The Mystery of Ryeburn Manor

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 893, 10 February 1930, Page 5

The Mystery of Ryeburn Manor

By

JOHN LAURENCE

Author of “The Sign of the Double Cross Inn,” etc.

CHAPTER I. T-R-R-R-R-R-R-R! Robert Harding looked up from the book he was reading, “The Pyschology of Women,” half-turned in his comfortable leather chair, and stared at the heavily-cur-tained window. The din of the bell was maddening, and he rose with a muttered imprecation, jerked back the curtain, and looked out. A policeman was standing on the pavement looking up at the house next door, and one or two idlers had stopped at the unusual and irritating sound of the clamorous alarm. “Why the dickens don’t they turn it off?” he grumbled. “It’s enough to wake the dead.” He dropped the book on the table and lighted his pipe afresh. The noise of the automatic burglar alarm was irritating. The sound was continuous and virulent in its unvarying malignity. He was not in the mood to listen to it with any feelings of pleasure or patience. “It would come when Jennings was enjoying himself,” he muttered, turning away from the window. He went down the stairs and opened the main door which guarded the entrance to the building, and the two flats, of which he occupied the upper one. “How long are the bells of St. Mary’s going to play out for you and me. officer?” The police constable smiled sympathetically. “Can’t say, sir. The sergeant has gone to the station to telephone. If the keys have been depositedwith the Burglar Alarm Company the’H be here jin half an hour and stop it. If not, ; we shall have to get into communication with the occupier. Harding wondered if the keys would arrive and stop the bell, but he made no comment. “Then the horror will go on ringing for a week perhaps. That’s a cheery outlook. Can’t you get in? What’s a burglar alarm for? Do you realise the place may be ten deep with burglars standing in the dining-room, I drinking cocktails?” “I’ve had a look round the hack, sir. ! There are no windows forced or open. Those alarms often go off through the vibration of passing vehicles. Do you possess a skylight, sir?” Harding groaned inwardly at the ponderous phraseology of the constable.

“I really couldn’t say. Why?” “There might be a way over the roof, through your skylight and theirs,” explained the constable. “I could get in and stop it when the sergeant returns. I’m not allowed to move till he does.”

“I’ll go back and have a scout round,” volunteered Harding. “Anything’s better than listening to a monologue by a bell Robot. A bit of Alpine climbing will keep me in form for the winter sports.” The constable grinned. He reflected, as he looked at the athletic, wiry figure of the other, that Robert Harding would be quite a tough proposition to tackle in a Scrimmage. Harding closed .the door and made the way up the stairs leading to the top of the two flats. He paused at his own and picked up an electric troeh. He had never yet had the curiosity to penetrate up the rather gloomy-looking, unused stairs which led upward past the door of his own luxurious flat. Vaguely he remembered, as he began to ascend, his man Jennings saying it led on to the roof, through a loft where the water storage tanks were. When he turned the corner of the first flight he came out on to a small landing. From it, leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling, was a short ladder of about a dozen rungs. With difficulty he pushed back the rusty bolt and lifted up the trap. It swung back on Its hinges as he climbed upward and came to rest against one of the upright pillars supporting the roof.

Harding flashed his torch round. The dark, gloomy, sloping space immediately beneath the roof was thick with dust, and his fingers were begrimed from the ledge on which he had rested them. To his left he could make out the huge cistern which acted as the supply for the flats. He hauled himself up gingerly and straddled across the floor joists, thick with the soft undisturbed dust of years. To the right the beam of light revealed a small door in the wall. Cautiously he stepped from joist to joist, and shot back the bolts holding the door, and stepped out on the narrow ledge between the roofs of the two buildings. On both sides the roofs sloped on each side by a broad gutter. Opposite, within a few feet, was a replica of the door through which he had just come.

“Bolted on the inside,” I suppose, ho declared. The air had been heavy and stuffy under the roof, but out here it was clear and fresh, despite the warmth of the early summer night. Harding walked along the gutter to the parapet and peered into the street. All round he could see the twinkling lights of London, a fairyland from a viewpoint which was novel to him. He stood watching for a moment, trying to identify buildings. The sound of the alarm bell rose, with maddening and insistent clarity, above the murmur of traffic.

Unexpectedly there came from behind him the sound of a rusty bolt being drawn from its socket, and the -.■reaking of rarely-used hinges. Harding turned quickly and crouched down, so that he should not be seen against the sky. He smiled grimly to himself. So the burglar alarm was really a burglar alarm, after all! The intruder must have seen the constable waiting in the street and had made for the roof. Harding moved silently a

few feet to the left, so that the slope of the roof partly hid him, and peered through the darkness in the direction of the noise. The door in the roof of the other house was slowly opened toward him, effectively hiding for the moment whoever was coming through it. “By George, it’s a woman!'* THE GIRL IN THE CASE She was turned away from him, a silm figure silhouetted against the sky-line, and he edged quietly a little nearer. She half-turned and looked toward the door through which he had come. He saw her for a moment in profile, caught a glimpse of a small, well-shaped, close-fitting helmet hat, of a firm, delicate chin, a straight, small nose, and then the impression was lost as she stepped hurriedly across the low wall and hent to enter the door opposite her. Harding moved swiftly, and as he stepped through the door after her he switched on his torch. “Oh! ’* The gasped exclamatioin held in it a world of terror. In the light of his torch he saw the slim figure swaying by the edge of the open trap-door, numbed for a moment by the shock of his unlooked-for appearance. Her piteous blue eyes were wide open, her lips quivering, her body shaking. One gloved hand clung desperately to the upright beam. “Who are you?” she gasped. Despite the cadence of fear her voice had that musical quality which spoke of good breeding. Harding took a step forward and put out a protecting arm. “Careful, you’ll fall through. Sorry I startled you. I’m quite harmless, really. I live in the flat below and heard the burglar alarm and came up to investigate?” The fear died slowly in her eyes, though the continued quick rise and fall of her breast showed him that she had not recovered from the shock he had given her. I heard it, too,” she said haltingly. “I-—I was alone in the house. I was afraid to go downstairs. I remembered there was a way out on the roof. I put on my hat. I thought I might come down and find a way out.” She spoke jerkily and her eyes watched him, as though trying to pierce the gloom to see what kind of man it was to whom she was speaking. He turned the light down to her feet, and half-consciously noticed that her ankles were slim and delightful. She appeared utterly out of place in that dusty, dark, loft, almost, in her fragility, like a piece of Dresden china. He could imagine her in a ballroom, swinging round to the strains of some popular fox-trot, happy and smiling. “I’ll show you a light,” he said, turning the beam on to the open trapdoor. "You’ll be all right now. Mind how you go down. It's fearfully dusty.”

“I know.” The light shone on her upturned face as she felt for the top rung of the ladder with her foot. There was still that look of watchfulness and fear in her eyes. “I took you for the burglar when I saw that door opening,” said Harding, as he joined her at the foot of the ladder. “But the police say they don’t think there’s a burglar there at all. They think the alarm started itself. You’ve nothing to worry about. Your must have been frightened out of your life to make a bolt for it to the roof. Most women would have fainted. I’m sure if I’d been scared like that I shouldn’t have waited to put on my hat and gloves. This is my flat. You’d better come in for a moment until I tell the police what’s happened.” She gave a suppressed gasp as he pressed down the hail switch and held the door open for her. “Not the police, please!”

Harding looked at her sharply. The natural ivory ereaminess of her smooth complexion had paled and her blue eyes looked into his with an appeal in them he could not immediately resist. A dark, curly wisp of brown hair escaped from under the brim of her close-fitting hat and caught his attention, The expression on her face was a mixture of appead and utter despair. “Better come in and tell me your trouble. You’ve been scared out of your life. I can see that.” In the sitting-room she held her gloved hands before the fire as though she were cold, though the night was warm enough to make a fire almost unnecessary. “Better sit down and tell me what’s, happened,” said Jlarding. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better afterward.” He held out the cocktail he had mixed, and she smiled gratefully, though her hand shook so that some of the liquor was spilled. THE VANISHED STRANGER “Now I wonder what the devil you were doing alone in the house?” thought Harding, as he watched her sip the cocktail. "You don’t look as though you ought to be left alone. Poor kid, you’re scared stiff.” She put down the empty glass and the colour came back to her cheeks. “The police?” she said questioning!}’. “When that bell started I went downstairs, and talked to the policeman outside.” he explained. “He asked me if there was a way over the roof, so they could get in and stop it ringing. I offered to find out. I’ve only been here the last few weeks, so I haven't done much exploring. When his sergeant comes back he’ll be free to come up. Perhaps you’d better wait here till they've made sure there’s no one in the house.” “No! No!” she protested. “1 shall go and stay with friends; I couldn't bear the police asking me questions.” “There’ll be no need to ask questions.” (To be continued tomorrow)