THE BAMMAMTYME SAPPHIRES

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 776, 24 September 1929, Page 5

THE BAMMAMTYME SAPPHIRES

BST

FRANK HIRD

■ CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.) , "It is you who are unkind," Patricia went on hotly, anger and a feeling of injustice sweeping away the consideration and understanding she always had for the elder woman. "For two whole days I’ve done everything I could to help you, although you know how I hated seeing all those people again. I told you so when you begged me to come down. I wouldn't have done it for anybody else. And now, because I wasn’t at rhe luncheon today, you speak to me as if you consider you have a right to my services. Perhaps, like Henry, you do!’’ Mrs. Bannantyne was too amazed to speak. She lay back among her , ■ ushions staring at the gill's angry Slowing face. "Henry is quite right." she said at length. - '"He was oulv saying this afternoon how changed you are. So selfish and inconsiderate since your poor father’s death!” “Henry only thinks that because he considered he could dictate to me because I was penniless,” Patricia reported. At the door, she added: “Henry is positively unscrupulous when he’s thwarted—just like a spiteful old woman! ” “Patricia! How can you ” Whatever Mrs. Bannantyne was golnS to say remained unsaid. Patricia had gone. For the second time that week Mrs. Bannantyne did not come down to dinner, and as the Cordelions and bord and Lady Templeforth were dining, Patricia had to be hostess. Patricia was dressing when Mrs. Bannantyne’s maid brought her a message saying that her mistress was r oo tired to go dowu, and therefore asked Miss Davnesford to take her Place. Still angry over what she considered a joint attack by husband and wife upon her independence, for a Moment Patricia was tempted to reply that she, too, was tired and was ■emaining in her room. But her conscience assailed her suddenly. Alice certainly had been T ei Y tiresome and exacting about the farmers’ luncheon, but. she, Patricia, “ad said what she thought about hi-.’ And it would be petty—yes, distinctly petty—to give Alice the worry of knowing there was nobody downstairs to look after her guests. Neither Cordelion nor his wife, nor G?rd and Lady Templeforth, had any Shmmering of the waves of hostility sweeping backward and forward beweeu Bannantyne and Patricia, or of Meredith's furious anger against Bandntyne. Outwardlj*. all was ordiuTT lost the usual dinner-party, exPf that Patricia, whom Lady

| i , Templeforth thought was one of the | most charming girls she had ever ] met, so direct, so simple, was in the , the hostess’s place. They had not long been seated 1 when Patricia heard Lady Temple- , forth say to Maxwell Wryce: “Yes, I’m so sorry. I was hoping to see Mrs. Bannantyne’s wonderful . sapphires. I’ve heard so much about them, and Mrs. Cordelion said she j was sure to wear them tonight.” Before Wryce could reply, Bannau- , tyno’s voice, loud, distinctly aggressive and challenging, Patricia thought, j sounded down the table. ! “The next time you give us the : , pleasure of coming here, Lady Tern- j , ; pleforth, you shall see my wife’s sap-j j phires. 1 can promise you that!” j ! Glancing down the other side of the j table, Fatricia caught sight of Mere- j dith’s face. His lips were firmly set, j his strong jaw a little stuck out. Airs, j j Cordelion was speaking to him, but , he was looking intently at one of the j silver bowls, frowning. She noticed, too that his left hand, resting on the edge of the table, was tightly clenched —signs, she knew, that he was angiy and was controlling himself with difficulty. What had happened to upset him? She must ask him after dinner. But she had no opportunities. Immediately the men joined the ladies in j tli© drawing room RannantyD© ar- : ; ranged two parties of bridge. Patricia j and Julia Wrye§ both offered to stand , i out, so did Meredith and Alaxwell Wryce, but Bannantyne swept away ; | the suggestion with a brusqueness that admitted of no further discusj sion. He couldn't play, he said, as he j had some important business to at- j tend to. and after settling them at > their respective tables went out of the room. When he returned, the games were j finished, and-Alrs. Cordelion had asked for her car. Patricia noticed that Ban- j nantvne made no apology for his long j absence. He went with the Cordelion j party to the hall door, but did not j return to the drawing room. Five minutes, ten minutes. a | quarter of an hour passed, still there j was no Henry Bannantyne. "Henry’s manners are not so solid j as his fortune,” Julia Wryce said, j making no attempt to stifle a yawn, j ; “He’s been impossible the whole even- j ing, and now, apparently, we can stay here until the maids come to sweep j ' the room in the morning. Host or no j host, I’m going to bed. Come along, ‘ Patricia.” Julia Wryce’s bedroom was beyond 1 Patricia’s, in a wide corridor which had a curious circular wall at the far ! end. This was the wall of the tower j 1 given up to bachelor visitors- on the j I S ro und floor the smoking room where j j Wryce had told Meredith of Bannan- i ; tvne's suspicions concerning Patricia, j i and the bedrooms, one over the other, | pill-box fashion, above. | “Having a detective in the house is i positively creepy,” Julia Wryce said jas Patricia stopped at her door. “I j saw - that tubby creature who’s been | prowling round the house all the w eek, j coming out of your bedroom this after- | noon.” * * \ For a moment Patricia felt angry. : ’ Then she remembered Bannantyne s - warning on the Sunday evening that (

they were to take no notice of Grelkiu going in and out of bedrooms. i “But that’s part oi the camouflage,” r she said, “the supposed inventory- J making.” t “He’s been in my room, too,” Julia ! Wryce said angrily, “and what is | ‘ more, he’s been all through my dress- j 1 ing-table drawers.” As Patricia turned the handle of her ] f door, she said: “I wonder if I shall j J find my things have been turned | 1 over like yours. I suppose, by Henry's j orders. Good-night, Julia, dear.” ] * Patricia happened to be one of those people who keep a diary, jotting down , every night before she went to bed the principal happenings of her day. This diary she kept in her dressing- , ease, which was locked and stood on a ledge underneath the dressing table. , Taking a key from the big beaded vanity bag she had used that evening, Patricia knelt down and unlocked tlio dressing-case. The diary was al- ; ways in a pocket on the right-hand ■ side of the case. Without troubling to . raise the lid fully,, which meant lifting the dressing-case from the ledge to the floor, Patricia slipped her hand underneath it. To her amazement her fingers, instead of touching the leather-bound diary, went into the pocket. With a quick movement she pulled i the case to the floor and threw back j the lid. The pocket in which she had j placed the diary the night before was empty. CHAPTER XVI. Someone tapped discreetly on the 1 door. In reply to Patricia’s “Come in,” the butler entered." “Mr. Bannantyne would he obliged, Aiiss, if you would go at once to his study. I was to tell you that it’s most important.” For a moment Patricia hesitated. ! Why should Henry send for her in i ' this way? ! ; “Certainly,” she said to the man. j : “I’ll go at once.” How thankful she would be when | i Saturday came, she thought as she | ; went down the big staircase, and she | 1 and Guy could get away. Brentland j : was becoming positively hateful. | ] When she went into Bannantyne’s j study, she found him standing with i his back to the fireplace. Grelkin j : was sitting in the same chair as on : the night he had questioned her about | i putting away the sapphire*necklace. | Grelkin got up, but Bannantyne did i not more. As she came forward. Patricia ! stopped suddenly and stared at Bannj antyne’s writing-table. On the writing-pad, its red-leatlier binding showing vividly against the I white blotting-paper, she saw her ! diary. i “So it is you who stole my diary? , Aiiss Wryce told me she saw you i coming out of my room!” Patricia's dark blue eyes were sparkling, her cheeks glowing with : anger as she turned to Grelkin. The detective had lost his amiable ; expression. Indignant as sbe was, ; Patricia noticed that he looked wor- j | ried. He did not answer, but glanced { j toward Bannantyne. There was a j J silence, then Bannantyne said: j “Mr. Grelkin has not stolen your diary, Patricia. By my directions he has taken it in his search for clues as to the disappearance of Alice's necklace.” “I don’t follow you,” Patricia answered. “What possible clue can there be in my diary?”

“Probably none, if you will answer me one question—a question you have refused to answer before. Who lent you the money to pay the taxes on the Mexican property?” “I can only repeat what I said on Sunday. I can’t tell you, because I promised I would never tell anybody.” Patricia was frowning. “Besides, what has that got to do with this man stealing my diary out of a locked dressing-case?” Bannantyne’s lips were set in a grim, hard line. Putting his hands behind his back he said slowly: “You will find it has a great deal to do with it. Collecting evidence is not stealing.” “Collecting evidence!” cried Patricia sharply. “What do you mean?” Before Bannantyne could answer Grelkin interposed. “Miss Daynesford,” he said, , “the matter is very serious, so serious that both Mr. Bannantyne and I feel sure your friend would not mind your breaking your promise, on the understanding, of course, that the name never went beyond Air. Bannantyne and myself. The name would settle the whole matter.” Patricia looked at Bannantyne, her head up, her eyes cold and contemptuous. “You have no right. Henry,” she ( said, “to allow this man to be inso- [ lent to me. Aly friend’s name has i nothing whatever to do with Alice’s sapphires.” I bannantyne had kept himself in j hand with difficulty from the moment j Patricia had entered the room. The contempt in her voice and attitude ended liis patience. “I can quite understand your friend’s name having nothing to do with Alice’s sapphires,” he cried, “because I’m convinced there’s no friend. If there is, how do you explain this entry in your diary?” He took up the little leatherbound book lying on the plotting pad, and opened it at a place marked by a slip oi paper; then read out: “July 15.'—My first experience today of going to a pawnshop. Walked up and down several times before daring to go in. Felt everybody was looking at me. I needn’t have minded. It was all very easy. They gave me what I asked without a question. It would have been dreadful to haggle. I only asked enough for Alexico and rushed off with it to Guy’s office. The [ darling could scarcely believe the money was real. The blessed certainty of being able to pay it back! Without that I should never have dared. Guy says it will be only a little time before the property is bought. How thankful I am I had the brainwave. It hurts nobody and makes all the difference in the world to Guy and me. He insists on our getting married directly the property is sold. That will make the bi'ainwave the happiest thing that has happened.” “Y'ou admit writing that?” Bannani tyne’s voice was rasping and stern. Patricia moved to the end of the big table which almost filled the i centre of the room. Her answer I came like the crack of a whip. “Of course I do. But only a cad i would hire someone to steal my diary j and then read it!” ! “What was it you pawned on July 15?” “I refuse to tell you.” “Well, then, Patricia, since you re: fuse, I will tell you myself. You pawned a necklace.” A curious expression swept across Patricia’s face. Grelkin. who was watching her closely, could not determine whether it was-surprise or fear. “That is no affair of yours,” she said. “I have reason to think it is very much my affair,” Bannantyne replied

hotly. Then, with an at restraint, went on. “You stayed here alone with Alice on the night of the 14th. Early on the morning of the 15th you went to London, and that day > ou pawned a necklace for £3,000, the amount you ivanted to clear the Mexican property. \\ here did you get that necklace ?” “I refuse to tell you." Patricia s ' voice was low, but steady. “Then you can only blame yourself J if i come to the conclusion —no Grelkin.” He broke off sharply as the l detective made a deprecatory move- ! ment with his hands. “I’m going to manage this affair in my own way. If - I come to the conclusion,” he repeated, ’ “that that necklace was Alice’s.”^ The colour faded slowly from Pat- ; ricia’s face. Grelkin noticed that she ! clasped her hands tightly together. ■ “Are you suggesting that I stole 1 Alice’s necklace?” 1 Bannantyne had not expected this , answer! In a discussion between him--3 self and Grelkin, while his guests were 3 playing bridge, upon what Bannantyne c onsidered conclusive evidence against 1/ : Patricia, evidence produced by her - | diary and Grelkin’s inquiries, he had | maintained that a sudden statement of 3 | the truth to Patricia would sweep her -! off her feet; "terrify her into confes--3 sion,” as he put it. 3 Grelkin advised a more kindly, a. more subtle method. Bannantyne i would have none of it. “Straight to the t point and bowl her over!” he said. ; Now, he hesitated. Patricia was 3 neither terrified nor bowled over. Iff fact, she was looking at him as if r the most amazing thing in her life 3 had happened. “I don’t suggest that you stole the | j necklace,” he said looking away from her. “I suggest that you borrowed it. J . : You were desperately in need of the | money for the taxes. Y'ou were the , r [ only person besides Alice and myself i ! who knew where the necklace was j , j kept, and how to work the springs! ' on the door. Because you won’t tell | r me the name of the person who lent | ’ you the money, I’m convinced that i when you w r ere here alone with Alice j j on July 14, you took the necklace, that j " ■ you pawned it in London the follow-1 ing day—j-our diary proves that —and | I that was how you got the money for j 3 the taxes.” 3: * * ] Patricia did not move. But Grelkin j 3 | noticed that tier knuckles were show- j II ing white through the skin of her ; 3 I tightly clenched hands. 1 j “I see!” Patricia spoke quietly, her i j eyes fixed steadily on Bannantyne.. 1 i “But, before making this charge r { against me, wouldn’t it have been y | fairer to make certain that I did pawn - | a necklace on July 15. >- j “You pawned a necklace, Aiiss Dayi nesford, at Yestborough’s, in Arlen ; 1- ! Street, on that day." u | Grelkin spoke as if he were describe ; ing the weather. e . i Patricia turned quickly, a movement 1 which brought a suppi'essed "Ha!” of . triumph from Bannantyue. : “How do you know that?” “By making inquiries. Ladies who v \ are not in the habit of pawning jewel- ■ ; lery almost invariably go to some well-known pawnbroker in the West j End. You see, they don’t know where j else to go. It is a big part of my busiI ness to keep in close touch with these ; pawnbrokers. After I read that entry in your diary I went to London and s j made inquiries. I found that you had s ! pawned a necklace under your own - | name at Yestborough’s on July 15.” •. I Grelkin paused, then added, “Y'ou e j asked and got £3,000.” “The amount of the taxes'” cried y Bannantyne, unable to keep silent any d longer.

‘‘And the necklace was redeemed a j month ago,” Grelkin's matter-of-fact | voice vent on. “Directly Guy had sold the property j to Leofalda,” put in Bannantyne. ! j “Nov, what have you to say?” CHAPTER XVII. I | “i have nothing to say,” said Pat- i ricia. “Of course you have nothing to j say,” Bannantyne burst out trium- j phantly. “But I will say what you I ought "to say. And that is you were ! ; at your wits’ end to find the money 1 | for the taxes so you borrowed Alice’s j I necklace and pawned it tor exactly t he sum you wanted. Then, directly the property was sold you redeemed ■ ! it. but have been found out before j ! you had a chance to put the neck- ; I lace back. That’s the whole story. • i Grelkin agrees with me.” ; “I said it might be possible, Mr. , Bannantyne.” interposed the detec- j tive's voice. Grelkin clearly did not | wish to be definite. “Then, Henry, you charge me with j stealing the necklace?” Patricia’s voice was still quiet. “I said ‘borrow,’ ” Bannantyne retorted. “I prefer the word ‘steal,’ ” Patricia said. “You and this man accuse 1 me of stealing the sapphire necklace. | That is a very serious charge. You : shall know tomorrow evening whether

l can answer it or not, after I have been to London. Before Bannantyne could reply Pat- j i ricia walked out of the room. “Of course she's not going to ad- j mit it straight away,” Bannantyne j 1 said to the detective. “She's going ; to London tomorrow to get the neck- j ! lace.” “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Grelkin i said to himself. Neither Patricia nor Meredith was , at breakfast the next morning. The j j butler gave Mrs. Bannantyne a mes- | sage tbat they had been called to i London on important business, and i had been obliged to take the early ■train. They were afraid they would not be able to get back before dinner. i “Away for the whole day again!” ! Mrs. Bannantyne said after the man ; ! had left the room. “Dear Patricia ; grows more and more inconsiderate. The house might be a hotel!” , Bannantyne looked down at his ■ j plate, smiling grimly. He knew the | reason for this visit to Loudon. But S he was puzzled because Guy had gone : ■ with Patricia. Did that mean he j ] knew she had taken the necklace to j get the money for the taxes? With Guy that seemed improbable. But i you never could tell, especially when people were in love and absolutely | desperate for £3,000. The dressing-bell for dinner had ! gone nearly a quarter of an hour •when Patricia and Meredith arrived ; at Brentland from the station in a taxi. The others were already in the ■ drawing-room when they came down. Again, there were four extra guests

for dinner. This meant that Patricia had Maxwell Wryce for her neighbour and Meredith, Julia Wryce. They were both too far away from Bannantyne to make any talk with him possible. They noticed that he was in animated conversation all through dinner with the ladies on his right and left; a strong contrast to his preoccupation and silence with Lady Templeforth and Mrs. Cordeliou the night before. He addressed only two remarks to Patricia and Meredith throughout the whole evening. To Meredith he said, as the men were leaving the dining-room. “Had a good day in London, Guy?’* “Excellent.” Meredith answered, 1 looking away. (To be continue** tomorrow.)