Untitled

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 951, 19 April 1930, Page 21

THE

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Public Ledger

CHAPTER VIII.— (Continued) The threat did not worry Dale greatly. To show how lightly ho regarded it, he had just dispatched a taunting reply. It was always good strategy to meet threats with derision. But how had the mysterious Doctor Moffett, If indeed he were the author • t the note, discovered that Martin Dale was The Picaroon? "The deuce!” Dale softly exclaimed. Until now he had supposed that Captain Summers was the only person who entertained definite suspicious in "liat direction. Then there was Miss Castle, of course, whom he had taken into his confidence only that afternoon, relying on the tact that there were no witnesses to his confession, hut even more upon her loyalty and sense of fair play. Summers was not given to blabber, and it was unthinkable that Miss Castle should have betrayed him. No, the secret must have leaked out some other way. He pondered the riddle for a while, hut in the end he was forced to give it up. Slowly he moved about the room, his mind in a curious state of restlessness, now and then picking up a book or a piece of bric-a-brac, hig thoughts circling round the warning note and the one-armed man. Now and then he sniffed suspiciously, as if sensing a strange and elusive quality in the atmosphere. Time after time ho gazed intently, with brows knitting, at. some polished surface. Occasionally he gave an impatient mutter. It was uncomfortable to have the highly sensitised mind that is everlastingly groping for hidden impalpabilities, that searches for things lying just beyond the reach of the hand. In a mood of growing irritation he searched the adjoining rooms, the library, the bedroom, the dining-room, even the kitchen, looking everywhere for something that seemed to be just beyond his mental reach. His disquieting impressions refused to take cn tangible shape. He heard Bilkins return and with his trudging gait take himself off to sleep. For a little while he stood at the fire-escape outside '-he bathroom window, alternately looking down at a murky backyard and up at a sparkling sky. '"Cobwebs on the brain,” he told himself. "That's all.” The keen night air had a soothing and clarifying effect. The cobwebs dissolved. He glanced at his watch, «* that it was a little after midnight, and went to his bedroom and undressed. Gradually he grew drowsy. A face, 'ague, remote, tantalisingly lovely but shrouded in the mists of the years, haunted his dreams. Another face appeared, equally beautiful but fresher and clearer of outline. Then a shadow fell over the two faces, and somehow he knew that the shadow was Dr. Moffett. Little by little the shadow brightened, and at

the same time the faces receded into a rich, green illumination. He awoke with a start. Instantly he was fully awake, but he could not yet determine the nature of the disturbance. Sliding his feet to the floor he sat uptight on the side of the bed and gazed into the darkness on all sides. A sound came, shapeless and elusive, and he sprang lightly to the door. The knob turned noiselessly in his hand, and he pushed it open. Now he paused and listened, but for the moment he could hear nothing. He wondered, wondering whether Bilkins could be prowling about the house at such an hour. It was not very likely, he decided. Bilkins, despite his evil countenance, usually slept the sleep of the just. Then he recalled the vague, bewildering impressions that had been with him for an hour before he retired. He hurried into dressing-gown and slippers, and in a moment, he was gliding softly across the floor to the adjoining room. Now he stoorj at the door of the library. Very cautiously he drew it open a crack, but despite his care the hinges squeaked ever so slightly. There was a sudden movement inside, and it seemed to come from the immediate vicinity of the huge library table. The intruder had been warned of his approach. He cursed his clumsiness, at the same time wondering what the prowler could hope to find in his library. There were many books and curios which he prized highly, but little that could interest a burglar in search of readily marketable loot. There was the secret drawer in the desk, of course, but even tba^ — A sudden suspicion entered Dale's mind. The hidden drawer contained little of material value, but there were papers and other articles which had an intimate bearing on the career of The Picaroon. The typewritten note with its nicked and faded characters flashed through his mind, giving tangible form to bis suspicion. It was not an ordin ary burglar he was dealing with, but with a seeker after evidence against The Picaroon. AVho could it be? An agent of Summers’s? Doctor Moffett? in a moment he would know. He stuck his hand through the narrow opening and reached for the electric light switch that was just inside the door. Scarcely a sound was audible now, only a subdued, intermittent breathing. He found the switch. A slight touch, and the prowler’s identity would be revealed in a flash of light. But no flash came. Again he pressed the switch, but without result. The intruder had wisely taken precautions against an interruption by severing the connection. Briefly Dale considered what sort of strategy would be most effective in the circumstances. The library occupied a corner of the

building, and Dale was guarding the only door. There were the two windows, but it was quite a drop to the ground, and the prowler would not risk it except in a grave emergency. Noiselessly, with no other thought than that he must not let the intruder escape, Dale stepped inside the room. He closed the door behind him and slipped the bolt into place, then moved forward as quietly as he could. Should he make a dash for the door, the trespasser would lose several precious seconds while manipulating the bolt. Without a sound Dale approached the desk. There lie paused, straining his ears for sounds. A muffled breath sounded in the stillness, and it guided his sudden leap. A gasp sounded. Two bodies crashed. Dale caught hold of something—a sleeve. It was an empty sleeve! And in an instant the sleeve was jerked away from his clutch. His quarry sprang aside, toward the corner in the rear, and Dale chuckled. That particular corner was almost as good as a trap. From that position the man would be unable to reach either the door or the windows. “You are caught, my friend,” Dale murmured, and at the same time he stepped forward cautiously. “Careful!” a voice hissed. “I can shoot straight.” “Not in the dark.” Dale stepped quickly aside so that his voice would not serve as a target. The movement brought him closer to the other man, whose quick breathing was now clearly audible. “Stop!” the other cried. “I warn you ” Dale sprang, struck out in the direction of the voice, then sprang as suddenly back, momentarily blinded by the yellow-green light that suddenly flooded the room. A laugh sounded. Dale’s senses whirled. He glimpsed a shadowy form whose outlines blended with the emerald light, but he could see no face. “Get hack!” the voice commanded. “Get back, or I ” The voice, the green light, the emerald walls and furnishings jumbled crazily in Dale’s brain. Only one clear thought gleamed through the chaos. Dr. Moffett! Who else could it be? A green light, a voice, a face that could not be seen He felt a little mad. Ho hurled himself forward. He struck out into emptiness. Another laugh, and then a knuckled fist crashed against his jaw. Another blow, a third. He reeled dizzily, fell. The green light faded out into nothingness. CHAPTER IX. THE EMPTY SLEEVE A certain classical dignity pervaded the Castle residence on Fifth Avenue, and it was reflected even in the servant who, on the following morning, took Dale's hat and stick and announced that Miss Castle would see him in the drawing room. Nursing a swollen jaw and a sadly deflated self-respect, Dale walked in. He tried to carry himself with his usual airy insouciance and hold his head high. After all, there was no great disgrace in being mauled by an adversary at whom you could not strike back for the simple reason that you couldn’t see his face. Moreover, after the delirium was over, Dale had found that the secret drawer in the desk was intact, and

there was - consolation in that. But Dr. Moffett—for who else could it have been? —had escaped, and that was a bitter and humiliating thought. Adelo greeted him with a bright smile, although there were little shadows in her eyes, and they narrowed in perplexity as she saw his disfigured jaw. Dale, acutely embarrassed, heard himself murmuring an insipid compliment on her very fresh and exquisite' appearance. “I slept like a top,” she told him. “And I dreamed about caterpillars.” “Caterpillars?” Dale’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, of course. Well, I dreamed of piuk elephants and green dragons.” “They seem to have handled you roughly,” Adele observed. Her face sobered quickly. “What's—oh, how stupid of me! Mr. Dale, I am sure you will be glad to meet a very good friend of mine, Mr. Paul Ainsworth.” As she spoke. Dale suddenly perceived a. third person in the room, one who had remained in the background, when he entered. Now he saw a tall, youngish man who responded to the introduction with a curt nod. Instantly Bilkins’s unsatisfactory description came back to him—-“tall, straight, good-looking, well dressed, about 30.” Paul Ainsworth was all of that, and j much more besides. In an indolent | way he stood leaning against a I phonograph cabinet, surveying Dale ! with a hostile, impudent eye and the i faintest of sneers. His face was lean and bronzed, he had thick, dark hair ! negligently combed, he was handsome j in a disagreeable, overbearing way. His neckwear was intriguing, and his clothes, of excellent workmanship, hung loosely on his lean figure. The fingers of the right hand were slim.

white, almost effeminate, yet somehow gave the impression that they

could knuckle into a sturdy fist on | slight provocation.

But the observation that struck Dale first and most forcibly was that the man's left sleeve was empty. Adele regarded the two men with a faint, puzzled frown, as if wondering at Dale's reserve and Ainsworth's evident unfriendliness. “You two are going to be friends,” she announced with a sjnile. “Yon might as well begin now.” “We are two shy and timid souls,” Dale bantered, trying do ease the tension. “Please give us a little time.” Ainsworth yawned superciliously. His jeering gaze was levelled at Dale's swollen and discoloured jaw. “Not shy,” he drawled. “Merely cautious. Friendships should always be cultivated to slow music.” “And green lights,” Dale let slip out. Adele gave Dale a startled glance and Ainsworth a disapproving one. “I can supply the music,” she declared' with an effort at light conversation. “Music hath charms that soothe the savage breast,” Ainsworth quoted, “but it can’t reduce Mr. Dale’s swollen jaw. That’s what makes him selfconscious and discreet. Don’t try to catapult him into a friendship, Adele. Friendships should be spontaneous, and they should never begin so early in the morning. “The midnight hour is the proper time,” Dale suggested, with a level, smiling glance at Ainsworth. Adele sent him a perplexed and despairing glance, but she tried again. “Why, you speak as if entering into a friendship were a deed of darkness, like burglary.” “Please don’t speak of burglaries,” Dale begged with mock seriousness. “It's a delicate subject with me.” Adele’s dark eyes narrowed. "You don’t mean to say you have been robbed?” “Not exactly. All the burglar goi

was a part of my self-esteem and a few particles of cuticle off my jaw.” “I am sure the former is easily replaced,” Ainsworth gibed. “Paul!” said Adele, sternly. “I think you are horrid. Please don't mind him, Mr. Dale. He is a little out of sorts this morning. He has suffered a grave disappointment.” "So has my burglar. He didnt get what he was after.” “Oh, but Mr. Ainsworth’s disappointment is a different sort. He has received bad news from his broker.” Ainsworth yawned ostentatiously, then glanced at his watch. “That reminds me. I have an appointment with a man who is a little of both. Ta-ta, Adele. Hope the cuticle heals up soon, Mr. Dale.” With an impudent smile and an indolent swagger he left the room. Adele excused herself and followed him, but returned shortly. Her face was a little flustered and she regarded Dale with a puzzled and disappointed expression. “I wanted you two men to like each other,” she said, with a slight pout, “but instead you behaved as if it was a case of mutual dislike at first glance.” Dale’s smiling gaze was a little rueful. She looked very attractive in her smart morning frock, and a trace of pallor only enhanced her charms. It had not been difficult to perceive the relationship between her and Ainsworth. With his good looks and his cynical and supercilious airs. Ainsworth was exactly the type that appealed to many women. He stifled a little sigh. He could foresee that Adele Castle’s spirited nature and impulsive heart were leading her into a maze of difficulties. (To be Continued on Monday)