The Jewels of Sin

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 731, 2 August 1929, Page 5

The Jewels of Sin

By

Bernard Rowthorne.

Author of " The Claw*' of the Dragon.” &c.. &c/

CHAPTER XlV.—Continued. “And the sooner you earn them the better I shall be pleased,” answered Mallinson, then turned to Tompkins. "Do you think you could make Limehouse Pier?” “I reckon I can try,” said Tompkins with humorous resignation, and two minutes later they were racing eastward for Limehouse. "ben Zita. Barrymore had gone to the telephone to acquaint Gerald Mallinson of her visitor and to ask his advice about accompanying Isabella 'an Terkamp. she had no suspicion that it was not Malliusou who was answering her. She had at first been a little puzzled by the (kick guttural voice, but the explanation that the speaker had caught a cold in the fog had quite satisfied her and it was with a gay heart and a full assurance that Mallinson would meet her at Wapping that she had accompanied her visitor tn the waiting motor-brougham. On the way down they did not talk much, for Isabella Van Terkamp showed an indisposition to talk: and Zita herself was too occupied with her own thoughts to force any conversation. ? he accident which happened to them on the way shook her considerably, and her companion even more than herself, and the delay it occasioned made her more than a little impatient. "hen they finally arrived at Plum wharf she looked searchingly about Gerald Mallinson. but failed to bnd him. Isabella Van Terkamp also looked round, theu said: . ‘Your friend is not here, Miss Barrymore?” "No.” answered Zita, an anxious, Perplexed look upon her face. “He must have been delayed.” 'That is possible,” said her companion. “But we have been delayed ourselves. AVliat is tar more likely is that he has arrived and that he is watching somewhere—perhaps from the river. He would notice the launch there and guess that it was waiting for us. He is possibly afloat, hidden m the fog, waiting to follow.” Zita looked doubtfully toward the river. “Yes,” she agreed, “that is Possible, but ” "I do not think we ought to wait,” said Isabella Van Terkamp, persuasively. "We have lost much time and the truth is that we have none to lose if I am to get you into the house where your brother lies without my brother-in-law knowing. He may return at any time and if he is there before we are it will make things more difficult, you understand?” “But ” “You can trust yourself to me,” interrupted her companion. "I shall not P* a >‘ you false—no, for the reasons that 1 have told you. You can write to this friend—telegraph, perhaps, and delay is a danger—yes—a great

danger for your brother. Will you come?” “Yes,” cried Zita, impulsively. “Yes, I will come.” “Then we will not delay,” said Isabella Van Terkamp, leading tho way to the launch. A minute or two later they were moving down the river under cover of the blanketing fog, the horn hooting steadily as they whirled past barges and ships or crossed the bows of shrieking tugs feeling their way up the river. Except that they were going down river, Zita Barrymore had not the very slightest idea whither she was bound, but she kept her eyes open in the hope of discovering her whereabouts. The envelope of fog, however, made that difficult, and though they ran past docks and warehouses and ships innumerable, not once did she get a glimpse of anything that afforded the slightest indication of her whereabouts. At the end of something like an hour the launch slowed down, and then she perceived that they were close to a garden which showed dimly through the fog and the gathering dusk, aud beyond she caught the outlines of aliouse. “We have arrived,” whispered Isabella Van Terkamp. “It is here that your brother is.” The launch drew up at a small landing-stage which adjoined the garden, and the two passengers stepped out, and as the launch backed away from tile stage, Zita’s companion led the way into the garden, which had a neglected look. Keeping to the grass, aud screened from prying eyes by a row of conifers that had at some time been carved into fantastic shapes, hut which now were throwins off the distortion, they reached a small summer-house which also had a neglected air, and about which there was a smell of mouldy decay. “Remain here. Miss Barrymore; I will discover if the coast is clear.” The woman withdrew, and left to herself, Zita Barrymore found herself wondering if, after all, she had been wise in coming to this desolate place alone. She had trusted the woman, and now she began to wonder if her trust had been misplaced. If It had She turned and stared toward the river, where, close at hand, a tug was hooting dismally. The sound, bringing the assurance of other people at no great distance comforted her a little, had but to cry out, and there were those who would hear, who would come to help her. Her thoughts went to Gerald Mallinson. Had he been at Plum Wharf according to his promise, and had he followed her down the river? If so, he was somewhere close at hand, watching over her, and she had nothing whatever

to fear. Thus, reassuring herself, she t turned and looked toward the house; hut shrubs and trees intervened and she could see nolhing. Once she thought she heard the sound of voices, and again a little later her attention was arrested by a sound at the waterside—a sound as if someone had stepped on to the little landing-stage. Isabella Van Terkamp seemed an .unconscionably long time in returning, and again she began to grow anxious. If anything had gone wrong in the house, and if she did not return Then to her immense relief she caught a faint rustle of skirts, and through the bushes, making directly for the summer-house, came the woman she was waiting for. “Quick, Miss Barrymore. The time is propitious. There is no one in the house except your brother. Come with me.” Taking the girl’s arm she led her across the wet grass in a bee-line for the house. As they approached it, even through the gloom, Zita was able to see that it was a house of some pretensions, a house that at some time had probably been the riverside home of some prosperous shipowner or East India merchant. Now it was in a state of disrepair. Untended creepers festooned the old-fashioned bow-windows untidily. Some of the cement on the house face had fallen away, showing the rough stone behind, and the paint was. peeling from the wooden pillars of the pretentious porch over the doorway. One of the lower windows, as she was quick to observe, was broken; no single window so far as she could sec was curtained, though to the ground floor windows were Venetian blinds —all drawn. The place had a desolate forlorn look, and as she stepped into the . bhadow of the porch, again she was conscious of a mounting' distrust.. “This is not a very nice place,” she whispered as her companion thrust open the door, and stood aside for hei' to enter. “No,” was the reply. “It has been empty for some years, and has fallen into disrepair, hut for the purpose of my amiable brother-in-law it has its advantages. Quick, Miss Barrymore, every moment is of importance.” Overcoming her rising fears the girl stepped aside. The place had a dank, musty smell, and as they entered a dark, panelled hall. Zita saw that the little furniture it boasted was thick with dust. Scarcely had she time to note the fact when to her ears came the sound of a murmuring voice, and she looked at the woman by her side. “It is your brother,” came the explanation. “I fear he is not well. He talks much to himself, you understand.” She threw open a door at the far end of the hall, and ushered the gill into a room where an oil lamp was burning on the table —a room that was furnished in ugly, solid-mahogany midVictorian style, and where there had obviously been an attempt to introduce some eomfort. A fire binned in the grate, and on the table at one end a white cloth was laid for tea. “I must ask you to wait here a moment, Miss Barrymore, I go and prep-are your brother for your coming.” “As quick as you can, then,” said Zita quickly. “I do not like this house.” "I fly,” said Isabella Van Terkamp. She went quickly from the room, leaving the door ajar, aud the girl heard her ascending the uncarpeted stairs. She caught the sound of a door opened and closed aud waited with such patience as she could muster. The house was unutterably silent. Except for the hissing of a piece of gassy coal in the fireplace there was no sound anywhere, and to her tautened senses the stillnes seemed sinister and full of menace. Then a sound reached her that brought a startled look to her face — the sound of steps outside. Her mind found a quick explanation of it. “Ah. Mr. Mallinson has arrived,” she whispered, a great relief shining | in her eyes. A moment later, however, the light

of relief died swiftly, and. into her eyes came a look of tense anxiety. The footsteps had passed along the front of the house and someone was inserting a key in the lock of the door. It could not be Gerald Mallinson. He could scarcely have come provided with a key for the desolate house. Who then was it? She heard the key turned in the lock, then the door opened and was softly closed, and on the heels of that subdued noise she caught the sound of steps moving up the hall. A door opened upstairs, and th,en she heard half-choked cry. Desperate to know what was occurring she moved to the door of the room and peeped out. In the gloom at the head of the stairs, holding a lighted candle in her hand, she caught sight of Isabella Van Terkanip, with a strained look on her

white face, and in the hall was standthe man Van Terkamp whom the novelist had pointed out to her at the hotel. There was a smile on his gross face and a twinkle of amusement In his pig-like eyes as he turned from the woman on the stairs to herself. “So, my preddy bird, you baf come to see me. Gott! You are very welcome ! Most welcome, I do you assure.” CHAPTER XV. When Van Terkamp spoke to her Zita Barrymore did not reply. She stood there staring at the big gross man, with eyes that were bright with fear. The Dutchman grinned again. “I was expecting the pleasure, Dut it is greater dan I hoped.” “You were expecting ” began the girl, theu broke off sharply. “Oh’ I remember your voice!” she cried. “I recognise it now. Y’ou were at the

telephone in Mr. Mallinson’s rooms. I thought his tones were strange ” “Yes!” Van Terkamp laughed. “And I explained it was der fog and dat I haf caught a cold, an’ you beliefs me!" The man roared as at a good joke, and as the girl stood there staring at him the fear in her eyes grew broader. Gerald Mallinson’s failure to appear was now explained. He had not known of her coming at all, and now she was alone in this desolate house with these people who were undoubtedly her brother’s enemies; alone and helpless with none to know of her plight. That woman with her plausible tale of love-—had made of her a common dupe, and the whole story had been an elaborate concoction to lure her to this lonely house. For a moment she was ap-

palled, lor a new thought leaped In her brain. This man had been in Gerald Mallinson’s room when she had telephoned. What had he been doing there? It was inconceivable that the novelist could have permitted him to answer the telephone in his stead, and almost equally inconceivable that Van Terkamp could have been in Mallinson’s rooms in the owner’s absence. As these thoughts flashed through her brain her fear mounted to distraction, fear not for herself, but for the man who had befriended her. She took a sudden step forward. “Oh!” she cried distraughtly, “what have you done to Mr. Mallinson? What have you done?” Van Terkamp smiled evilly, as the light of comprehension beamed in his small eyes. “So!” he chuckled. “So! I did not dat understand. You lofe Mr. Mallinson? Well, dat is good—very

good. I dink dat I shall be able of dat to make use!” The girl’s pale face flushed with sudden scarlet at. the suggestion of his words, but she was not to be turned from her question and she cried vehemently, “What have you done with him?” The Dutchman smiled indulgently. “Dere is no need to grow excited. I haf not hurt your Mr. Mallinson—not yet! But what I shall do my liddle dear depends on you.” “On me?” “Yes. Mr., Mallinson has interfered with some plans of mine; yes, dear Gott, he has interfered too much, more dan I will endure. I suspect he has some property of mine—” “Those diamonds of my brother’s you mean?” “Jupider! You know of der diamonds, den?” For a second amazement showed in Van Terkamp’s face; and he stood there like a man who is suddenly constrained to view a situation from a fresh point of view. Then a swift triumphant gleam came into his eyes. “Ach! Yes! Now do I know! You got to Bagnall Street last night, I haf heard of you. You go to meet your brodder who has not der diamonds, but only an empty case. You —” He broke off, and his small eyes had a sudden tigerish look. “You, perhaps it is you who haf der diamonds? Then by der living Gott —” He took a swift step forward, and seized Zita Barrymore's wrists. “You will me tell; yes, or 1 break der wrist. I twist your arm till—” “Jan!” sounded Isabella Van Terkemp’s voice behind him. “Well?” he demanded, still keeping his hold on the girl’s wrist, and half turning to his sistei’-in-law who had entered the room. “Don't do that!” she said. “The case as I told you is in Mallinson’s rooms, I saw it. It had been opened. That girl can’t have the stones.” For a moment Van Terkamp considered, then he dropped the girl’s wrist. “Yes!” he said. “Der case is dere. I haf myself seen it.” He turned completely away from Zita Barrymore. “But tell me, Isabella, why haf you brought dat kitten here. I do not understand. If she haf not der diamonds —” “She will be a lure, won’t she?” explained Isabella Van Terkamp a little scornfully. “It is the diamonds you want, is it not?” “Yes—der diamonds —all der time!” “Well, can’t you see? Y'ou have Barrymore who brought the diamonds to England, you have him here safe; and now you have his sister, who took the diamonds to Bagnall Street —” “Who took der devil —” “No, the diamonds!” interrupted the woman. “She told me how it was done. She exchanged cases with her brother and neither you nor Lobengo noticed it. She trusted me—” “Oh, woman!” cried Zita Barrymore, “you are shameless!” Isabella Van Terkamp took no notice of the interruption, but continued easily; "She trusted me, as I was saying, and told me the whole story.” “Den de stones were at Bagnall Street?” cried Van Terkamp. “No! I do not think so. I imagine the girl arrived there after —after —” Van Terkamp turned swiftly toward

Zita. “When you got to Bagnall Street was dat fool Rogers alive or dead ?"■ “He was dead!” answered the girl with a shudder. “Dead was he?” The gross man gave a savage laugh. “Then you will tell me, blease, what you haf done with dose diamonds?” “I do not know!” answered the girl stammei’ingly, seeing danger for Gerald Mallinson and determined to save him. “When I saw that man lying there murdered I was terribly frightened; I ran from the house. I do not know what I did. I did not know what was in the case, and 1 hadn't it with me when I reached the hotel. I suppose I must have lost it. dropped it ” “And your Mr. Mallinson, sly dog, he picked it up; lie open it and find der diamonds, and he knew dat dey will make him a rich man; so he decided to keep dem and to say nodings. Y'es, dat is it. I haf seen der case at his rooms.” He stood considering a moment: then he turned to his sister-in-law. “Tell me, Isabella, how did you know about der girl?” “There - was an advertisement for Bari-ymore in the evening papers. I chanced to see it after I had been to Tavistock Square and, remembering what that man told Lobengo about a girl being at Bagnall Street, and. guessing more than the advertisement told. I called on Miss Barrymore at the Savoy- 1 ” “Oh,” intei-rupted Zita, passionately. “You are more traitorous than Judas.” The woman winced a little at the charge, but continued with appai’eut unconcern. "I told her that I knew where her brother was, and induced her to confide in me. She told me what you have just heaid, and I persuaded her to come down her sinco she knew more about the Bagnall Street business than was good, as well as the fact that you and Lobengo were waiting for her brother at Waterloo last night. I thought she would be safer here ” “But you let her ring up Mallinson!” said Van Terkamp sharply. “That was unavoidable. She would not have come ” “No, and Mallinson did not come because I answer der call an’ tell her to be sure and come.” Van Terkamp laughed. "And dat fool Mallinson he sit quite still whilst I talk with der girl and cover him with der pistol. It is amusing, very amusing.” “Yes,” agreed the woman, laughing with him. “And when he finds that the girl is gone he will look for her, perhaps he will come here ” “We must see dat he does,” answered the man quickly. "I)en with him in her cage also, we give him der chance of ransoming himself and der oders with der diamonds. Dat will be— ” At the sound of a key inserted in the front door he broke off and looked at his sister-in-law. "Lobengo,” she said. “He is back early.” “Perhaps he brings news.” “Possibly.” As she spoke Isabella Van Terkamp looked out of the door and beckoned to the newcomer, and a moment later a tall black with one arm in a sling entered the room. As his face fell on Zita * trrymore, white-faced and

silent, he tui’ned questiouingly to Van Terkamp. “Who is this?” he asked, in a voice that for so big a man was strangely soft and music. The Dutchman rapidly explained the situation, and the black waited until he had finished, then a slow grin came over his face. “So!” he said, “that is beautifully perfect.” Then he took a step toward Zita. “You will tell me,” he said, “you will tell me where those diamonds are, or I will make your white soul shudder for shame.” His voice was very quiet, but it was full of a strange menace, while his dark eyes shone redly in the lamplightly like a dog’s, and his strong white teeth showed like those of some beast of prey. As he addressed her her the girl shuddered. She realised instinctive ?ly that here was a man of far different quality from Van Terkamp. The man spoke with an accent of culture, and she divined that he was an educated man and at the same time a man whose soul moved in darkness. and was capable of perpetrating unspeakable cruelties. "I do not know where they are,” she said, in a low, frightened voice. “No? You do not know, but by morning, you will have dreamed the sudden knowledge from the well within you. Listen!” He held ti;. t long, tapering hand dramatically, and. as he did so. a great silence seemed to fall, which was broken only by the siren of some steamer moving down the river. "There is no rumble of cars; no sound of steps in the street —nothing but the bull-roaring of those silly steamers. That means that there will be none to hear your cries when I shall do to you ” “Lobengo!” broke in the woman sharply. “You will do nothing. The girl has not the diamonds, that much we know. The case is at Mallinson’s, both Jan and I have seen it. and it is there that we must look for the stones. I will not have the girl interfered with ” "You will not? You will not?” asked the black in silky tones, in which surprise and wrath were oddly blended. “I will not,” answered the woman firmly. “The girl is here because I thought it best she should be; but you shall not touch her ” "I shall not?” asked the black in a voice so soft and jet so cruel that Zita Barrymore shuddered. “No. she “Der girl is a lure for Mallinson.” broke in Van Terkamp. “We shall let him know somehow ” "But it will make no difference if the lure is not as perfect as it might be, if he does not know,” said the black with a laugh. “It won’t do. John Lobengo.” said Van Terkamp. “We’ve taken risks enough already. Dat Bagnall Street affair was a desperate business, and we want no more “We will have no more,” broke in his sister-in-law. “I did not kill Peter Rogers. I am not even involved in that affair, but I can guess who is, and I give you my word that if you touch this girl I will go straight to the police ” "No!” broke in the black, still in the same soft voice that seemed fuil of deadly menace. “No, you will not do that, for I shall kill you first!” (To be continued daily.)