THE GREEN SHADOW

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 941, 7 April 1930, Page 5

THE GREEN SHADOW

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Public Ledger

CHAPTER I A MYSTERIOUS MESSENGER There were times in her young and joyous life when Adele Castle scrutinised appearances with a lively and inquiring gaze and seriously asked herself whether the shadow of a mystery was not hanging over her father's head. „ Outwardly, at least, Virgil Ellsworth Castle’s life conformed to the standards that govern the conduct of cultured and affluent people. Although of medium stature, he looked quite distinguished. He had fine features and carried himself with an air. His tastes were excellent and he possessed a natural polish of manners. Though 50, he danced well, could swing a golf club expertly and he knew how to tell a story effectively. He was fond of high-fiavoured cigars, liked to wear a flower in his buttonhole, and he adored his daughter. Adele, being of a generation whose idols are rarely accepted on faith, wondered about him at times. She wondered rather hopefully, for in the eyes of youth there is an added fascination about a man who harbours a mystery. She was wondering about him this morning as she faced him across the breakfast table with its gleam of linen and its sparkle of old silver.

Fresh and lovely she looked in her pale blue negligee, her face attracttanned from a month of tennis and swimming and social whirls at a fashionable watering place in Maine, the slender line of her neck curving into a small, determined chin, her hair, the colour of blueberries ill hazy sunlight, snuggled close to her face, like folded raven wings. As was his habit, Virgil Ellsworth Castle was consuming the morning’s news along with his eggs, toast and coffee. “I see there is to be another expedition to the North Pole,” he observed. “Splendid!” said Adele, and her dark-brown eyes seemed to say that life was. a gorgeous and intriguing affair when one was only 20. “The world is getting too stuffy. We need more breathing space.” She sipped her coffee and gave Mr. Castle a long, wondering glance. “It looks like civil war in Mexico/* “Horrid! "Why can’t people be chummy and nice instead of always fighting?” A thick and stately manservant entered to announce that a lady wished to see Miss Castle. “Somebody from Cartier’s, probably,” said Adele carelessly. “I was in there yesterday to see about a costume for the Mummers’ Frolic. Please ask her to wait, Wambley.” Mr. Castle lighted one of the long brown cigars he always smoked halfway before departing for his office. “Picaroon makes rich haul in fashionable suburb.” As he read the caption a disapproving wrinkle appeared on his high forehead, surmounted by thick hair faintly sprinkled with grey. “Can’t understand why the police permit a crook like that to run amuck. It’s a scandal!” “Oh,” said Adele lightly. “The Picaroon isn’t doing any particular harm. Only amusing himself. And he is such a deliciously romantic character.” “That’s youth’s way of seeing things,” commented Mr. Castle with a whimsical sigh. “Always fascinated by anybody and anything that is mysterious and unconventional.” Adele regarded him archly. “You are quite fascinating yourself, you old dear.”

“You are an outrageous flatterer. I'm nothing but an old duffer.” “Only 50. That’s young these days. And you are not a day too old to be mysterious—just as mysterious as The Picaroon.” “But not quite so wicked. I hope.” “Who knows?” said Adele with mock gravity. “I often wonder about you. dad. I’ve been wondering a lot of late.” “Really?” Mr. Castle’s fond smile sobered a little. “Let’s hear.” “Oh, it’s nothing I can put my finger on. It’s the way you look sometimes, and. the little things you do and say—but mostly the things you don’t say. Don’t deny it, you old fraud, because I have been watching

you. People sometimes talk to hide tlieir thoughts, don’-t they! That's what you’ve been doing this morning.” THE HEADLINE Mr. Castle looked embarrassed. As i£ to hide his expression, he puffed a big cloud of smoke from his cigar. “You have been talking about the North Pole and Mexico and The Picaroon,” Adele pursued, “and all. the time your mind has been on something else.” “You are an extraordinary young lady,” Mr. Castle remarked. “And I have an extraordinary father. The North Pole, Mexico, The Picaroon —stuff and nonsense! You have been holding something back. I have good eyes, dad. I can read the headlines in your newspaper clear across the table. There’s one headline you haven’t said anything about, although you have mentioned most of the others. It's the one in the upper left-hand corner—something about the mysterious Mr. Graves. Your mind has been on it all the time, although you have kept silent about it. Isn’t it true, dad?”

Mr. Castle gazed awkwardly at the tip of his cigar. For a moment a startled look had come Into his fine, grey eyes. Now he formed a smile. "Careful! You are overworking that wonderful imagination of yours. Well, your mother was the same way. It runs in the family.” Adele’s eyes grew thoughtful beneath the long, overhanging lashes. She had surprised a secret of some sort. She had noted her father’s quick alarm as she alluded to the mysterious Mr. Graves. For months she had been conscious of a wall rising between them, threatening to shatter the tender and delightful intimacy they had maintained ever since the death of her mother had drawn them closer together. Misgivings had crept into her mind, but they had been vague aud shapeless things. She had sensed a mystery, dim and rather alluring. But now she glimpsed the dark outlines of a tragedy, and it made her afraid. “Tell me, dad,” she said softly. “Something is worrying you. What is it?” He looked at her fresh, eager face across the table, noting the sensitive nostrils, the vital curve of the mouth, the firm little chiu, the robust, captivating loveliness of her. She was a strange mixture, this exquisite daughter of his—a commingling of modern sophistication and the tender and wholesome sentiments of another generation. The sight of her was a stimulant. The smile he gave her was one of sheer affection and pride. “There, now. That’s enough of that. You must put those absurd notions out of your head. It’s nothing, really. I have only been working a! little harder than usual. A certain financial difficulty arose—something that —But It’s practically over now. It will be happily settled In a little while. Dear me! A quarter after nine! I must go.” She fixed him with a keen, level, doubting gaze. She reached across the table, picked up the newspaper, and read the prominent caption in the upper left-hand corner:

POLICE STILL IN PURSUIT OF THE MYSTERIOUS MR. GRAVES Headquarters Reported to Have Discovered Fresh Clues Which May Lead to Arrest of Elusive Swindler WHO IS MR. GRAVES? She lifted her troubled gaze from the paper and looked at her father. Mr. Castle, who ruled his downtown office with the stern discipline of an autocrat, winced slightly beneath that steady, searching gaze. The indulgent smile with which he tried to mask his uneasiness was not wholly successful. “Who is the mysterious Mr. Graves, dad? I didn’t read the papers while I was away.” Her father had risen and stood with one hand resting on the chair. “Mr.” Graves? Oh, nobody In particular. It’s only a name, just as the Picaroon is Only a name. Nobody knows who the man is.” “You are not very lucid, dad.” “Well, you have probably heard of Daniel Forester’s operations. He cleaned up ten millions in ten months. It. was the grossest kind of swindle. Forrester is dead now, but the police are. still looking for a certain Individual who is supposed to have been his partner. His true name Isn't known,

but somehow he has come to be designated as the ‘mysterious Mr. Graves/ That's all there is to it.” “All, dad?” “All that really matters. I doubt whether the mysterious Mr. Graves wifi ever be found.” “But this newspaper says the police have discovered fresh clues.” “Newspaper gossip,” said Mr. Castle contemptuously. He deposited his half-smoked cigar on the tray, crossed over to where she sat and, as was his habit, turned up her face and kissed her. In a moment he was gone. Adele remained seated, gazing at the door that had just closed behind him. She had noticed that, in contrast with his former brisk and buoyant step, his feet seemed to drag a little. He was not holding himself quite so erect as formerly. And his parting kiss, although just as tender and affectionate as in the past, had seemed a little hurried, as if he had wanted to run away from something. And there was the alarmed, almost guilty look that had come into his face when she mentioned the mysterious Mr. Graves. Something must be wrong!

In a sober mood she went to her room, rang for her maid and dressed. Within the space of half an hour life seemed to have taken on a graver tone. It seemed as if an epoch had run its course between grapefruit and the final sip of coffee. Until now

there had been little of a serious nature in her life. The death of her j mother had been a sad affliction, but ! it had come so early in her life that it was now but a pale memory. Then there had been a private pre- j paratory school on the Hudson, and ! then college. There had been the ! usual gay affairs, the usual light flir- j tations, the usual youthful pranks and frolics. Life had smiled on her, and j she had smiled brightly back. Now, in a twinkling, all was j changed. Ever since her childhood a rare intimacy had existed between her father and herself. Even in the midst of studies and amusements she had always looked upon her father as the dearest, noblest, most wonderful man in the world. A strong and simple affection for him had followed her from childhood through early and rampant youth. Now he was in trouble of some sort, i and it seemed all the graver by rea- 1 son of the secrecy he maintained. It was the first time within her recollec- i tion that he had failed to confide in her. There was something disturbing, almost sinister, in his silence on this occasion. While the maid combed and brushed her blue-black hair, a question came back to her time and again: Who was the mysterious Mr. Graves? A suspicion engendered by her father’s evasions would not leave her mind.

She tried not to think of it; it was too harrowing. And yet She shrugged her slight, shapely shoulders. After all, she knew nothing i definite. She was rearing a structure | of ugly surmises on a few symptoms I of nervousness and abstraction on her ! father’s part. Her fears seemed a | little fantastic when she viewed them in the light of reason. Virgil Ells- | worth Castle was above suspicion. | Everybody was willing to admit that, j Probably it was as he had said, that i he had been working too hard of late. Her fears were almost gone when the maid left the room. She stood at the window looking out over the park that sparkled in its autumnal draperies. There was a fresh, colourful charm about the life outside. She couldn’t resist the spell of it. Her heart grew lighter, her young blood coursed a little faster. The i shadows were momentarily gone. (To be Continued Tomorrow.)