The Room Under the Stairs

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 5

The Room Under the Stairs

The Baffling Story of a Man Who Read of His Own Murder.

By

Herman Landon

Copyright by G. Howard Watt. Serialised by Ledger Syndicate.

CHAPTER XII. "So it seems,” remarked the lieutenant dryly. ‘‘Sometimes I wonder, Dean, if you haven’t been working your imagination overtime so long that you can’t tell the difference between fiction and fact. .. . The things you have just been telling me bear a strong family resemblance to the kind of stuff you write. No offence meant. All I am saying is that you have been looking at life through a fiction writer’s glasses so long that everything you see is apt to be pretty highly coloured. What did you do with Freddie Mills after you made him call up that joint on Bleecker Street?” “I just threw one more scare into him, then invited him to accompany me to the old ramshackle garage in the rear of the place, and locked him up for safe-keeping.” “More melodrama!” jeered the lieutenant. “Call it anything you like. Mills can’t get away, for the old shack is pretty solid, even if it has not been used for years. I warned him that if he let out one single peep he would live just long enough to regret it, and no longer. Early this morning I brought him his breakfast, and repeated the warning, giving him the impression that I would remain within 'earshot all day. No one will disturb him, for my housekeeper never goes near the old garage.” He chuckled amusedly. “The old dear would throw a fit if she knew that a hired assassin was locked up on the premises.”

Shane nodded, and looked queerly at the novelist. “It was a neat job,” he remarked sarcastically, “but what did you hope to accomplish by it?” "Don’t you see? By this time the tip has been passed on to the instigator of the job that Mills carried out his mission as per instructions. Mills, being kept incommunicado, will have nc opportunity to correct the erroneous report. His absence is not likely to create suspicion, for his part in the affair ended when he called up the joint on Bleecker Street last night, lu other words, somebody—l’m not mentioning names as yet —is at a disadvantage. He’s under the impresion that I am dead, while on the contrary J have never felt so thoroughly alive in years. When a man is labouring under a misapprehension of that sort, is badly handicapped. He is very likely to make a slip and betray himself.” Shane seemed unimpressed. ’\v hat you did was irregular as the dickens, he pointed out. “If this bird Mills made an attempt on your life, you should have turned him over io the authorities. Well let that pass, though. Anyhow, your place over there is out of our jurisdiction, so I should worry about such a little thing as unlawful detention. What I don t see is where your advantage comes in. or how you are going to make use of it.”

“I was hoping you would give me a suggestion on that point. Shane considered. His scepticism seemed a .dtle less pronounced. Got ary idea as to who put Mills up the job?” • Dean shook his head. “Know or any one who has a reason for wanting you bumped off tue earth?” T . •‘No.’* said the novelist, but I m willing to wager a good bit tnat it s somebody I’ve been in contact with the last two or three days. “While you’ve been snooping around the edges of Lamont s confession ?” “Exactly. I believe my enemy is one of the persons I’ve met while conducting this investigation. it is only a hunch, remember. Don t ask me to explain, for I can t.

‘‘Well, let’s see. There is Littleby, the nurse, Lamont himself ” Shane ticked the names off on his fingers. “Anybody else?” “I interviewed the notary who witnessed Lamont's confession, also Doctor Ballinger,” explained Dean, but for some reason, not quite clear to himself, he neglected to mention little Miss Gray. ‘ That makes five,” Shane summed up. “Mean to tell me that one of those five hired Mills to kill you?” His voice sounded Incredulous.

“I warned you it was only a hunch. And I am not accusiug anybody. But I would like to meet those five persons separately. If one of them thinks I am dead, it will be quite a shock to him to come face to face with me. Even if his nerves are insulated with copper, it will be hard for him to control his surprise.”

“You will have lots of material for your next novel, Dean. But haven’t you forgotten something? What about the newspapers? The bird who planted the job will naturally expect to find an account of the murder in the papers. If he doesn’t find what he is looking for, he may get suspicious, aud that would spoil the surprise.” “Yes, I’ve thought of that. But the surprise will keep a few hours longer, at least until the evening editions come out. I am supposed to have been murdered at midnight. The morning papers go to press about 3, but dead bodies aren’t always found in time to catch the edition. For the next seven or eight hours the murderer will have no reason to think otherwise than that 1 am dead.” Shane laughed shortly. “All right, make the most of them. You will have a chance to spring your surprise on one of the five persons you mentioned this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “Mr. Littleby is due in a few minutes. He said he had something to tell me and would drop in about 10 on his way to the office.” A look of sudden interest came into Dean’s face. He had not singled the lawyer out for special consideration in connection with the attempt on his life, but there was Littieby’s peculiar behaviour when they met in the house on Hudson Street. The mere hint of suspicion seemed to rebound against the lawyer’s rectilinear dignity, but there were several phases of his character that puzzled Dean. “Not that I expect anything to come of it,” remarked the lieutenant. “Littleby isn’t the kind that hires rats like Freddie Mills to commit murders. I don’t believe he has anything to conceal. Do you?” His lips twisted in a peculiar way and he levelled a cocked eye at the novelist.

“By the way, speaking of people who are concealing things, what about yourself?” “Me?” Dean started guiltily, his embarrassment aggravated by the fact that Shane appeared to be looking at the right side of his neck. The lieutenant spoke softly, with a faint drawl: "Tell me, isn't there a scar on the right side of your neck in the exact position where Lamont said Paul Forrested had a scar?” Dean -was silent for a moment. So Shane had seen the scar, despite his studied efforts to conceal it. “Why, yes,” he said as calmly as he could. “What about it? Didn’t think you had . noticed it.” “I hadn’t, as a matter of fact.” The lieutenant's eyes twinkled. “I only asked a question, and you answered it. Thanks for gratifying my curiosity. Lots of people—millions of ’em, I suppose—have scars of one kind or another. It’s a safe bet that among those millions there are several that have scars on the right side of the neck. That vours and Paul Forrester's should be in the same place is only one of those meaningless coincidences that creep up now and then. Anyhow, that’s the way I look at it. The only thing that puzzles me as why you ai-e acting so mysteriously about it.” . . ... Dean felt himself flushing, and the fact that his embarrassment was visible made him irritated with himself. "There’s no mystery about it,” he managed to say: “one is sensitive about a blemish.”

“Even when it’s covered by a high collar,” drawled the lieutenant.

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t say anything about the coincidence after Lamont spoke of Paul Forrester’s scar. I think I would have remarked on it if I had been in your place—provided, of course, that there was no reason why I should keep mum.”

The insinuation vras too palpable to bo ignored, but Dean was more embarrassed than, resentful. Yet he could see that so far Shane had drawn no definite inferences from the coincidence of the scar; to him it meant only a complication that was muddled still more by Dean’s attempt at secrecy. Just then, to his intense relief, there came the sound of briskly approaching footsteps. Instantly he thought of Littleby, enjoying in anticipation the rich dramatic flavour of the forthcoming scene. He might be mistaken, of course, and the test might fall flat, yet his expectations were keyed to a degree that sent a tingling sensation down his spine. The partly open door was flung wide. Littleby, his gaunt figure looking spruce and dignified in his smart swallow-tail coat, walked in with a serene and decorous air. For a moment, in an ecstacy of suspense, Dean felt a whii-ling tumult in his head. He was eager to see the lawyer’s complacent smile fade away and a look of dismay take its place. Littleby advanced with his curious strutting gait, spoke a cordial greeting to Shane, placed his hat and cane on a chair, and then he saw the novelist. “Oh, hello. Dean,” he said genially, without a flicker of surprise on the intellectual mould of his features. “Pleasant surprise!” Dean stared dumbly at the lawyer, conscious only that the collapse of his expectations had left a vast chaos in his mind. . . . The man was comporting himself just as he would at any casual encounter with some one he was superficially acquainted with. Either his nerves were made of brass, or else Dean’s suspicions, much more pointed than he confided to the lieutenant, had no substance. The seconds dragged with the slow tread of hours, encompassing a silence that seemed appropriate for a knell. Dean, aware that Shane was looking at him with a sarcastic twinkle in his eye, managed to mumble a commonplace in reply to the lawyer’s salutation. . With an air of condescension, as it realising that a man in his position was doing a magnanimous thing m calling on a humble police official, Littleby turned to the lieutenant. “Since I saw you yesterday,” he began, “a matter has come up that X wish to consult you about. Unless I am mistaken, it requires the attention of the police. Last evening ” He paused and looked doubtfully at the novelist.

“Don’t mind Dean,” said the detective. “He already knows more about the case than I do. You can say anything you like in his presence.” “Very well, then. Last evening Miss Shirley Lamont arrived." “Lamont’s daughter?” Littleby nodded. “The young lady was expected three days ago, as you know, but something delayed her on the way. Her poor father has been calling for her repeatedly. It appears she arrived in the city about seven last evening and, in accordance with the instructions I wired her, went direct to my house in Kew Gardens. 1 did not leave my office until halfpast eight, so did not see her. In fact, the only person who saw her was Babson, the butler. He met her on the main stairway as he was coming down. Startled at the presence of a strange person in the house, he demanded her business and her name. Miss Lamont seemed greatly agitated and ”

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE “One moment,” Shane interrupted. “Do you mean to tell me that nobody knew Miss Lamont was in the house until Babson met her on the stairs?” “That’s it exactly. It is most pecu-

liar, as you will admit. I have personally questioned all the servants, and none of them admitted her to the house. How she got in, and why she entered without ringing the bell, is a mystery. Stranger still, Babson says she was bareheaded, tremendously excited and did not look as if she had just come off a train. By that he means, I suppose, that she was not in travelling dress. She told him her name was Shirley Lamont and that she must see her father at once. Babson was naturally suspicious and suggested she wait in the drawingroom until he could inquire of the nurse whether her father was in a condition to see her. Just a pretext, of course. The excellent Babson did not intend to let her go any further until he had. satisfied himself that she was really Lamont’s daughter. The lawyer paused and bent a gravely troubled look on the lieutenant. Dean’s presence he appeared to have forgotten.

“Did the young lady say anything to Babsoii,” the novelist inquired, “that explained why she entered your house in such a— er— unconventional way?”

“Not a word of explanation of any kind.”

“Yet you told us a moment ago,” Dean pointed out, “that the lady arrived in the city at 7 o’clock. Since Babson was the only person who saw her, and since she gave no account of herself to him, how do you know the time of her arrival?” Littleby gave a slight start, but it might have been only a gesture of irritation. For a moment Shane’s halfclosed eyes widened and looked blinkingly at the novelist. “I have ascertained,” replied Littleby patiently, “that a train arrived from the West half an hour before the lady’s appearance in my house. It would take her a little less than thirty minutes to make the trip from the city to Kew Gardens.” Dean nodded as if the explanation were satisfactory. Shane’s lids dropped back to their former position. “Where is the young lady now?” he “Wish I knew!” Littleby shook his head in a troubled way. “The entire affair is inexplicable. After Bason had conducted Miss Lamont to the drawing room, he went to consult me over the telephone. When he returned, the young lady had disappeared.” “Disappeared?” echoed Dean. Shane’s lids fluttered wide open “And she has not been seen since,” declared the lawyer In a tone of grim finality. “There is your mystery, gentlemen. lam hoping you can elucidate it.” THE SECOND TEST He sat back, twirling his long, white .fingers over his chest, giving a little nod now and then with his long, narrow head. Shane'drew a pad of paper toward him and picked up a pencil. “Can you give me a description of the young lady, Mr. Littleby?” “I can only repeat what Babson told me about her, and that isn’t very illuminating.” Shane jotted down the meagre information. From time to time he stole an incomprehensible glance at the novelist. “She may turn up before night,” he told Littleby. “How is Lamont?” The lawyer’s lips twisted into a baffled smile. “It is most remarkable Dr. Ballinger now tells me there is a hope—just a ghost of a hope, of course, but a hope nevertheless —that he may pull through.” He rose and reached for his hat and stick. “Just one moment, Mr. Littleby,” said Shane respectfully. “Did you ever hear of a slick bird who calls himself Freddie Mills ” Dean gave the lawyer a narrow, covert glance. The question seemed to bewilder him. “A bird, you say? My knowledge of ornithology is very deficient.” “Freddie Mills is a crook, a professional slugger and gunman,” Shane elucidated. “His scale of prices, I understand, runs from 5,000 up to anything his clients are able or willing to pay. Ever hear of him?” Littleby, frowning, inclined his head and pondered. Suddenly his brows came up; his face cleared. “Yes, I remember now. Mills was a witness in the Stapleton murder case. I was engaged by the defence, as you may remember. Yes, I remember Mills.” “When did you last see him?” A brief pause intervened between the question and the answer. Apparently the lawyer was trying to refresh his memory. (To be Continued Tomorrow.)