HANDS UNSEEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 868, 11 January 1930, Page 21

HANDS UNSEEN

A New Grey Phantom Detective Story

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Street and Smith Corp. Serialized by Ledger Syndicate

MR. CRAIG S PRPLMONITIONS Shivering in his flannel pyjamas and green bedroom slippers, J. Pendleton j Craig stood at the window’ and con-, templated a bleak landscape and a j lowering sky. It was a typical ! March morning, with a humid chill in j the air and a thin sprinkling of snow ' flurries cavorting among the leafless 1 trees. In the distance, waves capped with mottled foam pounded the rocky Connecticut shore line with a dismal roar and shout. Mr. Craig turned away and started to dress. He did not like these gloomy, raw-winded mornings, especially when he was in one of his periodical stages of depression. At such times, dour skies aggravated his melancholy mood. The whine of the wind and the fretful din of the waves filled him with doleful forebodings that w*ere as distressing as they were indefinable. He felt, on these occasions, that sombre omens were trespassing on the sheltered seclusion of Tuckaway ( ’amp, as he called the stately country home to which he invariably retired "hen lie felt one of his dolorous moods coming on. Despite its desolate surroundings, Tuckaway Camp had advantages that *eie lacking in Mr. Craig’s fine home

)on Fifth Avenue. For one thing, it offered a detachment from business . cares and afforded the absolute rest of which his nerves were in need. Further, he could enjoy here a privacy and a safety from intrusion that were impossible in the city. While

he could not escape, from the shapeless misgivings that always assailed him at certain times, and especially on gloomy days, ruckaway Camp gave him a sense of security that, was unattainable elsewhere. As far as

the world at large was concerned. Mr. Craig merely dropped out of sight when he left the city for his country home in Connecticut. It was understood that the doctor had ordered him away for a rest, but his destination, known only to his charming young niece, his private secretary, and a handful of tried and trusted servants, was never divulged. So carefully did be guard his movements on such occasions that not more than six persons knew his whereabouts, and these [ could be trusted not to talk. As for the inhabitants of the village half a mile back from the shore line, they rarely came in contact with the occupants of Tuckaway Camp, and their curiosity concerning them went ungratified. Undeniably, J. Pendleton Craig looked the part of one harassed by secret worries. He was long, limp and narrow-chested, with a pinched sallowface, a rather feeble jaw, and cavernous eyes set wide apart and so restless that it was hard to determine their exact shade, though one guessed they were a yellowish brown. His head was bald on top, but wisps of white hair sprawled in kinks and curls along the sides and back, defying the discipline of comb and brush.

of the most aggressive and prosperous brokerage houses in New York. It was now a one-man concern, the junior member having died some years since, but its far-reaching activities were so thoroughly organised that its founder's frequent absences did not in the slightest degee affect the smooth running order of the establishment. Mr. Craig sometimes boasted that he had gained his enviable position in the financial world through pluck and hard work, plus an occasional stroke of good luck. He had made the boast so often that he had almost convinced himself it was true. It had a hypnotic, soothing flavour, of which his nerves were sadly in need, especially on gloomy days like the present. In periods of acute depression he would fortify himself with argument that no one could accuse him of having gained his wealth dishonestly, that as far as any one knew he had conducted himself in strict accordance with the law. It was true, for the only man who could have disputed this lofty contention ■was dead.

It was a satisfying reflection, though somewhat incongruous in view of Mr. Craig’s mental state. It left one wondering why he was so singularly susceptible to exterior disturbances, such, for instance, as the banging of a door, the squeak of a hinge, or the rattling of the windows at night. For a man wholly at peace with himself, Mr. Craig showed bewildering symptoms of an uneasy conscience, aud they had been particularly noticeable since his illness of five years ago. He could not stand noises, especially casual and unnecessary ones. In his town house he often made the rounds late at night, after the servants had retired, to see if the doors were properly locked and

He was 55. hut a nervous breakdown five years ago had made him look a decade older. There was something distinctly sombre about his physical appearance, and this he tried to offset by a peppery and blustering manner and by affecting garments whose cut and colour strained the inhibitions imposed on a. dignified man of affairs. It was no secret that Mr. Craig was an extremely wealthy man and that the firm of Craig and Sarg was one

incidentally to apply a few drops of oil to the hinges. He preferred to perform this menial task himself, for he was ashamed of his little weaknesses and had a dread of being laughed at behind his back. He could not afford to let it be known that J. Pendelton Craig, the prominent financier, was squeamish about a squeaking hinge. Having bathed, shaved and dressed, Mr. Craig descended to the breakfast room, where tall French windows looked out over the tossing waves of the Sound. His niece, the embodiment of all the freshness and bloom of 20 years, who had made her home with him since the death of her mother, was waiting for him. Julia Wayne was a slim, dark-eyed, vivacious girl with sun-browned cheeks, whose unspoiled charms seemed to mock the sombre and ponderous walls of Tuckaway Camp. i “Hullo, Old Bear!” was her sprightly greeting, accompanied by a smile that would have melted the reserve of a wooden Buddha, but had no effect on Mr. Craig. The nickname she had bestowed on him, which would have sounded impudent coming from anyone else, was transmuted into affectionate banter by the light kiss she pressed on his cheek. “Hope you slept well?”

“Who brought this?” he inquired; pointing to the letter. “Nobody brought it. Old Bear. It just came here.” Mr. Craig frowned at the unsatisfactory reply. He looked narrowly at the superscription without touching the letter, trying to conceal from his niece the astonishment he felt. With outward calm he inserted the spoon into his grapefruit. “I trust you haven’t communicated with anybody since we came here?” he questioned gravely. “Of course not, Oid Bear. You told me I mustn’t, and this cloistered existence is too romantic for words. I wouldn’t spoil it by letting any outsider in on our secret.” Mr. Craig scanned her flower-like face. “Don’t know about the romantic part of it, hut I depend on you to be discreet. As you know, the doctor told me I must have absolute rest. No interruptions or disturbances of any sort. Consequently we must maintain the strictest privacy.” “Privacy? Captivity is the word. But I don't mind in the least. It’s absolutely thrilling! And I’ve been so discreet it almost hurts me.” “But this letter?” Mr. Craig scowled again. “My private secretary is the only person, except ourselves and the servants, who knows where I am, and I am sure he didn’t send it.” “Why not open it' and see?” was Julia's practical suggestion. THE SPOOK LETTER But. Mr. Craig, for some mysterious reason, could not trust himself to open the letter in his niece’s presence. There was a possibility that the contents would prove disturbing, and so.

“Moderately,” said Mr. Craig, seating himself. He was in the act of attacking his grapefruit, but just then liis glance fell on a letter lying beside his plate. He betrayed his surprise with a start and a sharp arching of the brows. Letters were a rarity at Tuckaway Camp, and this one bore neither stamp nor postmark. The envelope showed only the typewritten line, "Mr. J, Pendleton Craig.”

! they were better examined when he j ! was alone. I “If can wait,” he declared. “I am 1 just curious to know how it came here, t Some one must have brought it.” , "But no one did, apparently. Wil- | liarn found it on the sand in the ves-; ’ tibule when he came down this morning. He declared it wasn’t there last nighL All the doors and windows were locked, so nobody could have , brought it during the night. So. you ; see. Old Bear.Jt just got here by itself. Oh. anything is likely to hap- ; pen in this spooky old place. I am positively thrilled.” “Nonsense!” said Mi'. Craig, sternly, but his jaw sagged a trifle and his bloodless face had suddenly turned a shade paler. “The letter didn't blow in from nowhere. “Either one of the servants is perpetrating a joke, or else ” He paused, at a loss for a suitable alternative. “Joke?” There was a mocking twinkle in Julia's eyes. “Our servants never joke, as you very well know. They’re as solemn as gravediggers—every one of them. If one of them ever cracked a smile, you would discharge him on the instant. Wouldn’t you, Old Bear?” “Ring for William,” directed Mr. Craig with dignity. Julia complied, but the servant, a ' stolid fellow with a frank face and i honest blue eyes, could only cor.o- ---; borate what she had already told her uncle. Upon finding the letter in the vestibule he had made a careful | survey of the house, finding all the j doors and windows securely locked i and bolted. Apparently the locks and j fastenings had not been tampered

i with, so there was nothing to indicate how the bearer of the letter had en- ; tered the house. ! “Sure you haven't violated my orders, Wiillam?” demanded Mr. Craig with a severity that was meant to mask his rising apprehensions. “You ; haven't been in touch with any of your friends in the city?” “Absolutely not. sir.” declared William with emphasis, "and I'm certain | the other servants haven’t, either.” Mr. Craig gave him a long, searching glance, which the servant met without flinching. "All right, William. That will do.' Mr. Craig adjusted his napkin and continued his breakfast. (To be continued on Monday) j

NEW ZEALAND TO THE FORE

I Everybody interested in racing—and ! even those who are not—were pleased to learn of the victory won by three New Zealand horses in the Melbourne Cup. “Nightmarch” is undoubtedly a fine horse, and a good one to put I your “shirt’' on! There is still another New Zealand product that is worth putting your money on, and that is the good old specific, Baxter’s Lung Preserver. Early summer weather is generally inclined to be somewhat changeable, and a wise thing is to “daymarch" to your chemist or grocer, and purchase a bottle of “Baxter’s.” A dose taken when a cold is suspected is well worth w hile. All chemists and stores sell Baxter's Lung Preserver. It is a. sterling cough and cold remedy, and possesses wonderful tonic properties. GenerousI sized bottle halt-a-irown: economical size 4s 6d; bachelor’* bottle Is ftd.—X-