The Jewels Of Sin

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 733, 5 August 1929, Page 5

The Jewels Of Sin

By

Bernard Rowthorne.

Author of " The Claws of the Dragon," scc.. &c/

CHAPTER XVII (Continued) “Tell Mr. Mallinson that he must Sive up those things which he found last night. It is the only way to save two lives and possibly a third —his own! If he decides to do so he must put an advertisement in both the morning and evening papers, and he will receive instructions what to do. . . . That's all.” He whistled thoughtfully as he read the message through, then he laughed suddenly as he thought what must nave been the expression on his landlady's face as she scrawled this ominous message. A minute later he was serious again. “They mean to have the stones,” he murmured to himself, “and they are convinced that I have them in my possession. 1 wouder what I ought to do.” He sat smoking and considering the Question for quite a long time, then at length he spoke aloud the conclusion he had reached. “No, I’ll be shot if 1 do! Not yet, at any rate.” Then conscious that he was very tired, he went to bed and slept dreamuntil his landlady called him in the morning. “All right, thank you!” he shouted, in answer to the knock, i Thfre was a message came for you * as nlßht ” began his landlady, tentatively. “Yes, 1 saw it, thank you.” “Made my blood turn, it did.” said the woman in a shuddering voice. "Made me laugh,” said Mallinson. d s a good joke someone’s playing on me - Was the speaker a man or a woman?” “A woman, sir!” That’s all right. Don’t, you worry about it, Mrs. Smithson. It will be all serene.” “I m glad of that,” came the answer ln J voice of relief, and he heard her "'Undraw and go to the kitchen downstairs. All the time lie was dressing he wondering who had sent the niessage, which before his landlady he aff ec t ec j to treat so lightly, but "hich to himself he owned to be seri--0118 enough. If a woman had been the speaker, then no doubt it was that "oman whom he had seen at Water-1 *oo, who had searched his rooms and who had lured Zita Barrymore from jhe Savoy, and who now hoped to "ring pressure upon him to give up , e stones in order to save the girl. ;‘ s he considered the problem it came to him suddenly that here was a way of w *?ich c °uld come in touch with i the girl's captors. He had only to in- ' 3er t the advertisement, and those i

people would no doubt arrange a meeting and then A knock at his bedroom door interrupted his thoughts. “Tompkins, the taxi-man, to see you, sir. Says his busines is urgent.” “All right, I’ll be out in a twinkling.” He was just a little longer than that, and as he passed into his study and caught sight of Tompkins’s face, he knew that the matter was serious. “What is it, Tompkins?” “Scotland Yard!” answered Tompkins. “Tec. came along to see me just as I was a-sitting down to breaklast an’ first thing he did was to produce a paper with the taxi number an’ my address on it in copy-ink pencil—” “Ah! They have found out about your going to Bagnall Street.” “That was my idea as soon as the tec. told me who he was; an’ the mere thought gave me a turn, ’ t I kep’ my wits abaht me; an’ he sticks that paper iu front of my nose, I acts stupid and I arsks, ‘Well, what abaht it, old bird?’ “ ‘That’s your number, ain’t it?’ he arsks. “ ‘lt is,’ says I. ‘An’ what you’re doing with it ’ “ ‘Know the writing?* he jerks out. “‘No!* I says. ‘Why?* “‘There’s a man been found down the river off the Isle of Dogs. He’s been strangled, an’ that paper was the only scrap of any sort found on him.’ “‘Strangled!’ I said, whistling. “ ‘Yes, strangled. Marks on his throat as plain as print.* “ ‘Well,’ I says, ‘what abaht it? 1 ain’t done the job.* “ ‘No,* he answers, ‘I don’t think you have. But we want to find out what we can about the man, and as I am in charge of the case I want you to come down to Limehouse with me, and take a look at him. It’s just possible that you may know him.’ “ ‘An’ it’s nearly a dead cert that I shan’t,’ I says. ‘But if I must, I must. But I’ll finish my breakfast first, for it’s no good to a man to look on a corpse with his stomach empty.’ “ ‘All right,’ says the tec. laughing. ‘l’ll wait outside.’ “Well, Mr. Mallinson, after I’d eaten my bacon and bit of toast that fellow ran me down to Limehouse in a car which he had with him, an’ took me into a shed where the corpse was covered with an old sail. When he turned the cover back I had a shock, for the man’s face was ghastly, an’ I hope that if ever I run against a violent death it won’t be by strangling. Fair shook me to look at the man, it did.

and when the tec’s voice sounded it seemed a long way off. “ ‘Well,* he says, ‘know him?* “ ‘No,’ I says, shuddering to cover up the lie. “ ‘Never seen him before?* “ ‘No, an’ never want to see him again!’ I answers, turning away. “ ‘But why should he treasure your address an’ number?” asks the tec. “ ‘Dunno,’ I answers. ‘Arsk me another.’ “ ‘No need!* says the tec. ‘I can see you know nothing about the man. I’m sorry to have troubled you, and with that he gives me a Bradbury for my trouble an’ expenses an’ here I am having perjured my immortal soul.” “Perjured?” “That’s the word, Mr. Mallinson, for you see I did know that dead junk—more or less.” “I don’t understand.” “No! But that dead man in the shed was the fellow who took us to No. 7 Bagnall Street, the night before last.” “Phew!” The expression on Mallinson’s face showed how utterly he was surprised. He stared at the taxi-driver in silence for a moment, then he said: “What do you make of it, Tompkins?” “Make of it? Just that those villains' got him, Mr. Mallinson.” “Why should you think that?” asked the novelist, in no way questioning the other’s conclusion, but curious to know how it had been reached. “Body was found down Limehouse Reach,” answered the taxi-driver promptly, “and you an’ me knows that somewhere in that direction is a couple of parties what wouldn’t be no way particular as to how they got rid of a man who was making himself a nuisance. Now s’pose this fellow who’d got on your track an’ mine, had got on these others’ too, an* supposing he’d followed one of them an’ they’d caught him at the game—well, he’d be where he is now for a certainty. That pair of scoundrels would do it an’ never turn a hair, an’ it'll be the same end for you an’ me, Mr. Mallinson, if we give them half a chance.” “You’re not funking, Tompkins?” “No, I’m merely saying what I believe, sir.” “I thought that was it; and I’m bound to say that I agree with you in all you’ve said. But I don’t know that we can back out. Anyway I can’t. Those blackguards have got that helpless girl in their clutches and till she’s free and safe, I sit at the game, whatever results.” “Me too,” said Tompkins, stubbornly. “We’re in it up to the neck. The sudden whirr of the telephone bell broke in on his words, and as Mallinson took up the receiver the taxi-driver watched his face with interested eyes. The message was evidently rather a long one. for after the first Hallo!” “Yes, Mallinson!” the novelist did not speak for some time, though his face indexed quite lively emotion, but when he did speak Tompkins himself grew suddenly more interested. “Right, Mr. Simmons, just go over it again, describing the appearance and locality of the house; I want to get it fixed in my mind.” Once more the look of a man listen- j

ing intently came upon his face, and when again he intervened it was to say “Thank you, Mr. Simmous. I shall be at the wharf in an hour, and will bring the money with me—yes, that will do, thank you.” Mallinson hung up the receiver and turned to the taxi-driver. “Bill Simmons has found the place where the launch puts up.” “That so?” “Yes. It’s at an old house on the Isle of Dogs.” “What did 1 tell you, Mr. Mallinson? The Isle of Dogs an’ the Reach are neighbours. It was the nigger and his chum who got that loafer, I’ll lay a hundred pounds on it.” “And I don’t think there is any fear that you would lose,” said Mallinson, a very serious look upon his face. CHAPTER XVIII. As the dim figures bearing the form of the stricken man were lost to sight in the darkness, a light of horror shone in Zita Barrymore’s eyes, and she turned a face to her companion that was ghastly in its pallor. “Oh!” she said in a shuddering whisper. “Oh! they have killed him.” “Yes, Miss Barrymore, I think that is so. Jan Van Terkamp is like that and Lobengo—-be is worse. But do not worry for your friend. I am sure that was not he.” “Then who ” "I do not know, Miss Barrymore. Those men have many ruthless enemies—many who would kill them as ruthlessing as they have killed that man. One of them ” “But why are you so sure that it is not Mr. Mallinson?” “For a very good reason. Miss Barrymore. You have a saying about killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. Neither of those men are so foolish as to do that. They know or they guess that your friend knows where the diamonds are. Until they wrest that knowledge from him he is safe, and it is even possible that if he gives them up no harm will come to him. Further, Mr. Mallinson cannot yet have discovered your whereabouts. He did not get your message. As you have heard, that was intercepted by Jan Van Terkamp. That is why I am certain that the man who has just died is not your friend.” With this reasoning, a little of the horror faded from Zita Barrymore’s eyes, and there were signs of returning colour in her face. “Oh, I hope you are right,” she said in a quivering voice. "It would be so terrible if he were to die in trying to help me.” Isabella Van Terkamp looked at her with a sympathy the reality of which was not to be questioned. Then she said softly:—“Mr. Mallinson is your lover?” A flood of colour flushed the girl’s face. “Oh, no,” she said hurriedly in some confusion, “not that—why, I have known him but two days.” Isabella Van Terkamp laughed softly. “Two days—that is a whole eternity for love, which is born in the twinkling of an eve.” “But I—” “You must not tell me he is nothing j to you,” interrupted the other, shak- !

ing her head incredulously. “I saw your eyes just now, when you thought that that unfortunate intruder w r as Mr. Mallinson, and Miss Barrymore, even though you may not know •it, I say that Mr. Mallinson is more to you than any man in the world—more than your own brother.” “Oh, not more than Jack!” broke in Zita, protestingly, her face aflame. “Yes, more even than Jack, who in his turn is more to me than any other man in the world. For that is how it is with us women. We give our hearts and faith completely, and for the beloved there is no risk we would not face, no pang we would not suffer. Believe me, I am saying what I know. Every moment since your brother came into this house I have been in greater peril than he is, for if those two men outside'were to discover that I am friendly to him, and working for his release, I should die more quickly than that man died just now.” Looking at her, Zita Barrymore was convinced that the woman spoke no more than she believed, and was moved to cry suddenly—“l cannot think how you came to betray—” Isabella Van Terkamp flung up a hand in sudden protest. “Please, please!” she cried brokenly, “do you suppose I have not blamed myself? Do you believe I was thinking only of myself? If you think that, you do not know much of life, or of human motives, Miss Barrymore. Good and evil are strangely mingled in our actions. Even as I threw up my head as a signal to those two men at the station, I had a thought that in the crowd and darkness they would snatch the diamonds, and disappear, and that no harm beyond the loss would come to your brother. How did I know that he would go to No. 7 Bagnall Street, or that he would be brought here?” “Do you know what happened at Bagnall Street?” interjected Zita quickly. “I know, of course, that man was killed. Yes.” “But you do not know who killed him?” “No. That was why I did not let you go to the police. It is possible that Peter Rogers was a tmitor to 3 r our brother, that he was working with those two men. and that your brother making the discovery—” “Oh, no, no,” whispered Zita shudderingly. “I would not believe that Jack would do a thing so vile.” “Possibly you are right. Mi* Barrymore. “But it is not vile ho kill a snake in the grass, no. But it is no use discussing things of whicfti one is not sure. What I do know is that by some means Lobengo secured possession of that dispatch-case your brother got from you, and found tt empty; that later he entered that man Rogers’s house, and that there -was a struggle, and that because the diamonds were not found your brother, who had been stunned in the struggle, was brought here.” “When can I see him?” asked Zita suddenly. “I do not know. We shad have to wait for the opportunity, anil seize it

when it occurs. I am afraid it will not be easy now, for I can see that my brother-in-law is suspicious. And he is very sly. He will watch cunningly to surprise us. We shall have to be very cautious. Even now I think that I must leave you. Listen —those men are returning.” As she spoke, she lifted a finger of warning, and, listening, Zita Barrymore caught the sound of the outer door being opened and closed, then followed the noise of steps moving up the hall. “I must go,” said the woman. “Those men must not be made to suspect more than they do already. But have no fear, Miss Bafrymore. I will watch over you.” She turned and quitted the room, and as the door closed behind her Zita Barrymore, left alone, looked around her with a sinking heart. Her situation as she knew was desperate. She had come to this lonely house with its forlorn garden and villainous occupants in the hope of helping her brother, and now she herself needed help, and had perhaps made her brother’s situation more difficult. For one moment she was again assailed by fierce suspicions of Isabella Van Terkamp’s motives; but the instant later she dismissed them. The woman knew that she had not the diamonds and could have no motive for decoying her to this place, if indeed she had not brought her to see and help her brother. Since those few bad minutes when Van Terkamp had sur prised them; and the woman had acted and talked like the traitoress that Zita had then believed she was, suspicion had died away, and now it died away again. Somehow she believed in Isabella Van Temkamp; and she guessed that upon her she must depend utterly. There was no one

else to help her. Gerald Mallinson might search but he was scarcely likely to trace her to this lonely house, which lay she knew not where, and even if he did succeed in Her thoughts were checked suddenly by the sound of someone ascending the stairs. She listened canefully and heard the steps progress along the landing until they halted outside her own door. She gave a little gasp of fear, and wondering who was on the further side, stared with apprehensive eyes at the door. Whoever was there was apparently listening, for a full minute passed without any sound of movement—a nerve-trying minute for the waiting girl; then the door was suddenly opened and the tall black man entered the room. He kicked the door to behind him, then apparently without noticing that it failed to catch, he took a couple of strides forward and made her a profound bow. “Good evening. Miss Barrymore.” She didi not reply but as he straightened himself she saw a swift light of appreciation leap into his dark eyes. For a moment he stood regarding her while her eyes grew wide with apprehension that she strove vainly to hide, then a smile came on his black face. “I did not know,” he said slowly. "I did not realise downstairs that you were so beautiful.” There was something in his manner that frightened her terribly, as perhaps it was meant to do. Again for a few seconds he stood regarding her, and appalled by his steady scrutiny she cried out: “Why do you come here? What do you want?” “That,” he said smoothly, “is what I came to ask you? Not that I object to your presence—far from it, believe

me. So charming a lady cannot but be welcome anywhere. But if you will tell me why you came ” “I came to see my brother. To take him away from this evil house ” “Your brother? Ah, yes; your brother! You love him very much: you desire his release above all things?” “Yes! Yes!” “It is possible that it may be accomplished,” said Lobengo smoothly. “There is only one little thing which stands between your brother and freedom, Miss Barrymore.” “YesV she said, divining the answer. “A dispatch-case with diamonds in it,” answered the black smoothly. “If you will tell us where it is—no, where the diamonds are, for the whereabouts of the case is already known, in a few hours when we have verified the information your brother shall go free —yourself, also; reluctant though we shall be to lose such charming company.” (To be continued daily)