of his paper. The detective beckoned to a man in the doorway, and they subjected the two rooms to an examination that lasted for an hour. Sanderson did not expect to find the diamonds, but he was disappointed at finding nothing which would show that Sam Felton had resumed his criminal career. “You're a deep one. Sam,” said the detective, when the work was finished, “but it won't pay you to give us too

much trouble. Where w T ere you yesterday morning between ten and eleven?” “I ivaa w'alking in Kensington Gardens, if you wish to know.” “Alone?” “No, with my very good friends, Mr. Leader and Mr. Woolf.” “Peter and Jimmie, eh?” “Yes; and we were very glad to meet again after so long a separation. You’ve no objection, I hope?” “None at all, Sam.” “I would rather you called me Felton, Mr. Sanderson.” the burglar answered stiffly. “We are not likely in the future to be on such terms as

to call each other by our Christian names.” “Oh, you are a rare boy” laughed Sanderson. “I am a gentleman, and I resent familiarity/’ Sanderson shrugged his shoulders, but he did not smile. Sam Felton had been a gentleman, and might yet become a gentleman again—on his share of a big haul like the Colchester Buildings burglary. “I suppose you can all three prove an alibi,” he said, after a pause. “I don't know about that,” Sam answered quietly. “That is difficult unless one happens to meet someone who can bear witness to one's identity. But, really, Mr. Sanderson, one would think this was the police court.” “If' you'd turn King's Evidence,” said the detective, lightly, “you'd get off easily.” Sam Felton rose from his chair again. “I’ve nothing to give evidence

about,” he answered coldly. “You’ve , been out at the front, Sanderson, I haven’t you?” “Yes.” “What’d you have said to a German if he’d come along to you and promised you your life if you’d betray your pals?” “I’d have shot him,” the detective replied. “Precisely,” laughed Felton. “Well, good morning, Mr. Sanderson. You didn’t mean to be offensive. And you’re not a bad sort. But, of course, you’re not. a gentleman—except in war-time.” Mr. Sanderson took his departure. He paid a visit to Peter Woolf, and Peter gave him the address of Jimmie Leader. He searched the dwellingplaces of both these men and found nothing that interested him at all. They were as bright and open as the daylight. They confirmed the meeting in Kensington Gardens, and were as pleasant as possible. Apparently there was nothing against them—nothing on which they could possibly be arrested on suspicion. But Detective-Inspector Sanderson sent out three men to watch their movements and report to him. * * Mrs. Hibberd, alias Susie Croad, had a fall account of the burglary from Charles Blindon. He motored out to Mexham Hill on purpose to tell her everything that he knew about it, and then went on to his father’s house in Esher. When he had taken his departure, Susie flung herself on the sofa and laughed until she cried. The hour of her freedom.was at hand. Ninety thousand pounds, and she would have the handling of it. Her own share would be at least fifteen thousand. And with that she would buy her freedom. But all through the rest of the day there was silence. It had been arranged that news should be telephoned to her by one of the three meg. It was not until ten o’clock that the telephone bell rang, and she lifted the receiver to her ear. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Hibberd,” she said. “Oh. yes—that yon, Sam? Good boys —splendid boys—eh. what’s that — nothing in the safe —nothing!” For a few moments Susie Croad laid dowu the receiver of the telephone. entirely oblivious of the fact that someone was still speaking at the other end of the wire. Then she suddenly realised that she was making a fool of herself.

“Did you say there was nothing in the safe. Sam?” she queried, making an effort to be calm. “Only papers? Merciful heavens! But Charles Blindon told me that £.90,000 worth of jewels had been stolen. Look here, Sam —if you’re going to play me any

tricks. . . . Yes, yes, I do believe you. I didn’t mean that. . . You’re about right. If Trilliek dies .. . Yes, we shall all have to be very careful. There is no need for us to meet, or write, or telephone. . . Yes, if you three boys want an alibi, I’ll say that I met you in Kensington Gardens, that I dropped my bag, and one of you picked it up and brought it back to me. Of course you’ll have to advertise for me to make it seem natural. It will be better for you to do that than for you to say that I gave you my name and address. Advertise in ‘The Times’ agony column. You know the sort of thing: ‘lf the lady who dropped her bag in Kensington Gardens, etc., etc..’ I’ll keep a look-out for it. . . The Boy! No, I shouldn’t think the Boy took the diamonds. I don’t know what to make of it. It doesn’t matter now. It's no good crying over spilt, milk. All we’ve got to do is to keep out of the storm that is coming on. Later on we’ll fix up something. We’ve been done in the eye by someone. Ring me up next week, but be careful. They may be watching you. Good-bye. . . Yes, it’s cruel luck on all of us.”

Susie Croad hung up the receiver, and it was not until she had finished speaking, and there was silence in the room, that she felt the full force of the blow. She had worked for two years to make a success of this enterprise. For two years she had lived at Mexham Hill, and endured the society of people who irritated her. She had built up a new life for herself, and had completed her task by allowing Charles

Blindon to make love to her. If only [ she could have married Charles Blindon she v/ould not have wasted her time. Utterly as she detested the j man, he was very rich, and a prize ; in the matrimonial market. But she j could not even marry the brute. And she would have to break off her engagement as soon as possible. And even that —so small a thing as that —would have to be done very carefully. She leant back on the cushions of the sofa and lit a cigarette. Life was treating her very ill. First there had been the marriage of Richard 1 Pelling, and now—this. It appeared j as though she were fated to have nei- ; ther love nor money. Well, she could wait for love, but money was an immediate necessity. She had come to the end of the funds her husband had given to her for the carrying out of this task. He would be brutally furious when he learnt the truth. He had left everything in her hands, and she had failed. And she had sworn that this would be the last job. She could hear his slow, heavy voice speaking to her. ‘‘Very well, it shall be the last,” he would say. “You’d better shift for yourself.” And she was engaged to be married to Charles Blindon. And she was in love with Richard Pelling! Oh, the bitter irony of everything! So much that she could look at with longing eyes, and could not touch. She could have endured povertj' with a man she loved, or she could have put up with a man she loathed so long as he could give her every-

thing that money could buy. But now she had nothing. And she was face to face with a danger that had never come in*o her life before. If this man Trilliek died, the police would be hunting not for thieves, but for murderers. “Murderers,” she said softly, as though by speaking softly she could take something from the harshness of the word. CHAPTER X. Richard Pelling, who never indulged in the luxury of an evening paper, did not road of the burglary at the offices of Blindon and Co. until the next morning. And lie was as certain, as if he had been watching the thieves through an open window, that it was the work of his old associates. The newspaper did not give full details, but it gave a picture of the broken safe arid Pelling recognised the particular artistry of Peter. He had never seen Peter open a safe, but the little man had often spoken of his methods. (To be continued daily)