THE GREEN SHADOW

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 945, 11 April 1930, Page 5

THE GREEN SHADOW

By HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by

Public Ledger

SYNOPSIS Adele Castle has just had the wlerdest adventure of hex* life. She has been taken by a mysterious Miss Conway to meet Mr. Moffett, whom she meets but does not see. For, as she enters the room of ar old house in a part of New Yoi'k she does not recognise she is met by a gi*een light, through which she observes the vague outline of a man. He tells her he knows her father is the “Mr. Graves” whom police seek as the associate of Daniel Fori*estex*, who died after getting 10.000,000 dollai-s by fraud. He claims to have papers which, if made public, would result in Mr. Castle going to gaol. Adele calls on her father, who tells her Dr. Moffett demands 100.000 dollars for his silence, though Mr. Castle profited but little by Forrester’s operations, which he did not discover were illegal until after the latter’s death. CHAPTER lll.—Continued. “Exactly what would happen, dad?” Her father drew a long, shuddering breath. “There is a possibility I would be sentenced to imprisonment for h number of years. Yes. we might as well face the facts. There is a strong public sentiment against the mysterious Mr. Graves. A jury would be very likely to convict me. But even if I should be acquitted I would be absolutely ruined. A man can never live down a balck mark like that. My career would go smash and you ’’ “Don’t consider me, dad,” said Adele with a smile. “And I’m sure it will never come to that. Dr. Moffett is willing to sell you the evidence for 100,000 dollars, isn’t he?* ! “Yes, and he might as well ask a hundred thousand millions.” “Couldn’t you borrow the money from some one,?” Mr. Castle shook his head with a hopeless expression. “Wouldn’t Dr. Moffett accept half a loaf rather than no bread at all?” “Moffett thinks Jam rich, and that I am only stalling when I tell him his demands are impossible.” Adele considered for a moment. “I tell you what we’ll do, dad. We’ll go away—far away—where nobody will ever find us. I don’t mind being poor for a change. It will probably do me good. Let’s do it, dad!” “No, my dear. I don’t like the idea of running away. Besides, it would take me a long time to make a fresh start in a strange place. Your future ” “Pshaw'! I don’t care a fig about my future. All I care about is you. We could be ever so happy, dad. I could do something to help toward our support—teach music or French or swimming, perhaps. I’d just love it. Won’t you consider it, dad?” Mr. Castle smiled feebly at her eagerness. Her face was radiant again. Her eyes shone as brightly as if she had never gazed into the mysteries of a green room. He shook his head with something of his old-time vigour and determination. “No. little girl. I couldn’t think of it. You can see what would happen. Doctor Moffett would fly into a rage. To satisfy his spite he w r ould turn the evidence over to the authorities. My flight would be a confession of guilt. I would be a hunted man for the rest of my life. I would never have a momeut’s peace. And you—you would be dragged iuto all this. It’s out of the question.” i Adele’s face fell. She knew her father was inflexible when he spoke in this tone. Besides, she could see now that the idea of flight had its drawbacks. She could picture her father a broken, hunted man, fleeing from place to place, always pursued by the fear of detection. THE PICAROON WRITES She nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right, dad. It may be better to stay here and fight it out. But we must fight together. You mustn’t keep anything from me.” She paused for a moment.. “You say you have never seen Doctor Moffett?” “No. He has communicated with me only by mail and telephone. That’s what makes it so hard. An enemy w'ho doesn’t come out in the ofien is doubly dangerous.” “Maybe we can force him out.” A vague smile touched Adele’s lips. “Tell me exactly what he has threat- i ened to do.” “He has threatened to destroy me by degrees if I fail to meet his de- j mauds. Little by little, blow by blow, ! he intends to increase the pressure 1 until I pay what he asks. Just as if I could! The first blow lias already ; fallen. He has tolcl you that your ! father is a crim—”

“Hush, dad! It isn’t true. You made a mistake, that’s all.” “Anyway, Doctor Moffett has struck the first blow. 1-Ie had to convince me that his bite is as bad as his bark. Besides, he probably thought you would be horrified at the prospect of your father being exposed as a—lawbreaker, and would prevail on me to buy his silence. “He made a miscalculation there. He didn’t know you. But the first blow has fallen. The next will come when lie tells the board of directors what sort of man their chairman is. If that fails, he intends to notify certain influential friends of mine. “If I still resist he means to scatter various vague clues which will accelerate the search for the mysterious Mr. Graves without giving the authorities any definite information regarding his identity. He * thinks that will frighten me into submission. If it fails, he will retaliate by taking his evidence to the authorities. And that will be the end.” He flung out his arms in a gesture of despair. A spurious smile played about his lips. “Now you know it all little girl. Maybe it’s just as well that you do. You had to know some time. But tell me”—and he straight ened up a little—“what did Dr. Moffett say to you? Where did you see him?” “At the house. That is, I didn’t—’ Adele hesitated. It was impossible to explain. Her father would either think she was out of her mind, or else he would be freshly alarmed by the amazing tale she had to tell. “It’s a

strange story, dad. I can’t tell it now. I want to be alone and think. There!” She flung her arms about his neck and kissed him. Then she ran quickly from the office. On the sidewalk she started to hail a taxi, but changed her mind and rode home in the subway instead. “I’ve been extravagant long enough,” she told herself. A letter awaited her when she reached home. There was no stamp on the envelope, which bore a typewritten address, so evidently it had been delivered by messenger. Her eyes widened in amazement as she read the brief communication inside: The grass in Central Park is still green, and green is a lovely colour. There is a comfortable bench near the 72nd Street entrance. If you should happen to be seated there at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, someone would be pleased to discuss nature’s colour scheme with you, with particular emphasis on green. In the meantime, don’t worry. THE PICAROON. 'The Picaroon?" said Adele in a

dazen tone, looking up from the typewritten letter. Then she looked down again. She read the note a second time. “Green—green,’’ she mumbled. • CHAPTER IV. . MR. FERRYMAN CALLS Captain John Summers, stockily built, sturdy of jaw, with a reddish complexion and a skull that was considerably larger than symmetry allowed, sat at his desk in the police headquarters building on Centre Street and tried .£,O fix his attention on a stack of reports. There was a sour, fretting look on his face. Now and then he made a petulant jab with a pencil. He did not like to read these reports. He did not like any of the administrative functions connected with his position. If Captain Summers could have followed his inclination he would have been out hunting criminals —The Picaroon, for instance. Summers nursed a special grievance against the Picaroon —-the slippery and elusive scamp who amused himself by plundering people's safes and who always left a card behind him stating that the victim could recover his valuables upon paying ten per cent, of their real value to a certain philanthropic society. Time and again Summers had accepted the challenge, but something had always gone wrong. On several occasions he had manoeuvred the Picaroon into a tight coirner, but the Picaroon had always slipped out. It was the ambition of Summers’ life to catch him some clay. That day, when :i. came, would heal all the wounds ft pride had suffered. But it was a difficult task he had 3ei himself. No one seemed to know anything about the Picaroon except that he had a penchant for annexing I other people’s valuables and a special | talent for avoiding capture. SomeBow the rumour had got abroad that

I lie was a wealthy and luxurious per- | son who at one time had suffered grievously from one of the law’s mistakes, but this was only a surmise on the part of the public and the newspapers. Information of a more definite character was in Summers’s posses- ! sion, but he kept it rigidly to himself, j Many little details and numerous trifling occurrences, each of no importance when viewed by itself but quite significant in the aggregate, had focussed Summers’s suspicion on a certain individual. That individual was Martin Dale, a leisurely, cultured and well-to-do gentleman whose good looks, easy manners, ready smile and breezy had made him a favourite everywhere. MARTIN DALE Captain Summers was almost certain that this Martin Dale was the Picaroon, but so far he had been j unable to prove it. | Strongest of all, he liked Martin Dale. They often lunched together. ! Summers enjoyed Dale’s pungent ; anecdotes about life in clubs and I society, and Dale relished the cap-

tain's observations concerning crime and criminals. Occasionally the conversation veered round to the subject of tl\e Picaroon, and then Dale would look very innocent, and Summers’s reddish face would close up like a poker player’s. Yet, much as Summers liked Dale, he would not let friendship interfere with duty if his chance to capture the Picaroon should ever come.

There was no particular reason why lie should be thinking about the Picaroon this morning, yet his thoughts strayed occasionally from the reports before him. The Picaroon had not been active for several weeks. That meant nothing, however. Probably he was planning some particularly brilliant exploit. The Picaroon was full of brilliant ideas. Oh, well, there was such a thing as being too brilliant, in Captain Summers's estimation. Some day the scamp would go a little too far, and then The captain moistened his lips as if contemplating some particularly savoury mental morsel. The Picaroon had humiliated him time and again. Friendship or no friendship, Summers would give no quarter when the great day arrived. And he knew Dale would accept none. He would take his punishment with a smile and a shrug, like a thoroughbred sport. That was one of the things he liked about Dale, his sportsmanship. And Dale had many other likeable traits. It was really odd how Summers could so thoroughly like a man whose alter ego he was determined to put in gaol. It was a psychological phenomenon that he had never puzzled out. The door opened and a uniformed attendant announced that Mr. Alexander Ferryman wished to see the captain on important business. A tall gentleman entered. He was fastidiously dressed and carried himself with an air of distinction. He was lean and straight, looked about 50, carried a silver-knobbed cane and wore glasses on a ribbon.

“I have something rather curious to report to you,” he said at length. “It may sound insignificant to you, but it has worried me a great deal. I have hesitated a long time before finally deciding to bring the matter to the attention of the police. It concerns a situation that may result in some very unpleasant, not to say tragic, developments.” “Well?” said Summers tartly. “I must explain a few things in order that you may understand the situation clearlj’. I am a retired business man. I own two adjoining houses on Bank Street, No. 260 and No. 262. They are old houses of the comfortable kind that were built two generations ago. Unfortunately that kind is rapidly passing out of existence.” Mr. Ferryman sighed. Captain Summers looked bored. “Until four years ago,” Mr. Ferryman continued, “I lived with my wife at No. 262. I had done everything to make it comfortable for her, furnishing the house in the very best fashion I could afford. T was deeply devoted to her. and for a time we lived happilly. “Then my wife began to shew signs of restlessness. She was much Younger than I —only a little more

than half my age. Naturally she was more active than I, and she craved more pleasure and more youthful companionship. Perhaps I didn’t try to understand her as I should. I realise now that I-was not the right sort of companion for her. I couldn’t —well, to cut a long and distressing story short, my wife left me four years ago.” “With another roan?” Summers bluntly suggested. The visitor bristled. He tapped his cane against the floor. “You have no right to make such an insinuation. Sir. I resent it. I will not have my wife calumniated.” “Keep cool,” Summers advised, “and i try to use shorter-words. It will save time. And don’t wear out my floor with that stick.” Mr. Ferryman seemed partly mollified. “I keep forgetting that stfi>ngers can’t feel as strongly about the matter as I do. My wife simply went away. ; without any explanation whatever. 1 was heartbroken. I was very much in love w'ith her, and I am still. If you could realise how beautiful she was you w r ould understand. This will give you a faint idea.” He snapped the back lid of his watch open and exhibited a small photograph. Summers looked at it, observed that it was indeed a beautiful face and, as w r as his habit, filed away an image of the features in his mind. “Of course, this doesn’t do her justice,” said Mr. Ferryman, shutting the watch and putting it into his pocket. “It may help you to understand, however, why I am so passionately devoted to her. After she had gone I moved next door, to No. 260. I couldn’t endure the former associations. They reminded me of her and added to my grief. But I left everything as it was in the old house. I have a caretaker there, a faithful old fellow' named Axelson, who keeps everything neat and clean and in repair. When she comes back”—and Mr. Ferryman smiled W’istfully—“l want her to find everything as it was when she left.” “You’re sure she will come back?”

“I feel it—l feel it in here,” Mr. Ferryman touched his heart. “Some • day she’ll come back repentant, and then we shall begin life at No. 262 ; all over again. Every night I sit at my window' watching for her. Every morning ” “But you are not interested in that. I have made these explanations so that you may understand what follows. Several times within the last six or seven months, Axelson has come to me and reported that strange things are going on at No. 262.” “What, for instance?” Summers asked, show'ing interest for the first time. “Perhaps you will smile w'hen I tell you,” said Mr. Ferryman in a diffident tone. “You see, the old house is sacred to me and it is possible that I attach undue importance to what happens there. “So far nothing very sensational has happened—at least, it may not seem very sensational to you. Axelson has reported to me that minor articles have disappeared from time to time. He also discovered evidence of trespassers in various parts

of the house. Now and then, he tells me. he hears footfalls in the night.’’ Summers looked bored again. “I’d advise you to hire a better watchman and put new locks on the doors.” “Oh, Axelson is efficient enough, but these things seem to be beyond him. But I haven’t told you the strangest part yet. Twice, upon hearing these footfalls in the night, Axelson has got out of bed to investigate. The sounds seemed to come from the library, so he went there. On each occasion, a strange green light has been flashed in his face the moment he entered.” “A green light?” “Yes, a green light. Where it comes from Axelson can’t imagine It lasts only an instant, he tells me. and then it’s gone. He has searched thoroughly, but there seems to be no explanation.” “Did he hear anything when h ; saw the green light?” “Yes, footsteps moving about the room. But after the green light had gone out and he had turned on the electric lights, there was nobody in the room.”

Summers thought for moment “Does Axelson drink?” “Not a drop. And I am positive he is not subject tb hallucinations oi any sort. Now', I don’t like the idea of such things going on in a bouse owned by me, and especially one that holds such intimate associations, it seems to me that the matter requires an investigation.” Summers gave his visitor a narrow and not very complimentary look. * 1 think you are exciting yourself over nothing.” he declared. “Axelson is probably a drunkard or a dope addic Just by looking at them you can t alw'ays tell what they are doing when nobody is watching. | “My advice to you is to take Axeli son’s cock-and-bull stories with a j grain of salt. Take two grains i good measure. And next time he : tells you one of those yarns send him ; over to me. I’ll ” The telephone on Summers’ desk rang. He answ'ered, listened with an indifferent air for a moment, then i jerked up his top-heavy head and was | all alertness. He drew a pad to him and wrote something on it. Then he | turned to Mr. Ferryman with a curious look in his eyes, i “What did you say was the address of the house you formerly occupied with your wife?” “No. 262 Bank Street.” Mr. Fernman lifted his brows as if at a loss to know what the question meant. “I am now living at No. 260.” “Queer,” said Summers, looking • down at the pad on which he had I written. “I’ve just had a report that i a woman’s body has been found at jxo. 262.” Mr. Ferryman started, then sat in 'stunned silence. "Body—my house I” he stammered at length. He sprang up from the chair. “Do you mean | there has been a—a murder?” “It looks that way.” Summers | picked up the telephone again and ! snapped a few orders into the transi mitter. “Better come with me. Mr. Ferryman,” he said when he had fin- : ished. i To be Continued Tomorrow.