The Jewels of Sin

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 729, 31 July 1929, Page 5

The Jewels of Sin

By

Bernard Rowthorne.

Author of “ The Claws' of the Dragon," &c.. &c.'

CHAPTER XII. He sat until darkness fell; and then koing to the window looked out to find the fog was lifting. The lights of Tompkins’s taxi standing in the street showed fairly clearly, and ordering a meal for himself he went (iown to talk to his lieutenant. 'Seen anything. Tompkins?" "No, sir. Nothing doing!" “I'm afraid it's not much use loitering here, Tompkins, at present; you might as well take the cab to the garage; and settle yourself comfortably at home till I ring up for you.” "Yes, sir!”. "But don’t go far away: and above all don't let out the cab to anyone. I may want it at a moment's notice.” “I understand, sir.” “That’s right. Just run me down to the nearest newspaper shop, then; and after that you can go off duty. 1 ’ "Bight, Air. Mallinson.” Ten minutes later, the novelist returned to his rooms, with a small armful of evening papers. As he saw, Jhey were making a great feature of "The Bermondsey Mystery,” but a glance at the shrieking head-lines told him that really they had nothing new that was of any significance, and, taming from the most lurid of ihe accounts. he began idly to con the other items in the paper. Suddenly a flash °f interest appeared iu his eyes, and a n alert look came oil his face, for under a heading of "Street Accident >u the Fog,” “Taxi-Cab in Shop Window." j,e alighted on the following Piece of news. This afternoon there was a nasty Occident at AA'apDing, a private hrotigham in avoiding a taxi-cab. mounting the footpath and going clean tnrnneh the window of M«srs. Jones’s "ell-known emporium. The window "as completely destroyed, the broken fl'ißs littering the pavement, and at “fat it was feared that someone Had oeen killed. on willing helpers hurrying to the spot, it was found that beyond a few cuts (he driver as uninjufed. "hile except for the fright natural to '* r h an untoward experience the two r a( i'.es who w-ere passengers had suffered not at all. The brougham bow*Tef "’as so badly damaged that it had ’''ho taken to the nearest garage; hue the owner, who. we understand. ' a lady recently returned from South rtca. continued her journey in the aii-cah, the avoiding of which ap•?r i! to have caused all the trouble ” Hy Jove,” he muttered. “A private

brougham, a lady from South Africa, and another lady! It is too like to be a mere coincidence!”

The next moment he was ringing up Tompkins at his garage, and when l:e was through telephoned a laconic message: “Hurry back here, Tompkins. I want you to take me to AVapping.” “Right, sir!” “If I’m on the scent,” thought ills novelist, as he hung up the receiver. “I will follow it across the world.” In his surmise as to what had happened. Gerald Mallinson had been as near the truth as any one could be, without absolute knowledge of the facts. For in the afternoon, waiting in the lounge, hoping against hope lor goaie news of her brother, and tortured by anxiety, Zita Barrymore had unexpectedly heard her name called by a messeugex’ boy walking about with a card iu his hand. Responding to the call the girl had received the card, and had read the name upon it with startled eyes. “Isabella Van Terkamp! “The lady wishes to see you, ma'am!” said the. boy. “She has written a message on the back of the card.” Turning the card over, the girl found a pencilled message “Pardon my urgency, I must see you—about your brother.” . Not for a moment did she hesitate. The name upon the card was one of rather ominous significance, for she at om e connected it with the name of the gross Dutchman whom Mallinson had pointed out as being one of the men who had waited for her brother at AA'aterloo on the previous night. Undeterred by that knowledge, indeed the more eager because of it, she gave the boy instructions. . “Tell the lady I will see her. Bring her to me.” “Yes, Miss Barrymore. Standing, the better to see her unknown visitor as she approached, she became aware cf a tall dark woman, elegantlv dressed, following the boy across the crowded room. As she came nearer the girl saw that her visitor was quite young, very handsome with wonderfully dark, passionate exes. The next moment the woman addressed her in a voice that had just the faintest suggestion of foreign Intonation. “Miss Barrymore?” “Yes,” answered the girl, with an unusual reserve in her manner. I am Miss Barrymore.” “1 should have known u without

you telling me,” answered the woman with a dazzling smile. “You are so like your brother.” “You know my brother?” said Zita with a swift glance at the card in her hand. “You wish to see me about him? You know where he is perhaps?” The woman nodded her head quietly. “Yes,” she answered. “I know where he is. I have come to take you to him.” “To take me to ” “Y’es! You will be glad to see him, I hope.” “Oh yes! Oh yes! Of course. But ” She broke off and glanced from h»r visitor to the card, and then back again, meeting the woman’s eyes with a frank challenge. “But what, Miss Barrymore?” “How do X know that you are what you say? Your name is not reassuring to me.” “You know my name?” asked the woman in obvious surprise. “I have heard it,” answ'ered the girl quietly. “It Is borne by a man who I have reason to believe is no friend of my brother’s—a man who is—er—your husband perhaps?” The woman laughed softly. “No! JanWVer Terkamp my hus.baud! That is a very droll idea, Miss Barrymore. You have seen him perhaps? Yes! Then look at me. Am I the kind of woman to maiTy such a gross beast as that?” She waited a moment as if for a reply, then with a touch of impatience said, “Answer me, Miss Barrymore. Do you think I could marry a man like Jan Van Terkamp?” “I should not think it was very likely!” answered the girl truthfully. “No! Let me tell you that I hate the man; that he Is a man whom I cannot endure.” “But you have the same name!” said Miss Barrymore quickly. "The same name —yes! I married his half-brother, who died in the war three years ago, fighting in East Africa—on the side of your countrymen, you understand. But my husband was a very different man, and he did not know his half-brother well, or he would not have left me in his power, dependent upon him for every penny that X need to live.” “I do not understand,” said Zita, and in truth she was very bewildered. “No! But it is very simple. My husband was iu business with his brother, who is what you call a smart man of business in spite of his heavy look. And in the will that he made he left Jan A’on Terkamp, whom you know, as sole trustee for the little fortune that is mine. So I am much at the mercy of my brother-in-law, whom I suspect of rather rash speculation with my money; and who doles out my Income as if I were a little child. ' It is most exasperating—l hate the man!” The last words were spoken with a vehemence that left little room for doubt that she was speaking the truth, and Zita Barrymore was almost convinced. But the consciousness that she moved in deep waters made her cautious, and the remembrance of the events of the previous night did nothing to allay, her suspicions. She

remained silent for a moment considering, and the woman spoke again. “You believe me, Miss Barrymore?” “I believe that you hate your brother-in-law, madam, but that does not prevent you working for him, I believe.” The woman's dark handsome face flushed at the charge, and her eyes flashed stormily as she demanded: “Why should you say that, Miss Barrymore?” “You were at AVaterloo last night. You came on the same train as my brother. Y’ou made a signal to your brother-in-law and the black man who was his companion and —” “You were there? You saw that,

Miss Barrymore?” cried the woman, in tones of distress tlie reality of which was not to be doubted. “I was there, but I did not see you. It was a friend of mine who saw the signal and watched your brother-in-law and the negro begin to shadow my brother. But he told me of it—” “Ah! A friend? A man? He went down to Bagnall Street. He had the case with the diamonds?” “No! I had those! He merely accompanied—” “Y’ou had the diamonds, Miss Barrymore?” There was a look of j extreme amazement on Isabella A'an Terkamp’s face. “Yes! My brother passed them to ! me.” “Oh!” Then the visitor laughed i sharply. “So that is how —” she interrupted j j herself quickly. “You have them j j now. Miss Barrymore? Tell me the j ; truth. Your brother’s life may de- ; pend upon the answer.” : "I do not see why I should tell you ! i anything,” answered the girl slowly. , j “Y7ou are working with my brother’s i I enemies—” j

“But I am your brother's friend, believe me. I am—” “Y'et. you signalled to his enemies!” “I did! I did! To my shame I confess it! But for all that I am your brother's friend, Miss Barrymore—l I love him —” There was a sudden softening of the handsome face, and the wonderful eyes suffused with swift tears. “Oh! you must believe me. Y’ou must!” “Then tell me where my brother is?” said the girl quickly. “I cannot do that. But I can take : you to the place where he lies—” I “He is hurt? He is ill?” cried Zita ! in sudden apprehension. ! “Y’es, Miss Barrymore, he is a little ; hurt, nothing that really matters I though, but he is in the power of Jan ’ Van Terkamp and John Lobengo ” j “AA'ho is John Lobengo?” asked the ! girl, quickly. “The black man whom you saw. A man of education though he does not 1 j look it, and with even less scruples i | than my brother-in-law. He watches I over your brother now—and f am i afraid that he will kill him ” I “Why?” . i

“Miss Barrymore, he is crazy for those diamonds which your brother brought to England.” “And are they the price of my brother’s life? Did he send you to me to bargain ” “Oh, Miss Barrymore, you misapprehend me. No one lias sent me, not even your brother. I did not know until just now' that you had the diamonds. I saw your advertisement in the paper, and I came at once, hoping to persuade you to come to him, that you might perhaps induce him to give up the stones to save his life. There is no other way ” “Y'ou say you can take me to him? That I can see him?” “I can take you, yes; and, it can be contrived if you have courage, as I believe you have. I can hide you in my room until the moment offers —” 1 ‘‘Why not tell me where he is, and i let me go to the pn'ice? That is the ! simplest way!” ! “Ah, yes! But you are forgetting l one thing. Miss Barrymore. Your i brother w ent to Bagnall Street last

night, where a terrible thing -was done. He left behind his hat ” Zita Barrymore's face blanched suddenly, and into her eyes came a swift look of horror. “You think that my brother ... that he . . "Miss Barrymore, I do not know what to think? I am much in the dark. I know that a man will do desperate things to safeguard a fortune. What happened in that house I do not know, but I am sure that your brother would not wish you to go to the police. Almost certainly he would be involved in that affair. You must see that, surely!” Zita Barrymore did see it, and further she saw- that her visitor was altogether sincere and in terrible earnest, and she was disposed to accompany the woman. But she was determined not to move blindly. "Madame,” she said, “I will go with vou on one condition —and that is that I can tell the friend who was with me last night where I am going.” "But ” •1 will not go otherwise." (To be continued daily.)