THE BANNANTYNE SAPPHIRES

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 792, 12 October 1929, Page 24

THE BANNANTYNE SAPPHIRES

CHAPTER XLIV (Continued). “I told you, Maxwell, X told you!” she cried. “That man Grelkin! He meins 111-luck to us, I'm convinced o£ it. Here you see it! If X hadn’t heen so terrified of him —that was why I came to your room—Guy Meredith would have known nothing.” Wryce made no comment, but went on with his story. He made no reference to Leofalda’s pistol. In short, hurried sentences he told her all that had happened in the underground room. "When he described how he, Leofalda and Bartwell had gone to the waiting car with the suitcases, the attache case, and the biscuit tin. leaving Meredith tied to the leg of the bench and Patricia- bound in the chair, she asked, a sudden fear leaping into her eyes: “But what -will happen to them?” “Santa and Maria are going away for a fortnight. The villa will be empty.” Wryce's voice -was unsteady. “Oh, Maxwell, not that! Not that!” Her hands were gripping both his shoulders. “Not that!” she repeated. “It's too horrible!” "There was nothing else to be done,” he replied, shaking himself free of her gripping hands. “Nothing. As Leofalda says, it was either us or them. If they had gone back to England you and I might be in prison! And if not that, we should have been utterly damned and done for!” "Oh, Patricia! My dear, dear Patricia!” Julia Wryce sat wringing her hands. “But you see —you must see —it would have been the end of everything for us!” “You do see that, don’t you?” Wryce shook her shoulder, repeating, “You must see that!” “Yes, yes, I do! But I was really fond of Patricia! Oh, for God’s sake, Maxwell, let us give it all up. This is too awful!” She was pale and her hands were trembling. “America will be finish, that I promise you,” Wryce answered. “But what we’ve got to decide bow is this: How are we going to account for MeredWh and Patricia?” He hesitated for a moment, then added hurriedly:—“How are we going to account for them not coming back to England?” Julia Wryce shook her head helplessly. "Well, all the way in the car from Ajaccio to lie Rousse, on the steamer to -Nice, and then in the car from Nice to Paris, I could think of nothing else. The only thing I can see is that when inquiries begin to be made Santo should say they went away, taking their luggage—that we must have destroyed—telling him they were going to Bastia. Then it will be a case of mysterious disappearance somewhere in the island; no suspicion attaching to the villa. What do you think?” “I’m too frightened and horrified to think of anything,” she answered. “Dear Patricia! It’s awful!” A week later Maxwell Wryce and his sister were standing on the upper deck of the Aquitania liner at Cherbourg.

AVryce was particularly pleased with himself. He had sold all the jewels he and Leofalda had brought from the villa for £60,000, some to Parisian buyers of stolen jewels, others to a man he had summoned by telegram from Amsterdam. This sum was much greater than he had anticipated.

Leofalda had returned to England and only that morning had telephoned that he had had an offer for Gervase Daynesford’s Mexican property double the price he and Wryce had given Meredith apd Patricia; he thought tile offer would be increased. Wryce’s only regret was the Bannantyne necklace. What that would w,= e uo de "f the States! But where p“. ~T hat was the mystery. Peihaps, after all, Leofalda was right and Santo— Here his thoughts were sharply inhis r a?m HiS SiSt6r WaS Aching “Look!” she whispered, “the thirdclass passenger gangway! The second man from the bottom!” “By God!’ he muttered, "Grelkin!” CHAPTER XLV. Three evenings after Meredith and bm wife left the Villa Varato Mrs Bannantyne was alone after dinner To\v* eF slUmt ’. r °om at Brentland t f rappllng with a Pile of letters that had accumulated during her absence at Aix-les-Bains. Among them she had expected to was Vfh ter from Patl 'icia, but there She llot eveu a Post-card. Sue telt disappointed. She was just beginning to answer a, long Rtter from Julia Wryce when the telephone rang. Directly she heaid the inquiring voice at the other en “ shc uttered a cry of delight. “Dearest Patricia! You T How delightful! Just when 1 was feeling so disappointed because I found nofhge? back?” rom y 0 Whell . did y°.u “Only this evening,” came the answer, ‘ and Guy and I want to know if we can come down to Brentland now, at once.” Mrs Bannantyne* hesitated " B , ut ‘• ' blrt -• • Henry is here, m> dear. Are you sure you'd like lo come—” “I’m very glad to hear it.” interrupted Patricia. “That is, if Henry won’t mind.” “Henry mind? Oh,- my dear, there's nothing he would like—” Mrs. Bannantyne hesitated again then said firmly: “Are you sure you won't mind Patricia?" “Should I suggest coming down if I did.' I want to see Henry particularly.” Patricia heard an odd little sound iver the wire. It was followed by a breathless: “Then that means you have forgiven my foolish old husband?” “Absolutely!" "Ob. Patricia, that is dear of you!” :ried Mrs. Bannantyne. “I can’t tell 'ou how unhappy he’s been. Yes. •'es, please come at once.” Mrs. Bannantyne hung up the 'eceiver and hurried to her husband's.' study. “You look very happy,” he said, dancing up as she came into the room. ‘What has happened?” "Wonderful news!” she answered,

BY PRANK HIE D

coming to him and standing beside f him. “Patricia and Guy are back and | are arriving here tonight . . . because ! . . . oh, Henry, everything between you ■ and Patricia is all right now.” i “She’s forgiven me?” I Mrs. Bannantyne nodded. Her eyes I were filled with happy tears. ! Bannantyne stood up and put his arm round his wife's shoulders. “On the telephone?” he asked huskily. “What did she say?” “Absolute forgiveness and she’s eager to be as friendly as before this awful affair happened.”’ “‘Thank God!” He held her closer. “Its been like a nightmare being out of friends with Patricia. And all my fault! ” “The only cloud between us in all our married life. Henry,” Mrs. Bannantyne said softly. “And now it’s gone!” “The girl is a brick. I don’t believe I could have done - it. First her father, then the necklace. No, I could never have forgotten that. I shall tell her so.” Mrs. Bannantyne put her fingers on his lips. “Don’t say anything, there’s a dear, unless Patricia speaks about it herself.” Then with a happy smile, “You see, she’s married now, and I expect she’s found out what unaccountable creatures even nice men can be sometimes.” “All the same ” Bannantyne began. But. with a merry laugh she tapped his cheek and left him. If Bannantyne had had any doubts or tremors as to the meeting with Patricia she herself set them at rest. Directly the signal came from the entrance lodge that the motor had passed the gates, all the lights in the hall were turned on and the big doors flung wide open. Mrs. Bannantyne stood on the top step; her husband a little way behind her. Patricia got out of the car first, running forward with arms outstretched, and Mrs. Bannantyne enfolded her in a close embrace. There was a hardly perceptible pause as Patricia turned to Bannantyne. She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks—the first time she had kissed him in her life. “God bless you,” he said under his breath, gripping both her hands. That was all. They both understood. “We’ve got heaps and heaps to tell you,” Patricia said when they were all in Mrs. Bannantyne’s sitting-room. • “And Guy. and I have been quarrelling all the way down as to which of us shall do the talking. I've insisted he should begin because the first part is all his and he insists that before he says a word I am to give you this —our present to you froni Corsica.” She held out an oblong leather box to Mrs. Bannantyne. Mrs. Bannantyne opened the lid and gave an ecstatic cry. “Henry! Henry! My necklace!” She came close to her husband and showed him the open box.

The sapphires, gleaming and flashing on a bed of cotton-wool, and, it seemed to her, more radiantly blue than ever, had returned to the place from which they had been stolen. Surely, thought Mrs. Bannantyne, a miracle had happened. Bannantyne did not speak for a few moments, then he said quietly, and in liis most matter-of-fact tone: “So you found the necklace at Maxwell Wryce’s villa, after all?” “How on earth did you know?” Meredith hurst out. “You tell us your story first,” Bannantyne answered, pulling a chair forward for Patricia. “Right from the beginning. Alice knows nothing.” CHAPTER XLVI. As briefly as he could, Meredith told them, the happenings of the last few weeks, beginning from the night he had overheard the conversation between the Wryce brother and sister. After an outburst of amazement, Mrs. Bannantyne listened in silence. She had liked Maxwell Wryce and had been fond of his sister. Therefore she found it difficult to realise that they were the central figures In this story of crime: that Julia had spied upon lier and stolen her necklace, here in this very room; that they had always meant to steal the gems. Bannantyne sat silent, nodding his head from time to time. When Meredith had finished, Bannantyne said:

“I can exiDlain one or two points. After you had gone, Grelkin came to me and told me the whole story. At first it sounded utterly fantastic, because we had all known and been so friendly with the Bryces. But Grelkin and I both took turns at listening in the fireplace of your bedroom in the tower, while the other one talked in an ordinary voice in the room above. I could hear all that Grelkin said distinctly. He could hear all I said. “He told , me of his plan—that you should go to Wryce’s little villa and report his arrival there. He thought that if he could intercept Wryce at Cherbourg, or any other port, he could get the necklace from him by bluff. “Myself, I thought this was hopeless. A man like Maxwell Wryce, who has proved himself a genius in robbery, is not going to be bluffed by a private detective with no particle of evidence against him, and, what is more, with no authority to have him detained as a suspect. “Frankly, I looked on Alice’s necklace as gone for. always. But I was determined that at any cost the Wryces should be exposed, Grelkin has already left for Cherbourg and will go to America in the Aquitania. But he is travelling third-class. Knowing their methods in England, he says he is sure he will be able to bowl tliem out sooner or later when they start their tricks in America. “Before Grelkin came to me he had had some correspondence with a friend of his in the French police on the matter of Wryce’s villa. This friend made inquiry at Ajaccio and found that, while Wryce was above all suspicion, the local police had considerable doubt concerning a jeweller, who, during the summer season, received a considerable number of registered parcels. Suspicion was aroused because his business didn’t warrant what appeared to be frequent supplies of stock during a dull time of the year And it was noticed, too, that these registered parcels didn’t come during the spring and winter — the busy time at Ajaccio.

“From this, Grelkin jumped to a deduction. What you have just told us proves he was right. “From what you heard in the tower Grelkin knew that Wryce used the villa as a hiding-place for stolen jewellery. In the spring and winter he was constantly going to and fro between Ajaccio and the Riviera in his yacht—that we all knew. .Grelkin, therefore, came to the conclusion that the yacht was used for taking the jewellery to the villa, and as Wryce could make no excuses for going there in the summer, the proceeds of some robberies 'were sent in registered parcels to the jeweller, who was a confederate. I “To me it seemed a little far-fetched, but Grelkin said Wryce’s first care j was obviously to hide immediately j everything he and his gang stole. Thus, in the event of any suspicion, there was not a particle of evidence against them, and they waited until any hue and cry had died down before selling. “This opinion of his was communicated to the Ajaccio police by Grelkin’s firm. “It was a good thing,” Bannantyne wont on, “that I dissuaded Grelkin from trying to bluff Wryce at Cherbourg about the necklace. He certainly had no idea that you were going to try to get It.” “Neither had we when we went to the villa,” said Meredith. “It was entirely Patricia’s scheme, after we got there. She was so keen on getting it back for Alice.” “And you might have lost your lives—just in getting that necklace for me,” said Mrs. Bannantyne, putting her arms round Patricia and kissing her. “But we didn’t know that when we began,” Patricia answered, returning the embrace. “If we had, I don’t think we should have been so venturesome —do you, Guy?” “But you did take big risks to get the necklace, and Alice and I will never forget that —never.” Bannantj’ne spoke with sincerity; then, suddenly changing his tone; “In future, old lady, it will be kept at the bank.” As they were going upstairs to bed Bannantyne suddenly said to Meredith: “Guy, we haven’t given you and Patricia a wedding present yet. In the morning you and I must talk about a partnership in Bannantyne, Cordelia, and Westrapp.” Shortly before Christmas a rumour ran through the City that Maxwell Wryce had heen arrested In America for theft. The city was amazed. A few days later Mayfair was equally amazed. That charming couple. Julia Wryce and her brother, who gave such delightful parties at their house in Curzon Street, were under lock and key in Florida. They had been caught red-handed, stealing jewellery in the house of a multimillionaire with whom they were staying. The newspapers had columns ' about it all. Then the news came that Wryce’s valet, a man called Bartwell. who had been arrested with them, had confessed. “The American police have caught them,” Bannantyne said to Meredith, when the tape machine in their club announced the sentence of brother and sister to a long term of imprisonment, “hut is was Grelkin who put them on the track. -He shadowed those two from the moment they landed at New York. It’s been pretty expensive for me. But it’s been well worth it.” THE END.