The Mystery of Ryehurn Manor

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 905, 24 February 1930, Page 5

The Mystery of Ryehurn Manor

By

JOHN LAURENCE

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

CHAPTER XVI.— (Continued). “The dress has disappeared." Sheila buried her face in her hands, and Harding took a step forward. “Disappeared?’ he echoed, in amazed tones. “What do you mean?”

She looked up and saw the puzzled look in his eyes. Her expression softened a little, as though she believed what he had been saying. “When you told me about my dress, Mr. Harding, I went up to my wardrobe to see where I had torn it. It had gone: I—l thought you had taken it, thought you were only pretending to—to help me.” “Why should I take it?” he demanded in amazement. “What on earth do I want with a woman's dress?” His astonishment was so obviously genuine that all suspicion on Sheila's pan evaporated. “I wore it to come down here, and changed at once. I don’t remember having seen it since.” “It may have been taken any time, ihen,” said Harding. "Probably someone took a fancy to it, someone who knows nothing about Vidler wanting to find ft.” “None of the servants would take it.” asserted Sheila. "1 am sure of that. Nor would Mr. and Mrs. Lee. or Mr. Thornton. That—is why I thought you had." “The elimination of the fittest,” smiled Harding. "Frankly, I think it’s serious. No ordinary thief would choose to steal just that one dress, which would provide an absolute certain clue against you. Whoever stole it must have known you were wearing it that night.” She turned away, so that he could not see the quick apprehension in her eyes. “Only you know I was wearing it," she said in a low voice, at last. “And the man who was in the house with you,” he added, soberly. “He had the knowledge, and he might have had tile opportunity to remove it. after reading that police advertisement.” “No, no, you mustn't think that, Mr. Harding.'” she cried, clasping her hands together. "It was just chance • hat dress was taken. No one saw me that night except you.” AN ANGRY OUTBURST “And you saw no one?” "I saw no one, Mr. Harding, though I heard someone.” “Then he might have seen you. and in that case the most chivalrous thing he has yet done is to take away your dress, Miss Sunderland.”

“You speak as though you knew who he was.” “I think I do,” said Harding, slowly. “And I do not think he is worthy of You. I think you are making a great mistake trying to shield him.” “And who is this mysterious person I am shielding, who is not worthy of

me?” she asked, with a of irony in her tones. “Thornton,” replied Harding curtly. He felt she was laughing at him, and he resented it. Suddenly her tone changed, and he knew she was angry, thoroughly angry. “Why can't you let well alone, Mr. Harding? Why do you want to liurt me? Isn’t it enough that you should shame me? Have you no pity? Oh, men are just beasts, with no sense of honour, no feelings. All self, self, self.” She had run past him and as he turned to follow she faced him with blazing eyes. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, she cried. "I am not worth trying to save.” She turned and fled, and Harding stared helplessly after her. He did not see the tears in her eyes, did not know how near she had been to breaking down completely, to throwing herself on his mercy, and telling him everything. If he had guessed one half of what was in the mind of Sheila Sunderland as she stumbled blindly through the door he would have raced after her, taken her in his arms and given her the sympathy she wanted. CHAPTER XVII. Harding sat down on a stool in the green house, and stared with a grim smile on his face at the orchids he had come to see. “I don’t understand women, and that’s a fact,” he muttered. “I thought at one time she was coming round, and then she blazes up as though I d slapped her in the face." What Harding did not understand was that Sheila wanted sympathy, not to be told she was making a fool of herself, nor to be questioned about her actions. She was perfectly well aware that by her actions she had got herself into real difficulties, but it was no consolation to hear anyone sav. in effect, “What can you expect?” At one moment she had been prepared to accept Harding’s offer of help, and if he had had more experience’ he would, have stepped warily, and given her the sympathy for which she craved in her loneliness. But to attack Thornton was to rouse every antagonistic feeling in her, for it was tantamount to telling her, what she now knew was true, that she had made a bitter mistake where Thornton was concerned. And as yet the wound was too sore to have Harding rub salt in it. “I never seem to get a chance to have a real talk with her,” he grumbled. “Just as I get started she goes off at a tangent, and bolts for it. Why didn’t she ask for her pearl?” The disappearance of Sheila’s dress worried him not a little. He could not believe for one moment that it had been stolen. A thief would not have picked out by sheer accident the one dress that mattered, the dress which served as such an important clue to Sheila's presence in the house in Ditchling Road on the night of the murder. It could only have been taken, he reflected, by someone who definitely knew —someone in the house. And to Harding’s way of thinking, the only man who knew, who was in Ryeburn Manor, was Thornton. Robert Harding, after a quarter of an hour's perplexed thinking, gave up the problem in disgust, and stepped disconsolately

on to the lawn. Standing by the side of the house, near the garden, he saw Jennings waiting. “Good Lord, I’d forgotten Jennings! I wonder if he's found a photograph of Thornton.” Jennings looked round cautiously as his master approached, and, seeing no one in sight, produced a photograph from his inner pocket. It showed Thornton full face, and was an excellent likeness. Harding studied it closely. Apart from the weak, petulant mouth, Thornton’s eyes appeared too closely set. “Where did you get this, Jennings?” “He’s got half-a-dozen in the drawer of his dressing-table, sir,” replied Jennings. “Seems to me rather a good likeness.” “Car ready? I want you to go up to London and make some inquiries. Jennings nodded eagerly. There was a sly look of satisfaction on his face. Making inquiries was the kind of job Jennings thoroughly enjoyed. “About Mr. Thornton, sir?” Harding nodded. “I thought you’d suspect him, sir,” said Jennings, rolling his tongue round his mouth with relish. “He's not much liked." “Mind you, you're to keep your mouth shut,” ordered Harding sharply. “If this leaks out” —he tapped the photograph—“there’ll be trouble. Better get it copied as soon as you get into London, and return it when you come back.” “I can copy it down here, sir," said Jennings, his face dropping a little. “Is that all, sir?” VIDLER ARRIVES “Do you think I am sending you to London to have a photograph copied, Jennings? Try to be intelligent, even if you can’t look it. You’ll want this photograph for your inquiries. I want you to find out if Thornton was in his flat all the evening, as he said he was. That’s all. Oh, no, there’s one other thing. Go round the ironmongers in his neighbourhood, and see if they cut a key for him secretly, a medium-sized key. There's just a chance he may be remembered.” “Very good, sir,” replied Jennings, replacing the photograph in his pocket. “If you find out anything worth reporting, telephone.” “And ’ow long do you want me to pursue me inquiries?” “A couple of days—today and tomorrow—ought to see you through,” said Harding. “If you’ve found out nothing by then you’re not likely to learn anything by staying on.” He watched Jennings drive away, and decided to walk into Rye and have lunch there. If he got right away from the atmosphere of Ryeburn Manor, he reflected, it would give him a better chance to clear his mind before Inspector Vidler arrived in the afternoon. As long as he remained where he was he would be running across Sheila or Thornton, ami both, in entirely different ways, were calculated to prevent him thinking clearly.

He took the road to the right as he left Winchelsea, before crossing the bridge, and made his way across the marshes in the direction of Rye, passing close to the old ruin of Camber Castle, erected by Henry VIII. as a fortress. He idly thought what a fine setting for a smuggling story the dark underground passages of the brokendown ruin offered. Harding was a solitary figure on the marshes, nor, after leaving the neighbourhood of Camber Castle, did he meet anyone until he was close to Rye, that sonamed “Cinque port of the living.” as Winchelsea is the “Cinque port of the dead.”

Walking across the sterile and uneven marshes had tired him, and he lazed over his lunch, and took the military road back to Winchelsea. He did not hurry, and when, at a quarter 4o four, he walked across the lawn, the first figure he saw was that of Inspector Vidler. Hullo, where have you been?" asked the inspector. “I’ve been here half an hour, and they tell me you first of all sent your man Jennings to London

!in a tearing hurry and then } r ou disappeared across the marshes. Been admiring the smugglers* haunts at Camber Castle? This used to be a great place for smugglers, one of the most notorious on the south coast.” He suddenly lowered his voice, “Or, have you been making inquiries ?” “I’ve discovered nothing, D.V..” said Harding. “I’m about as much use as a detective as an agricultural labourer.” “Who are among the most observant class in the world in some ways.” pointed out D.V. “So you’ve found out nothing? Not even the little lady in the grey dress?” “Got any reply to your advertisement?” asked Harding, evading the inspector’s question. “Oh, yes. A taxi-man turned up at the Yard this morning while I was attending the inquest. He picked up a lady in a grey dress at the bottom of Sinclair Road, and drove her to the South-western Hotel, Victoria.” Harding prided himself afterwards on not flickering an eyelid as he asked a question. “Was she still there?” “How could she be when she’s down here?” replied Vidler, lighting a cigarette. “Miss Sheila Sunderland’s rather an ingenuous young lady. “You’re not going to make a fool of yourself and arrest her?” cried Harding angrily. “You’ve surely got enough intelligence to know that she didn’t kill Simmonds.” HARDING LOSES HIS TEMPER. The inspector laughed. “So she’s got round you already, Harding? And when I asked you yesterday if you had any luck, you sniffed audibly into the telephone.” “You can count me out of this, D.V. I’m not helping you in any of your spying work.” Harding was furiously angry, and Vidler smiled cheerfully as he looked at the other’s flushed face and tight lips. “Softly, my friend,” he said quietly. “If this Miss Sunderland’s innocent, I shall prove it, never fear. But if she’s not, all her prim looks and demure ways won’t save her. Good looks don’t save a woman from the Central Criminal Court.” With an effort Harding controlled his temper. Where Sheila was concerned, he found it difficult not to go off the deep end. Though he had been perfectly well aware that Vidler had guessed that Sheila was the girl on the roof, he did not think he would be able to prove it, and it came as a shock to him to learn that that was exactly what the inspector was doing. “Miss Sunderland is innocent, D.V. I’ll stake my life on that,” he de“Then help me to prove it —help me to find the right person,” replied the inspector. “You’re not going to arrest her, then?” “Don’t be foolish, man. If I wanted to arrest her, the first thing you would have known was that she was in prison. But she’s put herself in a devilishly suspicious position, and the only way she can clear herself tell the truth, and let me verify it.” “You know a darned sight too much,” said Harding in a cold rage. “I wonder you don’t think I killed Simmonds.” The other remained unruffled. “It’s my business to know things. It’s not the slightest use getting wild. That won’t help Miss Sunderland in the least, and from what I have seen of her she won’t thank you for losing your temper over her to me, and giving yourself away right and left. ’ “I’ve come down to get a breath of sea air,” continued the detective, smoothly, “and also to gather your impressions. You must have learnt something about the people here, got to Jike some, and dislike others. Lee, for" instance.”

“Lee’s all right, only he’s got an overbearing manner, and is a bit overbearing with the ladies. He’s, r bit of a bully, I’m afraid. But I don’t see much of him. He’s too busy with Thornton doing business.” “Well, Thornton—have you become friendly with him?”

“He’s coming out with Lee,” interrupted the inspector quietly. You get a fine view across the marshes from here, but a bit heavy going, walking across to Rye.” “Hallo, Vidler, how long have you been here? Why the devil didn’t they let me know you’d come?” growled Lee as he came up. “Because I told them not to, said Vidler. NEWS FOR VIDLER “How did the inquest go off?” “Only formal evidence of identification, so that Simmonds could be buried,” said the detective. “Make any progress?” “I think -we’re on the track of the woman who was in the house.” “Who is she?” asked Lee quickly. “We haven’t got as far as proving who she is,” Vidler hedged. “There’s a great difference between being on the track of a person and coming up to them. We might be a good many miles behind when we first find the trail they’ve left.” “Thornton went to school with Simmonds,” said Lee suddenly. “I’ve just been ticking him off for not telling you.” The detective looked genuinely astonished, and rubbed the corner of his eye. “I didn’t think it was of any importance,” said the secretary, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. • “So you went to school with Simmonds,” said Vidler slowly. “You and he were friends?” “We were friendly,” agreed Thornton. “You liar!” thought Harding, without turning his head. “You were astonished to find he'd been engaged as a gardener?” “I was rather. He’d been here a week before I met him. He was engaged by Mrs. Lee.” “There’s the tea gong,” interposed Lee. “Suppose you and Thornton have a chat afterward? I’ve put you in the room next to Harding’s.” “So Thornton went to school with Simmonds,” remarked Vidler as lie and Harding made their way into the house. “That was something you might have found out.” “I told Lee,” replied Harding quietly. He repeated the news Jennings had brought him, the news that Thornton and Simmonds had been overheard quarrelling, that the last they were were friends. Vidler whistled softly to himself. “Master Thornton will repay watching,” he commented.

CHAPTER VIII. A SERIOUS TALK Inspector Vidler put down his billiards cue with a sigh of satisfaction as he finished the game with a break of 42. “Not bad for an amateur, who never gets any practice, eh?" he asked. “I wonder you don’t practise and go in for the amateur championship," observed Harding. “Y’ou’re one of the best amateurs I’ve played with.” “What about a stroll through the grounds?” suggested the detective. “It’s a fine night, and if we get talking we’ll be interrupted.” “Nothing doing if you’re going to try to trap me about Miss Sunderland,” said his companion firmly. “I’m a bit prejudiced in that quarter.” “First time I’ve heard love called a prejudice. Quick work, my lad.” “Have a cigar, D.V., and stop your japing,” retorted Harding, holding out his case. “If you can convince me I shall be helping Miss Sunderland by

helping you, then you can count on me through thick and thin. “Consider it done, old man. I've taken a course in psychology, so I =hall know exactly how to get round you. And didn’t Mrs. Lee predict I should be successful in finding the murderer of Simmonds? I thought Lee would explode when she started preCU “He S does explode sometimes.” The two crossed the lawn, and made their way toward a private pathway leading to the shore. Both puffed away at their cigars in silence. Haiding wondered how Vidler would open the subject of Sheila, and decided he must keep a firm control over himselL The detective had an uncanny knack of saying things wihch made him incautious in his replies. It was not until they were walking along the beach that Vidler spoke. “Scotland Yard are only concerned with getting at the truth. They do not find likely victims, and then proceed to weave a net round them. They take the evidence as they find it, and see in what direction it points. Do you believe I am honest?” Harding looked sharply at his companion. “Of course. That's a curious question to ask. But you may be mistaken, even if you are honest,” > “That’s true. But if you believe I j come to conclusions on honest grounds, that is something. Now, I j will sum up the position as I see it, j and you can then take up your own standpoint. I am not-going to press you to tell me anything, but I am going to warn you of the consequences of suppressing information which is

bound to come to light sooner or later.” GETTING AT THE TRUTH Harding had never seen Vidler look so serious. It was clear the detective was determined to get at the truth as quickly as possible, and his companion was fully aware that he j would be faced by a difficult decision as soon as the detective had finished stating his case. “Go ahead, D.V.,” he said quietly. “■When I was called in,” began the inspector, “I found out two things very quickly. One was that a girl had escaped out of the house over the roof and down through the building where you live. The other was that undoubtedly, though y-ou won t admit it, you saw the girl, spoke to her, and finally connived at her escape, so that she should not be questioned by the police. The proofs that you and she were in the loft at the same time are in the photographs of footprints now in the Simmonds file at Scotland Yard. They are a matter of record, and have been studied by the Chief Commissioner and Superintendent Marham.” “Then I am on the list of suspects?” “You most certainly are,” replied Vidler seriously, “or I should say pos-

| sible, but not probables. On the latch of the roof door leading into the loft I found a fragment of cloth. A tiny fragment, but a tailor told me !it had come from a piece of grey | tweed cloth. I advertised for a youDg lady in a grey tweed costume, as you | know. The size of her footprints and ] the position of a gloved print od an upright post in the loft enabled me to judge her height pretty accurately.” ■ “I wondered how you’d got at that.” commented Harding, following the 1 other's exposition with keen interest. "I got a reply to my advertisement. A taxi took Miss Sunderland to the hotel at Victoria, where she was staying. The taxi driver had no doubt who it was when I showed him a photograph, and the porter at the hotel remembered her coming in. Added to that, of course, is that she was wearing a grey tweed dress and jacket. The right sleeve of the : latter is slightly torn.” (To be continued tomorrow)